#it's cryptic yet poetic?

[ddarker-dreams]

sometimes i wonder if i'm making blade's dialogue too unnatural and then i look at his voice lines and go,

ah. no. this fits.

[mychemicalroadworkahead]

Tbh when I was little my favorite character in Jungle Junction was the one crab bartender so is it at all a surprise that I want to be a bartender and also get immense gender envy from them? I think not

[aemondsbabe]

Two Souls, Entwined

summary: dreams & dirty talk || helaena has been plagued with visions; things between her and her lady in waiting finally reach a boiling point

pairing: helaena targaryen x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, mutual pining, angst but happy ending, dry humping, breast/nipple play, dirty talk but make it poetic and loving, slight aegon slander i broke my own heart, i love helaena sm, there needs to be more content for her i love her, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 4.1k

a/n: happy day ten of 12 days of smuff!! i'm actually very excited/proud of this one, it got a lot more personal than i was expecting! really feeding that scared bi girl i was in middle school idk. i hope y'all enjoy it!!!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @merrypembertons

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Helaena sighs when she opens her eyes and blinks, disoriented by the early morning light, her head still clouded with sleep. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers to the emptiness of her chambers, the cryptic phrase a familiar one now as it had been making its home in her head for the past few weeks. 

Sitting up with a groan, she pauses at the edge of her bed, staring blankly ahead as the cloudy figures from her dream seem to swirl around her still. She was growing frustrated with the shadowy shapes, as much as she hated to admit it – she did not often enjoy her dreams, they often brought news of unpleasant tidings, secrets that she alone seemed expected to bear, but for the past few weeks her dreams had been… pleasant. Joyous, in fact. Yet they seemed much further away than the others, only revealing small slivers of information to her night after night. 

She smiles softly as she gives one last glance out the window before padding over to the vanity in her chambers, determined to brush out her hair before the maids have the chance, they were always too rushed and hurried. Her mind drifts back to her dream as she runs a comb through her fair hair; lately, this mysterious dream seemed to be the only thing she could focus on for very long. 

The figure in it seemed so familiar, moving around her as if it was an old friend, someone safe. She sighed again as she thought, blushing despite herself as she recalled her latest vision, remembering how the shadow had moved about her, as if in a courting dance, before it leaned in closely, though if it were for a kiss or to whisper a secret she didn’t know. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” She repeats, as if the repeating will somehow reveal more. 

It puzzles her greatly, the feelings of safety mixed with distinct romantic desire, a deep wanting from somewhere within her. There aren’t many people she even feels safe around, and even less so those she’d ever felt romantic longing for, and a much shorter list followed of people who had ever felt romantic longing for her. She feels secure around her mother, of course, and grandsire and her precious younger brothers, but she cannot help but wrinkle her nose with disgust at the thought of romantic intent with any of them.

She blinks, setting her hairbrush down and biting her lip as she thinks. I feel safe with Aegon, she ponders, brows knitting together, He’s never given me a reason to not feel safe but… She sighs, not bothering to finish the thought. She was well aware her marriage was one of politics, not of love. She remembers there had been whispers of many suitors when she’d finally come of age; everyone from Aegon and Aemond to her half-sister’s bastard sons had been considered, and though Helaena appreciated some more than others… she didn’t desire any of them. 

Before she can help herself, her blue eyes flit over her own curves as she gazes at herself in the mirror, wishing, as she had so many times before, that she could reach out and feel her own reflection – feel a mirrored twin with similar soft skin and supple flesh. She wishes that soft, delicate fingers could touch her as well; she had grown tired of rough, battle worn touches long ago. 

Someone I feel safe with and feel romantic longing for, she thinks again, blinking rapidly as a familiar face immediately springs to mind yet again, just as it had every time she’d pondered this mystery for the last few weeks, only growing more frustrated. It can’t be, she’d decided that long ago, long before this vision began. 

But...

The Gods only ever seemed to show her visions that were assured, that would come to fruition, one way or another. Maybe… maybe that meant that y–

No, she thought, locking eyes with her reflection, Don’t be ridiculous. 

She smiles as she hears her chamber doors opening, at the same time they do every morning, and turns around on the ornate, cushioned chair at her vanity, her eyes locking with your familiar ones as you waltz it. 

“Good morning, Princess,” her heart beats a mite faster at the sound of your voice, at the bright smile that graces your lips as you stride to her, “I trust you slept well?”

“Good morning, sweet friend,” she greets you brightly, standing and pulling you into a hug as she did every day, “I did, quite peacefully, actually. And you?” She asked, trying to ignore the small voice that longed to hold you more closely, as she did everyday. 

“I did as well,” your hand lingers in hers for a moment as she steps away, sitting back at her vanity as the maids arrive, instantly fluttering around the two of you like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, “After we break fast, would you like to come to the gardens with me?”

Helaena merely nods, though inside she buzzes, her heart fluttering like a bird’s wings. 

I would follow you into the Seven Hells, she longs to say. 

You wake with a small start, your hand instantly flying to your lips. You could swear they still tingle for a second from when she’d kissed you, just before you’d woken up. Blushing, you glance around your chambers, as if there would be anyone else there, and finding them empty leaves you both relieved and disappointed all at once. 

Sighing, you slide off of your plush bed and walk over to your small vanity and use the small wash basin to splash water on your face. A small thrill shoots up your spine as you glance over your shoulder in the mirror, knowing from the position of the light filtering through your windows that it’s nearly time to go find your friend. 

Friend.

It’s a funny word, you think, not one you would have imagined assigning to the princess all the many years ago when you’d arrived at King’s Landing, young and eager to be a lady in waiting for Helaena. You can’t help the smile that blooms on your lips each time you think of her, your quiet, captivating princess. You meet your own gaze in the mirror and frown, looking at yourself in the way a disappointed parent would look at a child. 

Not yours, you chide, like repeating it over and over would make it hurt any less, Not yours, not yours, not yours. 

Sighing yet again, you rise from your spot at the vanity and quickly grab your robes, eager to escape your own thoughts. 

“This one is the iphiclides podalirius,” Helaena says, her voice soft as she marvels at the delicate butterfly perched on the back of her hand, “More commonly called the scarce swallowtail, I believe. It’s truly remarkable, normally they don’t travel this far north, though I’m told they’re a common sight in the gardens of Sunspear.”

“Then we are quite lucky to see it,” you smile, setting your embroidery hoop on the bench beside you as you study the yellow and black striped insect, though your eyes seem to drift to the princess on their own; you can’t help but smile as you see the way her beautiful sapphire eyes light up as she examines the small creature, “It’s very beautiful.”

Like you, you think, swallowing down the words. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Helaena asks, looking at you hopefully. 

As always, you nod, aware that you were the only one who seemed to entertain her fascination with insects and plants. Selfishly, you liked that. 

Slowly and carefully, Helaena guides the butterfly onto the back of your hand; the two of you sitting close together, close enough for your shoulders to press together. A giggle leaves you at the feel of the insect's feet on your skin, so small and light, like tiny, faint kisses.  

“Perhaps she was drawn to the hydrangeas,” the princess muses, “Those are new this year, though I suppose any of the other very colorful plants would spark her fancy as well, like the lilac or poppies or…”

It takes you a second to notice that she’s gone quiet next to you and you finally tear your gaze away from the butterfly, frowning slightly when you see the look on her face, her blue eyes hazy and unfocused as they flit back and forth like she’s watching figures you cannot see. 

“Princess?” You ask softly, reaching out to take her hand, only halfway aware of the butterfly fluttering away, “Helaena?” You ask again, a bit louder, gripping her hand tighter. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers, so faintly that the words scarcely leave her lips. Your frown only deepens, your eyebrows knitting together as you shake your head, trying to make sense of her words. 

“What?” You ask softly, used to hearing her mutter odd phrases but seeing her in a trance was something altogether different, “Helaena? Should I go fetch the maester?” You don’t know why you ask her, not expecting a response. 

The figure danced in front of her again, clouded in darkness, though instead of feeling cold and empty like the dark so often did to her, these shadows hugged Helaena like a blanket. 

She blinked, and suddenly everything changed, becoming clear as if she’d blinked away tears. The clarity was startling for a second as the edges of the figure sharpened before her, still leaning toward her as if it meant to whisper an amorous secret.

Finally, her eyes focused and in that moment, she felt as if she could be knocked over by the air current made from the flittery wings of a butterfly. 

You. 

It was you, just as she’d always suspected, standing before her as if you’d always been there. 

Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe. The phrase repeats in her mind like a mantra as she stares at you, marveling at the way you stare at her. 

Like she’s precious, something to be fawned over. Something to be… loved? 

Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as she reaches out, her fingers finally skimming over your cheek. 

She could cry, perhaps she is crying, she doesn’t know. The only thing she’s sure of is that this feels so right, like a puzzle piece within her has finally shifted and slotted into place. 

Just as it crosses her mind to lean in and kiss you, the vision falls away, words echoing in her mind as the gardens come back into focus.

Not a friend. 

Not a friend.

Not a friend.

Yet...

Not a foe. 

“Helaena, please!” You beg, urgency coating your voice as you lean in closer, closer than you’d ever dared before, praying to see some spark of recognition in the princess’s eyes. 

Suddenly, she seems to come back to herself, gasping as you jump back away from her, startled. 

“Oh!” She breathes, blinking a couple times before her blue eyes finally fix themselves on you, “I’m so sorry, I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

You shake your head quickly, moving back toward her and taking her hands in yours once more, your heart twisting as you notice them trembling slightly. “There’s no need to apologize, I’m just happy you’re alright.” 

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, Helaena staring at you in a way that makes your cheeks heat up, as if she’s seeing you for the first time, before she seems to catch herself and look away, much to your disappointment. 

“Was that one of your dreams?” You ask softly, looking down to where her hand rests within yours. 

“Yes.” She says simply, her eyes locked on the way your fingers overlap hers as she desperately tries to ignore the voice in her head telling her to enterwine them. 

“What did you see?” You ask, catching her gaze again. There’s a fire in her eyes now that makes you shiver. 

She’s quiet for a moment, neither of you so much as breathing as you stare at each other – the princess looking at you so intently you wonder if she’s trying to hear your thoughts. You pray she can’t. 

“Nothing of importance,” she says finally, pulling her hands away and standing from the bench suddenly, “They’re just shapes, really. Fuzzy things.”

