#⊰ verse

[oceanxveiined]

Special Dish: Sea God’s Catch

Base: Sashimi platter

❛❛ The fish and garnishes seem oddly cut, but nonetheless the meat is chilled, tender, and its fragrance holds a sweet zest to it and an odd hint of spice from the side made to go with it. With Danae’s usual lack of culinary skills, it seems she must have put lots of practice into this. And been a bit overeager in her efforts, the overwhelmingly hearty portion considered. Your expression seems to fluster her. “What?! A proper meal’s good to keep up your strength! So eat up! Wh–you want to share it?! I...ugh, fine, I’ll help you finish– ❜❜

[fireflowerpom]

With the Genshin Impact brainrot has come falling so deep into things regarding it for the last year - Including several muses coming out of the woodwork from ages past! This girl here is Astra Fellheart - a woman from Fontaine whose family is a giant in the nation's mining industry, as well in ore and gemstone sales. She's the younger of a set of twins, and, along with her brother Apollo, was raised by aides and attendants rather than their overly busy parents, who had started and grew the family business into what it's become, with the express desire to be nothing more than future heads of the company. A raising that was done completely wrong, and that Astra seeks to correct and grow from after her 18th birthday, when she finally speaks up to her parents and sees the employees at fault fired and replaced, and her freedom from the strict, overbearing life she'd been leading granted.

She's now nearing 30, and still learning how to navigate things as a regular person - A process easier to learn and navigate with the help of her husband Wriothesley, the Duke of Meropide and the one to give her a place to belong within Meropide's walls. The title of Duchess of Meropide takes some getting used to, but... Hey, who says she won't eventually~?

She uses a hydro vision when she fights, and is armed with a polearm. Her coat is also a modification and redesigned guard's uniform coat, a means to help her fit in a little better while not putting herself on the same level as the Duke despite her title stating she is. She's not. She's just a person, and she wants everyone to see her as such, even if she will make herself on the level of the friendlier guards. <3

[moonlightseve]

So we all know that Stammi Vicino – Non Te Ne Andare is essentially Viktor’s cry for help in a world where he has neglected his personal life for twenty years, giving everything he has to his sport and becoming an untouchable god because of it. And the lyrics are so sad and I just want to talk about them and what I think is going on because I can’t get it out of my head. 

I hear a voice weeping in the distance Have you maybe been abandoned as well?

We start out with Viktor looking for this person who can understand how he feels, that same desperation for connection between the two of them. They are not united yet, but are able to come together because of their circumstances. Viktor, who has no family that we know of (or even friends outside of skating) is so utterly alone that this chance at having another soul who gets him has to be this horrible gnawing desire. 

Come now, I'll quickly finish this glass of wine I’ll start to get ready Be quiet now

The glass of wine only confirms my thoughts about his loneliness, in my opinion – he has been sitting there alone, silently, enjoying this small pleasure with no company. And now he moves to join this distressed individual addressed at the beginning. There’s little comfort here beyond an attempt to silence their crying, it’s less of an established connection and more of an acknowledgement of similar circumstances. He can understand what it’s like to be sad and alone without feeling like there’ll be any change.

With a sword I wish I could cut those throats singing about love I wish I could enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion

There’s some frustration here – Viktor is 27 years old when he skates Stammi Vicino. This is past the age where many people experience these passionate romances for the first time, finding a twin flame with which to go through life. Despite how much people adore him, how successful he has become, how admired he is… he cannot be loved because no one truly knows him. There’s so much media out there about people finding each other, these grand love affairs and lasting friendships that add so much depth to a person’s life. And he has nothing. It must be infuriating, to have so much and yet so little. And I think there might be something there with the “enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion” as well, with him reflecting on his own circumstances in comparison to these love stories. Why don’t they have to suffer the same fate as him, married to the ice? Why must his heart remain frozen and no one else’s?

This story that has no meaning Will vanish tonight together with the stars If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope

There is no meaning to his life, nor is there any meaning behind his connection with this other person. They do not know each other. This is fleeting, and temporary, and entirely impermanent… but god, he wants so badly. He knows he can’t have it but he wants to hope so much.

Stay close to me, don’t go away I’m afraid of losing you

This hope has taken root in his soul. Despite the fact that he is so utterly alone and this individual who maybe can just barely begin to understand how he feels isn’t truly with him in any way that matters, he can’t bear the idea of giving up this tiny thing that is all he has left. This is a moment of pure vulnerability, the admission of just how scared he is. He is going through the motions, facing everything he has to entirely alone. Even a fragment of attention and care sets him alight, he cannot bear to lose anymore than he has already.

Your hands, your legs, My hands, my legs, And our heartbeats Are blending together

Here he comes together with this person. I still don’t think it’s viewed as a bond that he believes in, but acceptance of potential and the fact that maybe they could have something together. He feels something intertwined in their souls, some semblance of similarity. And for him, that means a lot.

Let’s leave together I’m ready now

The glass of wine has been put down, he has acknowledged his anger and frustration, and he is ready to move forward. There’s something for him, maybe, if he keeps looking. He can only hope.

Now. I could go on and talk about what the banquet meant to Viktor, and how this was maybe the first time he had wanted a person in his life this way, or I could just talk  about the duetto … which is what I’m going to do. 

So the duetto contains some pretty obvious lyric changes, namely the fact that the verses

With a sword I wish I could cut those throats singing about love I wish I could enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of burning passion This story that has no meaning Will vanish tonight together with the stars If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope

are removed. Hmmmmmmmm… all of the longing, none of the aggravation towards that sickly sweet romance? None of the denial that this could matter, the quiet desperation that maybe he might be allowed to hope for once? Because finally, after years of searching and waiting and quietly, so quietly, hoping – Viktor found someone who sees him. Who loves him, who wants him for who he is. They can stay close to each other, and neither of them will go away. Yuuri adds this color and warmth to his life that he had been looking for, and Viktor in turn has given Yuuri the chance to flourish and become the best version of himself, all the while having someone by his side who simply will not leave him. They are able to support each other in ways no one else can, and that is what makes their pair skate so beautiful. 

[bellasmumblingsandmusings]

What Could Have Been

Chapter Three

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 17.5K total

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love  themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: My Blood - Elle Goulding : Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

Chapter 3: Beating of His Hideous Heart

The dungeon air was thick and stifling, laden with the weight of impending fate as Astarion advanced through its ancient corridors. His footsteps echoed solemnly against the green stone, each sound a grim drumbeat to the pivotal confrontation that awaited. Anticipation crawled across his skin, mingling with anxiety as he navigated the murky labyrinth of their relationship’s future.

This was not merely another meeting; it was a crucible that would test and potentially transform their bond. His steps were deliberate, his confidence in his carefully laid plans firm, yet he remained keenly aware of the unpredictable turns that might unfold.

Across the decrepit corridor, with its eerie green tourmaline and the soft clinking of now-empty cages, lay the site of his great Rite. The usual sounds of guard activity had vanished, absorbed into the shadows by his implicit command, leaving an expectant silence. Pausing at the entrance to Sima's cell, he inhaled deeply, steadying the storm within—a tempest of competing emotions: the desire to possess her, the fear of losing her, and a twisted thrill at the impending confrontation.

Inside, Sima sat on the cold, hard floor, her body curled inward, a physical echo of defeat. Her typical black leather armor was absent, replaced by a crude cotton tunic that draped loosely over her frame. Her hair, once a crown of meticulous curls, now sprawled wildly around her, a mane of despair. Flecks of sunlight pierced through a small crevice above, casting beams that streaked across her, painting her skin with stripes of light and shadow. These illuminated patches highlighted the stark fatigue etched into her features, the apathy that deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth.

Her voice, hauntingly beautiful yet laden with melancholy, filled the space as she sang. The sound carried her resignation, her fractured psyche, and a mourning for who she once was, what she had become, and who Astarion had been. Each note seemed to hang in the air, a spectral presence that tugged at Astarion's heart, reminding him of the man he once was and the love he had lost, as Sima sang:

“I am the monster you created

You ripped out all my parts

And worst of all, for me to live, I gotta kill the part of me that saw

That I needed you more

I hope you know we had everything

And you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

what could have been

Oh, what could have been.....”

Each verse was a dagger, her sorrow and rage woven into a melody that spoke more eloquently than words ever could. Astarion stood just beyond the bars, her song striking chords within him that had long been silent. The pain in her voice—the raw, unfiltered heartbreak—mirrored his own hidden fractures, revealing the deep, aching void where something beautiful had once dwelled.

As the haunting echo of her last note lingered in the stale dungeon air, a deep sadness enveloped Astarion. Memories of love intertwined with pain and betrayal surged forward, bringing with them an uninvited sensation: guilt. He hadn't expected the sheer force of her music to unravel him so, stripping away layers of his hardened exterior to expose his core. Regret hit him sharply, an unwelcome yet unmistakable pulse within him.

Attempting to shake off this rare vulnerability, Astarion stepped into the cell, his expression meticulously composed, his features arranged into a mask of necessity. "We need to talk," he murmured, his voice soft but imbued with a firm resolve. His eyes dwelled on her momentarily, noting the tear-streaked paths marking her cheeks, the wild disarray of her hair, and the haunting emptiness that lingered in her gaze. Each detail clawed at him, reminding him of the depths of despair she had plummeted to, and how much of it was his doing.

"The Vampire Ascendant shows his face at last. Excuse me if I don't bow," Sima replied, her voice tinged with biting sarcasm, hollow yet defiant. Her dismissal, though anticipated, stung him slightly. He smirked briefly, absorbing the sharpness of her words.

"You're right; I am here. I'm here because I want to talk. About us," he pressed on, his voice steady despite the walls she erected. The walls she had every right to build, considering how he had shattered her trust.

Sima rolled her eyes. "Us? Well, I loved an elf and spawn who no longer exists. But please, I'm all pointy ears," she retorted, her dismissal striking deeper than he cared to admit. Her words were laced with grief and anger, twisting inside him, painfully reminding him of the person he used to be.

"Yes, I'm a vampire lord. But I am still me. At my core. I'm still the person who loved you," Astarion replied, his voice a blend of sincerity and desperation. Was he convincing her, or himself? The lines between past and present, love and dominion, blurred within him. His heart ached with the weight of his words, a desperate attempt to hold onto the shreds of their former connection.

"Is that everything? Or can you please get to the point?" Sima's voice snapped him back to the present, her weariness evident even in her impatience. Her tone was sharp, cutting through his resolve like a knife, each word a thorn that deepened the chasm between them.

"Straight to it then. I want to turn you into a vampire," Astarion revealed, watching her closely for any flicker of emotion. The admission was heavy, laden with the gravity of his intentions, a declaration that hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Sima raised her eyebrows, her lips curving into a sardonic smile. "Riveting," she harshly quipped, hiding the true tenor of her fears. Her eyes widened slightly, her fists clenching as fear twisted in her gut. What if she became what he wanted? The thought was terrifying, not just for the physical transformation, but for what it symbolized—the loss of her autonomy and humanity. Beneath her defiant facade, she braced herself for the unknown, her heart pounding at the prospect of the dark path ahead.

As Astarion paced the dimly lit dungeon floor, a slight smirk hinted that Sima's sharp retorts hadn't quenched his resolve but rather fueled it. Her spirited defiance, even in chains, reassured him. She was still there—fiery, indomitable. This spark, even amidst despair, was a beacon he clung to.

"You're an intelligent woman. I assume you’ve figured it out, but... what I want from you is more than just making you a vampire," he said, stepping closer. His words were laced with an unspoken plea, hoping she would see beyond his monstrous facade.

"Oh? A true vampire? A bride? Gods, this sounds like a deluded, tawdry novel," Sima snarked, her voice laced with disdain but underscored by clarity. Her mockery was a shield against the painful reality of his words.

He chuckled, amused by her spirit. "Yes, a bride, with all the trappings and... liberties that might come with it," he replied, hinting at possibilities within their bond.

Sima’s bitter laugh echoed against the stone walls. "Liberties? Now, who's deluded? You mean trapped. A rag doll for your fantasies, your control. You'd kill my mind and own my body. You'd kill the greatest part of me, my defiance. Even as a true vampire, you will not compel me, but I'd be tied to the thing that killed the person I loved. So, kindly... Fuck off." Her voice broke with the weight of her accusations, each word a dagger slicing through his façade.

Her words pierced him like an arrow to the heart, stripping away pretense and deception. Cornered and laid bare, he mustered a bitter laugh, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Perhaps you are not as intelligent as I thought. I shall have to break you, make you mine by whatever means. That is, if you do not submit willingly," he hissed, his voice reflecting the battle between his desire for her and the dark compulsion that drove him.

"There he is... the Ascendant," Sima said, her voice cracking with rage and heartbreak. "Don't pretend to love me like my Astarion did. He was... everything to me. You destroyed my chance to return him to me." Her raw pain was a stark contrast to her earlier defiance, revealing her vulnerability.

For a fleeting moment, Astarion’s mask cracked, revealing genuine pain. "Sima...Sima, I was that man once, but no longer. He is, as you say, destroyed. I am all you have left of him. And I will take what I wish." His voice trembled with the weight of his confession, a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"I'll die first. I won't go down without a fight," she retorted fiercely, her eyes narrowing with determination.

Astarion’s laughter echoed through the dungeon. "As if you could beat me..." He gestured broadly. "I am the most powerful figure in the city. There is no one who can challenge me. I'll take you if I want. But, I'd rather you come willingly..."

His words were a proclamation of dominance, yet beneath them lay a desperate plea for her willingness. The thought of breaking her spirit repelled and enticed him. What if she never yielded? Desperation masked by authority pulsed beneath every word.

"A challenge, then? What, you’ll wait a week and try to win me over? Is that your plan?" Sima’s curiosity was audible, intrigued by the notion of a contest of wills.

"A game, perhaps?" He smirked. "I shall endeavor to win you over, and if I cannot, I will simply take you by force. The prize stays the same, no matter when I claim it." His voice was a mixture of confidence and anticipation.

Astarion's words hung heavy in the dungeon's charged air. "Ah, lovely. Take me by force—do you mean that as turning me, or are you a complete degenerate like Cazador now?" Sima snapped, her voice cutting sharply across the cold stone.

"Do not mistake me for Cazador. I shall not force myself upon you. I will only force you to become a vampire if that is what it takes to make you mine," he declared, his hand extending in a gesture between invitation and decree. The thought of becoming the monster he despised twisted his insides with pain and anger.

Sima shook her head, her hair falling in disheveled strands around her face. "The fact that you don't see the forced turn as something cruel speaks volumes of your true nature. How am I to know I won't endure a life of rape and torture? How am I to know you won't do to me what Cazador did to you, even if I am granted the freedom of true vampirism? That is what you fail to understand. As for the man you were and the one you've become... my heart can only yearn for the past." Her voice trembled with the weight of her fears, each word laced with the agony of her internal conflict. She couldn't reconcile the man she loved with the creature he had become, and the uncertainty of her fate loomed like a dark specter.

Astarion's expression darkened, a storm gathering in his eyes. The comparison to Cazador hit him like a lash, anger flaring in his chest. The nerve of her—comparing me to that fiend. Memories of Cazador's sadistic grin and the endless nights of torment flashed through his mind. I endured hell to escape that monster's clutches, and she dares to see me in the same light? The insult burned, stoking his fury.

"Do not ever compare me to Cazador," he snapped, his voice a sharp crack in the oppressive air. "I am nothing like him. I would never subject you to the horrors he inflicted upon me. You don't understand... I am trying to save us, to keep us together." His hand dropped, clenched into a fist at his side, as if the physical tension could contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Sima's eyes widened at his outburst, but she did not retreat. "And yet, you speak of forcing me to turn as if it's any different. You think you can save us by stripping away my choice? How can you not see the cruelty in that?" Her defiance was unwavering, but beneath it lay a glimmer of understanding. She saw the pain in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to protect her and the fear of becoming the very thing he despised.

