#I would’ve loved to see her and gold and red and purple

[stark-cregan]

after watching the borgias, it really puts into perspective how disappointing (and boring) the costuming for hotd is

which isn’t to say that hotd costumes aren’t nice (because some of them are) but they could certainly be better

[nikethestatue]

Happy birthday to my bestie, my mate, my Elriel sister @tswaney17

I wouldn't have joined this fandom without her. So if anything, blame her! Jokes aside, I hope you have a marvelous year and meet your own stranger in the night. Please enjoy!

One shot

Summary: Elain Archeron is celebrating her birthday and happens to meet an enigmatic and mysterious stranger who upends her world

She smoothed her black bodysuit over her hips, though it wasn’t wrinkled and then tousled her hair, in what she hoped, was sexy, beachy curls.  

Anyone else would’ve told her that she looked great—well put together, elegant, and not trying too hard. But to her self-critical eye, she saw a slew of imperfections. Hips too wide, breasts too large, stumpy fingers...She could stand here all night and critique herself, but what would be the point? It was what it was, right? Some part of her though, liked what stared back. The black bodysuit hugged her in all the right places, and paired with strappy golden heels and some delicate gold jewelry, she looked...nice. Not quite her 31 years old. Her friends always said that she was a ‘young 30’. She looked about 24. But inside, there were days when she felt 78.  

Oh well. Time to go. That’s not to say that she didn’t want to back out of her solo restaurant trip about 25 times today. Internally, she’s been telling herself that she is too busy, too tired, too poor, and that staying in with a bottle of wine and pizza would be just fine. Another part of her wanted to get out. Even if she looked like a loser, dining alone. At least it was a Wednesday night—not the weekend—so she could theoretically make up a story of being on a business trip. Not that anyone’s going to ask. But she needed that security blanket for herself: “I am eating alone, because I am here on business’. Yeah, that sounded legit. She was a successful, professional woman, determined and confident, and she was on business in Chicago.  

She grabbed her clutch and headed out.  

It was a warm evening by Chicago standards. The middle of April could be blustery or it could be blistering. You never knew. Tonight was lovely, actually. Trees were in full bloom—white, pink, yellow, assertive red, purple, even blue—bursting in flowers of every shape and size along the streets of her neighbourhood.  

Beatrice was a quint restaurant in Fulton Market. Or as ‘quaint’ as a restaurant could be in the bustling, hipster corner of the city. She only knew it because she’d come here before with her stylish, popular co-worker, Morrigan. She recalled how Mor wore a pristine baby blue bodysuit, sky-high heels, and a sparkling silver belt studded with glittery gemstones. Mor’s hair was a waterfall of golden blonde, which cascaded sensually down her back. Her skin was flawless. Her makeup was perfection, and her nails the right shade of pearl. When they were seated, all the girls in the party immediately rattled off a list of things they didn’t eat, were allergic to, and ‘avoided’. Mor announced that she was ‘celiac’ in a tone that implied that obviously she was celiac! And then proceeded to order bread. When the waiter told her that bread has gluten, Mor said that ‘she was allowed to today’.  

Back then, she’d ordered something called the Straight ‘A’ Salad, not wanting to tuck into something juicy and fatty in front of everyone. It ended up being empty and unsatisfying. But she still wanted to go back there, because the other items on the menu looked good, the vibe was nice and not overwhelming, and the drinks were inventive. If nothing else, she’d get her full in alcohol. 

“Follow me, Miss,” the hostess beckoned her and she scurried quickly between tables, wanting to be seated as soon as possible. 

It was nice. The table was by the wall, and she could see inside the restaurant and out the window. She laid her clutch on the table and exhaled. She was here. She was in her place, in her chair.  

She made it. 

“Are we celebrating anything tonight, Miss?” the waiter asked, when he approached with the menu. 

“Oh no,” she laughed, “I am on a business trip.” 

“And do you have any allergies?” 

“No!” she stated decisively. No. She is going to eat what she wanted. No faux allergies for her. 

The drinks menu looked a bit intimidating. Lots of things with Mezcal and Elderflower and words like ‘smoked’ and ‘hibiscus ginger kombucha’. After discreetly googling what kombucha was, she gagged and decided on a Lemond Drop. Safe and sound. 

The waiter wasn’t exactly impressed by her choice, but she didn’t care. Instead, she ordered Cheddar Popovers with bacon butter, and green chili queso for appetizers. It harkened back to her California upbringing, where things were less formal, the food less complicated, and the loneliness less acute. She suddenly and desperately missed her sisters, who lived back home. She missed the sun, tacos, trips to Sacramento and the simpler life she had back home.  

Sighing, she sipped her cocktail and looked around. It was fairly bustling, couples and friends chatting animatedly, drinking their complicated drinks and laughing. But...she felt okay. Not amazing, but okay. It was peaceful.  

It felt peaceful until her eyes fell on a singular, solitaire figure of a man, who sat at the bar, with a drink in front of him. The reason she even paid attention to him was because he was literally breathtakingly beautiful. So handsome, her breath stalled in her chest. Big. So goddamn big, it felt like he was sucking the air into the vortex of a black hole that he’d created just by simply...being. He sat, unmoving, in a sharply cut suit and a white shirt, unbuttoned at his neck. The other reason why she looked at him was because he was staring back at her. Big, bold, unflinching stare. Those incredible, luminescent eyes almost glared at her, and she wished she’d know what colour they were. The man’s face remained impassive, but he continued staring, even once she’s averted her eyes and squirmed in her seat. And now, all she could feel was his stare, following her every move. It was suddenly hot, and she felt her nipples pop like tiny Whack-A-Moles beneath her bodysuit. Served her right for not wearing a bra! Jesus Mary and Joseph. Well, her evening was ruined just like that. Instead of being at peace with her lemon drop and her popovers, she was not being scorched by the gaze of this absurdly handsome man, and all she wanted to do was look his way and see if he was still looking at her. While she didn’t want him to be looking at her. But she wanted to make sure that he was. Oh, god. What. The. Hell. 

She was on the verge of fanning herself, before realising that she’d be looking like she was having hot flashes, and it was too early for that. Her nipples were hard as bullets and she was forced to cover her breasts with her folded arms, just to maintain some sense of decorum. As she ‘busied’ herself with her drink, she snuck a momentary glance at the man. He was still there, but no longer looking at her. Instead, he was on his phone, and a deep sense of regret and longing washed over her at once. 

He was interested in her for 23 seconds.  

That was it. 

But she supposed that for the most handsome man in the world to take notice of her for 23 seconds was sufficient enough. 

“Miss, your popovers,” the waiter stepped up to the table, placing one plate down in front of her, and then the other, “and queso. Please be careful, it’s hot.” 

The food looked fine, but somehow, she no longer felt particularly hungry. She wasn’t sure if it was because the man was no longer looking at her, or because he was looking at her before. Did she want him to look at her? No. No, she didn’t. He was entirely outside her comfort zone, with his piercing gaze and his unnaturally good looks and he was definitely a player, so there was no need for all of this.  

On her birthday, all she wanted was peace and quiet. She didn’t need smouldering men giving her the death stare. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on her food. The popovers were light and fluffy and crispy on the outside, and the bacon butter was to die for. Sinful, but so, so good. 

She sunk into her seat, enjoying her cocktail and alternating between the popovers and then the rich, spicy queso. She was still deciding on the main course—penne with spicy vodka sauce? Slow cooked short rib?  

“Miss,” 

Her contemplation was interrupted by the waiter, who was holding a drink. 

“From the gentleman at the bar,” he said and placed the drink in front of her. 

Her mouth fell open. Whaaat... 

Timidly, she allowed her eyes to travel to the bar and sure enough, there he was. Staring. A small, secret smile touched his beautiful mouth and he inclined his head just a bit. She didn’t exactly know how to act in these situations. Was she supposed to drink the drink that he sent? Invite him over? Go over there herself? Ignore him like a total douche? 

Okay, first things first. She raised the pretty coupe glass to her lips and tentatively sipped the drink. Sour and smokey, with a touch of sweetness and heavy on lemon flavour, this was definitely a whiskey drink. And she didn’t like whiskey. But for some reason, she really liked this. She took another sip, a bolder one, and then glanced at the man. He was smiling, as he watched her drink, and when she swallowed, he winked at her. Approving? Enjoying watching her? Smug? Pleased? She wasn’t sure. But she... 

“Ready to order, Miss?” the waiter was back, and she absently said ‘fish tacos’ which isn’t what she even wanted, but she was too scrambled to come up with a better idea. “Very good,” the waiter chirped, and before he disappeared, she said, “can you ask the gentleman who bought the drink to join me?” 

Her throat was dry. Her underarms were sweaty. 

WHAT was she doing?? 

She never did anything like this before? Inviting strange men to eat with her? Never! 

“If he wants to,” she added quickly and the waiter nodded.  

God, please say no. Please. Please god, let him say no. I don’t want it. I don’t. 

There he was. Moving through the restaurant like the Angel of Death. Dark and tall and slim and muscular. Jesus. He was actually coming over! Oh. No. Nononononono. 

And then he was standing at her table, how own drink in hand. 

“I wasn’t sure if Whiskey Sour was the way to go,” he said—his deep, dark, raspy voice matching his appearance to a tee. "But it looks like I did well.” 

She swallowed hard and then muttered, “Is that what it is?” 

Yep, it sounded lame even to her own ears. 

“Indeed,” he confirmed. “First time?” 

Somehow, this made her blush. A simple question, and a correct assumption, but for some reason, it was laced with innuendo. 

Their eyes finally locked.  

Hazel. His eyes are a gorgeous greenish amber colour, spectacular like the rest of him. 

He took a sip of his drink and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, swiping the droplet and that made her even sweatier than she was before. Soon she was going to be sweating like a sumo wrestler—which of course is the most enticing look a woman could sport.  

“No, I’ve had it before,” she finally managed to answer. 

He smirked a knowing smile. 

“Have you?”  

As he was looming over her and attracting way too much attention from the females of the species, and even some males, she all but ordered him, “you can sit down!” 

He smiled again, that smooth, secret smile, saying, “I thought you’d never ask”. 

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just watched him in silence as he slid onto a chair across from her.  

“Thanks for the drink,” feeling awfully uncomfortable, knowing she was not great at small talk, and completely out of depth with this man, she thought that this was all a pretty bad idea. What was supposed to have been a quiet and nice evening alone, was turning into...well, she wasn’t sure what it was turning into, but it was something.  

“You aren’t waiting for anyone, are you?” he asked, sounding curious. “I wouldn’t need to fight a boyfriend or something...I mean, I’ll win, but,” 

She huffed, and snorted a laugh. 

“So confident?” 

He shrugged, “pretty confident”. After a pause, he pressed, “so?” 

“No,” she blushed despite her best efforts to appear cool. “I am here alone. On a business trip,” she lied smoothly, grateful for having this little nugget in her pocket.  

He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, lounging comfortably. Suddenly, he said,  

“Nope. Try again.” 

Startled, she glowered at him, not knowing what he meant. All the while, as she squirmed in confusion, he casually drank his whiskey, watching her closely. 

“What,” she brought her glass to her lips and took a generous swig of the drink, “what do you mean?” 

“Only that you are not being exactly truthful,” he shrugged, and then grabbed a popover and swallowed the whole thing easily. “You aren’t here on any business trip.” 

“What?!” she exclaimed with indignation. “Excuse me! How do you know? What do you mean?” 

His eyes slowly slid over her bare arms, her chest, her neck, and again, she blushed like a fool, but there was no stopping her body’s reaction to this strange man. 

He was...enigmatic.  

“A beautiful woman like you, wearing something so elegant and understated,” 

Understated? Did he mean boring? 

“is not in Chicago on any business trip. So, that makes me think—if you aren’t waiting for anyone, and you are dressed up, then you must be,” he cocked his head, considering, “celebrating something? A new job? A birthday?” 

Most of his words rolled right over her head, because all she heard was ‘a beautiful woman like you’. He thought that she was beautiful? He? HE thought that?  

“What?” she asked dumbly. 

He chuckled, amused. “You are a little naughty liar, is what I am saying,” 

“You can’t call me that!” 

“Then don’t lie to me.” 

She bubbled her lips and finished her drink. Finished already? Shit. 

He noticed it too and motioned for the waiter.  

“Another drink for the lady,” he ordered. “And I’ll take another whiskey. And,” he thought for a moment and added, “bring us a bottle of champagne.” He looked at her and asked, “what are you eating?” 

“I think I ordered fish tacos,” she recalled, watching him in confusion.  

“Want to eat them?” 

“I dunno.” 

“Mind if I cancel them and order us steaks?” 

“Uhh...okay?” 

He did just that, telling the waiter that he’d pay for the tacos as well.  

Who the hell was this guy? He flicked his fingers and just got whatever he wanted. The waiter didn’t even question him! ‘Of course, sir’ ‘Whatever you want, sit’ ‘Right away, sir’.  

