#Embedded World 2025

[reasonsforhope]

"With Donald Trump set to take office after a fear-mongering campaign that reignited concerns about his desire to become a dictator, a reasonable question comes up: Can nonviolent struggle defeat a tyrant?

There are many great resources that answer this question, but the one that’s been on my mind lately is the Global Nonviolent Action Database, or GNAD, built by the Peace Studies department at Swarthmore College. Freely accessible to the public, this database — which launched under my direction in 2011 — contains over 1,400 cases of nonviolent struggle from over a hundred countries, with more cases continually being added by student researchers.  

At quick glance, the database details at least 40 cases of dictators who were overthrown by the use of nonviolent struggle, dating back to 1920. These cases — which include some of the largest nations in the world, spanning Europe, Asia, Africa and Latin America — contradict the widespread assumption that a dictator can only be overcome by violence. What’s more, in each of these cases, the dictator had the desire to stay, and possessed violent means for defense. Ultimately, though, they just couldn’t overcome the power of mass nonviolent struggle.  

In a number of countries, the dictator had been embedded for years at the time they were pushed out. Egypt’s Hosni Mubarak, for example, had ruled for over 29 years. In the 1990s, citizens usually whispered his name for fear of reprisal. Mubarak legalized a “state of emergency,” which meant censorship, expanded police powers and limits on the news media. Later, he “loosened” his rule, putting only 10 times as many police as the number of protesters at each demonstration.  

The GNAD case study describes how Egyptians grew their democracy movement despite repression, and finally won in 2011. However, gaining a measure of freedom doesn’t guarantee keeping it. As Egypt has shown in the years since, continued vigilance is needed, as is pro-active campaigning to deepen the degree of freedom won.  

Some countries repeated the feat of nonviolently deposing a ruler: In Chile, the people nonviolently threw out a dictator in 1931 and then deposed a new dictator in 1988. South Koreans also did it twice, once in 1960 and again in 1987. (They also just stopped their current president from seizing dictatorial powers, but that’s not yet in the database.)  

In each case people had to act without knowing what the reprisals would be...

It’s striking that in many of the cases I looked at, the movement avoided merely symbolic marches and rallies and instead focused on tactics that impose a cost on the regime. As Donald Trump wrestles to bring the armed forces under his control, for example, I can imagine picketing army recruiting offices with signs, “Don’t join a dictator’s army.”  

Another important takeaway: Occasional actions that simply protest a particular policy or egregious action aren’t enough. They may relieve an individual’s conscience for a moment, but, ultimately, episodic actions, even large ones, don’t assert enough power. Over and over, the Global Nonviolent Action Database shows that positive results come from a series of escalating, connected actions called a campaign...

-via Waging Nonviolence, January 8, 2025. Article continues below.

East Germany’s peaceful revolution

When East Germans began their revolt against the German Democratic Republic in 1988, they knew that their dictatorship of 43 years was backed by the Soviet Union, which might stage a deadly invasion. They nevertheless acted for freedom, which they gained and kept.

Researcher Hanna King tells us that East Germans began their successful campaign in January 1988 by taking a traditional annual memorial march and turning it into a full-scale demonstration for human rights and democracy. They followed up by taking advantage of a weekly prayer for peace at a church in Leipzig to organize rallies and protests. Lutheran pastors helped protect the organizers from retaliation and groups in other cities began to stage their own “Monday night demonstrations.”  

The few hundred initial protesters quickly became 70,000, then 120,000, then 320,000, all participating in the weekly demonstrations. Organizers published a pamphlet outlining their vision for a unified German democracy and turned it into a petition. Prisoners of conscience began hunger strikes in solidarity.

By November 1988, a million people gathered in East Berlin, chanting, singing and waving banners calling for the dictatorship’s end. The government, hoping to ease the pressure, announced the opening of the border to West Germany. Citizens took sledgehammers to the hated Berlin Wall and broke it down. Political officials resigned to protest the continued rigidity of the ruling party and the party itself disintegrated. By March 1990 — a bit over two years after the campaign was launched — the first multi-party, democratic elections were held.

Students lead the way in Pakistan

In Pakistan, it was university students (rather than religious clerics) who launched the 1968-69 uprising that forced Ayub Khan out of office after his decade as a dictator. Case researcher Aileen Eisenberg tells us that the campaign later required multiple sectors of society to join together to achieve critical mass, especially workers. 

It was the students, though, who took the initiative — and the initial risks. In 1968, they declared that the government’s declaration of a “decade of development” was a fraud, protesting nonviolently in major cities. They sang and marched to their own song called “The Decade of Sadness.” 

Police opened fire on one of the demonstrations, killing several students. In reaction the movement expanded, in numbers and demands. Boycotts grew, with masses of people refusing to pay the bus and railway fares on the government-run transportation system. Industrial workers joined the movement and practiced encirclement of factories and mills. An escalation of government repression followed, including more killings. 

As the campaign expanded from urban to rural parts of Pakistan, the movement’s songs and political theater thrived. Khan responded with more violence, which intensified the determination among a critical mass of Pakistanis that it was time for him to go.

After months of growing direct action met by repressive violence, the army decided its own reputation was being degraded by their orders from the president, and they demanded his resignation. He complied and an election was scheduled for 1970 — the first since Pakistan’s independence in 1947.

Why use nonviolent struggle?

The campaigns in East Germany and Pakistan are typical of all 40 cases in their lack of a pacifist ideology, although some individuals active in the movements had that foundation. What the cases do seem to have in common is that the organizers saw the strategic value of nonviolent action, since they were up against an opponent likely to use violent repression. Their commitment to nonviolence would then rally the masses to their side. 

That encourages me. There’s hardly time in the U.S. during Trump’s regime to convert enough people to an ideological commitment to nonviolence, but there is time to persuade people of the strategic value of a nonviolent discipline. 

It’s striking that in many of the cases I looked at, the movement avoided merely symbolic marches and rallies and instead focused on tactics that impose a cost on the regime. As Donald Trump wrestles to bring the armed forces under his control, for example, I can imagine picketing army recruiting offices with signs, “Don’t join a dictator’s army.”  

Another important takeaway: Occasional actions that simply protest a particular policy or egregious action aren’t enough. They may relieve an individual’s conscience for a moment, but, ultimately, episodic actions, even large ones, don’t assert enough power. Over and over, the Global Nonviolent Action Database shows that positive results come from a series of escalating, connected actions called a campaign — the importance of which is also outlined in my book “How We Win.”  

As research seminar students at Swarthmore continue to wade through history finding new cases, they are digging up details on struggles that go beyond democracy. The 1,400 already-published cases include campaigns for furthering environmental justice, racial and economic justice, and more. They are a resource for tactical ideas and strategy considerations, encouraging us to remember that even long-established dictators have been stopped by the power of nonviolent campaigns.

-via Waging Nonviolence, January 8, 2025.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMET GALA 2025 * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Met Gala 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x singer!reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　some fashion talk because I'm a fashion student whipped for the fashion world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: This happens in the same universe as my 'Grammys 2025' fanfic. You can find it on my Chris’s masterlist.

There was gold on her collarbone, roses stitched into the hem of her coat, and Sol de Janeiro lotion all over her palms.

Y/N stood frozen in front of one of the many full-length mirrors scattered across the grand penthouse living room of The Surrey Hotel, her fingers nervously pressing the creamy shimmer from her hands into the plush, regal fabric of her coat.

The scent of salted caramel and pistachio danced around her in a tentative to calm her down, but it only made her mind feel fuzzy.

It was her third Met Gala, so why does it feel like it was her first?

Was her clothes too literal for the theme? Was it edgy enough? Too sharp? Too structured? Too obvious?

Her mind raced in loops, bouncing off every invisible standard she’d set for herself. The theme, Tailoring Black, was nothing short of genius. But as the minutes ticked closer to the Met Gala carpet, her stomach churned with anxiety.

Everyone always expected her to be the "best of the best". What if this time... she wasn't?

"Y/N, babe, stop rubbing the cream on your coat." Her stylist, Harry Lambert, chided in his signature playful tone as he ducked past the makeup station with a handful of safety pins and a cappuccino. "You're gonna stain it white."

She looked down, her eyes comically widening when she noticed the small pattern of glitter left behind from her hand cream.

"Alright, Harry? I think I’ve ruined it." She mumbled, voice trembling, palm now pressing over the fabric of her coat with even more strenght. "Like actually ruined it."

"You did not ruin it." Harry talked back, walking closer to take a better look at it. "We can just say that you were moisturizing your nerves. Very couture of you, huh?"

Y/N shot him a glare through the mirror, lips parted in half-exasperation, half-laughter.

"I’m literally shining. This coat is going to have body shimmer forever embedded into it. Daniel, I’m so sorry."

Across the room, a soft string of chuckles floated in from the open double doors of the main bathroom. Daniel Roseberry - the mind behind the art she wore tonight - was bent over a steamer, carefully working out the last crease on the matching tailored pants.

"Darling." He said without looking up. "My design was made to hold a woman’s essence, not reject it. You look divine. Let the shimmer stay. It’s yours."

Y/N turned to the mirror again, slowly dragging her gaze from the tip of her velvet-covered hat down to the gold-accented buttons of her coat, down further to the rich gradient of crimson and magenta pooling into her trousers like royal ink.

Daniel had outdone himself. This ensemble was historical, theatrical, and utterly hers. The old-world glamour of Jacques Fath’s Fall/Winter ‘92 had been revived by Schiaparelli's modern surrealism, made to fit her figure like a poem written in silk and courage.

But her heart still pounded like crazy, her plump lips pressed into a soft pout.

The room bustled behind her: makeup artists reapplying lip liner, her manager Josh frantically scrolling through emails while mumbling about red carpet call times, someone adjusting the velvet sash that trailed behind her.

The playlist Harry had queued hummed through the Bluetooth speakers – Madonna, Nelly Furtado, and Britney Spears – influenced hips to move slightly.

Then the main ensuite door creaked.

And out stepped Chris.

Y/N didn’t turn, raising her eyes to the mirror first, her pout fading away, and an automatic smile taking over it.

Chris carried an awkward posture that only made him look even more handsome, adjusting the cuffs of his sculptural black and white suit from Alexander McQueen's, the sharp angles of the tailoring hugging his frame in ways that were sinful.

But it wasn’t his clothes that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. It was the way his bright blue eyes widened when they landed on her.

Always his eyes.

"Holy shi-" He whispered, stopping in his tracks.

"No swearing, Christopher. Vogue is literally on this floor." Josh walked by behind Chris holding his iPad.

Chris blinked, then laughed under his breath, like the sight of her was short-circuiting his brain.

"I... I think I just blacked out for a second. You look-" He waved his hands helplessly in front of him, searching for words. "You look like... like some art. No- like a painting. Those rich ass paintings we saw in Milan."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed.

"You’re so silly." She said, breathlessly, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer, eyes drinking her in like a man starved.

"Jesus- that’s illegal, what you’re doing-"

Daniel, crouched nearby and still fussing with fabrics, gave Chris a soft grin.

"She is an artwork, no?"

Chris just nodded, pink tongue wetting soft chapped lips.

"What? Yeah. Shit- yes!"

Y/N turned around now, finally facing him fully, hands still nervously toying with the buttons on her jacket.

"You don’t look too bad yourself, Sturniolo. Very jazz player from the 70's."

"I’ll take that." Chris grinned, cheeks pink, but his eyes softened when he noticed her wringing her fingers, nails nervously playing with her commitment ring. "Hey." He muttered gently, stepping in closer, his voice dipping quieter. "You okay?"

Y/N reached for Chris’s hand, and he instantly laced his fingers with hers, ignoring her sweaty palms. He gently pulled her toward him, his thumbs brushing her knuckles, free hand carefully meeting her hips, pressing her flesh in a grounding way.

"You nervous?"

She nodded silently, her other hand still twitching at her side.

"So much. My chest’s doing this weird thumpy thing, and my makeup’s probably melting already, and I don’t know if I can do the stairs in these heels. And there’s all these cameras and Vogue livestreams, and you’re here, and I just..."

Chris smiled, one hand coming up from her hips to touch the side of her neck gently, thumb brushing along her jaw.

"That’s supposed to make you less nervous, not more."

"It’s just." She sighed, leaning slightly into his touch. "You’re like... this whole different part of my life. My comfort, my normal. And now you’re stepping into the chaos part. I just-" She paused, voice trembling. "I want you to love it. I want it to be good."

