#aw bless ♥︎

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: There is a promise made, a choice that will forever change the cosmos. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count:  5210 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author’s Note: Thank you @aspen-carter for being my beta reader! She has been such an influence on my writing and I owe so much to her! Make sure to check out her stories. Artwork source. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world, lēkia is brother, mandia is sister and kirimvose is thank you. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​  @babygirlyofthevale​ @hb8301​ @iiamthehybrid​ @deltamoon666​ @dahlias-and-marigolds​ @nina2697​ @fantasticpeaceharmony @silverwinged​ @melsunshine​​ @remus853 (bold means Tumblr has forsaken me and I could not tag you) Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

Mother you don't understand; I made Hades run to me. He saw my bones beneath And offered me half his kingdom. Do you really think I ate the fruit unwillingly? by a.davida jane

ACT III

It could be considered that immortality was both a blessing and a curse to the gods, for it allowed a leniency with their beingness which meant moments, their intimacy and their importance, would be muffled insignificance within their eternal stretch of existence. 

Despite the structure built beneath, Aemond inevitably found himself lost with the monotony of death and the mediocre ache that accompanied it. This is why he allowed himself the annual endeavor of resurfacing and enjoying spring, solely for the reminder of the genesis of life and its beauty, a reminder of its importance. He cherished these moments, but its elation was fleeting and only coaxed him through the upcoming year. 

But on this night, on the mountainside beneath the heavens and the fiery comets that streaked above, this moment began to etch itself in intricate detailing within the mind of the king of the Underworld. This moment would be treasured, something he would cradle to his chest, next to the pinned snapdragon, as it would be a memory that was now forever embedded into his very essence. 

It began with the softness of her lips that felt so sinful, so right against his own, and the tentative touch of her tongue along the bottom of his lip. He hummed his pleasure and dared to indulge, moving his hand to gently take hold of the back of her neck, his fingers threading into her curls. She sighed sweetly and he deepened their kiss, with the languid motion of his tongue that allowed him to savor the taste of her mouth. 

Their kiss was unhurried, tender, and he took care to match with her rhythm, allowing her to explore at her own pace. 

Her hands fluttered to rest onto his chest and his skin rose from the warmth of her palms, her touch seemingly cementing him to the mountain. There was a tingling sensation of electricity in the tips of her fingers and he felt it pulsate throughout his being.

The intrusive thought flooded his mind, as he realized he could not recall the last time he had ever…

Kore was almost tactful with her touch, gentle with him in a way that was unfamiliar, but welcomed. She was careful to shift her weight and press against him, until he laid back onto the silver grass. She leaned forward and paused, looking at him with her smile aglow on her kiss-swollen lips. 

Aemond awed at her beauty, how her dark curls spilled forward with their subtle floral scent and how it lingered with her every touch, the reminder of the first day of spring. His eye drank the flush of pink at the tip of her nose and how it dusted her cheeks, and the soft rise and fall of her chest with her every breath. She leaned closer, her smile so sweet, and he felt the tickle of her tresses that spilled onto his chest, the enticing curl of her rose lips. 

And he faltered to the roared echo of his sister’s voice.

Do not damn her.

She saw his hesitation and withdrew, her expression sending a surge of torment through him. “Kore,” his tongue wet his lips, a nervous tick of the god of death. “I feel compelled to say that this is not owed to me. Please, I…” he gave a vague gesture towards the heavens and at this moment, it was as if the moon and the stars had blown out. “I wanted to do this for you.” 

I needed to do this for you.

Her brow quirked with the slight tilt of her head, processing his words. “Aemond,” and how she spoke his name would also be carried alongside that memory of their kiss. “I am not sure what you mean. I…” the rose color that flushed her cheekbones burned crimson when she confessed, “I want this.”

I want you, she did not say. 

He was aware of how her ichor thrummed with renewed vigor in his presence, how she was a golden beacon that called to him. His eye trailed the curves of her porcelain skin that peaked beneath her peplos, her nipples peaked beneath the thin folds at her chest and how the flush of her skin dipped between the valley of her breasts. 

Aemond could feel her eyes watchful of him, her expression curious but she remained quiet. He appreciated the silence, for anything spoken by her would shatter his resolve; he found there was comfort with their quiet and he was able to gather his words. 

He confessed to her the true cause of Baela and Rhaena’s sudden demise, explaining the cursed flower that had been placed by Aegon. 

The shadow of her sorrow flickered across her features, but it came and went like a mortal heartbeat; when he finished, she looked at him. “But why would he do this?” 

Because he knew all too well my complacency to just admire you from the shadows. “I promise to tell you one day,” he began, only then daring to meet with her somber gaze. “Please understand that mortal lives are expendable to him.”  

“Did you ask it of him?”

Aemond knew he would not lie to her, but felt relief at her question, “I would never do that to you.” 

She shifted, with her arms placed behind her and her palms against the earth, allowing her chest to arch as she looked up towards the night sky; her eyes followed the dust trail that her friends streaked amongst the stars that returned. 

“I would not hold you accountable for the actions of your brother,” her voice was soft and her stare remained above. “I know there is more you wish to tell me, so I wish to know, what is it that you want, Aïdōneús?”

He felt as if his seams began to split with the struggle to contain his desire. You, little goddess. Persephone, the goddess of spring and the goddess of nature. To him, she was intimately Kore. Irrevocably, unquestionably, he would forever await her beckon call as he only wanted to be placed at her side as long as eternity allowed. 

But instead, he only said, “I want you to return home, to sleep well and truly understand what a life in the Gō vys would be.” She turned her head to face him and he hummed a beat. “If you desire it, then return to me and I swear that my kingdom is yours,” a curl to his lips as he finished, “that I am yours.” 

He saw her fire, unbridled beneath her skin, but also saw how she swallowed it down to restrain it. Kore looked down to her lap, managing a curt nod before she pulled herself to her feet. “If this is what you ask of me, if this is what I must do to show you how I…” her words faltered, her jaw steeled, and he saw determination burn in her eyes when she offered her hand to help him to his feet. “I will do what you ask, Aemond.”

He stood up and she pressed close to him; Aemond wrapped his arms around her waist and there was comfort in the embrace, hope. They returned, wordless, to the edge and he was careful to set her down. 

As he pulled away, Kore caught his wrist and he looked at her, watching as she lifted his hand and pressed her lips against his open palm. “Aemond, I will come back to you,” she promised. 

That kiss rooted him to the earth and he remained there, admiring the grace of her motion as she left him, leaving behind the lingering floral fragrance and the glimmer of hope.  

+ + + + + + +

The hour was uncertain, but Kore saw that the moon began its descent into the curvature of the horizon, though the sun had not begun to crest in response. She flitted across the silver fields, her footfalls soft against the cool earth, but with enough pressure for the blossom of blood-red peonies to sprout beneath her every step. Her kiss-swollen lips pressed together with the taste of him, a melody hummed that was inspired with the emotion that was swelling within her chest. 

“You seem pleased, Kore.”

She halted her motion to see Jacaerys leaning against a tree, his arms folded in front of him and a small smile to his lips. Her mussed curls fell and rested on her shoulders and she swore she saw a glint of something hidden behind his dark eyes. “Mother wishes to see you,” he continued. “Now.” 

She followed him to the horticulture their mother crafted, where she groomed life during the winter months. It was her mortal endeavor, the glass casing bewitched to be able to hold the golden glow of sunlight throughout the night. 

Her brother stopped at its golden archway, holding his arm to almost present its entrance and she moved past him, towards where Rhaenyra was working. She saw her mother hunched over a clay pot, her silver hair braided back and her focus on the seedlings, packing fresh soil within. 

Rhaenyra paused as she heard her daughter approach and there was an unease that swelled around, the heat before a storm. 

You smell of death.

Her mother’s words were accusatory and malicious, and Kore, impassioned from the night, returned her fury. Their rage spilled and their words clashed violently, hurtled with intent. Rhaenyra was heartsore, angry, and unable to comprehend this infatuation that her daughter continued to kindle for the god of death. 

“You will wilt without the sun,” her mother cried. “Why would you do this to me?”

