#didnt edit

[thatsadorbsyo]

Landon - Specter

((art credit: ashen falls firewood by gilles ketting. a few of these lines were written by @gorgagne-viperidae​ and shamelessly stolen from our discord conversations. urien belongs to them.))

The days after Urien’s fall are bleak. The manse is full of shining white tiles, blank white walls, pallid white faces coming and going with the subtle murmur of white noise. Soft-pitched voices and shuffling feet make a dull impression in a house that has become a crypt. There is no color. There are no highs, so there cannot be lows. Landon exists, but why?

His body goes through the motions, fueled by the sliver of Urien’s fire that still burns with a febrile flicker in his own chest like a lit candle growing jumpy as it nears the bottom of its wick. Landon sleeps. He eats. He dons his armor like a heretic wears an iron maiden: with great conviction and few regrets. Landon dies gradually, in a slow trickle not of blood but of feeling. Nevertheless, it is a loss.

What remains? The clockwork knight still roams the manse’s halls in his burnished brass armet, faceless and without a charioteer. He runs his programming, walking a familiar path from Urien’s chambers to the library, but there is no reason for it, and no one at the helm.

He stalks past the orderly rows of tomes, sorted in a catalogue that made sense to none but Urien himself, and smells the sluggish rot of paper, the picante dust of leather. It is more sensation than he has felt in two days, and maybe this is a sign.

Something is coming, Landon. Do you hear it?

A susurrus like pages turning, like crisp leaves crackling as they burn. Behind you, my knight.

The Knight turns, a slow process of creaking leather and screeching iron, an autonomous machine turning its cheek into the open palm of its maker. Nothing should be there, and nothing is. Naught, save for a ghost. Urien is ephemeral, a vision sprawled on the library desk in opalescent silks and braided ashen hair, with both hands outstretched in a grand sweep of flowing sleeves; a benevolent prince waiting for an embrace from his most loyal knight.

Urien.

Urien, Urien.

The ache as his heart stops beating is that of a sudden absence. Once, there was something, but now there is nothing. No light, no meat, no fire, no blood. A void sits in Landon’s chest where once there was a flame, a sucking hole that nevertheless still throbs with the memory of a heartbeat. Thud, thud. It pulses heavy in his ears as Urien spreads his arms wide, as Urien spreads his legs open under the robes in a silent beckoning. Come to me, my knight. Thud, thud.

The Knight removes his helmet and underneath is Landon’s face, as blank and open as an empty dinner plate but somehow still starving for the meal that isn’t there. Thud, thud. A step forward, halting and jerking. Thud, thud. Another step, stilted as a mammet. Thud, thud. Against all inertia, he is pulled forward by the promise in Urien’s arms, by the heat between his lord’s legs, by the salvation like no other that he finds in both.

Thud, thud.

Landon blinks, and when he opens his eyes he is in a roaring furnace. No. No, he is on his back on a low cot in the utility room that he and Urien had once turned into a blazing chapel. Now husked of his armor, Landon is unable to move, petrified by the weight of his absent lover and held in frozen stasis despite the dry heat that suffocates every drop of moisture from the air. Landon gasps, and a long trail of white hair falls over his shoulder. Urien.

His prince, his lord, the phoenix: a man shattered into shards of himself hovers over Landon and gazes down at this scared little knight like stained glass layered over itself in triplicate. A viera with braids and silks, grey as ash; a man in fading robes with eyes still so bright but somehow sharper, somehow seeing so much more and so much further; something behind them that burns and burns and burns like an effigy set aflame. All of them Urien.

All of them gone.

Thud, thud.

The spindly hands of this gestalt being flutter like birds to cup Landon’s square jaw at the same moment that Urien opens his mouth to speak, but what sits behind his teeth is not his tongue. It’s not even flesh.

Like the opening of a kiln, it is only fire; a great roiling inferno that deafens all else and spills molten hot over Landon’s upturned face, anointing him with a phoenix fire that melts through his very soul like so much brittle wax.

