#i wrote a thing

It’s more high-context medianworldposting, now with SPACE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38371972

They’re too good a team, Cassian and Jyn. Left to themselves they’d make love the way they do everything else: fast and efficiently. They’d fit their bodies together like well-made machinery, perfectly synced, the whole process of pleasure streamlined down to its essence.

Bodhi’s seen them do it; it’s beautiful to watch.

He’d think they don’t know what they’re missing, if they weren’t both fully capable of taking their time with him. Jyn’s wet blossom-mouth, lingering where he wants it most; Cassian’s strong hands mapping every inch of him. They should give each other the same. He’s only one man.

Posting two early chapters of a WIP I’ve been stalled on for a long time. Works decently as a stand alone.

During the extended mission to protect the Duchess of Mandalore, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Satine deal with the aftermath of a violent encounter with a bounty hunter. (~3500 words)

(violence warning, Obi-Wan lightsabers a dude’s arm, because of course he does)

I.

“Satine, close your eyes.”

The bounty hunter tightened his grip on the girl’s neck, keeping the muzzle of his blaster on her temple.

“Obi-Wan…” she gasped.

“I told you, drop your blade, boy, if you want the Duchess to make it through this without a smoking hole in her pretty head.”

“You’re not going to harm the Duchess,” Obi-Wan said evenly. “The last thing her opposition wants is a young, innocent martyr for the New Mandalorians to rally around.”

“You think I give a damn about Mandalorian politics?”

“Perhaps not, but I’m certain you give a damn about getting paid. The bounty notices were very clear that payment would only be delivered if she was apprehended alive.”

“All right.” He shifted the blaster to aim at Obi-Wan. “So I was bluffing about blasting her. But even a spoiled royal like this pretty little girl can live through an awfullot.”

“Satine, close your eyes now.”

She did and heard the chirp of an energy blast, the hum of the lightsaber, and a scream as the hand left her neck. She smelled ozone and charred flesh.

She opened her eyes as she felt a gentle hand brush hers. She watched Obi-Wan lean towards where the bounty hunter had collapsed against the wall, take a knife from his jacket from and toss it out of reach.

“I’ve summoned emergency medical assistance. You’d better wait here for them.”

“Youbastard.”The bounty hunter lunged forward unsteadily, butObi-Wan merely touched the man’s forehead lightly and he slumped back, unconscious. The young Jedi tucked a comlink into the man’s remaining hand and looked up at Satine as her eyes darted around the scene.

“Satine,please, don’t.”

She caught sight of the blaster, in pieces, the arm, and the cauterized stump near the bounty hunter’s shoulder. Her stomach turned violently and she pulled away from Obi-Wan, dashing a few steps towards the opening of the dead end alleyway, away from the grisly scene.

Out on the street she breathed again, leaning against the cold stone of the building and trying to will herself not to retch. She turned to watch Obi-Wan follow her out of the alley with his self-possessed stride that used to strike her as a bit of a swagger. He clipped his lightsaber onto his belt, and she turned away again at the sight of it.

“Satine.”

She’d almost been expecting reproach, but his voice was all gentleness and concern.

“I’m so sorry, Satine. I wish you didn’t have to see that.”

“Sorry? You saved our lives and spared his. You needn’t … “

He lifted a hand, but stopped short of touching her neck. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. I’m fine.” She tried not to flinch away, but she could see in his eyes he’d noticed her response, and he took a step back.

“Qui-Gon will be here in a moment,” he said quietly.

Just so, the Jedi came running down the darkened street with his long, loping strides.

“Authorities are coming,” he told Obi-Wan.

‘I’ll stay. Make sure they find him.”

“You’ll know where to find us. Try not to get arrested.” He quirked a smile at his apprentice.

“Yes, Master.” In no mood to joke back, he turned back to the alleyway with his handiwork.

“Are you all right, Satine?” Qui-Gon asked, taking her by her shoulders and looking her over.

“I’m not hurt.”

“But are you all right?” he repeated gently.

She shook her head, eyes filling up.