Astarion's anger wavered, giving way to a desperate plea. "Sima, I am not Cazador. I will never be him. But I cannot lose you. The thought of an eternity without you is unbearable. Can you not see that I am trying to find a way for us to be together?" His voice trembled with the weight of his confession, a mixture of sorrow and determination.

Her accusations resonated within him, each one a painful reminder of his own fears. He couldn't deny the truth in her words. The man he once was, compassionate and loving, seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the power and darkness that now defined him. The thought of causing her pain, of becoming a reflection of Cazador, filled him with bitter self-loathing. Could she ever see past the monster he had become?

"The past is all that it is,” he asserted. “You will never get it back. I know that as well as anyone. So, yes... I'll force your transformation. And then we can be happy and together. I promise I will not use you as he used me. I want an equal in this, not a toy to be abused." His words were a mix of desperation and determination, the promise of a twisted kind of love.

"Says the man who put me in a dungeon cell," Sima replied dryly, her voice dripping with irony.

"You are a dangerous, unpredictable elf. I couldn't let you run off," Astarion countered, his smile a wistful shadow of its former charm. "Even if, in some way, I knew you would not succeed, because you would always return to me. We may fight, but we will always have each other, in the end. I will force your transformation, one way or another. And, after that... Everything will be perfect. Nothing matters but us. Everything else can burn." His eyes glinted with a mix of longing and dark, twisted pleasure. The conflict and defiance between them was a game he relished, a foreplay that ignited his desires.

Sima’s smile twisted into something unhinged and wild, a reflection of the chaos swirling within her. "If you force me to become what you are, I will burn this palace to the ground, damn the consequences. And then, I will burn myself to ash, and you with me."

"My... what kind of threat is that?" Astarion hissed. To Sima’s surprise, his earlier confidence faltered, yielding to a visage stricken with horror. When he spoke again, his words were soft. "I would rather die without you than have you do that,” he said, his voice shaking. “No. I would rather suffer a thousand years of torment with you than see you choose death. Is... is that really a threat, or is it a plea? Why do you hate me so much?" The realization that she might prefer death over being with him cut through his bravado, leaving a raw wound.

Sima exhaled a long, weary sigh, the feeble light casting a patchwork of shadows over her gaunt features. "Every part of me that longs for you also drives me mad. Every piece of my heart that you used to touch so softly has been shattered. How can I envision falling into your arms again when every encounter with you brings me more agony and hatred?" Her voice wavered, a mixture of sorrow and anger tearing at her soul.

"You once told me at camp that love is a double-edged sword. By the gods, how right you were," Sima choked out, her voice heavy with the weight of her memories.

"Is that... really true? Do you... still love me?" whispered Astarion in disbelief. The vulnerability in his voice was a stark contrast to his usual arrogance, a glimpse of the man he once was.

His voice softened, almost breaking with emotion as he stepped closer, his shadow merging with hers in the dim light. "I'll take everything that's left in you. I'll take your hatred as well as your love. I'll take every part of you, because, after all, you are mine. If you want to tear me apart and then rebuild me... I will allow it." His declaration was filled with a desperate need for her acceptance, even if it meant enduring her wrath.

"How can one cherish the flame when they know it's destined to consume them?" Sima challenged, her voice steady and fierce, her eyes burning with rebellion. The fire within her was both a beacon and a curse, drawing her towards destruction.

Astarion paused, a single tear betraying the turmoil inside him. "Do you really think our love is like that? A bright but painful thing that will eventually burn out and sear you?"

Sima leaned back and laughed, the sound bitter and resonant in the stone chamber. "I'm already burning to death. You have no idea what I did to get that Wish spell, aside from murdering seven innocents. Believe me, the flames are well and truly lit," she concluded, her voice echoing off the walls, heavy with inevitability and resignation.

A flicker of emotion crossed Astarion’s face as he hesitated. His eyes closed momentarily, bracing himself against the ache that pierced his heart every time he envisioned her suffering.

"Would... would it help to know that I see the same thing you do? That I see you dying before my eyes, and that it tears me apart? What is love, if not the desire to keep someone from harm, a desire to make them safe? I want nothing more than to protect you from every pain in the world, if only you would let me." His voice was a raw plea, his own torment mirroring hers.

"And is that enough to endure? Is that enough to make the existence of eternity with this torment in my soul worth it?" Sima replied, her voice deadly calm. Her words were a challenge, a demand for him to prove that his love could withstand the hell they were in.

Astarion's expression set into a mask of resolute determination, his features hardening like the ancient stones that made up the dungeon walls. "You are my love. You are my life. I will do everything to make whatever time you have left the best it can be. And when the time comes, if I must bear the cost of eternity without you... I may just turn into the monster you already think I am." His vow was both a promise and a threat, a declaration of his willingness to endure any torment for her sake.

Sima's gaze lifted, piercing through him. “What if I won’t turn? What if I do, and try to take my own life as well as yours? If you were to survive all that, what would you do? Burn Baldur’s Gate to the ground?” she asked, her voice bitter.

Astarion’s jaw clenched. When he spoke, his words were soft, yet they reverberated off the surrounding stone. "If you were gone? I would raze this entire damnable world to ash. Leave nothing but a scorched husk as a monument to what I have lost." The thought of losing her was unbearable; the pain would be so immense that he could only envision obliterating everything as a testament to his grief.

Sima's laughter was brittle—the laughter of a madwoman. "Of course you'd make Faerûn pay for your own sins. Gods, you can't take a lick of responsibility for any of this, can you? Even if you were... him, the man I loved, what does it even matter? I see you, and I hate you for what you took from me. And it's so much more now than before. Look at me!" She laughed again, the sound hollow and haunting. "I am a ghost. I died the day you completed the ritual."

"I will take every bit of responsibility there is to take," Astarion said, his voice brimming with fierce, palpable anger. He advanced a step, staring down at her. "Don't you dare try and make me out to be some selfish coward. I'll take my punishment a hundred times over if it means I have you, only you, for eternity. Is nothing worth that to you?"

His indignation flared; how could she think he wouldn't accept responsibility? The resentment stung, but beneath it, genuine grief simmered. He mourned what they had lost, each harsh word from her a reminder of the love tainted by his transformation. Her defiance, though, ignited a dark pleasure within him. Her fierce resistance thrilled him, a primal game of one-upmanship that fed his desire to dominate and possess her completely. He would take anything from her—her love, her hate, her resentment—anything but losing her. Deep down, he believed that through this conflict, they could reclaim a semblance of their bond.

Sima smiled—a twisted caricature of amusement. "I'm afraid if you came here seeking absolution, I am not a cleric of Ilmater. No alms for the poor, poor Lord Ancunín and his utterly insane whore—I mean, bride-to-be." Her words were laced with venom, striking at his pride. She hated how he couldn't even allow her to degrade herself. It was as if he wanted to possess every part of her, even her pain. If she couldn't have control over anything else, at least she could have control over her own suffering.

Astarion hissed in response, his demeanor shifting as humiliation and anger flashed across his features. The insinuation that he saw her as nothing more than a "whore," stoked a fire of indignation within him. He wanted to possess her, to make her his in every way, but hearing her demean herself—and by extension, him—was intolerable. 

In a moment, he was upon her, his presence overwhelming as he closed the distance and gripped her throat, crimson eyes flashing. "If not for yourself, for the sake of this world you've had the arrogance to condemn yourself to for all eternity, then at least show some sense of self-preservation and let me hear no more of that filth."

"Am I not even allowed to call myself what you intend to make me?" Sima asked, seemingly oblivious to the hand around her throat. Her calmness amidst his fury only fueled his internal conflict. How dare he try to take even this from her? Her pain was hers alone, and she would not let him control that too.

That response stunned him. His grip loosened, and he searched her face, presumably for signs of the woman he once knew. "I would make you a queen among vampires. A goddess among men. A vampire bride, akin to a lord. An equal in power to me. Not a 'whore' to be passed around. Never that." His voice wavered, torn between the darkness that defined him and the love he still clung to.

"No, just your whore. No choice, no way to say no. Yes, what woman wouldn't throw herself at that?" Sima scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The bitterness in her words cut deep, leaving Astarion reeling from the implications.

Astarion stepped back abruptly, releasing her completely as he took a sharp breath. "Do you have any idea what I've had to endure? How much pain I've suffered? And you, who has suffered so much of the same, just assume I would inflict it on someone I love? Have you learned nothing—have you lost your mind?” His voice cracked with raw emotion, a blend of anger and desperation.

Sima slumped against the cold, damp wall of the dungeon, her figure shrouded in the dim light. "Oh yes, I am completely insane. Like I said. You seem to have missed that,” she declared. The resignation in her voice was a stark contrast to her earlier defiance. She needed to rebel against him, against the image he had of her, to maintain some semblance of agency, even in her own madness.

Astarion paused, a flicker of concern crossing his features before his eyes widened, struck by the haunting memory of her earlier laughter over his quest for absolution. "Wait. This isn't about justice for you. This isn't even about... me. This is you punishing yourself, isn’t it? Because you blame yourself for this. You think you're some kind of sinner, don't you?"

Anger sparked in Sima’s eyes, overtaking her previous veil of apathy. "Fuck you,” she spat. “You are responsible for this. You took the person I loved away from me!" The fury in her voice was palpable, a force of nature that matched his own.

Taken aback by her words, Astarion finally sensed the raw, undiluted fury simmering within her; the road to any form of reconciliation, if ever possible, seemed fraught with pain and resistance. Yet, he believed he had begun to unravel the enigma of her wrath. "Let me get this straight. I'm the devil here, right? And you're just an innocent victim? Really?" His sarcasm dripped with venom, striking at the heart of her struggle.

The sarcasm in his tone was too much, too close to that tender spot in her heart—the last remnant of her identity tethered to guilt and mortality. Without thinking, she surged to her feet and hurled herself at him, driven by a primal, desperate need to protect the last vestige of who she once was.

Astarion, utterly unprepared for her ferocity, just barely managed to catch her by the hair, holding her at arm’s length as she thrashed wildly. Her limbs flailed around, trying to break free of his hold. The nerve of her, to try and attack him after everything he’d done for her, having kept her alive during their previous battles and what he was offering her. Still, he couldn’t deny the emotion stirring inside him. Pointless as it was, her spirited defense had to be admired.

"Well. That's different. You just tried to kill me," he snarled, a note of disbelief coloring his voice as he struggled to contain her.

Sima fought like a creature cornered, her every action fueled by the mingling of profound guilt and the relentless urge to preserve the only part of her that felt genuine remorse—the part that still cared, that still felt. Astarion could overpower her easily, charm her into submission, or even end her life, yet he found himself frozen, captivated by the untamed wildness of her assault.

"You really... aren't holding back here," he bit out, gritting his teeth as he tightened his grip. "I have to admire that. Gods, I can't believe I missed it..."

"You know nothing—nothing—about me!" Sima screamed, her nails seeking his flesh in a wild attempt to mar his face.

When her words struck him, Astarion snapped into motion, not with a blow but with a swift grasp of her wrists, pulling her close. His whisper was furious, a hot breath against her ear, "I. Know. Everything. I have been obsessed, my dear. Obsessed with learning who and what you really are. For all that you claim you are uncaring and cold and unaffected—" He pulled back slightly, his eyes piercing hers, "—I know what you are hiding."

Driven by a desperate need to escape, to flee the entity that sought to strip away her last shreds of self, Sima unleashed a Shatter spell at sixth level. The spell erupted with a deafening roar, the force of the shockwave sending Astarion staggering backward, fragments of the stone doorway crumbling around him. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, and he groaned as pain shot through his body, dazed by the sudden explosion of power.

"Shatter. Of course, your bloody spellpower hasn’t waned... yet," Astarion said as he slowly regained his footing, a mix of respect and wariness settling into his tone.

Sima, seizing the moment, dashed toward the cell door, her mind set on reaching the ritual room where it all began—the place she might finally put an end to this torment. Her steps echoed in the hollow silence of the dungeon as she fled.

Under the flickering shadows of the dungeon, Astarion's expression transformed into a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming an infernal red. This chromatic shift spoke not of anger but of a disturbing exhilaration. His whole demeanor radiated an unsettling glee, as if the unfolding chaos were a spectacle crafted for his amusement.

As she ran, Sima’s boots pounded against the ancient emerald stonework of the dungeon corridor, each step matching the frantic beat of her heart. She sprinted toward the haunting ritual chamber, the place stained by the echoes of 7,000 souls who had perished under sinister rites. The air around her grew heavier as she neared the epicenter of past horrors, the very stones whispering tales of despair.

Hot on her heels, Astarion pursued with supernatural swiftness, his inhuman speed a blur against the mossy stones. He enjoyed the chase. It was a game to him, a macabre dance between predator and prey, and he relished every moment, allowing her the illusion of hope just to savor her eventual loss.

In a desperate bid to escape, Sima whirled and unleashed a seventh-level Fireball. Astarion dodged with the grace of a specter, the flames nipping at his heels, his grin morphing into a monstrous smirk as he admired her tenacity and power.

When he finally caught her, his grip was unyielding as he pinned her to the cold, damp ground. Sima's body hit the stone with a sickening thud, pain radiating through her limbs. Astarion's eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and curiosity, eager to witness the extent of her magical prowess up close. Her defiance and the struggle thrilled him, a twisted foreplay that fed his dark desires. He didn’t want to hurt her, but the conflict, the chase, and the fierce resistance aroused him in a way he couldn't deny.

The ritual chamber that loomed before them was a cavernous space, its architecture a grim testament to the dark arts. The floor was a mosaic of emerald green tourmaline, each block reflecting the sparse light in haunting hues. Gigantic gemstone windows cast a spectral glow across the chamber, while above, cages hung like macabre ornaments, suspended by thick chains that swayed gently with some unfelt breeze. In the center, a once blood-stained tourmaline platform stood ominously empty, the air around it thick with the residue of dark magic.

With a sudden burst of energy, Sima kicked Astarion squarely, the force of the blow making him stagger back. Seizing the moment, she dashed toward the dais. She knew one of the cages functioned as an elevator to the sewers—a potential route to freedom.

Astarion, momentarily winded, chuckled at her defiance and quickly recovered. His response was swift, a predatory sprint that closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Just as Sima reached the cage, he enveloped her in a grasp that spun her back onto the dais. Her body slammed against the hard tourmaline with a thud, a sharp pain shooting through her side as the impact bruised her ribs.

"What do you want from me? I hate you! I don’t want anything from you!" Sima cried out, the pain and fury in her voice reverberating off the ancient stones.

His laughter was low and menacing as he pinned her hands above her head, his body looming over hers. "I know, darling. But that's alright, because I don't need anything from you. You're mine. That's all I want right now," he whispered, his face inches from hers, his breath mingling with the dank air of the dungeon.

"You're just like Cazador!” Sima spat, struggling once again to break free. “Just like him! Every minute of every day you will condemn me to a life of being your whore, even if I am a true vampire. Why? Why would I want that!"

"Because you love me," Astarion murmured, his voice soft yet chilling as he leaned closer, his dark crimson eyes locking onto hers with a palpable intensity. "You are the other half of me, the piece that's been missing. And, yes, I want to make you a vampire, to bind you to me in every way—but not as a curse. As a union, Sima. We are meant to be together," he confessed, his tone blending desperation with a twisted sense of destiny.

"If you think I want to be violated for eternity, you are insane!” Sima exclaimed furiously. “And you say you are still part of the elf who I loved? He would never have forced himself on me!"

