#but every once in a while I get a flash of insight

[scarletttries]

What One Piece Characters Are Like In A Relationship...(Part Two)

Request: "Greetings, could I ask for headcanons of what Buggy the Clown and Dracule Mihawk are like in a relationship?"

Pairings: Buggy x Reader, Mihawk x Reader, Shanks x Reader

Part One (The Straw Hats) here / One Piece Masterlist

Buggy the Clown:

- It's impossible to overestimate the sheer vulnerability it took for Captain Buggy to speak genuinely and honestly when he finally confessed his feelings for you. A man who's spent so much of his life hidden behind a painted facade and a wicked smile, he tried to fight his truth for so long, forcing himself to treat you like just another pirate on his ship when there's nothing you could do that wouldn't stand out to him. The sincerity with which you speak to him, the way you don't gawk at his appearance, the fact that you never engage in the mutinous whispers of those around you. It wasn't long until you became his most called upon ally on the ship, through genuine appreciation for your insights but also his intense need to have his eyes on you at all times.

- With his feelings out in the open, Buggy is still conflicted in the way he showers his affections upon you. Behind closed doors the man is your personal jester, cracking jokes and using his gifts to keep you smiling and entertained constantly. Honestly that man would do anything to keep you looking at him, the warmth of your gaze enough to undo decades of cruelty and ridicule.

- Around the crew though, your captain likes to keep his adoration discrete. There are a lot of people out there that would love to have something they could use against him, and he knows deep down he'd surrender everything he's ever worked for if it stopped a single hair on your head being harmed. So despite how Buggy feels like he is bursting at the seams with joy every time he sees you, he insists on keeping things a secret for as long as the two of you can, lasting on longing looks and subtle contact for the price of your safety.

- That does add a certain desperation to the clown's behaviour towards you though, not that you mind. The moment you close a door he'll be on with you in a flash, all hungry lips and pressing his chest flush with yours to bathe in your warmth while he still can. He needs you overwhelming all of his senses, to fill his heart back up before he has to face the day without you again. Sometimes when he knows you'll be apart for a while, he'll tell the crew he's lost a hand somewhere on the ship so he can leave one tucked securely in your pocket, subtly interlacing his fingers with yours whenever the day gets to be too much; the powers he once feared made him a devil, now giving him the chance to stay by an angel's side forevermore.

Dracule Mihawk:

- A life as the world's greatest swordsman can be a lonely one. Going wherever he's paid to go. Never putting down roots. Knowing that one day he might just find someone desperate enough for his title to kill for it. Mihawk had accepted this life with a certain pride, until he found something else he wanted to be the best at.

- Another night in another island bar had his path crossing with yours, the briefest of exchanges leaving an aching hole in his chest like he'd never experienced before. It was like your smile sent a spark his way that had his whole body going up in smoke, a fire lit inside him that he had only felt once before; for his pursuit of swordsmanship. He knew nothing would quell that desire except giving in fully to the devotion.

- Dracule is extremely attentive to your every whim. He's never really been tied down before he enjoys the grounding that comes from having someone else to influence each of his days. Nothing fulfils him like making one of your wishes come true, his dedication to your partnership unwavering no matter what the world throws at you both.

- He would take enormous pride in teaching you a few of his sword-fighting moves, framing the sessions as just a way to share in his two favourite things (swords and you), but in the back of his mind also very conscious that a time may come when you need to defend yourself from his enemies. Naturally he'll find a way throw your practice fights so the two of you end up on the floor together, his sword cast aside as he exclaims that you are the only person in all the seas that has ever disarmed him so. Don't be expecting to leave that floor for a while once he has you in his grips.

Shanks:

- When you work in a popular port town you see a lot of pirates come and go. So it's pretty noticeable when a certain captain seems to do all his supply runs in your specific shop. Shanks is not at all subtle that he's continually coming to town for you, your first conversation enough for him to reveal that you might be the only person he's ever met that could convince him to give up the pirate life and settle down.

- You don't ask him to do that, instead the two of you settle for frequently being apart, but relishing in every second you get to spend together when you can. Every moment that Shanks is in your life is filled with fun, whether he's just dancing with you in your lovely little home, or convincing you to come with him on this next adventure, heading to a beautiful island where for once he's confident there's no risk of danger to you.

- When you have to be apart, Shanks will call you late in the night, narrating the view from his perch on the figurehead of his ship. He'll describe every detail of the stars glistening on the waves until the peachy rays of the sun trickle across the horizon, all while knowing the far superior view is wherever you are. He'll never reveal the true danger of his journeys to you, instead giving you joyful reimaginations of the troubles he's faced that day. You can tell when he's had a hard week from the pain in his voice though, so you take the chance to regale him with the softness of your peaceful day, recounting your every step and listening to his breathing slow as a weight lifts off his chest. He tells you how one day he can't wait to dock his ship one final time and fall in step with the life you've built, never having to hear your voice from so far away again.

- He lets that hope carry him through the most tempestuous nights at sea, through all the near misses at the hands of his enemies, through every day spent hiding from a bounty hunter and aching to hear your voice again. He finds himself picturing the two of you raising a family, a tiny crew of your own that will always unite you, the ultimate adventure Shanks can imagine, and one he never thought he'd long for until he thought about living it hand in hand with you.

One piece requests still open!

[crguang]

a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothing. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

[damiensbedtimestoriesau]

Damien's Bedtime Stories #11

It’s been weeks. Damien has let Clark’s lesson settle within him. Yet he still didn’t know if he was ready, he was willing to give it a try, he approached Alfred, Steph, and his father as they surrounded the bat computer discussing something over coffee, Damien approached and minimized several files and opened another. A flash of the time that Damien went solo against Gotham, pre-Oracle, pre-Carrie when Bruce was healing from a shattered spine. He turned to Bruce,

Father, I've made many mistakes over the last few missions. I've been attempting to better myself, but I believe to truly test all your lessons not just in training, not just in isolated events I need to see… how did he put this… the whole city around me, not just a single street. Now I suggest a literal interpretation of that metaphor and allowing me to attempt a solo night protecting Gotham. I know it’s dangerous father and I have failed before but before you speak allow me to remind you that you’re the one who taught me the lesson of trust and not allowing emotion to cloud judgment.

“Damien that's, that's” Bruce stuttered with a tight jaw, caught between impulse and insight before Steph’s arm pressed against his chest, “Bruce let him do it, besides Babs will keep an eye on him as Oracle, and Damien we will make sure she doesn’t intervene unless absolutely necessary if that is an effective compromise”

There was a momentary pause as Damien and his father locked eyes before, “tomorrow night my son, tomorrow night,” Bruce said before muttering under his breath “I can’t believe we’re doing this”

Thank you father Damien said but before he began to walk away, Alfred stopped him.

“Damien I’m proud of you, don’t forget we’re just a call away if you get in too deep. I believe in you, Master Damien.”

Thank you Pennyworth… it’s… it’s appreciated

Damien took that night to prepare, instead of the podao he loaded his gear with something less heavyweight. He took batarangs with him, his grapple, and smoke bombs, the bare minimum or what he considered the bare minimum from the last mission he attempted, but he also researched previous nights, and current unsolved files, and prepared for the possibility of them all, and to add his own flair he added twin sais, something that would reflect his specialty just as well as the podao while being better to lug along with him all night. 

When the sun rose Damien slept and when the moon would rise once more so would the son of the Demon and the Bat. 

Damien: 

I began patrolling on the docks. I knew from my research that there was likely mob activity going down there at some point this week, the trading of weapons. I sat out over a lookout, listening and watching. I was alone that night, and I couldn’t stay still for too long. As I moved around rooftops nearby I stayed tuned into police scanners listening if anywhere else needed more immediate attention, I couldn’t only focus on one part of the city. 

But just then I saw two people go out onto the docks, so I went for a closer roof listening in, it could have been anyone but even this early on in the night I needed to listen to my gut, luck be with me, Carrie taught me that. 

It was only a mere hour since sundown, as I watched the people I realized it was just a father and his daughter walking home, trying to hurry to get out of the street. I had a sigh of relief, relief that wouldn’t last as the deal that I was there waiting for wasn’t just going down. It was going down mere feet away from the family. 

Tim taught me knowledge, I couldn’t intervene without risking their lives, at that point I went through my mind remembering every file I saw I had to come up with my own plan on the fly. As the family approached an alleyway I tossed smoke bombs clouding the mobsters who were just outside of the family’s sight before using my grappling hook to fling myself towards a dumpster kicking it in front of the father and his kid with all the strength I could muster yelling at them to get down before I ran into the smoke, and bullets blasted out from the group of criminals. Yet the metal dumpster kept the two safe enough.

I knocked two of the mobsters out with my fists before dodging bullet fire from another but as he followed me with the muzzle of his gun I saw that he would end up blasting into his accomplice and I was forced to rush in close and grab the hot metal barrel with my hand aiming it lower blasting it into his legs crippling him but saving his partner’s life to maintain mercy even if I wished I could have done less damage, all this before my fist went and met the face of another crazed gunman, the last remaining mobster began to run but fell to the ground as I pinned his pant leg to the dock with a well-aimed batarang throw. I checked on the family, reassured them of their safety, and did my best to comfort the little girl. It was barely dark and I had my first criminal encounter of the night. Tonight would be long.

I moved towards Crime Alley, this territory outside of special nights would be patrolled by either father or the Hood. Tonight it would be my turn.