“Come on.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her quickly through the streets.

The turns were a blur to her, but it hardly mattered, as the last thing she wanted was to find her way back to that alleyway, ever. They stopped at a nondescript doorway, and Qui-Gon opened the door for her, ushering her inside to equally nondescript surroundings. As safe houses went, at least it was clean.

Qui-Gon settled on the floor and then looked up at her expectantly.

“I think I’m too upset to meditate,” she told him, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Which is just why you need to, dear heart,” he said gently, holding out a hand.

She took it, and he pulled her down next to him.

“Tell me what happened,” he urged.

“That isn’t meditating,” she countered.

“Call it a prerequisite.”

“We were coming to meet you. Obi-Wan told me to wait, but I went ahead. I was angry at him… I …” She paused and shook her head. “It was foolish. It was my fault.”

“Foolish, maybe. Your fault, no.” He stroked her hair.

She steeled herself to continue, hands tightening to fists. “The man, the bounty hunter, I suppose, was waiting in one of the alleys. He grabbed me, so quickly I hardly knew what happened. He started to drag me away, and Obi-Wan followed.”

“I think I know what happened from here,” Qui-Gon interjected.

She nodded, biting her lip hard.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “And breathe, Satine.”

***

Qui-Gon watched as Satine struggled valiantly to calm herself enough to meditate. Her breaths came shallowly at first, but then deep and even. The line of anxiety between her brows smoothed. In a few short minutes, she started to droop, head bobbing forward.

“Come along, dear heart,” Qui-Gon urged softly, helping her to the low couch nearby and covering her with his own robe when she stretched out to sleep.

She opened her pale blue eyes for a moment and reached out her hand, much more the wounded girl in that moment than the iron-willed Duchess. She was both, of course, but sometimes more one than the other.

Kneeling, he put his hand out to take hers, enclosing it in his grasp.

“I love you,” she told him, quietly. “Is that all right?”

His felt an almost physical pang of sorrow that she had to ask. “Of course,” he soothed.

“Jedi aren’t supposed to have families,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you teaching me about the Code, Satine?”

“No,” she protested. “Trying to understand.” She leaned her head towards him, putting her forehead against the back of his hand. “I love you like family. More than I loved my own father, maybe.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be more or less.”

“At least, I admire you more. He could’ve stopped the war and wouldn’t. He believed in debts of honor and vengeance more than justice or compassion. Sometimes I thought I hated him. But he loved me.”

“People don’t have to be perfect for us to love them.”

“What if there’s a Code that says they can’t love you back?”

He sat in silence for a moment, considering the layers of the question. Satine was orphaned, adrift, cut off from her remaining family and her homeworld. Right now, at the center of her universe were the two Jedi who protected her. Bursting with unspent affection, Satine poured it out to them. To Qui-Gon, as surrogate father. And to Obi-Wan, not as brother.

The only answer to give was to the part of it he had any say over.

“I’m not a perfect Jedi,” he confessed. “And you are very dear to me, Satine.”

He stroked her hair, and she smiled a little.

“Rest now. You’re safe, dear heart.”

She closed her eyes, soothed by his particular endearment for her.

He waited a little while, until he was certain she was asleep, then stood to go attend to the other child in his care.

“Child” was perhaps strictly inaccurate. Obi-Wan was a man in years, with wisdom and maturity beyond them. But it was impossible for Qui-Gon not to see the child of such a short time ago in his apprentice’s youthful face, especially in times of distress and vulnerability.

He was outside the door, sitting on the cobblestones, slumped against the wall.

“Is she asleep?” he asked.

Qui-Gon nodded and held out a hand.

“She’s afraid of me,” he said bitterly, taking it.

“No she isn’t.”

“You didn’t see her flinch away from me.”

Qui-Gon pulled him up and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to guide him indoors. Obi-Wan paused on his weary path to the fresher to take in the sight of Satine’s slender form in quiet repose on the couch. His shoulders sagged a bit more, but this time in relief.

