#gardens by the bay light show

[kl-foodie]

Experience The ‘Northern Lights’ For FREE In Singapore This May!

Ever wanted to experience the magical Northern Lights shining right in front of your eyes? Well, today’s your lucky day! Get excited as you’ll soon be able to get a glimpse of how watching the Northern Lights would feel like for FREE at Gardens by the Bay in Singapore!     Borealis At Gardens By The Bay: Watch the ‘Northern Lights’ For FREE This May Usually only seen in Northern parts of the…

[bradsbackpack]

Garden Rhapsody: A Symphony of Lights

The Garden Rhapsody was something I was really excited for during my time in Singapore. Although to be fair there isn't a lot I wasn't excited to explore. I had been up til 2am the night before trying to book my tickets.

The Garden Rhapsody was something I was really excited for during my time in Singapore. Although to be fair there isn’t a lot I wasn’t excited to explore. Initially I didn’t think I would make the show. I had been up til 2am the night before trying to book tickets, and couldn’t see any that included the light show. I spoke to the concierge in the morning and he gave them a call.  They told him I…

[folkloresthings]

❛ HEAVEN KNOWS ❜ ❨ lando norris x singer!reader ❩

📻 track three: you’re just a boy (and i’m kinda the man)

in which the they were the perfect couple, until they weren’t. or in which we take a look back into what made heaven itself fall apart.

… OCTOBER 2023

INSTAGRAM. october second.

liked by irisapatow, rachelzegler and 810,673 more

yourusername time for another track! 🤡 i first started writing you're just a boy (and i'm kinda the man) after listening non-stop to taylor swift and shania twain and i decided what i really needed was to take those feelings and make a female power song of my own. so i wrote one! it helped me to remember that losing the love of a man does not make you any less of a person, and i hope it can do the same for others. oh, and it's also a bop.

view all 499,020 comments

user QUEEN

taylorswift you're kinda making me feel like... i'm the man 💪👸

user i fear this will tear lando's ego to shreds

⤷ user it doesn't feel fair on him, like he doesn't get to tell his side of the story

⤷ user girl there's definitely a reason he's kept quiet 😭

lissiemackintosh soooo excited for this one!!!! my new karaoke song?

⤷ yourusername come at do it at the concerts

⤷ lissiemackintosh i like your fans too much to do that to them

user CLOWN LANDO ERA

REWIND... OCTOBER 2022

"guess what, guess what!"

lando was mid-game when you rushed into the living room, glancing up from the television when you bound into view. he slips back one side of his headphones, eyes following suit a few moments later once the screen is paused.

“what?”

“guess!”

lando sighs, but a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “lewis finally retired?”

“no, silly.” scoffing, you slap at his arm and plonk down next to him on the couch. “management just called — i’ve been asked if i want to do a world stadium tour. the bowl, wembley, madison square garden!”

lando’s mouth fell open in slight shock, your excitement obviously contagious as his eyes light up. in a split second he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly.

“holy shit, babe,” he murmurs, squeezing your waist.

“i know,” you squeal quietly, muffled against his shoulder. “they just need to set up the next album release and then announce the dates.”

behind your embrace, the cogs of lando’s head start to turn and calculate the information. sitting back, he looks at you with confusion set in his brow.

“when would that be?” he asks, head tilted.

you shrug, not noticing his growing resentment of the news. “depends. they want the album done for late summer, so that means an autumn release. so probably in the new year.”

“the second half of the season?”

lando’s cold tone makes you smile, almost uncomfortably, waiting for his former excitement to return. uneasily, you nod.

“well, yeah, but—”

“i thought you said you were going to come to all the races, since you’ve only been to monaco and silverstone this season?” he cuts you off. you catch the frustration in his eyes like a hawk, shifting off of his lap before it bubbles over. “you’re not going to be able to do that if you’re on tour.”

“that’s not true,” you try and reason, hopeful that your calm tone might balance his. “there’s texas and vegas. besides, i don’t even know what dates i’ll have shows yet, i could fly in for race days.”

lando shakes his head, pushing himself from the couch cushions and onto his feet. “that’s not the point. you promised you’d be there for me this season. i actually have a chance for once, and you don’t even care.”

the dismissive tone that spits off his tongue makes you flinch, a heavy frown falling around your cheeks. “what am i supposed to do? turn down my biggest tour yet to come watch you race every single week?”

“yes!” lando exclaims, turning sharply. “that’s what good girlfriends do — look at kika and lily!”

anger pricks at your eyes and throat, swallowing hard to keep it at bay. “you haven’t been to one of my shows in months. you don’t even have time to listen to demos when i ask you to. there are two of us in this relationship, lando. it isn’t always about you.”

you see his defence ready behind his lips but you’re quicker, ready before he can speak.

“i went to every single race last season,” you tell him. your tone is calm, steady — making the words even more intense. “every one. i have been your biggest fan since day one. so don’t ever, ever, say i’m being selfish.”

lost for words, lando stares at you. only because he knows it’s true does he halt his argument there, turning and storming into the bedroom to preserve some dignity. you stare at the slamming door and wonder how he can watch on so easily as you slip through his fingers, and not want to do anything at all?

INSTAGRAM. november twenty—fourth.

liked by danielricciardo, maxfewtrell and 928,244 others

yourusername always your #1 fan (even when you dnf) 🫶

view all 630,737 comments

carlossainz55 did he get a lollipop for being a good patient?

⤷ yourusername and a sticker 😄😄

user poor lando

landonorris my favourite nurse ❤️

user they’re sooooo cute

user that crash looked bad

yourusername dw guys i’m giving him lots of kisses and rubs better !!!!!

⤷ landonorris not as many as i’d like 😏

⤷ yourusername you’ve got a hello kitty plaster on your head you cannot be seductive right now

"oh, shit."

the fight that dreaded evening had hung over both you and lando for weeks, both of you much too stubborn to admit to any wrongdoing or, god forbid, apologise. but you carried on. if anything it was worse than not speaking. it was like nothing had happened, as if the conversation never even happened, as long as neither one of you mentioned it. still, there was a tension holding you at arms length from each other.

so to not bring up the same argument again, you followed lando to the next few races. come vegas, you had given yourself so much time to think about things and the way lando had handled it all that your mind was screaming at you to leave. to book a flight home, pack up your stuff and go. because how much more of this could you take? you weren't the trophy girlfriend, the wag whose only job was to look pretty beside her accomplished boyfriend.

you would do it after vegas, you decided. there was a few days off; time for you to talk to lando and explain your feelings, before walking out with your head held high just in time for the next race. then, the worst happened.

chatting idly to lily, the race only just beginning, you almost missed it. for a moment, you thought it was oscar spinning out. the bright orange sparks masked which number was painted onto the car, spinning drastically until the nose of the vehicle slammed into the barriers. lily grasped your arm, her sympathetic eyes making you look twice. number four, lando.

in a daze, you followed the one of the marshalls through the busy paddock until you reached the ambulance area. he had already been loaded in, paramedics and mclaren employees surrounding him. there wasn't enough room, they needed to go now.

"hop in, i'll drive you," charlotte's gentle voice appeared beside you, guiding you into the car as the ambulance hurried off. "they said he's probably fine, they just want to do the usual checks."

you nod, trusting her. you could always trust charlotte, right?

after what felt like hours, you arrived to the hospital and didn't think twice about elbowing every single person out of your way until you reached lando's room. he was laid still on the bed, eyes watching the small television in the corner. his leg was strapped up, an iv stuck into his arm, various bruises littering his skin and face. he looked up when he heard you, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

"it looks worse than it is," he assured you, noticing the panic in your eyes straight away. you breathe out some of the relief, the rest coming in a sudden pool of tears. "hey - hey, c'mere."

lando outstretches the arm that doesn't hurt like a bitch, ushering you to his side. you don't hesitate, lip wobbling as you hurry over and perch yourself on the side of the bed. tucked into his shoulder, you nuzzle as closely as you can without hurting him.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," you mumble, and you both know just what you're apologising for. what was a stupid fight worth when chalked up to all of this?

"me too," lando replies quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

sitting back, you look over his face. a small scratch from the helmet, just above his cheekbone. his eyes are drooping, tired from the impact and the drugs. you sniffle and smile sadly, thumb brushing over the wound.

"i'm going to move the tour," you tell him, and note that he doesn't protest. "if i'm on the other side of the world and something happens, i—”

lando shakes his head, cutting you off with a kiss. "nothing's going to happen. i'm still in one piece, aren't i?"

you hesitate, then nod, letting him shift over so you can lay next to him. resting your head on his chest, both of you quietly watching the rest of the race, you feel your head spin. maybe he had been losing you, but could you survive losing him?

writers note: we're back baby. lando count yr days my man

taglist: @openthenyoor01 @racingheartsworld @celestialend @cha-hot @gr1mes-cc @bingussthirdtoe @destinyg237 @theonottsbxtch @allywthsr @imsorare @youdontknowmeshh @bellewintersroe @orangetreekid

[hammysando]

"When The Carnations Bloom" Jing Yuan x GN!Reader

AN: Here's the Arbiter General~ Felt kinda rushed at the end, but I'm more or less happy with how this came out! Once again likes and reblogs are appreciated! Don't be shy to leave a comment down below as well! <3 Reader is Gender Neutral!

Wordcount: 1.9K+ words~

Prompt: Reader has Hanahaki and hides it from everyone. (Except for Bailu.)

TW: Major character death (Reader), slight descriptions of blood.

Please read at your own risk!

More below the cut~

You were in the bathroom, throwing up those damned flowers again. They came up and out of your throat quickly and painfully, as you emptied out whatever you could. Tired, you leaned against the wall and glanced down at the bloodied and saliva-covered red carnations in your sink. Crinkling your nose up in disgust, you tried to regulate your ragged breathing by taking deep breaths. It proved to be difficult, but little by little, you calmed your erratic pulse. And little by little, the urge to break out into violent coughs ceased. Moving to get back into bed, you groaned softly as a knock sounded at the door. Vowing to murder whomever showed at your door, you wearily trudged over.

“(Name)! General is slacking off again!” A boyish voice shouted from the other side, drawing a long sigh from you. Ah, it was Yanqing.

Begrudgingly, the door swung open and you scowled slightly at the thought of having to drag Jing Yuan back to the Seat of Divine Foresight. Yanqing stood there, looking just as annoyed as you did, and the two of you shared a knowing look. The general was once again skipping out on paperwork. Stepping out in whatever you were wearing currently, you didn't care for the strange looks you garnered from your neighbors.

“Again?” You grumbled this softly, trying to ignore the flowers that started to tickle the back of your throat, just from the thought of Jing Yuan. Ah, how could you have fallen for someone so frustrating, yet so handsome?

“Again. I couldn't think of anyone to get him to do his work but you.” Yanqing said this apologetically but started to lead you away to where the general slumbered. The entire way, you grumbled about how you should start charging Jing Yuan. You were acting as his very own human alarm, after all.

The arduous journey led you straight to a certain garden. And lo and behold, the snow haired man slept soundly under an arbor of wisteria and an assortment of other flowers. You fought down the flowers that clogged your throat as your eyes found his form. Letting out a strained grunt, you stalked over to Jing Yuan, and prepared to smack him upside the head. Yanqing watched on curiously. He had seen this spectacle several times, but you seemed… Tired, to him. Less eager to smack the general. Though as soon as his thoughts started to wander, a resounding smack of skin on skin drew his light topaz colored eyes to the source.

Jing Yuan rubbed the back of his head, a relaxed and even amused smile on his face as he regarded you. Meanwhile, you frowned at him disapprovingly. It looked like a lion being scolded by a very unhappy sparrow. It was comical to any passerby, if it weren't for said lion being the General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

“Jing Yuan, how many times are you going to slack off?” You scolded him, expression softening. Ah, you could never stay mad at him. Those sincere honey eyes of his made you weak to your knees. Keeping the flower petals at bay, you simply crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Well my dear (Name)... If I didn't slack off, I wouldn't get a chance to see you everyday.” His deep voice said this with velvety smoothness as he chuckled and smiled at you fondly. “You know how boring it is to do paperwork everyday. What if I want to see my favorite-”

You flicked his forehead and sighed through your nose. His words caused the roots of the flowers in your lungs to tighten and contract. It hurt to hear those words from him. You almost wished he would stop saying such things. And to stop looking at you with such softness. Every action and look from the cloud-haired man fueled the slow agony you suffered.