I knew back at the cave that father and the others were definitely keeping tabs on my progress. Hopefully, my handling of the mobsters made them proud but that wasn’t my concern now, I had to stay alert no matter what. 

I peered into the alley staring down every bump, listening closely with one ear, listening to my scanner in the other, so far the only talk tonight was of the mobsters I handled and the statements the family gave on my behalf. That's when I saw them, sitting and laughing, in costume, Kite Man and Condiment King sharing a meal together, hot dogs from that good place downtown. They weren’t up to trouble, it didn’t seem like it at least, I found it strange that they were in costume but they were strange as is and the only real crime they had committed in recent days was dodging outstanding warrants for crimes five or six years old. I wouldn’t engage unless they became trouble. To be fair I found their interaction nice.

I trust that they’ve made actual progress and this wasn’t simply a ruse. I’d rather Condiment King out on the street than someone like Slade. I smirked at their joy, it’s rare to see the good we do long-term.

The scanner went off “Possible bomb threat. All units report” I signaled to Oracle. “Keep an eye on these two, I don’t need help yet, just give me the word if my trust is misplaced” as I rushed towards the location on the scanner.

When I got to the place I found the Penny Plunder bomb strapped to his chest with a deadman’s switch outside a bank demanding 3 million in loose change. The bank wasn’t even open, yet that didn’t matter. The police were evacuating the premises and making a perimeter just in case. I needed an idea, and I had one ‘We can’t let fear control us because fear is how we were born and what we strike,’ fear was the path that needed to be chosen here.

I took the megaphone from the police and before they could even notice I was on top of the bank “HEY!” the Penny Plunder looked up at me “COINS FOR BRAINS THERE IS NO ONE INSIDE, THE MOST YOU’RE THREATENING IS PROPERTY DAMAGE!”  I then scoffed at the idea “THOUGH IF YOU DON’T DISARM THE DEVICE NOW I’LL GUARANTEE I WON’T LET YOU HAVE QUICK DEATH OF EXPLODING, Yes Plunder you’ll survive but YOU’D WISH YOU HADN’T! SO DISARM NOW!” 

The plunder began panicking not knowing what to do, he was shaking and sweaty, and his face went pale with fear, as he began listening to my commands. My bluff, my reputation, it worked. All because of fear. It worked. When the bomb was removed from his chest and set on the stairs he began running away towards the barricade where he was tackled by every nearby member of the GPD and I assisted in disarming the bomb fully so it wouldn’t go off as we moved it to a safer location. It worked. I can't believe it worked. 

The night has certainly been eventful so far, but I’m only getting warmed up, I was ready for anything that could happen next. 

I was not ready for what happened next. Hand-to-hand combat with an out-of-control Venom junkie.

I don’t think anyone could say they were ready for him tackling them out of nowhere. Yet I knew I needed to improvise before I lost more than just one of my front teeth from an out of nowhere blow that sent me reeling with pain.

I did my best to dodge, noticing how unbalanced my opponent's stance was I planned to knock them over. I was then punched in the face and was starting to see stars, but I persevered. I stepped back and spat out blood, waving my hand towards myself. “Give me your best shot.” he charged forward and I ascended into the sky with a leap as the junkie broke their fist against the wall and I ducked down sweeping the legs, persistent as ever. Yet on the floor, he grabbed onto my arm pulling me forward and dislocating my shoulder but as I went down I saw a tube running into his spine and I stabbed my sai into it, venom pouring to the floor, his muscle began to shrink as he went fetal and I popped my shoulder back into socket.

As I regained my footing, I helped him up and sent him to a rehab center. He wasn’t a villain but a victim of Bane’s territory, and the sellers he had, not simply a bad guy. It wasn’t fully his fault that he attacked. I just hope he actually lets them help him. I hope that's the hard part of the night but I still got 6 or 7 more hours to go. That fight did a number on me.

For the next few hours I patrolled alleys and rooftops, no words from Oracle seemed like I was right to trust those two earlier, it seemed the rest of the night might be quiet. That was until I saw someone riding on a large green and purple metallic drone in the distance followed close behind by two matching ones. I followed them from a distance, seeing what they were up to. 

Eventually, I crossed back over Crime Alley and then I followed it to the docks, and from there the outskirts. As I followed it into a cave beneath a rocky cliff, partly filled with still ocean water and partly filled with moss and roots. I followed it deeper in, all the way to a door that seemed like it hadn’t been opened in centuries sealed with the sigil of an owl. The man on the drones forced the door open and out forth swirled pure energy from the inside as if a burst of super-powered wind, and then he went in. I followed quietly, stealthy behind him into a very dark room that felt like something fit for both a ball and a ritual sacrifice, ordained with several statues of people in owl masks with an array of weapons, the swirling energy occasionally lit the place up in a hue of green or blue. When the room lit up I saw now who the man was. Luthor. The last time I faced him, I barely escaped with my life and he managed to escape trial altogether.

I equipped my sais and approached quietly, not making a noise. Alfred told me to be unique, that was his lesson to me, what made me different then the other bats was the fact I was a trained assassin, master of shadow, it would be near impossible for him to notice my quiet step. As I prepared to attack Luthor pressed his palm against an owl symbol entangled in moss and before he could inspect it more thoroughly and before I could attack we were both knocked back by something he had awakened and angered.

The Swamp Thing.

He attacked us both and Luthor, now noticing me scoffed at my presence “What do you think you're doing here boy!? Trying to foil my plan!” 

“This is my city baldie!” I shot back,

“Baldie!? You braaaa-!” he screamed as he was cut off by Swamp Thing’s attacks before his drones tore through the vines freeing their master.

“You shall harm the green no longer, leave the sacred swamp or face the wrath of Swamp Thing!” shouted the beast as its barely visible eyes darted at Lex and the polluted water flowing in through the cave’s entrance. The monster then turned to me trying to crush me as I rolled out of the way of its gnarly branched foot. 

I attempted to attack, blasting it with batarangs that ignited in flame at a click of a button but it seemed to just make it more angry as it continued to attack us both. We both continued attacking butting heads, at one point even colliding together, it wasn’t working. Soon Swamp Thing had destroyed both his Drones and was cornering in on Luthor. I hate the playboy but in my instinct, I saved him tackling him to the side to his shock and bewilderment.

“Why’d you do that boy!”

“Shut up and listen” I protested “we can win this but you have to listen to me!” I pointed at the ground “you see that sai over there, defend yourself if he charges but try to keep your distance, work on getting one of the drones running, I’ll take him on in quick rush attacks while I call for backup do you understand me!”

“I can’t believe I’m taking orders from an overgrown toddler, but if it keeps me alive I suppose we have an alliance!” he scoffed.

I attacked the Swamp thing with the last of my explosive batarangs before calling into Oracle while on the evasive, “Oracle! Get Red Hood and Catgirl here. Tell Father and Catwoman to find Constantine. Don’t come unless he’s with them. It’s the only way.” I screamed with urgency as I narrowly dodged a blow before breaking off a stone spear from a stature that I improvised as an impractically heavy bow staff to try to keep the beast at bay, “Roger that Robin, they’ll be on there way shortly” shot through my comm before I was slammed back, my belt coming loose and soaking the radio in dark green water, as I continued to fight unknowing if the plan would work, but hoping I saw the big picture enough to survive.

I kept fighting, hitting the beast with everything I could, squishing in what I could only assume was its face with the stone staff before being flung once more, this time into the ceiling falling back hard into the ground with a thud before it changed its direction going towards Lex. I had every reason to let Lex die in my stead, but no matter how much I hated him it was against everything I knew as a bat to leave him to die. I was lucky enough to land next to the other sai, lucky might be generous, really, and just before Swamp Thing could take out Lex, I chucked the blade with precision, pure instinct driving the motion. It spun through the air and lodged deep into the beast’s back, causing it to freeze for just a moment before slowly turning, now reeling toward me, mad.

“YOU WILL NOT HARM THE GREEN!” it shouted, and the whole cave seemed to tremble with it.

It lunged at me, fast and heavy, and just as it was about to bring its full force crashing down, Luthor of all people repaid my favor. One of his drones shot out from behind a crumbling stone column, ramming into Swamp Thing’s side and blasting it off course. The impact sent the creature tumbling into the wall, splintering rock and kicking up dirt. Before it could fully recover, the drone began pelting it with tactical gunfire. It didn’t seem to hurt the thing in any real way, but it was enough to stagger it, to keep it back for a moment and that was all we needed. Jason and Carrie burst in just in time.

“Little bro!” I heard Jason yell. He flung one of my swords that he brought with him toward me, and I caught it mid-air. He was already laying down gunfire, aiming for the soft spots, trying to keep the creature disoriented. Carrie followed in right behind him, lighting up the cave with a barrage of loud, crackling fireworks. They exploded in blinding colors that burst across the moss and bark, disrupting Swamp Thing’s senses even more.

With the four of us, me, Lex, Jason, and Carrie attacking from four angles, we actually stood a chance. Not to win, maybe. But to hold the line. To wait out the clock until Constantine showed his greasy mug.

I slashed at Swamp Thing, keeping low, trying to stay unpredictable, dodging the counterstrikes as best I could. Every time I moved in close, I could feel the heat of the fight in my bones, the sharp sting of bark and thorn against my arms. Still, I kept swinging, closing in more and more with each strike. I didn’t give it time to breathe. None of us did. We pressed from all sides.

We kept at it me striking, Jason shooting, Carrie blasting, Lex coordinating from behind with his drones and slowly, painfully, the fatigue began to set in.

