#love me some white zin

[dungbeatposse]

THE RAMPAGE AND COLOURS PT. 1✨🎨

what is my account but a collection of my thought dumps that makes sense but also doesn't make sense? anyways! i made a list of colours of the rampage in my notes app and its been sitting there for... 7 months...

but! i really like rambling and i want to ramble bout this to you lovely people (or anyone interested enough to read this), i'll try to keep this short and simple❤️ disclaimers, these are all in good fun and are just my opinions. i also don't have access to a ton of exile tribe content, so im basing this of stuff i have watched (pls bear with me🥲)

feel free to share your thoughts. i would love to know what you think :DDD

i'm gonna have to break these up into 2 posts (16 members ahaaaaa) don't know if i'm diligent enough to maintain this one but i'll try my best!!!

likiya - gold (#fdd017)

of course likiya was going to get gold. for me, it's suitable for him because he's the leader. he carries the rampage from exile tribe. plus, he gives me very lion-esque vibes. his presence is strong, powerful. i also debated of a royal blue, but a warmer colour suits likiya. he's like the sun, makes me feel warm inside.

zin - silvery blue (#7f8e99)

several reasons for this one. i wanted the leaders colours to be opposites, so if likiya is the sun, zin is the moon. straight grey/silver didn't suit zin - it's too dull for him, so i opted for a bluer silver that reflects how he makes me feel (also kinda matches his h&l character but we won't look into that). his presence is cooler, but not cold. somehow, his vibe is closer to what i think mountains would feel like.

riku - coral orange (#f2946b)

when i think riku, i think about his beautiful smile and his bright personality. ngl i wanted to give him a yellow adjacent colour too, but i feel like a softer colour closer to orange suits him. it's warm and vibrant but not too summer. i also thought about golden retriever colours but riku, for me at least, has this natural aura that reflects a coral reef on a bright sunny afternoon.

kenta - cool tone black (#121417)

several options were going into kenta's colour choice like white to reflect his invaderz look or a red. but i knew i wanted to stick to a cooler tone colour. kenta has a very black cat energy in my opinion. though he's a ball of chaos and goofs, there are also occasions where he is quite a loner. so, after some thought, i went "well, black is pretty suiting". to me, black has so much potential. it's versatile, it's mysterious, it's kenta.

rui - lilac purple (#b666d2)

well. if you don't think of purple when you think of yonamine rui, i don't even know what to say (joking teehee). the real challenge was deciding which purple suited rui. i thought about inching the colour picker closer to white to give him a less saturated colour to match his softer side, but i realise that rui is vibrant. his dancing, his smile, his everything.

yamasho - pink (#ed93db)

now, if i was going to do this before, yamasho would've been more green for me, or blue. but, i've been really interested in his current venture with new looks and makeup. i really admire yamasho for experimenting with his style, because not only does it suit him, but it's so refreshing to see. his creativity, his boldness. they shine in my mind when i think about yamasho. i thought about a more salmon pink, but this one. it's light but bold, just like he is to me.

kazuma - blood red (#8b0000)

red was my immediate thought when choosing a colour for kazuma. it's the colour for his prince of legend character of course, but it's also the colour of blood, which also makes me associate him with vampires. yes, i know he has been attributed with wolves a lot. however, he has sharper, intimidating features, which immediately makes me attribute him to things like knives, fangs, rubies. kazuma always gave off this overwhelmingly strong red vibe for me. passionate and elegant, but dangerous and intense.

hokuto - pastel yellow (#ebe7a2)

i thought about giving him a pastel pink. the more i think about it, the more i find myself giving hokuto a pastel yellow. maybe it's because a majority of his styles had always given him soft blonde hair. but hokuto reminds me of sun, but more like the sun on a cloudier day, or the way petting a cat feels. his vibes are soft and sunny. sweeter and gentler.

[tasteforrot]

You Continue To List Each Thing I Do And One By One I Stop Doing Them

I will live in a cabin with you and you will live in a cabin with me. We will blend until we no longer know which of us is which. When I say a sentence you will have thought that sentence, and thought the next. We will go to the library and print out lists from the internet of supplies for the end of the world. From ready.gov: One gallon of water per person per day, for at least three days (we know it will be more than three days); at least a three-day supply of nonperishable food (ditto); hand-crank radio, flashlight, first-aid kit, whistle, map, dust mask, moist towelletes, garbage bags and twist-ties. From survivalx.com: snare wire, fishhooks, purification tablets, signaling mirror, non- lubricated condoms for carrying water, butterfly sutures, surgical blade. SurvivalX cautions us to “include a weapon only if the situation so dictates.” We add to the list axes, machetes, hunting knives, rifle. SurvivalX tells us as well that “imagination may be the largest part of your kit.” We will huddle together in our cabin late at night, imagining what will happen when the machine fails, we are convinced it will fail, nothing so big can keep increasing, it is not possible for something we made to keep making us so much smaller.

We will watch DVDs on our portable DVD player, movies about the end of the world or the end of some world: On the Beach, La jetée, Dr. Strangelove, Planet of the Apes, Grizzly Man. We will make lists of things we do each day, we will continue to make lists NOW because when the machine fails lists will no longer be possible, thinking maybe will no longer be possible or we’re not sure what it will be like.

We will try to find new things to do with our bodies at night and during the day. Ultimately we will give up, disgusted, and look for new ways to say how together we are.

I will pour whatever we have on hand into my coffee in the morning, whiskey, vodka, peppermint schnapps, and I will tell you the story for the fifteenth or sixteenth or seventieth time about how I used to go to school with a thermos full of coffee and alcohol on standardized testing days, it was a tradition, I would mix whatever alcohol I could find around my mother’s cabinets (which meant as often as not a thermos of half coffee half white zin), and this from middle school on till the start of college. You will make lists because you are better at list-making than I am, more dedicated, you will make lists of the things I put into my coffee and the things we have tried to do to each other’s bodies and the things we have called each other, or tried to, and I will say that all of this data could eventually be a person itself, could add up to one, if someone had the right machine to run it through. You will list that as a possibility, one among an infinite list of possibilities that you are working on, that will keep you going until the end.

When I think of the end of the world, I want to be with you. When I think that things might go on, the idea of them going on, and on, with you, is terrifying. When I think about the world going on the way it is I was wrong to ever say I love you.

I am working through these things the best I can.

Here is a scene of us, going through the woods, trying to remember which plants are which, you are better at this than me, you have a list, I say that in the future once the world is destroyed they will be able to reconstruct the entire world from your lists, neither of us knows who they are but we always assume, in the way we speak about it, that there is a they. This feels like a form of cheating. If it is the end of the world, the complete and utter end, there is no they. But it is hard to talk without adding a they somewhere.

I am beginning to understand how the act of listing can be an act of erasure.

We tell each other stories of things that haven’t yet happened in the hope that telling will crowd out the possibility of happening. I make little babies out of paper and cloth in the hope that you won’t get pregnant. I scan the floor for bits of your hair to attach to these babies, to make them more real (therefore less). I search through the garbage after you have cut your nails.

You continue to list each thing I do and one by one I stop doing them.

[cameoutstruggling93]

Wine o'clock on a Friday 👉😎👉

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

[esmealux]

The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 3 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.9K

Rating: T

Warnings: There’s a flashback to their first night together which is not exactly graphic but not entirely innocent either. Skip if you like.

Summary: ‘Yes, well, colour us both fooled, Detective,” he cuts her off, “because based on some deduction I did today, and a not entirely ludicrous theory Linda had, it might be, in fact, possible. And I… I need to know for sure, so,’—he nudges the small package further in her direction and looks back up at her with pleading eyes—‘would you care for a wee?’

Author’s note: This is all I have for now, but I’ve already got some ideas for a part 4, so stay tuned. I would love to hear your honest feedback on this and/or your wishes for what the next part should contain. (Second time posting this part, because I accidentally reported my own post and then tumblr took it down (*cosmic face palm*) — and it’d even gotten more notes than any of my other pieces and some really heart-warming comments. Alas. They can’t be deleted from my heart.)

It’s not exactly unlike Lucifer to disappear for half a day—still, it makes Chloe anxious, and she doesn’t like wasting her energy on being anxious. When she had checked if he had answered any of her calls or texts for the fifty-sixth time in an hour, Chloe had put her phone in a Tupperware, placed it on the kitchen counter and retreated to the couch with a glass of wine. She knew he would come back; he always did. But until he did, she would need a 16% Zinfandel. God knows she deserved it after a day like today.

Even wrapped in a plaid and with candles lit around her, she’d still felt restless. The wine hadn’t calmed her nerves quickly enough. She hadn’t been in the mood for watching TV or putting on her usual pick-me-up playlist—instead, she’d felt an urge to do something she rarely had time for. With her wine glass in hand, she’d gone to the bookshelf, her free hand instinctively reaching for the photo album with ‘November 2007 - May 2008’ scrawled on the back. She’d dusted it off, sat down on the couch again and carefully opened it, as if the photos she knew it held might fly out like butterflies freed from a cage.

She flips through the pages. Nostalgia flutters in her chest and her head is now comfortably fuzzy from the wine. Most of the pictures in the first half of the album are candid shots of her and Dan, together and alone. From January and onwards, the ones of her are mostly taken from her chest and up. She hadn’t wanted her body to be documented, having felt self-conscious and uncomfortable, and most of all big. Now that the bump has turned into a strong and independent teenager, she wishes she’d wallowed in it a little more, enjoyed it while it lasted. She’s proud of Trixie, of who she has become, and it is nice to do some things with her now they couldn’t do when she was small. But sometimes, just once in a blue moon, a part of Chloe kinda longs for the time when they were inseparable; when she could carry Trixie on her hip; when they would play hide ’n’ seek in their old garden; when she could feel her little monkey snuggle into her side as they both fell asleep. The latter still happens sometimes, but the once little monkey has now outgrown her soft polar bear PJ, and her hair doesn’t smell like baby anymore.

Chloe has just reached the end of February when there’s a rhythmic knock on the door. Sighing at her guest’s unnecessary (albeit heart-warmingly considerate) politeness, she puts the photo album and the glass of wine down on the coffee table, wraps the blanket tighter around herself and yells, ‘You have a key, Lucifer!’

Five seconds later, he’s standing in her living room. He’s changed his clothes, looking impeccable and completely overdressed as usual, but his hair is in a disarray, like he’s been tugging at it, and his face is grey. He looks tired.

‘Where have you been?’ she asks him, her voice softer than she expected it would be. He sits down on the couch beside her, and she grabs one of his hands with both of her own.

He studies their fingers. ‘I just had a tête-à-tête with Linda.’

He’s been gone for seven hours, but she doesn’t ask what he’s been doing apart from seeing his therapist. She trusts him, and she trusts that whatever he’s been up to, it was what he needed to do to deal with… Yes, what exactly is it he’s been dealing with?

‘Wanna talk about it?’ she asks, reaching for her wine glass and raising it to her lips in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Before the delicious, dark red Zin can flow into her waiting mouth, the glass is removed from her hand.

‘What in Dad’s name are you drinking?!’ he berates her, as if she was chugging down Roundup directly from the jug.