“Alright,” you smile as you stand with her, picking up your embroidery hoop from where it had been abandoned at your side, “If you ever wish to discuss them, I would be more than happy to listen.” You tell her, desperately wanting to hold on to whatever moment you had just shared with her. 

She merely nods with a small, soft smile and holds her arm out for you to take, “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for supper.” 

The fire warming your skin from the hearth in Helaena’s chambers normally felt cozy and inviting, but tonight the heat of it was stifling as the two of you sit in silence. Each of you is presumably working on an embroidery piece, although the atmosphere feels more like that of a stalemate with each passing moment. 

You can feel her looking at you, sneaking glances every minute or so. You imagine she can probably feel the same, perhaps that’s why she keeps looking your way, because you can’t seem to keep your eyes off her either. 

Finally, the tension in the room seems to boil over and you can’t take it anymore; your fingers dig into the wood of your embroidery hoop as you gather the courage to speak. 

“Have I… Are you cross with me?” 

“Pardon?” The princess asks, jumping a bit before laying her hoop at her side, her eyes wide as she looks at you unabashedly now. 

“You, well, you keep looking at me. I just, I’m hoping I haven’t offended you in some way.” You chance a glance at Helaena and quickly do a double take, heart clenching in your chest when you see that she looks as if she’s about to cry. 

“You haven’t,” she breathes, shaking her head emphatically, locks of pale hair cascading down her shoulders as she does, “I simply… I was considering the dreams I’ve been having, the one I had earlier today.” 

“But what does that have to do with me?” 

“You’ve been in them!” She says suddenly, loudly, like she has to force out the words. 

“What?” You blink. 

She sighs heavily and swallows, wringing her hands on her lap. “You were in them. You have been for weeks.” 

You wonder if the princess can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you blink, silently praying to whichever of the Gods may be listening that Helaena’s dreams and your dreams were not somehow intertwined. In the back of your mind, you knew your pleas were useless. 

Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish that’s been plucked from the water before you finally find your voice, “What… what am I doing in them?” Your whole body buzzes, fearing the answer and desperately needing it all at once. 

The princess hesitates, you want to scream as you can all but see her weighing her options in her mind before she finally, finally speaks. 

“Courting me, kissing me.” 

A small withering, wounded noise passes your lips at her words. You feel dizzy, the room spinning as you feel as though the entire world is crashing down around you while at the same time, it’s as if a mountain’s worth of weight has been lifted from your shoulders. 

“And your visions… they only show things already fated to occur?” You feel frozen as you ask, not a muscle in your body moving. You know the answer even as the question leaves your lips, but you need to hear her say it. 

Helaena sighs and shakes her head, a frown cutting across her pretty face, “That’s why it’s frustrating,” she bites, spitting the words like the mere act of explaining is painful, “This one cannot come to pass, I do not understand why I see it…”

She keeps speaking, talking through her annoyance, but the sound of your own blood pumping wildly through your veins blocks out her words. 

No, your head pounds as you silently scream, No, no, no! Please, just let me explain, give me a chance, I’ll do any—

A loud sob cuts through your thoughts; the world seems to wrench its way back to you as you look at the princess, eyes widening when you see the tears flowing down her flushed cheeks. 

“You could never truly wish to…” She says slowly, brokenly, words fading like she can’t even bear to say them. 

“I do.” The words feel punched from your chest like you’re holding your heart out to the open air.

Helaena’s ocean eyes cut to yours as her breath hitches, the both of you not daring to move a muscle as you sit together on the small sofa in her chambers; the fire crackling in the hearth is the only indication that time has not ceased to exist. 

You aren’t sure who moves first, maybe the Gods have threaded the two of you together so tightly that you move as one, you can’t be sure. 

But her lips are on yours. 

And her hands cup your cheeks as yours scramble to fit around her waist, four hands poised on a knife’s edge. 

You sigh against each other, pulled together like a knot in a thread, and you gasp as you find yourselves pressed together, chest to chest.

Finally, you part for air, panting together as you stare, foreheads pressed together. 

“Princess—“

“You love me?” She asks, swiping a thumb over your cheek; it’s only then you realize you’re crying. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands grip her tighter, pulling her impossibly closer to you, “And you?” 

“Yes,” she echos, her thighs slotting over one of yours as she climbs atop your lap, “You are my heart beating out of my body.” 

Her words zap through you and your heart twists in your chest as your hands clamber against her, your lips press against hers again urgently. Twin moans, muffled into each other's mouths, sound between you as your hands cup her rear, pressing her more urgently against you. 

“You are beautiful,” you sigh, hands grabbing at her plush curves through the silk fabric of her skirts, “You’re so soft and —“ 

“Warm,” she breathes, moaning into the column of your neck as her lips move against your skin, “You’re so warm, my love, like the sun.” 

My love. The pet name sends a shiver down your spine as the two of you move together, pressing kisses against whatever patches of skin you can find, rocking together instinctually. The firmness of her thigh presses deliciously against your center, your skirts rucked up enough to bare your smallclothes, which press welty against your core. 

You gasp, pressing a kiss to the princess’s collarbone as her hips move tantalizingly on your thigh, the warmth between her legs nearly suffocating as you whimper and sign against each other’s soft skin. 

“I have always loved you,” you confess, nearly coming undone as she begins tugging at the ties at the bosom of your gown, her hands shaking as she pulls them loose, “Always, from the first moment I saw you.”

She makes a noise between a moan and sob as she finally tugs your bodice loose, and you whimper as her lithe fingers ghost over your breasts, causing your back to arch into her touch. “I’ve always loved you too,” she sighs as her soft hands cup your chest, kneading the flesh in her palms, “I always wanted to court you, marry you, I,” her voice breaks off in a faint, high-pitched whine as you finally manage to unbutton the bodice of her gown, she savors the feel of your lips and hands against her breasts for a moment more before continuing, “Gods, I wished to bed you, I’ve always longed to know what you would feel like, how sweet you’d taste.”

Her confessions nearly make you weep as you kiss over the fat of her breasts, keening into her supple skin as she delicately pinches at your nipples, “I have only ever thought of you, my sweet princess,” your chest heaves as you speak, your words muffled as you lick over her nipple, “When I sleep, when I wake, when I–” The words stick in your throat as you freeze, peering up at her through your lashes, somehow still impossibly afraid of going too far, or too fast, or too anything. 

“When you what?” She asks, her voice so soft and sweet as she stares down at you, her fingers digging into your breast and side as her sapphire eyes flit between yours, “Tell me, my love, when you what?” She urges, her hips moving somehow more desperately against yours, only serving to fuel the fire slowly building within you. 

“Gods, when I touch myself,” you whisper, shuddering as she lets out a breathy moan above you, “When I peak, sweet princess, I think only of you.” Your confession ends in a sharp gasp as she angles you backwards, anchoring you to her with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Her lips trail down your neck and collarbone before finally, she presses firm, fiery kisses to your breast, panting as she wraps her petal pink lips around your nipple and sucks, pressing her thigh more firmly against your center as she does. 

“I think only of you too,” she breathes, blue eyes fluttering up to yours as your hands tangle in her pale locks, “Every time I touch myself, I dream of you,” she mumbles around your breast, her touch all but burning into you as she kisses across your chest before mouthing at the other side, “When my brother beds me, it is you I see, my precious lady.”

You practically sob as her admission sends you reeling, each cell in your body bursting like lightning from a stormcloud as you peak. You’re useless to do much else other than tremble in her hold as shivers travel in currents down your spine, your smallclothes no doubt ruined as your center clenches frantically at nothing, your pearl so taut and achy as it twitches against the princess’s thigh. 

You don’t waste a second when your high subsides, moving frantically as you push Helaena back, slotting yourself perfectly atop her, pressing your thigh between her legs like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Your skirts fan out around your bodies, blanketing your forms in a soft sea of silk, your bare chests pressed tightly together as you rut against her, needing to see her awash with pleasure more than you need breath in your lungs. 

“My love, my sweet princess,” you sigh into her mouth, your tongues swirling together as she all but cries beneath you, her hands digging possessively into your waist, “I am yours, my love, until the end of my days.” You swear, pressing your thigh tightly against her center, and your heart soars as she finally shatters in your grasp.

You watch, enraptured, as she peaks; mesmerized at the blush that blooms on her skin, at the way her blue eyes roll back as her eyes flutter closed, at how her breasts heave as she sucks in desperate breaths. The sounds she makes seem to pierce into your soul, each whimper and moan and cry ripping away parts of you until your heart is stripped bare, beating only for her. 

The two of you lay in a heady silence for many moments, the only sounds being your soft, panting breaths as you each come down and the ever-present crackle sounding from the hearth. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” Helaena whispers, her voice raspy as she speaks.

“Pardon?” You ask, pulling back from her embrace just enough to meet her gaze.

“That phrase,” she explains, her eyes glimmering in the firelight as a smile steadily blossoms on her pink lips, “I kept hearing it, in my dreams about you.”

You stay silent, tracing soft circles on her soft skin, leaving room for her to continue.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I see.”

“Hm?”

You aren’t my friend, the Gods spoke truthfully,” she beams, radiating joy as she studies your face, “You’re my love.”

Her statement is simple, but it makes you smile all the same as you press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Yes,” you nod, pulling back to meet her eyes as you lay a hand over her heart, “Always.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m

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[morallyinept]

A full transcribe of EZRA'S dialogue/lines from the film PROSPECT.

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

Please also see my Writing For Ezra Guide for further analysis of his character and dialect.

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

__________________

Edited - I've been made aware of some errors since the original posting of this, so I've edited it to correct. Special thanks to those who have let me know! 🖤

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FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE:

*Fading in* … Curious.

Don't see too many kips around these ways anymore.

Not a kip… a returner!

Is that a serious question?

I believe you, gentle man.

But my partner always needs a little convincing. He'll just kill me, if I let you go without a thorough search. I never caught your name, friend.

Nice to meet you, Damon. I'm Ezra. I can't tell you how refreshing it is… hoo, to encounter another talker. It's been quite some time since we've run into anyone with fluid in motion. Where're you from, Damon?

How poetic. I take it you're a, hmm… floater? Freelancer. You don’t look very Fringely.

Yeah, don’t we all.

Alright, Damon. Understand what, now?

