#rust and stardust

[totonieee]

“Was then. Is now. Will ever be.”

[opentanie]

Can you tell us a bit about how Haymitch in your rewrite differs from the one we see in SotR? And how the girls interpret him, because imo that says as much about them as it does about him

Hi!

Thank you kindly for the ask, and sorry that you had to wait so long for the response.

Anyways, to answer your question, first and foremost, I want to retcon the retcon of his personality. I don't see what's wrong with him actually being a jerk, even if with some hidden depths and soft spots. Actually, since the circumstances around him during 2QQ remind me a little of someone I know, there are parts of his characteristic in my rewrite that are inspired by that person.

Haymitch I imagine is aware of his good looks and charms, and he uses them to get away from various troubles. He is kind of troublemaker, but not because of his family's apparent fame for being rebels, but because he thinks himself smarter than others, able to talk himself out of every mess. Funnily enough, in a completely unrelated wip of mine from 2023, there's this passage:

He doesn’t remember any words that were spoken that night, when the fire was still on because nights went colder and colder; only the stories that they shared. She told him how she hates her father drinking, his breath almost silver from tall the moonshine he swills each Friday. He didn’t yell, didn’t beat up neither her, her twin nor their mother — he was just drinking and crying, crying with an eerie, animal sounds leaving his stinky mouth. Then she asked, whether he ever drinks. Haymitch — for the first and last time in his life — shook his head. Not even a drop, he swore. Because his pa also got turnt, but not every Friday, just whenever he could. He often cotched with Peacekeepers, which was why they were always more eager to overlook what’s going on with Abernathys. Until one drunk soldier shot Pa when both of them wanted to dance with the same girl, that is.

When you think about it, despite the constant reminder, how it sucks being poor and from Seam, we never actually see the characters in the center affected by the issues very common amongst the lowest class. Yes, adult Haymitch drinks due to his trauma, which is valid, but the sad truth is that alcoholism is extremely common amongst people of the class that Haymitch or Katniss are meant to represent, so Pa Abernathy being another inspirational dead parental figure never sat right with me. Like, before it got overplayed, I enjoyed the 'paint your poster' philosophy, but I think Haymitch already having a pattern he wants to avoid, because he's smarter than his Pa, he would never do that to his Ma and little brother, adds to his tragedy and fall.

So, to answer what my Haymitch is like, I guess he hangs somewhere between Woodbine Chance and Haymitch from the og trilogy. He's fun to hang out with, overly confident, smart - but not as smart as he thinks himself to be. He loves his family, hell, he also loves his girlfriend, but even he doesn't mean them harm, he does hurt them sometimes, especially Lenore Dove. But the comfort of being young, lucky and loved is to believe that there's no wrong deed you can't undo - until he gets reaped for the games to replace Woodbine.

As for, how both girls see him. Lenore Dove mistakes his individualism for sharing her romantic beliefs about rebellion and non-conformity, and he never corrects her because he likes her idea of him, this rouge with a heart of gold. It's not a big spoiler that Haymitch cheats on her, mostly by flirting and occasionally making out with other girls - but while she's furious and sad, she keeps forgiving him because she believes them to be twin flames. She sees his flaws, but repaints them into bright colors to make him into a character befitting the role of the male lead in the scenario she creates for herself, this sucessor of Lucy Gray. Their feelings for each other are real, but flawed. She projects a lot of what she herself wants to be onto Haymitch, and he plays along because as long as he does, he can always come back to her. I'm sure some people would call it toxic, but for me it's mostly immature and plays out how most of passionate relationships at that age could.

Maysilee, on the other hand, approaches Haymitch with the same air she does everything else around her: skepticism, if not outright cynicism. Because she always looks for the worst in others, Haymitch's act of lovable rouge never really works with her; she sees him rather as a jerk, but she also notices that society always rewards him for directly the same things it punishes her for: mean comebacks, playing with other people's feelings, even caring about their looks. I don't want to spoil much about how their relationship, and Maysilee's view of Haymitch unfolds, so I think the best way to put the difference is that while Lenore Dove paints Haymitch in the brighest colors, Maysilee uses the darkest ones, marking all the bright spots with her bile.

