#the drifter seems to get sick -after- coming to the land of light??

[baladric]

all i am saying is the drifter literally cannot die because the god of death has just enough juice left over from the immortal cell’s theft of its entropic dominion for death (jackal) to put the drifter in a handy little resurrective time loop, qed the howl we hear every time the drifter dies in battle, after which he’s immediately returned to the last save point—prone, and visibly exhausted as he hefts himself to his feet again, almost as if he physically feels like he has just been very badly hurt, as if he remembers it. and then—and then—though his quest has been fueled at its core by the desire to cure his worsening sickness (which, sidenote, seems pretty resultant of hyper light as a power in itself), what happens at the end of it all, when death’s powers are returned in full?

it lets him go, because there’s no cure for the symptoms of mortal hubris

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.3 (spicyhoney)

Summary:   Stretch asked Edge where his newest acquisition came from. Time for explanations.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

That Morning

The first task Edge had to accomplish was trying very hard not to vomit. No matter how he tried to brace for it, going through one of his brother’s shortcuts always sent his equilibrium into a tailspin that left him retching on his knees at the other side.

Red only stepped to the side, mouth curling in distaste. “bro, you ever gone get over that? seriously, it’s embarrassing to have you yakking on your boots whenever we need a quick exit."

"Fuck off,” Edge rasped out, gagging back another heave. He took a slow, deep breath, another, and then staggered back to his feet, “If you’d care to quit bitching about my issues with motion sickness and tell me why you brought me here, we can get this over with. Where are we, anyw—” He paused, for the first time getting a good look at their surroundings.

That morning, Edge wasn’t halfway through checking the traplines when his brother appeared, stepping out from nowhere directly in front of him as he never did. For once, his sharp, careless grin was absent and in its place were clenched teeth and grim words. “got something i need to show you, boss.”

Edge hadn’t hesitated to go with him. Much as his brother appreciated a terrible joke or a worse prank, Edge trusted him with his life and that unusual seriousness left him equal parts reluctantly intrigued and worried.

A few hasty steps, a shortcut, and a bout of nausea later, and Edge was beginning to rethink that trust.

He whirled around and asked in a furious whisper, “Have you lost your moronic little mind?”

“nah,” Red shrugged, rolling his shoulders lazily and turned to walk down a long, dimly lit hallway. “no more than usual, anyway. c’mon, this way.”

There was little choice but to follow him. Overhead, the fluorescent bulbs sputtered and flickered, flashes of lightning from a manufactured storm illuminating the trash and filth that lined the walls, giving them a setting that was perhaps better suited for the horror movies that Papyrus was so fond of. The comparison wasn’t far off; no sane Monster came anywhere near Alphys’s lab, which would certainly explain why his brother brought them here. It must be something like insanity on both their parts, on Red for coming and Edge for staying.

Edge followed after his brother with carefully silent steps. He wasn't worried about Alphys seeing them on her cameras, they never seemed to work around Red, but that wouldn't help them if she walked right in on them as she investigated some careless noise.

Red didn’t seem to have the same compunction; his sneakers trod heavily, untied laces dragging through the filth. His rough chuckle seemed to echo around them, carrying them along, “heh, you know what’s funny? i still know my way around in here. can’t remember where i put my fucking wallet most days, but an internal map of this shitheap, i got no problems. funny how some things stick.” He kicked aside a moldy ramen cup, a fouled plastic spoon skittering out of it. “i keep tabs on ol’ al, you know. i ain’t sticking my neck out, but i like to keep my nose hole poked into whatever she’s been gettin’ up to down here. just lately, she's been going through the old scientist’s shit, tryin’ to recreate some of his old experiments.”

“She’s been doing that for years,” Edge said, low. “What changed?”

Red stopped outside the door and an unexpected shudder went through his small frame, the rattle of his bones muffled beneath his heavy jacket. He straightened before Edge could so much as lay a concerned hand on his shoulder, twisting out of his reach with a casual indifference that was almost believable. “yeah, well, it ain’t the core she’s been workin’ on.”

Behind that door, the room was lit by a single bare bulb and in its incandescent glow, Edge could see several large, glass tubes filled with some sort of thick liquid lining the back wall, with wiring and pipes spidering out from them and across the ceiling. Beneath the bulb itself was a long steel table, starkly empty except for the unremarkable heavy cardboard box sitting directly in the middle of it. Red gestured sharply at it, though he didn’t approach it himself, and warily, Edge stepped forward to peer inside.

He caught his breath against the raw, painful lurch in his soul, a brief moment of sharp pain that left behind a peculiar numbness inside him.

Inside the box was a skeleton, so small that the perfect curve of its skull could easily be held in the palm of a hand. Its bones were bare, gleaming a soft ivory in the garish overhead light, its sockets were closed—no, her sockets, from the revealing arch of her pelvis. A female, a girl, a child, sleeping naked and alone in a dank room in a hidden, underground lab.

Edge’s gaze drifted over her, absorbing every detail, from the tiniest fingerbones and their delicate joints to the breadth of her small feet. His gaze caught on her lowest rib and held there, frozen. There, engraved on her tiny, fragile bone, was a number, fresh and chalky-white, particles of dust still clinging to it. Unthinkingly, Edge reached out to touch it with a shaking fingertip, his glove whispering across the bone, and he could nearly hear her screams of pain as an indifferent scientist carved their mark into her, as if she was nothing more than another piece of equipment, something new to break.

She stirred, her tiny face scrunching and her little legs drawing up as she mewled a protest, perhaps against his touch on the still-raw wound or perhaps against her callous nakedness, considering that there was a blanket carelessly tossed over the side of the box.

Edge picked up the blanket and something fell out of it as he did, landing at his feet. He bent over to retrieve it, saw what it was. A dingy little gown, thin from repeated washings, one that had surely been used before years ago,

(please let it be years ago)

The numbness in his soul was fading and what it left behind was something else entirely. Edge gritted his teeth hard enough to taste dust and gingerly slipped the gown on the baby, covering her bareness. Then he cautiously wrapped her in the blanket, swaddling her tightly, and gently settling her, still asleep, into the curve of his arm.

Behind him, Red shifted uncomfortably, his shoes squeaking on the tile floor. “boss? what are you do—?”

He broke off on a shout, jumping back as the first attack swept through the room. Heavy glass shattered, as loud as a gunshot, a flood of foul liquid gushing from the broken tubes even as Edge summoned another attack, another, equipment sparking and shrieking beneath the onslaught of jagged, blood-red bones.

“what the fuck are you doing!?" Red screamed, but Edge wasn’t listening. He couldn’t, all he could hear was the child screaming in his head as a number was carved into her, scarring her permanently, marking her as not her own.

‘S-3’

In one corner, a curl of rising smoke turned into a flame, yellow tongues licking at the trash surrounding them greedily. Smoke was filling the room, alarms beginning to blare as Edge turned on his heel and walked out.

“boss,” Red moaned out, nearly jogging to keep up with Edge’s long-legged stride. “you’ve lost your everfucking mind.” But his mouth began to curl, a savage grin spreading across his face as he summoned his own attack, bones flying through the air and there was nothing but broken glass, the alarms, and the steadily growing fire.

"we're gonna fucking die," Red grumbled as they made their way through the long hallways. But he followed along, wreaking his own destruction along the way.

~~*~~

“…and then we came here,” Edge finished. He didn’t look at Stretch, not at all sure what he would see in his face. Disgust, perhaps, for his lack of control, or horror that he very nearly led that world right here to the Swap brother’s doorstep. Better to look at the child, who was sleeping soundly in her little pillow nest. None of this was her fault, least of all her own creation, but it was all because of her, nonetheless.

What came from Stretch was a question so far from his expectations that at first, Edge couldn’t quite comprehend it. “so what’s her name?”

Edge’s head jerked up and he could only look at him blankly. He didn’t even realize his mouth was open until Stretch reached over and gently closed it with a nudge to his chin. He didn’t pull away, only looked at the baby out of the corner of his socket, her rounded little face relaxed in sleep and her small hands closed in lax fists. Nothing like a name came to him, she was only the child, a baby, how could he possibly…?

Perhaps his growing agitation showed on his face. The knuckle on his chin turned into a light touch on his cheekbone, drawing his gaze back to Stretch. “don’t worry,” Stretch said lightly, “there’s no rush on that. we’ll put our heads together and think of something.”

“She's my responsibility,” Edge blurted thoughtlessly, “This was my choice.” He winced even as he said it; it was true, but it wasn’t what he meant, he didn’t know how to say what he meant. This was his responsibility, his burden, but to call an innocent child a burden aloud was too repugnant to consider.

Stretch only nodded. "yep, she’s all yours, no one is taking her away.” Those simple words eased some of the agitation rising inside Edge, even as Stretch tilted his head to the side, offering him a lopsided smile, “that doesn't mean you have to slap away any helping hands, edgelord.”

“I…yes. You're right,” Edge exhaled shakily, reminding himself that he already owed Stretch a great deal, with more debt to come. “Thank you.”

“you don’t need to thank me for this. in fact, i really wish you wouldn’t,” Stretch climbed to his feet with a groan, pressing both hands into the small of his back as he lived up to his namesake, his joints letting out a satisfying series of pops. “c’mon, you should lay down. get some sleep, you look like hammered shit.”

Edge couldn’t help a faint chuckle. “Flatterer.”

“sexy hammered shit,” Stretch amended. “Come on.”

To Edge’s surprise, Stretch gently scooped up the sleeping baby, who never stirred, only snuggled into his arms as Stretch made his way upstairs to his bedroom. It was suspiciously clean; before all this Edge had been planning on visiting tonight and he could only look at the crisp, clean sheets with a sort of exhausted wistfulness that they would not be used as intended.

Stretch didn’t seem bothered to see his hard work go to waste. He flipped back the top blanket and settled the baby on the mattress, close to the wall. “hop in, edgelord, naptime.”

Realization that Stretch intended him to sleep with the child came slowly, and when it did, Edge took half a step back, balking, “What if I roll over on her? I could hurt her!”

Stretch snorted and shook his head. “you? don’t think so. me, maybe, but i so much as wiggle my big toe when we sleep together and you snap to attention. you’ll be fine, we’ll figure something else out later. c’mon, big guy, strip,” Stretch said teasingly, sweeping a hand across the sheets, “time for bed.”

“Don’t talk like that in front of the baby,” Edge grumbled, but he hesitantly obeyed, kicking off his boots and stripping down to his trousers. He left those on, it felt strange to sleep naked in someone else’s bed when they weren’t in it. His glare begged for Stretch to comment but he said nothing, only helped tuck the blankets around them as Edge settled in, being sure to keep a wary safe distance from the sleeping child before closing his own weary sockets.

“sleep well,” Stretch said, softly, and there was a soft brush across Edge’s forehead, like the shadow of a kiss. Soft footsteps made their way across the carpet, but Edge didn’t hear them. Despite his fears, he was asleep before Stretch even made it to the door.

tbc

[nightstalkerhunterguardian]

Tragedy

I keep coming up with in-between scenarios while writing other shit so I mean. 

Here’s another one. 

TW: descriptions of gore

Songs listened to: Panic Room by Au/Ra

Bottom of the River by Delta Rae

Go fuck yourself by Two Feet

-

The idea that they’d one day have to return to the surface of the moon only crossed Kano’s head in a hypothetical sense. She thought she had let go of what happened. Let go of the memory of Crota, of Oryx, of the Dreadnaught, of the bodies of Awoken floating out in the vacuum of space. 

PTSD was common among veteran Guardians, but few seldom talked out about it. It was almost like it all wordlessly bonded them in a sense and they had hoped that what they did on the moon would save the newer generation of Guardians the mind-numbing trauma of what had happened so long ago. 

They were wrong. 

-

She shut down once they entered the moon’s atmosphere. KillShot knew. He could tell by the way her eyes dulled. She had gotten good at shutting down in her years as a Guardian and as necessary as he knew it was, he hated it so damn badly because it took so much after the fact to tell her that she was still a person, that she still was more than a weapon or a soldier, that she was something and someone that mattered. 

She never believed it. 

She wasn’t brought back because she was special or she was unique or any other optimistic reason that Killshot tried to convincer her of. 

Her existence was a tool to ward off tragedy. 

Ironic is how she saw it. 

How was one tragedy supposed to fight off another?

The tag that Drifter had wound in her hair brushed gently against her jawline, along with the small jade charm that hung at the end of the tassel. Whether she was a joke to him or he was trying to make a point, she never bothered to ask but for some reason, she couldn't find it in her to take it out, no matter how many times she cut her hair. The tag remained. 

Landing on the moon and transmatting to the surface made her stomach lurch and she wanted to throw up in her helmet but she held it down and made her way through the base, Thorn in her hand. 

She had received an earful from numerous people over the gun she now kept at her side, but she refused to listen to any of it. It did it’s job and so did she. 

They were red. Covered in thorns and filled with something far deeper than rage or pure animalistic instinct. It seemed almost symbolic. Religious. 

It didn’t matter to her. 

Thorns jutted viciously up each hive body she dropped and she walked by each corpse as if something corrupted didn't follow her with each shot. Like she herself wasn’t becoming something vicious while wrapped in her own cocoon of pain and loneliness and fading sanity. 

Times like this, she really wished the man with the golden gun would've taken the shot at her when he had the chance. But maybe he knew she’d become this. He had to of.

The path she traveled the farther she went slowly became emptier as she passed through a haze and into a cleared path, overlooked by a cliff. 

A cliff with something looking at her atop it. 

A sharp pang of something hit her hard in her stomach before crawling into her chest, making her gasp for air and tears blur her vision. Killshot quickly makes his way to her side, scanning her over to check her. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, panicked, despite how something feels wrong to him too. 

Her line of sight goes back up to the cliff above, looking at the figures floating ominously, hovering as if they were watching them. 

It felt like an overwhelming amount of panic and sadness and distress was spreading through her chest cavity, crushing her lungs and threatening to break her ribs just to escape and she clawed at the ground below to try to get a hold of herself. 

Her legs were shaky by the time she was able to pull herself up from her knees and continue along the steep path, the looming figures still watching them. 

The sudden wave of scarlet hive that appeared didn't surprise her, each bullet and grenade hitting its mark and clearing the area as they approached the hazy red aura at the edge of the cliff. 

Memories quickly flashed behind her eyes when she reached her hand out to touch it and suddenly, she realized it wasn’t a memory. 

It was real. 

A nightmare that was supposed to remain in the past. 

It was here. 

-

The rapid haze of black and white and green that obscured her vision soon spat her out in a giant scarlet room, large barbs and broken stone surrounding them.

“Eris Morn...” she murmured, slowly approaching.

If there was anyone in the ‘verse that she felt an unspoken relation to, it was Eris. The primary difference between them, however, was Eris’s will to live. Her continuous fight to survive in spite of her tragedy.

Kano was ready to let it kill and consume her.

Maybe that’s why Eris was willing to share the memories of her fallen friends. To show that it was possible to overcome. Accept. That there was something to live for in the smoldering ashes of tragedy and pain.

It was...revealing to say the least and Kano couldn’t imagine how it felt for Eris to admit to the ache in her being while nightmares of her comrades loomed over her shoulder but she also noticed how she would stand a little straighter each time she remembered them. Their quirks and personalities. She hunched less as if the box she had been closed into was slowly expanding and she could stretch more and more.

Kano was proud of her. There was no denying that. She remembered when she first met her in the old tower, how she stayed crowded in a corner beside the staircase and muttered often of the growing threat of the taken and hive. The eerie green glow that emanated from where her eyes should’ve been was captivating in a way Kano couldn’t describe but she also didn’t seem to be very fond of company, so she kept her distance.

The talk that ensued between her, Eris, and Ikora had another type of whisper creeping into her head but she ignored it, at least for now.

She knew it would come back.

-

The chiming of metal was slow. Periodic. It followed a slow but sickening rhythm that only ever made anyone within earshot uncomfortable.

Only KillShot could hear it, though.

Had he any other choice, he’d simply leave, fade away in shimmering blue and white vapor. But there was a problem.

His Guardian was hanging from those same chains.

The twisted lengths the Hive would go to to experiment and make examples of Guardians was, in short, disgusting and to see that same hostility and viciousness taken out on his Guardian made it worse.

Kano’s body had stopped swinging by now, the chains having settled finally in the silence of the dim green halls. He could rez her but it wouldn’t do any good. The hooks they had used to hang her form from the ceiling needed to be removed or else she’d simply come back in the same excruciating pain she suffered before succumbing to the torture.

A hook was driven through the palms of each of her hands, spreading her arms out wide to her sides. A much larger hook had been driven through her back and was jutting from her chest, supporting most of her weight and keeping her body suspended in what could only be described as a sadistic mockery of a crucifixion.

It made KillShot want to be sick in ways he didn’t have a body for.

He tried to cut through the chains as best he could, managing to free one arm with a strong enough beam of laser light before moving onto the next, listening out for approaching Hive through the halls.

The clanking of the metal was loud against her limp form but it was overtaken by the sound of Knight footsteps thumping against the floor and crushing old bone beneath its approaching feet. KillShot quickly hid in Kano’s hood, nestling into her black hair.

It approaches, dragging its sword with it. A metal screech. A warped growl. And slowly, the footsteps leave. He peeks from the curtain of black hair he’s hidden in and emerges once the threat is gone, doing his best to cut through the large chain until finally, the chain breaks and his Guardian falls down into the pile of bone below, the crunch following indecipherable between her bones or the ones her body falls atop.

He won’t deny being panicked. Scared. They’re alone in the dark below the moon’s surface. They have no team. But he settles himself and broadcasts out a message as far as the suffocating Hive around them will allow it to travel.

“If anybody can hear this message, my Guardian is down. We are in need of assistance. Please, if you can lock onto my signal, we are in need of help. There are potential threats lingering and my Guardian is down.”

He sends the signal out and waits, staying hidden alongside his Guardian’s body.

Time passes and fear begins to set in. He needs to rez her but the hooks remain. Her helmet stays on but he can see the splatter of blood on the inside from when she had been choking on it.

Gunfire sounds off down the hall. It’s not loud and thundering like Hive boomers. It’s quick, cracking, and from the shrieks sounding after each shot, it’s hitting its targets. Rapid taps follow. Running.

Is that...? Did somebody catch his signal?

Red.

He sees red. But it’s not threatening and he realizes who it is. He rises from his spot and greets the Guardian who meets him, head turning to the body.

“Attack! I-I...” KillShot gathers himself for a second. “I can’t get the hooks out. I can’t rez her like this or she’ll just die again and-“ but the Guardian holds his hand up and nods, holstering his gun.

“It’s okay. I’m here to help”. He simply nods and glides aside, letting him approach her body as he takes her hand and begins working the jagged metal from the flesh. The squelching and popping makes him shudder but he allows Attack to pull the metal away and toss it aside before working on the other hand.

“You’re okay, buddy”, Attack says and the small ghost turns to him. “It’s gonna be okay. Luckily, worm rot hasn’t made it to her”. The reassurance sounds grim but it still works. Another clatter and he pulls the body up by the shoulders, surveying the damage before propping her up and crouching behind her.

“I’m gonna have to pull the hook through”, he sighs. “I can cut off the back and just pull out that half though”. He pulls out his knife and it glows with solar light that manages to cut through the metal quickly. He sheathes the blade and grabs the end jutting from her chest. Her back is leaned against his chest and he pulls her towards him while pushing against the hook and after a moment of stomach turning slick and sticky sounding shuffling, the hook finally clatters against the bone and floor.

KillShot is already scanning over her body and a shutter rattles through her chest before she jolts up, gasping.

“Welcome back, kid”, he says, clapping a hand against her shoulder. “You got put through the fuckin’ wringer by the looks of it”.

Her breathing is heavy and her hands clench in the remains beneath.

“When did you get here?” She asks, ignoring the comment. He nods his head to KillShot.

“Your friend sent out an SOS and I managed to catch it”.

She swallows and the taste of blood is still thick in her mouth.

She’s frustrated and it’s clear to see. The torture she’d been subjected to was agonizing to say the least and she stood from her spot, kicking the hook down the hall, making it bounce off the floor.

Attack says nothing and simply watches her pull Thorn from her hip in a grip that makes her gloves squeak under her hold.

Between the whispers in her head, the looming shadows hovering above, and the nightmares resurfacing, she was breaking.

She screamed. At nothing, at nobody. Just screamed.

-

In front of her, she can see Eris flinch away from her nightmares. She’s seated on the top of the small building across from her, cigarette hanging from her lips. She doesn’t know that her cigarette is halfway burnt up, the ash never falling while the smoke swirls over her head.

She doesn’t flinch away or even look when a familiar form seats itself beside her. All she does is hold her lit lighter to him for a moment. A puff of smoke makes her pocket the lighter and she otherwise remains still, gaze fixed on nothing until a small veil of light washes over her eyes and she looks up at the now unblurry form of Eris, flinching away from the remaining shadows that loom beside her.

She can feel the tag in her hair move as Attack takes a look at the writing on it before grasping the charm that hangs from the tassel at the end. It’s a snake. Of course it is. There’s no surprise in the carving itself but the detail and time put into it is something to take a moment to gander at. Each scale is clear and smooth and the way it coils around itself is mesmerizing for such a small object.

“...Tragedy”, she mumbles. Attack glances at her as the ash of her cigarette finally falls to dust on her thigh. “...it says tragedy”.