She stares at him with wide eyes, trying to figure him out. ‘Uhm, a small glass of wine?’

He gives her a disapproving look. ‘When you’re-’

For some reason, he doesn’t say the rest, so she finishes for him, ‘Working tomorrow? Well, yes. I am. But in my defence, I really needed it. And since when are you one to deny me alcohol anyway? Just yesterday you put whiskey in my coffee—at work!’ She reaches out to get her glass back, but before she can get a hold of it, he leans his head back and downs the rest of her drink in one go.

She closes her eyes for a second and lets out an exasperated breath through her nose. ‘Seriously, what has gotten into you?’ she inquire, her eyes narrowing as he wipes her Zinfandel off his lips with the back of his hand.

He snorts and glances down at where the throw blanket is covering her abdomen.‘You’re one to talk.’ In any other situation, she would think he was making a lewd comment, but there’s something about his tone that throws her off. Annoyance? Frustration? She opens her mouth to ask him but stops when she notices his eyes are fixed on something beside her. Turning her head to see what has caught his attention, she realises it’s the open photo album. He carefully grabs the cover between his fingers and pulls it towards himself on the table, not taking his eyes off it. She’d just turned the page when he’d knocked and hadn’t seen the photos that are now displayed in front of them. Two of them are pictures of a very new-born Trixie, both taken at the hospital. One is a close-up of her perfect, little face and the other is of Dan nervously cradling her in his arms. Chloe feels warmth prickle behind her eyes.

‘Is this you?’ Lucifer asks, pointing to the photo in the top right corner on the left page. She feels heat creeping up in her cheeks as she takes in the photograph that actually caught his eye. She’d remembered it wrong when she’d thought there weren’t any pictures of her body in her third trimester. There was—is. Just one. Dan took it a couple of nights before she (finally) went into labour, insisting they ‘commemorate her strong and beautiful body’, or something like that. (She’d only given in because he’d promised her a back rub afterwards.) The picture is taken from the side, showing her form from mid-thigh to her head. She’s practically naked, only covered by a pair of white panties and her arm as it rests across her enlarged chest. Her hair is curled up into a messy bun on top of her head, her neck bent as she smiles down at her round and enormous belly.

She senses him gulp beside her and looks over at him, expecting some comments—either in the category of ‘How many humans did you have in there?!’ or a delighted exclamation like ‘Your breasts, Detective!’—but he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there and stares at the fourteen-year-old photo of her, silent and unreadable.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ she says, a little too sharply, shutting the album. Once she’s put it back on the shelf, she comes to stand across from him on the other side of the coffee table, arms crossed.  ‘What’s going on with you?’

He looks so shocked she feels a little bad, but then a mix of unsettling emotions set in his face and she knows she was right to confront him so directly.

With a deep sigh of surrender, he reaches inside his jacket, pulls out something from his pocket and places it on the table. It’s a flat and rectangular box, light blue and bright pink—medical and feminine.

‘Lucifer, I’m not in the mood for jokes right now,’ she tells him tiredly when she realises what the box contains. His brown eyes are sombre as they stare into her own.

‘As much as I wish it was, it’s not a joke.’

She eyes the small package before looking at him again. ‘So you actually think that I’m…?’ She trails off, suddenly finding it hard to pronounce the word. He nods.

Well, that explains a lot.

‘But that’s not possible,’ she states. ‘I mean, not just because you can’t, you know, but also-‘

‘Yes, well, colour us both fooled, Detective,” he cuts her off, “because based on some deduction I did today, and a not entirely ludicrous theory Linda had, it might be, in fact, possible. And I… I need to know for sure, so,’—he nudges the small package further in her direction and looks back up at her with pleading eyes—‘would you care for a wee?’

As she takes in his exhausted and anxious expression, she knows he won’t rest until they settle this once and for all. With a shrug and a ‘If it makes you feel better’ she grabs the unwrapped pregnancy test between them and climbs the stairs to go to the bathroom.

 *

 He’s pacing her living room to the point he might wear a hole in her floor, and his Italian wingtips, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Never in Lucifer’s incalculable lifetime has he waited this long for anything. He may have waited millennia upon millennia for her—his love, his saviour, his sun—but not consciously. And that makes all the difference.

Because waiting when you know you’re waiting, is torture. So he’s come to realise during the past thirty-six seconds. (Well, one hundred and sixty-eight, if you count the time it took her to get upstairs and urinate on the stick—but only thirty-six– thirty-seven seconds have passed since he’d finally heard her flush.) And now a little more than two minutes remain before he definitively finds out whether he really has made Chloe pregnant.

He needs a drink, or a bottle. Or five.

Momentarily breaking off his aimless parading, he goes to her kitchen in search for that zinfully strong wine he’d taken away from her before. Before he can find it, he changes his mind, remembering that he’s upgraded her tea selection to a hand-plucked assortment of fine liquor. He grabs the strongest spirit in sight and gulps down a good half of it before once again finding himself pacing the floor just in front of the stairs, bottle to his lips.

Fifty-eight seconds passed.

He tries to distract himself with happy thoughts, but his happy thoughts involve sex with Chloe, and that’s what got him into this imbroglio in the first place. Oh, how tainted some of his best memories have become now. He reminisces on that... incredible first night in his penthouse a little less than a year ago, when they had—finally—given into their incandescent desire and thrown themselves at each other. He remembers, clearer than anything, how she’d lied there, naked and glowing against his dark sheets. How he’d been completely overwhelmed with awe. How he’d kissed her swollen lips and dug his fingers into the soft skin at her waist as he’d slid into her, bare; how he’d savoured the feeling of her and nothing but her—no cheaply produced rubber between them. Just lust, and love, and warmth. Because, for the first time ever, there was only one, the one, and it was her, and they could feel every inch of each other without worry.

It’s his single sweetest memory, the best night of his infinite life, and now all he can think is how moronically naïve he’d been. How utterly stupid he was to believe that the rules that applied to everyone else also applied to her—her. The one person who was immune to his charms, the one person who made him vulnerable, made him human. The person who was created with him in mind.

But alea iacta est, the Rubicon is crossed, and he’s bought a lifetime supply of condoms (he’d donated his stock to a frat house a week before the aforementioned night)—just in case she doesn’t want to stuff herself with hormones again. That is, if the damage isn’t already done.

One minute and forty-two seconds till they have an answer.

He empties the bottle nestled in his arms and goes to find another one. Even in the Detective’s proximity, the alcohol won’t have the effect he’d wish it would, but the delectable taste and the comfortable burn in his throat might get his mind off things, if only for a couple of seconds.

It doesn’t. Two empty bottles later, and he’s still walking up and down her living room floor, watching the milliseconds pass on his pocket watch.

He tries focusing on objects in his surroundings—fixating a vase, or the offspring’s artworks, or the empty wine glass on the coffee table. But his eyes keep flicking back to a certain leather-bound photo album on the bookshelf, perpetually reminding him of the picture that had aroused a polyphony of unwanted emotions in him. First came astonishment (he’d never seen a picture of her pregnant body, and Dad help him, was it in an eyeful). Then came fear, adoration, panic, lust, despair, pride, jealousy—not in any particular order, one following after the other. No, they’d washed over him all at once, like razor-sharp darts hitting him from every direction, poisoning him, each inflicting him with their own flavour of pain. He knows he’ll never forget the picture, that it’ll pop up in his mind when he least expects it, and that it’ll take his breath away every time. But he doesn’t know what to think or feel about that, so he tries not to.

One minute and three seconds to go.

He reaches into his pocket, wanting to occupy his mind with some endless scrolling through photos of beach parties and prime suits and other uncomplicated things, but remembers his phone died somewhere between flying to France for comfort foods and seeing Linda. So instead, he pictures his Detective in her bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, or perhaps pacing the room like himself, waiting with him. She hadn’t seemed too concerned when he’d voiced his suspicion—surprised, yes, but not concerned. Maybe she hadn’t completely believed him when he’d assured her it wasn’t in jest? Maybe she’d already been too tipsy to actually comprehend what he’d told her? It seemed implausible that she wouldn’t be the least bit anxious about the thought of a baby-Satan living in her womb. When she’d learned she was pregnant with Beatrice, she had, to quote her, been ‘absolutely terrified’. But when Lucifer, the Devil himself, had told her his progeny might be growing inside her, she’d just shrugged! Of course, genetically, she did have more to worry about with Daniel (with his unfortunate looks and all)—but still. Why hadn’t she been more scared? Why hadn’t she freaked outand stopped functioning altogether, like he had?

 Had she been…

 happy?

 Does she want to have his baby? Is she sitting in her bathroom right now, hoping he’s right?

They’ve never talked about having children. He had, between grunts and moans and hungry kisses, assured her he was sterile, and she’d seemed more than happy to ride him bareback without getting back on the pill. But she has never told him—and he’d never seen the point in asking—whether she’d want a child together if they could.

Consequently, he has absolutely no idea what she’s feeling now that she might actually be carrying his spawn. He doesn’t even know if she’d want to keep it. He has an inkling she would.

 He hopes she would.

 Not because he longs to play house—he’s not insane—but because it’s always nice when people keep the gifts you give them.

Not that he sees having a dependant for eighteen years as a gift. But maybe the Detective does. After all, she does look at the urchin like she’s nothing short of a miracle—and not a messy adolescent who always throws her purple Chucks where people are bound to trip over them.

Just last week, he had (or the teenager had) ruined one of his favourite Prada shirts as he’d caught his foot on her misplaced footwear and spilt Pinot Noir all over himself.

And yet, he would do anything for the little slob. At the beginning, it’d been about keeping Chloe safe and happy, and with that came the side gig of protecting her child. But he can’t deny it’s more than that now. He doesn’t just tolerate Beatrice anymore; he likes her. Chloe would protest and say he more than likes her, but he’s not quite ready for that other L-word yet (Dad knows he doesn’t speak it easily). He must confess, however, that it’d done something to his heart when Trix, a month ago, had posted a picture on her Instagram of herself, Lucifer and Chloe on the beach, laughing about something he doesn’t remember now, and simply, without a second thought, had captioned it ‘family 💜💗🧡’.

He’d tapped the like-button but hadn’t commented something clever and witty like he usually does on her posts. Instead, he had taken a screenshot and made it his lock screen.

Even as an empty battery has left his phone screen black for the moment, he easily recalls the photo. They do resemble some sort of a family, the three of them. Trix might not have his genes, but she’d been wearing his spare pair of Ray-Bans, and the necklace he’d given her for her thirteenth birthday had, as per usual, been resting around her neck. And that is more than enough for him.

In fact, he couldn’t ask for more.

Which is why it is exceedingly exasperating and so damn confusing that this relatively new family of his may now be growing. What exactly is he supposed to think of that? He’s already struggling to not let Chloe and Beatrice down, to be as good as they so confidently believe he is—why does he have to deal with a third one? Someone who is his own flesh and blood, at that. Not that it matters; he’s learned a long time ago that blood is not always—aka. never—thicker than water. Nonetheless, he won’t let history repeat itself; he won’t– refuses to fail his child.

 But what if he does?

 What if he fails his own child?