“Seat of Foresight. Now.” You crossed your arm tighter as he sighed heavily and stood.

“Anything for you, little sparrow.”

The weeks passed on uneventfully, and your routine stayed the same. You coughed up those dreaded carnations, rouge color matching that of your blood. Then tiredly, you would drag Jing Yuan back to his office to fulfill his duties before going about your own day. It was troublesome at times, but it was comfortable. Admittedly, you enjoyed what little time you had with the general. After you retired from the frontlines, you gradually saw Jing Yuan less and less. This was one of the few ways you could see him still, without seeming a bother.

More weeks passed, and you seemed to grow weaker and weaker as the deep red carnations started to bloom. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to tell anyone of your predicament. Of your beautifully cruel disease, as it destroyed you quietly. The flowers came heavily now, blooming delicately in full.

One fairy night in summer, a knock on the door sounded softly. You weren't surprised. In fact, you had expected this to happen. You see, as your condition worsened, you distanced yourself. No longer, did you go to rouse the general from his slumber. No longer did you go to the Seat of Divine Foresight at the request of Jing Yuan, only to end up playing a game of starchess with him. Honestly, you had expected him to come sooner. You opened your front door, revealing the tall man. His golden eyes looked down at you, screaming their worry despite the calm smile on his face.

“Jing Yuan.” You spoke softly, acknowledging him.

“Little Sparrow.” He acknowledged you back, dipping his head toward you.

A silence ensued as you both stood there, gazing at one another. The sun had started to die in its grave in the sky, giving way to a plum sunset. And yet, nothing was said. Eventually, when the plum shades faded into inky indigo, Jing Yuan spoke. His tone was calm, with undertones of hope.

“Will you be there to scold me tomorrow?” It was a silly question that made laughter bubble up in your throat. The petals accompanied it, however. Fighting them back, you managed to crack a smile at the general.

“I'll be there.” His smile widened and his eyes melted into pools of honey, uncontrollably fond.

“Then I shall look forward to tomorrow. Until then, Little Sparrow.”

You sobbed softly to yourself that night as the stars made their nightly travel across the dark expanses of space.

Lady Bailu frowned at you deeply, anger and sorrow pooling in her eyes. Looking ready to cry, she turned away and sniffled violently. The Vidyadhara healer had just examined your condition, and her conclusion was not a favorable one. Fists clenched, she turned back to you.

“You're going to die very soon, (Name). If you don't do something. The carnations are in full bloom.. At this rate you'll suffocate on them and-.” The tears started to slide down her cheeks as she glared up at you. Your only response was a sorrowful smile.

“I'm a coward, Lady Bailu. I could never burden Jing Yuan.” You sighed.

“Then let me treat them. Let me get rid of them for you-” You cut her off, shaking your head gently.

“And lose the ability to love? To be considered alive?” Bailu could not fight against you. Instead, Bailu sobbed into your shoulder, gripping you tightly as you bent down and gently hugged her small, quivering form. You would miss her. Miss Yanqing. Aeons, you'd even miss Fu Xuan and her nagging. And Jing Yuan and his lazing about.

The following days, you spent packing your things into boxes and labeled them with names of the ones you wanted them to go to. Your precious sword collection would go to Yanqing of course. Qingque got your prized mahjong board made from the finest jade. And Jing Yuan received the first tea set you ever got. It had been a gift from the man himself. A retirement gift, as he would have put it. You knew he'd take good care of it. Saying goodbye to these things were bittersweet. But, you couldn't bring yourself to bear your soul to Jing Yuan. And you couldn't undergo Bailu’s treatment to rid yourself of these carnations in your lungs. All living things were built to love. Platonically or not. If you lost that feeling, could you even consider yourself ‘alive’, anymore? You sighed softly as you finished the last of the box. You were certain that they would be treasured and treated well. The last thing to do, was to pen the letters.

News of your death spread through the Xianzhou Luofu like wildfire. Many were in disbelief, while some mourned for you. Jing Yuan had been shocked by this, not wanting to believe it. His footsteps echoed on the pavement of your home’s walkway. No, he needed to see you. He needed to put the worries and fears in his mind to rest. You couldn't die. You were General (Name) (Last name), the Blade Singer. The one who slayed thousands of abhorrentions of abundance. There couldn't be a possibility you had died.

The air of your home was already going stale without your presence. Though it also carried the faintest wisps of your scent. Jing Yuan’s chest tightened with pain as he stared at the boxes with names. At the letters. At you, so still in your bed. Your eyes were shut peacefully as red carnations surrounded you, in full bloom. One could almost mistake you as simply sleeping. Bailu was at your side, sobbing, along with a Yanqing who clung onto your hand, head bowed as hot tears slid down his face and hit the floor with a dull thunk.

Your funeral was one lush with flowers, and held on a day as sunny as always. The summer fairy lights seemed to gather around your starskiff, adorned with different blooms, to send you off. A silent farewell. Jing Yuan watched with unsteady honey eyes. He had lost so much already. To the point where he assumed that losing would no longer hurt him. Alas, he had been wrong. Losing you, brought an indescribable hurt to him. Chest clenching painfully, Jing Yuan excused himself soon after your funeral.

Wandering aimlessly, the General found his feet taking him to the garden you had both met in when you were young. He had fallen asleep, and you were running away from your mentor. A wistful smile found its way onto Jing Yuan’s face before he slipped a letter out of his pocket. In your handwriting, his name was penned. Jing Yuan couldn't bring himself to open it before, scared that if he acknowledged your passing, you would truly disappear from this world. But now, steeped in an indigo peace, he found the courage to open the neatly sealed envelope.

It carried your scent and your presence in every line. Every brush stroke.

To you, who I loved;

This journey has been a strange blessing and curse. Though, I would rather not have had it at all. Unfortunately, it seems unrequited love has been my undoing. I'm sure Lady Bailu has filled you in on everything… And I would like to apologize for being such a coward.

I loved you, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. Perhaps it was my own fears that stopped me. I didn't want to burden you with my feelings. But I think most importantly, I didn't want to relearn the pain of losing someone I loved. We've lost so much, Yuan. I couldn't bear to lose you too. It was my own shortcoming. And it may be selfish and too late to say now, but...

I love you, Jing Yuan.

-(Name) (Last name)

Jing Yuan traced your penmanship with his fingertips. And a single hyacinth flower fluttered from his lips.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Timeless Affection - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 946

Summary: One's love for another does not fade after time, it only gets stronger and speaks for itself, does it not?

The dawn broke softly over the Bridgerton estate, casting a golden hue across the sprawling gardens.

Inside, the house was already abuzz with a secret flurry of activity.

Your children had been planning for weeks.

Today was your seventh wedding anniversary, and they wanted to make it a day to remember.

Eldest among them was 8-year-old James, whose responsible nature and knack for organization made him the natural leader of their clandestine operation.

Then there was 6-year-old Ella, creative and quick-witted, always ready with an idea to add a personal touch.

Finally, there was little Henry, 4 years old, who, despite his age, was determined to contribute meaningfully to the celebration.

James had woken up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of his room to finalize the arrangements in the garden.

They had planned a surprise picnic lunch, complete with a string quartet and a replica of your favorite flower garden.

Ella had insisted on recreating the garden, knowing how much you cherished it.

As James instructed the staff and made sure everything was in place, Ella was inside the house, ensuring you both remained unaware.

Henry was tasked with creating distraction after distraction.

His mischievous grin betrayed his excitement as he plotted the morning’s diversions.

Their first challenge was getting you out of the house without arousing suspicion.

Ella and Henry had enlisted the help of their Bridgerton aunts and uncles, knowing that if anyone could provide a seamless distraction, it was them.

The Bridgerton siblings were experts at orchestrating family chaos when needed.

In the grand living room, you sat with a cup of tea, savoring the quiet moment before the day began in earnest.

Benedict was reading a newspaper beside you, a contented smile playing on his lips.

Your anniversary had always been a private affair, celebrated with close family and simple joys.

“Good morning, Mother! Good morning, Father!” Ella burst into the room, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Good morning, darling,” you replied, setting your cup down. “You seem very energetic today.”

“Well, it is a special day, after all,” Ella said, her smile widening. “Uncle Colin and Aunt Eloise are here, and they have something they want to show you in town.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, looking at you. “Colin and Eloise? Up to something? This should be interesting.”

You laughed. “They’re always up to something. It’s part of their charm.”

Within minutes, Colin and Eloise appeared, their enthusiasm barely contained.

“Happy anniversary!” Colin declared, enveloping you in a hug. “We have a little adventure planned for you both. No questions, just trust us.”

Eloise nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s a beautiful day, and we thought you might enjoy a little outing.”

Benedict looked at you, curiosity piqued. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” you agreed, your eyes twinkling with anticipation.

As you both left the house with Colin and Eloise, James breathed a sigh of relief. “Step one complete,” he muttered to himself, before heading back to the garden to oversee the final preparations.

Colin and Eloise led Benedict and you through the bustling streets of London, engaging you in lively conversation to keep your curiosity at bay.

You visited a quaint bookshop you loved, followed by a stroll through Hyde Park, and finally, a charming little café where you enjoyed a light brunch.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the Bridgerton children, along with their aunts and uncles, worked tirelessly.

Anthony, the eldest Bridgerton sibling, had taken charge of organizing the string quartet, ensuring they played the your favorite melodies.

Daphne and Francesca arranged the flowers, transforming the garden into a breathtaking oasis.

By midday, the preparations were complete.

The garden was a vision of elegance and beauty, with delicate floral arrangements, a picturesque picnic setup, and the string quartet ready to serenade you.

James, Ella, and Henry gathered in the foyer, waiting for the signal from their uncles.

The plan was to bring you both back home just in time for the surprise lunch.

James felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

He wanted everything to be perfect.

Finally, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel announced the return of Colin and Eloise, with Benedict and you in tow.

The children exchanged excited glances.

“Ready?” James asked his siblings.

“Ready!” Ella and Henry chorused.

As you entered the house, you were met with a curious silence.

The children led you through the hallways, which had been decorated with garlands of flowers, each step building anticipation.

When you stepped into the garden, you gasped. “Oh, my goodness…”

The sight before you was nothing short of magical.

The garden was transformed into a paradise of blooms, your favorite songs floating through the air.

A beautifully arranged picnic awaited for you, complete with all your favorite foods.

“Surprise!” the children shouted in unison, their faces beaming with pride.

Benedict looked around, taking in the sight of his siblings and children working together.

“This is incredible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve outdone yourselves.”

Your eyes glistened with tears of joy. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

As the family settled down to enjoy the picnic, Benedict and you marveled at the efforts your children and family had gone to.

The day was filled with laughter, stories, and the kind of warmth that only family could bring.

As the afternoon sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the garden, you leaned into Benedict.

“Seven years,” you said softly. “And it feels like just yesterday.”

He kissed your forehead. “Here’s to many more, my love.”

The string quartet played on, the flowers swayed gently in the breeze, and you celebrated not just an anniversary, but the enduring love and togetherness that defined you.

[travelingthief]

Lord Apollo Devotional Post

Divination

Tarot/Oracle decks

Pendulums

Rune stones

Charm casting supplies

Crystal balls

Scrying bowls

All divination tools

Cookie fortunes

Tea leaves

Art

Paint brushes/paints

Canvases

Colored pencils/markers/crayons

Collages

Journals

Art books

Art prints

Anything you made

Sculptures 

Zines

Stickers

Any art supplies

Music

Music boxes

Records/CDs/Cassettes

Record players/radios/MP3 etc.