“That so?” He asks. She simply nods and the tag swings below her jaw when he lets it go. “Not one to make assumptions but the snake on it kinda hints at who gave you that”. Another nod confirms his guess.

“...don’t really enjoy giving credit to a man that reads people like cheap books but I suppose he makes his points when needed”, she says, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “More so when he’s right”.

He’d like to make a quip. A snippy remark, a sarcastic jab. Anything to lighten the mood but there isn’t much to work with at the moment, so he settles for taking another drag of his cigarette.

“...We never should’ve come here”.

There’s truth in what she says. Human nature demands that curiosity be sated at the cost of what may become of it. She knows it, he knows it, but it’s too late for knowing. The damage was done too long ago for regrets to form. The slump in her shoulders says she’s already carrying the weight of too many, some she can’t even recall in a life she isn’t privy to.

The butt of her cigarette is flicked away and her hand comes up to rub against her chest with a frown etched into her face. The convenience of remembering each death she had endured yet not being able to remember her final death from before seemed more and more fucked up everytime she died. And as she said before.

Human curiosity demands to be sated.

The way her fist clenches against her chest plate doesn’t go unnoticed and Attack sighs and rests a comforting hand atop her head of unruly black hair that had been pulled into a messy top knot, her shaved sides visible.

“You’re allowed to be hurt, ya know?” He finally says. It catches her off guard but she doesn’t show it. “You’re allowed to feel hurt and angry and sad. Just...just try not to stay there too long or else getting outs gonna be harder”. She scoffs but allows his hand to remain.

“I wouldn’t have a purpose if I did...”

-

We in them sad boi hours my dudes ✌🏼😎

As usual, Attack is @guardian-headcanons and Kano is mine.

Shit has been ✨r o u g h✨

[paisley-print]

CHAPTER THREE: THE STARVED

CHAPTER ONE: THE HUNTER / CHAPTER TWO: THE HUNTED

Synopsis: Their feelings of resentment only grow after they take lodging in a pub. The two of them struggle to find common ground. 

Note: Ya’ll ain’t gonna like Ino in this....maybe Din too. I think there needs to be friction before they start to come around to one another. 

- 

“You’re bleeding” Din’s voice was full of concern as he reached over to brush the hair from her face.

Ino moved away instinctively….. though she wished she hadn’t. He pulled his hand back immediately; the gears turning in his mind.

-

They spent much of the day walking in silence. As much as she tried, Ino could not keep her thoughts from wandering.

She replayed the encounter repeatedly in her mind. Each time getting high off of the adrenaline, the memory still provided. She could still feel the way his hand took hold of hers. Strong, warm, probably smooth from being protected by leather all day. She shivered at the thought of his arm wrapped around her too. What she wouldn’t give to be held by him again. To have his unexposed hands roaming her bare skin. Warm, curious fingers feeling every inch of her-

“How’s your head?” The Mandalorian asked after what seemed to be an eternity of silence.

She needed to stop this- she needed to focus. Her lust for him was not based out of reason, but rather out of need. They had denied her touch for so long she was unaware that she was starving. Now, with even the smallest taste, her body would not stop demanding more. Perhaps she could make him do it one more time, provoke him to- no. It was thoughts like these that we’re going to lead to her demise. She was too smart to fall victim to such base desires when more pressing matters were at play. 

“Yes” she responded, then suddenly realized what he had asked her. “It’s fine, thank you. A scratch.”

He stopped in front of her and tilted his head a little. Ino knitted her brows at him, then glanced to the side awkwardly. God, that silence made her uncomfortable…. “So are we just going to stand here?-”

“I wasn’t supposed to touch you,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I wasn’t supposed to touch you” he repeated.

He almost sounded…. upset? With who? Himself? Perhaps he likened that order to whatever custom bound him to his suit.

Ino gave a polite half smile. She was terrible at navigating situations of high emotion; any display of it just embarrassed her. “Yes, well, I won’t tell.”

He paused for a moment, “I’m sorry if-” 

She started walking away from him before he had even finished speaking. The light of the village acted as her guide. “Hurry along” she spoke to him as if he had been one of her droid servants back home. After a moment, it was clear that he was not about to follow her. She halted her step. “Unless you rather me stand here until the sun rises while you snivel about your feelings?” 

His silence was enough of a response for her. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

Din trailed a little ways behind as she pushed forward.

-

The village was a common waypoint for many traveling between the two largest cities of Atlas. Although it was small, it was bustling with people. Strings of lanterns hung from buildings and cast the street in a warm amber glow. The villagers didn’t notice them at first, but soon enough there were dozens of people staring slack jawed at the pair. Atlas’s lost princess escorted by a Mandalorian. It was a story not soon believed by anyone unable to bear witness to it. Ino held her head high and stepped lightly on her feet as she passed by; all the while her stomach was tied in a tight knot. 

Acquiring lodging was not hard. The owner of the inn was happy to give them the largest suite they had……. Ino was starting to realize how the Mandalorian found her so easily. She would definitely need to change her appearance next time she fled. As soon as Ino was inside, she walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind her.

A plan needed to be made… the wind blew the smell of the pub next door into the window. Suddenly the room was filled with the comforting aroma of vegetables swimming in butter and meat roasting over charcoal. Holy hell, she was hungry.

Ino cringed as the door creaked open. Carefully, she peaked out into the little sitting area they had. The Mandalorian was sitting on the couch, arms folded, seemingly staring straight ahead….. although it was more likely he was just resting his eyes beneath the helmet. Ugh, so unnerving, she thought bitterly.

She slipped through the cracked door and was about to leave when a voice came from behind her.

“Where are you going?”

“To the pub- to get food. Would you like me to pick up some oil for you to drink?”

“I’m not a droid. ”

Ino suppressed a smile. “Pardon me- easy mistake.”

He stood from the couch. “Have the innkeeper send someone for you.”

She kept her hand on the handle of the door. “They are not my servants, therefore I will not bother them with such silly tasks.” She pulled the door forward at the same time Din’s hand shot out and stopped it.

Ino whipped around to face him, features twisted in anger. “And what? You’re going to zap me with that little stick of yours? You forget that I have power over you now. Balthar will kill you if he finds out you put your hands on his bride.”

The Mandalorian was as unwavering as stone. This made her even more irate. She looked him square in the face, her voice dripping with venom as she spoke. “I have spent all day taking orders from you. And I am sick of it. You do not deserve to be near me. Most do not get within a hundred yards of me without dropping to their knees and worshiping the very ground I walk on. Yet you come along, a dirty drifter from some backwater planet, and have the audacity to force me into submission. You don’t have any power here- so start showing me some respect. You can start by taking this off while you're in my presence-” she lunged forward and attempted to lift his helmet. 

Two hands found their way to her arms and yanked them down. He swiped at her legs with his foot and brought up against the wall. His one hand kept both wrists pinned behind her back.

“I’ll take my chances” he said smugly 

She struggled against his hold on her and screamed as loud as she could. She was yanked backwards from the wall while his free hand came up to cover her mouth. She used this to her advantage, taking one of his fingers in her mouth and biting down as hard as she could. As soon as she felt his grip loosen, she darted towards the door. She had not made it ten feet before feeling a sharp tug on her hair. Fingers curled in a fist around the base of her scalp and locked on to a sizable chunk of her gold locks. She screamed again and flailed her arms in an awkward attempt to land a punch. It did not work. He made her follow alongside him- her feet doing a weird side step over one another while she struggled to match his long strides.

The door to their suite was slammed closed with such a force it knocked the painting from its nail on the wall. Glass shattered and dispersed along the hardwood. A part of her reveled in the fact that he was angry - it had meant that she had hit her mark. This was short-lived, however, when she realized where he was taking her. He had pulled her into the bedroom and swung open the closet door. In one swift motion, he had let go of her hair and used one hand to push her forward- sending her stumbling into the tiny dark space. The door was shut before she could even make it to her feet.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

She pulled herself up and banged on the door as hard as she could. It didn’t move at all. He must have used something to prop it closed from the outside. She let out a frustrated cry and continued to throw blows at the door until she was out of breath. Not a single sound could be heard from the bedroom. Was he even there?

Ino decided to plead with him anyway, he was capable of feeling. He had just proved that to her. If only she could gain his sympathy…. there might be hope for her yet.

“I’m-” she sighed “If the stories that they told me as a child are true, then I believe you are a good man. Balthar is a tyrant who raped and murdered my sister for not giving him an heir. I will endure the same fate if you deliver me to him. You are the one who forced me out of hiding. You are the one who caused me to fight.”

She took a seat on the floor.

“This planet had been under the rule of my ancestors for generations. Balthar’s father and a group of noblemen took arms against us. Their army of mercenaries used our people as their weapon. Entire villages were leveled overnight- reduced to smoldering piles of scorched soil. Thousands of innocent lives taken in his unceasing pursuit of control. The king, my grandfather, yielded to him in order to save lives.  Upon abdication my family was forced into servitude where we remained as slaves….. spoils of a war we never attempted to fight.”

 She let her head fall back against the wall and shut her eyes. Their long day’s journey had hit her all at once. “We would have stayed that way if it wasn’t for Balthar. As soon as he came to power, he was pressured to produce an heir. He tried many a time but could not - cursed, some say. The people of Atlas believe that only royal blood can produce heirs, so he took my sister. He used her - beat her, the letters she wrote to my mother……”

Ino felt as though she could cry, but the tears would not form. 

“After a few years of trying, it was decided that the reason my sister was unable to have a child was because of her ‘impurity’. Another man had touched her before her marriage and because of that the gods branded her infertile. I was born out of desperation - both from my father’s hope of regaining his land and Balthar’s need to have a son. Balthar feared his next bride would also end up corrupted, so he took extreme measures to guard my purity. They ripped me from my mother’s womb and placed me in chambers where I stayed locked and guarded my entire life. Save for festivals when they paraded me around and displayed me like a trophy for the capital. All my life I have been raised by droids - they fed me, washed me, clothed me. I-”

No, she couldn’t say that, she couldn’t make herself that vulnerable to him. She assumed he must know that he had been the first person to touch her in many years. To say it would seem distasteful. 

“I will be wed to Balthar upon my return to the palace…… Please, I am not looking for anything more than for you to release me.” 

She paused. The open window in the bedroom allowed the noise from outside to drift in. Somebody was singing in the street.

“I am not sure what he is holding over your head but I can promise you whatever it is I can do my best to help.”

Why was she even trying, nobody was listening? 

Slowly, she surrendered herself to sleep. Lulled there by the melody floating up from the street below.

[petersmparker]

Luck (Peter Parker x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Out of all the things you could have guessed might happen at Flash’s party, this wasn’t one of them.

Word Count: 3749

A/N: hey uhhhhhhh did I mention that I’m a fucking sucker for Peter and Flash becoming weird vaguely confusing bros by the time senior year rolls around bc i am. anyway have fun with this Almost Spicy fic cause ya bitch was in the mood to write character interactions and General Nonsense

You had told Peter that something was going to happen at the party. No matter what you did, you couldn’t talk yourself out of the feeling that something– though you didn’t know what– would occur. Things never really go the way you’d expect when you’re with Peter, after all. Surprises follow him wherever he goes, as you’ve learned these past few years, and to attempt to expect any one outcome is silly.

To be honest, you’ve never really truly gotten used to that.

It’s just beginning to become dark and chilly outside when Peter’s old beater pulls up to the curb outside Flash Thompson’s house. Colored lights flash through the windows and the sound of music blares out the open front door. When you climb out of the passenger seat, Flash’s voice calls through the speakers, riling up the party crowd.

“This is giving me a bad feeling,” you sigh, somewhat nervously, as you adjust your skirt and tug the front of your blouse down a bit.

Figures you’ve worn the one that inches up over your chest weird. Damn it. You should just go home.

The door to the back seat slams shut, the hinges squeaking in protest. “Come on, Ned, you’re gonna take the door off,” Peter scolds lightly, making his way around to stand next to you, “This thing’s older than you.”

“Sorry, car,” Ned says quickly, before throwing his arm around your shoulders, “Anyway, you say that every time. I think it’ll be fun.”

“I guess,” you submit, and deliver a pat to his back, “I know Flash has really toned the attitude down since sophomore year, but I’ll never get used to showing up to these things.”

Ned drops his arm and starts heading up the walkway. Again, Flash’s voice rings out with a Make some noise, Midtown Tech!, followed by a blaring air horn. You stifle a laugh. The sound effect has always been hilarious and always will be. Of all his DJ-ing habits, it’s the only one you’ve never completely hated. It eases some of your tension.

Objectively, you know it’ll be fine. You, Peter, and Ned have gone to these before and enjoyed yourselves. It’s really just a matter of finding a nice spot with low traffic and a good line of sight for the spectacle. Maybe a bowl of chex mix. You’re simple folks.

But even so, you’ve got the feeling that something is going to happen tonight. You can’t tell if it’ll be good or bad. The anticipation is uncomfortable. You adjust you shirt again.

God damn it.

You catch Peter’s line of sight following your hands as you attempt to casually yank your shirt back into place by the hem that’s supposed to be just below your chest. It’s a bit awkward. You catch his eye, and he blushes, looking apologetic. You don’t blame him, because you know you look silly. Calling him out on it seems equally silly because of it.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders without mentioning the exchange.

“Let’s go before we lose Ned,” he suggests, and leads you down the pathway to the porch.

Your friend has already made it inside. There is a group of people gathered in the entryway, looking up the stairway. You can see a dude from the soccer team crammed inside a plastic bin on the top step.

“They’re gonna push him down, I think,” Ned supplies, somewhat needlessly, when Peter taps his shoulder to let him know you’ve caught up.

“Boy, I hope,” you respond, “I don’t need to be a witness, though.”

“Onward then,” says Peter, amusedly.

As you move on into the large living room, a series of bangs and hollering comes from behind.

“Nice,” Ned says, appreciatively, as he continues to watch while walking away.

Flash has set up his equipment across the room on a raised platform in front of the fireplace. Like every other time you see it, you wonder what the actual purpose of that landing is, besides being a stage for Flash’s moderately sick beats to be thrown six times a year. He’s bent over a set of turntables, one hand holding his headphones in place as he rocks in place. After a moment, he looks up to address the crowd.

He sees that your group has arrived, and it’s not hard to guess what’s coming.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” He shouts, slamming the air horn button a few times, and adding a booing sound effect for good measure.

Peter smiles and waves good-naturedly. The old jokes don’t quite have the effect that they used to, nor are they intended to. Flash waves back and looks down to his table again. He announces that the next tune is for the new arrivals, and transitions into an obnoxious, yet highly amusing and catchy song that had been frequented by the academic team as of late.

So far, so good.

With no small amount of luck, you discover a loveseat and an armchair that are free from partygoers and are quick to snatch them up for yourselves. Ned throws himself into the chair and you take it upon yourself to sprawl across the sofa. Peter ducks into the crowd and toward the direction of the kitchen in order to secure snacks to hold the group over.

The likelihood that you’ll leave this spot is minimal, aside from maybe a dance or two once goaded into it by a jeering crowd, spurned on by the host. The three of you enjoy parties best when approaching them more casually.

Peter reappears several minutes later with two bowls of salty snacks and three drinks balanced in his arms. Unexpectedly, he also brings with him another person. MJ follows closely behind, allowing him to do the work of pushing through the dancers, and greets you and Ned.

“I found her searching the kitchen cabinets,” Peter explains, arranging the snacks on the coffee table and taking his designated spot to your left.

“That’s not weird at all,” Ned responds, taking a drink from his red plastic cup.

Michelle shifts the contents of the table so that she can sit on it. “I’ll keep these oreos to myself then, Ned.”

“I think you’re perfectly valid,” you grin, and are awarded with a cookie, “Everyone knows that the good shit doesn’t get offered until the after party.”

It’s still innately bizarre that you’ve even attended these after parties, even a year after you’ve entered this perpetually weird snarky-friendship circle with Flash, but that’s beside the point.

“If anyone asks, we didn’t take them,” she asserts.

Peter laughs and takes a handful of chex mix from the nearest bowl. “You can’t coerce me into dishonesty,” he says.

As he speaks, he selects a rye chip from his bounty and holds it in front of your face. You eat it immediately, without question. He loves the rye chips, but knows that they’re your favorite.

“Yeah she can,” echoes all three of you, and Peter shoots you a playful look of betrayal.

With the addition of MJ, it’s decently easy to drift through conversations despite being in the center of a rowdy and distracting house. Drifters join the conversation for short periods of time before being dragged back to the main excitement. Even Flash, taking a break from his DJ-ing, stops by.

“Those are for the after party,” he says, sounding entirely unsurprised as he points to the pack of oreos in Michelle’s lap.

She squints back at him. “What is?”

“Alright, cool, I hate you all,” he responds, sounding way too chill for such a statement.

He claps his palm against Peter’s in a friendly gesture before walking off.

“See you there!” Ned calls to his back.

Flash has already disappeared into the crowd, but his middle finger appears above everyone’s heads.

“Still weird,” you feel compelled to point out.

“Yep,” Peter agrees, throwing his arm back around your shoulders, “Still weird. Do you think he’d be like this if he didn’t know I was Spider-Man?”

“Absolutely fucking not. Not at all,” Michelle says without a second of thought.

She’s probably right.

Of course, Ned hadn’t been bluffing about going to the after party. Technically it’s an attend-with-invitation type of thing, but it’s a bit of an uncommunicated agreement that your group is invited nowadays. The bulk of the party filters out as it gets late, leaving much of the academic team and a smattering of other friends of Flash.

You figure that you know what to expect. A continuation of what your group does during the actual party, except now all the attendees are gathered in a loose circle to participate in the conversation. Maybe a card-based party game; normally an inappropriate one. The usual.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before the usual was disrupted.

When Peter is around, that’s bound to happen. He’s a beacon of off-luck. Not bad per se, but not what you’re planning for. After no more than thirty minutes of the comfortable environment you’re so used to, Flash offers to break out a game.

“Not again,” groans a girl whose name you haven’t learned despite having seen her at around three of these events, “We do that every time.”

“What else would we do?” Flash demands around a mouthful of chips, looking a bit offended, since he loves the usual game.

“We’re practically graduating,” says another girl, who is looking around the room like some kind of predatory bird.

Her gaze lands on Peter. You realize very suddenly how much you don’t like that. Without thinking, you shift closer to him. He doesn’t notice, but her eyes sharpen. It’s with a supremely uncomfortable feeling in your stomach that you realize that you’re acting possessive. It’s not like you’re dating, really.

“When are we gonna play something more mature?” She questions, moving her sight away. “Seven minutes.”

MJ scoffs. “I’m pretty sure that anyone who thinks seven minutes in heaven is mature is inherently immature.”

“Yeah, alright, fine. Who’s in?” Flash says, as casually as if she’d suggested a game of Monopoly.

Aside from you and your group, everyone else seems to be willing. And here, you were starting to think that there was the slightest amount of normalcy in your inclusion here. You wonder what in god’s name they’re thinking. Who the hell wants to be shoved into a closet and forced to feel up a friend?

“I’m out,” MJ declares, looking unapologetic, “Wouldn’t exactly say I’m suited to this game.”

Flash shoots her a finger gun. “Support your local ace,” he says, which you assume is supposed to be nice, “You’re in charge of the timer.”

“Whatever,” she responds, and exits the circle to sit off to the side, taking a bowl of chips with her.

You shift in your seat, about to join her, when an empty bottle is tossed into your lap. “You start,” says the girl who’d suggested the game.

She’s expecting you to chicken out, you realize. It’s beyond childish, but the idea of it makes you angry. It makes you want to play, just to spite her. You wonder at what point she decided to pursue your best friend, and at what point someone pursuing your best friend became an issue for you.

Who are you kidding?

You glance at Ned, who looks awkward, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving unless you and Peter do. And Peter– well, his expression is unreadable. There’s a flash of something in his eyes when you meet them, but you don’t want to consider it. Too much is going on in your head already.

With maybe a little too much force, you slap the bottle down on the table and spin it. It turns for an eternity, approximately, before it begins to slow. You couldn’t physically feel any more uncomfortable, you think, when it eventually slows to a stop. It’s pointing at Flash.

He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. “Hold on,” he says, throwing up his hands, “I don’t like that.”

“Thanks,” you say sarcastically, despite your wholehearted agreement.

“Respin,” he demands, pushing the bottle away.

“Coward!” Exclaims MJ.

You make a mental note to have a conversation with her about timing and context, because it seems her sense of both need work. To much jeering from several members of the group, Flash insists on a respin anyway. He does, however, agree to just suck it up and sit in the closet quietly for seven minutes with the next person he doesn’t want to kiss. It’s a dodged bullet, but now you’ve got to go again. As if the anxiety of the first time wasn’t enough.

Chest tightening, you spin it again, just as hard. The room watches excitedly, but you’re feeling nothing but dread. Regret has hit you already. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in this. It wasn’t your business if some girl wanted to kiss Peter in some cramped, dusty closet.

You’re so busy berating yourself for acting ridiculous that you almost fail to recognize the verdict that befalls you. The room erupts in hollering before it even fully stops spinning. Peter tenses next to you.

It’s pointing at him.

“Closet!” Flash exclaims over the excitement of the group, arm thrown out in the direction on a door in the hallway, “Let’s go! Come on!”

“You can’t come, Flash, you said you didn’t want to kiss her,” Peter quips, but his voice has taken on that tone that you know for a fact is a bluff.

He’s not nearly as calm as he’s trying to sound.

