#Craven Faults

[trevlad-sounds]

On this day in 2022. This mix happened.

Iguana Moonlight-VI

Bernard Fevre-impressionism

The Heartwood Institute-Striding Edge

Natureboy Flako-Crystals

Tom Elliot-Image Maker

Correlations-Recall

Craven Faults-Deipkier

Pye Corner Audio-Exhumed

Sam Prekop-The New Last

Basil Kirchin, John Coleman-Assignment K 3

Freedom Power-Metropolis Notte

Maston-Evening

Monoton, Konrad Becker-Ein Wort

Folclore Impressionista-The Illusion of Freedom

THE DANDELION SET & ALAN MOORE-Cosmic Variations

Domenique Dumont-Quasi Quasi

The Twelve Hour Foundation-Through Violet Perspex/5-6-7-Go!

The Heartwood Institute-Stock Ghyll Force

The Twelve Hour Foundation-Hundreds, Tens & Units

Keith Mansfield-Staying Power

Folclore Impressionista-Shadow and Dark

B. Kaufman-Jingle 1

Cate Brooks-Econoparc

The Twelve Hour Foundation-Elastic Limit

Mark Barrott-Baby Come Home

Correlations-Alonso

Mo Foster-Times Square

The Twelve Hour Foundation-Coquillages

Menahan Street Band-Midnight Morning

Listening Center-T-Group

Café Kaput-Cells In Action

A. Frydman & M. Cannone-Sylphides

Roger Roger-Sounds Industrial N°2

Jonathan Snipes-Flashing Lights in Unison

Correlations-Mount Hood

Jonathan Fitoussi / Clemens Hourrière-Vague

V. Geminiani-Ophis Le Serpentaire

Stellarays-Trish's Toy Rocket

The Heartwood Institute-Honister Pass/ The Druids Circle

[iamlisteningto]

Craven Faults’ Standers

[altarus]

Album Year List (2023)

Another year down the drain, that means it’s time for lists again! Here we go. Continue reading Untitled

[senorboombastic]

Release Rundown - BC Camplight and Craven Faults

Words: Ben Forrester BC Camplight – The Last Rotation Of Earth(Bella Union) It’s mad to think it’s been three years since Manchester based songwriter BC Camplight embraced us with his beautifully chaotic meditation on grief, ‘Shortly After Take Off’. It would be an album that would widen BC’s platform in all areas, from press to radio to live shows. There was a thought of how BC could follow an…

[bubblybloob]

If you’ll remember correctly, it’s very much implied that Hornet was the one who killed the Greenpath Vessel in the game. Greenpath vessel- or Craven, I suppose- wasn’t going to stick around so Hornet could finish her speech, they were OUTTA THERE!

(If you want to know where Hornet’s been this au, answers lie in this post)

Into the City we delve!

Masterpost

(Also answer as to why they even meandered toward the bridge in the first place below)

It’s all Qurriel’s fault, how could he do this?

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Song of Blackwoods and Brackens - finale

Thank you so much to those who read and loved this story, I originally intended for it to be much shorter and with a way sadder ending( title was inspired by the song of achilles so i felt a tragic end was fitting) but i got carried away, and i couldn't find the strength to break everyone's hearts. This fanfic is the first time i've gotten back to writing since i was like 12 years old, usually these stories play in my head and i just leave them there but for some reason this one took a life of its own. if people would like to read the alternate ending, let me know and perhaps ill post it. until then, i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. thank you all my delulu bloody ben baddies, i love you more than you know.

masterlist

𐂃 𐂃 𐂃 𐂃

I didn't know how I got there. All I knew was that these moments were about to be my last.

Everything had happened so quickly. The situation spiraled out of control before I even realized it was occurring.

Smoke was everywhere, bodies were everywhere. I couldn't walk without stepping on someone. I knew I was going to die. I could barely walk, could barely see.

I could live with dying. I made my bed, I'm ready to lie in it.

He and I were doomed from the start. I loved him; It ruined my life.

My ears were ringing, my eye was in excruciating pain, as well as my leg.

"Ben." I mumble out, disoriented. "Benny..."

I scan the area. Nothing but bodies. Oh, Gods. What if he was one of them?

There's cries of men in the distance, and the sound of fire crackling the burning mill.

I manage to push myself up, leaning on my sword. I cry out at the pain.

Gods... This was all my fault. I'd destroyed everything I touched. My brother was dead,  I couldn't find my lover, I had no idea how long I'd been knocked unconscious.