[m00nb04rd5]

Hol Horse (JJBA Part 3)

Happy Birthday, @mysteriousdragon2!!

[toestalucia]

btw if u ever read a fate ep and ure like 'oh u'd like captain in this one' or just if i'd like it in general, then yell at me.......me & the fate ep situation is um. its. its kind of dire.

[missrandomdreamer]

"Out there somewhere there is a love who will never dream of calling you too much. Who speaks, like you, in poetry and candlewax and stardust. Who runs outside on stormy nights to howl at the moon. Who collects bones and sings incantation and talks to the ancestors. And that lover, when you find him or her, will see you and know you – just as you are and just as you should be.

And they will say yes. Yes, you. I will go there with you. I have been waiting for this."

-Jeanette LeBlanc

✨💜Something different 💜✨

[stardust-rust]

An update on my fics

Hi everyone,

Some of you may be wondering "hey, where's that sequel you promised us of 'this kind of ruin'?" Or indeed, any fic at all this year.

Well, the thing is, that sequel (currently very tentatively titled 'these temple bones') is actually complete. It's pretty much done, barring edits and some cleanup. The reason I haven't posted it, or had much energy to write at all, or do anything besides mindless doomscrolling, is because my husband got sick some time earlier this year. Like, really sick. Between the stress of that and worrying about bills, my work being crazy draining, my sister going through a crisis and the heartache of having to yet again cancel my already-belated-due-to-covid honeymoon, I was hanging on by a thread of sanity. Frankly, I don't have enough spoons at the moment to manage posting a new story.

Writing is still my haven and my refuge, I have been chipping away here and there on all sorts (including a bkdk Soul Eater AU and a bkdk Hunger Games AU) where the mood takes me, but these days it's been hard to get time to myself. I thought I'd give an update, because I kept convincing myself I'll do it soon, I'll do it next week, but it's not quite manifesting. Don't worry, as I said 'these temple bones' is fully complete and it WILL be posted eventually (who knows, maybe this post will actually kick my ass into gear) but if it doesn't, you'll know why.

Stay safe out there folks, and tell the people you love that you love them.

[nightlight-stardust-and-rain]

Sir if you touch these skeletons I will personally make sure you become one

i need “Happier than a necromancer in a natural history museum” to become a known phrase immediately

[nosamyrag]

[opentanie]

Hi! Hope you're having a nice morning/afternoon/evening! I'm super interested in your SotR project! I'm curious about how you mean to characterize district 12 through Lenore Dove's eyes! And also about how the love triangle angle is going to play here? Does she assume what she sees on screen is behind edited to look romantic but then slowly she's worn down because it's a lot and it can't all be fake? And how do you imagine the unreliability of Lenore Dove's and Maysilee's narrators to be shown, esp in regards to Haymitch? (Love the idea of us not being in his head and instead seeing him through the eyes and perception of others btw)

Hi!

First of all, thanks for the ask! It's very motivating to know someone is interested in my little project!!

Anyways, although it's still in early development (still fighting writing block etc), to answer your questions:

SotR!District12, despite Haymitch vomiting exposition on every page, felt very... hollow to me. Even with her alienation of choice, I imagine Lenore Dove having some social circle - not exactly including Abernathys, giving that I would keep Ma not supporting their LD's relationship with Haymitch, but Everdeens and some Seam kids she should know. I don't think we've ever seen D12 everyday life from POV of a typical nobody, not victor, nor Capitol Peacekeeper, so I want just some sort of slice of life, apart from the obvious - reactions to the 2QQ. That also includes The Covey, bc I already shared my thoughts about what Covey should be + I think there had to be actual consequences of Covey members being indirectly linked to Mayfair's death, and Snow's disdain for them. I know it might sound muddy right now, but my point is: I want to make D12 alive through Lenore Dove's eyes, even if she's not a big part of that life, and it's not exactly her choice as a noble savage Covey girl. I want these people, mostly Seam people (merchants will have more focus on them in Maysilee's POV) to feel real, not just PG poverty porn. There will be some personal dramas, mostly, but not only, including Covey, because I also want to put Lenore Dove in situations, and force her as a character to take part in something, instead of just standing on the outskirts and giving Mike Flanagancore monologues.