Flash’s hand comes down hard against Peter’s ass when he attempts to scoot by. Peter yelps, looking scandalized. Flash ushers him forward. “Watch it, Parker! You know what I meant. Get in there!”

Heart and mind racing, you lift yourself out of your seat. The girl who’d started this mess gives you a venomous look. You can’t bring yourself to deal anything back to her.

What have you done?

Peter and Flash are already at the closet when you finally shuffle your way over. MJ is just behind you, looking only vaguely apologetic. She knows you got yourself into this. Her phone is ready with a seven minute countdown. There’s shuffling in the living room as everyone begins to make their way excitedly toward the spot where your life will momentarily end. Vultures.

Flash steps into the closet and snatches a little key off a small hook just inside the door. When he exits, he pushes Peter’s shoulder and sends him stumbling inside. He’s polite enough not to attempt to shove you. It would be a lot easier to get on with this if he did, though.

“Lights on, lights off, I don’t care,” he says as you step in. “Don’t make a mess. This is where we keep the nice coats. Dry cleaning is expensive.”

The door slams in your face before you can protest against his insinuations. There’s the distinct sound of the lock clicking, and Michelle calls through the door that the timer is started.

Peter reaches up to pull the chain that operates the overhead light, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Your back hits the door. “Oh, shit!” Someone says on the other side, and you feel your face heat up even more than it already has.

Peter gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Should have warned you,” he says.

You glance around. To the right are the aforementioned “nice coats” that you very much want to ruin just to spite Flash. Behind Peter are several sets of shelves with various odds and ends. To your left, a waist-high cabinet that contains who-knows-what. You guess it’s not that cramped, or dusty. Whatever.

Peter shifts awkwardly where he stands. Neither of you say anything for what feels like a year, but it’s probably more like a minute. “Don’t forget to breathe,” Flash’s voice drifts through the door, teasingly.

“Mind your business,” you shout back without thinking.

Both the laughter and Peter’s expression alerts you to the fact that that was not the correct thing to say. He chuckles, too. His smile makes your chest hurt, so you look away just as quickly as you had begun. Again, you reach up to adjust your blouse.

He takes your hand. “Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer, bending to catch your eye, “Nothing has to happen. We can just wait it out.”

You can’t help but narrow your eyes at his phrasing. You keep your voice low too, in the hopes that the peanut gallery outside can’t hear. “Has to happen?” You question, “Sounds like there’s the option for something to happen, if I feel like it.”

“Isn’t there?” Peter asks.

Oh.

Oh.

You want to respond so badly. The words can barely even form in your mind, let alone making it all the way to your mouth and out into the world. What response is there to finding out that your best friend, whom you’ve maybe been trying not to fall in love with for a long time now, wants to kiss you if given the opportunity? Is there one?

Yes, you think, finally. There is.

Peter’s still holding your hand. You take advantage of it and pull him forward, your free hand coming up to wrap around the back of his neck. When you pull him to you and press your lips against his, it’s soft. You’re jittery beyond belief, but you’re not rushing this moment. It’s a simple kiss, lasting only a few seconds. You can feel his smile.

When you pull back, you’re greeted with a grin that’s almost familiar. But there’s something different there, something you’re not accustomed to seeing in his expression. He’s still close enough for his breath to be hot against your face.

Peter kisses you again. This time is far more desperate, more excited. His hands come up to either side of your head, angling you to gain better access to your mouth. You’re backed up against the door as he moves in even closer to you. The impact, while minimal, elicits an amused gasp from you.

He takes advantage of your open mouth to introduce tongue. Every part of your body lights on fire. You clutch his shoulder, feeling dizzy, and delight in this new experience. It’s genuinely unfair how good he is at this, considering his lack of practice.

He pulls away just enough to kiss the underside of your jaw, and you jolt in surprise. The door shakes with your movement. Outside, the crowd gets a little rowdier for a moment.

Shit, you mouth, slapping a hand against your forehead. It’s so embarrassing.

Peter is more flushed now then ever, but he continues on, braver than you’ve ever been. Without any warning, he hooks his hands around your thighs and hoists you up onto the cabinet. Incredibly, the movement isn’t nearly as loud as you figure it could have been. His mouth slots back against yours within a fraction of a second.

You feel his hands drift across your waist, not touching skin, but definitely examining the curve of your hips. He presses his body closer, flush with the cabinet, and your legs spread to accommodate him. One hand finds its way into your hair, sending an involuntary twitch down your spine.

The door clicks unlocked.

You freeze. Peter doesn’t. In a millisecond, he’s back to the other side of the closet. By the time the door swings open, he’s managed to cross his arms as if he’d been standing there comfortably the whole time. You can’t bear to look at the people in the doorway, so you stare, hard, at his face instead. The possibility that you might give away what’s just occurred is a bit too much to bear.

Peter’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen, blush spreading down across his neck. He had turned toward the door when it opened, his expression struggling to hold some sense of calm. He had been too caught up in it all to care who was outside while the door was closed, you know, but neither of you really want it to be confirmed in front of god and everyone that he’s thoroughly ravished you in the nice coat closet.

As fast as you can without making eye contact, you look at the intruders, who are still attempting to assess what had occurred moments before. It occurs to you that maybe they hadn’t actually expected any kind of follow-through in this scenario. To be fair, the likelihood had seemed terribly minimal. Even with such a quick glance, you can tell they aren’t sure what did or didn’t happen.

“Who’s next?” Peter offers up, sounding embarrassed and very much like he’d like to move on, but still managing to at least look like he hadn’t been about ten seconds from doing something extra inappropriate.

Your thighs are still spread almost enough for it to be a legitimately horrifying issue. When you risk another look, you see MJ squinting at them. The desire to shut them is strong, but you figure it’d be easier to pass it off as being unladylike if you don’t act like you’re embarrassed by it.

What a nightmare.

“That was quick,” you say in an attempt to end the awkward silence.

Peter reaches his hand out to you. Taking it, you hop down onto the floor. You move toward the door to leave, but the crowd doesn’t disperse to let you through.

“What was the banging on the door?” Questions Flash, staring suspiciously at Peter.

Because he’s a terrible liar, you answer instead. “Bang one was Peter scaring the shit out of me by turning on the light, bang two was me trying to get up onto this fucking cabinet. I’m short, dude. Get lower furniture.”

Mercifully, they accept it as a legitimate answer. The crowd parts with a distinguished air of disappointment. Peter brushes his hand across your back when you move to leave the closet together. Before you even have time to worry about what’s happened, his smile assures you.

Later, parked in the driveway of your house long after Ned has been dropped off, Peter pulls away from you mid-kiss and shoots you the most smug expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“And someone had a bad feeling about that party.”

You kiss the stupid look off his face, trying not to laugh.

[guardians-of-the-light]

Trust

Destiny Fic - 1580 Words

“Do you trust him?”

The young Corsair's question came with a soft caution. Not because she was fearful of what came next, but because she knew the tender nature of their topic.

The Hunter's answer came calmly, though she could tell the restraint was hard endured. “To save his own skin? Absolutely. But the Traveler would have to mend it's broken ass before I'd think that Drifter is any good for the City.”

She turned her gaze from him back to the binoculars that gave her a clear view through the piercing night that hung over Rheasilvia. Beside her, the Hunter lay prone with a City sniper—Veist made from what she could tell—braced firmly against his shoulder. His bright green gaze seemed to burn through the rifle scope as if there was bad blood that connected him to the mysterious man in the Tower's belly.

“I swear Kala, some of the younger ones don't seem to have eyes.” He sighed, “They say he's just incentivising more rigorous training, that the game is no more dangerous than a strike assignment, but I'm not buying it. Maybe once he stood with us, but he came back a rogue and without loyalty to the Light, he has no reason to help ‘train’ unless he's getting something out of it.”

She let out a thoughtful hum before she spotted movement on the distant cliffside. They were close enough for her to nudge his side and he got her message, adjusting his aim slightly to let loose a hissing void round.

“Maybe what he's getting out of it isn't that much of a harm to you all.” she proposed.

“I don't see an arrangement that requires harnessing the Dark as particularly helpful to us.” He put in, his patience held his tone steady, but Kala couldn't help the spark of defensiveness that shot through her.

Her icy eyes flitted over to him for a moment, “The Awoken have long harnessed the Darkness. It's not unthinkable that it can be used for good.”

“Uldren.”

Another silenced shot jerked the rifle after his flat remark.

“That was because of Riven.”

“Who was taken.”

“Which is something only the Hive know how to do.” Unlike her partner, Kala's patience was beginning to thin as an agitation creeped into her voice.

“But look what that little act unleashed.” His voice was suddenly somber and she was grimly reminded of the heavy sickness that her lands suffered. Of course she hadn't forgotten, but her people's curse was the work of an outside force. She wouldn't attribute it as the result of consorting with the Dark, but the Hunter continued and eased her dissent.

“Either way, my people weren't born into these forces like yours. The Light is a gift that not all of us can even wield, and the Dark is like a toxin…” His voice lowered, “It consumes us.”

For a moment something flickered in his eyes. As if something locked deep reached an ugly claw through its cage and was gone as soon as it had come. His next shot missed and a ragged silence stretched between them for several lingering seconds.

Kala took her eyes off him and searched for another target to call while she thought of another approach that might calm his nerves.

“I'm sure your Vanguard have some sort of plan to deal with him.” She soothed, but when she felt him tense beside her, it became apparent she'd done the opposite.

“The Vanguard.” He paused, reigning in the disgust that had snuck into his words. Taking a breath, he started over, though an icy bite would still line his voice. “The Vanguard can’t seem to make any unified decisions at the moment. If they had the slightest clue what to do with him, it’d be news to all of us.”

The last round from his rifle hit its mark, “The different orders have largely been taking up the leadership for a while now.” He didn’t need to specify the loss that fragmented their leadership. Kala already knew, and based on the way he yanked the bolt to eject his spent clip, she suspected his wounds still had yet to heal. “The Praxic Warlocks and a few of us Hunters seem to be the only ones who seem to be willing to do something about any of this.”

His tone leveled out as he slid a fresh magazine into the rifle's sheath, “I suppose Ikora may be planning, although the Praxics just want him out—even killed.” Kala blinked in surprise at such a rash conclusion, “But I doubt Zavala is in any rush to address the Drifter.”

As quickly as it had gone, that sharp edge in his voice rose up again, “He seems to think the only threats to the City come from outside the walls while shadows crawl right beneath his feet.”

He fixed her with his bright gaze, a ridiculing glint in tandem, “You wanna know what he said to me the other day?” He didn't wait for an answer. “When I asked him about why the Drifter hasn't been investigated properly, he told me, 'he isn't a direct threat to the livelihood of the City’. And that he's always had the City's best interests in mind, unlike me.”

In his eyes, she could see a pain that had settled into a simmering anger. He'd previously told her of the lengths he'd gone to in order to protect his home on more relaxed occasions. After hearing the condescending reception from someone in his leadership, she empathized with his frustration, even harboring hints of her own distaste towards this Zavala.

“Not everyone will recognize the care you put in to those outside of yourself, Thane.”

He held her soft gaze for a heartbeat and she could almost distinguish a calm thankfulness spreading over his features. Their moment wouldn't last long though; they still had duties to fulfill, and the grateful face once again vanished into the shadow of his hood.

They had ventured out to intercept a particularly troublesome group of Scorn that had plagued the area. The lumbering lieutenant orchestrating the area's operations fell quickly and silently to Thane's precise strikes. When he rose, she posed the question that'd been dwelling in the back of her mind.

“So what about you then?” Lime eyes met cool teal, “I can't imagine you just taking a sideline seat in all this.”

Thane stood up to full height clutching the long barrel of his rifle as he took a moment to clarify his thoughts. The rifle’s silenced muzzle rose to his shoulder and with his snakescale hood shrouding his troubled gaze in the thick night, he suddenly looked lost, and so very alone.

A pit of worry had begun to open in Kala’s gut, but when the Hunter turned to look at her, his gaze was as determined as ever. “I believe the worst of our situation, is our lack of information.” He began coolly, “We don’t know what he’s after, and by extension what might be after him.”

The worry that had been quickly abated was beginning to bubble inside her again. She didn’t like where this train of thought was going, but still she heard him out. “The current approach clearly isn’t working, we need someone on the inside in order to know what he’s trying to pull.” His eyes narrowed and his voice darkened, “His plans may still be developing but he’s no fool. I’m going to have to go deep before he’ll start to trust me. May have to burn a few bridges if necessary.”

Kala’s eyelids fluttered as she tore her gaze from him, tucking away her supplies into their respective pockets. An uncertainty ate at her, she would never know how much Thane had just set against himself in that moment, or the effects that beings of Light would suffer in mingling with the Dark. She didn’t need to know, the knot that formed in her chest at knowing he was headed down a troubling path was enough.

“You know, it doesn’t have to be you.” Her voice was soft and laced with concern as she stood up beside him. “I’m sure someone else would gladly do the same.”

“Maybe, but this is what I do.” His own voice began to mimic her softness upon seeing the worry on her face. “And the more eyes the Vanguard has, the better.”

Their eyes met and in those heartbeats, she desperately wished she could just snatch him away and save him from his impossibly convoluted obligations. She had thought the troubles of the Dreaming City’s curse were the hardest thing she would bear witness to, but the turmoil in his viridian gaze threatened to rival. Nevertheless, she knew there was nothing she could say to change his mind, and with the drop of her eyes she relented.

With a tenderness they’d only shared once before, she placed her hand on his upper arm as he turned to leave, “Promise me then.” Her voice almost a whisper. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

It was an empty plea, but she needed something, anything to hold onto in this new venture of his. It seemed for a second he hadn’t heard her, but then her touch turned into an embrace as he stepped back towards her. His arms wrapped around her waist as he cradled her weight, and she felt his words warm against her ear as he breathed.

“I promise.”

[cuddlycap]

Marvel Preference: Singing to Them ~request~

Can you do a preference about what song they like for you to sing to them? :)

A/N: YES!! Thanks for the request anon and thank you all for your support! Requests are still open!

Tony: “Moon River” by Audrey Hepburn

Something you and Tony did together was watch old movies, the charm of the romance ones always pulled you in. Even though Tony often made fun of them, you knew he loved them too. Breakfast At Tiffany’s was his favorite. So, every time he had a breakdown, first you would remind him to breathe and sit beside him, listening to him talk through his fears or even just sitting in silence until he was ready to come to you. He would nestle into your neck, his breath still shaky, and his fingers clutching your body. You would hold him close, one hand combing through his hair, the other smoothing down his back.

”…two drifters, off to see the world. There’s such a lot of world to see. We’re after the same, rainbows end, waiting ‘round the bend…“

Instantly at your voice, he would calm down more, a soft relieved sigh coming from his lips. Sometimes it even puts him to sleep.

Loki: Unchained Melody (in the style of Lykke Li)

You were alone one night, staring out your window, idly brushing your hair before bed, when you started singing the first song that came to your head.

"Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch. A long lonely time…”

You were finishing the song when arms snaked around your waist from behind you, startling you.

“Is this serenade for anyone in particular?” Your heartbeat somehow calmed and sped up at the same time at the sound of a familiar husky voice, and you laughed a little as Loki placed his chin on your shoulder.

“Well, on account that every sick love song I hear reminds me of you, yes.” He laughed softly too, kissing your neck.

“I’ve never related more to any Midgardian song. Every word reminded me of you, and your voice? Heavenly, my love. Why don’t you sing more often?”

“I don’t know…I do like singing but I get nervous singing around people.” He kissed you more as if it were a way of scolding you.

“Nonsense. You could put a spell on anyone with that voice.”

Loki will often ask you to sing “your song,” and you always oblige, and he always makes a big deal about it, insisting you have the most enchanting voice in all the realms.

Thor: Stand By Me (in the style of Florence + The Machine)

There was one night you couldn’t find Thor anywhere. It took you forever to find him sitting on the floor beside your bed, his back resting against it. He looked very unsure and insecure; it was a look that was very foreign on his face.

"What’s the matter, honey pie?” You asked as you climbed onto his lap, in an effort to try and cheer him up.

“Nothing for you to fret over, my sweet.” He told you, giving a kiss to your head and feigned reassurance. You could see past the facade however and as you stared at him unconvinced, until he sighed and gave in. “There is much to worry about, it terms of the never-ending threats. But beyond that, sometimes I worry that I am not enough. For you.” You frowned even more in confusion. “I worry I can’t provide security, I worry more that I won’t be able to make you happy, like in the movies.” You laughed gently, leaning your head against his chest.

“Oh, Thor. I am absolutely the luckiest girl on earth to have you. Besides, we make this relationship work together, because we are…?”

“…A team?” He replied, avoiding your eyes and sounding anything but confident.

“A team.” You kissed his lips. “The best tag team dynamic duo this world or any world has seen.” He still needed convincing, you could tell, so you put aside your pride and began singing.

“When the night has come and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we’ll see. No I won’t be afraid, oh I won’t be afraid. Just as long as you stand, stand by me. So darling, darling, stand by me…”

The more you sang the more the frown on his face turned into a full on grin.

“I will always stand by you, and with you be my side I can’t be anything but stronger.” It became your song after that moment, meaning if you’re ever upset, Thor sings it to you too (sometimes he messes up the words, but he tries, he really tries.)

Steve: “All Shook Up” by Elvis

Every time you see Steve in his uniform you make a big deal out of it, whistling and taking pictures, not only in an effort to embarrass him and play around with him, but also because he looks pretty spiffy in it.

“Stop, Y/N.” he chides you softly, but has a big smile on his face that he can’t hide. You take it to the next level by singing your favorite Elvis song, snapping your fingers.

“Well, my hands are shaky and my knees are weak. I can’t seem to stand on my own two feet. Who do you think of when you have such luck? I’m in love, I’m all shook up.”

Steve is laughing now, walking over to you and kissing you to stop you. Or so you think.

“I’m proud to say that she’s my buttercup I’m in love, I’m all shook up.” Steve sang back; he loved Elvis too. You laughed as he scooped you up in his arms.

“You and I both know he’ll pretend like he doesn’t like you singing that song to him, but he does.” Tony said as he walked by casually, sending the two of you a suggestive wink. You smirked at Steve and he sighed, smiling down at you.

“I love it anytime you sing.” He admitted easily. “Especially that song.” You laughed.

“I knew it all along, Rogers. Why do you think I always sing it?”

Sam: “Kiss” by Prince

Sometimes you and Sam are so tired you can’t do anything but sit on the couch and complain about things. But there are days when the two of you are in THAT mood…meaning you both wake with a pep-in-your-step and decide to deep clean the entire house in one day. And that calls for none other than a Prince marathon.

“Here it is, this is your song. Hit it, baby.” Sam encourages while he’s folding clothes as “Kiss” starts up. You don’t even hesitate to start singing into the broom stick you’re holding.

“You don’t have to be beautiful, to turn me on. I just need your body baby, from dusk till dawn.”

Sam is cracking up the entire time like he always is, doubling over laughing, and it brings your heart so much joy. The two of you really are best friends first and foremost, always have been and always will be.

You get really into it and start dancing too, and it isn’t long until Sam joins in. “I just want your extra time and your,” the two of you make kissing noises at each other dramatically, and he steals a kiss too, making you laugh. “Kiss.”

“That is priceless. You are priceless, Y/N.” He gives you a tight hug, pulling you close and it’s hard to convince him to go back to cleaning after that.

Bucky: “Easy Living” by Billie Holiday

A favorite way to pass time off with Bucky was cuddling on the couch all day, sometimes reading, sometimes napping, but always with old songs playing. They made him feel nostalgic in a good way, especially ones from his era.

When a Billie Holiday song came on, you began singing absentmindedly since you knew the words. The music stopped suddenly and you looked to Bucky in confusion, who had stopped it.

“Do you not like my singing?” You teased.

“The opposite. I prefer just to hear you.” You chuckled a bit.

“That is a pretty serious insult to Billie Holiday.” You continued to tease, but he ignored you, plopping down on the couch next to where you were sprawled out and rested his head on your chest. He could be such a puppy sometimes, always demanding your attention, always craving it.

“Please sing it? Your voice calms me down.”

“My voice calms you down?” You asked in confusion. This was news to you.

“Every time I hear you sing. In the shower, in the car, when you’re getting dressed. I don’t know, it feels like a part of my soul is recognizing a missing part.” He wouldn’t look you in the eye, his body slightly stiff as if he were afraid of your response. You kissed the top of his head reassuringly, butterflies fluttering in your tummy. Those butterflies never seemed to go away around him.

“Living for you is easy living. It’s easy to live when you’re in love, and I’m so in love. There’s nothing in life but you.” 

As soon as you started, he relaxed visibly, his hand tightening around your waist. When you finished you thought he had fallen asleep until he placed a sweet kiss on your collarbone.

“You’re so talented, doll. So talented, so special…” you laughed, feeling giddy happiness threatening to overwhelm you.

Natasha: “Latch” (Acoustic) by Sam Smith

You and Natasha were getting ready to go to one of Tony’s parties, and of course just like every time, it felt like Natasha couldn’t ever get more beautiful. She outdid herself every time.

As you were struggling to fasten your necklace, she came up behind you with a small amused smirk.

“You know, I’d rather just stay here cozied up with you.” She said, her fingers pulling your hair back behind you when she was done before resting on your shoulders.

“Mmm, but we would hurt Tony’s feelings.”

“He’s a big boy.” You laughed at her, before you turned and offered a hand.

