#*it IS optimistic. after all it says that hope and love will prevail and that those are values worth living for. it doesn't believe that

[light-wrath-paradise]

*takes a drag of cigarette* I need to reread Monster by Naoki Urasawa

[conkreetmonkey]

Saw that one gut-wrenching scene from Wall-E on YouTube the other night, and I didn't even need to have watched the rest of the movie first for it to make me cry. How did they animate the light being gone from the eyes of a robot.

Maybe hot take, but I like that they brought him back. Like, they HAD to because it was a kids movie, but damn, if they'd have kept him "dead?" That would have been the bleakest, most depressing ending to any animated film I can think of, adult or otherwise. Like, centuries of personality and knowledge and experience, the soul of a machine never designed to have the capacity for one, someone so unique and special and sweethearted with so much love to give, just gone, senselessly murdered in a selfless final act of altruism, his brain overwritten with the factory default settings? Only receiving the affection he'd yearned for his entire life after his death?? 10 year old me would have cried so hard he threw up fr.

And you might say, "well then don't set up the plot so the hero dies if you don't want the hero to die," and like, true, but I think the way they brought him back sort of makes sense (Eve's electric "kiss" is clearly what brought him back, something inside him shorted out and returned his memories, and like... I hc he just had a backup drive and was somehow activated in a "kicking the TV so it works" moment?), and I mean, hey, it's narratively perfect that the undying belief in love and hope he sacrificed himself over was the thing that brought him back. I can excuse a deus ex machina here.

Wall-E is my favorite Pixar movie, and also it's a generally great piece of sci-fi despite the age rating and I will take that opinion to the grave. It's simultaneously pessimistic about the future but optimistic about the human spirit's ability to overcome hypercapitalist oppression and the planet's ability to heal, and I LOVE how it has it both ways like that. Wall-E really said "even if things really do keep getting worse and the planet is rendered uninhabitable, even if corporate monopolies successfully brainwash and enslave every last human in the universe, the unending truths of love and hope will eventually prevail. There is no wound on Earth nor mankind too deep to eventually heal. So long as any exist, humans will never lose their spark, no matter how bad things get, no matter how deeply buried under centuries of propaganda it becomes." It's a great fucking movie because it doesn't pull punches or mince words, yet remains hopeful, and somehow delivers that with an all-ages rating. HOW. God-tier film, you mess with Wall-E (2008) you mess with me.

[puer-aurea]

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

Angst for Treebark (is that what we call martyn and ren?)

"I wanna say there's still hope but sometimes things just don't go your way."

Please please please bear w me if i screw up writing this dialogue i am trying and they insisted on being poetic in 3rd life and i dont want to ruin it

There's a war on the horizon, everyone can tell. It's hard to ignore- near impossible, actually. Renchanting and Monopoly Mountain were enemies from the start. Even when they evolved into Dogwarts and those desert hippies that Ren couldn't be bothered to properly call them, their relationship stayed the same.

Ren knew the last stand-off was happening soon, and admittedly, he wasn't having high hopes. Grian was still on Scar's side despite not owing him his life anymore, and Ren knew Grian was smart. It would be damn near effortless for him to trap their home and blow it to bits with the king and his hand standing inside.

Martyn, however, held more optimism than him. Optimism that, while he admired it, Ren also hated it. Hated that he would disappoint his hand when he fell.

"Chin up, my lord. We'll take them down!" The hand gave his king a big smile.

Martyn was so certain they could win. He knew that if when they won, he would have to fight his king, but for now he could consider it a duel win.

"You see a different side than me, hand." Ren spoke with a sad smile.

"You don't believe we can take them? Surely you think there's a chance!" The hand looked a little upset at his king's pessimism.

"I want to say there's still hope, and that we can prevail, but sometimes things just don't go the way we want. I've made my peace with that, me hand." Ren accepted it long ago.

Ren was happy to have this experience. Of being a king with a right hand man who was loyal to him. Having land that he protected and a war with a rival nation to fight. It certainly wasn't a happy experience, but he was happy to have experienced it.

The hand, however, was not happy. He wanted to bring his king to the end. To him, it was never about being someone's hand, it was about being Ren's. It was his first lifetime knowing him, but there was something in the hand that told him it wouldn't be his last lifetime yearning for him.

Maybe, in another lifetime, they would have a happy ending. There wouldn't be a war to fight. Or, Martyn would've at least been able to protect his king.

~

Etho was burnt to a crisp whilst fighting impulseSV

The flame bows would be the death of all of them, Ren swears. He's already accepted his death, but he's still fighting for his land. After all, Martyn is still fighting and how could Ren let his hand fall without him?

The hand hates the flame, but he's determined. They won't fall here, he promises. Not verbally, it's more of a promise to the universe, he doesn't want to put the pressure of a promise on his king.

impulseSV was slain by InTheLittleWood

The traitor falls, and Ren is relieved they could at least do that. The relief fades quick as they are attacked again.

Tango was burnt to a crisp whilst fighting InTheLittleWood

The hand is optimistic. They will win- they have to win. After everything he's done for his king, if they just died here, it would be pointless. So he has to pull through.

bigbst4tz was shot by Grian

It's not a permadeath, but Ren doesn't expect Bigb to come back to them. It's him and Martyn versus Scar and Grian. How it could've been from the start if they all didn't involve innocent people in their feud. Ren feels bad they had to die for something that had nothing to do with them, but death is inevitable in a war.

The hand is going to protect his king. He has to, that's what he's there for. The king won't fall like their other allies, the hand swears it. He promises again that he'll protect him. He's separated from his king, but surely he'll be able to protect himself from Scar while his hand deals with BdoubleO.

Renthedog was shot by GoodTimeWithScar

"REN, NO!" He knows it's disrespectful for the hand to refer to his king by name, but his grief and anger is fueling him.

He promised they'd win right? Maybe he should've voiced it to his king. A promise to the universe means nothing, really. All the hand can do is avenge his king and win alone for them.

InTheLittleWood was shot by GoodTimeWithScar

Oh dear. Did he... really fail his king? What kind of hand dies to the same man who killed his king? Oh, he really messed this up. He's glad he's separated from his king in the afterlife, he doesn't think he could bare the disappointment his king might look at him with.

But Ren? He's the furthest thing from disappointed. If only he could tell Martyn how proud he was of him for continuing to fight when he could've run. How cruel of the world to not give them this last reunion in the afterlife.

[theredsuzuran]

Douma x reader - Innocence

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Took me a long time to upload a new content am so sorry for the delay I was really busy with school assignments therefore I cannot manage the time to write. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors on my behalf, I hope you enjoy.

Warning : Dark themes like gore, blood and violence, degradation and swearing, mature content.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon shone brightly above the sky as it's light leak through the branches illuminating the famous building of the eternal paradise cult. A new set of followers rushed into the dwelling in hopes of fulfilling their selfish desires, diminishing their agonies and enriching their possessions. However a particular human with her tattered kimono seem not to be interested to convey anything although the people around her would die to witness even a glimpse of the charismatic leader as for now she was busy running along the wide long corridors

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed throughout the building as a herd of followers attempted on catching the miscreant who disrupted the peaceful atmosphere prevailing over the supreme cult. The already annoyed and frustrated people were all worked up to catch the energetic human who on the other hand have thoughts of escaping this place they called paradise. If only she was careful enough to notice her mother's strange behavior soon as they entered the place but how can you possibly blame an innocent little girl like her, or so she thought. Afraid she might lose sight of her treacherous mother who abandoned her just moments ago she desparety stumbled her way out although that didn't concerned her simple thinking process but that's exactly how complicated the situation was.

Turning one last time to look behind if those weird people were still following her or not when suddenly she bumped into a Tall muscular figure standing infront of her soft delicate frame she must have missed him approaching while focusing on looking behind. "Please just leave me alone!" The girl fumed coherently still overwhelmed by the amount of people rushing towards her like waves something that she was not accustomed with as for eighteen years she lived indoors interacting rarely with anyone and playing with dolls most of the time.

"Watch your tongue brat" one of the men standing beside the tall man spoke with disgust hinted in his voice. "Crouch down you insolent woman, where's your gratitude it's because of lord Douma's benevolence that you are still here or you'd be rotting in the street thanks to your mother", the people around her started whispering and murmuring behind her back but she was not bother since her senses were filled with newfound wrath how dare they insult your angel like mother? No longer able to contain your anger you shouted with tears "Then take me to my mother, I don't want to stay here alone".

"Your mother abandoned you here so shut up and deal with it, now move your way for master" the man grunted irritatedly motioning the other followers to grab her and take her away.

"No don't touch me" she wiggled under their grip rushing towards douma blocking him from entering the room by grabbing his arm tightly "I am not going anywhere until I know where my mother is" she cried loudly making the demon flinch with surprise, how pitiful the creature looked in his polychromatic eyes. He have seen many humans crying before him for obvious reasons which honestly have become his monotonous routine but somehow this girl acted quite weird being her age, interesting him enough to investigate. As he was about to speak the man beside him pushed the girl hashly making her lose her balance and fall on the wooden floor.

"How dare you touch master with your filthy hands bitch" he lift his hand to slap her tight in the face but someone grabbed his wrist just in time to save the girl from further humiliation.

"Silence" all the questioning glances, judging looks and whispering stopped at once as douma spoke nonchalantly making the latter shiver in regret.

"I am sorry douma sama" the man uttered in pure horror having no intentions to displease his beloved lord. "I was-"

"I don't want to see that happen again, understood?" He replied coldly still maintaining his wide smile as the previous chaos shifted into complete hush. The man lowered his head down with shame nodding silently. Douma averted his attention and glanced at the figure underneath making the girl jolt a bit but his once frightening demeanor changed into a cheerful and optimistic one in matter of second upon seeing her.

"Please take her to my chamber and treat her wounds" the man clapped with a wide grin plastered on his face. A group of female servants came rushing to help picking her up. The girl being too bewildered did not protested and simply follow his tone as if she was hypnotized by his neatly decorated persona.

The girl was immediately taken away without delay and as per douma he needed to attend his cult duties. First of all she was washed and changed into a beautiful kimono as soon as she stepped inside, then she was escorted into a room filled with antiques and lavish items which she have never seen. Her face lit up with fascination as she began venturing those decorative pieces.

"Looks like you have ease down a bit, good good" A familiar tone struck in her ears startling her a bit only to turn back and view the handsome cult leader although it was a bit strange because she did not heard anyone approaching.

"Aww did I scared you?" He laughed covering his face with golden fans.

"No I was just- you came in without a warning, I was taken aback" she explained blushing trying her best not to act immature to which douma laughed uncontrollably as he found this human's expression adorable say entertaining in his words.

"D-dont laugh at me" she pouted crossing her arms in the attempt.

"I am sorry (y/n), you really amuse me" he replied still grinning. However there was a moment of awkward silence between them as he uttered her name abruptly.

"I didn't tell you my name.." after a long pause she replied to him with a confuse look in her face.

"I know everyone's name who are living under my supervision including yours besides what kind of cult leader I am if I don't have basic information about my fellow followers. Oh look I have been talking to you without giving the chance to let you talk my bad" he laughed again waving his fans creating another awkward situation. Causing you to sweatdrop on his remark.

"Say (y/n) how old are you?" to which she replied enthusiastically "I am 8 years old and will turn 9 soon"

"Ah you don't look like one" douma grinned closing his eyes in the process.

"Yeah I get that a lot" she remarked shyly.

"Your mother is one of my followers" he continued

"Really?" her eyes sparked with hope as she approached douma with anticipation grabbing his arms for the second time starling him, she really like holding hands eh? he have experiences like that but somehow this girl made him feel different so he allowed her but then she stopped halfway through her words "I really miss her it's been a week since she left me here" her voice dropped with sadness.

Douma felt no sympathy for humans or anything as such, he have learned to fake his emotions from a very tender age eversince he was born to the extent that even seeing his mother killing her husband mercilessly failed to evoke feelings within. He clearly did not understand what she was feeling he just stared at her with a blank expression only to replace it quickly with a grim look even faking few tears. "(Y/n) chan you know its okay you will still have me" he patted the girl in an attempt to comfort her.

"Friends?" (Y/n) replied between her tears.

"If that's how you want us to be" douma smiled at her gently shocking himself for a second because he didn't think of smiling?

Things escalated soon after that incident, (y/n) was a kind and compassionate person from inside and out and in not time the cult followers started loving her presence. As often douma would let her accompany him and most of the time she stayed by his side following him everywhere and he didn't mind that at all moreover he appreciated her company. (Y/n) was like a fresh bud to him who depicted innocence and purity he loved spoiling her with expensive gifts yet she never showed signs of greediness and genuinely appreciated his thoughtfulness slowly forgetting the past life she was in and cherishing her friendship with douma. At first she was reluctant and didn't like getting so much attention but in the course of time she bonded better with everyone and was quite content with the life she was leading. As for douma he began to depend on (y/n) to the point that not seeing her face for even one day would make him go insane and he didn't understand why not like he want to because all he cared about was how she made him feel so many varieties of pleasant emotions he wish he could feel. Eating her was out of context.

However all good things must come to an end for he is someone to not rest in peace after the sin he have committed for centuries. Seeing douma paying her more attention, spoiling her with a ravish lifestyle and even letting her stay by his side all the time made some of his cult members terribly envious they wanted to punish her for taking their chances of stealing the spotlight. There was this one room that he forbade his followers to enter for obvious reasons and specifically for (y/n) because he didn't want to repeat the same mistake. This was exactly what they wanted (y/n) to do break the rules and Douma's trust. Like that there would be no more favouritism on her with others.

"Ah (y/n), there you are" one of the female member approached her one fine morning.

"Yes how may I help you?" She asked cheerfully

"Lord douma have asked for your presence in the forbidden room tonight and he said its urgent"

"Aren't we all prohibited to go inside"

"Oh (y/n) it's true master have arrived today and he wants your presence"

Upon hearing that news her heart elated with happiness, it has been two weeks since he last saw douma around and she missed him but something felt off about the whole situation douma always sees (y/n) first before tending his followers then why did he not come meet her did he not miss her like she did?

She was lost in her thoughts until she found two hands waving and snapping infort of her face.

"Don't be late, okay?" With that said the female hurried back into other room leaving (y/n) behind even though the situation seem kinda odd maybe douma was busy afterall.

At night (y/n) went into the restricted area. She stood infront of the shoji door in absolute dilemma debating whether or not to enter the room or go back. There was her desire of meeting douma on one hand and not breaking his trust by entering the room on the other. In the end she decided not to but as she was turning back she heard someone grunting in pain behind the closed doors being a compassionate person, she decided to open the door and enter into the darkness adjusting her eyes in the process, a pungent smell hit her nostrils making her cover her mouth and to her absolute terror the scene infront of her made her puke in disgust.

A pile of Mutilated bodies, mostly women laid around lifelessly on the blood stained tatami mattress. Many having no limbs, some headless and organs missing from their body as if someone had ate all of that. The whole room was a mess full of unfortunate people. She felt sick and began crawling down her way back from the corpses. However she felt a tight grip on her left foot upon looking down she witness the sight of a woman her intestines oozing out of her stomach begging for help. (Y/n) stood there perplexed unable to say anything chocking through tears.

"I told you not to come here, why?" (Y/n) turned her head violently to see douma standing in a distance his countenance cold and sinister evident that he was highly displeased upon seeing his innocent flower disobeying his instructions.

"It's not... like... what you see" (y/n) cried fearfully but douma didn't seem to buy it well in a blink of an eye she found herself in Douma's arms as he aggressively dragged her out of the room.

"What's going on douma" no word came out from the usual lively douma.

"It's hurting me your grip" no reply again to which she forcefully tried to stand still with all her strength. This time douma stopped his features hidden under his bangs making her unable to figure the expression he was carrying.

"Is this why douma forbade us to enter the room" no reply

"Are you responsible for murdering those innocent people?" No reply

"DOUMA" she shouted

"Why you want to join them?" Douma finally looked at her his eyes glowing dangerously proving his existence to be something unnatural. (Y/n's) eyes widen at his remarks as tears rolled down her visage.