As he leaned close, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice was a silky purr. "Are you sure?" His gaze was unyielding, eyes locked onto hers with a ferocity that felt like it could pierce her soul. In his eyes, there was no room for negotiation; his desire for control was tangible, fueled not merely by lust but by a craving for absolute dominion over her.

"Don’t you dare besmirch his memory, my Astarion who loved me! He would never… could never do that to me!" Sima responded, her voice thick with anger.

"A love is what you want from me... a type of love that I can't give you," he murmured, his smile chilling as his eyes darkened, the inner turmoil of his desires manifesting as a growing hunger. He believed in his twisted love for her, a passion that was anything but cold, yet he knew she could only see the monster, not the man consumed by a profound and complicated love.

Pinned beneath him on the cold dais, Sima writhed in desperation, trying to turn her face away from his, her disgust and rage mingling with the physical pain of her bruised ribs and weary limbs. Her energy was fading, each movement a testament to her waning strength against his overpowering presence.

Astarion watched her struggle, his laugh echoing around the stone chamber—not out of cruelty but from a dark amusement. Reminiscing about their first encounter so long ago on a beach in Elturel, he whispered close to her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair, "You're so pretty when you're angry, darling..." His heart hoped that the sweet words would finally disarm her.

"You said a week—you would give me a week to decide… What if I agreed?" Sima's voice held a faint trace of bargaining, seeking a reprieve, a sliver of autonomy.

Caught off guard, his gaze softened slightly, his posture easing as he contemplated her offer. A part of him, the remnant of the man who once loved her deeply, flickered within him, stirred by her plea. He loosened his grip.

"Just to be clear, if I do not agree—at least with how you see things now—I am presuming you will force the change on me regardless?" Sima's tone was resolute, her eyes steely as she prepared for any outcome.

"Of course. I will not risk losing you again. One way or another, I will have you with me for eternity. But…Please, do not force me to make that decision. I want—I need you to want this," he replied fervently, his tone desperate but pleading. The desperation in his voice was palpable, a mix of longing and fear. He needed her to understand, to choose him willingly, but the darkness within him whispered otherwise.

Sima's gaze hardened, but there was also a flicker of something else—an old wound, a fear that he might strip away the last vestiges of her autonomy. "Be prepared for the consequences of your actions then, because I will be prepared for mine. Now, let me go this instant. You have your bargain. I'm presuming some insane courtship or persuasion will be coming. Let me up."

"I promise... I will court you," Astarion conceded with a grin, his face still close to hers, his dark crimson eyes a swirling mix of dark intentions and flickering hope. He released her, rolling aside to sit upright, crossing his legs and watching her with both a hint of cruelty and a newly kindled spark of anticipation. The game had changed, but it was still a game to him, a twisted dance of power and desire.

Sima drew herself up to her full height, putting distance between them with a measured step backward. "You disgust me," she said coldly.

Astarion's smile faltered, crumpling into genuine hurt. His eyes shimmered with moisture, and the ache he fought to repress grew in his chest. The words sliced through the remnants of their shared past, revealing the raw nerve of his unrequited affections. Yet, he steeled himself against this weakness, the heavy weight of his immortal existence pressing down upon him. With a snarl, he stepped closer, his voice turning cold. "You are being unreasonable."

"That's what grief will do to you, especially when it hardens into hatred,” Sima retorted, her words echoing off the stone walls, filled with venom. “So, am I to be returned to my cell, then? Or treated with some decency, if you are capable of it?"

"You are my guest," he hissed back, his jaw tensing as his eyes narrowed. Despite his anger, he restrained himself, turning away from her. Perhaps, he thought, she might yet be swayed by promises of a gilded cage rather than an iron one.

"Which means?" Sima arched an eyebrow, her tone laced with skepticism.

"Which means... which means..." He struggled for a moment, then turned back to face her. Her presence, so close, yet so far removed from his reach, reignited a familiar desire—a longing to bridge the chasm between them with a touch, a kiss. Shaking his head to dispel these dangerous notions, he admitted, "It means you're being held captive."

"So am I to be held in the palace then, rather than the dungeons?"

"The palace! This palace is your prison now. You'll simply get... nicer rooms and better food," he grumbled, his pride wounded. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to be so defiant even now. This entire situation was absurd.

Sima glanced up at the shadow of the man she once loved, now ensconced in the trappings of a pampered lord, and sighed in disgust at her fate. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps touched by madness, that found a strange solace in the waiting game she now had to play. "Then get me the Hells out of this infernal place. I never want to see this ritual room again," she demanded.

His annoyance flared at her tone, but he masked it with a weary sigh, acknowledging her request with a reluctant nod. "Fine. I'll get my servants to put you into some better bedrooms. Just behave, hm? Don't think you're going to make a run for it, my love. I'm not that stupid."

Astarion’s internal conflict raged, the struggle between his love for her and his vampiric instincts creating a tumultuous storm within him. He hated the idea of hurting her, but his need for control and possession was overwhelming. Sima's defiance, her fierce spirit, only fueled his desire, making the game all the more intoxicating. As they left the ritual chamber, the echoes of their past clung to the air, a haunting reminder of what once was and what could never be again.

The new chambers assigned to Sima were a stark contrast to the dank dungeon below. Opulent and bathed in natural light, the rooms boasted marble floors and walls draped with pale green silk and deep crimson velvet. Delicate golden filigree adorned the furniture, while crystal chandeliers cast sparkling reflections across the room. An ivory desk sat against one wall, a deep crimson velvet couch against another, and a large mirror framed with the Ancunin coat of arms dominated one side of the room, reflecting a world of deceptive luxury.

Sima entered the room, her bag of holding—a remnant of her time in the cells—still in her possession. She turned to face Astarion, who had followed her up. "What happened to them—my friends? Your spawn captured them, but they didn't come for me after I tried the Wish spell on you. I presume you had to let them go, considering Duke Wyll was in on the plan?"

Astarion’s brow furrowed in irritation. He wasn’t pleased that she still controlled her possessions, but he was unwilling to strip them from her forcibly—it wouldn’t befit his status, nor would it aid his cause. Instead, he forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "They came to me and made their case. After some negotiation..." His voice hardened as he met her gaze. "The Duke is quite persuasive. I allowed them to go."

"And none came for me? Not one?" Sima’s voice carried a mix of disbelief and a dawning chill of abandonment. Each word felt like a betrayal, deepening the chasm of isolation that threatened to engulf her.

Avoiding her piercing stare, Astarion's eyes clouded over with a wave of unspoken thoughts. "I had hoped they would persuade you to join me willingly, under the guise that you were a reluctant yet open captive. That was the agreement they sought. So I consented, in a moment of what I believed to be magnanimity—or perhaps folly."

"You misled them about my stay, then. They assume you're actually offering me a choice?" Sima's tone was sharp, cutting through the façade of diplomatic exchange to the heart of his deceit.

His response was a cold glare, a frost settling over his earlier feigned warmth. "Yes. They insisted on your autonomy in the decision. They desire for you to choose freely—even if that choice is to join me in eternal night," he admitted, his voice a blend of reluctance and hidden satisfaction.

Sima's expression hardened as she absorbed the full weight of his words, the stark reality of her isolation settling in like a heavy stone in her chest. "Then they are fools. They should have rescued me from you. They chose not to." Her voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, the betrayal of her friends cutting deeper than she had anticipated.

Astarion watched her, a complex play of emotions flickering across his face. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, mirroring the hollow emptiness blossoming within Sima as she faced the grim truth of her abandonment, surrounded by opulence but bereft of any true ally. He felt a pang of regret, a fleeting whisper of the man he once was, buried beneath the weight of his vampiric nature. Yet, his desire to keep her close, to ensure she remained with him, was equally strong. It was a delicate balance of love and possessiveness, each step a careful dance between his old self and the darkness that now defined him.

"This palace may be your prison, but it can also be your sanctuary. If you choose to see it that way," he murmured, the words a seductive promise wrapped in a plea for understanding. He didn’t want to hurt her, but his need to not lose her drove his every action.

Sima’s breath hitched slightly, her mind racing. The grandeur around her felt like a mockery of the freedom she once had. Each luxurious detail seemed to taunt her, a reminder of her captivity dressed in silk and gold. She wanted to lash out, to break free, but the reality of her situation weighed heavily on her spirit. The opulence of the room clashed violently with the raw wound in her heart, a wound reopened by Astarion's presence and his manipulations.

"You claim to retain some part of him?” Sima asked, her voice steadier now, though an undercurrent of fear and an old wound lingered. “If that's true, then grant me this week... After that, I'll make my decision. Your actions on that final day will speak for themselves. I might resist you, or perhaps I won't—but if your love for me is genuine, you’ll respect that the choice must be mine."

Her words seemed to reach the remnants of the man he once was, appealing to a past that still haunted the fringes of his transformed self. The memories of their shared moments, the tenderness that once existed, flickered in the dark recesses of his mind, a ghost of his former self. His eyes softened momentarily, reflecting a glimmer of the love he once held for her, but the conflict within him was palpable.

Sima glanced up at the shadow of the man she once loved, now ensconced in the trappings of a pampered lord, and sighed in disgust at her fate. Hugging her side, she felt the sharp pain in her ribs—a cruel reminder of their physical battle. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps touched by madness, that found a strange solace in the waiting game she now had to play. The weight of her isolation pressed heavily upon her, the realization that she was surrounded by opulence but bereft of any true ally. It was a cold comfort, a gilded prison, and she felt the full measure of her abandonment settling over her like a suffocating shroud.

Her heart sank further, the isolation deepening as she faced the reality of her beautiful cage. The opulence around her felt hollow, a stark contrast to the raw wound in her heart. She was alone, truly alone, in a world that had turned its back on her. The sharp clarity of her pain only reinforced what she had always known: the only one who could save her now was herself.

[olddirtybadfic]

Your Narf is My Drug

The mice have driven me so insane, I wrote a fic with a Kesha parody about it.

It's to the tune of "Your Love is My Drug."

-O-o-O-o-O-

(Brain sits amidst the smoking debris of his latest plan.)

Brain: This is a hot mess we’ve gotten into.

Pinky: (sing-songily) Look at all the shinies! (tosses broken pieces into the air and hops around underneath them as they fall on his head) Zounds, Brain! I caught them all! (laughs hysterically)

Brain: (glares, folds arms) Speaking of hot messes….

(Brain’s vision suddenly turns to slow-motion. He takes in the gliding of Pinky’s supple limbs, Pinky’s lithesome hips swirling like the spirals of Brain’s hypnosis machines. The wreckage rain reflects the light in such a way that Pinky glows to rival the Pleiades.)

Brain: Emphasis on hot….Egad, what am I thinking?! This is preposterous! This is absurd! This is….

(He clutches at his head, as if that would quell the desire flaring up like so many bunsen burners. He finally breaks down at the pile of smashed electronics.)

Brain: Will you never cease that infernal buzzing?! (pounds wickle mousey fists on table)

(The rhythmic buzzing from the broken contraption starts to arrange itself into a poppy synth bassline. The pounding of Brain’s fists on the table provides the beat.)

(First verse) Brain: I feel like Captain Ahab; I’m too sunken in the deep. Emotional repression Is losing me all my sleep.

There’s no time to dilly-dally; My world domination calls. I’m stuck with this dishy dope and Hearing him spew his spurtive squalls!

(Pre-chorus) Our two fates are intertwined; What far-off planets have aligned? This novel factor’s undefined. I can’t get Pinky off my mind!

(Chorus) His narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf. I say, his narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf.

(Second verse) His cranium’s harder than gneiss; I’m telling him everything thrice. My mind and heart in vises: I can chart this diacrisis.

I can’t resist his whimsy. All my defenses, flimsy. My schemes will surely be impacted If I go on being so damn distracted!

(Pre-chorus) Our two fates are intertwined; What far-off planets have aligned? This sequence is not my design. I can’t get Pinky off my mind!

(Chorus) His narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf. I say, his narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf.

(Bridge) I must fight to gain control, But every hour takes its toll. I try so hard to keep my cool But still I fall for this fine fool!

(Pinky comes in, twirling glow sticks. He has painted geometric shapes on himself with non-toxic mouse safe glow-in-the-dark body paint. When he turns around, Brain can see that Pinky has somehow painted a neon yellow line down his own back, ending in a neon pink heart over his butt.)

Pinky: Braaiiiin~ Just a suggestion…. Why don’t we have a bath in some warm salad dressing? Does that sound like some silly-willy fun-fun? Is my fjord your drug? POIT! Your drug? ZORT! Your drug? NARF! Your drug? Is my—FJORD!—your drug?

Brain: No! Pinky, you’ll get us copyright-stricken!

(Chorus) Oh, Brain! My narf, my narf, my narf Stole your heart! My narf, my narf, my narf! You said my narf, my narf, my narf Stole your heart! My narf, my narf, my narf!

You said my zort, my zort, my zort Is your drug! My zort, my zort, my zort! You said my zort, my zort, my zort Is your drug! My zort, my zort, my zort!

(The buzzing synth line stops.)

Braaiiiiin~ Brainy-cakes… (flirty giggle) Sooooo… (delirious laughter) My narf, my narf, my narf, my narf, is your drug. I like your tail.

(A giant “DMCA” falls on Brain’s head. He crawls out from underneath it, looking especially worse for wear.)

Brain: I suspect this comedown will be particularly hard.

-O-o-O-o-O-

The abyss is quite inviting if you gaze long enough.

[lotto-on-top]

Criminal Love Lyrical Breakdown for Shinyu and Kotoko

This took WAAAY to long so enjoy this breakdown of a song that was written with my characters not even a distant thought!! Take this while I suffer editing the main thing..

The lyrics of "Criminal Love" by ENHYPEN resonate deeply with the characters Shinyu and Kotoko, drawing parallels to their relationship dynamics, themes of reincarnation, and their intertwined fates. Here’s a breakdown of the lyrics line by line, connecting them to Shinyu and Kotoko's narrative:

Verse 1

"Criminal love, love / Hours like minutes (Yeah)"

- Interpretation: This line introduces the idea of a love that feels forbidden or dangerous ("criminal"). For Shinyu and Kotoko, their relationship embodies this complexity—intense yet fraught with challenges. The fact that they both are in the Port Mafia, literal “criminals”. The sensation of "hours like minutes" reflects the urgency and intensity of their connection, suggesting that every moment together feels significant.

"The moon covered by dark night when the light's out (When the light's out)"

- Interpretation: The imagery of the moon symbolizes their relationship's duality: beauty overshadowed by darkness. The moon's presence can connect to their nightly meetings under the hazy moonlight, symbolizing hope amidst the chaos of their lives.

"No one knows we got the best seats in this ghost town"

- Interpretation: This line evokes a sense of isolation, where only they share their hidden bond. The "ghost town" metaphor illustrates their disconnected lives and the feeling of being outsiders in the world, emphasizing their unique connection amidst solitude.

"I'm used to waiting / Trapped in the deep darkness every day (Yeah)"

- Interpretation: Shinyu's history of waiting and survival resonates here, as he navigates the darkness of his past and present. This reflects Kotoko’s emotional struggles and trauma, reinforcing their shared experiences of waiting for moments of connection and light.

Chorus

"Repeated new moon / Memories of you distant away / I've been looking for you since you left / Night and day / What a pity life"

- Interpretation: The "repeated new moon" can symbolize the cyclical nature of their connection through reincarnation, echoing their fated encounters. Shinyu's longing for Kotoko mirrors the pain of separation and the sense of searching for each other across lifetimes, emphasizing the tragedy of their relationship.

"Oh, you say 'Good night, meet me next life' / But where are you now?"

- Interpretation: This directly ties into their themes of reincarnation; the idea of meeting in the next life suggests an eternal connection that transcends time. The longing and questions about where the other is reflect their deep-seated desire to be together, even when separated.

