#introspection of a deserter

[chirrups]

another au idea ive been rolling around but desert duo flavored:

through a series of intentional and unintentional game mechanics, third life!grian and secret life!scar manage to escape the interdimensional holding space the lifers put the "game versions of themselves".

they flee on what is possibly the worst world-hopping roadtrip ever with no company but each other. yikes! good luck boys!

meanwhile on season 10 hermitcraft, grian and scar frantically try to figure out how to get the wayward pieces of themselves back with as little discussion about said pieces as possible

[bdttras]

The first.

Cover Page

Pages 01 - 09

Pages 10 - 17

Pages 18 - 25

[londonfalling]

On Strategic Weaknesses

(or, a little something about Bell, their problems with the Game and their soul, or lack thereof)

Bellamy De Winter has never stepped up once in their life.

They've always been dilly-dallying between their interests and what their parents wanted for them, never committing to anything, neither music nor spy work.

But once Clara is safe in Parabola, Bell doesn't have much time on their hands for either. It's not like they'd planned to look after her, not when they had such big ambitions but...something about how she's treated as a plaything in something bigger speaks to them.

And so they stay, despite not knowing where to begin to take care of a child, or a mother at that.

But their job at Mahogany Hall as a Conjurer does not pay nearly enough, and they don’t have enough leverage, or favours to ask despite all the concessions they're able to wrestle from Monsieur Pleat and the Glass.

So Bell, with dread in their heart, crawls back to what’s left of the Delegation, and joins the White once again.

Isabella, man kann eine Schachpartie nicht gewinnen, ohne einige Figuren zu opfern. Man kann nicht lernen, ohne zu verlieren.

A gentle way to tell them they're not cut out for this. Sat on a bench in Tyrant's Gardens, losing yet another chess match against their mentor, Bell's mind wanders elsewhere.

Eliminating strategic weaknesses. It comes down to that, doesn't it?

Carving out their place in University by making that sordid deal with the Provost of Summerset, selling out the Cheesemonger- their little moral qualms are easy to silence, after all, that's how they've been taught to play.

It's their boyish naivetè and their soft, stupid spots for adventure and people that get used like dolls, like them, that's what they can't shake.

But- Hell holds seminars at Benthic, on the innumerable benefits of soullessness.

And besides, Bell is already selling their soul to the Game anyway, how bad can it really be?

[rosaacicularis]

thinkign about them </3</3

[milo-the-crotonian]

A Breeze

Cradled on the crests of enclosing peaks,

A golden crescent swam in the mists

Of dreams flashing hues in our sleep,

But drifts off down the brook like your kiss.

Crow to me from the branches of pine,

Bring the items that have started to decay,

And in the traits gone which we'll find—

Only when all was severed and astray!

Pale leaves flutter onto the shaded brook,

That snakes to flower-splashed plains;

That i hear tweets, and the longing chirps

Of the wonders that we sought in vain.

For what can the desert provide,

But sands over unknown flowers;

What still secrets could I confide

In these purple twilight hours?

[adamdeldesert]

gener 2025

[neverunknowns]

The lightning flashes overhead and the thunder rolls over us. On the back porch, joint in hand, lighter in hand. Water in hand.

It hasn't rained all summer, won't for another month, long after I've left. So all we have is the thunderstorm, parked high over the mountain, and the desperate hope for just a little water.

There won't be.

The sun is setting. The sky is pink and orange and yellow where the sun hits the clouds. The desert air is dry and hot even though it's almost dusk.

You're next to me. In the ratty folding chair my mother bought for my childhood baseball games. You light the joint, because it's always you who lights the joint, and we pass it back and forth under the edge of storm clouds that refuse to break, basking in the dying light.

We enjoy each other's company. Friends. Family. The dread of what comes next hangs over us like our judgment. I'm leaving. Again. Again and again and again. And you know that soon I'll stop coming back.