Qui-Gon explored the kitchen, listening to the distant sound of running water. He had a pot of tea brewing by the time Obi-Wan emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist and his padawan braid hanging sodden over his bare chest.

It was not very good tea, but one was grateful for even small blessings.

Obi-Wan sat on the stool at the counter, hand curled around the chipped teacup, the cold artificial light catching in the droplets of water in his short hair and on the back of his shoulders.

“Hewantedtohurt her,” he said, with difficulty.

They’d been encountering professionals like the one Obi-Wan had disarmed today with some regularity since Satine had been placed in their care. Largely, they were the cold, ruthless sort, with years of practice with looking at a living being and seeing a sum of credits. A few spared a moment to consider, pretty girl, or,young, and conclude, whata shame.

The one today had been in another class entirely, it seemed, and a less than rare specimen, in Qui-Gon’s unfortunate experience. But Obi-Wan, who’d seen battle and desperation, was yet still innocent enough to be hurt deeply by an encounter with deliberate cruelty. Especially that which was directed at the innocent, the gentle … the beloved.

“He didn’t,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

“I did that instead,” he replied dully.

“Satine is made of sterner stuff than you seem to give her credit for,” Qui-Gon replied, pouring himself a cup of tea.

Obi-Wan raised his head indignantly. “I knowshe is. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t hurtby…by…”

… by seeing her gentle friend deal out violence with detached, calm efficiency.

“She’ll be all right,” Qui-Gon reassured him. “And she’ll forgive you,” he added.

II.

At first, the Jedi had been very careful about not offending her delicate sensibilities with regards to personal modesty.

With time, this gradually eroded, as she had been understanding about the necessities that occasioned, for instance, waking up to the sight of a shirtless Qui-Gon scrubbing tunics in a mountain stream, whistling a jaunty tune, while an equally bare-chested Obi-Wan cooked breakfast over a campfire.

Their current accommodations provided much more in the way of creature comforts than many had previously, including a wash unit for their scant luggage of traveling clothes. Washing everything, however, left the problem of what to wear until everything was clean.

Satine had been graciously left the singular bathrobe, which was comically oversized for her willowy frame. She couldn’t help musing on what the Satine of a year ago would’ve thought about finding herself perched on a kitchen counter in a bathrobe while she watched a well-built and beautiful young man, dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist, flip pancakes.

She’d have been thoroughly scandalized and thoroughly pleased, much as her current self was, she decided.

One hand on the frying pan and the other occupied with the spatula, the towel slipped a critical inch or so down his narrow hips. Satine closed her eyes, sipped her tea, and pretended not to notice.

“Laundry’s done,” Qui-Gon, fully and neatly dressed, announced from the doorway, not a moment too soon.

“Don’t burn anything,” Obi-Wan instructed sternly, handing off the spatula, other hand clutching the traitorous towel.

Qui-Gon did, but only slightly. He nobly took the singed pancakes from the top of the stack and handed Satine a small bottle full of amber-colored syrup.

“Local delicacy,” he told her, “made of tree sap.”

“That sounds thoroughly unappetizing,” she countered, opting instead for the fat jar of unidentified berry preserves.

A hot breakfast, clean clothes, and clean hair were things Satine never intended to take for granted again, and she was feeling vastly content as she finished putting the clean dishes back into the kitchen cabinets.

“All packed up?” Qui-Gon asked.

“We’re leaving already?” she asked, dismayed.

“Afraid so. How many assassin droids did you dispatch this morning while I was in the shower, Obi-Wan?”

“Three,” was the terse reply.

“In a towel?” Satine asked.

“The droids didn’t mind,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“The neighbors might’ve,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

Obi-Wan turned red.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to split up again before we move on,” Qui-Gon told them.

“Can I come with you?” Satine asked, maybe too quickly. Obi-Wan looked intently at the curtains.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “You’ll be safe with Obi-Wan. The spaceport will be a hub of trouble, and I’ll not bring you through it until I’ve secured a reliable transport.”

“I could manage that,” Obi-Wan offered.