 What if he fails the only family he’s ever had?

‘Negative,’ the Detective’s voice suddenly sounds as she descends the stairs, startling him out of his thoughts. He gives her an apologetical look when their eyes meet. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I am trying my best. It’s just, as tiny as it is in size, it’s a lot to wrap my head around.’

‘No, the test,’ she clarifies. ‘It’s negative.’ She walks over to meet him in three steps and hands him the white stick. ‘Not pregnant’ it says on the digital display.

‘But,’ he finds himself objecting, taking his eyes off the test to look at her face, ‘your morning sickness.’

She furrows her brow. ‘It was food poisoning, like you said. Trixie got it too—at school of all places. Dan had to pick her up and take her home.’

Having witnessed her mother’s reaction to their shared dinner first-hand, Lucifer is struck by empathy for the urchin. He makes a mental note to send her a funny video—later, when he’s sorted out the more urgent matters at hand.

‘But you’re late. Your menstruation was due nine days ago,’ he informs Chloe, presenting his other piece of evidence. She doesn’t bat an eye. ‘Well, yeah, it was late, but I was probably just getting back in sync with Ella or something, ‘cause I got it yesterday.’

Annoyance simmers in his chest. ‘Well, then why didn’t you bloody say so?!’

All the trouble—all the emotional torture he could have saved himself if she’d just thought to keep him updated on her menstrual cycle.

‘I tried!’ she defends. ‘But then you cut me off, and I figured you wouldn’t believe me before you saw a negative test anyway, so…’

‘And you didn’t think to tell me yesterday?’

‘Well, I first got it when I came home from work, and you got here late.’

He’d slipped out of Lux relatively early, considering he was the owner and the host of the night’s event, but it’d still been past 3.00 before he’d arrived at her flat and had found her and Beatrice snuggling on the couch, both sound asleep. Even as he’d gathered his snoring girlfriend in his arms and carried her up to her bedroom, she hadn’t stirred (if anything, she’d snored louder) and he had, in lieu of surprising her with some late-night cunnilingus, simply slid off her sweats, left on her knickers and t-shirt, and let her sleep.

‘Still, we live in the twenty-first century, Detective; the Short Message Service has been invented,’ he reminds her.

She glares at him, as if he is the one who’s being unreasonable. ‘You want me to text you when I get my period?’ He solemnly raises an eyebrow, demanding she take him seriously. ‘Okay, fine. If it means that much to you, I promise I’ll… notify you next time.’

That only irks him even more.

‘Well, it won’t matter next time, will it?! Because, evidently, I am as sterile as a castrate!’ There’s a loud clack as he puts down the negative pregnancy test on the shelf behind her, more forcefully than he intended. She stares at him with an expression he can’t quite read.

‘Are you not happy about this?’ she asks him.

A strident snort fills the room. ‘“Not happy”? Did you hurt your head, Detective?! Of course, I’m happy! I’m thrilled as a matter of fact. I mean, can you imagine me, the Devil—Lucifer Morningstar—with a baby? Dad no!’

She steps closer to him, reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. Her eyes are big and clear—shining with so much sympathy it makes him uncomfortable.

‘It’s okay to be disappointed, too, you know?’ she tells him softly, staring into his eyes, reaching for his soul. He looks up at a point above her head.

‘Well, I’m not,’ he assures her, articulating each word.

He senses her nodding, but she doesn’t seem entirely convinced. Annoyed at her scepticism, he looks back down at her and opens his mouth to stress just how delighted he is with the news. But before he can say anything, she squeezes his hand and leaves him with a tender smile as she goes to discard the test. Once done with the task, she heads for the stairs, but instead of going up to her bedroom immediately she pauses at the second step, hesitating. As she turns to face him, the hint of a smile remains on her lips, even as her expression remains concerningly grave. ‘I can, by the way,’ she says.

He knits his brows, not following.

‘I can imagine you—Lucifer Morningstar—with a baby. But if you’re not ready for that conversation, that’s okay.’

And then he is left at the bottom of the stairs, breathless and paralysed. Inside him, something shifts ever so slightly—yet just enough that he will never be the same again.

[cobraonthecob]

list of my anti-LoK feelings

Excluding the Gaang’s treatment and trying to be spoiler free so that i can tell my brother about this, let’s go:

oh no it got long

none of this is in chronological order

- Poor mishandling of the concepts/conflicts (the Equalists being led by a bender)

- K/ya and Bum/i being treated poorly by the Air Acolytes simply because they aren’t airbenders 

- Bloodbending being the only bending subset art that’s demonized (meanwhile lightningbending gets to power Republic City)

- Harmonic Convergence - just random people getting airbending instead of people discovering they have airbending because Air Nomads are nomads and are likely to have descendants everywhere and it’s quite possible that the reason why Air Nomads are the only nation with a population that’s made up of 100% benders is because they gave nonbending children away to other nations, those kids carry on the genes but noooo it’s the most spiritual art or some random bs.

- the name of Republic City - whyyyyyyy you could’ve named it the People’s City in Chinese or something 

- Bu/mi getting airbending and apologizing to a statue of his dad for not being enough

- Te/nzin being the only Cloud kid with a family - because apparently airbending can only be passed down if there’s an airbending parent instead of bending being a wheel spin, coin toss, and draw of the hat chance combined with genetics so both Bumi and Kya could’ve had kids,,,but they didn’t. 

- “There’s LGBTQ+ rep!!!” yeah one of them is in the Fog of Lost Souls and a terrible person, Ky/a’s sexuality was confirmed in a comic that a good majority of the fandom doesn’t read bc the ATLA comics are notoriously abysmal, while Korra and Asami were shoved in last minute

- Kor/rasa/mi being shoved in last minute and that’s not because Nickolodean wouldn’t let Br/yke do it, they literally had no endgame ship until the last minute.

- the Spirit portals. Ah yes, make the Spirit World more accessible and make the Northern Water Tribe have an easy way to invade the Southern Water Tribe

- Water Tribe War of Why Would the North Want the South Except for an Ego Boost - oh stars i could write an essay on this: first of all there’s no reason for the two to unite - they’re on opposite ends of the world, two nations are between the two tribes so the constant travel between the two tribes is just too much. Secondly, we don’t do colonization in this household but apparently the North wanted to be like So/zin-Azul/on-O/zai’s Fire Nation. Thirdly: why. just why.

- The Western fashions and architecture - why is there a big ol’ statue of Aang in Republic City waters a la Statue of Liberty style -_- and why is there Western fashion asfjakjfkdj give me qipaos and i’ll shut up about it. (literally if everyone was wearing a qipao to be fancy i would give LoK less grief except for like “kind of boring but at least you tried”)

- As/ami is treated as a side character instead of one of the main four because she’s “Not a bender” (being removed from major fight scenes)

- Asa/mi being everyone’s emotional support and no one gives support back (sounds like someone we know...coughkataracough)

- non-benders having their roles being downplayed, and I don’t mean the Equalists being scary and then poofing out of existence after the first season. Benders get to be in all the action, but non-benders are mainly left out and only brought in to prop up the benders 

- immemorable/bad lines/immemorable characters (I can’t remember who was in what spot lol)

- the Spirit World looking more like Spirited Away rather than what it originally was (someone drew a bunch of Spirited Away LoK AU and I thought it was a bunch of Spirited Away screencaps until I saw little kid!Ko/rra and was like “????”)

- “spirits should live in harmony with humans” - world proceeds to get invaded with “spirit vines” along with ATLA fans going “wait what about spirits like Koh the Face-Stealer or an angry Hei Bai”

- non-con kisses. love triangles. didn’t need that but okay

- WHO PUT A WESTERN WEDDING IN AN ASIAN WORLD. WHY ARE YOU WEARING WHITE. DID SOMEONE DIE. 

- wait i just looked up the screenshots for that wedding and now i’m mad again

- WHY IS THERE A EUROPEAN DRESS HERE. GET THIS OUT OF HERE BEFORE I CRACK MY KNUCKLES AND REDESIGN A WHOLE DRESS FOR Z/HU LI

- I do not care if they’re Water Tribe. This world was inspired by China, we’re applying the full-on white outfit = mourning color to all nations because I can and I will do that.

- relationships having drama and I mean the type of drama that makes you groan and turn off the TV

- Bo/leska being played for laughs (switch the genders and this whole ship is a nightmare upon nightmare)

- Tenzi/n looking like an A/ang clone and doesn’t even have a hint of anything to suggest he’s half SWT - would it have killed the designers to give him Water Tribe arm wrappings???? 

- okay I said i wasn’t going to talk about the Gaang but I’m talking about Tenz/in so whatever. anyways neither T/enzin nor any of his kids look like they have SWT heritage and like. skin color can skip a generation and get into another. One of the Cloud grandkids could at least be a little tan instead of the entire family being the same skin tone. Ik/ki could’ve had hair loopies. Me/elo could’ve had a SWT name, and R/ohan could’ve been a waterbender.

- Ko/rra going to confront Zah/eer with Mak/o, everyone thinks that because Ma/ko was with her for a very emotional time that they’re probably going to get together because that makes sense, right? Heck, both of them are there for each other in the Big Emotional Scenes.

- The framing of the K/orra-Za/heer confrontation - Zahee/r is higher than her/is equal to her height, visually symbolizing that he still has power over her. This is very different from TSR where Ka/tara faces down her demon (Y/on Rha), all cards are in her hands, he’s sitting on the ground while she’s standing tall. 

there’s probably more but I’ve salted enough for now

[liquidmechanic]

Rosé all day!

It’s a battle cry. It's a way of life. It’s a great way to spend a day off.

I love the stuff. Most people go on and on about their adoration of Cabernet Sauvignon but believe me after two hours of mowing the lawn and raking leaves, I’m not rollin’ into my place and grabbing a big, bold, inky, and tannic glass of Cab.

Rosés have all the refreshing elements of a bright white wine with just enough depth of character that you'll want to contemplate what it is you're actually drinking (unlike Pinot Grigio) and, if that’s not enough, they pair with a ton of foods.

Thankfully rosé awareness of today is miles beyond blush wines and my Mother's ever-present bottle of Sutter Home White Zin in the fridge. Most guests no longer associate rosés with a low cost super-sweet wine. Today dry, crisp and complex rosés can be found on most wine lists and represent wine makers from around the world.

But what is rosé? It’s not a grape varietal. It is a technique. One that has been mastered by the French in Provençal. However, interesting and varied styles have been produced by a number of more modernist wine makers.

So, here we go….

LIMITED SKIN MACERATION

By far the most popular method of making quality rosé, this process is essentially exactly what the name describes. Since color is held in a grape’s skins, the grapes are crushed and the juice is left in contact with the skins, just like a red wine would be made. However, the skins are left to soak only for a limited amount of time; depending on the desired style of rosé, this can last anywhere from six to 48 hours (as opposed to weeks or months for a red).

