#she's a tiny ball of rage in general

[sadtimo]

Maitimo is cut off in Tumblr's thumbnail for the #mairanya tag because of course he is!

Same energy as this...

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Track list for Fig and the Cig Figs independently published Junior Year album (officially named “Infaethable”)

Teenage Rebellion

Night Yorb (a heavy metal banger)

Summer Scaries

Devils Nectar

Time Quangle (a love song about Ayda)

Multiclass (Gorgug sings on this!)

The Ballad Of Lucy Frostblade (Kristen was the one who convinced Fig to write this)

So Late, So Tactical

Do You Have A Fucking Warrant

Cassandra (Can You Hear Me)

Hall Of Mirrors

President Applebees (written entirely in the night after Kristen gets elected by a drunk Fig with extremely drunk notes by Kristen)

Raging For Love (inspired by Gorgug, of course)

The Elven Oracle (Has A Day Job) (So Stop Bothering Her)

Maximum Legend

Fury Of The Ball

Cursed

Infaethable

The Bad Kids

[kastalani123]

ToA, but the A stands for Ares

(Mortal Ares in TTC/BotL)

Bc I think many have questioned why Ares wasn't (noticeably) punished for helping steal the Master Bolt and Helm of Darkness. He's already the Olympian pariah of sorts, a major punishment shouldn't be out of the question.

So he spends about a year in limbo before being dumped in Manhattan as a ball of immortal rage confined in a tiny mortal body. Haven't decided whether he's in his early or late teens, but regardless, he is smol with like. Toothpicks for arms.

He does not initially intend to head to Camp. He intends to squat at some fighting ring or something until Zeus gets bored. Anything to keep others, especially his siblings, from seeing the state he's in.

However, he has no weapon and nobody is particularly intimidated by a roughed-up, dirty kid, regardless of the inferno raging in his eyes. So, off to Camp he goes, just in time for The Sea of Monsters.

He. Does not know that a mortal immortal's services have to be claimed. He would've made one of his kids do it, if he had. Instead, he gets caught off-guard and Annabeth gets him. He hates it. Not only has he lost all control over himself, but he lost it to a child of Athena, to a friend of Percy's. He has a rough time with it.

Iiiiiiii don't know how Clarisse gets her ship without Ares as a god. Maybe he can summon it without his powers because the soldiers owe a debt to him regardless of his mortality? Sure, let's go with that.

(Also! Disregarding the "abusive father" characterization of PJO Ares. If there is one thing that man loves, one thing he will never be violent against, it's his kids, fuck off, Rick. He may not be a great dad (as all gods), being too rough and overestimating his kids' capabilities and being bad at emotions/empathy, but he is never raising a single finger against his kids. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean they don't have some degree of fear about not living up to his expectations)

He goes with the trio on their secret quest because he's. Kind of tied to Annabeth, at the moment, and also because it's a chance to fight and hopefully regain the shred of his Father's favour he still had before TLT. Percy hates it and they fight constantly; Ares spends a good chunk of the quest muzzled with Annabeth's "Shut up!" commands. He's not having a good time.

Clarisse is pissed that he came because she thinks it means he doesn't trust her abilities and thinks she's weak. This is Not True but Ares really fucking sucks at communication, emotions, and relationships in general, so she stays pissed at him.

His temper gets even shorter than it already was when he, Annabeth, and Percy get separated from Clarisse because he's worried and wants to hurry up and find her. Percabeth don't realize that's why, so it ends up as a huge mess. Ares is trying to rush through everything by immediately attacking while Annabeth and Percy are actually trying to plan some things out, so he ends up being kept on a really short leash. Like, "Don't do anything but follow us" short. It's almost enough to get him to spill his worries; alas, he cannot speak.

(Honestly, that probably ends up as a huge part of the story; his arc would probably essentially be to get him to open up and help him understand and deal with his emotions, but he keeps pissing people off which makes Annabeth make him shut up so he can't talk shit out like he's supposed to. The first proper steps of his character development have to happen away from Annabeth, which means it's really convenient that she gets kidnapped in the next book!)

Anyways.

Annabeth lets up on the commands when they get to Polyphemus's Island, with the caveat that he doesn't rush into anything. He wants to absolutely decimate the Cyclops for daring to capture and think of marrying his daughter, but unfortunately, he does not have the ability to do so, even with a godly power up born of his protective rage. He absolutely vows to take care of it when he regains godhood, though, regardless of Poseidon's potential wrath. This also further cements his hatred for Poseidon's children, which is honestly very impressive because they're probably already one of the things he hates the most.

His reunion with Clarisse is. Well. It certainly is. Unfortunately, they are both allergic to admitting how worried they were. Instead, Clarisse just gruffly thanks him for his help and Ares says that no one is allowed to touch his kids (which Clarisse takes in a possessive/neg way, of him sort of taking ownership, as gods are wont to do. This doesn't get rectified for. A while). They both want a hug, inexperienced as they are with them. Neither will get it.

That's about it for SoM. It'd be more about him learning about his limits and getting a better idea of his kids' limits than proper Emotional Character Development. That'd start in TTC, kind of like how Apollo really started growing after TBM.

Ares absolutely has his own flavour of trauma; more "typical" soldier PTSD and stuff about being the hated Olympian than past lovers, tho. A good bit of his arc would probably be something about learning what healthy relationships look like, how to manage his feelings in a non-destructive way, and that he doesn't always need to be "the strong one" and should be protected sometimes too. He doesn't get the same speedrun as Apollo, since he'd be mortal for a few years (until TLO), but considering his thing is more about learning how people and relationships work while Apollo's was a bit more about his ego and actions getting checked, I think that can be justified. This man has been ignoring emotions other than rage for millennia, it'll take a bit more than six months to get him to open up.

[beansmack2021]

Breathe Again

This probably isn't the best, but I wrote it for my best friend so her opinion is the only one I need rn lol. Wylan has a panic attack and Kaz is a little bit of a softie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wylan wasn't entirely sure what had brought this one on. Maybe it was the quiet. He'd never liked the quiet all that much. Sometimes, it was more imposing than the loud screaming from his father. Quiet meant that the rage was building, rather than dwindling.

Who was mad, though? Not Inej. Surely not Nina. It had to be Kaz. Wylan wasn't sure what he'd done, he just knew he needed to make reparations. He'd start by cleaning the kitchen. Surely, seeing the space all tidied up would bring Kaz out of his mood. He would make him some tea, as well.

Yes, he would fix this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was like he'd forgotten how to move. He'd swept the floor. He'd wiped the counters four times over. It was finally time to make the saints forsaken tea, but he couldn't move.

Tea leaves, Wylan, tea leaves he repeated in his mind. Yet, he couldn't seem to stop staring at the empty cup in his hand. He wasn't even exactly staring at the cup. It was more like his vision blurred while his eyes were pointed in the general vicinity of the cup.

"Wylan?"

The cup was on the floor. The cup was on the floor in hundreds of tiny little shards. The cup was on the floor in hundreds of tiny little blue shards and Wylan couldn't breathe. Wylan couldn't breathe. Wylan couldn't-

"Wylan!" Inej's yell caught his attention. "Wylan, are you alright?"

Wylan was shaking. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. He was rocking on the floor in a ball, though he wasn't sure when he'd sat down. The corners of his vision were getting dark. His shoulders felt tense, and his throat burned. He looked at the cup again. Inej snapped her fingers in front of his eyes to get him to look at her.

Without saying anything else, she took very deep breaths. She gestured for him to copy her. They breathed deeply for several moments until the darkness went away and the burning stopped. Then, Wylan let everything out. Inej just held him as he sobbed.

He heard another set of footsteps coming down the stairs before someone paused at the doorway. The steps went away for a few moments before returning again. A pair of black, leather gloves were tossed on the floor next to Wylan. He looked up to meet Kaz's gaze.

Kaz, the man he'd been so sure was silently fuming, was standing beside him with his head turned away. "The gloves help me, sometimes. I figured they might be of some aid to you."

As he left, Wylan and Inej simply looked at each other in shock. He wasn't angry. He wasn't mad. Wylan could breathe again.

[fuedalreesespieces]

inuyasha's time on the tree is honestly a subject that fascinates me. imagine you were a kid in the village where this all happened, fifty years ago. you hear rumors of the hanyo skirting around the village, but your parents tell you that miko-sama will take care of it - after all, she's taken care of every demon that's showed on the village doorstep, so this should be no different. and then she dies - the woman you thought was invincible, that everyone told you was invincible, untouchable, dies. she bleeds out surrounded by people, and you hide behind your mother's wrap skirt while you watch the pyre burn, and the smoke pour into the sky. your village's only protector is gone, and in her stead is a little girl around your age, who up until now has only held her sister's quiver. is she able to hold her sister's mantle and all that comes with it? it's a question too heavy for you to think on.

kikyo-sama's murderer - that's what they say he is - is pinned to the tree in the forest. you are forbidden from playing there anymore, but there are days where the ball rolls out of the street and into the foliage, and you chase it over the moss-covered crags until you find yourself there. and at first you're terrified to go any closer, plagued with images of the hanyo stirring to life and attacking you. but he doesn't stir. he doesn't move. he almost doesn't seem to breath, and it is only by the slow rise and fall of his chest, punctured with kikyo's arrow, that you know he must still be alive.

you can't fathom how he still lives.

you ask around. it's a touchy subject, and nobody in the village has anything good to say. the rumors are shrill and inescapable, like cicadas during summer: he charmed her, he bewitched her, he played at being her friend and betrayed her. always, he is the betrayer. you learn nothing from them and there is nothing to unearth. the right people to ask are no longer able to respond. the ones old enough to give you answers speak with restrained anger, rage tightening the skin around their lips. you visit kikyo-sama's grave, leaving flowers with the other villagers, but her empty headstone provides no answers, either.

the hanyo is silent, and the forest grows around him. you had never looked at him before, only knowing his face torn apart in anger and shock, moments before the arrow's magic overtook him. you, against all the chastisements of your parents, and all the recurring tales you've heard of youkai, find yourself at his tree without thinking. and it is his tree, just as it's his forest, because nobody dares to step foot in it. nobody except you. you linger by the generous shade of the trees, watching from a distance, expecting something. but the tree he rests against may as well be a gravestone, too.

you find yourself in the forest doing menial things, like collecting firewood, even though your mother tells you that it's best to avoid treading too far. the trees by the hanyo are too thick for someone as tiny as you to put a dent in, anyway, but you imagine it would be easy work for him - his claws peek just under the fluttering rim of his sleeves, and again you imagine him tearing himself free of his prison and stalking towards you. he doesn't. no matter how much noise you make, his eyelashes lay low, and his body hangs limp, like your sister's rag-doll.

you imagine this may be a mistake, but you continue to make the same choices. perhaps it's the lack of answers, or the childlike curiosity that tethers you back into the forest. maybe it's the fact that while you were able to gaze upon kikyo-sama from afar, you never quite knew her. you admired her as everyone else did, but just like the gods themselves, she was distant. the closest you'd ever been to her was the day of her death, when her mask of serenity broke into a thousand pieces, and she clung to her sister's arm for the first time, begging kaede to follow her instructions. a face of pain, a twin with that of the hanyo's - a thread between them, sewn together by the death itself.

somehow, this hanyo is the last remaining piece of the village's deceased priestess.

you move on with life. you grow older, and get married to someone in the village, and watch your own children get married - but the hanyo is there, just as he was decades ago, as unchanging as a statue. it's an unfair comparison, you think - any statue you've seen is cold and immobile, but the hanyo's blood pulses under his skin, like he's constantly running. though he looks peaceful, you still believe, after all these years, that he could escape at any moment.

but inuyasha doesn't escape. a girl in strange clothes frees him, and when his eyes flash open, you see life enter them again for the first time in fifty years.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t 🟪 13

Ben's spiraling. While trying to come to terms with what he's done to Nebbia, he remembers what else he's done in the crucial hours after leaving the brothel. And it's not pretty...

lonely cowboy/outlaw ✖️ prostitute who's so much more than that

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

WORDS: 5.5k 🟪 READ ON AO3

Chapter 12 🟪 Chapter 14

Additional warnings: Violence, murder and lots of angst ahead. Beware!

Chapter 13: The Rage

Ben wakes up on the floor. The light is too bright, his head too heavy, his tongue swollen to double its size. He feels awful, his back hurts, his jaw is tense, there's a weird taste in his mouth. Somehow he manages to sit up without throwing up, gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself. He's squinting, fighting the brightness of the day, looks around through the hammering pain inside his skull.

Cursing under his breath, he rubs his eyes, his beard, his messy hair, groans. Inhales sharply. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice just a raw little sound in the back of his throat, like stones grinding against each other. His head rests on the bed as he tries to find his bearings. What the hell happened?

Something shifts to his left, and he looks up without moving his head, only moves his eyes to the bundle on the bed. It's a familiar sight by now, the girl curled up in a blanket, a ball of limbs and hair and fabric, barely taking up any space. He extends a hand, on instinct, a reflex of familiarity, but as soon as he feels her warm body beneath his palm, an image flashes before his eyes.

Tears rolling over soft cheeks, trembling lips, wide, panicked eyes, a tiny body pinned beneath him, paralyzed by fear.

He pulls his hand back, only then noticing the broken skin on his knuckles. His confusion grows. Sitting up, his back leaning against the side of the bed, he stares at his hands, turns them, flexes his fingers, feels the throbbing beneath his skin. He can't remember it, but he knows that his fists have been in somebody's face, on somebody's body, breaking skin and bones, and the faint memory of rage fills his empty stomach.

When he shifts on the ground, he wonders for a moment why there are a handful of tiny blue buttons strewn all over the floor. He picks one up, so small he has trouble doing so, and it looks so delicate on his big palm. His head hurts when he frowns deeper, his gaze moving back to the girl on the bed. He can't see her properly, covered and curled up as she is, but something cold rushes through his body.

His breath quickens, his heart accelerating. It doesn't make sense, but he has to make sure. Connect the dots, even though they are all over the place, don't seem to match, to fit, like puzzle pieces bent out of shape. Slowly he lifts himself up, one arm braced on the bed, a knee pushing the mattress down, as he climbs closer, his other hand extended to brush against the blanket, the soft blue fabric of her dress beneath it, a small foot peeking out beneath it all.

“Nebbia,” he growls, his voice still that strange stone against stone grinding noise, deep and low in his throat. “Wake up...”

His hand is trembling when he finds her shoulder in the ball of hair and limbs and covers, and he slowly unfolds her, turns her body, shakes her gently. She inhales deeply when she stirs awake, a fraction of a pale face emerging from behind the tangled strands of hair, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering, a small pink tongue slipping out to wet her dry lips.

He's that shadow over her, waiting, watching her as she comes to, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. Her face looks normal, pale cheeks, clumped lashes, sleep in the corner of her eyes, patterned lines on her skin from the pillow and the clothes she's buried her face in. He realizes it's his plaid shirt she has wrapped around her shoulders. She rolls onto her back, blinking up at him.

And there's a tiny flinch when her eyes meet his, a small little shudder rushing through her fragile body. Her chest starts moving more, rises and falls quicker, her lips part and tremble, and her hand clutches at the shirt she's balled up between her fingers as she covers herself. He leans back, tense and on edge and with his mind racing, trying to make sense of her behavior, of his conflicting memories, of the ache in his hands and his head and his whole body, the taste of blood on his tongue.

She shifts before him, scoots back as she sits up more, her wide skirt tangled between her legs, the blanket only half covering her torso. Her long hair falls over her shoulders, and he can't unsee the shaking of them, the fear in her big green eyes. He wants to ask what's wrong, baby girl? but the words are stuck in his throat when he sees something poking past her dark locks as she turns her head slightly.

He's still too rough and uncoordinated in his movements, drunk on rage and bewilderment, but he's on her in seconds, brushing her hair away to expose her neck. She yelps, winces, a tiny sob emerging from her throat as he stares at the bruises on her soft skin, his hand fisting the sheets beneath her shoulder while she freezes under him. He breathes loudly through his nose, jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. At first he's angry, wonders what happened while he was gone, who did this to her, but then it's like a kick in the stomach, a cold realization, the last puzzle piece falling into place.

He jerks away instantly, stumbling off the bed, turning around, gripping his chest as hard as he grips the doorknob, ready to flee, hide from the memories flooding his hazy mind.

It was him.

He feels it, her soft skin under his lips, his mouth, the rush of blood as he sucks on her neck, nibbles, bites, holding her down as she squirms beneath him. Marking her. Tasting her. His teeth sinking deeper, a coppery thing on his tongue, heavy in his mouth, double its size. Alcohol and blood mixing within him, driving him crazy, making his entire body throb, blood rushing lower, gathering, straining. Her taste is everywhere, her smell, that soft scent mixed with cold sweat and fear.

He was the monster on top of her.

Ben groans, the hand on the doorknob moving to his face, pushing through his hair. He's breathing hard. Leaning his forehead against the cold surface of the door, he grips his head with both hands, trying to push the images away that haunt him, claw at him, sink under his skin, torment him with more and more details.

Her little sounds of distress, her wrists held together by his large hand above her head, his hips pressed to hers, grinding. Blue buttons. Flying through the dark room, the tense air, thunder in the distance, clattering to the floor. Fabric, ripped apart with a strength he couldn't control. A pretty blue dress, torn to shreds, exposing a heaving chest, trembling little breasts, flushed in fear and shock. Helpless beneath him.

Rage fills his stomach, cold and burning at the same time, clawing at his insides, twisting, tensing, tearing into his flesh. A familiar feeling, but never directed against himself.

There's another memory pushing through, faint, but there, a throbbing beneath the dried blood on his knuckles. Unfiltered violence, broken bones, blood everywhere, groans of pain mixing with the echo of words in his mind: kicked her in the stomach... lost so much blood... she's lost yours...