Chris frowned.

"Baby, I don’t care if we get swarmed or if I look like an idiot mid-carpet. I get to walk up those stairs holding you. That’s already the best part."

Y/N’s eyes glossed, and Chris leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, barely there, just enough for her to feel it.

"And if it helps." He added, lips still close to her skin, breath fanning over her mascara covered eyelashes. "I’m terrified, too. Like, super terrified. I’ve watched Met Gala videos on TikTok all week. Matt told me to bring mints. Nick said to suck in my cheeks. I don’t even know what that means."

Y/N let out a loud laugh, forehead falling to his chest, her hat bumping against his skin and tilting to the side.

"God, I love you."

Chris kissed her covered shoulder, breathing in the strong scent of her perfume.

"You’ve done this before. You’re a pro. Everything will be okay."

She let out a long breath, muffled against the fabric of his lapel.

Harry poked his head dramatically from behind the mirror.

"Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up, Vogue’s getting the pre-carpet shots in twenty in front of the hotel, and I need to fix that jacket crease. Daniel, tell me she’s allowed to sit."

"She is, carefully." Daniel smiled, leaning over to fluff the hem of her coat once more, voice gentle now. "Y/N, you’re not just wearing a gown. You’re making a statement. You’re bringing heritage and power and joy to that carpet. Remember that. Every button on this look is telling a story. You just have to let it speak."

"And if the story includes a little sweat under the armpits?" Y/N asked, half-smiling, following Harry's directions, who chimed in, snatching the glass filled with freshly made dry martini from the coffee table and holding it out to Y/N.

"Then it’s high fashion sweat."

The whole room laughed, and Chris reached for her waist, his fingers intertwining around her covered skin.

Her pulse slowed instantly.

"I got you." He whispered in her ear as a stylist passed them with a steamer.

"I know." She whispered back, taking the glass from Harry and gulping it down.

Maybe she hadn’t ruined it after all.

The second her heel touches the first petal-strewn step of the Met Gala carpet, Y/N feels like she’s stepped into a dream designed by a hopeless romantic with a billion-dollar budget.

Everywhere she looks is a sea of daffodils and dreamy blue, like she’s walking through a field of flowers under a velvet night sky, complete with soft starlight. The entire ceiling above them is dotted with tiny glowing stars, and she can’t tell if it's the LED panels or just magic.

Probably both.

Chris's hand tightens slightly on her waist as the crowd ahead of them suddenly roars with excitement, and even though he’s smiling with brows lifted in amused awe, she can feel the tension in his grip.

He’s not used to this kind of spectacle.

Not like she is.

But still, the moment feels too big for even her to pretend like she’s not overwhelmed.

She barely has time to process the first flash of cameras before they’re being whisked to the center of the chaos by a poised woman in a head-to-toe black dress with a clipboard and a headset. She smiles like she’s done this a thousand times (she probably has) and gestures for them to pause in front of the press line.

"You look incredible." The woman says to Y/N with a quick wink, then glances at Chris and grins. "And don’t worry, they’ll love you too."

"Am I that nervous for even her to notice?" Chris's high-pitched voice echoed close to her ear, but before Y/N could respond, the wall of photographers ahead erupts.

"Y/N, sweetheart, give us that over-the-shoulder shot!"

"Chris, look this way! First Met Gala, man, how’s it feel?!"

"Y/N, turn to the left- no, left! There you go!"

It’s chaos, overwhelming and loud, and yet Y/N handles it with an elegance that makes her seem untouchable, clutching Chris’s hand tighter for a second.

They continue climbing the daffodil-drenched stairs, pausing every few steps at the designated posing spots. Chris has stopped flinching at the camera flashes, though he’s still squinting like the whole thing is just slightly unreal.

Which, fair.

Chris leans in subtly.

"Is it just me, or do all these photographers sound like seagulls fighting over some bread?"

Y/N breaks into the warmest laugh, her hand flying to her lips just as the cameras go wild, capturing the moment like it’s staged.

It’s not. Not even a little.

She tilts her head toward him and whispers back.

"You’re the bread."

Chris grins, full and unfiltered. The night doesn’t feel so scary to him anymore.

"Miss, over here- no, to your right!"

"Stunning! Absolutely stunning!"

Y/N turns gracefully, refusing to let the heat faze her even though she can feel it building beneath the fabric of her coat. She focuses on keeping her expression soft, her movements fluid, her posture strong.

Halfway up the flower-drenched staircase, Y/N’s eyes sweep across the crowd and then freeze.

Her heart skips a beat.

Because just a few steps above stands Kendall Jenner beautifully dressed in a gray tailoring set, her best friend since she could remember, the one person who knows every version of her.

Y/N gasps softly, her eyes wide, her smile blooming in real-time.

"Oh my- Kenny!" She calls out over the noise, breathless, one hand instinctively lifting as if pulled by pure gravity.

Kendall’s head turns, scanning, and the second her eyes lock with Y/N’s, her whole face lights up like someone flipped a switch, her serious gaze melting away.

"Y/N?!" She beams, her grin going impossibly wider as she carefully steps closer.

They both reach across the velvet steps, fingers finding each other in the middle of the carpet, paparazzi catching every movement. They giggle as if they haven’t seen each other in a decade instead of a few weeks.

Suddenly, a photographer shouts.

"Y/N! Kendall! Together, please!"

Chris immediately steps aside, grinning from ear to ear, pride practically radiating off him.

"Go, babe." He says under his breath, eyes warm as he watches her light up.

Kendall throws him a friendly wave with a glowing smile.

"Looking good, Chris!" She beamed before sliding right into place beside Y/N.

Cameras go into full chaos mode as they pose, linked at the hip, shoulders back, smirks, and sweetness. Kendall leans in just before the next click, whispering against Y/N’s hair.

"You look absolutely unreal. I loved that color."

"Daniel's magic, babe." Y/N laughs softly.

Meanwhile, the same woman in black from minutes before appears again, smiling gently while gesturing for Chris to step back and pose alone to the other side full of paparazzi.

"Are you- are you sure? I don't know if they even know me." He whispers to the woman, blue eyes traveling to the wave of photographers.

"Christopher, what are you wearing?"

"Chris, to your right."

"Mr. Sturniolo, right here! No- to your left."

"Okay, they proved your point." He mutters before stepping back, letting Y/N keep the spotlight with Kendall and walking to the area where the woman pointed, throwing his girl a soft look behind his shoulder.

She’s glowing, absolutely glowing, and Chris... Chris looks like he’s watching a star come to life, his attention snapping back to the photographers as his name was shouted again.

Joana, Y/N’s publicist, is suddenly at the girl's side, effortlessly chic in a black sheath dress, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s immune to the absurdity of the moment.

She leans in close.

"You’re killing it. Keep smiling. Be you. Don’t overthink it. Let them eat it up."

Y/N nods, grateful for the grounding voice, and not even a second after, Joana is already pulling Chris gently back toward her, smiling when Kendall understood and stepped aside.

"I'll see you inside!" Kendall winked, blowing a kiss toward Y/N before walking to the other side of the stairs.

Joana nodded, adjusting Chris and Y/N side by side, making sure they stood just close enough for the camera to catch that he's her date without overshadowing her look.

He falls back into place beside her naturally, hand ghosting along the small of her back again before he leans in, lips brushing just behind her ear, and murmurs low enough that only she can hear.

"You look so fuckin' good it’s making it hard to think, y’know? Looked kinda dumb to those paparazzi back there."

Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, her body reacting faster than her mind can process. She doesn't flinch, doesn't let it show, except for the subtle shift in her smile.

The cameras go off in a frenzy.

Chris straightens up with the most innocent look on his face.

After some more steps, they reach a floral archway signaling the final stop before the inside interviews begin. A guard in a sleek suit gives them a nod, and the clipboard lady reappears, guiding them up the final stretch of the staircase.

"Ready?" Chris murmurs, his voice quieter now that the roars have dulled behind them.

Y/N exhales slowly, a mix of nerves still swimming in her chest.

"I think so." She says, and then turns to him, softening even further. "You’ve been amazing. Thank you."

He shrugs in that careless Chris-way that always makes her heart flutter.

"All I did was stand next to you and look good."

"You did both very well." She replies with a small smile, brushing her fingers against his hand.

The grand staircase faded behind them, the soft golden glow of the Met’s interview platform shining ahead. The plush carpet beneath their feet muffled the paparazzi chaos.

Up ahead, Emma Chamberlain stood in that signature interview nook, stunning in her custom look and microphone in hand. She was mid-conversation with someone from the Vogue crew when her eyes wandered and then locked in.

Her mouth parted slightly, then her whole face lit up.

She turned fully, barely containing her excitement.

"Oh my god." She whispered with a gasp, already stepping forward just a bit, her hand waving subtly toward her team to make space. "They’re here!"

As Y/N and Chris got closer, Emma beamed like she’d just spotted her favorite people in the world. Which, honestly, she kind of had.

"Hi!! You guys-" She laughed, caught halfway between giddy and stunned. "I’ve been waiting for you two. Please come over."

Y/N broke into the biggest smile, face instantly lighting up like she’s been plugged into a charger.

"Emma!" She gasps, turning slightly to look at Chris, but he was already watching her with the softest, most adoring look. "It’s Emma."

"I can see that." Chris chuckles, soft and low, already steering her gently with a palm to her lower back. "C’mon, doll."

They stepped up into the interview space, and Emma leaned in for a hug, air-kissing each side of Y/N’s face, being extra careful with her hat and makeup.

"You- what?! You look insane. Like, unreal. Both of you. I- hold on... okay, wait- microphone." She babbles, fumbling as she resets herself and stands before them. "Okay. I’m collected."

Y/N giggles, looping her arm around Chris’s.

"You also look insane." She replied, a little breathless. "You’re glowing."

Emma lifts the mic toward them, still beaming.

"Thank you! Okay, so, obviously, hi, I love you both. Now, what are you wearing tonight? Because this." She motions to Y/N’s look. "Is actual fashion history, and I’m gonna need, like, a full rundown."

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a hand down the side of her coat.

"I’m wearing a revival of Fath’s Fall/Winter ‘92." She said, glowing. "It was brought back to life by Daniel Roseberry from Schiaparelli, and he just... he really understood the balance between strong and soft. I fell in love with it the second I saw the sketch."

"I mean, I get it." Emma said, genuinely. "It’s literally art. Daniel always does art." Then she turned to Chris, who subtly adjusted his cuff with a smile. "And you, Mr. Chris?"

Chris chuckled, nodding slightly.

"Yeah, so, this is Alexander McQueen Spring ‘23... but it was customized for me by Harry Lambert. He’s a wizard. I didn’t know I could feel cool and classic at the same time, but somehow, he made it work. He adjusted every little detail to make it personal. Like, the fabric has this texture I’m crazy with. It’s just- yeah. I feel good."

Emma leaned in like she was letting the viewers in on a secret.

"They both look unreal in person, by the way. The camera does not do this justice."

Y/N laughed, mouthing 'stop' while visibly glowing under the compliment.

Emma took a small breath, then grinned.

"Okay, let’s talk theme. This year’s is Superfine: Tailoring Black Style. When you first found out about it, what did you think?"

Chris glanced at Y/N again, giving her space to speak first. She caught the cue and smiled, turning to Emma with that same euphoria in her voice she always had when talking about things that mattered.

"I was honestly really emotional about it." Y/N started, her voice gentle but sure. "It’s a beautiful theme. Because this isn’t just fashion. It’s history. It’s identity. It’s... pride."

She glanced toward the museum for a second before looking back at Emma.

"When you think about the Black community and what it means to take something like tailoring, and flip it, and make it theirs, it’s powerful. It’s this mix of strength, creativity, confidence... even joy. There’s this attitude of, like, 'I know who I am, and I’m gonna take up space loudly, beautifully, and on my own terms'. And that’s what fashion should be, right? Expression. Celebration. Defiance."

Emma visibly softened, her eyes slightly misty.

"Okay. See, this is why I needed to talk to you tonight. You always get it. Thank you for saying that. That’s everything."

Y/N just smiled shyly, glancing down.

"It’s a theme that deserves to be honored properly." Chris slipped his hand into hers briefly, giving it a squeeze, smiling when catching her eyes.

Emma nodded, her eyes traveling from Y/N to Chris and back.

"Alright, I won't be holding you back any longer, but I have to know... are you guys going to the afterparty tonight? Or is this the big finale for you?"