As his body caves into itself, Landon could swear he hears something under the crackling of flame against stone. Urien’s voice, struggling to form words through the bubbling of magma that flows out through his spectral being and straight into Landon’s dreams.

Save me. Love me. Read to me, Landon. Won’t you read to me?

Thud, thud. The burbling of lava becomes a crinkling like foil crumpling in a campfire.

Wake up, my knight. Your trial awaits.

Thud, thud. The crackling of metal becomes a shrill singing like glass turning hot enough to shatter.

Wake up.

[gael-garcia]

El Mambo Tango, Diarios de motocicleta (2004, Walter Salles)

[befitzgeraldwriting]

The river is flooding; churning. You make me melt. I was shaking last night in your car; past tense. He never loved my mother. The neighbors must have heard me scream. Staircases echo in the worst way. That was all five minutes ago. You are a new timeline. You you you are the thaw. We are still in your car. I am still child of divorces one, two, and three even though I don't wear them. Even though you don't know. I am not here to make sense for you, not here to be a storyteller. Just a girl. Just girl. Girl. All girl. All growl. All filth from you on my face, don't dare wipe it away. If I cut my hair into a pixie would you still love me? Would you call me murderer? Or call me muse? You'll call me anything but my full name. I am not here to make sense of the world for you. The riving is flooding. Not gonna drown this time.

b.e.fitzgerald (second coming of the daughter)

[certifiedhypocrite]

There are always exceptions to this, observant hair splitter.

My current favorite thing is being shown etsy things and patreons that are supposed to be offensive, like the idea that what’s being presented is little effort for large reward, how unfair. 1. Almost every time, the sold fanart is within the law (and I believe in derivative work being valuable anyway) More often than not, people believe copyright/trademark laws are already too strict and should be eased or even abolished.  2. People never figure taxes or expenses into the patreon income. Never seen anyone with an axe to grind do this. Not once, not ever. 3. It echoes, no matter how you spin it, the sentiment that art should be de-valued. More on 3. People prefer fanart, which is to say they prefer the pillowy softness of familiar ideas, oh but when it becomes a paid work, that’s suddenly unoriginal. What the fuck. To rephrase that: People devalue art by welcoming trusted ideas first. That in itself slows innovation.  The whole originality idea is something that irks me anyway because you can peel the layers back down to their core to find out, infact, no, this artist’s ~inspirations~ did not bubble up from within the void, so it’s often a useless conversation to have over work that means something different to everyone. That’s what should be discussed, the meaning however base, not whether or not a flag was planted in a place that already existed. It’s never criticism. It’s ignorance. It’s jealousy. It’s fucking bullying. It’s an attack. It’s pointless. It does little more than waste time to please the lizard brain. As ever, feel free to punch holes in this, as I hate talking about art. Art is too ephemeral and there are no correct answers. It will always be loose sand that shifts underfoot and around nature.

[syllic-wyrd]

Ekene drabble because I can’t help myself and I wanted to write out how he lost his wings.

           Ekene watched the earth below him speed by with each beat of his wings. He had left his home about a week ago and now he was nearing the large Iaeto and Human city where he often ventured. The pack that hung over his belly was light and almost empty, most of the food he packed was gone.

Only when night had completely fallen and the stars shone brightly and clearly did he land for the night. Ekene thought about flying through the night and reaching the city sometime in the early morning –it was only a couple hours away –but he decided that he wanted to enter fully rested. His wings ached and his stomach grumbled and he was in no rush.

He sat down without building a fire. The warmth of the summer air still pervaded the land, locked in by last jutting mountainside of the Rastst Mountains. It competed with the fog beginning to form from the Sayund River which ended nearby.

Ekene dug into his pack and ate the last fruit, which he had allowed to ripen over the journey, and drank the last of his water. He put his waterbottle back into his pack and laid down, closing his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

The Tsukva was awakened by a kick in the ribs. Ekene curled up painfully as his mind tried to catch up. Soon, he became aware of two figures talking over him. He blinked up at them through the fog and saw flashes of color that marked them as Iathe. He didn’t have time to look further when the foot of the nearest assailant cracked against his face. He heard a pop and another flash of pain erupted. His gasp elicited laughter from the two above him.