We don't talk about it. Not tonight. Instead you turn and say "You should go to the chiricahua's with me next spring." And I say "Yeah, that sounds great, let's try and make it happen."

We will never go to the chrircahua's. You already know that. You know that I've picked something else. A different home. A different family. That I'm in the midst of chasing it. That I'm leaving you behind.

You've already forgiven me for it. It makes me bite and shout and scream. You shouldn't forgive me for leaving you here. On this back porch. In the ten year old lawn chair. It this pit of a home that sinks it's claws into you and does it's best to never let you leave.

The place that you became yourself is only the place I grew up. My becoming lies elsewhere. You told me to find it and never let it go. You know it means letting you go.

We sit with it. The sun sets. The colors fade to deep purples and blues. The parts of the sky not blocked by the storm are dotted with stars. Every few seconds, another distant flash of lightning lights up the yard.

No rain. No water.

I stand up to feed the dogs, you finish off the joint and take out your pen.

We are living through this. The ending of us. Our friendship will not sustain itself through the thousands of miles I intend to put between us. I will always love you, and you will always love me. We will lose our common ground, our inside jokes. A lifetime of history drowned out by the lifetime of history I will make away from you.

It rots in me. The guilt and anger. The shame. Of not being strong enough to put family first. To selfishly chase my dreams when they lead so terribly far away.

But tonight the air is dry and warm, the moon is shining behind the clouds, and the dogs run circles around our feet.

We know it is ending. We drag ourselves through every moment anyway, sure the memories will be worth it when I am gone.

[achaos-demon]

Track repost, but this is another song from my band, The Insoult. We started writing music together last year and completed this song in the summer.

This song helped me sort through many of the feelings I’ve had about running away from my problems. Ultimately, I am in control of myself. I make the choices that move me forward, and that ability lies within me no matter what dust may cover my boots.

[gnosk]

I am BEGGING YouTube essayists who don't know shit about music theory to stop attempting to analyze music. Bob you don't know what you're talking about. Bob this analysis sucks. Bob you are saying nothing!!

[jeontasy]

CODENAMES:

Zayne: GALEN - a Roman & Greek physician, surgeon and philosopher. The name also means "calm" and "tranquil".

Caleb: PERSES - the son of Titan Crius and Eurybia, he is the god of destruction. The name also means "to sack", "to ravage" and "to destroy".

Sylus: TARTARUS - the deepest region of the world, where the wicked and Titans were locked up. It is the lowest point of the universe, located below the Underworld.

Xavier: HERMIT - the word comes from Greek word eremites, which means "one of the desert". The Hermit also means "introspection" and "solitude".

Rafayel: TAMINO - refers to a character from Mozart's opera The Magic Flute. Tamino is a prince who is lost in a foreign land and being pursued by a monster, he eventually falls in love with the daughter of the Queen of the Night.

IDENTITY/RUMOR:

Zayne: WARDEN - Nobody gets to walk out of his prison. Not when they are alive, at least.

Caleb: COUNCILMAN - He is an ambitious politician who is eyeing the entire city.

Sylus: MYSTERIOUS ASSASIN - You better have your last words ready before this man knocks on your door.

Xavier: EX-ENFORCER - Danger often hides behind the softest eyes and the sharpest fangs.

Rafayel: LEADER OF FLOWIN' FIRE - A Praedator rose from the ashes. The entire city is but a playground at his disposal.

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Aventurine, Ratio and Dan Heng (separately) with a female S/O who never calls them handsome or hot because in her opinion that's overrated? And instead when she compliments their looks she always calls them something more poetic I guess, like "You're gorgeous", "mesmerizing" or just calls them pretty?

Please and thank you.

More Than a Pretty Face

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Romance, Fluff, Light Humor, Emotional Moments, Introspection.

Aventurine lounged on a velvet chaise in his opulent quarters, his earring catching the light as he idly shuffled a deck of cards. “Tell me, darling,” he said, flashing his signature smile, “on a scale from dashing to devastatingly gorgeous, where do I stand today?”