Kore choked on those words; she felt her heart break, shattering within and how the shards began to dig into her chest, her breath aching with her exhale. She prayed for reason to be found and dared to confess to her. 

“Mother, I love him.”

She spoke the words as if it was a simple truth, her factual tone spilled as though it was always this way and would always be. 

Rhaenyra was quiet and the unease from earlier returned to accompany the sickly silence between them. She watched her daughter and how she glowed with her bold proclamation, unaware of the repercussion that her words would have. 

In the darkness of her daughter’s eyes, beneath the passion that brimmed them, Rhaenyra had a thought, a memory recovered; it was something dear that she cradled to her chest. 

She remembered these eyes from before, how they belonged to Harwin and in this moment, she saw him looking at her once again. Rhaenyra recalled his embolden gait and gaze, how he had approached her one spring with an eagerness with his every step as he followed her. She had refused him, at first, for fear of how Daomon would react. 

Harwin was both stubborn and determined; he declared he would face any challenge, that his world had been shrouded in darkness whenever he left her side and that he only truly could enjoy spring as color returned with her. 

Rhaenyra remembered his large palms when they took her hand, calloused but gentle with his touch, and how held her palm to his chest as if it was the most precious thing. She had been careful to tuck away these memories, as their recovery also brought the cumbersome grief and pain knowing it was her love that had killed him.

She knew their love was damned and she did not want this same fate for her daughter.

Rhaenyra only then realized her daughter peering at her, as if she was trying to hear her thoughts. She saw that Kore was still burning with the conviction of her words and she knew that she would never recant, for it was Harwin’s stubbornness and determination that intertwined with the very ichor weaving within her veins. 

At that moment, Rhaenyra knew what must be done. 

The vines began to sprout from the ground, knocking over the clay pots and wrapping itself around her legs and arms. Falling to her knees, Kore cried out and saw her mother’s intention to leave her; a ferocity began to burn within, a fire to her dark eyes and she began to tear away at the green iron hold. With each one broken, two more came forward, staggering her steps forward as they coiled around her legs to halt her. 

Rhaenyra could not watch her relentless struggle or listen to her daughter’s screams. She walked to the golden archways and whispered to seal it. 

She, after all, truly knew what was best for her daughter. 

+ + + + + + +

Helaena was the queen of the gods, with a harmonious understanding with the sky and the stars above, a soral bond that gifted her a multiscient ability that allowed her to thrive with her role as the goddess of matrimony; she had an ability that both the mortals and the gods envied, which was her insight on what the future held. 

Yet, she did not gloat about this ability and only her brothers and sister were aware of her peculiar gift. This had been after the Titanomachy ended, how the cosmos seemed broken and Aegon’s insatiable want for control came to fruition. When he learned this of Helaena, he declared his love for her, but she was aware of his self-serving ambition and how he only wished to control her power. 

She also knew it was a power that came of its own volition, as well if she accepted his proposal and became queen of the cosmos, her role would best serve the realm with the puissance crowned upon her head. 

Helaena accepted and allowed her husband his freedoms, for the distasteful whispers which sung of his infidelities did not bother her, as her attention was needed elsewhere. 

The Moirai were intrigued by the queen. Before the war, they long grew bored of the insistent desperation and prying questions of the future, choosing to recluse themselves to the shadows of the Gō vys. They shed their physical form and became a fog that would roll over the realms when it served them, able to pour in and fit where it was needed, this sense of touch allowed them to see much more than the eyes they once had. 

It allowed them to be unnoticed, but Helaena was always aware of them, however they did not mind the company of the queen, solely because they understood that she also wished to be unseen, unbothered. The king of the Underworld allowed her free rein to come and go, which allowed her to slip away to visit with Vhagar, to have a moment alone to remove her crown and a moment alone to find the clairvoyance she needed before she returned above. 

Here, she was able to see things with clarity, with an understanding that not even the Moirair would dare question. 

They would often speak, she would ask them questions and they would chide in return on how fate was fickle. Helaena disagreed, for her visions were resounding, nestling into her consciousness and replay until they would come to pass. 

The queen had one particular vision that lingered in the back of her mind; it showed her dear brother, Aemond, and a queenly presence, devoted, at his side. Together, they were destined to share a happiness that would stretch into eternity, with a love destined, fated to remain even after men would long forget them all. 

This vision, like all, was a hint at first, but it grew with its details, becoming vivid and consuming with the start of the most recent spring season. On this morning, when Helaena awoke, she found her mind was empty; there was no replay or even an echo of the apparition that was a consistent comfort in the last few years. 

Helaena dressed and left, descending into the shadow, in search of the fog. 

Vhagar greeted her, as they often did, and she paused to take a moment and pet each head with care. They traveled together, with Vhagar as her escort, and they went deep until the fog rolled in, swirling around and engulfing them. 

She could hear their whispered words. Today you come with a question only. 

“I do,” she admitted out loud. “I wish to understand why the vision of Aïdōneús has left me.”

Fate is fickle… it began, but she stopped them. 

“I know your mantra,” and her eyes began to water, not from emotion but from the thickening haze that washed over her. “And you are aware that I see things differently, consistently, and this gift allows me a deep understanding of compatibility. But today, I awoke and it was gone and now I come to understand why.” 

It is gone because something hides the golden glow. 

She sighed her annoyance, as they would not give more than their ominous echo; she waved her hands to push through the fog and their chuckle that echoed around. Helaena returned to the castle that loomed in the center, with Vhagar padding softly behind, still watchful. 

Inside the throne room, she felt the sickening sorrow, a somber aura that matched the dark stones of the castle walls. She saw the arched windows that led to the terrace, allowing the artificial lighting to seep into the room. Helaena found her brother, his lean frame stooped and rested against the ornate balustrade, his gaze looking out; his witch remained at his side, her own worry for her king etched into her expression.  

“Lēkia,” she called to him.

Aemond pushed himself upright, turning to face her with the ghost of a smile on his sharp features. “Helaena,” there was a hint of relief with how he spoke her name, an almost desperation to see her in this moment. “Have you come to visit the Moirai?” 

“I already have and they are unhelpful, as always,” she smiled, watching as Vhagar moved past her and nudged his palm with one of its heads.

Aemond was devoted to pet each with care, with a smile that did not reach his eye. Her brow furrowed and her question perched beneath her chin.

What has happened?

But instead, her eyes spotted the snapdragon fastened to him, the glittering glow that emitted from the bewitched petals. She saw it and she knew its magic. “That is lovely,” and she gestured to her chest to mirror where he had it pinned. 

Aemond seemed to wilt at the reminder, his gaze looked down and his slender finger touched it as if it was the most precious thing within his possession. “It was a gift,” his voice rasped and it took strength for him to meet again with her lilac eyes. 

“Who gifted this to you?”

Aemond and his stoicism was something he propped as a shield, but their years together allowed her an awareness of his mannerisms and she was able to see the flicker of pain that danced across his features, the subtle bob of his neck when he managed to answer her. “It was Persephone.” 

Helaena looked to Alys and the same recognition played across her own face, washing away the concern. “It is very lovely,” she offered and she looked at the witch, her lips pursed into a thin line, before she excused herself abruptly; she ran the shores of the Styx, following the pathway that curled upwards to the mortal realm. 

There was a certainty to her visions and she now knew that Aemond was fated for a great love; she knew where it began and her mind was able to recall and replay it within, her purposeful steps that brought her towards Rhaenyra’s gardens, towards the glow of the horticulture centered. She knew if she could find Rhaenyra, she could beg an audience with Persephone, to get clarification as to what had happened… 

Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found and instead she spotted the goddess of spring; her earthly glow was replaced with a fire, an anger that thrummed beneath her alabaster skin. Her eyes held a determination, a darkness with her stare, but they brightened when she spotted the queen. 

Helaena stopped and her lilac eyes flitted over the structure, sizing the binding spell and understanding the power propelled a shield. 

She now understood the words of the Moirai. It is gone because something hides the golden glow. 

The goddess of spring watched her, standing in front of one of the glass panes and Helaena could see the beginning cracks that splintered. She smiled at her, now understanding what her brother saw, the undeniable strength that brimmed beneath Persephone. 