Damon, it has truly been a pleasure, but… pleasantries passed, it's time to gut the fencer. To be completely candid, this haul has proven to disappoint. Me and my partner both feel we deserve… satisfaction. You understand? 

So, how did you get here, Damon?

Your ship. Where is it? Or perhaps a ship is a tick too rich for you, a drop pod, I reckon. 

Excellent. The starter, if you don't mind.

Where is it? Don't make me root for it, Damon. I guarantee you, I'll make it an unnecessarily painful process.

That is not necessarily true. Nevertheless, continuing within the act of killing is a broad spectrum of technique. So, there is still an incentive for you to acquiesce if that's where you're getting at.

A twist? Go on.

And why would you be so cryptic under rails? You are lucky I am not immune to intrigue. But be careful you don't overplay this technique.

I've seen my share.

That's a theory.

It's funny. I don't see any mercs. Where are they?

Okay. I'd like to believe you. Admittedly, more out of desire than good sense. But Damon… if there is talk of the queen’s lair, the excitement is all but in involuntary.

And there's three of us. We split it in thirds. That's an even split.

This is so exciting!

__________________

What did your outfit look like, back in the day? You've always went solo?

Fancy. We had a full crawling party when we arrived here. Not one of your freighter takes, a testin' screamer.

Mercs in the Green, huh? Last I heard the word "merc" was way back when Crebon raiders hit up all the corporate expeditions.

Caero clan? You friendly with these fellas?

These cables… Goddamn it.

You know, this is something I have never seen in all my time on The Green. A little girl. 

Damon, I have clearly underestimated you, I must stop doing that.

Damon… Does this mean that the plan is off? You have me all up and bothered over the queen's lair, Damon.

Alright, you can have your fabled spoils all to yourself. But if your talk of the queen's lair is true… this is just a scratch.

Your girl is scared. You should listen to her. No harm done, yet.

It's a shame, Damon. We could've been rich together.

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You got a field-kit?

Hey! Field-kit!

Are you gonna shoot?

That is… technically true.

Kevva waits, girl! Shoot or help! Just make a move.

Get me a kit and we can talk.

Your offer is indeed generous. Y'know, I'd be more than happy to sign and seal, save for one glaring slip. My ship.

Well I did. Then there was an event with my crew concerned in a bit of Aurelac and… words and metal flew. And now, I don't. We're in the same trough, you and I. Can’t say I was pleased to find your mare all black and cockways as she was supposed to be my redemption as well. 

Whoa! Whoa! Just slow down a beat there, little bird. At least wait for the counter-offer.

How is it you intend to get home? That is the goal. Am I right?

The Mercs. They’re real aren’t they? Mmm-hmm. And the queen's lair? Mmm-hmm.

You are making a run for them. 

Listen, I know well the lure of vengeance. I myself have… frequently indulged, and I have not often found regret. But in this moment, right here, I'm afraid for both our sakes, I must riposte.

I say, we go to your mercs. I play the prospector. And together we ravage the queen.

Let me help you. I can harvest. I can offer protection. A girl your age, a child, wanders into a camp of fringely mercs, raw. At the end of the tour, what happens? You appeal to their sympathies? They have none. They are ruthless profiteers. You must have something to offer or they will find something to take from you.

That's the fringe, girl. If you're one to point fingers at extortion, well, there's not much I can say.

Now, hold on. I'm keen to make the case that Damon killed himself.

He was trying to steal my trophy case, is what he was trying to do. A man's work is no petty thing. To you, his daughter… I truly apologise for my contribution to his passing. But he was stealing my entire harvest. And actions like these foment the threat of appropriate reactions. Your father knew that, and if didn't, then he had no business in The Green.

I am, indeed. But, are you?

It was all in the name of self-preservation, birdie, it was nothing personal.

I’m your safest route home and in the end we’ll both be rich. 

Of course. There is one more thing. My filter's spent. I'm gonna need a hook-up.

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What is your name?

Do you mind if I take a look?

What do you know about these mercs? When did they arrive? How many are there?

He didn’t tell you anything? It's bad practice keeping you in the dark, if you ask me.

A deep partnership is only made so by candid discourse.

Number Two was more of a utility than a partner. And it seems like your father treated you the same way.

What's your name?

Well, I have to call you something.

Oi, Number Three. Watch that tube, girl. Straight finger. 

Thank you. 

If you don't know the thing about channel rats, is when they fornicate, they excrete a hormone substance - I don't really know what it's called - but it's uncannily sticky, it cocks up electrics. And it smells exactly like, but significantly more potent than, stale human urine.

Anyways, we stripped every panel in that ship. We clubbed those rat beavers to death. Two at a time. It was a toilsome marathon of carnage. We never did find the nest. 

You know, eventually, you're gonna have to trust me.

Just give me a moment.

You should keep the thrower low, we could be surrounded.

I said, keep it low. 

Don't show any sign of aggression. Drop it. Put your hands above your head.

Just do it. 

Just do it! Now!

We have to follow him. The wound would appear… ideal bite. It still has some venom. The dust. It’s found its way in and now it festers. The Sater are religious settlers and tedious scavengers. They should be amenable to trade for medical supplies.

We don’t have a choice.

Shoot me, then. 

__________________

(Greets in Sater language) I have sustained a wound that, due to inadequate treatment, now festers pink. I was hoping you had some juice?

Thank you, sir. We are tremendously grateful.

I thought perhaps it might interest you for trade.

A wise and understandable measure. We shall stow them at our discretion and return shortly, unarmed. Is that acceptable to you and your colleagues?

Here.

__________________

That was beautiful.

Juice. It's good for you, cleanses the dust.

Thank you for your kindness. Now, as you can see, I have sustained a trauma to my shoulder. I would much like to flush it with your magic juice. And to keep straight… we would also be very much interested in proper dressing, and filter refreshers, if you have them and can spare them? In return for your gracious offering, we are prepared to compensate with generosity in equal measure.

I'm sorry, I don't understand.

That is a bold offer.

What do you need her for?

__________________

(Ezra’s radio transmission) Hello! Hello to the green! I got… *inaudible*... I got one or two fourteen grade root pearls that I'm willing to part with for well over the peakest of rush rates. Nothing funny. Just a desperate man trying to make a bad deal with the right hold out. If anyone is out there, don't hesitate to click on...

Take your helmet off.

You look like shit. Eat it. There’s cases of 'em in here.

Here. I need your help.  

After you left, those Sater weren't too keen on helping me out… So I had to treat myself. I botched the excision. I was unable to clean and scrape the blackness. Now if I don't lose my arm, it'll kill me. And I can't perform the procedure by myself.

No. 

You ever use one of these before? It's easy. Prime it like this… then there are five levels of intensity. Two for the flesh, four for bone. You got it? 

Thank you.

I won't feel a thing. Hack away. Quick, confident strokes are best. Try to go full circuit on the first cut. 

I've never had to use these surettes before. Kind of nice… tingling, almost like… oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit!

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, shit.

No, I don’t know. Keep going, you're doing great. Keep going until you hit bone. 

I’m gonna miss him. My primary weapon, been with me my whole life. Always there, ready to help, no job too gritty, no love too intimidating. 

Up to four, as soon as it's off, give my stump a hearty coat in the juice and cream it all shut! Clear? 

How are you so calm? You've done this before.

__________________

So, where’s home?

Spoken like a true floater. What's that book you carry around?

"Streamer Girl"?

You wrote a novel?

There's not a lot of literature in circulation out here.

Well, it seems I must.

You memorised it?

Not at all. It's quite impressive.

Focus on what?

Well, you can't… you can't think like that. You go down that path, it's not good. If you need someone to blame, you blame me. You need to think about your next move. Be on that freighter in a tick.

It’s nice to meet you, Cee. 

__________________

Well. There's our ride.

Stay clear and close and I’ll talk us through. When it comes time to dig, I’ll need you to be sharp. I've never harvested one-handed before. I'm gonna need some help. But we'll keep it creamy and it’ll all be fine.

Damon, here for the dig. You wouldn't believe the time we’ve had of it, getting here. I wholeheartedly apologise for being late. But after the storm tidied us off mark, we were already a cycle back and naturally-

I wholeheartedly apologize. You wouldn't believe…

Well, actually… uh, before we get started. I'm afraid I must interject. I haven't been completely candid with you yet. After an erring landing and toilsome trick, there is one more significant detail to our story, one that forces us to leverage our talents for little bit more than the agreed upon price.

It's not more of a cut we're after. The points are more than adequate payment for the two of us. Rather it's a means of transit we lack. 

Well, now, what she means to say is that while transport is a requisite part of the deal, we are willing to forgo two points. Which by any reckoning is exorbitant compensation for a hop into orbit.

Oh, come now. In a prize… Scrap well over the weight of the passenger and a half. Cargo braces. That's one hundred, one-thirty right there.

You're not understanding me. Everything has changed. If you're not willing to scrap payload, scrap crew for all I care, but you'll find a way, if you want that buried treasure.

I am the gatekeeper to more wealth than any of us have ever seen, and you've been wasting in The Green for far too long to let that slip away. I'm afraid, I am the only means to the successful end of your venture. And I say the terms have changed. Thirteen, plus a ride for me and my partner on your handsome craft or no deal. Find a way.

My boy, this is a winner! I think a little back up thrust is an easy drop under the circumstances. What do you say, boss?

Gentlemen. And women… Let's get rich!

__________________

Strange method for an execution. What did this fella do to land him in the box?

How convoluted!

Somebody ought to give her a go.

That's the price for a dry breach. But my chem will calm the brine.

Hello, sweetheart.

It's a big one.

You got it? Hold it nice and tight.

Hold it like you love it. 

Oh. That's perfect.

Slippery son of a bitch.

No, no, no. Shit!

Not to worry, we go again.

(Muttering to self) *Inaudible* (?)leech on the(?) …cock spitters … cannot fuck more nuggets in this sleep for snatch, pearls… 

It's a little difficult to carve weak-handed!

Now hold on!

Those shots will bring the rest of ‘em in.

I don’t know.

Greedy fool! Couldn't help himself. Took a stumble, getting a closer look. Now, time presses and I am gonna need assistance if we're-

Go, go, go!

Move!

I'm out.

If we uncouple you can run a distraction, opening me up for the backstab. 

Are you sure?

You run fast and you don’t stop. You keep plenty of trees between you and her. You come straight back here as soon as I make the kill so we can re-couple. Clear?