As for the love triangle, the crucial part here is that I want to retcon SC's retcon (lmao) of Haymitch's personality, and made him a little more jerkish, which would also change some things in Haydove's dynamic, so I think, when LD sees them on tv, edited specifically to go under her skin, she goes back and forth between believing it's pure propaganda, and convincing herself this doesn't mean anything, because people in extreme situations tend to seek for humane connections, right? Right? But yeah, as time goes by, even she becomes more aware that she lies to herself, and Haymitch's return is the final nail in the coffin because she slowly pieces together that, while what she saw on air was edited to fit into standard romantic frames, Haymitch and Maysilee did share something that goes beyond her, and she ultimately lost.

I think the best way to underline their unreliability, when it comes to Haymitch, is to make them both assume things about him, both basing it on their observations and knowledge about him, but contrast their beliefs with one another - like, if some situation that happened back in D12 is brought up, LD thinks that Haymitch shares her opinion, while Maysilee tries to guess it, and her final thoughts are different. They're gonna have a different view on Haymitch, because the point is that either of them gets different Haymitch in a sense - because his own character journey starts on the Reaping, directly in the moment him and LD get separated. And of course, in the end arrives Haymitch's POV in the epilogue, that confirms some things, but not all, leaving it up to the reader to decide who was right about him in certain situations.

(There's also one, veeeeery small moment of Haymitch's perspective dripping into Maysilee's POV, and it's very easy to guess when that happens.)

I hope it doesn't come across as a world salad, but this ask got me so stupidly excited that it was difficult to organize my thoughts!!! Thanks again, anon!!!

[m00nb04rd5]

String Gummy Cookie and Stardust Cookie (Cookie Run)

[duelblades]

they only sound in the mess hall is the hum of the ship's tantalus drive; a sound that permeates every bit of the ship regardless of proximity to the core. it's familiar, and soothing to a degree ----- a sound she always seems to thoroughly miss when she's away from the ship for too long. the rest of the crew has come and gone, leaving her and lucanis the space all to themselves for once. ( he's something else she tends to miss when she's away for too long; a fact she's slowly getting better at admitting out loud instead of keeping it so close to her chest. )

things between them ( whatever it is, exactly ----- she's hesitant to put a word to it again. what they were before can't be what they are now; too much has changed for the both of them for old pieces to fit into a new puzzle as seamlessly as they once did ) are at least getting better. small steps; a repeated process of getting to know each other and letting the other one in all over again.

some parts have been easier than others ----- but her affinity for touching him hasn't changed in the time they've spent apart. the time she'd been to hell and back.

for the moment at least, she's keeping her hands to herself; a pair of palms being utilized as a way to prop up her chin while she watched him in silence, quietly drinking in the face she knows better than most ( save for maybe himself when he looks in the mirror ) until she finds something unfamiliar to focus on.

she shifts the weight of her chin to her left hand only so she can reach out with the right; the tips of her fingers catching a faint line north of his temple. it's light in color and thin; already considerably faded compared to the rest of his skin. old, but not to old. something she'd missed out on while she was away. another reminder of how much she'd missed; another reminder of what he'd thrown himself into in her absence.

"this is new," she murmurs as she traces the faint discoloration with a light touch, following it from start to finish before repeating the process. "i don't remember this one," because she would've no doubt doted on it when it was fresh and angry, before before and after chakwas took care of it in the med bay. "missed out on some fun, didn't i?"