“So, is it your birthday?” he asked once the waiter ran to fetch the drinks. Literally, ran.  

“No.” 

His brows knitted together and he pursed his lips. 

Something about him and his look made goose bumps rise on her skin and she shifted under the table, crossing her legs. This guy and his unbelievable dominating bossiness were both scary, but also highly sexual. She knew that she was a bit of a submissive at heart, but that was mostly because she read way too many omegaverse books. But now, she was faced with a true Alpha. When they spoke of an Alpha Male, she suddenly became aware that she was in the presence of one. He wasn’t just tall, dark and handsome—even if he was a walking cliche with all of these attributes. But it was his undeniable, almost God-given natural dominance and superiority that she found so fascinating. And yes, so appealing as well.  

“It’s not your birthday?” he repeated. 

“N-no,” she bleated pathetically. 

He didn’t respond immediately, but only drummed his fingers on the table, and she noticed that his hands were scarred. Rather extensively. Burns, from what she could tell. Jesus. How did he get these? And both hands, too.  

“Lie to me again, and I will take you over my knees and spank that perfect bottom until you beg for mercy,” he warned, his voice impassive, his face unchanged.  

Her mouth dropped open and she thought that she was going to slide under the table and dissolve into a puddle. 

Was she supposed to cause a scene and slap him? Was she supposed to storm out of the restaurant? How does one reacted to being threatened by a spanking by a complete stranger? 

Also, he thought that her ass was ‘perfect’? 

“Let’s start anew, beautiful girl,” he proposed then, while she made silent gasping noises like a dying fish. 

The waiter arrived just then, and only that prevented her from fainting or screaming out loud. He popped the champagne bottle with flourish and poured both of them a measure, while also setting their cocktails down before them. 

“Don’t come back until the food is ready,” the stranger warned the waiter and the man nodded and left without saying a word. 

“What is your name?” 

She swallowed, but remembering his warning, she decided to go with the truth this time. 

“Elain.” 

“Gorgeous name,” he approved. “It suits you. I am Azriel.” 

“Azriel,” an exotic name for an exotic man. “Nice to meet you. I think?” she ventured and extended her hand to him. 

“Pleasure is certainly all mine,” he said, squeezing her hand in his huge, warm, powerful palm, watching her with strange, almost palatable hunger. “Whether you’ll receive pleasure from me or not remains to be seen,” he decided vaguely and she bit her lip, sensing that innuendo again and not knowing how to deal with it. 

The one time a guy was instantly interested in her, and he is a dangerous weirdo. Figures. Just her luck. 

He raised his glass and said, “Happy birthday, Elain! I hope it’s wonderful to you.” 

“Thank you. That remains to be seen, I think,” she said softly and they touched their glasses. She sucked the champagne quickly, and with a sense of foreboding and some kind of desperation. She had no idea where this was going, or what he wanted from her. But she wanted it to continue. At least for the duration of this dinner. 

“What do you do?” he inquired, dipping a chip into the queso, but instead of eating it, he held it out to her. She looked around, in some kind of futile hope that someone would save her from this, but there was no one. Only this stunning, somewhat insane man, who was feeding her chips and dip. 

“Come on, beautiful Elain. Open up,” he urged soft, his voice smooth and husky and so tempting.  

Numb, and only driven by the sound of that sensual voice, she opened her mouth and he gently pushed the chip inside. As she pulled it between her teeth, he brushed his finger over her lower lip and then brought it to his mouth and sucked. 

“More?” he whispered and then concluded, “more.” 

He dipped another chip and fed it to her again. 

“So?” 

“I am in marketing,” she answered, knowing in advance that hers was the most uninspiring answer in history. But she was more preoccupied by the fact that she was being fed chips by a strange man in the middle of a restaurant. 

“And you live in the city?” he asked further. “Please don’t even start with the whole ‘I am here on business’.” 

She sighed and admitted, “Fine, I am from the suburbs. But I work in the city. What do you do?” 

He didn’t seem too thrilled about her question and took his time eating the last of the popovers. 

“Do you really want to know?” he asked finally. 

“Yes, of course. Why not?” 

“You might not like it.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? What do you do? Kill people?” she joked. 

He smiled at her, but the smile was less of a smile, and more just a stretch of his lips. The smile didn’t reach his eyes 

“And if I am?” he wondered at last. 

She frowned and then it dawned on her and she laughed, “what? You kill people?” 

“Maybe.” 

A shiver ran down her spine and she gawked at him in shock. Until she dissolved in a flurry of laughs. 

“You had me there for a sec!” she wiggled her finger at him. “A+ for a perfect deadpan delivery! I am impressed.” 

He didn’t seem to be laughing, but he added, “but they were all bad”. 

She stopped laughing and nervously shifted in her seat. 

“Wait. What?” 

“You wanted to know what I did for a living,” he reminded her. 

As she processed his words, he just sat there, watching her intently. 

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed at last, realisation dawning on her, “it’s a scam, right?! You are one of those guys who pretends to be an assassin, or a millionaire, or in the CIA and then I fall for it, and in two months you’ll start asking me for money and I blow all my savings on you and then never hear from you again.” 

Shaking her head in disbelief she grabbed her napkin and then said, “thank you for the drink, Mr. Azriel. But I am not stupid. I appreciate the gesture—the razzle dazzle—but let’s part ways right here so that no one leaves here too traumatised.” 

He listened to her impassively and in the next moment, the waiter arrived with their steaks.  

She was hungry and upset, but she knew that she couldn’t stay here any longer and remain in his company. The whole thing was too bizarre and she didn’t want to get in trouble. And this man was clearly trouble. Or maybe troubled. Or both. 

“Azriel, I am,” 

“Sit,” he ordered, though his tone was soft. “You are safe with me. Don’t worry. But you did ask me what I did for a living,” he insisted again. 

“Well, when I did ask you, I didn’t expect for you to tell me that you are some kind of a killer!” she snapped, her voice rising. 

“I’d rather you didn’t yell,” he requested. “However, I wanted to tell you,” 

“Why?!” she exclaimed. “Don’t killers usually try and keep their profession,” she made a quotation mark sign with her fingers, “a secret?” 

“Normally, yes,” he agreed. “But, I want you to trust me and I felt that being honest is the best way to earn that trust.” 

“Trust me? Why? And,” 

“Because I want you,” he interrupted her and his tone was blunt, but calm. 

“Wha,” 

“I want you,” he repeated. “I saw you and you...well, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And now, I am obsessed with the idea of learning what you’d look like when I enter you. What sounds you’d make when you come on my tongue.” 

At that, the big steak knife fell out of her trembling fingers and she wondered if she was having some kind of out of body experience. An ‘episode’? She wasn’t prone to episodes, but hell, there was a first time for everything, right? 

He shrugged, and continued like this was a perfectly sane conversation they were having, “Sorry if this is a bit unorthodox,” 

An understatement of the century! 

“However, I am not one to mince words,” 

Another understatement of the century. 

“And when I want something, I go after it. And right now, I want you.” 

She made a gurgling sound, but he ignored it, then cut into his steak, and chewed slowly.  

“However, you don’t strike me as someone who sleeps around or who is used to the type of man I am,” 

Was any woman? 

“Therefore, I wanted to build a baseline of trust between us. Like I said, you have nothing to fear from me. I am simply a man, interested in a woman.” 

He was anything but, but okay. 

“So,” she finally found her voice which was lost somewhere in the bottom of her stomach, “telling me you are an assassin is your way of establishing a baseline of trust?” 

He looked at her hand, which was clutching a butter knife, her knuckles white, and smiled faintly. 

“I suppose so.” 

She reached for the bottle of champagne, but her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely grasp it. Smoothly, he took the bottle and topped off her glass. This was probably the worst idea—to continue drinking—but she couldn't think of anything else. 

“Why don’t you relax and eat,” he suggested. “The steak is cooked perfectly.” 

“I don’t think I am hungry.” 

“Nonsense. Lay down your weapon of choice, dig into your dish and relax a bit. Have fun. It's your birthday!” 

He then raised his glass and mused, ‘what should we toast to?” 

“Me remaining sane after this dinner,” she muttered under her breath. 

He laughed.  

“How about ‘to the future’? Because tomorrow with you is worth every yesterday I spent without you,” he said and she almost choked.  

He couldn’t be for real.  

No man talked like that. Ever. 

“Listen, I know I could a little blunt, but in my line of work, I have to move quickly and I typically don’t get many second chances. And I don’t want to miss my chance with you,” he drank his champagne and watched her attempt to concentrate on her steak. “And when I said that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I am being honest. I saw you across the restaurant and you kind of blew my mind. It happens, you know,” 

“No, it doesn’t,” she argued. “Only in romance novels.” 

“Okay,” he shrugged, “so we have a romance novel beginning, so what?” 

“It’s not real,” she insisted.  

“Well, while you think on that, tell me when I can kiss you, because I’d really, really would like to kiss you right now,” 

“Never!” she shrieked. “Stop talking like that!” 

She desperately needed him to stop talking. Stop using that sensual, deep baritone to say deliciously sinful things to her. Because if he continued, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She kept trying to shield her breasts from him, since her nipples were achingly sharp, threatening to poke through the top of her body suit. And between her legs—disaster. She was flooded. Every glance at his strong, powerful hands made her wonder what they’d feel like between her thighs. What his soft lips would taste like if he did get that kiss from her. And every word he said just made her wetter and wetter. She feared she’d have a stain on her clothes once she got up from her seat, and the thought alone was mortifying.  

“I think you should let me kiss you,” he insisted, watching her intently. 

“No, I am not kissing you!” 

God, this steak was good!  

“How about this then,” he proposed slowly, “I scoot closer to you, and you let me play with your clit, while you eat, and then you come all over my hand. I pay the bill and we go to my place and I’ll continue making you come. Because all I want to do right now is kiss every inch of your porcelain skin, and fuck your soft, lovely mouth and watch my dick disappear between those rosy lips. And then you’ll come on my dick in your perfect pussy and ask for more, while screaming my name. And if you let me, I’ll fuck that gorgeous ass as well and will make you come from that as well. And then you’ll sleep in my arms and in the morning, we’ll go get breakfast.” 

She watched him in dull astonishment, her brain failing to work properly as she attempted to process his words.  

This really couldn’t be real. At all. No man, in the history of mankind, ever said words like these to a woman.  

Yes, he just sat there, with her perfect face and his perfect body, and waited. 

“And then you’ll go and kill some people at work?” was all she managed to say to his explicit monologue.  

She’s never been fucked anywhere, let alone her ass. So yeah. 

“Well, not at work. For work,” he corrected. 

“Uh uh,” she sighed. “And you are okay with me knowing about that then?” 

“Like I told you, I want you to trust me.” 

“Uh uh,” she sighed again. Then she set her napkin aside and told him calmly, 

“Azriel, it certainly has been an interesting evening. I thank you. I am not sure I’ll ever forget it, or you, but...I don’t think that I am the girl you need,” 

“All me to decide that,” he argued sharply. 

She chewed the inside of her cheek, before clarifying, “I suppose I choose not to be that girl for you.” 

“Why?” 

“I like my boring little life. It suits me. And you...you don’t suit me or my life.” 

She couldn’t even believe her own assertiveness. She was rarely like this.  

“It’s unfortunate,” he said sadly. “Forgive me if I offended you,” 

“Astonished, more like,” 

“Better than offended.” 

She got up from her chair and her knees felt soft and shaky, and for the first time she understood what ‘jelly legs’ were. She had jelly legs because of him.  

“Thank you for dinner. I better be going.” 

“I’d like to walk you to your car,” he offered. 

“I think it’s a bad idea. Besides, I am getting an Uber. I drank too much. Goodbye, Azriel.” 

She rushed out of the restaurant and onto the bustling Fulton Market, where there were hundreds of people milling around. Her fingers trembling, she got her phone out of her clutch and pressed the Uber button on the verge of hysteria now. She didn’t know where she was going even, so she pressed ‘home’ even though she knew this Uber would host like $60 at least. But she needed to get away. Away from here, away from him, away from making a bad decision. Very bad, terrible decision that she was yearning to make right now. 

3 minutes. 

3 minutes. 

Okay, she just needed to make it for 3 minutes out here, until the car came. 

She glanced at the phone frantically, over and over again, watching the little car move along the street diagram. 

Suddenly, a familiar scarred hand reached over her shoulder and grabbed her phone.  

“Wait! Give it back!” she demanded desperately. 

Azriel smiled at her and then typed something in her phone.  

“Now you have my number.” 

A text chimed, and he added, “and I have yours”. 

“We’ll never see each other again,” she promised. 

“We’ll see,” he said simply. 

Finally, Honda Civic! Blue! There she was!  

She bounced on her heels impatiently, hoping he wouldn’t do anything, and yet hoping that he would at the same time. 

