#but i think black and white would be very knowledgeable about poisons

[fanfictionroxs]

Todd: *Gets down on one knee*

Black: Oh my god, it’s finally happening.

Todd: *Falls over*

Black: The poison is kicking in.

[ihassheepquake]

Wow, that is a crazy intense backstory. And also a lot more grey than I thought it'd be. Which I really appreciate. I was really expecting, and fearing, they'd go in a direction that was a lot more "the Jedi were completely at fault and are bad." They're absolutely not innocent in the destruction of the Bendrock Coven and 100% could've approached that situation with more grace. But it's very clear that pretty a lot that happened was an accident.

Mae started the fire on accident (she wanted to burn the book then dropped it). Indara killed the Coven on accident (I don't think she could've realistically known that cutting their connection to Kelnacca would kill them all. Maybe suspected but not known). Torbin instigated the conflict mostly on accident (I don't think he wanted to start a fight but I also don't think it could've gone any other way with the energy he came in with).

In terms of not accidents, nothing could've prepared me for seeing that Sol chose to let Mae fall and die. I was ready for the Jedi to have come through and just killed them all. But not that. And wow, what an incredible choice. And Sol killing Mother Aniseya, and Mae seeing it happen, really does a lot for Mae's motivation and hatred of the Jedi. I'm not sure I can blame Sol for it, because that looked scary as fuck and he had no idea what she was going to do (this is one of the only times in Star Wars I've had to pause and verbally say "what the fuck"). I'm really curious as to what Mother Aniseya was actually going to do.

To me, it didn't seem like they were trying to show the Coven as evil. Or at least not Mother Anisyea, but I don't think even Koril is meant to be evil. Rather mothers and leaders who will do what they have to protect their people. But they didn't shy away from showing how dangerous and kinda fucked up their power could be, which makes their deaths being accidents so much more hurtful.

The nature of the lie and the secret is really interesting now. It's not fully about shame or wanting to hide their actions from the High Council (though I'd say it's still partly that), but rather trying to save Osha from as much of the trauma as possible. And in doing so, they probably made her trauma worse. She was like 8 years old, of course they wouldn't want to put all of that on her. But it does also make me really question why Torbin chose the poison instead of facing the council because that really doesn't seem fair to him.

I really, really like that they chose to make this not black and white. The writers created a situation in which both groups get to be bad and wrong but be justified in it. Sol killing Mother Aniseya, while wrong, in the moment with all the knowledge that Sol had was justified. Koril attacking him for it was justified. Taking control of Kelnacca and using him against Sol and Torbin is, to Koril and the Coven in that moment is justified as they best chance they have of winning. And Indara killing the Coven by cutting them of from Kelnacca, while wrong, was justified to save all of the Jedi's lives and give them the chance to save Osha and Mae. It's a great conflict and it's absolutely ridiculous that they waited until the second to last episode of the show to give us it.

[mothervvoid]

Kakashi's Birthday Recs

since it's our beloved boy's birthday, I thought I'd take some time to rec a few of my favorite fics (and a few of my own)!

The Pack Survives by ihopethelightwillshineuponus

genfic | 97k / 25/25ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric When a simple C-rank mission turns into a straight-up nightmare, the members of Team Seven narrowly escape with their lives. They end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, each of them injured and forced to rely on one another for help.

A++ whump & team bonding, it's great!

Like You'd Get Your Knuckles Bloody For Me by mabledonut

genfic | 37k / 10/10ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric Kakashi was in hell, or something close to it. a.k.a. Genin Team 7 goes bananas after their sensei gets kidnapped and tortured.

another A++ whump fic, with some really great team bonding moments. kakashi defies hiruzen's decree a little and spills a bit of knowledge about naruto's dad + team ten cameo & mednin!shikamaru!

The Last Time I'll Abandon You by mabledonut

genfic | 300k+ / 78/120ch | Team Minato-centric | Ongoing “Hatake Kakashi, isn’t it…?” Kakuzu asked as he emerged from underground, as the black strings or wires or whatever they were retracted back into his body, catching Kakashi from behind along the way, tugging him down, once again laying him prone on the hard rocks and roots of the forest floor. “It’s been some time, but yes, I do remember you…” Shit, we are in a bad way, Kakashi thought to himself as he struggled to get up. Who’s gonna…

an absolutely SAGA of a story, a must-read. though it's a genfic it DOES have some background ships like asukure, and features TEENIE TINNYYY allusions to ships like kakarin, obikaka and obirin. some top-tier whump, nauseating, will have you reading through your fingers at times, i honestly cannot recommend this fic enough!

Uneasy Lies the Head by Hiiraeth

genfic | 130k / 27/27ch | Kakashi & Team 7-centric “Shikamaru,” He began, trying to stay calm. “I’d like for you to get Sakura." Kakashi swallowed thickly and swayed on his feet. "Because I think I've just been poisoned."

POISON FIC!! kakashi has been poisoned! will he and co figure out a cure IN TIME? take a look and FIND OUT!! stunning whump, wonderful team dynamics. this was one of the first fics i ever read in the naruto fandom and it did NOT disappoint!

Just Leave Me in Two Pieces by @perpetuallyuneloquent

genfic | 12.5k / 3/?ch | Kakashi & Team Minato-centric | Ongoing Kakashi kept his eyes closed as the world came into focus around him. The stale air smelled vaguely like old sake and burning kerosene, the ground beneath him gritty and cold. His mind was too sluggish for him to process more, however. I just want to go back to sleep, honestly. Well, that was concerning. Usually, he couldn’t sleep. …Where am I?

exciting and deliciously upsetting fic as team minato goes through the recycling wheel of miscommunication. featuring some grade A whump and a side of people not saying what they should when they need to, and a very interesting original villain!

And Of Course, I'm throwing a couple of my own fics:

red clouds, white wings, silver hair, dogteeth by Mothervvoid

Kakashi/Konan | 2.8k / 1/1ch | Kakashi & Konan-centric When she goes to him she must shed her red clouds and become something else. White wings, dark clothes; bright like an angel as she was when she first made her descent into the ravine where she found him. She could have left him of course, leaf seal on his headband and red spiral flak jacket. This man is her enemy.

in this fic i dare to ask the question: how would this ship work? feat some kakashi whump!

Pebble Brain by Mothervvoid

Kakashi/Obito | 20.7k / 6/6ch | Kakashi & Obito-centric Communication is king.

my obikaka magnum opus.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 14]

The final installment of this In Stars and Time AU! You can start from the beginning here.

You are sitting in a bathroom, hugging a roll of toilet paper to your chest. You think you probably hate this toilet paper. It’s powdery and scratchy and squishes like rotting meat under your touch. A black hole in a white ring, glaring like a huge judgmental eye. Or like those symbols of the Change God. (You hate the Change God almost as much as you hate this toilet paper.) “This isn’t what I wanted,” you tell it. “It was supposed to be you.” The toilet paper doesn’t answer. Because it’s toilet paper. The weird thing is, you’ve never felt saner.

[CW for self-harm, suicidal ideation. Expect spoilers for the entire game, including the epilogue & secret ending]

You are sitting in a bathroom, hugging a roll of toilet paper to your chest.

You think you probably hate this toilet paper. It’s powdery and scratchy and squishes like rotting meat under your touch. A black hole in a white ring, glaring like a huge judgmental eye. Or like those symbols of the Change God.

(You hate the Change God almost as much as you hate this toilet paper.)

“This isn’t what I wanted,” you tell it. “It was supposed to be you.”

The toilet paper doesn’t answer. Because it’s toilet paper.

The weird thing is, you’ve never felt saner.

It’s like all the ugly things you said had been collecting in your veins, clouding your mind, eroding your resolve, and now you’ve finally bled the poison out of you. There’s a lucidity to it. A focus. Soon you’ll be in control again, and you’ll be able to keep everyone happy forever. Except for you, obviously. But you’ve never been very happy.

You’re not really sure how to go about this. You can’t remember how to make a Wish, much less reverse one. You can feel the knowledge floating at the fringes of your mind, just beyond your field of vision. But the moment you turn to look at it, it dissipates.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, you’ll just… count down from three and when you get to zero, you’ll say the first thing that comes to mind, passed straight from your subconscious to your mouth. Really ‘cutting’ out the middleman, ha ha!! No. Stop laughing. You sound insane. Focus on not focusing. Three, two, one, “You’re disgusting.”

…Wow. Thanks, subconscious. No, that’s really helpful. Almost as helpful as the toilet paper. But not quite as helpful, because at least the toilet paper can still be used as toilet paper.

The simplest solution is just to say the opposite of what you said before. Unfortunately, what you said before was, I don’t want to be alone. (It probably wouldn’t work. Odile said that you had to really want it. But even so. When it comes right down to it, you can’t bring yourself to tell an omnipotent wish-granting Universe that you want to be alone.

Besides!! You wouldn’t want to wish your whole cast out of existence on accident, haha!! After all, you’re doing this for them.)

You close your eyes and think.

You can’t remember exactly how you Wished, the last time you were here. But you can feel a tug toward something true. The details are lost to the fog of your past, but you’re pretty sure that Wish Craft loves blood. Blood and stars.

You didn’t bother to pick up the shard of glass this time around. But that doesn’t matter. The point of your dagger is sharp enough.

You prick the skin above your wrist, right where you’ve always noticed Loop’s brightest star, and watch with interest as black wells from the wound. The spreading void, the creeping dark. The hollow that swallows the stars. You twist your wrist and watch the emptiness drip down.

You remember… pictures. Constellations. Inverted silhouettes, bright against the dark. A Warrior, a Hero, an Orphan, a Sage. Or is that only in your head? How would you ever know? You giggle as you draw each dot. Poke, poke, poke. There’s pleasure in the sting of tearing meat. The way the skin puckers before it breaks.

The darkness washes down your arm like the tide coming in. The prowling void, swallowing the bright. Did you know a story like that once? You can’t remember.

“I used to know a joke about memory loss,” you tell the toilet paper. “But I forgot it.”

The toilet paper stares at you. No sense of humor. Isa would have laughed. No he wouldn’t, he hates you. You made him hate you. But not for much longer, hehe! You’re going to fix everything.

You laugh and laugh and fill the void with stars.

* * *

[Stardust,] you think, as loud as you can. [Stardust. Stardust. Siffrin!! Are you doing something stupid?]

No answer. Either they can’t hear you, or they have nothing more to say.

Your nails dig into your knees. Curse them. You hate them. They deserve whatever they have coming. He chose this. He’s worse than you ever were!!! They did this to themself!!!!

[Siffrin,] you try again, like a total blinding idiot without even a speck of self-respect. [Talk to me.]

But of course they don’t.

You could just let them blow themself up. You probably should. It’s what he deserves. The absolute audacity of self-destructing so violently after only a few hundred loops… honestly, it’s just sad. Were you ever this weak? You can’t imagine that you were.

So why can’t you let this go?

…Ugh. You’re actually going to have to do something about this, aren’t you?