Headphones

Music posters

Band merch

Instruments/String instruments

Dance shoes

Concert tickets

CD book holders

Sun and Light

Sun imagery

Sunscreen

Aloe for sunburns

Golden objects

Matches

Candles

Sunflowers/sunflower seeds

Health and Healing

First aid kits

Medicine

Pain relievers

Band-aids

Ice/heat packs

Rice socks 

Masks

Aloe

Ambulance toy cars

Adaptive aids

Archery 

Darts

Bow and arrows

Arrow quiver

Dart board

Targets 

Bullseye 

Myth Related

Snake skins

Snake imagery (Python)

Laurels

Bay leaves (Daphne)

Palm trees (Birth myth)

Ravens/Crows 

Crow feathers (Why the crow is black)

Cattle/turtles (Hermes birth myth)

Swans (Pulled His chariot)

Hyacinths (Hyacinthus)

Locks of hair 

Food

Vanilla

Honey

Sunny D

Lemons/lemon juice

Oranges/orange juice

Citrus

Water

Devotional Acts

Health

Take your meds

Go to therapy

Exercise

Wear a mask (We are still in a pandemic y’all)

Get vaccinated

Get STI tested

Self care

Learn first aid/CPR

Keep a first aid kit at home/in your car

Learn about alternative medicine

Advocate for accessible healthcare

Advocate for disability rights

Volunteer at a hospital

Give blood/plasma

Volunteer at a retirement home

Learn about anatomy/biology/nutrition

Learn about health conditions/rare disorders

Eat healthy for your body

Help fund surgeries if you can

Trip sit for someone

Listen to your body

Sunlight

Sunbathe

Wear sunscreen

Start a garden

Make sun water

Open all the windows on a sunny day

Music

Go to a concert/show

Listen to music

Make a playlist for someone you love

Make a playlist for Apollo

Learn an instrument/play and instrument

Dance

Sing

Support local bands

Explore new music

Burn CDs

Divination/Prophecy

Daily tarot card/rune stones

Make an oracle deck

Give divination readings

Shadow work

Colormancy

Art

Make something

Draw/paint/craft

Write a poem/story

Color

Make a zine

Go see a play

Get a tattoo

Archery

Throw darts

Use a slingshot

Take up archery

Go to a shooting range

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

-

“Return to me quickly,” Graysen told her that morning, wrapping a wool cloak around her shoulders. “Return to me human.”

“And…” Elain’s bottom lip trembled as she swallowed her fear, “And if I don’t?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he replied, clearly convinced this was going to work. Elain, though…she was uneasy as she set out. She left in the dead of night to cross back over into Prythian. The closer she got, the more her magic stirred in her chest, crowding against the edges of her vision. 

She shoved it down. It wasn’t natural, she reminded herself. Wrong. She wasn’t faerie, she was simply a human trapped in faerie skin. Like the old stories where faerie magic could trap a child if they weren’t careful or a bargain was worded poorly. She simply needed to break the spell.

True love wasn’t enough, though in the stories it always was. Elain found herself frustrated when she couldn’t keep the magic at bay, her knees sinking to the snow as she crossed the border into Prythian.

Her visions had always been chaotic and half-formed. Disjointed, she supposed. With her forehead pressed to the cold ground, Elain groaned, trying—and failing—to banish what now burst brightly behind her eyes. 

Autumn leaves burning, smoke curling like shadow toward a darkened sky. A ruined, burnished crown clattering to white marble floors. Spring blooms bursting through the ground, the petals opening as rain cascaded from the sky. A night sky, alive with vivid lights dancing across an otherwise empty space. 

Elain gasped. “I hate you,” she whispered, unclear if she was talking to herself or the powers that coursed through her. She’d clenched her jaw so tightly she tasted the coppery tang of blood and her fingers had curled into the frozen ground, causing several of her nails to break. 

It was fine, she told herself, though in truth it wasn’t. Blood oozed over one of her nail beds, dripping three bright red spots over the stained, gray snow still gathered beneath a shady spot. It reminded her of gardening, a hobby she’d promised to give up once she was married. Graysen said he didn’t want a wife with dirt under her nails.

Back before the cauldron, she’d hoped to reason with him. Now, though, it seemed a fair compromise. He’d get an immortal wife that would almost certainly cause them to be shunned from society. And besides, she’d still have a say in the grounds. She could design it, plan it…just not execute her vision.

Graysen expected her to journey on foot to Night Court where she’d board a ship. No human ship would take her toward the faerie held territories, which meant Elain had to make her way back to the one place she’d hoped to never step foot again. It meant using more of the magic she hated. Feyre had once tried to show her and Nesta how to winnow. Nesta had refused the lesson outright but Elain, afraid she’d lose the last place she could stay if she refused, did the lessons. 

Screwing up her face, nose wrinkled, Elain called on the well of magic bubbling in her stomach. It made her want to vomit when she felt the edges of the world press in on her, constricting her breath. It was only a moment, dumping her just on the outskirt of Velaris, but enough to elicit a soft sob from her throat.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was unfair. 

Elain wanted to rage at the few people lumbering down the street, awake despite the glittering stars overhead. Didn’t anyone care? It was as if nothing had happened. She knew they all wanted her to just get over it. Was that what Feyre had done when she’d turned? Elain wracked her brain for the memory of how Feyre became fae, but it eluded her. Elain simply didn’t care how Feyre had handled the loss of her humanity.

Feyre had likely celebrated, Elain concluded as she marched her way down the sloping road to the harbor. She’d probably been overjoyed to shed her old skin and take up the mantle of power and beauty. It suited Feyre so well, which only angered Elain more. Where was Feyre’s grief? The years of life stripped away in favor of binding her to a man she barely knew and was so old, he’d participated in the first war against the humans? 

Elain’s fingers curled to fists, feet stomping on the cobblestone. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t see the figure overing at the waters edge where stone met wood.

“Going somewhere?”

That voice clanged through her, bringing with it a veritable rising tide of emotions. Yearning. Hatred. Desire. Loathing. Elain whirled just as Lucien Vanserra, Seventh Son of Autumn, lowered the hood of his cloak. His expression was cool, arms crossed over his chest and legs spread a shoulders width apart.

She tried to shove wordlessly past him, but he used his body to block her.

“Move,” she ordered.

He didn’t.

“Turn around and go home,” he said instead, nodding his head in the direction behind her.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she whispered, her body trembling as she faced him. The wind dragged the soft, masculine scent of him directly to her and every inhuman part of her wanted him.

Elain had never hated herself more. Shame welled up in her—this was a betrayal to her engagement, to the man she’d left behind. She wasn’t supposed to want someone else. 

Lucien cocked his head, oblivious to the slant of her thoughts. Was this his poor attempt at flirting? Or worse, had he somehow known she was coming and intended to drag her off until she was so beaten down she agreed to whatever nefarious plans he had? 

“Let me guess…you think you can make a bargain with a death god in exchange for your humanity?” he whispered, banishing Elain’s shame in favor of pure, undiluted fear.

“How—no—he’s not…he’s a—”

“There is no such thing as benevolence in this land, Elain,” Lucien ground out, looking as if he hated her. Perhaps he did, though that bothered her, too. He wasn’t allowed to hate her—only she could hate him. 

“You don’t know everything—”

“And you don’t know anything,” he shot back, his contempt dripping from his words. “You’re a child fumbling about in the dark, content to damn us all if she can live out a fantasy—”

Elain slapped him. She hadn’t even thought about it. Her outrage had simply consumed her and she’d decided to hit him a split second before she did. Lucien staggered back a step, his fingers grazing his cheek as that golden eye held her wholly in place.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You are nobody. You have no home, your family hates you, and your friends would discard you the moment you’re no longer useful to them. Don’t presume you can stand there like an authority and speak down to me.”

Lucien’s brown cheeks went ashen at her words. 

“You might be right,” he told her, drawing himself to his full height. He was tall, she realized. And fae. Unlike Feyre’s mate and his friends, with their short hair and rounded ears, Lucien looked so very faerie with that magical eye and his long, auburn hair half braided off a face that had once been handsome before he’d ruined it. 

“Get out of my way—”

“I may be all the things you say, Elain, but at least I am not so spoiled, so selfish that I’d risk the lives of everyone so I might be happy.”

“Why shouldn’t I be allowed to be happy? I’ve never been given a choice—”

“You’re exercising your choice right now!” he shot back, his voice drowning hers out. “No one stopped you from hiding away with a human. One bad thing happened to you, and now you think you’re owed far more than you’ve ever given.”

“You don’t know me,” she whispered.”

“I don’t want to know you,” he replied, his own voice shaking. “Elain, from Feyre’s stories. Too spoiled and self-absorbed to care if her sister was starving, too. If she was safe, if she was happy, if she had anything comforting. She did one helpful thing once, and thinks it makes her some kind of saint.”

Elain could feel the tears gathering in her eyes. “You let Feyre die.”

“You did so first. I heard, when Tamlin came to collect her, that you hid behind your father and your sister. When a faerie general demanded I tell her Feyre’s name, I kneeled silently and let her torture me. I saved her life in the first trial. You let a faerie take her in the night. Don’t mistake us as equals, Elain.”

“We had no choice—”

“How very convenient,” he sneered. “Is that you have no choice, or you simply refuse to acknowledge your own agency?”

“This is why you remain alone, you know,” she said, wanting to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. She wanted to scar Lucien emotionally for daring to say the things she only ever privately thought. “And you can defend Feyre all you like, but if I went to her and showed her what you said, she would never forgive you.”

“I don’t care. Give me the ticket.” He held out his hand.

“I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead. Scream as loud as you like. Let the authorities come and take us both before Rhysand.”

Elain’s stomach bottomed out. “Please—”

“Give me the ticket.”

“You don’t understand—”

“The ticket—”

“I love him!” she cried, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilling like a dam. “Can’t you understand that? Or are you so cold you’ve never once experienced love. I will be careful how I word it, I’ll—”

“He’s a death god,” Luicen repeated, a strange, almost sad look crossing over his features before they hardened back into ice. “He’s not required to honor his bargains and you are not clever enough to beat him on your own.”

A horrible, cruel idea was forming in her head. “Come with me, then—”

“No.”

Lucien spoke the word flatly, devoid of all the hatred that had spilled from him before. Now there was simply nothing, as if his soul had left his body and all that remained was a creature that could do nothing but deny her passage. 

“He could break the bond.”

“Nothing can break the bond,” Lucien informed her in that same, soulless voice. “The Mother made it, and only she could unmake it. Just as nothing can unmake you—your human form is gone, burned away by death. If you beg the death god to free you of your faerie form, there will be nothing left of you but ash.”

“How do you know?” she demanded, wanting him to yell at her again. Anything but whatever this was. 

“I was there,” he whispered, shadow flickering over his russet eye. “He is a god, bound to the land as punishment for a crime lost to time. It wasn’t written down because we had no language, were still creatures running on four legs. Humans were mere thoughts, beasts more accustomed to the seas than to land. To think you could outsmart him is folly and foolishness. Turn around and go back to your home, Elain. Put this idea out of your mind.”

“I promised,” she half wailed, despair replacing her anger. “If I go back—”

Lucien cocked his head, some of that fire flickering back to life. “Yes?”

She pulled the ticket from her pocket and slammed it roughly into his chest. He didn’t move, fingers brushing hers as he took it before it fluttered between them.

“Even if he didn’t want me, I would never want you.”

His lip curled over his teeth. “How very fortunate for me.”

She knew it was a lie. Feyre had told her the men felt the mating bond far more strongly than women, and rejecting it often made them insane. It was tempting to break the bond right then and there and prove Lucien right. He’d accused her of being spoiled and selfish, caring only about herself. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe she was vindictive, too.

But Elain was suddenly tired and a little afraid. Anxious, too, that Graysen was going to change his mind when she told him there was no bargain to be made. Suddenly Lucien didn’t matter. The fight had simply gone out of her, blinked out like the stars overhead. The sky, once inky black, had lightened to a pale violet. At any moment, the sun would fully break and the world would see her for what she was.

And she was terrified Lucien was right about her. Every accusation he’d made against her was true. She hadn’t cared, though she had known Feyre was allowing herself to be the martyr if she and Nesta were happy.

And she had hidden, hadn’t thought even once to suggest herself in place of Feyre. She’d just wanted that creature to leave, and if that meant Feyre had to leave with him, well, so be it. Knowing that Feyre had told him that, when Feyre had only ever told her such kind things about Lucien, brought back more of the shame from before. 

“None of this would have happened if you’d stood up to your High Lord,” Elain whispered, holding his gaze. Lucien’s mouth went slack and right then, she knew she’d wounded him just as thoroughly as he’d wounded her. “I may be spoiled, but you're a coward. You did this to me. I will never forgive you for it.”

She turned, then, needing to get far, far away. Elain only dared to look over her shoulder once, but Lucien was gone. Had he ever been there? The ticket was gone from her pocket, but all that remained was the tell-tale racing of her heart. She didn’t know what to do with herself, but she knew she couldn’t stay in Prythian. Feyre would learn she’d been here, if Lucien hadn’t already raced off to tattle on her.