You chuckled from across the room, rolling your eyes as you adjusted a vase of desert lilies. “I’d say... clever. Maybe a touch insufferable.”

Aventurine’s smile faltered, replaced by a mock pout. “Clever? That’s all? You wound me.”

You turned to him, hands on your hips, your gaze warm but teasing. “Oh, come on. You don’t need me to inflate your ego. You’ve got mirrors for that.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “But a man like me thrives on compliments.”

You approached, your voice softening. “Then here’s one you don’t hear enough—you’re brilliant, Aventurine. The way you outmaneuvered those IPC board members today? It was genius. That’s why I’m with you. Not because of your looks.”

For a moment, his facade cracked, and the weight of your words settled over him. He reached for your hand, pulling you onto the chaise beside him. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “And you’re more than just a pretty face, even if you like pretending otherwise.”

Aventurine laughed, a genuine sound that filled the room. “Darling, you may be the only gamble I’ve ever taken that feels like a sure thing.”

Ratio was deep in thought, sketching out a complex theorem on his holographic tablet. You sat nearby, engrossed in a book, though your eyes occasionally flicked to him. The way the strands of his hair fell into his eyes, his intense focus—it was hard not to admire him.

“Something on your mind?” he asked without looking up, his sharp intuition catching your gaze.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How you’re... brilliant. And maybe a little intimidating.”

Ratio finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Brilliant, I’ll accept. Intimidating, though? That’s a first.”

You set your book aside, crossing the room to stand beside him. “You’re intimidating because you always seem so sure of yourself. Like there’s no challenge you can’t overcome.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying you with curiosity. “You could simply call me handsome, you know. It’s what most people resort to when they’re unsure how to express admiration.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Handsome is overrated. Plenty of people are handsome. But how many can look at a problem no one else can solve and find the answer?”

Ratio’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Flattery through intellect. Unexpected, but effective.”

You leaned down, brushing a kiss against his temple. “Good. Because that’s the kind of man I fell for—the one who challenges the universe, not just the mirror.”

Dan Heng sat in the archives of the Astral Express, organizing old data files with his usual quiet precision. You entered, carrying two steaming cups of tea. You set one beside him and took a seat across the table, watching him work.

“You don’t have to hover,” he said without looking up, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Who’s hovering? I’m just... admiring the view,” you teased.

Dan Heng’s gaze finally met yours, one eyebrow raised. “Admiring?”

You smirked, taking a sip of your tea. “What? You’re not used to me watching you?”

“I’m used to you avoiding words like ‘handsome’ or ‘hot.’ It’s... unusual.”

You set your cup down, leaning forward. “That’s because those words don’t do you justice. You’re more than that.”

His expression softened, the faintest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “More than that?”

“Yeah. You’re dependable. Thoughtful. A little too serious sometimes, but it’s part of your charm.” You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “You’re the kind of person people can rely on. That’s what makes you special, not just the way you look.”

Dan Heng’s silence spoke volumes, the weight of your words sinking in. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude. “That means more than you know.”

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, Mr. Reliable.”

For the first time in a while, Dan Heng allowed himself a small, genuine smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[bdttras]

Cover Page

Pages 01 - 09

Pages 10 - 17

Pages 18 - 25

[whereserpentswalk]

There's an orc attending your college. Your city is pretty diverse, there's a lot of human cultures represented there, and even harpies and dwarves are common. But an orc is still a really rare sight. And she's not assimilated at all, she wears the symbol of the dark lord around her neak, and the strange black cloths from the wastelands she came from, and she always seems to have a gun somewhere on her. It's strange just to see an orc in person, she's not like the green skinned monsters you see in movies, her eyes are pitch black, and her skin is so pale you can see veins, she's muscular and tell but also strangely skinny, and her teeth are sharp and spiked like a sharks, this one doesn't have tusks, just these rows of serrated teeth.