The queen moved forward and the goddess mirrored her movement, her lips moving but she was muted in her gilded cage. 

Helaena pressed a finger to her lips and then touched her ear; Persephone stopped and watched as her lilac eyes traced the edges of the pane before she brought her palms together, a soft whisper and a glow that emitted from between. She then pressed her hands against the glass and Persephone, again, mirrored the action, resting her palms on the other side, closing her eyes to focus. 

The queen of the gods marveled at the strength, the vibration from the little goddess; it pulsated through and the light brightened and seeped into the cracks, spreading throughout the glass. She held her breath and watched the shards break apart, turning into petals and falling softly on the ground around them.  

The goddess of spring opened her eyes, free. Her dark curls were wild and the darkness lifted from her eyes when she smiled. “Kirimvose.”

Helaena folded her hands in front, returning the smile. “He is waiting for you.” 

She glowed with her words and moved, gone in an instant. The vision returned, a welcomed warmth that flowed through her, and Helaena was able to see Aemond, with the peace he long sought for, that he had fought for, and the queenly presence, devoted at his side. 

+ + + + + + +

Aemond had returned before dusk even hinted at the day’s end. He remained in the shadows, accompanied with the eagerness that vibrated within, but the emotion was tucked beneath his aristocratic demure. He waited and watched as the sun dipped away and was replaced by the moon, as full as the night before, returning with its silver light. He waited as the world rotated, replaying the echo of her sweet words.

Aemond, I will come back to you.

But she did not come.

Instead, he saw his sister and with her was his answer, apparent in her eyes before she spoke a word; he saw the pity that framed her eyes and it made his skin crawl. 

“I’m sorry, lēkia,” and he felt her genuine remorse. “She said it was too painful to see you again.” Rhaenyra could not meet with his steady gaze. “You must understand this, right? That this is how it was meant to be?” 

He felt a resounding sadness that was suffocating, a grief that bore into him and ached his bones, his every fiber that was required for him to exist within the cosmos. His stoicism remained and he hummed his understanding, the nod of his head that weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. “I understand, mandia,” he managed to say and he made the silent vow that he would never again resurface. “I only wish the best for her. Truly.” 

She dared meet with his sapphire stone and lavender eye; there was an emotion he saw play behind her eyes, but Rhaenyra remained quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line and she turned away from him. Aemond watched as she returned to her gardens before he retreated to the Underworld, greeted with the cold embrace of the darkness that engulfed the realm below. 

His kingdom was deathly quiet, as the dead did not converse and the screams of his grandsire were muffled within his hold of Tartarus. His gleam of felicity had been ripped away and he felt raw, a dulled ache within his chest and its constant threat to fracture through his bones. 

Aemond returned his attention to the repetitive work his realm required, unwilling to break away and allow a lull for the grief to return, as it simmered beneath. 

He would hear the concerned whine of Vhagar and Alys would visit, her soft words spilling from her painted lips. “My king, I beg you, please eat.”  

These days seem to mold together, without differentiation, without significance. Often, he would be perched out on the terrace that stemmed from the throne room, his gaze watchful but empty. Sometimes Alys would join him, his quiet companion other than her request for him to eat or to drink. On this day, she perked when she saw the streak of gold from his sister as she slipped away within his kingdom, a privilege he only allowed to her. 

Eventually, she arrived to greet him, as she often would; Aemond loved his sister dearly, but found himself too heartsore to offer much. He noticed an exchanged look between Alys and Helaena, but they parted without a word and the witch goddess then focused on him. 

“I was unaware that Kore gifted you the snapdragon.” Her voice was sharp, clarifying.

The bewitched flower remained dutifully pinned, with the red glow of its petals as his only reminder that what he had felt had been real, that it had not just been a dream. “She did,” he replied and he looked down at it. 

“My king,” and Alys smiled, genuinely for the first time in a while. “Your grief blinds you more than your gemmed eye.” 

There was a flicker of annoyance that played across his face and she continued on, not allowing him to speak. “That is a spell and its blossom is bound by love.” 

His brow furrowed and he brought his gaze from the petals to focus on Alys, whose expression was as gleeful as the words she spoke. “My king, she loves you. I know this, as did your sister when she saw it. Kore loves you and it has been under your nose this whole damn time.” 

“You lie,” he hissed. “I was told she did not even wish to see me-”

“Was this from her lips?” She challenged him, squaring to face her king with a fearlessness to correct him, as always. “Persephone told you she did not love you?” Alys moved closer, one finger touching the snapdragon and it sparked, a crimson glimmer in the muted throne room. “I know this spell, Aïdōneús. She loves you as much as you love her!”

The grief that interlaced throughout his being seemed to unleash with her words, the torrid of the moments shared poured over him with a renewed ardor. He could not ignore it, this emotion was a curse that had its hold of him still. “Then where is she?”

As he spoke, he already knew the answer. The emotion he had been unable to pin in the moment of his shattering grief, the one that played in his sister’s lavender eyes. 

Guilt.

Aïdōneús was the god of death, the king of the Underworld. His ichor thrummed with bloodlust, a strength he channeled when he ended the Titanomachy with a ferocity that was unseen before or since. With his realization, the silver of his hair, the white tones of his skin glowed as he swelled with a black flame that framed his movements; Alys placed his crown on top of his head, iron and ruby glowing, and he tore from the Gō vys. 

When he surfaced, it splintered the edge and the nymphs cried and scampered away from the gods’ wrath. His fury brought him to his sister’s gardens and the greenery wilted from his rage. “Rhaenyra,” his low baritone growled from his chest.  

He noticed how Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey were watchful, perhaps unaware of their mother’s treachery, but unwilling to allow Aemond to kill her, as he looked capable of at this moment. But he did not wish to slay his sister, he wished to find Kore and bring her back, as she had promised him, as she wanted. 

And he should have never doubted that. 

Rhaenyra appeared, her eyes red rimmed and she scoffed at the swell of her brother. “You are too late,” her voice broke. “She is gone.”

“Skoriot gōntan ziry jikagon?” 

Where did she go?

She looked at him, her jaw tight when she said, “I believe you already know, lēkia.”

He was gone from the mortal realm, slipping beneath. He looked at the grey shores and recognized the silhouette of her footfalls that lead forward, with the petals of peonies that trailed her steps. 

Aemond followed, his emotions ravaged him raw and he thought of how he failed her, that he believed that she would not show and he swore he would spend their eternity to make amends… 

He continued to the Asphodel fields and he saw her golden glow, complemented with hues of pink that touched her porcelain complexion. She was sitting beneath the tree with one of Vhagar’s heads resting on her lap and her hand petting. The ears twitched and Vhagar pulled away to trot towards Aemond; her dark curls spilled when she turned to see what caught their attention. 

It was as if Kore blossomed at the sight of him, the flush of pink spread across her cheekbones with her smile. “Aemond,” she sighed, pushing to stand and face him. 

He wished to run to her, to wrap his arms around her with the solemn vow that he would never let her go; he ached to taste her lips, to shower her with affection and beg for her forgiveness. 

It was all reserved beneath and instead his arms crossed behind his back. “Little goddess, I had gone to rescue you.” 

She hummed at the pet name and her eyes glittered. 

“I arrived and learned you were already gone,” he finished, his expression almost sheepish with the confession. His gaze met with hers, “I had thought you would not return.” 

“I promised you that I would.”

Her tone did not scorn him, but she said it factual and he felt the returned burn of his disappointment that he had ever doubted she would. “Kore,” he took a tentative step towards her, drawn to her golden glow, a need to feel the silk of her skin once more. 

She remained stance beneath the tree, her smile reaching her eyes. “I did as you asked of me and I had time to make my decision,” and she reached above to pluck a pomegranate from a branch. He watched her hands palm it between and how her fingernails broke its skin. Her fingers scooped the seeds and he watched her bring them to her mouth, red lines of its juices that dribbled down her chin. “I do not wish for anyone to try and keep me from you again.” 

It was another moment that etched within his mind, the sight of his queen and the red juice that stained her chin and her smile, the same smile that allowed a glimpse of spring within the Gō vys. 