My shoulders ached. My arms were going numb. Every breath felt shorter than the last. But I had to keep going. I had to. Just like Alfred told me. Just like he said my father did when it seemed impossible. You don’t stop. You maintain persistence.

I swung again, teeth clenched, and again and again and then it struck me.

A full-body slam that sent me flying. I crashed into the cave floor and skidded across the stone, gasping, seeing stars, my blade slipping from my grip.

I felt like I was about to collapse right there… but then I heard a voice

“I may not be John Constantine! But Fate’s might may just rival his prowess!” shouted forth the voice of a mysterious glowing man in a golden mask, as I limped to my feet, blood gushing from an open wound.

Father and Selina rushed us out. I could see it in his face, this strange mixture of worry and pride. As I fell into his arms, exhausted and half-conscious, I caught one last glimpse of the fight behind us. The monster's legs were pinned to the ground by glowing chains of magic, cast by the new combatant who had arrived just in time.

Then everything went black.

I woke up in the cave. The air was cool, familiar. The machines hummed around me. Everyone had been hurt in some way, bruised, burned, bandaged. No one escaped unscathed, except for Father and Selina whose only job was to deliver Dr. Fate. 

Luthor had been captured, sent off to a much higher security prison than before. They said he’d planned to use science to harness “Gotham’s curse” to twist the city’s darkness into a weapon, kill Superman, and take control of the world.

But in the end, he lost.

When I saw Father again, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. There was only pride in his eyes as he held me close. The kind of pride that didn’t need words.

There are no words to describe how I felt about that night. But when I look over Gotham now, I don’t just see 55th Street, or Crime Alley, or the Docks, or the Banking District, or even that cave.

I see the whole of Gotham.

Because I am a Bat.

[asnowfern]

Glowing Light

Summary: It’s the height of summer, Feyre is at Day Court for a diplomatic event. But who says we can’t mix work and fun? Or more accurately, fun while working?

Rating: M for daemati voyeurism

WC: 1.7k

Read on AO3

A/N: To @reverie-tales , for suffering with me during the heatwave that boiled us all alive back in April, when the little brain worm was first born. Sorry I only found the energy to write it now😅

Wishing you the happiest of holidays and let’s hope La Niña is nice to us next year💕

The table is cleanly set. Empty save for the glass tea set and mint tea, skilfully brewed by the host. Luxurious with its oak finishing and perfectly complemented seats. The ceiling to floor windows bolsters the breathtaking view of the Day Court city of Lior and illuminates the room with natural light.

It is the perfect room to host dignitary visitors from another court. And it is where Feyre is sat on one of the plush chairs, her tattooed hand elegantly poised under her chin in consideration,her grey blue eyes alight with challenge.

“Day agrees.” Lucien answers simply. With his tightly braided long auburn tresses and gold cufflet secured around his upper arm, Lucien looked every bit the heir of Day.

Feyre raises a brow, her back straightens in attention. Keeping her gaze casual as it sweeps across the modestly sized but impeccably furnished study, she brings a tattooed hand to her chin and asks, “To the entire proposal?”

A stack of papers appears in Lucien’s hand with a casual flick of his wrist and he passes it to her with a smile — one that reminded her of the fox mask he was once cursed to wear. “With some minor amendments.”

Feyre hides a scowl. “The signing ceremony is tomorrow.”

Even with all the clever enchantments keeping the interior of the palace cool, Feyre can still feel a lingering phantom of the summer heat that awaits them outside the walls. It is perfect for frolicking in refreshing waters and her plan to enjoy the evening splashing in the sparkling pools with Nyx and Rhys. The thought of having to postpone them to go through every line of fine print in the edited bilateral trade agreement between the two solar courts instead has her biting back a groan.

“We kept to the major proposals,” Lucien shrugs lightly and offers, “I can arrange a session for our scholars to run them through your delegates to speed up the process.”

Although the suggestion sparked in her brain, the High Lady dismisses the notion with a sigh, “That wouldn’t be necessary. We can make quick work of it.”

“You forgot about delegating again, didn’t you?” Lucien teases, a hint of the brother-in-law peeking through the brutally efficient emissary.

Feyre scowls again, albeit much more playfully. “I concede nothing.”

Lucien looked contemplative for a moment before dropping the subject. A lightness takes over his countenance as he stands, stretching out those broad shoulders, “Nyx is very much welcomed in the house with or without some diplomatic event. Elain will be overjoyed to see him.” He drops his arms back to his side and a soft look enters his eyes, “I will be very happy to see him.”

Feyre smiles as she stands, snapping the papers away. Her eyes brighten as it always did when it comes to her family. “Will do.”

There is work to do and once she’s done, she will have ample time for her family. She just needs a little help getting there.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this even though this trip was meant to be a break for you.” Feyre apologises over the papers in her hands.

Gwyn waves her off. Her teal eyes are bright as she takes in the rows of ant-like squiggles. She has two similar stacks of the agreement, her pen makes fleeting movements across the pages to notate the key differences. She pipes brightly, “Not at all. I did some research on Velaris’s economic policies for Merrill and proofreading one of the bilateral agreements is incredibly insightful.”

“Az might not feel that way though.” Feyre teases, her mind flashing back to the subtle disappointment she spotted in said Illyrian’s eyes when she upended their plans for lunch and likely dinner too.

“He will be fine.” The redhead says distractedly, her attention already pulled back into the paper backed contents. “Mentioned something about carrying out a thorough sweep of the security detail for tomorrow’s ceremony.”

Hiding a smile at the thought of the spymaster terrorising the Day Court security team, Feyre turns back to the pages Gwyn had passed her, grey blue eyes zoning in on the librarian’s notations.

Silence envelopes the space as the pair settles into a rhythm. Feyre was biting back a yawn when a familiar star flecked presence sneaked through their bond where it is always left with a sliver open because she can’t and will never, never keep him out.

Hmmm… reduced corporate taxes for Night Court citizens opening their establishments in Day Court in exchange for a quota of 80% hiring of local Day court citizens. That’s quite a high quota.

Feyre leans into the mental drawl, tutting playfully, Good afternoon, love. How did it go with the Darkbringers?

Keir is as he always has been but at least it’s over. The daemati replies with a long-suffering sigh. Feyre does not need to be physically by his side to see her mate stretching out those well-toned muscles after a long day of sitting.

Nyx told me swimming had to be postponed?

Feyre curses as regret swarms her entirety. Is he okay?

Phantom strong arms circle her waist and the comforting sensation of her mate’s lips press against her right temple. Slightly disappointed but he said he understood.

Feyre’s chest tightened at the tender thought of her son, still too young to be so thoughtful and understanding. Knowing her as well as he does, Rhys rubs soothing circles on her back and reassures her, We’ll make it up to him soon enough.

Even with the ache in her heart, Feyre knows there is nothing else to be done. It is only what they do from here that matters. Spend a few days off in Day. Just the three of us.

Rhys hums in agreement. Now that I am here, would you like an extra mind to help with the review?

Feyre slashes the “8” on the exact clause Rhys had read out, replacing it with a “7”. She sweeps her gaze across the rest of the page to give it another onceover and flips the page. We’re nearly there. Lucien’s counter proposals haven’t been unreasonable so far. And Gwyn has been a gods-send. I will send up our edits to Lucien tonight and have the finalised agreement ready by tomorrow morning.

Hmm… How efficient of my High Lady. The hot breath moves down to her neck — a deep sniff at a sensitive spot. And while the sensations may be in her mind, the rush down to her core is decidedly not. The High Lady quickly steals a glance at Gwyn, who is thankfully still absorbed in her work.

Rhys. A half-hearted protest.

Don’t let me distract you, my lady. More kisses are peppered down her neck, only to pause dangerously close to her cleavage. Continue reviewing the agreement. Please.

With another stolen glance at Gwyn, Feyre hastily slams down a glamour to prevent any unwanted scents going out and moves on to the next section. To form direct access paths for shipments between Lior and Velaris for export of lentils and rice from Lior, and woven fabric and dairy from Velaris. She struggles to keep her breathing even as a large hand seemingly slips up her flowy top to run teasingly up and down her back. Th-this is as agreed to lower the cost of food for Night and the operating cost of the textile industry based in the Rainbow.

Brilliant, a low and silky drawl as hot breath hovers over her chest. Scandalous but just toeing the line. Feyre’s fingertips press white on the edges of the page, wrinkling it. Pushing down a shudder, she reads the next highlight from Gwyn, one notated in a bright red circle, frowning as she does. Day Court is suggesting no inter-Court entry requirements at these access paths.

The hand on her back pauses in reaction to her statement, a dangerous tension. Are they now?

It will pose a security risk to Velaris, one she can’t allow. With a decisive stroke, Feyre strikes off the mentioned lines. Unacceptable. To revert to earlier proposal of requiring base level identity checks for personnel with pre-cleared access.

The hand resumes its movement. Well-met, High Lady. Well-met.

Feyre’s breath hitches as the deviled hand continues to move lower and lower until—

“Done!”

The moment shatters and yanks Feyre back into the guest suite accorded to them for the visit. She snaps her head up to meet vibrant teal eyes glinting all too knowingly.

“Yep, this is the last of it.”

Feyre blinks, her mind wiped clean of her current whereabouts and circumstances.

“Oh”

A beat of silence stretches too long between them as teal meets cloudy blue, broken only when Gwyn clears her throat.

“I’ll just leave the notes here then?”

The sound of the rustling of papers snaps Feyre out of her stupor and she uses the moment to collect herself. “Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you, Gwyn. You’ve truly been a lifesaver.”