Verse 2

"Got me like under the moonlight for a moment / Allowed heaven, fill the empty me / Got my hands cuffed (Got my hands cuffed)”

- Interpretation: The moment under the moonlight captures their fleeting but profound encounters. "Allowed heaven" speaks to the bliss they find in each other's company, while "hands cuffed" symbolizes both the binding nature of their connection and the constraints imposed by their circumstances.

"Criminal love (Criminal love) / God, this night tastes just like ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh"

- Interpretation: This reinforces the allure and danger of their love—capturing its intoxicating nature. The taste of the night becomes a metaphor for the unforgettable moments they share, further emphasizing their intense bond. Or something else, up to you ^~^.

Chorus Reprise

"Criminal love, love / Hours like minutes, the madness of the moment"

- Interpretation: Here, the cyclical theme continues, highlighting the chaotic yet thrilling nature of their connection, emphasizing that despite the chaos around them, their bond remains a constant.

Bridge

"Is even breaking up a repeated fate? / Cruelly for us again"

- Interpretation: This reflects on their cyclical struggles and heartbreaks. The notion that their breakups might be a part of their fate underscores the tragic inevitability of their connection—a theme central to their story.

"Trying to separate, no hidin', hidin' (Hidin') / I found you in the dark (I found you) / Soak me in the light (Soak me)"

- Interpretation: Despite Kotoko’s main attempts to separate, their bond is unbreakable. Finding each other in darkness symbolizes hope, while "soak me in the light" illustrates their desire for healing and connection, highlighting the transformative power of love.

Final Chorus

"Oh, you say 'Good night, meet me next life' / But I'm yours tonight"

- Interpretation: This poignant line captures the essence of their present connection while acknowledging the promise of future reunions. It reinforces the idea that, despite their struggles, they fully embrace their time together.

"Got me like under the moonlight for a while / Allowed heaven, I will hug you"

- Interpretation: The moonlight imagery recurs, symbolizing the hope and beauty of their relationship amidst adversity. "I will hug you" expresses a longing for closeness, reinforcing their need for one another.

"Faded (Faded) / Baby, the night given to us (Night)"

- Interpretation: This emphasizes the impermanence of their time together and the bittersweet nature of their encounters. It evokes the sense of transience that defines “their” love.

"What do you want? (Oh) Tell me (Yeah) / Give me a ray of your love"

- Interpretation: This expresses vulnerability and a desire for deeper understanding, highlighting their emotional struggles and the longing for connection.

"Under a terrible curse / Jump in and dive"  

- Interpretation: The "terrible curse" can symbolize their past traumas and the challenges they face. "Jump in and dive" conveys a willingness to embrace their fate and take risks.

"Got me like if we ever again / When we meet, hug me"

- Interpretation: This echoes the theme of reincarnation and eternal connection. The desire for a reunion reinforces their belief that they will always find each other.

Conclusion

Overall, the lyrics of "Criminal Love" resonate profoundly with Shinyu and Kotoko’s story, encapsulating their passionate, tumultuous relationship, the themes of reincarnation, and the promise of eternal connection. This connection is further deepened by the symbolism of the moon, aligning with their experiences at Oborozuki Nightclub and the Otsukimi traditions, where moonlight serves as a backdrop to their fate-laden encounters.

@myluckymoon

@the-mafias-muzzled-dog

@thetasteofbeautyandlove

@happy--prince

They’re literally in love your honor

[vampireshaman]

HOTD VERSE: THE DRAGON'S ORACLE

Name: Lady Hae-seol Kim

Titles: Lady of the Misty Isles, The Dragon's Oracle, The Spirit Weaver

Allegiance: Neutral (torn between Team Green and Team Black)

House Sigil: A black dragon intertwined with a crescent moon over misty waves

Dragon: Daeyoung, a silver-scaled dragon with black wings, known for her cold, icy breath and elemental powers. Daeyoung communicates in fragmented sentences.

BACKGROUND: THE ORACLE

Lady Hae-seol Kim hails from the Misty Isles, a region renowned not for isolation, but for its unique position in the realm's politics. The Isles are influential, maintaining robust political ties while standing as steadfast allies to House Targaryen. House Kim, one of the few remaining families with a genuine spiritual connection, commands respect for their mystical insights, though their specific practices are not widely known.

Raised under the guidance of her grandmother—a revered oracle who had served the Targaryens during the reigns of Jaehaerys I and Viserys I—Hae-seol was steeped in the traditions of her house. Her grandmother's wisdom established House Kim's crucial role as spiritual advisors, a role Hae-seol inherited.

Unbeknownst to many, Hae-seol is believed to be the reincarnation of the Radiant Moon, a figure of ancient legend said to embody the moon’s power. This reincarnation grants her significant but secretive supernatural abilities, including control over light and lunar magic. Hae-seol keeps these powers hidden, maintaining a facade of normalcy while secretly wielding the power to purify dark forces and use a green-enchanted bow with white lotus arrows.

BACKGROUND: THE MARRIAGE

Hae-seol’s arranged marriage to a powerful but treacherous lord was a strategic move fraught with hidden motives. Her new husband and his family had deceived her, intending to use her as a pawn in their schemes. The Misty Isles’ spiritual heritage, while respected, had not prepared her for the treachery she was about to face.

Finalizing their marriage with a blood pact that made Haeseol of royal blood-- Haeseol's trust and sense of comfort in her husband's arms was taken advantage of as he then threw her into the chasm below, her panicked cry fading into the darkness of the dragon's lair below.

Daeyoung’s Backstory:

Before her fateful encounter with Hae-seol, Daeyoung was a dragon of profound dignity and strength, living harmoniously with her kin. However, her life took a dark turn when she was captured by humans. Daeyoung was stolen from her family—her siblings and mother—by those who sought to exploit her for their own gain.

The captivity was brutal. Daeyoung endured cruel treatment and horrific experiments, resulting in numerous scars across her once-pristine scales. The humans, driven by greed and fear, inflicted unthinkable suffering upon her. This period of torment bred a deep-seated hatred for humans within Daeyoung. Her scars were not just physical but emotional, marking her soul with a profound disdain for the race that had wronged her so grievously.

The Tragic Misunderstanding:

The final blow to Daeyoung's sanity and sense of justice came when her young were murdered, and she was led to believe that these killings were the work of Hae-seol’s new family. Daeyoung’s grief and anger fueled her vengeance, leading her to believe that the only way to avenge her offspring was to target the sacrificial royal daughters whom she mistakenly thought were connected to her tormentors.

Hae-seol’s arrival in the chasm, where Daeyoung had taken refuge after the betrayal, was marked by a fierce and violent confrontation. Daeyoung’s rage and hatred for humans culminated in a devastating attack against Hae-seol, whom she saw as an agent of the same cruelty that had destroyed her family.

The Turning Point:

As Hae-seol and Daeyoung clashed, the brutality of the dragon’s assault left Daeyoung critically wounded. Despite the pain and anger, a pivotal moment of clarity struck Daeyoung as she lay on the brink of death. The realization dawned that her quest for vengeance had been misguided; she had been manipulated into exacting retribution on the wrong targets.

This moment of enlightenment came too late for many, but it was Hae-seol’s act of unexpected mercy that shifted the course of their intertwined fates. Rather than ending Daeyoung’s life, Hae-seol chose to heal her. This act of compassion bridged the chasm of hatred that had defined their encounter, transforming their relationship from one of animosity to one of mutual understanding and respect.

Dragon and Rider Bond:

The bond between Hae-seol and Daeyoung emerged from the ashes of their violent conflict. Despite Daeyoung’s enduring hatred for humans, Hae-seol’s act of healing and her compassionate nature forged a profound connection between them. Daeyoung’s acceptance of Hae-seol as her rider was not just a recognition of Hae-seol’s power but also a testament to the deep healing that had taken place between them.

Daeyoung, who had once been a symbol of rage and vengeance, became a loyal and powerful ally to Hae-seol. Their bond symbolizes a union of strength and empathy, transcending the hatred that had once defined Daeyoung’s existence. Together, they form a formidable duo, with Daeyoung’s icy breath and elemental prowess complementing Hae-seol’s mystical abilities and wisdom.

THE IRON THRONE: A HOUSE DIVIDED

The Targaryen court’s perception of Hae-seol’s bond with Daeyoung is marked by a complex interplay of fascination, skepticism, and intrigue.

Intrigue:

Hae-seol’s relationship with Daeyoung is a subject of great interest at court. The unique nature of their bond, especially given that Hae-seol is not of Targaryen blood, adds an element of mystery and allure. The court is captivated by the rare and powerful connection between a dragon and a non-Targaryen rider. Hae-seol’s ability to summon Daeyoung using an enchanted whistle, a secretive and mystical artifact she wears around her neck, enhances the enigma surrounding their alliance.

Skepticism:

Despite the fascination, there is an undercurrent of skepticism regarding Hae-seol’s claim to such a powerful dragon. Some members of the court question the authenticity of their bond and whether Hae-seol’s non-Targaryen status affects her connection with Daeyoung. The fact that Daeyoung’s hatred for humans was so deeply rooted in her captivity and subsequent trauma adds a layer of complexity that the court grapples with. The secrecy surrounding Daeyoung’s presence and the nature of their bond only fuel these doubts.

Admiration:

Many in the court admire Hae-seol for her strength, resilience, and the remarkable bond she shares with Daeyoung. Her ability to transform Daeyoung’s rage and suffering into a powerful alliance is seen as a testament to her character and capabilities. Hae-seol’s role as *The Dragon's Oracle* is recognized as a significant asset to House Targaryen, providing both mystical guidance and a formidable dragon companion.

PERCEPTION: BLACK V. GREEN

Hightowers (Team Green):

Hae-seol is more sympathetic toward Queen Regent and now Dowager Queen Alicent. She views the Hightowers with a degree of wariness, but she recognizes the complexity of their situation. The Hightowers, despite their own flaws and ambitions, have been subject to a series of unsettling events that have shaped their current stance. Hae-seol is aware of the political maneuvers and intrigue within the Hightower faction but appreciates their stability and perseverance amidst the chaos.

Targaryens (Team Black):

Hae-seol views Rhaenyra with significant suspicion. Her perceptions are shaped by several troubling events: the convenient death of Laenor, the rapid marriage of Rhaenyra to Daemon shortly after his wife’s death, the maiming of Aemond’s eye, and Rhaenyra’s insistence on "sharply questioning" a young boy over rumors of her bastard sons—who were easily identifiable by their dark hair color. Hae-seol also disapproves of Daemon’s brutal act of beheading Lord Corlys Velaryon for speaking out about these bastards, and the death of Prince Jaehaerys. Although Hae-seol was not present for all these events, her visions provided her with enough insight to recognize the troubling patterns and potential for manipulation within Rhaenyra’s faction. As a result, she maintains a cautious distance from the Targaryens, aware of the instability and strife that may accompany their rule.

CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

In the Targaryen court, Hae-seol occupies a unique and influential position. As *The Dragon's Oracle*, she offers valuable spiritual and mystical insights. Her bond with Daeyoung, though not widely known, is a critical aspect of her role. Hae-seol uses her enchanted whistle to summon Daeyoung discreetly, maintaining a level of secrecy about their connection while leveraging Daeyoung’s powers when necessary.

Her neutrality in the ongoing civil war is a delicate balancing act. Hae-seol must navigate the treacherous political landscape while preserving her house’s honor and spiritual heritage. Her bond with Daeyoung represents a rare and potent alliance, making her a key figure in the realm’s intricate power dynamics.

GOALS AND STRUGGLES

Hae-seol faces personal struggles as she reconciles her duties with her personal desires and the weight of her bond with Daeyoung. Her role requires her to balance her house’s spiritual heritage with the demands of the Targaryen court. The healing and redemption of Daeyoung reflect Hae-seol’s own journey of overcoming betrayal and forging a new path.

Her primary goal is to navigate the complex political landscape while upholding her house’s honor and contributing positively to House Targaryen. Hae-seol aims to use her unique position to influence the court and ensure a stable future for her realm, all while managing the delicate balance between secrecy and the profound power she wields.

CONCLUSION

Lady Hae-seol Kim’s story is one of deep personal transformation and mystical strength. Her bond with Daeyoung, forged from shared suffering and redemption, sets her apart as a unique and influential figure in the Targaryen court. Despite the complexities of their relationship and the challenges they face, Hae-seol’s resilience and wisdom make her a pivotal player in the realm’s intricate politics and mystical heritage.

[ovanity]

Main Verse

Xemnas’s revival is by unknown means.

The former NOBODY awoke on the outskirts of Radiant Garden. It’s not known how such a revival came to be but the man is no longer tied to Xehanort like he once was. No, he is truly a SOMEBODY. There is a force unknown by the light nor dark at play.

Xemnas, while still rather strong in his own right; is not nearly as powerful as he once was when he ruled over NOTHINGNESS. With the ability of limited telekinesis and the inherited crimson blade from Xehanort; he can put up a good fight as well as his own keyblade; Monochrome Heart.

The silver-haired male, while sharing a mixture of Terra’s and Xehanort’s physical traits; has been granted a new heart; his heart and new surge emotions arise. These emotions he doesn’t understand. He had no memory of ever dealing with emotion; no that wasn’t the case; he did have one memory of one single emotion.

Loneliness.

While feeling aimless as he had no plot nor scheme, he does decide to search for the reason of his rival and how to live with the fact he now has his own heart. There was power within his own heart and it was a balancing act between light and dark. It felt like an ever swinging pendulum and Xemnas sought answers. Why was he returned as a whole being? Was this Xehanort or something else entirely? Was this a result of the hands of fate so intertwined in him? Xemnas didn’t know but he would seek the truth of his revival.

Headcanons

About Terra

Xemnas doesn’t exactly hate either Terra or Xehanort; if it wasn’t for them; he wouldn’t exist but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some complicated feelings for them. Xehanort is a bit more simple; he doesn’t like him as his influence and will were projected in Xemnas which drove his actions to explore the layers of the Heart and seek world domination while he was a Nobody. 

With Terra; the emotions he has for him is more complicated as they look so much alike with subtle differences. He finds Terra to be far too kind but at the same time he is jealous of Terra’s ability to be kind; to have friends and make bonds. He struggles to do these things. Xemnas’s jealousy of Terra makes Terra a rival.  

Xemnas’s Keyblade

Monochrome Heart is a well balanced keyblade proficient in both physical attacks and magic. It wields both dark and light based attacks. It’s made of sleek metal of purest black steel and white alloy.  

His New Heart

Xemnas has his own heart; his own body and is completely free from Xehanort’s influence. He looks strikingly similar to Terra (be it older looking about 10 years or so) and soon any trace of Xehanort will fade from him. Since his body is from Terra; his features will resemble Terra’s in a way. 

Since obtaining a heart; Xemnas has real emotions and is learning to deal with them. Over time he starts to feel jealous of Terra who has friends and deep bonds with them. 

Father Figures

Xemnas( Terranort) has a very strained relationship with Ansem the wise; his mentor and something akin to a father. Terranort had lost his memories and was found by Ansem, taken in by the ruler of the gardens and made into an apprentice.  Things; however….became difficult. 

Terranort’s lack of memories gave him little understanding between right and wrong and comprehension of the heart of living beings. While he was a brilliant researcher; he often crossed the line to achieve perfection in his research. The warning signs were there and Ansem tried his best to educate Terranort that some things are taboo. 

Terranort; however, was a human and very curious, and without that social understanding continued to research various things despite his mentor’s warnings. This caused them to become very strained and arguments often happened between the two until Ansem forbade him from researching at all. 

This rejection fueled the rebellion that Terranort had devolved after being told no so many times and any affections he had with Ansem had faded and replaced with anger and harsh criticisms. This led Xehanort to turn some of the researchers who felt held back by Ansem’s choices to rebel as well and led the world to fall into darkness. 