He sees himself gripping someone's collar, his fist hitting and punching and sinking into an unknown face. The pain is not enough to stop the images, the words, the memories of a boot print between shoulder blades, a red hand print on a soft ass cheek, a curled up body, shivering in panic and pain. It all mixes together, old and new memories, revelations and reactions. Like mother, like daughter. Attacked by unknown men. Kicked in the stomach, assaulted, damaged beyond repair, a pain hidden behind pretty faces.

His knees give way, and he sinks to the floor, still clutching his thrumming head, folding in on himself. The haze is still there, the heavy taste on his tongue, but he knows now. Knows what happened.

He left Madam Claire with his mind racing, that familiar rage settling in his guts. As he sat on the horse he'd borrowed from Sarah, he guided it through the breaking morning, back to the house, the camp, the rising sun in his back as he approached it. But it was empty. They were gone. Left him like he left them.

He wanted to confront the men that drove him away, Bill, and Joe, and Bob for good measure, just because. Men who think they can get away with everything, with leering, insulting, touching and assaulting, grabbing what isn't theirs, taking what never will be. Heavy boots on frail bodies. Keira lost his child because a man like them took what he wanted, no matter how. And Nebbia was in pain because one of them couldn't control himself.

And there were men in front of his door, rattling the doorknob, lured to him because another one couldn't keep his mouth shut. Sent them right to them, made them flee. Joe ratted them out, and now the camp is deserted. He looked around, found empty gun shells in the dirt, bullet holes in the doors, windows shattered. There'd been a fight, and another rage settled within him. Guilt.

Ben took the girl, he brought the wrath upon them, they had to fight and flee because of him – all while he was concerned about his very own deranged desires. Completely fucked-up. He, this world, everything around him. Except the girl, the poor, innocent girl, caught in the middle of it.

He wanted to take revenge, but the camp was empty. The men he wanted to punish gone. And the note on the bed in his room, ransacked, dresser pushed aside, most of his stuff gone. “Come near us again, and I'll take you to the gallows myself!” it said in Mitch's neat handwriting. And the rage had grown, guilt and anger and disappointment, and a sadness he wasn't aware of at first.

Years of his life with this group, more with Mitch and Ginny... A family, as fucked-up as they can get, but still a family, to rely on, to come back to. No longer. They banished him. Because he brought a girl. Because he chose a girl over them. The rage was white-hot, burning just beneath his skin. He'd kicked doors, furniture, left-behind crates and barrels, destroyed anything he could get his hands on, overtaken by wrath and violence, and then they showed up.

The reason they were gone, left him behind. The Daniels. At least ten of them, maybe a dozen, sneering and laughing, catching him with his boot lodged inside a broken crate. His pistol was in his hand before they could even announce themselves properly. Big words for big men who didn't have much to say. His first bullet made one of them tumble off his horse. He dodged the replying ones, rolled free and behind a tossed over table. Wood splintered around him, he shot back, emptied the cylinder quicker than they could get to cover.

Frantic fingers pushed in new bullets from the pouch around his hips while shots flew over his head, hot and fast, deadly if they'd find the target, but the sun was blinding, shielding him. He shot, dodged, crawled back until he was inside the empty house, found cover behind a brick wall, reloaded his gun, again and again, until his bullets were all gone and spent, stuck in bodies lining the steps leading up to the house.

There were still footsteps, heavy, angry, driven by rage, and he waited for them, pistol in his fist, ready to strike. Blood sprayed over his shirt when he brought the heavy end to the face peeking around the corner, the cracking of bones loud in his ears. Pained grunts, then another smack, a roar, violent and raw, as he pummeled the man to the ground, gripping his collar, sinking his fist into what remained of his face, until he didn't move, didn't splutter, didn't groan anymore.

The body fell heavy to the floor, a thud in the sudden silence. He looked up then, saw another man frozen in place, eyes wide, pistol falling from a shaking hand as he stared at him, his fist as bloody as the man beneath him. The last of the Daniels fled, and in his rage, Ben stumbled after him, grabbed the gun, fired at his back, screamed and roared, found the target to let his anger out. He emptied all the remaining bullets into the fleeing man who fell over with another thud, loud in the quiet around him.

There was only the rushing of blood in his ears, his own heartbeat loud and angry, his heavy breaths like the panting of a large animal. He didn't feel his own injuries, where bullets grazed his skin, cut through his clothes, didn't feel the throbbing of his fist, the burst skin. Adrenaline pulsed through him in the beat of the violence still tensing his muscles.

Somehow he made it to the creek to wash off the blood, his and the others', past the tarped-off area, the baths, and the memory returned of the girl on the ground... The sun vanished behind dark clouds at the same time as his mind spiraled out of control again, a rumble in the air and inside his chest, and the rain that came pelting down was both soothing and aggravating. He stood there, staring into the gray sky, tense and numb and cold and hot, all at once.

Amidst the blood bath and destruction, he found a hidden alcohol stash, five bottles of Bourbon, and he drank them like a man parched, desperate for hydration, ignoring the burn and the dizziness settling in his head. The day slipped through his shaking fingers, and he can't remember how he got back to Sarah's ranch, but he knows he's lost the horse somewhere in between.

Stumbling through the forest as the thunderstorm raged around him, drenched and soaked and pitiful, mind hazy but there's one image that keeps him going. Big green eyes, a shy smile on full lips, a dimple on a soft cheek. Madam Claire's words in his ear. “She's not yours.” The answer he wanted, to a question that got so much more complicated.

He's too drunk to think about the things that happened, there's still a bit of rage and sadness, disappointment and frustration, guilt. The ache in his hurting fist. The emptiness in his stomach. Banished. Left behind. Alone. But not quite. There's one more thing... that isn't his... one more thing that beckons him closer, back to her. One last thing he can claim to have something in the shameful excuse he calls a life.

Nebbia.

He can barely remember reaching the ranch, stomping up the stairs, leaving a trail of mud and dirt, wet and miserable, but driven by a desire he shouldn't have focused on so badly. He found her in bed, where he left her, in the dress he bought for her, cuddled into the shirt she couldn't part from, his shirt. And he couldn't help himself, couldn't control the urges any longer. He was over her in no time...

Now he's a sunken form on the floor, head leaned heavy against the door, held by his hands, dried blood on both of them from smashing faces and smashing furniture, letting out the rage he couldn't project on anything (anyone) else. But the rage remained, just turned into something else.

Need. Want. Desire. A primal urge.

His teeth in her neck, like a predator tearing up his prey. He groans, shaking from trying to suppress that wrath he feels for himself now, that festers inside him, like a disease taking over every good he's ever done, which isn't much to begin with. Every touch directed towards the girl, formerly protective and caring, turned into something against her, possessive and wanting, selfish and dark.

Amidst all the self-pity and self-hatred murmurs a tiny voice in his head, a means to justify what he did, even though that is not an option, cannot be an option. But it's there nonetheless:

It could have been worse. You could have done worse to her.

His fist hits the door, the wood aches, his own sharp pain rushes through him, a garbled cry leaving his lips. A little shriek behind him. He stiffens, breathing hard, his heart thundering inside his aching chest, focusing on the noises around him, outside his raging, throbbing head.

The bed squeaks, naked feet on the wooden floor. The little tip tap coming closer. He can feel her presence, a hand extended, but he only snarls without turning around. “Stay back!” His voice a low, grinding thing like a monster in a deep cave, chewing on his last victim. She pauses, he can tell, frozen to the spot, but she doesn't listen entirely.

Her hands are on his stiff shoulders, warm and small and tender, careful but determined, rubbing up and down his back, easing the muscles. He wants to push her away, tell her to leave him alone, but he also doesn't want any of it, instead he wants her, her soft touch, her unyielding trust in him no matter what he does. Does to her. He exhales through his trembling lips, forehead pressed to the wood of the door.

And she hugs him, the panting beast caught in his own head, ravaged by doubts and rage and emotions he can't make sense of. Her slim arms barely reach around him in his crouched position, but she tries, presses herself against him, hands clawing at the front of his shirt, her warmth sinking into his tired bones. He wonders why she's so trusting, so forgiving, so loving, when she should be terrified of him.

But he knows the answer. Because he made her. He took her out of her old life, severed all the ties, burned all the bridges, made her dependent on him and him alone. He's all she knows now, and she's all he has left too. She needs him, despite everything. She feels safe with him, she's told him, after another man assaulted her. And now he's become that man...

He breathes against her small hands on his chest, raises one shaking hand, bloodied and aching, to put on top of hers. One moment, he gives himself one moment of peace. Then his fingers curl around hers, and he pulls her hands away, shifts on his knees, gently but firmly pushes her back without looking at her, then stands, inhales deeply, grabs the door and slips through the opening onto the hallway, the shame within him winning over the need for comfort.

Yet he keeps underestimating her.

She's with him in an instance, a warbled little sob escaping her as she grips at him, trying to pull him back, to stop him, and he freezes, lets her get closer again. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, her breath hot against his back as she leans her forehead into the curve of his spine.

“Please don't leave me,” she mumbles into him, her voice like the soft murmur of a wave crashing against the shore. A thrum in the atmosphere, beckoning him closer.

He shouldn't fall for it, shouldn't let her pull him back in. He doesn't deserve it, the peace, the comfort, her forgiveness. Her dependency. He took it by force, dragged her away, made her his (even before sinking his teeth into her neck, even before he got the chance to do worse). But this is not for him. She needs him. And he won't abandon her, he's told himself to stay with her, be with her, because her mother couldn't.

Even if she deserves better than him.

Inhaling deeply, he turns around slowly, looks down at her (without really looking at her) as her hands shift from his back to the front of his shirt, her fingers not letting go of him as she tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. He can't bear the sight of her face (her neck) yet, the turmoil in her eyes, so he leans in, hands finding her waist, and she immediately moves her own hands up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against his when he lifts her up effortlessly, one arm under her rear, the other hand curved around her shoulder as he carries her back into the room.

The way she clings to him so easily, as if nothing happened, her warmth and barely there weight against him, eases his tense muscles a bit. He wants to set her back down, kneel before her, bow his head to her, show her how ashamed he is of himself, but instead he sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls her onto his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her small frame, holding her close, just feeling her, listening to her soft breathing, the faint drumming of her heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he whispers into her hair after a long moment of silently sitting together. “Or scare you... I'm sorry.”

She's immobile on his thigh, feet tucked under the other, knees pressing into his stomach. Her small hands grip his shirt, head resting against his shoulder, hair falling down her front, covering her neck. “It's okay...” she murmurs softly, a barely there hum in the air.

He shakes his head. “It's not okay, baby,” he says quietly. “I shouldn't have done this...”

“You were drunk.”

He huffs a laugh that sounds like a grunt. “Never an excuse.”

Inhaling deeply, he moves his hand to her face, strokes his thumb over her cheek before putting it gently under her chin, making her look up at him. Meeting her big green eyes feels like a shot through the heart, the trust in them, the blind fucking trust, despite everything. It's killing him. He moves his hand lower, carefully tilts her head, pushes her hair aside.

The sight of her neck is even worse than he's expected. It eats at him, churns in his guts, tightens everything in him. There's a crooked line of thick bruises all down the slim column of her neck, individual spots bleeding together, overlapping, stretched out, from beneath her ear to the gentle curve into her shoulder, right above her collarbone. Red and purple, dark discolorations right beneath her soft skin, blood sucked to the surface. He feels sick.

He doesn't dare touch them, moves his hand through her hair instead, fingers holding onto soft strands as he tilts her back a little. She's wrapped his shirt around herself, buttoned up almost to the top, but he can still see the bite mark over her clavicle. His teeth in her skin, another red and purple bruise with additional indents, the skin even darker where the mirrored curves of his teeth imprints sit.

He's a monster. There's no excuse, no talking around it, no denying anything. A monster who still tastes her blood on his tongue.

He lets go of her hair, covering her neck again, and carefully pulls her against his chest, arms loose around her, afraid to hurt her even more. His heart is beating harder, breaths short and quick. He feels absolutely horrible. His instinct is to put her down and walk away, hide his shame, his turmoil, stew in his own dark thoughts for a bit. But he doesn't want to leave her, so he remains quiet, stiff on the edge of the bed, with her on his thigh, in his arms.

She does the same, immobile, leaning against him, but breathing softer and calmer, her fingers tracing patterns around the buttons of his shirt, a gentle pressure against his chest.

“Ben?” Her voice is quiet, uncertain, a soft hum amidst his racing heartbeat.

He grunts in response. “Hm?”

“What happened?” she whispers, and he takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. He owes her the truth, maybe she'll understand why he's been acting like this. Not that it is any excuse, no matter what happened, but it's worth a try. For him to understand himself as well.

But in the end, he doesn't tell her the truth, not all of it anyway. There are still some things he needs time to work through on his own. Most things actually. So he tells her about visiting Madam Claire, asking her (politely, what a lie) what she knows about Keira. Nebbia looks up as he talks, curious eyes wandering over his face while he stares down at his big hand curled around her knee, applying gentle pressure to ground himself while he constructs his lies (or his version of the truth).

When he says that he found out who her father is, she scrunches her nose and looks down at the mention of the man named Roberto who she doesn't know anything about – unless Sarah's shared his life story with her in his absence. She probably has, she doesn't care about lies or keeping things to herself. He both admires and loathes her for that trait. But it doesn't matter. Roberto is Nebbia's father, and Ben also tells her that he might come looking for her (because he highly doubts Madam Claire will call off her guard dogs, mainly because she can't, and he knows it).

He doesn't mention that Keira's been pregnant before, nor by whom or that (and how) she lost the unborn child. His unborn child. The girl listens when he tells her about going back to camp to check on his people – and he leaves out the tiny fact that nobody was there, that they were ambushed because of him and her, that he found that fucking note, being banished, that those damn Daniels came back for him, attacked him, and how he had to kill them all.

She doesn't need to know that.

Instead he tells her that he got carried away, caught up with Mitch and Ginny, drank one too many and lost track of the time. She watches him closely, and he hopes she'll buy the many lies, hopes they make sense, because his mind is still fuzzy. At least she doesn't say anything as she mindlessly brushes her fingertips over his shirt, her eyes slowly moving down to where his hand rests on her leg. He groans internally when he sees the dried blood on his knuckles, the split skin, feels the ache and the memory of smashing his fists into faces and furniture.

The rage stirs within him.

“What about the bad men?” she asks into the silence after he's done.

“We're safe for now,” he replies quietly. A few less Daniels to worry about, but there will be more, and as soon as Roberto finds out about the whole situation, there'll be absolute hell to pay. He has to take her far away from here by then. If only he knew where to go...

“Are we... okay?” she then whispers, interrupting his hazy escape plans and lack thereof, looking at him from under her lashes, a slight tremble to her full lips.

He stares back at her. “Do you want us to be?” His voice is rough, harsh, his own self-pity bleeding through his words. Why would you want that? he wants to ask.

“Of course I do!” she says quickly, shifting on his lap as she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls herself closer to him. Her eyes are big and pleading, and he hates himself for being unable to look away, to make her see reason, to stop her. “Please don't pull away from me,” she whispers, her hands moving up to cup his bearded cheeks, mindlessly rubbing them as she bites her lip. “I need you...”

His heart sinks. And beats faster at the same time. It's clear now just how dependent she is on him, and somehow, despite the initial reaction of denial and refusal for his own sake, he feels... good about it. Likes the way she clings to him, looks at him, needs him.

His whole life, ever since Keira left him a broken man, he's lived from day to day without any proper purpose. He was never in it for the money or fame or the thrill of it. He just tagged along, helped the people around him with his skills. He would have done anything for Mitch and the others (well, not all of them, obviously), and he had done so many times, but that was over now. The only thing he knew, gone, moved on without him.

And somehow even that seems to be a blessing now. Because he has her, the girl on his lap, looking at him with those big eyes, pleading him to stay with her. And he's sworn it once before, he's told Madam Claire the same. He'll take care of her, not for his sake, because now he clearly doesn't deserve her, but if she needs him, he'll be there for her. It'll be his purpose. A thing to live for.

He raises his hand, puts it on hers, gently pries her fingers off his face to close his own around them, holding tightly. Without saying anything, he leans in, presses his lips to her forehead, hovers there, inhales deeply, takes her in. His arm wraps around her shoulder and pulls her even closer.

“I'm here, baby girl,” he whispers hoarsely. Even if I shouldn't be, he adds in his mind.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath ghosting his skin. “Thank you,” she mumbles barely audible, and he wants to scream at that unyielding innocence and trust. How can she be like this, after everything that happened? After everything he did to her? And thank him even? What is wrong with this girl?

Then again, what is wrong with him... A lot of things, that's for sure. And maybe they are both fucked-up, each in their own way, one too angry and in the end too selfish to let go, the other too dependent and naive to step away. They only have each other now. It shouldn't be, but maybe it was fate all along.

For him to step into that brothel, to find her, to remember his first love, to form a new one, to give her something she's never had: a life away from servitude, a life of freedom to do whatever she wants to do. And maybe she'll find out then that she doesn't need him, that her freedom lies somewhere else. He'll let her decide.

He can't be making any decision like that. He can't just take what he wants. He's done it once, and the repercussions of that single decision are still heavy on his tail. He'll give her the better life he's promised her, and he can only (selfishly) hope that he may have a place in it. And if not, well, that's a thing for the future.

Right now, he has to focus on making it up to her. He can't erase the bruises on her neck, has to wait for them to fade, but he'll do absolutely everything to never repeat anything like that ever again. Unless she wants him to...

He groans when he feels the telltale twitch of his cock at that particular thought. Really not the time, buddy. You're trying to make amends, not make it worse. Inhaling deeply, he shifts her on his lap, away from his hardness, before he leans her back and looks at her, thumb rubbing over her chin.