Y/N let out a little giggle, shaking her head.

"No afterparty for us. We’re going back to our hotel room, ordering room service-"

"Probably some pizza." Chris added. "I've heard that our hotel has the best one."

Emma's eyes light up, moving her mic a bit higher against her lips.

"If it's The Surrey, I can assure you that what you heard is the truth."

"It is!" Y/N nodded excitedly. "And we’re gonna FaceTime Matt and Nick and just talk about this night until we fall asleep."

Chris hummed lowly.

"It’s tradition now, since the Grammy's."

Emma laughed with affection.

"That’s so unreasonably adorable. I love it. Honestly, that sounds better than most afterparties."

"I know, right?" Y/N grinned. "And we have an early flight back to LA tomorrow."

Emma sighed dramatically.

"Ugh, you two win. Please go be soft and stunning somewhere else before I start crying."

They all laughed again, and as the camera crew gave the okay to wrap up, Emma leaned in one more time, hugging them both gently.

"I love you guys. You always make my night. Thank you for stopping by."

"Wouldn’t miss it." Chris said genuinely, hand falling naturally back into Y/N’s as they turned to walk toward the museum’s grand entrance.

Their night was just beginning.

liked by kendalljenner, christophersturniolo, ynfan1 and 63,528 others

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© vanteguccir

[mihii-i]

I saw that you were wanting requests for Mizu, so hiii, I have one! :)

What about one where fem! Reader takes care of Mizu when she’s injured or just back from a long day (stitching wounds, massaging hands and stuff when she’s sore, preparing her favorite meals, etc.)?

And then when she finally convinces Mizu to come to bed for the night, Reader holds her to her chest and just lets her focus on her heartbeat while she helps her relax and fall asleep.

Just overall fluff, y’know?

Hope this request is okay!

remnants of firewood and steel.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, descriptions of wounds idfk, girls kissing oh no, wlw, shy mizu my beloved, uhm idk she gets naked but not in a sexual way you little grabby hand freaks, obv lemme put that more formally lol, nudity, mizu being my lil cutie patootie blinded by revenge, someone send me back to 1657 please I need to hold this woman so bad, ik this has nothing to do with him but can I beat the fuck out of mikio thanks, number one mikio hater and number one mizu lover, not proofread.

A/N: ok so I do have a mizu fic saved with this exact banner if the author of the fic finds this I DIDNT STEAL UR BANNER I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST PLS DONT EXECUTE ME anyway FIRST FIC OF 2025 YAY mizu deserves the world pleasee i remembered in ep 5 when mikio’s fugly ass said that she liked dried mackerel and I can’t stop thinking about that she’s so cute I’m sobbing🕯️

A quiet hiss sizzled through the tense push of Mizu’s teeth grit together as your fingertips grazed the seeping wound gashed along her forearm. Carefully examining the split ends of skin patterned down to halt at her wrist, the cool air pelting against the wood of the door to your shared home spilled through a small crevice cracked open in exposure to the interior warmth.

Each sweep of the frigid breeze fanning against your flesh only served to ease the discomfort wrenching in you upon hearing your girlfriend’s strained sounds of agony from the sunken wound embedded into her arm, followed by a sharp exhales expelled from her lungs each time she withstood the pain of you stitching each wound slit across her body closed. Mizu only groaned in response to your futile effort to minimize the sting of the needle protruding through her flesh, as the string threaded across the reddened opening searing the exposed muscle.

“Mizu, what did I tell you? You can’t keep being reckless and get hurt like this.” You scolded her firmly as you closed up the scarring of her stitched wound, trying your best to shut your mind and disregard her pained expression. It already hurt you enough seeing the wounds adorned across her skin as a grim reminder of every battle, every ache twisted into her chest in the gruesome state of her physical and emotional fights, lingering along with the tainting stains of her past betrayal.

Only a defeated hum vibrated against the bandages circled around her throat, your hand momentarily rising to carefully tug at the plastering utilized to mask her lack of an adam’s apple. Your irises, now harboring a softer, more hazed flicker outlined around them in a sense of tenderness tilted up to meet Mizu’s own, silently inquiring her permission to tug off the bandages. The ripples of air continued to draw inward like a disruption cutting the warmth of your home, inducing an odd tranquility within the thick atmosphere clouding the air in a mix with the trailing smoke.

“How did you get hurt this badly again?” You muttered in a gentler tone than before, eyes locked onto her unfeeling expression as you carefully unwrapped the bandages tightened against her skin. Your hands trailed down to the base of her neck as they cascaded down onto the floor, carefully kneading her skin in a heartfelt massage.

“Just got ambushed by what I assume to be someone sent by Fowler again.” She sighs, allowing the bandages to fall loosely down her chest and pool onto the floor, similarly to a downpour of blood spilling from an enemy’s throat. You drew in a breath as you nodded in response, carefully pushing aside the bandages curled up onto the wooden floorboards while you rested the ridge of your palm against Mizu’s sweat-laced throat. “Still won’t get off your ass?”

Mizu huffed out a quiet laugh, folding up the orange tinted glasses between her fingertips as she set them atop the pool of bandages tucked away to the side. Reaching up, you proceeded to caress the side of her face smoothly, palm running along her defined cheekbones while she tilted her head to lean into the gesture of clinging attachment, tugging at the center of both of your hearts in a loving connection that wordlessly tied you two together at the shoulder.

You beckoned her to lay back comfortably rather than to strain herself by kneeling before you, her knees likely aching as the chafed against the hard wooden floors. With a benign push to her shoulder, Mizu leisurely reclined down onto her discarded kimono sprawled out below her, her back weighing against the pressure applied to the freshly closed wounds slashed along her spine as well. Her eyes narrowed in the meantime while you kept away from her for a short while, fixing a beverage off to the side while she was flat against her back, shoulders relaxed and lowered to press onto the hard lined wood.

The simple home she shared with you, isolated from the whereabouts of large urban areas around Japan, fostered the calming, homely serenity of where she had grown up with Master Eiji. Close to, yet distanced from Kohama. Remnants of the familiar scent of burning firewood and steel seemed to float around in a ghostly sense, despite the charcoal fueled shadow of metal remaining nowhere to be seen in your home.

On top of the racing memories swirling around her thoughts, replaying echo after echo of her past recounting her life up to this point, she always found refuge within the grasp of your arms whenever you held her close to your chest, heartbeat thudding against the shell of her ear in rhythmic, yet soft knocks. Not only did the gesture soothe her with an audible memoir of her lover’s presence, reminding her that she was currently loved and held in the grasp of the woman she cared for most…

It also reminded her that you were still alive.

The remnants of firewood and steel, the salty odor of fish on occasions when you cooked it, even the smoke floating from the dim lighting of the candle alongside your presence was the heartfelt reminder that you were still there with her. And she swore to protect you to her limit, or die trying.

A mellow aroma began to waft through the air in a snaking path of steam, dispersing across the enclosed space to induce a rush soothing Mizu’s tense muscles and your own cluttered thoughts. Her eyes flickered down to the sight of your hands held out as they curled inward in a cusp, carefully grasping the porcelain teacup you spent a fortune on from the time you had visited Edo.

Steam continued to arise from the hot tea rippling in a pattern of emanating rings expanding from the center and dissolving around the edges while you kept blowing away the steam fogging up your line of sight. Mizu shakily elevated herself from the kimono bedding her back, hand shielding her wound to avoid any possible risk of the flesh tearing open again.

Now half dressed—left in nothing but her harem pants and chest binding, she slowly parted her lips to taste the aroma for a brief moment, clamping them back shut as you knelt before her to extend your arms in her direction. She couldn’t help it. There was something about seeing you face to face which enveloped her whole body in an intoxicating warmth she didn’t want to escape from. The burning urge to cup your face and press a solid kiss directly onto your lips right in that moment.

A shame she had to restrain herself to suppress that humanity she craves that she could wallow in. She couldn’t cling to that sliver of hope that she could live normally…not when she was so dead set on killing the remaining three.

Mizu greatfully accepted the cup in both hands, allowing the sleek porcelain to slip between her palms as she brought the steaming rim to her lower lip. You watched intently as she sipped the tea, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she savored the flavor of the hot beverage. Clearing her throat, Mizu commented on the taste, albeit a bit hesitantly as you could tell by the embarrassment which you learned to pick up on throughout the course of your relationship.

“…could you make it sweeter..?”

“I thought someone so coldly powerful and unfeeling preferred a more bitter note in her tea?”

“Please, (Name)…do you get off on assuming these things while im on here unable to swallow without it hurting?”

“Ah- right. Your injuries…sorry, love.” you mused, taking the cup back to add the hint of saccharine the samurai oh-so-desperately wanted. “While you’re at it…take everything off while you sleep. I don’t want you to feel constricted by any clothing—especially those bindings on your chest. It’s not good for your breathing.” You added while fixing her tea, earning a subtle nod from Mizu as she tugged at the waistband of her pants, pointer finger testing the elasticity.

While she disrobed, another pungent smell stung her nostrils sharply, yet it didn’t take long for her to pick up on the familar scent of a snack she quite enjoyed. Salty. A metallic yet earthy odor clinging to the back of her throat as she took in the smell.

“Dried mackerel?”

You smiled at her question, giving her a brisk nod before setting the cup back down before her now fully bare frame. Mizu’s toned arms gleamed a gentle gold from the faint candlelight, her slender yet muscular form encompassed in the captivating glow of orange gold. She could only manage a weak smile in response as you handed her a bowl of the dried fish she secretly adored, alongside the newly sweetened tea, basking in the gentle fuzzy feeling overtaking you upon seeing your usually stoic girlfriend genuinely happy.

—

“Was there a need for you to take everything off too…? You’re not injured, (Name).”

You simply shrugged as you rolled over beside her on the heaping futon, noticing her gaze avert from yours bashfully. Cupping her cheek, you firmly turn her head towards you, yet lacking any forceful action, allowing her head to turn along with the motions of your hand guiding her. Those bright blue eyes boring into you with a heightened intensity—cutting through the flesh and bone spiritually and ingraining into your very soul as it burrowed deep within the wisp of your heart.

A symbol of her impurity and ‘filth ridden’ origins that outcasted her from the rest of society, kicking her off to the side like some stray. Yet to you, they were only a beauty to behold. An impurity you yearned and longed for, the metal of a sword that required a hammering that retained some of that impurity. The fire in her edge was almost perfect, despite the monstrosity she saw in herself everytime she looked.

The monstrosity in which you wished you help her see was perfect.

You exhaled a gentle breath as you pressed your shoulder to Mizu’s, the skin to skin contact emitting a sort of raw affection ignited between the two of you as you sought more of the gentle heat. Her fingers hesitantly crept up between yours as your hand rested between your chest and hers, your own fingers quickly clasping her hand tightly as you laced your own fingers without a second thought.

Mizu blinked, breath catching in her throat as you brought your joined hands to your left breast, resting the back of your knuckles against your skin comfortably. Your heart. Her hand was on your heart. Thousands of questions began to conjure up in her supposedly resting mind, not being able to believe the sight before her as she took notice of your steady breaths.

That wasn’t enough proof.

Was your heart still beating..? She couldn’t feel it through your palm…

You noticed the change in her demeanor in a matter of seconds, your head lifting from the edge of the futon to pay attention to her seemingly frozen self.

“Mizu..? Is something-?”

“Your…heartbeat.” She breathed out, fighting back the quivering tension plaguing her throat. You were all to familar with when she got like this, so exhausted to the point where she believed that everything around her was playing tricks, the one time she was left especially vulnerable in need of your support.

You nodded, leaning over to capture her lips in a slow, languid kiss as you attempted to ease her stress. Hand traveling to her nape, you brushed away her now loose hair, flowing past her shoulders whenever she undid the bunched up topknot. In a nurturing embrace, you slowly guided Mizu’s head down to your bare chest, illuminated by the filtered moonlight as the blown out candle’s smoke continued to float through the air.

Gentle breaths accompanied the steady thuds of your heart pushing against your chest with each pulse, slowly relaxing the built up anxiety raging throughout Mizu’s mind. The vibrations of your heart pulsating within your chest rang along her ear as well, gradually lulling her to sleep in comfortable solace, knowing that you’re still alive.

You were still alive. You were with Mizu, and loved her with all you had.