When you squeeze your eyes shut, you’re not granted the reprieve of darkness. Even the backs of your eyelids are made of light.

You can finish out the series here. Or start from the beginning here.

[the-king-and-the-druidess]

Point to the "Morgause enchanted Morgana" theory: Arthur and Merlin are talking about "what made her so twisted" in the very Dark Tower episode, making the ep's plot a non-direct answer to this question. What was it?

And the core of the enchantment is not the Tower, the building itself but the mandrake and psychological suffering it causes. Who else used hexing with mandrakes? Morgause. Uther felt something like Gwen because of the root.

Other points supporting the theory: very drastic shift in Morgana's perception of her friends she loved before. Betrayal of her compassion for Camelot commoners. Changed mannerism: smirks, falsity, coldheartedness (Gwen started acting like Morgana when mandraked). The way mandraked!Gwen interacted with Morgana is basically the way Morgana interacted with Morgause in S3. Fact that Morgana became too obsessed with the goals Morgause gave her even when it was not important (Gwen's marriage). Mandraked people can feel too, we see Gwen hurting and going away when Sarrum told how he tortured Morgana and Aithusa, we see her remembering her good moments with Arthur. From Morgause's side, using the mandrake on Morgana would not be considered something evil, but just a little help for her lost younger sister; she had already used Morgana without her knowledge.

Contrapoints: Morgana has been experiencing emotional suffering and fear before 2.12 and Morgause. Poisoning became the last straw. She already was planning to do something with Uther and his regime, she was suppressing her rage at his injustice. Separation from Arthur and friends, Morgause's teachings and later, Uther's betrayal(when he rejected her as his daughter) tore apart bonds Morgana had with them, she began seeing them as her enemies siding with her biggest enemy. She was broken because no one, including Merlin, never showed her other way. Morgause sculpted a revolutionary out of clay which has already begun to shape itself. Also, wouldn't the root charm have broken after Morgause's death? It's a blind spot of the mandrake sorcery. Or maybe only love, light and will to return to innocence of the mandraked person can break the enchantment?

On the other hand at that moment the camera shifts on Merlin after Arthur asked the question, hinting at Merlin's role in poisoning Morgana. Most of the time I think that emotional torture Gwen experienced there: fear, misery, darkness, thoughts that everyone hates her etc Morgana experienced on her own, maybe with a little non-magical push from Morgause, and this twisted her. What Gwen experienced once, Morgana experienced many times, plus Gwen always had a softer and kinder nature so in order to change her one had to use an enchantment. (Yes, it implies a very black and white good vs evil).

But I believe the theory can coexist with the most obvious explanation.

[rga531]

The Scar that Hurts

Chapter 5/6: "Greater than a god, lesser than a demon", that's what someone wrote in a broken wall from a kingdom that dared to defy her.

Words: 3023

Content warning: descriptions of sexual assaut.

← Previous chapter | Next chapter →

With each step her dress dragged across the floor; it was still dirty with wine, sauces and other things. It felt like she was being dragged down by all the sins of mankind. Her smile was gone. She didn’t even register the sarcastic comments the guests said about her dress.

Her steps created small earthquakes that only her could feel. Her vision blurred, as if black and white tendrils emerged from the floor. The laughter coming from the guests punctured her ears, worming their way through her brain.

A headache.

Her perfect body never really had health problems. Aside from her heart pains, headaches happened if she didn’t sleep for three days. It happened only when she was engrossed in her calculations.

The laughter became louder as the blood pumped right into her head. It was like her heart and her brain were one thing. And how it hurt.

She could feel the painful laughter worming its way into her heart. She could feel the poison pumping through her blood.

Everything she had done for mankind didn’t matter. Did it ever matter?

It was a massive joke and she was the unwitting punchline.

She was promised to be the queen one day, and, as a queen, she would do the best to create a peaceful and prosperous nation. The future queen, reduced to the world’s biggest clown, without even realizing it.

Did her mother ever have an ounce of faith on her? What else of the others? Xavi seemed so dismissive of her. No one called by her name. Did that mean no one recognize her as a human being?

What being a human meant? She read so many philosophers…she had to have the answer.

Monster…

“Ow! What? How dare you interrupt me?! I just lost a great hand and…oh, Toji?”

She realized a bit too late she stumbled upon someone. She lifted her head and saw no other than Etrien. She looked around and saw him playing a game of dice with some of his brother’s friends.

She heard them making snide comments about her dress. Their words, however, didn’t matter. Etrien was her friend, he would tell her the truth about herself. Maybe he would call her a human being, against all odds.

“Etrien, I need to ask you something.”

“One minute, Toji. I’m almost winning this!”

“Etri,” she held a hand on his shoulder; her red eyes looked right into his orange ones; she said, in a soft tone, almost hoarse, “please!”

Etrien looked up to Tojava. He looked at her with pity; Tojava’s gaze ran away from his for a moment. He looked to the others and they shrugged.

“Alright, tell me.”

“Etrien, do you think I’m a human?”

Etrien blinked twice. His entourage giggled behind and made a few comments that Tojava chose to ignore.

“To be honest, of course not.”

Tojava’s eyes widened and then she looked down. She closed her fists and her flames started to dance around her. The others looked concerned, while Etrien seemed puzzled.

A monster that was what she and that’s what she will always be. Maybe…maybe…she just…

She took a deep breath. No, there had to be a reason why he answered that.

“Is something wrong, Toji?”

“Etri,” she looked down to him, “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, so your mother hasn’t told you?”

“Are…we talking about the same thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then, what do you mean to say I’m not human?”

“Oh, that’s simple neither do I.”

“Huh?”

“My brother just told me that.”

“Your brother…is a very smart for his age.”

“And he likes you. It’s the secret knowledge that has been passed through centuries among members of royal families,” Etrien got and waved to his friends, “Gentlemen, shall we?”

They went to another room, where Tojava gasped loudly at the sight.

Some nobles were clapping their hands while slaves danced with them. The band drunkenly played upbeat songs. The slaves seemed exhausted, their clothes drenched in sweat and some of them with tongues outside their mouths.

Tojava put a hand in front of her agape mouth.

“Look at who’s here.” A man called from an armchair. He had two girls sitting down on the handles, feeding him grapes.

“Aitar, Toji is here.”

Aitar was the first prince of Etarasca. He had a fame for being the most beautiful man of the Etarascan court. He also was one of the wisest. Even at his young age, he had written books on philosophy and astrology. He was also champion of many sports, such as archery and wrestling.

“The beautiful princess of Fallave. What do you wish to know?”

He got up from his seat and smelled Tojava’s hair. She thought it to be strange. She looked at Etrien, who dropped his smile and stared at her without looking at anything in particular. She noticed his eye twitched, but she wondered if it was unconscious or not.

“I…” she glanced at the poor slaves dancing there.

“She wants to learn the secret, big brother.” His smile returned just as quickly as it left.

“Ah, the secret. I thought your mother already told you that, but I’ll gladly tell you about.”

“I…” she glanced at Etrien, who just smiled at her.

“Let me put this way: you learned that the gods stayed in the World Before, right?”

“Yes, that there is no point in waiting for them. Mankind must find its own path alone.”

“The truth is…there were no gods at all.”

“Huh? I mean, that’s one of the most common theories.”

“Because,” he gave her a wide grin, “the gods were us, after all.”

“…what do you mean?”

As if on cue, one of the slaves fell unconscious.

“Oh, someone help him.” She turned to Aitar, “Haven’t they had enough?”

“Tojava, you asked us to let the slaves enjoy the party. And so did we. But I was waiting for you because I wanted to educate you. You need to understand that all those ideas that you have are…immature.”

“Immature?” She walked to the man who fell, after grabbing a tankard of water. “Do you want to kill them?”

“Of course not, my dear Tojava. You have to understand that slaves are men and women that are underdeveloped. They had not time or circumstances to fully develop themselves. That is why we have to guide them to their happiness.”

“Do they look happy to you, Aitar?”

“Of course not, because they aren’t on their most suitable environment. I am merely teaching them that, even if you invited them, they don’t belong here. They have their own rules, their own morality. They tend to be resentful from our birthright, so they try to distort things like ‘justice’, ‘kindness’ into their own benefit. Instead of working hard and buying their freedom like the order of things dictates, some of them decide to revolt and we need to quell them. Everyone in the court is concerned that you have slave-friendly thoughts.”

“I just want…aren’t we all human? We all have natural virtues.”

“The fact we merely share the same organs in our bodies do not imply that we are the same. We are gods, Tojava. Do you know what’s the difference between a god and a demon?”

“It was in your book, right? I received it three days ago, but I didn’t read it beyond the summary because I was busy with the equations.”

“Then let me preview to you: everything a god does is right, because of his rights. A god has command of himself. He is wise to know how to use his power and can savor the fruits of these rights. In contrast, everything a demon does is wrong. No matter how much ‘justice’ the demon practices, it’ll never be enough, because there’s always a foolish desire to prove himself. If he saves a child from drowning, it was to sate his desire to prove himself, while a god does it simply because he judged it rational. A god would’ve known if the child was worth saving, while a demon just goes blindly.”

“But did the demon really commit a sin by just saving someone?”

“Demons don’t exist, Tojava, because otherwise our good deeds would be meaningless. The peasant, both the poorest to the richest, is stranded between two extremes, of god and demon. He might choose the right thing sometimes and the wrong thing other times.”

“And what makes us gods?”

“Tradition and great acts. The gods of the World Before were merely men and women who reached apotheosis from great feats. We might have forgotten their names, but their deeds echo in history through their descendants: us.”

Tojava gave him a look of disbelief. She started to think of many questions that would poke holes in his logic, but Aitar continued.

“If it wasn’t for us taking the helm, this world would have died long ago after the Scar.”

“But this world will die.”

“What are you talking about?

“I made the calculations. It ends with humanity consumed by its sins and dying.”

The entire room erupted in laugh. Even Etrien giggled a bit.

She felt a bit hurt.

“You’re a smart girl, with the body of a full-grown woman, Tojava,” Aitar said, approaching her face, putting a finger under her chin, “You must know as long as humanity has gods, it’ll survive and eventually prevail. Do you remember the myth of the flood?”

“In the flood, the sheep didn’t do anything but discuss among themselves and all the other animals, but a lion took over the ship’s wheel because no one would dare to touch it. The sheep, humiliated by their fear and indecision, agreed to let themselves be eaten by the lions.”

“That is why a lion doesn’t care about the opinions of sheep. Speaking of sheep, I shall grant your request.”

With a snap of his fingers, the slaves stopped dancing. Some fell to the ground, overexerted. Others begged for water and his entourage teased them. One of them even drank the water first and then spit on one of them; they laughed.

“See how magnanimous a god can be, Tojava. A wise god must be aware of the limits of his servants, so that he can extract the most of their work just this close of expiring.”

“That’s…it…” she thought of her equations and the big zeroes at their ends. She gritted her teeth and said, “That’s hypocritical!”