@spitecrow didn't ask for this but they're getting it Just Because™️

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡ ゜

​𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

He holds you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin, trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips, wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

[spotsupstuff]

I'm still working on getting the gardening ending for myself, but I've been collecting some ponderings I'd like to write down. So:

A congregate of thoughts on Watcher lore (as of now):

• I really like that this DLC is right now three kids in a spiritual trenchcoat. None of them is normal. I bet they'd all be friends if they met.

• I really like the color coding of these 3, as for what I've assumed regarding to colors' symbolism in this world: - Black stands for Nirvāṇa, the Void, being outside of the reincarnation cycle - Gold/yellow stands for holiness, ascension - Blue/purple stands for damnation/stagnation - White stands for Saṃsāra, the cycle of reincarnation, the physical world (the Watcher lingers in the physical world, unwilling to leave it)

On the account of blue and yellow being on opposing sides on the color wheel, I'd also gander a guess that the Rot and the Void don't entirely agree with each other/may be on opposing sides.

• Therefore, I don't think the gardening ending was exactly what the Rot Prince wanted to achieve, supported by his last two dialogues with the Watcher:

[Greeting lines]. As with all great deeds, my work is not without great challenge. It has taken eons and the light fades. The paths close and change. I can almost feel... a will... at odds with my own.

[Greeting lines]. Forgive me if I go on! You have done so much for me, I will not burden you with my troubles. Please, rest here as long as you wish. You are always safe here, my dear friend. You, who were there for me.

My guess is that the content that hasn't dropped yet will introduce either a new character/s in a sort of godly roles, or will explain the powers playing behind the wheel flowers and the Cycle.

• A light at the end of the tunnel (or something white/bright with a way to it?) is mentioned by both Spinning Top (at her ending) and the Prince (both as a flowerbud and in that first paragraph I copied up there).

I don't know what to do with this yet, I just found it interesting. Something something the white light within the Void Sea in the original game?

• ,,Outer Rim...?"

The Buddhist cosmology says the world is made out of 9 mountains (Mount Sumeru [the axis mundi], 7 golden mountain ranges and 1 outermost iron mountain range [maybe the withered buildings here are made of rusted iron, buried in stardust]) and 8 seas (7 freshwater and 1 saltwater), with 4 continents within the salt sea who's inhabitants each have a little something extra (except the South I guess, that's where *we* are. well apparently all Buddhas appear here actually, so you know. that's a something).

For an interesting example, the north continent called Uttarakuru is said to house the wealthy, owning no private property, where their food grows by itself and they live in the skies (Iterator cities, nudge nudge).

The name of this region could point to the Buddhist cosmological map being a physical fact for this world. I'd like to think that the dimension hopping aspect to the Watcher's worming through the space-time is at least limited to 4 continents(/realities?).

Also a fan fact: in Chinese mythology it is said the waters flow and stars fall slowly, because a water god with a bad tamper, Gònggōng, broke one of the pillars supporting the sky. Combining this fun nugget with the established lore in a pearl that everything is once eaten away by the Void down below, I'd say it is safe to assume on 89% that the dust mentioned in that pearl comes from the heaven itself and creates a sort of a cycle of the physical matter.

Suppose stardust is what creates everything, powers everything (just as is said in science). Suppose the Starcatchers are superstructures made for conversion of it into desired forms, these ones perhaps in the West of the world specifically, because of their circular shape.

(Meaning Signal Spires are perhaps of the South, while original game- aka Pebbles and Moon- are in the North of this world.)

• I find it fascinating and validating that Spinning Top needed some sort of an Embrace from one of the Five Urges/Hindrances (the third one, companionship) to be able to pass on.

It points to my idea of what the religion is Really supposed to be about: the Five Urges are what they are- urges- and they cannot run rampant. The point isn't to absolutely *eradicate* violence, pleasure, companionship, hunger and desire to live from oneself. The point is to be able to control these things and not cling on to them.

Because if one clings on to something, they stagnate, they cannot progress, they rot and they *fear* losing the something more than they can truly enjoy it or they get far too lost in it to feel it right anymore. To cling on to life means being afraid of taking risks, trying something new and really Living.