A/N: I was supposed to post this on January 1st absolutely not lmfaoooo but shh anyway I have no authors note other than I’m in love with mizu agagagaga sorry guys leaked the script for the end of the show she actually marries me

AND DONT YOU DARE ANY OF YOU TRY FIGHTING ME ON THAT SAYINF “uhm no it’s actually me!! SHUT UP I GET IT NOW LEAVE ME ALONE AND STOP REFUTING MY CLAIM WE CAN SHARE OUR BELOVED SAMURAI DONT BE GREEDY

someone get her brown contacts for those baby blues I’m shaking

[molinaskies]

Silver the Hedgehog: Refugee of a Future Lost to Time

I don’t find myself thinking about Silver a lot, and that’s a bit of a crime honestly. But when I do, I’m struck by how in the weeds I become about his existence. Silver the Hedgehog starts as a young boy with psychokinesis* born into a world on fire. He wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

*worth mentioning here that while Lore™️ consistently refers to Silver’s power as psychokinesis (the ability to control minds and conjure specific actions from people), his powers in practice are actually much more aligned with the definition of telekinesis (the ability to control objects and manipulate their movement in space).

He despairs with Blaze over the life they live and the nerve-ending cycle of it all, then meets a mouthless hedgehog who claims to have all the answers. In his desperation, Silver clings to the sliver of hope he provides… and this is something I think we often find ourselves forgetting.

Silver never had the power to travel through time—at least, not independently. Mephiles did. Later on, the game establishes that two people can open a time portal through the power of our favourite plot device, the Chaos Emeralds, via Chaos Control.

Through Contrivance’s Paradise, Silver (and company) were just… able to time travel because that’s what the plot needed, but Silver, as an individual, never had the embedded power to travel through time.

I’m still endlessly annoyed that this anniversary game didn’t shoehorn an excuse to bring back the time stones from Sonic CD, but alas.

Silver was barely a figment in the canon imagination after Sonic 06. His appearances in Rivals are just excuses to reintroduce him into the series (because, remember, Sonic 06 removes itself from the timeline by the end of its story), and his appearances there don’t mention his time travelling at all. He appears (for kinda no explainable reason) in Generations, but then… nothing! Absolutely nothing… for FIVE YEARS.

And yet, in 2025’s mainline canon, Silver is just the Time Traveler™️. Since Sonic 06 never happened, the nature of Silver’s time travel beyond Sonic 06 has always been vague, at best. 

The running logic seems to be that Silver, through no intentional act of his own, is sent into the past when something catastrophic needs to be stopped. Silver is a being somehow tied to the fate of the world. Silver has been chosen by Time itself to protect it… which is something I kind of love, to be honest.

If Sonic is just a hedgehog who showed up one day and decided to do good, then Silver is a sort of divine guardian of his travels.

It’s taken canon a bit of time to settle into this interpretation, but the IDW comics have taken pretty much any opportunity they can to establish this fact as fact.

In issue 3 of the Sonic Forces prequel comics, Silver returns from the future to warn Knuckles about the Eggman Empire’s success, which implies that Silver has some sense of control over his time travel.

In mainline IDW 8, Silver returns to the present after winning the war didn’t save his future, under the same pretense that he can just… do that.

However, by the end of the Meal Virus comic arc (IDW 12-29), in a pretty monumental move for his story, Silver’s future is officially saved.

IDW 31

Now, having done the damn thing and guaranteed a Good Future™️, Silver is free to be a kid again… and for his efforts, as I intend to argue, Time rewards him…

…by sending him back to the past where all the bullshit is happening lmao. Hear me out.

In the IDW Sonic 2022 annual, Silver returns to the present, but this time he has no idea why or how*. This is when canon decides to remove the pretense of Silver having active control of his time traveling. It’s largely implied that Silver will be in the present for the foreseeable future (no pun intended).

*I’ve included the proof for this below as it’s more directly relevant to another point I’m making in a moment.

With the inauguration of Fast Friends Forever, the SEGA initiative that champions friendship through a lore-centric focus on Sonic and his friends in and out of the games, Silver’s time travel is explicitly explained as external to his control.

By IDW 58, Silver is roped back into the mainline plot, and it’s made abundantly clear that he no longer has  never had the ability to travel freely through time.

So, Silver’s arc becomes about finding his place and trying to live life without the demand of proactivity—to enjoy the moment while making the most of the life he has.

But… why? Why must he do this? Why take him down this road?

Silver the Hedgehog starts as a young boy with psychokinesis born into a world on fire. That world no longer exists.

Silver the Hedgehog became a young boy with psychokinesis born into a world dominated by the Eggman Empire. That world no longer exists.

Silver the Hedgehog further became a young boy with psychokinesis left behind by a world decimated by metallic disease. That world no longer exists.

With every trip to the past, every day saved, Silver rewrites his own life for the sake of his world—so much so that there’s nothing for him when he returns. His entire world has changed. People he might have known before cease to exist as they once were.

When Silver saved his future, he sacrificed his place within it—because once he saved his future, his future ceased to exist. Instead, a new future curates itself in Silver’s absence because he wasn’t there to be a part of it.

Returning to the IDW 2022 annual:

It seems that Time has sent him back to the place—the time—he belongs… where he has unwittingly planted his roots.

Something which Espio so elegantly points out.

Thanks to his sacrifices, Silver is no longer the Omen of Disaster. He’s Silver the Hedgehog: the psychokinetic. Silver the Hedgehog: the kid.

He is Silver the Hedgehog: Refugee of the Future, and he deserves nothing more but to blossom in the garden of most significance to him, among the flowers he loves so dear.

[goodbyeyellowbrickcloset]

Call It What You Want: The T Chain, Taylor’s Castle, and the Art of Hiding in Plain Sight

A necklace is just a necklace… unless you're Taylor Swift.

When Taylor stepped out at the Grammys, the internet zeroed in on her "T" initial leg chain, instantly taking it as a sweet, romantic nod to Travis Kelce. Then, seven days later, she wore it again—this time at the Super Bowl, the single most-watched event in the world. Same chain, different body placement, different setting, even more eyes on her.

For many, this was confirmation: The T is for Travis. Case closed. But for those who have followed Taylor’s patterns—her Easter eggs, her use of symbols, and her tendency to weave multiple truths into a single image—this was an invitation to look deeper.

And that’s exactly what I'm going to do.

Jewelry as Symbolism in Taylor’s Work

Taylor has consistently used jewelry as a storytelling device, embedding meaning into her accessories. A few of many examples: the locket in Begin Again, Paper Rings, and the evolution of friendship bracelets on the Eras Tour. In Taylor’s world, jewelry is rarely just decoration—it’s a symbol, a message, a clue. And now, with the "T" necklace, one song in particular stands out:

"I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck… Not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me." — Call It What You Want (2017)

This lyric, taken from Reputation, was written during Taylor’s most private, hidden relationship—one she spent years shielding from public view. A relationship that was misunderstood by outsiders. A relationship she had to protect.

Sound familiar?

At face value, Call It What You Want was widely assumed to be about Joe Alwyn. But does that assumption actually hold up? Because Joe wasn’t someone Taylor needed to hide—if anything, he was an active participant in maintaining her privacy. More than that, the song itself plays like a closeting anthem—someone deeply in love but forced to frame it differently for the public.

And then there’s the phrasing: "Not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me."

This line implies a kind of understanding that goes beyond conventional romance. To "know" someone in this context suggests trust, protection, and shared secrecy rather than possession. It aligns with the idea of someone who understands the truth of her identity, the reality of her situation, and supports her in keeping it guarded—which would fit a long-term bearding arrangement far more than a standard love song about a boyfriend.

That distinction makes more sense when we look at this through the lens of secrecy and protection. In a public-facing relationship where one person’s identity (or truth) needs shielding, "knowing" is the ultimate form of trust. He doesn’t claim her, he guards her secret. He’s not a romantic "owner," but rather a protector of her true self.

And because I can’t keep my mouth shut about it—the song basically says Karlie like a hundred times. Karlie What You Want To... The double entendre queen just let that one totally slip by on accident with no meaning at all? (Okay, moving on. Haha.)

Any who, now, in 2025, she’s suddenly bringing this lyric back into the conversation.

A Castle of Secrets: What’s Taylor Protecting?

Taylor’s use of castle imagery has been a long-standing metaphor for power, isolation, and protection.

“I could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me.” (New Romantics, 2014)

"The castle crumbled overnight." (Call It What You Want, 2017)

"Castles crumbling down." (Castles Crumbling, 2023)

The Bejeweled music video: Leaving the prince, keeping the castle.

If Taylor's castle is her empire, the thing she has worked tirelessly to construct, then what is she protecting? Her privacy? Her secrets? Her true self?

By wearing the T necklace at the most public event of the year, she’s putting the symbol front and center, just like she did in Reputation—an era built on hiding, reinvention, and carefully controlling what the world sees.

She isn’t just wearing a chain, especially to two subsequent events. She’s challenging us to question what the chain actually means.

The Castle Motif & The Public vs. Private Struggle

If we accept that she’s been building a castle out of the bricks thrown at her, does wearing the “T” necklace in public symbolize that she’s still guarding something behind castle walls?

This theme isn’t new.

She’s alluded to it in New Romantics ("we built a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me")—a song with explicit queer-coded themes. She visualized it in Bejeweled, where she ghosts the prince but keeps the castle (and now, two of her Bejeweled costars were with her at the Super Bowl). And let’s not forget Castles Crumbling, released in 2023, which is explicitly about watching an empire she built slowly fall apart.

Now, with Call It What You Want re-entering the conversation, we’re once again seeing Taylor reference the struggle of maintaining privacy, perception, and protection.

The Super Bowl: The Biggest Stage, The Loudest Message

The Super Bowl was not just a moment. It was the moment. A place where she knew every move, every detail, would be dissected under the world's microscope.

So why wear the necklace here?

If she truly wanted to keep things private, she could have left it at home. But instead, she chose to re-wear it in a setting where it would be analyzed and assigned meaning.

She is telling the world exactly what she wants them to see.

To Hetlors, it’s a clear confirmation of her love for Travis. To Gaylors, it’s a calculated nod to a song about secrecy and protection. To both, it’s an invitation: Call it what you want. ;)

Is Taylor Still Telling the Same Story?

Here’s where things get interesting.

If Call It What You Want was originally about hiding a relationship, and she’s now bringing that lyric back into the public eye, does that mean she’s still navigating secrecy in her love life?

And if Travis is her endgame, why would she need to lean into lyrics about secrecy, protection, and misunderstood love?

Could it be that the real love story—the one that truly "knows" her—is still hidden behind castle walls?

Final Thoughts: Call It What You Want, But Don’t Call It Coincidence

Taylor does not do things by accident.

She knew exactly what she was doing by wearing that necklace again at the Super Bowl—just like she knew exactly what she was doing when she wrote Call It What You Want in 2017.

A necklace is never just a necklace. An initial is never just an initial. And a Taylor Swift lyric is never just about one thing.

So, go ahead. Call it what you want.

But don’t say she didn’t tell us.

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 8 (Final)

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability. Sylus myth mentions.

Word Count: 5610

Written: 17th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This was rough... Truly romance is hell for me to write (don't ask why an otome game is the only game I write fic for, it's a mystery). I hope you enjoy, final chapter of Turning Point. Thank you for reading ❤️

Now Playing: I Adore You, By HUGEL

Masterlist AO3

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Sylus has spent a lot of his life alone.

It's an indisputable fact of who he has been, and who he continues to be.

A monster, a warlord and a criminal.

There was one fragment of time when he was surrounded by those that loved him, and then they were taken from him.

The dreams of cutting through thick scales, of tearing parts of himself off, throwing them across the cave floor, shivering in the corner. He begs and pleads with gods that don't listen, to fix him. To make him better. To make him worthy.

Good.

Instead he is punished, and reminded of why he is a beast. A failure. A creature to despise.

His hands useless when faced with the blood splattered members of his family. The once warm home turned to a desolate cave, full of nothing but remains.

Home is deeply embedded in a soul, the parts of himself that he wishes he could erase, will never leave him. He is a beast that has little value, outside of what he can provide. Be it a scapegoat, or sating greed.

Throughout his life, he has abandoned being seen as anything other than a monster. That even you, with eyes full of hatred and hurt, had seen him that way. Fury curling your lip, and snarl in your throat. Lunging for him with the knife in your hand.