“I could really use a bath right now,” he says quietly, watching her closely.

“Can I join you?” she asks in a breathy whisper, her cheeks burning up slightly.

He knew she was going to ask that, and it aches him how predictable she is, and how easily he exploits that trait. But he told her he wouldn't pull away, so why not give her what she wants? He's already a fucked-up, selfish man, he won't change that anytime soon, he'll try, but right now he needs the distraction, needs the validation that he isn't as bad as he thinks, even if given by a girl who doesn't know any better.

“Of course,” he replies and gives her a strained smile, hating himself just a little bit more for feeling the growing tension in his stomach when she smiles back.

Ben stands up with her, scooping her up, holding her tightly in his arms, before he sways a little, feeling the strain in his muscles, his head spinning. She slips from his grip with a soft giggle. “I can walk, don't worry,” she says and grabs his hand, looking up at him with those big innocent eyes.

He doesn't deserve her, now less than ever. But Nebbia doesn't care. She doesn't see the monster in him, for whatever reason. And he's too hungover to fight this anymore. So he lets her pull him out of the room, moving on as if barely anything happened.

Chapter 12 🟪 Chapter 14

End notes: The Angst Train is still rolling. Poor Ben. Though I gotta admit: I enjoyed writing his journey through the valley of violence and rage. Was finally able to put those tags to good use.

So, with what happened, with those new lies/altered truths, where are Ben and Nebbia headed? Who knows. Find out soon!

Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[astralexpressarchives]

The Sedition Timeline Theory: Imprisoned Version

I have spent way too many hours thinking about this video game, especially the High Cloud Quintet and the Sedition. For that reason, I'd like to make a post outlining the sequence of events that I currently believe is quite likely based on my interpretation of the evidence available as of now, Oct 7 2023.

This post will be using spoilers from the leaked Jingliu Character Stories.

Before the Sedition

1800 Years ago, Jingliu's home ship Cangcheng was devoured by the Incarnosphere revived by Shuhu.

In the dark sky, the demonic planet named Rahu was wailing and singing, descending upon everyone with mountain ridges and continents ablaze. On the streets, people were screaming. They struggled and rolled on the ground in the apocalyptic despair, allowing golden vines to sprout and grow feverishly their every orifice. She watched everything, unable to move. Her organs felt like they were boiling. Something suddenly burst out of her Core Esse like a ripe wheat grain about to erupt out of its casing and swell till infinity. However, the mountains crashing into her face made her recall that she was nothing but an insect, about to die from a tiny press of an Emanator's fingertip. In that spit moment before death claimed her, she grabbed the only flax next to her. A sword, 3 feet and 7 inches in length, weighing about 7 pounds.

Note here that the sword is actually the training sword given to her by her master earlier in the passage.

A short time afterwards, Jingliu is arrogant and is bested by an opponent in a war and rescued by her master. She blames the sword and she and her master have this conversation:

I don't want to learn the sword anymore. It's... useless." "Useless? It's pretty useful in my hands. It is the wielder who was useless." "..." "If you don't learn the sword, what do you want to learn? The alchemical arrows on the pilots' starskiffs? The blazing fire flung by divine crossbows? Or... The artillery of the Zhuming Xianzhou? Such instruments would also be enough to destroy that demonic planet. You want to learn about them? Fine. Those things can kill the enemy without even from beyond visual sight.""...I just don't understand why you insist on teaching me the sword!?" "From the general to the smallest pawn, every Cloud Knight starts by learning the sword. "The various constructs provided by the Artisanship Commission can certainly kill the enemy for you, but those deeds are to the merit of the material rather than the person. If there comes a day that the quivers run empty, that the starskiffs crash, that the aurumatons freeze — Who will protect you and I, then? Who will protect the Xianzhou? "Hold this sword. Remember, only when Cloud Knights wielding swords stride upon the battlefield themselves is humanity fighting our own war. We will demonstrate our victory to those inhuman abominations with our blood and ability instead of letting ingenia do the work for us!"

Take special note of how her master brings up "Who will protect you and I" in her explanation. I believe this is drawing a direct parallel to DH:IL 3 and setting her master up to sacrifice herself when everything is going wrong.

Just prior to the formation of the High Cloud Quintet, Baiheng is acting as an ambassador to Zhuming to request reinforcements. Here, she meets Yingxing when he is a young teenager and experiences visions from the 'ball of light rays.' From Views of the Universe from a Starskiff: The Xianzhou Zhuming:

Every ray of light from the "sun" is beating, as if undergoing intense turbulence. Or rather, like a raging suppression since ancient times, gnarling and gnashing as it tries to fight through to my consciousness. In an instant, a flood of scenes well up and rampage through my mind, like a book flipping pages in the wind: — A "tree" with no boundaries suspended from the heavens, piercing the starry sky. — A vacuum, inside which ships spew forth brilliant beams like fireflies chasing fire, flocking to fluctuating flesh. There are even winged humanoids, wings outstretched... — I hear the howl of a Cloud Knight and a starskiff moments before crashing down, "Defend the Xianzhou!" "Victory to the Cloud Knights!"... — A colossal aurumaton, towering hundreds of feet high as it stalks and strides, stretching out cold metal arms to interact with a giant gelatinous beast of meat, teeth, and countless eyeballs. — In the sky stand radiant warriors, holding spears and longbows radiating fiery death. Their every gene has been sculpted and filtered to grant them a strength and beauty surpassing that of even modern Xianzhou people. — Even more terrifying is that their bodies are covered in an unnatural flame, as if embodying their innermost courage and rage. They charge one-by-one, over and over into the formless void, never to return... "...Take this oath, and keep it forever!" the rays of light roared, leaving the ears ringing. "Everyone! Steel yourselves — and don't look directly at the Flint Emperor!"

These visions are about Lan the Hunt's battle against Muldrasil and the Wingweavers. Note that this is the battle where he utilized the Heliobi "sun" powers from the Flint Emperor to destroy the Arbor. You can read about his story in Annotations from Ode to Reignbow Path.

Sometime around year 7279, about 800 years ago, Jingliu forms the High Cloud Quintet (Yes, she is already 1000 years old at this point.)

In the first battle that the HCQ fought (or earlier), Dan Feng sealed a maddened and frenzied dragon within the Arbor as per DH:IL Character Story One:

He dreamed he was standing before a sacrificial altar, dancing and chanting. However, the songs and gestures were mere facades. The light emanating from his eyes and the storm roiling in his blood were the true forces at play. Casually, he wove the misty and foggy tide in Scalegorge Waterscape, sealing the maddened and frenzied "dragon" into the propagating giant tree. As the echoing roar streamed up into the heavens and dissipated, Scalegorge Waterscape will continue its peace for centuries more, and his duty was over. The ceremony ended, and he turned to look behind him. In the blink of an eye, the stairs he had stepped down from had become full of standing dignitaries with draconic horns and dressed like royalty. As if they were mirages in a mirror, each of them turned and their sleeves swirled with the motion, ready to leave one after another in a meticulously calculated arrangement. Innumerable, they formed a staircase to the sky, stretching into the never-ending spatial void. The faces of all these people would greet him every morning in his dressing mirror — That was his face. No, it was the face of the primordial, the original, the very first high elder. He smiled bitterly and covered his face with his palm, as if ascertaining whether he could tear off this mask and return it to its true owner. He could not.

Note the presence of all of his "ancestors" as well as the mists and fog. The storm was 'roiling in his blood' and I think this is literal because his blood is most likely the ancient Vidyadhara water.

DH:IL 2 We see how Dan Feng is forced to be. His duty is to destroy and be detached from empathy. His dragon heart speaks of insignificance yet his human heart aches for all those who have died.

The devastated borisins began to flee. He knew it was time to carry out the duty entrusted to him. So he let go — letting his consciousness disappear in storms and hails, letting thunder roar for him, letting tsunamis rage for him. He floated on top of clouds, watching the enemies getting swallowed by the watery abyss, and watching the land behind him. Many humans, Vidyadhara, and Foxians were eternally left there, unable to lay their eyes upon their home ever again. The dragon heart told him that it was but a small speck of dust brushed away from the world. Wars come with a price, but life will always thrive once more — the Vidyadhara are not the only branch of Long's Scions. However, his human heart ached for those comrades who, like him, had warm flesh and blood, and for those mortals who might have lived longer but now could return home nevermore.

During one of these wars, Jingliu's master dies. In Jingliu Character Story Part 3:

She doesn't have a master anymore. The woman in the military uniform perished on the battlefield and can instruct her no longer. Nor does she need a master anymore. She knows everything there is to know about swords. They are a part of her body. They are the intake and release of her breath as she walks and sleep. People call her the Transcendent Flash, the pinnacle of swordmasters, a once-in-ten-century hero. However, she knows that her sword is still not enough to "cut down the star in the sky" — Even if she is holding the greatest sword in all the Xianzhou...

Here she is mourning her master's passing and realizing that even the greatest swords are not enough to protect what you care about. I strongly believe Jingliu's master died as the last line of defense in a self-sacrifice to let Jingliu and others survive. The death of her master is the first 'wake up call' for Jingliu that she isn't enough yet.

The Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae

I think it starts with a war vs Shuhu because of this Vidyadhara Egg:

You gently tap on the shell of the Vidyadhara egg. It shakes nervously, and the scales on the shell open and close slightly to warn and drive you away. It used to be one of the guards in charge of watching the Ambrosial Arbor in Scalegorge Waterscape. For centuries, the ancient tree had been quiet as though it was in a deep slumber. Taking measurements of the tree every day with its comrades bored it to death. Who would have thought that the Ambrosial Arbor would wake up on that fateful day? Gigantic waves have swept it and its comrades away. In an urgent voice, it asks you about its comrades, but you have no answer.

I think Shuhu may have found a way to awaken the Arbor. Yueyuan also makes mentions of Denizens of the Abundance causing havoc in the Scalegorge before the sedition:

Hmph, first there was the bloody conflict against the Denizens of Abundance. Then the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae almost shook the Ambrosial Arbor to its core...

They won the war.

From DH:IL 3:

He dreamed that he parted the ocean's waters and came to the palace ruin depths, burying the remnants of his old friend's hallowed blood, or creating a new life that had not been seen for millennia — or, perhaps, those two actions were one and the same, an unattainable desire that could not be carried out for long years in the past, a final straw that broke the gargantuan dragon's back. The craftsman was covered in blood and wounds as he guarded the dragon with a sword in his hand. He urged himself to commit to the decision. "Shuhu is dead... we won, but how many more victories can we manage to achieve? How many more prices like this must we pay?" "Look, the Ambrosial Arbor still stands. So long as it is alive, the monsters... they can come back again and again. The war of the Xianzhou natives, Foxians, and Vidyadhara against the abominations will never end." "Yes, none of us are special! Each of us has only one life, sacrificing for this, dying for that... it's all our own choices. Just like how she chose to save you and Jingliu... just like how she chose to let more people live on!" War, and the lives that expired in the war, were living beings just like him. He shut his eyes wearily, remembering their faces, and made up his mind. "If there's a chance... we will also choose to let her and more people live on. We, the Vidyadhara, have our own way of salvation. I can give it a try."

I believe here that the old friend's hallowed blood is the special water blood of the dead Vidyadhara, the Azure Dragon, Long, or some combination. Creating a new life that has not been seen for millennia refers to the creation of a new Dragon life from the remnants of the dead dragon life that was unable to properly rebirth. Note that Vidyadhara MUST return to the sacred sea in order to form their shells and go through the hatching rebirth.

Yingxing talking about the prices we must pay is a callback to DH:IL 2 where he ponders the price of war, all the lives that are lost. This is especially devastating for Vidyadhara who cannot reproduce. Yingxing identifies that the Arbor is the cause of all the problems. I believe here that Dan Feng is planning to destroy the Arbor.

As previously mentioned, I believe the unnamed woman who died for 'You and Jingliu' is Jingliu's master.

Like an out-of-body experience, like a dream within a dream, he returned to the moment before his sense of self disappeared. With a cold and emotionless mind, he observed himself turning into a dragon, entangled and fighting claw-and-fangs against that bulb of shapeshifting shadow of flesh and blood. In an illusion seen on the verge of death, the emissary of the god showed him an unsettling, beautiful scene — the stars pulsated and sang hymns like red blood cells, and the universe descended into an abyss of flesh and desires. The dragon heart beat to its limit, raising its fangs, breath, and fury — however, no matter how mighty it was, a "lifeform" cannot defy the true body of god of life's envoy.

Note the presence of Yingxing still in the picture as the dragon transformation takes place. This indicates that the transformation is a continuation of the previous scene and NOT a flashback to a prior scene. His sense of self is disappearing because he is merging with the azure dragon. I would also like to note that the CN word here for Life is closer to the 'path of life/fate' meaning than the state of being alive.

...Until a starskiff ran everything through like an arrow shaft. He saw that girl crawling out of the ruins with great difficulty, lifting a "sun" of absolute darkness in her hand. In that fleeting eternity, he saw her hand disappear, saw her face disappear, and saw HER disappear — That item had ground everything around it into the finest dust and dragged them into a vortex of raw power, including that girl. A tuft of hair and a few drops of blood fell to the floor as evidence of her existence. Those were the only traces she left.

This is where Baiheng blew herself up. Note the use of the "sun" callback to Lan's story. I believe she was paralleling his story and attacking the arbor. Her explosion is likely the reason that the Arbor was so stumpy before the stellaron was inserted into it, causing new growth, in the current era. (The above picture is definitely after Lan shot it because the Vidyadhara did not appear on the Xianzhou until around year 4800 vs Lan's Muldrasil war in about 3400).

You gently touch the surface of the eggshell, and a searing and intense impact bursts out and surges right into your head through your fingertips. A hoarse and deep voice lingers by your ears. You see a heart with odd burn marks on its dry and withered surface. The fire in the distance is burning ferociously in an attempt to devour everything. A figure pulls another figure into their arms despite the danger. In the chaos, you hear some indistinct cries that also sound like the whispering between lovers. You think about the burnt elixir crucible that once tore the darkness apart. But now, not a single trace of light is in sight. You look down at the egg and finally notice it is not stained by the ash from the crucible, but just some dew that is somehow scorching hot.

This Vidyadhara egg mentions the elixir crucible, which is in close proximity to the Arbor. The elixir crucible relies on the water to function, so Dan Feng's spells may have caused it to cease functioning correctly and it was caught on fire in the attack. It talks about the fires in the distance and the figure that pulls another figure into their arms despite the danger - I think this could be referring to Dan Feng finding an injured Yingxing who was injured in the aftermath. It also talks about a heart with odd burn marks on it dry and withered surface - Dragon Heart Theory real? It's more likely than you think.

From here, I think Dan Feng is likely arrested by the 10 Lords Commission and sent to nice jail:

Those who are familiar with my previous post will know more about why I believe this is the location of the sedition. Note the presence of Preceptor Taoran and Oppenheimer - these character identities are confirmed in the description of the myriad trailer.

With Dan Feng locked up underneath the Scalegorge, Preceptors, specifically Preceptor Suguang, begin their angry letters to Jing Yuan who is now the general.

With the great calamity quelled, the voracious enemy subdued, and the treacherous rebels expelled, the Luofu has once again returned to peace. What a joyous day this is. My people have suffered much in this crisis. The wounded include 12 Preceptors, 253 Pearlkeepers, and 116 alchemists and healers. There are 1285 who have completely perished in this disaster, and over 3000 are still missing. While we lament these losses, we dared not forget our duty. Since the time of the High Elder Yubie, the Vidyadhara of the Luofu have shouldered the duty of keeping watch over the Ambrosial Arbor. However, when the disaster struck and the seals were loosened, all the elites of my people could not return it to its previous form. Therefore, we beseech the Six Charioteers to ask the Ten-Lords Commission to return the sinner Dan Feng to us, let him restore the seals, and mete out his punishment at a later time.

The mentions of the loosened seal are also interesting because in current times, Yueyuan tells us this about the sedition:

Then the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae almost shook the Ambrosial Arbor to its core...

Note that other language translation have 'shook to the core' closer translated to 'uprooted.'

Somehow, I think the Preceptors arranged for the creation of a new High Elder to replace Dan Feng whose fate was unknown to them.

It begins with Dan Feng drinking in the power of the moon and breaking free of his chains. This moon likely contains Long or the Azure dragon in an moon egg (a reference to Neon Genesis Evangelion which is a major inspiration for Hoyo). You can also see Long turn into a moon egg at the beginning of the myriad trailer, so the idea is definitely there.

This event is what brings about the Half-Draconic abomination.

Jingliu brings the cloud knights into the mountain realm:

I do explain why this hole in the clouds is the entrance of the mountain realm in my previous post but it's also reaffirmed in the picture on the sheath:

Also note how the hole in the sky is upside down relative to the moon and the birds flying - this is because the mountain realm is a reflected space as shown in this image inside the Exalting Sanctum's Realm-Keeping Commission building:

Next is the events from Jingliu Character Story Part 4.

Note Yingxing's black hair, implying he is definitely immortal or at least de-aged by this point.