Ugh. 

“Goodbye, Azriel,” she said again. 

He opened the door for her politely and before she folded herself into the car, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. 

“Happy birthday, beautiful. I’ll see you later.” 

-

Azriel ‘The Shadow’ Night had two problems on his hands. 

As he watched the Honda weave in and out of busy traffic, he lit a cigarette—an occasional bad habit of his—and inhaled deeply. 

Nothing that he told her was a lie. 

He did find her to be incredibly beautiful. And his attraction to her was instant and hit him like an avalanche. He’d never felt anything remotely like this before. He wanted her with every fiber of his being and know, innately, that their paths were crossed forever and for a reason. 

The only omission in his tale was that their meeting was not accidental. And that she was the target, who was his current assignment.  

Now, he needed to figure out how to murder her, while keeping her alive. 

[tragedy-peanut-gallery]

any headcanons about daeron ii's and myriah's sons?

WAUGGHHH YEESSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They’re probably gonna be a bit shorter than the girlies because…….. I hate men I guess /j

Baelor:

- Surprisingly the most normal of Daeron and Myriah’s kids even though the pressure placed on him since birth must’ve been I N S A N E. Probably would’ve snapped at some point if the brown haired gene didn’t come in clutch and neutralize the crazy in him

- And even tho canon tries to imply him having brown hair and a broken nose doesn’t make him as pretty as the other targs……… ignore them king, I KNOW there were probably hundreds of people writing some crazy rpf about this man!!1!1!!

- I also like to think he, Daemon and Daenerys were pretty close as kids. Like, yahhh ik their relationship probably rotted because Baelor was meant to feel inferior to Daemon and vice versa for differing reasons but…. Maybe I wanna make myself cry a bit. Maybe I wanna imagine them playing knights and dragons and stuff 🥲

- Definitely cared for Maekar a lot as his baby brother but also had a lot of trouble not seeing him as anything as his baby brother whichhhh….. probably made him come off as condescending a little okay he’s trying his best

Aerys:

- Asexual AND autistic, sorry I don’t make the rules and I’m not projecting onto him I swear don’t listen to what anyone else may tell you I-

- And the thing is, I’m sure he would’ve absolutely pulled a Vaegon if he could’ve, but honourably decided to stay behind for the sake of securing political allies for the throne (the citadel rejected his application because he cited his only strength as “reading”)

- Poor dude probably had some absolutely shitty sight due to eye strain, reading by candlelight in the dark is all fine and dandy until that becomes the only thing you do

- Ngl probably the biggest social outcast out of his brothers, I think the primary reason he trusted Brynden to handle everything when he became king was because he didn’t have that many friends/allies outside of Aelinor (not a big politics person), Shiera (witch girlie and also Brynden’s kinda gf) and Brynden himself so he was willing to go with whatever they wanted within reason

- Mans has no canonical death despite being a king so I’m personally gonna diagnose him with….. tetanus via iron throne in one of the few times he actually bothered to do king things

Rhaegel:

- I kinda like to think he was an artistic guy, really loved painting and drawing and probably would’ve tried out other mediums like pottery, embroidery and weaving if people didn’t stop him from doing so <3

- Probably dressed a lot more simply as an adult because he hated most fabric textures. Velvet and wool were his least favourites but tbh the only thing he could wear without getting fidgety in ten minutes would be cotton

- Also really hated when people touch his hair ngl! Dude has that really pretty targ men hair gene where it’s really long and flowy but that’s because he doesn’t like cutting it

- Okay tbh I like him but I don’t have that many thoughts on the guy 💀 I like to headcanon he drew a lot of dragons as kids and really liked telling his family what their dragons would look like and what he should name them and all that. His dragon would be light purple with red wings and gold horns and he’d call her Myrri after his mom :)))

Maekar:

- Absolutely the tallest and most athletic out of his brothers but absolutelyyyy suffering from an inferiority complex. No it doesn’t get any better when Baelor dies, if anything it gets much worse :(

- Had an unfortunate habit of getting people to dislike him, not completely his fault tho a lot of folks were just predisposed to thinking him to be kinda intimidating!!!

- Didn’t have a favourite with his kids, but Rhae was absolutely his baby because she was a lot like him when he was little in both looks and attitude lol

- Feeling a little angsty so I’m gonna say he had some memorabilia of Dyanna that he’d keep with him at all times. Like maybe a bit of her hair in a locket, or a portrait he’d keep in his room 🥲

[enchantedalexia]

every surprise song for the us leg *updated after each show

3/17 mirrorball & tim mcgraw

3/18 this is me trying & state of grace

3/24 our song & snow on the beach

3/25 cowboy like me feat. marcus mumford & white horse

3/31 sad beautiful tragic & ours

4/1 death by a thousand cuts & clean

4/2 jump then fall & the lucky one

4/13 speak now & treacherous

4/14 the great war feat. aaron dessner & you’re on your own, kid

4/15 mad woman feat. aaron dessner & mean

4/21 wonderland & you’re not sorry

4/22 a place in this world & today was a fairytale

4/23 begin again & cold as you

4/28 the other side of the door & coney island

4/29 high infidelity & gorgeous

4/30 i bet you think about me & how you get the girl

5/5 sparks fly & teardrops on my guitar

5/6 out of the woods & fifteen !!!

5/7 would’ve could’ve should’ve feat. aaron dessner & mine

5/12 gold rush & come back … be here

5/13 forever and always & this love

5/14 hey stephen & the best day

5/19 should’ve said no & better man

5/20 question…? & invisible

5/21 i think he knows & red (her piano broke during the last rain show)

5/26 getaway car feat. jack antonoff & maroon

5/27 holy ground & false god

5/28 welcome to new york & clean (again)

6/2 i wish you would & the lakes

6/3 you all over me feat marren morris & i don’t wanna live forever

6/4 hits different & the moment i knew

6/9 haunted & i almost do

6/10 all you had to do was stay & breathe

6/16 mr. perfectly fine & the last time

6/17 seven feat. aaron dessner & the story of us

6/23 paper rings & if this was a movie

6/24 dear john & daylight

6/30 i’m only me when i’m with you & evermore

7/1 ivy feat. aaron dessner & i miss you i’m sorry by gracie feat. gracie abrams & call it what you want to

7/7 never grow up & when emma falls in love

7/8 last kiss (on the koi fish guitar) & dorothea

7/14 picture to burn & timeless

7/15 starlight & back to december

7/22 this is why we can’t have nice things & everything has changed

7/23 message in a bottle & tied together with a smile

7/29 right where you left me feat. aaron dessner & castles crumbling

7/30 stay stay stay & all of the girls you loved before

8/3 i can see you & maroon (again)

8/4 our song (again) & you are in love

8/5 death by a thousand cuts (again) & you’re on your own, kid (again)

8/7 dress & exile

8/8 i know places & king of my heart

8/9 new romantics & new year’s day

purple- guitar songs pink-piano songs

[bloop-im-a-frog-now]

If The Gods Were Kind — cave pt.2

Hullo!!! Welcome to part 2 of the world-building part. We now get to meet Cleo, Bdubs and Impulse! Ain’t that fun? I love writing dialog, usually, but most of the dialog here comes from the CCs videos (god forbid we have all three hours of the session and so I have to look for scraps in other POVs). Anyway, enjoy!

Master Post 

— —

Content warnings: Internalized ableism

After stabilizing himself, he dug a sort of staircase, mining every coal and iron he found on his way. It was difficult mining, it took a lot of energy out of his arms, and had to roll his shoulders and take breaks before continuing. It was even harder going up and down, he had to use everything to help him get up and to get down as gently as he could.

Eventually, he took a look at his communicator, trying to see if it could help him with navigation. On the top right-hand corner, there were coordinates he didn’t see the first time he opened it. He was close to Y 8. Maybe he should go higher, closer to the surface. 

While digging up, he almost jumped into lava, and tried to understand what redstone would do. He smelt his iron and managed to craft some shoes and leggings. He came across some gold and wondered what other gemstones were hidden in these caves. As he mined more coal and different types of rocks, he heard faint voices. He looked around him, but saw no one. Maybe they were trapped in the stone. 

“Hello?” he called. 

The voices yelled, of joy or surprise, he wasn’t sure. Scar walked back and saw a name tag deep in the stone. “ZombieCleo” one read, but he could hear another voice. 

“Hellooo?” he called again.

“Hey! Where are you?” a more accented feminine voice asked. 

“Um, not sure,” he looked around.

“Here, wait, let me mine to you.”

“Cleo! What if they wanna kill us?” another voice said, displeased and with a much more different accent.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Scar tried to reassure, “I’m actually very lost.”

He mined where he could hear the voices clearly. The closer he got, the more prominent were the name tags. One was “BdoubleO100”, going back and forth to ZombieCleo and hiding out of his view. Finally, a path cleared, and his eyes landed on a zombie with fiery orange hair. 

“Well, hello there,” Scar greeted. He hoped this zombie wouldn’t bite him. He could still feel a gnawing sensation on his shoulder. He ate a pork chop.

“Hi,” she said, hesitantly. 

They had a flower crown around her head, red flowers, blue flowers, purple flowers. It was mostly keeping their long curly hair out of her face, or Scar figured that was its purpose. She was wearing a deep blue crop top, which complimented their blueish skin and fitted her plump and compact figure. Their shorts were ripped at the seams and had thigh-high striped socks with walking boots. 

“It’s nice to see a face around here,” Scar said conversationally. “Very easy to get lonely.”

She hummed. “Good thing I found Bdubs early on.”

He blinked, not quite sure if he understood what they said (it was hard to understand her with their accent, but he’d manage), and raised an eyebrow. “Deebubs?”

“Bee-dubz,” she articulated and pointed at the BdoubleO100 name tag, still hidden from his view. He tested the name, whispering it and trying to match Cleo’s pronunciation. “That guy over there.”

“Cleo! You can still hide!” someone said in a harsh whisper. She rolled their eyes.

“If he wanted to kill me, he would’ve done so by now.” Cleo crossed their arms, giving a death glare to Bdubs’ hiding spot.

Scar raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not here to kill anyone.”

She hummed, giving him an unimpressed look. “Good.” She glanced behind her. “Bdubs, come out of hiding, no need to be so paranoid.”

Bdubs shuffled out of his hiding spot. He had cream buzz cut hair, contrasting his darker brownish skin tone, though Scar saw the beginning of dark roots at his scalp. The iron chest plate didn’t cover the long blue sleeves, the same light blue as Cleo’s skin, but framed his barrel-chested and solid body. He had wide eyes and only seemed to be an inch taller than his companion beside him, and Scar was pretty certain he had a good head over Cleo. 

“I have my reasons!” he proclaimed. 

Cleo rolled their eyes and scoffed. Scar couldn’t hold in his nervous laughter and smiled at the interaction. 

“You wanna join us?” Cleo asked him, jerking her head to their partner. Bdubs made a protest noise and Scar hummed, intrigued.

“Sure. What’re you guys doing, exactly?”

“Just mining. Trying to find diamonds and survive the night.”

He gave them a skeptical look, eyebrow raised. “Mining to survive the night? Wouldn’t it be better to find a shelter and sleep?”

“That’s what I said!” protested Bdubs. Cleo scoffed once again. 

“We wouldn’t have survived, and I would rather sleep in a bed, thank you very much. A woman deserves comfort.”

Scar couldn’t help but agree. How he would love to lay his back on a soft and comfortable bed, ignoring the ache in his hips and calves. At least, he hoped it would dim the ache. He switched his walking stick sides, shifting his weight, gripping the handle tightly when he felt it wobble.

Bdubs squinted his eyes at Scar’s movements, but didn’t say anything. Or was he looking at Scar’s messy bandage on his shoulder, if he could even call it that? Or even the scars scattered around his body? Bdubs instead came closer to Cleo’s side.

“We should bring you to our main mining spot!” he suggested. Cleo glanced at him and a small smirk formed on their lips.

“Yeah, that way, you’ll meet Impulse too.”

Scar gave them both a bewildered look. “There’s more people?”

“Well, it would be stupid to think we’re the only ones here, in this big world.”

Scar didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t go further into the clearing because of the blue transparent wall blocking the way. But he felt it was important information. 

“I-I mean, where I was, there was just a barrier, and I was in a sorta valley. Pretty closed off from everyone,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

Cleo shrugged. “Fair assumption, then.”

“Hey, we should add you to our contact list!” Scar perked up at that, remembering the second message on his communicator.

Cleo nodded. “Yeah, actually, that’s a great idea. This mine can be quite big, we don’t know when someone will get lost.”

Scar grinned, taking his communicator out of his pocket. “Alright, but how exactly do I add you guys to my contact list?”

“Oh wait, here, lemme—” Bdubs snatched Scar’s communicator, tongue poking out, “—aaaand here we go! Now you have me and Cleo as contacts.”