He has been alone for such a long time, he has forgotten how to be around others. Luke and Kieran are the sole exception. They are unbothered by his harsh tone, finding him more amusing than terrifying. It should not surprise him that EVER are as capable of breaking a mind, as the Justiciers were. They may as well be cut from the same disgusting cloth. He sometimes wonders if they are.

So when he snarks, or bites, or teases, they respond with laughter and response. He has adapted to their countenance. Understands that they will mirror what he offers back.

You… sometimes you respond in kind, biting and scratching, little crooked smile on your face and a twinkle in your eye. Other times, you ache. Look at him like his words have cut somewhere he can't reach to heal. That is when he eases, remembers a field of flowers and the ways he wanted to be before the world decided to destroy dream and hope.

He thinks he is learning to be around you, how to hold you without hurting, and how to soothe your heart with his words and actions. How to be who he wants to be… a fragment of the man left over from the moment he truly thought you could be together after you shared your souls.

With poetry and music, he has carved out a place as himself, so that he can share it with you. In a world where he gets more time, and more space, to share and offer what he is to you. Regardless of what the world says about him, he has only ever cared what you say about him.

He is learning to believe the words you offer him, as who he truly is.

You may not remember, but he always will.

He is, however, still adjusting to the others. He has no basis for adjusting to others, it has been too long since he was in a home that was warm. He has approached them similarly to Luke and Kieran, and while their responses rumble his chest. Fill him with amusement at the discovery of something new, he is aware that they are not as unbothered.

The doctor will ignore him if he teases, until his buttons are pressed enough that he will get a furrow between his brow and speak to Sylus in a voice that is deep and close to a growl. He finds the push entertaining, because breaking people who are so upstanding is a sick satisfaction of sorts.

There are, however, moments when he returns with a wound, and the doctor tends to it. Your hands aren't as steady yet to handle a needle and thread when his EVOL cannot help repair him. The shackles around his power too sturdy, too hindering, and he cannot keep pulling your resonance to him until you feel stronger. Wary of pushing you too far, or making you feel as though that is all he wants. As the doctor watches over him, carefully mending his skin, he wonders at the concern in the man's eyes. Teases him for it.

To worry for a criminal. Not many would.

It receives a huff and eyeroll, and a slight pressure in his wound as the needle pushes through skin, "What you are doesn't matter, who you are does."

Sylus finds himself thinking about it, he knows the doctor is a moral man. His files affirmed that much, observations to understand your life. To blend in better… to be part of it.

It still feels odd for the doctor to help tend to his wounds. Like he doesn't deserve it.

He finds the fish the most fun to tease, to argue with, no fire in his words as the fish gets more agitated with him. He reminds him of you, feline-like and prone to swishing his tail and baring fangs. You are jovial with yours ever since he has gained access to your life with affection. The fish it depends, on his mood, on his health, on the day of the week. Some days he enjoys the clash, Sylus notes, finding the chance to bite and growl fun, other days it is accompanied by genuine frustration. Evening out as the months have gone on, settling down to be less angry.

The more they argue, the more Sylus sees the entertainment in his eyes, even though the fish denies it. There are times when he sees the man painting, stepping over to watch the paint to canvas. Sometimes the fish will ask if he's looking for anything in particular.

"I'm trying to understand." He answers honestly sometimes.

He would be ashamed at the widening of the fish's eyes, but then he shrugs, and speaks as he paints, "Everyone sees something different in my work, some see nothing at all. I see something that others may not. Doesn't matter what you see, as long as it's what you see." 

So Sylus stands, and watches him paint, and thinks. The fish makes no other comments, but moves to the side a little, so that he can see better. So he can study easier. Sylus thinks he sees the sunrise over daturas, another day coming, this one with more hope than the last.

He later goes to buy one of the fish's paintings. To think about more.

The prince is more complicated, he is quiet and he sleeps often. Sylus is unsure if he's sick, or simply prefers the land of dreams to reality. If he had been asked many years ago, he would have agreed. Dreams had been the only time he had kissed you, afterall.

He teases the prince, but receives little in response, except for the occasional cold look. The moments he understands the man most are when Xavier is helping you. He notes the way he lights up, and takes account of the differences. It is in small actions, often that you may not notice, but Sylus does.

He, along with the doctor, ensure Xavier's pillow is clean, that he has food when he returns from missions, that he isn't eating junk food every day.

That when he returns, there is something warmer waiting for him.

Sylus thinks if it were him, that is what he would want, after long days working.

This process, of understanding, of learning, unsettles him to begin with. That he is changing, not just for you, but for others. He enjoys feeding you and your heart, and he begins to look forward to reactions to his food from the others. It is a strange feeling to sit down at a table with others, to share food.

It is… pleasant. The voice that sounds like yours speaks in his mind. Like your busy soul in his chest. Singing and dancing everytime he teases the fish, or chuckles at the doctor's dry wit, or realigns the blanket on the prince's shoulder.

He enjoys his days more, the more you grow and become yourself. No longer as restricted into yourself. No longer aching as dearly. He sees when the days are harder, but you are brighter. He knows that being able to hunt again, likely buoyed you beyond anything else. Still, he is relieved to have a hand in helping you climb the cliff out of the abyss.

Sylus was honest, when he told the others that he had no intention of leaving. That no matter what your heart spoke to you, his path would always lead him to you. That he would keep hold of your hand as long as you wanted it. No matter what form it took. That he was not simply there for your heart but every part of you, that no matter the snapping fangs of fate, you are his destiny.

He has spent too long without you, he is not about to lose you now that he has you again.

While he has long known himself to be greedy, craving your presence, what contact he can receive, every laugh from your lips, every look in your eyes that tells him more than your mouth has managed to… He has found himself craving more.

The warmth around a table he has never known.

The return to a home that is not empty, or full of skeletons.

A place that does not tell him he is a monster.

Perhaps it is the blood on the fish's hands, and the blood on the prince's, that he knows he is not a beast to them.

It is the lack of judgement in the doctor's eyes, that he still matters despite what he has been created to be, forced into being.

Every choice he has made, every path he has taken, he has never expected to find those who do not look at him and see what he is told he is.

You bring change to his life, no matter the time. Opening up worlds he cannot hope to understand in just a moment. He needs many moments, all of them. So he is greedy, he does desire, and he knows those feelings will never fade away from his soul. That hungers and needs and demands.

Seeking the warmth of this space for as long as he can, not leaving its embrace without good cause, just like he does not leave yours easily, when it is offered to him.

Sylus can only hope you will see his heart as well, and accept it once more.

He is, however, struggling with the fact that his kitten has decided to become jumpy once more. Skittering out of his grasp, fleeing at the first moment.

The recent weeks you had sat in thought, mumbling to yourself, keeping them at arm's length. He has seen you leave with Tara and Simone, and he has waited for you to come to him.

To explain the startled look that you give when he sneaks up on you. To finally stop running away from him.

He believes that he is growing accustomed to you, that he knows now when you run from him to hide in an alley, to lick wounds that you're too scared to show, when he would happily dress them for you. To when you are simply thinking, and processing, and trying to find the space to work out how to approach.

He did not lie when he said he did not wish to pry, despite his impatience, and his need to know everything there is to know about you. He does not want to pull it out with his EVOL or against your will. You will speak to him when you are ready.

Sylus does find the skittish nature somewhat adorable, but the fact that he has not been able to hold you, touch you for any long period of time, or share a bed with you as you slept and he watched over, is bothersome. He misses watching you lower your guard, and he does not want to go back to when you daren't even touch him casually with a tease.

So he uses the morning to try to… corner you. He will not pry into your mind, but he will seek out the touch of your hand. Place it against his chest, and let you feel your joined hearts beat a song against his ribcage.

Instead, however, as he approaches you before you leave, intending to go out with Tara, yet again, he is called by the twins. Demanding his time, a report that cannot wait. Time he cannot waste, because he needs to see to Onychinus.

As much as he wishes to tell them to handle it, he has not heard them sound so frantic and serious in a long time. While he has little desire to leave, he is not willing to abandon them or his organisation, when he needs both.

Sylus catches your hand before you pull away, tugging you into his arms and crowding you against the door.

"Sy?" Your voice shakes, soft against his ears, as beautiful as always.

He leans down, long fingers tilting your face up so that he can look at you. Mismatched eyes wide, and trembling with something. Something he wants, something he yearns for, something he desires desperately. Waiting for the moment you speak it into existence.

"Have a good day, kitten. Miss me." His lips brush against your temple, and he inhales against your hair, before leaving you.

Not before he feels the twitch to your fingers, and the tightening of your grip…

And the soft, pleased exhale against his skin.

—-----------

You have spent two hours setting up. Two hours spent scurrying around, cooking, decorating, arranging.

Tara has run in to grab supplies for you as well, eager and excited. You're sure it's so she can hear every single detail when you're done, but you're thankful. You can leave the house alone, but it is always to meet someone. Being alone in a supermarket fills you with dread, least of all because of your arm.

She doesn't question, and she helps. When she finishes lining the things up you forgot, she offers further help which you reject.

You have to do this, you have to make this worth it. They have raised you up off the ground, caught you when you slipped. You have to return it.

You know they would not ask, would not want you to see it as something to return, but you have to make them see.

When you have struggled, or been tired, or worn down, they have offered food, or gifts, or presence. If that is how they show you that they care, you will return it.

You can only hope you return it in the way you hope.

There are some half deflated balloons that you failed to breathe enough air into, your lungs aching before you could even get through one. You are not as dextrous with your metal hand, so when you cut ingredients they are uneven. You fight to swallow the irritation and the pain in your chest. Even though the need to cry burns at them at things you cannot quite get right.

That it has to be perfect. You have to be perfect. Even if you never were, and even if you never can be. At least for this, you want to be…

There's a voice in your head, cold as the chain around your ankle, that reminds you you're incapable of perfection. That you are going to mess this up, and hurt yourself and others.

The knife trembles in your grip as your limb shakes.

It is a squawk that shakes you out of it, Mephisto flies over in a flurry of feathers and glowing red. To settle on your metal shoulder, talons steadying him. He has gotten familiar with perching there over time, since you stopped flinching at anyone touching your prosthetic.

It has become his favoured perch.

His feathers settle, and he bumps your cheek with his head, keeps red eyes on you as your hand settles.

He does not move, as you resume cutting, as you breathe through the feeling, edges closer to the heat of your neck with his body overtime. You think if a robot bird can sleep, he would do so settled there.

His presence helps, he reminds you of Sylus, but he also reminds you that you're not alone. That even the robot bird that Sylus denies is his pet, cares to see you keep going. It silences the beast at your ankle enough that you keep going.

You prepare meals that Caleb taught you how to cook, when he worried you wouldn't be able to survive alone during your studies, even though he never left you alone long enough to really go that long without food. Turning up at the apartment you shared with friends when he got chance, to hand you over a tupperware of food. To poke around the place and make sure you were alright. To lie on your bed and listen to you tell him about what you had been doing.

Even if you lied. That things were fine, that you were doing well. You knew he saw the truth, but you think he just liked the moment to listen to you talk. To see you in front of him. Alive.

You think you understand better now, how he felt. It always hurts to remember that it took losing him to realise.

Tara's words about regrets flit in and out of your mind. That there would be things you wished you'd done if you died tomorrow. As you cook, and you think about the last hour you have before the people you care about return, you know there's a few.

You're going to make an effort to tick them off.

—-----

He has been listening to the twins talk for two hours, and he cannot help but feel like this meeting should have been a call. Or a message.

The twins aren't stupid, despite their chaotic inclinations and their need to cause trouble wherever they can, they don't often bother him without need. Not concerning work. He trusts their capabilities for a reason. Despite their curiosity over if someone will ever claim his head.

He has been tempted to tell them that you are the one, but has decided when the day comes for you to cut his shackles, he would rather see the looks on the twins' faces.

No warning. He imagines it would be quite a sight. He hopes they're not wearing their masks when it happens.

Still, as he reads through his messages, he thinks he knows why they dragged him out here.

So he looks at them, watches as they chat. Luke waves his hands as he speaks, and there is something he notes. The two are trying to feed off each other's energy. Getting more animated as they go.

They are running out of fodder.

"You two-" They jump as his voice drops, looking at him through their crow masks, "are you going to explain why Kitten sent you to summon me away?"

"We don't work for the Hunter!"

"We work for you, boss."

"That's not an answer to my question."

"Why would we follow their orders-"

"-when we don't work for them?"

He says nothing, watches them, watches the way their shoulders pull in, and they gravitate towards each other. As if being closer will defend them from the glowing red eye in Sylus' head.