“What?”

“Do you really believe everything you do is right? They are suffering just to appease us! This didn’t stop wars between nobles themselves. This is what will kill us all!”

Everyone laughed at her again.

The pain in her heart just grew.

“Tojava, as I said, you have unbecoming thoughts. But with time, you’ll learn to think like a proper goddess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard? It seems all those equations have made you numb to matters of politics. The Fallavin council has chosen me to spouse you.”

Tojava had her mouth opened. She looked at Etrien, who also couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Don’t take it personally, kid.” Aitar said, passing a hand over his head, “I’ll let you have fun with her once or twice a year.”

Etrien ran away and didn’t even look back.

“Wait, Etrien!” she turned to Aitar, “Where’s the proof?”

One of his friends handed her a copy of the document.

“That’s the seal of the council…it’s true!”

A sharp pain in her heart erupted. It wasn’t just a metaphor anymore. It was one of those pains that came and go related to her heart.

“Oh, poor Toji’s heart couldn’t handle the joy. Let us take her to somewhere more private.”

Aitar took his men and Tojava and they went into a nearby room. Tojava didn’t resist. Her heart hurt, however, enough to make her wanting to die. It would stop soon, but at that moment of pain, she was too distracted to notice.

 They made her lie down in a bed.

Aitar was on her. He held her wrists. His face…scared Tojava.

“Aitar…what are you doing?”

“You know, I don’t want to wait a couple of years until the marriage is done. You have a body too beautiful for your age. Your breasts, your legs, your hair…I wanna have fun with you.”

“Aitar…you’re not making me comfortable.”

“I think of your body every night ever since I first laid eyes on you. How nice it’d be biting every part of it. Putting things into it.” His grin became deranged as he passed a finger under her chin, going to her collar.

Tojava tried to look around, to see if anyone could help her, but all his entourage were laughing at her.

“No, no, no, please, stop, Aitar. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m a god, Tojava. And since you refuse to be one, you can only choose to be a peasant, a slave, maybe even a demon. And I can do this because I can.”

He grabbed her by the neck.

“AAAHH!”

Instinctively, she kicked him away in the ribs.

She ended up kicking him harder than she intended. Thus, he crashed against a wall.

“Argh! You whore!” he cried, clutching his abdomen as his friends helped him to get up.

Tojava breathed heavily and got up, using a nearby cover to protect herself.

“You can do this the easy way or the hard way. Argh!” he cried.

“Let me deal with her, boss.”

One of the men held a knife and jumped at Tojava, slicing her dress. In a reflex, she screamed and slammed the back of her hand against him.

She didn’t even pay attention to the black-and-white flames around her hand, much less to the “thud”.

When she stopped screaming, she looked around and they all had strange looks on their faces. She turned around and gasped.

In the wall, a large spot of blood, painting the wall. And, on the floor, there was a body. The neck was twisted and the eyes had just exploded.

He was dead. Killed by her.

“You monster!”

“You killed him! You bastard!”

“She’s a menace! She’s going to kill us all!”

“We need to kill her first!”

“See, Tojava.” Aitar said, “You were never like us! You were always an abomination! We tried to make you as compliant as a sheep. But you’re only good dead!”

As the litany of insults continued, she thought of all the events. She clenched her fists and looked down, while tears rolled through her face. Again.

Xavi just used her.

Both nobles and peasants didn’t care about doing good.

Her mother called a monster.

Etrien was gone.

And now, the man who was supposed her future husband was a disgusting creature.

She was alone.

She was nothing.

Nothing she ever did matter.

People wouldn’t learn to be good.

“…everything a demon does is wrong. No matter how much ‘justice’ the demon practices, it’ll never be enough…”

Then she remembered her equations.

In her mind, behind the noise of her insults, she started calculating. Her equations assumed that people could choose between good and evil. Aitar said that people are swinging between choosing good and evil, between god and demon. What if she eliminated the option to be evil?

In her mind, numbers and variables turned into pieces of a puzzle that just solved itself. She could see the graph right in front of her, as if it was drawn with chalk in a wall: that once falling curve, reaching zero, now took off.

The problem of evil was solved – it was just a matter of eliminating evil itself. It was so simple she was ashamed of not having thought before.

Then, she remembered why she didn’t think of it: it would require her to impose her will on others.

But did it matter if it was the work of a demon? Nothing, absolutely nothing would change the fact that she was a monster. All her good deeds, all her bad deeds, would be the same. It wouldn’t matter if she saved people or if she let them to die.

That made her the only person capable of saving the world. She would turn all of humanity into moral, correct gods.

Black and white flames started to dance around her.

The litany of insults stopped.

“Am I monster, right?”

She said, in low voice. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes looked as if they were made of glass.

The men started to slowly back away, going for the door.

With a single gaze, black and white flames combusted the door.

“Tojava,” Aitar said, trying to smile, but it was clear he had fear in his voice, “Don’t do anything rash. I’m a god, remember? I can forget this small slip…”

“Nothing I’ll ever do will be enough. Nothing will remove the taint of sin from my heart. I was born from the Abyss, daughter of a drunk woman and an abomination beyond your comprehension.”

She lifted her hand. The flames turned into a spike of black and white material.

“All I see in front of me are sheep who think they’re lions. Aitar, you gave me the tools to create a new world, where the problem of evil is solved. You, however, won’t be part of it.”

With a mighty scream, she launched herself at them.

In a few minutes, the entire room was painted red. Pieces of organs and members were littered over the floor.

No white spot remained in Tojava’s dress.

She had Aitar at blade point. Mere centimeters from his neck.

The man begged for his life without saying a word.

She stared at him. Her eyes burned, while black and white flames danced around her, creating a deathly aura around her.

With one last scream, she lifted her blade.

The door opened.

Tojava glanced.

It was her mother and Etrien.

She dropped her blade. The moment it touched the ground, it disappeared, like dust blown by the wind.

While her mother screamed, Etrien tried to caught up with him.

She shoved him off. She didn’t even look back.

One week later, Fallave invaded Etarasca. The Fallavin Empire began.

[starkidsdraco]

Random Headless Theories

1. Kat Van Tassel is the Woman in White or her and her mother were connected to her somehow. She always seems to be in either black or white. In the yearbook she wrote a message to Matilda reading, ‘see you on the other side.’ What if during the time she was sick last year (according to Anne Tarry), she actually died and became the Woman in White? That may have always been her destiny, as perhaps it was for every possible descendent of Anneke Storms. She said it was her favourite story in the play and that her mum told it to her and it initially freaked her out. What if she shifts between Kat and the Woman in White according to whether she is wearing black or white?

2. Brom said in, I think episode 6 that the horseman is under a curse that is passed on from one soul to the next and that the Horseman’s identity could he that of someone from modern times. I think the person currently under the curse is Trevor Trinkets. I don’t really know why he has a body but I think he is losing his memory bit by bit. The Horseman told Ichabod that the longer he doesn’t have a head, the more memory he loses. It could explain why the age Trevor claims to be continues to descend. It’s possible the Trousers know about this and are protecting a secret that even Trevor may have lost knowledge of, possibly for there own gain or because they are his Parents/Descendents.

3. Kat straight up said to Ichabod that he was there sacrifice to the pagan Gods. She may have been joking but why would she say that? Maybe that’s what happened to Rip Van Winkle. It could explain why her father didn’t want Ichabod eating the possibly poisoned cake. Who knows, Ichabod may die days after eating it Ichabod will die and join Kat (the possible Woman in White) as a spirit from the afterlife.

4. I think Anne Tarry is the descendant of the true founder of Sleepy Hollow. Because of the whole Tarrytown thing. This may have been mentioned but I need to rewatch the first episode. I think Kat’s father and Dr Crayon killed her to cover the true founder’s identity up.

5. I think Matilda and Kat may share the same mother or maybe father. They seem to have been very close and from such a young age. Matilda is probably younger and did not inherit the Woman in White curse/gift. Or they just have the same father. Idk, Matilda’s reacted pretty defensively when Ichabod asked if the woman in the picture with her and Kat was Matilda’s mother. A step mum, or adoptive mum,maybe? Or they want to keep the fact that they might share a mother hidden. Either way, I think Kat is also a witch. Not sure if the man we think is Kat’s father would actually be Kat and Matilda’s father in this scenario. Kat did say, “that’s what he tells me” in response to Ichabod exclaiming that the Mayor was Kat’s dad. Or, you know, step siblings!

Just throwing out ideas. Will fix grammar/spelling later.

[jjraderftw]

Barefoot Gen

Let me just say that despite it being violently graphic and downright depressing at times, I thoroughly enjoyed my watching of Barefoot Gen. I think the movie depicts a lot of tough themes which I’ll discuss in a second but it does so in a way that is very passive (as much as you can be with a WWII setting at least). I actually liked the use of vivid imagery because it shows the true colors and horrors of war and the open minded thoughts of people within Japan too: some for the war and other against it. This really showed me that there are always going to be different trains of thought regardless of where you are and that the costs of fighting are sometimes felt more by the civilians than anyone else. That being said, this movie obviously centered around WWII. The story was told from the perspective of Gen who, despite the absolute tragedies that he encountered, remained somewhat optimistic through the viewing making the scenes and events more emotionally tolerable. The movie was a platform to convey the absolute horrors of war. It uses animation to convey how the impacts of greed and pride found in war can lead to the annihilation of thousands of innocent lives. It also comments on the monumental damage humans are capable of, specifically nuclear warfare and the reasons why it’s banned.

Let’s begin by talking about the horror of war. It’s often in classroom settings and movies that we are informed about warfare and the “necessary evil” it’s often connotated with. These accounts are usually told from a very top down perspective or from the views of the soldier in war. Though many depictions show tragedy in the form of lost soldiers and battered corpses from gunfire, it’s not too often that we see the effect on the everyday lives of civilians. This movie showed how prolonged war efforts can deprive hard working citizens as far removed from the conflict as possible of basic needs such as food and water. Gen’s family believed the war in of itself was bad and wished it would end because they could barely make ends meet. Furthermore, the mental state of everyone is lowered. By being at war, the civilians are not only physically worse off, but mentally worn out. There is this looming threat of sudden death at any point which causes mental hysteria. Furthermore, the lack of knowledge on when this war will end leaves many unsettled. And this is all without considering the actual bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

When the bomb dropped, it displayed to the audience the absolute destruction of war. All of the people of Hiroshima, despite having little to nothing to do with the war, vanquished in the blink of an eye. Imagine this: Your country goes to war over something you don’t agree with and you happen to live in that country because you have your entire life. Suddenly, as you’re playing with your child, all your family gets killed as a message by the opposing side. You just lost everything you cared for over something you didn’t care for and did not agree with. It’s an unfair cost. This is very much what occured in WWII. Though these people were innocent, they were put through literal hell. They were burnt alive, melted, blown apart, and poisoned for the rationale of “sending a message.” The bomb made these already suffering people lose more than their food. It made human lives that have equal value to the bombers suffer, all to strike back at the ones involved in the war (who were not even part of the bombing). Gen’s family’s death and the corpses seen through the movie remind us of the destructive potential of humans and why that type of warfare (even in international conflicts where countries are at each other's throats) have been outlawed. No one should suffer in that manner, especially innocent lives.