“You still haggle like a youngling buying cloud candy at his first street bazaar, and we’re short on credits.”

“At least I can make pancakes without scorching them,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

“Well, we all have our skills.”

They finished packing in short order, shouldered their knapsacks, and headed out into the alleyway. Satine cast a regretful look back at the safehouse, wondering when next she’d eat with proper flatware or have access to a wash unit and a clean fresher.

They parted ways in the alley. Satine followed a few steps behind Obi-Wan, but paused when she remembered something.

“Wait.”

Obi-Wan stopped, glancing back at her. She rummaged through her sack and pulled out a slightly squashy bundle wrapped in plastic.

“Here,” she said, taking a few quick steps to meet Qui-Gon and handing it to him. It was four leftover pancakes made into two jam sandwiches.

He laughed and reached out one big hand to pet her hair and draw her close enough for him to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you, dear heart.” His expression turned serious after a moment, though. “Be careful and mind Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” she promised, resolving to actually do it this time.

Obi-Wan lead her through the narrow streets, hand hovering near her elbow, but not quite touching her.

“Where are we going?” she inquired.

“Just keeping busy until Qui-Gon calls,” he replied evasively.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Someplace nice,” he promised, almost smiling.

They walked out of the residential district, past shops and offices, and Obi-Wan stopped abruptly next to a walled park.

“All right. Close your eyes,” he instructed.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a surprise, naturally.”

She gave him a skeptical look. After being handed a small and very slimy amphibian by Qui-Gon once under similar circumstances, she was understandably wary.

“It’s not alive, is it?” She didn’t really suspect so, but one couldn’t be too careful.

“Yes. But decidedly vegetable, not animal.” The smile was a bit wider this time.

She complied and held out her hand.

Obi-Wan took it in his and pulled her along. She heard the creak and clank of a metal gate and took a deep breath of air heavy with the scent of flowers by the time Obi-Wan let go of her hand.

“You can look now.”

Flowering shrubs lined the perimeter of the garden, and the grass was sprinkled with petals. There were fountains with floating white flowers, shade trees, and beds and beds of colorful blooms.

“It’s wonderful,” she exclaimed, spinning about, unsure what to examine first. “How did you find this place?”

Obi-Wan’s expression went from delight at her response to melancholy in a heartbeat.

“Stumbled on it, literally, last night, trying to elude the constabulary.”

The reminder of last night dampened her spirits too. She spotted a stone bench near one of the fountains and sat down in the sunshine.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked quietly, standing next to her.

“Ofcourse not,” she denied sharply. She shifted across the bench, pointedly making space for him to sit beside her. She heaved a sigh, preparing to have the inevitable unpleasant conversation. “I don’t suppose you could’ve just stopped at disabling the blaster.”

He shook his head. “He was thinking about the knife. And what he was going to do with it.” He kept his eyes down, standing rigid and looking like he might be sick.

Satine reached out for his hand and tugged him down next to her.

“And I don’t suppose you could carry something with a stun setting.”

He hesitated. “There’s body armor on the black market that can absorb stunners. And stun blasts are very inaccurate. I would’ve had a better chance of knocking you out than him. And besides, a blaster has no defensive mechanism. I couldn’t deflect anything.”

“What about when you and Qui-Gon spar, and you turn down the power?”

“Low power for sparring just sort of stings. Not very effective.”

“And there’s no setting between ‘stings’ and ‘dismemberment’ on that thing?” she inquired, gesturing towards his lightsaber.

“If I’d had it on less than full power, it wouldn’t have cut through the blaster. And if I just burnt him, he’d probably have still gone for the knife.”

“All right, all right. You know what you’re doing. I know that.” She let out a short sigh.

“I don’t mind you questioning me,” he told her.

“I know, you’ve been patient.”

“I really don’t,” he protested, leaning forward with his palms on his knees. “I know I’m… more emotional than I should be, where you’re concerned,” he admitted. “When you’re in danger,” he clarified.

“You didn’t seem emotional yesterday,” she told him.

“You didn’t see me afterwards,” he countered.