But now that doesn't mean going for the opposite is the correct way to go about it- that still creates a desire, a clinging- an urge for death is just as good as urge for life. It binds. It's extremism without careful consideration for what is really the best to do, feel and think in any given situation.

(This goes for love, too, it is GOOD to love, but going too far becomes unhealthy obsession instead of love. Going the other way results in hatred, another utterly useless and harmful thing to harbor. Same as indifference - that is stagnation again, that isn't picking up something, working with it to move forward. Love is a forward motion that is required, but cannot be overdone because as so it would be bastardized into something else, possessive and caging.)

Spinning Top could move on only when she knew that the flipside of the Third Urge- a sickening loneliness- wasn't something to fear anymore.

• Yeah, I don't think we can count on backgrounds too much when it comes to size calculating on the basis that they are probably shaped around gameplay. Specifically thinking about how the spinning top toy changes sizes between it's in-game model and the art. When it comes to Ancients, I'd say the best one can do is do what feels right.

• The Rot Prince is some sort of a boosted up Preta, I swear to heavens. Hungry guy. Maybe the Rot as a whole is a Preta stand in, just way more physical.

• Can't believe my ,,Respawning is real" headcanon has been officially given the thumbs down... The *Strand* Theory is real. (Even though DP is separate from the Watcher, this at least explains why Artificer didn't just go back to the last shelter she slept in when her cubs were still with her. They went to a different strand, where a different Artificer managed the situation better and we are stuck in this reality without them.) (We see them in her Void ending either because they are the one thing her heart wishes for [the Void gives comfort to those who are passing, as far as I am concerned], or because the Void is where all the reality strands and times coincide into one another.)

• On that note, no Fucking wonder the Ancients wanna bail - we don't really know to what extend they were aware of reality's unwounding nature, but assuming it is Pretty Thorough, I too wouldn't wanna live with the knowledge that in one reality I might've died on my loved ones, leaving them broken, while in the other everything is just fine and dandy.

The endless wondering of ,,Did I die in a different reality at any point in my life? Did I leave these people I love behind to hurt, alone, and I can't do anything to help them? I can never know, I'm not allowed to comprehend..." would slowly kill anyone with a heart, I think.

• I wonder if the Prince is a puppet/the Rot made itself a puppet, - because the Starcatchers were Iterator-esque biomechanications with a different directive than iterating on the Big Problem and this is a consumed Starcatcher (something about its budding dialogue feels to me like there was a sense of a Self beforehand that was drowned out by the Rot and then was pulled forward again with additions) - because the Rot is at the edge of the universe (humming a tune) where a messed up slugcat decided to start ripping holes in the reality, therefore connecting different strands including to places where the Rot already existed as a plague upon Some Iterator, which gave spark to sapience and inspiration to a new mind

• The new karma set is definitely a droplet and the ripples it leaves behind. Makes sense, too, there's more ,,movement" within it the more Spinning Top yanks the Watcher around in time-space (accidentally, I'd guess. or the ,,blame" is more on Watcher *somehow*), messing up their physical existence more and more.

Maybe the karma symbols or the imagery itself have something to do with a combination of an axis mundi and the strand form of existence.

Something about there being a main timeline in which each action and decision creates a new ripple, a new strand.

• I wonder if the Watcher could've come across Spinning Top and effectively latch on/follow her, - because they were already dead/echoed (the dream sequence upon reaching the final karma level could mean they did go to the Void Sea and swam pretty deep but turned back and that resulted in Echo-ification? then again why can a lizard bite me. Spinny's laughing at me for it. Goddammit.) - because of their nature as someone who's so damn hesitant about things, who hangs in the backlines, only observes and learns. Very Echo-esque personality - because of their desire to have someone there

• Just realized that we have a canonical design for Spinning Top's mask, hot damn. ,,How do children's masks look like?" answered.

I don't know why, that kind of creeps me out.

• The portals existing outside of us are made by Spinning Top, I'm pretty sure. She's always over them.