"I hate you.." she murmured

"What?" He tilted his head letting his guard down a bit at her hurtful comments.

"I HATE YOU" she pushed douma roughly and flew from the place running deep into the forest for she knew who he was and what he is capable of doing. Tearing down she constantly reminisce the moments she shared but she cannot allow herself to sympathize his heinous crimes. Why is it that the people I love are always taken away from me? She thought. Exhausted from running she halted in order to catch her breath while glancing back to see if he was following, there was no one indeed so a sudden feeling of relief gushed in her body. However turning her head back she saw him standing inches apart from her face which made her shiver and fall onto the knees.

"Why are you running away from me (y/n)" he said apatheticly his head lowered at her level. She did not reply and stayed quite.

"Is it true that you don't love me after all the things I did for you?" Covering his face with one hand his eyes glowing under the moonlight a look of dejection written on his face. There was complete silence in the forest except the sound of rustling trees.

"Answer me" holding her face now firmly he growled making her flinch under his breath. In one last desperate attempt (y/n) tried to stab douma with a tree branch she found laying on the ground but unfortunately douma was faster and easily dodged the attack and in a swift motion he hit her with immense strength causing her fragile little body to tremble in pain as she coughed mucus mixed with blood.

"How foolish of you" he crouched down her height staring intensely at the quivering figure of the miserable girl. As for (y/n) her body ached but more was the tightness in the chest that she was experiencing in the moment.

He pulled her by the hair roughly making her scream in pain although at this point all she could manage with her cracking voice were inaudible screams.

"Why did you disobey me? (Y/n)..." who knew beneath that friendly kind face was hiding a undeniably deadly and calculative demon and at this point it was clear for her that he was anything but human.

"Who are you?" these few words manage to escape from her shaky lips in between low grunts.

"I am the leader of the eternal paradise cult"

"Wrong" to which he tightened his grip making her shriek again.

"You humans are so dumb believing in the existence of primordial deities where in reality its just a myth, a fairytale, created for pleasuring the sufferings of mere human. Being superior than you mortals I wanted to make these pitiful existence happy and that's why I was born and what you saw there" his lips curved into a cheeky smile revealing his deadly fangs creeping the shit out of the already scared girl. "I eat them so that they can always be with me and attain salvation" a sinister laughter escape from his mouth as he covered it with his golden fans. (Y/n) unable to process the new sets of information knots formed in her stomach making her sick in the guts.

"I ate your mother too, oh she was ungrateful after all the things I did to her just like you" protruding her eyes with pure shock she felt her veins popping out and blood boiling in pure rage.

"You are a monster, you think your stupid morals would persuade people to think like you do, I despise you douma I thought we were friends and you took away the one I cherished the most?"

"You think your mother loved you?" Douma snapped. The duality of this was man was insane, all the things he does or says are plastic.

"She never cared for your life, you want to know why? I will tell you since you insist" douma dragged her out of forest holding a fistful of her hair tightly inflicting great discomfort to the girl while he continued with his harsh statements and deliberate insults.

"You were just a burden, behaving like a fucking child with the alluring body of yours"

"No my mother promised me..she would protect me.. you are lying"

"While you were crying everyday inside my shrine that lowly woman enjoyed her life indulging in adultery with various cult members leaving her sick husband and mentally retarded daughter in the dark" every word he uttered spread vemon into her ears.

"Still she wanted more and more and more, what a greedy whore" douma continued.

"Do you know how much difficult it was for me to control myself around you? While you sway your hips and act innocently making those hungry men lust over you, how much dumb can you be?"

"What do you mean I don't understand.. douma"

"I did everything I can for you yet you remain ungrateful, disrespectful? Well guess its runs in your blood and I thought you are innocent but it turns out that you are just like the rest of them, naive"

Her eyes widened with every hurtful remarks he made about her and she did not understand why she felt that way shouldn't she be resentful towards him for killing her beloved mother but here she is weeping constantly because douma was treating her like he never did before.

"But that's fine (y/n) I can not bring myself to hurt you I love you and we shall always be together whether you like it or not" nothing reached in her ears anymore as her body grew numb. Her eyes shut as she carried the unbearable pain in her heart slowly loosing consciousness and remaining sanity.

It would have been easier if she died but alas a mere human like her is doomed at his mercy.

[unsaidholland]

kiss me | h. holland

inspired by like real people do by hozier, you don’t have to listen to it, but it might add to the feeling of the fic. (ps sorry to anyone named ryan, i’m sure y’all are cool people)

warnings: mentions of cheating

before you met harry, your life wasn’t the best. it obviously, wasn’t the worst it could have been. you were alive, and you had your friends, but you also had your issues. your ex, ryan, had cheated on you for who knows how long, but as soon as you found out, as much as it hurt, you still stayed but only because he promised he wasn’t going to do it again - what a liar.

it took you months after figuring out that he was cheating before you left him, and after leaving him you felt as if you had nothing left. you were an empty shell of a person, living alone in an apartment that was no longer home. every day was the same. wake up, go to school, come home, get ready for work, come home, sleep, and repeat. of course, you ate in between tasks and had to do your assignments, but life wasn’t stopping for you, so you didn’t stop for it, but you were on autopilot. you had nothing left but to keep going for the sake of being alive, and even so, you didn’t want that at all.

harry was a mutual friend. your friend, alice who you’d known from work, had introduced the two of you after she realized that you needed to go out and distract yourself from the hurt ryan had caused you, that maybe you just needed one person to help you remember you once were. slowly, harry became that person. after ryan, you were left with trust issues, fear, and grief. before you knew it, you and harry started dating, and that apartment of yours started feeling more like home with how often he was staying over.

the thing is, your last relationship was a mystery to harry. you told him the same thing whenever past relationships came up, “he cheated, and he’s an asshole, but it’s okay now because i have you!” sure he was curious, but he wasn’t going to pry - all he needed was you.

the two of you were sat on your couch. harry had his arm around you, eyes focused on a love island rerun, while you were trying to focus on the essay you were writing on your laptop. as the couple on the tv were arguing about whether one of them was being kept around as a last resort, you tensed up. you were ryan’s last resort, why wouldn’t you be harry’s too? the thought never left your head as the couple on the tv continued talking, your eyes focused on the screen of your computer as your fingers rested over the keys. what happened with ryan is over, plus harry would never ever treat you like that, you tried to remind yourself, but nonetheless that voice in the back of your head prevailed over your optimistic attempts.

putting your laptop aside, you excused yourself to the bathroom to try and calm yourself down. it was just harry, but your relationship was still only five months old and still blossoming. you couldn’t let yourself ruin this one and have it end up like what happened with ryan. you couldn’t have yourself lose the one good thing you had left in your life.

harry wanted you to talk to him. he knew that something was up, but he wasn’t going to bother you into talking to him because he knew it wasn’t going to be genuine. he wanted you to come to him, he wanted you to know deep down that he was there for you without him reminding you. he loved you, though he hasn’t said it yet, he knew for a fact that he loved you, but he also knew you would be scared to hear it. in some sad way, he knew that you were scared you weren’t enough for him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

you came back to the couch after a few minutes, thinking that the tv would have distracted harry from how long you were gone. the minutes felt like hours to the both of you, but neither of you would let each other know.

“you okay?” he asked you. it was a simple question, but he didn’t want a simple answer. he wanted you to confide in him, he wanted you to trust him, he wanted to know that you knew that he was going to be there for you no matter what without him telling you.

“i-” you quickly stopped yourself. it had been five months since the two of you started dating, but were you ready to let him know about everything? “i’m fine,” you said. you really weren’t, but you leaned closer into his side hoping that it would take the focus off the battle in your mind. he kissed the top of your head, and the two of you continued watching the episode playing on the tv.

later that night you still couldn’t shake the thoughts from your head. the two of you laid in your bed, harry was asleep, but your mind was racing with scenarios that couldn’t be farther from the truth. your heart knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, but your mind was still scared that you would get hurt again. you were staring at the ceiling with thoughts running through your head for so long, that you had to get up and put them to rest. after getting up, grabbing your phone and heading to your kitchen to begin brewing a cup of tea. leaning back on your kitchen counter, listening to the sound of the kettle boiling, you wondered if you would ever stop feeling like you weren’t enough.

days later, the feeling persisted. the thoughts were raking through your body as if a large wave was crashing upon a shore - all at once, and always there.

you and harry were having a chill day at home. for once, you didn’t have work, and you were caught up on whatever assignments you had, and harry was already finished the work he set out to do today. currently, he was in the shower, his phone on the coffee table next to your drink, while you were watching youtube on the tv. you so desperately wanted to go on his phone and just look.

it won’t be a big deal, you told yourself, he’s showering and he won’t know. plus, it’ll make yourself feel better. as much as you knew it was wrong, you grabbed his phone, unlocked it and went through his text messages. after finding nothing, you went on his instagram, then snapchat, and still found nothing.

“babe? everything okay?” harry. your head shot up in his direction at the sound of his voice. you immediately turned off his phone, and put it back down.

“i- i’m sorry, i just-“ you couldn’t get your words out properly, scared that this was going to be the end. you took a deep breath, and exhaled. “i just, i don’t know. i got scared because of the love island episode we were watching the other day, and i know i shouldn’t worry, but i just really didn’t know if we were going to end up like my last relationship, and i don’t want to lose you.” as you rambled, harry sat down next to you on the couch and faced you.

“look at me.” he interrupted you, making you make eye contact with him for the first time since he entered the room. you were terrified, and he could see it on your face. you searched his eyes for any sort of anger, but there was nothing.

“i’m not gonna ask you why you were going through my phone, okay? everything’s okay.” you relaxed a little at his words. “i’m not mad, and i’m not going to bug you about what happened with ryan, and you shouldn’t ask or worry about us. i love you, okay?” he loves you. he loves you? but how? your brows furrowed in confusion slightly at his words. how could he love you when you were overstepping the boundaries?

“but how?” you asked, voice barely carrying through. he didn’t see the messy side of you, he didn’t see the nights when he wasn’t there and you would tear yourself apart with negative thoughts.

“i love you, okay? how you see yourself isn’t how i see you, love. you aren’t what you see,” you looked him in the eyes, and he was telling the truth.

“i love you too, h.” you said it - the three words he was hoping you’d say, but never thought he would hear anytime soon. “i’m sorry for snooping by the way.” he knew you were sorry, you didn’t need to say it, but you had to let him know.

“just kiss me,” he said. so you did. and for the first time in a long time, you’ve never felt as whole as you did in that moment.

[linklethehistorian]

Randou and the Sins of Season 3's Fifteen Adaption (Part 48/???)

Bones' Biggest Changes & Greatest Failures — The Tragedy of Arthur Rimbaud (27/?)

In his final years, the thing that Mori’s predecessor valued most in his men, from what we were shown and told, was pure brute strength that could overwhelm and crush any and all of the Mafia’s enemies, with no strategizing or defensive measures necessary, and our eternally freezing frenchman was most decidedly not it, by any possible definition; given that it took many, many years before the foreigner himself was even able to recall that his special ability possessed the power to subsume the dead and use them in battle, his trademark subspace was thus, at the time, understood only to have been built primarily for defense, to the best of anyone’s knowledge — something which, in the Godfather’s eyes, would have been practically useless.

Still, I doubt if that was the only reason why he was so rejected by the old man as a potential candidate for anything other than cannon fodder; no matter whether it is blatantly apparent to you by this point in the article yet or not, considering that Randou was, by default, just about as far from an eager warrior as one could hope to get, it’s only natural that this would have made his life of even less value to said previous leader than it was already; after all, even if he had happened to possess the most ideal ability in the world, so long as his conscience would still continue to drive him to shy away from engaging in violence and cruelty as much was humanly possible for someone in his position, it would not have been of any consequence or use to the corporation. No, indeed, if he was not willing to become a murder machine that would kill ruthlessly and indiscriminately under his superior’s orders, then the only way to make effective use of him in a similar manner would be to throw him headfirst onto the front lines, where he would have no choice but to either defend himself and his comrades by participating in the fight, or lay down and die, letting everyone else that he could potentially protect die with him.

Even after he was eventually released from this personal Hell by Mori’s ascension to the throne, though, his trials and struggles were still not entirely over. Undoubtedly, his recognition by Mori for his gift and the promotion to associate executive that he received thereafter made his life much easier and more pleasant, as it afforded him greater opportunity to live it at least a little closer to the way he wanted by giving him a boss who appreciated him for his talents and largely respected his wishes, understanding that his skill set was, on the whole, best suited to things other than killing; however, these were not the only personal hardships he had to face in this sort of job — merely the only ones which anyone could make go away for him.

As heartening and constructive of a thing as it may be in all other senses, in a cutthroat world such as the one he was now in, Rimbaud’s purity could only serve to put him at a significant disadvantage to everyone else in his field in all too many ways, whenever it came down to his own self-preservation, or being able to properly assess his allies and foes completely objectively.

Now, I absolutely do not want you to get me wrong on this; in no way am I suggesting even in the slightest that Rimbaud isn’t intelligent or insightful enough to deduce these sorts of things about the criminal underworld as a whole, or even to recognize some more subtle signs of danger, because despite how it might initially sound, that is definitely not the case nor the issue here. If anything, the hyperspace user has actually proven himself to be extremely clever to those ends under the right circumstances, in light of not only his aforementioned statement during the setup of the party about the prevailing force behind violence and conflict in the world, but also his keen instinct towards Dazai’s sinister intentions in setting up the supposed ‘celebration’ — to say nothing of the fact that he had even pieced together enough information from their short time together to suspect Chuuya of being Arahabaki whilst someone like Dazai remained entirely clueless about it until the reveal.

Indeed, looking back upon it all, it cannot but become all the more clear that the only thing which was likely holding him back from being just as masterful as Dazai in every sense was one very simple, yet key truth — that Osamu was very cynical about the world around him and more than capable of thinking diabolically and selfishly even on a regular basis, whilst Rimbaud was not.

Had Randou possessed even half of the brunet’s skepticism, ruthlessness, and self-interest, then he doubtlessly would have risen to his high station as associate executive long ago, under the old boss’ reign, and effortlessly gotten away with his supposed traitorous acts against Mori — no longer held back by the inherent honesty that gave birth to the singular, fatal flaw within the otherwise careful forethought and planning that went into his elaborate “trap” for Arahabaki, nor the morally-fueled hesitance or countless acts of compassion that inevitably led to his defeat and death; however, this was just not who he was or could ever be, even in situations where his life might very well depend upon that capability that he lacked, and so he instead remained the exact opposite of it all as ever before, paying many a price and facing many a struggle over all of the difficulties and disadvantages that came along with that path he so diligently walked.

Yes, for all of the effort the animated adaption may put into convincing its audience of the contrary, the truth of the matter will always remain that nothing Randou had ever done was truly selfish at heart, nor did he hold any disregard or lack of respect for the absolute preciousness of life and all those who lived it; as I have said time and time again, he is a kind soul with an optimistic and loving heart that wants only the best for others, even at the cost of his own happiness, and the only motive he truly had behind his ‘scheme’ was that of recovering enough memories of a tragedy he survived to find and save the person he considered to be his best and dearest friend from what, to him, he imagined to be a life or death situation — no matter the cost to himself.

This way of life is not just a facade, as the show will foolishly try to tell you; it is simply the kind of person he is, through and through, and that in itself is where the trouble comes in the most for him; because he has no other side but this in the way he acts and perceives things, this means that it can often be difficult for him to put himself in the shoes of others who do not think in the same way — even if he might know for a fact that they think very differently from him, and comprehends the general, bare concept of what compels them — without projecting at least a little of himself and his own code onto them and what he sees within them.

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[devintrinidad]

If there is a sequel, I want him to come back… possibly upload his consciousness into an android or something - I could easily that or somehow getting a clone body too (hey it's cyberpunk, anything possible). In a sequal I could see Pupil (that girl Executioner) becoming a main character and Hacker and her possibly teaming up for something (in a we need each other for something they can't do themselves kind of way). Swindler started a revolution. Pupil sees it through. Hacker enables it all.

YES??? 

LET’S DO THIS???