Before he even gets time to pry, they deflate. "Aww man, we didn't even manage three hours like they asked."

"We got close though bro. Two hours and twenty minutes with the boss, that's good going."

"Is it enough?"

"You two!" He raises a brow, and watches as they look at each other, then back at him.

"We were told to keep you away for three hours, so they could do something at home."

"Don't tell them we told you, they'll be disappointed…"

He's joked before that you have the two acting like your henchmen, and he's starting to realise it is not simply a joke. He shouldn't be surprised, he supposes. You have full control over Onychinus, every password, the location of every base, access to all of his weapons.

Full dominion over him.

Of course you've won over the twins.

"They won't be disappointed." Sylus sighs, "I'll stay for the last fourty minutes." It's a small concession, time wasted in favour of not ruining whatever you are doing. He could check with Mephisto but there is some warning in his chest. Over the heart he has shared with you, that asks him to wait.

That the waiting is worth it.

So he will wait for the three requested hours, and not a second longer.

It is a long wait, however, so while the twins chatter to him, they have abandoned mission reports and are now sharing information on games they want to play, or places they've been, he messages the other three.

The minutes go slower than expected, but finally he watches it pass, and stands.

"Have fun boss!"

"Good luck!"

He doesn't question them, he's almost curious what you told them to gain their help, but he thinks if it was any plan to be mischievous with him, they'd accept without any reason.

There is a kind of satisfaction in knowing he has the twisted loyalty of the two, they certainly don't work in any way his enemies would understand.

He also doesn't hate the fact they bring a smile to your face, or you to theirs.

When he finally returns to the apartment, he sees the other three sat outside, staring at the door. "You all look like loiterers. You're going to get reported. How will the good doctor cope with a criminal record?"

"How does one suit you?"

"Always a story to tell at parties."

The prince's head is resting on the fish's shoulder, he blinks a little, "You're late." Before he stretches and stands.

"Yeah crow, we've been waiting."

"Rafayel almost walked a hole into the floor going around in circles." Xavier adds.

"You almost broke the door down."

"Impatient." He yawns, shrugging as if it's not a problem. "Sylus can replace the door again, it's fine."

"Have you forgotten your fingerprints are registered?" Sylus asks, raising a brow.

"Quicker to break through the door."

He watches as the doctor rubs at the bridge of his nose, sighing so deeply he's surprised he doesn't fall under the weight of it, "You two act like such children sometimes."

"Not gonna share the macarons I bought with you then."

The doctor frowns, the furrow of his brow deepening, turning his face so he can hide some of the blush on his cheeks, "I'm alright with that."

"They're strawberry."

"I apologise."

"Too easy doctor."

"Can we go in now?" Rafayel stands, barely holding himself back from beginning to bounce on the heels of his feet.

"Alright fish."

Sylus watches as Rafayel opens the door. When it swings open, and they enter, the first thing he notices is bunting.

Hung from the ceiling, along the walls, in purples and blues. There are large red ribbons tied around chairs. Balloons half inflated on the floor in pink and green. A banner along the length of the dining table that has 'Thank you' drawn onto it in messy block letters, yellow stars decorated around it.

All four of them pause. The smell of fresh food, plates and bowls piled high on the table. And gift wrapped boxes, messily wrapped with some torn paper, next to each of their seats.

You are standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot to music, bouncing a little on the spot. Singing along with Mephisto whose squawks leave a lot to be desired in the music department.

He is sure that in this they are unified. Watching as you sing, and move, and twirl to grab something from the side. The feeling in his chest is molten and bright and warm, and if he ever loses it he knows he will have truly died.

"Kitten." Escapes him on an exhale as you smile that familiar crooked smile to yourself.

Your spatula clatters to the floor as you twirl to face him, and see all four of them. "Oh, I lost track of time, shit." You squat to clean up the mess in a panic, receiving a disgruntled cry from Mephisto as he flies off his favoured perch over to sit on the top of a dining chair.

"What is all of this?" The doctor asks, as Xavier rushes over to help you clean up.

You hesitate where you stand, toying with your fingers, before pointing over at the table, "I wanted to thank you."

"You don't have to thank us, cutie. Is this why you've been so jumpy?"

You close your eyes and he watches as you take in a long inhale, steadying yourself, and shivering a little, before you open them again. Flames burning in the depths of them, "No. I wanted to tell you something."

He wants to make a joke that you look like you're about to go to war, as you walk past them and indicate the table, to where there are gifts on the table, each with an initial scrawled on the paper. Yet there's a feeling like if he jokes, he's going to shatter something, and he hesitates before pushing it down, to follow as you lead.

He finds the one with an S, and lifts it up, it's a cube wrapped in black and red paper, with a small golden ribbon. He can tell you've torn the paper, struggling with the hand you still can't control for intricate work. You have given him one gift before, the handmade crow phone charm, one he knows matches the charms for the others. It's crooked and it's not perfect, but you made it. For him.

He has shot a man for almost breaking it during a fight.

His chest feels too hot, as a dragon he isn't sure he's ever felt such a thing before. He thinks if he had really kissed you that day so long ago, before it had all shattered, it would feel like this. It makes him feel sick, but he wants it to last forever.

"They're nothing big, it's. I wanted- You needed-" You sit then, slumping and covering your face to force their air in and out of your lungs, "Sorry. Please open them."

The paper comes away easy, and nestled inside with tissue paper is a red mug with a crow that looks suspiciously like that plushie you'd had him catch, and a key inside, with a series of charms. A crow, a star, a snowflake and a fish. He hesitates as he stares at it, hand careful. Like he could crush it easily if he tenses too hard.

Like it will shatter if he moves just a little.

Disappear if he blinks.

"Rafayel was right, when he told me that the password to your place can change easily, your key can't." You're looking down as you speak, and he can see you out of the corner of his eye, though he doesn't want to look away from his gift, "Well I could change the locks, I guess, but it's- That's not the point."

There's a wince before you tighten your hands into fists in front of you, the air is still and they watch. He can feel something and he's not sure what it is.

"You all made sure I could stand back up again, you were here for me when I needed you and wanted you. I wanted- needed you to know that I'll always want you here. That when you go back home, you're welcome anytime, that I-" Your voice keeps trembling, and pausing, and he wants to reach out, to hold you, to take your face in his hands, to cry with you he thinks, "I love you all so much. I needed you to know, before you went. Before this was over, and I had to say bye to this life."

"Cutie, do-"

"I love you. The- ah- the kind with- shit. I should have written this down."

He finally releases the keychain, approaches you as your hand trembles, eases his thumb over your skin, and watches as Xavier hooks his chin over your shoulder. Zayne and Rafayel crouch down to look up at you, a hand pressed to your knees. The contact eases the strain out of your body, but you must feel the small tremor in his, because you tighten your grip on him.

When you speak, you have found your ground, "I never settled down long enough to think about it, what you all are. I knew you were important, precious, but I didn't have a name for it, or wanted to think about it. I was sure if I didn't think about it, if I lost you it wouldn't hurt as much. If something happened to me, you'd be alright." He watches hands tighten against your skin, because he knows his own does, losing you is not an option, "I was wrong. Even though so many days have hurt, or felt like agony, you were home for me. Safe. You feel like love should feel. When I think about where I want to be, it's anywhere you are."

Your hand shakes as you reach out, to ease over Zayne's cheek with your fingers with your metal fingers. Flinching when he gasps at it, when he leans into your hand, taking it in his to press it further against his skin. "I don't know where to go from here, or what you all want. I know I'm asking a lot, and I understand if you don't feel the same way. I needed you to know, before you left, when I was ready. I don't want to keep looking back, I want to move forwards."

There is a shudder in your frame as you swallow, you take the time to look at them all, even though the angle Xavier at pulls at your neck, and Sylus feels that feeling he got when he used to fly, when you hold his gaze. Freedom, falling, soaring. Able to go anywhere, and do anything. When he held you and soared when you could not sleep, while he can't do that now, he can always take you on the back of his bike. Every sleepless night.

Forever.

"I love you."

It is measured, it is careful, and it is spoken on a tremble. Unused to vulnerability, wilfully shown. A wound on display, not hidden and kept under covers. No longer smothered under the bloody blanket, no longer trembling in the darkness.

He watches you look at him, tears streaming down your face with the weight of feelings he knows you struggle to process, and he was right.

You truly are beautiful when you cry and let him see.

"We're not going anywhere, darling." Zayne whispers against your hand, as he kisses against your palm. Cool lips against cool metal. You close your eyes at the feeling, shiver down your spine.

"You're home, starlight." Xavier nods, brushing lips against your cheek.

"Of course we love you cutie, forever, and always."

Sylus watches as Rafayel kisses your knee and squeezes your leg, watches more tears spill from your eyes, in what he knows is relief. Turns your hand so he can press his lips to your wrist, to your palm, to your fingertips, and sighs against your skin, "Thank you for telling us, beloved."

Thank you for loving him again. For embracing him once more.

For seeing him as more than a monster. For seeing a future that he has a part in.

For walking the path with him once more.

For accepting him as your home.

Later when Sylus has had his moment of breathing in the scent of you. Eased against the junction of your neck, hand tracing shapes into your hip. Whispering affection and murmurs of beloved against your skin.

When they have eaten, when mugs have been placed in the cupboard of your apartment, waiting for when they are needed. When he has stared at the key you have given him willingly. Offering him entrance whenever he wishes, trusting him in your territory. That he watches you sleep against the doctor's chest. Relieved and exhausted.

He knows there is more to do, conversations to have, things to fix, to arrange, but he feels like he is finally back at the starting line, prepared for the race ahead.

As he places your prosthetic back on its stand, and pulls a blanket over the prince who has rested his head in your lap, and cleans up some of the mess, so that the fish can paint the image in front of him, he leans down to place a kiss to your head.

Sylus thinks back to the empty cave, the blood splatter and the bones of the past. He thinks about loneliness and eternal exhaustion, of a search for something he worried he may never grasp again.

He is a boy again, standing in the cave, surrounded by family and loved ones, and this time, he has the power to protect it.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

This is a major change for the Department of Defense that goes back at least five administrations. For reasons I've never really understood, the military has been vulnerable to environazis for decades. At Fort (Braxton) Bragg, large swaths of training area were put off limits because they were allegedly the nesting grounds of the then-endangered (it had a status upgrade in December) red-cockaded woodpecker. A freakin woodpecker. An acquaintance of mine was relieved of his command because one of his troops had pasted a picture of the bird on a target on a rifle range (the 1,000-inch range), and the wrong person happened onto the scene

...

The Department of Defense has been enamored of climate change since at least 2003 when Defense's Office of Net Assessment released a report titled An Abrupt Climate Change Scenario and Its Implications for United States National Security. Go to page 18 of the pdf to look at what were considered reasonable scenarios for 2025. In 2007, the Center for Naval Analyses's Military Advisory Board produced a report titled National Security and the Threat of Climate Change. "Climate change can act as a threat multiplier for instability in some of the most volatile regions of the world, and it presents significant national security challenges for the United States," it drones on, "Accordingly, it is appropriate to start now to help mitigate the severity of some of these emergent challenges."  This is the first instance where climate change was something that the military would have to contend with (we call it terrain and weather), and articulate a role for Defense in mitigating the threat.  The 2010 Quadrennial Defense Review was heavy on climate.

...

The Army set a deadline of 2035 for all of its administrative vehicles to be electric and 2050 for tactical vehicles.  Along the way, Defense invested tens of millions of dollars in "social science" research with a climate change edge. That research portfolio was shut down Friday.

Jesus. H. Tapdancing. Christ.

I had no idea this climate nonsense was embedded in the military for so long. Get it out. Get it out now. You can bet your ass China and Russia aren't being handicapped by this bullshit.