“How were you afterwards?” she asked, afraid of the answer. She’d never seen him angry. Annoyed, frustrated, and exasperated, frequently, but never reallyangry.

“Heartsick,” he told her, sounding it still.

“I’ve seen worse,” she reminded him.

“I know.”

“He will live, won’t he?”

He nodded. “He doesn’t deserve your concern.”

“That’s not a very Jedi-like thing to say, is it?”

“Not very,” he agreed.

“Sometimes when things are … calm, for a while, I just forget. With both of you, I forget. You’re gentle and peaceful, we talk and laugh. You and Qui-Gon spar, and it’s a game. I forget you’re warriors.” She took a deep breath. “And then something happens and it all comes crashing back, and I feel…”

“Afraid,” he concluded.

“I don’t mean to be!”

“I wasn’t blaming you.”

She leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I wish you could trust me.”

“In my heart, I do,” she promised. “It’s just that my mind plays tricks sometimes. I remember things.”

He curled an arm protectively around her shoulders.

She glanced up at him quickly, taking in the line of worry between his brows, the set of his jaw and his stubborn cleft chin, the faint freckles and dark birthmarks on his fair skin, the way the sunlight glinted through his short hair. He looked at her, and she dropped her gaze quickly.

“I want to show you something,” he told her, standing up and holding out a hand.

She let him lead her through the garden, to a raised bed of tall white lilies on graceful stalks. She cupped her hand around one of the big blooms and leaned close to smell it.

“They reminded me of your…” He gestured inarticulately towards her head, and she smiled.

“Much like the ones at home,” she agreed. “Bigger.”

He smiled. “No, I don’t think you could fit quite as many of these in your hair.”

The scent was almost the same though. She closed her eyes and felt the smooth petal brush against her face as she drank in the smell.

There had been a time when she smelled of lilies, instead of sweat and dust and, at best, cheap soap.

…of crushed lilies, when helmeted warriors seized her by the hair and dragged her from the throne.

… of wilted lilies, when she tried to bandage of the wounds of her injured guards with strips torn from her ceremonial gown.

… of dried lilies, when she closed their eyes with her bloodstained fingers.

“Satine, I’m sorry. I just thought you’d like them.” Obi-Wan’s dismayed voice broke through the painful memory. Eyes still closed, she felt him touch her face gently, brushing away a tear.

“I do. I’m sorry.” She put her hand over her eyes, willing herself to stop crying.

He pulled her down onto the grass, and she gave in, curling against his chest and letting her tears soak into the coarse fabric of his tunic. She felt his lips against her forehead, murmuring soft reassurances, his arms around her tightly.

When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, the bright sunlight catching on her wet eyelashes in a prismatic glow, the lilies were nodding around them, their sweet scent on the wind.

Let me remember this instead, when I smell lilies, she wished.

Obi-Wan with some space bats (baby pygmy chirodactyls from Dathomir) for @mytardisisparked

(ficlet below the cut - that unexpectedly got really unnecessarilyangsty - set near the end of the Clone Wars, guest-starring Ventress, ~800 words)

“What are they?”

The creature wrapped its taloned feet around Kenobi’s gauntlet. His beard did not entirely conceal the quirk of a smile. It yawned, showing tiny white teeth, and his expression turned positively saccharine.

She’d known he was soft, vulnerable to the plight of the young, the weak, the simple, but the degree to which he was susceptible to creatures that were all three was really absurd. She had called the right person.

“Some kind of pygmy chirodactyls. Juveniles, I think.”

“From Dathomir,” he supplied, glancing up at her.

She didn’t care to have that look of pity turned on her, even for a moment. He was right, so there was no need to make a reply. She crossed her arms.

“What do you want me to do with them?” he asked, as the creature began to shift towards a more comfortable perch, its little feet hesitantly searching for holds along his greaves.

“A reputable menagerie or a wildlife rehabilitation center. I don’t particularly care which,” she replied with a shrug.

“How did they come into your care?” he asked, eyes back on the creature and stupid smile back on his stupid face.