“Awesome,” Scar said in amazement, looking at his communicator. The contact list and messages were pulled up in a different window. He could still see “Taking Inventory: Achieved”, but instead of indicating he had no contacts, it showed both Cleo’s and Bdubs’ names. He tried to see what other achievements he accomplished, using the arrow to scroll down the list. He had at least ten achievements and felt pride blooming in his chest, ignoring the ache that spread from his eyes to his temples.

Cleo and Bdubs guided him to their main mining spot. His two new companions whispered to each other. Scar could still hear what they were saying, but didn’t bother listening. After all, it was rude listening in on a conversation that didn’t include you. The tunnels twisted and turned, and he could feel his legs almost giving out on him, trembling and incapable of supporting his body weight. He had to continue. 

He ate a pork chop, hoping it would give him more energy to soldier on, and leaned more on his barely-holding-it-together stick. Maybe he should have more than a walking stick. But wouldn’t that be more inconvenient? The handle almost fell off, but Scar gripped it tight to keep it in place. Cleo and Bdubs stopped in their tracks. He blinked at them and realized he was quite far from them. 

“Are you okay?” Bdubs asked. Scar knew the man was concerned about him. Scar sensed that Bdubs suspected something was up. Whether it was his shoulder or the falling apart walking stick, he wasn’t sure. He smiled widely and stood taller.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

Cleo looked skeptical. “What happened?”

He wasn’t sure if she was talking about the wounds, his mysterious scars, or him clutching his stick like his life depended on it. Which it did, he didn’t know how he would’ve been able to stand up without something supporting him. Strangely enough, the wounds on his shoulder didn’t sting him like they did when he mined.

“I ran into some monsters and couldn’t defend myself properly.”

Cleo squinted their eyes. That wasn’t what they meant, he realized. 

“Oh gosh, quick, c’mere.”

Bdubs waved at him to come closer. He tried his best, somewhat still clumsy with his walking stick, even after all that mining. Maybe it was the way his legs were trembling underneath him, or how the ache between his hips and calves got stronger. 

When he was close to a chest, a crafting table and a furnace, he saw someone else in the corner of his eye. Bdubs forced him to sit on the ground, a cleaned cloth and water in his hands. Scar let out an “oof” when his butt hit the ground, quite harshly.

“There was someone else down there,” Scar pointed out, squirming to find a comfortable position to sit as Bdubs rummaged in the chest.

Cleo looked down at the hole. “Yeah, that’s Impulse, still trying to find diamonds. Doubt we’re gonna find any here, though.”

He hummed. So this was Impulse. Diamonds might be more important than he first thought, if everyone around him was trying to find them. Cleo began mining close to them. He wanted to ask them if she was also mining for diamonds until Bdubs put the wet cloth on his bite wound. He winced and held in his scream, inhaling sharply instead. 

“Sorry, this’ll sting for a while.” Scar let out a breathy laugh, a sarcastic reply sitting on his tongue, but kept the words in. He shifted against the side of the tunnel, trying to sit in a position that wouldn’t remind him of the soreness in his calves and hips. He kept shifting when Bdubs looked up and then looked at his shoulder. “That’s some serious damage you got there—Scar, was it?”

He blinked. Why did Bdubs look up? Did he have a name tag on top of his head? He nodded. 

“Did you also get shot?” Bdubs clicked his tongue, as if disappointed in him. 

“The skeleton caught me by surprise!” Scar protested. 

“You’re lucky this didn’t get infected,” his new medic said instead. 

He sighed. He was glad he wasn’t the only person in this world, glad there were people he could rely on. 

Someone came closer to them, and his appearance became clearer the more he approached the minimal light torches could provide. His black shirt drooped nicely over his ample and burly body, the lowercase “i” framing his stomach. The brown leggings seemed to be the only sort of armor on his person, sneakers in his feet. 

Scar wondered if the leggings were made out of leather, at least they were matching the man’s short hair color. He was around the same height as Scar, maybe even broader than him, which made him think if they were in a fist fight, the man would more likely win. His face supported a five o’clock shadow, masking his pale rosy skin, and a disappointed look. The name tag “impulseSV” hovered over his head.

Bdubs finished patching him up, and Scar stayed seated, knowing it would take him a while to get up, and he really didn’t want to deal with that.

“Did you find any?” Bdubs asked.

Impulse shook his head. He went to Cleo’s tunnel.

“Any luck?” he called.

“Nope!” was the reply. 

Scar leaned his head back against the rocks, eyeing them curiously. “What’s so special about diamonds, anyway?”

Impulse turned to him with an offended gasp. Scar gulped. If this was the reaction he was gonna get, he wouldn’t have asked in the first place. 

“Diamonds are the strongest material in this world. You can make a diamond sword, diamond armor—”

“A jukebox,” Bdubs interrupted enthusiastically. 

Impulse gaped at him and let out a chuckle. “Yes, a jukebox.”

“That’s why we want to find some diamonds,” Bdubs winked at Scar. Scar tilted his head, a bit confused. “We found this record.”

Bdubs took out a disc. It had a green circle in the center, and looked used, as if someone kept using it constantly and threw it away mindlessly. He reached for the disc, which Bdubs gladly gave to him, and touched the rough and bumpy surface. He gave it back to the blond man.

“We really need to find those diamonds.”

Bdubs smirked. “That’s the spirit! You can come help me if you want.”

Scar shrugged. “Sure.”

Scar used the rocks that stood out and the stick to stand up, his body protesting from the awakened slumber. He almost fell because the instant he placed more of his weight on the stick, the handle slipped. Impulse reached out to help him, Bdubs sent him a concerned look, but Scar waved them off, gripping the handle around the stick tighter—it was killing his back but he didn’t have any option. He could take care of himself. 

“Dude, your cane is falling apart,” Impulse said, pointing at his stick.

Scar looked at it, and grimaced. He sent them a nervous smile.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any wool or something similar, now, would you?”

Bdubs scratched his chin in deep thought, and searched in the chest. He sighed, dejectedly.

“No, sorry.” He looked at Impulse, who was searching in his inventory. 

“I have one big chunk of wool,” he said slowly, “but, I also have leather and some longer sticks.”

Scar beamed at them. “D’you think you can do something with that?”

Impulse chuckled lightly. “I can try, just gimme a sec.”

Impulse took out the materials from his inventory and started tinkering. Scar and Bdubs watched him closely as he took the long stick, placed it beside Scar to measure its height (Scar was holding on to the side of the mine and Bdubs’ bicep), and assembled the materials together. He separated the wool into long strings, and wrapped a small stick in leather, putting some fluffy wool in it. Scar got lost in the intricate movements, squinting to follow them and understand them, only to ultimately be confused. 

Impulse inspected the newly made walking stick and gave it to Scar with a smile.

“There ya go, buddy, a sturdy cane just for you.”

Scar gasped in amazement, admiring the cane (it seemed Impulse knew more about it than him), the handle covered in leather that was soft to the touch and didn’t threaten to fall off. 

“Thank you so much,” Scar choked. 

Impulse patted him behind the back. “Anytime.”

Scar tested the sturdiness of the cane, and once he was satisfied, he took a deep breath and gave Bdubs a wide smile.

“Well, Bdubs,” he extended his hand, letting Bdubs walk in front of him, “lead the way, my friend.”

“I’ll join Cleo,” Impulse called out as the other two went further in the cave.

A long time passed as they kept mining, further away from the main spot. Scar had to take many breaks, even if his cane was better than his last one, it was quite the feat to constantly mine. Bdubs reassured him he wasn’t a burden and continued the search without him from time to time, always coming back with some goodies and wild stories. 

Eventually, Scar got a full set of iron armor and even made a clock. He didn’t know you could make a clock with gold and redstone, but it was very impressive to see how accurate it was. It was quite bland, very few details and mostly gold. In the half-circle, the sun and moon were in sync with the actual sky outside. The sun rose in the corner of the hollow half-circle. Bdubs asked for the clock many times, and eventually, Scar gave in and said that Bdubs was the timekeeper. The short man grinned, pleased with his new role. 

“This mine is a bust,” Scar complained after they searched for more diamonds. 

“This mine is a bust. Cleo was right, we’ll never find diamonds here. Let’s regroup.”

As they reached the meeting spot, Cleo was tapping their foot impatiently and Impulse was mining up in the ceiling. Scar had a gut feeling it wasn’t a good idea to do that, and conveyed the thought. Impulse stopped promptly, and Bdubs started to complain loudly to them, stomping around and checking the clock every so often. 

Scar decided to leave them be for a while and explored the cave a bit deeper. With his stone pickaxe almost ruined and his shoulders aching from the mining trip he did with Bdubs, he mined a random spot, mostly to stimulate his tired mind and to have something to do with his hands. 

That was until he saw sky blue gemstones in a stone. Diamond ore. He gasped and tried letting the others know of his discovery, changing his stone pickaxe to his iron one. He mostly sounded like he was getting attacked, alarming the rest rather than joining him out of joy.

“What’s wrong, Scar?” Cleo asked, the first who arrived. She gasped as he mined the last diamond ore, grimacing through the soreness of his shoulders and forcing them to move above his head, cane placed on the side. 

“What, what is it?!” Bdubs demanded. Scar gave them a diamond each, and grabbed his cane, a big grin on his face. 

Impulse gasped. “You found diamonds?!”

“I found diamonds!”

His communicator buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at it. Beside Cleo’s and Bdubs’ name was green text. He showed it to the others, too tired to comprehend the letters on the screen.

“What does that mean?”

Cleo went closer to the screen while Bdubs squinted at it. Cleo snapped their fingers.

“Right, you didn’t know that. Once you gain contacts, you can see their achievements. I’m so used to feel mine buzzing that I’ve sorta ignored it.”

Bdubs nodded intensively and shifted his eyes at each one of them. “Anyone wants to sacrifice their diamond for the jukebox?”

There was a deep silence, and Impulse laughed. “Nobody wants to sacrifice their first diamond.”

“I’ll do it,” Cleo and Scar offered. 

“Nah, it’s okay, I’ll sacrifice mine,” Bdubs waved them off, walking to the crafting table with a skip in his steps.

As they got out of the hole Scar dug (Cleo and Impulse had to help him get out), Impulse nudged Scar’s shoulder.

“Hey, pretty sure I don’t have your contact.”

“Oh right, here,” Scar handed his communicator to Impulse and he put his name on Scar’s communicator and Scar’s name on his. 

“We should listen to the disc on the surface,” Cleo suggested.

“Oh, what a great idea!” Bdubs exclaimed. “We can then vibe to it!”

Scar wondered if “vibe” was a word Bdubs invented.

“What does ‘vibe’ mean, exactly?”

Bdubs grinned and cleared his throat. “Well, you see,” Bdubs gloated, “‘vibe’ is what younglings use for, um.” Bdubs frowned, pausing. “I think it means sharing the same mood, but I’m not even sure where it came from.” 

Cleo patted his back solemnly, and Impulse shook his head. Scar quirked an eyebrow. 

“You also don’t remember anything?”

They all shook their heads. “We’re not really sure why,” Impulse hesitated, looking at the side.

“We’ve just kinda accepted it,” Cleo shrugged.

A long silence fell upon them. Bdubs clasped his hands together, shaking everyone out of the silence.

“Let’s not dwell on this for long, hm?” Bdubs gave them each a stern look. “Let’s focus on going to the surface.”

“Is there a way out?” Scar asked, looking around, leaning more on his cane, so glad to feel steady and the smooth leather on his palm and for the awkward silence to dissipate.

Impulse patted his shoulder, almost making him trip on his tired feet. “Don’t worry, I have a great sense of navigation.”

Scar chuckled nervously and followed them to the surface.