Elain winnowed again, dumping herself with a sob on the border between Spring and the wall. Curling her knees against her chest, fingers balled into fists and pressed against her chest, she sobbed like a wounded animal. It was unfair. Nothing was as it should be. Was it selfish to simply want? Spoiled to hope for something? 

She hadn’t thrust them into poverty.

She hadn’t done anything. Lucien didn’t know anything. He was living his same life, marred only by her presence. She doubted he’d been thrilled to learn they were mates and now he was punishing her for it. Elain decided to discard his words, wiping her eyes on the edge of her sleeve. 

Elain couldn’t go back that night. She needed Graysen to believe she’d at least tried. Instead, once she felt like she could walk away, Elain stumbled through the familiar woods of the village she’d once resided in for the cottage that now rotted on the very edge. The door had been replaced, propped up to keep animals out. 

Elain stepped inside, shivering violently at the memories that came flooding back. She’d been happy here, somehow. No one else had been—Feyre and Nesta would rather have died than return. But Elain remembered how they used to sleep in that too-soft bed, jostling for blankets and space when it got cold. 

She remembered how she’d curl up around Nesta, who seemed to radiate warmth even when she was bone thin and hungry, or how, when Feyre had gotten sick, she’d slept on her back so Feyre could rest her head against Elain’s shoulder. Her younger sister had still sucked her thumb back then, whimpering softly for their mother who’d been dead for years.

Before, in the giant estate, Nesta had been consumed by her lessons and Feyre had taken to all but living in the trees, wilder than an animal. Elain had felt so isolated, trying—and often failing—to find friends that filled the gnawing void in her chest. Those friends had vanished along with the wealth, but Feyre and Nesta had remained.

They’d been her only friends for years and Elain had clung to it, in her way. Perhaps she’d done it badly, selfishly. Perhaps it was spoiled to wish nothing had ever changed. Maybe Lucien was right about her, but that didn’t mean he understood why. He didn’t know her at all, only what he believed because she hadn’t fallen into his arms.

Maybe she was spoiled and selfish, but at least she wasn’t mean. She wasn’t bitter. Lucien could only see the ugliness but standing in that cottage, Elain could still see the beauty of it all. The hope, the joy, the love. And maybe she was simply more human than she wasn’t. Humans were all the things he’d spat at her. Was she supposed to be ashamed?

Elain sighed, making her way to that one room where the bed remained. The window was still in tact, keeping the elements away. Everything looked exactly as it had been, though somehow less bright. In her memory it was all so beautiful, but here in the early morning light, it was dull. Empty.

Ordinary.

There was nothing special about any of it. For some reason, that was the biggest disappointment of the day. Elain sat on the edge of the bed, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled in her lap like fallen stars. She decided to stay for the night before trudging back to Gray and hoping he understood why she couldn’t go.

More than anything, Elain was terrified he was going to change his mind once he realized the only life available to them was one of tragedy. She wouldn’t age—but he would. They’d likely never have kids given how difficult it was for the fae to conceive. He’d be shunned from society for his choice, forced to live as an outsider.

She almost didn’t blame him if he decided she wasn’t worth the hassle.

But to Elain, it was worth it. Even if it meant watching him grow old and die—at least they’d have the time together. 

Elain ate from the rations in her little bag before curling up on the bed. It was too early to sleep, but with nothing else to do, she drifted in and out. When she couldn’t, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to banish Lucien’s voice from her head. He had no right, she decided, to say those things about her.

To her.

Night was worse—the wind howled, rattling the thin glass in the rotting wooden frame. Animals clawed at the structure before the world fell eerily silent. She supposed it was like that—the darkness was at its zenith, scaring even the wind itself. It didn’t stop her from feeling as if she was being watched. 

The dawn broke, bringing with it the realization that she’d made her choice, had burned all the bridges she might one day need to return. There was nowhere to go but back home. Elain set out, bones aching from her restless sleep, mind racing with all the possibilities of what might be waiting for her. 

It was nearly noon by the time she reached the fortress. The doors were opened to her immediately, and the sentry waiting just inside greeted her with a nervous smile. The staff was growing accustomed to her presence, their wariness often replaced with a pitying smile. It was better, she supposed, though Elain wasn’t certain she wanted to spend the rest of her life being pitied, either.

Graysen was up, dressed in his fine breeches and a rather nice blue and black jacket. He paused in the stone hall when he saw her, shadows half obscuring his face. “You’re back,” he exclaimed, eyes falling on her pointed ears. “You’re back early.”

“I can’t go,” she whispered, deciding she would just lie. She’d intended to tell him the truth, but fear gripped her heart. “When the captain learned, he…he said it was an ill omen to travel to a death god—”

“Not a death god,” Graysen interrupted, but Elain knew Lucien was right. Damn him all the same, but he was right.

“Yes, Gray. A death god,” she repeated gently. “He turned me away.”

“Then we’ll lie—”

“They can read minds, remember?” she said, telling yet another lie. He didn’t know it wasn't entirely true, though. Graysen’s face fell as he walked to her, skimming his fingers over her arms.

“What happened to you is an injustice. Is there no recourse, then? They’re just allowed to harm you and I have to sit here and make my peace with it?”

His concern was a balm for her wounded feelings. “I’m alive, at least.”

“That you are,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Still, there was a tightness to his features she didn’t like. He’d been too hopeful and now they were dashed, ruined and wilted. 

“Are you reconsidering?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “We will continue with the wedding.”

Elain sighed, relief replacing the heavy weight of fear. She could still have the life she wanted. 

And maybe, someday, she’d find something to restore her humanity.

Lucien Vanserra be damned.

[starrysvn]

angel | park seonghwa

pairing: fem!reader x non idol!park seonghwa

genre: soulmate au

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of food, fluff

playlist: inception - ateez, francesca - hozier, unknown/nth - hozier

networks: @cromernet

author’s note: happiest birthday to my lovely star bai @hwaightme , i love you more than words can say <3 i hope today has been filled with nothing but happiness and laughter and love. thank you for being a precious friend and my partner in delulu. ilysm, sending the biggest warmest hugs <33333 please enjoy this delulu frankenstein

masterlist | navi

“Are you quite sure we should be doing this?” 

The night was drawing to an end, and so was your wit. You could no longer stand to be in the suffocating ballroom, the amount of people spinning around was making you dizzy to the point of nausea. That was when he offered you a way out, seeing you struggle to maintain composure while sitting all alone.

“Absolutely not,” you heard the smirk in his voice while he led you out to the garden, sure you were following after him.

“How irresponsible of you to draw a young lady away to a dark secluded corner of a garden,” he laughed. “Should I be fearing for my life?”

When he stopped walking you almost ran into him, looking around to see you standing in the heart of the English Garden of the palace. During the night it was almost dreadful, as opposed to its beauty in the daytime, if it weren’t for the few scattered lights. 

“Not at all,” he turned, but you couldn’t see his face. The thought confused you only for a second, for you knew this man. You trusted him with your life. He reached for your hand, holding it in his warmer one. “Not long, now.”

“Not long,” you whispered back, your surroundings slowly fading as he pressed his lips to yours. 

Sometimes it was more than just a dream, you could feel it in your bones. It lingered during the day, the unshakable conviction that it was all true. That it had been true. It could not have been just your mind making up the ballroom dancing, whispered poems and a soft piano echoing during a sunny afternoon. So you wrote it all down in letters you kept under your bed. Most times the dreams had already escaped your memory, so all there was were jumbled thoughts scribbled quickly before even those could fade away. Other times, you woke up in the middle of the night, so convinced you were still there, still surrounded by warmth and love you never dared imagine could exist. Your hand blindly reached for the notebook you kept on your nightstand, chasing after the vivid imagery in your head. 

The words you kept closer to your heart were the ones he whispered one night, you could hear vivid chatter from somewhere far away and the evening breeze making goosebumps erupt on your skin. But he was there, standing tall and faceless beside you, his hand guiding yours to his lips. 

“Farewell, my angel,” he had whispered against your knuckles before you woke up. 

In shades of dark and moonlight, you waited for the distinct feeling of the lingering feather-like kiss to vanish, both hoping it would and wishing it wouldn’t. Alone in your bed you hesitated to turn and reach for the notebook like you usually would; you had the feeling you could never forget the way his voice spoke the words that made every hair stand on ends. 

And you never did, for each night you would be in his company in dreamland and, each night, he would call you his angel. He showed you a world of colors, of hushed whispers in the dark, a warm murmur by your ear as he enveloped you in his arms. It was all you ever wished to hear in the daylight rather than just inside your head. 

It was another day waking up itching to know more, wanting to know if you were going insane or if this was the twisted way in which fate had decided to assign you your soulmate. All you had ever had were dreams that made no sense, yet gave you hope. Even when you did not know where to start, if to even dare at all.

There was little you could do, really, except live in a dream. Because even as you made your way down a busy street, en route to work, chopped away whatever you needed for lunch or dinner, every other thought was stuck on him. This illusion of a perfect man who faded as moonlight gave way to another day. Sometimes it felt so real that it was hard to discern from reality itself. The phantom brush of a hand, the faint memory of a scribbled note, of his contagious laughter. It was as if you could hear them, as if they refused to go and stay where they belonged. 

But you couldn’t live in a dream, could you? You could hold out for however long it took, but you could not give up life in the meantime. 

“I swear, just trust me!” Your colleague would not give up. The constant nagging had become almost unbearable, so much so that it made you want to give in. “One date and if it sucks, I’ll leave you alone forever, I pinky promise.”

The copier rapidly dished out the papers you needed to bring back to your desk, giving you the perfect excuse not to look up at San. You sighed, he had been on a mission to get you to go out with this guy for a while now. He swore up and down that you two were destined, but you usually were able to dissuade your colleague pretty fast. Not today, it seemed. 

“Listen,” busying yourself counting the copies, you won another few short seconds before the time came to face San’s begging eyes. “Just one coffee?” 

“Please, please, believe me you guys would be perfect togeth- hold up,” smile opening up on his lips, eyes shiny and wide, San almost did a double take. “Are you saying yes?”

Sighing again, you fiddled with the top corner of your papers - that you were now hugging to your chest - before nodding. 

“One date,” you agreed, holding up your pointer finger right in front of his face. “And you have to stay near in case he’s weird and I need to escape.”

Proud of the conditions you laid down, you watched as San furiously nodded along, albeit a little offended that you’d think I’d set you up with some random weirdo. Thus, he ran back to his desk, murmuring about texting his friend. You let out one last sigh before returning to your station, too. 

You hoped you’d made the right choice. 

The first hints of autumn were making themselves known, a cooler breeze than usual surprising you as it caressed your face upon walking out the glass doors, the sun already on its way to set. You hid your face a little further into the scarf around your neck, walking out of your workplace beside San. 

It had been a week since you gave into his pleading and he’d been very secretive about the infamous date. You were starting to worry. Maybe his friend had said no? Or was he planning something elaborate? Was he not saying anything because, really, this friend of his truly was just some weirdo?

You were pulled out of your thoughts by San himself, catching him wave and say something along the lines of there he is. He quickly found your elbow, gently hitting it with his, snapping you back to reality. You barely caught any detail of the man walking towards the two of you.

“Alright, that is the friend I was telling you about,” your head snapped into San’s direction, eyes wide as saucers. “Looks like you’re going on a date.” 

Your friend was smiling his Cheshire grin, making you want to wipe it clean off his face.

“Choi San, this is an ambush!” You yelped, alarmed by his quiet giggling and eyebrow wiggling. “High treason even, could you not warn me at least-”

“Hi.”

Stood there, wrapped in a warm looking coat, was quite possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. His smile was timid but friendly and his eyes were just as bright and warm, reflecting the lights from the lamppost. A few strands of wavy, chocolate hair fell delicately just above them.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys now, have fun!” 

Oh, you were going to kill San.

“Hi,” you greeted, eyes leaving the retreating figure of your friend to focus back on the man in front of you. 

“I’m Seonghwa, San’s friend,” he smiled again, melting your heart a little just by the sound of his voice. “It’s nice to meet you and I apologize for the suddenness of this all… it appears he didn’t need help with document boxes after all.”