KODAKA WHERE YOU AT? LET’S MAKE THIS HAPPEN!!!

Seriously, even though the final episode was very beautiful and tied up most loose ends, I still wanted closure for Pupil Executioner. She was so close to having a break through in her own character, but everything happened to explode and other things happened. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see the aftermath of the riot that occurred as the series ended?

Like, I wonder if the Executioners either prevailed, or if there is a sequel, we see Kansai as this hellish landscape. Or, if you’re feeling more optimistic, would you think that after the mob rioting, Kansai became a better place for everyone? Cyberpunk seems to be heavily immersed in what’s wrong with the world and heavily critiques on what we think is our “utopia” so it would be interesting...

(So like... maybe everyone believes that Kansai is changing for the better, but in reality, there’s still corruption and blurring in between the lines of what is good and right... I’m getting Psycho Pass vibes, which is so awesome!)

Plus, if there’s a season two and our main focus is on the results of the revolution, I really want to see some cameos from the original main cast. Like you said, Swindler basically started the revolution considering she was the one who threatened the police force in the first place and had recorded herself in her final moments. 

Also, can we also say that your last lines in your ask sounds like an awesome tagline? 

Swindler starts a revolution. 

Pupil sees it through.

Hacker enables it all.

Perfection.

I am absolutely loving your ideas. 

Also, do you think Brother and Sister make an appearance? I want to know what their final destination was? Was it some sort of paradise in comparison to the dystopia that Kansai and Kanto were? Or was it something worse altogether? 

I have so many questions and I hope that some of them will get addressed in the future if there are some added material to the series. 

[gov-info]

President Joe Biden Delivers Inaugural Address

Chief Justice Roberts, Vice President Harris. Speaker Pelosi, Leader Schumer, McConnell, Vice President Pence, my distinguished guests and my fellow Americans, this is America's day.

This is democracy's day. A day of history and hope of renewal and resolve through a crucible for the ages. America has been tested anew and America has risen to the challenge. Today, we celebrate the triumph not of a candidate, but of a cause, the cause of democracy. The people, the will of the people, has been heard and the will of the people has been heeded.

We've learned again that democracy is precious. Democracy is fragile. At this hour, my friends, democracy has prevailed.

From now, on this hallowed ground, where just a few days ago, violence sought to shake the Capitol's very foundation, we come together as one nation, under God, indivisible to carry out the peaceful transfer of power, as we have for more than two centuries.

As we look ahead in our uniquely American way: restless, bold, optimistic, and set our sights on the nation we can be and we must be.

I thank my predecessors of both parties for their presence here today. I thank them from the bottom of my heart. And I know, I know the resilience of our Constitution and the strength, the strength of our nation. As does President Carter, who I spoke with last night, who cannot be with us today, but whom we salute for his lifetime of service.

I've just taken the sacred oath. Each of those patriots have taken. The oath, first sworn by George Washington. But the American story depends not on any one of us, not on some of us, but on all of us, on we the people who seek a more perfect union.

This is a great nation. We are good people. And over the centuries, through storm and strife, in peace and in war, we've come so far. But we still have far to go. We'll press forward with speed and urgency, for we have much to do in this winter of peril and significant possibilities, much to repair, much to restore, much to heal, much to build, and much to gain.

Few people in our nation's history have been more challenged or found a time more challenging or difficult than the time we're in now. Once-in-a-century virus that silently stalks the country. It's taken as many lives in one year as America lost in all of World War II. Millions of jobs have been lost. Hundreds of thousands of businesses closed. A cry for racial justice, some four hundred years in the making moves us. The dream of justice for all will be deferred no longer.

The cry for survival comes from planet itself, a cry that can’t be any more desperate or any more clear. And now a rise of political extremism, white supremacy, domestic terrorism that we must confront and we will defeat.

To overcome these challenges, to restore the soul and secure the future of America requires so much more than words. It requires the most elusive of all things in a democracy: unity, unity.

In another January, on New Year's Day in 1863, Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. When he put pen to paper, the president said, and I quote, “if my name ever goes down into history, it'll be for this act. And my whole soul is in it.”

My whole soul was in it today. On this January day, my whole soul is in this: Bringing America together, uniting our people, uniting our nation. And I ask every American to join me in this cause.

Uniting to fight the foes we face: anger, resentment, hatred, extremism, lawlessness, violence, disease, joblessness and hopelessness. With unity, we can do great things, important things. We can right wrongs. We can put people to work in good jobs. We can teach our children in safe schools. We can overcome the deadly virus. We can reward, reward work and rebuild the middle class and make health care secure for all. We can deliver racial justice and we can make America once again the leading force for good in the world.

I know speaking of unity can sound to some like a foolish fantasy these days. I know the forces that divide us are deep and they are real, but I also know they are not new. Our history has been a constant struggle between the American ideal that we're all created equal and the harsh, ugly reality that racism, nativism, fear, demonization have long torn us apart. The battle is perennial and victory is never assured.

Through civil war, the Great Depression, world war, 9/11, through struggle, sacrifice and setbacks, our better angels have always prevailed. In each of these moments, enough of us, enough of us have come together to carry all of us forward. And we can do that now. History, faith and reason show the way, the way of unity. We can see each other not as adversaries, but as neighbors. We can treat each other with dignity and respect. We can join forces, stop the shouting and lower the temperature. For without unity, there is no peace, only bitterness and fury. No progress, only exhausting outrage. No nation, only a state of chaos.

This is our historic moment of crisis and challenge. And unity is the path forward. And we must meet this moment as the United States of America. If we do that, I guarantee you we will not fail. We have never, ever, ever, ever failed in America when we've acted together.

And so today at this time in this place, let's start afresh, all of us. Let's begin to listen to one another again. Hear one another see one another, show respect to one another. Politics doesn't have to be a raging fire, destroying everything in its path. Every disagreement doesn't have to be a cause for total war. And we must reject the culture in which facts themselves are manipulated and even manufactured.

My fellow Americans. We have to be different than this. America has to be better than this. And I believe America is so much better than this. Just look around. Here we stand in the shadow of the Capitol dome, as was mentioned earlier, completed amid the Civil War, when the union itself was literally hanging in the balance. Yet we endured, we prevailed.

Here we stand looking out in the great mall where Dr. King spoke of his dream. Here we stand, where 108 years ago, at another inaugural, thousands of protesters tried to block brave women marching for the right to vote. And today we marked the swearing in of the first woman in American history elected to national office: Vice President Kamala Harris. Don't tell me things can't change.

Here we stand across the Potomac from Arlington Cemetery, where heroes who gave the last full measure of devotion rest in eternal peace. And here we stand just days after a riotous mob thought they could use violence to silence the will of the people, to stop the work of our democracy, to drive us from this sacred ground.

It did not happen. It will never happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not ever.

To all those who supported our campaign, I'm humbled by the faith you've placed in us. To all those who did not support us, let me say this. Hear me out as we move forward. Take a measure of me and my heart. If you still disagree so be it. That's democracy. That's America. The right to dissent, peaceably, the guardrails of our republic is perhaps this nation's greatest strength.

Yet hear me clearly: disagreement must not lead to disunion. And I pledge this to you, I will be a president for all Americans. All Americans. And I promise you I will fight as hard for those who did not support me as for those who did.

Many centuries ago. Saint Augustine, a saint in my church, wrote to the people was a multitude defined by the common objects of their love. Defined by the common objects of their love. What are the common objects we as Americans love, that define us as Americans? I think we know. Opportunity, security, liberty, dignity, respect, honor and yes, the truth.

Recent weeks and months have taught us a painful lesson. There is truth and there are lies, lies told for power and for profit. And each of us has a duty and responsibility, as citizens, as Americans, and especially as leaders, leaders who have pledged to honor our Constitution and protect our nation, to defend the truth and defeat the lies.

Look, I understand that many of my fellow Americans view the future with fear and trepidation. I understand they worry about their jobs. I understand, like my dad, they lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering, can I keep my health care? Can I pay my mortgage? Thinking about their families, about what comes next. I promise you, I get it.

But the answer is not to turn inward, to retreat into competing factions, distrusting those who don't look like look like you or worship the way you do, or don't get their news from the same sources you do. We must end this uncivil war that pits red against blue, rural versus urban, rural versus urban, conservative versus liberal. We can do this if we open our souls instead of hardening our hearts. If we show a little tolerance and humility, and if we're willing to stand in the other person's shoes, as my mom would say, just for a moment, stand in their shoes. Because here's the thing about life. There's no accounting for what fate will deal you. Some days, when you need a hand. There are other days when we're called to lend a hand. That's how it has to be. That's what we do for one another. And if we are this way, our country will be stronger, more prosperous, more ready for the future. And we can still disagree.

My fellow Americans, in the work ahead of us, we're going to need each other. We need all our strength to to persevere through this dark winter. We're entering what may be the toughest and deadliest period of the virus. We must set aside politics and finally face this pandemic as One Nation. One Nation.

And I promise you this, as the Bible says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” We will get through this together. Together.

Look, folks, all my colleagues I served with in the House of the Senate up there, we all understand the world is watching, watching all of us today. So here's my message to those beyond our borders. America has been tested and we've come out stronger for it. We will repair our alliances and engage with the world once again. Not to meet yesterday's challenges, but today's and tomorrow's challenges. And we’ll lead, not merely by the example of our power, but by the power of our example.

We'll be a strong and trusted partner for peace, progress and security. Look, you all know, we've been through so much in this nation. And my first act as president, I’d like to ask you to join me in a moment of silent prayer to remember all those who we lost this past year to the pandemic. Those four hundred thousand fellow Americans, moms, dads, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, friends, neighbors and coworkers. We will honor them by becoming the people and the nation we know we can and should be. So I ask you, let's say a silent prayer for those who've lost their lives, those left behind and for our country.

Amen.

Folks, this is a time of testing. We face an attack on our democracy and on truth, a raging virus, growing inequity, the sting of systemic racism, a climate in crisis, America's role in the world. Any one of these will be enough to challenge us in profound ways. But the fact is, we face them all at once, presenting this nation with one of the gravest responsibilities we've had. Now we're going to be tested. Are we going to step up? All of us? It’s time for boldness, for there is so much to do. And this is certain, I promise you, we will be judged, you and I, by how we resolve these cascading crises of our era.

Will we rise to the occasion, is the question. Will we master this rare and difficult hour? Will we meet our obligations and pass along a new and better world to our children? I believe we must. I'm sure you do as well. I believe we will. And when we do, we'll write the next great chapter in the history of the United States of America. The American story. A story that might sound something like a song that means a lot to me. It's called American Anthem. There's one verse that stands out, at least for me, and it goes like this:

The work and prayers of a century have brought us to this day.

What shall be our legacy? What will our children say?

Let me know in my heart when my days are through.

America, America, I gave my best to you.

Let's add. Let us add our own work and prayers to the unfolding story of our great nation. If we do this, then when our days are through, our children and our children's children will say of us: They gave their best, they did their duty, they healed a broken land.

My fellow Americans, I close the day where I began, with a sacred oath before God and all of you. I give you my word, I will always level with you. I will defend the Constitution. I'll defend our democracy. I'll defend America and I will give all, all of you. Keep everything I do in your service, thinking not of power, but of possibilities, not of personal interest, but the public good. And together we shall write an American story of hope, not fear. Of unity, not division. Of light, not darkness. A story of decency and dignity, love and healing, greatness and goodness. May this be the story that guides us. The story that inspires us and the story that tells ages yet to come that we answered the call of history. We met the moment. Democracy and hope, truth and justice did not die on our watch, but thrived. That America secured liberty at home and stood once again as a beacon to the world. That is what we owe our forbearers, one another and generations to follow.

So, with purpose and resolve, we turn to those tasks of our time. Sustained by faith, driven by conviction, devoted to one another and the country we love with all our hearts. May God bless America and may God protect our troops. Thank you, America.

[a-lil-perspective]

Remember Me/Holding On (For Dear Life)

A/N: When I tell you I wept... I wept while creating this chapter. Here’s a bit different than what I normally write. Brother time. Verd’ika/Reader is not featured in this tidbit below. As much as this is her storyline post Order: 66, this is also very much the Bad Batch’s, and I’m alternating. I’m so happy to be bringing Echo into the mix, but this is incredibly sad. This chapter/scene is set less than three months after TCW episode ‘Victory and Death’... I’m sure you can guess where we’re going with that here. [Warnings: Angst, Mourning] @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @kriffingunlucky @karpasia @halzore @mangoberry43 @fxndxmxnxce @everyonehasanindividuality (Tag List is open:))

Chapter 2

Post-Imperial Proclamation

PIP Rotation Number: 79

Destination: Planet of Unknown Origins

Documentation: Scouting for Relics. Will update with any pertinence.

—Signed by Mar-4

~***~

“Well... at least the atmosphere is breathable,” Tech optimistically supplied as a small bank of snow catches in the winds from the Northeast and sprays the engineer in the face.

“Sure, but that wind is something else,” Wrecker mumbled, involuntarily shivering from a particular gust. Even the largest member with the toughest resilience to natural elements is rapidly discovering that his shield of plastoid is no match for the chilled temperatures.

“This planet seems to be nothing but a wasteland... but sometimes, not everything is what it seems,” Hunter wisely mused, keeping a few paces ahead of his crew. While the Sergeant was thankful for the stagnant and largely desolate atmosphere demonstrating hospitality to his heightened senses thus far, Hunter couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something out there was amiss.

“Hey Cross, anything yet?”

“Negative, Sarge,” the sniper briskly informed before quietly retreating back to his task of visual scanning via HUD.

“Echo, are you absolutely certain this is where those supposed Republic relics are? I’m still not picking up anything on my own scanners—”

“We’re definitely in the right place, Tech,” Hunter assured. His face scrunched and brows fused together in fervent concentration. He took a long whiff of the atmosphere, and stray icy specks slithered underneath the Sergeant’s helmet, swirling in his nostrils whenever he inhaled. Hunter’s senses become further rapt the closer the proximity. Therein, a wide range of sensations Hunter could make out in the immediacy: the scent of weathered but mixed alloys, and wet snow blanketing them. Occasional sparks from decrepit tech still spouting some juice. Weak pulses—of engineering components, that is. Definitive proof of remains; hopefully Republic. Hunter takes another measured breath and hones in further.

It was nothing of technological frequencies coursing through his veins this time. Instead: a distinct scent that assaulted the perceptive Sergeant. A scent too distinct and too familiar in a time of waxing chaos.

The smell of death.

“Markers. Markers in the distance. About two klicks out, directly ahead,” Crosshair suddenly informed, a sense of urgency coating his estimations.

“What kind of markers?” Hunter didn’t appreciate the way his tone failed to match his usual semblance of composure.

“Can’t tell. But they seem makeshift. All clustered together,” Crosshair supplies.

Like grave markers.

“That sounds really deliberate,” Wrecker muses aloud. “You think it’s a sign of some kind?”

“Only one way to find out,” Hunter murmured.

~~///\\\///\\\///\\\~~

Only one way to find out.

Echo wishes he never would have.

But it’s better he did.

Closure.

Yet painfully open-ended.

It’s cold.

Echo is hot.

The tears that flow down his face, streaming underneath his helmet, are hot.

Yet Echo is as numb as his cheeks, barely stinging from the cold.

Names to faces. Facing each name. Empty helmets, not one the same. Lifeless eyes through tinted black. Buckets staked, just want them back. Acknowledging then, blue and white. Honorable men, once shining lights.

Brothers.

A graveyard of brothers.

Brothers of the Five-Oh-First.

Oh, Fives.

Jesse stares directly at Echo, devoid of any emotion. The latter falls to his knees in front of, begging for forgiveness, and requesting that Fives’ sacrifice be enough. The raw snow molding beneath his cybernetic knee caps is the only thing that cushions and supports the man; a broken shell of someone he once was. A broken shell; a denotation tragically befitting when situated alongside shrapnel of a Republic Cruiser. Littered about, it menacingly encircles the man. The Cruiser becomes a crude background accessory. Everything is broken, cracked, shattered, lifeless... including the bodies bunkering six feet underneath.