Ekene grasped his broken nose as he looked up at them again through teary eyes. Finally, through their white hair, he saw the webbed ears. Suliss. He dived for his pack and the gun inside it, but as one of them, a female, grabbed it before him, the other caught him by one of his horns. Ekene felt the delicate metal eshito that decorated and shaped his horns bend and twist, biting into them painfully.

He was jerked backwards and rewarded with an elbow to his face. He was dropped to the ground, his cheek and eye quickly swelling up.

“He had a gun in here.” Ekene heard the woman say.

“You were going to shoot us,” the other one, a man, said directly to Ekene. “He was going to kill us, Trieza.”

“What a bastard!” The woman stalked over to him after chucking the gun into the mists. Her silver eyes widened as she saw him clearly for the first time. “He’s a Tsukva. It’s no wonder he tried to kill us.”

“We should teach him that discrimination is not tolerated anymore.” The male Suliss said with a grin. He reached down and grabbed Ekene by his chin, yanking him up so their faces were closer. “What are you? Some backmountain idiot? Everybody knows that you can’t just sleep out here. Where are you from?”

Ekene tried to push back the pain of the grip on his tenderized face and managed a weak glare from his good eye. His hand had been searching while the Suliss was questioning him and he gripped a rock that he wished was bigger. Moving quickly, he swung it up and cracked it against his assailant’s head.

The Suliss lost his hold on Ekene as he dropped to the ground, dazed. Ekene spread his wings and readied them to beat down furiously and get out of there as fast as possible when he felt a pain worse than the others in his side, freezing him.

He looked down, holding his breath, and saw blood seeping through his clothes. He felt the sharp once more and fell to his knees, gasping and holding the wound. The female Suliss stood next to him, waving her bloody dagger carelessly.

“I really hope you didn’t kill him.” She kicked Ekene on his back, sending him sprawling forward onto his face. Before he could get his hands under him, she stepped on his back, holding him down. “Oh good, very good. He’s not dead.”

Ekene grimaced as he saw the other Suliss stand up, one hand on the bleeding cut on his head. His face was furious. Ekene started panicking, his breath coming out in gasps, as the other Suliss stalked towards him.

Just when his hands were under him and he was about to push off the woman, the man grabbed both of Ekene’s hands and yanked them out from under him. Ekene tried to pull back as they were stretched out over his head. When he felt them go as far as they could, Ekene buried his face in them, hiding the only way he could.

He felt both of them momentarily grasped in one hand but it was too quick for him to react through his panic and pain. Then, he cried out as he felt something sharp pierce them. He couldn’t help but look up and saw a dagger pinning them to the ground, the male’s foot standing on the hilt.

“Trieza, switch me places,” the male Suliss said.

Trieza grinned and took his spot. As the other Suliss walked back to where Trieza had been, Ekene managed to see him reaching behind his back and grabbing a large hilt, larger than the dagger that pierced him.

Ekene’s breathing only stayed the same quick pace because it couldn’t go any faster. When he felt the Suliss’ knee on his back, he screamed in his head, pleading inwardly that help would come.

Then he felt the blade slice his wing, about an inch off his back. He felt it saw at his wing, rough and uneven. Eken barely managed to keep from screaming until the blade hit bone. Then it ripped from his throat and tears loosed. It took no more than four strokes for him to pass out.

                                                            ***

           “Vixx! Vixx!” Ekene heard someone calling as he started to come back to reality. He heard footsteps shuffling as he opened his eye.

           A blaring white ceiling welcomed him, and he stared at it until someone said, “Can you look at me?”

           He turned his golden eye to the owner of the voice. He stared blankly at her for a full minute before he realized she was human. As his mind began to work, confusion washed over him.

