Always Dark

She was the fire, the blazing heat that seared through the black and made the shadows of the shinobi shudder and dance in the flames of her gaze. She could spot them without any struggle without batting an eyelash. 

And he was the fan to the flame, building it and teaching it how to climb higher, burn brighter, destroy more. 

“Two on the right.” 

Her voice was soft, it whispered and long ago he had given up trying to convince himself that the smell of her breath, all soft flowers and pure brooks in summer didn’t make him drunk. 

He spun, and with his eyes he would have seen them, but a second too late to dodge the blow to his right. With her warning he was able to dig inside the chest cavity of one, disrupting in a very catastrophic way the energy flowing within the folds of his torso while her hands spit and sparkled with chakra, slamming her pulsing energy into the invisible points on the other attackers body only she could see. 

In the black of night with no moon due to the rolling black of the cloud cover they were demons. Nothing could hide from them, and they could hide from everything. 

“Where’s the mark?” 
She had already found it, but he loved to speak, watching her chakra shift in the darkness as she tuned herself to him. 
“Two miles south.” 
“These scouts will not be noticed until after we’re gone.” He stepped over the body bleeding into the forest ground and she followed. 

“Uchiha-san.” Her hand was suddenly on his back, along the blasting inferno he was ignoring on his shoulder blade where one of the enemy kunai had managed to carve into his body. 

“It’s not bad.” He dismissed it but had stopped moving at her touch and in the way she usually did things she ignored him, her chakra starting to seep into him between the chain links of his atoms. 

“You will be distracted by it. It’s nearly to the bone.” She murmured, and he hardly heard her. Her chakra was an ice bath after sunburn, it was a warm fire after a snowfall, a warm meal after starving. 

He tried to steady his heart beat, irritated with himself even as he relished her fingers on his skin. 

If only they didn’t always have to work in the dark. Maybe then he would have seen the heat that overwhelmed her face as she touched him. Maybe he would have noticed the shift of her all seeing eyes unwilling to meet his gaze or the tremble in her usually rock steady hands.

But it was always dark when the Fan and Flame, the two man elite team of Konoha was ever needed. 

It was always dark. 

teaboot:

teaboot:

mjalti:

why come they called him “beast” in the castle when everyone knew his name cuz they’d been working for him forever anyway? like …. i would just be like “hey chewbacca-Adam” or some shit, there’s no reason to call him beast … id hide in my room all day too if my employees started making fun of me..

If my manager decided to pull some rude ass shit with a witch and got me living the next ten years of my life as an immortal singing toaster oven you can bet your ass I’d wake him up every goddamn morning with a flaming panini directly to the face. rise and shine, you ugly fuck, time hear a song

I call this one, “ode to an inconsiderate pissbaby” and the first 9 verses are just me screaming at various decibels

coldalbion:

grace-and-ace:

neddythestylish:

memelordrevan:

rosslynpaladin:

iamthethunder:

s8yrboy:

“If autism isn’t caused by environmental factors and is natural why didn’t we ever see it in the past?”

We did, except it wasn’t called autism it was called “Little Jonathan is a r*tarded halfwit who bangs his head on things and can’t speak so we’re taking him into the middle of the cold dark forest and leaving him there to die.”

Or “little Jonathan doesn’t talk but does a good job herding the sheep, contributes to the community in his own way, and is, all around, a decent guy.” That happened a lot, too, especially before the 19th century.

Or, backing up FURTHER

and lots of people think this very likely,

“Oh little Sionnat has obviously been taken by the fairies and they’ve left us a Changeling Child who knows too much, and asks strange questions, and uses words she shouldn’t know, and watches everything with her big dark eyes, clearly a Fairy Child and not a Human Like Us.”

The Myth of the Changeling child, a human baby apparently replaced at a young age by a toddler who “suddenly” acts “strange and fey” is an almost textbook depiction of autistic children.

To this day, “autism warrior mommies” talk about autism “stealing” their “sweet normal child” and have this idea of “getting their real baby back” which (in the face of modern science)  indicates how the human psyche actually does deal with finding out their kid acts unlike what they expected.

Given this evidence, and how common we now know autism actually is, the Changeling myth is almost definitely the result of people’s confusion at the development of autistic children.

Weirdly enough, that legend is now comforting to me.

I think it’s worth noting that many like me, who are diagnosed with ASD now, would probably have been seen as just a bit odd in centuries past. I’m only a little bit autistic; I can pass for neurotypical for short periods if I work really hard at it. I have a lack of talent in social situations, and I’m prone to sensory overload or you might notice me stimming.

But here’s the thing: life is louder, brighter and more intense and confusing than it has ever been. I live on the edge of London and I rarely go into the centre of town because it’s too overwhelming. If I went back in time and lived on a farm somewhere, would anyone even notice there was anything odd about me? No police sirens, no crowded streets that go on for miles and miles, no flickery electric lights. Working on a farm has a clear routine. I’d be a badass at spinning cloth or churning butter because I find endless repetition soothing rather than boring.

I’m not trying to romanticise the past because I know it was hard, dirty work with a constant risk of premature death. I don’t actually want to be a 16th century farmer! What I’m saying is that disability exists in the context of the environment. Our environment isn’t making people autistic in the sense of some chemical causing brain damage. But we have created a modern environment which is hostile to autistic people in many ways, which effectively makes us more disabled. When you make people more disabled, you start to see more people struggling, failing at school because they’re overwhelmed, freaking out at the sound of electric hand dryers and so on. And suddenly it looks like there’s millions more autistic people than existed before.

“…disability exists in the context of the environment.”

Reblog for disability commentary.

This is the most effective thing I have ever read in regards of explaining autism numbers in our population. Hands. Down

NEJITEN MONTH PROPOSAL

giada-luna:

asiantwinkies:

Okay, apparently I’ve been snooping around tumblr and there’s something called a…

Guess what?

A NEJIHINA WEEK

2016

OKOKOK then I was thinking, hey guys, we haven’t had a NejiTen month since 2012? But it was a pretty long time since we had one.

And being quite new to tumblr, I was REALLY SURPRISED to see how much more of us there are, and I thought – hey, we can do this thing!

Also, if I want this to happen, I’m gonna need your support. Likes are cool but reblogs are better!

So whaddaya say? #nejitenmonth2017?

What did we decide, darlings? @keroribbit – there is some discussion in the comments about July? 

We did something similar last year (?) where we just went with out prompts and flooded the tag per @fruitysmellz suggestion. So do we want to play now and/or have something more organized later? I’m solidly in the ‘will contribute as able’ camp for now, but I’ll reblog the heck out of your collective loveliness.

 -GL

all the grout between
the tiles of your mind
glitter and shine 
glitter and shine

its like tinsel
beauty unraveled
just for me 
just for me

to see you unwind
the way you’ve done for me
you’re too kind
you’re too kind

you’re brand new smile
straight from the box
fits real nice
fits real nice

my mind it wanders
to your mocha skin
electric soft
electric soft

my body petrified
awaiting your touch
all for you
all for you

i love what you do 
to the kindling of my mind
you strike a match 
and watch it catch

d.long

prompt 842

daily-prompts:

The story in your head is perfect. It’s the most perfect thing that’s ever existed. Your job, as a writer, is to take that perfect story and translate it into imperfect words in such a way that when someone else reads them, your perfect story comes to life in their mind.

                                                  –Jo Eberhardt, Writer Unboxed