You need to go. You grab the gun and you go. You can make it. 

Get outta here!

__________________

DELETED SCENE:

What is your name? 

Well, I have to call you something. 

Once, a long time ago, there was a channel rat. Well, first there was an entire nest. Caulked up in the floorboards of my skimmer, this was back when I was running catkins with my brother in Parson. 

If you don’t know, thing about channel rats, is when they fornicate, they excrete a hormone substance - I don’t remember what it's called - but the relevant details are that it is uncannily sticky, it cocks up electrics, and it smells exactly like, but significantly more potent than, stale human urine.

So, this horny cohort is scrambling around unseen, plastering up my walls with their piss paste, and the smell… was so horrific. And we had to wear nuke suits all the time, even when we slept.

So, after we exhausted our repertoire of civilised extermination methods, it soon devolved into barbarism. 

We stripped every panel in that ship and clubbed those rat beavers to death, two at a time. It was a toilsome marathon of carnage. But the bag of corpses steadily grew heavier.

We never did find the nest. But by the end of the run, we were down to what as far as we could tell was the last rat standing. This little bitch waits until we make ground fall, saunters into the galley, climbs up onto the table, and I spin you not, stands right up on its hind legs and starts calmly munching on a piece of bush bread. 

Maybe it was our impending reunion with civilization, or maybe it was exhaustion, but neither of us could bring ourselves to bash that last channel rat. So we just sat there and watched it eat the entire biscuit.

When it was done, it walked over to the airlock, waited at the hatch as if it expected us to just open it, so we did. And then walked out. 

You remind me of that channel rat, so in the absence of a given moniker, I will now call you Channel Rat. 

Number Three it is. 

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

[medusas-graveyard]

Unhealthy Obsession.

Okay wait actually, remembering how it took a while for Pariah Dark to get sealed off just means that they were some bending in his sworn oath, right?

Okay another angst prompt, consider; softly insane! Danny.

(Tw: Dark!Danny, morally ambiguous? No one's having a great time tbh but like it's poetically soft imo. Also our boy's officially lost it :∆ his words are cryptic.)

Final warning: This is depressingly sad for Danny's part, sure. But he's also unjustified so I'll classify this as [Dead Dove: Do not eat]

Danny's adopted by the Waynes just like, a bit little short time before his coronation (also he's around 16-18 years old because I'm dragging the desperate for validation because he never felt seen unless someone praises him trope). At that time span he's this very rarely seen brother that's absolutely trying his best between juggling his very impromptu 'how to be a proper monarch' lessons (read: the ancients drilling manors, rules, oaths, etc to his poor head because they don't want a repeat Pariah Dark) and being a present family members because he genuinely loves them. (They know about the vigilante stuff and the Waynes understandably backed away from convincing him, seeing how Danny already has shit ton on his plate.)

Until one day something big happens that almost ended the world, and Bruce dies. It was just him and his dad there, with no other bird or bat in sight. No one knew yet— no one needs to know. Kronos' carefully crafted human, no— prince finally shatters after all the pressure, and all he thinks is how unfair the world has been to him.

It's a very, very slow descent to insanity, what he had been through.

He lost so much, he won't lose anything again. And amidst the eerie scenery of a prince cradling the body of his father, was the sight of himself stitching him back together— giving him a new life. He whispered apologies after apologies to the unconscious man; and for a second Kronos would've pitied him.

Except he didn't. He knew he can't.

After all the chaos they finally had each other again, and Danny stood contently as he watched Alfred personally tend to his family's wounds, big or small. He also watched as his family bicker with each other after all they've been through, and realized something; all of this will die.

Alfred, Bruce, his brothers, Cass and Steph— they're all painfully mortal. He'll outlive his family, and in the end he'll be alone. He doesn't want to be left alone.

And what is to do when you realize your family is painfully, awfully mortal?

...you either curse them with immortality, or place a generational curse on them so you'll all meet in every life, of course! (Oh, did I mention about cursing your family so they'll all get reincarnated everytime they die to make them find each other by everytime?)

... except these curses are incredibly forbidden, because they go against the nature of life and death.

Which leads to the sight of Danny being cuffed from his neck, his arms, his wrists, and his legs. His expression is deadly calm, he smiles softly contrast to the Waynes that are watching in horror. He watches as his family's face contorts to something unreadable when his captors reads over his charges, and he couldn't bring himself to feel remorse.

"By the name of the Infinite realms, Prince Phantom is sentence to imprisonment, for the charges of tempering with the cycle of life and breaking the Royal oath."

"He will be serving until the day of his coronation by the terms of the infinite realms, under the watchful gaze of the ghost of time. The guilty may be there farewells before they are sent to their sentence."

Danny smiles at them; soft but undeniably cruel. He bows at them, like how he would bow on days where his father would teach him how to ballroom dance.

"this is not a goodbye, it is merely a see you later." He starts, voice full of merit. "May we meet again, and may the circumstances of our next meeting a better one."

His smile turns sharper then, the contrast between it and his soft eyes sends an unpleasant shiver. "For our destiny are tied, and our Fates will overlap with each other."

"You cannot change our destiny. For the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, and our bond has tied us together."

"None of you will run from me— none of you can run from me."

"Because I will chase you down and hunt you until our family is complete."

[rizzkisworld]

Take The Shot - Choi Sumin

Pairing: bestfriend!Sumin x gn!reader

Warnings: none??? Idk

Synopsis: Sumin talks to Minjae and officially confesses his feelings for you

Genre: Fluff!!!

A/N: Y'all we are so back!!(I'm feeling inspired)

Whispers of winds whistling in your ear as you both stood in silence. The sky was a little cloudy, but the sun peeked through just a tiny bit. You were still in shock at the words that came out of your best friend's mouth. Is this moment even real? What led up to it? What made him say that now?

In the gymnasium stood Sumin and his friend Minjae. “I wanna confess, but how?” Sumin heaved a sigh. “Aren't you really close? You should know what Y/n likes.” Minjae tried to encourage Sumin. “I've had crushes before, but there's something about Y/n that I can't explain. I don't wanna risk ruining our friendship.” He thought back to some of the moments he's spent with you.

The time you first met in middle school. He was trying to impress one of the girls in your class, but ended up tripping and falling flat on his face. You helped him gather his things and since then you've been besties. The time he got rejected by the person he swore would be his lifetime partner in highschool. You were there to comfort him. The time you were over his house and you attempted to make cookies. The results…… Total fail. Though you swear it was his fault.

A small grin appeared on his face, the same one that appears all the other times he's thinking of you. His thoughts were so vivid in his mind that he almost missed what Minjae had to say. “Look, life is kind of like basketball. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take. In other words, you have Y/n now, but if you let go of this opportunity you may not have Y/n later…wait that was poetic I need to write that down-” “Not the time Minjae.” Both of them started laughing, lighting up the pressing mood. Sumin was ready, cause like Minjae said, you miss 100% of the shots you don't take.

That's what brought you to the situation you're in now. Sumin texted you to come outside on the field near the bleachers. His text was very cryptic, so you worried just a little bit. You rushed outside to find the boy with his back facing you. “Is everything okay?” You asked, gently tapping him on his back. He sharply turned around to face you. A tint of blush covering his handsome features. You furrowed your brows at him, because what in the world was happening? He wasn't even saying anything. Just looking. Just staring. It honestly left you with a little discomfort.

It was complete silence. “Sorry if I-” “I like you too.” You blurted out. There the silence was again. “Repeat that for me?” Sumin, with a smirk on his face, leaned in closer to hear you say those words again. How was the same boy that was just super nervous teasing you now? “You heard me!” You playfully smacked his shoulder. “Ouch! No need to hit your new boyfriend so hard.” Sumin acted like your hit hurt him. “Boyfriend?” You tilted your head to the side. “Problem?” He asked. “You didn't ask me out yet, you only confessed your feelings.” You didn't miss the way Sumin began blushing again. The thought of actually having to ask you out felt unreal.

“Uh, are you-” “I like you a lot.” He blurted out the words, cutting you off. “You what?” Thinking you misheard him, you asked for him to repeat himself. “How was your day?” He smiled from ear to ear. “That is not what just came out of your-” “I asked you, how was your day.” He maintained the same smile. “It was fine, but what is going on here?” You asked, feeling very suspicious of him. “My bad, um…. I've been feeling this way for a long time and I'm feeling very nervous to tell you this…. Y/n I……” His voice trailed off leaving you in suspense. He what?

“I don't know when this feeling started, but all I know is just that I've never felt this way with anyone else. You're the person that makes my day and I look forward to talking to you whether it be in person or on the phone. I've never felt so nervous to say something like this ever in my life, but…. I really like you alot…like alot alot." Sumin’s eyes looked everywhere, but your eyes.

“Will you be mine?” Sumin shyly grinned. “Of course!” You leaned in to hug him. The hug lasted about two minutes. Sumin slowly pulled away and looked you deep in your eyes. His hand slowly caressed your cheek. Leaning in, the both of you closed your eyes, waiting for your lips to touch. “Well, would you look at that, the power couple of the century.” Seeun, who was standing next to Minjae, teased. Sumin's face said it all. He was so done with those two. “Let's escape.” Sumin whispered before grabbing your hand and running off the field together.

[ritinja-draws]

Rukkhadevata and Barbatos were Irminsul protectors-bros theory

(Sumeru and Barbatos connections part 1)

The more lore we get, the more connection I see between Sumeru, Dendro archon, memories, Irminsul, hexenzirkel and Barbatos (you are everywhere dude you are so sus i just can’t). And I just want to share with my thoughts, so welcome to my Genshin TED talks or whatever.

Long story short, I believe that Rukkhadevata ( I will use Rukkha after) and Barbatos were really good friends and they protected Irminsul and memories of Teyvat together.

Firstly: Venti voice over about Buer.

“The first thing you think of when you hear “Dendro archon” is her power over dreams. Her dreams are akin to my ballads: full of emotions and imagination. It goes without saying that we get along really well.”

Since Nahida and Venti haven’t met yet canonically, I presume that he is talking about his relationships with Dendro archon in the past, before the cataclysm. And I believe by “Dendro archon” he means specifically Greater Lord Rukkhadevata ( he remembers her for sure I just know it okay).

Secondly: Rukkha and Barbatos have pretty much in common.