“How about one dance here away from prying eyes before we get there? May I have this dance, beautiful?” She gave you a pleased smile, a genuine one that she only seemed graced you with that made her look like a bubbly young girl, and her hand.

“No music?” She asked, her smile a permanent fixture as the two of you swayed.

“Ask and ye shall receive,” you wiggled your eyebrows at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

 "You, lift my heart up, when the rest of me is down. You, you enchant me, even when you’re not around. If there are boundaries, I will try to knock them down. I’m latching on babe, now I know what I have found.“ 

To your surprise, she leaned in and rested her chin on your shoulder. Every time she rewarded more of herself to you, it felt like a never-ending reward, an achievement. 

"I know this song.” She murmured, her voice an easygoing purr. “It’s the one you’re always listening to on repeat.” You chuckled, pausing your performance.

“It’s because it reminds me of you.” After that, Nat started listening to it on repeat too.

Bruce: “Make You Feel My Love” By Bob Dylan

Bruce will sometimes get into moods where nothing you say can convince him that he’s worthy of your love. Nothing, he’ll argue back with everything you have to offer. He’s a monster, and monsters don’t deserve love.

“C'mon, Y/N. You shouldn’t waste your time on me.” He was moping underneath the covers over your bed and pulled them over his head completely. You sighed, moving to sit beside him, trying to think of more drastic measures. The only thing that came to mind was a song.

“When the rain is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace, to make you feel my love.” 

You heard him groan softly underneath the cover, but his protests sounded half-hearted now, until finally he reappeared, like a turtle coming back out of its shell, watching silently. When you finished you kissed his forehead, and he smiled up at you.

“I don’t deserve you, sweetheart. Not one bit.”

“Stop that. I want to give you the love you deserve, in return for the way you love me.” You cuddled up under the cover next to him, and he accepted your embrace now.

“Will you sing it again?”

Wanda: “My Girl” by The Temptations

Sometimes, you struggled to get Wanda out of bed. Usually there was no issue, she was up before you, drinking tea and waking you with kisses. “Get up, sleepyhead.” She would tease you. 

But there were still days she would be in bed, sleeping peacefully with no plans of waking. You almost didn’t want to disturb her. Almost.

With a small smile, you pulled open the blinds to your room, letting in the sunshine and getting a small groan of protest in response.

“I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day. And when it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May." 

Now you heard a soft giggle.

"Y/N, please. Just five more minutes.” But there was a smile on her face.

“Well, I guess you say, what can make me feel this way? My girl." 

You jumped on the bed beside her and she laughed again, the sweet sound making you smile.

"This again?” She teased, her eyes finally fluttering open.

“It gets you up, doesn’t it?” She sat up and stretched, leaning in towards you.

“I guess it’s just because I can’t resist you.” You kissed her back, feeling her fingers tangle within your hair.

“On second thought, maybe we can just stay here a little bit longer.”

[dinoswrites]

Black Coral Chapter 19: Grief

Solavellan, Mermaid AU. Ongoing.

Masterpost | Read from Chapter One | Read on A03

There are two elves sitting on a fence next to the road, looking out over Crestwood Bay.

This would not normally give either of the Grey Wardens pause; the spot would, under normal circumstances, offer a pretty view over the sparkling water of the bay and the sprawling floodwall at its mouth, with a gentle sea breeze to keep them from growing too warm under the summer sun.

It is, however, the middle of the Maker-forsaken night, with rain falling like buckets from the sky, and, perhaps most importantly, there are thrice-damned undead crawling out of the water.

Not, unfortunately, Darkspawn, or they’d be duty-bound to do something about it, orders be damned.

As they draw closer, however, Emric can make out scattered bones on the path, seaweed tangled in some of them. And then he sees the spear resting on the fence beside the young lady—dressed in some appallingly waterlogged but mundane clothing, and those funny footwraps that elves sometimes prefer to boots—and that the young man is trying to keep a broadsword dry under the heavy cloak he’s got the good sense to wear.

Emric waves to the pair as he and his partner draw near, though he can nearly feel the man beside him rolling his eyes in frustration as he does.

“Hello!” he calls, when he is certain they are close enough to be heard above the awful wind.

He is close enough now to see the dark tattoos on the young woman’s face—Dalish then, he thinks, with no more than a quick glance at the man beside her to confirm he has those markings, too. A light colour, but that’s not all that uncommon.

The woman smiles in greeting, but the man only scowls at them, so Emric directs his question to her.

“Miss,” he says, “I’m afraid it’s not safe out here for travellers. There’s a village up the hill, and they can provide you with shelter.”

“We can handle ourselves,” the man says, his accent curiously Tevene for a man with Dalish tattoos, “though I thank you for the warning. I wonder at the quality of such shelter if neither of you will take advantage of it for yourselves.”

Emric tries to smile, but his cheeks are so cold it’s little better than a grimace. “Orders, I’m afraid. We’re to book passage West, once our business is concluded here. No delays.”

The woman kicks something—and Emren looks down to see it’s a skull, the front smashed open.

When he looks back up at her, she’s tilting her head, as if asking him a question. Her pupils are eerily green in what little light his lantern offers him.

“Does your business perhaps include these things rising from the water?” the man asks. “We’ve fought off our fair share, but they keep coming.”

Emren’s partner—possibly exhausted from carrying the extra weight of the water in his clothes—interrupts then. “We are looking for a rogue Warden, goes by the name of Stroud. Orlesian. Ridiculous moustache, impossible to track down. Either of you seen him?”

The young woman shakes her head, and her friend’s brow rises. “Curious,” he says. “How, precisely, does a Grey Warden go rogue?”

“Can’t say,” Emren answers, with a scowl directed at his partner. “But Warden-Commander Clarel has ordered his capture. If you hear anything of him, it would be appreciated if you could send word to the Wardens at Adamant Fortress.”

“Certainly,” he replies. “Thank you for the warning—perhaps we will head to this village then, if there are only more undead on the road ahead.”

Emric and his partner leave the two to their travels, though the elves do not get up and leave when the Wardens do. Before the road curves away, Emric happens to turn and glance back.

They are still there—two pairs of eyes gleaming like wild animals in the dead of night.

Though there are enough elves in the Grey Wardens for it to be a familiar sight, it still makes him shudder as he turns away.

 --

“Adamant, then?” Hawke wonders as she comes out of the bushes behind Fenris, swinging her legs over the fence to perch beside him.

Varric is close behind her, but he simply leans on the fence between the two elves, glancing up at Aevalle. She seems to be focused on the large body of water that spits out walking skeletons every twenty minutes or so, which Varric supposes is fair. “I’ve heard of it,” he says, “but I don’t have a clue where it is.”

Stroud appears shortly after, pulling wet leaves from his apparently infamous moustache. “It rests on an island that rises out of the Abyssal Sea,” he informs them, “formed from a battle on a peninsula during the first Blight. It is at least two weeks’ journey from any settlement worth speaking of, due to the constant storms that plague the region.”

Varric whistles. “Curly’s not going to like that.”

“We can cut that time at least in half with the Keeper,” Bull interrupts, standing up where he had been couching before. Half a bush is stuck to one of his horns, its roots and mud dangling in the air, but he either doesn’t notice or just pretends not to.

Dorian finally emerges from the bushes, not a trace of leaf or twig on his person, to lean on the fence at Aevalle’s other side. “And then we would have no backup from the Inquisition’s formidable navy in case something were to go horribly wrong.”

“I’m not saying we take the whole thing by force,” Bull amends. “Just a quick recon mission—sneak in, confirm that Corypheus is behind the weird Calling, sneak out. No one has to even know we’re there.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely plan.” Merrill climbs up onto the fence beside Varric, casting a spell over their heads to keep the rain off. “It sounds much better than barging our way in through the front door and almost dying, like we usually do.”

Hawke bristles. “Well we can’t all have weird sentient submersible boats, now can we?”

Stroud gives Hawke an alarmed look. “What?”

“And who even says they have a side door,” Hawke continues, “huh?”

Stroud doesn’t look much like he understands, but he says, “The fortress rests at the top of the island’s sheer cliffs, and there is only one approach leading up from the sea.”

“See?” Hawke crosses her arms over her chest. “Your plan stinks. I vote we break it down.”

Aevalle is still staring off into space, so Varric gives her a bit of a nudge.

She startles, then looks down at him.

“You still with us, Drifter?”

She attempts a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks back out to the bay briefly, before turning back to Varric and signing, Something’s not right here.

“No shit,” he replies, deadpan. “And here I thought the skeletons were a tourist attraction.”

“Oh?” Merrill looks out to the water. “Is she talking about the bay?”

“Yeah, she’s had the brilliant idea that something fishy might be going on here.”

Someone groans. Hawke snorts.

She signs again, and Varric nearly rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I’ll clarify—she says the water feels wrong. Whatever that’s supposed to mean, I’m not entirely sure.”

Merrill only tilts her head curiously. “She’s right. I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since we got here—it feels sick, doesn’t it?”

“Merrill,” Hawke pipes up. “You are near and dear to my heart, and I will kill anyone who looks at you sideways—but it’s a giant lake. How can it be sick?”

“It’s not a lake,” Fenris interrupts, pointing to the long wall along the coastline that they can barely make out through the pouring rain. “I believe that is a floodwall, meant to protect this area from flooding during storm season.”

“And it’s doing a great job,” Hawke says. “Except for the giant saltwater lake it’s obviously let in.”

Aevalle shifts uncomfortably on the fence, still looking at the water with no small amount of concern on her features. I’ve felt this before, she signs, and Varric dutifully interprets.

“Where?”

Her lips twist, and she takes quite a while to respond. But she does, eventually, sign, This old ruin, where a piece of the sea was trapped, separated from the deep, and grew stagnant.

“Did skeletons pop out of it?” Bull wonders.

No. She looks very distant as she signs, But something very wrong lived there.

Dorian seems to know what she’s talking about, and reaches to touch her shoulder with a sympathetic wince. Varric glances behind him at Cole, who is still standing in the bushes, but the kid doesn’t give him a hint.

“I’ve felt this before, too,” Merrill says, a note of longing in her voice. “It’s very rare, but… sometimes bits of the sea get trapped by the land, and whatever else was stuck with it gets… well, strange.”

Dangerous, Aevalle corrects.

“Yes,” Merrill agrees. “So it’s odd, then, that they keep the flood gate closed, even though they could have drained it at any time…”

“It became damaged during the Blight,” Stroud informs them, back straight. “It flooded out the old town of Crestwood. Presumably, since the damage is constantly underwater, no one has had the ability to fix it.”

After a moment’s consideration, Aevalle hops off the fence, and starts stripping off her coat.

“Uh, Drifter,” Varric says, “little cold for a swim, maybe?”

She ignores him, throwing her rain-soaked jacket over the fence behind her. Then off comes her shirt—and, for once, she’s got some sort of breastband on underneath that looks like it’s made out of sealskin. Varric finds himself hoping that it’s lined with something soft.

“You are not swimming alone in undead-infested waters,” Dorian begins to argue.

Aevalle ignores him, undoing her belt and stepping out of her trousers. She’s wearing matching smalls as well, and she doesn’t bother taking off her footwraps.

“I hardly think she needs to go alone,” Merrill amends, resting her own spear on the fence so she can take her jacket off.

Varric stares up at her, aghast. “Daisy,” he says. “Don’t tell me…?”

She blinks down at him for a moment, curious. And then she seems to catch on, and laughs.

“Oh,” she says, “Oh Varric.”

“If you’ve been hiding fins on me all these years, I swear I will—”

“No!” she waves her hands in the air. “No! I just know a little air bubble spell! It’s one of the first spells I ever learned! In case someone ever needed help underwater. Really!”

As Varric squints suspiciously up at her, Fenris sighs.

“Stop shaking my arm, Hawke.”

The sound of wet leather creaking indicates that she has not, in fact, stopped shaking Fenris’s arm. “This is it,” she hisses.

Fenris only sighs again.

“In case no one has noticed,” Varric says, as loud as he can, “there’s currently a ridiculous storm blowing through.”

Merrill, stripped down to leathers a little similar to the ones Aevalle is wearing, ignores him, speaking to Aevalle instead. “Oh, before we go down—this,” she says, awkwardly signing, “is everything’s alright, yes? And this is up—and this is down?”

Aevalle impatiently nods to every gesture Merrill makes, walking backwards into the water.

“Look where you’re going for a change!” Dorian shouts, just as Aevalle finally turns and dives into the water.

Merrill follows a moment after—and as they all watch, a bolt of lightning bursts across the sky, catching the brilliant blue of Aevalle’s scales as she leaps once from the water, fully transformed, fins flaring in the air before she dives back under again.

“Subtle as always,” Dorian complains.

“Unbelievable,” Stroud says, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Unbelievable,” Hawke grumbles, and Varric glances over just in time to see her slap a coin into Fenris’ waiting palm. Fenris has the good grace to only look a little smug about it.

“Did you make a bet with Fenris over whether or not I was just pulling your leg?”

“I absolutely made a bet with Fenris over whether or not you were pulling my leg.”

“You came out of hiding because you thought I was pulling your leg?!”

“And?” Hawke asks, looking genuinely baffled that he’s even asking.

“How is this achieved?” Stroud wonders. “Some—some great feat of magic?”

Varric catches Fenris send a wary glance Dorian’s way. For his part, Dorian doesn’t seem to notice.

“Apparently it runs in the family,” Varric says, making a placating gesture and giving Fenris a significant look. “Only your standard weird ocean shit here, apparently. No magic required.”

Fenris rolls his eyes, but seems to let it go for the moment.

When Varric looks back over at Stroud, he sees Bull leaning over from behind him and putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Also,” Bull adds, “something not to go around telling everyone about. Yeah?”

Bull gives the Warden’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

Stroud is still staring out at the water—but Varric can see him nod, very slowly.

“You know,” Hawke says. “I always thought Merrill was being metaphorical when she talked about this shit. But I guess, in hindsight, that time she got really drunk and told us all a story about how what’s-his-face landed in a boat with fins sticking straight up in the air probably should’ve tipped us off.”

“I thought she was so drunk she forgot the word for feet,” Varric admits, which makes Hawke laugh.

“A moment,” Stroud says, loudly enough that everyone turns to look at him. “Earlier, you said, submersible vessel. Am I correct?”

“Glad to see you’re keeping up,” Varric says. “Yes, we have a ship that sinks. Filled with air so we don’t drown, which is reassuring. And then it goes wherever Drifter there tells it to, and we all pop out and give everyone on shore a pleasant, not at all freaky, surprise.”

“Which is not a secret considering the entire city of Val Royeaux saw us do exactly that,” Bull adds.

Hawke laughs. “Bet that was a hell of an entrance.”

“Adamant once housed the Grey Warden’s gryphons,” Stroud says, “or at least most of them. To this day, the fortress rests on either side of a sheer chasm, where the gryphons roosted in caves carved out of the cliffs, all connected to the fortress above by tunnels that have fallen into disrepair.”

“Fascinating,” Dorian drawls. “And this is relevant because…?”

“Because,” Stroud says, “at the bottom of that chasm, enclosed on all sides, there is a massive reservoir of ocean water.”

No one says anything for a moment, as the realisation dawns on them, one by one. Hawke’s eyes light up. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, Cole, still standing in the bushes, says very softly, “A side door.”

 --

When the sun rises, it does not sparkle on an inland sea.

Instead it shines down on ruined homes, on old bones that no longer rise or take up arms. Years of dirt and silt compacting as it dries out, and the corrupted seawater filters out into the bay.

Aevalle watches it as Bull guides the Mayor of Crestwood out of his home, his hands bound behind his back. She doesn’t look at him, even when Bull begins to walk the man down to the little town’s harbour, where the Keeper waits. She has the piece of black coral Hawen gave her in one hand and her knife in the other as she stares down at Old Crestwood, at sea-soaked timber and belongings scattered on the ground. Some of them catch the sunlight and glitter, though she knows some of it is the bodies of fish, not yet begun to rot.

She keeps turning the coral over and over in her hands. It’s too small, she thinks. Too small a thing, for all the death she’s seen.

They were sick, the Mayor had said. The Blight. Every one of them.

It had not been in his defense. As he said it, he looked relieved more than anything.

She turns the coral again. Again. It’s not—it’s not—

She closes her eyes. Breathes in, and out.

The caves had just been full of skeletons. Full of them. They’re still down there—unburied. Unburned.

In the distance, the tide is receding. Pulling the tainted water with it, back to the deep.

She wonders what will happen to it out there. To all that pain and misery, trapped in one place until it rotted everything it touched, washed away by clear water, pulled past seafoam and wake and out to depths too vast for her to ever dream of swimming.

Deshanna used to say that the tide pulled heartache out to sea, and when it came in again brought hope in its place. Breathe in with the rush of the waves, to gather all your sorrow in your chest—and then breathe out, and let the ocean steal away your sorrows.

Where does it take it all, she wonders. And how much can it hold, before it too bursts.

Solas probably knows, wherever he is. Or, at least, he would have something comforting to say. A story that sounds like old words of wisdom, told a different way.

She wishes she could ask him.

“A word.”

She opens her eyes and turns her head. Fenris is standing off to her side, his arms crossed over his chest. Scowling slightly, but she thinks he always does that.

She raises a brow at him, tucking the coral back into her pocket and sheathing her knife. She gestures to the fence she’s sitting on, but he only approaches a few steps more, and does not sit down.

He seems to be studying her face.

“In his letter, Varric said you were a slave.”

A poor one, she thinks. And she had fought it and railed against it all the while—but he isn’t wrong. She was at the mercy of Felix and Dorian’s kindness long after they became her friends. So she nods, once, eyeing him warily.

He’s still looking at her very intently—his eyes narrow, and she thinks that he’s not finding what he’s looking for. So he holds out his arm, and rolls back his sleeve so she can see the markings there. White lines in his skin, raised slightly, that look almost like vallaslin. Maybe if they didn’t have that odd, almost-shining quality to them.

As she watches, they begin to glow. Blue, and pale, their light catching shadows across his face like reflections off the ocean’s surface.

“My master gave me these,” he says, “and I used them to kill him.”

She watches the pattern of light moving across his face as his markings fade, and he lowers his arm once again.

“If your master followed you here, under the guise of friend,” he says, “I can do the same for you.”

It honestly takes her a minute to realise what he’s saying—and he watches her very closely while she processes it, so he very likely sees the precise moment she realises it. She almost laughs, she’s so surprised—and more than a little touched, at the offer he’s making.

She shakes her head, unable to hide her smile.

Fenris frowns at her a little, shifting his weight. “It occurs to me that I should have brought Varric along,” he says.

She does laugh at that. Silently, a hand covering her mouth out of habit more than anything.

When she looks back at Fenris, he is smiling too. “Hawke wants a drink before we leave,” he says. “You are welcome to join us—she wants to know why Varric is so fond of you.”

She nods to Fenris, and then gestures until he seems to gather that she’ll join him in a moment. She does not follow immediately. Instead, she looks back out to the bay—towards the old town before it, and birds flying through the open food gate in the distance.

She takes out the piece of black coral again, and studies it closely. There’s a bump on the bottom half—one irregularity on the otherwise smooth surface. She turns it over, looking at it from a different angle…

It looks a little like a dorsal fin. Like a halla, or a dolphin, or…

She uses her knife to score the coral, and then neatly break it in half.

--

It feels like an eternity since Aevalle last set foot in Seahold.

It’s only been two weeks. The longest she’s gone without walking the ramparts in the morning, or lounging on Solas’s couch in his study, or helping with the orphanage.

The change to the underground docks made in that time has been significant, however.

Lights have been brought down and placed throughout; powered by electricity, it seems, because she cannot make out even a trace of burning oil in the air. It is bright enough now that she can see the mosaics and murals clearly, though she can tell even at a glance that they have been damaged by time and the things that have lived down here, and she has to struggle to make out most of the shapes. As she climbs the stairs she thinks there are soldiers in gleaming armour lining the walls, or perhaps just people in beautiful scales, though she can’t tell which. She spies a figure slipping by in the background, and though she can make out a mouth full of sharp, sharp teeth, the figure is depicted in such a way that she’s not certain if it’s meant to be a shark or a wolf.

Both, probably.

Almost all of the lichen has been cleared out, she realises as she steps onto the cliffs above the docks and her feet touch only uneven, worn stone. She finds instead worktables, cables for the lights, piles of equipment and tools that she thinks are magical or alchemical, but she isn’t certain, and Cullen carrying an extremely heavy looking box while a dwarven woman directs him where to set it down.

“Oh,” she’s saying, “not there, there’s a drip coming from above and if the ceiling has any Stormheart in it, we might all explode and die.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Cullen grumbles, his limbs shaking with the weight of the box. Then he spots Aevalle standing at the stairs, and he straightens a little. “Captain Lavellan,” he says, “you’ve returned.”

She tries not to make a face at the word Captain, but she’s not sure she succeeds.

“Good to see you’re well,” he continues, as he slowly toddles over to where the dwarf points next. “I trust your business in the Exalted Archipelago went smoothly?”

She can’t help but smile a little at the sight of him, essentially waddling because the box is so heavy. She nods, her hands behind her back, and manages to keep herself from laughing until his back is turned.

Behind her, the others are coming up the stairs. She hears Hawke whistle, high and long, and then the Champion of Kirkwall comes to stand beside her and sling an arm over her shoulders. “Damn,” she says, craning her neck to look up at the ceiling, which is still in shadow in spite of all the lights added on the ground. “I mean, I prefer things like windows and not underground, but for a place to park a boat it’s pretty nice.”