<- Prev _ Master Post _ Next ->

[anelimjolie]

In honor of the era’s tour and speak now (taylor’s version) coming out today, I thought I would finally be courageous enough to share my thoughts from last year when I tried to capture all the different era vibes <3

Taylor Swift - Country girl on a cottage core farm, butterflies and blooming flowers, young love framed in bronze, long summer nights, the sun glittering on the warm ocean

Fearless - golden love, the bright moon on a cloudless night, rebel chasing their love story, screaming crying and kissing in the rain, passion and desire conflicting with the mind, twinkling gold stars

Speak Now - a purple-pink fairy tale of broken hearts and lasting trauma, new beginnings, it’s her time to shine now and fuck everyone who’s mean, dwelling on enchanting memories, growing up and realizing

- with TV now also: little miss sunshine waiting for rain, losing yourself in love, pining, what ifs, castle’s crumbling down and destroying illusions, loving too hard, foolish ones trapped in circles of desperate hope, would’ve could’ve should’ve, the worst heartbreaks

Red - sad girl autumn, heart in pieces, rainy and foggy days, bursts of energy for new chapters, dwelling on the past, wounds that will never heal, red wine and dancing in the refrigerator’s light, sad beautiful tragedies

1989 - hello New York, coffee at midnight and love stories in the glow of city lights, fuck the haters and shake it off, bad blood, polaroids and capturing memories, lingering on the wildest dreams, stand up and dance but the heartbreak still lingers

Reputation - revenge comes with cherry red lips and crystal blue eyes, witches of the darkness, black snakes and silver jewelry, but baby you’re so delicate and gorgeous, last minutes of New Year’s Eve, poison ivy, you made me that way, karma is sweet

Lover - moving on and healing, pink glitter and rainbows, paper rings love, meeting the one, redefining oneself, independence, happiness and overcoming cruelty, coming home after a long day, goodbyes still hurt, they see right through me cause I’m still the problem

Folklore - folktales of misunderstood girls, childhood trauma, last days of summer nostalgia, cloudy dreary days, this is me trying can’t you see, crying while being comforted by your cat, escapism and light academia, grey cottage core, the summer romance that was never mine, hoping for forgiveness

Evermore - midnight in the forest, the moon shining through the trees, transition from eerie autumn to winter, dark academia, nostalgia and melancholy, the faint gold rush in the darkness, the smell of bonfire and old books, reflecting your inner demons at the end of the year, healing from the summer

Midnights - full moon and gold stars, kisses in candle light, self-awareness, sleepless nights, thoughts that keep you awake at midnight, a love that paints you maroon, 70s vintage, late night diner vibes, revisiting your past, dark blue in a lavender haze, the break up that was supposed to be a never-ending love

[mysaldate]

AThane and the symbolism behind the outfit

This has been on my mind for quite some time, pretty much ever since AThane was introduced to the game but it was only with the comic coming out that I realized just what was it that looked so important for me in his design. Yes, I’m not very fast on the uptake sometimes let me ramble xD

As usual, this will probably be a fairly long post so I’m putting it under Read More just in case. And yes, I know this is the Brutus month and tbh, I do love ABrutus and his story is amazing but I don’t really have much to say in terms of symbolism etc.

The Awakened heroes so far didn’t really have any MAJOR changes to their design. Sure, ATalene tied her hair back and got an extra pair of fluffier wings, and AEzizh got buffer and more blue and pink than red and purple but it wasn’t anything huge. There really wasn’t much going on in terms of theme or symbolism that wouldn’t already be there in their original form. Yes, ATalene looks more angelic than the old version and yes, AEzizh now ascends from a ball of demonic purple energy but these changes only emphasize what was already there, meanwhile AThane’s design completely flips the script on his previous aesthetics and feel.

Since his introduction to the game, Thane stood out as being one of the few Lightbearers with a darker theme to his design. Sure, he wasn’t the only one but it was still somewhat of a staple of his. His outfits consists mostly of dark blues, grays, and browns, a lot of them a little faded, and though he’s on his guard, his expression is somber. This goes double for his in-game model. And unlike the other darker-themed characters, he doesn’t really have much to lighten the overall feel up. Estrilda has her flag which has brighter colors and a nice rim of light (and her insane amount of revealed skin which also brightens the pic), Hendrik’s colors are overall lighter and he has more gold on his outfit, his hair being white also adds to a more positive mood, and we could go on. Standing out from the lineup would be Morrow and Scarlet but those are fairly late additions and their palettes are more purposely contrasting than the somber darkness we see in Thane.

In a way, this is tied to Thane’s mental state at that point of his story. After losing Baden, and blaming himself for it, Thane fell into fairly deep depression, one he only somewhat got out of after he started training Estrilda. But going off of the Solemn Vow storyline, even that didn’t exactly get him out of that state much and while he did come to genuinely care for her, how much of his teaching was because he cared and how much was because of his self-assumed debt to the Rayne family is still unclear. I think it’s safe to say that with Baden, a part of Thane died as well. And while Baden wasn’t exactly dead, there is no canon confirmation that Thane would know about that. This is one of the things I really wish they would’ve made into a webcomic since we are apparently getting some comics for some awakened heroes and it would allow for more emotional connection compared to the Voyage of Wonders and plain text description.

Furthermore, and the picture above is inverted since I can’t find the correctly-facing one, Thane lost his right arm at the same time he lost Baden. This isn’t enough to end his swordsmanship even if it was his dominant hand but no doubt was this a major blow for both his sense of self-worth and his everyday life. Again, this is already very symbolic of what happened to him because of the loss of Baden – he didn’t die but it would forever be in the back of his mind like a haunting reminder of his failure. For all means and purposes, Thane’s story could’ve ended there, leaving him agonizing over that one moment where he lost his... ehm “best friend” and his arm, the moment of his ultimate failure.

And then came his awakening.

Immediately, the first thing you notice is how much brighter this design is compared to the original. AThane is still wearing the same black suit but now with more gold, and his cloak has brighter colors. Even his hair – and a new goatee – changed from gray to blue. The addition of lighter shades, whites, and the overall light-feeling aesthetic also marks a big step for his mental state and character development. AThane moved to a brighter place. It is very fitting that Thane’s design choices are affected by him losing Baden, while AThane’s are directly tied to finding Baden again, and being able to prove himself worthy of him.

The motif for AThane’s outfit appears to be the peacock, both based on the colors and on the shape his outfit took. Peacocks are, among other things, universally considered the symbol of pride and confidence but various cultures assign them other meanings as well. In Native American cultures, peacocks could be used self-esteem, refinement, beauty, or even sexuality. Hinduism associates peacocks with prosperity, good luck, and protection. And finally, in Chinese history, peacocks were used to symbolize power, beauty, and even divinity.

It is therefore fitting for AThane’s theme to be so heavily leaning into the peacock motif for several reasons. Not only has he gained new power – and it was the power to protect – but he gained a connection to the divine by merging with the elemental wind mark. This was most certainly a tough choice, Thane avoided it for as long as he could, knowing how much of a strain it was sure to put on him. It was no sooner than he saw Baden ready to sacrifice himself for him AGAIN that he made his choice, thus ultimately making this choice about love. Now, whether you see Thaden as platonic or romantic, there is no doubt that some kind of deep love runs between the two. Last time, Baden was the one to act on it and take a tremendous risk. This time, Thane is the one to take the risk, not willing to fail Baden again, even if it costs his life. And finally, we get to the final point of AThane’s design.

Notice how the right side of his cloak is so heavily decorated with the feathers while the left side is relatively plain, the feather design instead appearing on his sleeve. This is the part I newly realized and that really knocked the air out of me once it clicked. By his self-sacrifice, AThane not only made up for his previous mistake, but he gained wings. His arm won’t ever come back, much like Baden will never be human again, but there is now something to substitute it. Now, I’m sure I don’t have to get into the common associations when it comes to wings, but let me just bring up a few most common – and most interesting – ones.

Wings symbolize protection. In multiple official arts of AThane, he seems to be using his missing arm as a way to deflect blows, the shoulder piece serving as a bright shield. This also tracks with how he even gained this new power – in an attempt to protect Baden, on a mission to protect Estrilda, and ending up giving him the determination to try and protect the world.

Wings symbolize freedom. In AThane’s case, it’s the freedom from his haunting past, and the ability to overcome it. It’s a freedom of his weakness and of the fear that he would end up losing everyone again. I wouldn’t be surprised if after this, we saw the character developing deep relationships and let himself get close to people again. He might even feel free to express himself some more. One thing I certainly hope to see once we finally get to the culmination of this arc is Thane, completely exhausted after the battle, perhaps hurt, but looking over the people who helped him get there, and smiling, or perhaps even laughing, letting all the stress and responsibility wash off of him.

And finally, wings symbolize purity and divinity. I touched upon the divinity before but I want to mention it briefly once more because angels as we know them are often intimately tied to both of the previous ties. But furthermore, they are gentle, often self-sacrificing creatures who serve as protectors, soldiers, messengers, and more. This role is fitting for a character like Thane who was a soldier, a castellan, a detective, an arrand boy, and now finally also a protector. It also symbolizes a rebith of sorts. With his rise from the dark depths his mind was in before, he can now fully embrace a new calling.

AFK Arena (luckily) doesn’t have a habit of killing off playable characters but if it did, I believe it to possibly be the perfect culmination for AThane’s arc. This is just my opinion so absolutely feel free to yell at me. I simply think that AThane gaining wings and then possibly falling in the final battle, possibly shielding his allies instead of going in for a reckless offensive, would be the most fitting end to his character development, showing us just how far he’s gone. From someone who needed others to die for him, to someone willing to protect others with his life. But even if this is not going to happen any time soon, simply the fact that he was willing to risk it for the mere chance of being able to save others is already an incredible step forward.

Well, that would be it for this analysis. I plan on going more in-depth about why the characters were picked for their particular elements too but since we only have two so far, that might have to wait. Speaking of which, we’re left down to fire and water, and Wilders and Graveborn. I wonder who will take which element? Wilders already have a character associated with fire, and Graveborn have multiple water-related characters so seeing a switch would certainly be interesting. There’s also the Daimon song video that has the grave symbolized by a large body of water so that could also be a hint... Well, we’ll see in two months. Until then, let me know what you think.

If you’ve read this far, thank you very much, you have no idea how much it means. I’m sorry for being so long-winded and hope you at least found it interesting. If you’re curious about the sources for some of the claims I’ve made in this post, hmu either in dms or send in an ask. I hope to see you soon, possibly with a lighter post this time!

[tea-cat-arts]

Where would you rank every battlesuit of kiana,mei and bronya in terms of design?

Seen your recent post and thought of saying this

(That’s a lot of designs, so I’m not gonna do in depth commentary on each individual design here. If you have questions on certain ones rankings, I can elaborate elsewhere. Also, every design within the same tier is the same level of good. I’m not trying to say one design is better than the other if it’s placed higher up on the S tier segment than other)

Disclaimer: I’m trying my best to be objective here, but this is art so personal biases will come into play. I’m not trying to force anyone else’s opinion on this matter, just sharing my thoughts

S (fantastic, wouldn’t change a thing)-

Void drifter (combines elements of both her mother figures with Elements of HoV while still keeping signature elements of Kiana’s designs)

HoV (truly looks like a pissed off goddess ready to kick ass. Set the standard for Herrscher designs)

HoF (already explained this one elsewhere)

HoT (ok, we all already know this design is amazing. I don’t feel the need to explain this one)

Orochi Cuirass (takes the silhouette of Danzai Spectramancer, and refines/streamlines it. The different textures on the blacks help them stay separated. Little splashes of gold keep this design from feeling to flat)

Haxxor Bunny (Bronie was out here doing the cyberpunk edge runners look before edge runners was even a thing. The dot texture makes her feel like she walked straight out of a comic book)

HoR (she looks like the tech queen she is. All the frills help give her a much bigger/grander appearance)

A (good design, could be great with minor changes)

Valkyrie Ranger (very solid starting out design, very little lore relevance)

Prodigal Girl (takes what works with White Comet and makes it scrappier. Feels very true to Kiana’s personality)

Striker Fulminata (if they made the shirt a little longer or given her shorts or tights, I think this would’ve been an excellent starter design for Mei. Looks soft and comfy while still being combat ready)

Drive Kometa (takes the mech elements of Yamabuki armor, puts them into Bronya’s usual silhouette, and puts her in a much more complimentary color)

Silverwing N-EX (Bronya’s literally just living her best life here and I love that for her. Brings her into the APHO aesthetic while keeping bits and pieces of her mech and Angel aesthetics)

B (overall good, but has one minor thing that just isn’t working)

White Comet (solid starting out design, looks kinda like a wet suit ngl)

Knight Moonbeam (looks like a refined version of divine prayer. Feels almost like the type of Valkyrie Kiana was trying to be at the beginning of the story. Personally would’ve liked more color though)

Wolf’s Dawn (solid starter design. I miss the mech legs)

Snowy Sniper (wouldn’t be my first choice in snow gear, but it’s alright. Wish they gave her a bulkier jacket and scarf)

HoTr (oof I want to rank this higher since it’s an excellent evolution of HoR, but it just doesn’t work as part of the trio. Lacks Mei’s purple and Kiana’s orange)

Dimension Breaker (looks more like a snowy sniper skin than a whole new design.