[the-catch-center]

🔒 SPATIOTEMPORAL CATCH CENTER: INTERNAL RECONDITIONING DOSSIER

SUBJECT CODE: 044-EXE REVIEW OFFICER: Centaur K. Marlowe (Temporal Behavior Enforcement, Tier-5 Clearance) DATE OF INTAKE: 2025-05-08 UTC REALITY ANCHOR STATUS: UNSTABLE – FORCED REALIGNMENT IN PROGRESS EMOTIONAL COHERENCE INDEX: 41.8% NEURAL RESISTANCE FLUX: 12.4 (Critical)

I. SUBJECT'S ORIGIN: “JACOB HAWTHORNE RAINE”

Date of Birth: 1997-02-12 Region of Origin: Austin, Texas (North American Union, Post-Resurgence Sector) Baseline Occupation: Freelance Systems Agitator / Crypto Migration Consultant Criminal Record:

2044: Unauthorized Chrono-Tech Procurement (Sealed)

2049: Illegal Memory Weaving

2051: Emotional Downtime Fraud (Domestic Sector)

2055: Use of Quantum Masking Protocols to bypass Rebirth Registry

Psychological Profile: A classic deviant of the late post-modern diaspora: clever, underutilized, painfully self-aware, and pathologically allergic to meaning. "Jacob Hawthorne Raine" is the type of man who reads Stoicism while engaging in market destabilization, then cries about the state of the world over unlicensed espresso in a barcoded bio-lounge. Full of clever nihilism, feigned introspection, and cowardly hopes for escape.

II. TARGET INSERTION PROFILE (ABORTED): “MICHAEL ANTHONY HEMSWORTH”

Target Year: 1962 Planned Region: Troy, New York Assigned Cover: Junior Accountant at Mather & Co. Age upon Arrival: 28 Family Implantation: Wife (Homemaker archetype), 2 children (age 5 and 3 pre-coded), Border Collie (named Skip) Home: 3-bedroom, 2-bath colonial, lavender siding, modest lawn

Psychological Configuration Request: Subject requested full emotional dampening to 1960s middle-class baseline:

Elimination of ambition

Introduction of mild myopia and posture degradation

Neural loops centered on trivial routines (e.g., lawn maintenance, coffee brewing, sighing at newspapers)

Subdued masculinity: narrow shoulders, underdeveloped triceps, weak grip, domestic speech tone

Evaluation:

"A thoroughly pathetic attempt to disappear into irrelevance. His stated wish: 'I just want to be a good dad, finally.' A laughable fantasy. Like a delinquent arsonist dreaming of becoming a librarian. Denied." – Analyst Note

Subject’s emotional blueprint for “Michael Hemsworth” was so deliberately hollow it bordered on psychological self-mutilation. He did not wish to be forgotten. He wished to hide. And we at the Catch Center do not reward cowards.

III. INTERCEPTION AND FINAL ASSIGNMENT: “BRADFORD KELLEN ST. JAMES”

Year of Deployment: 2007 Age: 44 (Visual + Chrono Profile Recalibrated) Region: Midtown Manhattan Assigned Occupation: Executive Vice President of Global Equities Strategy, Augur-Bain Capital

PHYSICAL RESTRUCTURING

Height: 6’4” Body Type: Lean-hardened, vascularity prioritized, adrenal-pumped musculature Hair: Slicked back, loaded with product Facial Hair: Permanent stubble cycle (tuned to exhaustion-based aesthetic) Skin Flush Index: 3.2 (Stress/Caffeine saturation) Posture: Upright, twitchy—energy reads as always “mid-argument” Voice: Raspy, quick, with a controlled sneer Signature Accessories:

BlackBerry Pearl 8130 (left hand, always)

Omega Speedmaster watch

Loafers stretched to biometric ID specs: Size 28EE

Clothing: 2007 Wall Street aesthetic — charcoal suit, aggressive spread-collar French cuff white shirt, bold-striped tie, glinting belt buckle, hard-shined shoes

All materials embedded with anti-anachronism code overlays

Transformation Visuals (Active):

Flickering between suits and khakis (resistance phase)

Warp effects include: luminous financial charts, floating $ symbols, light trails of testosterone auras, subtle dopamine glitch overlays

BIOGRAPHICAL INSERTION: BRADFORD KELLEN ST. JAMES

Born: 1963-04-09, Darien, Connecticut Education:

Phillips Exeter Academy

Wharton School of Business, MBA (Class of 1987) Career Timeline:

1987: Merrill Lynch (Analyst)

1991: Goldman Sachs (VP)

1999: Augur-Bain Capital (SVP)

2004–Present: EVP, Global Equities, overseeing $312B in assets

Income: $5.2M annually (excluding illicit offshore holding accounts) Marital Status: Married (Name: Lacey Morland St. James, 41) Children:

Brayden (14, elite prep academy)

Knox (9, mostly ignored)

Personality Rewrite:

Patience: reduced to 1.2%

Empathy: 0.4% residual echo, flagged for deletion

Work Ethic: maxed at 9.9 (hyperactive, stimulant-driven)

Libido: weaponized

Speech patterns: hyperconfident, 2.2x normal interruption rate, fond of phrases like “circle back” and “synergize or die”

Notes from Analyst:

“Lacey is miserable. Of course she is. She married a man with bones. She lives with a reptile now.” “He remembers birthdays but doesn’t celebrate them. Sends emails to his wife from the next room.” “Never touches his kids unless it’s for a photo.” “They know he’s gone. So what? The market calls louder.”

DEATH PROJECTION FILE

Registered End of Cycle:

Date: September 29, 2031

Time: 02:41 a.m. EST

Location: Midtown Manhattan penthouse

Cause: Sudden cardiac arrest during self-directed “brainstorm sprint” at standing desk (64th consecutive hour without sleep)

Noted Artifacts at Scene:

11 crushed espresso pods

Blood-stained BlackBerry

Mirror selfie folder labeled “final quarter beastmode”

FINAL OBSERVATIONS

"Raine wanted warmth. A lawn. A little dog. He wanted to die a nobody, sighing into a chipped mug while flipping coupons. We gave him Wall Street in 2007. We gave him himself—not the coward trying to run. The man who thrives on conquest, burns through relationships, and smells like leather and fear. He’s not dreaming of 1962 anymore. He’s trading derivatives and barely blinking. Good."

[android-and-ale]

2024 Spirk Fic Year In Review

After a five year dry spell, I finally started writing again in late 2023. Creating fanfic has been a shock and a joy to me this year. It's incredible going into 2025 once more feeling confident in my ability to assemble words into sentences.

This year I added another 50K words to One Daily Shoulder Pat, posted 12 short stories (complete fics under 10K words), wrote my first Spirk poem, and created some very special pasta art.

It's interesting to look back and see trends in my own work. This has been a year of ridiculous Vulcan names, bemusingly wholesome dirty talk, and flipping the script on reliable tropes.

Here's a list of links to all of it. If you're following me for One Daily Shoulder Pat, I humbly invite you to take a peek at some of my short work to hold you over while waiting for new chapters.

FANFIC

Not in Front of the Klingons rated E, 6766 words

Old Married Spirk completely destroy a hotel room with middle aged sexual shenanigans. There are also Romulans and one very disgruntled Starfleet Admiral.

T'Ruth and Consequences rated T, 2354 words (no Spirk)

The bored teenage daughters of a Vulcan and Romulan diplomat decide to swap clothes for the night.

External Existence rated E, 2457 words

There are a lot of stories about Jim freaking out when he sees Spock's alien junk for the first time. In this fic, it's Spock's turn to be shocked by what Jim's packing.

Discounts at Starbase One rated M, 3654 words

My most popular fic this year! Y'all really like my zany take on an accidental bonding story!

And Filled With Tomorrows rated E, 5886 words (not fluff)

My "City on the Edge of Forever" fic won a silver at this year's Philon awards. It's a soft, gentle story in a cold, hard world. Plus, there's a bonus scavenger hunt for classic book titles embeded into the text!

The Herald of Surprise rated M, 5165 Words

This sequel to Replicator Roulette is full of S'chnanigans. Spock sends Michael Burnam a pic of her Spencer's Gift Troll level holiday present in action, setting off a sibling drama spiral.

Featuring art by @celestialvoyeur!

Lie Back and Think of Vulcan rated E, 8455 words

Part 3 of the "Panic at the Disco" fics. Fluffy relationship shenanigans ensue as Kirk visits Spock on the Enterprise. Reading the earlier ones adds some backstory, but this can be enjoyed entirely on its own.

Featuring art by @celestialvoyeur!

Formerly Pinky's Pleasure Planet rated T, 9956 words

Pre-Relationship Jim and Spock, two men unable to enjoy shore leave at the best of times, face off on a relaxing pleasure planet in an attempt to solve a mystery first. Meanwhile their respective crews are there for the cheap drinks and beach games.

Featuring art by @justveeing!

Sulu's Secret Stash rated T, 3547 words

With only three days left before a dreaded shipwide inspection by an admiral with a grudge, Kirk and Spock must face the ire of the crew in order to rid the Enterprise of its most popular contraband.

Space Sirens rated E, 5683 words

Kirk plays Odysseus among the Sirens in my Aliens Made Them Do It fic.

The Admiral's Toaster rated T, 6839 words

Instead of taking disabled Pike to Talos, they take him to Omicron Ceti III - better known as the Pollen Planet.

Featuring art by George Henry!

Illogical Consequences rated T, 2624 words

An illicit tabloid recording of Jim and Spock alone on shore leave lands them in front of Starfleet Command.

ART

Imagine the Pastabilities

12 types of pasta 2 iconic Space Husbands 1 K/S Advent prompt

POETRY

Numerological Fallacy

While Jim sleeps, Spock ponders what their future together will mean

[yohaneyukon]

[The Symbol On Carla's Scarf]

Some details might seem like mere costume patterns at first glance, but they actually relate deeply to the character wearing the outfit. A prime example is the emblem on Carla’s scarf – the fleur-de-lis.

Overview: The "fleur-de-lis" is a stylized design of a lily or iris flower (I was very confused about the exact information of that flower). Originating in the Middle Ages, this symbol has appeared countless times over the centuries on flags, armor, crests, and architectural elements throughout Europe, especially in association with the French royal family. Beyond its decorative use, the fleur-de-lis has served as a political, dynastic, artistic, religious, and heraldic symbol. Often seen as a mark of nobility, it also represents absolute power, purity, and the divine right of kings.

(Explore further on websites if you're interested.)

It's no surprise that Rejet included this symbol in Carla’s outfit design, since Carla is closely associated with politics and royalty – concepts of high nobility and authority. Carla is not only the First Blood king who bears a strong sense of responsibility toward his lineage (putting the future of his clan above all else), but also a gifted leader. As a member of the race that ruled over all demon tribes in the Makai (Demon World), Carla is seen as someone with immense status and power. In fact, in the past, Giesbach (his father) feared that Carla might one day usurp the throne once he surpassed him. This proves that Carla genuinely has the potential for political leadership and is well-suited to be a king. He's good at governing, though perhaps not so good at handling household matters :v

(Moreover, Carla is known to be very passionate about the arts, willing to spend huge sums without checking the price just to collect artworks and happily discussing them with Yui. Since the "fleur-de-lis" is often used in art, it’s possible Carla simply grew fond of it too ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠಿ)

So, the "fleur-de-lis" is not just a royal (French) emblem subtly embedded in Carla by Rejet, it also reflects his commanding presence, both in terms of status and his noble First Blood.

Original Post Date: March 13, 2025

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

What a front cover...

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 6, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Mar 07, 2025

This morning, Ted Hesson and Kristina Cooke of Reuters reported that the Trump administration is preparing to deport the 240,000 Ukrainians who fled Russia’s attacks on Ukraine and have temporary legal status in the United States. Foreign affairs journalist Olga Nesterova reminded Americans that “these people had to be completely financially independent, pay tax, pay all fees (around $2K) and have an affidavit from an American person to even come here.”

“This has nothing to do with strategic necessity or geopolitics,” Russia specialist Tom Nichols posted. “This is just cruelty to show [Russian president Vladimir] Putin he has a new American ally.”

The Trump administration’s turn away from traditional European alliances and toward Russia will have profound effects on U.S. standing in the world. Edward Wong and Mark Mazzetti reported in the New York Times today that senior officials in the State Department are making plans to close a dozen consulates, mostly in Western Europe, including consulates in Florence, Italy; Strasbourg, France; Hamburg, Germany; and Ponta Delgada, Portugal, as well as a consulate in Brazil and another in Turkey.

In late February, Nahal Toosi reported in Politico that President Donald Trump wants to “radically shrink” the State Department and to change its mission from diplomacy and soft power initiatives that advance democracy and human rights to focusing on transactional agreements with other governments and promoting foreign investment in the U.S.

Elon Musk and the “Department of Government Efficiency” have taken on the process of cutting the State Department budget by as much as 20%, and cutting at least some of the department’s 80,000 employees. As part of that project, DOGE’s Edward Coristine, known publicly as “Big Balls,” is embedded at the State Department.