“He sure didn’t,” you tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice, for it was San’s brilliant planning that landed you here, not his friend’s. So, you introduced yourself as well, suggesting to go to your favorite cafè just around the corner and trying to take the surprise blind date in stride. 

“It’s the only place I could think of,” you said, almost apologetic as you sat down. Truth was, the little hole in the wall cafè was special to you. It housed memories of tranquil mornings where you got there early enough to sit down for a coffee before work, joyous lunches with friends to celebrate achievements, quiet afternoons spent in the company of your favorite books. Your feet had taken you here on auto-pilot. 

“It’s lovely,” his smile could melt snow, you figured right then and there, after he’d looked around with curious eyes to the unique decor and shelves of literature, poems and papers.

Seonghwa was just as San had described him, after all. He made sure to open the door for you as you entered the cafè, he asked your order so he could go up to the register while you found a table you liked and even offered to pay. He was charming and a great listener, and he had managed to make you laugh until tears pooled in your eyes. It was so warm to be around him, easy to talk to as if you’d known him your whole life, almost as perfect as two puzzle pieces fitting together. 

When it was time to leave you almost didn’t want to. You wanted to stay there with him and keep talking, keep sharing your interests and favorites, exist inside the cozy bubble that had formed around you two. So, with the promise of another date and Seonghwa insisting to at least walk you to the nearest bus stop, you went home. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, taking you by surprise when he dipped down to land a kiss on your cheek before you could get on the bus. It stayed with you, making you feel like a teenager all over again. 

You went through the motions of preparing dinner and getting ready for bed as if floating on a cloud, barely believing you had it in you to feel so light. And if, while laying down on your bed with the lights off, you had felt so full of hope for something good, happiness and giddiness enough to make you giggle to yourself, then you woke up the following morning as empty as ever. A foreign hollow in your chest, that you had trouble identifying, was steadily painting everything gray, from the breakfast you made to the commute home. It was only then, sitting on the bus staring out to the traffic, that you realized you hadn’t dreamt of him that night. For the first night ever, you weren’t chasing after his fading figure. 

Each night you went to bed hoping to hear his voice and see on which adventure sleep would take you. Then, each morning you woke up well rested and clear-headed: no more piecing together the fragments of dreams you couldn’t remember, no more trying hard to see the face of the man that made you feel loved. Months of empty nights went by until, with time, you even forgot to remember him unless you stumbled upon your notebook. 

“You seem quiet today,” Seonghwa piped up, still browsing through the vinyls in front of him. 

“I was just thinking,” you shrugged, making your way over to him and taking his hand in yours. His smile, soft and contagious, made your heart flutter. Still focused on his search, now led with one hand only, he intertwined your fingers. It was at times like these, when he would kiss the back of your hand, that you wondered.  

“About what?” 

Finally, he looked at you, eyes bright and welcoming and saying what his words hid: you can tell me anything. You just shook your head, smiling back at him, shrugging as if the wandering thought didn’t lie heavy on your head whenever it knocked on the doors of your consciousness. 

“Alright, then, I have a surprise for you,” he pulled you away from the vinyl stand, almost as giddy as you felt, and into the busier paths of the market. Under string lights that festively shone, between the other passersby, it was easy to feel like you were the only two people in the world. That’s how Seonghwa made you feel; in his presence, living life was easier. If he was holding your hand, you were sure you could face any hurdles that may come. It was a feeling so real that you could almost taste it in his sweet kisses, his loving embrace, and no longer only dream of. 

As he dragged you - arm lazily thrown on your shoulders or hand on the small of your back if too many people forced you two to walk in line - remnant, persisting memories almost made you dizzy with deja vu. His hand squeezing yours to make sure you were still following, to tell you he was still there, his voice pointing out whatever caught his attention as you passed by, the wintry breeze and the cacophony of voices, laughs, faraway music surrounding you. 

“Here we are,” you almost bumped into his back when he stopped and stood facing the cafè that held the memory of your first date.

“It’s closed,” you pointed out, hearing his chuckle shortly after.

“Good thing I’ve got the keys,” he jingled them in the space between the two of you, a proud smile on his lips. You cocked your head to the side, brows furrowed. 

“You’ll see.” 

Seonghwa made quick work of opening up and leading you in, turning on the softer lights, leaving the sign on “closed”. As if on autopilot, you wandered around the room to the one table that had caught your eye. On it, laid few of your favorite pastries and pictures of you together, a colorful bouquet in the middle. 

“Seonghwa… what’s all this?” 

“Happy birthday,” his arms embraced you, bringing you to rest your back against his chest, holding you close. Speechless, you turned around in his hold, ready to speak but the words wouldn’t come. “I know you said you were working and were probably going to go home and do something on the weekend, but I didn’t want to just text you happy birthday and go about my day. Today is your day and you’re very special to me and I wanted to do something to wish you-”

You kissed him - interrupting his rambling and pulling him closer - gently like his arms were around your waist, warm like your cheeks and slow as if you had all the time in the world. 

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, hands still playing with soft strands of his hair. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” he pecked your lips once again before sliding away from you and pulling out the chair for you to sit. As he did, another confused memory swirled in your head. You pushed it away. Sitting in front of you, Seonghwa asked about your day and let you ramble on and on, so you asked about his, too. He left his hand out on the table for you to hold, so you did, not missing the way he quickly hid a smile after you intertwined your fingers. Whenever he was close to you, Seonghwa wondered if you could tell how furiously his heart was beating in his chest; be it by brushing your finger against his pulse or resting your head against it. 

When he deemed dinner over, he pulled out of its box a little cake and stuck a candle right in the middle of it for you to blow out - only after he’d sang happy birthday to you. Seonghwa found the way you covered your blushing cheeks with your hands the most adorable thing you could ever do. He seemed antsy, itching even, to give you your present, though. So you pushed the platter with your slice of cake aside. 

“You could’ve finished,” he pouted, making you laugh over the rustling of a paper bag.

“You looked like you were about to explode, Hwa,” you accepted his present, wrapped pristine and precise, insisting that he didn’t have to. He kept on saying he wanted to (and also, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?).

A smile so bright it rivaled the sun opened up on your lips, seeing the art cover of your favorite artist’s album peeking from the torn wrapping paper. 

“Is this why you were hogging the stand earlier?” You beamed at him, who sat with wide eyes hanging by your every word. You could tell his leg was bouncing. 

“I couldn’t have you buy it when I got it for you,” he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his you’d noticed, with a sheepish smile. You stood and, on the way to the record player of the shop, you kissed his cheek, murmuring a soft thank you. It was a look you wished to forever have engraved in your mind, the one he gave you when you offered him your hand to take, asking if you could have this dance. 

Seonghwa stood as if in a trance, nodding his head, only for you to guide him where less tables were. He pulled you close once again, slowly swaying to the beat of his fluttering heart or the music, he wasn’t sure. Time and time again he’d asked himself, in his time with you, how could he have been so lucky to meet you. To somehow hold your attention for long enough to make you see him, care for him. For you to want him to be this close to you. He hoped you’d allow him to be forever.

He twirled you around and waited for you to land back in his arms, feeling as dizzy as he often was when you found yourself there. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, cheek resting against his chest.

“Please, don’t thank me, my angel,” he whispered back, freezing time. 

The first time he’d called you angel, your heart had leapt from you. And yet, it wasn’t then and there, but back in your dreams. You didn’t know whether you were breathing still, all you knew was that when you looked up, Seonghwa was already searching for your eyes. 

“Say that again,” your voice was barely above a whisper, just as fragile as a piece of glass. 

“My angel,” his was too, broken by emotion and you had a feeling you knew just why. Seonghwa’s hands came to cup your cheeks, eyes drinking you in as if it were the first time. Perhaps it was, because you were looking at him like you finally found who you had been looking for. Like you could finally see the face that had populated your dreams. 

“It’s you,” it sounded crazy, absolutely mad to say something like that, but when he nodded back with unshed tears in his eyes, you knew. Seonghwa’s arms were quick to hug you to him once more, holding close like he never had before. Both your figures were shaken by sobs, but your hearts were being mended. Behind your eyelids, scenes of you through time played; all your dreams finally making sense as memories of past lives spent together, consumed by a love so fierce that it found you in every life. 

 “I can’t believe I found you again,” Seonghwa whispered as your sobs died down. He was still holding you, in the middle of the cafè while the music played, as if he were afraid you’d vanish. 

“I can,” you sniffled. “I dreamed of you for so long, I should’ve known…” 

“I thought I was going out of my mind,” his watery laugh pulled a chuckle out of you. “I longed for the day I’d see you again.”The record had gone quieter, maybe because there was only so little you could focus on when you finally were in the arms of your soulmate. There was no need for words, not now. Not when you could feel the love pouring out of your fingertips. Not when Seonghwa was placing kisses on the tears running down your cheeks, your temples, your forehead, your lips. Not when his whispered my angel made up for the time you’d spent apart. All this running around in circles every night, chasing after figments of what you thought could only be your imagination had finally brought him to you. You both laughed at destiny for making you dream for so long, secure in the newfound conviction that you’d be together no matter where it brought you.

[allthingsfern]

My 2023 Top 5

Since early May, 2022, when I fractured my right arm (the humerus, right under the shoulder joint), my health, my physical well being, has deteriorated at a fast pace because I stopped being active. Part of that was my not taking pictures because, especially for the first 2 months after the break, I could not lift my camera. Then, this year, my cataracts got worst and I had my right eye surgery in early November, with my left eye surgery rescheduled for next April. (My cataracts in my left eye are not as severe as they were on my right eye and before my surgery scheduled for this month, December, I got a bad case of bronchitis.) It has been a year of deterioration and adjustment and retrospection (in 10 years I will be 80 years old) and of doing photography. Not so much of making pictures, but certainly of continuing my learning my beloved art form and going back and reworking some of my old photos.

So, with all that said, here are my Top 5 for 2023 and why I chose them and what, in some way, they have to do with my explanation above. The first 3 were captured this year and the last 2 are finds from past photos that I overlooked and that the newer, more powerful masking tools in Camera Raw helped me shape into what I think are stunning images. I am getting good at doing the Ansel Adams style manipulations and am also enjoying the process.

Oy vey.

Circles and triangles and shadows, oh my II. Oakland, 01-28-23.

I went to Oakland, which is a city I love and think is sadly overlooked because of San Francisco's grandeur. Had a great time walking around for a couple of hours and got a few solid photos. What more can I ask for.

Portrait II. Davis, 03-20-23.

Had dinner with this young man and got a couple of photos. zTHis was my favorite; captured him at his most comfortable because he was reacting to a comment by his roommate. Not the sharpest image, but I love the sense of motion and his expression.

Roses IX; Municipal Rose Garden. San Jose, 05-14-23.

For my birthday I went down to San Jose and stayed a couple of days. On my birthday, I visited the San Jose Municipal Rose Garden and had a wonderful time capturing gorgeous roses and enjoying the park's festive Mother's Day atmosphere.

The beauty of decay Vintage trailer: Crockett, 10-01-17.

Kinda creepy/post-Apocalyptic/SteamPunk, this photo came to life once I started editing it in Camera Raw recently. The masking, dodge & burn tools are excellent and its tools for manipulating color also helped immensely even though this is a B&W photo.

COVID wanderings Outdoor seating? Pier 1. San Francisco, 09-07-20.

While walking around a deserted San Francisco Bay promenade on the Embarcadero, I was struck by the hard, graphic lines and sharp B&W light/shadows of this, which showed that even in the midst of a terrifying pandemic, there was beauty to be found every so often, in the most unexpected, mundane places.

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Linkon Subway: Line 11

Organization Name: Linkon Metro Supervision Service

Website: www.linkonsupervision.ccm

The Linkon Subway is a frequent mode of transportation showcased throughout the game. The in-game world has a vast system of railway lines, stations, and terminals throughout the Linkon City area.

Line 11 of the subway runs from the Coelum Express Terminal to the Linkon Botanical Garden, it's first availability is at 5:00 AM and it's last stop is at 11:55 PM.

Warnings & Signage:

Here are all of the legible signage/information I spotted on the subway. Overall, it seems to be a very accommodating service!

"Please do not get on or off the vehicle when the door light is flashing"

"Disabled-friendly carriage is available. Please contact the staff if you need any help"

"Please pay close attention to the interchange schedule if you want to transfer to other lines."