Jesse is not here. Rex and Cody are not here. Fives, Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup—the Dominos are not here. Names flash rapidly behind Echo’s eyes, countless brothers all secured in Death’s cold embrace. He was too late. Too late to save them.

Oh, brother.

I hope I’ll see you in another.

You’ve been gone for more than a few.

But know I will always love you.

“I’m sorry,” Echo weeps in the wind and bows his head. His anguished cries and apologies are unworthy offerings, but it’s all he has to give in the land of the dead.

Endless rows of them...

The minute Echo dwells on just how many corpses he’s in the company of, he near forcefully expels bile.

Echo screws his eyes shut. He wonders what his helmet would look like staked in place of Jesse’s, or any of his brothers’. To see himself staring back instead.

Some vode used to say that the helmets have lived a thousand lives before a Clone has lived even one. It’s certainly survived that many, but there’s more to it. The brothers used to claim that the inanimate helmet of plastoid totally embodies the man underneath, taking a life of it’s own even after the trooper passes. Echo had always remained rather neutral on the matter, at least until Fives became the superstitious type.

Until Echo was directly faced with an army of deceased brethren, graves marked solely by their helmets. Until he could feel their deep contempt with every fleeting moment he gazed further into the visor of each. He wondered if their cold blood boiled with hatred for him. For the way no one saved them, for the way no one redeemed their poor unfortunate souls. Did they cry out? Were they fearful? Or were they impassive because that’s what they were programmed to be.

When they were programmed to execute Order: 66.

So many questions. So much guilt. So much pleading. Pleas that fell on deaf ears, for one can’t raise the dead. Many more tears because of.

Echo can only hope his brothers exited this life swiftly and peacefully. He prays to whatever higher power that they experience freedom in their eternal state of rest. That they’re dancing in the cosmos, traipsing along the stars with a euphoric pep. Maybe they’re singing a favorite. Maybe they’re dreaming. Maybe they’re doing both. “Dream A Little Dream Of Me...” A favorite tune.

Fives especially could sing that one beautifully.

The settled snow eventually shifts and dips slightly as a thin man sinks down beside. Crosshair wordlessly slings his arm around Echo. The sniper averts the imitated eyes of the dead men, but the unique patterns of their helmets have already been etched into memory. Tech gingerly sits off to Echo’s right, studying the emotions of the despondent man—not really studying, but watching for a sign; to ensure that it’s okay if he reaches out to comfortingly rest a hand on Echo’s arm. Wrecker is moving from behind to wrap Echo tight and give him a grounding squeeze. Hunter’s breath hitches because for a millisecond, he imagines seeing his baby brothers’ helmets staring back at him and suddenly Hunter can’t breathe.

It’s profound. On the desolate moon, midday turns to dusk even though the skies remain gray. The five men remain huddled together, each one in the same state of reflectiveness as the next. The frigid elements ease up if only somewhat, respectfully lenient in granting the quintet their quiet memorial.

Brothers. That’s what they are. That’s what they remember. One in the same. Same heart, same blood. There’s no such thing as Kaminoans or Cloners. There’s no such thing as ‘Regs’ or ‘Defects’. There’s only brothers. Each man remembers that day: that they were just pawns, never created to be individuals. But each man learns that day: that to still possess their individuality—their very life—is a luxury. It’s worth fighting for. Freedom is worth fighting for. And each man will fight on behalf of the brothers, of the men, who never became acquainted with the prospect before their last directive condemned and reverted them to nothing more than a number.

Numbers? The only numbers relevant are the ones The Bad Batch will do on the Empire. Over and over, and relentlessly. Blow after blow until all one can hear is the sound of Freedom ringing. And ring loud it will.

The day will come, and soon.

The Empire? They’d better watch their backs.

The Cavalry Has Arrived.

~***~

Post-Imperial Proclamation

PIP Rotation Number: 79

Destination: Planet of Unknown Origins

Documentation: Scouting for Relics. Will update with any pertinence.

—Signed by Mar-4

Update: Today I cling to the remains of fallen brethren. For the sake of anonymity, names will not be disclosed. But my heart sings with all of them. It sings, and it weeps. Some days, it will do both, for heavy is the weight. But the graveyard of men is revered; a symbol of strength that our enemies cannot defeat us all. We will prevail, because we are:

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.

Not gone, merely marching far away.

March easy, ner vode.

—Signed by Mar-5. Echo.

[regrettablewritings]

Hello! Id like to request 3, 5, 13, and 22 for Poe please?

Hello! Stuff’s below the cut, assuming Tumblr has stopped assing around!

3. Who is the most romantic?: As much as people like to joke about him and play him up as a rowdy boy who takes very little seriously, it’s quite easy to forget that Poe is canonically a sentimentalist at heart. He keeps his mother’s wedding ring on his person so that he can one day give it to someone whom he wants to be with, for crap’s sake! I think what also makes him showing off his romantic side a bit out of place is that no matter what anyone says, love blooming during a war is still something happening during a very chaotic time. Maybe inspirational, arguably a little too optimistic, but always and most definitely out of place. And considering his rank as general, Poe’s got a lot on his plate. Even when he wants to take you out to a nice dinner and do any usual courting actions, the likelihood is just so low . . . But don’t underestimate him. Poe can be quite resourceful in addition to being determined. Some nights when it seems quiet, he’ll set up a blanket somewhere for the two of you to sit on. If you’re on a ship, it’ll be by a window; if it’s on a planet, he’ll find a nice, quiet spot that’s not too close to base but not too far just in case; if you’re in more of a bunker, he’ll find a nice, quiet corner as far from everyone as he can get and sketch a randomized star chart that probably isn’t based anywhere near reality. Whatever the case, you’ll see stars and planets of some kind and he’ll encourage you to make a game of it, pointing at random dots and he’ll either identify the planet or make up a name for it and then go on to make up silly or amazing stories about the adventures he’s hypothetically had there or the dates you could go on while there. It’s very sweet, and also rather promising about the future.

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?: It would depend, honestly. I don’t think Poe’s above saying it, but I think under certain circumstances, you might beat him to it. Circumstances that include the ship coming under attack and him having to fly out in defense. You’re nervous obviously. You’re always nervous whenever he flies out, even if it’s just for a recon mission. But in the middle of a blitz? You can’t understand why he seems so calm about it all! Why does he always seem so sure of himself when he jumps into that piloting suit? How does his brow remain unperturbed whenever he places that bulky helmet on his head? Is it all a facade? Or is he genuinely that confident? To your dismay, the only thing to rip you out of this fearful reverie was a sudden blast from the attack, the rattling sending you off balance. It was a mere stroke of luck that the man of the hour was already at your side, keeping you steady. “Gogogo, get to one of the pods!” he demands, his unwavering sense of leadership prevailing. “Be safe, okay?” It sounds so simple, yet when he says it, you know it’s not just some phrase to give you comfort. It’s an actual plea. Even as he parts, you can see the worry in his eyes. It’s the only hint you have that he might not be as dauntless as he seems. As you released, stumbling to keep moving forward, you turn back to see him heading toward the direction of the X-Wing hangar. You don’t know what you feel first: The pang in your gut; the thunder of your heartbeat; the scrambling of your mind as panic hits you. The only thing you notice (and in hindsight, no less), is that you called after him: “I love you!” He stops for a moment. He stares at you. You weren’t sure if he intended on doing anything. Maybe some part of you hoped he would respond in turn -- respond at all, really. But before anything could even happen, a shower of sparks from the breaking walls interrupted you, causing you both to stumble backwards. “Get to a pod, (Y/N), I’ll find you later! I promise!” you heard him call out to you. By the time the rain of static ended, he was gone.

13. When do they realize they should get together?: Poe comes to this conclusion first. Or rather, he is more accepting of this before you are. Deep down, you’ve been wanting to be with him for ages. How could you not? He’s handsome, brave, smart, sweet, funny, protective . . . But he’s also fighting as a general and pilot in the Resistance. You’re involved, too, of course, but you’re not anywhere near the front lines as he is. And as selfish as it may be, the fear of one day learning he won’t be flying back leaves your body filled with a heavy, dark bile of sadness and fear. Besides, surely a man of his standing would prefer a woman befitting of his caliber? Perhaps another warrior soul with a gorgeous face . . . Meanwhile, Poe already knows: You’re the one he wants. You’re smart, you think fast, you like his sense of humor, you’re loyal and kind -- and those are just the things he can think of on the spot if he didn’t have time to go into detail about how you were resilient, a different breed of hero he could respect. The tipping point that brought him to this, though, probably happened when everyone had gathered one evening during dinner hours and began to swap stories about their lives before the war and what they planned on doing after. When it came to Poe, he talked about how he kinda liked the idea of exploring the galaxy more, seeing places and embracing them without the cold grip of a looming war, helping to rebuild and maybe potentially help to establish stability on more outer realms . . . And these were all true, he did want these! But the more he talked about it, processing his thoughts into words . . . the more he couldn’t help but feel something missing. He never added that last little tidbit, but it did stay in his mind for the rest of the night. It didn’t leave until the next day when he saw you shuffling out of your sleeping quarters, hair a mess, eyes still crusting with sleep. “‘Mornin’,” you muttered as cheerily as your morning-broken body would let you. And just like that, he knew what his plans were missing: You. He wanted you to be there in all of his efforts, by his side. And, likewise, he wanted to be there with you. To support you, to experience what more life had to offer with you. He tried after the fact to see him doing any of these things without you but frankly, it just felt wrong. Incomplete. In short, you had been wanting to be with him after getting used to him. Poe wanted it after realizing he didn’t want it any other way.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?: Sooooo remember when I said you blurted out your love confession at a dramatic and less-than-ideal moment? It stuck with him. Even as Poe sprinted toward his X-Wing, even as he and a handful of other pilots took off to handle the threat. Honestly, it was a miracle he was able to stay focused just enough to avoid getting injured or even killed. But he did it, and now he had a promise to keep. Meanwhile, you were dealing with a lot. All the escapees managed to warp and regroup to a backwater planet for the time being, giving you one less thing to worry about so you could go ahead and worry about everything else. Like if Poe was safe, what the next steps were for this branch of the Resistance, and, oh yes, the fact that you had confessed your love to a general in the midst of an attack. Simple stuff. Of course you wanted him to return safely. You wanted that more than anything! But every time you tried to even consider what would happen next after the fact, your mind would collapse into a blob. To your dismay, you still didn’t have any answers when the X-Wings landed. Against your brain’s screaming pleas, you felt obligated to run with everyone else to the designated landing area and greet the heroes. The screams only silenced when you saw him. Your mind just couldn’t function enough to make any sounds or movements. You didn’t even so much as flinch when your brain registered that he had caught sight of you . . . and was walking towards you. “(Y/N)?” His voice sounded so distant, and yet you could hear something in his tone. You just weren’t sure what. Concern? Hesitancy? You felt his gloved hands cupping your cheeks. You could smell his sweat, hints of smoke from the mission, trace amounts of the soap he’d used this morning for his shower. You could see those brown eyes that you loved so much, how they practically shined with gladness and adoration -- Wait, what? You didn’t really have time to think back: The moment you felt his lips, warm and needful, connecting with your own, your mind went blank.

. . . I think I went a little overboard 😅  But I hope it came out alright! Thanks for asking!

[starlightinhumanform]

On Your Parade

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Moxiety 

Summary: Patton was ecstatic when his best friend excepted an invitation to go out on a date with him. Nothing could bring him down- not even his roommate running off for the weekend with his car. But when he nearly loses Virgil, reality throws things back into perspective.

Warnings (in order of strength): Description of Car Accident/Wreckage, Mild Injury, No one dies but there is some discussion of death. Please tell me if there’s anything I need to add.  Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Human (College) AU

 A/N: Writing this was like trying to move into someone’s apartment while they broke up with me. I kept showing up with my little cardboard box of plot and this story would just frown and tell me things weren’t working out between us. Patton’s characterization is something I struggle with a lot and one of reasons I wanted to write this was to challenge myself (I hope I got it right!!). That being said... I’m very proud to have finished it and I hope you all enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Patton smoothed the creases out of his shirt for the thousandth time, gripping the hem at the bottom. He tried not to glance out the window again, but his eyes kept drifting that way.

Outside, the dusty asphalt that ran in front of his apartment building was darkening as a light drizzle began falling. But the street remained empty. A car drove past; and kept driving until Patton couldn’t see it anymore.

He couldn’t decide if the buzz jumping around inside of him was excitement or anxiety. Maybe it was both. He just needed to find something to do, something to distract him. There was no reason for him to be this amped up. He needed to calm down, act normal, be cool-

And he was staring out the window again. The street was still empty. Still no Virgil.

Maybe it made sense for Patton to be so jumpy. After all, this was their first date. But they had known each other for years. They had met in their first class of their freshmen year. Two mutually lost children amongst a hoard of what appeared to be competent adults, they had clung to each other- and hadn’t let go since. Patton had lost count of the coffee shop study sessions, late-night Denny’s raids, and art gallery visits they had taken together. To anybody else, they had dating for the past three years.

But no, because it had taken Patton a year to realize why he blushed when Virgil waved at him across the street or why he was filled with so much pride when he was able to make Virgil laugh, or why getting a text from him was somehow better than getting an email saying class was cancelled. Then it had taken him another two years to get the courage to say anything.

Patton wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted Virgil to be dazzled, but most importantly, he wanted Virgil to have a good time. There was nothing Patton liked more than to see that smile break across Virgil’s face like a California sun after a week of rain.

Unfortunately, things were already off to a not-so-perfect start. The weather had been gloomy for the past week and didn’t show any sign of clearing up. It didn’t help that Patton’s housemate had randomly decided that she needed to take a road trip in their shared car. (Patton had never regretted anything more than his decision to share a car. The split payment was hardly worth the prevailing smell of sage and vegan pizza in his only vehicle). That meant Virgil had to pick up Patton- on the date that Patton was taking him out on.

Ugh. The whole thing was messy and somewhat awkward and not at all what Patton had pictured. But Virgil had been happy to go along with the whole thing, adorably bouncing on the balls of his feet. Patton was still in shock that Virgil had even said yes. He definitely hadn’t wrapped his head around how happy Virgil had seemed, excited even about picking Patton up.

Patton flopped backwards onto his bed and squeezed the nearest pillow to his chest. Thinking about Virgil- about his crooked grin, the way his eyes looked nearly violet in sunlight, the way he was always trying to introduce Patton to obscure bands, how his laugh seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest and bubble up so that when he laughed it was like he was laughing with his whole being, just everything about him- made warmth well up inside of Patton. It was bright and it made his chest feel tight and the only thing he could do was grin and kick the back of his heels against his mattress. Patton was notorious for crying over anything remotely cute and he was supposed to keep his composure around Virgil? Ridiculous.

Patton lay there for a minute- or two or three, smiling so hard his face hurt. So maybe he was an actual adult who did adult things like pay bills and do laundry and buy vegetables; he still got flustered as easily as one of the blushing dames from the old movies Virgil liked to critique.

Patton checked his phone for the time. Virgil had agreed to be at his house at 5:00; it was 4:57. That gave Patton exactly three minutes to get himself together. It probably wasn’t going to happen but he had to give it a try. He was so scared to come off too strong and scare Virgil away. After all, Virgil didn’t even know Patton liked him that way until a week ago.

He sat up and took a deep breath. Two minutes. Just be normal- he’d been holding that act for years, he could keep it up for just a little while longer.

A minute ticked by, and then another, and then five or ten more and then roughly an entire geological eon on top of that. Patton found himself flat on his stomach on his bed, staring at his phone like if he really focused on the screen in front of him, he could ignore the worry that was quickly growing in his chest.

Another car rumbled by his window and Patton jumped up. Still no sign of Virgil and it was 5:15- far later than Patton had ever seen Virgil arrive to something they had agreed upon. Virgil had a reputation for showing up to things exceptionally early (he had gained infamy amongst professors for being the only student who had ever shown up to an eight a.m. class twenty minutes before it began) and Patton couldn’t clamp down on the doubt that was rising up inside of him.