Gwyn simply smiles, her lilting voice carries on the back of the cool palace air as she leaves the room. “You Archerons with your mates.”

Feyre leans her head back to the wall with a thud after the door snicks shut. Oops. Did my glamour slip?

All I hear is that we are alone now. So no more distractions until we complete this pesky review, Feyre gasps as heat envelopes her nipples, High Lady.

“MAMA!”

A flutter of wings ambushes Feyre. But even without sight, her body reacts instantly, arms raised to catch her son, wrapping him in a warm embrace. Feyre smiles into Nyx’s hair, sniffing it deeply. It is sweaty as it would be for any active boy. But it is a scent that fills her heart to the brim.

He looks up at her, those bright silver blue eyes glinting at her excitedly. He tells her proudly, “I am wearing my swimming trunks underneath.”

Feyre laughs. “Are you now?”

She looks to the protective star flecked presence hovering just a step behind and raises an arched brow.

With a blink, her own swim clothes appear in his arms and Rhys shrugs helplessly, his face gleaming with soft happiness. A grin dances on Feyre’s face as she turns back to her son.

They were splashing in the sparkling pools within the hour and Feyre wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

[flyingwargle]

suna week day 7: birthday

when he was a kid, suna wanted to be on tv.

he watched a lot of it, thanks to absent parents, everything from reality sitcoms, detective dramas, medical documentaries, cooking shows. he watched celebrities face their darkest fears, ordinary citizens fall in love, actors cry about their dead families, late night hosts crack jokes and make commentary that went over his adolescent head. after his sister was born, he was forced to sit through kids’ shows, educational programs, and shojo anime, but regardless of what was on screen, he retained a singular wish: to be on tv.

he never really made an effort to fulfill it, accepted it as a pipe dream. when he went to nationals as a first-year in junior high, he was astonished by the tv crews and cameras along the top rows of the stands to broadcast the tournament, hosts interviewing coaches and parents of players to look out for. any time they walked past an interview, he would try to step into frame, try to catch the interviewer’s eye.

his team never made it to nationals after that. the dream went into hibernation until high school, when inarizaki seized the competition by storm.

kita, the twins, and their coach were the only ones ever interviewed. monthly volleyball once filmed a short documentary about them during his second year, but his section didn’t make the cut. they kept the clip of atsumu fumbling his toss, though, probably to show how he isn’t completely unflappable.

graduation led him and his friends down separate paths. he watched ojiro win the championship for the falcons, atsumu score five service aces in his debut match, osamu open onigiri miya. he watched interviews with old high school rivals, documentaries about their training, podcasts explaining their journey as a pro.

he started to accept that maybe his dream will stay that way – a dream, and nothing more.

then, he signed onto ejp.

“suna-senshu! can you comment on how you feel about debuting tonight?”

the interviewer caught him ten minutes before official warm-ups began, clad in the #23 jersey, out of place in yellow and white. he had to slouch to mumble into the microphone, a camera documenting every second.

“i feel nervous, but i’m confident in my skills and teammates. we’ll emerge victorious.” and they did.

interviews came more easily after that, each one building his media persona – deadpan humor, fast quips, surprisingly insightful when needed. friends send him compilation videos of his best interview moments more often than his best plays. he saves them all, watches them on bad days, even on good days because wow, some of his best moments really are the best.

he remembers all of this while standing on the international stage.

the stadium is packed with spectators. his teammates’ backs are to him, opponents across the net. they all wear the jnt jersey, a bright red with the japanese flag over their hearts, their surnames and numbers emblazoned across their backs.

his own, suna, #20.

he has grown accustomed to the blinding stadium lights, flashing shutters, cameras that track his every move. his ears are trained for the sharp whistle’s tweet, his teammates’ shouts, the way the crowd chants his name.

the world on tv seemed so far away as a kid. now, it’s his reality.

he recalls a question that an interviewer asked him as the whistle silences the crowd. “suna-senshu, if you could speak to your eight-year-old self, what would you say?”

the ball leaves his hand. “oh, that’s a tough question. i think i’d say…”

he jumps.

“you’ll fulfill your dream. it’ll take a while – a long while – but you’ll get there.”

“was it to become a pro volleyball player?”

“nah.” he’d looked straight at the camera with his signature smirk. “it was to be on tv.”

he flies into the light.

[anxious-witch]

Dead boy detectives characters as their big three in Astrology-Edwin

Text from the pictures and additional explanation under the cut

Capricorn-Sun

~ Disciplined & driven, handles their business

~ Rational, wants the facts, prioritizes security

~ Deep instincts, old soul, thoughtful & aware

Virgo-Rising

~ Discerning, self-improving & matter-of-fact

~ Sharp mind, pure heart, practical perspective

~ Observant, watches every detail, critical eye

Leo-Moon

~ Draws attention like a magnet, always a star

~ Entertaining, expressive, proud & passionate

~ Strong-hearted spirit who celebrates life

-all text about signs is take from moonomens.com

*Edwin's is the only one that is canon, everyone else will be just my hcs

I have made a separate post about his main three but none the less, his chart is fascinating. Sun and Rising ruled by very stable, earth signs, who pride themselves on practicality and logic. Capricorn Sun gives him very proud and driven personality, while Virgo Rising gives him attention to detail.

We see him easily follow patterns of those signs. As a Capricorn, bs is very driven by his goals, specifically when solving cases. He wants to know all the importsnt facts before staring a case. Who, what, where, when, how and why and will they get paid? After those requirments are fulfilled, he gets right into solving them. He isn't wasting his time on something that will not hold up to his standards. Yet he is very thoughtful, even if he doesn't always expresses it well. But we see that with how he behaves around Niko perfectly.

As a Virgo Rising, we see how much attention he pays to detail. From perfectly arranged books, to dust poisonous to ghost, to even his outfit. Always perfectly made unless he is in a great distress. He strives to discern right from wrong, and even feels shame when his emotions don't always align with it(ie when he admits part of the reason he solves cases is to plead for leniency). He also always strives to improve his knowledge and we see him change through the season as he gains more insight, both on logical and emotional levels. He finds it difficult to bend and break the rules, but if it is for improvment he does it, while still being very strict with himself.

But then we have Moon in Leo. And text above ofc, describes healthy Leo Moon, aka when one is truly in tune with their feelings, which Edwin is arguably not, at least not at the beginning of the season. Leo Moons want to be seen and draw attention. Except Edwin is terrified of being seen as much as he longs for it, due to his other placements. So he denies that longing, until the plot forces him to face it, through Crystal, the Cat King, and then Monty. We see flashes of his true potential when he starts accepting himself in episode 6. He dresses more flashy, he takes pride in his appearance, he takes more dominant role in communication with Monty and the Cat King and freely expresses his emotions(apologizes to Monty, expresses how much the kiss meant to him, tells the Cat King to shove it, snaps at Monty). And then later of course, during his confession to Charles and in his last scene with the Cat King. Once he leans into his natural need to be seen and dominant fire sign and listens to his emotions, he is gonna be a force to be reconed with(and a menace).

[notwarriorswiki]

Main Story - Into the Wild #3

The world was spinning.

Attempting to push himself back to his paws, Rusty could only wince as a dull pain persisted in his back. Cool air brushed against his neck, causing his fur to rise and his skin to tingle. He craned his neck back and forth, feeling the fur brush against the groove of his chin. He softly exhaled, blinking back the blurriness to focus on the item before him.

His collar.

Snapped in two, loose, brittle thread jutted out from the breaking point. The bell that always jingled in his ears with every small movement was now a short distance away, alone and hanging from nothing. The sunlight caught its golden shell, allowing it to glisten in the sunlight.

Rusty stared at it, green eyes unable to look away. He lifted his paw, as if he might reach to gingerly scoop it back up. However, the golden light would fade, the sun's rays shifting.

He looked up. A cloud loomed overhead, passing by a portion of the sun. The glitter of his bell faded, and instead the sun's rays danced to rest on Rusty himself.

His fur felt warm, his neck especially. The soft intermingling scents came with a faint breeze, tickling his chin as a smile spread across his face. His green eyes shifted to instead look up, his gaze expectantly fixing upon the blue gray she-cat that had invited him here.

She stood powerful and stern, blue eyes betraying none of her thoughts. And yet as Rusty purred proudly, he couldn't help but notice the smallest twitch of her whiskers.

“The newcomer has lost his Twoleg collar in a battle for his honor," Bluestar called. "StarClan has spoken its approval—this cat has been released from the hold of his Twoleg owners, and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

A swell of excitement filled him. Rusty basked in the sunlight's warm glow, his ginger fur radiant under its eyes. He waited for Bluestar to come down and congratulate him, but the she-cat remained perched atop the Highrock.

"You look like a brand of fire in this sunlight..." she murmured, causing Rusty's ears to prick. Her eyes flashed briefly, as if her words had more meaning for her than he knew.

“From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat.”

The gazes of the clan were fixed upon him, Rusty's fur prickling with full awareness of their presence.

Smudge could never be a clan cat. Not like me.

Instead he basked in their attention. He raised his head proudly, turning to gaze once more upon the collar. The cloud's cover was fading, and sunlight once more rested on the bell. But this time he didn't admire its beauty.

Firepaw trotted over and stopped just before the mangled scraps he once wore. With a quick turn, he kicked dust and grass over his collar as though burying his dirt.

Longtail growled, turning to saunter away.

"Not so fast," Bluestar spoke.