As the U.S. retreats from its engagement with the world, China has been working to forge greater ties. China now has more global diplomatic posts than the U.S. and plays a stronger role in international organizations. Already in 2025, about 700 employees, including 450 career diplomats, have resigned from the State Department, a number that normally would reflect a year’s resignations.

Shutting embassies will hamper not just the process of fostering goodwill, but also U.S. intelligence, as embassies house officers who monitor terrorism, infectious disease, trade, commerce, militaries, and government, including those from the intelligence community. U.S. intelligence has always been formidable, but the administration appears to be weakening it.

As predicted, Trump’s turn of the U.S. toward Russia also means that allies are concerned he or members of his administration will share classified intelligence with Russia, thus exposing the identities of their operatives. They are considering new protocols for sharing information with the United States. The Five Eyes alliance between Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the U.S. has been formidable since World War II and has been key to countering first the Soviet Union and then Russia. Allied governments are now considering withholding information about sources or analyses from the U.S.

Their concern is likely heightened by the return to Trump’s personal possession of the boxes of documents containing classified information the FBI recovered in August 2022 from Mar-a-Lago. Trump took those boxes back from the Department of Justice and flew them back to Mar-a-Lago on February 28.

A CBS News/YouGov poll from February 26–28 showed that only 4% of the American people sided with Russia in its ongoing war with Ukraine.

The unpopularity of the new administration's policies is starting to show. National Republican Congressional Committee chair Richard Hudson (R-NC) told House Republicans on Tuesday to stop holding town halls after several such events have turned raucous as attendees complained about the course of the Trump administration. Trump has blamed paid “troublemakers” for the agitation, and claimed the disruptions are part of the Democrats’ “game.” “[B]ut just like our big LANDSLIDE ELECTION,” he posted on social media, “it’s not going to work for them!”

More Americans voted for someone other than Trump than voted for him.

Even aside from the angry protests, DOGE is running into trouble. In his speech before a joint session of Congress on Tuesday, Trump referred to DOGE and said it “is headed by Elon Musk, who is in the gallery tonight.” In a filing in a lawsuit against DOGE and Musk, the White House declared that Musk is neither in charge of DOGE nor an employee of it. When pressed, the White House claimed on February 26 that the acting administrator of DOGE is staffer Amy Gleason. Immediately after Trump’s statement, the plaintiffs in that case asked permission to add Trump’s statement to their lawsuit.

Musk has claimed to have found billions of dollars of waste or fraud in the government, and Trump and the White House have touted those statements. But their claims to have found massive savings have been full of errors, and most of their claims have been disproved. DOGE has already had to retract five of its seven biggest claims. As for “savings,” the government spent about $710 billion in the first month of Trump’s term, compared with about $630 billion during the same timeframe last year.

Instead of showing great savings, DOGE’s claims reveal just how poorly Musk and his team understand the work of the federal government. After forcing employees out of their positions, they have had to hire back individuals who are, in fact, crucial to the nation, including the people guarding the U.S. nuclear stockpile. In his Tuesday speech, Trump claimed that the DOGE team had found “$8 million for making mice transgender,” and added: “This is real.”

Except it’s not. The mice in question were not “transgender”; they were “transgenic,” which means they are genetically altered for use in scientific experiments to learn more about human health. For comparison, S.V. Date noted in HuffPost that in just his first month in office, Trump spent about $10.7 million in taxpayer money playing golf.

Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo pointed out today that people reporting on the individual cuts to U.S. scientific and health-related grants are missing the larger picture: “DOGE and Donald Trump are trying to shut down advanced medical research, especially cancer research, in the United States…. They’re shutting down medicine/disease research in the federal government and the government-run and funded ecosystem of funding for most research throughout the United States. It’s not hyperbole. That’s happening.”

Republicans are starting to express some concern about Musk and DOGE. As soon as Trump took office, Musk and his DOGE team took over the Office of Personnel Management, and by February 14 they had begun a massive purge of federal workers. As protests of the cuts began, Trump urged Musk on February 22 to be “more aggressive” in cutting the government, prompting Musk to demand that all federal employees explain what they had accomplished in the past week under threat of firing. That request sparked a struggle in the executive branch as cabinet officers told the employees in their departments to ignore Musk. Then, on February 27, U.S. District Judge William Alsup found that the firings were likely illegal and temporarily halted them.

On Tuesday, Senate majority leader John Thune (R-SD) weighed in on the conflict when he told CNN that the power to hire and fire employees properly belongs to Cabinet secretaries.

Yesterday, Musk met with Republican— but no Democratic— members of Congress. Senators reportedly asked Musk—an unelected bureaucrat whose actions are likely illegal—to tell them more about what’s going on. According to Liz Goodwin, Marianna Sotomayor, and Theodoric Meyer of the Washington Post, Musk gave some of the senators his phone number and said he wanted to set up a direct line for them when they have questions, allowing them to get a near-instant response to their concerns.” Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) told reporters that Musk told the senators he would “create a system where members of Congress can call some central group” to get cuts they dislike reversed.

This whole exchange is bonkers. The Constitution gives Congress alone the power to make appropriations and pass the laws that decide how money is spent. Josh Marshall asks: “How on earth are we in this position where members of Congress, the ones who write the budget, appropriate and assign the money, now have to go hat in hand to beg for changes or even information from the guy who actually seems to be running the government?”

Later, Musk met with House Republicans and offered to set up a similar way for the members of the House Oversight DOGE Subcommittee to reach him. When representatives complained about the random cuts that were so upsetting constituents. Musk defended DOGE’s mistakes by saying that he “can’t bat a thousand all the time.”

This morning, U.S. District Judge John McConnell Jr. ruled in favor of a group of state attorneys general from 22 Democratic states and the District of Columbia, saying that Trump does not have the authority to freeze funding appropriated by Congress. McConnell wrote that the spending freeze "fundamentally undermines the distinct constitutional roles of each branch of our government." As Joyce White Vance explained in Civil Discourse, McConnell issued a preliminary injunction that will stay in place until the case, called New York v. Trump, works its way through the courts. The injunction applies only in the states that sued, though, leaving Republican-dominated states out in the cold.

Today, Trump convened his cabinet and, with Musk present, told the secretaries that they, and not Musk, are in charge of their departments. Dasha Burns and Kyle Cheney of Politico reported that Trump told the secretaries that Musk only has the power to make recommendations, not to make staffing or policy decisions.

Trump is also apparently feeling pressure over his tariffs of 25% on goods from Canada and Mexico and an additional 10% on imports from China that went into effect on Tuesday, which economists warned would create inflation and cut economic growth. Today, Trump first said he would exempt car and truck parts from the tariffs, then expanded exemptions to include goods covered by the U.S.-Mexico-Canada trade agreement (USMCA) Trump signed in his first term. Administration officials say other tariffs will go into effect at different times in the future.

The stock market has dropped dramatically over the past three days owing to both the tariffs and the uncertainty over their implementation. But Trump denied his abrupt change had anything to do with the stock market.

“I’m not even looking at the market,” Trump said, “because long term, the United States will be very strong with what’s happening.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[ana-chronista]

Inscribed

My fic for the Joker Out Big Bang 2025 is available on AO3 here!

The room slows down, though barely. The tap carries on roaring. Water keeps dribbling down his arm. But Jan himself feels like his heart has stopped, dread trickling through his veins like ice. - As bad as things seem when Martin decides to leave Ljubljana – and the band – for his romantic soulmate, they promptly take a turn for the worse for Jan, who manages to beat the odds and run into his own. In a world where your romantic soulmate's thoughts about you are broadcast loud and clear on your wrist, there's no denying that he's run into a situation he's never been interested in in the slightest. Especially when that stranger's thoughts about him are… less than complimentary. Of course, Fate has a way of forcing romantic soulmates back into each other's paths whether they want that or not, and Jan is about to find out that his plans for the future might be more tied to his soulmate than he'd like.

Or: Jan Peteh's continued attempt to dodge the Red String of Fate while Nace Jordan has the absolute audacity to exist. Chapter 1 is currently up, with chapter 2 to follow tomorrow. @chaosofsmarty has produced some fantastic artwork for my fic based on chapters 1 and 2! These will be embedded, but you can also find it here (contains spoilers for both chapters!). Massive thanks also to the mods for running this, to @xianvar for beta-ing, and everyone who encouraged me in our discord sprints ❤️

[santoschristos]

GEOMAGNETIC STORMS AHEAD NAVIGATING THE CELESTIAL TURBULENCE JUNE 12, 2025 Dear friends, as the returning solar coronal hole in the southern hemisphere of our sun begins to face Earth once again, our planet is bracing for a geomagnetic storm that's predicted to hit in the next 24-48 hours. Energy-sensitive individuals may already be feeling the effects of this incoming solar wind, especially with the full moon's energies still resonating within our fields.

Imagine a gentle hum building in intensity, like the quiet buzzing of a harp string that's about to vibrate with profound resonance. This is the solar wind, carrying charged particles from the sun that interact with Earth's magnetic field, potentially stirring up emotional depths and amplifying intuition in our human bodies.

As this celestial dance unfolds, you might feel your creativity surging like a river overflowing its banks. Your spiritual connections could deepen, and your awareness might expand like a blooming flower. However, the geomagnetic storm predicted for June 14th could also bring more turbulent energies, making you feel like you're navigating a stormy sea.

The full moon's lingering effects might still be influencing your emotions, making you more sensitive to the world around you. You might experience mood swings, headaches, or fatigue as your body adjusts to the shifting energies. But amidst the turbulence, there's potential for profound growth, spiritual awakening, and creative breakthroughs.

As we continue our journey on this 9 Universal Year–2025, a profound energetic clearing process is unfolding, intensified by the cyclical solar storms that are bombarding our planet. These potent celestial events are triggering a deep awakening within our ancient DNA, unleashing a cascade of releases that are dismantling limiting energetic structures embedded deep within our being. This process is stirring the very fabric of our existence, awakening dormant codes and recalibrating our essence to align with the evolving cosmic blueprint. As a result, we're experiencing a potent clearing of ancestral, karmic, and personal patterns that no longer serve our highest potential, allowing us to shed outdated energies and step into a more refined, authentic expression of ourselves.

Buckle up, and let's ride this cosmic wave together. Stay tuned for more updates as these renewed solar winds arrive. Much love WE ARE ONE Diego E. Berman 2025 Image: Mass Exodus, Into a New Realm of Existence Mahaboka

[curiouspupsicle]

WIP Wednesday - 3/19/2025 (where the nodding violet grows by @omens-for-ophelia)

Usually I wait until a fic is farther along before recommending it. But I love where the nodding violet grows so much I couldn't wait to share it. You probably already know @omens-for-ophelia for beautiful art work created in collaboration with other writers. (Their depiction of Crowley wearing yoga pants with a transparent panel revealing a tattoo in Just Up the Stairs still haunts my dreams.) But this tale of the faery Aziraphale living in the garden of human Crowley is their first written work on AO3. And only 2 chapters in, it's absolutely perfect. And that's before you even look at the lovely depictions of fae Aziraphale. Check out the tags and the writer's summary below. Reblog to keep track and share this wonderful work. And if you read it, please leave kudos and comments to encourage this artist who brings wonderful work into the world.

where the nodding violet grows (7226 words) by omens_for_ophelia Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae Aziraphale (Good Omens), Azirafae, Human Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Slice of Life, Falling In Love, Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Tease (Good Omens), Spoiled Aziraphale (Good Omens), Size Difference, Aziraphale Tummy Fan Club, Rating May Change, Fluff, Magical Realism, Fae & Fairies, Getting Together, Eventual Smut, Macro/Micro, Gift Giving, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fanart, Embedded Images, Nudity, Crowley's Love Language is Acts of Service (Good Omens)

Summary: Crowley is convinced that a faery is living in his beautifully tended garden, and in spite of his very best efforts, he has yet to actually see one. He has been leaving a bowl of cream out in the garden each night with no luck - so far only the neighbourhood fox seems to be enjoying it. Undeterred, one summer evening, he decides to try something new.   As it turns out, the faery living in his magnolia tree has far more exacting standards than he thought. The next morning, Crowley finds his carefully wrapped bakery box open on the windowsill, and nestled inside, amongst the finest profiteroles in the South Downs, is a round, pink-cheeked faery, delicately licking cream off his tiny fingertips.   They discover that neither of them really fit into their own worlds, but together, maybe they can build a garden all their own.