They are people who value emotions and creativity and they also are responsible for “defending” memories.

Rukkha is the avatar of Irminsul ( and Irminsul is a “sacred pillar” which is super important in GERMANIC mythology, which is again connected with Mondstadt and Khaenri’ah) and she can find and erase memories and information in Irminsul.

And Venti is a bard - he collects stories/legends and puts people's names in history, so they will be remembered by the world.

In 3.3 we saw that Irminsul can delete information in teyvat, but memories still can be saved with fairytales or any other “poetic/cryptic way”.

And as i can feel - Rukkha is like a giant computer, who collects all of knowledge, information and memories. And Barbatos is someone, who saves this information (or at least part of it) and recalls it in case of emergency. He is like a 1 mln+ GB memory card.

And now, in windblume festival 3.5. We have learned more about hexenzirkel ( The organization which explores Irminsul) and their connection with Barbatos and Mondstadt.

There is NO WAY that Venti is NOT connected wit Rukkhadevata and Irminsul.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Alrighty, Peaches, lets get these two lovesick idiots back together 🍑❤️

Summary:

He’s no longer the clueless grad-student pretending to know himself, but a tenured college educator proclaiming his truth. The pageantry of normalcy is over. Reconciliation: more than wishful thinking. So with his children’s permission - and a go get him, tiger from Micol - he’s torn up the script. Followed the siren song of redemption to its source. Spanned oceans and continents for the man who’s got him glued to his mobile like a lovesick innamorato.

Chapter 1

Hope, it has been said, is a waking dream, but of the countless scenarios Oliver’s envisioned in his parallel life, this, first and foremost, exceeds even his wildest expectations. 

There were times he’d considered himself cursed. Chronically addicted to whimsy. He could never begrudge his traviamento. Not when it led to a family he adores. Success in his chosen field. A happiness his martyr complex once deemed inconsequential. Yet fulfilment, he’s learned, exists not in doing what he ought, but in having the autonomy to do what he needs, and as the northbound regionale hurtles through Lombardy’s rustic foothills, he can’t help marvelling that his decades long odyssey is almost at an end.

No more hypotheticals.

No more conjecture.

No more fearing the nuclear fallout. 

August is peak tourist season, as the packed Trenitalia carriage can attest. Floral perfumes vie with the sour musk of travel. Coal, oil, and the bitter hint of espresso combine under the burnt-tyre haze of Gauloises. He hasn’t smoked since the cows came home - as his beloved bubbe used to say - so Oliver relishes the guilty pleasure whilst scowling at his cryptic crossword; unable to recollect the third moon of Pluto even if you paid him.

Initially, Elio’d insisted on meeting his flight at Côte d'Azur, but numerous factors have seen Annella’s condition deteriorate in recent weeks. The progressively smudged line between son and caregiver has him reeling - loath as he is to admit it - yet Oliver’s qualms about an overnight road trip on top of yesterday’s hospital appointment were sufficient to swing the debate. Old habits die hard - his protector gene is dominant - only now he’s stuck willing the powerful engine to speed up as the relentless carping from the couple behind wreaks havoc on his budding migraine. 

He’d emptied his inbox en route to Genoa. Transferred trains at Milano Centrale, and exited his solitaire program not thirty minutes later. His snacks have dwindled. His research analysis is clear as mud. Even his audiobooks fell victim to his inability to focus, and Oliver balls a fist under his jaw as he ponders the poetic vagaries of opportunities lost and found.

Of the meteoric shift that set him on this tack.

Of a voice - breathless as his own - that interrupted his jog one overcast Sunday.

“Elio…” it said.

One word. 

Just one word. 

Three honeyed syllables that pulled him up short as every barricade, every coping strategy, everything he’d told himself to justify the silence came crashing down around him. In one fell swoop the arena had changed, yet middle-age and a teenage journal brought with them a unique perspective on the past, and together, they’ve dispensed of the sword of Damocles poised so ominously above.

He’s no longer the clueless grad-student pretending to know himself, but a tenured college educator proclaiming his truth. The pageantry of normalcy is over. Reconciliation: more than wishful thinking. So with his children’s permission - and a go get him, tiger from Micol - he’s torn up the script. Followed the siren song of redemption to its source. Spanned oceans and continents for the man who’s got him glued to his mobile like a lovesick innamorato.

Pining like the Britton Forest.

Even more doe-eyed than Bambi’s mother.

And yes, alright, he’s raised a pair of weisenheimers in Noah and Jesse, but they’re not wrong. He and Elio have been in regular contact since that pivotal weekend. Emails. Texts. Meandering conversations when the disparate time zones allow. He’ll ask after his day as he sips his pre-dawn coffee. Fight a ubiquitous yawn whilst tending to the household chores. It’s a work in progress - balancing the see-saw of little things that add up to the whole - yet they’re getting better at spilling their innermost secrets. Redefining their boundaries. Upending Pandora’s box.

As a result, they’ve gone over it all these past two months. 

Michel, Micol, his kids; their careers.

Their lives apart, versus the one they aim to build together. 

Elio’s mother, and her Sisyphean struggle to stay present.

Oliver’s, and her farcical ultimatums when she learned of his forthcoming divorce. 

Each discussion was inherently painful - though there’s no denying they’re richer for them - and it’s humbling, quite frankly, to be trusted with all Elio is. Moreso on account of his transgressions. All human beings have things they regret - things that aren’t often forgivable by those who’ve felt the effects - but avoidance and supposition have cost them enough already, and come what may they’ve mapped a course through their personal minefields; triggering just a few minor explosions in their wake.

That said, some wounds slice deep - for all that the mind strives to cover them over - and the character limit of their SMS history is a palliative cure at best. To make matters worse, jet lag in his forties is a total crapshoot - not at all remedied by the piecemeal catnaps he’d caught on the plane - and thwarted by the blurry letters, Oliver soon turns to his iPod instead; selecting the dynamic strains of Elio’s back catalogue to muffle the grizzly toddler four rows along.  

It was the winter of ‘88 he last had the privilege of seeing him play in person. Juilliard's lauded Christmas recital: a selfish, one-sided affair by which he’d skulked in the shadows of the Lincoln Center’s mezzanine. That Elio forgave his audacity is a mystery in itself. That he's kindly suggested a repeat performance is a testament to how far they’ve come. A number of mornings were spent in such Spartan luxury their halcyon summer, and drumming his fingers in idle counterpoint Oliver pictures the give of that leather easy-chair in the villa’s spacious living room. 

The dizzy dance of dust motes towards the vaulted ceiling.

Elio - brow furrowed in concentration - resplendent in the saffron sunlight that pools through the wide, unshuttered windows. 

It’s a slightly static announcement on the tannoy that stirs him from his stupor, yet Oliver has no issue discerning la stazione di Clusone amidst the liquid notes of Gershwin pouring through his headphones. 

The griping Brit’s are still going at it: running an asinine gamut from Bergamo’s high humidity to the dearth of sandy beaches surrounding Lake Como. Oliver snickers when they denounce the price of an Aperol Spritz, and maybe it's an omen - one of Mafalda’s legendary signs - because right on cue a droning rhythm vibrates the laminate tabletop; Elio’s name lighting up his phone screen as he hits the green accept button like his life depends upon it.

“Suppose I were to meet you at the station?” he hears in greeting, a verbal ambrosia for his pilgrim soul. “Suppose I’ve been on pins and needles since you landed in Nice, and if one more meddling kibitzer extols the virtues of patience, I’m going to tell them exactly where to stick their conseils d'ingérence! Self-restraint was never my forte, mon ami.”

Nor his suppressor, Oliver thinks, admiring the fragrant lavender that flourishes about the bay. “God bless Annella for passing on that stubborn streak.”

“Fingers crossed that’s all I inherit,” Elio mutters glumly, inured to the savagery of his mother’s disease in a way that occasionally knocks him for six. “But suppose I’m waiting here,” he forges onwards, easing the Gordian knot in Oliver’s midsection. “On the same rotting bench I sat on at seventeen. Trying not to worry that you’ve missed a connection. Or the signals at Albino failed like they did in the spring. Or your train arrived ahead of schedule, and I’ve just driven eighty kilometres in Miranda’s Cinquecento -”

“- for a head-full of what-ifs and an ass-full of splinters?”

“Esattamente.” A pause. “So, am I?” Elio asks, sounding as exhausted as Oliver feels. “Fretting over nothing? Or has the universe devised yet another way to -”  

A piercing whistle cuts him off mid-flow.

The pneumatic judder of brakes ensues straight after.

“I guess that answers my question,” he murmurs, and if Oliver weren’t sitting on shpilkes himself, perhaps he’d refrain. As it is though… 

“A wise man once argued the way up and the way down are one and the same,” he answers primly, and when Elio barks something resembling a laugh and a snort he prides himself on lifting the mood. “Do you have any idea?” he asks then, scooting over to lean his forehead against the dingy glass. “How glad I am you came?” 

Compliments are risky business. Especially coming from him. But nonetheless -

“How could I not?” Elio replies: a vast improvement on his obsolete I don’t know. “The pullman might be less extortionate than a cab, but that old bus takes forever, and I just…” His vulnerability is audible. “I’m sick of being on edge,” he continues with no small amount of chagrin. “I needed to see you. To be sure this is real.”

To be sure you want me, hangs unsaid, which is ironic, when it's Elio himself who carries all the cards. 

“Do you remember the crux of my next column?” Oliver asks then, blood pounding in his ears. “That it’s not happenstance that determines destiny? But individual choice?” 

Elio’s pensive hum rumbles through the handset. 

“Well, there’s a difference, by and large, in walking a path blindly, and opting to walk it with hindsight,” Oliver explains, the simple fact resonating like a call to arms. “We can’t let our track-record hinder who we’ll become, but my path, Elio Perlman, was always destined for your door. And mark my words. To find you? To keep you?” The anticipation is glorious. “I’ll walk it to the ends of the earth…”

[theletterstohogwarts]

A LITTLE CRUSH

— Summary: Ominis is tormented by his insatiable curiosity, so he enlists the help of a besotted Sebastian.

— Main Characters: Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt

— Notes: The description of the reader is very specific, sorry... it's based off a dream.

Rich, emerald green curtains frame the exquisitely ornate marble columns, abundant with lustrous serpentine features, as the soft sounds of whispered voices echo throughout the opulent common room.