"We stop selling tickets three minutes before the last train arrives."

Details:

The specific subway the protaganist boards in "Late Night Encounter" is subway 18. She mentions it's a subway she takes every day. That particular night, she boarded the train from the Garden West Station. At the time, it's announced as the last subway to Linkon Botanical Garden that night.

When the subway circles back to the same departing station again, the opened doors show a glimpse of signage listing the other stops along Line 11. It lines up with the known terminals of this line as well as the next stop shown on the display. The only mismatch is the sign shows the stop before Garden West as "Newtown Avenue" while the internal subway display says it was "Metro Boulevard". The text is pretty hard to make out, but I'll list what I've deciphered so far:

In descending order, it lists:

Linkon Botanical Garden

South (?) (?)

Ch(?) Town

Linkon South Station

(?) Highway [if I squint, it kinda looks like "Alkaline"?]

(?) (?) (?) Park [kinda looks like "Estate World Theme Park"?]

(Jiajang?) (?) (?)

Linkon No. 3 (?)

Pioneer Village

(Bohee?) Tech Park

Garden East

International Exhibition Hall

Garden West [the station where protaganist boarded]

Newtown Avenue

Linkon Library

University of Linkon

Commerce Harbor

(?) [the first word kinda looks like "Public" and the last word looks like "Center"?]

Moonrise St.

River Bridge

Jayden North

Duke's Bay

Cloud Train Terminal (likely an unintended artifact before the name "Coelum Express" was finalized?)

After defeating the Wanderer, the subway station they exit from has another sign identifying Line 11 and a sign indicating the following locations are nearby:

Garden West

Central Park

Century Center

Other Linkon Subway Lines:

In a few scenes, we get a glimpse at the map of subway lines. I was unable to gather any useful details from it. But if you spot something, pls holler lol.

Funny Details:

If you look closely, you can spot a couple of misspellings in the signage:

Instead of "Next Stop", the display reads "Nest Stop"

In the message about disability carriages, it tells you to contact the staff if you "need any hel"

[winxanity-ii]

REVELATION'S EDGE

ship: simon basset x fem!sister!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 3.6k a/n: Had to dive deep into the emotional turmoil for this one! Simon's story really hits a nerve for me and wholeheartedly believe Daphne should have had consequences for what she did, but I digress. Can't wait to hear what y'all think!

★·.·´🇧‌🇷‌🇮‌🇩‌🇬‌🇪‌🇷‌🇹‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You lived in luxury your entire life, born into a world where wealth was as normal as the air you breathed.

Your family, known for its long history and great wealth, always moved in the highest circles of society. Aristocrats, nobles, politicians—they all knew your family's name as symbols of power and prestige.

The grand estate you called home was a symbol of generations of success. Its big gardens were always kept perfect, and the detailed, fancy architecture showed a legacy built carefully over the years.

Every corner of the estate felt like a part of history, reminding you of your family's lasting influence.

Every hallway you walked down was filled with history, as if the footsteps of those who came before echoed along with yours.

From the moment you were born, your life was set in a backdrop of fancy rooms and whispered secrets.

Your childhood was like a colorful, rich tapestry—filled with private tutors, elegant parties under sparkling chandeliers, and summers spent in grand villas overlooking the endless blue sea.

Your earliest memories were of people fixing your clothes to perfection, polite nods at gatherings, and the smell of roses always in the air from the beautiful gardens outside.

Yet even with all this luxury, you found yourself wanting more. Behind the fancy smiles and fake conversations of high society, you longed for something real—something that wasn't covered in velvet and gold.

You wanted to see the world beyond the polished staircases and perfect lawns, to find out what was behind the curtain of perfection that had always been pulled over your life.

Your father understood your curiosity. He noticed your distant looks during social events, the way you seemed to want something else when you thought no one was watching.

Seeing your dislike for the superficial life around you, he decided to give you something special. He had a room made just for you—a sanctuary, a quiet place where you could get away from the endless politics and shallow conversations that filled the rest of the house.

Now, you sat in that very room, remembering how it came to be. It always gave you a deep sense of comfort.

The room was spacious, with high ceilings that made it feel open and free, yet cozy enough to be a perfect retreat. The warm, welcoming feel of the room wrapped around you like a familiar hug. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books you had collected throughout your life.

It was a collection that had grown with you—from the fun stories you loved as a child to the deep, philosophical works you studied. Each book had its own story.

Many of these books were gifts from faraway places, collected during family travels or brought by guests who stayed at the estate.

You remember the feeling of unwrapping a beautifully bound book, the crispness of its new pages, the promise of a new adventure. Some books were finds from your own explorations—rare books discovered in little shops hidden in the city—each one handpicked and cherished, with worn edges from your constant reading.

In the far corner of the room, large bay windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing a beautiful view of the estate’s gardens. Through them, you could see the carefully trimmed hedges, the colorful flowers in full bloom, and the old oak trees standing tall. The windows were made to capture the natural light of the day, filling the room with a soft, golden glow.

On bright mornings, the sunlight warmed the floor, inviting you to stay a while. Sheer curtains hung gently, softly moving with the breeze that came in, carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh earth.

Your rocking chair sat in the middle of this peaceful space—a big, comfy chair, almost like a throne, covered with the softest blankets and pillows.

You couldn't count the hours you spent there, curled up, letting the chair rock gently while you read. It was your favorite place—a place where you could leave behind all the expectations, the responsibilities of your family name, and get lost in the pages of your books.

Here, you fought dragons, sailed across oceans, and discovered new lands.

Here, you loved, lost, and lived a thousand different lives, all while the real world moved on outside those windows.

The room was your haven—a place where you could finally breathe freely and be yourself. No grand halls, no watchful eyes, no heavy legacy—just you, the soft sound of turning pages, and the warm glow of sunlight, reminding you that there was beauty in simplicity too.

To your left, Kira, your personal maid, was a constant presence. Her Blasian heritage gave her a unique beauty, with reddish-dark auburn hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back. Her light brown eyes were expressive, often reflecting her mood before she even spoke.

Her skin was a rich dark brown, sprinkled with freckles that added to her distinctive appearance. Tall and slender, she moved with a grace that belied her underlying strength, and her voice, airy yet slightly scratchy, filled the room with a comforting familiarity.

As she knitted you a pair of winter gloves, Kira spoke up, her tone carrying her characteristic brashness mixed with a hint of humor. "You wouldn't believe the latest rumor I heard from the market," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Lady Edith was caught in a rather compromising situation with the Duchess of Wohrmans. It seems high society isn't as prim and proper as they pretend to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, appreciating her candidness and the way she always managed to bring a slice of the outside world into your sheltered life. "Kira, you do realize that half of these rumors are probably just wild tales, right?"

Kira looked up from her knitting, a sly smile on her face. "Oh, of course. But it's always fun to speculate, isn't it? Besides, it's the only entertainment we get around here, given how these snobby lords and ladies turn their noses up at everything."

Her brash temperament, so carefully controlled yet so openly shared with you behind closed doors, was a refreshing contrast to the often stifling decorum of high society. Her rants about the various characters you both encountered were a source of much-needed levity in your life.

But in truth, Kira was more than just a maid; she was a confidant, fiercely loyal, and the only one who heard your true thoughts about the high society you navigated.

The tranquility of the room shattered when the doors slammed open, the sudden noise breaking the delicate calm that hung in the air.

You looked up, startled, to see Simon, your older brother, standing there.

Simon's visits were always a highlight for you, especially given the circumstances of your life. Your father's dying wish was that you reside in the family home until you were eligible to wed.

At nearly nineteen years old, you were yet to experience the onset of your period, a traditional marker of marriage eligibility in your society. This delay had kept you bound to the family estate, and though you often found the confines of this life stifling, Simon's infrequent but cherished visits were what made it bearable.

Ten years your senior, Simon was your half-brother, sharing the same father but born of a different mother. The tragic fate that befell your mother during childbirth mirrored the loss Simon experienced with his own mother, creating a bond of understanding, of shared grief between you two that had only grown deeper over the years.

As Simon stepped into the room, his presence filled the space like it always did, but today, something was different.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement—he was your lifeline to the world outside these walls, and you were eager to hear the latest news and gossip from town.

The last you had heard, he had attended the 1813 social season hosted by Lady Danbury, a significant event in high society, and you were curious to hear every detail.

"Simon!" you exclaimed, rising quickly from your chair, a wide smile lighting up your features. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Tell me everything. How was the social season? Any interesting gossip, brother?"

But something about Simon's expression gave you pause. He always had a commanding presence, his handsome features often drawing admiring glances—his skin, a deep, rich brown, perfectly complemented by his neatly styled black hair.

His eyes, usually bright and full of life, a striking contrast against his complexion, were different today. They were dim, devoid of their usual spark, and you noticed a wetness behind them that most others might miss. This ability to read him so well came from a lifetime of shared secrets and experiences.

Your smile faltered; the initial joy at seeing him now replaced with concern. His face was stony, but those eyes—they betrayed the turmoil within.

Quickly, you gestured for Kira, your trusted maid, to leave, understanding immediately that whatever Simon was about to share required privacy. As she slipped out, you felt a knot of worry forming in your stomach, tightening with each passing second.

Simon shuffled over, his steps lacking their usual confident stride, his shoulders hunched in a way that made him look smaller, almost like a child seeking comfort. His vulnerability struck you hard, and in almost a whisper, laden with concern, you called out, "Brother… are you alright?"

Suddenly, Simon's composure broke. His sobs echoed through the room, each one more heartbreaking than the last. The sound was raw, and it cut right through you.

Without a second thought, you rushed forward and pulled him into an embrace, feeling his body shake against yours. "It's okay, Simon. I'm here," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you cradled him, your own eyes filling with tears.

You had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so broken. It stirred something primal within you—a fierce protectiveness, an ache in your heart that made you want to destroy whatever it was that hurt him.

The two of you stood there for a while, locked in that embrace, the room filled with nothing but the sound of his sobs and your gentle shushing.

Eventually, Simon's sobs subsided, and you pulled away just enough to look at his face. Gently, you lifted his chin with your hand and used a soft handkerchief to wipe away his tears. "Brother, what's wrong? Did something happen? You're scaring me," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you were anything but calm.

Simon looked at you, his eyes full of anguish, the storm of emotions swirling there almost too much for you to bear. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I say anything… please promise me you won't do anything rash." His words sent a chill down your spine.

Perplexed but too concerned to argue, you nodded slowly. "I promise."

Simon took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. "It's… Daphne," he finally admitted, his voice breaking on the name, a fragile whisper that left you cold.

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. "Daphne?" you repeated, your voice trembling. "What about her?"

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes, his expression one of shame. "She… forced me into… into having a child with her."

The words hit you like a physical blow. For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you couldn’t breathe. "Daphne… she… she what?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper.

Simon gripped your hands, his own trembling as he tried to ground you. "____, please. You promised. Just listen to me."

"Promised!?" you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief, your emotions starting to boil over. "How dare you ask for calm when I've just learned that… that she…"

"____, please."

But you couldn't hold it in any longer. "…raped my brother!?" The word came out like venom, filled with fury and disbelief, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of it.

Simon visibly flinched at the word, his eyes closing briefly as if to ward off the pain it brought. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea, but you were too incensed to care. "It's sickening, Simon! She knew you didn't want children. You told her, and yet, she still…"

"____, I know," Simon said, his voice cracking. "I know, but please, don't do anything… don't make it worse."

You finally quieted down, the weight of the situation sinking in, the rage simmering under your skin. "She doesn't deserve you, Simon. She never did."

Through his tears, Simon looked at you, begging again. "Please, don't do anything rash."

You gave a non-committal nod, your mind already racing with thoughts of retribution. How could she do this to him? Your heart ached at Simon's vulnerability, but your anger towards Daphne burned fiercely. "How can she live with herself after doing this to you?"

Simon shook his head, lost in his own turmoil. "I don't know. I just…"

Realizing he needed comfort more than anything, you softened. "Alright, Simon. Let's just… let's just sit for a while."

You called for Kira, giving her a specific look that she immediately understood. "Bring us the Night's Whisper tea, please."

Kira nodded and slipped away.

Night's Whisper was a special blend you had created for your insomnia, known only to you and Kira; its calming effect was exactly what Simon needed now.