She then closed the space between them and he tilted his head to meet her lips with his own, savoring the bittersweet kiss.

[rev-wrath]

I am kicking the door open all the while dragging Matt and Bruce. Because I am having severe feelings about them but mainly about all of them with the kids. So here.

The boy had not been lucky enough- Edward Nashton’s voice whispered at the back of his mind- to have parents that had left behind estates and money. And he had been left in the unforgiving system that Gotham had.

Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was compassion. Or maybe it was simply him not willing to let go of a child that reminded him too much of himself.

But Bruce had taken him in. On a whim, as Alfred had said.

In retrospect, the older man was right. Bruce had no clue how to care for a child. His childhood was… strange, after all. And unlike him, Dick was fierce. Explosively angry. Bruce had been angry too, but it was less explosive hatred and a little more implosive fury.

He had left the child alone. Because Bruce didn’t know how to handle a child. But also because he was a little distracted by the investigation of the deaths of his ward’s parents. He didn’t know how else he could help the boy, so he had focused on getting the boy the justice he had not gotten.

Bruce sighed heavily at the boy sitting in one of the spare chairs in the Cave. Dick’s blue eyes were half full of terror, and half full of awe.

“You’re Batman?”

~ ♥~

He thinks that’s why he decided to keep going out on nightly ventures to help anyone he could hear. In very violent ways using the skills Stick had taught him. Because sometimes, the law wasn’t enough to keep criminals from getting the justice they deserved. Because sometimes, the respective services couldn’t- or wouldn’t- so anything.

Because people slipped through the cracks too often. Too easily. Especially people that many didn’t care for. That weren’t lucky enough to have a supportive community.

He rubbed at the still-healing cut on his lips.

Was Matt doing this an act of penance as much as an act of compassion? Maybe. Did he think of you and your mysterious disappearance in the past six nights he went out in a hoodie and a piece of cloth tied around his eyes? Maybe.

But did he feel good, finally being able to move and help the cries and begs for help?

Definitely.

~ ♥~

Dionysus was the god of wine first, and the god of madness second. But Diwonuso was the opposite. He was the god of madness first and foremost.

He looked at the budding feathers and the way your ears were beginning to shift into a small set of wings, similar to the ones that Emaha had, but Diwonuso could see that it would not be white like the god of thieves or his kin. No, the feathers would be of an eagle’s. Your feet were steadily turning scaly, and akin to talons.

Diwonuso looked at your right arm and assumed that the arm- imbued with divinity that was forcing the mixture of legacies in your blood to express itself- was what was turning you this way.

If left alone, you’d become a monster. Turning to dust when slain but returning over and over again. That wouldn’t do.

Dionysus snapped his fingers and fed his blessing into the circlet that was slowly forming. Blood and wine. War and insanity.

The changing parts of you now would continue their transformation. Nothing more. Your face would remain human. So would everything else. It was a small mercy of his. Besides, the wing-ears of the Hermes kin and the Raven talons that some Apollo kin had would add character.

~ ♥~

“The second’s probably from a potential client.” He smoothly lied, not wanted Foggy to know that Elektra was in town. His best friend hated her for the state she had left Matt in during their college years. And well, Matt wanted to see what she was up to in New York. “So-”

“Are we still going to refuse the money from your ex?”

“You have an ex that works at Wayne Enterprises?” Karen asked, sounding very keen to know more.

Matt honestly didn’t know what he had with Karen at the moment. He cared for her, but his mind and heart were still a lot jumbled from his past formal relationship. The sudden appearance of Elektra certainly didn’t help. And neither did Frank Castle murdering people in his part of the city.

“That works? Karen, one of Matt’s ex is quite literally Bruce Wayne.”

“Foggy.”

“You dated Bruce Wayne?” She sounded very disbelieving. “How?”

“We had a mutual interest in someone else.” Matt felt his grin soften at the thought of you. “But they’re… gone now. So Bruce and I are- We aren’t really anything.”

It wasn’t like Matt had never thought about a relationship between him and Bruce, but it just didn’t feel right. So he always scrapped the thought before it could fully form.

~ ♥~

You took a step towards grandfather, and in the blink of an eye, he was on the floor, pinned under your sharp talons. The wing on the side of your head flared and angrily puffed up, and your crown spiked and ebbed.

“You’ve lived long enough. You’ve seen enough.” You hissed out. “You’ve most likely seen Ezio’s Brotherhood. You can’t use the modern Assassin Brotherhood as an excuse for your League.”

“The Creed is wrong.”

“Stay your blade from the innocent.” You said, and grandfather seemed to wince as your talons dug deeper into the stone floor. “You have not done so and neither have your bodyguards. Assassins kill to ensure peace, not to protect oneself.”

You stopped and tilted your head to the side, as if you were listening to something that he nor his grandfather could hear.

“Never compromise the Brotherhood. Hide in plain sight. The only one you have followed is the last one.” You pulled your talons away from grandfather and instead grabbed him to drag him to a stand. “Your League is nothing but a bastardisation of the Brotherhood.”

“A bastardisation that works. Better than the main stream.”

There was a shift in your stance, and Damian caught it. You suddenly looked to be a little more relaxed.

~ ♥~

Dick had come into contact with Matt Murdock after that stilted, defensive conversation with Bruce when the older man stared at the news showing one of the lawyers for Frank Castle during the Punisher’s trial. Because Dick was fourteen and nosy, alright?

Sue him.

The man had taken his call with a very clearly tired tone, but had been kind enough to answer the questions he had about himself and whatever he had had with Bruce. And Matt had been more willing to fondly talk about his two ex-lovers.

After that, Dick called the lawyer more. And when he frequented New York more often to lead the Teen Titans, it really wasn’t surprising that he visited the lawyer in person. Many times.

Because Matt had looked so lonely. And he was still Dick Grayson, a person experienced with dealing with wet, lonely cats. He had handled Bruce when the man was quiet and brooding and sad in general. He had been more than capable of warming up to Matt- another wet cat, albeit a little less pathetic- and making him feel a little better.

~ ♥~

Speaking of Matt, it had been a relief to hear that the lawyer was alive. And that Daredevil was too, even if there was a huge debacle with a false ‘Daredevil’ that killed people. Bruce never thought for a second that Matt was under that particular mask, but he had not been able to provide aid in a way that mattered.

Not when his attention had been focused mainly on Gotham, and the fact that Posion Ivy and the Scarecrow had been working together to produce a new strain of the Fear toxin.

Instead, Nightwing- Dick- had been the one to aid the real Daredevil expose Poindexter as the fake and Fisk’s crimes once more.

I don't know why you would have to drag Matt and Bruce anywhere in regards to me. But the kids!

Went "!!!??" at the mention of Eddie. It took me a few reads to understand what that part was about, but I know now. This Bruce is... more messy. He has less stability. And Dick is an angry child who lost everything. Like he did. Well, more than he did, as Eddie has pointed out.

Matthew! Beautiful boy who carries too much guilt that isn't really his to carry.

Veering away from AC a little to fucked up angel territory. I have feelings about this but that's actually for R to unpack and deal with!

Did Elektra and Bruce send them money? Matt's unpacking a lot of things too. But not really because it's Matt.

I don't have too much to comment on this section so instead I will simply be excited about Damian. It'd be so funny if R and Talia ended up with a weird relationship so that'd be Bruce and R.

14 year old Dick really tracked down Matt during the most complicated time in his life. I'm checking timeline later for if this is Teen Titans or New Teen Titans because he is 14 and those were in different locations but that's just for me. Anyways, wet cats.

Poor Bruce. Caught up in his duty, fighting his heart. I do wonder what Dick's involvement, if any, was in regards to Defenders/Midland Circle. Would read a good amount of Nightwing-Daredevil though.

Batdevil, my beloved. Written by you, beloved. They're so fucking messy and sad. I have absolutely no timeline for this fic, especially after I accidentally added a whole chapter, but I am excited (as always).