“One of my bounties was a trader in exotic fauna. They were earmarked for a Trandoshan larder.”

“That wouldn’t do,” he said as the second creature reached a foot out of the basket, grasping his hand. “Hello, little friend,” he greeted, softly. She rolled her eyes. “Why not take them back to Dathomir yourself?” He glanced up at her, clear eyes seeming to look through her soul, the way Ky’s used to.

Because I don’t know if they’re old enough to survive alone. Because I’m not ready to go back there. Because I can’t leave Dathomirian orphans of any kind uncared for in the cold, heartless galaxy, but I know I’m not the nurturing type.

“It’s out of my way. Can’t afford to waste fuel.”

“What do they eat?” he asked, extending his free hand to let the second creature sniff his glove before he caressed the crop of fluff on its misshapen little head.

“Whatever they want to.”

“Carnivores?” he pressed.

“Obviously.”

“One last question, if I can strain your patience more than I already have…”

She favored him with a long suffering sigh, then granted her assent with a gesture.

“How did you get my comm codes?”

“How do you think?”

“Ahsoka,” he said softly, his voice a little rough.

“Don’t bother asking for hers.”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the small monstrosities crawling up his arm. “I wouldn’t ask you to violate her trust. I’m glad to know she has allies. And that she could call on me, if she needed to.”

“Are we finished?” she asked, crossing her arms again.

“Once you help me get them back into the basket,” he said.

She bundled up the one that had crawled its way up his bicep and dunked it rather unceremoniously back into the basket. He gave her a reproachful look as he tenderly disengaged the feet tenaciously gripping his gauntlet.

She hesitated for an instant, but in the end the old combat instincts were too strong; she couldn’t see a weak point in an enemy’s defense and not at least attempt to strike a blow.

“I heard what happened to the Mandalorian woman.” She said it as casually as she could, lest he think she was expressing sympathy.

His body went rigid, his expression stony.

“I don’t care to discuss it,” he said stiffly.

He was grieving, so deeply and profoundly that for a moment she caught a whiff of it, that torrid sea of sorrow, raging like a storm below a thick layer of clouds.

Absolutely pathetic.

But. Intriguing.

She’d been there. Not grieving a lover, but a beloved mentor. Letting despair fester into hate, its darkness swallowing up the weak flickering light within her.

She’d wanted to see if it was doing the same to him, if the self-righteous and stainless Knight would follow the same path she’d trodden as a child who’d been foolish enough to let another person touch her heart.

It wasn’t.

She breathed it in a little deeper to search for any hint of the dark, but his light was as blinding as it had ever been, even his sorrow like a cold wind of clean air off of some sea, not like the bubble of diseased miasma still buried deep in her own soul.

“Ventress,” he chided, a note of warning in his voice, that there would be consequences if she continued to paw clumsily at him with the Force, trying to know more of that private sorrow.

But it was still gentle, as though, to him, she was akin to the baby chirodactyls in the basket, pitiful and pitied.

And that chased her off more firmly than anger might have. If she’d succeeded in making him angry, she couldn’t have helped but press her advantage. But his mercy always managed to surprise her; she never had learned how to react when he gave quarter.

tamorapierceprompts:

tamorapierceprompts:

Kel having to redo all four years of being a page because of missing the exams.

Page, Again by Epikoinos on Archive of Our Own

The story as it stands now can either be read as a full story explaining the reasons behind Kel staying, or as a prologue to a much longer story which would fulfill the promt more literally. We’ll see if I get inspiration to write more.

Mabon Prayer

We thank you Oh Gods for the abundance of which we have received on this harvest. We are grateful for the lives and relationships that have positively and warmly affected our life this year. We ask that as we journey into the darkness, your light will continue to shine in our lives. When the darkness and cold surround our bodies, we ask that your guidance and love bring warmth to our souls. We thank the earth, wind, and spirits for the bringing of the seasons as we embrace Autumn. In your names we say this prayer. Thank you.