On another note; during his early days as an apprentice before darkness filled his heart; Terranort still lacked any true memories of himself but he did dream of an older man with black hair who spoke in a father and scholarly way to him but didn’t call him “Xehanort” but Terra. 

[anulithots]

‘Your Name’, Kishotenketsu, and the Power of Storytelling.

(This is a messy little essay, but I just found out a way to watch anime and read manga... and my life as a storytelling fanatic has been the biggest lie in the best way possible. Please feel free to correct me if I got anything wrong, as I'm still new here. - I'm most versed with western stories and Bollywood/Indian cinema. Also when I say 'western stories' I'm generalizing to more of the 'Hollywood Blockbuster' sort of movies, and as far as movies/manga that use kishotenketsu, I've only seen 'Your Name', 'A silent Voice', 'The promised neverland' and I haven't finished 'the Girl from the other side'.)

In 2016, Mikato Shinkai created the film ‘Your Name’, which proceeded to become one of the most beloved movies of the time. This is due to both the storytelling tatics used, along with the intertwined rhetorical strategies. From the differences inherent in the Kishotenketsu storytelling method, to the inspirations garnered from the environment, and the message showcased through its stunning visuals, ‘Your Name’ provides an example of how different methods of storytelling showcase vastly different themes from that of western media, and in turn create a vastly different effect. 

An aspect of East Asian culture and storytelling is the emphasis of the world, its beauty, and the effect it has upon those who live in it. For Mikato Shinkai, this became apparent in his inspiration. In 2014 he visited a shrine, which gave him the idea for ‘Your Name’. This shrine visit contrasted with both his visits to Tokyo and his childhood within the countryside, and this dualistic perspective became the basis for the movie’s message. Other motifs of the time also seeped into the movie’s setting and its theme, such as the ‘red string of fate’ often depicted in East Asian culture. This red string symbolizes the idea of both the supernatural and the connection that can come as a result. The first scene of the movie showcases the red string, in which the two main characters of the film - Mitsuha and Taki - become connected after Taki repeats the movie’s title, as he asks Mitsuha for her name. Mitsuha and Taki act as the speakers for the movie’s message, for they are vessels for different aspects of the same message. It’s often this exploration of the world and its relation to the characters that creates a method for delving into the characters and their internal characteristics in a way that is not often seen in western storytelling. In other stories, backstory takes the place of this, yet both accomplish the same goal - ‘Ki’ or ‘introduction’. The point of this introduction is not to introduce the plot,however, as one of the most impressive aspects of Kishotenketsu is how little it relies on a typical plot. Rather, the creator weaves a world and characters that have a history and a past quite quickly. It gives the narrative an air of depth that more plot-based stories would not be able to accomplish in such a short amount of time. 

The characters of ‘Your Name’ also differ from western storytelling. Instead of an agent of the plot, or even being a conflicting force with the plot, characters in ‘Your Name’ each embody a different aspect of the overall point. They are characters first, and the story caters to that rather than nudging them to change with the whims of the plot. Mitsuha embodies the idea of perspective. She’s quite shy and polite, and withstands the humiliation of her family’s rituals along with the burden of being the governor’s daughter.  Her current life suffocates her, and she wishes for another, more glamorous life within Tokyo. This all shifts when the story changes from the ‘Ki’ or ‘introduction’ stage to the ‘Sho’ or ‘development’ stage. Mitsuha wakes up in Taki’s body, and she experiences a shift in perspective and the life she’s always wanted. Whilst she indulges herself in the life she craved, she also sees Taki’s world through her lens. It’s Mitsuha who connects with Taki’s crush. It’s Mitsuha who enjoys Taki’s life to the point where the others take notice of his difference in personality. It’s Mitsuha who uses her childhood in which she weaved together threads - that symbolizes connection through time - into braids to change Taki’s life for the better. The tone of the film shifts (right before the ‘ketsu’/ ‘twist’ stage) to Taki’s different view on the same message. His point of view - especially when he inhabits Mitsuha’s body - focuses on time and the connections through it. Such as when Mitsuha’s grandmother tells him about masubi - the flow of time and how their work as a priest family is to braid the threads of time together. These dual aspects of the narrative interweave through the two characters in a way that is seamless and allows for a deeper analysis of the message made. 

This film caters to people who live in Japan, as both the story structure and the societal expectations differ from western ideals. Because of the ages and desires of the two main characters, ‘Your Name’ specifically caters to the young adult audiences, for they can see themselves within the protagonists and their desire for a different life with different experiences. Those who see their environment as their cage, and who think if they were only able to find another place, another life to live, they may discover that this film speaks to them and inspires them to live as themselves. 

Overall, this movie is the tale of two people connected through time via body swapping on random days. This continues through the development phase until Taki discovers the meteor that killed Mitsuha and her town three years ago. It is through their shared perspectives that they not only save the residents of Mitsuki’s town, but they also discover the connection in their past. Through this narrative, Makoto Shinkai wishes to impart on his audience the messages of two interwoven themes: of the differences in perspective over the same event or environment, and how those shared events connect people in time. The first scene established this through the meteor as it painted the sky in brilliant colors. Taki looked upon the meteor with nothing but awe and wonder, yet this is the same meteor that sent Mitsuha to her death. The meteor, despite the destruction it wrought, connected both Mitsuha and Taki, for it is implied that the supernatural of Mitsuha’s world started the events of the movie for the sake of preventing the meteor’s deaths. Similar to the braids that Mitsuha had to weave and the one she gave to Taki at the beginning of the narrative,  individuals' lives are connected to these special moments of love and wonder, such as when Taki marveled at the same rituals that embarrassed Mitsuha. Their differences in worldview may cause the threads in their lives to untangle or knot, but they experienced it together. The audience then left the movie with a newfound appreciation for their unique worldview and the small things in their environment that they may take for granted. They are connected to others who will value them, both in their past and when they continue to the future. 

Kishotenketsu allows for a deep analysis on a specific message or a specific perspective, whereas a hero’s journey or a three-act story structure allow for a transformative journey of self-development. Both have their strengths and there is a spectrum of artistic expression and overlap between the two methods. Kishotenketsu, for example, is able to explore a complex theme that surrounds multiple sub-themes- whilst doing so through a close examination of the characters and their world. A story made in the west may be expected to have a greater emphasis on the conflict, lest the audience become bored. This leaves the message and the characters to compete with the plot unless the creator weaves them together. Even so, western stories emphasize change driven by conflict, and they deem a proper story one characterized by a transformation to face an external obstacle. In kishotenketsu there is no difference between any internal or external development, for the character navigating the world and the premise set up in the introduction provides all the development needed. 

An example of a western story in which both the plot and the message are interwoven to achieve a transformation is Puss in Boots: the Last Wish. This film explores a fear of death and the anxiety that comes with this. Through the change in the main character, the audience - who may also share this experience, as it is deeply personal to the creators - learns the lesson of living life to the fullest instead of running from fear. This is not a lesser story structure by any means, but it does serve a different purpose. This structure is meant to provide an example to the audience about how to grow from flaws or limitations, whereas kishotenketsu is similar to its poetic roots in its overall purpose. These stories do not need character transformations or a removal of flaws - such as in ‘Your Name’ where both Taki and Mitsuha forget the events of the film - instead they look at life and depict it as beautiful art and magical stories. The story is allowed to spend time with the mundane and the characters, and it leaves the audience with an impression and an appreciation of the world. It’s a new perspective, a new way to look at life, and the message is left to personal interpretations. (Rarely is the message ever outright said. The message in western stories is much more obvious and apparent). Kishotenketsu showcases the wonder of life, as it is, in the present - no change required. 

[kalijhomentethi]

Tells us or show us the exact point when Akali was no longer human, but the demon she made a pact with. #bloodmoon

I actually think Akali is still human! An interesting thing to note is that out of all the Blood Moon skin descriptions, Akali’s is one of the few that doesn’t explicitly state that she has merged with a demon as her “present” or default canon.

Priestesses of the Blood Moon walk their own path, traveling far from the cult to pursue the whispers of their demons. A meditative figure living deep in the snow-dusted wood, Akali was the first woman to embrace her inner darkness, and speak directly with the Blood Moon itself.

The last part talks about something special within her that made it possible to have a connection strong enough with the Blood Moon to the point that she was able to speak to it. In my head, there is darkness that the cultists cultivate within themselves to be able to worship such a destructive entity. Who in their right mind would think that it would be a wonderful idea to be possessed by a demon? In one of my latest posts, I wrote a Blood Moon reply for Han and in it, I said Akali set out on the journey ordained by the Blood Moon but did not accept the first offer of merging she received, nor the second, nor the third. In fact, she rejected every single demon that came up to her, wanting her flesh and blood. It has partly to do with her thinking none of them are worthy enough to claim her as theirs.

Most of the Blood Moon skins make it clear that the characters have already formed a pact with their respective demons. Examples include:

Elise has so wholly intertwined her body with her demon spirit that they are now a single entity.

(Katarina) An honored priestess of the Blood Moon cult, merged with the flesh of her demon as all priestesses are fated to be.

Then there is one that at least implies he has become involved with a demon.

(Shen) …executing interlopers with a cool dispassion, suggesting part of his humanity has already been consumed.

And in terms of splash arts, Akali’s mask is moved to the side enough to show how human her face still is. Other splash arts have malevolent auras surrounding the champions, the characters’ eyes and masks have an unnatural glow, or the mask is fully fixed onto their faces, signifying their lost humanity.

Now, will Akali ever want to merge at all? I’ve been playing with the idea that she doesn’t ever plan on merging. I haven’t completely decided if it’s a result of her refusing to accept any other being as her equal or if it’s her outright challenging the Blood Moon, thus giving another meaning to “…walk their own path.” Either way, it would mean her equivalent of flying too close to the sun. Because what exactly did she say to the Blood Moon? And what did it tell her in return? Akali was never the type of character to willingly and completely put herself at the mercy of another entity. There’s a lot of creative freedom permitted just from this piece of ambiguous information.

When Han and I were talking about Evelynn and Akali merging, she said that if Akali will not merge with a demon and risk the wrath of the Blood Moon, then Evelynn will forcefully bind their souls together in order to keep the cycle of reincarnation* going. Because otherwise, the Blood Moon will destroy Akali’s soul.

* I say reincarnation because Han and I have Base -> BM -> Modern verses tied together.

[oceanxveiined]

          “–then we just need to carefully turn the dial here to expose the Pyro and Electro components to each other, and…!”

         Danae grimaced as the soft clicks registered, shaking out the slight tremor in her free hand.

         The last time she’d tried this, the whole thing had blown up in her face and caused a nasty slew of injuries she’d nearly been permanently blinded by. Which had only been avoided by a prompt trip to Durene, who upon healing her had elected to make Danae’s life utterly miserable for the next hour with the ensuing lecture. And considering she couldn’t even speak, that had been a feat in and of itself. She would have almost preferred getting verbal nagged than dealing with the extra impact Durene’s facial expression gave her signing.

         Almost.

        Now, one would think wanting to avoid such a thing would discourage Danae from trying again. If not wanting to avoid the scolding, then in not wanting to face agony and risk permanent injury should the healer not get to her soon enough this time. Most anyone would. But anyone who knew her well would also damn well know she only only ever took such things as a challenge rather than anything cautionary.

        She feared no monster nor god, so why should Durene be any different?

        That said, if she did happen to keep the device at a safer distance away from her face this go around, it was purely out of practicality.

        Still…hubris aside, having to go back to Durene for help if the reaction repeated ( especially if it resulted worse, considering the changes she'd made since then ), more so after specifically being told not to ever try this again still added a lot more pressure now. Especially since the woman would surely be so damn glad for the opportunity to gloat about how right she was. And having bear Durene’s all-too expressive face and stupid little name sign once she saw the thermal and electrical burns again would definitely make the matter all the more humiliating, too–

         “Oh…!”

         Danae’s eyes flashed open as an odd sensation suddenly thrummed ( Odd, odd, was it painful? No, that wasn’t it- ) through her body, concentrated at her hand where she held the device. Thrummed along her frayed nerves and burrowed deep into her sore muscles.

         Her lips parted in surprise as she swayed in place, brain trying to place just what it was she was percieving. Hand trembling in the wake of and direct contact to such a sensation, her grip on the device slackened a slight, even while the other tried to steady it. “Wh-what'n th–?”

          Luckily, a deft pair of hands managed to cup it beneath hers, preventing it from falling to the floor and shatter. Even while her hands had instinctively gripped the thing tighter–

          “Morcant?”

          The name and the growing uncomfortable buzz under Danae’s skin where they touched had her fully snapping out of her haze, jerking back and holding her device closer to her chest. Perhaps a bad idea, considering how volatile the last one had been and the particular composition of this one, but– “M'fine.”

          Da-Lun raised a brow but raised his hands placatingly and backed away all the same.  “I thought it yet another adverse reaction. Though different from the last, I didn’t want it to break, so–”

          “Well, you thought wrong,” she hissed, fingers moving the scratch at the still-tingling skin. “Wait for the damn thing to leave my hand before makin’ a grab for it. Got it? Or need I drill it into yer fucking skull?”

          The man huffed out a breath, but nodded curtly. “Understood.”

          “Good.” Even decently satisfied with his response, Danae still couldn’t help pressing her nails into the ebbing tingling on her skin to ease it. Though…huh, usually that feeling took longer to go away–

         “So what was it then?”

         Danae turned to glance over at Ozzy, the man idly tapping his pen against the parchment as he tilted his head. Wait, not idly.

         You look like an idiot, the pattern read, when he'd repeated it. Calm down.

         "Tch." Biting back an otherwise snarled retort, Danae rolled her eyes. And realized she’d been slumping against the work bench, straightening up immediately with a sharp jerk. Fuck, when had she lowered her guard like that–? “It–works.”

         “I know it does, sweetheart,” Ozzy remarked, an insufferable, amused grin at his lips. He gestured a slight with the pen. “I could see the tension leave your body an' you gasping instead a' howling in agony or gettin’ crispied like I was hopin’–"

          ”We made a bet on its success,“ Da-Lun explained, ”I, in your favor, of course," as if that made it any better–

           ”–so clearly it must work as intended. Or at least, to your insatiable standards.” Ozzy snickered, rather amused in spite ( or perhaps because ) of her glare as he added, “I was curious as t'just how much so had it. Since it got you of all people to relax like that.”

           Danae glanced down at the device–fuck, she was slumping again, curled around it too, what the hell– 

          “It doesn’t…!” She hesitated.

          “Tell us honestly, now, sweetheart,” Ozzy chided. He offered another stupid grin as he waved the pen. “If not for me, then for your results. You care about those, at least, don’t you?”

          Danae pursed her lips.

          …ah, she couldn't argue with that. Or him, as much as she'd want to. She had to ensure the necessary observations were recorded, after all. Embarrassing as her reaction was though–

          “It doesn’t make the pain go away completely,” she admitted, sighing as her favorite sound of scratches of quilltip on parchment began to fill the air. The sounds added to the otherwise quiet of the room, the hum of the device, the dimmer lights save the lamp at her bench behind her...oh, that was nice. So nice; she almost felt tempted to lean back and close her eyes to indulge in it all. Almost–

          “I can still feel it," she continued, drumming her tingling fingers on the iron casing. "S'no magic cure-all or anything, it’s just…compared to how I usually feel, it’s…it’s…” Dammit, how did she explain this- “It–I feel lighter? Nicer??? Like it...it��”

          “Makes the flare ups tolerable?” Da-Lun supplied gently.

          She narrowed her eyes a slight.

          No mocking. No teasing. Simply aiding her to find the right words. Huh...