A mordacious boy rests against the stone fireplace in a nonchalant manner and in his presence, a fellow pure-blood Slytherin lounges on an elegant settee, an antiquated leather-bound book in hand before the melodious sound of his name falls from the boy’s lips.

“Yes, Ominis?” He drawls in response, not turning his attention away from his book.

“What does she look like?”

The young Gaunt’s inquisitive, yet rather peculiar curiosity piques Sebastian’s interest, as he allows his attention to abandon the obscure incantations within the book and focus on his friend’s pale, opaque eyes. “Oh... got a little crush, do we?” He teases, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

“Sebastian.” Hisses the boy, the bitter undertone in his ostentatious voice drips from his tongue like venom. The boy in question allows a quiet chuckle to rumble deep in his throat as he turns his attention to your solitary figure, watching you wallow in the soft shadows that were percolating through the intricate gothic windows.

“I think you’d really like her.” He mentions, a soft smile gracing his freckled features. “Her dark, decadent curls are contrasted delightfully against her pale skin, and the soft flesh of her lips are framed by a constellation of freckles that linger along her cheeks. Her eyes are golden brown, with hints of dark velvet, and she’s got quite a few little beauty marks...” He explains, turning to his friend. “Just like you.”

“Oh,” the boy sighs. “How poetic.”

“She really is quite beautiful, Ominis.”

“It sounds to me, Sebastian, like you’re the one with a little crush.” A playful smile graces his lips. “After all, she did beat you in a duel.”

“Oh, don’t start.” He says, voice laced with admonition. His gaze lingers on the boy, watching the soft smile grow wider before turning his attention back to his cryptic book.

[cyberpunkonline]

Poetry in the Pulse of Neon: The Role of Verse in Cyberpunk Media

Racing through the realm of digital entertainment, poetry might seem like an unanticipated passenger aboard the high-speed, neon-lit trains of cyberpunk. Yet, in this clashing world, the true allure comes alive. While Raz has already delved into the connection between poetry and video games, this piece dives into the sprawling, electrified streets of cyberpunk media.

Poetry Amidst the Techno-Chaos Cyberpunk, known for its grungy cityscapes, bleeding-edge tech, and rebellious undercurrents, surprisingly, pulses with a human beat. This genre, teeming with futuristic anomalies, brings poetry into its fold, presenting an emotional counterpoint to the mechanical heartbeats. Think of William Gibson's "Neuromancer", where the prose itself often takes on a poetic rhythm, illustrating the dance between man, machine, and soul.

The Resonance of Rhyme in Rebellion Rebellion is a core theme in cyberpunk—whether it's battling authoritarian overlords, defying mega-corporations, or challenging one's own augmented reality. Poetry, a time-honored voice of dissent, naturally finds its niche here. Recall the cryptic poems in Ridley Scott's "Blade Runner," derived from William Blake's "Songs of Innocence and Experience", they set the tone for the film's exploration of humanity and artificial life.

Emotional Catharsis in the Digital Age Digging deep into the psyche of cyberpunk reveals a contemplation on identity, morality, and the essence of humanity. Amidst the techno-jargon and virtual vistas, it's the emotional crux that anchors the tales. The poetic soliloquies of the protagonist in Neal Stephenson's "Snow Crash" offer moments of introspection, bringing to light the character's internal battles amidst external chaos.

An Unlikely Pair The merging of poetry and cyberpunk seems incongruous at first glance. While poetry evokes a sense of timeless emotion, cyberpunk thrusts us into a potentially dystopian tech-fueled reality. However, their combined power is undeniable. For instance, in Richard K. Morgan's "Altered Carbon", poetic reflections interspersed within the narrative amplify the story's exploration of life, death, and what it truly means to be human.

Conclusion As cyberpunk's digital universe flickers with neon and buzzes with electric life, the soft echoes of poetic verse offer a grounding touch. Far from mere ornamentation, poetry in cyberpunk serves as a bridge, connecting the vast digital expanse with the enduring human soul. In a world increasingly interfaced with tech, perhaps it's the poetic word that keeps our human essence alive and pulsating.

- REV1

[ink-dusted-dreams]

An Analysis of Tomoe and Kenshin’s Relationship Part 1

16 years ago when I was just 12, I watched Rurouni Kenshin with its action-filled scenes, which intrigued me. However, it was not until a year later when I read the manga, that I truly fell for the relationship between Kenshin and Tomoe. As someone who never had a great interest in romance stories, that love story inspired me to fall in love and left me questioning how real love could be. Yet, I was left feeling disappointed as the intricacies of this extraordinary love was never fully explored.

The spiritual, transcendental connection between the two characters was so powerful and poetic that it stayed with me ever since, stirring up feelings of both pain and joy. While I am grateful for the story, I cannot help but to think that with a different writer and Seinen genre, justice could have been done in truly reflecting the complexity of such transcendental love between two characters in the Bakumatsu period and Boshin Sensō.

On the other hand, the OVA was a heart-wrenching masterpiece; the artful quality of each frame was eerie, poignant and touched me deeply.

Going beyond the surface, this analysis delves into the depths of Kenshin's feelings for Tomoe, exploring her role in his life and how the manga portrays their dynamic.

The sorrow that consumed Kenshin after Tomoe's death was overwhelming, a sensation he simply could not shake. One can only imagine, in the depths of his despair, was he also filled with a fury that she had chosen such a tragic ending?

Kenshin had spent more than a decade facing the repercussions of his past, unable to accept the finality of life and his beloved Tomoe in death. Only after the end of his Kyoto epilogue, ten long years later, had he finally found the courage to confront his grief and pay homage to her grave.

As the chapters progress, Kenshin finally locked eyes with the now-grown Enishi, a vision of the beloved Tomoe appeared before him. He let out an anguished cry, as if desperately trying to reach her.

Kenshin is a seasoned killer, yet after finding out Enishi was seeking vengeance, he cannot withstand the onslaught of Tomoe's visions. Even after ten years, her trauma remains buried in his heart, an ache so deep it's all-consuming.

As pages turn, we learn that Kenshin's scar starts with a story of pain and injustice. It's a tale of unfulfilled love, of a man named Kiyosato Akira, denied his most basic desire, a simple wish to be with the woman he loved, who also loved him back. He was a helpless figure in the midst of a deadly and fanatical revolution, and his life was taken in an instant, and all that remained of him was a single scar upon the face of his murderer. A scar born of anguish, injustice, and unfulfilled desires.

Kenshin had only been a young teenager when he was full of idealistic naïveté and dreams of making a change, no matter the cost. But by the time he encountered Tomoe, Kenshin had already taken the lives of over hundred people, leaving psychological scars that would haunt him; a chill of violence that even the Sake tasted like blood on his tongue - perhaps a sign of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Kenshin and Tomoe's initial encounter was an enthralling visual of windswept emotions and tragedies that seemed to have been embedded in a Kabuki play. Tomoe began by saying, “They always say at tragic scenes, a rain of blood falls... but you really made it.. rain blood..” Her cryptic comment portrayed a sense of cynicism. Despite being in the midst of such violence and chaos, her composed expression betrayed neither surprise nor fear.

These apt words may have been derived from Yudono no Chôbê, Kiwametsuki Banzui Chôbê, a kabuki play that dates back to 1881 (although that is slightly later than when the manga takes place). The story connotes the phrase “Chi no ame wo furasu” (Make it rain blood) which translates to “creating casualties with sword.” It indeed painted a vivid picture of sorrow and desolation which Tomoe was able to express with incredible poignancy.

Kenshin was determined to keep the powerful, honorable legacy of Battousai under wraps. Yet, when Tomoe stumbled across his slaying, the first thought that should have occurred to him -- yet tragically failed to -- was how to rid her of the knowledge. But as their fateful encounter unfolded, his other senses were suddenly assailed; the sweet aroma of her white plum perfume eclipsing the staining smell of blood, that seemed to remain present everywhere and followed him. I thought it was at that moment that Kenshin would have felt a spark of attraction toward Tomoe.

In Chapter 168 of the manga, Kenshin is forced to confront the impossible moral dilemma, posed to him by Tomoe: "So, bad people carry swords and good people don't? If I had been carrying a sword that night, would you have killed me?" Kenshin tries desperately to defend his beliefs, to explain the nuances of his sense of morality, that he only kills those who do violence to others. But in the face of her piercing question, he is left struggling to find the answer.

Amidst all the chaos, it was made starkly clear: the Kenshin, who typically disinterestedly refuses to engage in anything personal, was curiously transfixed with her, a notion that would have been otherwise unimaginable to his famed persona, the renowned Battousai. He was consumed by a youthful fascination with her, though seemingly unaware of its implications.

Tomoe gazed upon a sleeping Kenshin, whom she had called the vanguard of mad justice, and was taken aback by how young he really was. As soon as he sensed her presence, he instinctively drew his katana, ready to strike--- although it stood in stark contrast to his adamant belief that he would never kill an innocent.

Tomoe, unruffled by that sudden action, asked him to “let her be his sheath”, restraining his mad justice, while simultaneously reminding Kenshin of the question he put to her the previous chapter--- whether he would have killed her had he possessed the sword.

Hesitantly yet intensely, Kenshin replied that he would never be able to do such a thing, not to her. It almost felt like an unconscious confession--- for neither one of them were aware of whether the other was a friend or an enemy at that point.

It was perhaps at that moment when unexpected vulnerability was shown by the feared Battousai that Tomoe started to feel an irresistible compassion, perhaps even attraction towards him.

In Chapter 170, Kenshin, ever the vigilant sentinel, finds himself lulled into a sense of security he rarely experiences - so much so that he doesn't even rouse at the sound of Iizuka opening the door. Perhaps he finds peace just from Tomoe's presence, a demonstration of how much he has welcomed her into his life and learned to trust her.

The triumphant return of the Shinsengumi was not without consequence. The Chōshū Isshin Shishi had been raided, leaving a cloud of uncertainty and insecurity in its wake. Knowing this, Katsura Kogoro strongly urged Kenshin to go in hiding with Tomoe, for a young couple would have an easier time evading suspicion than a lone man.

But it was in the face of this peril that Kenshin suddenly declared his love for Tomoe and asked her to be his wife until death did them part. The gravity of the situation, the revolutionary forces at work and ever-looming danger of death gave this newfound romance an air of irrevocable finality. They smiled at each other in a sea of turmoil, perhaps aware of the magnetism drawing them ever closer, the snowballing affection as though the path of their future had already been decided.