Cullen, half-bent over the box as he sets it on the ground, freezes in place.

“You dock a boat, Hawke,” Fenris corrects her, as Aevalle watches Cullen finish putting the box down, and then slowly stand up and turn around, “not park it.”

“Nuance. Oh, hey, look who it is. Cullen! Remember me?”

Cullen just stares at Hawke for a moment, looking more than a little shell-shocked. “Yes, Hawke,” he says, “I remember you.”

“Oh, the Knight-Captain,” Merrill says, coming to stand at Aevalle’s other side. “It’s been an awfully long time.”

“It’s Commander now,” he corrects, shifting his weight. “I’m no longer a Templar.”

“Oh, that explains why you look like you’ve seen sunshine in the past, like, year,” Hawke says.

Cullen only shakes his head at them before looking once more to Aevalle. “Captain,” he says, “this is Dagna. She’s an arcanist who’s volunteered her services—”

“Hello there!” the dwarf in question calls, immediately and eagerly approaching Aevalle, as if she has been holding back since the conversation began. “You’re her! The Captain! I’m Dagna, the—well, Commander Cullen just told you, I suppose. Is it here? Your ship, I mean. I heard about it in Val Royeaux and I just knew I had to come see it, but you’d already left by the time I got to the docks and—can I see it? The Commander told me you call it the Keeper, and someone else said that it speaks to you? Is it true? Am I rambling?”

“Yes,” Cole says, which makes Aevalle smile again. “But it doesn’t bother her.”

“You can go look for yourself,” Dorian says, drawing Dagna’s attention to him. “It’s not going anywhere. As for me, I am long overdue for a hot bath, and the most expensive bottle of wine I can find in this miserable pile of rocks. Are you coming?”

I have to report to Cassandra, she replies, watching as Bull leads the Mayor of Crestwood past them, his hands bound behind his back and his head sagging.

“Of course. You’ll know where to find me when you’re done,” he says, and saunters off towards the exit—which has had all the dirt cleared away, and a set of wooden stairs built up instead.

“If you’re to make your report,” Cullen says, “I last saw Cassandra in the training yard.”

Behind her, Varric coughs.

“I heard someone here wants to see our fancy boat,” he says, a little too loud, clasping his hands and rubbing them together. “I would love to show you every single thing I know about that boat. Right now.”

“Well hurry up then!” Dagna says, already barrelling right past him for the stairs.

Hawke briefly squeezes her arm around Aevalle’s neck before slipping away. “Well, I for one would kill for some fresh air. And sunshine.”

“You’re supposed to be in hiding, Hawke,” Fenris chides as he falls into step at her side.

“But it would be nice to hide somewhere sunny for a change,” Merrill pipes up, half a pace behind them.

All the way back by the stairs, Aevalle can finally hear Stroud’s voice drifting towards them. “I can’t believe this,” he is saying. “This is—truly—a hidden dock? Only accessible by a single vessel?”

Cullen looks to him, frowning—and then his eyebrows shoot up, and his hand goes to the place on his belt where his sword should be.

He glances once towards Aevalle, and she responds with the sign for friend. Hoping he understands that much, at least.

His shoulders relax a little. The next glance he sends Stroud’s way is assessing, but no longer alarmed. “Jim,” the Commander says, and the soldier next to him nearly drops the box to salute, before he remembers to put it down. “Have Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine brought here immediately. I suspect we have much to discuss.”

 --

Halfway through Aevalle giving her report, Dorian comes back down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “this is—Aevalle, it’s…”

He’s holding a letter in his hand. Dorian’s standing next to one of the bright electric lights, and in its glow she can see the colour of the wax, and the shape of the seal.

House Alexius.

And just like that, she knows.

Dorian is taking her aside and he’s saying words, and telling her how and when, but she already knows. The Blight. Alone, without friends or family at his side.

Once they leave the undercroft, Dorian goes one way—to mourn as he knows best, and she won’t begrudge him for it. But she finds her steps leading her away from the tavern, this night. Down a path she and Solas once walked, down a long beach, to an empty stretch of shoreline where they had sat and she had confessed her failure.

I couldn’t protect them, she’d signed then.

Now, she stands, the waves lapping about her ankles, and she thinks, again, I could not protect him.

Is it irony, she wonders? Varric would know, if she asked him. That she was offered to Alexius as a cover to keep her close at hand until he could turn back time and fix their mistakes with their ritual. That, after failing so completely in keeping her clan safe, her next charge was a dead man?

And he saved her, in the end.

The months before finding Deshanna in that basement are a blur to her, still. A haze of pain and rage punctuated by single, bright moments of clarity. Of peace. Waking up, realising she had fallen asleep under a tree in the estate’s grounds—Felix reading, his back to the trunk. No beatings, when he discovered she’d woken. No anger. Only a smile as he looked up to find her glaring at him, marking his place in the book.

Sleep well?

A wave rushes past her, through her, up to her knees and she inhales with it. She’s crying, now—hot, angry tears spilling down her cheeks. As it recedes she can feel it pulling, hard, and she has to take a step forward to steady herself, so she doesn’t come crashing down into the undertow.

She digs her toes into the sand, and closes her eyes to steady herself. Even as the ocean pulls at that place inside her that always leaps to answer.

It’s not the first time she wonders what would happen, if she just let it pull her as far as it wants to take her. When she was with her clan still, she thought it would mean adventure—that the ocean pulled her to all the places it touched, the lands of the stories her father used to tell.

Now, she suspects that it would only drag her down to depths so deep, the pressure of the water would crush her bones.

As the tide rushes in, she stumbles up the shore, away from the water. Raking a hand through the mess of her wind-swept hair, she catches a glimmer of light on her wrist—and she glances over at it, frowning.

It’s the bracelet Solas bought for her. Moonlight catching in one of the blue, blue beads. The rope isn’t so stark white any longer—it’s been through everything she has since then. Through the flooded basement of Seahold, to fleeing a dragon in the storm-ravaged ocean, to battling a corrupted spirit in a circus tent as it collapsed around her.

The beads still shine, though. Clear, brilliant blue.

Find another clan, Deshanna had begged her. Protect them.

She closes her eyes, and just takes a moment to breathe.

She sits near the spot where Solas had held her, where she confessed her failures and he sang a eulogy for her clan in her stead. She reaches into her jacket and takes out the first piece of black coral, and her knife. There is more than enough moonlight for elven eyes to see, on a night like this, so she begins to carve. She works with the shape of the piece, making the body a little sleeker, carving out a long nose and making a hollow for horns off the back of its head. She carves into its body the whirls her mother used to etch into everything she crafted, as best as Aevalle can remember. As best she can imitate; she does not have her mother’s patience, nor her steady hand.

She has not carved like this in years. Not since she dragged her father’s body back to the clan, alone. It had been a smaller token—she’d nearly broken it in half a number of times. Cut her hands plenty, though she hadn’t felt it, numb with grief.

She finishes the halla before midnight, and she does not cut herself once. She holds it in her palm, and it seems… heavier, now that she is finished. Now that she looks down at it, at the moonlight in the lines she has carved, little flecks of coral dust lingering on the slope of its horns over its back.

It is too small, she thinks, for a whole clan and Felix Alexius. But there is not enough black coral in the world to contain her grief.

She washes the last dust from the carving in the ocean, lapping now at her toes. The tide will start to recede soon. She has no raft of driftwood to light aflame, no voice she can raise in mourning song, but she holds the carving in her hand and thinks, They were my clan. He was my friend.

Seawater drips from the little halla, and for now, that’s enough. So she tucks it into her pocket—and then, after a moment’s hesitation, takes the other half out.

She holds it up to the moon. Lets it illuminate the rough silhouette for a moment. She turns it over until the odd little bump is on the top, and tilts her head a little as she examines the natural curve of the coral. Almost twisting around her finger—a little like Wisdom had curled its great body in the air around her, as it sank slowly to the ground.

Her wrist is framed by the beads on her bracelet. The way they catch the moonlight, it almost looks like they’re glowing with a soft blue light.

She bends over, and begins carving black coral once again.

[ricky-najjar]

Cherry

October 2000

The smell of burnt pizza was almost toxic, combine that with the overuse of cologne and fear and you have high school . Ricky sat with his “clique” as always, Lizzie & Leah with the occasional drifters that would come and go in their friendship circle. This new guy today was named Chad, Brad? Something along those lines. Leah had been tagging him along in hopes they would become an item at some point. The whole time at lunch Ricky just stared at his frosted tips, they were horribly done. It seemed like the whole school was trying them out thanks to Dawson’s Creek and *NSYNC. Self - consciously, he touched his own dark locks. No, I can’t subject myself to that, no matter how cool Pacey Witter looked. He was thankful when Lizzie finally made her appearance, finally someone for him to talk to since Leah was occupied with --- Stephen? No Stephen was last month’s old news. “You’re smiling ear - to - ear again, did it finally happen?” She gave a smirk to her friend as she sat down to join them. Lizzie’s face flushed a bright pink, all she could do was nod to give her answer. They both squealed, causing anyone within five feet of them to cringe. “I’m sorry am I missing something?” Ricky took another bite of his cheese pizza before sitting it back down on his styrofoam plate. “Oh, it’s nothing … except Lizzie finally popped her cherry.” She gave her a hard smack for saying it out loud like that, the grin still not leaving her face. “And it was perfect!”  The room suddenly felt hot, the pizza in front of him looked less appealing than usual. “Now it’s Little Ricky’s turn.” They both giggled, he felt his face turn just as red as Lizzie’s was. “What do you think, Aaron? Maybe you can turn the duckling into a swan? Give him a little makeover.” That’s his name, Aaron. Lizzie leaned over and grabbed his glasses right off his face, tussling his hair to give it a more shaggy appearance. “And just like She’s All That, you instantly look hotter.” He snatched his glasses back and rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you all to help me get laid.”

“Contacts Ricky! Have you ever thought about them?!” Leah was driving about ten over the speed limit, trying to hit the mall and make it home just in time for a new episode of 7th Heaven. Right after the idea of a makeover at lunch, Leah and Lizzie ran with it. “You have so much potential and you’re choosing to dress like your mother helps you every morning!” The comment caused him to run his hands down his burgundy sweater, it was nice, it kept him warm --- and it was bought by his mother. “You both are being ridiculous, I think I look just fine!” Despite the pleas to turn around and head home for the night the trio went on to the mall. After a trip to an optometrist he has seen before and few outfits bought, they were finally in for the night. Lizzie insisted on staying to see him model some of the outfits they got. “So. What was it like, really?” He threw the last shirt he had off and relaxed on his bed, Lizzie sitting on his computer chair with her legs pulled up to her chest. “Honestly? Just when I was getting excited that it was finally happening - it was over.” She shrugged her shoulders a little, relaxing her body to the seat. “Don’t feel pressured by it, really. Forget what Leah says she’s a slut anyways.” Lizzie rolled her eyes and climbed into his bed, curling up underneath his comforter as she let out a yawn. “Can I sleepover? My parents were fighting this morning and I would rather not have to deal with it.” 

“Of course.”

Lizzie fell asleep almost instantly after that. Ricky quietly got out of his bed to check to see if his own parents were still up. Thankfully they always went to bed early. When he returned to his room he noticed that she was taking up the majority of the bed. With a sigh, he laid down on what little bit he could on the edge. She looked so peaceful when she slept, compared to the occasional fits of rage she would have. He couldn’t help but feel jealous, and slightly bad for her at the same time. What she showed to Leah earlier didn’t match up to what she was feeling, maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal at all. He wasn’t sure who the lucky guy was, nor was he sure he wanted to know. Something in his gut was making him wish it was him.

A few weeks later his contacts came in. They were tricky to put on at first, Ricky felt like he stabbed himself in the eyes multiple times when he put them on. When he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could think about was what Leah said about looking like you didn’t care about your appearance. He opted out of brushing his hair, instead he added a little bit of water to it and carried on with his morning. When he arrived at school he was met with a few questionable looks. Was this real life? He was usually invisible, how could a few new articles of clothes and contacts change the way he was perceived in the world? Were they really that vapid? Leah and Lizzie were waiting by his locker for the big reveal, both of their jaws dropping. “Ricky, you’re a babe!” Leah’s hand got a little too close to his ass when she tried to pinch it, his hand immediately hitting it back. “It’s still me! Was I hideous with those glasses on or something?!” Lizzie traced her hand down his new faux leather jacket and gave him a warm smile. “You never were, you just looked more… refined now.” As the three of them walked to their first class, Leah kept track on how many people were looking. It brought her a sick joy that she was able to pull something like this off it seemed like. 

“I counted ten, and that was with just us walking down the hallway. Imagine if we did this all day!” Leah cut herself off when she noticed Bethany Watson coming in the room. She looked down at Ricky, smiling in approval before sitting down in the front row of the classroom. Once again, his cheeks felt hot. “Don’t tell me you are still in love with her?” Lizzie scoffed as she opened her journal. “May I remind you, you turned her down after that Spring Fling in seventh grade. You had your chance, get over it.” Leah gave Lizzie a shove to shut her up, “It’s pathetic, but cute.” Ricky didn’t pay any attention to what they were arguing about afterwards. She was right that he turned her down. After the dance he had cold feet, she was just too perfect for him. After that he did everything in his power to avoid her. It wasn’t exactly easy when she won student body president and was all over the place. Throughout their first period she kept making eye contact, whispering to her friends, looking back. Ricky tried to ignore it but couldn’t, even when the teacher snapped at her to turn around. Lizzie through a wadded up piece of paper at his head, when he opened it up he rolled his eyes. “I do not need a napkin, thank you.” he whispered.

At the end of class, Bethany did her best to catch up with the three of them as they headed towards their lockers. “Ricky, you have a minute?” She asked him, but looked at the other two with a slight glare to know they were not welcomed. “You’re lucky, he has five!” Leah grabbed Lizzie’s arm, despite her best efforts she was forced to follow her away from the two. “So. History is hard.” She stifled a laugh, covering her face to cover the embarrassment she was trying to make it seem she was feeling. “I’m one bad paper away from making a B, and I cannot let that happen. What would Harvard think?!” Concern, her perfect eyebrows pulled together with her lower lip pouting out a tad. “If you want, you can give me your paper… I can edit it tonight for you.” Ricky wasn’t entirely oblivious, only when it came to matters dealing with the opposite sex. Beth gave him a small smile and grabbed his hand into hers. “I couldn’t turn in someone else’s work and call it mine. Why don’t you come over tonight, I can order some pizza?” Butterflies. He didn’t remember how he said it but he knew he gave her a yes.

Against Lizzie’s wishes, Ricky kept his promise and showed up at Bethany’s house that night. He was surprised that nobody else was home, surly her parents knew he was coming to help tutor her. She beat him to the punch answering the door, “You made it! I hope I didn’t steer you off in the wrong direction!” She was wearing silk pajamas, it was like he was going to some sort of slumber party instead. Meanwhile he was still wearing the jeans and light blue shirt from the day. “No no, the bus dropped me off about a couple of blocks from here. It was pretty straight forward after that.” He gave her a small smile as he walked in her house, admiring how nice it was instantly. Beth grabbed his hand and headed upstairs with him to her bedroom. It was perfectly clean, nothing out of place. She sprawled out on her bed and patted a spot for him to join. “Where’s the paper? We should get started before it’s too late.” He let out a nervous laugh as she sat back up and crossed her legs. “Listen. I’m making a 95 in that class, no real fear of failing the semester as of right now.” ohhhhhh…. Lizzie was right.

Their bodies were tangled together, clothes ripped off and thrown on different sides of the queen sized bed. Ricky kept his lips close to the nape of her neck as he softly kissed it. Bethany was getting bored, her eyes glued to the wall as this foreplay was going on for what felt like an eternity for her. “Ricky - Ricky…” She pulled off of him and sat the two of them up. “Is this your first time?” Her hand stroked his cheek as he looked away. “Oh my god - it is.” She grinned as she pushed him back down on the bed. 

Bethany was softly humming to herself as she brushed her hair in the mirror. Ricky reached over to grab his watch that he left on her nightstand. “I find you fascinating.” She broke her own silence and turned back to look at him. “Intelligent, even. I bet if you tried hard enough you could land a spot in Harvard.” She placed her brush down on her vanity and crawled back into bed with him. He wasn’t sure what to say or do, so he opted to just let her cling on to him. “We look good together.” She motioned for him to look back at her mirror at their reflection. What she saw was a couple, soaking in the bliss of spending the night together in the bedroom. Ricky saw himself covered in sweat, blotchy with red spots surrounding his face and chest. He thought it was best to not say that at the moment. “What’s keeping you from me? Is it Little Lizzie Robinson?” she snorted, feeling like she was humoring herself with that assumption. He looked away from their reflection, “Lizzie and I are just friends” he said with a minor annoyance in his tone. Bethany turned her back so she could face him, looking up at him under her long eyelashes “What does that make us then, just friends as well?” 

The next morning as Ricky headed to his locker he was stopped by Bethany, who wrapped herself around him and walked with him. Lizzie and Leah both were shocked when they saw them, Liz more or less upset than anything. As he put his backpack away Beth gave him a quick kiss, “I’ll see you in class.” The other girls stared at him after she left. “Well?” Leah broke the silence but before he could answer, the bell rang. 

Seating arrangements were changed, surprising everyone. Ricky was forced to stay in the back while Lizzie and Leah were forced to sit closer in the front in hopes they would “focus more”. As class went on Ricky was dying to tell them what happened so he scribbled them a note. When the teacher wasn’t looking he threw it and hit Lizzie directly in the head. She unraveled it, Ricky noticing how her body froze as she handed the note to Leah: No Cherry. When she turned back to see him he couldn’t help but gloat.

[rebelheartsmustbefree]

Closing Time....

*Most days it was impossible to get Charlie out of my thoughts. A constant onslaught of worry, wondering and what ifs. It was no wonder I sought preoccupation in the form of one night stands. Which in this town meant I would soon run out of choices. It wasn’t like I had an unlimited supply of gay or bi-curious men at my beck and call. Unless a drifter or two finds themselves sitting at my bar. But unfortunately I haven’t caught a fresh face in here since I started running the place after Vinny met his untimely demise. The only thing I knew for sure these days was getting close to someone again was not an option. Whether it was in the romantic sense or otherwise. Even friendships scared me. Seems like everyone I ever begin to truly care about either dies or leaves me. Deep down I didn’t want the same fates to fall upon the young boy. Charlie was literally part of me, and I was a part of him. Becoming Charlie’s guardian was a no brainer for me, still that choice haunts me through my days and sleepless nights. Goes back to all the things I mentioned before. If I wasn’t careful, I would fret myself to the point of insanity.

Trying to keep myself busy wasn’t that hard of a task, plowing head first into night after night at the bar. After a certain point, they all begin to blur together. It was the same routine every night. Find a guy early, eye fuck him to the point where he is begging for me by closing time. Every evening the plan going off without a hitch. Tonight was no different. By the time I clicked the top lock on the door and turned off all the overhead lighting, the male was already undoing the top button on his jeans. He was eager, I liked that. I motioned for him to head into the back, undoing my pants slowly as I followed. Once I rounded the corner, I was met by curious hands. Tugging, caressing, exploring every inch of me they possibly could. Until one of the males hands pushed down into my opened fly. I groaned when his warm fingers wrapped around my dick, our eyes meeting briefly in the dark before he leans in to kiss me.

That was a nope from me.

Instead of being rude about my preference on kissing, I went the blunt route. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand out from my jeans before forcing him to turn around, shoving his pants down over his ass. I could hear his blood racing through his veins, his heart hammering in his chest. My whole kiss-sidestep thing worked. There was no need for kissing in this little arrangement I had here. Kissing led to feelings and the only thing I planned on feeling tonight was how good it's going to feel when I bury my dick inside this male. I kept one hand firmly planted at the base of his neck as I pulled myself free from my jeans. I kicked his legs apart before nudging myself between the part of his ass. I took a moment to admire the smoothness of his skin, the color of alabaster, porcelain beneath my fingertips. I felt him tense up, an outstretched hand landed against that delicate flesh, urging him to relax as I worked the swollen tip of my cock passed that stubborn rim. Once I was seated inside the male he was much more eager than before. I felt him pushing back against me, wanting more. Who was I to deny him?

There was moments where I wasn’t even sure who was fucking who. Color me impressed. It was almost delightful enough to let him be a repeat partner but I knew better. I had given him multiple orgasms, my own release filling him in a hot hurry after holding back as long as I could. My dick was still hard when I pulled free from his ass. It was like this every night. But with a shift, quick and careful adjusting, I was back in the tight confines of my jeans again. I had to always be mindful of my nightly conquests. They couldn’t hold a candle to my stamina. If I wasn’t careful I could hurt someone so I was the good little angel by calling it a night before someone ends up passed out from exhaustion. I helped the other male to get dressed again and led him out through the bar to the front door. He thought he was super slick when he slipped a piece of paper in the front pocket of my jeans. His number I assume.