She gasps, barely holding her wounded body together. Far away, deeper in the delve, there came the anguished roar of a dragon, as if a cry seeking deliverance. She watches as the arrogant craftsman falls into mud, and walks up to him like a wraith. "I should kill you first... but you will have your own torment to bear for all eternity..." She points the broken sword at the high elder. "Impossible. The Preceptors said... The blood of my race and the soul of my ancestor should have created another high elder. All this... It shouldn't be like this." "If your death can return everything to how it was, I would do it... But you need to tell me that dragon's weak point right now. "The top of its head..." The half-draconic abomination swims through the air in blasts of lightning. Its body, enough to swallow the very horizon, sunders yet another floating isle. Its wails are loud as the clamors of a thousand swords clashing. She feels her Core Esse boiling, like a ripe wheat grain about to erupt out of its casing and swell eternally. She sees herself trapped in childhood nightmares again. The ominous planet is swallowing her overhead, and she, but an insect, cannot even struggle. The woman tears off a spread of black silk from the edge of her skirt and covers her eyes. The thunder strikes. She leaps up with her sword towards the draconic abomination. In an illusion that feels half like a dream and half like reality, she feels her flesh has finally transcended its limits and has started to disintegrate. There are restraints binding her like strings, tightly wrapped around her limbs and organs, slicing apart her final shreds of self-consciousness bit by bit. Suddenly, she hears those words: "I will cut down even the stars in the sky." At that moment, she finally grasped the sword she had been seeking all this time. It is a sword that can transcend all restrictions. It is a sword she had been familiar with for years. It is not forged from any ordinary iron, but condensed from a shaft of sharp ice. It glows with a dim light, as if it is a strand of moonlight held in the wielder's hand. A sword, 3 feet and 7 inches in length, and weighs nothing.

From a Vidyadhara Egg:

You hear furious roars coming from the Vidyadhara egg and move your ears closer to hear better. A thunderous sound explodes from the mouth of an abomination, and fills up the Scalegorge Waterscape delve as if a thousand swords had clashed together. Every one of your bones rattle from the deafening sound. The abomination falls to the ground with a loud thud. You try your best to steady yourself before examining the abomination. Its semi-draconic head bears long whiskers and flowing beastly fur. You stare into its mercury-like eyes, sensing a hint of fear within them. You think of running away, but there is nowhere to go. The temperature in the air drops all of a sudden, as a shadow drifts past at a speed so fast that it only leaves behind a misty trail. A woman lands on top of the abominable dragon’s head. Her palms hold a ray of frosty light that she stabs downward. In a split second, you see the black veil covering her eyes falling off. Her lips move slightly, and you can faintly hear her utter the word "Sorry." That is not your imagination, as she is also apologizing to you. The next second, ice waves as sharp as knives start spreading like transient flowers in the air, freezing everything they come into contact with, including you.

At some point during the sedition, Dan Feng's own guard refused to betray Dan Feng and was killed:

You touch the shell of the Vidyadhara egg lightly and experience a heartbreaking sensation. Resistant to your touch, the Vidyadhara in the egg is reluctant to leave his memory behind and refuses to believe that his highly respected master has committed the grave sin of rebellion. Roaring, he holds his sword high and charges at the Cloud Knights again and again. He can see his peers whom he used to trust, and the Preceptors whom he used to respect clearly. Their despicable faces are etched in his mind forever. He does not wish to forget. "We… will never betray Master Dan Feng!" Together with the last remaining high elder guards, he braces himself to face the incoming arrows and darkness.

Dan Feng is arrested again and placed in a higher security prison with pins to suppress his power:

From DH:IL 4:

He dreamed of the Dracocatena Nails being staked into his body, and chains of corallium winding around him to hang him in midair in the Shackling Prison. He dreamed the elders coming and going to interrogate him about the truth of the Arcanum and the whereabouts of the dragon heart. He did not speak. He dreamed of the Judges coming before him to read their decision and wanting to sentence him to death. He did not speak.

After the Judges want to sentence him to death - like, proper death and not the rebirth kind of death - Venti intervenes. From An Appeal from the Vidyadhara:

According to the deal between the Alliance and Caelorum Venti of the Yaoqing, the sinner Dan Feng was to be spared from death and instead suffer the punishment of molting rebirth. After that, according to Vidyadhara customs, Dan Feng should have been regarded as a new being and his sins forgiven.

Jing Yuan brought him the news of his verdict (DH:IL 4):

He dreamed of the white-haired Cloud Knight Lieutenant coming to visit him and bringing him news of the Lieutenant's negotiations. The Vidyadhara did not permit him to die, nor did they permit him to leave. He did not speak.

In Oblation Obtained, Order Ordained, Jing Yuan explains this:

Do you know something? When Dan Feng committed his great crime, the Ten-Lords Commission advocated strongly for him to be destroyed. The Vidyadhara, on the other hand, were split evenly in their favor and disfavor of the motion. Haha, the dragon transmutation inheritance was not intact, after all. The senior Vidyadhara hated you, yet did not dare to kill you. The Vidyadhara were under great pressure. In order to placate the Ten-Lords and Sky-Faring Commissions, they performed an exuviation charm on Dan Feng against his will. Still, they ensured that the charm contained a flaw, thinking that this would fool the Ten-Lords Commission. Hmph, the senior Vidyadhara were sure of their scheme, but you cannot hide fire with paper.

After a few centuries living as Dan Heng in the Shackling Prison, Jing Yuan arranges for him to be freed:

Brighter than the Sun Lightcone:

From birth, all that ever lay before him was but a lightless dungeon. To this darkness, irrelevant sins bound him… irrelevant memories engulfed him. He writhed, gasping for breath with every fiber of his being, attempting to clasp a sliver of light in this fathomless ocean. Until the day the general stepped into the lightless depths of this prison, he beheld a radiance shining brighter than the sun – the gaze of a young man.

The Vidyadhara Preceptors, specifically Preceptor Shaoying, were angry about Jing Yuan arranging for Dan Heng to be exiled rather than kept eternally imprisoned. From An Appeal from the Vidyadhara:

I was alarmed to learn that you had signed an exile order to permanently cast out the sinner Dan Feng from the Luofu. Wherefore do you place the reputation of the Luofu's Vidyadhara with this order, general?

However, the Ten-Lords Commission detained him under the guise of educating the young man, while keeping him prisoner in truth. We have endured this for so long due to the truly astounding nature of his sin. Were he not to suffer for some days within the Shackling Prison, the multitudes of Luofu residents would not be appeased in their anger. However, general, you have arbitrarily terminated his sentence and decided to exile Dan Feng. Was this a consensus reached after a discussion with the Six Charioteers? And was this sent to the marshal to be confirmed? If your action stemmed from your past friendship with Dan Feng, then we regret to inform you that we cannot accept such a sentimental gesture. Us Preceptors will appeal to the Alliance and inform the other four High Elders, and we will seek to have you retract this order.

"The Vidyadhara handed us thousands of letters of appeal during the past few centuries... and this one has the harshest wording. They are running out of patience." — Qingzu "The exile was approved by the Ten-Lords Commission. Since Dan Feng had already been reborn and his sins are to be forgotten, why won't the Preceptors allow him to leave this troubled place...? Interesting."

A few more interesting notes

The preceptor assembly chronicle fragment gives some insight into the mentality of three of the preceptors. It more or less says that without Dan Feng (or a High Elder in general) around they seem to be in agreement about ruling as a council, which it can be assumed they were doing up until the creation of the Bloomborn Scion which I discuss in this post.

There is a Vidyadhara Elegy: Insight on "Six Charioteers Adjudicating the Imbibitor Lunae document that is questionable in it's reliability but gives decent insight into the attitudes of the Dan Feng loyalists at the time. They seem to believe that he was strongly rebelling against the Six Charioteers to a point of begging Lan to destroy the Xianzhou.

Another interesting note is that, so far at least, Jingliu's crime is unknown. She was not marastruck until the was already arrested a year after the sedition. As far as we know, she was still an honored person at the time of slaying the half-draconic abomination. It's not clear what she did but her crime was severe enough to get her name removed from the public record. And considering Dan Feng did NOT get his name removed as far as we know, her crime was most likely very severe especially considering how much she could probably get away with because she was the honored sword champion and hero of the Xianzhou.

We also don't know how Yingxing became 'exiled.' He was definitely tortured by Jingliu leading up to his exile, but Yingxing's name is still honored on the Xianzhou so his crimes were never severe enough to get his name removed from the record. It's unclear how the left the Xianzhou and how he lost his memories. Because he had black hair and was unkillable at the time of still defending Dan Feng in Jingliu 4, it can safely be assumed that the process of becoming immortal did not automatically make him lose his memories.

Dan Feng's crimes did NOT include the crime of involuntary immortalization implying that he did not make anyone immortal who was not already willing. This means he did not make Yingxing immortal against his will and he likely did not attempt to resurrect or convert a dead friend into an immortal race.

Anyways this post is very long and I've probably forgotten something but I'll also most likely make an updated version when we get more information. There are a few very possible variations of this timeline but this is the one that currently makes the most sense to me.

[ecargmura]

PokeToon Episode 14 Review - Playing Tag On A Chansey Safari!?

What I like about PokeToons is that they often explore some aspects in the game that isn’t super common, but they make an original story out of it. For example, the story with Blossom and her male Nidoran was like an origin story of the Gengar vs Nidorino fight. Another example would be the Primeape episode where it’s shown that Primeape has to use Rage Fist 20 times in order to evolve, which it did. For this episode, it’s a story about Chansey and the Safari Zone. I love that this story is basically a story about that showcases how annoying capturing Chansey in the Safari Zone can be, but also goes beyond a frustrating mechanic to tell a unique story.

The story is about a girl named Meg who goes to stay at her uncle Bozly’s place for a week. Bozly is the Safari Zone’s Warden, taking over from the previous Warden. The Safari Zone is home to an infamous Chansey wearing a hat which is Billy’s hat and a symbol of him being a warden. While Meg encounters the Chansey several times during her stay, she also notices that Bozly is not so eager whenever the Pokémon shows up. She spends her week getting to learn about her uncle, the Safari Zone and the infamous Chansey.

I honestly really like this story. It’s not because of the appearance of the Hoppip line, but  how it was executed story-wise and character-wise. For the story, it was a good way to bring back the Safari Zone back into animated media for the international audience as the Safari Zone episode in the main anime was banned overseas for showcasing firearms. I loved that it gives a global, modern revamp in that it adds in not just the Pokemon you can find in the Kanto Safari Zone, but also Pokemon from succeeding generations; they even give Bozly a Maschiff, which one wouldn’t normally have in a Kanto Safari Zone setting. The variety is also applied to the trainers in the Safari Zone as one can see a Nurse from Gen 5, a Rich Boy from Gen 3, a Ranger from Gen 5 and a Hiker from Gen 7. Little details like this showcase why PokeToons episodes are really great.

I like that even though Meg is the protagonist, the story also looks at Bozly’s perspective on himself and his low self-confidence. Meg is a cutie and a sweetie as she’s always energetic to see what Pokemon there are and she also is Billy’s confidant in a way as he opens up to her; she’s also kind to Chansey and respects her a lot. Bozly starts off aloof to his niece, but warms up to her as he tells her about how the title of Warden was passed down to him from his father, but believes that Chansey doesn’t acknowledge him, so she stole the hat. It’s thanks to Meg that Bozly learns about the issues of the Safari Zone like how closing off so many places caused the Hoppip family to go around and cause issues to Pokemon (and Meg) due to their pollen and that Chansey was the one going around and healing everyone. This caused Bozly to realize he had misjudged Chansey and apologized to her. I just love that it’s not only kids who grow in Pokemon stories, but also adults.

Chansey is a character herself. She may not talk, but her body language does so much. I love how mischievous she is towards humans, but she cares a lot about the afflicted Pokemon as is her role as a healer. My favorite part was showcasing a visual representation of what it’s like to encounter a Chansey in the Safari Zone and what it’s like to throw balls and miss. I was like “So, this is how Chansey avoids being captured whenever you meet her in the Safari Zone in Gen 1 games.” I’m sure a lot of people’s frustrations are recalled by this visual representation alone. I also like how Minimize is showcased here from her becoming very tiny and then regrowing back to her regular size. I like the detail that she hides in very random places like the hat and in Meg’s bag at the end.

The animation studio is ZEXCS, which have done other episodes like Episode 10 and 12. I feel like they’re really good with movement and in stylistic choices because each of their production look so different that it’s hard to tell they’re from the same studio.

The voice cast is actually pretty amazing for a short like this. First, Meg is voiced by Hina Kino who’s practically typecasted to voice cute girls. She did an amazing job with making Meg cute and sweet but also gave her a lot of sass. Some of Kino’s roles include Miri from Buddy Daddies and Lishu from The Apothecary Diaries. Bozly is voiced by Shigeru Chiba, who you might know as the voice actor for Buggy The Clown from One Piece and Jigoro from Demon Slayer. Another big name is Mai Nakahara as Meg’s mom. It’s a little odd that Chansey’s voice actress wasn’t credited, but I do get the feeling that Chansey’s voice actress is also Nakahara.

This is definitely an episode I’d recommend to Pokemon fans just for the sheer quality of storytelling. It clearly showed and told a lot in just 17 minutes. I honestly can’t wait to see what they produce next. What are your thoughts on this episode?

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

TW: As always: language, mentions of drugs and alcohol, smoking, sex, general mature themes. We've got some Tony in this chapter, some clear violations of the law and personal property/privacy, Simone's back (...yaaaaayyy), I'm gonna blue ball y'all just one more time with the big conversation our two idiots gotta have, another painting, some mentions of grooming, Lena's not in the mood for any of the shit this chapter, Jake's being the good "friend" he is. Some lies get told, and finally our dummies have THE conversation but also not really xD Enjoy!

Chapter 24: Burn the Ice

The morning chill stung his face as he exited the car - a reminder that the snow could start any day now. With calm, leisurely steps his fine leather shoes echoed amongst the chaos of the city. It was loud and crowded and smelt like cheap street vendor food. Disgusting, he thought to himself, glaring at the slouched-back people running the dirty stalls for a minute before starting up the steps.

Her building was old and smelt of mold, something he couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction about. It was obvious she wasn't living as well as she had been with him. The landlord gave him a wide-eyed look, one he was well accustomed to - the style of the rich was always something poor people gawked at - but all he did was smile that charming smile and offer the old man a wave as he made his way past.

At the door he let the others do their work, patiently drumming his fingers along the hard cover of the sketchbook while they did. The door made a loud creaking noise as it opened. “Wait here. I won't be long.”

The faint smells of cleaning materials and dust filled his nose. She'd been staying here less and less the closer the cold months got. A lingering trauma that made her unconsciously cling to that pathetic family of hers. A trauma he felt a burning frustration and an undoubtable swell of pride whenever he recalled it. Running his fingers along her countertop, looking at the living room filled with paintings she'd done after slipping away, Tony allowed himself a rare moment of quiet.

In that quiet Tony breathed in the faint smell of her cherry perfume with a grimace. He'd always hated that smell, hated the tiny fruit in general. But, he admired the malice behind it… The choice to douse herself in it was one clearly made to slight him. She could do nothing without thinking of him, even if it was in anger, for now, Tony enjoyed the simple fact that Lena still thought of him every day. It was a testament to a larger, even more satisfying truth.

This sad, pathetic little life she'd scrounged together was nothing without him.

Jules’ heavy footsteps intruded on his quiet, but he did so with respect so Tony would allow it. “He's coming this way.”

“How long?”

“Four minutes.”

“Good.” Right on schedule.

Tony set the sketchbook back on the counter and pulled the lovely orange flower from his breast pocket giving it a sniff before setting it on top of the book. Jules handed him the envelope with her name neatly printed in his decadent handwriting. “We'll see each other soon, my Lena.”

Jules had timed it perfectly, as he always did, right as Tony stepped out the door onto the steps of Lena's apartment the old biker turned onto the street. His eyes grew wide in terror and rage as he spotted him. Perfect. With a wide grin, Tony lifted his hand and offered them a wave before he slid into his limousine. “Take us home, driver. We're done here for today.”

*

A sweet smell filled Jake’s nose as he rolled onto his stomach, arm draping over the warm body lying beside him. The sweet, fruity, decadent aroma was one he recognized in mere seconds. Cherries. He happily buried his nose in that smell. Lena.

He cracked an eye open, catching that heavenly glimpse of the sun hitting her hair just right making it glow like fire. Pretty as that was, it paled in comparison to the sight of her bare back peeking out from beneath his covers. Her skin was soft as silk beneath the tips of his fingers as he lazily traced the snake tattoo.

The warm fuzziness that filled his chest made every touch, every smell, and sound feel almost dreamlike. He would have thought this was just another dream like he had the first time he woke up to her in his bed, but the sensations were too defined to just be his imagination. That and he felt so damn tired from the long night he'd spent in the throes of such physical activities.

With a pleased sigh, Jake recalled all the ways they'd made up for wasted time. He could still taste the sweetness of Lena's lips, still feel her soft skin rubbing so deliciously against his own. If he closed his eyes again he was sure he'd see the heavenly image of her moving on top of him. It was seared into his mind now just like his name felt forever changed now that he'd heard it on her lips as she came apart beneath him. The hickeys on his neck and the faint marks left by her fingernails clawing at his back would be more obvious things to remind him that last night had been real. Those marks would fade in a week or two unless he let her give him more, which he gladly would.

Lena had taken her time with him, kissing him, teasing him, working him so expertly he'd actually struggled not to come prematurely. She was just as talented as she'd built herself up to be and he felt like a damn fool for ever even doubting her. As if she needed more added to the list of all her perfections now she could add being the best he'd ever had.

She was vocal, not just in expressing her pleasure but in encouraging his own. No matter how hard he thought Jake couldn't remember ever feeling as satisfied during or after sex in his life. In between the three rounds of their newfound intense passions, Jake found himself… Present. Usually after an orgasm or two, he'd just fall asleep not caring if his partner did the same or not, but with her, he felt awake… Alive. 

They spent just as much time talking, laughing, and enjoying each other's company as they had tangled in his sheets. They ate, drank, and played with their cat whenever the little creature slinked from his hiding place. It all felt natural and oddly intimate and, for better or worse, Jake enjoyed it.

Physical intimacy was something he'd always excelled at. Flirting, foreplay, all of it came naturally to him. Jake had spent his fair share of time between the legs of beautiful women but Lena was something else entirely. Something new. Being with her made him feel like his pleasure - he - mattered just as much as hers. It was a concept he'd never truly understood, let alone experienced until now.