In chapter 172, Iizuka was taken aback when he encountered Kenshin at the hideout, surrounded by reports of bloodshed and disarray in the city. What struck him even more was that despite the chaos, Kenshin was calm and content. Iizuka was left to ponder what eluded peace could possibly be in Kenshin's life - and the answer came soon enough - that Kenshin found solace in five months surrounded by Tomoe; in a life devoid of violence, where he could practice his beloved Kenjutsu without the worry of taking a life.

As the chapter progressed, Tomoe was in her usual melancholic state, while something radically different was present in Kenshin. A happiness like he had never experienced before shone from his now unguarded, beaming face. The past five months of living with Tomoe had taught him what his life was meant for - happiness.

We also witness Kenshin relinquish all apprehension and wariness, exposing his personal life to Tomoe -- the adversities from his infancy as a famine-stricken orphan that took the lives of his family. His suffered untold hardships throughout the voyage of his life.

For Tomoe however, the wall of sadness still remained, however palpable Kenshin's happiness had become.

In the next chapter, as Kenshin encounters Enishi visiting his sister, suspicions naturally arise. Izuka, Katsura, and Tomoe are the only individuals who would have the knowledge of the place. But rather than pass judgement, Kenshin places his faith and full trust in Tomoe. Conjoined with the newfound realization of his being unaware of Tomoe having a brother, Kenshin begins to understand his limited understanding of her.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Shooting the annular eclipse at the Acoma Pueblo, New Mexico was, without a doubt, the most profound and difficult photographic challenge and experience I had ever encountered. The Acoma Pueblo, perched atop its mystical mesa, held an allure like no other place. The sacredness of this ancient site beckoned me to capture an image that was not just aesthetically stunning but culturally significant. It is the longest continuously inhabited community in North America.

Obtaining permission to shoot on the mesa had been a herculean task in itself. The elders of the Acoma Tribe are understandably protective of their sacred grounds. It isn't a place where you just walk up and shoot. I had sent emails, made phone calls and left messages weeks ahead of time and it wasn't until a mere 15 minutes before the start of eclipse was to grace the sky, that a young member of the tribe, Jonah Chino, who worked with the dancers came through and granted their blessing and took her niece Ky'Mya Vallo and I up the mesa. The anticipation and tension in the air were palpable as I truly thought it was not going to happen.

As I lifted up my camera to shoot, a sense of gratitude washed over me, knowing that I had been entrusted with this incredible opportunity. I wasn't alone in this endeavor; I was working closely with the Sky City Buffalo Dancers from the Acoma Tribe and their leader Shane Keene. Their presence was like a bridge between the ancient traditions and the modern lens. Their rhythmic dances and ancient chants seemed to synchronize with the celestial ballet about to unfold.

The moments leading up to the eclipse were surreal, with a profound stillness in the air. As the moon began its graceful dance in front of the sun, I knew that the images I sought were not only the result of luck and passion but also the cooperation of the beautiful Acoma People. They had shared their sacred space and their heritage with me, allowing my lens to capture a moment where ancient wisdom and cosmic wonder intertwined.

In the poetic parlance, the female dancer in the Acoma traditional dance assumes a role of profound significance. They, the daughters of the earth, embody the very essence of fertility and motherhood. In their choreographic offerings, they grace the world with elegance and fluidity, their vibrant costumes adorned with the feathers, the tinkling of bells, and the visages of animal spirits.

Yet beyond this, their celestial charge extends to the Butterfly Dance. A ritual of healing, it beseeches the ethereal realm to mend the souls. Arrayed in butterfly wings and traditional garb, they exhibit the choreography of grace incarnate, invoking the tender spirits of the butterflies to mend the suffering soul.

Their function, however, transcends the earth. These female dancers ascend to a spiritual station of utmost importance. They serve as conduits to the unseen, incarnating spirits, their dances, a cryptic tongue for communion with the ethereal domain.

The resulting images were more than just photographs; they were a testament to the harmonious coexistence of tradition, nature, and modern artistry. They tell a story of unity, where the past met the present, and the eclipse became a bridge connecting cultures, generations, and the awe of the cosmos. I feel very blessed to have been there. Also, I was very blessed to be there with my lovely wife Hollee.

The diffuculty was due to the extreme differences in exposing the backlit foreground and the very bright Eclipse, compounded by the very high and far above the horizon apex timing at 10:35 MST. Finding a location for the foreground subject was incredibly difficult. Getting permission was incredibly difficult. Having no pre-run the day before made it incredibly difficult.

Camera Sony A7r3 Lens FE 4.5-5.6 100-400 GM

Filter -10 stop and -2 stop hand held and stacked (that is what caused the prism aberrations/lens flares) There is a reason that there are very few images with foreground subjects on this eclipse.

Support the Acoma People. Visit their pueblo, buy their beautiful ceramic pots, support their causes, and show them respect they deserve it.

[Pictures of New Mexico] :: [Rick Armstrong]

[dercolaris]

Play

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Characters: Hanma Shuji, Kisaki Tetta

Relationship: Hanma Shuji & Kisaki Tetta

Genre: Romance, Angst

Word Length: 1628

Warnings: Disturbing content, Angst

Status: Complete

Short Summary: It is not always clear who plays what role on the stage. Small story for @shin-arei

A harsh wind whipped through the capital city of Japan, blowing dust and rubbish wildly around on the dirty asphalt. Hanma crossed his arms over his chest and observed for a moment the hustle and bustle on the streets of Tokyo several meters below him. The dark clouds in the sky were a sinister sign of the impending storm. “Sometimes I don’t really understand you, Kisaki.” He suddenly felt the Pierrot’s grey eyes on him. The young man was standing fearlessly next to him on the edge of the house and looked at the Reaper, his eyes sharp like knives as they dug deep into his body, searching with cold-hearted precision for an answer to the cryptic statement.

The older delinquent smiled slightly and casually dangled his feet from the skyscraper. For Hanma, this intense look from the younger man was nothing new anymore. It might sound trite to others, but he had simply gotten used to it and no longer read much into this derogatory gesture. The fact that the Pierrot paid so much attention to such unimportant statement was proof enough that Kisaki cared about the older man after all.

Hanma continued to speak in an unintentionally monotone voice: “You have an insane plan in your mind and are actually implementing it step by step. Meticulously carried out down to the smallest detail. Every conversation, every meeting and every handshake only happens because you want it that way and planned it for your big goal. Others, more or less unconsciously, eliminate one annoying enemy after another for you - but I can't quite get my head around for what you’re doing it? It’s not making fucking sense at all." The eyes of the Pierrot moved away from the Reaper and now also looked down towards the city to his feet.

As expected, Kisaki remained silent when asked this question. The taller man could only imagine what was really going on in his head right now, but the silence was saturated with a loud, imposing silence from the Pierrot. The older delinquent smiled at this poetic thought and felt the first drops of rain on his forehead. The younger man had told him at some point that his silence was one of his strongest weapons and that people with low self-esteem in particular were intimidated by this behaviour without exception.

The Reaper himself occasionally felt a certain restlessness arise within him and a strong urge to want to say something in these moments in order to escape the silence - but he was not intimidated by his partner. The younger man's quiet voice broke the silence like an unexpectedly loud clap of thunder: "Why should my motives suddenly matter to you, Hanma? You know your place in the written manuscript and that makes any answers you might seek with your limited mind completely unnecessary." The delinquent grinned wider than before.

The Pierrot was difficult to understand. Whenever Hanma thought he had finally analysed and understood the essence of the younger one, his observations were successfully thrown out the window the next second. Just like now. The Reaper reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He put a coffin nail in his mouth, but did not light it yet. More raindrops fell from the dark sky onto defenceless Tokyo.

After a while, Hanma replied with an audible amusement in his voice: “I know my place in this sick play very well, but I want to know exactly where yours is. For fucks sake, I see you in practically every role and at the same time in none, if that makes sense to you." The flame of the lighter briefly illuminated the Reaper’s pale face. Basically, there were only two ways the younger man could react to this statement: either he would call him an idiot or he would silently ignore the probing question and act if nothing happened.

Both outcomes were more than acceptable for Hanma at that moment. With his answer, Kisaki had already given him a little insight into his innermost being and thus opened a door between them that was actually locked tightly at all times. The delinquent took a drag from his cigarette and stared at the emptying street below him. The initially fleeting raindrops became noticeably more numerous and urged people under the destroyed umbrellas to seek shelter in the shops in the area. Almost funny to watch.

The harsh wind carried the grey smoke of the coffin nail into the equally fetid air of Tokyo. Kisaki pushed his glasses up his nose and seemed to have consciously decided not to pay any further attention to the weather. Did he actually realize that a strong breeze was enough to effortlessly blow him off the roof? The Pierrot suddenly spoke coolly to his partner: “That is the core meaning of my role.” The person addressed looked up at the younger man and frowned, chewing absentmindedly on the filter of the cigarette for a moment.

The younger one was a walking mystery. Before Hanma could concentrate on the city below him again, Kisaki added curtly: "Get up." The Reaper complied the request without hesitation and put his hands in his trouser pockets. He finally stood in front of the much smaller delinquent and looked down into the Pierrot's grey eyes, searching for a meaning of this strange demand. As if in slow motion, Kisaki took two steps to the side so that Hanma stood with his back to the abyss.

The embers on the cigarette glowed brightly from the strong wind. A hand on his chest suddenly pushed the older man a little further back, causing him to sway unexpectedly to the abyss. He was in actual danger of falling. The Reaper stared with wide-open eyes at his partner, who just looked back at him without saying a word and continued to increase the pressure on the chest of the delinquent. Hanma slid one foot over the edge and suddenly began to slide. The cigarette fell 40 level down to the street. His heart beat faster at that moment, pressing painfully into his ribs.

Before the delinquent could really fall down, Kisaki grabbed his arm and held him tightly, helping the older man achieve a deceptive balance on the edge. The Pierrot smiled darkly as he explained calmly: “In this play all the actors are interchangeable at will – everyone, except me. I fill whatever role is needed to provide the common rabble at the foot of our stage with a spectacle they will never forget. They will talk about it and remember it with awe when the final curtain comes down and I step into the spotlight I deserve as the lead actor.”