Is it normal for Echoes to leave tears like that? I think if the Rot Prince met her and knew she's the one who started this whole journey that resulted in him coming to exist as a consciousness and to bloom, he'd see her as a friend the same way he sees the Watcher.

• I wonder if his approach to the Rot Triple Affirmitive is ,,it's going to get worse before it gets better". He has suffered, too- while he normally speaks gently, calmly, orderly, when he is a flowerbud he seems frantic to me. Like someone breathing through death before getting better.

• Is the concept of the Rot Prince created for the first time in all existences' or is he a repeating pattern, too? The Rot in the least seems to be a pattern, because of what Spinning Top says when we meet her in one of the original regions, eaten through by the Rot.

,,You shouldn't have come here. It's too far." Does that refer to this strand's/ripple's distance from the axis mundi/the water drop creating all these realities? The further out the little wave carries out, growing smaller and weaker, the more rotten through it is? Is it because still water is stagnation, just as the Rot is?

So the Cycle is change and movement, life and love, that exists in a hurtful matter not out of its design, but because it has to contend with absolute stillness/stagnation/the Rot? Or it's all part of the same system, truly designed like this?

Could a Mass Ascension be seen as an escape plan from a ripple growing old? Man...

• A quick attempt at illustrating the previous thought:

Some Pepe Silvia level nonsense going on here.

[pcrdidcs]

their eyes widen upon seeing her dab at her forehead with a quick and panicked snatch of a nearby napkin. he gasps audibly, his hand to his chest though the urge to grasp her wrist and ensure her that she's nothing if not beautiful under the glow of the artificial lights and the universe's aura. "my goodness," nikhil says. "no, you're not sweaty at all. i meant what i saw inside—your soul, i mean, not your forehead. i apologize; i really should be clearer . . . " when she cups his face and describes that his eyes are like oceans, he falls into his role and stares back into her eyes, dramatically swooning and sighing. "and my lovely sade—there is nothing but wonder and starlight behind those blooming irises! they say we are nothing but rust and stardust, but i believe you were only touched by celestial illumination ! . . . and then i exit left dreamily." they laugh, imagining the two of them on stage in heavy and sweaty shakespearan outfits. "i wouldn't mind a history of the bicycle," they remark. "it's a nice palette cleanser to all of the music and poetry. and, who knows, maybe they way you tell it or hold yourself on stage will showcase a little bit of music and poetry, too."

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ 🪐 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎"  twinkle  ?  glisten  ?  i'm  not  THAT  sweaty,  am  i  ?  "  sade  reaches  up  to  dab  at  her  forehead,  pulling  her  fingers  away  so she could  see  if  there  was  anything  left  there.  that's  so  not  the  point  of  what  he's  saying──  it  was  a  compliment,  sadie  !──  but  she  brings  a  napkin  up  to  wipe  anything  away  just  in  case.  "  put  me  up  on  the  microphone  and  you're  just  going  to  get  the  entire  history  of  the  bicycle.  "  she  saw  a  video  on  it,  recently,  and  has  been  itching  to  tell  someone  about  it.  sade's  been  keeping  her  mouth  shut,  though  !  maybe that's what he was sensing from her sweaty aura. "  though  i  think  that'd  be  better  than  some  of  the  stuff  the  people  up  there  are  saying,  don't  you  think  ?  oh,  wonderful  nikhil,  "  reaching  her  hands  out,  she  cups  his  face  jokingly,  "  your  eyes. . .  they're  like  oceans  !  yes  !  oceans  !  can  you  believe  it  ?  i've  never  heard  that  metaphor  before.  " 

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 , hsr men !

side comments: i love old jazzy tunes or old songs in general. i usually don't do this kind of fic but i wanted to try something new.

extra: gn reader, fluff, all hsr men except yanqing & misha word count: 434

Other arms reach out to me Other eyes smile tenderly Still in peaceful dreams I see The road leads back to you. 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐀 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 / Ray Charles