[mrgladstonegander]

Askitters in here. magicstone and scroldie for the ship bingo ?

t-shirt that says i am SO NORMAL ABOUT MAGICSTONE <3333 when i saw this chart i knew i would get a bunch of bingos. i love them so much. theyre so 💥theyre awful to each other i think they should use each other and end up learning things about themselves and grow as people and then break it off because they're getting Too Close and then repeat the cycle. teehee. yes i think theyre in love with each other yeah they need to do something about it. but i have no faith in them ♥ bless

i dont talk about scroldie enough but i have so much respect for them and the scroldie warriors....... its so #canon. its real. i cannot see either of them with any other person . they're are both so awful they are perfect for each other and should not drag anyone else into their Thing. Golden Lagoon is one of my favorite episodes of season one. i think seeing them in that dark and colorful lighting, tangoing, fight-dancing awakened something in 2020 me. "you loved gold more than you love me" "and thats why you love me" like DAMN . you old people should keep enabling each other's awful awful coping mechanisms. i love you.

[spacedoutman]

Parasite

(Part 3 | Ao3)

The man looked up at him, his lipstick, colored like a coca cola can, was smeared down his chin and neck. His eyes were exhausted and unfocused, framed by dark makeup.

♥ Vinnie Vincent x Gene Simmons ♥

Chapter Summary: Gene finally meets Vinnie after winding up in the same parking lot as him and some other guy hooking up.

Note: Note too long for here, lol

Warnings:

Gene smiled big. While Paul talked, he couldn’t help but zone out trying to think of what bird he sounded like. He had a pleasant voice. He spoke softly and Gene felt he was always singing. He lolled on the bed with his eyes stuck to the roof. Water stains corroded like ant holes which he counted, his lips moving but no voice coming as his eyes flitted to the next and sometimes the one before.

“So, uh, yes, Bruce and I will be visiting the United States soon.” Paul concluded, bitter at that. “God bless him-” He burst into chuckles. “If he wasn’t supporting my ass, we’d be done for.”

Gene swung upright, sitting against the wall. The bedsprings complained. “So, uh,” He pulled his knee to his chest, wrapping his arm around it. “.. Will you and him be pursuing anything artistic here?” His eyes wandered in the direction of the roof. Paul clicked his tongue. He heard him shake his head.

“I think I’m entering a midlife crisis a little too early.”

“Ah, really?”

“Yeah.. it’s not fun. Norway’s been nice.”

Gene nodded. He winced. “Well, you should get to getting packed.” Gene lightheartedly replied. “You don’t wanna’ catch yourself slacking. It’s bad for you.” Paul gave a strained laugh.

“Alright. I’ll see you next week then.”

“You too.”

Ace’s phone buzzed. Gene glanced at it before sliding off the bed. He dropped his pajamas, tossing on whatever he saw first in his drawers. Any fashion designer would scream. A rain cloud hugged his brain. Moist, dark. Hot air rolled from Gene’s lungs as he sighed. He set a mental reminder to turn on the air conditioner so Ace wouldn’t suffocate.

His phone buzzed. He pulled it off the dresser. Wind chimes sang with clicking knick knacks. Light poured from the screen he tapped.

God of thunder

You should seriously find something you enjoy, Gene. You never talk about your hobbies and I’m worried for you

X

Gene thought about it. He opened the notification. What could it hurt to at least tell Paul he was going to?

You’re so right. I guess it’s the swinger’s club for Ace and I, huh?

You should leave him.

Do you want me to call you back and to tell you that?

I know you don’t like him jan

I say this as a friend. Love fucking sucks sometimes but u don’t need to force yourself for. Him.

I wish I had your patience dealing with my shit. I love you, Paul.

The dub-step chicken song blared, shattering the quiet. Gene jumped out of his skin. He trudged over, grabbing Ace’s phone. “Hello, whose this?” He said, shaken. His eyes were frozen wide. He hyperventilated.

“Ace!-” Bob slurred over him. “You free tonight? Huge ass party.. lots of hoes. You’ in dude? Or you’ out...?”

Gene rolled his eyes then scoffed under his breath.

“Yeah.. uh, he’ll call you back. This is Gene.”

“Aw man, Gene, wanna come?”

Gene froze. He caught the phone before it slipped from his hand. Every possible expression flickered on his face. “Uh..” He faltered. “.. Do you… erm. I don’t know.”

“I don’t know if Ace ever asks you but you’re always fucking welcome.” Bob shrugged. “I know he’s kinda an ass about that, so.. uh, don’t worry about him. He’s such a fucking ass.”

Bob’s slur jabbed Gene, who nodded. “Yeah.” He dismissed.

“Alright. I’ll back, man. It’s not till’ tonight anyway so.. yeah, have fun.” Bob snapped his fingers. “Hey, hey, since I’ve not gotten to talk to you much, is what Ace is saying true?” Gene narrowed his eyes.

“What did he say?”

“You were a mega slut before he started dating you!”

“Yes.”

“God.. he’s suck a fucking ass. If you were mine I’d treat you right.”

Bob rambled on about how he’d take Gene on dates, buy him flowers, makeup and anything he desired. Gene wondered if Bob forgot who he was talking to, but clung on to the conversation until his brain cells were all zapped and his eyelids were heavy.

“I have to go.”

“Take care, sexy mama.. I’ll talk to you later.”

Bob hung up. Gene slammed Ace’s phone on the nightstand before slumping to the bed. He sat down, yawned and checked his own phone. If he were two years younger, he would’ve gotten dressed and did his makeup to where all Ace’s friends would gawk. When he did, Ace smirked. Gene felt like staying in, anyway. He frowned.

“I don’t know if Ace ever asks you but you’re always fucking welcome.”

Gene pushed his face in his hands. Tears stung his eyes. Weren’t they supposed to be a couple? He breathed deeply, imagining a wedding. His heart went cold. He leapt from bed and snatched his jacket, pushing himself out the door. Ace, who lounged on the couch watching tv, asked through a mouthful of potato salad where Gene was going or something like that.

Gene grabbed his keys, glared then left. He got in his car and sped off.

He drove under the trees which arched like high ceilings during childhood. Shadows stretched over the roads, which were as grey as river rocks left rotting under the sun. One or two people, touched by the dim streetlight’s glow, hurried down the sidewalks littered with bags, cups and whatnot, but Gene swore there were more people now than in the day.

Houses, one step from trailers, were sandwiched between trees then shopping centers then fast food joints. They wobbled on brick foundations and were paneled by school glue.

He parked in the farthest corner of a supermarket. Smog covered the stars. He wrapped his arms around the steering wheel, setting his chin on them and gazing at the gas station down the steep hill. The lights pouring over the gas pumps reminded Gene of when he had his portrait taken for his professional work page, blinding.

Trucks covered the parking space behind it. Signs flickered over the ads slathering the door and windows. He leaned closer.

Bass thumped the parking lot. Gene flew alert, starting the car. He glanced around the parking lot. A glossy black sedan pulled in about five lots beside from him, taking up a couple spots. Gene’s jaw clenched. He turned off the car with his chest tightening. Shadows moved in the window. It wasn’t his business; He hunched over the wheel.

Hip hop blasted. Though muffled, it sounded like forty speakers surrounded Gene, who clenched the wheel and breathed a sigh deep from his gut.

A couple doors popped. Gene was pricked with the urge to at least glimpse. He glared with one eye, fidgeting with his jacket zipper.

How could he describe his body other than one made for dancing? His body was petite, drooping like a slinky. The shirt he wore was an excuse to not be arrested for nudity. It was colorless glittery mesh, the wrinkles pooling around his elbows and waist as he popped his hip glowing in the car’s golden headlights. It hugged his body otherwise. Pale booty shorts squeezed his bruised legs.

He strutted around the car to the driver side window. His almost 90s blowout swung off his shoulders. Gene’s eyes widened, glued to the man. His jaw plummeted. He leaned in the window, bending his knee and tapping his foot absently. His neon blue pump clung on. The music dwindled. Gene turned, holding himself. A knot wrangled in his throat at the thought of them seeing him.

Their headlights drained from Gene’s dash as the car pulled out. Gene’s eyes flitted in his direction. The man watching the car pull off before fixing his hair then his bag around his shoulder. A temptation pricked Gene, who tensed. ‘Go to him.’