Virgil didn’t forget things. He would worry and procrastinate and claim he forgot things- but it wasn’t something that actually happened. If Virgil was late, that meant he didn’t want to be there. Patton abandoned staring at his phone and began picking at the edges of his cuticles. It was something Virgil always got on his case about, but Virgil wasn’t there at the moment to say anything. What if he didn’t actually want to go out with Patton? What if he hadn’t actually been that happy and Patton had just imagined it all? What if he had just said yes to be nice? What if this had all been a mistake and their friendship would never be the same again?

Patton glanced back down at his phone. He wished he could call Virgil; he wanted to hear his voice, he wanted to say I’m so so sorry for messing up everything we had and I want to take it all back. I would eat all my words if it meant we could just be friends again. But no. Because Virgil hated talking on the phone. Because it would only make things worse. Because it was too late and he couldn’t possibly fix everything now.

Hey, he did say yes, though. And Virgil rarely lies. The immortally optimistic portion of Patton’s thoughts tried to show him a glimmer of hope. For once, it held some logic. Patton had rarely seen Virgil lie- the stress of keeping a story running and his worries of people finding out usually outweighed what he could gain from lying. Anyways, he wouldn’t lie about something this big. Would he?

Patton’s eyes had glazed over, far too focused on all of the thoughts swarming through his head to actually be able to see anything around him. His attention was brought snapping back to reality as his phone buzzed to life, flashing Virgil’s name.

He fumbled to answer quickly, hoping his voice didn’t sound squeaky as it scrambled out of his mouth like an overly-excited puppy, “Hey!”

“Can you come pick me up?” Virgil’s voice was rough and forced; he pushed the words out so quickly Patton could barely understand what he was saying.

“Wait, what? What’s going on? I don’t have a car remember-“

“There was an accident.”

The world dissolved into white noise. Patton couldn’t see anything, all of his senses cut off. His blood was rushing in his ears but he could feel it pounding all the way to his fingertips. He couldn’t remember how to breathe; he could only focus on the heavy rasps coming from Virgil across the speaker.

Suddenly time rushed back into place and all of Patton’s fear with it, “What happened? Are you ok? Did anyone get hurt? Who did it?”

“I- I just, I don’t- I think-“ Virgil stuttered out his words, breathless.

A sick heaviness settled into the pit of Patton’s stomach. He shouldn’t be the one freaking out right now, he couldn’t be- Virgil needed him.

Patton sighed, cutting off Virgil who still hadn’t managed to complete a sentence. He tried to keep his voice as low and level as he could despite the urge he was getting to run out of the house and find Virgil as fast as he could, “No, no. I’m sorry. It’ll be ok. I just need to know where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“It was- no, wait. Except then-“

“Virge. Street names. That’s all I need. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Right. Sorry. Uh-,” For a second Patton couldn’t hear anything from the speakers except muffled footsteps, “Garnet. Garnet Street. And Maple.”

Patton just blinked for a moment, “But that’s just a few streets down from me. I’ll be there in just a second. Just- hang in there, ok?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. By the time it had probably taken Virgil to realize he had hung up, Patton was already pounding down the stairs. He ran out the door without a second thought, dismal weather forgotten as he sprinted off the porch and down the street.

Raindrops splattered against his bare arms and his breath steamed as it collided with the cool air around him. He didn’t notice and he didn’t care. His mind was completely occupied as he tried to remember how the local roads were stitched together. Under normal circumstances, he knew them as well as the veins that wove through his hand (probably better because while he did spend a good amount of time walking around, it had been quite a while seen he had memorized the back of his hand).

He heard the wreckage before he saw it. Or rather, the lack of sound. There were no birds, no crows cawing their dislike of the rain. Just the heavy silence of fog and the tick of cooling metal.

Patton slowed to a walk. He didn’t want to turn the corner. He was so scared of what he would find. His ears strained to pick up Virgil’s voice, but he couldn’t hear him at all. Patton knew Virgil was alive- he knew, he had just been on the phone with him- but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to be horribly wrong. The thought of Virgil being hurt pushed him back into a sprint.

The scene was a mess. The twisted hood of Virgil’s car lay at the top of the street, a good hundred feet from the actual vehicle. The front was crushed like an aluminum can someone had decided to step on. Patton couldn’t tell if the clouds rising from it were smoke or steam or maybe a combination of both.

Patton didn’t know he could run so quickly- one moment he was somewhere by the top of the street and the next he was in the middle of the wreckage, flying past patches of broken glass and twisted metal that reached towards the sky like demented sunflowers. Patton couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

Virgil was hunched over on the curb; his knees tucked to his chest, his head hung, and his hands clasped over his bent neck. Patton couldn’t see his eyes but he could bet they were squeezed shut, just trying to block out the world around him.

Patton was a very careful person. All of his usual gentle hesitation was thrown out the window. He could hear the glass crunching beneath his feet, but he felt nothing of the shards digging into his shoe soles. The fumes of the wreckage fell heavily into his lung but he didn’t notice the burn it left with every inhale.

As Patton’s feet pounded closer, Virgil curled deeper into his knees. His head sunk down until his face was completely hidden. He clamped his hands over his neck like he was try to wait out an earthquake. Pure terror shrouded Virgil and it made Patton’s insides boil.

Patton sat down and rubbed his hand over Virgil’s back; he could feel how tense his entire body was beneath his hoodie. He hated the way Virgil flinched under his touch, “Virgil, it’s me, it’s Patton. Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil didn’t answer with words, instead just barreling into Patton’s side. He wrapped his arm’s around Patton’s waist in a vice-grip and buried his head in Patton’s chest. Patton could feel Virgil’s chest brushing steadily against his own and only then realized how out of breath he was.

Patton wrapped his arms around Virgil’s shoulders and squeezed as tight as he could without risking some sort of collateral damage. It was grounding- feeling Virgil in his grasp, the tiny movements he made pressed against his chest, his hands gripping at the material of Patton’s shirt. It made everything feel real again; it was like the entire world had lost gravity but holding onto Virgil, Patton could at least get his feet on the ground.

The ringing faded from his ears, leaving nothing but the persistent sounds of rain to take its place. The street was dead and only the clouds could gaze down on their huddled forms. Virgil was shaking against his side but Patton couldn’t tell if he was crying or shivering.

He sat without saying anything for a few moments, clinging to Virgil just as tight as Virgil squeezed around him. He didn’t want to let go, still just trying to convince himself that Virgil was there, that he was ok.

An eerie calm fell over the scene. The lack of cars driving past made it seems like the entire world had paused around them. The rain fell in a consistent drizzle- it wasn’t even drops, simply a blanket that coated everything in a gloomy haze. It could have been five in the morning or three in the afternoon or even a completely different planet and Patton wouldn’t have been able to tell.

Virgil shifted against him, “Hey.”

Patton looked down, ready to respond but froze when he saw Virgil’s face. A cut arched over his left eyebrow, a streak of blood running all the way down to the dark shadow beneath his eyes, “Virgil, oh my god?! Are you ok? How did that happen?”

Virgil shrugged and broke away from Patton’s stare, “I got into a car accident. Shit like that happens. I probably hit my head on the wheel or something.”

“Yeah but are you ok?” If Virgil was going to be overly casual, then Patton would just have to substitute as his self preservation instincts.

“I’m fine, really. It looks worse than it actually is.”

Patton pursed his lips. It was obvious Virgil didn’t really want to talk about it, “Well, ok... are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I think I got kinda bruised on my chest from the seatbelt but it’ll be fine. It could have been a lot worse.”

Virgil’s hollow voice sent chills down Patton’s spine. His words made him tighten his grip around Virgil again as he was reminded just how lucky he was to be able to hold him at all.

Patton was still trying to get his feet on the ground but he realized with a start that Virgil was miles away. Virgil could have died. No wonder he sounded hollow, his mind was probably trying to run away from the memory of what had happened as fast as he possibly could.

Patton began rubbing his hand rhythmically across Virgil’s shoulders. Despite the chaos around them, that at least felt somewhat familiar. Virgil said Patton could help him calm down better than anyone else- something about how he drew his attention from all the thoughts in his head back to his physical form. Patton prayed he could help in the only way he knew how to.

Virgil stared out across the wreckage. His eyes were glassy and filled with clouds to rival the gray hanging in the sky.

“They ran the stop sign,” His voice reached down from somewhere in the storm.

“T-boned my car. Their front bumper hit my passenger side,” He was a thousand miles away.

Patton brushed his hand up and down along the vertical stripes of Virgil’s plaid sweatshirt, trying to follow the beats of his breathing.

“Then they just kept driving,” A hundred miles, “I don’t get how really- their car couldn’t have been much better off than mine.”

Patton just wished he could do more. He didn’t know what to do and all he did know was that it wasn’t enough. He wanted to reverse all of time just to stop Virgil from getting hurt.

“It was crazy. I don’t even know how to explain it. It was like being on a roller coaster, except there’s no tracks and you have no idea where it’s going or when it’s going to stop or if it’s ever actually going to stop,” Ten miles- tops. His voice was quickly deteriorating, weakening with every foot he fell closer to the surface of the planet.

Patton could feel Virgil shaking in his arms. He felt so small and Patton wished he could protect him from every ugly, horrible thing in this stupid world. Virgil didn’t deserve this.

Virgil hit the surface of the planet with a shudder, chocking on his words as they tumbled out of his mouth, “I just- I kept thinking- and about- but I couldn’t do- I just wanted and-“

Virgil froze suddenly, the silence shocking after his stream of broken words. Patton wasn’t sure if it was better or worse until Virgil slumped forward, sobs wracking his body. It was quiet except for the hiccuping gasps the escaped Virgil and Patton could say decisively that this was so much worse than any incoherent ramble.

Patton ran his hand through Virgil’s hair, keeping the other arm tucked snugly around Virgil’s side. He winced as his fingers hit the sticky dampness in his bangs that could only be blood. He kept shushing him gently, but he wasn’t actually sure who he was telling to be quiet. It wasn’t that he wanted Virgil to be quiet; he just wanted the rest of the world to stop for a moment.

They sat there for what could have been anywhere between a minute and a week, seconds drawn out between Virgil’s stuttering breaths.

Virgil shifted suddenly, raising his head and turning his knees to face Patton. His eyes were red and still filled with tears. His face was flushed but the cut still stood out; it burned a dark burgundy as the blood dried and a bruise bloomed out around it. It was nearly painful to look at. It felt like Patton’s heart was being squeezed in a giant fist and no matter what he did, he couldn’t escape that suffocating pressure. He was still so angry- angrier than he had felt in years and to the point it was almost surprising.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil’s voice was small and cracked between the words.

Patton could feel his eyebrows scrunching together, “Why would you have a single thing to be sorry for?”

Virgil hung his head, arms balanced on his knees so Patton couldn’t quite see his face, “I don’t know... this was supposed to be our first date and I ruined it.”

Patton wasn’t sure how to respond. He could feel his heart shattering at Virgil’s words, glass shards cutting through his chest. A tiny incredulous laugh crawled its way up Patton’s throat. Or maybe it had fallen from his dizzy head. Either way, it landed in his mouth, mixing bitterly with the coppery taste of adrenaline.

He shook his head, “No, Virge. Please don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault. Besides, I’m just glad that you’re ok.”

“But-“

“But nothing. I’m happy just to be able to hold you,” Patton tried to convey his sincerity, pushing his gratefulness into every word and hoping Virgil would hear it.

Virgil scooted closer and leaned his head against Patton’s chest. Patton tucked his chin over Virgil’s head, happy to feel Virgil’s breathing steadying out into its regular pattern. The gasps were replaced with only the occasional sniffle.

“So, where were you going to take me?”

“What?”

“Where were you going to take me?” Virgil repeated the question, “You know, for our date?”

Patton’s lips twitched up into a smile, “That’s a surprise.”

Virgil gave a huff of a laugh, “It’s not exactly like we’re going to go now.”

Patton rolled the question around in his head, “Yeah, but we could try again sometime; First Date, Take Two. I mean, if that’s something you would like to do.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to do that?” Virgil sounded genuinely confused.

“It’s just that... I thought that maybe,” Patton sighed, “Maybe you didn’t actually want to go out with me and that I had kinda ruined our friendship.”

Virgil moved so he could face Patton directly, “You really thought I didn’t mean it when I said yes?”

Patton tried not squirm but the usual butterflies in his stomach had transformed into snakes, “It’s not that I didn’t believe you, I just wondered-“

Virgil interrupted with a laugh but Patton couldn’t figure out what was so funny. His eyes narrowed as they studied Patton’s face, trying to find something but what exactly, Patton had no clue.

“God, you big dummy,” Virgil chuckled again and Patton felt something in his chest crumble. He didn’t want to hear the next words, he just wanted to implode in on himself and never face the world again, “I love you. I have for years. I know this might be kind of weird to say, seeing as we haven’t even had our first date but I’ve known you for what feels like forever and you’re my best friend and when you said you liked me as more of a friend I was so surprised but-“

“You love me?” Patton cut off Virgil’s ramble. Those were not the words he had been expecting.

Virgil wrung his hands in his lap, “Yeah. Is that ok?”

“Virgil, honey, I-“ Patton tried to stutter out all of the things he was feeling but it just wasn’t possible. He took a deep breath, letting his body relax for the first time in he-didn’t-know-how-long. He let himself simply dissolve into the warmth that was taking over all of his systems, “I love you too.”

Patton wasn’t really sure what happened next. He was leaning forward and Virgil was leaning forward and suddenly their lips were pressed together. His eyes fluttered close as he melted further towards Virgil. It was gentle and warm despite the drizzle that continued to coat them. Patton could feel Virgil’s eyelashes brush against his cheek; they were damp and nearly as soft his mouth.

Virgil pulled away, “Uh, was that ok too?”

“I think that was a little more than ok,” Patton hoped his voice wasn’t as weak as it sounded to his own ears.

Virgil let his head fall back against Patton’s chest which- from the inside- felt like a furnace left on too long, “Ow!”

Patton immediately jumped at Virgil’s expression of pain, “What’s wrong?”

“I hit my cut on your chest. It’s fine.”

As much as Patton wished he could stay in that moment, he knew it couldn’t last forever, “We should get you to the hospital; you might be worse off than you think.

Virgil whined as Patton stood up but accepted the hand up. His legs shook as he tried to put weight on them. It took him a moment to gain his balance, placing a bit more of his weight on Patton than was probably necessary as he leaned his shoulder, “How are we going to get there?”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Uh, Patton?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have a car, remember?”

“Oh.”

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 ~

[dalekofchaos]

The Luke Skywalker that was wasted and the Luke fans deserved.

For the last two years I have shown my displeasure with how Luke Skywalker and I still hate it.  Let’s talk why I hate it and why I think it could have been better

What the hell was with Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi?

Why did Rian Johnson and Kathleen Kennedy depict him as a grumpy, pathetic hermit and a weak failure? Don't give me that crap about 'b-b-b-b-but he did a Force Projection and that's hard'. You can't shit on a character for 99% of the movie and consider his depiction as worthy because he did something useful for the remaining 1%.

Lucasfilm and associates prior to Disney's acquisition of the franchise spent 40 YEARS building the character of Luke Skywalker through the movies, comics and novels. The Star Wars fandom has spent 40 YEARS delving into the lore of the Star Wars universe and its characters. Why would Rian and Kathleen go in the opposite direction with his character? They went as far as making him a depressed, hopeless loser when the very essence of his being is hope. "How did the most optimistic, hopeful character in the galaxy turn into this hermit? ... A Jedi is optimistic, a Jedi has tenacity, he never gives up" - A quote from Luke Skywalker himself: Mark Hamill. When Luke Skywalker himself voices serious concern about the depiction of Luke Skywalker, Rian and Kathleen should have immediately started over.

The annihilation of Luke Skywalker's character was intentional. It's preposterous to suggest that they accidentally ruined one of cinemas greatest hero's. This was a planned character assassination.

Why was Mark Hamill exempt from the marketing of The Force Awakens and forced to stand on a mountain with no lines?

Why was Luke given nothing for The Force Awakens and anytime Mark went to JJ with his great ideas for Luke, JJ just smiled and patted him on the back just to shut him up?