The clan cats looked back at their leader, uncertain what she would say next. Firepaw straightened up, ears pricked and attentive.

"This young cat will need a mentor." Bluestar looked to Longtail. "And I think you'll do just fine."

Firepaw and Longtail both froze.

"What?!"

-------------------------------

What you have read here is a sample of a Warrior Cats Rewrite, using a concept that I have been contemplating for awhile now. This concept seeks to combine both an art and writing medium, using Tumblr's post and tagging system to tell a Main Story, episodic series that does not rely on Chapters. This also opens up opportunities for Side Stories about the various characters in the clan, which while not required, will provide insight into some of their behaviors, as well as allow viewers to get to know them.

This concept is not unique, rather there are many Warrior Cats blogs who use a format like this. I'm unsure if it has been used for a rewrite, as well as with the branching pathways I have in mind, but I find it is a more viable way for me to share the Power of Twelve Rewrite with people after the Ao3 Series died out.

The question is if you enjoyed it. Do you like this concept? Are you interested in it? Would you follow Power of Twelve with this concept? I'm curious to get people's thoughts, as well as other things that could be implemented. There's also the question of if you don't like this, and I want to hear that too!

Either way, thanks for reading, and I hope this post was a fun read!

[skunkes]

sorry if this is a silly question but do you like. sit down and talk with your ocs in your head? and they tell you about themselves? how do you get them to reveal information....i am begging mine to let me know them orz

I do! In several different ways ^_^ the trick is to think of yourself as a character in your brain theater... ill mostly be explaining thru examples and using silly language ^_^ and its more How I Do It vs a how to....

"Sitting down and talking to em" interrogation style only happens before they're fully formed. when talon still didnt have very many traits it was like we were in a white room with 2 chairs... although you COULD make a scenario out of this its usually the Before for me. final tweaks in the form of basic traits and info before sending em out for further development

the way i get ocs to tell me about themselves is more thru actions! with talon I "locked him in a room" with al in the form of imagining how they'd meet. because I set it in talon's decrepit home with no running water or electricity, there come questions like. would he be accommodating? would he explain the vampirism or just rely on flashing his fangs or hiding them until its time to bite? these arent questions i actually went into the scenario having, but as you Play Dolls its questions that get answered anyway, ykwim? (although you could also go into the simulation (lol) with questions you want answered!) And its your brain so you can do as many takes and tweaks as you want, and things develop as you imagine the same thing, or different things, which all inform a character.

Scenarios could be anything. Im a serial daydreamer so anything goes depending on how bored I am or what im doing... and just like with real people, every scenario is a way to learn more about somebody...! It's like improv in your brain as you think up how they'd react and respond to things, and what they'd say. But also, going with your oc to the grocery store or a restaurant or to slay a dragon could give you insight into their behavior but likely not any info about their trauma or whatever, just like real people (but it also depends on the person) (and the oc!)

I DO have "sit down and talk" scenarios once i feel ive learned enough standard, early level friendship stuff about em though. It's much fun if you set the scene in your mind to mimic a real life Deep Conversation session. Sitting in the backyard on those plastic chairs, or aimless car ride at night. right now the one I keep going back to is just. Loafed in bed when you're really sleepy and just starting to say anything about anything and maybe get a little sentimental. sometimes its just me talking but I obvs have the ability to imagine how he'd be interpreting that in his brain, ykwim?? You play several roles at once I guess. It's like the sims, switching back and forth between povs, but the level of immersion i get into never feels like I'm Making Them Say It, it just feels natural at that point because I've learned enough.

There's also information that's shared by you figuring out what they'd Think (as above) vs what they say which is also fun characterwise... AND ALSO while im daydreaming scenarios I do multiple takes to find their voice. Like, I'm an overexplainer, a detailed therapy-speak-er. Sometimes I catch myself giving ocs that Voice and I have to do a retake. Like hold on, Talon would NOT be introspective. He wouldn't share all that shit I just "made" him say even if it is true and now I know about it. He'd say something insanely vague and confusing if anything at all. Let's take it from the top. etc

It rlly is about immersion! You have to have fun with it! Sometimes it's so Real to me that I genuinely can't develop an oc further because I cant make something up for them and they wont "tell me", which means I just have to spend more time with em I guess! or maybe need to leave em alone for a bit. or maybe ill never know (<- which also tells me about em!) just like real people. treat the fake people like real people in your fake dollhouse brain theater sims lot puppet show simulation.... also i added more in the tags bc i didnt know where to put it in the main txt 😭

[coldflasher]

so me and my friend had to put our flash (re)watch on pause for a while bc she broke her ankle so we haven't seen each other in a while, but we finally picked season 8 back up and. god. i don't even have anything funny or insightful to say about it because it's just bad. it's so bad. and i couldn't even put my finger on why it was so bad at first, but eventually my friend pointed out that like. NOTHING happens. the characters literally just stand in a circle and talk. then whenever something DOES happen they go "hey so this thing just happened, hold on a sec while i describe it word for word in case you missed it." there's no action 90% of the time and there's no meta of the week for the most part so every episode feels samey and directionless as we slowly crawl our way towards a resolution of a plotline that isn't particularly compelling anyway

the characters are flat and nothingy. barry, the main character of the show, does FUCKING NOTHING EVER. there was one scene where he was running down the street, which he obviously used to do in every single ep, and my friend was like "holy shit i feel like we haven't actually seen him RUN in ages" and she was right. the man whose WHOLE SUPERPOWER IS RUNNING VERY FAST DOESN'T RUN ANYWHERE ONSCREEN FOR LIKE SIX EPS STRAIGHT. we see him run in and out of rooms but never see a straight shot of him running TO anywhere. WHY?

then there's the fact that the overarching plots are bad. the characters are split into two factions that don't interact at all. iris having time sickness could be cool and interesting and there's lots of potential for interesting character work there, but instead of making anything happen they have her sit on a couch and not touch anything in case she erases it from the timeline.

at one point she literally GOES MISSING and barry just. DOES NOTHING?? im sorry, fuck whatever else is happening, you know if iris disappeared he'd be tearing the city apart looking for her but all that happens is cecile is like "omg barry i can feel that you're sad, what's going on??" and he's like "iris is missing, im worried about her." WHAT!! THEN FUCKING LOOK FOR HER YOU DINGBAT!! i've said this before but s1-4 barry would absolutely beat the shit out of this version of himself if he found out about this

and don't even get me STARTED on caitlin and her almost husband, the skeleton fire demon who eats grief---again, this had the bare bones (pun intended) of an interesting plotline; a meta that feeds off people's grief could actually be really powerful and interesting to explore, but he's a magic skeleton from another universe who tricks her by pretending to be her dead husband so it's just stupid. at one point the characters like "why are we doing this plotline now, 7 years after ronnie died?" and i'm like yes, why ARE we? because again, having caitlin fall prey to the manipulations of a malevolent force that feeds on grief would actually be very topical and interesting if it had happened in, say, s2, when ronnie had just died for the second time. if her grief was fresh and raw and painful it could be conceivable that she'd be desperate enough to go "well i thought he was dead once and he survived, maybe he did it again", and cling to that, allowing herself to be tricked into believing this evil sentient flame skull was really ronnie. but it's been SEVEN YEARS and she literally just got a new boyfriend who has no personality and who we never see again, so it doesn't make any sense and i don't care. also the show keeps trying to convince you to care by having caitlin go "ronnie was such a valuable member of the team, you knew and loved him!!" and it's like... did we though? did we really? he's never made a big impression on me personally. the only character who was close to ronnie and actually knew him was cisco and he's not here. they added a few flashbacks and a proposal scene to try and make us care more about the caitlin/ronnie relationship but they didnt do anything for me because i was too busy staring at danielle's terrible wig. like babes that is NOT what caitlin's s1 hair looked like, did you even try

the skeleton fire demon stuff is actually kind of enjoyable to watch at times purely because it's so fucking ridiculous, the whole thing is a trainwreck, so i did somewhat enjoy getting to make fun of it but JESUS CHRIST IT'S SO TERRIBLE. HOW DID THE SHOW FALL SO FAR. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED

[gumballavocadoharry]

Shrinking Ray; Brother Harry:

*This was a request! I hope you like it- to the anon who gave such brilliant insight to this one!*

Fire slashes still simmered against the wall of the basement. Lightning sparks still pecked every once in a while through the burns of the rocky pavement. A broken beam collapsed, illuminating the room in particles of sparse dust. 

Harry's lip was bitten in; sullen under his top lip. His eyes scanned the room and then flashed back to Yn, his younger sister. "What have you done?" Yn was too afraid to speak. Sure, her powers had gotten out of control and maybe she was partly to blame for that- but it was an accident. But Harry just saw dollar signs after checkbooks and calls to repair men- he didn't see it the way Yn wished he did. "It was a true accident Harry, that's all,"

"That's all? Yn, you destroyed the basement- you think that it's that simple?! It's gonna cost a fortune to repair all this! What is wrong with you- why didn't you practice your powers like I asked?!" Yn looked away, "I'm sorry." Her voice, frail and tapered like a mouse. Harry took in a deep sigh. "You know..... ever since Mom and Dad died, it's been my job to protect you. It was something like this that killed our parents in the first place! That's why, you have to practice your powers yn- practice makes perfect!" Yn swallowed.

Harry's powers were seasoned- mature and controlled in the way she wished hers to be. He could strike a match with the snap of his fingers and laser through hard bullets with the slight of his eyes. Harry could be gentle; calm in his powers and diminutive in his fidelity. But he could be rough- powerful with the clap of his hands to create a atomic blast. His fist could slam through iron, his palms could shoot fire blasts in the color of blue and orange that would bore from his body with diamond stamina.