Everyone avoids her at first. There's something creepy about her. She doesn't move like a human. She emotes weirdly, being stoic during conversations, but sometimes smiling or laughing at odd times. In class it becomes clear that she lacks knowledge anyone growing up in your society has, but has extensive knowledge on things most humans will never know. She also very clearly supports the dark lord and the demons who serve him, and gets mad when his narrative of conquest and strict genetic hierarchy is challenged in class.

You end up paired with her for a class project. It's weirdly awkward. But you end up spending more time with her then most. It still takes awhile to get used to her mannerisms, and you have to convince her of evolution in a long debate (but eventually you do convince her). She seems strangely naive to a lot of things. Every time she does something that she considers a failure she goes into self loathing, and she gets really afraid she's going to be punished. You have to explain to her things are going to be ok sometimes.

You try to spend time with her. She supports the dark lord but out of a strange sense of fear more than the type of ideological support humans in nations not under his control have. When she does something that she thinks is heresy agaisnt him she becomes afraid. And while she's angry at people who follow gods other than him (which is basically everyone here) she's more afraid of them than everything. When a holy symbol you own touches her she's surprised it doesn't burn her, you have to tell her it's ok.

She has a lot more freedom here than she did back in the wastelands. You slowly help her realize she doesn't have to worry about being punished for sinning agasint the dark lord. She's able to go on the internet for the first time, you help her get everything set up. You also introduce her to your freinds, only some of whom feel safe around her, but those who do seem to like her.

It's weird just hanging out in her dorm. She can be weirdly laid back and introspective at times, at least when she's not nervous or paranoid. But when she's just relaxing she'll tell you about things, about the beauty of the desert sands, about what it was like to observe the rattlesnakes and condors and wyverns of her homeland. How she likes to observe the city, the way the diffrent people flow through it, she was scared of it at first but now she likes to explore it, and the way it lacks stars at night but the lights from the buildings replace it. She says she wishes she could stay here forever, that she wishes she could be an artist but that she was sent here to learn skills useful to the dark lord's empire.

There's something nice about showing her new things. You get to take her to a musical for the first time. Get to show her neighborhoods you like. Get to explain to her what public transport is (though she got scared feeling trapped in a subway car). You get to show her stuff she never got to experience because orcs are never really children, she loves getting to hold a plush for the first time, or watching cartoons for the first time, it's like she's finally getting to live an experience she never had. Even though she's a well armed adult she really likes plushies once she finds out about them, they weren't something she was allowed to have back home.

Over time she starts meeting people and learning things that go against her worldview. As she makes more friends, understands new things, slowly learns that she shouldn't be punished for mistakes, she slowly comes around to seeing how fucked up the world the was raised in is. She tells you she doesn't want to worship the dark lord anymore, she cries just from saying it. You hug her, and realize she's never been hugged before, she seems to really like that feeling. She bathes in the waters of a healing goddess, and she worships something out of love instead of fear for the first time.

Eventually the spawning warlock who spawned her and her siblings comes to visit her. You told her to be careful but she ended up spilling that she doesn't worship the dark lord, she ends up spilling all the things a warlock like that considers a sin. When he leaves she tells you she can't go home. Not ever. Never again will she see the shifting sands, or flying condor, or flowing serpents of her homelands. She's trapped where she is now.

You know it hurts her a lot. She says she feels like she's in a small pocket of safety. Back home she'd be hurt for being an apostate. In human lands outside of the city she'd be hurt for being an orc. But she's safe here. She stays in her apartment for awhile, while you try to make things work. She's finally changing her major to art, and despite everything she's finally free, free to watch the starless sky, free to not be punished when she makes a mistake...