Gene looked at his shoes. About twenty minutes passed as he was enveloped by thoughts of nothing. He sat up, his spine aching and popping. “God..” He muttered, rubbing his back. The man. He got up and gawked. The man sat on the curb, slumping and curled into as much of a ball as he could. His face was angled toward the cement. Gene’s heart sank.

He drove over to the man and rolled down his window. The man looked up at him, his lipstick, colored like a coca cola can, was smeared down his chin and neck. His eyes were exhausted and unfocused, framed by dark makeup. Gene forced a halfhearted smile, wondering if he was cold.

“Do you need a ride?” Gene shouted over his growling engine.

The man glanced at his phone before nodding. He stumbled to his feet and drug himself over. Gene rushed to unlock the car before the man got in. As he came over and when he got in, Gene was stunned by the man’s presence alone. It was like watching an actress glide down a red carpet or an airport, being the brightest face in many.

“Where-”

“I had no idea there was anyone in here.” The man, humorous, spoke over him. “I mean, to be honest, I thought.. because people, you know, park there for weird reasons, were gone.”

He grinned. God, he grinned. His white teeth shone through his full lips and his smile touched his eyes, curving his thick eyelashes a little more. It emphasized just how puffy under his eyes were, along with what might’ve been a mole drenched in foundation and soft blush. Gene’s feet flew off the ground. All his senses stopped.

“Who are you?” Gene asked before he could understand what he was saying.

The man looked down, his grin darkening a bit. “I’m Vinnie.” He said, barley over a whisper while looking down and away. “I want to uh, well, I’d like to get back to my house.”

“Where is that?”

“I can direct you there, I come through here often so I should know by heart.”

Gene nodded. He peeled his eyes away and back to the road. Pulling out of the shopping center seemed a lot less dull. His constant drawl soothed Gene’s ears with every: “I think you take a right here” or “Left. Definitely left.” His voice packed romantic sass and confidence of a heroine Gene couldn’t imagine or describe any way else.

“Now you just take the highway.” He stated. “I’ll point out the exit. I can never remember the actual number, but once it’s there I can certainly tell you.”

Gene nodded quickly. “Thank you.” He said in his breath.

The road wailed under them. Seeing Vinnie out of the corner of his vision with his ethereal face touched by pale moonlight sent Gene’s heart racing. He clenched the steering wheel. Gene breathed deeply. “I’m sorry.” He remarked, eyeing the semi-truck in front of him. Otherwise, the road was lonely.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Vinnie dismissed a bit tiredly, closing his eyes.

He clutched his purse. “You’ looking for something more?” Vinnie’s words poured like wine off his tongue. Gene’s eyes darted to Vinnie, whose own hung into bedroom eyes that could murder. Heat sprang between Gene’s hips. He stiffened—then he remembered Vinnie’s tiredness.

“You’re okay. Just relax. Can I get you something to eat?”

A prick pooled in the depths of his guts, but he sighed. Vinnie smiled. “No. But thank you. I only eat at six.”

“Alright-”

“Gah!” Vinnie cried, pointing. “That’s our exit!”

Gene looked over. Exit 15 reflected on a green sign in the streetlights. He weaved in. “So which way do I go now?”

“Er.. right.”

Gene had no idea how the houses could look worse from his part out town. The brick foundations threatened to pop out of place, vines and overgrown bushes jutting into the paneling. Each one was depressed, swamped by towering grass and yard trash. Every fifteen seconds, the car thudded over a pot hole before he pulled into the parking lot of a poor excuse of an apartment complex.

Three buildings, two stories each. The white paneling was a very light shadow of brown. Grass sprang from the cement. Vinnie eased open the car door, flashing Gene a smile before climbing out. “Thank you.” He cooed. “Good luck to you and, uh, take care.” Gene wished there was a way to keep him around longer.

“Take care.”

Gene eyed him. His gaze rolled down his body before he could realize. Vinnie backed up, waving. Gene’s heart sped up. What if he never saw Vinnie again? He thought of going back home to an empty bed and when he was asleep, the bed would dent with Ace’s presence. He thought of how heavy the air was. He swore he was the world’s most selfish bastard when he stared up through his pressed brows.

“Wait. That offer.” He murmured.

[rottenandsublime]

Apart from being ridiculously beautiful, you have an amazing body and thank you for blessing our dashboards!! Happy new year!

Aw shucks tysm!! Happy New Year ♥

[yinyuedijun]

WAAH IT IS INTERNATONAL MAOMAO DAY AND I AM ONLY FINDING OUT … 😿 it’s still september 11th here which means my wish will still count so! happiest birthday to one of the most lovely souls i’ve had the pleasure of meeting!!! 🥳🎊🎂 and while i’m here, i have to let you know how absolutely innovative and creative and vast and wonderful and inspiring and overall LOVELY you are! 🥺 i will always be in awe of your skill in writing the juiciest yummiest fics, and i know it must have taken a lot of time and dedication and years of practice, so i hope you’re very proud of yourself for how far you’ve come!! ♥︎ and there are many years yet to pass you know! it makes me so excited to wonder how you’ll grow even more and what blessings your upcoming trips around the sun will bring you! even if i am a mere friend in your phone, i hope i can continue to accompany you on these trips and continue annoying you in the stupidly long tags i leave hehe!! XD you have such a beautiful mind and heart and truly i am so blessed to know you 🥺 YOU’RE WONDERFUL MAO!!! happy birthday happy birthday happy birthday! 💞💘💘💗💖💘💕💝💕💞💗 NOW GO GET THAT BIRTHDAY DICK FROM TOKYO VICE SUO 😽😽

— love, a mutie whose name begins with c and ends with o and has another c and o in the middle (on anon bcos she is shy about having yapped so much weheh 🙈)

HI HELLO I AM EVEN LATER TO THE PARTY IN ANSWERING THIS ASK 😭 I am so sorry coco I truly live in disgrace forever. but it has been on the mind and I just wanted to make sure that I had the energy to give this message the reply it deserves!!! because you are so so talented and kind and genuinely one of my fave people on this webbed site (sorry I hope that isn't weird to say LOLL). it makes me so happy to hear that someone so kind and creative feels so positively about me and my writing! I always adore your essay length tags also and I hope you know that I always read and reread them and treasure them so much, just as how I treasure this message !! thank you so much for taking the time to say happy birthday to me, and for being one of my beloved friends in my phone <3

[sleepytoken]

This is a tumblr hug. (✿づ◠‿◠)づ Pass this to your favorite blogs to let them know that you love them or simply accept the love given to you! ♥◝(ᵔᗜ���)◜♥ bless you!

Aw yay! You are too sweet, thank you ;-; 🖤🖤🖤

[hooked-on-elvis]

Good day to you! Just wanted to take the time and tell you how much I love your page. The attention to detail is awe-inspiring, and I look forward to when you post. If writing EP fiction were your forte, you’d have a reader in me. 🤭

TCB and TLC!! 💜⚡️

You're such a sweetheart! All my heart to you. Thank you for making my day! ♥ ♥ ♥ Every time I receive those supportive messages I feel like giving you a tight Elvis bear hug.

I'm far from being as good as I wanted to be in my writing skills, dear, specially considering I'm still on the way to improve my English (ya'll must have noticed that I correct my posts a lot lol sorry about that btw), and that's why I still don't have enough confidence to try working on serious fanfic material. I've written a couple of one shots to myself, just out of fun, but I don't think they're interesting enough. One day, maybe, if I have enough courage (or if I'm enough drunk) I'll try sharing those ones with you or even writing some more, but for now I'll stick to sharing Elvis' music and life because I learn a lot at the same time I'm sharing the content with you. Anyway, it's so good to hear I would have a reader for fanfics if I only was a writer... You're so, so cute! God bless you, doll. I am feeling my heart warm as I'm reading your words... you wouldn't believe. Thank you so, so much, dear. ♥

i don't feel it's fair to make this about me, even tho I highly appreciate when you compliment my work... Because IT'S ALL ABOUT ELVIS. His magic is what keeps all the content the fandom create so exciting, delightful and fun to read.