          “Yeah...that.” She carefully moved to press the device against her hip, sliding it further along her bad leg. And promptly let out a soft sigh as she gingerly stretched the limb out. “Note, closer contact to the more sensitive areas provides a far more effective use of the…th'–” Fuck, wait, why’d she say that? That gave too much away, too much that was highly exploitable, if the odd look on Da-Lun's face was any indication–

          “Maiden’s Solace?” Ozzy offered, pausing to look up.

          Danae’s mouth opened and closed, once, twice, before her lips pressed into a fine line.

          He didn't go for mocking, either. Nor seem to have any apparent intents to take advantage of said fact, if his lack of reaction was any tell. Which was odd, because she would have figured he would keep more of an ear out for such things than Da-Lun. No, the only real problem she had with Ozzy piping up with his little suggestion now was–

          “M'not a maiden,” she remarked, wrinkling her nose. Even if, sure, it was made for one in mind, but she was the one who made it, so– “Brigand’s Solace?”

          Ozzy scoffed, chuckling as he pointed the pen accusingly. “Now you just stole my idea and made it sound more cool than it is, Morc.”

           “Oh, come up with a better one then! I dare you–”

           "Bettin' on what that I CAN, then–"

           “Everflame Lenity?” Da-Lun interjected, before their bickering could escalate. He nodded his head at the device. “Considering the Pyro component.”

           Stilling, Danae and Ozzy exchanged a glance.

           “That works well enough,” Danae decided, shrugging as Ozzy gave a noncommittal hum ( ’I like the contradiction,’ he might have muttered, she didn’t care to make sure right now ). “For this version, anyways. I might want to change the Pyro source further down the line.”

           “Already thinking of advances for it,” Da-Lun noted, with what sounded suspiciously like an amused laugh. “You really never change.”

           “Well, I can’t afford to just settle after a victory,” she told him, rather matter-of-factly. “‘specially not when I’ve finally gotten a real breakthrough with SOMETHING now.”

           “Cuz yer a shit inventor, sweetheart–”

           “Oz,” Da-Lun warned.

           Danae rolled her eyes, rather than dignify it with a response of her own. Though the fact that the–yeah, okay–Everflame Lenity helped keep her usually simmering temper at bay may have also contributed something. Sue her, she felt nice and relaxed right now, thank you very much. And ruining it to bite the bait Ozzy set out just wasn't worth the effort.

           But like hell would she explain THAT to them.

           Still…okay, yeah, this thing was definitely an immense help when the relief was closer to the worst of the pain. Especially pressed directly against her skin. It was enough to help bear with more than simply physical ailments, with the steady thrum soothing her usually hair-thin nerves enough to keep her calmer than she'd felt in a long time.

          Did that perhaps have an effect on why it felt so pleasant overall, too?

          Shit, were it any closer to her center, the ease it had in spreading the feeling to the rest of her body would definitely be inconvenient. It left her feeling too lax as it was; not focused enough nor willing to keep moving, like she ought to be. It made her want to take it easy, let her body rest. Left her feeling vulnerable, much too vulnerable-

          “What is it then? Th'Everflame seed’s really not good enough for you?” Ozzy asked, back to scribbling down his notes. “Picky, picky~ What’s the issue?”

          Yeah, better tell them any of that. They'd never let her live it down-

          “Well, it works sufficiently enough,” Danae explained, looking back down at the device. She ran her thumb along the dial slowly turning it back. Hesitating when the sensations dulled to mild discomfort began to swell again. “And it will supply an adequately continuous source of Pyro energy to resonate with the Electro Crystal; thus inducing the energy reaction that triggers the relaxant properties I wanted. That is exactly why I'd chosen it initially.”

          “So that’s how that works,” Ozzy muttered, more to himself than her. And being kind enough to mark the inscribed explanation over for ease in locating it at a later time. Which she would normally be worried about, him considered–

          “But?” Da-Lun urged.

          “But,” she amended, tone firm to ensure Ozzy heard, and heard it well– “The Everflame seed, like its source, can be…unstable.”

          Ozzy stopped writing. A flurry of thoughts seemed to cross his mind before he met her gaze, head tilting a slight.

          “So…it’s useless for dear Eliza, then?” he asked. Oddly calm, at that, she reckoned, with hardly a trace of his usual jesting. Enough to make even Da-Lun shift uneasily. Which in and of itself should have been a warning. Anyone else who really knew him well enough sure would have.

          Still, deliberately ignoring it and the little hint of something in his tone ( bitterness? Yeah, that was probably it– ), Danae shrugged. “Not entirely, I would think. But it’s better than nothing.” She paused then tilted her head, a mocking grin at her lips. “What? Scared to risk yer precious little ward, now? When she could FINALLY get her much-needed relief?”

          Ozzy bared his teeth in a laugh. "I just don’t recall clearing her to be one of your little test subjects, love.“

         ”She just needs to say yes,“ Danae retorted. ”I don’t think Eliza needs your permission to be a part of my little–"

          A spark of violet had her voice choking back–Da-Lun had suddenly moved to stand next to her before she could taunt Oz any further. Whether to shut her up or because he had a thought he’d impulsively acted on, she wasn’t quite sure. Probably the former. Especially since he knew how much she hated when he flash-stepped like that–

          “May I?” Da-Lun asked. He remained in place even at her glare, though kneeling immediately once she gave him a curt nod. He reached to handle the device–careful not to touch Danae in the process this time, thankfully.

          Surprise flickered across his features as his shifted his hold on it–ah, so even Da-Lun was taken aback by the odd sensation it gave off–and looked it over. Once, then a second glance-over, gingerly rolling it over across her leg a slight ( oh, that...felt a little better; making a note to write down the way he'd moved and placed it later- ) to ensure he didn’t touch anything more than the points he was holding it by and where it rested against her. 

           Danae shook off the slight daze the sensation brought on her, determinedly looking over at Ozzy, who begun to lean forwards. Staring so intently he didn’t notice the ink dripping off the pen tip splattering on his pants–

          ”Hm..."

          ”Report," Danae demanded immediately.

          “It looks to stable enough so long no truly jarring movements are made,” Da-Lun affirmed, pulling back. “Which unfortunately means Morcant here can’t bring it along in-battle–”

           “Oh, the horror,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “Please, not dealing with agonizing flare ups while on duty. I’ve never experienced that before–”

           “–but it should be safe enough for Eliza to use for herself,” Da-Lun patiently finished. ”Since she is usually at rest and in tucked away in bed."

           “And surely I’ll just up and let you just test that on her?” Ozzy remarked, raising a brow.

           Recall exploitable connection, certainty and magnitude higher than original assumption, Danae's brain chimed in. Factor unpredictability, should be constant enough to use–seek gaining favor, ensuring no repercussions amid self-benefit–

           “I can tote it around while here at home base for awhile longer, if you want,” Danae offered. ”Just to be sure." Compromising as it was, but if it meant getting on his good side here-

          ”Mm, I do like the heightened chances of you getting blown to smithereens,“ Ozzy mused.

          Danae snorted. ”Ha–when boars fly maybe–"

          ”It could do some good in helping Morcant stay in a better mood during its trial run,“ Da-Lun wryly remarked. Gods dammit, there was the mocking she'd been hoping to avoid– “That would save us from plenty frustration. Or…why not try it yourself, Oz? For Eliza’s sake?”

           The man blinked then huffed, leaning back as he pointed at the other with the pen.

          “I like the pain I feel, thank you very much,” Ozzy drawled. “Makes me feel alive. S'like a badge of honor for all I've been through. What I've survived, an' all that shit–” Excuses-

          “And I pride myself in that badge of honor as much as you do,” Danae retorted, rolling her eyes. She carefully rolled the device a bit more over her skin. ”And feeling the relief I do from it right now is just downright weird, I’ll admit.“ She paused a moment to brace herself, then fully pulled the device away from her body in a swift motion. Curling her lip a little at the growing, gnawing want to put it right back into place– “But believe me, try this. Just this once. Or what? You scared?”

           Ozzy barked out a laugh. "Of one of your contraptions? Oh, very, sweetheart."

            "Aww, truly?" Danae goaded. "Stars, and here I thought there was no gamble you wouldn't take!"

            "Say I do, then," Ozzy chided, rolling his shoulders a bit. Ooh, had that annoyed him? That was a first- "I highly doubt it'd even work right–"

           ”And with any luck, he’d fumble it and it’d blow him halfway to Celestia,“ Da-Lun muttered, the corner of his lip twitching a slight at Danae's snicker. ”Spare us all his clownery.“

           Ozzy eyed him at that, eyes narrowing just a hint before holding his hand out for the device. "Oh, I'd like to see Celestia tryn'n handle me, Da."

           "You really think gods can't do what we have already?"

           "Nope."

           Danae scoffed a laugh then handed it off to Da-Lun, who passed it over to the man. Grimacing when Ozzy swiftly snatched it from his hands.

          Seriously, was he trying to make it explode?

          Especially since he'd immediately pushed against his belly, just under his ribs at his right side, the moment he'd gotten it. Which, recklessness aside, was already odd in and of itself, because Danae could have sworn his back ought to be where it goes. Pain relief considered, anyways.

           Huh. So his weakest physical point was closer that area then?

           A breathless sound in surprise had Danae's thoughts stuttering to a halt as she looked back over at the others.

           Ozzy’s jaw had dropped, eyes wide as he clutched the Lenity to his body. Pressing it a little tighter, even while Da-Lun had tsk’d and tried to ease his grip, tried to stop him from fully turning the dial.

           ”Good then?“ Danae asked, moving to hop back up onto her workbench. A hand moved to idly dig the heel of her hand at the joint of her hip, once, twice, pushing down towards base of her knee, then her lower leg as she glanced him over. ”Looks like it, if yer all dopey now. Stars, did I actually discover the means to finally sedate you?"

            Ozzy managed a chuckle. “Okay, so that…that really…!”

            Da-Lun stepped to scoop up the pen and parchment from where the man had discarded them, then moved back. Oh, good, he knew the priorities here, as always– “Yes?”

           “Morc, when you said resonate, you really…!” Ozzy let out a soft exhale, gesturing a slight to Da-Lun with his head, "C'mere, Da," then promptly pressed against the other for support once he drew close enough. No sooner, Ozzy's eyes fluttered shut, a content little hum rising in his throat.

           He lay still a moment, two, before adding to his recount, “Feels lovely. Like a gentle...buzz? No, a hum, all through me." He waited a moment for Da-Lun to catch up, then added, "S'very soothing. Like…like a song–”

            “Like Sister Barbara’s healing song?” Danae teased, shifting a slight as she eyed the Lenity. Stars above, the fact that she still wanted it back was a bad sign weak, weak-

            “Oh, no–no, I don’t like that.” Ozzy’s eyes scrunched up a bit in distaste. "Th'shit gives me headaches just hearin' it from afar. I fear I'd burst into flames if she tried usin' it on me."

            Pen scratches stuttered as Da-Lun stared at him incredulously. "She–she has a Hydro Vision–"

           ”Y'know what I mean, Da."

           "No, I don't–"

           In spite of the resulting laugh, Danae sucked in a soft breath while the two were distracted in their bickering, easing to edge forwards.

           It was subtle, but now that she was a little closer, Danae noticed the usual slight furrow of Ozzy’s brow was gone, his jaw fully relaxed. Even his breathing seemed to be a little easier, too, with only slight hitches compared to the more pronounced rattle from before. A little quicker too, as though he were no longer carefully measuring each breath. His body didn't twitch and shudder as much either, no tension from how guarded and wound up he usually was; like a crossbow pulled taut and ready to fire at any moment.

          Stars, it was no wonder the man started sounding like he had his tongue made of lead now. And from the looks of it, whatever he felt on the daily must be a nightmare to deal with, if even this modicum of relief worked for him. More than the aches and discomfort she did, for sure. Unless...he was just playing it all up to snuggle up to Da-Lun. She really wouldn't put it past him to–

          ”Still wanna hold off on it for Eliza?“ Da-Lun asked softly.

          Ozzy hummed, eyes blinking open. “I still doubt it’s safe enough,” he mumbled, smoothly lifting it for Da-Lun to take. Rather unflinchingly, too- ”Especially with her…ah, clumsiness?“

          ”Ooh, don’t let her hear that. You know how sensitive she is about it."

          ”Morc–"

          “Mako and Jade can help stay and manage it,” Da-Lun suggested, carefully taking it in hand then reaching for the cloth Danae held out. Awkwardly at that, as Ozzy still leaned heavily against him even with the thing gone. Well, he did have to readjust to not having it...that made two who did. What a massive downside- “We all could, in shifts.”

          Shaking her head to dash further thoughts,Danae wrinkled her nose. ”All of us–?"

          “Ugh, but then I’d have to increase your salaries to account for the extra hours you’d put in,” Ozzy groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Then where does that leave me? Broke. Ruined–”

          “Mako and Durene would be more than happy to do it for free,” Danae pointed out, rolling her eyes. “Mako–here, Da, put it in this–loves making himself useful, spoiled brat as he is. And he adores Eliza, something about those Fontaine folk–”

         “And Durene?” Ozzy asked, tipping his head back in thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. ”What's her stake?“

          Danae blinked. She glanced over at Da-Lun then back to Ozzy. “You…can’t be serious.”

         “Dead, in fact,” Ozzy answered, eyeing her back out the corner of his eye. “What?”

         ”Well, I’ll be,“ Danae marveled, nudging Da-Lun's hip with her good leg as best she could reach. Ignoring Ozzy's groan in protest- "You hearin' this?"

          “I genuinely think he doesn't know,” Da-Lun remarked, disbelief clear in his tone. “Ozzy doesn't know.”

          “Dunno what?”

          “That is such an exploitable weakness.” Danae damn near felt amused enough to burst out in laughter. “So exploitable, I’ve been–Oz...!”

          "What?" The man sat up fast, almost childishly petulant in his demand, “What? Tell me!”

          “Durene and Eliza…"  Da-Lun emphasized. Gesturing a little for emphasis.

          Ozzy’s brow furrowed a slight, the gears slowly turning in his brain, then his eyes flashed open. ”Oh."

         ”Oh,“ Danae mocked.

         ”Oh, indeed,“ Da-Lun muttered. ”Now, Oz, don’t–”

         “What a fucking nightmare,” Ozzy choked out, horror blooming across his features as he clutched his chest. “My Eliza and Durene…!”

          “Oz–”

          ”Oh, stars, the unethics of a healer-patient relationship!“ Ozzy clapped his palm against his forehead. ”Durene’s been compromised!"

          Danae faceplamed as Da-Lun sputtered and clapped a hand over his mouth. What was he trying to stifle there– ”That’s what you’re worried about?“

          “My healer’s making goo-goo eyes at someone in her care,” Ozzy scoffed, feigned offense across his features. “Distracted, from her duties no doubt. Are you not worried?”

          ”I th-think it’s more of a benefit to you and Eliza that she is,“ Da-Lun managed. Clearing his throat and straightening up promptly at the odd look Danae threw him.

          ”Benefit to me?“ Ozzy laughed. ”Oh, no, you should see how she gets when I keep courtin' dear Eliza–oh...that explains a lot of her enmity to me now–, but, no, no, her feelings for Eliza are not a benefit to me–"

           ”But,” Danae pointedly suggested, “she can willingly watch over Eliza’s progress with the Everflame Lenity once she sees how much it’d help her.”

           Ozzy blinked. ”Oh. Yeah, that. She’d love that.“ Seriously–

           ”Then it’s Eliza’s,“ Danae decided. ”We could have her–or, maybe Durene–report more on it and how effective it is for her. For now. As for the rest of us–"

            ”Any solid ideas for a more stable Pyro source?” Ozzy interrupted. And normally Danae would snap at him for it. However…

           She rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh…haa, that–” She shifted under his stare. Alright, calculate the immediate outrage ( wait, why was she so worried? She didn't care ), bracing briefly ( oh, right, because they were more annoying than the others when they got worked up ), plunging the wound into saltwater– “A Smoldering Pearl should...work–?”