Ever since he could remember Simone - women in general - had told him exactly what they wanted from him. Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Faster. Slower. Harder. They told him how to please them and he listened. It was a good time for all parties, but deep down Jake always felt that sting of emptiness. It’d been more about following their orders than it had been about just getting to enjoy the moment. He felt used… Like he'd only been good for a quick fuck and nothing else.

Normally Jake would have swallowed that feeling and forced himself to move… To physically shake off the very thought of it. He'd busy his mind with reading or mundane tasks like showering or cleaning. He'd build up the wall between him and whoever he'd fucked the night before - distance himself from feeling anything at all. Right about now, Jake should have been justifying his dickish, asshole behavior by repeating the words Simone had said to him since he could remember. This is who you are, love. You're just not built for ordinary people. 

Ordinary people turned out to be everyone. Everyone but Simone. And now… Maybe… Lena. 

He never truly understood how powerful feelings like this could be. He never knew that one person - even one as perfect as her - was capable of making him feel like an entirely different person. Jake felt more like himself, a self he barely even knew any more than he had in practically his entire life. He let the peaceful silence and that warm feeling in his chest stay as he curled further into the back of his sleeping redhead.

It wasn't until Hemingway climbed over both their legs, shimmying beneath the curtains and pushing them open to further blind him with sunlight that Jake truly woke up. Pleased with his work the cat proudly pranced across the pillows to stare down at him with an impatient and demanding meow. He couldn't help but chuckle as Hemingway slapped his forehead with a fleshy paw. Lena mumbled something in her sleep, burrowing her face in his blanket with a happy sigh that practically drowned out the cat's noise. God, he wanted to wake her up and kiss her, feel her, fuck her until they were both too exhausted to continue.

After laying in bed for a minute longer - until Hemingway was on the verge of exploding - he slowly slid out of the sheets and stretched his tense back out with a quiet groan. Briefly glancing over his shoulder to make sure that he hadn't woken her, Jake slid on a pair of pants picked his shirt up off the floor, and dished up Hemingway’s food with a quiet scold, “There, was that so hard to wait for?”

He cleaned up the remnants of the night, tossing the now nubs of melted wax in the trash and putting the leftover oyster shells in his sink. When he moved to put the champagne in his fridge he was bitterly reminded of how little food he had. Shit. He set the champagne back on the counter, closing the fridge to look back at the bed. Did he really want to have the conversation in some overcrowded, too-loud diner? 

The thought sat in his mind for a second as a list of possible interruptions made him shake his head. Nope. He wasn't going to risk not talking about this any longer because of anything. Maybe that Chinese is still good? Nope. Jake may have been lazy but even he was above serving month-old Chinese food for breakfast. 

Jake knew Lena wouldn't care about where they ate breakfast, but he didn't want to risk anything going wrong. Besides, Lena deserved a proper breakfast. He wanted her to know that he'd thought about this. That he was ready - willing - to put his best foot forward. Jake wanted to show Lena that this wasn't just a one-night stand and that he wasn't going to vanish now that he'd finally fucked her. More than anything he wanted her to see how much last night, she, meant to him.

He quietly put on his shoes and grabbed his keys and wallet. Writing her a quick note, he set it on his pillow and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. I'll be back before she even wakes up, he reassured himself as he turned and headed out the front door. The diner by his house would be open. It may not have been the best food, but it'd have to do.

I'm definitely going grocery shopping tomorrow. When Lena spent the night again, he'd be ready.

*

I woke to an abrupt slap to the center of my forehead followed by a loud, demanding meow directly in my ear. The silhouette of Hemingway's pointed ears was all I could see as he stood in front of the sunlit window. “Good morning to you too.”

Another demanding meow was the creature's only reply as I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. Hemingway jumped off the bed the second I'd sleepily rolled over to throw my arms around the body that should have been beside mine but wasn't. A nervous, gut-wrenching pit filled my stomach as I patted the empty mattress. “Jake?”

No answer.

“Jake?” I called out just a bit louder as I held the blanket to my naked chest and sat up in his bed, looking around his now-empty apartment. 

The bathroom door was open and the shower was off. His kitchen was empty, although cleaner than it had been when we'd finally fallen asleep. There weren't many places one could hide in an apartment as small and open as his. I shifted slightly, fingers brushing against a thin piece of paper on his pillow. 

Relax Princess, I just ran to grab us some breakfast. Should only be ten or fifteen minutes. Make yourself comfortable and DO NOT feed the cat again no matter how much he meows at you!

Air filled my lungs and my body relaxed back into Jake's soft sheets. He was safe. I was safe. Everything was alright.

For how long though? When he returned we'd have to finally have that discussion. The discussion. I'd need to have answers - need to admit just how much I'd fallen for him. The very thought of looking into his stupid, beautiful eyes and pouring my heart out to him made me feel dizzy.

Would he feel the same now that he'd achieved his original goal? Would Jake still want me as much as I still wanted him? And how much did I want him? How far had I really fallen since the start? 

Too far. Was the only answer I could admit to. I was naked in his apartment. I had slept with him in his bed. I was waking up with the cat we'd both unofficially adopted. There was no denying it. I was hopelessly, pathetically, irreparably in this - whatever this was. There was no going back to how things were before, not when all I could think about was just how perfect Jake's lips felt on mine and how amazing last night had been.

Sex was nothing new. It was something I'd had a lot of experience in, good and bad. I knew all the steps, all the moves, and still last night had taken me by surprise. Sex with Jake had been… different. It was unlike every other sexual experience I’d had. 

I often had to find ways to keep myself in the moment, something that got easier the more I was with someone or the more time had passed. But, with Jake, I was just there. I didn't need to remind myself to breathe. I didn't need to force my body to relax and repeat his name to remind myself whose hands were touching me. 

It was fun, exciting and intimate. Instead of feeling that shameful disgust, the one I needed to tell myself wasn't real, I felt at peace. There hadn't been a single moment when we were tangled together that I’d felt anything but completely and utterly cherished. I felt safe, unburdened by all the shit that'd been complicating even the simplest things in my life. Last night nothing else mattered, nothing but us.

Us. It was a word that made my lips quirk up in a smile. Us was simple. Us was what I wanted. And us was ultimately what I was most afraid of.

There were just so many ways it could all go wrong. I could fuck it up. He could fuck it up. We could both collectively fuck it all up. And then what? We'd just have to go about our lives working together, seeing each other every day, watching each other meet new people, and moving on? Even just the possibility of seeing Jake with anyone else made me feel sick. 

No, I thought sadly. We're in too deep for that. I couldn't live without Jake. His asshole attitude and his smart mouth, his smile, his laugh, he was entwined in my life now in a way I couldn't undo even if I tried. So, the choice was already made. I'd - we’d -make it work. No matter what I had to do to keep this from falling apart - to keep him in my life - I'd do it.

After surviving another round of Hemingway's desperate attempts to convince me to feed him, I was out of Jake's bed staring at the sulking cat as I searched for Jake's dresser. “Hitting me doesn't change the fact that you already ate!”

He hissed.

“You better watch that attitude,” I replied. “Or I won't sneak you any of my breakfast when Jake gets back.”

Hemingway’s eyes narrowed and with a moment of consideration before he rubbed himself against my feet. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

As respectfully as I could, I searched Jake's drawers until I found his clothes. While they were kind of baggy on me, it was better than walking around in his blanket all morning. Besides, I enjoyed the way they smelt like him and felt softer against my skin than my own clothes had.

My eyes trailed along his shelves, taking a more in-depth look at his books and pictures and odds and ends that he'd saved over the years. There was so much history in his space. So many things that had been saved for a reason I couldn't know just by looking at him. Curiosity swelled in me, my mind running wild with all the possible reasons he'd held onto things. For the first time in a long time I wanted to ask questions and get closer to someone. I wanted to listen to him tell me every story and every detail about his life before I entered. I wanted to know every piece of him.

My fingers traced one of the seashells as his front door opened and he stepped inside with a bag from some diner. His eyes instantly found me, that shimmer in them making me blush and my heart soar. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I was gone so long.”

“It's no problem,” I answered, watching his eyes take in the clothes I now wore. “I… Uh… borrowed some of your clothes. I hope that's okay.”

As he set the bag down his eyes continued to roam down my body, that sinful smirk answering me long before his words did. “That's fine, though I was looking forward to coming back to a beautiful naked woman.”

“If you'd been quicker you woulda gotten that,” I teased. “I just barely got dressed.”

He clicked his tongue. “Damn. Maybe next time.”

Definitely next time, I thought as my mind played through all the new possibilities available to us now that we’d crossed the threshold. Clearing my throat, I moved to stand next to him as he unpacked the food, distractedly watching his hands for a second before asking, “What's for breakfast?”

“The works. Bacon, eggs, sausage, waffles,” he watched my nose scrunch up and chuckled before pulling a box out of the bag and setting it in front of me. “Don't worry, I got you pancakes.”

“You remembered,” I replied, eagerly opening it to the smell of the sweet stacks. “I'm impressed.”

With a shrug, Jake shooed the cat away and leaned back against the counter. “Don't be. It's not like it was a big secret.”

We both took a few tentative bites before neither of us could contain our nerves anymore. “So-”

“We-”

Chucking at one another's interruptions I nodded to him. “You go first.”

Jake watched me, the ocean in his eyes rolling with tense waves and anticipation. “Well, I guess now's as good a time as any for us to talk about last night… and the ones before.”

Don't freak out, I told myself. Just be honest. “Yeah, things have been… Interesting… between us lately.”

“Good interesting?” He asked with a cocky grin, taking a step closer to me. 

I nodded, “Great interesting. Right?”

“Right.”

“So…” The words caught in my throat as Jake took one last step closer, putting us chest to chest.

His breath, slightly sweet smelling, rolled across my face. “So…”

“I… I want t-” The front door swung open and the head of blonde hair made my teeth snap shut in anger. 

Simone stood in the open doorway, that red-lipped mouth hanging open in shock for a moment before it closed. Jake turned, brows furrowed and the tension between us quickly shifted into just tension. “...Simone?”

She smiled at him, quickly with no sincerity before she looked me up and down and nodded to herself. “Lena. What a surprise.”

I bit my tongue and simply nodded at her while my eyes scanned the floor for my shoes. Jake watched Hemingway dart to his hiding place before returning his attention to the new interruption. “How was your trip?”

The mood soured further as Simone just shook her head, her eyes wide with rage and the smile on her lips quickly shifting into a sneer. “Oh, it was just fantastic. I always love dealing with my mother alone.”

Time to go. I knew if I stayed for even another sentence Jake would be pulling me off Simone and everything between us would be stained with chunks of blonde hair and blood. I may have been able to see her for what she was, but Jake wasn’t and an attack on her - physical or otherwise - would effectively jeopardize everything I had or may have had with Jake. I pushed my hair behind my ears and hastily grabbed my things, quickly pulling on my shoes. “I should go.”

“You…” Jake started to protest, but quickly thought better of trying to keep Simone and I in a room together for longer than necessary. “We can finish this later.”

With a nod I pressed a soft kiss to his lips and forced myself to smile through the disappointment in an attempt to show him I was still ready to have the talk whenever we could find the time. “See you at work.”

“Yeah,” he answered softly, breathing out a slightly relieved sigh. “See you at work.”

As I turned I held Simone's glare, telling her without any words that she wasn't getting rid of me so easily. I grabbed the champagne bottle off the counter and slid out of Jake's apartment, closing the door behind me. The entire walk to Quinn’s I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat and kept repeating positive thoughts to keep myself from crying out of sheer frustration.

I let myself in, setting the champagne on the table next to Quinn and Ari who just looked at me in confusion. “Good morning?”

“Yeah… Morning or whatever,” I replied flopping onto Quinn's couch and melting into the cushions.

“Long night?”

“Was it bad?” Ari asked, practically jumping up from the table. “I didn't think Jake could fumble the bag when sex was involved.”

“Simoneshowedup,” I grumbled into the cushions.

Quinn settled on the arm of the couch. “Say again?”

Lifting my head I turned and glared at her. “We fucked. A lot. It was great and then right when we were about to have the talk Simone just invited herself in.”

Both Ari and Quinn's mouths formed an O. “Yikes.”

“Anything we can do?” Quinn asked, gently rubbing my back. 

Flopping back onto the couch I sighed. “Kill me.”

*

The second the door closed all hell broke loose. Simone threw her bags to the ground and angrily stomped around his kitchen to open the wine she'd brought. “Can we not do this?”

With a joyless laugh, she glared at him. “Not do what? Not keep our promises to each other? Cause you sure as hell have already started that.”

"Jesus," Jake breathed with a frustrated shake of his head. "It just barely happened. What did you want me to call you during and let you know?"

Simone glared at him, her lips thinning into that tight line. "Do not mock me, Jake.”

“I'm not mocking you. I just… I don't fucking understand what you want from me.” His whole body felt so tight he was sure he'd explode any second. “One minute you're telling me to do what I want and the next you're pissed at me for doing what I wanted to!”

“I want you to show me some goddamn respect!” She shouted, slamming her hand down on his counter. “I have been carrying you since you were eight years old and it has been the only thing I've asked of you! Yet you still find ways of failing at that too!”

Jake felt that ugly swell of tears burning behind his eyes. He felt his whole chest ache and his mind sluggishly repeat the word. Fail. Fail. Fail. That's all you ever fucking do. You fail Simone. You failed your mom. You'll fail Lena too. That's all you're good for. Gritting his teeth Jake forced himself to breathe. He forced himself to stay standing, to blink the tears away and speak, “I do respect you. I respect you more than anyone else! I just… It just barely happened, Simone. I was going to tell you the second I got the chance-”

“And when would that have been?” She asked the anger in her voice never wavering. “In a month? Two? Until I had to walk in on you?”

“It would have been when I saw you!” Jake shook his head. “I tell you everything, Simone. I always have, I always will. That's what we do. We tell each other things, we trust each other.” Slowly he could see Simone's shoulders relax and that glimmer of love return to her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

She finally abandoned the wine and gently took hold of his face. “Of course I do.”

The ache dulled as she stroked his cheeks and he finally felt like his lungs were filling with air instead of acid. “I was going to tell you.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I do. I just… It surprised me. And you know how much I hate surprises.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Simone smiled and pressed her lips to his, a kiss that once would have sent his heart soaring but now made his gut twist in his chest as he inevitably thought of Lena. She pulled back and nodded. “I know.”

“Are we good?”

“Yes. We are. Honestly, now I guess I’m…” Simone shook her head as she poured her wine and with a heavy sigh, Jake prepared himself for the word he knew far too well. Disappointed. “Relieved.”

“What?”

She picked at Lena's discarded dress, shrugging a shoulder as if she hadn't just been screaming at him over this. “It's done now. You've gotten it out of your system and things can finally get back to normal.”

In some sense she was right. It was done now. He tamed the tiger just like he'd wanted. Normally that did mean that Jake would move on and things would go back to normal. If Lena were anyone else he would probably fuck her a few more times before ultimately tossing her aside in favor of a new fling. But she wasn't anyone else, she was Lena…his Lena. 

Jake didn't want things to go back to normal. He didn't want to feel that emptiness - the weight of being so alone and detached - again. So, Jake stared at Simone as she tidied up his apartment drank wine, and lectured him about how rude and selfish it'd been of him to abandon her over the holiday. For an hour - one that should have been filled with Lena's soft touches and breathy moans - Jake listened to his every flaw being brought to the surface.

Usually, he'd bite back and argue - defend himself against Simone’s angry accusations and slanders. But, that morning he didn't bother. Jake was tired, frustrated, and now anxious. Simone's interruption had put him and Lena right back where they started. Their pile of rain checks had barely been touched and now they'd have to restart the awkward, nervous, avoidant dance around each other. Only this time it'd be worse because they'd actually fucked.

This time the longer they went without talking about it the more likely they both were to write it off as some one-night stand and just go back to how things had been before that first kiss. The longer he sat with that thought, the more obvious it became that he couldn't survive not talking about this. Jake needed to know how Lena felt. He needed her to know how he felt.

“Are you even listening to me?” Simone snapped with a disappointed sigh. Before he could answer she'd rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Of course you aren't.”

God it was going to be a long day.

*

The locker room was filled with gossip as I entered and shoved Sasha off as he jumped around me practically squealing, “Let me see, let me see!”

“See what?”

“Baby Jakey's work!” He replied. “From your sex!”

I glared at Ari, who sheepishly smiled. “Oh… Were you not telling people?”

“Fuck off. All of you,” I warned, opening my locker and getting changed as quickly as I could to try and avoid Sasha's peeking. The Russian only let up when a familiar broad-shouldered bartender set his bike down and entered the locker room. 

“JAKEY!” Sasha purred. “Take your shirt off!”

Jake brushed past him, shaking his head. “Not in the mood Sasha.”

“Oohhhh,” he glanced between the two of us. “Was the sex that bad?”

I whirled around and slapped his forearm, cursing him in Russian until he retreated from the room giggling with Ari. “Fucking dickhead.”

Jake and I locked eyes. Desire and frustration vibrated between us, but neither of those made my heart drop… the uncertainty in Jake’s eyes, the new sliver of doubt shining back at me did. Had Simone talked him out of whatever this was? Had she dug those talons into his back hard enough for him to abandon the feelings I knew we both felt? Or had all of this… everything between us really just been part of some long game for him? 

My racing thoughts must have been obvious, because Jake took a step toward me, mouth open to try and say something before Simone stepped into the locker room, happily humming as if she hadn't interrupted us at all. The apologetic look in his eyes was the only thing that kept me from punching that smug blonde bitch in the back of the head. I ground my teeth together and turned around to finish getting ready.