DIRECT PRESSING

Very similar to limited skin maceration, direct pressing involves allowing the grape juice to have contact with the skins for an extremely short period of time. Instead of allowing the juice much time to soak and gain color, the grapes are pressed right away to remove the skins, as a white wine would be vinified. Because of the pigment in the skins, there will still be a hint of color in the juice — it’s impossible for the juice to have no contact with the skins, after all — so this process tends to produce the lightest-colored rosés of all. Expect more citrus and hints of strawberry in these rosés, though the flavors can vary by grape variety.

Stay with me… almost there…..

SAIGNÉE METHOD

The saignée, or “bleeding,” method produces not just a rosé but a red wine as well. In fact, the process started not as a way to make rosé wines, but to concentrate reds. In this process, a winemaker will vinify a red wine according to standard methods but will, early in the maceration process, remove or “bleed” some of the juice from the tank. This is then vinified separately as a rosé, and the rest of the juice is left to continue vinifying into a more concentrated red, since the juice-to-skins ratio is now higher. Saignée method rosés are likely to be richer in style.

BLENDING

While this might seem like the most obvious method of making rosé – white + red = rosé, right? — the practice of blending white and red wines post-fermentation is actually prohibited for wines in Europe — save for one. Because Champagne likes to do everything a little bit backward, blending is not only allowed but favored for the making of rosé Champagne. Some New World regions — which have less-strict vinification rules — use blending to make rosé as well. These wines can vary in style from light to heavy depending on the amount and type of red wine used in the blend.

Alright then, here's what you need to know:

French/Provence style rosés - Clean and dry with notes of wet slate and a whisper of strawberry. Provençal rosés are usually made by Direct Pressing method and the results are fantastic.

Everywhere else - Deeper body with notes of ripe strawberry and cherry.

Rosés are a perfect compliment for the menu and pair great with burgers, spicy foods and garlic aioli (if only I knew where to get some of that?)

Tasting is believing

D

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Thirteen: Angry

Day Twelve -- Masterpost -- Day Fourteen

All she needed was a single hour. Just one where she could relax, focus on her research, and not be bothered by anything trivial.

The door to her workshop slammed open and Doctor Kofaranin Yasiq heaved the weary sigh of the overworked. “What is it now?” She barked as she turned from the open journal she had been writing in. 

The crew member in her doorway at least had the gall to act sheepish when her sharp gaze turned on him. “Er...Beggin’ yer pardon, Doctor, but uh...th’ Cap’n says we’re to be raidin’ th’ merchant ship soon and er…” He stepped aside. “He don’t want th’ Magpie gettin’ too ‘andsy while arrows are flyin’.” 

Right behind him stood the small and slight child that had been adopted by the crew. Terazin also known as Zin also known as a number of other nicknames, gave a slightly awkward wave. Her large pointed ears poked out of the cloudy dark hair that framed the girl’s face. They twitched upwards at the attention the doctor gave her.

Kofaranin made sure to look directly at the crew member who delivered Zin when she hardened her stare. “And keep her entertained, I suppose.”

“Er, not, not in as many words, Doctor Koffin…”

She waited for long enough that he started to fidget in place before she responded with a sharp. “Fine.” Koffin beckoned the child inside. “Come along, I have things to do before the inevitable disaster.” 

A negative emotion flashed across Zin’s face before she smiled and signed at the crew member. “Good luck! Find lots of loot!” Kofaranin interpreted from the child’s gestures. He at least gave a smile and a nod before waving farewell. As soon as Zin had entered, the doctor shut the door tight. If she hadn’t been anticipating injuries from this venture, she would have locked it. As it stood, the door would stay shut until either she opened it again or someone else barged in. 

Turning around, Koffin could see that Zin was already preoccupied with the various bottles and tools that were scattered about the tables she used for research. Most of them were held in place by way of specialized indentions in the wood, which were quite handy considering the constant movement of a ship at sea. There would be time to play with the tools later, though. She needed to prepare.

“Zin, I’d like your help setting up.” The doctor knelt down and opened a large drawer that was underneath the biggest of her work spaces. This one was completely flat, and polished to an unnatural shine. Still, there were a number of dark brown stains that no amount of cleaning had been able to remove. A hazard of the job. Taking out a large white sheet, Koffin placed it on top of the table. 

With the slightest amount of hesitation, the girl tiptoed her way to the table. It took a couple of tries, but soon the sheet covered the space on all sides. On top was the pig-like mask that the doctor used for her procedures and a leather bag of tools. 

Now all that was left was to wait. 

Terazin had sat on the single bolted down chair in the workshop while Kofaranin had begun to write in her journal again. The girl was swinging her bare feet with ease and pointedly not looking at the doctor. That was fine. The less interrupted she was, the more she could get done before the fighting started. 

Her luck wouldn’t hold out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kofaranin could see Zin lift a hand towards the doctor’s coat. She did that motion at least four times before Koffin let loose a sigh. “Would you like paper, or would you prefer to sign?” She turned to the child.

Zin winced and started signing, clearly indicating her preference. “I wanted to know if you are okay. You seem,” Here she hesitated and her ears drooped a little. “Angry.” That particular sign was of an enraged face and a clawed hand coming towards it. 

Of course the child noticed. Children notice all sorts of things about adults that no one realized until it was far too late. Koffin gave a sigh and tucked some of her thin black hair behind her own slightly pointed ears. “I am. Angry, that is.” Zin’s already large hazel eyes widened further. “And not because I was told at the last minute that I had to care for you.” The doctor pointed a pale, currently gloveless finger at the girl. “If you have any misunderstandings about that, I ask you nip those in the bud, Reneh.

No, what I’m angry about is this mission.” She continued on though Zin had put a hand on her chest at the Elvish word. Reneh was a gender-neutral term of endearment, one meant to be used for individuals who had a familial love for each other (rare as it was to find among full blooded elves). Koffin’s face reddened at the sight of the girl’s sudden admiration and she coughed before she explained further. “It’s ill advised during this season to attack ships, regardless of how desperate one is to impress the crown. The heat increases the miasma of the world, causing sickness and further irritating wounds taken. Not to mention the potential for rot increases manyfold in the summer--” 

The doctor ranted about her misgivings about the mission for long enough that it took a sudden jolt of the ship for the two to realise that the battle had started already. Koffin could pick out arrows being fired from crossbows on both sides, and screams coming from the ship next to them. The workshop’s portholes had tinted glass, but there was light enough that she could see the aft of the merchant ship that the Merry Tale was attacking.

She clenched her teeth and went to grab her mask. “It’s like he’s asking to get hurt…him and the crew...” Koffin muttered to herself as she fidgeted with the straps on the inside.

Another jolt from the ship turned her attention back to Terazin, who was squinting from her to the porthole. Slowly, the girl’s face brightened. It was as if she was coming to a revelation. As usual, it was easy to read the child’s expressions. Perhaps it came from her inability to speak? Koffin tabled that idea as Zin started to sign. “I know why you’re angry.” 

“I’ve told you at length why I’m angry.” She tugged on her leather gloves as she spoke. “I doubt I left anything unsaid.”

“You’re not angry because you have to heal the crew.” Zin grinned triumphantly, showcasing the latest couple of gaps in her teeth. Koffin would have to examine them again to be sure of how many other baby teeth the girl was going to lose. She nearly missed catching the latest, very excited signs. “You’re angry that they’re getting hurt!”

Kofaranin froze as if she were caught in a lie. Except...that was far from the case. She didn’t know what to say, for once. 

“Your face says I’m right!” Zin clapped and twirled, though it was interrupted by yet another jolt. Really, this battle seemed to be gettin far more violent to the ship than usual. Unperturbed, the girl kept signing, though it was much harder to keep up in Koffin’s shocked state. “You work so hard to make all of the potions and keep everyone healthy. Sure you can be scary, but that just means you love us so much!” She paused, her elation temporarily halted. “Right?” The sign was her hands with their pointer fingers out, tapping on top of each other as she nodded and tilted her head with the question.

Clearing her throat, Koffin ignored the rising temperature in her face. “If I must assure you of my feelings, then I can say with utmost certainty that I--”

“DOCTOR!” A burly woman knocked open the door with one of her massive shoulders. “CAP’S BEEN HIT!” Sure enough, the figure she held in her arms was indeed Captain Cevonnis Torrent. He gave a weak smile, his false teeth having apparently been lost during the fight. His red jacket was unbuttoned, revealing both the crossbow bolt and the blooming amount of blood on his white shirt. 

Fury overtook the doctor. “Leave him on the table and get out there, Janika. Make sure no one else gets hurt or so help me--” Janika had already placed the captain down and was running as Koffin spoke. “Zin, get me the small saw and the second largest extractors.” 

Having been given orders, the girl hurried to comply. It took only seconds before the doctor was ready. “Now stay with the chair until I’m finished. I don’t want you to inhale his miasma for too long.” With a hesitant nod, Zin ran and clung onto the bolted down chair. “I hate you. You and every member of our crew.” She muttered darkly to the Captain as she pulled on her pig-like mask. 

“Glad to see your usual method of affection is well intact.” Cevo quipped as if he wasn’t severely wounded. “For a second there I’d thought you’d meant it.”

Instead of replying (not that she could have been heard very well while wearing her mask), Koffin stuffed a medicine-soaked rag into his mouth and began her work.

None of her crew were going to die today if she had any say on it. Even those as annoying as Cevo.

[eggoreviews]

My Top 25 Games Advent Day 6 - Saints Row IV (#20)

“I was 12 hours into Dead Island when the Zin attacked. Now I’ll never finish.”

When I first turned this game on at like age 13, I had no idea what I was in for with this title. Saints Row IV is a wacky, self-aware and brilliantly crafted open world adventure that somehow seamlessly blends themes of 1950s American values, alien invasions and a Matrixesque simulation plot with enough wild characters, vehicles and setpieces to keep everything feeling fresh. Welcome, one and all, to the game series where you can wield a dildo bat.

Just in case you hadn’t figured it out from that intro, this game is ridiculous and it just knows it. In the first 20 minutes of the game, as your own personal designed President of America, you wander through the white house as the whole world is attacked by aliens. Then, with no real further warning, you’re thrust into Steelport, the aliens’ very own simulation for you to play prisoner, whilst also giving you the excuse to wreck as much shit as possible. Here’s where the fun starts.

Pretty much as soon as the odd tutorial is over with, the world is absolutely your sandbox. Being hyper-aware that the game world you inhabit is a simulation just makes you want to go wild on the death and destruction even more, which is made even more satisfying by the myriad of insane weapons, which include but aren’t limited to a gun that makes people’s heads enlarge and explode and a floppy bat resembling a hentai tentacle. Along with a vast array of odd superpowers that enhance both combat and movement, this game becomes a blast to play from start to finish. At the centre of all this, your player character, an overly macho, cheesy American, works to rescue and recruit an equally eclectic band of characters, who all add to the pitch perfect satirical hilarity this game maintains from mission to mission. Matt Miller, the edgy furry eboy, Kinzie, the possibly clinically insane techie and Keith David (voiced by Keith David), among others, remind you constantly how wildly unique and just plain crazy this whole thing is.