"Benjicot!" I cried out. "Ben!"

An arrow whips past my head, nailing the wood post behind me. I do a full turn, and see a woman.

She's not much older than me, her hair is long and dark. Alysanne Blackwood.

"Black Aly." I say.

"Who are you?" She asks, an arrow aimed at me.

"I... don't know anymore."

"Judging by your clothes, you're a Bracken. My only concern is... you're a woman. Why is a Bracken woman fighting here instead of cowering in her chambers?"

I don't answer. "I've slain your uncle." She says.

I growl with anger. "You bitch!"

"Too slow." She teases.

I raise my sword, she pulls back on her bow.

"Stop this now!"

I turn, and he's there. Alive. He was greatly wounded, covered in blood as was I, but he was alive.

I can't hold back anymore. Gods, I was so angry with him, but I didn't even care. I limp towards him, bursting into tears the second I fall into his arms.

"Oh, my sweet." He cries, pulling us to the ground. He kisses my bloody head, sobbing into my hair. "We need to get you a maester, now."

I pull away, landing a hard slap across his face. "That's for knocking me unconscious, you craven."

"You left me no choice." He says, hardly phased.

"I know. I'm sorry." I say. He kisses me again.

"Nephew," Alysanne interrupts. "who is this woman dressed as a man?"

"My betrothed." He says.

"This battle... was all because you loved a Bracken?" She asks, incredulous.

"No." I answer. "It was my fault. My family started it... It was because I loved a Blackwood."

"What's the difference?"

"Fuck you, Alysanne."

"Tread lightly, Bracken scum. I'll still fly this arrow through your good eye-"

"Gods sakes, enough! The both of you." Benji demands. "Aly, please, she needs a maester."

Alysanne hesitates, but nods. She turns and runs, happy to be as far from my destructiveness as possible.

Benji helps me begin walking back to Raventree Hall, letting me lean on him for support.

I hear a cough, a familiar, raspy cough. I turn, shocked to see my uncle leaned against a post, an arrow in his left chest plate.

"Uncle." I say.

"You're still alive?" He coughs, blood spewing out of his mouth.

"I am." I say. I push off Benji to stand on my own.

"Get it over with." He sighs.

"Do you have any last words?" I ask.

"You're a disgrace to the Bracken name." He says.

"Well then," I pause. "it's a good thing I'm a Blackwood."

I turn to Benji, whose face reads nothing but pride in me.

"My betrothed," I start.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I believe I know what I want for our wedding."

"Whatever pleases, my lady. Ask and it is done."

I smirk, "I want his head."

One clean swipe was all it took.

Bloody Ben, gets on one knee, and holds up my uncle's head as a gesture of love to our union.

"Put it on a spike. Remind those what happens when you challenge a Blackwood."

———

The maester did what he could to stop the infection, but my right eye could not be saved.

"I look like a monster." I say, trying not to cry.

"The scar will be quite attractive." Ben says. I roll my good eye. "You can cover it, my love, if you so wish. Or perhaps a ruby, or obsidian to take its place."

My leg would fortunately recover. The scar ran from my thigh down to my calf. I have no idea how the maester was able to save it, but he did, and I was forever in his debt.

It would take me years to fully recover, but I had time. We had time.

It took days to clean up the land of bodies. Rain came, cleaning the grass of the blood that stained. After that, it was as if the battle never happened.

Each time I laid my eyes upon Stone Hedge, I sobbed. I would never forgive myself for my brother's death. While time would heal my wounds, they would never heal my grief.

———

Some years later

Benjicot and I married on the 20th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC. The union was approved by the queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her son Jacaerys had come to celebrate in her name.

I had become Lady Blackwood of Raventree Hall, and I was finally loved. I was loved deeply and greatly by my lord husband, Benjicot.

I had found a family in ones who were once considered my enemies. Alysanne and I set our differences aside and became sisters, Willem Blackwood accepted me as his new daughter.

The war however, was not so kind. It had been called The Dance of Dragons. My husband and I had gone off to fight for our kingdom numerous times, no matter how much he begged for me to stay back.

Nowhere felt more familiar to us than the battlefield. We fought side by side, protecting each other always. We had earned the nickname Bloody Ravens in time.

When the war finally ended, my husband and I returned home for good. Scars covered our bodies and we embraced them. They were reminders of who we were, and what we had endured together. Reminders that no matter what we faced, we would always be there to protect the other.