Another topic covered by the movie is human pride and greed. I’m not going to touch upon who was “right and wrong” in the case of WWII because in war such concepts are often not black and white, however, at this point in the war it was pretty evident that the United States was very mad and serious about their lethality after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Threats were made to the Japanese government warning of impending doom given they did not surrender. Calling their bluff, they refused to give up and Hiroshima was bombed as a result. Even after this massive explosion, Japan refused to surrender (btw 100,000+ lives were killed instantly). Another threat was made and since Japan did not adhere to the warning, another atomic bomb was dropped in Nagasaki. The refusal to give up and the disregard for human lives shows the pride involved in war. The people in charge played and gambled with the lives of innocent individuals who had nothing to do with the war. They were more focused on “winning the war” and being a global power than protecting the people it claimed to have been protecting. The war leaders in charge used the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as pawns. Even after those thousands of lives were lost, they refused to surrender despite being at the mercy of another bomb. But since those in power were directly attacked, they didn’t give up. Furthermore, those in Japan who didn’t agree with the war were labeled as criminals and traitors despite them feeling the effects of warfare firsthand. This shows the one sided mentality of “you’re either with us or against us” even for situations that are sinking ships or horribly unethical. I think it’s important to understand the value of a human life and to know when enough is enough, a concept often forgotten in war.

Overall the movie was very good and talked about its theme well. The part where Gen and his mother dug up their family’s skulls was heartbreaking and really put in perspective the agony people went through. It’s an eye opening film I would definitely recommend given you aren’t easily disturbed.

[mahvaladara]

For the OC ask, 8 until 16 for Mal, and 1,2,5,7, and 18 until 22 for Apollo ❤️ (just ignore if these have already been asked 🙏 )

8. If your OC were to live in some other time period, which era would they be best suited for?

Mal: I come from Astreia. Imagine a Solarpunk Japanese Fantasy, that's Akloria. Imagine a Corrupt Steampunk Victorian Hell hole, that's the Republique of Valora. Think of an Arabian Fantasy world and the Hanging Gardens as Paradise, that's Malivia's Temple City. Think of Skyrim and you'll have the Palelands, think of Cowboys and Dragons and Dwarves and Zombies and you get Red Valley. Think of a beautiful set of Islands in the Sea with the most beautiful and diverse culture in the entire planet, that's the 1001 Seas. Think of the underground Sunken City rosen to its full glory into a capital of knowledge and technological greatness where giant flying lizzards and dwarves coexist, the largest beings in the planet and the greatest denial of human kind, together as Paragons of Civilization, Knowledge and Evolution, where toxic fungus serve as stars and carnivorous plants mimic sunlight, while overseen by the eternally speqing poison fossyl of an ancient dragon god over the bones of a human one. That’s Fall Fossyl. Think of the world of Aurora in Avatar, and you'll get the Free Isles, where mankind, dragonkind, and every. That's how Astreia is.

It is all so fantastic that, honestly. I just want to live in an avarage setting.

16. What trait do they find most attractive/appealing about others?

Mal: Hmm... Sense of humour. They don’t need to be particularly humorous, or good at making jokes, but be able to understand a joke and laugh. Also a smile. I find a smile very attractive. 

For Apollo

1. What is their color palette? 

Apollo: Blue and white. Of course. Silver too.

2. What does your OCs handwriting look like?

Apollo: Like this.

5. What character from myth or fairytale best represents them?

Apollo: The Lumberjack from Red-Riding Hood. Or the George from Saint George and the dragon story.

7. If your OC could meet any historical or past figure, whether in the real world or in their own canon lore, who would it be and why?

Apollo: Hmm... Perhaps Albert Einstein. I’d love to learn one of the greatest genius minds in the world.

18. What is one thing that they only let those closest to them see?

Apollo: I’d say the scar. The scar from the heartlight. It’s not particularly pretty, it’s irradiated in blue and black, like a large bruise.

22. What is some advice or guidance they received that had a big impact on their lives or outlook? Was it a positive or negative impact?

Apollo: I don’t think I ever got any guidance or advice in my life I can say had a big impact in my life.

[fell-court]

🌸 for clio and 💮🌷 for lorenza, if that's okay!!!

Of course that's alright!! Thank you very much for sending these in, friend~

(question source: "OC Interview Questions - Nature" by marnie-mixs-meteors)

🌸 [CHERRY BLOSSOM] Does your OC believe in legends/myths? - I think Clio would definitely believe in a lot of things, but would also not be super focused on that belief, if that makes sense? Like, for example, if she was only just hearing of some local story or other as part of helping people out, she’d automatically believe in it and would want to find out more about it - plus, what reason would she have to distrust it if it's being presented to her as truth in such an anecdotal way? But, if this story turns out to have been something that was misinterpreted, or even full-on untrue, she probably isn’t going to feel like her whole life is a lie all of a sudden. She'll just take the new information in her stride as best she can, even if it was about something she was pretty confident in her knowledge of. I hope that makes sense?

💮 [WHITE FLOWER] Has your OC self-insert ever kissed someone? Who, when, and where? - I see exactly what you're doing here. Yes, to answer your question. ..I’m still working on the details. Specifically regarding the when and where, as the two options for this (at least, the first time it happens) are "long before Lorenza is brought to the Source" and "at least a fair amount of time after Endwalker is done". But the who is already set in stone - it's Zero.

🌷 [TULIP] What is your OC self-insert's favourite flower and colour? - Lorenza’s favourite colour is purple, because it matches her eyes and also a good amount of her magic. I'm thinking of saying that her favourite flower is aconite, also known as wolfsbane, because I recently bought a black mage soul crystal with aconite around it because of its symbolism - it can mean "danger is near" (it's very poisonous!), which I think is very fitting considering Lorenza's innate nature as a voidsent ^-^

I hope that all of these answers were alright, friend! Thank you very much once again for sending in the questions to me~

[theminecraftbee]

bdoubleo: white/green

cubfan: blue

docm: red/blue

etho: green

false: white

gem: green

grian: red/black

hypno: green/black

impulse: blue

iskall: no clue

jevin: blue/white

joe: white

keralis: haven't the foggiest

mumbo: blue/black

pearl: red/green

ren: red

scar: green/black

stress: green

tango: red/blue

TFC: green/white

beef: black

wels: white

xb: ???

xisuma: white/blue

zedaph: blue

cleo: red/black

oooooh alright alright, I agree with a lot of these but there are a FEW i disagree with. but first, the ones you were unsure of:

i think iskall is white/red (despite being green you know how it is). he might be like, some amount of blue or black, but ironically is DEFINITELY not green. i like white/red tho

keralis is white. do not ask me to justify this it is something I Feel In My Bones

xb isn’t someone I know super well but I know he’s doing cool storytelling this season, builds on camera, and has Vibes. i think maybe he should be in black and… maaaybe white? definitely black first but maybe black/white. i think he’s the only hermit who would be black/white at least.

as for the few I disagree with or have strong feelings about in one way or another: I think bdubs needs some amount of red, but I can’t argue against green/white because he definitely also needs green and white fits him, so maybe he’s green/white/red, I just know he DEFINITELY should have red

doc, similarly, feels like he should have black, but blue/red probably fits him best, given those are very much the mad scientist colors

you also reading joe as white makes me feel vindicated. he’s like… the underdog man of the people kind of white more than the “symbol of order” kind of white but he’s definitely white mana in my head you know? that’s the vibe check here

mumbo being blue/black makes my head hurt because on the one hand. he’s not blue/red. and he’s not pure blue. and he likes killing enough that he should probably have black or red but he’s not red so black. on the other hand… blue/black? the sneaky colors? blue/black? ninjas and spies and people who use their knowledge to hide things? mumbo? blue/black? i don’t have answers here and like, he could be a really atypical blue/black, I’m just reeling a little. my brain just tried to make him blue/green to fix this. idk. definitely blue and something else so you’re right there

pure red ren is one that made me think a lot but I think you’re right

green/black scar is SUCH a fun read and I think I do like it a lot for him. definitely like it better than green/white now that you’ve said it. he would also absolutely poison you so that’s a win.

zedaph being pure blue makes sense in that he’s definitely not. other colors. MAYBE blue/red but he doesn’t have red vibes just chaotic ones. so pure blue works

and cleo had to be in black (she’s a zombie) but I think red is a VERY good choice for her other color

anyway this is to say these are all very good takes yes yes

[searidings]

....🥺 can you please tell us more about that season 5 alternate ending where andrea ends up using the dagger pretty please, just like who does she end up hurting and the others reaction? if only you want to of course !

hooookay this ask got me to open that wip for the first time in a year and actually it's not that far from being complete! but idk how to finish it and i feel like i've done the s5 conflict resolution thing in multiple fics now like how many is too many? i fear i may have hit that limit. BUT since you asked, here is the beginning of it. please note:

1) this thing is angsty and also it's unfinished, so read at your own peril

2) because i wasn't ever expecting to finish/publish it, i've recycled bits of description from it into other fics. so if you see stuff i've repeated elsewhere no you don't <3

-

The last thing Lena sees is a flash like dark shadow pass over Andrea’s eyes, before a kryptonite dagger slides between her ribs.

The sound she emits is less of a scream and more of a surprised squeak as she sinks to the ground.

If you want to get to Supergirl, you’re gonna have to go through me.

It’s not that she hadn’t believed Andrea would do it. Lena was under no illusion of safety when she placed herself between Supergirl and the glowing green rock in Andrea’s hand. She’d come to terms with the possibility of dying for Kara long ago.

What she hadn’t been able to prepare for was the pain. The abstract of sacrifice was all well and good, but. Reality, this searing epicentre, a point of white hot agony turned molten, seeping through her body. No amount of her mother’s decorum training had prepared her for this.

Something is filling her mouth, thick and dark and oozing. She can’t scream. Kara sits, eyes silver, a world away. Kara. Lena has to move. She can’t. Andrea steps over her, and is that the pounding of receding footsteps or the dogged beat of Lena’s heart? Either way, it’s slowing. Every inhale cracks her body down the centre, each exhale buries shards of glass inside the gaping wound.

Her eyes are beginning to mist at the edges but she strains, listens. The sound that cuts through the haze is not the scream she dreads, Kara’s agony as her veins sear emerald. It’s not a scream, but a shout, and then a blur passes over her like light and shadow.

Concrete cracks, or perhaps it’s Lena’s ribs. Sounds are muffled now, the world dulled down like the inside of a snow globe. Underwater, time passes sluggishly to where she lies, drifting, encased in glass. But someone is fighting the current, resisting the pull. Hands grasp her shoulders, burning where they touch. Through the rolling fog comes Kara’s face, blurring out in red and blue and gold and sickly green. Lena wants to push her away, keep her separate from the venomous substance protruding from her chest, keep her untainted. But Kara’s hands are dancing there-away along her cheeks, her jaw, Lena’s own name sounding from her lips over and over, a siren song, calling her home. It’s raining now, wet spots peppering her brow, or maybe the sun is crying.