[l4ndonorizz]

white mustang / max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader

song: lana del rey - white mustang

summary: as the sun sets on a quiet beach, you and max confront the unspoken tension between you. What starts as a fleeting connection grows into something deeper as max opens up, revealing his desire to slow down and stay with you—no longer the untamable force you once believed him to be

wc: 1.8k

The sound of the ocean echoed softly in the distance as you stood barefoot on the warm sand, the horizon stretching out endlessly before you. The salty breeze tangled your hair as you stared out at the waves, lost in thought. The sun was beginning to dip low, casting a golden hue across the water, and everything about this moment felt surreal.

You had known this wouldn’t last. You had known from the start that whatever was happening between you and Max was temporary—a fleeting moment of intensity that could burn out just as quickly as it had ignited. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

From behind, you felt Max’s presence before you heard him. He didn’t make a sound, but there was always something electric in the air whenever he was near—a subtle tension, a pull that you could never quite escape. Like the wild ocean in front of you, he was untamable, unpredictable—a force of nature you couldn’t resist.

“You’re always here first,” he said softly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

You shrugged, turning back toward the ocean. “Maybe I like the quiet.”

Max stood beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had that same restless energy, like the waves crashing against the shore—beautiful, but dangerous if you got too close. It was what had drawn you to him in the first place. The thrill of being near someone who was all speed and instinct, never looking back.

“You’re like a white mustang,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Max glanced at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

You smiled softly, your eyes meeting his. “It means you don’t stick around. Always moving, never staying in one place for too long.”

His smirk faded, and for a moment, he seemed to consider your words more deeply than you’d expected. The way he looked out at the horizon, with the sun casting golden light on his face, made him look softer, more introspective. The usual confidence that radiated from him was still there, but tonight, it was quieter.

“Maybe that’s who I was,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But maybe… maybe I’m trying to be something else.”

It caught you off guard, this hint of vulnerability. Max Verstappen, the man who thrived on speed and the thrill of the unknown, wasn’t supposed to have these quiet moments of doubt, but here he was. For the first time, he wasn’t looking ahead at the next challenge or race; he was just here, with you.

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you didn’t say anything. The soft sounds of the ocean filled the silence between you, and for a while, that was enough.

The sun continued its descent, casting a warm glow over both of you. Everything felt softer, like the rest of the world had melted away, leaving just you and Max standing on this deserted beach. He stepped closer, so close that the warmth of his body radiated into yours. It was a familiar feeling, being close to him, but tonight it felt different—charged with something deeper, something unsaid.

"Let's go somewhere," Max suddenly said, his voice breaking the quiet between you. There was excitement there, but it was quieter than usual, like he wasn’t asking for a thrill but rather for something real.

You turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat at the suggestion. "Go where?"

"Anywhere," he replied, his eyes locking with yours. "I don't care. As long as you're with me."

His gaze was steady, more serious than you were used to. Max had always been the type to chase after what he wanted without hesitation, but this felt different. There was something deeper behind his words, something more vulnerable than you'd ever seen from him.

"Max..." you began, unsure of what to say, but he took your hand gently in his, his thumb brushing over your skin in soft, calming strokes.

"I mean it," he said softly, stepping closer so that there was barely any space between you. "I don't want this to just be a moment. I don't want you to think I'm just going to run off like I always do."

His words hit you like a wave, unexpected and intense. You had always told yourself that whatever was happening between you and Max was temporary—just a beautiful, fleeting moment that would eventually fade like a dream. But here he was, asking for something more, something that went beyond the rush and adrenaline.

"But that's who you are," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "You're always moving. You're... wild, free. And I don't know if I can keep up."

Max’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "You don't have to keep up," he murmured, his voice full of warmth. "You just have to stay."

Your heart raced at his words, your mind spinning. Could someone like Max really stay? Could he really slow down? You had always been afraid of the day when he would leave, when the pull of the next race, the next thrill, would be too much for him to resist. But tonight, standing here with him, it felt like maybe things could be different.

“I’m scared,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “What if I’m the one who can’t stay?”