           “Archons, Morcant–”

           “Of fucking course you’d ask for that–”

           “Mako’s working on getting us into Inazuma as is!” she snapped defensively. “And I’ve been there before–”

           “Under Fatui diplomatic immunity,” Da-Lun scoffed, rolling his eyes.

           “How do you expect us to get off Ritou even then, hm?” Ozzy chimed in.

           “–so I know exactly where to go from there and what to do,” she stubbornly continued. “I can get us some disguises and use that Fatui Diplomacy to our favor if we really need all that, then a team of four can easily get in, get what we need, then get out. Simple!”

           “And you have your crack team all in mind, I’m sure?” Ozzy asked, crossing his arms. Genuinely, mockingly, probably both, knowing him–

           Still, Danae was undeterred as she just her chin out. Because, “As a matter of fact I do.” Mostly cobbled together from obsessive research she’d done on the needed source, sure, and perhaps all strictly hypothetical in its effectiveness, but– “One, I would be a key asset to this, since it’s a Pyro-based lifeform."

          "Obviously," Ozzy drawled.

          Danae huffed. "Then I would want you an' Da, as well as–”

         “The only other alternatives we have to fight it are Durene who possesses a Dendro Vision,” Da-Lun protested, “Jade who would be absolutely useless to us with Pyro abilties herself, and–”

           “Tua would be perfectly effective in providing ample distraction while the rest of us get to work and get it done!” Danae finished stubbornly. “Not to mention his Vision’s Geo reactions can get us shields while he's at it." Da-Lun’s mouth opened to protest again, her swiftly moving to cut him off in adding, ”I think that works just fine since I could help us finish it up promptly.“ Ignoring Ozzy’s snort- ”What, would you rather we ask some outsider for help? Da?”

           Da-Lun clicked his tongue. “I would prefer we don’t go through the trouble at all!”

           “Because you’re a damn coward!” Danae snapped, simmering temper at last igniting. Adamantly staying right in place to meet his glare, even as he suddenly flickered to stand towering over her again. Perhaps having instinctively made a grab for her screwdriver when he did- "This isn't anythin' new fer me. Fer us. We've been and always have–"

           “We aren’t just risking two people like back then, Morcant,” he snarled back. “And even with the lot of us working in tandem now, you know damn well THAT thing is entirely different than a Pyro Regisvine. What you’re doing now is just insa–”

          “We aren’t 'risking' enough! " Danae spat, slamming her free hand down. "And if you can’t see that, you gods-damned, half-breed beast, you oughta–!”

          A shrill whistle had both Danae and Da-Lun flinching, turning to glare at Ozzy.

         “Honestly, utter children, the lot of you,” he huffed, lowering his fingers from his mouth. Shaking his head, he met Danae's gaze. “Tell me, the Pearl will make it safer for Eliza? For certain?”

          “Yes.” Danae huffed, crossing her arms. Both to press them against the gnawing sensation at her gut and in gesture. “It’s much more stable and has a more constant flow of Pyro energy. Likely will last longer, too.” She shot Da-Lun a proud look at Ozzy’s appraising hum. “And if we’re able to get more than one, not only is it extra insurance, but I could also tamper with them and see if it could help us not be so caught by the relief of the Lenity. See if we could possibly be able to control the intensity of the feeling a lot easier. Y'know?”

          Da-Lun raised a brow. “You’re fully sure of it?”

          “It’s…an estimation,” Danae grudgingly admitted. “On that latter bit, anyway. But, for certain, the Lenity would be safer for Eliza to use with it. And for far longer periods of time, without much–if at all–risk of the continuous exposure to Electro causing a terrible reaction. Especially compared to the Everflame seed.”

          “Hn…” Ozzy nodded slowly. “I like that. We’ll draft plans for it come morn, then. In the meantime–” He reached to tap the box the device now rested in. “You let Durene know what to do, Da. She likes you best.”

          “She thinks I’m the only one of us with sense,” Da-Lun corrected, snorting. “And after all that transpired now? I am fully inclined to agree.” Still, he made his way to the door without further protest. Pausing, he looked back.

          “I’ll stay with them on the first night trial run, as well,” he told them. “For the notes. And extra security.”

          “You’re the best, Da,” Danae called to him. Grinning completely unfazed at his withering glare.

          “Not bad for a gods-damned, half-breed beast, right?” Da-Lun drawled, before turning and heading off. Slamming the door on his way out.

          Ozzy's gaze lingered there until the sound footsteps retreated, then gave Danae a sidelong glance. “Oof, I think you really hurt him with that one, Morc.”

         “Ah, he’ll get over it,” she muttered, waving her hand dismissively as she hopped down and turned to start clearing her workbench.

         “Y'know, his kind don’t take so kindly to insults,” Ozzy chided, coming up behind her to take the box she held up. "They seem rather the smite-y sort, if y'know what I mean."

          As he moved to set it on the shelf behind them, Danae snorted.

         “Aw, what’s he gonna do? Cry to Rex Lapis about it?” She rolled her eyes. “I’d like to see that old fossil drag his ass on over here'n try anything. Oh wait, he can't. An' not like the others could do any better-” Shutting the toolkit, shuffling to straighten then setting her notes to the side, thank fuck they were actually well-done–

         She paused.

          Wait, why didn’t Ozzy laugh at that one? He usually liked her prideful little commentary–

         “You better hope that doohickey of yers doesn’t hurt her.”

         Danae rolled her eyes at the genuine seriousness in his voice. “Really? Open vulnerability in front of me, Oz?" Fingers drummed against the tabletop. "How bad did the thing get you, genuinely–”

          “I mean it, Mare.”

          She stilled, exhaling slowly. Alright, so…no joking around. Whatsoever.

          A breath, two, then Danae turned around, leaning back on the desk. “We, of all people, know Da is the best person to protect her if it risks that.” She puffed her chest out. "Plus it's one of my works, Oz. I wouldn't hand it out for use unless I was certain it would work. One-hundred percent."

          "Mm, true." Ozzy hummed, leaning in. Not to cage her like she'd anticipated, but to scoop up the toolkit, before pulling back to kneel and store it away. He glanced up at her. "Just I'm clear–we’re agreed. Yes?" A hand reached out. "That we can’t go near that thing again, I mean.”

           Danae eyed him curiously, then sighed and held out a hand to help him to standing. "Hn." Even if awkwardly, considering he towered a near foot over her- "S'not good for folks like us."

           It felt safe. Too safe. Damn near a trap of her own making, undoing forged by her own hands. An illusion of something just waiting to be shattered. One that most certainly would be. Something that'd definitely leave them at risk of being shattered themselves, especially in Ozzy's case, where the pain seemed to ramp up harshly once it was taken away–

           "Right, agreed, then," Ozzy said, gripping her shoulders uncomfortably tight as he pushed to stand back up straight. "Glad you fed Da that bullshit of us wanting one of our own, too. Absolutely brilliant, he won't nag us to–ah, ah, don't you get all smug on me now."

           He released his hold, moving to smooth the wrinkles from his clothes. Pausing to eye the ink stain on his pants, before adding, "So, we’ll never speak of this again, nor risk messing with that ever. 'nless absolutely necessary."

           "I can power through pain just fine, Oz," Danae huffed, crossing her arms as she rolled her shoulders. "Have for years now, same as you. M'not Jade, for that matter."

           Ozzy laughed, moving to bump her cheek with his knuckles. "But I still don’t want you compromised, Morc." A pause, baring his teeth in a grin. "It’d look bad on us if you collapse mid-mission or show weakness again, y'know."

           A harsh flush rose in Danae's face as smacked his hand away, baring her teeth and snarling, "That was one time, Oz. Let it go. I told you, it won't happen again–"

          "We never know." Unfazed, Ozzy shrugged and moved to see himself out. "Keep pushing yourself like that, sweetheart, it might just happen. Not that you've ever been a good listener–"

            "I don't wanna hear that from the man who keeps using a Delusion against his healer's orders," she snarked. "Damn hypocrite."

            "Ooh, perhaps." Hand on the knob, Ozzy paused and turned back. "Keep working on that, for me, yeah? And for your trouble today–"

            He reached to rummage in his pocket, tossing her a small item.

            Swiftly snatching it from the air, Danae glanced at her palm. Brows furrowing a slight as she held it up.

            "A key?" she scoffed, raising a brow. "That's my reward?" 

            "Da and I got our hands on an Abyss Mage," Ozzy explained, looking rather proud at her now startled disbelief. "Pyro, mind you. Tua's keeping them company now as we speak, keeping them nice and weak for you."

            "You brought one for me?" Danae's grip on the key grew taut as her eagerness grew, the metal biting into the soft meat of her palm. "Here?"

           "A rather tricky feat to manage, mind you," Ozzy remarked. "But I knew you would earn it. In spite of all your hopeless little setbacks–"

            "Oz!"

           Pearl-white teeth flashed as he laughed. "Have fun with them, sweetheart. I might just join you t'get in on the fun." He opened the door and slipped out, casting one last look inside, "And good work, Morc. You did well," before the door shut behind him.

            Danae let out a soft breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Slumping a slight against the desk now that the others had gone.

            The praise churned in her gut, bubbling like air beneath the frothing ocean waves. But more than that, far more importantly than that, what gripped her the most now was the utter eagerness that thrummed in her veins at the thought of seeing their little prisoner now. In being able to carve information out of it herself, wringing every last bit of information it possibly had to offer. And if it didn't cooperate? She'd make every last moment the most miserable of its wretched existence, out of spite, in a bit of fun and stress-relief–fuck, after today's success, this was the cherry atop the sundae!

            And if all went well, maybe she'll even indulge in one in the capitol, too. Maybe catch that little girl with the Valberries along the way and get some of those as well, stars, that would be a delight!

            With that thought, Danae grinned as she tossed then caught the key, and rushed out the door.

[darth-prequelist]

Hello There! How to Become a Galactic Emperor Fanfiction

I am writing/continuing a Darth Sidious centered story on ao3! I am not very used to using tumblr so I ask that you please be patient with me.

This fan-content narrative emcomposes Star Wars campiness, Sith intrigue, and Palpatine's dramatic self (as a teenager, hah).

Before Palpatine's rise to becoming one of the greatest Sith Lords of all time, he was a petulant teenager. Palpatine is many things in his young life, a Youth Senator, a friend, a family member of the Palpatine family, and most importantly a Sith Apprentice to Darth Plagueis. The story kicks off when Palpatine begins his life of dishonesty as a Youth Senator. Soon after his fate intertwines with the infamous Darth Plagueis. Little does he know how many lives he will plunder on his path to the Dark Side.

Rating: T

Word count (thusfar): ~35,000

An (unpublished) excerpt from Chapter 23 is underneath:

Crimson splashed the walls in an eerie glow. Two shadows danced on the walls in the hazy approaching dusk. Swords built of deadly lasers, sizzled, and burned with menace. One shadow wielded two dagger-like lightsabers moving much more gracefully than the second. The second was sluggish and slashed its lightsaber in sloppy arcs.

The Sith Lord warned. “Ant serjek!” Darth Plagueis swept his foot under Palpatine who failed to dodge. He held the two dagger-like lightsabers at his apprentice’s neck.

Palpatine had learned and failed to execute a dodge whenever the Sith Lord spoke those two dreaded words. Darth Plagueis sighed deeply, extending a hand to his apprentice. Palpatine took his hand and stood up with the aid of his master.

The new apprentice’s lungs were gasping for air. His head was pounding with a headache, and his limbs were sagging.

“Again,” Palpatine breathed and wiped a bead of sweat from his face. As versed, he held a stance, igniting his lightsaber but his arms drooped, and the lightsaber seared the floor.

“No, rest, my young apprentice.” Darth Plagueis insisted.

He thumbed the off switch for both of his lightsabers and clipped them to his belt. Plagueis rooted through his knapsack that was on a ledge near a shattered window.

“Here,” Plagueis tossed his apprentice a flask of water. Palpatine caught it but fumbled with it slightly. “And take off that cloak, it looks ridiculous. Its only slowing you down,” added Plagueis.

Palpatine restrained a glare and dramatically shrugged the cloak off his shoulders to the ground before taking a swig of water. The Sith apprentice took a seat on a metal bench against the north wall. Darth Plagueis took a few moments staring out the window overlooking the Works before sweeping back to his apprentice.

Darth Plagueis stood before Palpatine and put a hand to his head. “I believe I know what the problem is.”

“Problem?” Palpatine glanced up, a bit of worry etched into his features. He tossed the flask from his left hand and to his right hand in a continuous motion.

“I’ll explain,” Plagueis motioned for Palpatine to hand him his lightsaber. Palpatine hesitated but eventually handed it over.

The crimson light bathed the two Sith in its spectral glow. Plagueis ignited it making a few graceful swoops with the sizzling blade parallel to Palpatine. The Sith Master took a few moments to respond. “Rise,” Palpatine obeyed Plagueis’ command.

Plagueis disengaged the lightsaber and handed it back to his apprentice. Palpatine followed Plagueis’ prior lesson on form. He stood with his body at a 45-degree angle facing Plagueis. Palpatine made sure he held the top of the hilt with his right hand and the bottom with his left.

“Good…very good,” Plagueis remarked on his apprentice’s form. He ignited his lightsaber. “Now attack me.”

Palpatine stood stiffly in his position and jabbed at Plagueis. Plagueis effortlessly parried the slash and moved with the momentum towards Palpatine. The Sith Lord spun around using his other lightsaber and holding it a few inches from Palpatine’s chest.

Palpatine looked from Plagueis to the blazing lightsaber. “Do you see your error?” the Sith Lord asked.

Palpatine furrowed his brows, “I…I don’t know.”

Plagueis withdrew his two lightsabers and Palpatine withdrew his as well. “Sidious, you must never jab at someone wildly. It leaves you open for attack. Your arm is too far from your body, and you are unable to block the attack. Not to mention you are standing still. One must never stand still in a battle.” 

Plagueis took a deep breath, “You must move and flow with it. Keep the blade close to you and you must…despite how nerve wreaking it may be, be close to your opponent. You must always be in motion. If you stand still, you’re a dead man.”

Flow. Motion. Close. Palpatine repeated Plagueis’ words in his head. “Are you ready to try again?”

“Yes,” Palpatine ignited his lightsaber.

“Ant serjek!” Plagueis cried.

Palpatine kept the blade close this time. Their blades crossed once before Palpatine stepped away. He raised his lightsaber to strike once more but Plagueis stopped him. “And you’re dead,” The blade was angled to plunge through Palpatine’s heart. Plagueis gave him a somewhat compliment. “You survived five seconds longer than last time.”

Plagueis drew away and went on, “You must always be aware of your surroundings. Always think at least one step ahead. And most of all, dispatch with it quickly.”

Plagueis and Palpatine dueled more. Two sabers scorching against one. Palpatine’s face creased with agitation as time and time again he was bested by his master.

After another win for Plagueis they ceased. Palpatine’s master withdrew his lightsaber and Palpatine did likewise. Plagueis cleared his throat, “And the most important lesson of all. Fight as though you are staving off Death. Let your fear consume you. Let all your feelings guide your actions.” He paused, letting that sink in. “There is no greater motivator than Death.”

Palpatine pondered for a few moments. All the time the Force had truly flowed and acted through him…was when he was afraid. At the Model GR he used the Force to stop the dangerous and out of control pod. In the turbolift it had been pure and utter fright that had saved him again, causing the turbolift to stop. When fear coursed through him, he was strongest.