Everything about this game just goes hard. The city of Steelport is bustling, massive, alive; a world simultaneously populated by towering skyscrapers to run and jump over, alien propaganda and scathing commentary on late stage capitalism through Steelport’s many adverts scattered around the city. The world is pretty much bursting with side missions, collectibles, alien outposts to butcher, challenges and extra subplot threads relating to each and every other important character, so there’s enough content here to keep you fucking around in Steelport well before you progress the main story. But even when you aren’t tackling any of this, just sprinting through the city, up skyscrapers and flying back down, with the backing of the awesome, hand-picked soundtrack is an experience I rarely got tired of. In particular, almost every song in the rock radio remains in my playlist today and it helped me discover two of my current favourite bands, so of course this game has its place here.

Oh, and just to push the elephant out of the room, yes I have played Grand Theft Auto V and I can fully understand why so many people idolise this game and tend to leave Saints Row out to dry a bit. It’s expansive, fun and has a baffling amount of content, while also being grounded in reality in some sense. The characters in GTA are engaging and funny, but I guess it’s Saints Row IV’s totally ridiculous characters, world and narrative that drew me in and encouraged me to finish and, to be honest, left more of a mark on me than GTA did. Saints Row nailed its gameplay and its sense of humour for the whole thing, and then they completely ruined everything in Agents of Mayhem. But that’s for another post.

Standout Moment Award: Flying a massive jet plane into an alien mothership with the backing of ‘What is Love?’. That’s kind of all I need to say about that.

Standout Character Award: Matt Miller. Something about this strange, edgy man just made me love him all the more, especially since Kinzie hilariously hates him so much. 

Tomorrow: No. 19; Edgy teen gains inexplicable abilities. Local weather furious.

[bittysvalentines]

You Shine in What I Am / Mas Brilhas No Que Sou

From: @aceinhyperspace

To: @sailorsav

Fic Summary: When Whiskey turns 18 years old, he receives his Gift. But what is he supposed to do with Love? No Content Warnings. General tags: Gen (no pairing); Asexual Whiskey; Eric Bittle; Magic Au; Message: I was so happy to see that I got your gift! Your magic AUs are some of my favourite fics and when I saw that Asexual Whiskey is your jam, I just KNEW what I was going to be writing about. I hope you enjoy!!

Connor knew what love was long before he knew he was ace. It was six year olds holding hands and twelve year olds sneaking kisses because they wanted to be grown up. It was the women in movies, pining after men and demanding roses. It was his teammates in the locker room, talking about bases and the girls they wanted to hook up with after games.

Connor knew that love was something physical and scary and frankly, he wanted no part of it.

Thankfully as everyone in his grade crept closer to their 18th birthdays, the “plant boy” jokes wound down. There was much more interesting news as people got their letters.

“I can’t believe Lauren got metal-bending and I got nothing,” Adriana complained one day at lunch, sprawled on the floor of the hallway outside their 5th period class.

“You know the Guild doesn’t actually call it metal-bending.” Whiskey said into his sandwich.

Adriana rolled her eyes so violently, her head moved as well, dragging her tightly coiled hair across the linoleum. “Ugh, you nerd. That’s not the point. Pretty white girl, I wear bows even on days where there’s no football games, Lauren. She gets to manipulate metal, Connor Whisk. Me-tal.”

“We don’t get a choice, Adri. And frankly, I’ll be thrilled when I get my letter and the Guild tells me ‘Hey, Connor, you’re off the hook. Go play hockey and don’t worry about accidentally setting your college dorm room on fire with this super exciting new superpower you manifested.’”

“Give Peder a break. He’s doing much better now.”

“Yeah, whatever, Adri.”

That evening when he got home, his mother was already at the kitchen table, Skyping her sister in Brasil, hands elegantly shaping the lump of clay spinning on the wheel.

Connor loved watching his mother work- ancient techniques interacting seamlessly with her magic. Her deep brown hands skimmed the edges of the vase, feeling for form sleeping inside the unshapen material. She once told him that her Gift was so much more than moving dirt around. From the rock beds lining the back of their desert home to the red dust she could sweep away with the movement of her hand, Ana Maria Francisca da Silva Whisk saw potential. She saw the shape of things that had been and were meant to be.

“I think I always knew,” She told him a couple years ago, combing her fingers through his hair, loose and chestnut colored, like his father. “Your avô had a farm when I was little. He couldn’t keep me out of the animal pens! He and my mother would lose sight of me for a minute, and they’d find me pelado como Adão e Eva-

“Mãe!”

“-sitting in the middle of the pigs, covered head to toe in mud.” She laughed and laughed.

That day, Connor didn’t feel much like laughing.

“Mamãe?”

“Si, meu amor?”

“Do you see anything in me?”

“O que você quer dizer?” His mother stopped the wheel and looked directly at him. Her eyes were dark, warm.

“I guess…” He stopped, unsure of the words. “I guess I’m worried.”

“Your letter?”

“Sim.”

She took a deep breath, the fine grey dust covering her hands loosening, gently floating to the floor. “Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just ready for highschool to be over. Jake decided to spend all of bio making uncreative jokes about cellular reproduction. And how my gift would be to clone myself.”

“Meu amor, when we spoke about you coming out, I did tell you to be prepared. People can be cruel.”

“Okay, but I thought you meant that about the bi part, not the ace part.”

A small smile flickered across his mother’s lips. Her hand reached out to touch his cheek gently. “I just want things to be easy for you.”

“Eu sei, mamãe.” Connor sighed. “I guess I wanted to know that I’ll be something more than the weird kid.”

“Meu filho. You are so much more than I can tell you. I get glimpses of the man you will be and can only be proud.”

“Ugh, gross mom.” Connor complained, his voice rising in pitch, swatting her hand away.   

“Ah! Sem graça! Deixe seu mãe dá amor quando ela pode. Amanhã você vai ficar uma homem grande!”  

“Mom!” He ran off, and his mother tossed bits of clay at his retreating back.  

-------

Connor had to fight to open his eyes the next morning.

His eighteenth birthday. The day he would receive his Gift.

His feet couldn’t even lift off the ground as he drug himself down the hall towards the kitchen.

Please don’t let it be clones. Please don’t let it be clones.

It wouldn’t be clones, Connor reasoned with himself. His whole family had natural gifts or no gifts at all. If he was lucky, maybe he’d be like his father and oldest sister, who got to live life normally. That way he could focus on hockey and school and not worry about things exploding like Peder. His oldest brother’s pyrokinesis was the coolest thing ever for approximately five minutes.

He stood in the doorway, the glass door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house an immovable barrier. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

“Meu amor, vem aqui,” his mother called gently from inside. Her black eyes, sometimes so disarming, were as soft as he ever had seen them. Using all of his strength, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mother stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms. “Voce ‘sta pronto?”

“Nunca.”

“Whatever it is, you can always decline, okay? There is no shame in that.” Her chin rested gently on his shoulder. When had he gotten so much taller than her? She’d always been a towering figure in the family, carrying them through.

“Okay.”

She stepped back, pulling the letter from her work apron. He took it with trepidation, carefully tearing the seal and unfolding the heavy paper.

After a few moments, most of which the words on the page didn’t register, he spoke.

“I… I think... the Guild sent the wrong thing, Mamae.”

“They’re just messengers. You know they have no control over what manifests.” His mother responded, hands already buried in the clay lumped on the wheel of the kitchen nook. “Deixa eu ver.”

His mother’s hand left gray fingerprints on the paper, but she didn’t seem to notice as her eyes scanned the letter.

“Amor.”

“Yes, mom?”

“Nao, not you amor. Amor amor.”

“I think it’s a mistake.” Connor whispered. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Love magic.

For him.

Connor Whisk, asexual extraordinaire, whose longest relationship was with the Shane Doan jersey pinned lovingly to his bedroom wall.

Love magic.

“Connor Silva Whisk.” The letter gently thwapped across the back of his head. “I raised you better than that. Now, if you don’t want it, that’s your decision to make. But what can you do with love? That is a very stupid question.”

Fast forward six years and behold: Whiskey, collegiate hockey champion, in possession of a liberal arts degree, bartending license, and a certificate in business administration, still has no idea.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day that Whiskey meets Eric Bittle, the lights go out.

No, seriously. The lights are actually out.

“I’m so sorry! That just, happens sometimes? I’m workin’ on it. Oh Lord. There is nothing worse than these delicate wire light bulbs, one short and they’re toast! I am so sorry. You know, they make LED versions of these now? Not that I’m telling you how to run your business but-”

Whiskey only stares at the man in front of him, blonde and tanned from the summer sun, already on his knees gingerly picking up shards of glass with his bare hands, words running at a thousand miles an hour.

Poetry, early readers, maybe a teacher? Needs something smoky to drink… whiskey… no, red wine. I have the perfect Zin in the back.

His quick scan of the other man’s desires only takes a second or two. His needs sit close to the surface, close enough that he was probably on his way to ask Whiskey himself.

“If you want to help, at least use a broom. I don’t need to clean up your blood too.” Whiskey says from behind the bar.

The young man freezes, hands already filled with glass. “Well, I suppose that would make much more sense.”

“Yeah, probably,” Whiskey says. He reaches out with a metal bucket. “Here.”

The glass clinks as it’s dropped into the bucket.

“I really am sorry about that. I’m Eric. Eric Bittle. I live up on the third floor. And uh, I have a gift for electricity. Well. Usually. Sometimes unfamiliar systems don’t react well to my emotions. Have you read that fantastic book by Derek Nurse? That’s what caused this whole mess in the first place.”

“Connor Whisk. People call me Whiskey.”

Somehow, even after their disaster of a first meeting, Eric becomes a staple of Whiskey’s bookstore-slash-bar. Most nights find Eric in the corner sofa, a glass of red wine in hand, grading papers for the kids he student teaches.

On a slow night, Whiskey sits next to him, reading through new releases he wants to stock.

Eric’s head hits the back of the sofa.

“Why can’t I just become an electrician?”

Whiskey snorts. “That’d be too predictable. Also, you clearly adore children. You’ll make a great teacher.”

“You’ve never seen me with a child in your life, Connor.” Eric groans.

“Trust me, I just know.”

Not that Whiskey was ever planning on telling him how.

------

The day that Whiskey meets Jack Zimmerman, the lights go off again.

This time metaphorically.

It’s a busy Wednesday night, which puts it right between a quiet Saturday and an overwhelming Monday. Ford and Tango from upstairs are arguing over a game of scrabble; Ransom laughs at them from above his post-rotation beer, hand on Holster’s knee. Dex and Bitty are finishing a diagram of the best way to rewire the bar lights to save energy while still providing ample lighting. Nurse helps stack chairs after his poetry reading. A couple other folks float in and out of the store, occasionally stopping to ask a question. And Whiskey is hovering around all of them, making sure everyone is satisfied.

The seating area is small, so when a stupidly handsome man wearing a godawful black tracksuit walks in, everyone notices.

Grad student… maybe? He’s here for history? Queer Theory? Well, he’ll get more of the latter, but he’ll see that out soon enough. No alcohol. I’ll make some tea in the back after I check in with everyone.

“Excuse me?” Eric leans forward, bridge of his nose crinkled in interest.

“What?” Whiskey asks, picking up the empty glasses on the low coffee table.

“You just started talking about Queer Theory and tea?” Eric says. “I wasn’t hallucinating was I?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nope, I heard it too.”