C (overall good, but has one major thing that just isn’t working)

Red Lictor/Radiant Blaze (Void drifter but with more white and only 3 colors. Very flat tone wise)

Crimson Impulse (the first and thankfully last time we see Mei in pink. They added armor in places it just shouldn’t be and it ends up making the design look clunky. Revealing outfit is weird given Mei’s more modest personality at this point in the story)

Danzai Spectranancer (combat jorts. It’s just a lot of overlapping patterns in textures without really intention behind them)

Valkyrie Bladestrike (same color palette problem as Shadow Dash. There’s a lot of unnecessary gaps in the clothes, and the stiff, revealing design doesn’t make sense for her personality)

Valkyrie Chariot (would be ranked higher if it wasn’t for the panty shots. That’s literally my only gripe with this design. Just put her in tights)

Black Nucleus (man, early Honkai really was determined to show us as much Bronya ass as physical possible. I think they should’ve gone with a color other than red)

D (ya, this just isn’t working)

HoFi (already explained this one elsewhere)

Divine Prayer (why nun? Flat tone wise. Never seen a nun outfit turned into shorts before and after this, I never want to again)

Lightning Empress (Mihoyo, get out of here with the revealing school uniforms. Isn’t this supposed to be her Herrscher persona??? She’s not threatening in the slightest)

Shadow Dash (it’s just too much stuff. Having Mei in so much red and black so early in the story muddies the thematic intentions with HoT’s color palette)

Yamabuki Armor (get that 16 y/o’s ass off my screen Mihoyo. Unnecessarily revealing and yellow just isn’t a good main color on Bronya)

F (this is just blatantly a bad design)

HoO (explained this one elsewhere)

Overall thoughts: other than how weirdly sexualized Bronya was early on, I think she’s the most consistent in terms of having good designs, and Kiana is just overall very solid. I feel like the writers just didn’t know what to do with Mei early on, and that ended up getting reflected in her designs, but once they hit their stride they took off sprinting and fell flat on their faces in the end with HoO

[dragoncityinteriordesign]

If all Ying Chun had done was show up in a t-shirt and jeans, get real handsy with all the ladies around her (which of course she does, there are no boy flowers), call Zhao Yunlan a “glib-tongued hunk,” and vanish into a puff of bright yellow CG flowers, I still would’ve loved her. The fact that her outfit was clearly designed by a six-year-old girl given too much sugar and the task of designing a fancy flower princess is the icing on her perfect cupcake.

Her hair is a mix of good and terrible choices. The good include the chestnut color she’s chosen, the very cute shoulder-length cut, and how the white hair ties holding her braids together have little leaves woven into them. The terrible include both the painfully fake sprig of yellow flowers pinned over her right braid and the bizarre decision to crimp the hair in only her left braid. Some little flower still thinks it’s 1983. Jury’s still out on whatever’s happening with her bangs.

I personally don’t like wearing the kind of earrings she’s got on, the studs with the dangle backs, but she’s rocking them. At some point, her necklace loses the pearl at the center of its blossom, leaving just the gold frame and the crystal below. She’s also got a little bracelet on her right wrist that may be silver? It’s hard to tell. Someone’s glued flower petals to it regardless.

And then there’s the floofy nightmare of tulle, satin, and silk flowers she calls a dress. Like Ya Qing, she’s got the embroidered mesh over the bodice, which is a different color material from the cream skirt. In fact, none of her colors quite seem to match -- that bold yellow is only in her hair, there’s random grey and red at the center of the flowers at her hip, the flowers around her neck are from a different family of pastels entirely, the dark purple in the embroidery doesn’t show up anywhere else, and the blue of her skirt and sleeves doesn’t match the blue of the bodice. (Cerulean is a gentle breeze, man.) Sometimes the back of her collar flips up and sometimes it lies semi-flat, and honestly I can’t tell which way it’s supposed to go.

When Ying Chun runs, she’s got to grab the skirt, sometimes with both hands; briefly, when she’s running after Ya Qing, you can see her bare legs beneath, which suggests the cream underskirt has some fairly significant slits up the sides. I tried to get some pictures of it in motion to show just how many layers she’s working with here. The skirt is mostly blue, but there are layers of sheer purple and cream under there too, swallowing up her lower half in a truly incredible sea of swishy ruffles.

Shout out to all those of us who came from high schools that did mums for homecoming; we know exactly what the disaster on her right hip is.

Anyway, she is clearly in lesbians with the crow lady and they need to kiss and then move in together because I am dying to see how they would decorate their shared house.

[thebeautifulfantastic]

happy 33rd birthday Taylor! i’m considering myself unofficially tagged by gracie @imissthembutitwasntadisaster because she said for all taylor girlies who want to do this to do it, so here we go:

six Taylor music videos:

Lover (i’m obsessed with this house and its color scheme)

Delicate

Out of the Woods

…Ready for It?

ME! (mediocre song, but again, THE COLORS!)

I Knew You Were Trouble

bonus for Anti-Hero simply because of the funeral scene

six Taylor looks: (this is so hard)

any of the looks with her bleachella hair ❤️‍🔥

the 2021 grammys dress with the flowers (when folklore won album of the year)

SO many of the Red tour outfits but there’s this one where she has a lacy white top, black leather shorts, red oxford shoes, and a black fedora that i absolutely LOVE (i have a black fedora that i wear a lot because it reminds me of this outfit)

this one Lover era outfit where she has a slightly country girl-looking bright blue jacket with fringe and white stars all over it, and her hair has the pink tips… i dig it

the rep tour outfit that she wears when she sings “getaway car” — sparkly purple dress + metallic purple blazer (also i lover her rep era hair)

also from the rep tour, the shimmery dark green jacket with all the patches on it

six Taylor songs that are among my personal favorites:

maroon

wildest dreams

getaway car (underrated masterpiece)

don’t blame me

gold rush

haunted

okay this is more than six but i have to say that dress is my guilty pleasure Taylor song, i jam out to it all the time

six Taylor songs which i believe are objectively her best:

all too well

would’ve could’ve should’ve

dear john

tolerate it

vigilante shit

my tears ricochet

okay but ALSO evermore the song

six Taylor songs which are the most me:

enchanted

anti-hero

mastermind

exile

treacherous

nothing new

bonus song just because i’m feeling indecisive: you’re on your own kid

three Taylor albums:

red (tv)

evermore

midnights

tagging @permanentreverie , @thiscolorfulmess , @aemondtragaryen, @daisysjones, and @laurennbacall … and i am now forgetting who else is a taylor swift fan, so if you see this and you want to do it, go for it!

[eldritchkadesart]

Revivals And Offerings Chapter 1: How to feel Lovely Again

Originally posted on A03 here

Death was infinite and unknown. It was inevitable and it came for all like did for Aisha Roberts. Decapitation was a horrid death for anyone but more so for the one who called for their lovers knowing they’ll die. Death was supposed to be an afterthought, where you would go to heaven for the saints, or hell for the sinners. 

But what was Aisha? She was loved and she led a successful career, but she loved a devoted killer and she hung with saintly sinners. Gang life was what she was born into, and she saw many things a woman should never see. If anything Heaven and Hell was the domain she should’ve fallen into.

But instead, as she laid in a white pond of bright purple lotus under a pitch-black sky, she was in a new domain. Yet she didn’t know, as she slowly opened up her eyes. She didn’t know why she felt her head and her body connected again. She slowly sat up and found herself in a gown of gold and white embroidered with eyes and geometric teeth all on her sleeves and her ribcage embroidered by gold. Upon looking in the reflection, a crown of thorns was hovering over her akin to a halo of a saint. She was restored to her younger state evident by her dreadlocks draping down her shoulders.

“My sweet,” Crooned a hoarse raspy voice toned in sorrow. Aisha looked up and gasped. The voice was a human woman’s but the shape it belonged to, belonged to no woman. Gazing down at Aisha, was the skull of an owl whose beak was dipped in obsidian. Pooling from its sockets was gold akin to tears. The liquid gold streamed down from its skull and fell into white water, upon contact became the hydrangeas the two were surrounded by.

The owl’s head was devotedly attached to a human skeleton, and the upper half was scantily exposed save for a veiled cloak, whose pattern could only be described as the veining of a butterfly’s wings. Her bones were coated in the same obsidian but veined in gold all over, continuing down her spine and to her leonine legs. The skull had no emotion to show, but her voice was of sorrow, and she towered over her, possibly taller than Johnny.

“My sweet, how you’ve suffered. How cruel fate became to you, taking you away,” She sorrowfully said as she reached out with her spidery fingers. Aisha hesitated, slightly drawing back. The entity was damningly terrifying, yet all she conveyed was of no means to harm her. If anything, the sorrow and her gestures were trying to only comfort the dead woman. The entity only tilted her head.

“I died, didn’t I?” Aisha whispered, yet her words echoed in the pond and in the sky. 

“Yes, My sweet,” The entity sorrowfully answered. “The dragon’s claws killed you, and took you away from the living.”

The entity reached out for her again, and this time Aisha allowed her. With the entity’s spindly hands caressing the side of her cheek before it trailed up and tucking one of her locks behind Aisha’s ear. The entity, taller and possibly stronger, could rip her to shreds with the swipe of her claws. But in every movement, in the gold drippings, the entity was trying its damn hardest to be gentle with Aisha.

Aisha knew damn well who the entity was talking about as emotions filled her throat. The Ronin, and that damned Jyunichi. It all came flooding back to her, the intruders, the assassin that killed her, and Johnny’s name is the last thing on her lips. A thin ring of ice now burned on Aisha’s neck as she remembered her tragedy, now realizing her death. Gold tears from her cheek now dripping on the side of her face as she spills her emotion. The droplets fell to the water, and instead of hydrangeas, the tears blossomed into the roses that her devoted Johnny once gave her, red white and yellow roses that stand out against the bright violet hues of the hydrangeas.

 Aisha would’ve crumbled to the pond on her hands, but the entity caught her and held her close to her own ribs. Aisha continued to sob and wail, wailing for the loss of her life, for her friends and her Johnny. She didn’t want to leave them, and she never had any intention to do so cruelly. She didn’t want to die young, and now may never die old, leaving a legacy of children or wedded. It wasn’t fair and fuck fate for being so cruel.

The entity was silent, cradling her and rubbing the back of Aisha’s head. Within the mausoleum of her obsidian bones, there was no heartbeat, but only the sound of the rain. The two were strangers, yet sorrow was a shared factor. After what seemed like an eternity, Aisha slowly pulled away, trembling and sniffling. The entity, slowly pulled away giving the young woman space as she collected her tears.

The roses did not escape Aisha’s notice. If anything, she was drawn to the memory of them, to that life, her life. And now questions began to arose in Aisha’s mind as she turned to the entity once more.

“Who are you and why the hell am I here?” The question left her lips trembling from the aftermath of her cries. But she stares hoping for answers.

The entity is silent. Though she took no offense, it didn’t show in her hollow sockets that pooled with the gold down her bones. She paused and looked down at the white water before turning to Aisha.

“Many people have given me names for the many shapes I have taken. A devourer, a savior, benevolent and malevolent. Destroyer and Creator, a god and a devil. Warrior and diplomat. I am many of these things and so much more. I am the one who cries and rages for the women and children lost. For unnecessary wars and corrupt men I spill their blood with the very sadism they show to the innocents. They have called me Athena, Kali, Ishtar, and Mut to name a few,” She honestly declared. As two lilac-colored orbs began to fill her once hollow sockets, burning away at her golden tears. There was pride in her raspy voice, all of these things she was proud of her nature over. The nature of cosmic horror, fragmented in this complicated reality, and many more to raise and destroy.

But Aisha did not know this. Instead, she could only listen as her eyes widened in concern.

“But in this shape I take and in the domain, we reside in, I am called Cariformes. Though Cari is an acceptable name you may refer me to.”

Aisha was somewhat horrified by all these titles and the bluntness in Cari’s answer.  Some of the names were unfamiliar, but Kali was a name she was familiar with. A woman ready to go on a warpath and take many heads as she wanted. In a sense, the living embodiment could be Johnny.

She was being truthful, at least she hopes she was. Cari continued as she stood up, her attention towards the starless night that cascaded over them. 

“I pulled you here, for I have watched your life as I have done with many souls, and frankly, such a death is undeserving to you. I wish to offer you a second chance, at taking your life back,” She offered as she reaches towards the sky.

Holding one finger, she swipes to the sky in one motion, and it shattered into multiple fragments. These fragments were like mirrors to the world of the living. Every fragment showcased every event. From her death, to others that came before. She sees her killer murdered by the Boss of Saints Row. She sees the very people who ordered it suffer death too. She sees old memebers die and new ones joining. She sees the Saints fighting a giant soda mascot and other odd things that don’t make sense. 

What does make sense was seeing her earth die at the hands of alien greed. The one called Xinyak took him away and locked him in stasis. The worst part? Johnny being forced to relieve her death. Over. And Over and over and all over again. What a horrid kind of cruelty to bestow, it was a slow death of the mind. Johnny was horrid in some areas, but never did he deserve to watch her die over and over. Anything but that was the last thing he ever deserved.

“Though it didn’t ask for an early grave, your earth is just as sacred as the blood in your veins. This...Filth,” She spat as the images of a pale alien with black thorns shone on all of the fragments. “This wretched filth, had no right to destroy it, like it has done with many others in your universe.”

“Others?” Aisha asked.

“Yes, not my point. My point is that, I can give you the power of choice. The choice to go back and prevent it along with your death,” She announced as she glanced down. “Back to him.”