Even so, I'm extremely grateful for the friends who take their time to read, like, share and/or comment, like... Mine is not a huge Elvis blog but each time you show you appreciate the time I take to write, to research for the accurate info on Elvis' pictures and history, to transcript interviews and books, to write about his music - one song at a time, and so on, I feel touched. I have a lot of fun writing those posts I share here, but the best part and the reason for all of this is to be worth it is the moments I get to interact with you. Again, thank you for the kind words, friend. You're a doll! I hope next time you let me know who you are.

Here, to you: 🌻 TCB and TLC FOREVER! 🩷⚡️🥹

Love, Lally

[apoptoses]

Girlboss pussy cunt Armand girlies UNITE 🫡 @apoptoses @hekateinhell et all get behind me, I’ll go to war for y’all, men’s audacity truly never ceases to amaze me. Also I feel like this is a good time to mention that like many people, I also had an unpleasant experience with this person once lmao I was like “welp what a rancid take but wtvr, we’re not doing that again” and I was thankfully able to move on with my life. I’m appalled to find out that this is something that has been going on for actual months??? Because some dude can’t cope with the fact that a group made up of women and nb people DARED to disagree with him? lmao holy shit 💀 You’re all amazing content creators and the fucking pillars of this shrinking fandom (I feel like I can count book fans with my hands these days 😞) and I’m so grateful for having stumbled upon this hellsite many years ago and finding all of you xoxo DA

Dungeon anon, bless you ♥

I'm just so relieved that by opening up the floor and saying what the elephant in the room is, so many people who were actually scared to interact in the fandom because of this shit are finding out that they were not alone, that a LOT of folks have had the same rancid experience, and not all vcblr people are like that.

And I would LOVE to just throw the name out there but like I said to another anon, I don't want this dude using the report function to silence people from admitting they had an awful run in with him (or straight fucking harassment). But it's funny because everyone knows without even saying it, which says a lot about the behavior and how obvious it's gotten.

But hopefully now we can put this shit behind us and have fun and ignore anyone who gets mad at fans for having the audacity to have their own unique headcanons and meta takes. I want vcblr to be positive and fun again!!

And thank YOU for being a pillar of positivity, coming into people's ask boxes and sharing ideas and complimenting their work. You're so fucking important to this fandom, I swear.

love you, DA xoxo

(ps did you read the riccardo and amadeo fic? did you like it?)

[wha-archive]

thank you so much for your work ! i hope you enjoy what you do !!

aw bless you!!! i do very much enjoy putting this all together for you all, it also gives me a reason to spend more time thinking about this lovely series ♥ thank you for the support you've shown me and apologies for the slowness as of late

[luveline]

Had a dream about Hotch where my hands were cold so he held them in his to warm me up 😭 and also at some point we were sleeping in the same bed but apparently I drifted away from him in my sleep & he said "Where are you going? Will you come back to me?" 🥺 and now that I'm awake that softness reminds me so much of your writing.. thank you for blessing me with a cute dream like that ❤️

Aw gorgeous there's no need to thank me it's YOUR brain that cane up with such a nice dream 😭😭 maybe you'll consider sharing that one with me, that is so so so soft and lovely 🥰♥♥

[diminuel]

I love you I'm about to get on a 3 hr plane ride and I just saw your notif that you updated Lord of Amara may your have eternal blessing

Aw, thank you, I'm glad it came at the right time to keep you some company during your flight!

I hope you have a safe and smooth journey! ♥♥

[caffeinated-enigmathing]

Some personal stuff...

I have some things going on in my life right now that are affecting how I'm functioning on a basic human level and will limit how much I post, write or interact with all of you here. If you wish to know more, I will explain a little further below, but just know that I'll still be lurking here even if I don't write anything or interact with the community. I'll get to responding to any messages in time and when I'm having those better moments. Ty all for being amazing, inspiring people that continue to lift up others. ♥

My dog, Maxim, passed away on May 15th last year and with his death anniversary coming up I've been having a hard time enjoying the continuously increasing sunny days, feeling a bit like it's just an awful reminder of the grief I'm still processing. Also experiencing some spring fatigue and my sleep has been all over the place even more than usual. It's not been an easy month for me. Last week my parents dog, who was also Maxi's brother, passed away as well. And while the grief I'm experiencing for him is not the same, it's still very painful and also triggers a lot of memories that feel crushing right now. His death hasn't really hit me yet as I have not been to my parents (and my childhood) home to truly feel his absence. It will become a harsher reality when I visit them. I'm trying my best to prepare for that and also process everything.

Finding the motivation to write or enjoy things other people are sharing is becoming increasingly harder as the shock fades away and the numbness dissipates. I hope that's understandable.

I am truly blessed to have an amazing family and friends who are my support network in life and with their help I will get through this difficult time, although most of the work on that I will have to do myself. The pain of a deep loss is something you just have to go through and fully experience. I don't believe there are shortcuts.

Mental health struggles are something I think everyone goes through and I wanted to share my journey a bit with you all to remind you that even though we are all just strangers online, we share our humanity in many ways. The love, passion, creativity, pain and frustrations are things we can draw from to relate to one another.

All of you, no matter how you create or interact with the community here, have managed to inspire me and make me laugh, even when I'm going through the sadness of it all. For that I am grateful and wish all of you health and happiness. Thank you for taking the time to have this small glimpse into my life.

And as always, my inbox and messages are open, even though it may take me longer to get to responding right now.

I'll be back and I'll be ok.

And on that note... I truly hope anyone who reads this doesn't take offence in me grieving our beloved furry family members and any sort of comments of them being 'just dogs' are not needed or wanted. Let's all give each other grace and be respectful. ♥

[amoirsetpacis]

( x2 Seasonal Gifts from the other Vash to Vash! )

Left on the house's doorstep, separate from Wolfwood's presents, there are two boxes specifically addressed to "Old Geezer!". They're both on the smaller and lighter side. Affixed to the box that has the room to fit the message, there's a note that reads:

Vash! I don't know exactly what's in these, since it's impossible for me to even peek inside, somehow, but I hope my wishes count for what's inside. One gift's something you thought you'd lost before. The other is… A secret! ☺ But it's not a prank (probably??). If whatever's inside turns out to be awful, you can yell at me when you come to visit! Cya then!! ♥ Stamps

The box with the note contains a framed photo; one that is of Rem - with Knives and Vash as children, similar to the framed photo that his younger counterpart had tried to give him the year prior, but now all his own.

The other box is smaller. It contains a single pure-white Plant feather that, once touched, restores a memory from the world before. It's a brief but dense accumulation of Vash's sisters' feelings of hope and love they instilled in their red brother. As an undercurrent to the feelings, there are thoughts articulated enough to be coherent. Faintly, slightly out of sync and pitch, his younger counterpart's "voice" can be heard echoing the same words: What would he do, at a time like this? I wonder if he'll laugh, again; I wonder if he'll smile, again. Let there be love and peace in this world.

The urge to roll his eyes is on that's indulged in as Vash gets a glimpse of the cursive clearly addressing him. It's no less of a fond gesture, though, as he picks up the little packages and heads inside with them, depositing them on the coffee table once his boots and coat are off. They'd been spared the gentle snowfall outside, covered by the roof of the porch.

Reading the note makes dark eyebrows furrow; something he'd lost? If the younger Stampede didn't have any idea what lay inside the boxes, then Vash surely didn't have the vaguest of clues either. Before being brought to the island, it's not as though he'd been hauling around that many material possessions, and as far as he knew he hadn't lost anything here in a good long while either ( coat notwithstanding ).

The bow around the box with the note is pulled loose, falling away to the side and allowing for the top to be pulled open. Its contents being revealed makes Vash freeze, hand still hovering in the air with the top still between his fingers, eyes wide.

Its the photo. The photo. Except this time it's not the faces of three familiar strangers staring back at him, so similar and yet so different, but his face. His and Knives' and Rem's. Unlike his counterpart, he'd never been blessed with any of what remained of his mother, no matter how many ships he had poked and prodded through; he'd always assumed that it all must have burned up en route to impact, hadn't considered it something he'd lost in a long time. How can you 'lose' something that had never really been yours?