Max frowned, his eyes searching yours. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “I’m not built for the kind of life you live, Max. I can’t keep up with your pace, with the way you’re always on the move. And I don’t want to be the reason you slow down.”

Max’s hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not holding me back,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “If anything, you’re the only thing that makes me want to stop running.”

His words sent a jolt of warmth through you, but you couldn’t shake the doubt that lingered in the back of your mind. Max was everything you had ever wanted—wild, passionate, free—but he was also unpredictable, untamable. And you weren’t sure if you could handle being the one to ask him to slow down.

“What if you get bored?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if one day you wake up and realize this isn’t enough for you?”

Max shook his head, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “I could never get bored of you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words making it hard to breathe. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this was temporary, that Max would eventually move on, but now, standing here in the soft glow of the setting sun, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this time could be different.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Max continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to know that I’m serious. I want to be with you. For real.”

Your heart raced at his confession, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the doubts you had been holding onto for so long. You looked up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that this was just another fleeting moment for him. But all you saw was honesty—raw, unfiltered honesty that made you feel more vulnerable than you ever had before.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted softly, your voice breaking.

Max’s smile was soft, understanding. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be here. We’ll figure it out.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe this wasn’t just a moment—that maybe, just maybe, Max was serious about staying.

The evening drifted on as the two of you sat together, watching the sun finally disappear below the horizon. The sky turned a deep shade of purple, stars beginning to peek through the darkness. Max’s hand remained in yours, a silent promise that neither of you was ready to break.

“You know,” Max said after a while, his voice quiet, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. Max wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, and yet, here he was, opening up in a way you had never expected.

“What do you mean?” you asked softly.

Max hesitated, his eyes focused on the ocean in front of you. “I’ve always been chasing something—something I could never quite catch. I thought it was about racing, about winning. But now… I think it’s you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. Max’s usual confidence was gone, replaced by something softer, something more real. And it terrified you.

“You’re the reason I want to slow down,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the only person who makes me feel like I don’t have to keep running.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, the sincerity in his words cutting through every fear you had ever had about being with him. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this would never work, that Max was too wild, too free for someone like you. But now, sitting here with him, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you had been wrong.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted softly, your voice shaking. “But I want this, Max. I want you.”

Max’s smile was soft, his eyes filled with relief as he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The warmth of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that this was real—that maybe, just maybe, Max wasn’t going to run this time.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Not this time.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love and relief as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the air, but for once, it wasn’t the wildness of the ocean that held your attention—it was the calm that came with being in Max’s arms.

For the first time, the white mustang had found a place to rest.

[itsvelyria]

"sleepless nights w the f1 boys"

Charles Leclerc

his fingertips, rough and dry, are warm as they sketch circles into the back of your hands. you're uncertain of whether he's even aware of it — gaze lingers on your lover, distracted by his gentle charting of constellations in the midnight sky. his voice, a steady murmur, narrates the story of cygnus' lost love and delphinus' persuasion. the chilled air is held at bay as you remain nestled at his side. soon the night softens, inky blue yielding to pinks and oranges as you trade dreams and stories, your heart filling as fatigue settles into your bones.

Carlos Sainz

late-night drives through deserted city streets unfold like a poetic journey. the hum of the engine blends seamlessly with the laughter that fills the car. childhood stories are shared, echoing through the serene space beyond. with each turn, memories are etched into the fabric of the night, becoming invisible threads that linger in the quiet hours that follow. carlos’ handprint on your upper thigh tingles long after parking, sending sparks up your spine as you two head back up to your shared bed.

Danny Ricciardo

the moonlight casts a soft, clandestine glow, accentuated by the fairy light someone had left hanging. rusty bulbs flicker as danny pulls you up by the hands, the out-of-bounds rooftop transforming into an impromptu private dance floor. below, the city is sleepless and alive with its pulsating energy, serving as your silent witness. the faint notes of your paramour’s cologne, a blend of skin and soap, envelops your waltz as you rest your heavy head against his chest. he hums an all-too-familiar melody and in this suspended moment, time seemed to stretch.