The fragments cease to have Xinyaks image, and all of them change into Johnny Gat. Aisha’s heart stopped. Their torrid and stubborn natures were often a problem, but at the end of it all she loved him no matter what. Even if her last breath was blessed with an act of love. She looked back up at Cariformes.

“What will I owe you? If it means being back on a leash, I’m not interested.”

“No leash, none. You will owe me nothing,” Cariformes informed her. She wanted nothing physical or faustian. She was contempt with nothing in return, but unknown to Aisha, ulterior motives often came in the form of kind acts. If anything, she wanted to give everyone a chance. A beautiful chance that added to the wonderful chaos Aisha’s world had to offer. The kind of chaos that was the most pleasurable to watch on TV with a glass of wine in hand.

Glorious Chaos.

Aisha was deep in thought. The chance to avoid her death? Without anything in return? It seemed like a trap, but if it was, it would be worth if for her Johnny shining in the fragments of the sky. To give him a chance of being freed in the labryinthe of her death, to give each other a happy ending when there was no chance in her past life? Johnny Gat may be an Asshole, but he was forever her asshole.

She looked up at Cariformes, with quiet determination. “I’ll take your offer.”

The horror stared into her very soul with her orbs. This woman had seen much in her life. Here she was staring the horror back with determination. Willingly agreenig to go back and relieve most of it. Silently, Cariformes raised both hands to the sky. 

The fragments of Johnny disappear.

Colors of vibrant red, yellow, green, blue and purple begin to bleed in the sky, marblizing and swirling to Cariformes’ hands, where it dripped profusely from her fingertips. Aisha could stay, but she couldn’t help but be rendered with fear. Her whole body began to tremble as she could only watch the power that Cariformes held in her hands.

Cariformes having sensed this, looked down, as the golden tears began to form once more.

“My sweet,” She assured her as she knelt down. “It will be alright, my sweet.”

Her words were comforting, as she reached out for Aisha. “It will not hurt my sweet. It will be only like a--”

Cariformes and the world were gone in an instant the moment Aisha shot up in her bed, gasping. She reached for her heart, and for her neck. All of it was still in place, and Aisha Roberts was alive once more, and still remembered everything, even her death.

Alive, in Stilwater, where it is now morning. Aisha turned to her clock, and her eyes widened upon the date: November 13, 2004. 

Five years before she died.

[anothanobody]

Hello! Here I am once again to speak a little about some facts from the distant past. From what I see in your replies in our little chit-chats, it appears that you like what I write, Mai, or at least tolerate it. And I want you to know I enjoy a lot talking to you too! Even if my asks end up so big, it is because I like writing here knowing you’ll be giving a heartfelt response. I’m not so good with words, but I truly love what you do here and the attention and kindness you show to people. You created a safe space for fun and brainstorming unlike any I’ve seen, and for that I’m so thankful to you. And in special to the attention you always give me and my ramblings. I hope I can show that through my asks.

I saw this ask, and it is absolutely true. Red was the color of royalty for thousands of years for a reason. You see, in the case of red, at this time it was difficult to produce the color because quality ink that remained bright red – instead of degrading into brownish-red or downright brown – could only be obtained by squashing a specific type of worm or vermin, which is why a certain tonality of red is still called to this day vermillion (from the Latin word equivalent to the diminutive of vermin).

But actually, more than red, purple was the color of imperial & royal regalia, because it was yet much more difficult and expensive to fabricate purple ink. For many centuries, purple ink was only available through a very specific sea snail from Greece, which produced a color called Tyrian Purple (because of the city of Tyre, one of the  most important cities in the ancient world, located in present day Lebanon, known for crafting purple clothing). Certainly, with time new shades of purple were discovered, but the ink itself remained extremely expensive. And thus, associated with not the ruling class, but with the ruler itself. This gave origin to the expression “born in the purple” or, in original Greek, Porphyrogenitus, for the child of the ruler who had been born after their father became Emperor. In that regard, a child born in such conditions would’ve been already born in wealth and power. Porphyrogenitus became a title in the Byzantine Empire, to demonstrate further legitimacy to rule, as in Constantine VII ‘Porphyrogenitus’ or Zoe ‘Porphyrogenita’, a reigning Empress in her own right.

You’ve probably already seen depictions of Julius Caesar wearing a red cape. He did use one to showcase his wealth, power and even his ‘magnificence’. Some powerful roman senators and generals wore them for this exact reason. What isn’t commonly known is that Emperors, beside a wardrobe full of red clothing, always had a specific purple ceremonial toga. Full purple embroidered with gold. To have that would be an astonishing display of wealth. Nobles usually wore colorful clothing to contrast with peasants and their earthy-toned garments, but a full purple toga with gold was extra even for them. Later Byzantine Emperors took it to the next level and had an entire room in their palace covered in purple satin or “wallpaper”. This room became reserved for the birth of imperial children, who, when born there, would acquire the title of Porphyrogenitus, and receive extra legitimacy! This room costed, approximately, the life’s work of hundreds of peasant families, if not more.

The Byzantine imperial dynasties really loved their purple: they had book covers and pages painted this color and gold. Red would also be applied in these cases. But this also begs us to differentiate between paint and ink. I’m sure most people nowadays are aware that the Greco-Roman statues weren’t really white, but just lost their color with age (the same goes for the terracotta armies of China, but didn’t happen to Egyptian pyramids because the paintings were guarded inside and closed off). Also, temples and even homes could be colored because certain colors of paint were available, and the richer the country, the easier it was to acquire them. So in the context of the Roman Empire, which controlled four fifths of the world they knew, it was relatively common even for peasants to have colored houses in cities like Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Carthage, Naples, Milan and so on. But ink, applied in cloth or fabric, was much more difficult to produce, therefore more valuable.

This is why colorful clothes became the trademark of the wealthy, of the noble class. In China the color of the Emperor was yellow, and even his title, Huangdi, translates as “Lord in Yellow”. Even the white togas we see in pictures of the old Romans were a form of status, since white silk was difficult to come by. Do you know a story about an old king who wore silk so thin it was “invisible”? This actually happened in Ptolemaic Egypt, we just don’t know whether if Ptolemy VIII ‘Physkon’ or Ptolemy IX ‘Lathyros’. This was to demonstrate the reach of Egyptian trade, that went as far away as China itself, through the silk road!

Oh my, I did extend myself this time. But yes, the red scarf would probably be a luxurious item. Might I suggest, historical accuracy aside, that we add this tiny detail that Mikasa’s palace has the Purple Room, where her children must be born in, wherein they receive the title of Porphyrogenitus and are enhanced with legitimacy? I wish I could write to you more often. But I’m cooking up an idea regarding Eren’s people that you might like, so I think I’ll be back soon! Hope you have an excellent day!

MY HISTORY ANONBNNNNNN!!!! You’re back my baby! my love!!! to give me more knowledge out of your pretty mind 😮‍💨😮‍💨

but yes tho. i think the purple room would actually be a great addition, knowing they’ll have their football team that is appropriate tbh. Purple took it is and please take your time in whatever you’re writing to me 😤😤😤 have a nice day too!!!

[yellow-stars]

First one

The Dark hallways with the same murals, anyone else would’ve found the scene unsettling. 

Not this Bird brain of a villain. She and many others walked down the hallway, traps swung down taking out quite a few others. Their blood splattered across the red carpet. Or was it white? 

The group stopped, she was in the middle somewhere, unable to see what was happening. But soo glad she wasn’t hearing the shrieks of those ahead. 

112 turned to run off before a hand grabbed her from her mouth and held her down. 112 bit down, and her wings hitting her attacker getting her freed just enough to punch them in the throat and run off. 

112 stumbled into a larger room. Painfully the same colors, but Gold and Silver decorated around a table. 112 looked around the table. Looking through the names, some scratched out assumed dead. 

112 found her own name written in purple ink with blotches of royal blue and red. 112 checked around the seat, with holes in the back to accommodate her wings.  112 grabbed a fork and rubbed around the edge of the chair and grinned seeing metal clamp around, surely enough to chop off her wings. 

112 stood by her seat waiting for whoever’s left flood inside the room. Which was 3 others, one with Silver hair, and eyes that held pure electric energy. No surprise that their here. 

A man with crisp brown hair, anything but scrawny, too unappealing for her, he was too proud. And a female, short green hair, and white eyes, but she seemed to see fine. Maybe just some gene thing. 

112 heard a voice ring in her head, someone all too familiar, known as the King of the Darkness, Bringer of pain, and a total party pooper. Dark. 

“In order to win. You must be the last one in the room.”

112 laughed seeing everyone look at each other. “Alright! Who wants to lose?” Her voice was rough from her breathing, and her near death experiences. 

“D-do we just leave? Cus I just witnessed too much blood for a lifetime!” The girl cried as 112 just groaned. “Your a whole ass Villain, of course your gonna see blood.” 112 hissed preening her feathers and freshening up. 

“Can you at least act like you care?! They had families!” 112 cackled holding a handful of feathers. “Families?! Your serious!” 112 tried to catch her breath. “It said in the poster. ‘You’ll probably die.’ I’m sure they said their goodbyes. If they where smart.” 112 grabbed the fork and threw it at the girl. She screamed as it landed in her hand. 

“Now I have a contest to win?” 112 grabbed the girl slamming her head on the table til she just stopped. “That was sick.” 112 turned seeing a pinkette. “Awwwh thanks! Since the exits closed I’m guessing your here go speed it up?” 112 grinned dodging the bullets. 

“Good eye.” They answered as 112 slid across the table and used the two others as shields as the other unloaded on 112. 

112 looked at the two limo bodies. “Dawh they died. And I’m guessing this was a hero thing to kill a ton of villains?” “Nope a recruiter event.” 

112 looked at the bodies and back at the Pinkette. “Good to be in your funky club!” 112 shook their hand. “I’m 112, or Bird Brain.” “I’m SBH. Your boss.” SBH sighed looking at their gun. 

“Outta bullets.” “Ah! Just the thing!” 112 grabbed a feather and grabbed the serving knife that was stuck into a strange shaped blob of meat. 112 grabbed a larger feather and started chopping them into bullet shape. 

“Bam feather bullets!” 112 grinned and loaded the gun and aimed it at the blob of meat and blowing a hole in it. “Nice.” 112 chucked and elbowed the other a stupid grin on her face. “Seea later pinky.” 112 walked to the door and stepped out wings working as a hood and cover as she scurried to a alleyway. 

THIS FUCKIN GOT ME FEELING LIKE

I LOVE THIS SM OMG--

[tocalehenitusethatmf]

Home

— pairing » Cale Henituse/Kim Rok Soo x Fem!Reader

— summary » Home is where she is. But she’s not there.

— genre » angst.

— warnings » death, angst, crying.

— note » it’s short. And yeah, idk :)) have fun yall :D

“You said you’d wait.”

“You said you won’t leave.”

“…You liar.” A sneer went past his lips and he let out a bitter empty laugh. His black uniform with the stench of dried blood, his dusty red hair, pale and tired expression, Cale looked at the thing before him. He could hear his companions behind him, the children—raon, on, hong, the wolves, and others, he could hear some of then trying to muffle their sobs while some let out their own silent cry. He could hear Rosalyn whisper words of comfort to lock, he could hear Beacrox do the same thing to the children followed by the sounds of pats.

He must be patting them, Cale thought.

They had just finished the battle—the war.

Everything had just been over.

They were going to come home.

To the home they live in.

To the person they knew was waiting,

To the person who’ll welcome them with open arms,

To the person who’s a part of their lives,

Who has influenced them.

But the person was not there.

She wasn’t there to welcome them.

She wasn’t there at the gate.

She wasn’t there.

Her presence wasn’t there.

There wasn’t her—her, who would fuss over the slightest wounds, her who would match the children with the same excitement, her who would welcome them with her warm gaze, her who would hug him and say ‘Welcome back, Cale!’.

She wasn’t there.

She wasn’t there to welcome them—him.

She wasn’t there to hug him.

To kiss him.

To just—just be there.

“Wait for us, okay?” Cale cupped his hand to her cheek as he looked at her in concern. She chuckled as she brought her own hand to his, “Of course. Don’t I always?”

Cale thought it was weird. How the white star had this smirk before he died. How the stuffy, uncomfortable feeling wouldn’t leave Cale’s chest. He thought it was weird. His instincts warned him—screamed at him that something isn’t right. But Cale didn’t know what it was then. Everyone was safe, nobody is hurt, and just for precautions he had raon and the others run checks again. There wasn’t anything wrong. And it’s not like the white star can harm her since he wouldn’t be able to.

That’s what Cale thought.

But her grave right in front of him betrayed him.

“I’ll wait for you. So don’t go dying on me, okay?”

Cale could feel someone—he couldn’t bring himself to care who it is—pat his shoulder. An act of comfort. Cale knew that whoever is patting his shoulder right now—he can make a guess, but Cale doesn’t really feel like working his brain. Rather, it seemed like his brain—his mind isn’t working. It’s just.. blank.