Why did Luke toss the Lightsaber? The Lightsaber of his father, the lightsaber that Obi-Wan gave to him, and the Lightsaber he lost on Bespin after losing his hand to Vader. Such an emotional connection to Luke, he casually tosses it in such a stupid, cold and unemotional matter. Why not allow Luke an emotional reaction to holding this particular lightsaber again after all these years? Why is a sight gag preferable in this situation? Even if Luke being a bitter, detached old man is essential to TLJ, that’s still no reason not to pay even the slightest respect to everything that lightsaber represents from the original trilogy.

Why is Luke not allowed to show emotion, grief or empathy for the death of Han Solo? His best friend, his brother, Leia’s love and the father of his nephew?

Why does Luke not care that his sister’s life and The Resistance is in danger? Why was he willing to abandon his sister in her time of need?

Why does Luke and Chewie never have a moment of forgiveness and reconciliation?

Why was Luke made to fail as a Jedi Master? Luke should have changed the Jedi for the better as he did in Legends. Luke did not negate his emotions, but found a synthesis between both. Luke definitely showed that selfless love and compassion don’t lead to the dark side. Anakin is the Last Jedi of the old order, not Luke. Luke became the first of the New Jedi realizing that attachment made him stronger not weaker. For the new Jedi were attached to the entire universe through the Force. This is why Luke reformed the Jedi for the better.

Why was Han and Leia made to fail as parents and leaders in the NR and Resistance? Why were Luke, Han and Leia’s achievements and victories made invalid?

Why was it necessary to show Luke drink from a giant alien tit? Oh yes, we can show that, but we can’t show Luke mourn for the loss of his best friend 😒

Why did Luke not teach Rey ANYTHING? He did not impart wisdom to Rey at all in the entire movie. They did not have a great master/apprentice relationship, despite it being advertised that their relationship was the beating heart of the movie! That was a giant lie and false advertisement!

Why does Luke give up on the Jedi. Jedi do not give up. You might say that Yoda and Obi-Wan also gave up. But for those two, the Sith took over the galaxy, they had to go into hiding to protect and guide Luke and Leia. Obi-Wan wanted to save Leia and guide Luke. Yoda always wanted to train Leia as a Jedi and bring Anakin back to the light. He was reluctant to train Luke but he still did his duty as a Jedi Master. They did not just give up and wanted to die and they did not betray their characters at all.

Why would Luke Skywalker even think of killing his nephew in his sleep? Why would he even think of igniting the Lightsaber? Luke Skywalker would not even think of trying to kill his nephew in his sleep. Luke decided the Jedi and Sith were both wrong and believed that his father was still good and he was right in saving him. He would try to talk to Ben and try to pull him back to the light. His sister brought Ben there for protection and guidance. Even if that did fail, you did not need to make Luke attempt to murder him. You did not need to make Luke, Leia and Han at fault for Kylo Ren. Kylo is a grown ass man, he is responsible for his own actions. Kylo was going to murder the Jedi and younglings regardless, he already fell to the dark side. No one is responsible for Kylo’s actions but Kylo Ren.

Why does Luke just give up? Luke Skywalker is a beacon of hope and optimism and love against all odds, and the fact that that was twisted into being depicted as some foolish youth naivety, and that the only way to make him “human” was to retract all that and make him a bitter, jaded man is so fucking disgusting. Even more disgusting is in TLJ novelization had him dreaming of never leaving Tatooine and having him live under the Empire’s dominance. He does not even care that his sister’s life and the Resistance she is leading is in danger. He doesn’t connect with Rey on any meaningful level, doesn’t impart wisdom or knowledge, and never reasserts himself as the powerful Jedi he once was. A brief physical duel against Rey ends with her as the undisputed victor, completely killing his deserved mythos and her potential character arc in one fell swoop. It’s clear in that moment that he has nothing to teach her, and nothing to contribute to the overall narrative. The boundless potential that seemed poised to explode at the end of The Force Awakens fizzles here but never ignites.  And without any training at all, Rey defeats Luke Skywalker and Luke acts all cowardly and begs her to leave. He does buy The Resistance time and saves his sister, but it was ultimately pointless. He wasn’t even there and he dies pointlessly. What we got was not Luke Skywalker. Luke Skywalker is hope and optimism. Luke Skywalker is showing that no matter what, compassion, faith and love will always prevail. Luke is the hero that inspired an entire generations to aspire to be better, aspire to be heroes. Luke is what we wanted to see and what we got was not Luke Skywalker. Luke is someone who thought Doctor Aphra was a good person, she proves him wrong but he still had that hope for her. Luke believed that Darth Vader of all people still had good in him and was willing to die and he was able to reach his father. In Battlefront II’s Story, Luke saves Del Meeko because he asked and he offered Del a better life, a choice. Inferno Squad has committed atrocities in the name of the Empire, yet Luke still gave Del Meeko a chance. Canon Luke Skywalker is a kind hearted hero who will never run from a fight or knowingly leave a loved one in danger and will even save his enemy. This is Luke Skywalker. Luke is compassionate, adores his family, would never leave them. The Luke Skywalker I knew would never even think about killing his nephew in his sleep when there is always another way. Luke believes in the light and was willing to die to save his father. Darth Vader committed atrocities for decades, Luke still believed there was good in him. He would never give up on his family nor would he even consider killing his own nephew in his sleep just because he sensed darkness there. He would never abandon his sister at death’s door when she needed him most. The Hero’s Journey that he was following was ignored completely and he just gave up and wanted to die. And he dies instead of reuniting with Leia properly. Mark Hamill wanted Luke to live until Episode IX where he would pass on what he learned to Rey. No big battle with Snoke, no passing on, instead Luke dies and all we’re getting is force ghost Luke. Luke Skywalker was a hero to an entire generation.  Luke was the true heart of Star Wars. His was the journey we followed from idealistic farm boy dreaming of adventure, to reluctant warrior, and finally to savior of the entire galaxy. The original trilogy built him up, and The Last Jedi finally broke him down. I for one mourn my hero’s passing. 

Why is Yoda the one to convince Luke to return? It should have been Anakin

Why does Luke not appear for real and have a real genuine moment with Leia? The final moment between Luke and Leia was ultimately pointless when you realize Luke wasn’t even there, it was just a projection?

Why did Luke not have a worthy final showdown and showing his power as a Jedi Master instead of disappearing and not being anything more than a distraction? Why did he die without passing anything on to the next generation?

These were supposed to be, or should have been completely replaced with extremely powerful moments with emotional weight. These moments should have been mandatory. Yet the creators didn't deliver.

THE LUKE SKYWALKER THAT WE DESERVED

What a missed opportunity. I mean, look at this artwork. There's such potential for greatness and compare that to the steaming pile of shit Rian Johnson / Kathleen Kennedy served in The Last Jedi.

What we should have got to see of Luke in the Sequel Trilogy

First and foremost, the same Luke Skywalker who actually exists in the Star Wars universe.

His Jedi Academy and respectful showcase of Ancient Jedi artefacts.

A mention of a close relationship of his students and most importantly to Ben and how Snoke turned him against Luke and the Jedi

Flashbacks to training his own Ben and his padawans and scenes of Luke training Rey

Reuniting with Han, or at least mourning his death.

Have Luke tell Rey he left the map behind so Leia can find him when the time is right, he did not give up, but he realized Leia sent him someone he can train and give guidance to. Luke and Rey indeed are the beating heart of this story

Lifting his old X-Wing out of the water and flying to the Supremacy to face Snoke and his nephew and to save Leia.

Luke and Rey together fight the Praetorian Guards. Luke faces Snoke, while Rey faces Kylo. Luke kills Snoke, while Kylo wins the fiight against Rey and cuts her hand off

Physically appearing, a beautiful reunion with Leia that has meaning with Luke actually being there

A true moment and showdown against The First Order and Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren orders every ship to fire on Luke. All the AT-M6’s all firing but to everyone’s surprise, all blasts have no effect via protection of the force. Luke wipes the salt off his robes and with a simple wave of his hand, brings the walkers, transports and Kylo’s shuttle down, one by one.  Kylo descends from his crushed shuttle, throwing a tantrum and preparing preparing to kill his uncle. We have a real lightsaber battle between Luke and Kylo. Luke has his green lightsaber. Their blades clash. The battle is emotional and raw. Luke is there. The dialogue is emotional and impactful. Despite all that his nephew has done, Luke asks him to return. Kylo refuses, he embraces who he is and that he is the new Vader. Luke will retort “oh Ben, you are no Vader.” Luke is toying with Kylo, similar to how Vader toyed with him on Bespin. Luke and Kylo’s exchange remains the same. “I failed you Ben, I’m sorry.” “I’m sure you are! The Resistance is dead. The war is over, and when I kill you, I will have killed the last Jedi.” “Amazing. Every word of what you just said was wrong. The Rebellion is reborn today. The war is just beginning. And I will not be the last Jedi.” Kylo will lunge at Luke with all his anger with the intention to kill his uncle, but luke dodges and cuts Kylo’s hand off.  Luke gives his “see you around kid” but Luke does not die, he leaves to board his X-Wing. Leaving the new Supreme Leader and The First Order a mess

Luke passes on what he knows to the next generation. Hope has returned. Rey has given Luke’s faith and hope back. The Rebellion is alive. Luke will not be the Last Jedi. Brother and sister reunited and the Resistance stronger for it. Master and apprentice together once more. Smiles and tears and happy to see each other again. Rey, Luke and Leia together. Both siblings holding their hands together on Rey’s hand. Telling her “We have everything we need. It ends how it begins With Rey grabbing the Lightsaber Rey extended to Luke. Tears in Rey’s eyes. The Millennium Falcon and Luke’s X-wing take off side by side into into lightspeed.

The next movie would be about Luke training and preparing the next generation of Jedi. Rey, Finn, Poe, Rose and Jannah, the new Jedi, The Skywalkers. As they stand to face Kylo, Palpatine and The First Order. Luke will sacrifice himself to give his students a chance to destroy The Emperor once and for all

The thing that perplexes me is that both the casual moviegoers and hardcore fans would have loved a depiction of Luke more akin to Legends. Yet Disney chose a depiction of Luke which casuals are indifferent to and the hardcore fans absolutely fucking hate. Why? Why not show the character which majority would love? There's nothing to hate about a powerful and wise legendary hero, while there's everything to hate about some broken hermit that gave up on his family and friends and doing what’s right who reflects nothing of what we've been lead to believe about his character by the creators of Star Wars itself for 40 years.

What a waste of potential. What a slap in the face to George Lucas, Luke Skywalker and the entire SW legacy. I cannot believe the sheer amount of disrespect shown by Disney, Lucasfilm, Kathleen Kennedy, JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson. Luke deserved better.

Mark Hamill tried to warn us

[olympedupuget]

Gif Request Meme - A Musical of my Choice + a Villain:  Artois and Orléans

↳ Requested by @fallenidol-453

Philippe Égalité: The only legitimate son of the Duc d’Orléans, a prince du sang from birth, Philippe was a very unlikely revolutionary. And yet Philippe showed a strong level of compassion for the lives of the lower class, going down a coal shaft to see the conditions faced by miners, pulling a groom of his from a river with his own hands, and providing shelter for the poor during the bitter winter of 1788-89. 

He was noted for his extravagant lifestyle; a noted lover of racehorses, gambling, architecture, his various and assorted mistresses, and all things English. Despite being the richest man in France, with a truly astronomical income, he nonetheless found himself frequently in debt. That was the impetus for him to totally redesign the Palais Royal over the course of two and a half years, opening it up to shopkeepers and establishing it as a major area for counter revolutionary activity, with the police being banned from intervening. As such, an overwhelming feeling of liberty prevailed there, with people from all social classes gathering to observe the spectacles and walk along the gardens there. 

There was a certain amount of hostility to be expected between the two branches of the Bourbon family, going as far back as the first Duc’s tempestuous relationship with his brother, Louis XIV. Still, the relationship between Louis XVI and Philippe gradually deteriorated over time, despite several attempts to patch things up. Orléans blamed Louis for the loss of his naval career, with the controversial Battle of Ushant in 1778 being a major breaking point in their relationship. In 1788, he spoke up at a “Royal Sitting” where Louis tried to press the Parliament into obeying his will, saying “Sire, this appears to be illegal.” Louis responded, “It is legal, because I wish it to be so.” Orléans spent the next five months in a comfortable exile at his estate, and he returned more popular than ever. 

When the Estates General was called, Orléans sided with the Third Estate, taking his place with the other delegates rather than sitting with the Royal Family as his rank entitled him to. His name was consistently brought up alongside revolutionary activity, with his bust being paraded alongside Necker’s on July 12, 1789, when the rash charge of the Prince de Lambesc into the Tuilleries heightened the people’s fears over an armed crackdown of Paris. It would be in the Palais Royal where Camille Desmoulins would jump on a table and call the people to arms, and even though the exact impact of that statement’s been disputed, the fact that Palais Royal was a huge locus point for revolutionary activity never has been. 

Among the royalists, it was popularly thought that Orléans was behind the entire Revolution, masterminding the Storming of the Bastille, the Women’s March to Versailles, a famine, and various and assorted other disturbances, in lieu of believing that the common people themselves were discontent. However, the sources nearest and dearest to Philippe suggest that he had no intention of seizing power, and Philippe’s own action of going and staying in England at Lafayette’s suggestion between October 1789 and July 1790, when he had a strong chance of fighting back against the charges and seizing power for himself by riding off the highest point of his popularity, strongly indicates that he had no intention of seizing the throne for himself. Overall, while he was a man of undeniable courage, the popular consensus is that he was, by nature, too passive to do it on his own, generally being very diffident to those near him such as his former mistress and longtime friend, Madame de Genlis, as well as her rival for his attention, Pierre Ambroise François Choderlos de Laclos, and generally disinterested in long-form plans, preferring to throw himself into whims. It is far more likely that, if a plan existed to make Philippe king, it came from one of those brains, as opposed to anything Philippe himself considered in any detail. 

He did, however, become embittered over the increasingly chilly reception he received at Versailles, including one occasion where a courtier shouted “Do not let him touch the wine!” when he entered, with him then being spat on as he made his leave. 

In the latter half of 1792, Philippe faced a bevy of problems, both personal and political, as his long-suffering wife had filed for a separation, his daughter was put on a list of émigrés and was forced to leave the country very shortly after arriving (after Madame de Genlis, who he had instructed to take her back before her name could be added, lingered for too long, causing a final breakdown in their long relationship), his popularity was rapidly fading, and he had been called, as a Deputy of the National Convention, to sit at the trial of his cousin. According to one anecdote, found in William Cooke Taylor’s Memoirs of the House of Orléans, it was in that particular maelstrom that he changed his name, as a last ditch effort to save his daughter and prove his loyalty to the Revolution, to Philippe Égalité. Many options were considered for him to not sit the trial, and there is no reason to believe, despite the long-lasting enmity that the two of them had, that Philippe, when he went to sleep the night before the trial of Louis began on December 26, that he had any idea that when it came time to give the verdict on January 14-15, he would vote “yea,” a decision that shocked the entire room, not the least Louis himself. Perhaps it was a last ditch effort to save himself, perhaps he felt pressured to do it by everyone else in the room, perhaps in that moment he truly believed that Louis’ actions merited the death penalty. It’s impossible to truly know, but in the end that one decision, more than anything else, has defined his legacy. 

However, the Royalists would soon be able to find some comfort, as, on the 4th of April 1793, his son, Louis-Philippe, Duc de Chartres, defected along with General Dumouriez, and Philippe’s enemies had the ammunition they needed.

On 7 April, 1793, he was arrested and sent to Fort Saint-Jean in Marseilles, along with two of his sons. Throughout his imprisonment, Philippe kept up an optimistic front, constantly reassuring his sons, the Duc de Montpensier and the Comte de Beaujolais, on the rare occasions he was allowed to speak to them after they were separated, that everything would turn out well, even expressing optimism about his trial in Paris. Whether this was real or simply an attempt at keeping up morale will never be known, but on November 2, 1793, he was sent back to Paris, to be imprisoned in the Conciergerie. He was tried on the 6th and, at his own request not to prolong things any longer than necessary, he was executed on that same day. By all accounts, he met his death courageously, his composure only threatening to break when the cart he was in stopped in front of the Palais Royal, so that he could very clearly see the sign on it that said it was now national property. His last words were to stop the assistants at the guillotine from taking off his boots, saying “You are losing time, you can take them off at a greater leisure when I am dead.” 