George Russell

on cozy nights in, you both find yourselves entwined in a nest of blankets, a sanctuary of warmth. the orange glow from your nightstand delicately paints the walls, creating a cocoon that shields you from the chill outside. amidst the quietude, secrets and dreams are exchanged like cherished treasures. a small flame is kindled in the tranquil space you've carved out for each other — a haven where the moments hover, suspended in the the warmth of your shared breaths, as sleepless nights turn into timeless memories.

Lando Norris

in the realm of virtual gaming marathons, the hours extend into early mornings, a landscape illuminated by the lights of your screen. shouts of triumph and screams of anguish punctuate the air, interweaving with playful banter that colours the room. oceans away from the love of your life, his laughter still resonates through your headphones as he achieves a triple-kill. you cherish every digital heart he sends through your private chat, a reminder of the connection you share despite the physical distance.

Lewis Hamilton

in the tranquillity of midnight, a serene park becomes your canvas for shared introspection. the world transforms into a tapestry of silver and shadows as you two embark on a quiet stroll, hands entwined. conversations unfurl like the delicate petals of snow-white lilies, their fragility mirrored in the hushed murmurs. the night air carries whispers of dreams and aspirations that mingle with the rustle of leaves underfoot. in the hallowed stillness, your footsteps fall into cadence on the gravel path, heartbeats synchronizing like a ballet telling the story of forging connections.

Max Verstappen

beneath the vast expanse of twinkling stars, you both pitch your tents on damp grass. the crackle of a campfire and the rustle of pine trees create the soundtrack to this new chapter in your relationship. flickering flames cast dancing shadows on max’s face as he concentrates on roasting marshmallows. the stars above interrupt every shared gaze and every brush of your hands. the magic sparkling in the inches between your frames settles deep into your bones, destined to be a memory never forgotten.

[hrizantemy]

If the Dusk Court still existed alongside the other courts, what do you think it would look like? As well as its clothing and architecture. What would you want its culture to be like and what language do you think they would have?

If the Dusk Court still existed alongside the other courts, I imagine it as one of the most culturally profound and symbolically layered courts—the bridge between light and dark, life and death, change and permanence.

The Dusk Court — The Realm of Twilight and Transcendence

Dusk is neither day nor night—it’s a threshold, a liminal space. I see the Dusk Court as a place that thrives on balance, introspection, and reverence for the in-between. It’s a society that embraces ambiguity, transformation, and cyclical patterns—where nothing is static, and every ending is honored as a beginning.

1. Architecture: Inspired by Ancient Petra, Moroccan Riads, and Byzantine Influence

I picture the Dusk Court as a city carved into nature itself, much like Petra in Jordan—rose-stone facades, seamlessly blending into cliffs and canyons. The structures wouldn’t dominate the landscape, but emerge from it, reflecting the Court’s philosophy of harmony and transience.

From Moroccan architecture, I’d borrow the idea of hidden beauty—plain exteriors that open into stunning inner courtyards (riads) filled with fountains, tiled mosaics, and shaded gardens. Privacy and inner reflection would be key values, so homes and public buildings would focus inward, designed for contemplation and peace.

The spiritual heart of the court could resemble Byzantine basilicas, with grand domes, intricate mosaics of twilight skies, and soft light filtering through stained glass in muted golds, purples, and blues. The Hagia Sophia comes to mind—an architectural testament to both earthly grandeur and spiritual transcendence.

Key Features:

Sandstone cities glowing at sunset.

Reflective pools and labyrinthine streets, symbolizing life’s winding paths.

Open-air temples honoring celestial cycles, with no roofs to separate them from the skies.

Use of geometric patterns, similar to Islamic art, representing the infinite and unknowable.