           “Stay calm, everything’s fine now,” she said, having seen it on his face. “You’re safe here, I promise. Can you tell me your name?”

           “Ek-,” Ekene stopped as the word brought waves of pain into his cheek. He hissed and reached up to touch it, but stopped when he saw his bandaged hands. His eye grew wild as memories rushed back to him.

           Seeing the look, Vixx glanced over at the syringe filled with a knockout drug, but hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. “Listen, you’re safe here. There’s no reason to be afraid.” Her voice was calming and kind.

           Ekene listened to her speak, but what managed to keep him from freaking out was the laughter coming from outside the door. It was the children’s laughter that brought back memories of his home and friends, it brought back comforting memories. Still, while he managed to stay calm, the fear lingered and he couldn’t help the tears that began to flow.

           Vixx looked at him, just as grief ridden, and put a comforting hand on his arm.

           When he had himself together again, he took a deep breath. “My name’s Ekene.”

           Vixx smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Ekene. I’m Vixx. The girl who was here when you first woke was Talisv.”

           He nodded and began to search his clothes for his cigarettes before he realized he wasn’t wearing the bloody garments.

           “Are you looking for these?” Vixx pulled the drawer of the night stand next to him and grabbed the carton and lighter within it.

           “Yeah, thanks.” Ekene took it and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. He held up the lighter and tried to flick it, but his hands still hurt and were clumsy.

           “Here, let me help you.” Vixx grabbed the lighter from him and flicked it. She held the flame against the end and let it die when it lit.

           Ekene took a large inhale and let it out through his nose, preparing himself. “How bad is it?”

           Vixx looked on for a second before starting. “Your hands were pierced through. I stitched them. They’ll be functional again, but there’ll be scars. You have a stab wound on your side from the back. Again, it has stitches and will scar. You had a broken nose, a cut on your cheek and eyebrow, and a black eye. Those, you’ll be happy to know, will not scar.” Vixx paused after that.

           “What is it?” Ekene asked, noticing it.

           “Your wings were cut off. We could have tried to reattach them, but they were nowhere to be found.”

           Ekene froze. No, she had to be wrong. He could feel them, they were right –he turned his head to look and saw nothing. No black feathers arching behind him, always in view. Shaking, he reached over his shoulder still holding his cigarette and felt the tender stub jutting out of his back.

           His shaking intensified and his eyes grew wild once more as he withdrew his hand. He put the cigarette between his lips and took a drag. He left it there as he moved his hand up to his forehead. He held his breath, his lungs full of smoke, and he smashed the end of the cigarette between his teeth as he clenched his jaw. A choked sob managed to escape.

[theoriginalmysteryincorporated]

cadet kelly au: yang spending her free time with a couple of friends, and they start to teasing her about how she might have a thing for the newbie (weiss)

"You've been pretty hard on the new kid," Blake grinned from Yang's bed, reveling in the rare moment of quiet away from all the new cadets.  Just their luck to be stuck with a newbie, honestly.

"I'm tough on everyone," Yang replied, arching a brow at Blake, and then at Sun who immediately had his hands up and his teeth in his lower lip to stifle his laughter.  "It's my job."

"You do kind of focus on her a lot," Neptune chimed in, unhelpfully.  Blake snorted at the look Yang gave him.

"And order her around a lot."

"She's easy to frustrate.  And I'm gonna keep doing that until she learns to stop talking back."

"Oh," Blake smirked, "so it's all a learning experience."

"Are you under the impression it's something else?"

"Well, um, some of us were kinda wondering if, um..."  Sun's eyes slanted over towards Neptune, and the guy sighed, staring Yang head on.

"We think you like her."

Yang was silent for a moment, and Blake shifted on the bed, sitting up straighter and grabbing her uniform coat just in case she had to make a quick getaway.

"So let me get this straight.  You see me being tougher on her than on anyone else, tease her all the time - hell I got her court martialed - and you think I like her?"

Sun shared a glance with Neptune and they nodded in unison.