Unlike his royal cousins, his body was never found, and to this day, he is generally considered as one of the great villains of the Revolution in media associated with it, though none of the serious charges against him (the October Days being prime) were ever proven.

Charles X- For most of his younger years, like his older cousin, Charles’ defining quality was his wild life, which was punctuated by multiple love affairs, copious gambling and alcohol, and even more copious debts, with his brother, Louis XVI, somewhat reluctantly paying the bills. He also had a close friendship with his brother’s wife, who he shared a love of high living with, the two of them often being seen together at the theatre and balls. This close friendship was much remarked upon, with Artois being a frequent subject of the pornographic pamphlets that circulated about the queen, along with Marie Antoinette’s favorite, Madame de Polignac. In the years preceding and following the Revolution, however, the two of them gradually cooled, with their later relationship being marked by political disagreements. Charles consistently pressured his brother into more conservative stances during the meeting of the Estates General, arguing against doubling the Third Estates’ representation and conspiring to get rid of Louis’ liberal finance minister, Jacques Necker. The dismissal of the Necker would end up being one of the leading causes for the Storming of the Bastille, with Charles’ temporary personal victory being quickly eclipsed by the blaze that the little spark of Revolution had turned into. In the days immediately following the Storming of the Bastille, Artois was ordered to emigrate by his brother, along with the rest of his family.

He wouldn’t see France again for decades, going from court to court in Europe asking for help and trailed by a small army of creditors (who would become some of his most frequent companions, the avid huntsman only being able to go out riding at his estate at Holyrood on Sundays, when his creditors would be unable to pursue him), but with very little materializing, even less of which was successful, with the Battle of Quiberon being particularly disastrous to any hope of a royalist win by military might. Instead, he set up his main residence in London, with his mistress, Louise de Polastron, sister-in-law of Madame de Polignac, upon whose death he swore a vow of celibacy, the former playboy becoming sober and religious in his later years. The family briefly returned to France in May 1814, with the exile of Napoleon to Elba, however his later escape and mustering of the troops led to them leaving the city in February 1815, only able to fully establish themselves back in the country shortly after Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo. Upon his brother, the Comte de Provence’s ascension to the throne as Louis XVIII (the space between XVI and XVIII being taken up by Charles’ young nephew, Louis-Charles, who died in prison and therefore never ruled), Charles became known as a leading member of the Ultra Royalist faction, who were, as the name suggests, “More Royalist than the king.” His brother dying without a male heir, Charles took the throne in 1824, though his highly conservative policies following his more tolerant brother’s reign made him highly unpopular with the public. 

In 1830, he was forced to abdicate. His intent had been for the throne to go to his young grandson, however, it would go to Louis-Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, the son of Philippe Égalite (who would himself end up being deposed.) He spent the remainder of his life similarly to how he spent his exile, traveling from place to place, hounded by debtors.

 Eventually, he would die in Austria, on 6 November 1836, 43 years to the day of his revolutionary cousin’s execution. 

Sources: 

The Chevalier de Saint-Georges: Virtuoso of the Sword and the Bow: Gabriel Banat

A French King at Holyrood: Alexander John Mackenzie Stuart

The Journalists and the July Revolution in France: The Role of the Political Press in the Overthrow of the Bourbon Restoration 1827–1830: Daniel Rader

Memoirs of the House of Orléans: William Cooke Taylor

The Perilous Crown: France Between Revolutions, 1814-1848: Munro Price

Prince of the blood : being an account of the illustrious birth, the strange life and the horrible death of Louis-Philippe Joseph, fifth duke of Orleans, better remembered as Philippe Egalite: Evart Seelye Scudder

Revolutions in the Western World 1775–1825: Jeremy Black, ed.

[dippedanddripped]

Founded on the streets of Flatbush, Brooklyn, in the '90s, Carl Williams founded his iconic brand with "$1000 and a dream". Born in an era where your outfit was social currency, Karl used his passion for style to develop the influential brand we now know and love as Karl Kani. A self-taught designer, Karl's designs have been worn by icons such as Tupac, Nas, Jay-Z, Aaliyah, and Snoop. Building his own baggy-fit, hip-hop ready blueprint, Karl used his "hustle-hard" upbringing and a savvy eye for street-influenced fashion to create a globally-renowned brand.

Coming for an era where nobody believed hip-hop culture could become pop-culture de rigueur, Karl faced skeptical detractors, unsure if a street-influenced label could go global. Despite being confident, Karl would always ask himself "Can I do it?" This existential question was the launching pad that drove Karl to legally change his name from Carl Williams to Karl Kani. So, the question of "Can I?" morphed into the brand name "Kani", and with that, a legendary label was born.

Fast forward to the global pandemic of 2020 - in a time of uncertainty, many creatives are asking themselves: "Can I keep my business going," "Can I still perform," and "Can I stay fit and healthy?"

Looking to Karl's story for inspiration, an overarching message prevails - together "we can" do this.

In this candid video, Karl touches on his storied journey, from getting up at 5:30 am to sell newspapers so he could buy clothes, to gaining inspiration seeing his father visit tailors as a child. Ever the optimist, Karl touches on how he overcomes setbacks, remains grounded and healthy, and how we can grow as a community.

Volume 90%

As our community of creative talent grows stronger and stronger, we look to a diverse range of talents who provide individual stories of creative fortitude. With the effects of Covid-19 taking a toll on the industry, this inspiring set of creatives prove that an "I Can" attitude can overcome any obstacle. From rappers to visual artists, their stories provide hope during tough times.

KOBY MARTIN – ARTIST

A proud export of Ghana, London-based artist Koby Martin uses traditional and digital mediums to illustrate his work. His emotive style fuses Ghanian and British influences, articulating his life experiences through personal struggles and tragedies, turning them into artistic triumph.

With collaborations with the British Council, and The British High Commission - for which he was commissioned to create a live painting for 2019's Afrochella concert at the El Wak Stadium in Accra, Ghana. Koby's artwork spans over a variety of subjects, often using bright colors - a reflection of his heritage and spontaneous personality.

How has the current climate impacted your art and the way you create?

The current climate has me in a very reflective mood - in regards to how I use my time - whether spending time with family, friends, and even working. It’s also made me aware of how fragile & short life really is. Creatively, I always work in isolation, so it was quite hard to differentiate the climate from my normal routine. But, it also pushed me to experiment with other materials and learn new techniques. I also started reading more, which I rarely do, because of my short attention span. Although we have had a lot of tragedies and losses, I personally believe it's made me stronger, tougher, and smarter for any challenge ahead!

How can I make a change?

Change comes about through self-belief and the realization of who we are as individuals. It's a domino effect that begins with the man/woman in the mirror. I set out to express that through my gift of creating, collaborating, and having yearly exhibitions, which I believe brought together a sense of awareness, togetherness, restoration, and healing, especially within the black community.

How can I inspire others?

Inspiration starts with self and comes from within. To inspire, one has to believe in self and take action on the standards and goals they have set out for themselves. In doing that, it sparks a viral sense of awareness, belief, and motivation with the people you are around.

How can I create in the current climate?

The current climate has taught me to be still. I have learned to put everything at a standstill when it's time to create, a momentary pause from all the stresses of life. This allows me to get lost in my work. I step into a different world, a whole new dimension that allows me to create with joy. Something like stepping out of the business of a matrix and skip-hopping into a Teletubby world is the best way I can explain it.

TORI TAIWO – PHOTOGRAPHER

Photographer Tori Taiwo runs Hercuts, an empowering haircut page for women who have embraced shaving their hair, favoring unique and charismatic low-cut hairstyles. After leaving home and falling out with a family friend, 33-year-old Taiwo was given a place in a hostel. Too terrified to stay there, Taiwo was determined to change her life. She continues to empower, inform, and inspire others via her art.

How has the current climate impacted your art and the way you create?

The current climate has allowed me to explore and revisit my prior passions. During the first lockdown, I started shooting products, this allowed me to gain new skills and open a new revenue. I have started booking clients, and shooting and filming products, which I can do from home. How can I make a change? By being open to trying new things and willing to allow for changes that are unforeseen, as well as collaborating with other creatives to keep morale up and encourage others to try new things too!

How can I inspire others?

By sharing the process of pivoting and exploration - high, lows, and everything in between.

How can I create in the current climate?

By changing my outlook on the creative process - stripping back and using what I have at my disposal to create; trying new things & exploring.

STEFANI NURDING – SKATER/ ENTREPRENEUR<

As the founder of skateboard brand Salon Skateboards, Stefani Nurding hopes to destroy the "boys only" stereotype that plagues the skate scene. A skater who was once told she was "too pretty to skate", Stefani is passionate about promoting diversity within the skate community. With a respected brand, Stefani juggles being a mum and pro-skater in a male-dominated industry.

How has the current climate impacted your art and the way you create?

Before the lockdown, I would say that it really made me think about being disconnected from people. I felt much more like I wanted to film and photograph others skating, as opposed to focusing on myself. One of my projects was to shoot instant photos of friends or strangers skating, then give them the photo afterward. Now that we're in lockdown, I feel even more disconnected from people, so I try to make my content fun and positive to try and uplift people.

How can I make a change?

I realized that I have a lot of knowledge about how to make money as a self-employed person. My friends were losing their jobs around me, and I became aware that some of them had no idea how to make money other than having a job. I coached a few friends that needed help, and I also set up affordable online courses about time management and setting up your own business.

How can I inspire others?

After I had my baby, I felt so lost with skateboarding and my own identity. It felt like I didn't know what I liked anymore and had no idea if my body would return to my previous level of fitness after my cesarean. Fast forward 20 months, I am in peak health, doing pilates regularly and skateboarding 2-3 times a week. I am 32 and a new mum. I just really hope that others who see 30 as old, or think they can't do things after becoming a mother will just maybe think "screw it, she is doing it and so can I".

How can I create in the current climate?

I have my skate brand Salon Skateboards as a creative outlet for my graphic design which is nice, but I love to create sporadically and get ideas all the time which I need another outlet for. I have been creating a lot of different things - painting, experimenting with Photoshop, photography, printing clothes, and just generally having fun with making art. There are a lot of things where I just think "meh, will never use it", but occasionally I come out with a gem.

ROXXXAN – ACTIVIST/RAPPER/MODEL

Birmingham-raised rapper Roxxan represents the LGBTQ community with enormous pride. For the last ten years, the queer rapper has built up her own unique identity. A self-proclaimed tomboy, Roxxxan has expressed her want to create a space for women who adhere to non-gender specific traits. After relocating to London, Roxxx has displayed perseverance and determination - from coming to London to get a job at a major label to then being signed as an artist eight months later.

How has the current climate impacted your art and the way you create?

The current climate has affected the energy around me and where I go for inspiration. Before lockdown, I would meet friends, be around family, different energies, and walks of life, which made it easy to be inspired or do things that spark creativity. Now I go for walks or sit on a park bench so I can soak up all around me, then process it and let it out my way.

How can I make a change?

I can make a change by being visibly patient and open to change and growth. I aim to make a change by also being present for any women POC or fellow LGBTQA's. A lot of people are finding it hard to cope, I can make a change by being there for any and all of my people.

How can I inspire others?

I try to inspire others by living in my truth and fully accepting who I am; using my differences or things that have held me back in the past as my gifts to the world. I understand times are a lot different now, but had some of the artists and people I looked up to like Missy Elliot and Queen Latifa been open about their sexuality, I believe I would have found mine a lot sooner. Which also would lead to me finding myself sooner. I aim to be that for younger people growing up.

How can I create in the current climate?

In the current climate, I create at home with my iPad studio. Through spring and summer, I sat with and felt all the highs and lows of 2020. It’s only recently that I’ve finished processing, and now I’m ready to put everything into words and my outlet and art.

SILAI ESTATIRA – SPOKEN WORD ARTIST

Silai Estatira aka Mishaal Javed is a young British hip-hop artist, spoken-word poet, micro-influencer, and full-time international relations student. A brave artist, Mishaal has gone against the grain of what is expected from her culturally by venturing into rap, spitting socio-political raps with a unique and fresh take on streetwear style.

How has the current climate impacted your art and the way you create?

During lockdown, music almost became a lifeline. It has always felt like my purpose, but I realized how much I needed it. I’ve been writing more, going back to the basics of it, sometimes just freestyling in my room or with my best friend and having fun with it again. I’ve been revisiting some of my favorite projects too. Retracing the steps of artists I admire, just taking it all in.

How can I make a change?

I want to fight for the world to be more inclusive. To be a space for everyone, not just a representation of some voices. Fighting for all diaspora, the people who are othered, and everyone who doesn’t feel represented. Music can make a big change. I want my music to comfort people, and to give company, the same way it does for me.

How can I inspire others?

I want to let people know it’s okay to ride their own wave, step outside the box, and live outside it. It’s okay to venture into spaces you’ve never ventured into before, especially when people tell you that you can’t do it. Never stop. Keep perfecting your art. It belongs to you, it is yours. Everyone has a destiny, we can’t let anyone - including ourselves - stop us from chasing it.

As Muslim women, people talk over us (metaphorically). Everyone has an opinion, and there’s so much dehumanization and categorizing that happens. I know girls that have had to fight that. I still fight it. But we’re still here, going. For us, It’s a movement.

How can I create in the current climate?

Because there have been no gigs, I’ve had so much time to write and experiment with sounds. I’m lucky because I’ve always recorded in my room so I’ve just been continuing that. I’ve had more time to think about how to present and reflect on my pieces too. There are so many ways to create, it’s just about being present with yourself, and knowing what story you’re trying to tell.

KANAH FLEX – DANCER / MOVEMENT ARTIST

Born-and-raised in south London born, self-taught dancer and movement artist Kanah Flex was discovered busking by FKA twigs in 2014. The autistic dancer struggled to express himself, before finding his calling in the world of dance. A free spirit with a dedicated following on social media, the father of two challenges society’s ideas of normality, pushing his followers to achieve their goals.

How has the current climate impacted your art and the way you create?

I feel as if climate change has forced me to exercise all of the other gifts that I have shunned in the past, due to sheer laziness or the comfort of being inside the box. I feel like even though my physical might be on lockdown, my spirit is free.

How can I make a change?

The only change I am going to start with is myself, it’s impossible to change anything before that  - I must start with me. Self-discipline is very key to change.

How can I inspire others?

By staying true to myself, my family, and my people

How can I create in the current climate?

I make things work with what I have and what I am surrounded by. I cannot play the victim in these times, even though the climate has changed, my creativity hasn’t. I’m always thinking of innovative ideas.

[robbyrobinson]

IN HEAVEN - A Horror story 

Being a reverend of our local congregation was a family tradition. My father was a reverend. His father was a reverend. His father was one. You get the picture. Sure, I might have had some doubts about the profession, and in life, I had tried to stave it off by furthering my education at some far-away university, but one way or another, the position called for me. I devoted most of my time at the university studying theology and religion. I was at the top of my class.

Soon came when my father passed the task of reverend to me. I recall that before he died, he seemed to be slightly darker in his mannerisms. He was always an optimistic man, even in the face of anyone who criticized his livelihood. But in his final years, he changed immensely. Anywhere he went, he carried grimness with him. He acted as though a rain cloud were over his head. He had grown despondent at his time of death, refusing to accept any prayers that his immortal soul be taken to a place of rest. But just before he succumbed and left the mortal coil, there were reports that he was deeply horrified and hyperventilated rapidly. His heart rate skyrocketed to abnormal leaps, and he died, a look of sheer horror being permanently glued on his face.