As she left to prepare the tea, you turned back to your brother, who sat beside you, his frame shaking slightly from the weight of his emotions.

"Brother," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you comforting me… It feels strange, being on this side."

Simon offered a weak smile, a ghost of his usual charm. "Yeah, roles reversed, huh?"

You sat together in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both. When Kira returned with the tea, the delicate aroma of Night’s Whisper filled the room, offering a brief respite from the heaviness of your conversation.

As you both sipped the tea, you gently probed, "Simon, tell me… how did it all start? That night with Daphne?"

He took a deep breath, his voice a wistful whisper. "It was a normal night, just like any other. We were both getting ready for bed; the house quiet around us…"

Simon's words transported you to that night, his narrative painting a vivid picture. "I remember the coolness of the sheets, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. We talked a bit, just mundane things… nothing out of the ordinary…" His voice trailed off, each word heavy with regret and betrayal. His normally animated face was now a mask of sorrow.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand over his.

The tea worked its subtle magic, and you watched as Simon's eyelids began to droop, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll. For him, it was enough to gently lull him into a much-needed sleep in the comfort of your chair.

You stayed with him, a silent guardian, as he drifted off, his breathing evening out until he was finally at peace.

Once you were sure Simon was asleep, you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning to Kira, your voice was firm, your eyes blazing with determination. "Get my horse ready."

As you rode through the countryside on your favorite horse, the wind whipped through your unraveling braids, your focus laser-sharp on reaching Simon's home.

You cared little for the dirt staining your clothes or the disarray of your hair; all that mattered now was confronting Daphne.

Arriving at the house, you bypassed the maid at the door, your steps swift and resolute. The common room was filled with light laughter, the sound of high society oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath.

Daphne sat elegantly, her strawberry-blonde hair styled impeccably, her light skin glowing in the candlelight. Beside her were Penelope Featherington and another highborn lady; their conversation filled with hopeful whispers of pregnancies and futures.

You had only heard of Daphne through gossip and Simon's reluctant admissions of their "arrangement." An arrangement that now revealed its ugly truth.

Your steps were purposeful as you approached her, the room falling silent as you called her a "harlot," your hand connecting sharply with her cheek. The sound echoed, cutting through the air and drawing gasps from the women around.

Daphne recoiled, her hand flying to her face, her expression one of shock and indignation. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling between anger and confusion.

"You know exactly why I'm here," you said, your voice cold, vibrating with barely contained rage.

Her confusion deepened, and she shook her head, as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "I have no idea what you're talking about. How dare you assault me in my own home?"

"You've done far worse in this very house," you retorted, your eyes boring into hers, unyielding. "What you did to my brother…"

Daphne’s expression shifted, realization dawning slowly, her face paling as she finally comprehended why you were here. "Oh, this is about Simon?" she said, her voice tinged with a sneer, though there's a flicker of fear in her eyes. “He lied to me. He said he couldn't have children.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. "He never said he couldn't. He said he wouldn't. There's a difference, Daphne. Still, a misunderstanding on your part doesn't justify what you did."

Daphne's defiance was palpable as she straightened up, her chin lifting. "I did what was right. He needed to continue his lineage. It's what anyone in our position would do."

"Please!" you hissed, your voice dripping with distaste. "Don't lump me with the likes of you!" Your anger boiled over, and you took a step closer. "You had no right to take advantage of him! If you were confused, you should have talked to him, not… not violate his trust and his body!"

Penelope and the other woman watched, stunned into silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're twisting the situation," Daphne argued, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "Simon is my husband. It's my duty to—"

"Duty?" you cut her off, stepping even closer, your presence now towering over her. "Your duty doesn't include rape, Daphne."

She tried to meet your gaze, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, her bravado beginning to crumble. "R-Rape?" she stammered, the word barely leaving her lips. "You're overreacting. It's not like… not like I—"

"Not like what?" you snapped, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look into your eyes. "Not like you betrayed him? A violation of the deepest kind?"

Daphne's eyes widened as she gazed into yours, and for a moment, she saw Simon in you—the same eyes, the same intensity. The resemblance was uncanny, and it shook her to her core, the reality of her actions hitting her in a way that words alone never could.

"Stay away from my brother," you commanded, your voice low and dangerous. "If you ever try to come near him again, or even attempt to justify your heinous crime one more time, you'll have to deal with me. And to the Gods above, that's a threat you don't want to test."

Releasing her chin, you straightened up, your gaze sharp and unyielding. The room, once filled with light-hearted chatter, was now heavy with the weight of unsaid truths and unveiled secrets.

Daphne sat there, her face a mix of shock and realization, the reality of what she had done finally starting to sink in.

You took a moment to smooth out your dress, restoring some semblance of poise to your disheveled appearance.

Turning to the other women in the room, you locked eyes with Penelope Featherington, her face a picture of shock and fascination. Beside her sat Lady Clarissa, a minor yet prominent figure in your social circle, known for her penchant for gossip and extravagant hats.

With a flourish of mock politeness, you offered them a sweet, yet blatantly sarcastic smile, executing a curtsey with exaggerated grace. "Ladies," you said, your voice laced with faux cheerfulness, echoing with underlying scorn.

Penelope seemed at a loss for words; her usual observant nature momentarily stilled.

Lady Clarissa, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered, her eyes darting between you and Daphne, trying to grasp the full scope of the scandal unfolding before her.

Straightening up, you held their stunned gazes for a moment longer, letting the impact of your actions resonate.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode out of the room. Each step was measured and deliberate, echoing with the resolve of someone who had fiercely defended a loved one.

As you left, the room remained in stunned silence, the ladies left to ponder the events that had just unfolded.

Your heart was heavy with the burden of what you had to do, but it was buoyed by the knowledge that you had done what was necessary to protect Simon.

The walls of the grand house seemed to close in on you as you made your way out, the echoes of high society's hollow pretenses fading behind you, your mind now set on whatever came next—and the promise you'd made to protect your brother at all costs.

A/N: lololo i hope you guys enjoyed, my bby simon deserved more frfr 🥹❤️❤️

[kimosims]

In the final week of the von Badens' stay in Brindleton Bay—after much insistence from young Heinrich—he received his father’s permission to visit the Darlington's residency and surprise his friend Violet. Their friendship had blossomed over shared letters and her occasional visits to the Griffith estate, but soon it would exist solely through the careful script of pen and paper; Heinrich was returning to Windenburg now that his father’s business in Brindleton Bay had been settled.

It was a quiet winter’s day, calm after a long spell of stormy weather, when Violet and Heinrich strolled through the frost-laden gardens of the property. A gentle hush lay over the world, and the air seemed to hold a promise of renewal beneath its blanket of white. As they walked, Violet confessed her love for winter—the stillness, the pale landscape, and the way it seemed to hold the potential for new beginnings, even when everything appeared so lifeless. Heinrich looked at her with a thoughtful expression and asked, “Do you believe in promises?”

The question was simple, but Violet felt it carried a hidden weight. She barely hesitated before replying, "Yes. I take promises very seriously. They're not a trivial matter to me."

He paused, searching her face, before venturing, “Then... would you promise, with me, that our bond won’t fade? That it won’t weaken, even when I’m gone?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice a delicate whisper against the winter air. Her heart hammered against her ribs, suddenly faster, and she feared he might hear it.

Instead of answering right away, Heinrich took her hand, guiding her to a spot where they both stood amidst the snow. Reaching into his coat, he carefully pulled out a single rose, the deep crimson of its petals a stark contrast against the pale world around them. Violet stood frozen, her gaze flitting from the rose to Heinrich, uncertainty mingling with a rush of excitement. Was she misreading this? Was he truly…?

Heinrich took a steadying breath, his expression solemn yet tinged with youthful shyness as he held her gaze. “I like you, Violet,” he said quietly. “When I came here, I expected an unpleasant trip—one that would be strange and uncomfortable. I’m not used to leaving my world behind, nor am I used to getting to know people in an easy way. But you… you’ve made everything different.”

He looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. “I’ve met plenty of people society calls ‘extraordinary,’ but for the first time, I’ve felt that about someone myself. You showed me that sometimes being extraordinary isn’t about grand talents or achievements—it can be about playing the violin with devotion, or being so eager to learn a stranger’s language just to make him feel more at home. It’s about not being afraid to be a little unconventional.”

She looked at him, her eyes bright, and for a moment, the color of the world seemed to flood back into her vision, filling her senses. Is this what it meant to be seen, to be truly noticed? She felt each nerve alight, alive with the understanding of how easy it might be to become addicted to this feeling.

Heinrich extended his hand, his voice tender. “Do you understand what I’m saying, or… am I getting carried away?”

Violet blinked, her mouth lifting in a soft smile. “It seems I’m at a loss for words. That’s not a small feat, let me tell you that.”

A light chuckle escaped him, and he dared to ask, “So… may I take that as a yes?”

She nodded, barely able to contain her smile. “Yes, you may.”

He grinned, a flicker of triumph warming his cheeks, and then his expression softened. “I know we’re young, but… I’ll return, Violet. I’ll come back to ask you this again.”

She looked at him, her voice gentle with only the slightest tremor, “You won’t change your mind, then?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Not in a thousand winters.” The conviction in his voice made her heart skip, and she couldn’t suppress a quiet laugh.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything and nothing, sharing fragments of their worlds in both their languages. Their hands found each other’s from time to time, their connection undeterred by the strictures of propriety, sheltered by their youth from the weight of society’s gaze. They both sensed, without saying it, that things would be different when they met again; that the playful freedom of their childhood might give way to something more restrained, something grown.

When Otto arrived to collect Heinrich, Violet thought she had steeled herself well enough to keep her feelings hidden. But Heinrich saw the sadness lingering on her face and, in a voice filled with gentle assurance, reminded her, “We made a promise, remember? I’ll make sure you’re not left without a correspondent to practice your Windenburgian with.”

Forcing a smile, she nodded, their shared promise lingering between them, like the final note of a song that had yet to end. They said their goodbyes with the bittersweet melancholy of youth, a silent understanding that they’d carry this day with them through whatever years lay ahead.

[hannahssimblr]

“Clóda,” one stone. 

“Clóda,” another. 

“Fuck sake,” I murmur to myself, then throw a third, bigger one, which smacks off her window so loudly that I’m briefly paralysed with fear that it has broken the glass. Thankfully it hasn’t. She comes out onto the balcony.

“There you are,” she says quietly, peering down at me in her garden as I drop my handful of stones and wipe the dirt on my thighs. 

“Yeah, here I am. This is a bit Shakespearean isn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“Like, you know, 'but soft, what light through yonder window breaks…. Defy thy father, refuse thy name', et cetera,” I pause before clarifying, “Romeo and Juliet, no?”

“Oh, I did The Merchant of Venice for my Junior Cert.”

“I thought you’d have still gotten the reference.”

She leans over the balcony to point to a precarious looking trellis against the wall, “If you climb up that thing you’ll be able to reach me.”

“Right,” I say, and press my foot against the flimsy timber to test my weight, “You know I’m like, nearly thirteen stone?” 

“You can try.”

“And if I break it?”

“Hmm, try not to,” she suggests. 

“Right,” I brace myself by slotting my fingers into a gap between some brick facade on the side of the house and I haul myself onto the trellis, and it groans but doesn’t give. “I’m good, I think I’m good.”

From there it’s not so bad. I nimbly move up the wall, grab hold of the sun room gutters and grab a hold of the balcony railings, where I find myself thrilled in the way a child is, having climbed somewhere he is not supposed to climb, the king of the castle overlooking his vast land, though I can’t really see much in the dark countryside, save a few car headlights in the distance, the lighthouse flashing over the bay. 

“Um, here,” Clóda hisses, and I realise I have briefly forgotten my objective, but the rest is easy, I just swing myself over the railing and I’m up. 

“Nice that you’ve a balcony,” I comment, “I don't know many other people who have one of these.”

“We built this house a few years ago, and for some reason I wanted a balcony in my room, I don’t know, I was like, ten, and it was a stupid idea because it’s mostly too cold out here to even make use of.” 

“Useful now though, huh?” 

She tucks her hair behind her ears and bats her eyelashes at me, “yeah I suppose it is.”