Whiskey’s stomach drops. “Uh, nothing, just restocking the shelves.”

“If you say so.” Eric is completely unconvinced, but is too polite to push the subject in public.

Yellow.

The echo of desire floats from among the shelves. The new customer’s hands rest on a book, the cover a bright canary, and Whiskey smiles.

With that, he leaves Eric to his drink to help the customers that are reclining against the bar.

About 5 minutes later, the customer had taken a seat at one of the couches in the reading corner, setting the book on the coffee table between him and Bitty.

“Do you mind?” Whiskey, hears him ask. Bittle’s face is flushed.

“Not at all! On second thought, let me move my mess so you don’t have to be competing with… whatever this book is-” Eric waves animatedly at the pile that had been forming in front of him.

Whiskey barely restrains himself from snorting.

Bittle hurriedly shoves his work into a stack and then escapes to the bar counter, “Good Lord, it’s a good thing that man dresses like a russian mobster because if he paired his face with nice clothes, it’d be over for the rest of us.

Ford, two seats down, snorts into her coffee mug.

“This is a small shop, Bits.” Whiskey laughs, “Careful with the volume.”

“Honey, this is New England. I travelled 3,000 miles to be unabashedly loud and gay. This is a queer bookstore for God’s sake.”

“You can say what you want, just know that the object of your unabashedness can probably hear you,” Whiskey says.

They look over to the man in the corner and sure enough, his eyes are on the both of them, a deep furrow in the middle. The intensity of his gaze and the concerned frown on his lips seem to indicate anger. But Connor feels something else.

It hadn’t been the book.

Oh.

OH.

Yellow.

It smells like Quebec in the summer (had he ever been to Quebec?), and feels like a long car trip, singing into the wind, stealing ears of corn from the farmer’s field, grilling it over a campfire at night. There is expensive whiskey and cheap beer on his lips, elation.

Yellow like the afternoon sun reflecting against the pond in winter. Blinding and exhilarating, flying with no sense of direction and no hope of stopping.

“You.” Whiskey whispers.

He can’t hear if Eric responds, his head still filled with desires not his own. It takes him another moment to come into the present, shaking his head subtly to remove the extra noise.

“Connor? Are you alright?” Eric says, gently laying a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught up for a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Just a side effect. I try not to go that deeply but some people suck me in.”

“Oh I knew it! You are a telepath!” Eric whispers excitedly. “Did I tell you my PawPaw once-”

Whiskey cuts Eric off, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. “No, no. I definitely can’t read people’s minds. But, uhhh. I can see what they… love?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “My Lord.” There’s a reverent sparkle in them that Whiskey can’t explain. “You have a Love Gift. That’s something special. Much more special than electricity.”

Whiskey rolls his eyes. “Sure. Really special. I can’t do anything but tell what drink someone wants before they order.”

“It’s a real shame you think that way, Connor.” Eric shakes his head. “Well, now I know how you’ve managed to draw us all here like flies to a sty.”

“Isn’t it flies to honey-”

“Think about it. All of us were floating around, not from the same place or backgrounds. Some with gifts and many without, but now we’re here. Together. That’s because of you.”

Eric saunters back to the couch, oblivious to the distress rising in Whiskey’s chest.

“Hey, Ford. You mind watching front of house for a second?” Connor manages to say before he loses his breath completely, slipping into the back room before receiving a response.

The phone is clammy in his hands, but, like clockwork, she picks up on the second ring.

“Amor?”

“Mom.

“Que está acontecendo, filho? Você ‘tá no trabalho?”

“Mom, I did it again.”

There’s no sound on the other end of the phone for a brief moment. When his mother’s voice comes back on the line, he feels his breath release.

“Okay, I can talk now. Tell me everything.”

“Well, there’s a group of people that come to the store a lot. And I like them, mom. I like all of them. But Eric-”

“That’s the Southern boy, right?”

“Yes Mom, but Eric found out about my Gift today. And he said that everyone is here because of me. It’s my fault. It’s like college all over again.”

“Did he say he didn’t want to be there?”

“No but-”

“Did he say anything about being in love with you- romantically I mean.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Then this doesn’t sound anything like what happened back then.”

Connor takes a few deep breaths. “Mom, I don’t know what to do with this Gift,” he barely whispers into the phone.

A few more seconds pass.

“This may not be my place. You are a grown man now and can make your own decisions. But my love? You need to get your head out of your ass.”  

Whiskey stops, shocked. “What?”

The voice on the line is firm, like the earth she manipulates. “I am your mother. I would give you the world, make it kind and easy. But I can’t. You told me, all of seventeen shaking years old that you were bisexual and ace and I let you make the choice to tell others on your own. You received your Gift and kept it on your own. And then when you transferred out east and graduated and started your own business- you did that on your own too. If you want to live the rest of your life away from others, separated by your fear, that is a choice you also make on your own.”

A deep sigh breaks the tension across the line and when his mother speaks again, her tone is gentle.

“I am here for you now, whatever you need, but that won’t always be true. What happened in college was awful, amor. Love magic is a powerful, dangerous thing. But you are not that scared young boy anymore. You are building a new home with new people. And that requires you to love, filho. Love. Love yourself and others and let them love you too.”

Whiskey feels the wet lines running down his cheeks before he realizes he’s crying.

“Thank you mom. I love you.”

“Eu te amo também. Agora, faz uma decisão. E chama-me mais frequente, eu sinto falta da sua voz.”   

When Connor comes out of the back room a couple minutes later, he does so with his Gift wide open. And the hearts of the people in the space are so bright, he can’t even see the lights.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

8th August >> Mass Readings (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Saint Dominic, Priest 

on Thursday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time.

Thursday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the feria (Thursday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Numbers 20:1-13

Moses makes water flow from the rock at Meribah

The sons of Israel, the whole community, arrived in the first month at the desert of Zin. The people settled at Kadesh. It was there that Miriam died and was buried.

There was no water for the community, and they were all united against Moses and Aaron. The people challenged Moses: ‘We would rather have died,’ they said ‘as our brothers died before the Lord! Why did you bring the assembly of the Lord into this wilderness, only to let us die here, ourselves and our cattle? Why did you lead us out of Egypt, only to bring us to this wretched place? It is a place unfit for sowing, it has no figs, no vines, no pomegranates, and there is not even water to drink!’

Leaving the assembly, Moses and Aaron went to the door of the Tent of Meeting. They threw themselves face downward on the ground, and the glory of the Lord appeared to them. The Lord spoke to Moses and said, ‘Take the branch and call the community together, you and your brother Aaron. Then, in full view of them, order this rock to give water. You will make water flow for them out of the rock, and provide drink for the community and their cattle.’

Moses took up the branch from before the Lord, as he had directed him. Then Moses and Aaron called the assembly together in front of the rock and addressed them, ‘Listen now, you rebels. Shall we make water gush from this rock for you?’ And Moses raised his hand and struck the rock twice with the branch; water gushed in abundance, and the community drank and their cattle too.

Then the Lord said to Moses and Aaron, ‘Because you did not believe that I could proclaim my holiness in the eyes of the sons of Israel, you shall not lead this assembly into the land I am giving them.’

These are the waters of Meribah, where the sons of Israel challenged the Lord and he proclaimed his holiness.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 94(95):1-2,6-9

R/ O that today you would listen to his voice! ‘Harden not your hearts.’

Come, ring out our joy to the Lord;

hail the rock who saves us.

Let us come before him, giving thanks,

with songs let us hail the Lord.

R/ O that today you would listen to his voice! ‘Harden not your hearts.’

Come in; let us bow and bend low;

let us kneel before the God who made us:

for he is our God and we

the people who belong to his pasture,

the flock that is led by his hand.

R/ O that today you would listen to his voice! ‘Harden not your hearts.’

O that today you would listen to his voice!

‘Harden not your hearts as at Meribah,

as on that day at Massah in the desert

when your fathers put me to the test;

when they tried me, though they saw my work.’

R/ O that today you would listen to his voice! ‘Harden not your hearts.’

Gospel Acclamation

Psalm 144:13

Alleluia, alleluia!

The Lord is faithful in all his words

and loving in all his deeds.

Alleluia!

Or:

Matthew 16:18

Alleluia, alleluia!

You are Peter,

and on this rock I will build my Church.

And the gates of the underworld can never hold out against it.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 16:13-23

You are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church

When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi he put this question to his disciples, ‘Who do people say the Son of Man is?’ And they said, ‘Some say he is John the Baptist, some Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ ‘But you,’ he said ‘who do you say I am?’ Then Simon Peter spoke up, ‘You are the Christ,’ he said, ‘the Son of the living God.’ Jesus replied, ‘Simon son of Jonah, you are a happy man! Because it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you but my Father in heaven. So I now say to you: You are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church. And the gates of the underworld can never hold out against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven: whatever you bind on earth shall be considered bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth shall be considered loosed in heaven.’ Then he gave the disciples strict orders not to tell anyone that he was the Christ.

From that time Jesus began to make it clear to his disciples that he was destined to go to Jerusalem and suffer grievously at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, to be put to death and to be raised up on the third day. Then, taking him aside, Peter started to remonstrate with him. ‘Heaven preserve you, Lord;’ he said ‘this must not happen to you.’ But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle in my path, because the way you think is not God’s way but man’s.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

————————————-

Saint Dominic, Priest 

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

1 Corinthians 2:1-10

The wisdom that Gos predestined to be for our glory

Brothers, when I came to you, it was not with any show of oratory or philosophy, but simply to tell you what God had guaranteed. During my stay with you, the only knowledge I claimed to have was about Jesus, and only about him as the crucified Christ. Far from relying on any power of my own, I came among you in great ‘fear and trembling’ and in my speeches and the sermons that I gave, there were none of the arguments that belong to philosophy; only a demonstration of the power of the Spirit. And I did this so that your faith should not depend on human philosophy but on the power of God.

But still we have a wisdom to offer those who have reached maturity: not a philosophy of our age, it is true, still less of the masters of our age, which are coming to their end. The hidden wisdom of God which we teach in our mysteries is the wisdom that God predestined to be for our glory before the ages began. It is a wisdom that none of the masters of this age have ever known, or they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory; we teach what scripture calls: the things that no eye has seen and no ear has heard, things beyond the mind of man, all that God has prepared for those who love him.

These are the very things that God has revealed to us through the Spirit.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 95(96):1-3,7-8,10

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

O sing a new song to the Lord,

sing to the Lord all the earth.

O sing to the Lord, bless his name.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Proclaim his help day by day,

tell among the nations his glory

and his wonders among all the peoples.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Give the Lord, you families of peoples,

give the Lord glory and power;

give the Lord the glory of his name.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Proclaim to the nations: ‘God is king.’

The world he made firm in its place;

he will judge the peoples in fairness.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Gospel Acclamation

John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia!

I am the light of the world, says the Lord;

anyone who follows me will have the light of life.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Luke 9:57-62

'I will follow you wherever you go'

As Jesus and his disciples travelled along they met a man on the road who said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus answered, ‘Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’

Another to whom he said, ‘Follow me’, replied, ‘Let me go and bury my father first.’ But he answered, ‘Leave the dead to bury their dead; your duty is to go and spread the news of the kingdom of God.’