After I watched him head up the street and catch a cab, I let myself out and locked up. I pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head, feeling the sharp bite of of the winter air at the back of my neck. I began a quick jog, heading towards home to get out of the bitter cold. As my house came into view, I could see someone coming around from the back, stepping off the porch. At first I thought it was Hound or perhaps Levi had gotten himself torn in half again. But as I came another few feet closer, I realized I was very, very wrong. Regretfully so. I was quickly outnumbered and surrounded by them. Something hit me in the back of the head, something akin to a fucking brickhouse it felt like. The next thing I knew I was face first in the snow, feeling the heavy boots of each assailant coming down to my face, my sides and my back with a resounding fury. The catch with this situation was that I had to hold myself back. I had to take this beating knowing that I would heal and the other option really wasn’t an option. With humans I had to behave. This was just your friendly neighborhood beatdown.

It was unbelievably hard to hold back my vengeance, but they ran out of hate or energy somewhere around twelve to fifteen minutes later. I was still breathing, which was good. The one male leaned down and mentioned something about me fucking his brother and making him ‘sick like me’ before spitting into my face. Ah. So that’s what this was about. I laid there until I no longer heard their voices, their laughter or their footsteps. I got to my knees, feeling everything ache out in protest. Pretty sure at least half my ribs were broken. I just needed to get inside and give myself some time to heal.  I got to my feet slowly, coughing up blood and watching it splatter against the bright white blanket of snow. If it wasn’t my own I may have thought it was pretty.*

#TBC

[beatcroc]

on the pink stuff [which i’ve taken to calling “the wellspring” after that one paragraph of text] and how it relates to the immortal cell/judgement, anubis, and drifters: note: this is my beta-version spec; i’m working on a significant revision in light of stuff i didn’t know when first making this post, but i still wanted to finish most of this up and put it out there since i spent a lot of time thinking about it :Y

this sorta started when i finally found my way back to the tutorial area/archive room. to me, it seemed the reason judgement tries to prevent you from getting to that archive at the beginning is to obscure any information it can about the immortal cell and its relation to/interaction with that.

i’m not…exactly sure what i want to say the wellspring’s role in the creation of the immortal cell was. certainly, having that much energy available plays a huge part in just being able to build technology or do research to aid in making something like an immortal cell, but i’m starting to think that the cell is was actually crafted directly from the wellspring, through some kind of refinery process. like, the pink energy is obvious pretty volatile when not handled properly or in some of its forms and i don’t... think you’d want something that reactive in a cell “to be imbued within all sentient life”. failed experiments with beings given beta-version immortal cells is a whole other Thing that i’m not gonna bother getting into though, haha. 

anyway, perhaps they found some way to separate out or process away the less stable elements of wellspring material, making it essentially pure, inexhaustible energy that wouldn’t burn itself out on intense reactions or just outright degrade whatever living thing came in contact with it.

HOWEVER, those reactive parts of the chemical still Exist; i believe at some point that concentrated leftover slurry gained a sentience of its own, becoming Judgement. maybe it was sparked by the huge explosion, who knows. but since judgement is now a sentient being it can freely seek out its counterpart and use that power as it wishes, corrupting it to be put to its own use and preventing mortals from getting to it. as a side note it really can’t just recombine into the raw wellspring material since both counterparts are fundamentally different substances now and have taken on properties of their own :b 

tldr: the immortal cell is refined pink stuff and judgement is the volatile parts that were refined out of it.

-

so, drifters. i firmly believe they are more resilient to the wellspring’s reactivity-not IMMUNE obviously, but they can generally survive its effects way longer than most other species [or most other individuals? depends on how you define what a drifter is; whether they’re just the blue-skinned race, or beings that have a sprite and have taken to a drifter’s job. EITHER WAY.]; they’re the only ones we see affected by the illness ingame, but i think that’s simply because everyone else who had been affected by it already died-see: guardian’s family. their resilience may also be evidenced by that first needle in the eastern area with other corpses blown outward from it. that could be taken…several ways, but as our drifter proceeds to interact with it no problem, i’m going to chalk it up with a resistance to and/or expertise in handling the material. 

from the way stuff on the kickstarter is worded, i don’t think our drifter had ever been to the places we explore ingame before? the events in the opening probably had worldwide effect of some kind [maybe that’s what afflicted him? i really honestly don’t know HOW he got his illness, but that doesn’t pa r ticul a lr y matter for the sake of this post; we just need to know that it’s pretty serious and had been affecting him for Awhile by the time anubis enlists him and the game takes place], and drifter has finally tracked down- or perhaps been led to-the epicenter of them; what we’re playing is the final steps in a long journey. guardian had been living in these parts for awhile though; he’s much older and father along in the sickness than our drifter, but he knows the land and looks to have had much the same quest as drifter’s. i’m not sure why he didn’t collect any of the modules before drifter got there, maybe he was just too far gone to bother trying? if that’s the case, he’s probably pretty glad that drifter came along as someone to pass his quest and findings to haha…

anubis is what I’m having the most trouble concretely connecting with everything else. i don’t think the wellspring is directly the source or output of her power or anything, but as a god [especially the only one we know to exist in hld’s world] she’s in-tune with all the energy in their world, and as it happens the greatest reserve of this resides in the wellspring. mind you, i’m not overlooking that her eyes are the same shade as that energy; color similarities usually mean SOMETHING, but i’m trying not to attribute too much to it. perhaps, as the four sectors began to figure out how to tap into that power, they caused an imbalance that made anubis come out of stasis and take a more active role in…whatever it is she actually does in that world aside from leading beings to the afterlife. probably an observation/moderation duty of some kind. on the other hand, I can see it as those 4 sectors collaborating to open a path to the world’s core, for whatever lies there. maybe that’s where anubis originally resided, maybe there was a particularly large reserve or a means of production of wellspring material there, who knows. but either way, opening a path to and tampering with the core and whatever was originally there seems to have played a role in anubis’ awakening. my best guess is that the rise of judgement, its taking over of the world’s core area, and corruption of the immortal cell [and tbh probably the creation of that in the first place] likely messed with her abilities and/or connections to the wellspring and its energy, prompting her to start recruiting other individuals [drifters] to give her a shot in restoring order.

i think the wellspring-related affliction plays a big part in why anubis works so closely with our drifter and guardian-it means they have firsthand contact with this stuff. i can even see it as a dual-sided thing, with her being the god of death and all, the sickness could bring them more in-tune with her “element”, while for them it means they’re more open to trusting and cooperating with her. even without that, perhaps their prolonged exposure to the wellspring just makes them more accessible to her [again, she could have more than a peripheral connection to it given the pink eyes] and more capable of accomplishing the goal of actually defeating judgement and doing Something about the immortal cell to prevent further imbalance [or bloodshed, going by the closing cinematic,] severing the the sectors’ connection to the core and whatever’s in it, and allowing her to return to stasis.

[networkingdefinition]

Lotuses Quotes

Official Website: Lotuses Quotes

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• A flower can’t grow without rain. (Alexion) Too much rain and it drowns. (Danger) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (Alexion) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • A little child paddles a little boat, Drifting about, and picking white lotuses. He does not know how to hide his tracks, And duckweed’s opened up along his path. – Bai Juyi • A man ought to live in this world like a lotus leaf, which grows in water but is never moistened by water; so a man ought to live in the world – his heart to God and his hands to work. – Swami Vivekananda • An intense copper calm, like a universal yellow lotus, was more and more unfolding its noiseless measureless leaves upon the sea. – Herman Melville • And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine. – Oscar Wilde • And just for a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, wiht a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. – Sal Paradise – Jack Kerouac • As a lotus flower is born in water, grows in water and rises out of water to stand above it unsoiled, so I, born in the world, raised in the world having overcome the world, live unsoiled by the world – Gautama Buddha • As a water bead on a lotus leaf, as water on a red lily, does not adhere, so the sage does not adhere to the seen, the heard, or the sensed. – Gautama Buddha • At this moment, is there anything lacking? Nirvana is right here now before our eyes. This place is the lotus land. This body now is the Buddha. – Hakuin Ekaku

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Lotus', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_lotus').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_lotus img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Be like a lotus. Let the beauty of your heart speak. – Amit Ray • Because people learn from their mistakes, Danger. Pain and failure are a natural part of life. It’s kind of like a parent who watches their child fall down while learning to walk. Instead of coddling the child, you set them back on their feet and let them try again. They have to stumble before they can run. (Alexion) Do you really believe that we need to have our hearts ripped out? (Danger) A flower can’t grow without rain. (Alexion) Too much rain and it drowns. (Danger) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (Alexion) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • But when one masters this wretched desire, which is so hard to overcome, then one’s sorrows just drop off, like a drop of water off a lotus. – Gautama Buddha • By means of microscopic observation and astronomical projection the lotus flower can become the foundation for an entire theory of the universe and an agent whereby we may perceive Truth. – Yukio Mishima • Cut brambles long enough, Sprout after sprout, And the lotus will bloom Of its own accord: Already waiting in the clearing, The single image of light. The day you see this, That day you will become it. – Sun Bu’er • Cut out the love of self, like an autumn lotus with thy hand! – Gautama Buddha • Deep within the self is the Light of God. It radiates throughout the expanse of His creation. Through the Guru’s teachings, the darkness of spiritual ignorance is dispelled. The heart lotus flower blooms forth and eternal peace is obtained, as one’s light merges into the Supreme Light. – Guru Amar Das • Did either the nonexistent or the measured response after a series of attacks on Americans the past decade – in Lebanon, Africa, Saudi Arabia, New York, and Yemen – suggest to our terrorist enemies that it was wrong and unwise to kill reasonable and affable people, or did the easy killing imply that self-absorbed and pampered Lotus-eaters would not much care who or how many were butchered as long as it was within reasonable numbers and spread out over time? – Victor Davis Hanson • Do my eyes deceive me, or is Senna’s Lotus sounding rough? – Murray Walker • Do not go to the garden of flowers! O friend! go not there; In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the infinite beauty. – Kabir • Drop guilt! – because to be guilty is to live in hell. Not being guilty, you will have the freshness of dewdrops in the early morning sun, you will have the freshness of lotus petals in the lake, you will have the freshness of the stars in the night. Once guilt disappears you will have a totally different kind of life, luminous and radiant. You will have a dance to your feet and your heart will be singing a thousand and one songs. – Rajneesh • Drop jealousy and love wells up. Jealousy means that I am the owner. It is an ego trip, and wherever there is ego there is poison, and the poison kills the very source of love. One has to become aware of just these few things and discard them and one’s life becomes a lotus of love. And then there is no need to go in any search of god, god will come in search of you. This is my observation, that god always comes seeking the true seeker. Whenever the disciple is ready the master appears. – Rajneesh • Egypt loved the lotus because it never dies. It is the same for people who are loved. – Anita Diament • Egypt loved the lotus becuase it never dies. It is the same for people who are loved. Thus can something as insignificant as a name-two syllables, one high, one sweet- summon up the innumerable smiles, tears, sighs and dreams of a human life. – Anita Diament • English Bohemianism is a curiously unluscious fruit. … Inside this hothouse, huge lascivious orchids slide sensuously up the sweating windows, passion-flowers cross-pollinate in wild heliotrope abandon, lotuses writhe with poppies in the sweet warm beds, kumquats ripen, open and plop flatly to the floor-and outside, in a neat, trimly-hoed kitchen-garden, English bohemians sit in cold orderly rows, like carrots. – Alan Coren • Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted. – Sylvia Plath • Every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel, is rich with delicate aids to help incurious man. – Martin Farquhar Tupper • God cannot be found outside you, because there is no God who can ever be outside you. God is the ultimate fragrance of your consciousness. When your consciousness opens like a lotus, the fragrance that is released is God – better to call it godliness. – Rajneesh • God is the Sun and when His rays fall upon your heart, not impeded by the clouds of egoism, the lotus blooms and the petals unfold. – Sathya Sai Baba • Great people will always be mocked by those who feel smaller than them. However, a lion does not flinch at laughter coming from a hyena. A gorilla does not budge from a banana thrown at it by a monkey. A nightingale does not stop singing its beautiful song at the intrusion of an annoying woodpecker. Whenever you should question your self-worth, remember the lotus flower. Even though it plunges to life from beneath the mud, it does not allow the dirt that surrounds it to affect its growth or beauty. – Suzy Kassem • Heat lingers As days are still long; Early mornings are cool While autumn is still young. Dew on the lotus Scatters pure perfume; Wind on the bamboos Gives off a gentle tinkling. I am idle and lonely, Lying down all day, Sick and decayed; No one asks for me; Thin dusk before my gates, Cassia blossoms inch deep. – Bai Juyi • I also have a lot of preserved foods, things that will keep for a long time like dried fish, seaweed or lotus seed. – Martin Yan • I embrace my body, and I embrace everything about myself. Coming full circle is a celebration of freedom and happiness because that’s what [my new album] ‘Lotus’ is representing. I’m embracing everything that I’ve grown to be and learned to be. – Christina Aguilera • I got things like the lotus position long before anybody else did, or at least in the mainstream. But I had fun. I guess my legs are pretty flexible, so I used to get a kick out of doing things like that. I would get into a full lotus with my legs and then roll around. – John Astin • I have a strong antipathy to everything connected with gardens, gardening and gardeners. . . . Gardening seems to me a kind of admission of defeat. . . . Man was made for better things than pruning his rose trees. The state of mind of the confirmed gardener seems to me as reprehensible as that of the confirmed alcoholic. Both have capitulated to the world. Both have become lotus eaters and drifters. – Colin Wilson • I saw Lotus F1 racing as the best choice for me to progress my career, after considering several other options that were available to me. – Heikki Kovalainen • I sit cross-legged on the rock The valleys and streams are cold and damp Sitting quietly is beautiful The cliffs are lost in mist and fog I rest happily in this place At dusk the tree shadows are low I look into my mind A white lotus emerges from the dark mud – Hanshan • I think it’s more, at least at the time, a sense of abstraction. My mind doesn’t really work in a way where there’s a definitive sense of something. I go one way and then it opens up into a million different ideas, and somehow, when you look at the art, Buddhist art, or particularly Tibetan art, you know, it’s a similar thing. All of a sudden there are a million lotus leaves and you’re following one to the next and to another, and I related to that, and it felt simple and easy to me. And it made me feel smart. – Jake Gyllenhaal • I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus. This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die. – Colleen Houck • I was in yoga the other day. I was in full lotus position. My chakras were all aligned. My mind is cleared of all clatter and I’m looking out of my third eye and everything that I’m supposed to be doing. It’s amazing what comes up, when you sit in that silence. “Mama keeps whites bright like the sunlight, Mama’s got the magic of Clorox 2.” – Ellen DeGeneres • I will allow only my Lord to possess my sacred lotus pond, and every night you can make blossom in me flowers of fire. – Huang E • If the bees which seek the liquid oozing from the head of a lust-intoxicated elephant are driven away by the flapping of his ears, then the elephant has lost only the ornament of his head. The bees are quite happy in the lotus filled lake. – Chanakya • If we take shelter of the lotus feet of the spiritual master, we can become free from illusion, fear and distress. If we wholeheartedly beg for his mercy without any deceit then the spiritual master bestows all auspiciousness upon us. – Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati • If you come to Plum Village in the summertime, you see many lotus flowers. Without the mud the lotus flowers cannot grow. You cannot separate lotus flowers from the mud. It is the same with understanding and love. These are two kinds of flowers that grow on the ground of suffering – Nhat Hanh • If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful – and strong. • If you sleep, Desire grows in you Like a vine in the forest. Like a monkey in the forest You jump from tree to tree, Never finding the fruit – From life to life, Never finding peace. If you are filled with desire Your sorrows swell Like the grass after the rain. But if you subdue desire Your sorrows shall fall from you Like drops of water from a lotus flower. – Gautama Buddha • I’m always very interested in breeding. Raising cacti is breeding. My lotus plant collection is breeding. The insects are breeding. – Takashi Murakami • I’m delighted to be coming back to Formula 1 after a two-year break, and I’m grateful to Lotus Renault GP for offering me this opportunity. – Kimi Raikkonen • I’m influenced by the music of the ’60s. It’s a mishmash of everything. To me, psychedelic can be all the way to a DJ. House music can be very psychedelic. ‘Flying Lotus’ is very psychedelic. Even though it’s urban and technological, it’s also mind-expanding, anything-can-go mishmash. – Anton Newcombe • In 1879 the Bengali scholar S.M. Tagore compiled a more extensive list of ruby colors from the Purana sacred texts: ‘like the China rose, like blood, like the seeds of the pomegranate, like red lead, like the red lotus, like saffron, like the resin of certain trees, like the eyes of the Greek partridge or the Indian crane…and like the interior of the half-blown water lily.’ With so many gorgeous descriptive possibilities it is curious that in English the two ancient names for rubies have come to sound incredibly ugly. – Victoria Finlay • In Egypt, I loved the perfume of the lotus. A flower would bloom in the pool at dawn, filling the entire garden with a blue musk so powerful it seemed that even the fish and ducks would swoon. By night, the flower might wither but the perfume lasted. Fainter and fainter, but never quite gone. Even many days later, the lotus remained in the garden. Months would pass and a bee would alight near the spot where the lotus had blossomed, and its essence was released again, momentary but undeniable. – Anita Diament • In Savasana or in meditation, the light of the eyes is drawn towards the lotus of the heart, so that the seat of the intelligence of the head is brought into contact with the seat of the intelligence of the heart, which is called the mind. Thus one passes from the individualistic state of consciousness to the universal state of consciousness. It is the merging of the intellect of the brain with the intellect of the soul. – B.K.S. Iyengar • In the land of the lotus-eaters there is no action. Action arises only from need, from dissatisfaction. It is purposeful striving towards something. Its ultimate end is always to get rid of a condition which is conceived to be deficient-to fulfill a need, to achieve satisfaction, to increase happiness. – Ludwig von Mises • In the Lotus Sutra, Buddha says to light up one corner – not the whole world. Just make it clear where you are. – Shunryu Suzuki • In the Lotus Sutra, it is said everything is emptiness – this world is empty, hell is empty, heaven is empty, God is empty, everything is emptiness. Emptiness is the nature of all things, nothingness, so be attuned to nothingness and you will achieve. – Rajneesh • It does not matter if you are a rose or a lotus or a marigold. What matters is that you are flowering. – Rajneesh • It is the north wind that lashes men into Vikings; it is the soft, luscious south wind which lulls them to lotus dreams. – Ouida • It is the plight of man. And while the blame lies partly on the river ” Lotus gestures towards the dark waters before us “most of the blame lies on man’s inclination to tune into the noise that blares all around him instead of the beautiful silence that lies deep within. – Alyson Noel • It was an easy choice to return with Lotus Renault GP as I have been impressed by the scope of the team’s ambition. – Kimi Raikkonen • It’s a mining town in lotus land. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • It’s like growing lotus flowers. You cannot grow lotus flowers on marble. You have to grow them on the mud. Without mud you cannot have lotus flowers. Without suffering, you have no way to learn how to be understanding and compassionate. – Nhat Hanh • Just think, Vishnu sleeps in the cosmic ocean, and the lotus of the universe grows from his navel. On the lotus sits Brahma, the creator. Brahma opens his eyes, and a world comes into being, governed by an Indra. Brahma closes his eyes, and a world goes out of being. The life of a Brahma is 432,000 years. When he dies, the lotus goes back, and another lotus is formed, and another Brahma. Then think of the galaxies beyond galaxies in infinite space, each a lotus, with a Brahma sitting on it, opening his eyes, closing his eyes. – Joseph Campbell • Life is like a rain drop on a lotus leaf. Everybody realises that you’re either very lucky person or you’re not. – George Harrison • Like the lotus flower that is born out of mud, we must honor the darkest parts of ourselves and the most painful of our life’s experiences, because they are what allow us to birth our most beautiful self. – Debbie Ford • Like the lotus which thrives in mud, the potential for realization grows in the rich soil of everyday life – Dalai Lama • Lotus-land as it appears in ‘Free Will’ is simply a metaphor for an idealized background, a ‘land of milk and honey.’ It is sometimes also used as a pejorative name for Los Angeles, though that was not in my mind when I wrote it. – Neil Peart • Love is born in sexuality but sexuality is not love. The lotus is born in the mud, but the lotus is not just mud. And if mud remains mud of course there are bound to be tears on the cheeks. – Rajneesh • Love is the lotus, lust is the mud the lotus arises out of. – Rajneesh • May the honey-sweet flute music that flows from Lord Mukunda’s lotus mouth fill me with bliss. – Rupa Goswami • May we live like the lotus, at home in muddy water. – Gautama Buddha • Meditation is your awakening. The moment you awake, sleep disappears and with it all the dreams, all the projections, all expectations, all desires. Suddenly you are in a state of desirelessness, non-ambition, unfathomable silence. And only in this silence, blossoms flower in your being. Only in this silence the lotuses open their petals. – Rajneesh • Microsoft has had two goals in the last 10 years. One was to copy the Mac, and the other was to copy Lotus’ success in the spreadsheet – basically, the applications business. And over the course of the last 10 years, Microsoft accomplished both of those goals. And now they are completely lost. – Steve Jobs • My mother always said I must be part Mongolian because of my lotus-pale complexion and squid-ink black hair. – Diane Ackerman • My sole literary ambition is to write one good novel, then retire to my hut in the desert, assume the lotus position, compose my mind and senses, and sink into meditation, contemplating my novel. – Edward Abbey • Nay, do not grieve tho’ life be full of sadness, Dawn will not veil her spleandor for your grief, Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.

Nay, do not pine, tho’ life be dark with trouble, Time will not pause or tarry on his way; To-day that seems so long, so strange, so bitter, Will soon be some forgotten yesterday.