2. Clothing: Rooted in Desert Cultures, Byzantine Luxury, and Japanese Minimalism

The Dusk Court’s fashion would blend practicality with philosophical symbolism.

Inspired by North African and Middle Eastern garments, they’d wear flowing robes and light, breathable fabrics—perfect for climates where days are hot and nights are cool. Think djellabas, kaftans, and abayas layered in soft gradients, echoing the shifting colors of twilight.

From Byzantine culture, I’d imagine intricate embroidery—threaded in gold and silver—depicting cosmic motifs: setting suns, crescent moons, stars, and cyclical patterns.

But there would also be a hint of Japanese aesthetics—a respect for simplicity, impermanence, and nature. Perhaps elements of wabi-sabi, where beauty is found in imperfection and age. Faded fabrics, hand-stitched repairs (like boro), and heirloom garments passed through generations would be common.

Color Palette:

Muted violets, soft ochres, deep indigos, dusty rose, and shimmering golds—colors that shift depending on light, embodying the transient beauty of dusk.

3. Culture: A Society of Philosophers, Mystics, and Keepers of Balance

The Dusk Court would be deeply philosophical—drawing from traditions like:

Taoism: The belief in balance and the flow of natural forces (yin and yang). They’d reject extremes, favoring harmony and the acceptance of life’s dualities.

Sufi Mysticism: A culture of poetry, dance, and music as forms of spiritual expression. Imagine whirling dervish-like rituals, where movement becomes a meditation on the cycles of life.

Ancient Egyptian View of Ma’at: The concept of cosmic balance, truth, and order. The Dusk Court might view themselves as guardians of Prythian’s metaphysical equilibrium, ensuring no court tips too far into chaos or tyranny.

Mesoamerican Calendar Culture: A deep reverence for time and celestial events. Festivals would align with equinoxes, solstices, and rare astronomical phenomena. Every citizen would know their place within cycles of renewal and decay.

They would embrace mortality—not fearing death, but seeing it as a sacred passage. Funeral rites would be grand, but not mournful—celebrations of completion.

4. Language: A Blend of Arabic Poetics, Sanskrit Philosophy, and Indigenous Symbolism

The Dusk Court’s language would be highly metaphorical, designed to convey layers of meaning in few words—similar to how Arabic or Persian poetry can express vast emotional landscapes through symbolism.

They might have untranslatable words akin to:

“Tarab” (Arabic): The ecstasy from music.

“Saudade” (Portuguese): A longing for something lost.

“Ikigai” (Japanese): A reason for being.

Like Sanskrit, their language could be tied to philosophy and ritual, with precise words for spiritual concepts and cosmic forces. Perhaps they use pictographs or glyphs in writing, resembling Mayan or Egyptian scripts, where a single symbol encapsulates complex ideas.

Communication wouldn’t be rushed—silence could be as important as speech.

5. Political & Economic Structure: The Court of Mediators and Memory

Politically, the Dusk Court would serve as Prythian’s neutral heart. A place where courts send emissaries to settle disputes, guided by ancient laws older than any High Lord.

Leadership might not be a singular ruler but a council of elders—chosen not for power but for wisdom and life experience. Perhaps titles aren’t inherited but earned through deeds reflecting balance, insight, and service to the community.

Economically, they’d thrive on:

Artisan goods: Glasswork that captures twilight, enchanted scrolls, and twilight-blooming plants used in rare potions.

Knowledge trade: Selling maps of ancient ley lines, star charts, and philosophical treaties prized by scholars of other courts.

Hosting diplomatic summits and neutral trade agreements.

Final Thoughts:

If the Dusk Court still existed, it would be the soul of Prythian—not the most powerful, not the richest, but the wisest. A court that understands that strength isn’t just about armies or magic, but about knowing when to let go, when to endure, and when to stand as the quiet force holding everything together.

It would draw from cultures that value introspection, balance, and spiritual depth.