Another said, ‘I will follow you, sir, but first let me go and say goodbye to my people at home.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Once the hand is laid on the plough, no one who looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Future Quest, Vol. 1 by Jeff Parker

"'Don't worry, Hadji. Being shot down is Race's favorite landing style.'"

Year Read: 2019

Rating: 3/5

Context: I don't read a lot of graphic novels, but when I saw some that revamp the Hanna-Barbera universe, I knew I needed them. I loved Jonny Quest when I was a kid, and it remains one of my favorite cartoons as an adult. I used to watch it with my dad and spend entire days reenacting it with my friends, and it's hard to imagine growing up without it in my life. That's not to say it doesn't have its problems (severe lack of female characters, literally every villain is a POC or a white guy with an accent), but I think it was ahead of its time in the science fiction aspects. I'm also convinced that Race and Dr. Quest are extreme action boyfriends/first gay dads on TV, even if there's little to no canon evidence to support that. Trigger warnings: death, abduction, guns, violence.

About: Future Quest combines characters from Jonny Quest, Space Ghost, and The Herculoids, together for the first time to fight an otherworldly evil called Omnikron that threatens to take over Earth. When inter-dimensional pockets start opening up on earth, timelines collide, leaving dinosaurs and saber-toothed tigers roaming the Florida swamplands. Jonny, Hadji, Race, and Dr. Quest are fighting with Inter-Nation to study and contain them, but they're going to need help from Birdman, the Herculoids, and others to stop Omnikron, Dr. Zin, and his evil organization F.E.A.R.

Thoughts: This isn’t quite what I was expecting. I'm not that familiar with the other shows featured here, but my sense is that the novel is trying to juggle too many characters without enough plot. It feels cluttered with characters who barely get an introduction (if that) before we're expected to know them, and there isn't enough time to develop any of them properly. Birdman and Space Ghost look like the same guy in a different suit, so I was constantly confusing them. The timeline is also jumbled, and it jumps around to introduce new groups of characters without any obvious rhyme or reason. I don't know if this is how graphic novels usually go, but it didn't really work for me.

However, I do like the artwork a lot, and the dialogue (at least in the Quest characters) is believable. I could usually hear the characters' voices in my head, but I was disappointed that they didn't get more page-time. Jade, one of the only recurring female characters from the show, makes a very brief cameo, and it seems like Race is unconscious for half of the action scenes. I was also hoping that the comic might resolve some of the issues with representation that the original shows had, but no such luck. Dr. Zin, a person of color, is still the main villain, Hadji still has mystical powers (an Imperialist fantasy if there ever was one), and there are no major female characters. However, there are more females/POC within the side characters who are heroes, so that's something. All in all, it's not the way I would have chosen to revamp the series, but I enjoyed revisiting characters I love, and I'll probably read the second volume to see how things turn out.

[postrock-instrumental]

Post-rock & Post-metal: The 50 Best Releases of 2018 [THE LARGER SHORTLIST OF ALMOST 300]

This coming Monday, 17th of December, we’ll publish our selection of the 50 best post-rock and post-metal releases to come out of 2018. There were over 700 releases on our original list, which was later narrowed down to a shortlist of nearly 300. The upcoming “50 Best” list was culled from this shortlist of nearly 300 releases, which you can see below if you want to use it for some purpose. If you don’t want to miss the upcoming “50 Best” list, you can follow the links below: facebook.com/postrock.instrumental twitter.com/postrock_music facebook.com/arcticdrones twitter.com/arcticdrones --- FULL LIST 1099 – Blindpassasjer 42DE – Fall Of The Moon A Film In Color – They March In Endless Circles A Storm Of Light – Anthroscene A World In Grayscale – The Process Of Passing Time Aesthesys – Achromata Aikira – Light Cut All You’ve Seen –  Synopsis XVI Anatomy Of The Bear – Alysu Antarte – Isole Antorchas – Aphelion April Rain – To Whom It May Concern Arcadian Waves – Above The Mountains Archelon – Tribe Of Suns Ares One – Optimist Arhios – Arhios Around The World In 80 Days – Dissonance Astodan – Ameratat Astronauta Marinho – Perspecta A-Sun Amissa – Ceremony In The Stillness Augure – Omina Aurora Borealis – Goodbye Autumn Creatures – Funeral Garden   Autumn Moonlight – Passangers Babel Fish – Follow Me When I Leave Baikonur – Nihil Per Saltum Bear The Mammoth – Years Under Glass Below A Silent Sky – A View From Afar Beyond The Event Horizon – Far Blanket – How To Let Go Bound – No Beyond BRUIT – Monolith Built-In Obsolescence – Instar Cataya – Firn Cats Never Die – Stay At Home Cavern – Eater Celestial Wolves – Call Of The Void CEVEO – Jordsand Charus – Mundus Cereris Ciempies – Intérprete Del Espacio Circadian Eyes – A Future Nostalgic City Of The Lost – Master Martin Rescue Cloud Anthems – Areté Coastlands – The Further Still Cold, Cold Heart – Arch Craters – Laurentian Abyss Crippled Black Phoenix – Great Escape Crno Dete – Neponovljivo Crows In The Rain — Ashes Of The Past Culak – Oblivion Dan Caine – Nocturne   Darius – Clôture Dark Matter – The Sovereign Night Darker Shapes – Kavik Dawnlit – True North DDENT – Toro Deafheaven – Ordinary Corrupt Human Love   Degree Of Arc – Raptures Dep – We Are The Lights That Will Not Go Out Des Astres – Des Plans Sur La Comète Dios Trio – II Distant Dream – Your Own Story Doomina – Orenda Doppälgängär – Melencholia Dûrga – De Lira Ire Earthholder – There Will Be A Future Edelveiss – Skull   Efrim Manuel Menuck – Pissing Stars Eigengrau – Radiant El Ten Eleven – Banker’s Hill El Tubo Elástico – Impala Elephant Gym – Underwater Elhombreanormal – La Unión De Distintos Vientos Elizabeth The Last – Elizabeth The Last   Empathy Forever Empty – All Monsters Are Human Encircling Sea – Hearken Epic45 – Through Broken Summer Feed Me To The Waves –  Before This Wilderness Consumes Us FERE – Montedor Feroces – Josephine First Came The Shadow – Premonition Flares –  Allegorhythms Floating In Space – Dreamland Follows – Nyctophile For Dummies – For Dummies Forest Mountain – Prisma Foxhole – Well Kept Thing   From Oceans To Autumn – Leave Me Here Future Usses – The Existential Haunting Gespenst – Oblivion Gift Of Blindness – Wasteland Giraffes? Giraffes! – Memory Lame Girih – Eigengrau   Glasir – New Dark Age God Is An Astronaut – Epitaph Grand Tétras – Abiogenèse Grito – Endless Grottos – Тетис / Tethys H A : Z E – Passage Hæster – All Anchors No Sails Halocraft – Chains For The Sea Hammock – Far Cry 5 Presents: We Will Rise Again (OST) Hammock – Universalis Hauste – Leavings Have The Moskovik – Papier Vinyle Heklaa – 1491 Hesperian Death Horse – Živ Hold Down The Ocean – The Symmetry Of Odd Numbers Holy Fawn – Death Spells Hope The Flowers/Pleiades – Gates To Universe HUEY – MA Human Factor – Let Nature Take Its Course Hundred Year Old Man – Breaching Hyedra – Hyedra I Am No Hero – Cyberpunk   I Am Wolves – ABCD IAH – II   If Only The Trees – Drop The Air Il Giardino Degli Specchi – Oltremare Illus Teller – The Backup Imploding Stars – Riverine Indignu – Umbra Infinite Third – Listen(Ing) Ingrina – Etter Lys Inspirative – Inertia Pt.1 Isles – Remnants Isola – Isola ISON – Andromeda Skyline Jean Jean – Froidepierre Jeffk – Inadequate Shelter Jet Plane – Falls Feather John Malkovitch! – The Irresistible New Cult Of Selenium JYOCHO – A Parallel Universe EP JYOCHO – The Beautiful Cycle Of Terminal Kalte Sonne – Ekumen Kaschalot – Whale Songs KHARA – Heaven Can Wait Khöbalt – The Sky Is Dead Kiova – An End In Motion Lake Of Licks – Blue Lang –  There Is No Reply But Sweet Wind Blew Lasitud – Lasitud Last Of Us – Swarm Le Temps Du Loup – Cardinal Le_Mol – Heads Heads Heads Leech – For Better Or For Worse Legendary Skies – Navigation Leonov – Wake Lights & Motion – Bloom Lobo Estepario – Los Que Bailan En Las Sombras Locktender – Friedrich Locomotora – Vuodet, Vuoret Long Distance Calling – Boundless Longlake – Beyond The Sun Loud Exit – Loud Exit Lowercase Noises – The Ironic Distance Macondø – Macondø Magdalena Gornik – Dream Sequence Collapse Man Mountain – Infinity Mirror Mass Culture – Primal | Ephemeral Massa – Walls Medussa –  LA PALABRA HA MUERTO Mesozoic – Earth Alone Message In A Cloud – Anassa Milanku – Monument Du Non-Être & Mouvement Du Non-Vivant Minsk / Zatokrev – BIGOD Modsdive – Four Wet Hands Moe’s – Smiles & Scars Mogwai – Kin Montaña – Coordenadas Morrow – The Weight Of These Feathers Mountaineer – Passages Movement Of Static – Naegleria Murmure – Nos Idées Fantômes Musatov Brothers – Existential Crisis Nautilus – The Oceanwalker Ninth Moon Black – Amaranthine Noorvik – Noorvik Northerner – Northerner Ocean Districts – Doomtowns   Of Two Minds – Of Two Minds Ohgod – The Great Silence Ok Seas – Ok Seas Old Faith – Old Faith Old Seas Young Mountains – Seasons Once Upon A Winter – .Existence Orellana – 52 Orphans Of Doom – Strange Worlds/Fierce Gods Osorezan – Osorezan OTHRS – Broken Dialogue Paraphon Tree – Aura Pershagen – Tarfala Pijn – Loss Planisphere – Into The Known Prune Deer – Chemistry 化學 Raedsel – A Simple Act Of Redirection Rammen – The Echo & The System Raum Kingdom – Everything & Nothing Reaching 62 F – Chronicles Of A Dying Sun Red Apollo – The Laurels Of Serenity Reformat – The Singularity Respire – Dénouement Riah – Autumnalia Rilf – Three Stories For Numbers RLYR – Actual Existence Rocket Miner – The Long Goodbye Roots And Ruins – Die Right Rostres – Les Corps Flottants Sagor Som Leder Mot Slutet – II Sairen – Neige Nuit Sejd – Ben & Hjärta Set And Setting – Tabula Rasa Seul Ocean – Je Fais Revivre Shadow Universe – Speaking For Clouds Ships Fly Up – Dream Maker Sinistro – Sangue Cassia Six Months Of Sun – Below The Eternal Sky Sky Flying By – (Re)Routed Sleep Dealer – Memories So Far As I Know –  Fragments: Disclosure Sojus3000 – Wanderers Soldat Hans – Es Taut SOM – The Fall Sonance – To Possess You Entirely Sondrous – Something Like Serenity Sons Of Alpha Centauri – Continuum Spurv – Myra Standish Hall – Standish Hall   Startle The Heavens – Canyons Straya – Sobereyed Subnoir – A Long Way From Home Summer Effect – Reverie Sunstare – Eroded   Taller Than The Trees – Hubris EP Talons – We All Know Tangled Thoughts Of Leaving – No Tether The American Dollar – You're Listening The Clouds Will Clear – Recollection Of What Never Was The Fog Ensemble – Throbs The Man Within – The Man Within   The Ocean – Phanerozoic I: Palaeozoic The Sun Burns Bright – Through Dusk, Came The Light There’s A Light – A Long Lost Silence This Will Destroy You – New Others Part One This Will Destroy You – New Others Part Two This World Has Bees – Nearer Those Who Dream By Day – Glad To Be... Tide/Edit – All My Friends Tides Of Man – Every Nothing To Those Who Exist – BAIAME Toe – Our Latest Number Tomorrow We Sail – The Shadows Toundra – Vortex Trees Die Standing – Trees Die Standing Triple Deer – Urban Shepherd Trna – Earthcult Tsima – Koniec Twin Speak – Soulss Umber –  This Earth To Another URO – CABBA! Us, Today – Computant Velns Viņu Zin – Posts Versa – Versa Violet Cold – Sommermorgen Trilogy Vorcha – Liberosis Vy Pole – Like You Say Wang Wen – Invisible City WANHEDA – The Cenozoic Implosion Warm Shelter – Reflections Way Station –  The Way Of Minstrel We Made God – Beyond The Pale We Were Heading North – Lightness Weary Eyes – True North Wess Meets West – A Light Within The Fracture Whale Fall – Sondersongs White Lion Parade – Cloudlines   Widek – Dream Reflection Winter Dust – Sense By Erosion Winterlight – The Longest Sleep Through The Darkest Days World’s End Girlfriend – Meguri Wrekmeister Harmonies – The Alone Rush YNICORNS – Intervals Zommm – Reality Is An Illusion 昴宿 Pleiades – 致未來 For The Future