-Bea R-W. O.R.D.M.  (witchfulmarigold)

Non- Secular Meditation

For the abundance which we have received this harvest, we are thankful. We are grateful for the lives and relationships that have positively and warmly affected our life this year. As we journey into the darkness, may we find light. As the cold and darkness surround our bodies, may we find love and warmth. We thank the earth, wind, and spirits for the bringing of the seasons as we embrace Autumn. Thank you.

-Bea R-W. O.R.D.M.  (witchfulmarigold)

mabon blessing here :) 

Mabon Blessing:

Blessed are those who crunch leaves underfoot and sing songs,

who laugh loud and warmly embrace,

who smile at the moon and laugh with the Sun.

Blessed are those who harvest our food, may they be eternally fed.

Blessed are those whom we love, may the light of our love fulfill their souls

And to those who love us, may their love be justly rewarded.

Blessed are those who are thankful, we bless their gratitude with warmth and light as we head into the darkness.

Finally, blessed are you who feels the pulse of our earth, hear the cries of the wind, and move through the year with each season, gathering its power as it comes. May this Mabon bring you the blessings and gratitude that you wish for yourself, and others.

-Bea R-W. O.R.D.M.  (witchfulmarigold)

mabon prayer/meditation here :) 

Someone who I have never seen in my life: “omg you write? ! Can you make me a character in your story. ”

Me:“sure you gonna be the annoying guy who gets killed in the end.”

Guys, guess what!!

Yup, the book is LIVE! Currently ebook only (waiting for the awesome cover lady to finish the wrap), but if that’s your thing, clickety click!

https://books2read.com/sistermoon

Available now at your favorite digital store!

I hope hope HOPE you guys enjoy if you do read. I miss presenting you with fic!!

As fans, how are we ever going to live up to you as an idol, J?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like you expect us to, or even think of yourself as someone to “live up to”. But your very existence begs the question. I just finished watching Blast in Miyagi. No, this will not be my usual post recounting my favorite moments, because there were too many of those. I will save you some time and just beg you to watch it, if you haven’t yet. It is Arashi at their shining best, and I mean best. No concert of them could ever be said to be the definitive one, but even in its imperfections, Blast in Miyagi comes pretty darn close. Their idol superpowers are in full force in Miyagi: they make you want them, they are fully and every inch the fantasy. But more than that, they make youlike them. Not that you didn’t already. But they hammer in over and over again just why Arashi has been so finely woven into the emotional tapestry of your life, no matter how casual or dedicated a fan you are. You are seen and zeroed in on by them. They sing and dance their all, but they also came wearing their hearts of hearts emblazoned on their sleeves, a love that is hard to miss.

Watch it. I don’t even want to justify it any further.

Okay, maybe I’ll put a final hammer on the nail and mention that their Blast in Miyagi concerts generated approximately around 77 million USD as they mobilized fans to the still ailing region. It might be indirect, but do the math. They could’ve done concerts anywhere at probably more profit, but they chose to do so at a place that they know will make a difference. The five of them have been mentioning during the past few years that Arashi has now grown far bigger than just the five of them. I’m so proud at how they take care of that influence and continue to choose the right avenues to wield it, to use it for good. At the end of the day, they’re just a bunch of lucky, grateful guys who work hard and dedicate their lives to the huge existence that is Arashi. (Sometimes even when it’s taxing to their personal lives. I will not go over that Ohno thing again, but it hurts to find out when they give up bits of their happiness for an ideal, for some fans who demand for them to maintain an unreasonable fantasy. They already give so much. But that’s a conversation for another day.)

Again, what this post really is about is Jun. How does one live up to the Matsumoto Jun? This is going to be emotional, and I admit that 20% of it might be because he flew and star-fished his way over the crowd in skin-tight pants that would make anyone blush. Let’s be real: give Matsumoto Jun a harness and he will find a way to put on a show. It was a performance that made my heart clench, because oh my gosh, Jun. How are you real? The lengths he goes to, the beautiful execution, the expression on his face, those already legendary pair of pants and boots. But there’s something more at work during that concert, during that day, and I can’t help but try to zero in on why and how Jun makes me feel all these feelings.