Nay, do not weep; new hopes, new dreams, new faces, The unspent joy of all the unborn years, Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow, And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears. – Sarojini Naidu • Number theorists are like lotus-eaters — having once tasted of this food they can never give it up. – Leopold Kronecker • O! Lover, Enjoyment on the soft body of a lotus is always risky and inconsistent because its route is always surrounded by thorns. – Manmohan Acharya • On the top of the head is a Chakra – Sahasradala or the thousand-petalled lotus. There is a Chakra in the middle of the forehead between the eyebrows and one in the heart-centre. The region between the navel and head constitutes the mental field. From navel downward extending till the terminus of the spinal chord, mūlādhāra, is the seat of the vital. – Sri Aurobindo • One thing is certain: you can never become anything other than yourself, and unless you become yourself you cannot be happy. Happiness happens only when a rosebush grows roseflowers; when it flowers, when it has its own individuality. You may be a rosebush and trying to flower as lotus flower – that is creating insanity. Erase the mind. And the way to erase it is not by fight: the way to erase it is just to become aware. – Rajneesh • Only the other day I was inquiring of an entire bed of old-fashioned roses, forced to listen to my ramblings on the meaning of the universe as I sat cross-legged in the lotus position in front of them. • Our first duty is to satisfy the spiritual master, who can arrange for the Lord’s mercy. A common man must first begin to serve the spiritual master or the devotee. Then, through the mercy of the devotee, the Lord will be satisfied. Unless one receives the dust of a devotee’s lotus feet on one’s head, there is no possibility of advancement. Unless one approaches a pure devotee, he cannot understand the Supreme Personality of Godhead. – A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada • Over the eons I’ve been a fan of, and sucker for, each latest automated system to ‘simplify’ and ‘bring order to’ my life. Very early on this led me to the beautiful-and-doomed Lotus Agenda for my DOS computers, and Actioneer for the early Palm. – James Fallows • Remember Mother Earth knows who these people are that are going to become the one heart. Really the better way to say it is one lotus. This place in the heart has always been referred to as the lotus. And when you find your way there, Mother Earth will completely take care of you and protect you and provide everything for you. Even though everything outside seems to be insane, it will be miraculous. – Drunvalo Melchizedek • Sandalwood, tagara, lotus, jasmine – the fragrance of virtue is unrivalled by such kinds of perfume. – Gautama Buddha • Say not, ‘I have found the truth,’ but rather, ‘I have found a truth.’ Say not, ‘ I have found the path of the soul.’ Say rather, ‘I have met the soul walking upon my path.’ For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals. – Khalil Gibran • So as you are, in whatever conditions you are, in whatever situations you are, whatever may be the surroundings, like a dirty mire full of creatures and filth, you can become like lotuses. When you become like lotuses, all that is filth, all that is horrible can become fragrant. And this is what we have to achieve. – Nirmala Srivastava • The #lotus comes from the #murkiest #water.. but #grows into the #purest thing.- Nita Ambani • The banyan tree does not mean awakening, nor does the hill, nor the saint, nor the European couple. The lotus is a symbol of regeneration. – Swami Vivekananda • The Bible represents a fundamental guidepost for millions of people on the planet, in much the same way the Koran, Torah, and Pali Canon offer guidance to people of other religions. If you and I could dig up documentation that contradicted the holy stories of Islamic belief, Judaic belief, Buddhist belief, pagan belief, should we do that? Should we wave a flag and tell the Buddhists that the Buddha did not come from a lotus blossom? Or that Jesus was not born of a literal virgin birth? Those who truly understand their faiths understand the stories are metaphorical. – Dan Brown • The crown chakra is located several inches above the head, but it is not connected. The crown chakra, also known as the thousand-petal lotus of light, references the planes of light, of enlightenment. – Frederick Lenz • The honey in the flower or lotus does not crave for bees; they do not plead with the bees to come. Since they have tasted the sweetness, they themselves search for the flowers and rush in. They come because of the attachment between themselves and sweetness. So, too, is the relationship between the woman who knows the limits and the respect she evokes. – Sathya Sai Baba • The lotus flower is troubled At the sun’s resplendent light; With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night. – Heinrich Heine • The lotus grows in muddy waters but this flower does not show any trace of it: So we have to live in the world. – B.K.S. Iyengar • The lotus’ stem is as long as the depth of water, So men’s height is just as great as their inner strength. – Thiruvalluvar • The one who wanders independent in the world, free from opinions and viewpoints, does not grasp them and enter into disputations and arguments. As the lotus rises on its stalk unsoiled by the mud and the water, so the wise one speaks of peace and is unstained by the opinions of the world. – Gautama Buddha • The seated lotus postures are an amazing way to go into meditation, or simply just to take a moment to ground oneself. – Christy Turlington • The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals. – Khalil Gibran • The thousand petal lotus of light, the crown center, really does not become operative until one is on the verge of enlightenment itself. Then you really don’t have to meditate on it. The thousand petals gradually light up. – Frederick Lenz • The truth is that there are no good men, or bad men,’ he said. ‘It is the deeds that have goodness or badness in them. There are good deeds, and bad deeds. Men are just men – it is what they do, or refuse to do, that links them to good and evil. The truth is that an instant of real love, in the heart of anyone – the noblest man alive or the most wicked – has the whole purpose and process and meaning of life within the lotus-folds of its passion. The truth is that we are all, every one of us, every atom, every galaxy, and every particle of matter in the universe, moving toward God. – Gregory David Roberts • The ultimate source of energy, the sun is ready to set. The leaves of the blooming lotus flower in the pond are losing their lustre. A bumblebee, sitting on that lotus is enjoying the romantic pleasure and murmuring passionate songs. – Manmohan Acharya • Their love as a dragonfly, skimming over echo park, stoppin to visit the lotus. Eating dreams and drinking blue sky. – Janet Fitch • There are still some terrible cliches in the presentation of Indian fiction. The lotus flower. The hennaed hands. In mainland Europe, people still slap these images on my books and I go bananas. – Hari Kunzru • There is a beautiful expression of this in the Chandogya Upanishad: ‘There is this City of Brahman, (that is the body), and in this city there is a shrine, and in that shrine there is a small lotus, and in that lotus there is a small space, (akasa). Now what exists within that small space, that is to be sought, that is to be understood.’ This is the great discovery of the Upanishads, this inner shrine, this guha, or cave of the heart, where the inner meaning of life, of all human existence, is to be found. – Bede Griffiths • There is the mud, and there is the lotus that grows out of the mud. We need the mud in order to make the lotus. – Nhat Hanh • There’s a kind of training, when you are sitting in a session in the Japanese tradition or any of the Buddhist traditions, taking your lotus posture or whatever it is. That’s what you’re doing. – Anne Waldman • There’s just so much stuff that sounds like Flying Lotus now – I really like what he does, but I don’t want to be like him. The new stuff is more experimental. – Gold Panda • To be beautiful means to be yourself.You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself. When you are born a lotus flower, be a beautiful lotus flower, don’t try to be a magnolia flower. If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself. -Nhat Hanh • To the sky, I rise / Spread my wings, and fly / I leave the past behind / And say goodbye to the scared child inside / I sing for freedom, and for love / I look at my reflection / Embrace the woman I’ve become / The unbreakable lotus in me / I now set free – Christina Aguilera • Water surrounds the lotus flower, but does not wet its petals. – Gautama Buddha • Waterlilies always come in Buddhist sculpture. The Buddhas all stand on lotus pedestals, because the lotus is grown from the mud. The mud represents the stained world, a dirty world, but growing from the dirt is such a beautiful, pure thing. This is the way the spirit should be. – Hiroshi Sugimoto • When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus I am blessed—let this be my parting word. In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him who is formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come—let this be my parting word. – Rabindranath Tagore • When I notice a rear wheel overtaking me, I know I’m sitting in a Lotus. – Graham Hill • When one, abandoning greed, feels no greed for what would merit greed, greed gets shed from him – like a drop of water from a lotus leaf. – Gautama Buddha • When we speak of the dust of the lotus feet of the Spiritual Master, we are speaking of humble approach to serve his instructions. Unless we humbly serve the instructions of the great soul, it is Krishna’s arrangement the He never reveals Himself. – Radhanath Swami • When you sit in the full lotus position, your left foot is on your right thigh and your right foot is on your left thigh. When we cross our legs like this, even though we have a right leg and a left leg, they become one. The position expresses the oneness of duality: not two and not one. This is the most important teaching: not two, and not one. Our body and mind are not two and not one. If you think your body and mind are two, that is wrong; if you think that they are one, that is also wrong. Our body and mind are both two and one. – Shunryu Suzuki • Whenever you should doubt your self-worth, remember the lotus flower. Even though it plunges to life from beneath the mud, it does not allow the dirt that surrounds it to affect its growth or beauty. – Suzy Kassem • Worship of The Lotus Feet of The Spiritual Master: There is no work as auspicious as serving the spiritual master. Of all worship, the worship of the Supreme Personality of Godhead is the greatest but the worship of the lotus feet of the spiritual master is even greater than the worship of the Supreme Personality of Godhead. Unless this is firmly realized we cannot understand what saintly association means, we cannot understand what the shelter of a spiritual master means, we cannot understand that we are dependent and he is our maintainer. – Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati • YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side,’ said the dewdrop to the lake. – Rabindranath Tagore • You can purify your existence by feeling deep within yourself a beautiful rose or lotus, or any other flower that you like. A flower is all purity. Try to identify yourself with the consciousness of the flower or with the purity of the flower. Today it is imagination, but if you continue imagining for five days, or ten days, or a month or two, then you are bound to see and feel the flower within you. First you may feel it, then you are bound to see the existence of the flower, and then automatically the fragrance and the purity of the flower will enter into you to purify you. – Sri Chinmoy • You can remain in the world for any number of years, but don’t let the world take hold. Don’t let the world take hold of the inside world. There is the example of the lotus. It stays deep down in the mud. It comes up to the light, and it can’t stay without water because it would die. But it does not get mixed up either with the mud or the water. You have seen the lotus; even if the water comes it just goes off again. Now, when they talk of God, they always say ‘the lotus eyes, the lotus feet’ because of this inner significance. – Sathya Sai Baba • You have to measure your success by the way your audience responds to your games. No matter how small that audience is, it’s yours. Your game is part of the lives and the memories of those people in a way that WordPerfect or Lotus 1-2-3 or Windows can never be. – Orson Scott Card • You like being vague, don’t you? (Amanda) It was a choice of being a Dark-Hunter or a prophet. Personally I like the slash-and-kill stuff much more than prayers and the lotus position. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • You must be a lotus, unfolding its petals when the sun rises in the sky, unaffected by the slush where it is born or even the water which sustains it! – Sai Baba • YOUR HEART IS FULL of fertile seeds, waiting to sprout. Just as a lotus flower springs from the mire to bloom splendidly, the interaction of the cosmic breath causes the flower of the spirit to bloom and bear fruit in this world. – Morihei Ueshiba

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Lotuses Quotes

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• A flower can’t grow without rain. (Alexion) Too much rain and it drowns. (Danger) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (Alexion) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • A little child paddles a little boat, Drifting about, and picking white lotuses. He does not know how to hide his tracks, And duckweed’s opened up along his path. – Bai Juyi • A man ought to live in this world like a lotus leaf, which grows in water but is never moistened by water; so a man ought to live in the world – his heart to God and his hands to work. – Swami Vivekananda • An intense copper calm, like a universal yellow lotus, was more and more unfolding its noiseless measureless leaves upon the sea. – Herman Melville • And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine. – Oscar Wilde • And just for a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, wiht a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. – Sal Paradise – Jack Kerouac • As a lotus flower is born in water, grows in water and rises out of water to stand above it unsoiled, so I, born in the world, raised in the world having overcome the world, live unsoiled by the world – Gautama Buddha • As a water bead on a lotus leaf, as water on a red lily, does not adhere, so the sage does not adhere to the seen, the heard, or the sensed. – Gautama Buddha • At this moment, is there anything lacking? Nirvana is right here now before our eyes. This place is the lotus land. This body now is the Buddha. – Hakuin Ekaku

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Lotus', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_lotus').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_lotus img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Be like a lotus. Let the beauty of your heart speak. – Amit Ray • Because people learn from their mistakes, Danger. Pain and failure are a natural part of life. It’s kind of like a parent who watches their child fall down while learning to walk. Instead of coddling the child, you set them back on their feet and let them try again. They have to stumble before they can run. (Alexion) Do you really believe that we need to have our hearts ripped out? (Danger) A flower can’t grow without rain. (Alexion) Too much rain and it drowns. (Danger) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (Alexion) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • But when one masters this wretched desire, which is so hard to overcome, then one’s sorrows just drop off, like a drop of water off a lotus. – Gautama Buddha • By means of microscopic observation and astronomical projection the lotus flower can become the foundation for an entire theory of the universe and an agent whereby we may perceive Truth. – Yukio Mishima • Cut brambles long enough, Sprout after sprout, And the lotus will bloom Of its own accord: Already waiting in the clearing, The single image of light. The day you see this, That day you will become it. – Sun Bu’er • Cut out the love of self, like an autumn lotus with thy hand! – Gautama Buddha • Deep within the self is the Light of God. It radiates throughout the expanse of His creation. Through the Guru’s teachings, the darkness of spiritual ignorance is dispelled. The heart lotus flower blooms forth and eternal peace is obtained, as one’s light merges into the Supreme Light. – Guru Amar Das • Did either the nonexistent or the measured response after a series of attacks on Americans the past decade – in Lebanon, Africa, Saudi Arabia, New York, and Yemen – suggest to our terrorist enemies that it was wrong and unwise to kill reasonable and affable people, or did the easy killing imply that self-absorbed and pampered Lotus-eaters would not much care who or how many were butchered as long as it was within reasonable numbers and spread out over time? – Victor Davis Hanson • Do my eyes deceive me, or is Senna’s Lotus sounding rough? – Murray Walker • Do not go to the garden of flowers! O friend! go not there; In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the infinite beauty. – Kabir • Drop guilt! – because to be guilty is to live in hell. Not being guilty, you will have the freshness of dewdrops in the early morning sun, you will have the freshness of lotus petals in the lake, you will have the freshness of the stars in the night. Once guilt disappears you will have a totally different kind of life, luminous and radiant. You will have a dance to your feet and your heart will be singing a thousand and one songs. – Rajneesh • Drop jealousy and love wells up. Jealousy means that I am the owner. It is an ego trip, and wherever there is ego there is poison, and the poison kills the very source of love. One has to become aware of just these few things and discard them and one’s life becomes a lotus of love. And then there is no need to go in any search of god, god will come in search of you. This is my observation, that god always comes seeking the true seeker. Whenever the disciple is ready the master appears. – Rajneesh • Egypt loved the lotus because it never dies. It is the same for people who are loved. – Anita Diament • Egypt loved the lotus becuase it never dies. It is the same for people who are loved. Thus can something as insignificant as a name-two syllables, one high, one sweet- summon up the innumerable smiles, tears, sighs and dreams of a human life. – Anita Diament • English Bohemianism is a curiously unluscious fruit. … Inside this hothouse, huge lascivious orchids slide sensuously up the sweating windows, passion-flowers cross-pollinate in wild heliotrope abandon, lotuses writhe with poppies in the sweet warm beds, kumquats ripen, open and plop flatly to the floor-and outside, in a neat, trimly-hoed kitchen-garden, English bohemians sit in cold orderly rows, like carrots. – Alan Coren • Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted. – Sylvia Plath • Every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel, is rich with delicate aids to help incurious man. – Martin Farquhar Tupper • God cannot be found outside you, because there is no God who can ever be outside you. God is the ultimate fragrance of your consciousness. When your consciousness opens like a lotus, the fragrance that is released is God – better to call it godliness. – Rajneesh • God is the Sun and when His rays fall upon your heart, not impeded by the clouds of egoism, the lotus blooms and the petals unfold. – Sathya Sai Baba • Great people will always be mocked by those who feel smaller than them. However, a lion does not flinch at laughter coming from a hyena. A gorilla does not budge from a banana thrown at it by a monkey. A nightingale does not stop singing its beautiful song at the intrusion of an annoying woodpecker. Whenever you should question your self-worth, remember the lotus flower. Even though it plunges to life from beneath the mud, it does not allow the dirt that surrounds it to affect its growth or beauty. – Suzy Kassem • Heat lingers As days are still long; Early mornings are cool While autumn is still young. Dew on the lotus Scatters pure perfume; Wind on the bamboos Gives off a gentle tinkling. I am idle and lonely, Lying down all day, Sick and decayed; No one asks for me; Thin dusk before my gates, Cassia blossoms inch deep. – Bai Juyi • I also have a lot of preserved foods, things that will keep for a long time like dried fish, seaweed or lotus seed. – Martin Yan • I embrace my body, and I embrace everything about myself. Coming full circle is a celebration of freedom and happiness because that’s what [my new album] ‘Lotus’ is representing. I’m embracing everything that I’ve grown to be and learned to be. – Christina Aguilera • I got things like the lotus position long before anybody else did, or at least in the mainstream. But I had fun. I guess my legs are pretty flexible, so I used to get a kick out of doing things like that. I would get into a full lotus with my legs and then roll around. – John Astin • I have a strong antipathy to everything connected with gardens, gardening and gardeners. . . . Gardening seems to me a kind of admission of defeat. . . . Man was made for better things than pruning his rose trees. The state of mind of the confirmed gardener seems to me as reprehensible as that of the confirmed alcoholic. Both have capitulated to the world. Both have become lotus eaters and drifters. – Colin Wilson • I saw Lotus F1 racing as the best choice for me to progress my career, after considering several other options that were available to me. – Heikki Kovalainen • I sit cross-legged on the rock The valleys and streams are cold and damp Sitting quietly is beautiful The cliffs are lost in mist and fog I rest happily in this place At dusk the tree shadows are low I look into my mind A white lotus emerges from the dark mud – Hanshan • I think it’s more, at least at the time, a sense of abstraction. My mind doesn’t really work in a way where there’s a definitive sense of something. I go one way and then it opens up into a million different ideas, and somehow, when you look at the art, Buddhist art, or particularly Tibetan art, you know, it’s a similar thing. All of a sudden there are a million lotus leaves and you’re following one to the next and to another, and I related to that, and it felt simple and easy to me. And it made me feel smart. – Jake Gyllenhaal • I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus. This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die. – Colleen Houck • I was in yoga the other day. I was in full lotus position. My chakras were all aligned. My mind is cleared of all clatter and I’m looking out of my third eye and everything that I’m supposed to be doing. It’s amazing what comes up, when you sit in that silence. “Mama keeps whites bright like the sunlight, Mama’s got the magic of Clorox 2.” – Ellen DeGeneres • I will allow only my Lord to possess my sacred lotus pond, and every night you can make blossom in me flowers of fire. – Huang E • If the bees which seek the liquid oozing from the head of a lust-intoxicated elephant are driven away by the flapping of his ears, then the elephant has lost only the ornament of his head. The bees are quite happy in the lotus filled lake. – Chanakya • If we take shelter of the lotus feet of the spiritual master, we can become free from illusion, fear and distress. If we wholeheartedly beg for his mercy without any deceit then the spiritual master bestows all auspiciousness upon us. – Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati • If you come to Plum Village in the summertime, you see many lotus flowers. Without the mud the lotus flowers cannot grow. You cannot separate lotus flowers from the mud. It is the same with understanding and love. These are two kinds of flowers that grow on the ground of suffering – Nhat Hanh • If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful – and strong. • If you sleep, Desire grows in you Like a vine in the forest. Like a monkey in the forest You jump from tree to tree, Never finding the fruit – From life to life, Never finding peace. If you are filled with desire Your sorrows swell Like the grass after the rain. But if you subdue desire Your sorrows shall fall from you Like drops of water from a lotus flower. – Gautama Buddha • I’m always very interested in breeding. Raising cacti is breeding. My lotus plant collection is breeding. The insects are breeding. – Takashi Murakami • I’m delighted to be coming back to Formula 1 after a two-year break, and I’m grateful to Lotus Renault GP for offering me this opportunity. – Kimi Raikkonen • I’m influenced by the music of the ’60s. It’s a mishmash of everything. To me, psychedelic can be all the way to a DJ. House music can be very psychedelic. ‘Flying Lotus’ is very psychedelic. Even though it’s urban and technological, it’s also mind-expanding, anything-can-go mishmash. – Anton Newcombe • In 1879 the Bengali scholar S.M. Tagore compiled a more extensive list of ruby colors from the Purana sacred texts: ‘like the China rose, like blood, like the seeds of the pomegranate, like red lead, like the red lotus, like saffron, like the resin of certain trees, like the eyes of the Greek partridge or the Indian crane…and like the interior of the half-blown water lily.’ With so many gorgeous descriptive possibilities it is curious that in English the two ancient names for rubies have come to sound incredibly ugly. – Victoria Finlay • In Egypt, I loved the perfume of the lotus. A flower would bloom in the pool at dawn, filling the entire garden with a blue musk so powerful it seemed that even the fish and ducks would swoon. By night, the flower might wither but the perfume lasted. Fainter and fainter, but never quite gone. Even many days later, the lotus remained in the garden. Months would pass and a bee would alight near the spot where the lotus had blossomed, and its essence was released again, momentary but undeniable. – Anita Diament • In Savasana or in meditation, the light of the eyes is drawn towards the lotus of the heart, so that the seat of the intelligence of the head is brought into contact with the seat of the intelligence of the heart, which is called the mind. Thus one passes from the individualistic state of consciousness to the universal state of consciousness. It is the merging of the intellect of the brain with the intellect of the soul. – B.K.S. Iyengar • In the land of the lotus-eaters there is no action. Action arises only from need, from dissatisfaction. It is purposeful striving towards something. Its ultimate end is always to get rid of a condition which is conceived to be deficient-to fulfill a need, to achieve satisfaction, to increase happiness. – Ludwig von Mises • In the Lotus Sutra, Buddha says to light up one corner – not the whole world. Just make it clear where you are. – Shunryu Suzuki • In the Lotus Sutra, it is said everything is emptiness – this world is empty, hell is empty, heaven is empty, God is empty, everything is emptiness. Emptiness is the nature of all things, nothingness, so be attuned to nothingness and you will achieve. – Rajneesh • It does not matter if you are a rose or a lotus or a marigold. What matters is that you are flowering. – Rajneesh • It is the north wind that lashes men into Vikings; it is the soft, luscious south wind which lulls them to lotus dreams. – Ouida • It is the plight of man. And while the blame lies partly on the river ” Lotus gestures towards the dark waters before us “most of the blame lies on man’s inclination to tune into the noise that blares all around him instead of the beautiful silence that lies deep within. – Alyson Noel • It was an easy choice to return with Lotus Renault GP as I have been impressed by the scope of the team’s ambition. – Kimi Raikkonen • It’s a mining town in lotus land. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • It’s like growing lotus flowers. You cannot grow lotus flowers on marble. You have to grow them on the mud. Without mud you cannot have lotus flowers. Without suffering, you have no way to learn how to be understanding and compassionate. – Nhat Hanh • Just think, Vishnu sleeps in the cosmic ocean, and the lotus of the universe grows from his navel. On the lotus sits Brahma, the creator. Brahma opens his eyes, and a world comes into being, governed by an Indra. Brahma closes his eyes, and a world goes out of being. The life of a Brahma is 432,000 years. When he dies, the lotus goes back, and another lotus is formed, and another Brahma. Then think of the galaxies beyond galaxies in infinite space, each a lotus, with a Brahma sitting on it, opening his eyes, closing his eyes. – Joseph Campbell • Life is like a rain drop on a lotus leaf. Everybody realises that you’re either very lucky person or you’re not. – George Harrison • Like the lotus flower that is born out of mud, we must honor the darkest parts of ourselves and the most painful of our life’s experiences, because they are what allow us to birth our most beautiful self. – Debbie Ford • Like the lotus which thrives in mud, the potential for realization grows in the rich soil of everyday life – Dalai Lama • Lotus-land as it appears in ‘Free Will’ is simply a metaphor for an idealized background, a ‘land of milk and honey.’ It is sometimes also used as a pejorative name for Los Angeles, though that was not in my mind when I wrote it. – Neil Peart • Love is born in sexuality but sexuality is not love. The lotus is born in the mud, but the lotus is not just mud. And if mud remains mud of course there are bound to be tears on the cheeks. – Rajneesh • Love is the lotus, lust is the mud the lotus arises out of. – Rajneesh • May the honey-sweet flute music that flows from Lord Mukunda’s lotus mouth fill me with bliss. – Rupa Goswami • May we live like the lotus, at home in muddy water. – Gautama Buddha • Meditation is your awakening. The moment you awake, sleep disappears and with it all the dreams, all the projections, all expectations, all desires. Suddenly you are in a state of desirelessness, non-ambition, unfathomable silence. And only in this silence, blossoms flower in your being. Only in this silence the lotuses open their petals. – Rajneesh • Microsoft has had two goals in the last 10 years. One was to copy the Mac, and the other was to copy Lotus’ success in the spreadsheet – basically, the applications business. And over the course of the last 10 years, Microsoft accomplished both of those goals. And now they are completely lost. – Steve Jobs • My mother always said I must be part Mongolian because of my lotus-pale complexion and squid-ink black hair. – Diane Ackerman • My sole literary ambition is to write one good novel, then retire to my hut in the desert, assume the lotus position, compose my mind and senses, and sink into meditation, contemplating my novel. – Edward Abbey • Nay, do not grieve tho’ life be full of sadness, Dawn will not veil her spleandor for your grief, Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.