[rynnie-rynn]

Pixie dust, snow white

pixie dust; Have you ever loved somebody? And if you have, do you still talk to each other?

Yeah I have loved quite a few people in my life. It’s one of my faults. I love too easily which means I’ve been burned too many times to count. Some I still talk with, others are out of my life and I’m probably better for it. (This is platonic love as well as romantic love, because lets be honest, love is love)

snow white; What is your biggest dream?

I would love to be a health/life coach. Which I think is one reason why Sensei Ron resonates with me so much. I feel like we vibrate on the same frequency. I want to be the kind of person who I wish I had while I was figuring my shit out (and while I still continue to figure my shit out). I am currently a 200HR Yoga Teacher, as well as a ZIN (Zumba Instructor) and a BeachBody coach. I am dabbling in doing my masters in Counselling but haven’t yet taken the dive into graduate school yet. Though I have those designations, lately I’ve been giving up on that a little. A lot of things have happened in my personal life that have created a lot of self doubt and self loathing. But 2018 kind of changed a lot of things for me. I reconciled with someone who was (and still is) a very close friend of mine (this started in 2017 but 2018 was just the best!) And as cheesy and dumb as this may sound, being able to participate in fandom again has been nice. And my experiences with the boys this summer, Martin Kove in particular, has done a lot for me too. Pittsburgh was just too crazy to be true. I will never forget the amazing memories I have with Rob, Billy and Kove. And I had a really meaningful conversation with Sensei Ron that has meant a lot to me too. So I’m starting to come around. I’m starting to want my dreams again. And I cannot wait for 2019. I’ve started to find my yoga/spiritual tribe again, I have a plan for 2019 and I have a best friend that believes in me and is always there for me. So here’s to turning dreams into reality!

Thanks for the ask! Sorry it took me so long to get back to you

[theshalthera]

[Leaving the Light]

“A Lady’s place is with her Queen.” her husband had told her. 

Suramar was her birthplace but Zin-Azshari was to be her home after marriage. Endessa’s marriage to Lord Melwynne Celsworn had been a tactical choice by her parents- a way of continuing the Lu’Cerne’s favor in the eyes of the empire. Of her empire. 

In the interest of keeping her husband happy, she moved herself to the capital- it’s building tall and stark white- their roofs topped like the starts themselves. Endessa could never accuse the place of being ugly. 

It was in these walls, she birthed her children, first the eldest Meridianna-- and the second, a son she called Elonne. Endessa was secured in her status not by manner, but rather her aptitude for runic magics. “Words are powerful things, my little star,” she said to the young Meri. A nobody in the court, she passed her days as she wanted- unnoticed and unbothered by the nobility of the great city. 

It was a warm day- the chilled air brushing from the sea through the cities when she walked alone through the market. Lord Celsworn was particular about her guard detail- and yet the curious elf always managed to wander off in some other direction from her husband’s guard. 

Down one alley, she heard a a wince of pain- a woman’s cries and another who hushed her. Endessa peeked around the corner and with one silvery eyes she spied them. The first was badly beaten, cuts and bruises writhing in pain-- a woman, and by what she could tell not a Highborne. The one that held her was elder- though she had most definitely not seen either in court. “L.. Leave me, come back in the cover of night,” she said, whining. He shook his head, “Not a chance, you’ll be de--” The man shot up then, brandishing a weapon, “Show yourself!” 

Endessa stumbled back, a thump in her chest, “I..” She hugged the wall as he came closer. “You what? Come to praise what your Queen’s man do to those they deem below them. You make me sick.” He growled, raising his sword. Endessa could only raise her arms in defense. 

“D..Do not, An’da,” the woman’s voice was weak from the corner. “Do not be like them.” 

“My husband is frequently away on business,” Endessa said, a glimmer of light from her hand as she led the man she came to know as Nardassin down to the cool underground of the Celsworn Estate. “You can hide her here.. I.. am not very gifted in healing but I can provide supplies..food and water.” 

“T--Thank you, Lady Lu’Cerne,” the quiet voice of the woman called Elsennia said. 

“Endessa,” she said.

“Why are you helping us?” Nardassin asked with a sneer. 

A weak smile formed on her lips, “Mm. They say that to look upon the Queen is to be compelled to bow and praise her reign. Perhaps she is Light of Lights. I cannot say for certain-- but this,” she said, gesturing to Elsennia’s beaten body, “No one so lovely on the inside could allow her people to do something heinous to another. I would much rather stand beside someone than above them.”

The weak hand of Elsennia laced with Endessa’s, but it was Nardassin that spoke. “I cannot rightly tell if you are brave or stupid, Lady Endessa.”

In the months that followed, the Celsworn estate became a safe house for the elves. Endessa never came to know their name- but rather their purpose. Born into power and privilege, their lives were foreign... mystical even. 

The cellar was always left clean- servants of her house forbidden to go down its steps, but as clever and careful as Endessa and her new found friends were, so too was the mind of her husband. 

A hard smack rang out from her chambers, the short that sent her into the dresser and then to the floor. Head canted down, she held her cheek and stared at the floor. 

“You traitor, allowing that filth into our house?” Melwynne shook the tattered armor. 

“It isn’t what you think,” she said, quietly.

“Is it not? You think those that live under my roof would not tell me, their Lord, the on-goings of his treacherous wife?”

She was silent. 

“You will not leave this house without an escort and you will not let another of the impure into my home. You will attend court and you will serve your Queen and empire as one of our stature should. If you have any ideas about disobeying me- think first of your children, who will never see their mother again if you feel so inclined to slum it with the lowborn.” 

In solitude, she passed the time- comforted only by her children. Even as war began to set upon the land that was meant to be her home. She was the picture of calm, for if she was nothing else-- she was smart. And she patient. And she was waiting. 

In the night she came into her children’s room, carrying a bag for each of them. “Get up, my stars-- we are leaving.” She said, getting them up and headed for the trees. 

“Where are we going, Min’Da?” Meridianna asked half-asleep.

“We are going home.”

[cxrruptedlife-blog]

KNOW THE MUN - for real! - THROUGH MUSE!

Tag muns you want to know better; repost - don’t reblog.

What inspired you to try/create this muse/s:  I dunno, my mind is very creative sometimes and it sometimes says WHY DON’T YOU CREATE A F*CKIN BROKEN CREATOR? So... I did?? Hahaha.

What is inspiration for this muse/s: Greek mythology tbh, all everything gods and titans.

Thread/AU that made you really happy: All them--- the truth I’m just happy bring him here and write him with other people--- No favoritism!

Something really special on your wishlist: Know that humanity is not that bad as he knows, and he could be seen as someone important--- Because he is but, nobody knows that someone like him exists. And well, I would like to see what would happen with him if he doesn’t ever find his brother but finds other people. What would happen.

Something you are looking for in short future for your muse: I DUNNO--- A lot of friendship for sure, or torture, whatever. 

Share something related to your muse! Alright I’m gonna explain how he appeared in my life, it’s a long story but I’ll summarize it. I was rping with my gf and well, all gods have someone who control what they do and if they do a bad job they have to be punished. So existed Zin, he was the Titan of life, where he hadn’t any emotion. He was cold with everyone, and he was like the judger, he didn’t care about humanity there. (Yeah he didn’t have any humanity tbh). But then we decided to write WHY he hasn’t any emotion. And then we decided to show Kronos, he was the one who stole Zin’s emotions because like that Zin could do his job without his emotions bothering--- And he also had amnesia, because he didn’t remember his brother. Thanks of some of our characters, Kronos came back, he gave to Zin his emotions back and there was when I began to give him a personality. He began with a tsundere type, but then he changed to a sadistic-bitch-with-everyone and things like this. I really enjoyed write him, and I still enjoy it.

What do you think about character’s design/how did you come up with it: His true appearance is long white hair, with a black wick, and eyes like his brother, one grey and other golden. Depending of his mood, his eye color changes. I would love to bring 100% full my OC but I’m not an artist and I don’t want to poke my gf to draw my OC, she did the design and I’m very happy how she draw him, I’m proud of her?? I really am. So I decided give him a different FC here just because I love have icons and show expressions so--- here we go.

What your muse has taught you: You need someone to tell you that everything is fine and, even if you lose someone, you must stay ahead because when you least expect it, life will smile at you again.

What is roleplay to you: An obsessed hobby--- I should stop forcing me to write sometimes because I really love it but a lot of times I have write block and it means I should rest. But, apart from that, write for me it’s also a way of expressing oneself with their characters-- I dunno.

Just say something nice about another mun!: @tokikukan / @deinox she’s a nerd and my gf, she’s really a great artist and a great designer tbh. But she’s dummy because sometimes she thinks she’s not good plotting but SHE’S WRONG BECAUSE SHE CAN WRITE GREAT THINGS and deserves a lot of love follow her damnit.

tagged: @diivinespxrks

tagging:  too tired, steal it