Plagueis paced back and forth across the hazy lit room. “The only thing stronger than fear is…hate. It is the ultimate form of fear, the most powerful.” He spun around to his apprentice. “I am afraid one such as yourself has yet to experience…raw and utter hate, true abhorrence.”

A burning feeling welled in his chest. I have yet to? Palpatine’s brows knit together, and he tried to keep his expression impassive despite the blood rushing to his face. “I certainly have experienced such,” the young Sith spat.

“Oh please,” Plagueis sneered. He stood with his back to Palpatine staring out the shattered window to the sprawling expanse of the Works. Plagueis told the young Naboo, “I presume, you speak of Ovirelt?” Plagueis didn’t allow Palpatine to answer. “I know you do. That…that is child’s play.”

Palpatine stepped next to the Sith Lord. “Child’s play? I would hardly call that child’s play.” His fists started to shake. “She’s a good for nothing rich girl who has barely—”

Plagueis curtly interrupted his apprentice. “Let me ask you this, Sidious.” The smirking mask turned to the young Sith apprentice. “Have you ever flown into such a wild rage that your entire family has lain dead at your feet?”

Pardon me? Is that meant to be a rhetorical question? Palpatine took a few moments to process that single sentence. “I would say no.”

Plagueis laughed, it was that same cold and hollow laugh that made Palpatine’s skin prickle. The young Naboo would say it was more than…unnerving. “I, on the other hand, would have to say…yes,” Plagueis twiddled his two lightsabers. Palpatine took a cautionary step back.

“I sense your curiosity, Sidious. What are you thinking?” the Sith Lord asked. Palpatine’s gaze, which was downcast, darted up to his master. He had been so caught off guard he had forgotten himself, to cloak himself, to use that gift he seemed so profound in. It felt violating that Plagueis had tapped into Palpatine’s emotions.

“Nothing, master.” It was the first time Palpatine had used the title aloud. Momentous yet insignificant to the great event just revealed.

Plagueis encouraged, “Come, come, Sidious, ask and I will answer.” He waved a dismissive hand, “Things are meant to be transparent between us, aren’t they?”

Palpatine could sense that deadly curiosity creeping into his soul once more. He gathered his feelings, avoiding the Sith Lord’s unseen eyes. “I only wanted to ask—”

CLANK!

Palpatine and Plagueis’ necks simultaneously snapped in the direction of the sound. A flash of fear, not of Palpatine’s or Plagueis’ own rippled through the Force.

“Someone’s here,” Palpatine muttered.

“Yes, I sense it too,” Plagueis agreed. In one swift motion, Plagueis’ sabers were alit, gleaming in all their terrifying glory. “Find them…and bring them to me…” The Sith Lord commanded, his voice as sharp as a sickle.

To be Continued...

[ferinehuntressmoved]

　⸻ [ S ] TAR GUARDIAN VERSE .

Caitlyn Kiramman comes from a line of wealth. Her parents are wealthy billionaires, with her mother being within the commercial industry and her father within medical. Because of this, Caitlyn has always had the best of the best, private schooling and lessons but still, it wasn't a life that felt worth living. She took to her creativity heart, becoming a concert violinist who is famed around the world for her beautiful art on the string instrument.

The First star granted power to Caitlyn, but it was too easy for her to learn the truth. Her guardian medium Snow, a Snow Leopard with grace yet a feral natural, guides her and is often with her even in public (as a blue Bengal cat). With her natural detective skills, she learned the truth about the intertwining threads that lock them into a destiny and an unfortunate fate in the end.

Because of this, Caitlyn works to find another loophole, one that does not mean corruption and death. Caitlyn is a protector, and while many of the star guardians work to protect the world, she stood up to ask the question.

Who protects us?

So she works alone, with her partner Vi, to find a way to save themselves for a fate of darkness and death. Because if there is one loophole, there is another. And she is determine to find a way to protect the people who are dear to her, which includes not just Vi but also Jinx and Ekko.

　⸻ [ S ] TAR GUARDIAN VERSE .

Vi Vanderdottir lost her parents due an unfortunate accident, and since then Vi and Jinx were taken in by Vander. The two sisters have been inseparable, and the day Jinx became a star guardian, Vi too, was granted the power of a star. Something always felt wrong about it, though, as if she had been suddenly tied down to something and she fought against it.

Her star guardian is that of a tiger, who is named Ashe. Ashe reflects Vi's sister's guardian, Shiro. Both with unique features standing up along their head and far more fierce looking then the normal guardian mediums. When Ashe is in public, she looks like a Toyger Cat.

With her Girlfriend, they are both trying to find a way to break these ties that have forced them into a fate they don't want. Vi doesn't worry too much about others, she is not concerned about protecting the world or much else; only seeking to protect the people that are important to her. Jinx, Caitlyn, and Vander are what matter to her, and she will do anything to protect them.

Vi owns a little book store, something she has always wanted to do as she wants to provide the world to Jinx in all the books she love; from teh fantasy to even the darkest horror, she has everything. Just because the rugged brute of a woman looks like a boxer, doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy a bit of creativity in her life. She lives with Caitlyn and spends time with her sister Jinx and her best buddy, Ekko.

Because what is life without those she loves?

[marengogo]

NAKED - 5: The Occurrence and Development of Events by Chance in a Happy or Beneficial Way [PART 1].

Oh No! by Mindy Gledhill [Pocketful of Poetry]

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

On November 21, 2022, when JK safely returned to South Korea from Qatar, I first, and foremost, thanked whatever Superior Being is out there like I always do whenever someone I care about gets on a plane, including myself. Then, I awkwardly smiled at myself accepting the fact that:

Yup. We wait. We wait because Jikook have this interesting pattern, from circa 2019, where they go dead silent whenever they are at a close radius from each other, but start becoming very social and SM savvy when apart. And yes, the company, and even the members, will upload videos, pictures, etc, with them in it, together or individually, almost as if to say “they are alive and well!”; but not them.

Jikook will not upload anything, when they are at a close radius. Even JK, who likes to interact with his members on IG, will do so, but will not interact with ARMY or any non-band related activity. At least not that I’ve noticed. But that’s just my own observation, don’t mind me. Anyways, because I’ve had a shitty week and I seemed to be painfully missing them, I decided to sit my ass down, and between Netflix shows, life and unhealthy snacking, I began to write a “Story”.

A peculiar story of two ordinary, but not so ordinary, young men. An ongoing story collecting unbelievably cute, and sometimes rather extraordinary, facts. A based-on-real-facts story, very much built on the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way, otherwise also known as; Serendipity.

Hence, as every respectable book, I'll begin with providing you with the following table of contents:

[PROLOGUE] - 35.1796°N, 129.0756°E 

[CHAPTER 1] - Lucky Number 13 

[CHAPTER 2] - The Dancer who could Sing & The Singer who could Dance

[CHAPTER 3] - Just Let Me Love You … Please Love Me

[END OF MY STORY] - Thinking. Loving. Clicking.

Great! So Let's start now, shall we?

・35.1796°N, 129.0756°E 

The planet is Earth, the coordinates are 35ish degrees North, 129ish degrees East, and the dates are two: October 13, 1995 and September 1, 1997. During these two particular sets of dates, two boys, who’s destinies would be almost magically intertwined, were born. Because of them and five others, life would never be the same for many citizens on planet Earth, but even more specifically, for the boys themselves.

Now, even though both families had quite different backgrounds and life scenarios, coincidentally, they raised the boys within environments that were very loving and which fostered and encouraged freedom of expression and self though “one’s self” is very hard to grasp at the very beginning stages of your life. Nevertheless, at first glance, the boys grew up to be almost quite the opposite of each other. For example the older boy, Park Jimin (JM), shaped himself into becoming quite versed in plenty of disciplines, on top of becoming a model student. He would also turn out to be an extrovert who didn’t believe in fate.

On the other hand the younger one, Jeon Jungkook (JK), who also was unbelievably talented and had interest in a plethora of activities, would not find much interest in academics. He’d then be known to be quite the introvert with a deep believe in fate.

I know what you are thinking 😌… It sounds exactly like the plot of that one guilty pleasure coming-of-age romance we all REALLY love to read/watch maybe secretly, doesn't it? The one where the geeky girl/boy/enby end up with the badass girl/boy/enby after meeting at their worst but deciding to stay together for an unforeseen best. But this is most definitely how this story begins. Coincidence? Fate? Who knows right? Now, if we were to take a step further and imagine them as “complete polar opposites”, Angel & Demons if you may, and mind you, do not be fooled by the intrinsic nature of said beings there’s plenty of devilish angels and goodwilled demons, at this point, you might be wondering:

How did this ethereal genius 👆🏾manage to cross paths with this underworld prodigy 👇🏾?

And now back to reality. Basically, how did an extrovert nonbeliever manage to connect with an introvert believer? Well, being that they were born and did live at the same set of coordinates, 35.1796°N, 129.0756°E, also known as Busan, they must have bumped into each other at some point. Right? I mean this would be the obvious “encounter scenario” in this movie genre. Right?

Wrong..

Eventually, in the Spring of 2011, JK would travel all the way to the capital, Seoul, in order to begin the pursuit of his own dreams, and so would JM, in Spring of 2012, a whole year later. As fate, or chance, would want it, their dream-chasing destination would lead them to the exact same destination: Big Hit Entertainment. There, they would join 5 other talented boys and, unbeknownst to them, would ultimately become one of the biggest group of all time.

Anyways, let me go ahead and post this, because 1899 is regrettably for all of you HELLA INTERESTING and I really wanna watch a couple of episodes more 😬😬. As for the rest of the chapters, I do believe I want to write it all in the next post (or maybe 2 posts max) and if luck wants it to be so, it might be later on today! But I won’t let you wait for too long at least I’ll try not to.

So for now, I just saw that Taekook's RUN BTS challenge has just been uploaded, so let's go and enjoy that! (... even in the darkness of it all, Tae looks like a snacc NGL).

Always respectfully yours 🫰🏾💜,

Marengo.

[rou2464]

Granblue 10th anni event thoughts (semi-spoilers)

Part of me wishes it revolved a little more around Abramelin; yes, we pretty much knew all about him but I feel like there could’ve been something more.

It was nice seeing Sandy taking on his role as Supreme Primarch (not like he hasn't been ever since WMTSB, it's just nice to see a little more emphasis on it)

Archangel crumbs

Ennead's (visual) designs are amazing! I like all of them equally, but if I had to choose one as a favorite, I'd say Bennu.

Speaking of Enneads, it was nice to learn about them and their origins. I'd like to see a side story in the future that explores more about them (or if they become playable, their fate episode is similar to the archangels where it shows how they're fitting in skyfaring society).

I understand anni events (and collabs) split the story in multiple parts for pacing, but for some reason I had some confused when the second part came out.

I can't put it into words, but it felt like the second part was like a summary of the events in the first part and then had the actual 'present' events slapped on (if what I'm trying to say is the transition felt a little off).

Despite this, part 2 was helpful in filling in some plot holes/possible questions about Abramelin and the Enneads, a little sad about Hauhet though :/

Nanashi🫶🏼

Speaker's Lore/ more archangel crumbs

Part 2 also turned me into a Ceodric lover to a Ceodric hater (when ur goat is washed 😔)

Part 3 is made up for part 2, in terms of transitions. It just felt smoother I can't really explain it.

Cagliostro🫶🏼

Pandemonium lore? (kind of?)

Six Dragons mentioned

WMTSB, OLD BOND, ...and you lore intertwines a little

Nanashi🫶🏼

Learning more about the whole 'Phoenix being split in two' thing was v interesting and lowkey had me at the edge of my seat.

Actually, it made me grimace a little (tugged on my heartstrings).

Another summary of Abramelin lore, but with a little more details (cygames please, you can't leave me off like this, I need more).

Thank you Seofon for dealing with that FRAUD

Cagliostro-verse

The buildup to the final fight was really nice + the fight itself had me like :0 (in a good way). Now I'm curious, is Gran's/Djeeta's power limitless?

Learning more of the Phoenix was great, but to paraphrase

Learning about the Phoenix was great, and to paraphrase the story, it really is a confusing entity with strange wagers (Maybe in the future there'll be more about it).

The resolution of the fight was a bit disappointed, but for lore reasons I understand why it happened.

The ending was okay? I have mixed emotions.

It wasn't necessarily bad, it's just a little cliche imo. IIRC we knew everywhere we've been/heard of was connected (the Moon, The Rift, Estalucia, etc.), but I feel like that ending was just like "Oh yeah! One more thing." Regardless, I do want to know if they plan of delving into it in for a future story event (or maybe even the main story).

tl;dr

I like the event, though there are some things I wish that were explored a little more with Abramelin, the Enneads, and the Phoenix. It was nice to see recurring characters and their involvement (esp Cagi). The final fight was great and it leaves me wondering about MC's potential, and I hope to see another story or something in the main story that continues on from the ending.

[stocky2016]

A brief respite, but a "new" collaboration between "G"and "M":where poetry's soul becomes the new focus...We not only "read" but "feel" the poetry "experience" and

we sincerely both hope you enjoy and share our passions.

"Poetry's Soul"

(Inspired by the quote from Vladimir Mayakovsky (Russian, 1893-1930)

The rhythm of words comes from my poetry's soul

reflecting in life what's most evocative and whole

Whilst my creative heart is typing my poetry away

a flawless aesthetic beauty in words that are here to stay

Clarity of thoughts needs to come to the fore

finding truthful words between the lines but so much more...

The heart beats strongly its messages designed to revive

with life and its music, the never ending story we survive

We may change...the future can alter as we choose

But the sincerity and figurative words we must never lose

the steady potency of our inner poetic voice

insisting it's heard, despite the distraction of daily noise.

Words that excite me and motivate me to carry on

capturing the feeling of memories, struggles begotten

Helping me become a better poet by the time I'm done,

the challenge of writing such poetry language helps me carry on.

The richness of our language is a tool box of possibility

its enshrined in literature and uttered so passionately,

It uplifts the spirits and helping set our imagination free,

for awesome resonance to create endlessly.

Despite the challenge of a world evolving, and that never halts

our poetic essence will survive even maybe even exalt.

Becoming the emotional experience that lies deep in our souls

no matter what our eventual fate, when "shared" become "whole"

Take away my poetry, the one way I record how I feel

and you will undoubtedly expose my Achilles Heel...

I can just lose myself in composing a poetry piece,

nothing serves me better than to extending my creative space.

My soul needs to vent its feelings and to share with others

literary concepts and innovations from under the covers

But it's poetry that's my vehicle, my voice, my everything

my ultimate means of communicating.my soulful feelings.

When words intertwine in a marvellous dance,

and the pen caresses the paper, gracefully...

When verses come to life, vibrating with emotion,

then poetry is born, in a beautiful explosion.

A poem is much more than a simple assembly,

of rhymes and syllables, it transcends the ages,

It carries the soul away, lulling it to sleep,

like an impetuous torrent, ready to pour.

If a poem hasn't torn you apart,

you haven't known magic, I suggest,

for poetry, with a flaming pen,

can take you far away, to another reality.

It can be as gentle as the wind's caress,

or violent like the flames of a burning fire,

It can make you smile, cry or think,

it can reveal truths, make them spring forth.

A poem is a journey to the heart of the human soul,

a mirror in which to observe our pain,

But also our joy, our hopes and our passions,

a reflection of our lives, our emotions.

So let yourself be intoxicated by their melodies,

by these words filled with grace and poetry,

Let them touch you, embrace you with delight,

and maybe, just maybe, your soul will be conquered.

For if a poem can tear your being apart,

then you will have experienced its true greatness,

Poetry, that alchemy, that divine art,

that transcends limits and moves the human heart.

© Geoff Stockton in close collaboration with his co-writing Muse and poetess

© Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

13th December 2023

(Graphics courtesy of Google Images)