The Reaper heard his partner's words, but the impending fall didn't necessarily make it easy to follow him at all. His fingers clawed in the Pierrot's arm in pure panic, clinging tightly to the only hope he had left at that moment. Kisaki laughed at this behaviour and replied coolly: “You have always clung to every last straw in your reach if it offered you the opportunity for just a second to escape the tormenting boredom of your life and really feel yourself for once. How is it now, Hanma? Do you feel alive right now, so few inches from impending death? Speak.”

The person addressed shuddered heavily. At that moment he didn't realize that his life wasn't the only one in immediate danger. Kisaki was also about to fall down the roof together with the older man when he completely lost his balance and dragged him down with him. Their lives hung on a thread spun together, the strength of which had already decided their fate more than once. The younger delinquent stared at him with a frozen smile, still holding the Reapers arm tightly with his hand.

Hanma swallowed loudly and replied after a while with a dry throat: "More alive than ever before." At that moment, a widening smile crept onto the Reapers lips, his eyes flashed with anticipation. Suddenly Kisaki pulled him back to the safety of the ground with a firm tug. The abyss slowly released the delinquent from its clinging grasp, reluctantly refraining from dragging him down to the street for now. While the abyss pulled away from the man, the Pierrot's grip on his arm tightened.

The rain had now completely soaked their clothes, but neither of them felt the biting cold on their skin at the moment. Kisaki looked up and placed the fingers of his left hand on his partner's narrow chin. He willingly followed the unusually gentle request and crouched down a little to the younger man. The Pierrot stood on his tiptoe and kissed Hanma for a split second, brushing away thoughts of impending death with this intimate gesture in no time.

Kisaki breathed softly against the older man's trembling lips: "You are just as replaceable as everyone else, but I would really regret it in your case, Hanma. Please don't ever make me even think about this again, you sick idiot. I hold your life like everyone else's in my hand and decide whether you will stand with me on stage at the end of the play to wave to the cheering audience or lay dead in the corner like everyone else." The person addressed blushed a little and stared at his partner with wide eyes.

A flash of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the Pierrot's gloomy face for a moment. Determination was reflected in the younger man's grey eyes. Even before the rumble of thunder hit the capital city of Japan, the two delinquents had disappeared into the skyscraper - ready to implement the next steps of the plan and plunge Tokyo into unprecedented chaos.

[celestesparlour]

revivebur and ghostbur are qprs but nobody knows about it. l'manbur and pogbur genuinely thought they were dating, with how they catch them kissing each other (moments before revivebur sees them, and gently pushes ghostbur off and turning him to their direction) - it was something that they never expected to happen ever since revivebur and ghostbur began softening up to one another. then again, they never expected many things but- this was too much of a shock for them.

words spreads around quickly, with people congratulating them on their newfound relationship while the two are absolutely confused about it all. the confusion flips the table on them when two of them still keep identifying as single yet they handhold, they kiss, they cuddle, and do all kinds of things that are "for couples"

half of them think they are friends with benefits; whenever asked, revivebur just gives off vague cryptic, somewhat poetic answers like "they're my partner in crime" "they're my soul that completes the rest of me" "they are my bound" and at worst, telling them "it's not exactly your business, isn't it?"

while ghostbur straight up fucks with them by saying things like "he's my wife" "so are you married?" "yes" "are you guys dating?" "huh? no? why you ask?" with the most innocent-looking smile imaginable

[norcumii]

title: Moonfire - (Star Wars/Gargoyles) Ahsoka Tano/Angela (or Ahsoka Tano & Angela also works)

(regarding this fic title meme prompt)

After rotating this notion in my head SO MUCH, I’ve finally pinned down how I’d want this to play out.

So Angela and her rookery-sibs grew up on the mystical isle of Avalon, right? The once-home of all the fey, ruled by Oberon and Titania. For the sake of the premise, we’re going to presume that these kids grew up with some weird shit. Not just the garden variety weird shit like cupboards of food that never empty or flower gardens that rearrange their hedge maze depending on the day of the week; we’re talking ‘the island removed the entire southern beach again and replaced it with a giant snowglobe scene, snowglobe included – oh and it is ALSO fully temperature controlled. We are probably not getting that beachball back any time soon’ levels of shenanigans.

At some point, one of the kids finds a dry, mostly useless book in the back of the library with exhaustive details about the island’s features (they do learn how to work the hedge maze, though, which everyone appreciates). Somewhere in the book is a section for Transitory Features, and includes something called a Bridge Of Moonfire. There’s nothing useful, like where it is or what it looks like, just how it returns every eighty-seventh five-quarters moon or something equally absurd for ‘a short time’ and an anecdote about a fey lady who once traversed it and was never seen again.

So the kids are warned to not use it, whatever it is, should they ever see it.

Of course, one night while out gliding with at least one of her sibs, out of nowhere across a lake/pond/grassy area spawns this silvery-white glowing path. ‘Bridge’ isn’t the word that comes to mind, but it doesn’t take too much poetic license to figure out what it is. The gargoyles swing wide of it, but Angela is curious. She warns the others to stay back, then very cautiously moves in for a fly-over from what should be plenty of safe distance. And yet, the moment she passes over the bridge of light, it curves up so she lands on it hard. With a fwoom-swoosh, the light and Angela disappear.

She comes to in a strange castle, and the landscape that is utterly foreign. She explores carefully, until she finally stumbles upon a living being. There’s a strange girl ahead of her, orange with a blue and white crest (no wings or tail, poor thing, but what could she be BUT another gargoyle?) - and there’s an uncanny little gremlin with very large, sharp teeth about to leap out at her. Of course Angela lunges to bodycheck the surprisingly hefty critter away, but it bounces off the wall and rebounds at them, scary teeth first.

There’s a fwoom-swoosh, and the girl bisects the critter with two glowing swords. She faces Angela in what must be a guard position, and all Angela can think of to say is, “how do you have moonfire blades?”

Ahsoka doesn’t know what to say to that, and she’s already had QUITE enough of this Mortis bullshit without having a pretty girl come out of nowhere to save her from she really doesn’t know what. But this pretty girl with wings seems even more clueless about what’s going on than they do (instead of annoyingly all-knowing and cryptic and RUDE), so she accepts Angela’s help. The whole Mortis debacle goes sideways, Anakin does not have further Super-Trauma piled upon his head, and they all escape relatively unscathed and Having Learned Something About Themselves.

Angela goes with them, of course, and embraces life in the Republic. Somehow this leads to Palpatine tripping fatally down the stairs or whatever, and later on Angela is introduced to Jedi Master Fey who is very surprised but eager to hear any news about her long-ago home.

(“Oberon exiled EVERYONE from Avalon in a snitfit to learn about humanity. OBERON. Thought everyone ELSE needed to learn about humans. UGH.” Master Fey rolls her eyes. “This sort of ridiculous drama is why I did not hesitate to leave.”)

And everyone lives happily ever after.

[thatonegayship]

14, 16, and 51, wanna hear all your thoughts on this ship

How do their personalities compliment each other? How do they clash?

God, so many ways. Let's not even start with the whole Mystery Loving Man falls for Cryptic Being With Infinite Knowledge. That's all too poetic a match. These two literally exist to compliment and contrast; their existence both pulls and pushes in equal measures, and I love them for that.

For compliments, it's clear they're both rather intelligent, meaning they're able to bounce off of each other in different ways. Of course, Bill knows more, but of what Dipper learns, he's able to apply and deconstruct it. It's fun watching him take information and use it to his advantage, and for Dipper to squeeze a bit of forbidden knowledge out of his partner when he can.

There's also that hidden vindicative side to Dipper that Bill just loves! He's not nearly as vicious, but give him a petty reason, and you've got yourself possibly the most convoluted, over the top revenge story you've ever heard on your hands. Bill's too extreme for ideas, but of what he provides, Dipper draws inspiration, dials it back, and hits the sweet spot of poetic justice.

For contrast, let's not even pretend Bill isn't out here trying to kill people on a daily basis. Dipper does not approve. They've gotten into more than a few fights over Bill dragging blood over the carpets, or screaming decorum when Dipper specifically said to keep it out of his line of sight.

Their level intake of horror as a whole is laughably different. Bill could roll around in viscera and guts for hours if he could. Dipper gets weak at the knees if he sees a video of someone breaking their leg. Needless to say, they don't always agree on date night plans.

Do they stay up all night just talking?

You'd think two people who can get so annoyed with one another would know when to quit bickering and just snooze for a couple of hours, but truth be told? They can't get enough of it. Dipper's frustrated with Bill most times, but if the man ever chose to flop on his side mid-convo for some shut eye, he'd visibly wilt. What's all that about? This was getting fun. :(

Yes, they do stay up all night just talking, and they love it a lot more than they let on.

What's a non-verbal way they say I love you?

Pretty much their whole relationship is this, so we'll have to shave it down for time.

Bill not letting Dipper get mauled or killed is pretty telling to most non-humans. That's already much more than you'd do for a being that only lives an average of 70 or so years. The fact he lets Dipper call him an obtuse isosceles without bursting him into flames is also pretty telling. I'd say his constant clinginess is also a factor, but let's be honest, he'd chat it up with a brick wall if it served him any immediate purpose. It's the times he's actually quiet that say the most. Just wrapping him up in his arms and holding him close. Can't get anymore obvious than that.

Dipper's a bit different. He's not great at romance, but he understands Bill, and he knows what the guy likes: attention. Now, you don't wanna feed someone with an ego the size of a planet too much praise (arguably none), but the occasional nibble can be tossed. If Bill does something that makes Dipper's heart skip a beat, or goes out of his way to fix a problem that he didn't have to fix, Dipper might let him know that he's kind of amazing and powerful, or at least looking reasonably smoochable.

Additionally- and this is rare- he might show some interest in his evil schemes if under the right conditions. He's not dipping his hands into that particular poison, but maybe one day he sees Bill standing in front of a miniature replica of a battlefield, looking stumped yet intrigued, fidgeting over whether this one powerful pawn should go here or here. Dipper shuffles over to where he's looking, and without really thinking about it goes, "it needs to go here," smacking it where Bill wasn't even looking. He blinks. The placement is-. Not practical, but given a second thought, it's actually genius!

Doesn't happen too often that Dipper gets involved in Bill's big plans, when he does though, his partner's heart practically breaks out of his chest.