One day, my husband came to me.

"My little Bracken." He said, kissing my neck and wrapping his arms around me as we stood on the balcony, overlooking the land.

"Lord Husband." I greeted him. He hummed in my neck.

"I believe it's time we produced some heirs for House Blackwood." He says, planting gentle kisses along my neck.

"Is the babe in my belly not enough?" I ask, a playful smirk on my lips. He moves his hand down to my swollen belly, rubbing gentle circles.

"I want these halls running with Blackwood children." He continues to kiss me.

"Oh, my dear husband." I turn and cup his cheeks in my hand. "When I push this babe out within the next few days, you can fill me with another."

He smiles, planting a gentle kiss on my lips. Our daughter was born on the 3rd moon of 132 AC. Her name was Alyssa Blackwood. Benji held true to his word because after that pregnancy, we had 4 more; a boy and girl, the heir to Raventree Hall Aeron and his twin sister Aly Blackwood, another son, Benjamin Blackwood, another daughter, Nyra Blackwood, and another son Willem Blackwood.

"My little ravens." Benjicot called them.

And we lived in domestic bliss. Indeed, we had never felt peace again. But, who does after you have children? Our ravens roamed our halls, spreading chaos as Benjicot and I had when we were younger, but it was all we wanted. One day, my children would know the doomed song of their father and I's love. They would learn the history of our houses, the feud between them, the loss of their uncle. They were Bracken and Blackwood, through and through.

Bloody Ben died, and in his place was Benjicot Blackwood... Until the time always inevitably came where my husband and I went back out to fight. You can take the man out of the war, but you can never take the war out of the man.

Sometimes, we still snuck away at night, going back to that weirwood where it all began. We played, we swam, we fought, we fucked, we loved. It would always be our place, for just us. No matter what happened, no matter where we started, no matter who we were, who we became... we would always return to where we were meant to be.

And in years and years when Benji and I grew old and gray, ready to meet the Gods, we knew we would come back here again.

Together.

Where we began... Where we end.

𐂃 🐦‍⬛

[inubaki]

The Sea Queen

Chapter 9 (back story, part 2)

(just tiny doodles I made as I wait)

story commissioned by the amazing @libby-for-life! Based off one of the first pics @sir-tater-of-the-tot made that got me hooked on this fandom to began with. I blame them entirely.

“I hate this….”

As confiding as the cave was, Adam could at least trick himself into believing that he wasn’t where he was. That the cave was no different than the crock and spaces he crawled into as a child on his island. From the bubble of his confinement he could ignore much of his under sea surroundings. But Lucifer’s sadism apparently to knew no bounds.

“My precious urchin…” Lucifer called from below the cave’s opening. Adam made a face at the sappy glee lining his voice and blatantly refused to look out from the edge of the cave’s opening. “My coral? My sharky love?” Lucifer clapped his hands in a movement swirling with bubbles. Earning a series of delighted thrills from their children flocking impatiently about his tentacles. All watching in awaiting fascination at the familiar coaxing from their father for their mother. All seven followed his example and clapped their hands trying to hold in their giggles. They would be quick to sprint and hide within Lucifer’s coils in case it earned their mother’s hilarious ire.

“Come out! Come out!!” they called in perfect chorus. All excitement for the family’s rare day out as Adam hardly dared to venture from the depths of Lucifer’s self made craven. Built steadily throughout the years in suspension of their mother’s one day arrival. The children couldn’t possibly fault their mother for loving their father’s gift so much.

“Ahh…!” Adam half covered his ears and turned away. His ridiculous instincts trying to trick him into submitting wards their calls. Since their first child, Adam found himself strangely acute to their sounds and cries. Often hearing them before even Lucifer could and it compelled Adam into actions he hasn’t felt openly in years. To love and nurture with a sense of unconditional love that ate at his defenses quicker than he could even build them.

He could hear Lucifer’s laughter from outside and hated the way it made his heart skipped a beat. “My grumpy pearl!”

But those fucking nicknames.

Suddenly a compile of tiny hands grabbed at Adam’s shoulders and with a collective pull, the human found himself a drift outside the cave. The resounding cheer that followed shallowed his arising panic, all the while kisses and hugs engulfed him in a ways only krakens could. Entire body hugs and kisses quick to turn into happy bites.

Krakens ultimate show of affection.