“Lena, Lena,” Kara is saying. It sounds like her heartbeat and she cannot bear for it to stop.

“Kara,” she manages, a whisper, a prayer.

Her face flashes within Lena’s line of sight for one perfect moment, and is she green-tinged or is it Lena’s failing vision? A shiver passes through the air between them, I’m sorry fluttering like a bloodstained white flag but whether it falls from her own lips or another’s, Lena cannot say. Then a sudden pressure at her ribs, a heavy push and release that feels like salvation and damnation all at once.

Lena hears a scream, two screams, billions. She is left gaping, open and exposed. Invaded by the air and exalted by the sticky-sweet blush of her own blood, her body purging itself. Through the slick of gathering crimson her head rolls to the side, darkness pressing in around her, eyes blazing with the final image of a limp hand on the ground beside her, veins shot through with glowing green.

-

For a long time, there is only darkness. The deepest blackness she has ever known, all-encompassing. Devouring light, thought, feeling. Lena floats, tethered to her own existence only by the pressing weight of the dark, closing in until the end of the world.

Slowly, sensations begin to blur in and out. Cold, a deadening flow, hooking into her very marrow and stripping her from the inside out. She drifts, and then there’s heat, scorching, radiating out from her ribs in scalding waves, and she wishes for numbness.

For a moment, Lena thinks she sees the star-burst of veins behind her eyelids, but then they are gone and all is black again. Sound fragments filter through her peripheral awareness. A great noise, banging and shouting and exploding. She slips back under.

Vibrations reach her, but they must be sounds because Lena no longer has a body with which to feel them. She floats, untethered, sinking beneath the surface of a dark ocean so vast it surely cannot know she’s there. In the deep, voices flicker.

“Haven’t you heard that you’re supposed to leave the knife in? She’s minutes from bleeding out.”

The blackness turns to blood around her, not vibrant red but sticky dark, the kind so loaded with the very force of someone’s life that it moves slowly, crawls under the weight of it, sucking light from all it touches.

“Her veins were green, Alex.”

An eternity passes.

She dreams of her mother, dark hair fanning behind her as she cuts through the still waters of the lake. The scene is calm, but the growing dread means Lena knows what’s coming and suddenly it’s not her mother but Kara before her, and the lake isn’t clear but radioactive, glowing green, and still Lena stands at the shore and watches her slip away, helpless.

Words float through the haze and Lena wishes she could reach out, grasp them, weigh them in her hands to know the truth behind them. Radiation and poisoned and flared and gone, the sounds making physical shapes in the darkness. She thinks of a child, two dark-haired children, of hours spent pouring over a dictionary. A cruel laugh when she got a definition wrong, grudging silence when she got it right. How she wishes now to be wrong, to mishear, a stay of judgment on the world these words conjure into being. But the focus is gone, and she slips away again.

“—whatever you have to do! Or so help me, I’ll—”

Though Lena is nothing now, just an exhale in the wind, she smiles. Warmth blooms, the blackness not crushing but caressing for a moment, and she drifts into memories of happier times.

A million years pass, a billion. Lena is upside down, and right way up, and no way up at all. If she still had a face, she might feel the pressure of a warm forehead against her own. If she still had hair, the imprint of lips pressed gently against it might still ache. If she hadn’t burned every meaningful bridge in her life in the year before her death, she might believe the trick of a whisper wrapping on the breeze, words of comfort, of promise.

But she had, so she doesn’t, and time collapses in on itself as Lena watches, motionless and alone.

-

Though she has always been nowhere, she can feel herself drifting further and further from the last thing that might just resemble a somewhere. The eons slow. If she were a doctor, Lena thinks, then this would be the time to make herself comfortable. To say her goodbyes.

She cannot look at blackness any longer, cannot bear the glowing green after-image that seems to stick to every corner and edge. She thinks of blue, of rain-washed skies and Kara’s eyes, conjures it into being with every fibre she has left. Wraps herself up in it, plunges headfirst, drowns.

“Like it matters!” Kara says, no, shouts, from somewhere far above and below her. Lena would flinch, if only she still had a body. The voice rings out through the void. “Like any of it matters now.”

Lena is privately inclined to agree. She tries to breathe, but the full weight of the universe, of every universe, presses in. As everything, even the blackness, dulls, there emerges a crushing, cracking suffocation, and Lena wonders why she can’t even die in peace. A high-pitched scream, maybe hers, maybe Kara’s, maybe her mother’s, maybe the world’s, stretching out before her like a pathway. Though there’s no doubt where it ends, Lena almost wants to follow it, if only to escape this sensation of being crumbled, submerged, denied life as its very essence is wrung from her being.

And then a hundred trillion bolts of lightning shoot through her at once, and Lena is gone.

-

When she wakes, she wakes secure in the knowledge that she must be alive. Sure that the pain that had burst through her, blighted every nerve with an agony so intense she feels its phantom grip even now, could only lead back to life. Sure that no departure could hurt that much.

When she wakes, it is through cracked, dry eyes to the sight of pipes and ceiling vents, the bland, industrial grey that can only denote underfunded government property.

When she wakes, Kara is standing at the foot of her bed, hands behind her back and looking every inch the righteous hero, and Lena’s unsteady heart sinks. She’s been on the receiving end of this authoritative pose more than enough for one lifetime. At least her hands aren’t on her hips.

But Kara’s eyes brighten as they meet Lena’s fluttering gaze. “Lena.” Quiet, reverential. “How are you feeling?”

Lena takes stock. Alive, to begin with. Every limb still intact. Aside from an unnerving constriction in her chest and the fact that her blood feels a little like it’s burning her cells as it courses through her veins, it could certainly be worse.

When she speaks her voice is hoarse, cracking. “What happened?”

The same darkness creeps into the edges of her vision as she listens to Kara list the extent of the damage. She presses her lips together, willing away the blackness, registering only snippets.

Stab wound. Kryptonite poisoning. Collapsed lung. Cardiac arrest. Resuscitation.

Leviathan, gone. Andrea, captured. Lex, escaped.

The words wash over her like a freezing tide, and Lena wonders if maybe the darkness had been easier after all.

It takes far longer than it should for her to realise that the room has fallen silent. Kara is watching her, concern etched into her features like tears carving through stone.

Lena swallows as best she can. “And you?”

A corner of Kara’s mouth quirks up. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

But she doesn’t look fine. She looks exhausted, her face drawn, blue eyes lacking their characteristic shine. Even her hero’s stance can’t mask the fatigue weighing heavy on her shoulders.

But Lena doesn’t have the strength to argue the point. She rolls her head to the side, joints popping and releasing, noticing for the first time the tangle of IV lines threading into her skin. She lifts her other hand to touch them, feels the warning tug of more needles even as Kara steps forward, arms raised as if to stop her.

Her hands reach toward Lena, or at least, the spaces where her hands should be. Huge white dressings swaddle Kara from the wrists down, so bulky they do not resemble hands at all. Lena’s breath catches in her lungs as she takes in the unwieldy bandages, third degree burns and possible nerve damage echoing through her mind and she understands now why Kara had hidden them behind her back.

The inhale she aims for seems to stick in her ribs and she can feel again the crushing, the cracking, the dizzying lack of oxygen as her head spins. Kara is by her side in an instant, radiating warmth and just breathe, Lena, it’s okay, a comforting weight settling against her hip. Lena thanks the thick blanket for blurring the press of rough bandages where there should be warm skin, softening it into something just nondescript enough to be calming.

When her pounding pulse has slowed, the heart monitor downgrading to a less frenetic beat, she sucks in a breath despite her lungs’ protestation, waits for her vision to clear. Kara is still there, and dread opens up in Lena’s chest.

“You— you touched it. The kryptonite. You pulled it out.”

Kara doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just nods, her gaze locked on Lena’s own. Lena lies catatonic, paralysed with the knowledge, unable to move even as Alex enters the room. Dimly aware of low words exchanged between the two sisters and then Alex at her bedside, gentler than Lena’s been worthy of seeing her in years. Just rest, Lena, the press of a button on the IV monitor, and she sinks back into oblivion.

[shadowfromthestarlight]

I really lose patience with white upper-class libs sometimes. Their constant whining about how much they hate their country and how oppressed they are is so unattractive because, whether it’s conscious or not, it comes across as pure ingratitude.

So many of our problems are caused by an abundance of choice. Where should I live? Where should I go to college? Who should I date? Who should I marry? Which dog do I adopt? Which job do I take? What kind of school should I send my children to? What should I buy my mother for Christmas? Which car should I buy? Which house should I buy? Which phone should I buy? Which movie should I spend my evening watching? What color should I paint my kitchen? Which fun, trendy restaurant should we eat at this Friday? Where should we go on vacation this summer? So many of our day-to-day problems are actually caused by having things that even the most privileged people living hundreds of years ago could only dream of, and that millions today still don’t have. Oh, no, my faucet that delivers safe, clean water to me whenever I want it is leaking! Oh, no, my device that allows me access to knowledge and speed of communication that would have been unheard of a couple of decades ago isn’t working fast enough! Oh, no, the subway is going too slow! Oh, no, my favorite coffee shop out of the hundreds in my geographic area isn’t serving the pastry I want today! And in this day and age, we’re such spoiled brats that we hardly ever think about how lucky we are to just be living in the 21st century, where we’re even in a position to say we have these problems and dilemmas to begin with. 

I realize that we’re not wired to contextualize things to that degree and deep down, as much as we like to consider ourselves highly evolved and enlightened, we are still the centers of our own little universes and we’re still subject to whims and impulses but if we just tried a little harder for a little perspective it would bring us a great deal more happiness. 

One of the things that bothers me the most about our modern politics is how antithetical it all is to the project of human happiness. If we found the Good Life, we wouldn’t even be able to enjoy it because we’re constantly being distracted by something new to be outraged about and something new to complain about and there’s always some new object of hatred, that’s the most poisonous thing, we are constantly being driven to hate, and hate, no matter how good it might feel in the moment, is very, very antithetical to inner peace and happiness. 

^ I wrote the above a couple of months ago, put it in drafts, and forgot about it. But as I delved into the fantastic work that James Lindsay, an American hero, is doing to expose the dangerous Marxist roots of much of the cultural changes we’ve been witnessing over the past few decades, I learned that part of the neo-Marxist program is to produce exactly this effect. They want to induce resentment and dissatisfaction in the masses, so that they stop being comfortable with their relatively safe, relatively easy lives and become fodder for the Revolution. They make young women think that they’re still in ever-present danger of living under an oppressive patriarchy. They make black people think that they’re still in ever-present danger of violence from white supremacists. They make gay people think that they’re in ever-present danger of being taken back to the 1950′s. They make atheists think they’re in ever-present danger of living under a regressive theocracy. They tell everybody that they’re in ever-present danger of living under fascism and that their society is forcing them to live a repressed, inauthentic life. Meanwhile, funny enough, people are more likely to be oppressed, in constant threat of harm by the state, and forced to refrain from expressing their true selves under a leftist dictatorship! 