Yn, still needed practice. She had the privilege of carrying lightning strikes and heat blast and freeze and heat breaths with her. Moving solid materials with the tips of her fingers and dodging danger before it came to her were he birth right powers. But they were loose, out of her control which Harry seemed to frown upon in Yn. 'You should do this,' or 'You have to get a better grip on this Yn,' and her favorite, 'You can do better Yn, you just have to be serious about this.' The nail in the coffin of all the 'little critiques' her 'helpful' brother would give her was painful to say the least. Yn hated it.

She hated being on this pedestal of expected perfection because of who her parents were and who her brother was trying to be. And at 18, she thought that maybe things would be easier. 

"I can't believe this," Harry muttered, "oh my gosh, Yn." Yn looked to the side, "I was just trying to be like you..... I want to save the world like you Harry." Harry looked at Yn, "Are you serious?" he laughed, "you ruined the entire basement Yn, why would I let you save the world when you can't even help yourself?!" That hurt. A lot.

Yn darted upstairs to main level of the house with tears clouding her vision. She slammed her bedroom door and cried into her pillow. It wasn't fair. Harry is the city's beloved superhero and all Yn wanted was to be apart of that. But no... she was just one big screw up who could never amount to anything. Yn's self pity then turned to anger. Anger at Harry. Looking to the first device that was kept in the vault part of the house, Yn blasted herself with it. Maybe it didn't do anything? She thought until she saw that the door frame was way bigger than she was.

"YN!?" A loud voice shouted. It scared her, riveting through her eardrums like train sirens. Upon hearing the hefty footsteps coming in her direction, Yn ran and hid behind the stairs- to the front of them on the first step against the beam. "YN WHERE ARE YOU, WE HAVE TO TALK!" Yn stayed quiet. Perhaps he wouldn't even hear her anyway. "YN I'M SORRY ABOUT WHAT I SAID, BUT YOU HAVE TO COME OUT NOW!" Yn stayed quiet. When she saw the worried look on Harry's face, she finally cracked. "Harry, I'm down here!"

Harry turned around thinking he heard something but quickly turned back to where he was walking. "YN, PLEASE COME OUT.... I'M REALLY SORRY ABOUT WHAT I SAID. I NEVER MEANT TO HURT YOUR FEELINGS LIKE THAT... I LOVE YOU BABY SIS.... YN?" Yn carefully walked up to Harry and shot her lightning strike his way. Surprised, he looked down and saw a little Yn looking back at him. "YN?" She nodded as she was carefully invited onto Harry's hand and was gently lifted to his eyes. "Yn, there you are.... why are you so little?" Before she could speak, Harry's eyes widened,

"Did you use the shrink ray?" A stiff smile appeared across her face. Harry shook his head, "Oh Yn.... one thing after the next." Tears bubbled in her eyes again. They slowly dripped onto Harry's palm. "I'm sorry Harry..... I'm sorry I ruined the basement, I'm sorry I shrunk myself and I'm sorry for being such a big disappointment to you and to Mom and Dad."

"Yn! That's not true! You are not a disappointment!" Harry looked to the side before looking back to you again, "I'm sorry about what I said before- honest. I shouldn't have been so hard on you about the basement. We all make mistakes- I know I did when I was still learning." Yn wiped her eyes. "Thanks Harry for saying that...." Harry gave his sister and small smile and set her down on the ground. He grabbed the shrink ray and reversed the effects of the ray. Returning to normal size, Yn was able to see Harry's face more clearly. Mellowed and calm than how it was.

"Come her Yn," Harry gave Yn a hug- wrapping his arms around his sister with deep compassion. "I love you.... and I'll help you- for real, not criticizing you." "Thanks Harry, that would be perfect." Harry kissed the top of Yn's head. "I love you too Harry." Yn looked up in Harry's eyes and let him hug her for as long as he could.

She never wanted him to let go.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Sanctuary, Pt. 13

When Sheppard left his conversation with Teyla, he stumbled slightly heading toward the door. Here, we find him and Chaya seated on a balcony or a protuberance of some kind with a view of the city. What is interesting is that the picnic basket is behind Chaya and not behind Sheppard which is what one would expect if he was the one hosting this midnight picnic. The basket should be behind him and he should be the one offering things to her.

They have a lot of things laid out between them. Chaya even makes reference to "such variety of foods" indicating that there's comprehensive selection of every kind of delicacy they have. Chaya also tells Sheppard that she has been perusing the "information machine" Weir got her "on" which means that she's getting a really thorough insight into all things earthling.

The picnic, tasting earth foods, is also gathering intel since she is "a being of pure energy". We don't even know whether she's actually capable of tasting things, but she sure is putting up an act:

Chaya: This is delicious. Sheppard: Well, enjoy it while you can, 'cause it's the last of what we have. Chaya: Then I am honored. Sheppard: When McKay finds out, he's going to kill me.

The thing is, although Sheppard seems to pour her wine made from grapes they have traded with the Athosians later, his comment here that this is the last of it and that it's something McKay would care about indicates that what she is drinking to start with is coffee. Him referencing Athosian wine here would make no sense.

But what's really worth highlighting, and is entirely on brand for Sheppard, is that he has to mention McKay. Anywhere he goes, anyone he speaks with, he cannot not mention McKay. Things McKay does, says, or thinks, or has done, has said, or has thought, is something that Sheppard needs to report to other people at every available opportunity. Even here in what he calls a "romantic situation with a woman from another planet". It's a strange new situation but it's not enough for him to not want to talk about McKay while it's going on.

It should also be pointed out that it's when he lays back on his elbow and seems to relax into a lean that he brings up McKay. It's either the thought of McKay that made him lean into it or the leaning is what reminded him of McKay. And as soon as Sheppard has brought up McKay, she brings up Athar. She gives him a seductive smile and tells her that Athar will save him from McKay. Which should mean exactly nothing to Sheppard who hasn't made it a secret to her that he's not a believer.

In fact, even though Sheppard told her earlier that he respects that she believes, he doesn't share that. He has shown no interest in talking about religion or religions, and yet she persists.

Chaya: I'm fascinated by your many religions. So many beliefs. So many philosophies. Sheppard: Yeah, we've got a few of those. Chaya: So many contradictory faiths. Sheppard: Yeah, it's a bit of a mess. More?

He gives noncommittal replies. He has not consented to discussing religion. He hasn't consented to much of what has been happening recently.

Whether or not one sees Chaya as using supernatural means or just her feminine wiles, this is where the attempted seduction happens. The one that Sheppard mentions in the case file that Lucius read (and it is not coincidental that we return to this episode in connection with Lucius who bedded several women without their consent; "sometimes all at once"). She has a sultry look about her, keeps her gaze intensely on him. It doesn't seem like she has total control over him because we see flashes of him breaking free of her influence but it is clearly making him more open to suggestion. One of the most notable times comes when she first mentions truthfulness:

Chaya: I wasn't completely truthful with you about something.

And then loneliness.

Chaya: On Proculus, when I told you I did not feel lonely… Coming here, and being with you… it reminded me what it was like not to be alone.

Sheppard springs up and puts distance between them, taking several steps away from her. John Sheppard is lonely. This feeling he shares with her. He's lonely because he has chosen to be alone rather than let people get hurt for being anywhere near him. He had isolated himself in the most remote part of his world. But this is not something he wants to discuss with anyone, ever. His reaction clearly surprises her.

Chaya: What? Sheppard: Well, I mean, nothing. It's just that… this is the first time I've been in a romantic situation with a woman from another planet, and it just strikes me as really, um… Chaya: Wrong? Seppard: No. God, no! Just… just… funny. I'm sorry. I just thought that I would…

He feels funny. He feels funny being in this romantic situation with her. It's weird. It's strange. Even with the full force of her seductive stare, the wine, the night sky, the gentle ocean breeze what he feels is funny. He says "I just thought that I would--" and shakes his head. He can't find the words. Any words.

He doesn't know what he's here to do. Yes, he said that he had no intention of taking no for an answer from her but it's doubtful he ever intended for it to get this far. He's not heartless.

She is. She is literally without a heart, a being of pure energy. Even in a suggestible state (even if just for the wine and her lovely company), his reaction made it pretty clear that his intention was not to make out with her (he holds his hand up and says "No, God no."). It's also worth mentioning that it's a lie ("You said it yourself -- we're both human") that she uses to draw him in. And the last thing she tells him before he kisses her is a command ("Don't [leave]").

When he says "I'm not going anywhere" here, it's in response to her direct command.

Interestingly, this is the only time we see Sheppard kiss a woman other than when he's possessed by something (although an argument can be made here that he's not doing this out of his own volition either). Every other time, he is the one that is kissed. And twice when this happens, he confesses that he never sees it coming when they do. Even with the women that have the Ancient gene that seem to be drawn to him and that we can assume he is similarly physically drawn to. John Sheppard does not actively pursue women. All of this comes later, though.

So far, we haven't really seen him express interest in a woman. We were made to think that he had once had a crush on a woman on Earth who hadn't reciprocated it, but it's not made clear that was a woman, and once he smiled at a nurse. A few times he has introduced himself to women with a charming smile. Because he uses charm to gain something, it's difficult to tell whether or when he actually feels attraction. But this still seems out of character for him, on multiple levels.