The children dispersed only enough for Lucifer to take up Adam’s vision. The distant light of the sun reflected through his hair like a wave of gold. His inhuman features Adam once compared to a blowfish as children, had now become what he could only describe as what poets would sing nonsense about. Unworldly and painfully beautiful, Adam’s kraken pulled him into a fang filled kiss.

————

pervs: (chapter 9, part 1)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

The choice for president has seldom been starker. On one side is Donald Trump, a felonious and twice-impeached conman, raring to finish off the job of dismantling American democracy. On the other is Kamala Harris, a capable and experienced leader who stands for traditional democratic principles. Nevertheless – and shockingly – the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post have decided to sit this one out. Both major news organizations, each owned by a billionaire, announced this week that their editorial boards would not make a presidential endorsement, despite their decades-long traditions of doing so. There’s no other way to see this other than as an appalling display of cowardice and a dereliction of their public duty. At the Los Angeles Times, the decision rests clearly with Patrick Soon-Shiong, who bought the ailing paper in 2018, raising great hopes of a resurgence there. At the Post (where I was the media columnist from 2016 to 2022), the editorial page editor David Shipley said he owned the decision, but it clearly came from above – specifically from the publisher, Will Lewis, the veteran of Rupert Murdoch’s media properties, hand-picked last year by the paper’s owner, Jeff Bezos. Was Bezos himself the author of this abhorrent decision? Maybe not, but it could not have come as a surprise. All of this may look like nonpartisan neutrality, or be intended to, but it’s far from that. For one thing, it’s a shameful smackdown of both papers’ reporting and opinion-writing staffs who have done important work exposing Trump’s dangers for many years. It’s also a strong statement of preference. The papers’ leaders have made it clear that they either want Trump (who is, after all, a boon to large personal fortunes) or that they don’t wish to risk the ex-president’s wrath and retribution if he wins. If the latter was a factor, it’s based on a shortsighted judgment, since Trump has been a hazard to press rights and would only be emboldened in a second term. [...] Some news organizations upheld their duty and remained true to their mission. The New York Times endorsed Harris last month, calling her “the only patriotic choice for president”, and writing that Trump “has proved himself morally unfit for an office that asks its occupant to put the good of the nation above self-interest”. The Guardian, too, strongly endorsed Harris, saying she would “unlock democracy’s potential, not give in to its flaws”, and calling Trump a “transactional and corrupting politician”.

Margaret Sullivan at The Guardian on the cowardly abdication of the Washington Post and Los Angeles Times by refusing to endorse a Presidential candidate (10.25.2024).

The egregious and cowardly actions done by both the Washington Post and Los Angeles Times deciding to sit out the Presidential endorsements process this election is craven and cowardly, as both papers were set to endorse Kamala Harris (D). Even the New York Times, for all their faults, got it right by endorsing Kamala Harris.

[taylor-titmouse]

ive been reading your work since never satisfied back in 2015 and i enjoyed your work back then but Holy shit you are such a good writer. i just finished ooa and its driving me crazy.

ooa spoilers:

idk why but samarts sweetheart was probably the most chilling to me. the way hes so devoted to her but once she shuts off, "well its her fault she got unplugged, im disgusting but i cant help it" the way he refuses to fuck her pussy but still fucks her while shes essentially unconscious. and shes a robot of course but god. all these characters and the way they interact with mari-ko and how it compares to how they would be with an actual woman. if samart basically SEES marinette as a real woman, but still treats her that way..... such a haunting story. and also really fucking hot of course. wow

ough god don't remind me NS is going to be 10 years old. awful

tbh i don't think samart really sees her as a real woman. he wouldn't do anything he does to marinette to a real woman because he's a craven little coward who thinks real women are dirty, cruel, and stupid--which he tells himself to excuse why they don't like him. and a real woman can tell him no, and he'd have to listen to her.

idk if that makes it worse

[froldgapp]

In your timlonnie future fic where Tim goes to jail, do you have any ideas/hcs on what the final straw was that led to Tim and Kon's falling out? Tim's still talking to Gar by the time the fic starts, but I'm honestly fascinated by all the bridges he managed to burn trying to take down the main villain

Weeee! I'm so delighted you asked this, because this is a part of the greater story I'm actually really clear on! This is very long! Oops!

For anyone who doesn't know my corporate mole!Tim story, here's the original post. The sequel, which ended up being a TimxLonnie story, is here.