That’s one of the reasons the left is so abominably evil. Their whole project is creating human unhappiness to justify their pursuit of some pipe-dream utopia. When people say that just living a peaceful, quiet life is an act of resistance right now, it’s true. So do that.

[tsukishumai]

Akai Honō

pairing: suna rintaro x gn!reader

wc: 3k+

genre: fluff, yokai au, slight reincarnation au

tags/warnings: kitsune!suna, healer!reader, minor violence, mentions of blood/injuries

summary: an injured fox in the snow, a lonely healer in the woods — an unlikely connection to transcend lifetimes

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You first encounter Suna Rintarou lying under a blanket of snow — his blue lips and pale skin even more juxtaposed against the bright red stain encircling the white ground beneath his chest.

Your basket laid toppled onto its side and forgotten, the herbs you’ve collected spilled and dropped in your haste to aid the injured man.

At first glance, he looked frozen. His black and white yukata had been steeped in dark crimson liquid that had leaked from the tear below his right breast. His dark brown hair matted onto his forehead, and his eyes remained squeezed shut as his body lay prone on the ground.

You ripped the bandana you had wrapped around your head off in one quick motion, immediately applying pressure to the bleeding wound. With one hand keeping the cloth in place, you use your other hand to gently ease his head onto your lap, and it was then you finally noticed.

A twitch of his ear as you repositioned his body. A tail matching the hue of his blood-caked locks hanging limp in the wet snow as you tried to stand him up.

A part of you hesitated, hands stilling as they attempted to support the body of the yokai.

But a bigger part of you knows that none of that matters when a man’s life is withering away before you.

And so without another thought, you urge yourself to move on, guided forward by the swirling winds of winter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When Suna Rintarou awakens, the first thing he feels is a weight resting on the side of his leg. His thoughts attempt to roll in through the fog of his brain, but as soon as he lifts his head, it begins to pound him back into his pillow.

His eyes blink into focus an unfamiliar setting -- four wooden walls lined by shelves stocked with scrolls and books, a wooden desk with a mortar and pestle, herbs littered across the table haphazardly, and the scent of something astringent burning the inside of his nostrils. Once more, Suna tries to gather his bearings, and an attempt at moving his arms leads to the discovery of the bandages that covered his torso.

A searing pain shoots through his side, and a hiss escapes from his lips. At this, the weight beside him stirs and it was then he finally notices.

He scrambles out of the bed in a frenzied panic, though the weakness from his injury only allows him to clumsily crawl onto the floor. Your head shoots up like lightning, alarmed by the racket the incapacited kitsune was making in your home.

Your chair falls onto its back in your rush to stand, and Suna wills with all his might for his body to jump out the window. But the way his knees buckle beneath his weight, and his arm feels as if it’s been dipped into fire, he knows this feat would be impossible.

And so he resorts to scurrying into the corner, the pupils of his eyes narrowing into a slit against the human who now approached him.

“Stay away from me,” he hisses, swatting his claws half-heartedly at you.

You looked down at him with your hands raised and face scrunched with concern.”Hey, quit moving around or else you’ll —“

Suna groans as his hand grabs at his side. The kitsune collapses on his bottom as he clutches himself in his arms, pulling his hand away only for it to be stained red.

You click your tongue at him. “You’ve gone and opened the wound,” you sighed, slowly crouching down to his level. You get on your hands on your knees as you gingerly crawl towards Suna.

The gentleness of your movements, however, do nothing to deter the yokai’s wariness, and he inches himself closer to the wall.

“Don’t touch me, human,” he croaks out, voice cracked and hoarse, holding a hand out to keep you at bay, “What do you want from me?”

You sigh, sitting back on your heels and crossing your arms. You let out a frustrated huff, closing your eyes as you pinched the bridge of your nose, and it was then when the image of Suna’s crumpled body flashes in your head.

“I want you to quit bleeding all over my floor,” you groaned, but the harshness of your words did not match the softness in your eyes. Suna continues to glare, wincing as he pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Leave me alone! I’ve already told your kind that I was just passing through.”

He says the words with anger and frustration, but the narrowing of his glare holds fear and confusion. Your eyes glisten at how his fingers trembled against the bandages that were now soiled.

“Did humans do this to you?” You ask.

He refused to answer, but he didn’t have to. You knew the surrounding areas of your village all too well. A sickening fear against the unknown has grown deep roots in the hearts of your fellow neighbors that no amount of Kampo herbs could cure. It was no place for wandering yokai.

You breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. Your arm reaches out to him.

“You’re safe,” you beckon, lowering your voice to nothing but a gentle whisper. “I promise no harm will come to you while you are here.”

Suna stares at your hand with his nose upturned, and lips twisted into scowl. He watches as the human continues to crawl on all fours towards him, and he weighs out his options.

His wound begins to drip on the floor, his eyes start to feel heavy, and the weakness in his legs have forced him to come to only one conclusion.

Without a word, he places his hand into yours

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Soft grunting and shallow breathing is what has woken you up from your light slumber.

The kitsune was tossing and turning in his sleep, his surprisingly delicate features now covered in a sheen of cold sweat. With his gritted teeth and eyes clenched tightly, you were sure you didn’t want to know of the nightmares that haunted his rest.

You swiftly run and grab a clean towel, soaking it in cold water and squeezing the excess droplets back into the water bowl before kneeling beside Suna’s bed.

The heat from his body could be felt through the layers of blankets you had placed on top of him, and your heart ached at Suna’s face twisted with pain

Slowly, you place the damp cloth across his burning forehead — but as soon as cloth makes contact with skin, Suna’s eyes shoot open, angry red veins outlining the whites of eyes warped with confusion and anger.

His nails dig deep along the expanse of your wrist as he automatically swipes his claws abruptly in any direction, and you fall on your back as Suna sits up — chest heaving with each frightened breath.

He blinked once. Then twice.

His pupils dilate from their sinister slit into orbs of uncertainty and fear as he processes the streaks of red travelling down your arms. He grips the edge of his sheets, gulping the dryness down his throat.

An apology sat at the tip of his tongue, but his curiosity at seeing you slowly lift yourself up from the wooden floor had rendered him silent. You had said nothing as you held your wrist in your hand, bending over to pick up the small towel that lay forgotten on the ground.

You had saturated it once more, before laying it across Suna’s forehead as you pushed him back down onto his pillow.

“Get some rest,” You mumbled, before padding back into the kitchen.

Suna could still feel his heart running marathons around in his chest, beating into him for the first time in his life a guilt for spilling the blood of a human. What was to happen to him now?

You return a few moments later with a bandaged arm, and a cup of something steaming.

“Drink this,” you ordered, but Suna was hesitant to take it. You gesture the cup to him once more, “It’s not poisoned. It will help you sleep.”

Suna takes your offering. You don’t wait for him to drink it before turning around to leave.

The steam that wafted from the mug had smelled of peppermint and chamomile. Suna sips the warm liquid, and he notes a hint of lavender.

Sleep came to him like an old friend.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was two weeks later when you realized, Suna had stopped scowling in your direction. He sits up from his bed and watches with curiosity behind his wary gaze as you throw seemingly random herbs into your mortar before grinding it down with your pestle.

“What’s that?” He’d ask, and you’d think, with the way his eyelids droop lazily above his stare, that he could care less about the long winded explanation you offered regarding the many different uses of ginger and boswellia — but the next time you were making his salve, he was handing you the herbs in exactly the order you needed them.

“What are these?” He’d point to the makeshift herbal garden you’ve built in your spare bedroom, and he listened with rapt fascination as you demonstrated herbs that are not native to your prefecture, handing you the shears as he helped you cultivate your supplies.

“How’d you learn all of this,” he questioned once while you were changing his bandage, and he scoffed when you told him it was knowledge passed down from your grandmother, who got it from generations before her, who got it from generations before them.

“I didn’t think humans cared to do these kinds of things,” he mumbled, watching you cleanse at the healing gash with a cold cloth. You looked up at him in offense.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I thought all humans knew what to do was fight and kill,” the disdain was clear in Suna’s voice, and your fingers continued to work their treatment.

“And I thought all kitsune knew what to do was trick and lie,” you retorted, and the fox very nearly snarled his teeth. But the moment you rubbed a generous amount of your medicine, Suna could immediately feel the effects radiate through his chest. The pain slowly dissipated until he felt nothing more than an itch around the newly formed skin — his relief had been evident from the satisfied smirk on your lips.

“Maybe we were both wrong, hmm?”

You don’t bring up the blush on his cheeks, nor the fact that he’s also stopped flinching away from your touch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Six weeks later, Suna Rintarou could only describe his time in your home as different.

It was different in that he doesn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder for something sharp and pointed against his throat. It was different in that the frostbite at the tips of his fingers had been absolved by the warmth he felt from the soup you’ve both made from the vegetables you’d gathered that morning, spreading far out from the pits of his belly down to the ends of his hairs.

You spoke to him with such easy grace, that each breathy laughter he managed to procure from your lips felt sinful as the melody flowed into his ears. You only ever looked at him with kindness — a rare experience for a thing like him.

Some days, when the ache in his body is dull and the strength is returning to his bones, you would find him patrolling the perimeter of your property, bending over to inspect the sturdiness of your fence, or testing the durability of your windows. The sun would rise from dawn, and fall into dusk before Suna would return back from his perusal. And while he refused to disclose just exactly what he had been doing outside for so long, a protection charm nailed against the tree behind your home had betrayed his secrets.

More than once, you would ask him to demonstrate his kitsune abilities, but no amount of puppy dog eyes or thinly veiled threats to stop his treatment could change Suna’s answer from a hard No.

“I bet you don’t even have any powers,” you pouted after hours of pestering with no reward

Suna would just laugh and shake his head, “If that’s what you want to think.”

It was easy to forget the original conditions of your arrangement.

What used to be lonely nights and quiet dinners soon became filled with stories of childhood and dreams beyond these four walls. The tediousness of pruning the weeds around your herbs was forgotten behind the lazy smiles of comforting company.

And with the improvement of the feral yokai you had found in the snow, came the realization that just as the fresh white powder is meant to melt into the rivers, all good things are bound to end.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“It’s all healed up now,” you say a week later, lifting Suna’s arm to inspect the fresh, white scar that now decorated the underside of his right breast, “I couldn’t do much about the scar, though.”

“That’s fine,” he responds, needling his arm back into the sleeve of his yukata, “It looks kind of cool.”

You chuckle at the thought before a hush falls upon the atmosphere. Suna’s eyes are trained onto his feet on the floor, his ear twitching as he fiddles with the hem of his clothes.