Yang grinned, shrugged her shoulders.  "You all know me way better than I give you credit for."

Blake smiled, patting her on the back.  "Not gonna stop being tough on her, are you?"

Yang laughed.  "Hell no.  She sucks at this whole military thing.  Besides, she's kinda cute when she's mad.  It's why it doesn't bother me that she talks back so much."

"Doesn't bother you?  You made her redo that obstacle course all night long.  In the rain.  How the hell did you talk Blake into babysitting her for you?"

Blake shrugged.  "I don't like dancing.  Anyway, listening to her complain about Yang made it all worth it.  She definitely likes you, too."

"Well, what's not to like?" Yang grinned, falling back on her pillow.  "She say anything particularly memorable?"

"I think her little song was the best part."

"Oh, she made up a song about me?"  Yang clasped her hands behind her head.  "Do share."

"I can't do this, Yang..."

"Oh come on, that isn't fair."

"Fine, but I hate you a little for this."

Deep breath.

"I don't know what I've been told, Xiao Long's heart is mighty cold.  She's so mean she lives to tease, I'll be happy when she leaves."

Yang chuckled, sitting up again.  "Well, she'll get her wish.  Once this year's up, I'm all gone."

The smiles the four of them had shared all faded; they'd known for awhile her family was being transferred, but rarely did they actually bring it up.  No one wanted her to go.

"It took guts to sing that to you, though, Blake," Yang added, trying to fill the silence.  "You didn't start singing along, did you?"

Blake grimaced.  "No, ma'am.  She was whispering it to herself.  She didn't know I could hear her."

Yang laughed again.  "Your hearing is pretty scary, Blake.  Ah, well, I won't tell her you ratted her out.  But still, can't go easy on her, either.  No favoritism around here.  Besides, I've only got a few more months with the brat."

Blake stared at her feet, her nails digging into the blankets at that last word.  There was no heat behind it.

"Aw, don't be like that.  You never know.  Maybe she's into long distance?  Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Sun winked.

"Gross.  She can be into long distance all she wants but uh, I'm not too sure I'd be great at that.  All hypothetical anyway.  Nah, I can live with just pissing her off as much as possible."

"Something you've been pretty great at," Neptune rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Yang grinned, bowing.

For now, at least, she wouldn't think about any more than that cute little defiant set to her jaw, the toss of her chin when Yang told her off and she couldn't talk back, the curve of her lips when Yang leaned down to give her a direct order and Weiss knew she'd gotten to her...

That was close enough to kissing, anyway.

[moral-disorder]

The World According To Garp

The World According to Garp by John Irving

I just finished reading this book tonight, despite being about 40 years late to the party, and I guess I want to just sort of vent and praise it.

I dont claim to be any great source of knowledge or morality, especially when it comes to social dynamics. I mean its all so complex and lets face it, everyone is fucking nuts. But I really like that this book sort of attempted to say something about these social dynamics. I know feminism is almost a dirty word to some people, which I think is horrible, but I feel like this book does a great job of differentiating the natural ways people use the label, and the more unnatural, and forced.. I guess, not unnatural. I think its forced. I think its using a label or a movement to deal with your own shit. Rather than believing in the statement behind the label or movement.

I loved that the book tackled rape and mens guilt about that association of rape, I thought it treated that really well. It is horrible for men to think that every strange women suspects them of hurting her. I think its just a really terrible situation that we have going on. Women are terrified of strange men and men are terrified of strange women. I think that was made very clear during the main characters stint in drag when he threatened to accuse the cab driver of rape. I mean, I don't know what if anything there is to be done about that. But I feel like I need to acknowledge how fucked up that is. The whole situation. Its not fair on either gender.

There were parts that made me feel intensely uncomfortable like the conception of Garp, which I still feel was probably an abuse in itself, and also parts which made me so sad for this fictional family that I cried, quite a lot (I think the very subtle way the first car accident was dealt with was masterful). But overall I really liked this book. I don't know if I could read it again but I know I wish I could.