"...all the bridges he managed to burn trying to take down the main villain." So, absolutely this. I can't see myself mustering the energy to write the "prequel" or "Book 1" (and what was actually the original idea), so I don't mind sharing the bones here :D

Tim, in his effort to become believably repulsive enough to gain greater access to the people and information he needs, alienates the wider population, including and especially the broader superhero community. The corporate cabal start to push the narrative to the wider population that it's superheroes' fault there's no money for healthcare, no resources for schools and roads and affordable housing–in fact, why are we even letting these monsters live amongst us? Who cares if they save a life here and there–they're not natural! (A big element of allegory to all of this, naturally. <glares at current state of the world>)

Tim, as a young shill trying to prove himself, is selected as the best-placed person to be the face of this campaign. Probably with no small amount of hubris too, he believes he has enough social capital in the hero community to do this... People trust him. People trust Dick (the only other person besides Bruce* in the know). So, he makes a decision to walk this line, always holding on to the belief that it's for the greater good and that when he succeeds, he'll make amends. And it's Tim, so we know that by the time he's in his late teens, he already has a record of breaking a few eggs to make an omelette.

But, people–his friends–are hurt. Confused. Some become angry. Older heroes feel the shadow of history rise up; it's not their first time seeing an idealist tip into fanaticism and villainy. There's a lot of pressure on Dick to run interference on Tim's behalf. This puts a strain on Tim's relationship with Dick. Dick begins to wonder... Do I know what Tim is doing? The deeper Tim goes though, the bigger the act. There are times of incredible pressure when Tim must convince even himself that he is this disgusting, craven, cruel person.

But at some point, the community have had enough. Ultimately, they have to safeguard their wellbeing, so, as per chapter 4, as Tim tells Lonnie:

"I didn’t expect to be taken off the board before I had a chance to tie it all up. But Dick had a tip-off that the League was going to make a move to neutralise me: take me off-world for a while, memory wipe, something..."

So when the plan works begins to turn to if. The walls close in. Tim's hand is forced and he makes the blunder that ultimately gets him shot. Entré Kon.

Kon, who was initially trusting of Tim, and even supportive of him; defending him to everybody who tried to cast aspersions on him. He approaches Tim at one point even, begging Tim to tell him it's all a ruse. But Tim... The lie is the most important thing to Tim at that point, so he pushes Kon away. The relationship fractures. Kon feels a fool. Had he not defended Tim all these months? Was Tim just using him to keep the other heroes at bay? Very likely at this point Tim tells him, "Yes, I was. You were always easy to manipulate." Inside, naturally, Tim's heart is breaking.

So at the climax of Book 1, Tim is shot, right as he's about to dispatch everything to, let's say Lane or Gordon. I don't think he'd be stupid enough to go to the cop cops. He is so close. He just needs to get to his computer.

Kon, who hasn't spoken to Tim for weeks since the whole ordeal deepened, hears Tim's distress and appears just in time to stop the head shot that would kill Tim.

He sees Tim; writhing in pain, expensive suit bloody, shoulder pouring blood, ear ruined... A mess. In that moment, Kon sees what he's seen a million times before: another "baddie" (imagine any 90s action movie), who's been hoisted by their own petard. You know those baddies? The guys who end up dying gruesomely rather than give up their goal? But Kon feels gross that he could even think such a thing! Nevertheless, Kon still has this ugly feeling of abjection that he'd never had before.

But then he sees Tim's face. Tim is marvelling at Kon. He looks happy. His eyes are feverish and alight. Kon thinks for a moment, "This is my Tim. I knew he was still there."

But Tim is thinking, "I can still make it! I can still make it happen! Kon is here and he will help me!"

So, Tim says, "Super[whatever his name is by then]," desperation and hope in his eyes.

And Kon... He buys it. He sees all that hope in those blue eyes and he thinks, "He's come back to us."

But then Tim says, "You have to get me to the computer... I have to finish this. I have to finish them..." Maybe he's struggling to breathe, maybe there's blood on his teeth. "Please, please, I have to..."

Kon's face falls. He reaches down and gathers an increasingly weak and delirious Tim up in his arms. Tim is desperate. He knows that if he misses this chance, it–and he–is done.

Kon says, "Please don't struggle, Mr Wayne."

And as Kon carries Tim through the window, he sees Tim's eyes are still fixed–not on him–but on the silently blinking computer.

(Incidentally, this is why Tim reacts so viciously to Lonnie calling him Mr Wayne.)