I left the two of them and their small talk in the locker room and headed to the table for family meal. Howard, who looked slightly tanner, offered me an apologetic look of his own that I didn't understand until I sat down and my eyes found the new painting hanging on the wall. Right. That's a fucking thing.

The vivid orange petals were splattered with red. I found my mind having to remind itself that it'd been wine instead of blood this time. The jagged cuts in the canvas and its slightly bent shape made it all too clear what'd happened to this particular empty showcase.

The glass shattered over the top of the painting at my feet, wine sloshing over the half-painted petals and the shards of glass slicing the canvas where it struck. If this had been any other circumstance I would have admired how artistic it made the piece look. But this was just another bender.

Tony lay on the ground next to the broken glass, laughing. It didn't matter how much or how loud he laughed, I could see the tired bags under his eyes and the hazed far off look that made me wonder if there was some human part of him deep inside. I almost pitied him, if just for one fragmented moment. 

Jules checked his pulse and shoved my painting aside to keep him away from the broken glass. Turning to me he nodded to the mostly incoherent man at his side. “Stay with him while I get the doctor.”

“Of course,” I obediently answered, moving to kneel beside Tony. Jules gave my shoulder a soft squeeze as he stood and hurried toward the elevator.

My eyes fixated on the broken shards of glass just a few inches away. I could easily take one and shove it into his neck or cut his wrists. I could make it look like an accident… Like he'd done it to himself. Before the fear or the guilt could stop me I was reaching for the largest shard.

“Lena…” Tony mumbled, voice quivering as his glazed-over eyes searched for me. “Lena?”

“I'm here,” I answered quietly, my finger lingering on the glass as I looked down at him.

He relaxed instantly at the sound of my voice, lifting his hand to search for me in the dimly lit living room. “I… I can't see. Lena?”

Pity, understanding, and sympathy slowly replaced the darker thoughts in my head. With a gentle sigh, I slid closer to him, taking his hand in mine and pulling Tony into my lap. “I'm here.”

“W… Will you stay?” He mumbled kissing my hand. “Will you stay with me?”

The reply was practically instant… trained. “Of course.”

Tony set my hand against his chest, forcing me to feel the beating of his heart that cruelly reminded me he was a living, breathing human being. “Promise?”

Staring down at the floor of broken glass and then at the tender, beautiful face of the man I hated and feared and… Loved… I nodded. The words sounded sincere but filled my chest with a numbness that made it hard to breathe. “I promise.”

It was a low blow, reminding me of my supposed love for him. Reminding me that I'd made promises… Attempting to guilt me back into obedience. What was worse though, was that it worked.

In an entirely, uniquely twisted… Fucked up way my whole body went into some old, automatic tense posture. My chest burned with shame and my head filled with guilt-riddled thoughts. You broke his heart. You abandoned him. You said you'd never leave… Grinding my teeth together and balling my hands into fists I forced myself to remember the truth.

Being with Tony hadn't just been lavish gifts and eloquent love letters and expensive trips abroad. Those moments were far and few between. Being with him was filled with venom and rage. Being with him meant being held down, fighting… Aching. It was full of bloodied knuckles, bruises, and broken glass. Obey or be punished. Obey or starve. Obey or drown. 

It wasn't love, I told myself, forcing that thought to be louder than all the others. What we had was never love.

*

Jake sat across the table from her, silently cursing himself for not offering her the reassurance she clearly needed in the locker room. The glassy, scared look in her eyes as she picked up on that tiny part of him that doubted if he deserved her, was stuck in his mind like a sliver. Beside him, Simone quietly ate her food while all he could do was watch Lena. Her eyes hadn’t met his again, unsteady they were fixed past him on the flower painting that now hung on the wall. He could see so much emotion raging in her distant eyes. Fear, fondness, guilt, shame. It wasn't like the other paintings. Those had just made her afraid, angry but this… This was one of those things he didn't understand and it made his chest tighten.

The only thing that drew his gaze away from her was the neatly pressed suit and the fucking pervert that wore it. Howard was back. To his credit, the manager barely looked at him, but Jake could still see the faint bruises that he'd done his vest to conceal. With steady steps Howard approached Lena, one hand holding a bottle while the other lifted, moving toward her shoulder.

Howard's eyes locked with his and Jake did his best to convey the ass-kicking he'd be dishing out if he so much as tried to touch her. Do it. I fucking dare you. At the last second his hand shifted to the back of the chair and a smug sense of pride made Jake's mouth twitch into a smile.

“A gift…” Howard told her carefully, setting the wine down in front of her. “An apology for my involvement.”

Lena’s gaze slowly drifted away from the painting to glare at the bottle. For a moment, her face remained expressionless before a thin, bitter smile spread on her lips. “Expensive.”

“And one of your favorites.”

She said nothing as she stood and began pouring the wine into her glass. Lena's eyes were fixed on Howard even as the glass began to overflow, wine staining the white tablecloth in seconds. The manager pursed his lips, disappointment and a mild look of frustration playing out on his still slightly discolored face. No one said a single word as the bottle finally ran empty and Lena set it back down.

Howard sighed. “Was that truly necessary?”

Still, without a single word, Lena knocked the glass over, sending wine down the table. She strode past him and toward the kitchen just as everyone at the table burst with laughter and gossip. Jake leaned back in his seat and grinned at Howard, enjoying every second of the manager's hateful gaze.

Simone looked at the mess with a disapproving shake of her head. “Such a waste.”

Howard's glare shifted to Sasha and Ari as they continued their laughter. With a snap of his fingers and a swift gesture to the mess he barked out the order, “You two, please get this tablecloth in a soak and clean this up?”

“No fair,” Ari pouted quietly as they started cleaning. “Tiger Bitch makes a mess and we have to clean it.”

“Nepotism,” Sasha answered almost flippantly. “Tiger Bitch is special baby.”

Jake took his plate and Simone's back to the kitchen, eyes finding Lena among the dish crew with ease. She had her head down, focused completely on washing the dishes in the sink. As he set his dirty plates down he watched the water, trying to gauge how hot it was in an attempt to tell how fucked up the painting and Howard had her. It was bad, but not as bad as the first time.

He didn't want to leave her, not when she was like this. A hand waved in his peripheral vision, drawing his gaze to the line where Isaac nodded him toward the door. A silent but reassuring message that he'd keep an eye on her through this shift. Jake spared one last look to the back of her head before he sighed and left the kitchen.

Service felt longer than it should have. Wave after wave of rich assholes poured through the door and gawked at that painting hanging on the wall with Lena's name on it. It made him feel angry and sick to his stomach even just imagining what horrible memory she'd tried to bury in that paint. And there these fuckers were, complimenting it… Calling it a masterpiece. Worse than that Jake knew that even if they knew the full story they'd still find it just as fascinating - maybe even more.

As he made the drinks and served the guests in front of him, Jake made it a point to glare at Howard. The disgusting man was practically trying to sell the damn thing. He stood beside the crowd, pointing out the details of the piece and praising the painter, who he'd already revealed worked in the restaurant. When he'd walked past the bar toward the kitchen it took all of Jake's willpower not to hit him again.

Only a minute had passed before his heart dropped into his stomach at the sound of shattering dishes. In an instant Jake was moving towards the kitchen doors, his heartbeat practically echoing her name. Just as he reached the end of the bar, Sasha fled the scene with a deviant smile, effectively blocking Jake's path. “The hell happened?”

“Tiger Bitch is not in a playful mood tonight,” The Russian answered. “Dear Howard was telling her that some of the guests wanted to speak with her about her painting and she just held up a plate,” he illustrated the throwing movement as well as the crash with his hands, “She threw a plate and told him she'd throw one every time he spoke to her.”

A part of him couldn't help but feel satisfied at how hostile she was acting towards Howard. She may not have known what he did, but Jake was glad she was giving him hell even if it wasn't for the worst of his crimes against her. But, beneath that satisfaction was the simmering worry that it would all be too much for Lena to handle and he'd have to watch her spiral into another night of panic and drowning her fears in alcohol. 

Sasha watched his face, reading it carefully as he set his head in his hands and leaned on the bar in front of Jake. “Something about those paintings puts Tiger in a bad mood.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replied curtly.

“Tell me what you know, pretty Jake,” he urged. 

Jake leaned forward, looking around them for a moment as if he cared about who could hear them. “I know you should get the fuck off my bar and back to work.”

The Russian cursed and waved him off. “Ha ha, you so funny.” With a thoughtful look, he shifted his question, “So, what's next?”

“Next?” Jake asked with a pointed look.

Sasha smirked and gave him an innocent shrug. “Well, now that you've tamed the tiger you'll be taking on a new project, yes? A new hostess maybe?”

Turning his head to the hostess stand Jake caught the new girl bashfully averting her eyes from the bar. In the past, he would have felt a thrill at the idea of stringing along another sweet, innocent hostess… But now when he looked at her and saw those blushing cheeks that told him she was interested all he could think of was how boring it'd be. No one would ever be able to offer him even a fraction of what he had with Lena.

No one else would challenge him the way she did. It didn't matter how pretty the hostess was, she wouldn't tease him encourage him, or support him the way the redhead did. No one could be more beautiful than her, funnier than her, smarter than her, more badass, or fearless. No one would be Lena and if it wasn't her… Well, he just didn't want it.

“Nah,” Jake finally replied, returning to his work. “No new projects.”

Sasha made a shocked face and with a quiet, almost supportive hum he asked, “Who really tamed who?”

*

The second service ended, I grabbed my shit and left out the alley door. I'd wanted to wait for Jake to talk to him, but after seeing that painting and having Howard tell me about the requests some rich asshole made to meet me… It was too much. As I wandered the brisk city, desperately trying to force the pit in my stomach to dissolve with the movement, I had to continuously pull myself from wave after wave of old thoughts trying to plague me with guilt and make me doubt what I knew to be true.

It wasn't love. It was never love.

Everything I'd been through, all the years I'd spent moving on, and all it took was one painting to make me feel like that sad, lonely, dead little girl. One painting and in whatever fucking twisted way I was looking back on the times when Tony made me laugh or smile or feel anything good. Those memories were ones I had to combat with the truth and the truth meant remembering and remembering meant I couldn't just pretend like everything was fine.

Tony had not only been in the restaurant but had weaseled his way into Howard's ear, and quite possibly my aunt's. He'd hung the paintings to elicit a very specific response and I'd played right into it. The larger message was simple. It was a reminder that in this game we were playing, he was the king. He snapped his fingers and everyone would play whatever tune he wanted, me included.

Fear, anger, guilt. What was his next move? I wondered as I had many times before. And just like every time before, I hadn't the faintest idea. Even with all the time I'd spent with him to give me a clear picture of who he was and how he thought, I'd never been able to predict his moves. The one thing I knew to be a certainty was there wasn't a damn thing he wouldn't do and that meant everything I loved was at stake… that meant the people closest to me were in danger.

Ozzy, Peter, Patrick, Quinn, Prue, Nana, Abdul, Isaac, Dom, Scott, Ari, Sasah… Jake. They were all possible targets for Tony to choose from. It was terrifying to think about and so I forced myself to not think about it. The lights over Ozzy's bar eventually flashed ahead of me as I did my best to shed myself of the powerless feeling that was now firmly rooted in my stomach. I had to keep moving forward, even blindly. I had to focus on the good around me, even if it was just a tiny speck of it.

He wouldn't take this from me. He would never take anything from me again.

As I made my way to the door I heard the rumble of Dom's bike engine and felt a sense of relief wash over me. As he pulled into the bike spaces I reminded myself of my one advantage in this fucked up game. I had Dom. He wouldn't let anything bad happen. Not ever again.

He had a tired look in his eyes as he flung his leg over the side and stood, thanking the bikers around him as they followed suit.

“Busy day?” I called out, drawing his attention to me.

A thought made his brows pinch together as he sighed and walked toward me. “Yeah.”

As he walked with me through the bar door a faint, floral smell lingered on his jacket. I leaned in, smelling him a bit deeper. “You open a flower shop or something?”

“Huh?”

“You smell all flowery,” I replied tugging on his jacket.

Dom's face drained of any emotion as he shrugged. “Right. Yeah, I… Had some business with a florist.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Are you back in the game of wooing Mav?”

“No.”

“Oh come on, you can tell me!” I playfully urged. “You know I'm in full support of your “marriage”.”

With a sigh he stopped, gently placing a hand on my arm. “Lena… There's something we should talk about.”

A sudden tightness seized my throat at his serious tone and blank expression. “What's going on?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sasha and the group waving their hands in the air, urging me to hurry and join them. “Tiger! Come on!”

Dom glanced at them and quickly shook his head. “I… just wanted to give you a heads up that Nana's got a big celebration planned for your birthday.”

“Oh.” A relieved breath left my lungs in the form of an anxious chuckle. “Oh, good. Fuck, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he quietly replied.

“It's okay. I promised Nana she could go all out this year and… I dunno…” Glancing back at my group, at my brothers and Quinn and Prue, the restaurant crew… Jake… I smiled. I had these people in my life. They may have been in danger by being here - being close to me - but they were here nonetheless. None of them cared about possible dangers, they still chose to be here with me. The weight that had made everything feel so heavy slowly eased as I looked at my friends… my family and smiled wider. “Maybe it won't be so bad this year.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled, giving me a pat on the head. “That's real good, kid. Now go on. Enjoy your night or whatever.”

I caught his arm before he could go too far, squeezing it and offering him a sad smile. “You been to visit her yet?”

Dom's whole body tensed. He likely thought I forgot, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it, but with a quick shake of his head, he answered “No… I don't know if I'm gonna this year.”

“Well if you do, tell her I said hi.” I knew that Dom didn't really believe in ghosts or angels. I knew to him Sarah wouldn't hear him or even know if he'd visited at all, but every year I still encouraged him to go to her grave as some kind of birthday gift to her. He had yet to do it, but I could tell that speaking of her fondly from time to time - acknowledging that his sister existed and had been important - helped ease the hurt in him a little.

But, tonight that didn't seem to be the case.

Dom averted his gaze, cleared his throat, and nodded to the group with a firm, “Go on.”

The chaos of the night continued as expected. My friends and their antics helped me push all the bad the day had to offer back into their boxes and as I met Jake's eyes over the bartop. I was scared that he’d still have that speck of doubt lingering in those beautiful eyes, but as he stared back at me all I could see was the desire. It reminded me of the good… of the possibility that I could have something normal.

Remembering how right it felt to kiss him, to feel him in every way physically possible made me flush with a shameless want to do it all again. Jake's never-faltering gaze didn't help either. It was like he knew exactly what I was thinking and that he wholeheartedly agreed. As the night progressed and the bar slowly started to slow I found myself avoiding leaving it. The pit in my stomach, though lessened still filled me with a lingering and old voice urging me to take the quickest, easiest path away from potential heartache. End it.

That conversation we didn't get to have was now right in front of me and I felt scared. Terrified that something had changed. If Jake told me he wanted to move on from last night it would gut me. But if he said he wanted us to be something official… That thought made me feel almost as sick, just in a different way. Get him as far away from you as possible.

How many men had come before him? All of whom I'd deeply felt for and all of whom Tony had destroyed in some way or another. So what would he do to Jake? What would Tony do to the man that I cared for most… The man who was different from every other in a way I didn't even fully understand. Protect him.

Ozzy set a hand on my shoulder and nudged me to the door. “Go on and get some rest, dear. You've helped enough.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, accepting the kiss on the head and making my way out the back door where I attempted to steel myself.

The gym was quiet, with only a few lights left on to illuminate the old pictures on the walls. As I looked at my dad's smiling face in every photo that scared voice in me quieted, instead replaced by his. “Why you gotta fight me every step of the way?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I’d replied coldly, angry and terrified. Dad had done nothing but offer me love and acceptance since I’d gotten back for the summer, two things I knew weren’t given away for free. He wanted something but instead of telling me what it was chose to play some cruel game instead. 

My dad’s shoulders slumped slightly, a sigh falling from his lips as he stared down at me with a pitiful look. I prepared myself for his disappointment, but it never came. “I don’t want anything from you, Lena.”

Shaking my head I swallowed hard. “Everyone wants something from me.”

“Alright,” he finally relented. “I do want one thing. I want you to live.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I asked, timid but still angry. 

“You’re alive, sure,” he replied, carefully reaching out to touch my shoulder. “But this ain’t living. This hostile… bitterness you’re carrying, it’s not what life’s supposed to be like. Especially not for a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, guilt filling my lungs as another failure was added to the list.

Dad bent down, forcing our eyes to meet, and smiled. “Don’t be sorry. It ain’t your fault. Just… let us help you. Let me help you, sweet girl.”

With tears building in my eyes, I answered, “Okay. I… Sorry I’ve been making it so hard for you.”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed my head. “You make my life, all our lives, better just by bein here. All we want is for you to see that…” He pulled away, taking my face in his hands and smushing my cheeks the way he thought was funny. “Come on. Let’s go start livin, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The sound of the alley door opening spurred me back into motion. As I headed up the stairs to the apartment I could hear Jake's steady footsteps following me. His movements didn’t sound rushed or hesitant, just steady. My heart hammered in my chest and my head filled with a hundred thoughts, a hundred voices all shouting different things at me. Jake appeared in the stairwell, hands in his pockets as he put one foot on the bottom step before stopping himself. “Now a good time to talk?”

The longer I looked down at him the quieter my mind got. Nodding I opened the door and shrugged. “As good a time as we’re probably gonna get.”

He trudged up the stairs with a faint smile on his face and all the noise, all the extra baggage weighing me down fell away. The smell of alcohol, faint cigarette smoke and Jake’s colognue reminded me that I was here. I was in this moment, not the ones in Tony’s paintings or in picture frames. I was here. I was alive and now I wanted to live.

Jake stepped inside and quietly watched me as I closed the door behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” I replied, clearing my throat and taking a tensely casual position by the table. “Why wouldn't I be?”