“Thank you,” he mutters out before slowly rising to meet your gaze, and you offer him a tight smile.

“It was nothing,” you laugh, waving a hand in front of your face.

A shiver travels down your spine as Suna wraps a hand around your wrist.

“My life is not nothing,” he whispers, lowering his head a fraction of an inch towards yours.

You swallow thickly as your eyes fall onto his lips. “If that’s what you want to think.”

He smirks slightly as he licks his lips, lowering even further until he stops. You hadn’t realized you stopped breathing until your lungs began to burn for air, and the thumping of your heart could be heard in your ears.

He remains frozen in place, his grip around you loosening as your eyes trail to meet his gaze.

Except, he wasn’t looking at you. His expression is crestfallen as he stares at his black claws against your wrist, and he traces his thumb over the deep pink scars that now decorate your skin.

Suna lets you go.

“You should get some rest,” he says as he pulls away.

You smile at him sadly.

“Good night, Rintaro.”

“Good night,” he replies, and he steps forward to place a chaste kiss on your forehead, “Thank you for everything.”

The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes.

In the morning, he was gone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Once a month, you take a trip into town to sell excess inventory from your personal stock. Perhaps you’ll meet a villager with a particular ailment that only your Kampo could resolve, or a weary traveler simply looking for tea to help them sleep.

But today, you’ve met a man disgruntled by something else entirely.

“So, I heard you think it’s okay to hang with yokais,” the stranger followed you down the beaten bath, slurring his words and stumbling over his feet. You say nothing in return.

“What, humans not good enough for you, or something,” he was getting closer now, and you could feel his hot breath on your shoulders. You pick up your pace, but for someone so inebriated, he was hot on your heels.

“Hey, I’m fucking talking to you, you bi—“

At the same instant you felt a hand tightly grip your shoulder, you could feel an intense heat blow against your back, and gone as instantly as it came.

You turn around to see your assailant splayed out on the ground, desperately patting away at the red flames that licked at the edge of his clothes.

Suna emerges from seemingly nothing but a flash of lightning, walking dangerously slowly towards the pathetic man cowering the opposite way. A fire as hot as his flames burned beneath his irises, and you could never have imagined a look so angry on Suna’s soft features.

He lights his right palm in burning red fire.

“Try to touch them again if you want to die today, human.”

Red Fox Fire dances up into the air, licking hot at the harasser’s feet until they were nothing but a blip in the horizon.

You stay rooted to your spot, hand clutching your chest at the sudden display of Suna’s strength.

“Rintaro,” you called out to him.

Suna keeps his back to you, the furs on his ears and tails standing straight up. Soot stained his jacket from the fire he sent out to your attacker, and the faint scent of smoke wafted from his hair. You slowly take a step forward from your spot in the road, and slowly take another once you realize he’s not running away.

You delicately placed a hand on his shoulder. His head snaps to your touch, but still he refuses to face you.

“Are you… afraid of me?” He asked slowly.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your cheek against his back.

“Never, of you,” you replied.

Suna places his hand on top of yours, pulling them apart so he could turn to face you.

“I thought you left,” you said, blushing as he holds your hand in his.

“I thought I did too,” he replied, brushing a finger against your cheek, still frowning at the claw the pressed against your skin, “Maybe I still should.”

You scoff, holding his hand against your cheek.

“Please, just kiss me already.”

Suna smiled, dipping his head down to your lips.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A shock spreads throughout your body as you pull away from the supple lips of Suna Rintarou.

Your fingers reach up to trace the grooves in your lips, goosebumps dancing all along your skin as it soaks in the after effects of the sudden contact.

The keys to your apartment still hang from the key ring hooked on your fingers. The sound of cars driving past your building filter into the empty hallway as Suna stares at you dumbfounded.

Tears stain both of your cheeks.

“Did… you just?” Suna was afraid to ask.

Your head nods slowly, and you reach forward to caress the skin on his cheek.

He leans into your touch.

“It’s good to see you again,” you smile, and though you had just met the handsome boy in your English class just two weeks ago, he puts his hand on top of yours, and he knows.

“You, too,” Suna smiles back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n: prompt request for @cafeoikawa <33 sorry this got so long but the idea wouldn’t leave my head! I hope u like it <33

rbs v appreciated <333

[alyssadeliv]

The Forgotten One

First       Previous

Chapter 3

Damian Al Ghul is the most beautiful baby Marianne has ever seen. Not that she’s seen a lot of newborns, but something inside of her knew no one would be as cute as her little brother. He was very tiny and that only encouraged her more than ever to protect him. Her mother thought it adorable, that if not training she was always at his side. Her grandfather thought it useful, like a bodyguard to protect his so expected heir. As a baby, he couldn’t do much yet, but she liked his company. It was rewarding to see him staring at her with those beautiful green eyes when she talked to him about her day. 

They grew up together, so it was only natural that they would train together. Marianne loved it when they would train or fight together, it was another excuse to be around her baby brother. Since birth, he has always been very bright, and very skillful. He’s only seven when he is allowed a solo mission, and she remembers how she begged her mother to allow her to accompany him, just to make sure he’ll be alright. The punishment she received from her grandfather was enough for her to never ask again. But as Damian had proved more than capable to handle every kind of situation thrown his way, she wasn’t so anxious anymore when he would leave for missions. But that didn’t mean she didn’t worry.

Her mother and the guardians became more strict with her training after Damian was born, focusing more on fighting techniques rather than the knowledge of the Kwamis, that part she was already very knowledgeable about. And because of that increase in her abilities, she was allowed to train with her brother, when he was about six. In the beginning, their fight was never fair, with more years of experience, Marianne had an advantage. But as the years passed by, and Damian learned, it became more equal. When they fought together they were formidable, the synchrony and the precision of their movements was something fascinating to behold. You would think that because of their strong bond it would be difficult to actually hurt each other in a fight, but together they were ruthless, always pushing the other. They brought out the better in each other. Marianne could proudly say she taught Damian a lot, especially in the art of diversion and dagger fighting.

Living in the League meant that you could never be too careful, and trust was something it had to be earned. Relations were discouraged because they tended to make you weak. But for the siblings, having each other was their strength. 

Even if both had their own room, it was common to find Damian sneaking to bunk with his sister or Marianne simply crashing at her brother’s bed after a taxing day of lessons. To everyone in the League, they didn’t have contact outside of training, and her grandfather made sure of that. He liked to call her his secret weapon, one that only his most trusted followers knew about. Being a very paranoid person, that trust revolved around 3 people, her mother, Sabine, and Master Fu. And she was sure that her master only knew about her because it was what created their alliance in the first place.

Like her, Damian wasn’t much better in the social department. He didn’t interact with kids his age, and all of his time was dedicated to perfect his skills. She was his one and only friends, but just like her, he wasn’t very good with words, yet she knew he adored her just as much as she did him. She was the heir to the Order of the Guardian and he the heir to the League of Assassins. They had duties to fulfill, expectations to reach, and people to please. It was hard, but at least they had each other.

Until they hadn’t.

She was sixteen and had just come from a long mission, all she wanted was to take a shower and curl into bed. This mission had been more taxing than normal, she was successful but it still took a lot from her. Ignoring her primal needs she made her way to the training grounds of the League, looking for her Master, to give him the mission report. 

“Master” She greeted. Wang Fu had taught her so much, but she could see very clearly that her teacher was flawed. Even after years in this life, he had a very kind heart. He tended to be a very recluse, only interacting with people from the Order or the League if he had to. She was the only exception to this, from the years of training with him, she knew he had a soft spot for her. Most of the time he acted very naively, and that still bothers her thus this day. But where he was kind he was also very strict with her training. That’s why she always pushed herself, to prove to him that she was worthy of her birthright, to be the true wielder of a Miraculous. 

It was already dark, and the League was quiet. Only the ones on duty would be awake, but it was common to find her Master meditating at all hours of the day at the Temple of the Miraculous. The temple was built by the order of her grandfather as a sign of good faith after the alliance between the two organizations was created, she spent most of her childhood there, reading the sacred tomes and connecting with her inner self. 

“How was it?”

“Successful as always. I infiltrated the party without any problem and locating my target was easy. The tricky part was luring him out of the crowd. But I managed. Using the Chinese hairpin I infused the poison in his bloodstream, he was dead in a matter of minutes. The poison won’t leave any possible leads, and I obtained the information requested. I shall pass it to Grandfather at our morning meeting, he requested that you be present as well”

“Any witness?”

“No.”

“Very well… Go ahead and get some sleep. Tomorrow after our meeting you will be having another section of training with Lady Shiva, she was very pleased with your recent development.”

She bowed respectfully and started to make her way to the chambers. She could feel the sleep piercing through her, but she pushed it aside, she needed a bath before even thinking of going to bed. 

She made it to the west wing of the League, where Damian opened the door after only two knocks, still in his sleeping clothes. At that time, she was the only one that would seek him out. He let her in without a word, and she immediately made her way into his bathroom. Being the Heir to the League comes with its perks. His room was bigger than hers and he had a bathroom all to himself. Compared to his room hers was rather simple, with a bed in the middle, a dresser, and a table with a chair. The Arabic aesthetic gave a stylish decoration to the plain room. His was more majestic, with a big bed with the most comfortable comforter she ever laid in and very well decorated. Only the best to the grandfather’s grandson. 

She stripped and laid her weapons carefully on the counter. With empty thoughts, she enjoyed the warmth of the water on her skin, and only after washing her hair twice, she turned it off. Sometime during her shower, her brother had delivered some of her clothes. Because they alternated between their rooms, it was practical to just leave a couple of clothes in each other’s chambers, that way no matter when, they would always have something to wear. She left the bathroom only carrying two of her daggers, even in the comfort of her brother’s bedroom, she could never let her guards down. He was laying on the mattress, half-asleep, just waiting for her. As she neared the bed he lifted the covers to let her in. And as she laid there at his side, feeling the heat of his body near her, with one dagger on the side table and the other under her pillow, she felt at peace. 

The peace was short-lived, however. She couldn’t tell for sure how long she had been asleep, but enough for her brain to be foggy. She bolted awake feeling another presence in the room. In one fluid movement, she grabbed her trusty dagger and went into action. She hit her target in one fluid movement. 

“What’s going on?” Damian was also awake, with a sword in hand, staring wide-eyed at the body laid on the floor.

“Get ready.” And with that they both started to prepare themself, gathering their weapons and changing into more appropriate clothes. In a matter of minutes, they were ready. Before they exit the bedroom, she turns to her brother.

“Take it.” She hands him one of her daggers. It’s from a set, her favorite. It was a birthday present from Damian. Two handmade daggers, one was white and the other was black, it had the Yin and Yang symbols carved in the handle. Representing the balance between creation and destruction. It was perfect for close attacks and throwing. He takes the black one without a fight, by now he understands the seriousness of the situation. With caution, they left the chambers. Now they could hear fighting happening in the background. She knew what she had to do, go to the temple, access information and from then try to create a strategic plan. Damian would come with her, without knowing what was going on, it was safer to continue together. 