.*Bruce is a problem I still have to take care of. Maybe he's started meditation since retiring and just peaces out of the mad affairs of his kids/proteges haha. A problem to be fixed were I to start the fic.

Thanks so much for the ask! <3

Also a thanks goes to @who-always-pays-their-taxes who was such an awesome support and cheerleader and co-screamed with me when I first shared the Kon element of the story. <3

[rampantrhino]

Yorkshire Dales Adventures 09/02/2025.

Gordale Scar, one of the jewels in the crown of the National Park, this awesome hidden gorge at Gordale has wowed visitors for hundreds of years and inspired famous artists and writers.

Like Malham Cove, this impressive natural feature was formed on the Middle Craven Fault. Unlike the Cove, however, the torrents of glacial meltwater that flowed over it cut down through faults in the rock. Successive Ice Ages have carved it deeper and deeper over thousands of years to create the deep gorge we see today.

The water that flows over the waterfalls at the heart of the ravine is rich in dissolved limestone. This has precipitated out onto the mossy rocks to create the soft tufa screen that is such a feature at Gordale. 

Gordale beck waterfalls.

Checkout the face in the rock under the waterfall (below, left).

The beck flowing through the rock to create the waterfall (below, right).

After climbing the waterfall, right up at the top of the scar looking back down to were i started.

[mediocretosubpar-soup]

split!jc 2 3

The tone slides down Wei Wuxian's spine like ice water. He chuckles sheepishly.

"What a bunch of fools." says Jiang-gongzi, derision dripping from every word.

Wei Wuxian blinks, as the sharp words are turned on an unexpected target.

"Can you really blame them?" comes out of his mouth before he can think better of it. Anyone involved with Jiang Cheng should know what ruin Wei Wuxian could bring, even when he had the best intentions (maybe especially then).

"What do they think you are? A one-trick pony? If they're too craven to trust you with cultivation, they should be jumping on the opportunity to have you teach archery."

Oh. Wei Wuxian's mouth hangs open, his quick tongue slack with shock.

"Especially since the Lans are such shit archers. Not a decent competition placement in years."

A memory drifts from the muddy slit of Wei Wuxian's past life. Leading a group of excited juniors to the archery fields, showing them how to hold the bow, how to aim the arrow. The excitement of hitting that first target. For a moment, Wei Wuxian nearly chokes on want.

"It wouldn't do for the Yiling Laozhu to officially teach disciples. Even if it was just archery, rumors --"

"If the Lan sect can't handle a few rumors, then you should--" Jiang-gongzi stiffens suddenly. He grabs Wei Wuxian's arm, pulling him up.

"Jiang-zhongzu is on his way back." He pulls Wei Wuxian towards the door. "Listen, if you want to teach. Write to Jin-zhongzu, he could use all the help he can get." He gently shoves Wei Wuxian out the door. "Now, go, before you get me in trouble. I wasn't supposed to speak to anyone."

--

Wei Wuxian should know better than this. Wei Wuxian, in fact, knows better than this. But seriously, faced with such a mystery what could anyone but try to find out more? Could anyone resist? Is Wei Wuxian not supposed to send out the undetectable eavesdropping talismans, he's invented for Jin Ling? When he's conveniently carrying them in his pockets?

Duller men with less genius invention may resist but Wei Wuxian is not constrained by the limitiations of simpler minds. His talismans fly true, beneath the walkways, through gaps in the roof and open doorways.

"The Lans are as helpful as ever." Jiang Cheng's voice rings out.

"A wasted trip, then." Jiang-gongzi says.

Steps. Slowing. Halting.

"You were drinking?"

"Can't a man enjoy a drink?" A pause and then Jiang Cheng asks mildly. "Do you take me for a fool?" Something crackles and Wei Wuxian goes cold.

"What have you told him?" Something is humming ominously. Wei Wuxian turns on the pathway and runs back to the guesthouse.

"Jiang-zhongzu don't be ridiculous. I was merely making conversation." Jiang-gongzi says as if the truth could save him when Jiang Cheng gets like that. Accusing, finding fault by sheer desire, Wei Wuxian knows better than anyone else, he knows because he was there when Jiang Cheng learnt this.

"Of course, you didn't tell him..."

Wei Wuxian ignores a the Jiang disciple in front of the door to crash into the courtyard. Two people turn to him. Wei Wuxian stumbles to a stop.