He shrugged. “You seemed to be kind of somewhere else today… after seeing that painting.”

My jaw clenched as the ugly emotions in me wanted to return. “Yeah… That wasn't great but, I'm okay now.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” I laughed a little to myself, forcing my body to focus on that feeling of steadiness and safety that Jake’s presence brought me. “Besides, we have other stuff we need to talk about, don't we?”

Now he looked just as nervous as I felt. “Yeah.”

“We're kind of horrible at this, aren't we?”

Jake nodded in agreement, chuckling before he spoke, “Yeah… okay… Fuck it, I'm just gonna start. Neither of us do well with labels,” Jake offered before quickly stammering over his own words. “Not that I'm against labeling this as… Whatever. I just mean…”

“Why put a label on things when we're still figuring out exactly what things are?” I finished, ignoring the slight sting of disappointment that festered in my chest by focusing on the wave of relief.

“Exactly.” He scratched his head and cleared his throat. “So… We… keep it casual.”

“Casual,” I agreed. Casual was fun, predictable but most importantly safe. Casual was familiar to both of us and given everything that had happened - changed in our lives and in our friendship - maybe that was a safety net we both needed. 

Casual.

Jake nodded, taking a careful step forward. “If someone were to ask what we were… What would we say to that?”

I watched his lips, resisting the urge to end all the tedious talking by kissing him. “We'd say we're casually seeing each other? Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies? Whatever feels right to you I'm fine with.”

“So, you're a girl I'm seeing… casually?”

Nodding I forced myself to meet his eyes, not that it helped either of us stay on track. “And you're a boy I'm seeing casually.”

Jake's hands slid around me, urging me to lean into him. With that simple touch, everything else faded into the back of my mind. I felt myself relax into him, my body finally able to focus on those tingling sensations of desire and excitement. “And since we're seeing each other, casually, it'd be perfectly normal for us to kiss, right?”

“I think it'd be expected, really.”

“Good,” he mumbled, running his thumb over my lower lip. “I liked being your friend and all, but I don't think I can go any longer without fucking you again.”

As if it had a mind of its own my tongue slipped out to lick his thumb and tug it between my teeth for a second. I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing, teasing… Testing the waters… Inviting him to fuck me as much as he wanted? “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Smirking, he brushed my hair behind my ears. “That.”

His lips further erased every ounce of tension, guilt, disappointment, and fear from my lungs. The way his hands cradled my face replaced everything with a warm fuzzy sense of safety. The painting, Howard, Simone… Nothing else mattered. As long as I had this, him, somehow I knew everything would be alright. 

When he pulled back for air he smiled with a quiet sigh. “This is how our morning should have gone. Sorry about Simone.”

“It's alright. We’re here now.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning back down towards me. “I haven't been able to think about anything else all day.”

Before our lips could connect again I threw one last taunt at him, “I knew you liked being my friend.”

Jake rolled his eyes, warm hands sliding down my cheek to take hold of my hips. “God you're insufferable.”

I ran my hands down his chest and whispered against his lips, “You like it.”

“Shut up.” Our lips finally touched, soft hands quickly turning into heated grabs at one another's clothes.

With a half step forward Jake pressed me into the back of a kitchen chair. His tongue invaded my mouth as his hands pulled my sleeves away from my shoulders, clearing a path for his lips and teeth to follow. The way his lips felt against my skin was something that made me shiver. Jake was… How had he put it? Adept in the art of pleasure? Smug bastard… And completely right.

“God,” Patrick groaned the second he opened the door. His hand slapped over his face, covering his eyes and sighing in defeat. “Guess I should get used to that now that you two are officially a thing.”

“Casually,” Jake and I both corrected.

My brother blindly made his way around the kitchen table. “Yeah yeah, “casually” whatever ya say. Just keep alla that “casual” touchy-feely shit in your room or something.”

“Sorry,” we both mumbled watching Patrick run into his bedroom door before quickly opening it and fleeing inside.

I nodded to my bedroom door and smiled as I tugged Jake toward it. He followed, pushing the door closed behind him. I practically pounced on him, pressing my chest into his as I pulled his head down to reconnect our lips. Jake stumbled slightly causing the door to rattle. Before we could say anything else Irish folk music blared through Pat’s speakers. A crystal clear message.

“Shhh,” I whispered against his collarbone with a giggle. “We have to be quiet!”

“I'm not the one that needs to worry about that.” To prove his point he took a handful of my ass and ground himself against my core, pulling a sharp - loud - moan from me.

“Nope! I'm leaving!” Patrick shouted as the music turned off. “You two have an hour before Pete gets back! For the love of god, be done before then!”

I smirked at Jake. “Now I finally have you all to myself.”

“Looks that way,” he replied. “You gonna entertain me?”

“Of course! What kind of host would I be if I didn't?”

His eyes sparkled with lust as he watched my mouth move. “Well, what's your plan?”

Leaning in I pressed my lips to his neck, occupying my hands with his belt and starting the slow drag of my body down his. When my knees hit the floor and I'd gotten Jake's pants down I looked up at him, fluttering my lashes and smiling at him. “I'm sure I'll think of something you'll enjoy.”

*

My dearest Lena,

In the unlikely event you're reading this letter I simply wished to send you a simple reminder of my devotion to you. A token of my love will be finding its way to your door soon and soon we will be reunited once more.

Yours, Anthony

Dom stared at the letter, examining each line as meticulously as he would an engine. He needed to know what the sick bastard had planned. Needed to know how to protect her from whatever was coming. Tony wouldn't make it easy or fair. He never did and this time was different. He was braver than before, bolder in his actions than Dom had ever seen him. 

After the beating he'd given him upon hearing all he'd done to Lena, Tony should have been cowering in some far corner of the world. He should have been terrified to even set foot in the city again and yet there he was, in her apartment, waving at her landlord, waving at him. 

The longer he held the evidence of Tony's visit the more guilty he felt for keeping it secret. Lena deserved to know. Her brothers had the right to know about the danger. They all deserved better than he could give them.

With a sigh, he lifted the lighter to the corner of the paper and watched the fire spread to the cursive words in ink. He dropped it into the empty bin and picked the orange flower up off the table before tossing it into the fire too.

He should have killed Tony a hundred times by now. A mistake he wasn't going to make again. Then and there Dom silently vowed that the next time he saw that fuckers face he'd put a bullet between his eyes.

[crippling-pages]

the grandest game review part two; chapters 25-59

*TW SPOILERS!*

*Note: bullets may not be in order of the chapters*

okay so they finished the ball and now their in groups/teams

SJHGFRJNHBGYVTFVHQB GRAYSON LIFTING LYRA STOP

Odette ships them. Odette ships them. ODETTE SHIPS THEM SAY IT WITH ME!

Knox and Brady, childhood friends... or more?/j

nah but Knox calling Gigi these nicknames is kinda adorable man ToT

Speaking of nicknames "Savvy" SAVROHAN>>>>>>>

not Savannah responding by calling him British- tbh its funny but sav sweetheart your social awkwardness and lack of knowledge on how to interact with people (especially cute boys) is showing..

rohan calling sav love will also be on top <3

STOP THE MOVIE

LYRA MY GIRLLLLL TOT

HERE'S THE TRAUMA let it happen plz

GRAY COME AND SAVE THE WOMAN YOU LOVE!!!!!!!!

he got her out of a panic attack mHMmMHH

Brady protecting Gigi from Knox ToT its so sweet

omg i bet she reminds him of calla

AHHHHHH

ngl i feel like they're might be a tiny minor love triangle between them?? probably not cuz Knox is 26 but like they're something between the three romantic ot not

lmao imagine Slate just coming in, picking up his girl Gigi and walking out

i really want that actually

ODETTE WORKED FOR TOBIAS l IUYTFRGYBH

"He was the best and worst man in all times"

yeah she's Alice.

LYRAYSONNNNNN

gray just needs to realize the reason he wants to kiss her to bad and then lyra needs to realize she's in love with him and all will be good<3

AJHUGYTFRG NOT THE SPY IN GIG'S NECKLACE

okay but the backstory of calla and brady and knox... im gonna cry

they better find calla

Of course Xander would add pie in the puzzle. This is Xander we're talking about<3

kJHUGYFTRDES AH AH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH TRUTH OR DARE

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY

guys i'm actually obsessed with reading about my fav characters doing t or d and this time its wtih ROHAN AND SAVANNAH

AHHHHHHHHHHH

wait... rohan's parents put him in the ocean when he was 5?? and couldnt swim?? thats a literal child... omg what.

he's brushing her hair<3 without all the weird and emotionally traumatic feelings in the air it would've been cute

i love how he asks multiply times if she wants to do a different dare. gotta love a man who respects you<3

HOL UP HE CUT HER HAIR??? SAV DEARY, OMG-

ngl sav in braids will always have my heart, but short hair savannah isnt that bad either..

GAH these emotions ajhbgvftcdrctfvg

Rohan gets Savannah. He understands what she's feeling. Points to Rohan.

YES SAVANNAH!!! WOO! THROW THAT GLASS ROSE!!!!! FEEL THE RAGE INSIDE OF YOUUUUUUUUUUUU

honestly the truth or dare thing with savannah and rohan is keeping on hooked tbh. for a while i read the book but i read it really slowly... tbh savrohan is keeping me going (and rohan in general tbh)

anyways have a lovely day<3

[groovesnjams]

"You Slept On Me" by Allie X

MG:

Errr, you really gotta feel for Allie X when Chappell Roan and Charli XCX are bonafide pop stars and she's releasing what feels like a very legitimate complaint. While Roan is more maximalist and baroque in her songwriting and performance and XCX has openly embraced the club crowd that was always propping her up, Allie X seems sort of locked inside her own weird crystal ball. "You Slept On Me" is vibrant and spooky synthpop, not at all dissimilar to the sound MGMT explored on Little Dark Age. There's an actual audience for this production; I know two whole entire people who love that MGMT album. But Allie X remains a mostly underground phenomenon and her bitterness is appreciable. Personally, I hope she goes full-on, open maw rage next. Call Pharmakon, Allie!

DV:

We've been talking about Allie X since over a year before the first album she alludes to being "slept on" here, and in that time she's been a fascinating, frustrating artist to follow. Like, is she slept on? Maybe. Our tiny music blog has put her in the our SOTY countdown more than once, and other critics tend to be generally favorable to her. She can play 1400-capacity shows a decade into her career, which isn't nothing even if it is harder and harder to survive off of as the middle falls out of the touring economy. But even when I've loved Allie X's music, it's hard to really picture her artsy, theatrical synthesis dance pop really blowing up: the world already has one Lady Gaga. A song called "You Slept On Me" should - more than anything - prove that the singer deserves more attention, yet here we have to contend with the tongue-in-cheek "this beat is hard but not hard enough" being unfortunately correct. If you're gonna make the claim you're slept on, you have to back it up! Make something abrasive, something aggressive, something that has more teeth than the warmed over synth-pop leftovers of the 10th worst MGMT album.

[voicesunified]

LOST - a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figurativelyGLIMPSES OF THE PAST

   “You can’t keep fighting with the guards, Sheik!” He’s gotten himself in trouble again. It’s–kind of amusing to see the tiny Princess get so angry with him. The way adult anger was clenched inside her little frame, fists balled tightly at her side and bright blue eyes lit with fire as she glared at him. To take her seriously, when she looked like a cucco that got it’s feathers ruffled, was a bit difficult. However, he knows that her anger was nothing compared to the rage of a King on a power trip. 

   He’s been at the receiving end of that anger twice. 

   Thankfully, the King of Hyrule doesn’t hit nearly as hard as Ganondorf. 

   “I know.” Is the answer she gets, because he does. He does know. Constantly picking fights is only going to make the situation worse. Being the one to hit first, physically, is worse for him. It gives them a leg to stand on when they turn against him or report him. It gives them what they need to fuel against him. But, his pride if there is any left, can’t stand there and just let their words roll off of him. They’re adults in the bodies of children, the emotions they feel are adult emotions with the control range of children. 

   It’s easier to lash out than it is to stand there and just take it. It’s not like they’re exactly hard to hit, they’re quite terrible at their job. At least–compared to Sheik. They might be good in general, in a normal training that the Castle can offer, but they’ll never be able to stand up against him. Not the person his mother trained. The Warrior trained to Guide the Hero of Time. It’s a useless title to hang onto now. 

   He’s not even here anymore. 

   The tiny Princess’s anger is not quelled by his words. If anything, it seems to get worse. “If you know that, then why do you keep doing it?” She snapped and Sheik blinked, his head slowly turning to the side to look at the flowers rather than her angry expression. He wishes he had an answer for her that would satisfy her, but he doesn’t. And as the silence lapses, and she realizes that she isn’t getting an answer, she starts to talk again. “Hylia above Sheik, you need to learn to let go! You need to figure out what you’re doing. Do you know how frustrating it is to watch you? We all suffered, you, me, Link. We all lived that life and got sent back, yet you’re the only one looking like you lost your soul.” 

   He wonders, really, if she realizes that out of the three of them–she benefitted the most in turning the clocks back. Granted, Sheik knows, she didn’t do it to be selfish. The Princess reset the time because she thought it was the best possible outcome for the people of Hyrule. So much was lost in the future, and the decades it would have taken to gain it all back–it would have caused more suffering, he knows. He sees the diplomatic side of turning the hands of time back. 

   And it gave the Princess her family, her crown, her Kingdom, her people. 

   It took everything from Sheik. 

   It ripped his memory from everyone. 

   It feels like there is an imbalance here, and he knows he shouldn’t wish that things weren’t reset. That the people were still suffering, that the land was still destroyed, homes left wrecked, Castle Town full of ReDeads. That isn’t the future that he should wish for, not as a person and not as a Sheikah. It’s cruel, it’s selfish, it makes him a terrible person. And yet–and yet– 

   If the clock had just stayed where it was, if things continued to move forward, would he have stayed? Or would Hyrule still, terribly, be a place that he would want nothing to do with? Is Hyrule just too much of a place for him to have to stay? That desire to run, to get as far away from it as possible, from the memories and the heartache–Sheik can understand. And never in his entire life would he hold it against him. But selfishly, and that feels like it’s all he ever is, Sheik thinks he just wouldn’t feel this weight if he was still here. 

   The Hero of Time owes him nothing. They owe him a debt that can never be repaid. Sheik owes him more than he’ll ever be able to give back. Then he’ll ever be able to apologize for. 

   He should run, they won’t find a way to use him if he’s nowhere near them. 

   “You’re upset, I think I should go.” His words don’t ease her anger, but before she can go off on him again Sheik turns and quickly makes his way out of the garden. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and make her more upset, no amount of words he forms is going to fix this. She thought he wouldn’t remember and seeing the memories crush him is hurting her. That isn’t what he wants, especially not if she might be able to find a way to “fix it”. Neither of them understand why he remembers, but no matter the amount of pain it puts him through, Sheik would never want them gone. 

   For his entire life Sheik had served one purpose. Trained for it and given everything he had toward that goal. To be the guide to the Hero of Time, to keep him on task and ensure that he went where he needed to, when he needed to in order to help them. That was his duty, half of it really, but that duty he had given everything he was for. It was all he knew, he was raised to fight a war and serve Hyrule. And now–now it was over and he didn’t know how to stop feeling like he was still fighting that war. 

   What is he supposed to do now? 

   Kakariko Village is full of strangers, Impa’s house is empty, the bonds he had formed were shattered. What they fought for was technically right in front of him and yet the conclusion felt so hollow. Sheik has nothing left but a cold house to return to and a Princess who is constantly upset with him. He shouldn’t miss watching Link run around getting beat to hell by whatever lingered in those temples. 

   But it felt so much easier to live in that reality. 

   How do you live your entire life raised for a single purpose, to fight and struggle to survive, and just turn that off when there’s nothing left to fight? 

   “The Princess only has your best interest at heart, young Guide.” 

   The Great Deku Tree, if he could, was definitely frowning at him. Do trees frown? They can definitely make disappointed sounds, Sheik has learned that quickly. The Kokiri Forest is rather quiet, as if the birds had vacated upon his arrival. He can hear the laughter of the Spirits of the Forest down through the tunnel, running around and playing. The Kokiri are bright spirits, the Great Deku Tree loves them very much. Being here seems to ease parts of the weight on his chest, but it grows heavy each time he remembers that Link isn’t with them. 

   Sheik’s trying to meditate to balance his chaotic emotions and calm his head, it isn’t working which was what prompted the Great Deku Tree to try and use words instead. The Tree (he? does it have a gender?) isn’t wrong. Sheik knows that the Princess was just trying to look out for him, while also managing her Castle. His mother would have smacked him across the back of the head for starting a pointless fight over comments. 

   “Do you think,” the Great Deku Tree continues, “that Link would want to see you acting like this?” 

   A soft frown pulls onto his face beneath the mask and Sheik’s hands move to grip at the fabric of his suit, his red eyes slowly opening to glare at the ground. “None of us should pretend to understand what the Hero thinks. He isn’t here, and he doesn’t want to be. If he did, he wouldn’t have left in the first place. Clearly, he doesn’t want to see anything with Hyrule. And can anyone blame him after what we put him through?” 

   “Are you not now pretending to know what he thinks?” Damn this tree. “The reasons that Link left are entirely his own, and it is not within the realm of probability that he might return one day. If he does, do you think he’ll want to see someone he likely considered a friend suffering as you are?” 

   Friend? “Friends don’t use each other.” He is not Link’s friend. A friend would have done more than act like a broken useless compass that only works when shook. “And I’m fine. As unlikely as it is, with all due respect Great Deku Tree, should the Hero ever return–I’ll likely be the last person he wants to ever look for anyway.” 

   The tree is giving him that disappointed look again. “I think you underestimate your value, and I fear it is a terrible habit of your people in general. Do not lose yourself in those shadows your tribe is named for, young Sheikah.” 