Continued in Pt. 14

[makesometime]

A little dialogue happens if you pass the insight check on Astarion (to see if he means the flattery or not) and I just love the idea of Tav knowing that Astarion is lying out of his ass and still flirts back, thinking it's just his thing.

(I have been avoiding a lot of Astarion’s scenes because I didn’t progress the romance past the first scene on my first playthrough so I’ve kept this more free-form. It's also... not entirely happy, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!)

(G/T rated - gn!Tav, flirting, references to sex but nothing too lascivious)

#

Walking through the wilderness with Astarion at their back makes them feel safer than by rights they should. With every new thing they see they look forward to getting back to camp, to hear his witticisms and return to their bedroll with his voice echoing through their mind.

Tonight is no different.

He’s filled their thoughts with such pretty words, lately, plying them with clever images and temptation. He looks at them like he knows quite how much it’s affecting them, and gods they don’t know how they feel about that.

When they make their way to stand in front of him once everyone else has gone to sleep, Astarion favours them with one of those precise looks.

“Good evening.” He says, dipping forward into a slight bow, his arms spread out in welcome. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing more than other nights,” Tav says, crossing their arms. “You usually make it worth my while.”

He laughs, snatching up a bottle of wine from beside the mirror. When he turns back, they think they spot a flicker of something else in his expression, something he is a moment too slow to hide. 

“I’ve been dreaming of you.” He says. “Do you know how devastating your presence is for my concentration?”

“Ah, that would make my heartbeat quicken if it weren’t for one simple fact - you don’t sleep.” They say, taking the bottle when he rolls his eyes and holds it out. They take a deep swig and offer it back, his quick hands snatching it up and taking his own slow drink.

His eyes never drift from theirs.

“And to think, this is the closest our lips have come to touching in a tenday.” He sighs, uses his tongue to catch up a stray droplet in a move so lascivious they wonder who such a move might have worked on in the past. “One day, perhaps, you might steal away with me again.”

“There’s nothing stopping you asking.” They murmur. “If you’re so keen to spend that much time with me. I certainly wouldn’t object.”

He doesn’t speak, for a moment. Long enough that they almost start to worry. It’s just fun, isn’t it? Their first time together was one of the only times they’d felt like themself since the Nautiloid, and he’d seemingly had just as lovely a time.

What if… no. They’re overthinking again. This is all just a game, a fun little diversion. Astarion likes to flirt and so do they.

“Perhaps when we’re free of the Underdark, darling.” He simpers. “There’s nothing quite like the open sky above our lovemaking, the feel of the moon shining down. Here is rather… cramped.”

It feels like a dismissal, but he’s wrapped it up in a metaphorical bow so pretty that they smile and nod.

“Truly, it would be a shame to miss out on seeing you in all your glory.”

Whatever hesitation, whatever concern, fades away behind a sweet little smile. Astarion coos, offering them the wine once more. 

“Take it, darling. Retreat to your little tent and dream about how good I’ll make you feel when we next have the chance.”

They wrap their fingers around the neck of the bottle before he can entirely remove his, the coolness of his skin still a little unsettling beneath their own. With a smirk, he draws his hand away slowly, caressing the back of their fingers with a quick little flourish.

“Only if you’ll dream of me too.”

“Oh darling, you are forgetful.” Astarion chuckles, his red eyes flashing fiercely. “I don’t sleep.”

[coralhoneyrose]

Alrighty, ask meme! I'll have 4, 7, 14, and 38, if you please!

Ahhh, thank you so much for the ask! :D

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Not a *whole* lot, honestly! The only idea I am truly ‘nurturing’ (as in actively helping it to grow) is Half Orange. If you broaden that to also include stuff I have taken the time to make some sort of slapdash outline for, then there are four others. One I don’t think I’ve talked about on here before is a humorous, family fluff one-shot from the POV of Morgan when he is in his late teens and struggling to come to terms with how cringe and mushy and embarrassing his parents are about their love for each other once Robin returns post-sacrifice LOL

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

A memory strikes him suddenly, illuminated as if by a stray sunbeam, of huddling midst the shelves with his sisters, Emmeryn reading him and Lissa some old Ylissean fairytale while a storm pounded down overhead and lightning flashes made a glowing tapestry of the colored glass.

He doubts that they were in this particular row of books back then, but the view is the same. Today, tiny dust particles swim in the late spring sunshine, but he can still hear how the thunder made the window shiver; Emmeryn’s bell-clear voice, serene and unafraid. Sometimes he wonders if grieving a person in the same space you lived with them isn’t more of a cruelty than a comfort…but he can’t imagine choosing to give it up either.

There’s this literary technique I have noticed some of my favorite writers use on occasion where a character’s wandering / idle thoughts while looking at something in the environment wind up being a means for insight into their characterization or mental state. I think it can be tricky to execute in a way that doesn’t feel disruptive, but I was reasonably happy with my attempt here. I also think grieving is a really complicated emotion, and it’s one I struggle a lot with capturing all the facets of while writing, but this was a rare instance where I felt like the words got across the feeling I wanted them to.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

If we are excluding the infamous old tumblr posts that convinced all of us you are never supposed to use the word ‘said’ and that you should invent as many epithets as possible to refer to characters, I would probably say “don’t use adverbs”. Obviously it’s very possible to overdo it, and I will admit my writing has a tendency towards clutter and that adverbs probably contribute. But some people really act like adverbs are the devil, and the idea that an entire part of speech has next to no place in writing is kind of absurd to me. I have also read books where clever and intentional use of adverbs was extremely effective in contributing to humor or tone setting and if those authors had followed that advice, I would have enjoyed their books a lot less.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

Oh man, very hard to choose just one when this is true of like…virtually every review I have ever been lucky enough to receive. One specific one that comes to mind, though, was a comment on the accidental engagement fic where the commenter compared Chrom to one of those tropical birds doing a mating dance, and Robin just Not Getting It despite his best efforts. It was such a hilarious and strikingly accurate description of their dynamic in that fic and I got such a kick out of it. I subsequently mentioned the comment to Bustle, and she wound up linking this video, and for the rest of the day, I would just periodically start smiling really big or burst out laughing every time I thought about Chrom and Robin as these two birds. The narration absolutely kills me too.

[1tsjusty0u]

stricken by questions in the middle of the night. hateno. do you have any fun facts + what does your link think of it + when did he get there and what happened

OH actually i have a few :D

ALRIGHTY!! for fun facts: on page 98 of creating a champion (you can view it for free) its noted that the people in hateno wear warmer clothes because theyre near a very very cold mountain which is mount lanayru and also it has a nordic aesthetic apparently! because of that once i. do research i think im going to make hateno based a bit off finland just for fun. or poland but poland is more of a personal thing. and also requires research. speaking of being at the base of mt lanayru youve probably seen this but theres little mountain symbols all across hateno (like on the signs, the pots, and some secret back sheds)! the mayors house is referred to as a church in the files (TwnObj_Village_HatenoChurch_A_01) for some reason, likely because it has the hylia statue. ALSO. this isnt confirmed at all but before i was researching those little stacked rocks. theyre up above the signs as well as near the mayors house. im half sure theyre cairns, stacked rocks made by humans thats usually for signalling a hiking trail. this site also sparsely mentions them + has insight into the architecture + the ancient tech labs (though i havent read a lot of it </3). anyways those may just be for fun/for visitors/decoration (i like to think its all of them) + its likely rock balancing. i Did find a site like this and while im inclined to trust it i dont think it applies here. also while prewriting the main ideas i thought there was cairns in goron city? but i cant find them so! yeah maybe theyre in totk otherwise theyre just in hateno and tarrey town. also while its raining karin i believe will read a little book thats in oots/wws opening cutscene style with a little prince in blue riding towards the castle. i think its neat but doesnt have too many implications besides possibly reinforcing some tloz games could be the same legend told over and over like a telephone game. also theres more in the second win mod but i cant play it because. not optimized at least for me. also. lots of footage to go into and i dunno how much was truly added

what does link think of it!!! i think he likes it a bit, especially the inn. its just cozy + both loshlo harbor and hateno beach are just kind of good thinking places. loshlo harbor especially, its just a nostalgic place for him. also i feel like he’d have a lot more use for his house than we’re given in game (custom photos, a journal, a chest so you can put items in to store them ((maybe food)), souvenirs (he’d have a lot of those i think. mainly stealing mugs), and also actually being able to cook in there). to be fair the champions photo being the only item we could place in links house had an effect, but i do want this to be. an actual house. also i think he’d get deja vu from being in the house and the harbor. nothing like stunting or debilitating but he’ll be cutting up vegetables or building a sand castle and for a moment a memory? or an image flashes and in that. thing. hes doing the exact same thing hes doing now. same place same thoughts . though some would be more memory flashes, those would be easier to tell as its not deja vu but . like finishing someones sentence without knowing what theyre going to actually say. and then he realizes ‘WAIT A SECOND’

i think he wouldve gotten there later than normal. miphers was done first, did a bit of traveling (partly because he. didnt know where it was despite the map). he probably got there somewhere after his 2nd-3rd divine beast. funnily enough i think it wouldve taken him a While to find lurilen and the forgotten temple. lurilen especially why would he Go There (he didnt read the signs in faron). he finally gets a house but at the cost of capitalism. once he gets the camera he goes to impa and then he takes a Long detour to get every single memory and without getting (too) sidetracked. he thought a fallen star was one once but it disappeared as it turned day so he never found out what that light was until he saw one physically crash into a hill. he actually mightve done the divine beasts before the camera and is delaying clammy ganon

as soon as he saw the house i think he rushed up to it, because even if it Wasnt his house it shouldnt be destroyed!!!! it was like there was a time limit. he panicked when he didnt have the money (he didnt sell gems or dragon parts at the time…) but he prevailed (selling monster parts). he does not like chopping wood.