My first year as reverend didn't go as well as you'd imagine. For one, there were many young people who were the epitome of smart alecks. They always loved to bring up the supposed contradictions in the scriptures or how God was an immoral being who for all accounts was a tyrannical, mass murderer who was offended that mankind worshiped other gods or that He was simply unfair. This was always something that I was raised to believe: God had his reasons for what he does. What may seem to be bad for us is mere because we view things from our own perspective rather than his. Sure, descriptions of God's firing down burning sulfur and brimstone onto Sodom and Gomorrah were terrible, or God's slaughtering of the Egyptian children in the tenth and final plague that befell Egypt as stated in Exodus sounded horrific, but ultimately, I was convinced that God ultimately saw it as being for the Israelites' good, or how whenever bad things happened in my life, I held onto my faith.

Just last month, I lost my youngest son, Theodore to childhood leukemia. Yes, we prayed fervently for his recovery until he took his last breath. But still, maybe God wanted his precious, precious soul to be with him immediately. My one regret, however, was that he was never baptized. I remember my daughter looked at me with the most frightful expression of concern. That her brother was in Hell because he was too young to understand the notion of turning his life over to Christ. I tried to console my daughter that he was in Heaven, but she only compounded my frustrations by asking then why man was considered wicked the moment they were born.

But with all my trials, I prevailed. I continued to preach God's Word to the masses, saving countless souls. Some didn't accept the word, but if the seeds were sown, I was content. For sixty years I taught the same lesson of God's love for us and how he sent his son to act on our behalf. I also challenged countless atheist and agnostic debaters. To my congregation, I had - in their words - royally schooled them on my knowledge of the scriptures. By the time I retired, my eldest son Samuel took up the mantle. He started out kind of like how I did. He wasn't as bold in what he was saying, but within three months, he was becoming more convicted in the word.

At the age of 64, everything changed. During a monthly checkup with my doctor, I received the news that a tumor was detected forming in my frontal lobe. I had earlier endured severe headaches and I felt more tired than usual. I went to chemotherapy for weeks; anything that the doctors tried to implement simply did not work. On my death bed, my family gathered around. My church congregation had since ceased their prayers for me. Dying never really bothered me. Since I didn’t remember what it was like to be born, this would then mean that dying would be painless. My vital signs started to fade, and after two minutes, I let myself slip away.

A beam of light gently grazed upon my eyes, forcing them open. My eyes beheld the Pearly Gates. Past that was the streets paved with gold and the many mansions that Christ discussed with his followers. As my eyes beheld several of the sights, I noticed that there was something strangely odd about it all. No one was present. I expected to at the very least see old faces once I woke up in Heaven. Instead, the streets were empty. Rather than hearing angelic singing, everything was bereft of the slightest murmur. I walked around the barren streets for quite some time. Right when I turned to head back, a low audible sound crept into my ears.

My legs tightened. Without a second thought, I sprinted towards the site of the audible noises. It took me to the very heart of the city. Right when I was about to make a right turn, my eyes locked onto something. In the middle of the square was the throne of God. The exact White Throne that was attributed to God and the exact one where it was held that he would judge the living and the dead. It was awe-inspiring. It was everything that I was taught to believe. The throne glowed with pure, white light. But with all that breathtaking majesty aside, something felt horribly wrong about it. The throne flickered feverishly. The sounds became more audible. Curiosity crept into me, and I slowly made for the throne.

What I saw made me question everything.

The throne itself throbbed as if it were a nightcrawler thrashing on a fishing hook. Upon closer inspection, I saw the faintest of humanoid attributes on the throne. The throne of God pulsated rapidly, the screaming nearly deafening me. Before my eyes, faces emerged from the throne. Each one bore the same look of terror. Their eyes were wide, almost as if they were observing something, but at a long distance. I could feel the heat of their glares on me, as though they were trying to telepathically beg me to put them out of their misery. They screamed in unison, their shrieks sounding like legions of malfunctioning sirens. I looked further at the throne, seeing that it had a fleshy appearance. It was as though the throne itself was one living creature. The tortured beings frothed at the mouth, making inhuman noises, the sounds of absolute hell.

I could make out that an innumerable number of bodies that comprised the Great White Throne of Judgment. Limbs littered the throne in different places. The light began to fade revealing the throne to be nothing more than a putrid-smelling mass of red meat. Whoever these people were, they had been conjoined. Something must have broken them down and put them back together with gallons of glue. I felt myself nearly vomiting if it were not for a voice.

“Welcome to Heaven.”

I looked up at the throne of God and saw a gargantuan figure sitting in the chair, as though it were completely unaware of the horrid screaming coming from its throne. The voice wasn’t as loud as I’d imagine it to be. It sounded as soft as the wind, but it didn’t comfort me in the slightest. This being was submerged in blinding light. I searched for a semblance of a face on the large entity, but I couldn’t. The further I looked on this creature, I felt a terror bubble from the deepest parts of my stomach. Somehow, I managed to choke a word out.

“Are, are you God?”

While I couldn’t see it, I could tell that the being before me had a wide smile across its face.

“I have many names,” it stated in the same eerie giddiness. “I am YHWH, Jehovah.”

What he said shocked me the most.

“I am also Zeus. Thor. I am Shiva. I am all of the gods that humanity had willfully believed in.”

I stood there, my jaw agape. “But, but, God, what about my life work?”

God chuckled. “You humans never cease to amaze me with the utter ridiculousness of what you’d be willing to believe.”

God had a good chuckle over it as if I had told him one of the funniest jokes in over a thousand years. The joke being my former life. After laughing fervently, God paused to feel the texture of the throne.

“It is a fine throne, isn’t it?” God asked.

My hopes of God somehow being ignorant of the deathly screeches of its throne died at that moment. This god almost got ecstasy from hearing millions – maybe trillions – of souls being melded together as a large blob of disharmony. The urge to vomit arose again.

“Do you know what this throne is made of?” God asked.

I shook my head, not wanting to know. But God was, of course, going to disclose the texture of it regardless of whether it intrigued me or not.

“Years ago, I created the angels,” God shuffled in its chair before continuing, “they were always meant to worship me, but after eons of feeding off their praise, it wasn’t enough for me.”

I flinched as I expected more vivid descriptions from God.

“When I created man in my own image, the angels didn’t want them to suffer as they had.” God sounded noticeably angered, its voice raising an octave to emphasize it. “So, one leader rose up to rebel against me.”

“Satan,” I said.

God scoffed. “Because of their betrayal, I decided the best way to punish them is to condemn them to a life of endless suffering, one of which would make them regret being birthed from the fires.”

I nearly fell backward at the realization. God’s throne was comprised of the fused bodies of nearly a third of the angels who rebelled against him and failed. Now they were being made to be eternally tortured. I tried to rationalize God’s justifications for this disproportionate retribution, but no logical answer would suffice. There were no excuses for what God had done. But the one thing that made me more curious was what became of the human souls of those who had died. If what God had said was true, then the afterlife as we know is just one inescapable nightmare. God apparently read my thoughts, and before my eyes, God conjured up legions of souls. Each soul lacked pupils in their eyes and their skins were a pale grey. They reminded me of the many zombie-related movies in olden times. But they were all people I knew in life.

The one that caught my eyes the most was a small figure. It tilted back and forth; its mouth open as though it were inciting a chant. I could tell that short stature from anywhere; it was Theodore. I ran to my son and hugged him tightly. I opened my eyes fully expecting the hug to be reciprocated, but instead, I felt the slight nibble on my neck. I looked at my son, to my horror, he started to bite down into my neck in a blind frenzy. I pried him off, tossing him to the ground, only for him to emotionlessly pick himself up and stand with the other souls.

I turned to look at God in anger. “That’s not my son.”

God giggled. He merely looked at the souls before him, as though he were an artist marveling at their work.

“No, he isn’t. And he never was.”

Each human soul was a former shell of themselves lacking even the slightest characteristic that made them lively. They had instead become inhuman slaves without their free will. At the time of death, God stripped each soul of their individuality, making them worship him forevermore. This would be the fate of untold many people who either followed the Christian faith or any religion for that matter. It seemed to not even matter if you chose to not pursue a religion because I saw many of my former atheist and agnostic debaters in the masses. It all made sense for why God would masquerade as different gods: the more people he got to believe him, he would bathe in their worship until their time of death when they would be made into the perfect followers by being removed from anything that made them human. This was the fate of my son, my father, and my grandfather. Even if I chose against the profession of a reverend, it wouldn’t have mattered much to God because he’d convert me the moment, I stepped foot in his kingdom.

I felt myself getting lifted into the air against my will. I levitated over the masses of souls and I was back to God and his revolting throne. While again I couldn’t see a discernible expression on his face, something told me that it was smirking.

“Well, time for you to join the heavenly choir, shall we?”

Not expecting an answer, I felt a surge of God’s power penetrate my body and consume me. I screamed in excruciating pain as my world suddenly started to grow dark. I tried to fight against the conversion with all my might, but my rationalization was starting to melt away. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think a cognitive thought. I used the last of my consciousness to curse God’s name before sudden darkness filled my sights.

[thereisnoneinhere]

𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂

𝓫𝔂 𝓖𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓼

The 23rd ward was filled with horror, the screams and shouts for help roared in her ears as well as the clashing of quinques and kagunes. She loathed it. Even as a child she was already seeking peace. Just one moment for herself sitting comfortably marveling the moon as the stars beautifully scattered on the night sky and the wind whispering incoherent comforts in her skin. A moment of tranquil will suffice.

Eto Yoshimura planned the strike for tonight, they’ve attacked one of the hostile territories of the CCG– Cochlea. The detention center for ghouls. It was a bold move yet we are talking about the Aogiri Tree, the strength of this group is as much as a battalion of man-eating creatures. The aim is to get Kaneki Ken to reconcile with Aogiri and to exterminate the White Reaper. Kishou Arima is her mission.

The CCG’s Death God, ghouls are terrified of him. They rake in fear just by the mere mention of his name. He is the downfall of her kind. Arima’s duty is to eradicate all flesh-eating beings. They are labeled as monsters. Thus they didn’t choose to be one. Was it their fault being born as ghouls? Their diet is human flesh, how can they refrain themselves feeding with them? Above all, was it her fault being experimented and been bestowed with an ugly destiny? And so they are hated for existing.

From the rooftop of the tall skyscraper, she watched the scenery below, it was like a slaughtering house. Corpses and blood on the ground. Howls of pain and laughs of maniacs resounded in the location. Sighing she sat on the edge of the building swaying her legs. The moon is present tonight as if giving her the peace she wanted. The stars as well scintillate in the vast dark ceiling, it was a rather comforting scenery to witness.

She smiled upon sensing his presence. Took him a while to reach her. It’s been years huh? Years of pain after everything that had happened. She was someone else before her fall. Before destruction and darkness consumed her. Before that wrenching incident that made her what she is today. Years had passed between the two of them. They simply ran out of time or they are running after it. Chasing circles, holding on with what is left.

“Miyuki Akiara, the Grim Reaper,” he said with an impassive tone. Not really impressed meeting the one-eyed ghoul.

“Aww at least you still remember me and they gave us matching aliases, isn’t cute?” sweet giggles vibrated on her throat. Silenced is all he replied. How long has it been again when he last heard that gentle voice? Her optimistic personality that brightens the headquarters. Her little stunts put everyone in the organization clutching their stomachs with laughter. Her smartness that many admire. Good old days slowly becoming a blur and eventually will vanish.

He’s heard of the Grim Reaper. A she-ghoul who devoured her own to stay above the food chain. A triple S rated monster who gave doom to both humans and her kind, thus her nom de guerre. But the thing is, he couldn’t believe that the name of the mentioned dark reaper would be the girl whom he assumed already rested above with the celestial gems she forever loved, a little bit too soon that she became one of them… but did she? He cannot seem to fathom the feeling gushed in his system that day. Anger? Disappointed? Confused? He spent sleepless nights after assimilating the information. Much more here, right at the moment, his former subordinate or safe to say a long lost friend, in flesh.

“I would like to say ‘surprise’ but I know you knew I’m alive.” She glanced at the Special Class Investigator who’s standing mightily behind her still showing no emotions. “I have missed you Kishou, don’t you feel the same? Oh, such a destiny intertwining us once more.” Standing up whilst swinging her scythe-like quinque. The only thing she retrieved after The Rose incident. The only thing that’s holding her from the past. A gift from the great Death God of CCG. Looking directly in his eyes she threw the scythe off the building. An indication of goodbye.

“Truly it’s been a while. How compromising seeing you again.” No hint of sarcasm nor any sign that he is pleased to reunite with the woman.

“Try smiling Arima, if I just don’t know you any better I would feel really sad with the lack of sincerity in your voice.”

His cold gaze lingering on her system, although he as well couldn’t comprehend her emotion due to the fancy black mask made of fine glass sculpted into an image of a wing with silver gems on each feathers covering half of her face.

“Such formalities are not needed anymore, I supposed. You have your mission.” Pulling out his Ixa from the attaché case as he tried plunging the weapon to her stomach that she swiftly dodge releasing her chimera type of kagune. A kokaku kakuhou that resembles a wing of a fallen angel with shards like feathers and a rinkaku kakuhuo with two dark clawed tentacles attacking the investigator.

Both with fast phases seemingly impossible to catch one another. Their movements are like the speed of lightning almost unseen. His Ixa and her kagunes colliding nonstop. Motions are all calculated and accurate. Finally penetrating a strong blow to her stomach she almost fell to the ground. Hence she regenerates quickly composing her position.

Once again, he successfully thrusting the quinque deep to her flesh whilst slicing her spectacles causing her to whimper. He didn’t stop attacking until she met the cold floor. Her breathe hitched with the damages she received, growling with pain. Regenerating will take time with her wounds. What a weakling, she said to herself. After all these years, he is still undefeatable. She already expected that.

His Ixa was pointing directly at her. Him patiently waiting when to pierce sans remorse to the ghoul. Chuckling with her situation, she removed her mask tossing near where his feet rest. From the ground, she stared at the handsome man whom he once cherished. Maybe it didn’t falter. The same thumping of her heartbeat is still there just like years ago. The war inside her stomach is still present until now.

“Only avoiding and shielding the strikes I see. You do not have plans on fulfilling your task am I correct?” Instead of answering the question she just continued studying him.

“The moonlight always looks perfect on you.” The gentleness in her voice didn’t slip his ears. It’s like hearing the soft-spoken old Miyuki Akiara once more.

They are both haunted with the past, those vivid dreams who kept on bugging their minds waking up at the devil’s hour. Their dreams cascading into beautiful ones to terrifying scenes. In the end, she will wake up screaming with tears in her face. The cry was not because of fear, it was something else. Something painful, broken and vile. Him, well he will be left in thoughts of what-ifs, tormenting himself of those possibilities he could have changed everything. That he could have saved her from the abyss of demise. In his most private daydreams, he hoped to hear the sweet girl who brightens up his bland world one last. She just kept on gleaming every time she smiles and he couldn’t keep himself wanting for more.

“You are not her, she died years ago,” his grip tightened on his single arsenal. “Her fall was my fall and her death was mine too.”

“She didn’t die Arima, just half of her. The girl is still enduringly waiting for her god to finish her meaningless existence. Her stay is excruciating and so she wanted to be part of the night sky and rest.

You are her god...

End me.” A plead of mercy. A beg of the half-deceased star.

Both felt the agonizing ache of what they struggled to escape. None is the well-composed Arima Kishou anymore, now kneeling in front of her with his head bow down hiding the growing emotion carving in his cover. Reaching his hands, and leaning her forehead to his. They silently prayed for what’s impossible. Her free hand consolingly stroking his snow-white hair.

“Kishou. My Arima Kishou,” she whispered painfully. “Everything will prevail just alright love.”

A smile was attached to her soft lips albeit the harsh charge straight to her heart. He held her fondly in his arms as if holding his dear life, although brutally slipping away.

Her last three words of affection are spoken tenderly almost serene that will eternally annihilate him. They are both reaped out of mortality. Violently tore the hope and faith they beseeched.

One fading and the other will perish for a lifetime suffering from the damnation he casted to himself.

And so the god shed tears for his now slowly dying star, her shine perishing. Gone her brightness. Burying her above the heavens.

---

I AM CERTIFIED KISHOU ARIMA'S HOE🥺