   A soft sound, lips pressing together and Sheik turns his head away from the tree. Shadows though, it did give him a bit of an idea. Would it even work? To trade places with his mother. To make her see him and leave the Shadow Temple, return to the Princess’s side, set her free and trap himself. It isn’t–it’s not an answer but it’s something he can do. To continue to dedicate his life to some part of what his journey had been about. With what he was raised for. He could–he could–

  “To do what you’re thinking will not bring joy to the people around you.” The Great Deku Tree spoke gently and with wisdom befitting someone as old as it. He caught on to his thoughts. Yet, Sheik wasn’t swayed by the words. “If you are miserable; find another path. Don’t forsake the chance at life you were given.” 

   “I’m not forsaking anything, I’m chasing a path I know I can walk and giving peace to someone else who deserves it.” Sheik held himself high as he stood and bowed to the Great Deku Tree. “Thank you for your time, Great Deku Tree.” 

   As he turned to leave he heard him call out one last time. “Guide of Time, what would you have me tell the Hero should he return?” 

   He hesitates, throat running dry and words caught. He swallowed, closed his eyes and breathed out. “That he went somewhere I couldn’t follow again.”

[guideoftime]

LOST - a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figuratively GLIMPSES OF THE PAST

   “You can’t keep fighting with the guards, Sheik!” He’s gotten himself in trouble again. It’s–kind of amusing to see the tiny Princess get so angry with him. The way adult anger was clenched inside her little frame, fists balled tightly at her side and bright blue eyes lit with fire as she glared at him. To take her seriously, when she looked like a cucco that got it’s feathers ruffled, was a bit difficult. However, he knows that her anger was nothing compared to the rage of a King on a power trip. 

   He’s been at the receiving end of that anger twice. 

   Thankfully, the King of Hyrule doesn’t hit nearly as hard as Ganondorf. 

   “I know.” Is the answer she gets, because he does. He does know. Constantly picking fights is only going to make the situation worse. Being the one to hit first, physically, is worse for him. It gives them a leg to stand on when they turn against him or report him. It gives them what they need to fuel against him. But, his pride if there is any left, can’t stand there and just let their words roll off of him. They’re adults in the bodies of children, the emotions they feel are adult emotions with the control range of children. 

   It’s easier to lash out than it is to stand there and just take it. It’s not like they’re exactly hard to hit, they’re quite terrible at their job. At least–compared to Sheik. They might be good in general, in a normal training that the Castle can offer, but they’ll never be able to stand up against him. Not the person his mother trained. The Warrior trained to Guide the Hero of Time. It’s a useless title to hang onto now. 

   He’s not even here anymore. 

   The tiny Princess’s anger is not quelled by his words. If anything, it seems to get worse. “If you know that, then why do you keep doing it?” She snapped and Sheik blinked, his head slowly turning to the side to look at the flowers rather than her angry expression. He wishes he had an answer for her that would satisfy her, but he doesn’t. And as the silence lapses, and she realizes that she isn’t getting an answer, she starts to talk again. “Hylia above Sheik, you need to learn to let go! You need to figure out what you’re doing. Do you know how frustrating it is to watch you? We all suffered, you, me, Link. We all lived that life and got sent back, yet you’re the only one looking like you lost your soul.” 

   He wonders, really, if she realizes that out of the three of them–she benefitted the most in turning the clocks back. Granted, Sheik knows, she didn’t do it to be selfish. The Princess reset the time because she thought it was the best possible outcome for the people of Hyrule. So much was lost in the future, and the decades it would have taken to gain it all back–it would have caused more suffering, he knows. He sees the diplomatic side of turning the hands of time back. 

   And it gave the Princess her family, her crown, her Kingdom, her people. 

   It took everything from Sheik. 

   It ripped his memory from everyone. 

   It feels like there is an imbalance here, and he knows he shouldn’t wish that things weren’t reset. That the people were still suffering, that the land was still destroyed, homes left wrecked, Castle Town full of ReDeads. That isn’t the future that he should wish for, not as a person and not as a Sheikah. It’s cruel, it’s selfish, it makes him a terrible person. And yet–and yet– 

   If the clock had just stayed where it was, if things continued to move forward, would he have stayed? Or would Hyrule still, terribly, be a place that he would want nothing to do with? Is Hyrule just too much of a place for him to have to stay? That desire to run, to get as far away from it as possible, from the memories and the heartache–Sheik can understand. And never in his entire life would he hold it against him. But selfishly, and that feels like it’s all he ever is, Sheik thinks he just wouldn’t feel this weight if he was still here. 

   The Hero of Time owes him nothing. They owe him a debt that can never be repaid. Sheik owes him more than he’ll ever be able to give back. Then he’ll ever be able to apologize for. 

   He should run, they won’t find a way to use him if he’s nowhere near them. 

   “You’re upset, I think I should go.” His words don’t ease her anger, but before she can go off on him again Sheik turns and quickly makes his way out of the garden. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and make her more upset, no amount of words he forms is going to fix this. She thought he wouldn’t remember and seeing the memories crush him is hurting her. That isn’t what he wants, especially not if she might be able to find a way to “fix it”. Neither of them understand why he remembers, but no matter the amount of pain it puts him through, Sheik would never want them gone. 

   For his entire life Sheik had served one purpose. Trained for it and given everything he had toward that goal. To be the guide to the Hero of Time, to keep him on task and ensure that he went where he needed to, when he needed to in order to help them. That was his duty, half of it really, but that duty he had given everything he was for. It was all he knew, he was raised to fight a war and serve Hyrule. And now–now it was over and he didn’t know how to stop feeling like he was still fighting that war. 

   What is he supposed to do now? 

   Kakariko Village is full of strangers, Impa’s house is empty, the bonds he had formed were shattered. What they fought for was technically right in front of him and yet the conclusion felt so hollow. Sheik has nothing left but a cold house to return to and a Princess who is constantly upset with him. He shouldn’t miss watching Link run around getting beat to hell by whatever lingered in those temples. 

   But it felt so much easier to live in that reality. 

   How do you live your entire life raised for a single purpose, to fight and struggle to survive, and just turn that off when there’s nothing left to fight? 

   “The Princess only has your best interest at heart, young Guide.” 

   The Great Deku Tree, if he could, was definitely frowning at him. Do trees frown? They can definitely make disappointed sounds, Sheik has learned that quickly. The Kokiri Forest is rather quiet, as if the birds had vacated upon his arrival. He can hear the laughter of the Spirits of the Forest down through the tunnel, running around and playing. The Kokiri are bright spirits, the Great Deku Tree loves them very much. Being here seems to ease parts of the weight on his chest, but it grows heavy each time he remembers that Link isn’t with them. 

   Sheik’s trying to meditate to balance his chaotic emotions and calm his head, it isn’t working which was what prompted the Great Deku Tree to try and use words instead. The Tree (he? does it have a gender?) isn’t wrong. Sheik knows that the Princess was just trying to look out for him, while also managing her Castle. His mother would have smacked him across the back of the head for starting a pointless fight over comments. 

   “Do you think,” the Great Deku Tree continues, “that Link would want to see you acting like this?” 

   A soft frown pulls onto his face beneath the mask and Sheik’s hands move to grip at the fabric of his suit, his red eyes slowly opening to glare at the ground. “None of us should pretend to understand what the Hero thinks. He isn’t here, and he doesn’t want to be. If he did, he wouldn’t have left in the first place. Clearly, he doesn’t want to see anything with Hyrule. And can anyone blame him after what we put him through?” 

   “Are you not now pretending to know what he thinks?” Damn this tree. “The reasons that Link left are entirely his own, and it is not within the realm of probability that he might return one day. If he does, do you think he’ll want to see someone he likely considered a friend suffering as you are?” 

   Friend? “Friends don’t use each other.” He is not Link’s friend. A friend would have done more than act like a broken useless compass that only works when shook. “And I’m fine. As unlikely as it is, with all due respect Great Deku Tree, should the Hero ever return–I’ll likely be the last person he wants to ever look for anyway.” 

   The tree is giving him that disappointed look again. “I think you underestimate your value, and I fear it is a terrible habit of your people in general. Do not lose yourself in those shadows your tribe is named for, young Sheikah.” 

   A soft sound, lips pressing together and Sheik turns his head away from the tree. Shadows though, it did give him a bit of an idea. Would it even work? To trade places with his mother. To make her see him and leave the Shadow Temple, return to the Princess’s side, set her free and trap himself. It isn’t–it’s not an answer but it’s something he can do. To continue to dedicate his life to some part of what his journey had been about. With what he was raised for. He could–he could–

  “To do what you’re thinking will not bring joy to the people around you.” The Great Deku Tree spoke gently and with wisdom befitting someone as old as it. He caught on to his thoughts. Yet, Sheik wasn’t swayed by the words. “If you are miserable; find another path. Don’t forsake the chance at life you were given.” 

   “I’m not forsaking anything, I’m chasing a path I know I can walk and giving peace to someone else who deserves it.” Sheik held himself high as he stood and bowed to the Great Deku Tree. “Thank you for your time, Great Deku Tree.” 

   As he turned to leave he heard him call out one last time. “Guide of Time, what would you have me tell the Hero should he return?” 

   He hesitates, throat running dry and words caught. He swallowed, closed his eyes and breathed out. “That he went somewhere I couldn’t follow again.”

[princessw0lf]

happy STS! what are your characters' main responses to threat (fight, flight, freeze, or fawn)?

Oh interesting one, thanks for the question!

Almyra: Generally, she starts talking very fast and trying to keep everyone friendly, so I think that comes under fawn? But she's been getting more fighty as the books go on.

Releine: Absolutely fight. She has a sword, or claws, and zero sense of self-preservation, she's throwing herself directly at whatever comes her way.

Jessa: Depending on the threat, Jessa can either freeze or fight. If she's up against someone she doesn't want to hurt, then freeze. Otherwise, she's a dab hand with a knife.

Tenacity: . . . is plot an option? What about scheme? Even under stress, Tenacity probably takes some time to think of the most logical course of action before executing.

Ellimane: Ellimane is a flee-er, all the way. If it sucks, hit the bricks. There is no problem too big to run away from. After all, if you run away now, you can fight when it's more advantageous.

Hyrin: Hyrin is a tiny ball of pure rage and she will tear at danger with her teeth if she has to.

Saff: Freeze, if he's caught off-guard. He's a well-trained fighter though, so it takes something special.

Yurhagh: Definitely a fighter, provided talking isn't going to work. She's very calm in the face of danger.

Maribelle: Absolutely a fawner, followed by fleeing if that doesn't work.

[kalied0skull]

patting you on the back and shoulders and head and putting a blanket around your shoulders and sitting down in front with a collection of little papers /silly

i have such a weird problem of doing introductories to conversations in third person actions 💀 anyways

shepard designs stuck on the brain, accidentally sent me through a LOOP of headcanons and crack-filled content on all three of them — i posted earlier about a cherry x angela rarepair and when i tell you bro it is GLUED TO MY HEAD RN. it was such a random thought but just AGGRRGR AGRRHHH ...

I haven't got any of the specifics whatsoever about it but i like to imagine cherry's got it bad (she has a type for criminals/silly) and she's absolutely RUINED over this information and angela in her mannerly fashion is like "ayo does this chick think I'm hot? do i think SHE'S hot??? ....OOHHHH NOOO." it's funny it's silly it's lesbians it's AH i dunno I'm just going off a whim with them and fully just playing around with it in the silliest way possible 💀

on topic of the brothers though I've definitely just been sat here thinking about curledjeans ... (curly & jeanie) because I'm in love with their dynamic and IT FEELS SO LOSER but they're so everything to me, i definitely oc'd curly too hard with those too but it's fine it's fine ... fanon content is meant to be cringe and silly. ..

tim in general has just been festering up as a bit of an angst ball, full of silent rage and punching into the air and iiiii dunno i love to imagine his firey personality compared to darry or any of the gang really, i don't have much coherent thoughts on him other than "that's one sad, angry kid"

haven't drawn any today unfortunately (killingmyself /j) but i have plans to maybe redesign my curtis brothers and do their own little version of family photo just to match the shepards bc i thought it sounded like a fun concept

also planning to hopefully get out more oc work ... i have a little info post for AJ planned out and then I'll probably do something shorter for jeanie and awawawa

ON A COMPLETELY UNRELATED NOTE !!! (I'm just rambling at this point)

the curtis parents have been ON MY BRAIN DUDE. when i tell you. oh my stars. there's something so interesting about them to me — i love imagining them as freshly-college-student parents with darry, and that's been such a focal point for them in my head, i imagine they go to different schools like maybe mrs goes to an all girls or a more spiffy school (i like glorbiez' hc point that she was soc before she met darrel) and and awaahh... dude i just love them so much and i have so many ideas for them like a tiny little story AND I'VE ALREADY YAPPED ABOUT IT PLENTY but lemme... lemme just sit here and imagine them okay man...

i really really do love the idea that they came into tulsa in an open home, it's one of my favorite things to think about — the full curtis family freshly moved back into tulsa after bustling around the state from college to apartments to... right where they started. and in a home on the east side owned by some older folks with an open door policy, people who took them right in and cared for the family like their own, meeting so many different people – meeting mrs matthews – and falling in love all over again back with each other and with their hometown , they're just so cute n sweet to me man :(

anyways i hope this is enough open air to feed the mind, I'm just a bit everywhere as of recent AND I DIDN'T EVEN MENTION STEVEPOP !!! (because i have plans. eeeevil plans. mischeeeevious plans. giggling)

hey yall. I just got like some of the worst news I could have possibly gotten back to back with a buncha other bullshit. have been prescribed a healthy dose of pretend-nothin-is-goin-on by the just-ignore-it Dr n would love to see yalls headcanons or doodles or what have you🙂‍↕️

[nicelytousled]

There's a lot I dislike about witcher season 2 but I want to ramble about the parts I did enjoy and by that I mean I'm gonna list all the yennskier moments:

the SMILE on Yen's face when she realises who's performing

"Bard." "Witch."

Hugging. They are h u g g i n g.

"I miss the days when my biggest problem was an ever-present sing-songy twit."

"I am not having this conversation unless I'm drinking."

Again the way Yen smiles at him she's so amused by him I love it

"My dear, generous lady."

That song could be about anyone. Mm. Anyone. Mm-hm. Anyone. Mm. Anyone. Mm.

"We're better off without him." "Yes."

"The man, the myth, the legend." Jaskier's tiny smile

Jaskier threatening Cahir with a bottle I love him he's absolutely useless

Yen rolling her eyes at him when he does that I'm gonna do what I do best bit

Yen resting her head against the wall and groaning when Jaskier starts having a go at the dock worker

Joey just looks at Anya so tenderly and like... same man same

"I'm scared too. I'm scared that one day the muses will stop speaking to me. Because who are we when we can no longer do the one thing we were put on this continent to do?"

Comparing the loss of her magic to his fear of losing his artistic edge is a big ol' chef's kiss from me we love to see it

"Chaos could never be done with the likes of you. Yennefer of Vengerberg. Of that much, I am certain. So, if it's all the same to you, goodbye, good luck, good riddance."

THE WAY HES ALMOST WHISPERING THIS DIALOGUE THOUGH it's so intimate...

That interview where Joey said Jaskier is in love with whoever is in front of him, this is that and it's GREAT

And it's all the starker in comparison to Geralt this season. It feels like you could knock on the side of Geralt's head and it would echo because of how hollow his character is.

When Yen goes to investigate who hurt Jaskier and Cahir pops up like YENNEFER WHAT ARE YOU D O I N G ???

"see if any little shit-birds under the name of Jaskier have been caged" yeah Yen get his ass

Loved watching Jaskier get tortured 10/10

Yen pretending to be his drunk wife is iconic she's so smart

"Uh... uh... This is- this is my wife. She has nothing to do with this."

Yen kissing the side of his head...

The way he yells please don't hurt her!

When Rience snaps his fingers in front of Yen's face to make fire and she blows so the alcohol on her breath makes a little flamethrower moment I YELLED love of my life did I say she's so smart? She's so smart

Yen bearing Jaskier's weight as they run away with his arm over her shoulder...

"You don't get to play damsel in distress. That's my job." and the way Yen slaps him playfully on the chest...

"Ohh! Oh, she's so scary."

He really is the epitome of my wife is a bitch and I like her so much.

Fucking...fucky...fuck.

The way he yells her name after she disappears...

Jaskier's tits have entered the chat.

Season 2 really said buff Jaskier rights. They had to give him that awful hair otherwise he would have been too powerful.

"She risked her life for me. I always knew there was some deeper feeling for me beneath all that rage and... hair. She's got a lot of hair, that woman."

The way she wakes him up like she slaps his hip and then grabs his face in her hands and says "I need you."

This moment is under ten seconds and she touches him on his thigh, his hip, his arm, his cheek, and runs her hand along his arm again as she walks away like HELLO?

yes I watched it a bunch of times in 0.5 speed leave me alone

"The last time I woke up next to you, you grabbed me by the balls and then blew up the building, so-" "Come on!" "Oh, for fucks sake."

"Golden Oriole." "Golden what? Areola? Pretty sure that's got something to do with nipples. But then again if it was up to me I'd make everything about nipples."

"Tell me what to do." Come on he's practically BEGGING you to peg him Yen.

"What are you gonna do?" "What witches do best. Make a potion." Jaskier's tiny smile again.

The way he throws that stupid stone up in the air and catches it before he leaves the laboratory like stop flirting we get it

"You're back. Are you alright?" again the way he speaks SO SOFTLY to her what the FUCK

and the way he rushes forward when it looks like she's about to stumble and holds her elbow...

The way Yen examines her wrists and Jaskier is like gently cupping the back of her hand in his palm and then she pulls away and they look at one another for a moment...