when he got there there wasnt much fanfare? everybody thought he was Just Some Guy (he never wears the champions tunic, as well as never using the champions weapons because theyll break). he completely didnt see the guard guy and just. activated the shrine. he would learn of the statue through the small glasses child and would probably talk to the statue more if a heart container wasnt just stolen. if he could save scum he would to avoid the encounter entirely but because he cant he may just. let the statue have it. until extremely later and he talks to it again after years. i think hed show the fireflies to the statue. also i dont think he talked to anyone besides bolson and purah and symin. except for the stolen sheeps person + the shopkeeper. everytime hes there he will Always buy milk rice eggs etc. cooking ingredients are something hed never pass up. he would be a regular of yammo despite her traveling.

though i think he’d spend a lot less time in hateno than you think. its his home but also he likes to travel + have fresh air and places, and also he visits the champions villages more often than not. except for zoras domain unless he Needs to. otherwise he’d still be in lanayru and visit ruta but still be a bit of a distance away. he also doesnt visit goron city a lot though hes less averse to that. also i think he’d like ebon mountain, especially because its behind his house + he gets a good view. he would tell the guy there the actual heart lake location. also i think fairies spawn there at night (both locations)

i think some locations would be there pre cal but arent post cal. i have the excuse of the mayor mentioning that hateno was still built back from the ground (i can get the dialogue if you want!!) . specifically thered be this one hot chocolate place he’d go to that doesnt exist anymore. through a quest he can get the recipe and share it with the elders but yeah. maybe a library and actual church but shrugs

also sometimes i like to think a time capsule was buried in the backyard/under water. however thats neither here or there + it all depends on the au and how the story goes. he would miss his mom and have mixed feelings on his sister (they were also distant believe it or not. but that was his sister). he’d almost have the same reputation as purah for not leaving the house visibly i think and not talking to almost anyone.

also he hasnt dyed any of his clothes. theyre good enough for him 👍. pre cal he wouldve liked dying the act of dying a piece of fabric a lot

ALSO he doesnt hang the champions weapons in his house. he holds onto them and doesnt let go

one more thing: he’d make a note of picnic/quiet spots. theres one near the village but he doesnt really picnic with anyone even pre cal. he mostly just sits there

i will do tarrey town in the next bit!

[amplifyme]

@randomfoggytiger

Let's talk about Walk Slowly. This episode wrecks me. Every single time.

Vincent's walk as he carries Cathy's body back to her apartment; and his vigil until dawn forces him to go.

And that's where the tears start for me. I often think about the Classic fans who never watched S3 and all they missed out on in just this single episode. They never got to see Vincent kiss his Catherine good-bye, or experience with her loved ones the grief they shared over her death, or hear Vincent's eulogy. Oh well, their loss.

Vincent finally seeking out Father, and Father knowing Vincent's grief and guiding him through it... wow. Vincent's fight with the Other, Catherine's necklace, remembering her words, shocking Father to death with the revelation. Joe and Jen and the FUNERAL-- all the people Above and Below.

Yes, yes, yes! Nothing to add here.

DIANA. DIANA, DIANA, DIANA. I love her. I never would have imagined her so serious-- for some reason, I read her voice as fast talking, higher pitched-- a far cry from measured and deliberate.

She's very deliberate and very introspective. As I told you before, she lives in her head. And I think she has the type of personality that once she figures out you're okay and she decides she likes you, there would be times you wouldn't be able to shut her up. She just generally plays things really close to the vest. She doesn't like to give any part of herself away until she feels like you've earned it.

I adore that Diana "met" Catherine first, and really connected with her through her little doll. (I also noticed that she seems to get flashes or insights by touching objects... hmmmmm.)

Though I liked her from the get-go, this scene in C's apartment sealed the deal for me. From the second she shoved the cop out the door, shut off the lights, and just stood in the dark soaking everything up, I was hooked. "I bet you had a name, didn't you?" Oh, my sweet Diana, I adore you.

She absolutely gets insights and impressions by touching things. She's a touch-sensitive empath, just like Vincent.

Did you notice the parallels between her stepping out onto the balcony for the first time and how it mirrored the shot of Cathy doing the same in the intro the first two seasons?

Mark took me by surprise, wonder how long he's going to be around.

Not as long as he'd like to be. The boy's got some stiff competition coming his way. 😉

Her interrogation of both Joe and Elliot was spectacular.

Really gives you a nice insight into how she works and her ability to cut through the BS and get down to business. Loved her asking Elliot to at least tell her whether she's looking for a dead man or not, cuz she hates wasting her time. The implication being that Elliot might've located and taken care of Vincent already. And her unrelenting questioning of Joe and the whole "Who makes you jealous?" tact. She's very good at what she does, which goes a long way in explaining why she gets to pick and choose the cases she takes on.

Oh, and another thing I just thought of. Elliot definitely knows about Vincent, and lies to Diana when she asks him. He's still keeping Cathy's secrets, even after her death.

Diana observing everyone, marking their pictures with question marks (and Father with the most.)

This was cut out in editing but during the funeral she notices Elliot exchanging looks with Father (remembering each other from when Father was locked up at Paracelsus' and Elliot first heard Vincent's name) and that's why he has three question marks on his photo instead of just one.

The children hugging Vincent while the others are at the funeral....

How heartbreaking was that?? He needed to allow himself the comfort the kids so wanted to give him. And they needed to grieve too. Read the script when you have the time. It was originally written quite differently, but I love the quiet simplicity of this better.

I had to watch Vincent's eulogy several times before I could actually pay attention to what he was saying. I was too busy picking out all the familiar faces at the funeral. I finally closed my eyes and just listened. Perlman delivered, and then some.

There was a moment when the way was still new, and I was afraid to hope. You put your hand on mine. Nothing had ever felt like that to me... like your touch. I wanted to weep. You turned and looked at me, your eyes were filled with dancing light. And I was bathed in your warmth. And I believed in that moment that even for me, all things were possible. In that moment... in your light... I felt what it is to be beautiful. How many lives were touched by you? How many lives were transformed by your courage to give... and to love? How many became beautiful in your light? Oh, we promised, always, to share the truth, always. But, Catherine, there was a truth beyond anything... beyond everything I had ever known, ever dreamed. It was the truth of all you gave, of all you sacrificed, for me. The truth of your love humbled me, silenced me. And the truth I could never share with you was the truth of how deeply I loved you. I will remember. I will remember every moment, every word, every look, every touch. Our love lives. It will live forever. Nothing will destroy us. Love does not die. You're safe. You're safe now. Sleep, my love. 😭😭😭

Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system, let's close with something a bit more shallow. This is my favorite Vincent outfit EVER. The leather, military-like vest is perfection. And it beautifully foreshadows the battle he's about to wage.

[nicklloydnow]

“Why are we so docile and obedient? Is it because there's just not as much to fight for? Hardly. There has never been more at stake. The fate of the planet hangs in the balance. Never in human history has so much defiance been needed from so many. But for some strange reason we deny our anger and sit tight.

Postmodern cynicism is rage that can no longer get it up. It is powerlessness, disconnection and shame. It's the loneliest kind of rage there is, different from the kinds of rage we've known in the past, which were born of injustice and nurtured by a clearly identifiable enemy. Postmodern rage is a volatile mix of strong feelings long suppressed: one part "eco-rage," an appalled disbelief at the way human beings are blithely destroying the natural world, and one part a profound, information-age anger I call "psycho-rage." You may not have had a name for this particular emotion until now, but you know if you have it. You're bored, yet anxious. Your moods soar and dive. Barely controllable anger wells up without warning out of nowhere.

Psycho-rage spikes when you realize you're trapped in a carnival of staged events: corporate America's idea of fun. It intensifies with every hour you spend in front of the TV watching the endless parade of dramatized home invasions, boxing bouts, space-shuttle launches, election debates, stock-market analyses, celebrity gossip and genocidal wars—interrupted every few minutes by ads for cars and cosmetics and holidays in Hawaii. It reaches a crescendo as you realize (too late) that ever since you were a baby crawling around that TV set, you've been propagandized and suckered, your neurons pickled in erotica, violence and marketing hype. You have become less than what you once were. The forces of nurture and genetics that make you a unique human being have met equal and opposing forces trying to reduce you to an obedient consumer. You have joined the North American consumer cult of the insatiables. In Buddhist terminology, you have become a "hungry ghost," with an enormous belly and pinhole-size mouth. And you will never be truly "full" again.

The strange thing is, you don't really mind. In fact, on some level, you're happy as a clam. You find yourself actually enjoying the ride, savoring the spectacle. Your daily dose of circus sound-and-light dissolves under your tongue. You can't stop watching as the bombs land on Baghdad. Your tears flow freely for Princess Di. You can't get enough news about President Clinton's escapades. You press the remote and the show goes on.

Once in a while, in a flash of insight, you understand that something is terribly, terribly wrong with your life, and that a rude and barren future awaits unless you leap up off the couch right now.

Then the moment passes. Your opening came and you didn't move. You couldn't muster the clarity of mind to figure out what to do, let alone the energy to do it.

And so your rage remains underground.” - Kalle Lasn, ‘Culture Jam: The Uncooling of America™’ (2000) [p. 141, 143]