Nay, do not pine, tho’ life be dark with trouble, Time will not pause or tarry on his way; To-day that seems so long, so strange, so bitter, Will soon be some forgotten yesterday.

Nay, do not weep; new hopes, new dreams, new faces, The unspent joy of all the unborn years, Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow, And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears. – Sarojini Naidu • Number theorists are like lotus-eaters — having once tasted of this food they can never give it up. – Leopold Kronecker • O! Lover, Enjoyment on the soft body of a lotus is always risky and inconsistent because its route is always surrounded by thorns. – Manmohan Acharya • On the top of the head is a Chakra – Sahasradala or the thousand-petalled lotus. There is a Chakra in the middle of the forehead between the eyebrows and one in the heart-centre. The region between the navel and head constitutes the mental field. From navel downward extending till the terminus of the spinal chord, mūlādhāra, is the seat of the vital. – Sri Aurobindo • One thing is certain: you can never become anything other than yourself, and unless you become yourself you cannot be happy. Happiness happens only when a rosebush grows roseflowers; when it flowers, when it has its own individuality. You may be a rosebush and trying to flower as lotus flower – that is creating insanity. Erase the mind. And the way to erase it is not by fight: the way to erase it is just to become aware. – Rajneesh • Only the other day I was inquiring of an entire bed of old-fashioned roses, forced to listen to my ramblings on the meaning of the universe as I sat cross-legged in the lotus position in front of them. • Our first duty is to satisfy the spiritual master, who can arrange for the Lord’s mercy. A common man must first begin to serve the spiritual master or the devotee. Then, through the mercy of the devotee, the Lord will be satisfied. Unless one receives the dust of a devotee’s lotus feet on one’s head, there is no possibility of advancement. Unless one approaches a pure devotee, he cannot understand the Supreme Personality of Godhead. – A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada • Over the eons I’ve been a fan of, and sucker for, each latest automated system to ‘simplify’ and ‘bring order to’ my life. Very early on this led me to the beautiful-and-doomed Lotus Agenda for my DOS computers, and Actioneer for the early Palm. – James Fallows • Remember Mother Earth knows who these people are that are going to become the one heart. Really the better way to say it is one lotus. This place in the heart has always been referred to as the lotus. And when you find your way there, Mother Earth will completely take care of you and protect you and provide everything for you. Even though everything outside seems to be insane, it will be miraculous. – Drunvalo Melchizedek • Sandalwood, tagara, lotus, jasmine – the fragrance of virtue is unrivalled by such kinds of perfume. – Gautama Buddha • Say not, ‘I have found the truth,’ but rather, ‘I have found a truth.’ Say not, ‘ I have found the path of the soul.’ Say rather, ‘I have met the soul walking upon my path.’ For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals. – Khalil Gibran • So as you are, in whatever conditions you are, in whatever situations you are, whatever may be the surroundings, like a dirty mire full of creatures and filth, you can become like lotuses. When you become like lotuses, all that is filth, all that is horrible can become fragrant. And this is what we have to achieve. – Nirmala Srivastava • The #lotus comes from the #murkiest #water.. but #grows into the #purest thing.- Nita Ambani • The banyan tree does not mean awakening, nor does the hill, nor the saint, nor the European couple. The lotus is a symbol of regeneration. – Swami Vivekananda • The Bible represents a fundamental guidepost for millions of people on the planet, in much the same way the Koran, Torah, and Pali Canon offer guidance to people of other religions. If you and I could dig up documentation that contradicted the holy stories of Islamic belief, Judaic belief, Buddhist belief, pagan belief, should we do that? Should we wave a flag and tell the Buddhists that the Buddha did not come from a lotus blossom? Or that Jesus was not born of a literal virgin birth? Those who truly understand their faiths understand the stories are metaphorical. – Dan Brown • The crown chakra is located several inches above the head, but it is not connected. The crown chakra, also known as the thousand-petal lotus of light, references the planes of light, of enlightenment. – Frederick Lenz • The honey in the flower or lotus does not crave for bees; they do not plead with the bees to come. Since they have tasted the sweetness, they themselves search for the flowers and rush in. They come because of the attachment between themselves and sweetness. So, too, is the relationship between the woman who knows the limits and the respect she evokes. – Sathya Sai Baba • The lotus flower is troubled At the sun’s resplendent light; With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night. – Heinrich Heine • The lotus grows in muddy waters but this flower does not show any trace of it: So we have to live in the world. – B.K.S. Iyengar • The lotus’ stem is as long as the depth of water, So men’s height is just as great as their inner strength. – Thiruvalluvar • The one who wanders independent in the world, free from opinions and viewpoints, does not grasp them and enter into disputations and arguments. As the lotus rises on its stalk unsoiled by the mud and the water, so the wise one speaks of peace and is unstained by the opinions of the world. – Gautama Buddha • The seated lotus postures are an amazing way to go into meditation, or simply just to take a moment to ground oneself. – Christy Turlington • The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals. – Khalil Gibran • The thousand petal lotus of light, the crown center, really does not become operative until one is on the verge of enlightenment itself. Then you really don’t have to meditate on it. The thousand petals gradually light up. – Frederick Lenz • The truth is that there are no good men, or bad men,’ he said. ‘It is the deeds that have goodness or badness in them. There are good deeds, and bad deeds. Men are just men – it is what they do, or refuse to do, that links them to good and evil. The truth is that an instant of real love, in the heart of anyone – the noblest man alive or the most wicked – has the whole purpose and process and meaning of life within the lotus-folds of its passion. The truth is that we are all, every one of us, every atom, every galaxy, and every particle of matter in the universe, moving toward God. – Gregory David Roberts • The ultimate source of energy, the sun is ready to set. The leaves of the blooming lotus flower in the pond are losing their lustre. A bumblebee, sitting on that lotus is enjoying the romantic pleasure and murmuring passionate songs. – Manmohan Acharya • Their love as a dragonfly, skimming over echo park, stoppin to visit the lotus. Eating dreams and drinking blue sky. – Janet Fitch • There are still some terrible cliches in the presentation of Indian fiction. The lotus flower. The hennaed hands. In mainland Europe, people still slap these images on my books and I go bananas. – Hari Kunzru • There is a beautiful expression of this in the Chandogya Upanishad: ‘There is this City of Brahman, (that is the body), and in this city there is a shrine, and in that shrine there is a small lotus, and in that lotus there is a small space, (akasa). Now what exists within that small space, that is to be sought, that is to be understood.’ This is the great discovery of the Upanishads, this inner shrine, this guha, or cave of the heart, where the inner meaning of life, of all human existence, is to be found. – Bede Griffiths • There is the mud, and there is the lotus that grows out of the mud. We need the mud in order to make the lotus. – Nhat Hanh • There’s a kind of training, when you are sitting in a session in the Japanese tradition or any of the Buddhist traditions, taking your lotus posture or whatever it is. That’s what you’re doing. – Anne Waldman • There’s just so much stuff that sounds like Flying Lotus now – I really like what he does, but I don’t want to be like him. The new stuff is more experimental. – Gold Panda • To be beautiful means to be yourself.You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself. When you are born a lotus flower, be a beautiful lotus flower, don’t try to be a magnolia flower. If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself. -Nhat Hanh • To the sky, I rise / Spread my wings, and fly / I leave the past behind / And say goodbye to the scared child inside / I sing for freedom, and for love / I look at my reflection / Embrace the woman I’ve become / The unbreakable lotus in me / I now set free – Christina Aguilera • Water surrounds the lotus flower, but does not wet its petals. – Gautama Buddha • Waterlilies always come in Buddhist sculpture. The Buddhas all stand on lotus pedestals, because the lotus is grown from the mud. The mud represents the stained world, a dirty world, but growing from the dirt is such a beautiful, pure thing. This is the way the spirit should be. – Hiroshi Sugimoto • When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus I am blessed—let this be my parting word. In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him who is formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come—let this be my parting word. – Rabindranath Tagore • When I notice a rear wheel overtaking me, I know I’m sitting in a Lotus. – Graham Hill • When one, abandoning greed, feels no greed for what would merit greed, greed gets shed from him – like a drop of water from a lotus leaf. – Gautama Buddha • When we speak of the dust of the lotus feet of the Spiritual Master, we are speaking of humble approach to serve his instructions. Unless we humbly serve the instructions of the great soul, it is Krishna’s arrangement the He never reveals Himself. – Radhanath Swami • When you sit in the full lotus position, your left foot is on your right thigh and your right foot is on your left thigh. When we cross our legs like this, even though we have a right leg and a left leg, they become one. The position expresses the oneness of duality: not two and not one. This is the most important teaching: not two, and not one. Our body and mind are not two and not one. If you think your body and mind are two, that is wrong; if you think that they are one, that is also wrong. Our body and mind are both two and one. – Shunryu Suzuki • Whenever you should doubt your self-worth, remember the lotus flower. Even though it plunges to life from beneath the mud, it does not allow the dirt that surrounds it to affect its growth or beauty. – Suzy Kassem • Worship of The Lotus Feet of The Spiritual Master: There is no work as auspicious as serving the spiritual master. Of all worship, the worship of the Supreme Personality of Godhead is the greatest but the worship of the lotus feet of the spiritual master is even greater than the worship of the Supreme Personality of Godhead. Unless this is firmly realized we cannot understand what saintly association means, we cannot understand what the shelter of a spiritual master means, we cannot understand that we are dependent and he is our maintainer. – Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati • YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side,’ said the dewdrop to the lake. – Rabindranath Tagore • You can purify your existence by feeling deep within yourself a beautiful rose or lotus, or any other flower that you like. A flower is all purity. Try to identify yourself with the consciousness of the flower or with the purity of the flower. Today it is imagination, but if you continue imagining for five days, or ten days, or a month or two, then you are bound to see and feel the flower within you. First you may feel it, then you are bound to see the existence of the flower, and then automatically the fragrance and the purity of the flower will enter into you to purify you. – Sri Chinmoy • You can remain in the world for any number of years, but don’t let the world take hold. Don’t let the world take hold of the inside world. There is the example of the lotus. It stays deep down in the mud. It comes up to the light, and it can’t stay without water because it would die. But it does not get mixed up either with the mud or the water. You have seen the lotus; even if the water comes it just goes off again. Now, when they talk of God, they always say ‘the lotus eyes, the lotus feet’ because of this inner significance. – Sathya Sai Baba • You have to measure your success by the way your audience responds to your games. No matter how small that audience is, it’s yours. Your game is part of the lives and the memories of those people in a way that WordPerfect or Lotus 1-2-3 or Windows can never be. – Orson Scott Card • You like being vague, don’t you? (Amanda) It was a choice of being a Dark-Hunter or a prophet. Personally I like the slash-and-kill stuff much more than prayers and the lotus position. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • You must be a lotus, unfolding its petals when the sun rises in the sky, unaffected by the slush where it is born or even the water which sustains it! – Sai Baba • YOUR HEART IS FULL of fertile seeds, waiting to sprout. Just as a lotus flower springs from the mire to bloom splendidly, the interaction of the cosmic breath causes the flower of the spirit to bloom and bear fruit in this world. – Morihei Ueshiba

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[mistedfence]

shlooting and rpgs, Celestialvania

so, looter shooters (shlooters) and rpg leveling were recent thoughts of mine for this little celestialvania game i had, which drew influence from bl2, pokemon, and hld for gameplay base, but with a more jojo-stand esque usage of teams/abilities. 

i’ve started to realize that pokemon combines the two: what pops up in rng encounters is what you can level and customize via moveset. bl2 takes the (more or less) opposite approach, the rng loot that you can find have static stats and passives; what you level is yourself as a character. generally, through the game, you level your character just based on what seems appealing, in terms of overarching gameplay style or just down one of the three trees for that sick capstone, and if you happen to loot some good rarity gun that fits your skill tree at the moment, then awesome. it’s really only lategame, where you’re starting to get the legendaries and legit loot, that you might consider respeccing your build around specific guns, shields, class mods, grenades, etc. Ok wow, I need to punctuate because holy shit. 

So I guess what I need to figure out going onwards is why exactly BL2′s system is so good. I think part of the reason is the need to constantly find new equipment as you rapidly outgrow it in harsher levels/environments, and there’s that sentimental point of finally replacing a reliable gear that carried you through a significant point of the game. I guess that’s really Pokemon’s strength, then, in that you’re supposed to become attached to specific Pokemon and never outgrow them, only deepen your bond as you level them to the last of the game’s content. We’re gonna ignore PVP connotations for now, because I don’t think a game with network connectivity or PvP is anywhere near what I’m able to do for game-making right now. So, loot shooting is kind of a different “badge” of devotion, of showcasing a rare as fuck loot that you can only get by farming untold hours, defeating shit hard bosses, or farming shit hard bosses. 

There’s also a reverse timeline of where the rng comes in. BL2′s is at the “end”, where either you get the drop or you don’t, and getting it marks the end of your struggle and the beginning of funtimes. Pokemon’s rng is at the very beginning, and is a lot less black and white with all the varieties of stats and their combinations affecting viability. Pokemon therefore has the problem where rng actually kinda fucks with the sentimentality they have going if you become the kind of person that catches tons of a Pokemon until you find one with the stats/nature you want. The most common solution to mitigating the bad feeling of having a bunch of captured nobodies seems to be sacrificing them towards your main a la Gachas (Love Live, Granblue Fantasy, Puzzles and Dragons), but that still just feels horrid (lol Pokemon Go).

So lets talk a short bit about my game idea, tentative name Celestialvania. (I came up with the idea after seeing a gorgeous two story wooden house at twilight (the dark, late, basically night, good kind) when out on a walk. It was actually hella close to my house, but I never noticed because it was so concealed by shrubbery and tall trees. Wanna say it had a Victorian style, but I’m pretty sure that’s wrong as shit, but idk what else to call it. Tall and woody with tall and thin 2nd story windows (really all i could see of the house) and a tall pointed roof.) Cosmic horror/occult naturey vibe. Context is a spaceship of sorts sailing to a distant location, but old and traveling enough to the point where it’s basically just a piece of Earth, suburban and foresty and all, with an artificial sky. Come some shenanigans, night permanently falls with the failure of the sky, and its up to you as some plucky racially and genderly ambiguous teen to band with your hot and queer and plucky and cheer squad to do shit, whether its meeting up in the Asian restaurant one’s parents own that’s conveniently the only store in the entire downtown that still has power, beaning monsters in the local forest, fighting a great beast / really tall trench-coated occult looking humanoid mf at the highschool football stadium, or realizing that the old local church is actually a really large elevator to the 2nd world under your own, where “stars” are just laid out in a flat grid and named as cartesian coordinates and they’re much more urban and casually high tech than you are. Also a sea that’s the cooling vat for the main power, but contamination of the sea with creatures that feed off this thermal and otheryadda power has lead to darkness and some shit developing in said darkness. Anyway the point is I thought of some damage types for rock paper scissors pokemony style, with planetary (default physical), gravitas, constellation, nebulous, solar, and nautical. The point is I want you to be able to assemble a “team”, like in Pokemon, but the combat is more like Hyper Light Drifter or dare I say it Dark Souls. While you still have an “active” team member like in Pokemon, the rest of the team still gives passives and gameplay affects to yourself. Hence “Jojo stands”.

The main issue I had earlier that I’m hoping to figure out, typing all this out now, is how to flesh out a design of capturing members for said team, as they’d be cosmic entities of varying creature-ness and cosmic type. Like as in, what would be the factors that’d be rng-ey. BL2 is rng in two factors, more or less: passive and stats. Rarity classifications/colors are basically just a tier system for this rng gear. BL2 stats are Damage, Accuracy, Fire Rate, Reload Speed, and Magazine Size. Oh I guess a 3rd factor is weapon brand, because each has special factors there too, from Torgue’s rocket ammo on assault rifles and shotguns to Jakobs lack of full automatic but fire rate limited only by manual trigger pull speed. I started thinking up type interactions, but that’s honestly probably another post because this one is getting long. Still wondering though if this answer will just come to me as I flesh out the interactions of the types more and more. It all feels like it can’t exist or begin development without other pieces already in place, but it feels like those pieces are relying on every other too.

But then I did raise a good point. Stats. What sort of stats does my game want? Shit, what stats does Hyper Light Drifter even have? Time to do some research. That’ll hopefully help a bit with my question of hitboxes. Dark Souls is sick because of how good the hitboxes are with swing timing and range in a 3D atmosphere. So many times, sick victories against enemies are pulled off by swinging and landing your hit while they’re also in the middle of a heavy ass swing. I’m not sure how to equate that in a top down pixel-ey game. I thought about “hard-coding” damage timing with animations of attacks, as well as actually just using 3D models but just stuck to a top-down view a bit like how 2D fighters like Dragonball Z Fighters and Guilty Gear Xrd do 3D. It might definitely be out of my scope for now though. Actually fuck that it very well might not be. Downloading a trial/buying permanent license of Gamemaker in a week, after apprenticeship deadline for Disney. Man, I gotta be working on my portfolio. Like, immediate one. I want to make this game work. I guess this is one new use for this blog, but random smarmy writings are always welcome. I just hope they come from a better place now, though we’ll really have to see if I can even reach my previous spot of self-authenticity to work on improving it while in a living environment with my parents. Feels like an excuse typing that out. Need to sleep and wake early and start fuckin animatinnng groaaar.