"If he'd known, he'd never have shared a drink with you." Jiang Cheng finishes cruelly. Wei Wuxian gapes. Next to Jiang Cheng, his double in the unmarked robes balls his hands into fists and hangs his head.

[iamlisteningto]

Craven Faults’ Bounds

[altarus]

Sounds from the Dark Side top albums of 2023 (until now)

We’re halfway through 2023 already, can you believe it? That halfway mark also means it’s time we share with you the albums that enticed us the most so far. Continue reading Untitled

[ginnymoonbeam]

I'll wait until the show's over before getting too into it, but Tender Light is reminding me of Beyond Evil specifically in how it shows a cop becoming obsessed with his own fantasies of catching a criminal mastermind, when said mastermind is really just a guy who's been through some shit and is handling it the best he can.

Before we go any further, let me just be clear that Tender Light is not sexy about it in the way Beyond Evil is, nor should it be. The story is about the hateful, destructive force of rumor and misinterpretation, and the obsessive cop is wielding his power in a truly sinister way. I love Han Joowon, for all his many (many, many) faults. I do not love Li Fanglu. I hate him, and not in the fun way.

But as a longtime lover of mystery stories, and of Great Detective narratives in particular, I'm really enjoying seeing this story of a person who fancies himself a Great Detective but has got it all wrong, is driven by obsession and craven need rather than a commitment to truth and justice.

[goldenspringmornings]

WIP Wednesday: The Dinner Scene

AN: I took a bit of a break from writing for a little while but I was going over this scene in my wip I remember not being happy with and now I think I was actually kinda cooking here so here's azriel ripping the ic a new one (my boi💙)

Feyre hesitates. “You, don’t think it sends a bad message if people see me learning how to fight- using weapons?” 

Azriel could tell the words weren’t her own, and mentally thanked Tamlin for repeating them enough for them to actually leave something of an impact on the girl. “It would.” Azriel confirms into the silence. Not out of any sympathy for Feyre’s ignorance, but to rub salt in the wound. “Prythian is in a delicate balance at the moment, and it’s essentially your fault- even if what you did was a good thing. Fifty years is a long time even for fae, most of the people you freed had given up any hope of leaving Amarantha’s Court. To see their very public, very young, savior readying for war? It sends a message that they’re still not safe, their families are still not safe.”

Rhysand’s anger is nearly a physical weight as Feyre curls in on herself and Azriel just wants to laugh. Whatever plan Rhysand had tonight was not Azriel’s problem. The girl didn’t belong here, and he had no problems being the one to let her know. She was and would always be closer to Jocasta’s age than anyone in this room, Made as a young adult or not, and it seemed it was high time someone reminded her and Rhysand both.

“What’s your problem tonight, Az?” Cassian finally snaps. “You’ve been weird all night.”

The gossamer thread holding back his temper breaks. 

“My problem? My problem is that you’re perfectly content to lie to this girl- promising something that you can’t give her. Selling your lies of a ‘Court of Dreams’ when you’ve done nothing to make those dreams real after five hundred years. You’re all willing to sit here, playing pretend and crying about how hard your lives have been, while the people outside of Velaris’ wards suffer and die for your negligence. Because Inanna was right. She’s always been right about you. You’re selfish, craven, miserable people who can’t stand to face your pasts so you’re content to wallow in centuries old grief and hurt and complain about how ‘change takes time’ all while you refuse to light the spark of progress you claim you want to reignite. My problem is that I’ve had to sit here all night, wondering just who it was I was sitting next to- because it turns out that I can’t recognize you. Or maybe it’s that I never knew you in the first place. And I’m ashamed that I let myself be fooled for so long.”

The shadows deepened with every frigid, clipped word, and cobalt Siphons flared in time with his breath. Rhysand’s eyes were black with rage, while Cassian gaped at Azriel in stunned silence. Morrigan was pale, looking at him like she were seeing the ghost of someone else. Feyre’s eyes were flicking back and forth across the table and she leans closer to Rhysand to try finding a new sense of equilibrium. Only Amren was even somewhat amused, her silver eyes half hooded and shining with interest. 

“Oh, and Rhysand? Your wife gave birth four days ago. You have a daughter.”

Azriel notices when Rhysand stiffens but his focus is on Feyre and the betrayal seeping into her eyes as she freezes then slowly inches away from him. He had never felt more vindicated. “Till death do you part, old friend.” He taunts, slipping into the shadows at Rhysand’s rage-filled growl.