They reach the temple without any problem, but there’s when things got problematic. A group of three people advances on them, two men and one woman all wearing black and covering their faces. She immediately goes into attack mode. Diving from the oncoming sword, puncturing the man tight as he attacked her, she analyzes the situation, his wound which does little to stop him is heavily bleeding. Because of her size, she could tell he was underestimating her, so she used that in her advance. She let him come closer, giving him a false sense of security, allowing him to believe her to be inexperienced. His sword makes contact with her left arm, and a red flow of blood makes itself known. Following her plan, when he comes close enough she grabs onto his torso and using his body weight throws him onto the floor over her shoulder. Once he’s down she reaches the dagger strapped onto her thigh and stabs onto his chest. Immediately turning her attention to the other two attackers that went after Damian she throws the dagger at the back of the woman, momentarily distracting her brother’s opponent. Grave mistake. Damian disposes of him quickly after that. After getting back her weapon, they keep their pace. 

Now they could see various members of the Order and the League fighting different opponents. The floor is coated in red, and in the distance, it is possible to see the beginning of some fires. Seeing her home being destroyed broke her heart but there was no time to grieve. On high alert, they arrived at the temple. They meet another group of black figures, not even thinking she immediately engages one of them.

She can’t tell how long that has been going on, she lost sight of Damian and their enemies just kept coming, there is no sign of Master Fu or the Miraculous Box, so she can only assume that he escaped without any problems. The other guardians are by her side, trying to overpower the attackers. In the distance, some explosions begin, shaking the foundation of the temple. Some stones start to fall, and immediately their opponents start to evacuate mid-fight. Based on that it is not difficult to reach a conclusion. Their target was the Order, they obviously planned to explode it to the ground. 

“It’s a trap! We have to leave the Temple, it’s going to crash!” With no hesitation she starts looking for Damian, she needs to find him and get him somewhere safe. It’s pandemonium, people running and screaming orders. Some bleeding and some already dead. It’s practically impossible to see with the smoke that found its way in. 

When she finally finds her brother, it’s almost too late, by now a lot of the foundation it’s destroyed, and they would be lucky if they get out in time. They start running, Damian ahead of her. They were almost at the entrance but something in her, maybe her instincts told her that they would not make it. Using the rest of her energy, she focuses on her inner strength, gathering a bit of magic in the palm of her hand. With one fluid movement, she pushes all she has into her brother.

The impact of her magic sends him flying out of the building, into safety, just in time to miss the pieces of the temple falling down.  

“MARIANNE!”

It's the last thing she hears before she feels the weights falling onto her body. For some minutes she feels everything, the burning pain in every inch of her body and the shallow movements of her chest. 

But for the moment that didn’t matter, she was tired, and she knew she could rest knowing her brother was safe.

“Ahbk ya akhi”

Hope you liked this new chapter, it was a bit longer than usual. I’m not very good at writting about fights, but I hope it wasn’t terrible. Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!

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[canary3d-obsessed]

Lost Tomb Reboot Lewks: Part 13

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for both seasons of The Lost Tomb Reboot and also vaguely for Daomu Biji in general

Look 66 belongs to Ah Ning, who has chosen, for this adaptation, to go with short hair, heavy makeup, and all-black clothes, but with a bit of a club vibe, rather than her more usual tactical vibe. 

The short hair is a weird choice. The whole schtick with DMBJ adaptations is that you have to tell who's who by their costuming and styling, since the associated actors toss roles back and forth faster than Wu Xie and Xiao Ge on a date with Liu Sang. 

Hot guy in a hoodie? Xiao Ge. Slightly dorky but ridiculously charismatic guy who dresses like Joey Ramone? Hei Yanjing. Man who's too old for fluffy bangs and puppy-dog eyes but is working the hell out of them anyway? Wu Xie. Ponytail, gun, and a whole bunch of disposable sidekicks? Ah Ning.

Ah Ning, Lost Tomb 1 version, with her signature ponytail & disregard for human life.

For this look, Ah Ning has gotten rid of her long hair, henchmen, weapons, and the part of her shirt that normally would cover her belly. This is an outfit that says "I am finally ready to fuck Wu Xie." 

Unfortunately she decides to accessorize this outfit with a giant deadly snake. 

This snake, unlike the equivalent snake in uhhhhhmmm a different DMBJ show that Ah Ning might theoretically die in, does not appear to be poisonous or have an unusual instant-kill-you ability. It just squeezes her a little bit, and the boys don't make any attempt to revive her, even though not-breathing is a super survivable condition, if it's corrected quickly. 

This non-poisonous snake accessory is all about killing a woman so that men can feel manpain, and I am kind of offended that this version of Ah Ning went out like that, after being a badass in every other adaptation. 

(more after the cut!) 

The hypothetical other show where a version of this scene perhaps also happens does correct this, by having her talk about her acceptance of the risk of death, and by having the fucking snake be POISONOUS. I am not naming the show because where’s the fun in that? If you watch TLTR first, like I did, you get to be worried about Ah Ning in every other show she’s in, which is exhausting but also kind of fun. (I don’t mind women dying in fiction, as long as their deaths are an important part of their own stories, rather than just being important for the growth of the men around them.)

Thanks to poor accessory choices, Ah Ning and her snake necklace go the same route as Ye Piaopiao and No-Longer-Mute Chick; fortunately Xiao Ge didn't fall for Tattoo Artist Ah Tou or she'd be in the morgue with the rest of them.

Look 67 is young Wu Xie's jungle adventure outfit, featuring a bright white popover jacket with cream color sleeves from Scotch & Soda’s Club Nomade collection. Scotch & Soda have have thoughtfully printed their name on the string so that those of you who share Wu Xie's clothing tastes will know where to shop. You know who you are. 

You would think highly visible bright white would be a bad choice for a jungle adventure, but apparently snakes in these parts are only attracted to goths.

Wu Xie is also wearing wired ear pods, which did not exist whenever this flashback supposedly happened, but if we're cool with sentient crustaceans and clams that can incapacitate a ruthless trained assassin (clams got legs!), we can be cool with ear pods.

The show conveys flashback-Wu-Xie's youth and naiveté by having him smile sweetly, not watch Ah Ning take her clothes off, and not attempt CPR after she gets lightly squeezed by a snake.

Looks 68 and 69 belong to Not Ah Ning, who is played by Liu Yuqi, who also plays Ah Ning. Her makeup is much softer and prettier as this character than as Ah Ning; this character’s job is to be pleasing to men, whereas Ah Ning’s job is to get male underlings killed on the regular, so I guess that makes sense. 

This outfit is an amazing body-hugging soft green jumpsuit with raised quilty detailing on the arms and shoulders. Her jumpsuit perfectly matches the couch she's sprawled on, which is her subtle way of telling Jiang Zisuan that she is a nice comfy place to have a lie down. 

She accessorizes this look with her usual soft wavy brown hair and a scattering of gold finger rings. I think she also accessorizes this with ass pads, because Ah Ning does not appear to be draggin’ this wagon in her scenes. I checked. For science.  

When the first outfit doesn't work, she ditches the subtlety and goes for a Chanel-style suit in black, white, and red, with a with a black leather bustier underneath. 

Unfortunately this is a wasted effort, because the Jiang Zisuan she tries this on is actually Wu Xie in disguise. 

Wu Xie only likes girls if they are 1. secretly manipulating him while acting like a tiny adorable sidekick, 2. trying to kill him repeatedly while adventuring together, 3. planning to kill him as soon as the roads are clear but willing to bone in the meantime, or 4. are a skin effigy with a sentient crustacean in their head.

Sorry, Not Ah Ning; this was a good effort. 

Look 70 features Wu Xie in a white thermal shirt, dark blue jeans, and fake facial hair. This is a good look for sitting with your not-quite girlfriend and wondering how you both managed to have romances with Bai Yu in parallel universes. (OP recently watched Love O2O, which is a trip for fans of DMBJ, Guardian, or feminism)

Fortunately Wu Xie doesn’t know that his second-favorite doctor/Zhan Rishan’s girlfriend also had a romance with Bai Yu or his mind would be entirely blown. 

This is a soft, comfortable look, perfect for torturing someone, with help from your first-favorite doctor, by pretending to poison someone with nicotine, all so you can have a few moments of quality time with a cigarette before said doctor takes them away again. 

Wu Xie's cigs are stored in a buttery-soft leather case that completely covers the brand name of the cigarettes, so apparently cdramas don’t go in for ciggy product placements. 

Wo Xie wears this outfit with a silvery-metal watch with a black leather wrist strap. The watch appears to be round, and it probably tells time. (If you’re new to the Lewks series: I lack watch knowledge and that’s not likely to change.)

Wu Xie finally peels off his fake facial hair so we can see his pretty face again, only to replace the facial hair with an entire fake face. Fortunately, this face, belonging to actor Wu Lipeng, is also pretty. 

Look 71 belongs to Wu Xie, initially (for this outfit) played by Wu Lipeng until his inevitable unmasking. So many actors have played Wu Xie, this whole disguise thing is barely worth blinking at. Wu Lipeng does a nice job changing his mannerisms to play Wu Xie, and this whole schtick eventually gives us Zhu Yilong's delightful performance as Wang Meng, so even though we eventually get way too much of not-Zhu-Yilong in the role, I’m good with it.

This outfit features black jeans, black tactical boots & gloves, and Ah Ning’s coin bracelet, although it’s mostly hard to see the bracelet. The outfit’s main feature is a possibly-leather jacket that’s been molded into a hideous and disturbing voronoi pattern. 

This jacket is probably very expensive and took a lot of work to craft, but it makes him look  like he’s wearing a Glad Force Flex garbage bag. I mean, I guess that's cool. 

This outfit is good for several episodes worth of adventures, including getting tied up and being sassy...

...and underwater cave exploration, which is totally a thing that a person with critically damaged lungs can do.  

This outfit is good for homoerotic wrestling...

...and also for heteroerotic wrestling.

This is also a good outfit for being gently cradled in the arms of your doctor, while you massage your throat in order to swallow what he's putting in your mouth.

The fingerless gloves are useful for helping Xiao Bai get out of not one, but two different situations in which she stepped on a trap without realizing it, requiring Wu Xie to get down on the ground and have a tense encounter with her foot. 

Scenes like this are where costuming really makes a difference. In this shot, we we watch a stunt hand (Zhu Yilong has never had that long of a thumbnail in his life) hold a wire steady, while a stunt foot is pulled out from under it.  

This shot includes a lot of visual texture and interest, from the hatch lines on the palm of the glove to the cross-striping of the boot lace. The complexity of this glove and this boot help to hold our attention when they’re in the frame, allowing the tension of the scene to build, instead of dissipating when the viewer runs out of things to look at.

Bonus Look 1

Carrying all that tragic baggage has given Jiang Zisuan spectacular arm muscles.

Bonus Look 2

Zhu Yilong with not-fake facial hair. 

Daaaaaamn.