Here’s where I admit that even though I am a fan of the other four (because duh, they are all amazing), Jun has always been just a bit more special. It’s not even because he’s my favorite (you know who is), or I was Jun-baited (proudly so) and therefore will always have the biggest, softest spot for him–but it’s just because of him, of who he is as a person. Let’s forego the fact that he conveniently looks like a chiseled demi-god plucked from a rousing epic. That’s a given, and, if you’ve followed Arashi long enough, the least of his charms. What it comes down to, at the end, is the reason behind his smile.

I would try explaining his smile, but my choice of adjectives always falls flat. In a pinch, I would call it genuine. It’s beautiful and almost painful how one can know exactly what he’s feeling by the way he’s smiling. In Blast in Miyagi, it was a smile that was disbelieving, grateful, bursting of pride, and alight with joy–the absolute real deal, and god help you if you wanted to look away. You just knew that as he scanned the Hitomebore Stadium that he was seeing a scenery that was (and still is) the stuff of his aching dreams. The best part about Jun is that more than how he excels at his job, he doesn’t leave any room for doubt that he loves it.Breathes it. Is it.

In the past several years, we’ve been gifted by their collective efforts to give us the best concerts possible. That in itself is overwhelming, because they’ve never given anything sub-par, have never wavered in their efforts. But when I think of concerts, I think of Jun mincing every detail, getting inspiration from everywhere, staying over late to rehash every aspect of their plans. I think of Jun in his element, of Jun with his serious backstage face. What we are able to watch on-screen and onstage, the magic of it: a big part of it is because Jun cares. Jun wants for us to have an experience to carry around with us, to remind us that Arashi is here for you. We know, Jun. We know!

I think it’s because of that that it’s gratifying to know that he also gets off on our satisfaction, our cheers, our happiness. Jun looks like he was born to do this, but why does he always look so stunned to see so many people showing up in their cavernous venues? Why is his smile so big and toothy and real? Why does his voice run coarse from shouting so many “thank yous” when we should be thanking him and the other four, for another great show, for the dedication and the electric energy? I think of that smile and can only hope to be even 50% of the idol that Matsumoto Jun is as a person. Imagine if we all lived our lives the way Jun plans and lives their, well, lives. The love for Jun is there, of course, but more than that, there’s admiration. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be so passionate about what you do, to be so grateful and so hardworking and so present? Jun is seriously #goals. We may not be idols, but I’m sure there’s a thing or two from Jun that we can pick up and use as fuel to live better, more involved lives. I admire you, Matsumoto Jun. I can honestly say that with a straight face.

Look, I’m sure he fucks up spectacularly or in little ways in some areas of his life, has done some questionable things, just like all of us. But with Arashi, his heart and head has always been in the right place, and it is so inspiring to witness. I feel so grateful that Arashi has Jun as its champion, as its protector. What would you say to someone who dedicated a full year to his group activities? I remember his j-web, I think, where he admits feeling overwhelmed after Johnny watched their Tokyo Japonism show and thanked him for it. You know what, J? I watched Digitalian and Japonism live, have watched and replayed all other Arashi concerts to death, just like all of your other fans. You deserve that “thank you”. You deserve it all.

I’m so emotional over Blast in Miyagi, it’s unreal. I keep on replaying the part after he shouted “You’re the best!” to everyone, where he’s just smiling that smile and mouthing something indecipherable off-mic as his bandmates look over him fondly, waiting for him to gain his voice back, telling him, “We can hear you!” and “Hang in there!” And then he asks for their name and gets “Arashi” shouted back at them with so much warmth, his face triumphant as he looked up at the sky, smile ever so big, hands linked with his comrades. To date, it’s my favorite Arashi concert moment ever, and that is no small feat. How are our hearts even big enough to hold what they continue to give us?

Big love and thank you, Arashi. For all that you do.

But to J, most especially.

For your big, stupid smile.

We are indebted.