Pinned still as he is, he doesn't realize he's crying until one fat drop rolls down the tip of his nose and splatters against the glass. It's then that the spell is finally broken, and the fingers of his flesh hand gently pry the frame out of the box as though the whole thing were made of glass, as though if he were to handle it even an iota rougher it would shatter entirely. The last time he'd properly seen his mother's face had been ages ago, digging through whatever files he could find on barely-functioning databases.

There's no way that the younger Stampede could have known-- he'd said so himself that he wasn't entirely sure what had been inside the boxes. It must have been related to the stars' doing. And yet, his counterpart had been the one to set the entire thing into motion.

"That's..."

Wolfwood speaking next to him almost violently jerks Vash back into the present, making him jump just a bit, the room having faded away entirely.

"... Yeah," he croaks quietly, feeling an arm wrap around his side. It's welcome, helping to ground him back in reality.

It's a long time before Vash finally sets it aside, eyes slowly taking in every detail through watery lashes with a want he hadn't known he'd had, and even then it still sits gingerly in his lap where his legs are crossed over one another. After something like that there's a bit of hesitation to opening the second gift; clearly these things aren't meant as something to be taken lightly, and what feels like a strange sort of anxiety swirls in the pit of his stomach. It doesn't help that he still hasn't been able to stop crying.

So of course when the top of the second box finally is pried open, it gives him pause yet again, another swift punch to the gut. The question of 'where had they gotten this' flashes through his mind, swiftly replaced with the knowledge of everything that had come to be on this island that should have been an impossibility-- not he last of which being the object already in his lap and the warmth of the body next to his own.

With the same overly-gentle hand that he'd pulled the photo out with Vash finally reaches into the second box, though no sooner than the tips of his fingers make contact with the rachis of the feather does Vash get pulled entirely into the brief lapse of boundless thought; so many voices speaking as one, thoughts and emotions made manifest in a seemingly boundless network, one he so infrequently had access to.

It overwhelms the senses, and for that brief flash of time Vash can see nothing, feel nothing, entirely swept up in the wave of his sisters' presence by proxy. It's warm and welcoming and loving, the soft warmth of familiarity and understanding wholly impossible by nigh on any other soul that did not share the connections they were capable of. It's always so wildly different-- the connection between so many points of consciousness and the singular one between he and Knives.

The final stream of thought, out of tandem with the others, keeps him tethered in the stream for just that bit longer-- and although he an feel the same love in a slightly different flavour, it leaves a bittersweet tang of guilt in his chest.

He is no one to look up to.

When Vash finally finds himself in his own body again it takes a moment for his vision to clear and come back into focus. Fresh tear tracks have painted over those that had still yet to dry, and as he looks down into slightly shaky palms he can see a few of his own feathers sprouting out from his palm, the bend of his wrist. Though at first puffed and raised against the skin they slowly flatten and return from where they'd come from as his mind becomes his own. Though perhaps less lustrous than it had been a moment before, the feather still sits bright and white between the pads of his two fingers.

Finding his voice is more difficult. When he speaks, following the airy laugh he always uses when the world feels too much, it doesn't entirely feel like his own. "Aw, man," he jokes. "I'm gonna have to think of somethin' better, huh?"

[lqfiles]

you're making me cry, you sweet mumchkin yes lessgoo the bond we have is strong fr fr, its the way i come running everytime i see another update, you're just so lovable GAWD 😭🫶

also, don't you worry i'll break reveal myself soon but it would just be my corny ass username on display but alsoo because i like SLENDY SOOO MUCH, i love to be SLENDY ANON!🧍

anyways anyways, i really do hope 2024 brings you SO SO SO MUCH HAPPINESS!! and believe me when i say you bring me sm happiness, by my time zone you post an hour before i wake up and lemme tell you i wake up happy knowing i'd get to read score that goal and would get to speak a ton to you cause i just loveee talking to you!!!

after speaking sm again, i wish nothing but the best for you for the coming year, I LOVE YOU SM😍

come here take a kith ( ͡♥ 3 ͡♥)

-slendy anon!

LOVABLE OMGG YOU WANT ME SOOO BAD STOOPPPP

but no rush i love the slendy anon identity too like.. if you do reveal yourself someday you can decide if you still want me to use the slendy anon tag or not 😊❤️ ALSO SJSJDHESJ LEAVE MY AUTOCORRECTION ALONE OMFGGG

☹️☹️☹️☹️ you’re so cute man i just awwed so much 😭😭😭 just letting you know that getting your messages in my inbox bring me lots of joy too i always love reading your little cute messages you’re so lovable too i love you fr 🫶 IM SOOO GLAD I GET TO BLESS YOU WITH A STG UPDATE WHEN YOU WAKE UP!!! i love talking you slendy anon

WISHING THE BEST FOR YOU THE COMING YEARS TOO stay healthy and surround yourself with good people and most importantly be happy!! i love you lots too besf 🥹⭐️ mwuah mwuah mwuah 💋💋💋

[extollingtheeveryday]

Cheshvan

by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat (The Velveteen Rabbi)

Cheshvan is an empty month. A blank slate. An open expanse. It is the only month which contains no Jewish holidays (aside from Shabbat) and no special mitzvot. Some people have the custom of calling this month Mar-Cheshvan, "Bitter Cheshvan," because after so many weeks of feeling ourselves to be in God's presence, we enter into a whole month with no festival opportunities to feel that closeness.

Some rabbis (me included) joke that Mar-Cheshvan is short for "Marvelous Cheshvan," and that Cheshvan is our favorite month precisely because there is nothing in it. After the hard work and the emotional-spiritual rollercoaster of the Days of Awe and Sukkot, a month containing nothing but weekdays and Shabbat feels like a gift. A time to embrace emptiness and quiet. Thank God for Cheshvan; I can't keep up this work-pace anymore!

But I think there's a deeper truth hidden in the "I ♥ Cheshvan" jokes. Our festival cycle has a rhythm, a natural ebb and flow. Times of extroversion and times of introversion; times of intense spiritual work and times of quiet when the aftereffects of that work can reverberate in our hearts and souls. After the spring journey of Pesach and the Omer, we get a quiet period before the summer's fasts and Tisha b'Av and the ramp-up to the Days of Awe. After the fall journey of the Days of Awe and Sukkot, we get a quiet period before the small holidays which stud the wintertime lead us toward spring and Pesach.

(These are northern-hemisphere interpretations; if you live in the global South, the seasonal rhythm is inverted, but the holidays still lead one to the next, and the spiritually-fallow periods are still built-in.)

The quiet time matters too. It's like the silence after the chant, writ large. When a long-anticipated event is over, there can be a let-down. All that time preparing and getting excited, and now it's over; now what? But Cheshvan offers the opportunity to experience the quiet time after the feasts and festivals as a necessary part of the rhythm.

Reb Zalman (may his memory be a blessing) used to speak about the importance of "domesticating" the peak experience -- taking the spiritual highs we can experience on retreat, and using their energy to fuel spiritual practice when we're home again. Coming down from the big fall holiday season is a little bit like coming home from a retreat. We return our focus to all the details of ordinary life. But that doesn't mean that we're no longer in the radiant Presence. We just have to remember how to access that Presence through ordinary living. Avodah b'gashmiut, in Hasidic parlance.

We couldn't live at the intense pace of the Days of Awe and Sukkot all the time. From the practical work of preparing services and sermons and setting up chairs and building sukkahs, to the intellectual work of studying the holidays' texts and liturgies and themes, to the emotional work of noticing what arises in us during the holiday season, to the spiritual work of teshuvah and inner transformation -- there's no way to sustain that level of activity and experience all the time. And that's okay.

The downtime helps us integrate the experience we've just had. Try this metaphor on: the quiet month which comes after all of the festivals is like the morning after a grand and elaborate wedding. The planning and preparation all culminated in a beautiful ceremony and a fabulous party -- and now it's the next day; the first day of the rest of the couple's life; time to integrate the memories and carry them into whatever comes next. Tishri was the wedding. Now it's the morning-after.

The party is finally over. The last guests have gone home. Awaken to your quiet house, a sweet sunrise, coffee filling the room with fragrance. Cup your hands around your mug and look around you. Something new is beginning, right here in this quiet place. Welcome to Cheshvan.

(source)