Despite age the two of you bustle about; committing your duties be it work or another passion. Perhaps either of you transverse the cosmos. However, when Twilight's wings gingerly take you under its folds, the two of you melt into one like candle wax dripping down its holder. No matter what path each of you treads- you are bound no matter the state. Thus, under the duvet covers and the unspoken lullabies of the night, he presses kisses on your wrinkled eyes like gemstones while slowly caressing your furrowed hand with a gentleness only matched by the lightness of a feather and the warmth of a beating heart. It is instinctive like blinking, like drawing air into the lungs. Rest now in silence for neither of you needed to say a word, another day will come and nights of blossoming devotion will echo into eternity.

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 . Dan Heng . 𝐃𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎 . 𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐀 . Gepard . 𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍 . 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 . Blade . 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐓 . + any of your favourites

Just one look at you My heart grew tipsy in me You and you alone Bring out the Gypsy in me I love all the many charms about you Above all, I want my arms about you 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 / Judy Garland

Your limbs might not take you far now, but he'll twirl you in the air like a star and tease you until your cheeks ache from laughter. The glimmer and shine of that first date still trails behind the two of you: stardust in the wind, wings that seldom break. You two still share that hidden kiss in public and search for treasures amongst a sea of rust. Giddy and unfettered, the two of you are like birds spinning in the air; chasing each other in fits of uncontrolled laughter. Blush still brushing against your sagging cheeks and the tipsyness of a night still young, his own heart enthralled as the first time he met you. The throng can stare if they want; asking why not sit down? Would you like some help? That's fine, he'll still banter and pursue adoration as if it's not already tucked in his arms. Because despite his gradually wilting eyes and worn-out knees, he'll still bow down and press his head against your stomach, whispering, "mine."

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 . Argenti . 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 . 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐎 . 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐀 . Gallager . 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 . + any of your favourites

At last My love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 / Etta James

The two of you have mellowed over the years, lost some hair and found comfort in blue skies, the pit pat of rain and sand between your toes. Perhaps the two of you find a house in the countryside or build a home on a distant planet found in cup boards and the warmth of an oven. Perhaps you settle under the blanket of the universe; allowing your eyes to trace the sun inching down the walls of your shared home. The two of you spend your days lying languidly on the couch, days drifting into melodies spent well and arms entangled as one. He never would've thought that his heart could slow and his soul mellow like a distant breeze. His eyes drifted towards your figure, a pleasant smile reaching his lips.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 . Welt . Gepard . 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 . Dr. Ratio . 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 . 𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆 . Jing Yuan . Luocha . + any of your favourites

masterlist.

[yuurivoice]

"In this moment of turmoil, the pain you feel is so familiar you almost remember something you never knew."

It's something I said to Jackie while trying to explain a certain vibe and tone for something I can't tell y'all about at the moment. And it haunts me. I thought about it listening to the premiere today when Auron hit Faust with the "I was worried you wouldn't be happy" bit and man there's something in there rattling around that I haven't solved yet but I can tell I have it cornered.

This idea that in you, somewhere hidden and unknowable, the gears that turn and tick were made long ago. The rust and wear remains, but you cannot realize this. But every so often in life, you brush up against a moment that gets so close to those old scars that you almost get that memory back. The stardust you're made of starts to rattle as the blade scratches right up against that groove it made long, long ago, and then...it's gone. You react. The moment was so brief that you don't even know it came and went. A fleeting glimpse at something beyond your nature, your experiences, and trauma. A synchronicity of the soul. An alignment of your essence. An eclipse that was nothing more than a hitch in your breath or skip of your heart.

And the you that you never knew remembered it was there. A terrifying, indescribable thought.

What if God is the you who sits within, watching and praying that you'll eventually get it right before it passes judgment? What if a soul is just a passenger? Sometimes you've let it take the wheel, other times you've bound it in chains and locked it in the trunk. And you don't know. You will never know.

But it will. It will always know. And there is nothing it can do about it. It simply longs for the ignorance you blissfully exist in, and waits.

Anywho, there's your existential crisis for the day!