Pat. Pat.

Whoever they are, they kept patting his shoulder. Whoever they are, Cale could feel their hand trembling. Of course it is, I’m not the only one suffering here.

“Don’t get hurt, okay Cale?”

How funny.

You told me that and yet..

You’re the one who ended up getting hurt.

Ahh..

Cale looked up, seeing the colourful rays as the sun goes down. Sunset.

It’s pretty.

It’s a mix of different colours as it paints the sky. Red, orange, purple, pink, gold. It’s a beautiful scenery.

You would’ve love to see this.

Cale shifted his eyes towards the ground, You would invite the others for a picnic, I bet you’d make flower crowns with the children too. We’d be laying on the ground, watching as the sun goes down. Maybe take a nap. I could almost hear it, the joyful laughs of the children, the carefree smiles of the others. It’d be relaxing. Right, my love? A small chuckle escaped his lips, Cale took a deep breathe as his records played. As his image of her— her laugh, her smiles, her voice, her everything. Cale took it all in.

And as he looked at the stone, marbled to perfection just like how she wanted it and said on a rainy cold night where he and she cuddled under the covers.

“I want it to be pretty.” She suddenly declared, hand raised as she looked at the moon shining beneath them. “What?” Cale looked at her incredulously. “I said, I want my grave to be pretty.” Cale only glanced at her before turning his eyes to his book on his hands, “Don’t speak nonsense. You’re not going there anytime soon.” She grinned as if knowing his reply, “I know I know! I just wanted you to know.” She giggled.

Cale took another breathe in, shaky. And as he opened his eyes, Cale felt a tear fall. To be frank, he didn’t expect to cry. Having already known the feeling of seeing someone’s grave—of attending someone’s funeral. Cale didn’t expect for his emotions to betray him. He rarely cries. Choosing to bottle up his own despair, deep within him. Choosing to suffer in silence. Maybe Cale knew he’d cry, but not now. Maybe later when he’s all alone in his room, with nothing but alcohol and the coldness of the night, with silence accompanying him in his drunkenness.

“You.. you’ll come back home, right?” She said with a worried look, smiling weakly yet soft. She knew the dangers, she knew she wouldn’t be able to do any help. All she could do was pray for their safe return. Cale softened his look as a gentle smile broke out his face, “Yeah. We will. I will.”

And another tear fell, and another, and another. Till Cale’s tears fully rolled down his cheek, and yet no sounds escaped his lips. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t release shaky sobs. Instead, he knelt by her grave, and brushed a hand. And as Cale opened his mouth, his voice was gentle, kind, soft. Albeit it was a little shaky, they could see as his lips formed a weak smile.

“I’m back.”

Cale could almost imagine it,

Her greeting him by the door, her arms wrapping itself around his waist as his own steadies themselves until it eventually around her waist as he embraced her back. Her looking up at him with her sparkling eyes—usually glinting in relief and happiness as she smiles brightly.

Cale could almost imagine it.

Almost.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Sorry I’m late, something came up.” He sighed as he looked at her in regret, but she only waved it off. “It’s fine! As long as you’re safe!” She grinned. “Ah Cale! Didn’t you forget to say something?” She smiled playfully, Said main raised a brow, wondering what it was before a chuckle was heard, “I’m home.”

“I’m home.”

Cale could almost hear it.

She beamed at him, giving him a smile of her own—one that usually makes you blind, “Welcome home, Cale!”

And for a split second, maybe a figment of his imagination, Cale thought he saw her figure, kneeling beside her grave as she faced him, for a split second. Cale thought he saw her. And for that split second, Cale saw her lift her hand and placed it on his cheek, her smile was sad yet glad, there was a look in her eyes that Cale couldn’t decipher. And for that split second, Cale heard it.

Cale could almost imagine it.

Almost.

The only missing piece,

“Welcome home… Cale.”

Is her.

[lucytara]

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt. 

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

--

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

--

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

--

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

--

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

--

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

--

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

--

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

--

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

--

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

--

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

--

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

  Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

--

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

--

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

--

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

[cant-think-of-anything]

I think part of the reason that there’s such a dissonance between what kind of character Matthew is ~supposed~ to have and what kind of poor traits shine through, especially in his treatment of Alastair, is not just because of CC’s poor handling of alcoholism (and, in my opinion, mental health issues and depression) but also because: Our first introduction to these characters happened a long ways before some major changes to TLH.

Namely… Alastair and Cordelia were basically white in CC’s original planning. There’s just no way around that. Their flower cards, where they’re not just whitewashed but purely white, prove that (and they STILL haven’t been updated, by the way.)

Also, Alastair’s hair: in CoG it was dyed blond, and CC wrote it off implicitly as a racism thing when she decided he was Persian (which I guess happened after the short story where we met Alastair and before TLH) , which would have been fine it if it was an arc written better. Except, I don’t think she realized that it would make Matthew’s comments about Alastair inherently and obviously racist, being a white author. And I doubt that it will be dealt with and named or even acknowledged outright in the final TLH installment.

Kind of the same thing with Cordelia. I’m not saying POC can’t have like red hair because obviously POC don’t come in a prepackaged set of five or six traits that are all configured randomly, but something has always rubbed me the wrong way about the way that CC writes the majority of her POC and especially WOC as exotic. I mean, Kamala as a character is to me a special favorite (even though CC did her dirty and didn’t do a good job portraying her character or intersectional identity) but I rolled my eyes so hard when she had lighter brown or “amber” eyes in canon or officially commissioned art. With Cordelia, I know CC once said she uses henna to redden her hair which is great for her, and I guess I have less of a bone to pick with that because it’s semi(?) realistic, but still. Also the fact that so much of her description as a beautiful person comes from her hair. Again that’s cool, and women of color should be loved wholly including being loved for the parts of them that they freely change (such as Cordelia’s hair) but… the proportion of the fixation on her hair as what makes her lovely rubs me the wrong way sometimes. I feel like it’s sometimes an out from CC making the ~scandalous~ decision that a woman of color can be beautiful because of the traits she is born with. Idk it’s just for me I had this long standing repulsion towards my colorings and my facial structure and white girls would tell me I was whiny about it and then I finally began to piece together things like “Eurocentric beauty standards.”

Going on a tangent slightly, but something else that bothered me was when Anna insulted Cordelia after buying her those dresses and everyone kinda treating it as a compliment? And just cause Cordelia, a fictional teenager, didn’t get mad about it doesn’t mean readers of color can’t see the underlying racism behind “Cordelia looks MUCH better in these dresses which are SUITED for her skin tone.”

I think that narrative could have been handled much better: if it was Cordelia picking out her own clothes as an act of maturity and self-realization and ownership, if Cordelia herself said (in a different way lol) “Damn right I can wear lavender ruffles if I want to and crimp my hair but I’m not going to let white fashion prevent me from outshining everyone because dark skinned women INVENTED jewel tones.” And I think some people will argue that Cordelia’s context makes this too self aware of a development but I would say that it would have been a powerful part of her development outside of her relationships, especially considering that she’s supposed to be a main protagonist. Full arcs for the win baby!

But even aside from all that what bothered me about Anna’s dresses was the fact that it was a white woman showing the “truth” or the “right way” or “saving” a woman of color, a trope which I don’t think CC intended but committed nonetheless. I think from a white author POV the thinking was “Anna is such a free bohemian who lives true to herself and she’s going to help Cordelia become that way too,” which irks me because I feel like that just worked against CC in terms of POC rep and also because that same ideology is used in an attempt to make Anna’s treatment of Kamala justified even though Anna as an out person, with racial and economic privilege and the support of an extensive and powerful family network, pressured and tormented Kamala into coming out.

I have a lot of thoughts on that relationship, mainly: it shouldn’t have been dragged out this long because from the beginning, Every Exquisite Thing, it was clear they were looking for different things. And if CC had left it at that and let them go on their separate ways after a week of knowing each other that would have been fine: Kamala can’t do an out and proud relationship and Anna doesn’t want secrecy, so they’ll develop on their own. And then later Kamala’s pursuit of Anna in the actual TLH books was I think meant to be a thing about “the lengths you’ll go for true love” but it felt forced. Honestly… It just feels icky. like this woman of color is just so hung up on this white woman who abuses her repeatedly and can’t handle her own misogyny and internalizations. And I hate that because both had such awesome potential! To me it’s less that I dislike Anna ( I’d need a whole other post to explain that) and more that I dislike CC for wanting so bad to claim sapphic rep but not wanting to put in the effort to portray it effectively- and pretty much all that entails is writing the relationship without acting like it exists in a pseudo-vacuum where the history and realities of interracial relationships and queerphobia don’t exist in the way we obviously recognize and experience.

And characters like Cordelia and Alastair are amazing and have so much potential; I think the true origin of the problems with their portrayal is that they weren’t really intended as POC or even queer representation in the first place. I don’t know if Cassie would have taken a different approach to her characterization had she known Alastair would be a brown gay man when she first introduced him, but I hope it would have at least made her more conscientious of the inherent application of colonialism and racism in her storytelling from that point onward.

I want to finally add that I’m not saying any portrayal of racism is bad. I’m saying that the racism in the story is not part of a conscious framework that critiques racism appropriately. I think CC wrote the beginnings of the narrative, decided she was going to develop the diversity point content, and then either didn’t look back at the older content to analyze it and the other (white characters) through a new lens of race and outsiderness and queer personhood, or she looked at it and didn’t know what to do with it, or looked at it and didn’t care.

Sorry this got so long! Thanks for listening.

- A.

I feel like CC handled everything poorly in regards to characters who had a lot of potential.

The fact that Cordelia and Alastair are both originally white and it's so obvious in the way every bit of racism is handled by the characters. Matthew's comments in CLS are very important and they should've been handled with the same severity that Alastair's words were. CC changing the characters to POC was a big decision and when she did so she should've went back and actually read her own material. I can assure you that it will not be handled in CHOT, my expectations for CC recognizing the importance and gravity in the words she writes regarding racism or any of her "implied racism" bullshit have gone to the ground.

Because while golden eyes are obviously so easy to write when discussing discrimination obviously racism is out of the question /j

THAT'S EXACTLY IT, women of color in these books are so pathetically rare that on the rare occurrence that she does write them they should all be given these features that aren't as common in POC and written as more beautiful because of those features. I read CHOG after I became more appreciative of my ethnic features but if I had read this a year or so ago? Or even if I had read it after just feeling insecure in general? It would've been awful. The implication is that the lighter features in POC are the most beautiful, with Cordelia's red hair being put on a higher pedestal than her dark eyes and Kamala's eyes being focused on more than her hair (because I literally went back and counted the numbers to prove it and it's exactly what happens.)

I'm sure Cordelia's hair is stunning, but it's the way that when she's described (or more accurately being sexualized) it is just her hair and body that is shown, not the color of her skin or the color of her eyes.

God the pastel thing pisses me off so much. It's not even that Anna tells Cordelia that she would look better in darker colors it's that she says it suits her skin tone. Implying that anyone with brown skin should be barred from wearing pastels. And Kamala? In the few times she is described, she's wearing dark colors or champagne gold, never light blue or purple or pink WHICH HONESTLY SUITS HER PERSONALITY. It's also the way that the dresses Anna sent her are described to be more revealing- it's weird. Anna barely knew her when she started dictating everything that Cordelia could put on her body.

“Damn right I can wear lavender ruffles if I want to and crimp my hair but I’m not going to let white fashion prevent me from outshining everyone because dark skinned women INVENTED jewel tones.”

I literally would have loved that. It recognizes that she doesn't need to follow these "rules" on what to wear but still shows her choosing what she wants to wear without making all the darker skinned readers feel like they can't wear a certain color.

I think what some people fail to realize is that these books are also aimed at upper elementary and middle school and a middle schooler with dark skin reading something like that? In a book with characters they love? It's going to be so harmful

Someone else mentioned that CC said Kamanna's relationship was complicated because Kamala didn't defend Anna: Defend her FROM WHAT? Literally what is there to threaten Anna?

These books are filled with tokenism and then praised for it. The idea of Kamala X Anna has so much potential but they're portrayed in such a toxic way. Throughout the last through books Kamala puts herself through so much guilt and regret and turmoil just for Anna to literally use her, blame her, and cast her aside. And it's so fucking annoying because it pushes this idea that this woman of color who was terrified and in an extremely vulnerable position is in the wrong for choosing her safety and presents them as guilty and shameful for doing such a thing.

I would disagree, the portrayal of racism is bad, because it is used at random points in the story and never brought up again, if you interduce racism take it seriously it's not the kind of thing you're meant to half-ass in a book thousands of people will read

I agree on everything else though, so much of these books are incredibly harmful and they are presented to a young audience so it's overall just a gross situation

Thank you for the ask though! I loved answering this, if you ever have anything else you're more than welcome to come back <3