She pushes the door open and we creep into her room where the only light is from the glow of the television screen in the corner. It’s clean, very clean with no clutter or clothes lying around, which always freaks me out for reasons that I cannot explain. The idea that a person would have the interest or discipline to keep their bedroom clean is odd. If a person's bedroom is a mirror to the inside of their mind, then the lack of chaos in hers is foreign and unrelatable. 

While she switches on a pink fringed bedside light I throw myself down on the neatly tucked duvet just so that I can mess it up a little bit, to mark my territory like some kind of wild dog let loose in a palace. I peer at her CD collection and mess that up too by pulling one out and showing it to her, “Jesse McCartney, huh? You a fan?”

She goes pink and grabs it out of my hand, “Yeah I used to be, I dunno, not so much anymore, I don’t know why I still have that.”

I grab another, “Who are the Jonas Brothers?” 

“Oh, they’re-”

“That guy in the middle has a pretty wild haircut, would you fancy me with that?”

“No,” she giggles and takes that CD off me too, then slots them carefully back where they were, “I have some silly stuff, I probably shouldn’t have it all out.”

“Nah, well, look, you have some great stuff here, how ‘bout this? Black Holes and Revelations? I love this album, you know I saw Muse live last year.”

The mattress sinks as she sits next to me, “Really? Was it when they came to Ireland?”

“Nah it was in the states.”

Her eyes flash with intrigue, “like, America?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, that you just, like, go to America and stuff. I don’t know anybody who’s gone to America yet, and I want to go so badly.”

I shrug, “well you should, then.”

“How often do you go?”

“Not often, I was there last year and then before that…” I try to remember, “I think I was maybe twelve. It takes a long time to get to where I’m going, you know, from here you can only get to New York and then you have to get a connecting flight and all of that,” thinking about the ordeal of it exhausts me, but Clóda is leaning forward in fascination, as hearing the words ‘New York’ come out of my mouth has sent a thrill through her. 

“What do you go for?”

“Just to visit family and stuff.”

“You’ve family there?”

“Of course, did you not know that my dad is American?”

She frowns, “Well you sound a little bit American but I thought… I don’t know, really, I thought you were putting it on or something.”

“What, like, for attention?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, impatient, “where do you go?”

“Well… I’ve some family in California and some in New Mexico, which is like, a state in the southwest, kinda wedged between Texas and California, if you can imagine that on a map,” I leave out poor Arizona just to make it easier on her, because nobody here knows what the hell a New Mexico, (‘no, no not Mexico, New Mexico’) is so it’s best to keep it concise. 

Clóda is nodding vigorously, “California, like, LA.”

“Kind of. Like, my dad comes from a place called San Bernardino, which is-” I take her wrist and trace a line on the soft skin of her inner arm, “-to the east of LA, say, an hour or two away, depending on the traffic, yeah? And then his family, like his aunts and uncles and their parents, who we used to visit sometimes, they’re living in a place way up north,” I run a gentle trail all the way up to the sleeve of her t-shirt, “to the very tip top of the Sacramento valley in this rugged, gold rush town…” I lift my eyes to her and she’s staring at my hand, following the motion of my finger as I skim the tip of it over her shoulder and across the taut skin of her collarbone. I prepare myself to say more sexy things about the Sacramento river and the rolling hills and the central valley and whatever else I usually bang on about whenever someone asks, but she looks into my eyes and says: “Is there an Abercrombie where you go?”

“Huh?”

“Abercrombie and Fitch.”

I frown, “Yeah?”

“Oh, wow.” She pushes me onto my back and lays on top of me, gazing down at me with fervid glitter in her eyes, “If you go back to America this year, could you buy me something from there?”

I search in her eyes for some sign that she’s joking and determine that she isn’t. She really wants me to do that. “Yep, sure,” I say.

“Ah, that’d be amazing. You know the way they have those bags too? The ones with the black and white pictures of the guys' bodies on them? Well there was a girl in my class who…”

And I zone out and I stop listening to her as she talks about laminating the bags and carrying school books in them, and I wonder if she will even notice the glazed over look in my eyes as I let my eyes unfocus and stare into the middle distance between her and her pastel pink walls and ask myself some serious questions. 

Do I like her?

She’s pretty though.

Sure, she’s pretty but is she fun? 

She likes Muse.

She’s not even very nice though, is she? She’s said a few weird things in the past.

Yeah but I’ve had sex with her now.

I can’t really stop talking to her or anything, can I? That’d mean I’m a dickhead. 

But would I rather be a dickhead or be miserable?

Maybe both outcomes will make me miserable. Maybe I’m just pre-programmed to be a miserable person. Or am I just cursed?

I zone back in for a moment, “...and then Mr. Brennan confiscated all of them, and there was this whole thing where the parents council…” What is happening? 

“Uh huh,” I say, “Uh huh… uh huh, what? That’s crazy,” God she is really pretty though, the kind of pretty that’s hard to find, and it’s not like there’s anyone else around, is there? It’d be awkward to stop seeing each other now with two whole weeks left of the summer. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[jiminrings]

Okay, but if you're taking request, I would love to read 478 Jk arguing with the cat now TT

478: drabble

alternatively, jungkook will not be the bigger person :|

[ 478 masterlist ]

You’re spending a lot more time at home.

With Jimin literally pushing you to go into maternity leave much, much earlier than you’d like because your bump’s already starting to show (the stylists can’t work their way around and CG makes the whole thing tedious), you’re given a hefty insight to what unfolds in your home when you aren’t there.

It turns out that Jungkook vacuums everywhere every single day and he even turns the lights off just to maximize the outrageously expensive vacuum’s laser technology. He also tends to your garden that you didn’t even know existed until an hour ago, making you realize that your husband owns more aprons than neckties.

Really, Jungkook’s more than ecstatic to have you with him because this way, he can take good care of you. He’s done his research (he has about thirteen accounts across different parent forums), he spent a good hour asking your doctor what he could cook you for your meals alone, and he even has a dedicated binder just to make notes about everything.

Without a doubt, he’s completely dedicated and serious about your whole pregnancy — but so is your cat, apparently.

“Let me get this straight,” you clear your throat, trying to keep your face straight because the moment you let it show that you’re even the least bit amused, you know that Jungkook would already whine about you not taking him seriously. “Miso, our cat, tries to suffocate you in your sleep?”

“Yes,” he nods, lips set in a straight line. “I’m telling you, she’s doing it on purpose! She didn’t do it to me today because you’re here but I promise! She puts all her weight on my face whenever I’m napping. Or every time you get home and you’re in the shower, she tries to lunge at me whenever I hand you your towel,” Jungkook adds, a frustrated sigh leaving him when your face still doesn’t budge. You’re too calm, the distress for his very real (!!) situation being non-existent. “Baby, I swear. Miso’s been trying to kill me since we came back from your ultrasound!”

There’s a laugh that keeps building in your throat and you have to keep covering your face discreetly with your hand just to keep your amusement at bay, the way your body slightly trembles in silent laughter keeping Miso entertained while she lays on your tummy.

“What should we do, Kook?” you sigh, avoiding eye contact because you know you’d lose it when you look to your husband’s blown-out ones. “Do we file a restraining order? Get a warrant? What do you want to do?”

“Scold her! Tell her to stop hating me,” he whines like it’s the most obvious answer everyone should think of, his eyebrows furrowed when you remain still.

“Jungkook,” you try, the sly snort that slips past you bordering into a laugh that you can’t contain. You throw your head back in laughter but it never touches the armrest of the sofa because Miso moved at the speed of light just to put herself there, the back of your head only going against her chunky body and fur.

“I’m not trying to make you laugh!”

“Because you’re a natural.”

“I did my research, okay? It’s-…” Jungkook’s just about ready to throw himself to the floor and roll around in frustration when you interrupt him, your cheery laughs highlighted by the way Miso keeps rubbing her forehead against your cheek.

“You’re carrying Reddit on your shoulders at this point.”

“I didn’t only search on Reddit,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. “They say cats get protective of their pregnant owners and that’s sweet, I get it. But what did I do?”

Before you can even rack your head for an answer to both indulge and poke fun at your husband, Miso meows loudly with her eyes turning into slits at Jungkook, her tail still caressing your hair.

“Aw, she’s answering you,” you coo, the mere scratch of your hand on her head making her succumb and sprawl out on your chest.

“You’re a bitch,” Jungkook spits, narrowing his eyes at the cat who growls the moment he opened his mouth. You’re unsure of how many times this (read: Jungkook not being the bigger person when it comes to his so-called fighting with your cat) happened but you don’t even want to know, gasping at the suddenness.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, covering Miso’s ears as if she was a child. Your husband makes a way to surprise you everyday but not like this, you’ve figured early-on.

“What?! She probably just cussed me out too!” 

He tries to pry Miso off from your chest but she hisses, putting out a paw to try and swipe at him. Jungkook recoils like he’s been shot and he’s already halfway across the living room when he puts his head on his hands, scoffing loudly.

“You see that? She just tried to kill me, again!”

You do see it in a way. You see how Miso’s grown even more protective of you and how she’s practically gotten bitchy at Jungkook overnight, but you don’t see how she’s specifically set out to get him. It’s an amusing display of domesticity, one you didn’t know you’ve been missing out on all along.

“Shhh. Don’t take Miso away,” you swat at his hands when he hovers about you. “My boobs are sore. She’s helping me.”

Sure enough, Miso’s kneading on your chest, even laying her body on your bump with her warmth that keeps you content. She won’t stop purring either, her headbutts against your stomach making you more attached with her.

“I can help you with that too! In fact, I’d be better,” Jungkook argues, mouth agape when you roll your eyes at him. You do it so visibly and loudly, he’s stood frozen until you call out to him.

“You have beef with a cat, Jungkook. Let it rest,” you hum. “Go get her food. Now, please.”

Your husband huffs yet he obliges, going into the kitchen with a stomp on his step and his not-so-quiet mutters of how Miso’s a little gremlin who he shouldn’t have picked up on the street all those years ago.

Jungkook sets down the food bowl with one (1) singular pellet of catfood in the middle, the glare in his face dead-set until a smug smirk settles on it when Miso takes notice.

You’re just about to groan until you hear Miso’s high-pitched yowl and Jungkook’s equally as annoyed mocking, flinching momentarily when she stands up but only to stretch and not attack him like he thought he would —

Miso’s gonna do it later, of course, only when you’re not looking.

.

.

thee original ask

[autisticrosewilson]

Community Gardens

Eldritch horror Jason Todd ft. Worried brother Dick, the All-Blades (or a take on them), and magically corrupted Joker. @perseus-jackass

Jason is terrifying, is Dick's first thought. Well, that's not true, there hadn't so much been thoughts as icey hot fear zinging under his skin when he watched his little brother rush into the fray of monsters. When Dick watched the thing that Joker had become smile at him with too many mouths and reach for him with claws cobbled from rusty metal.

His scream had been drowned out by the many others, but no one had time to run after him when...when Jason changed. When the little globes of light had started pressing against his skin, trapped beneath it, before the flesh had begun dissolving in pools of glowing copper that spread like a thousand open wounds until little of Jason resembled something human and Dick swore he could stick his whole arm through the puddle that had become Jason's face. The ichor drips, lands in thick globs on the sand, leaves behind sparkling glass in his wake.

And then the wings had bloomed, protruded from the gashes and holes in his brothers body, sharp and metal and many jointed, reflecting the wrathful heat and light of the red sun overhead. It hurt his eyes but Dick couldn't stop watching the thing that his brother was becoming. Couldn't stop as reality split apart, some veil between what is and what can't be fractures and smoke pours through the cracks, thick and black and streaming through sharp archs and cascading swirls until they formed blades, each held together with Jason's divine magma, or maybe the other way around. It's the only similarity between the blades, big or small, oranate or plain, kitchen knives or children's toys, all made lethal and vibrating with barely leashed power only held at bay by Jason.

Jason, whose high above the ground, framed by shifting circular rows of angry blades. The nightmare monster laughs, a harsh grating thing that takes the voices of every person he's forced to laugh, layered over a canned laugh track that cuts itself off and rewinds just to play, cut itself off, and rewind again. It stands on its many limbs, things made from stolen flesh and bone and scrap metal that squelch and grind with every relentless jerking movement.

Jason's answering scream is a choir of agony, of inflicted pain and inescapable brutality, hundreds of thousands of victims cry in tandem, anguish given a voice that shakes the earth and rips open the sky and Dick's ears might pop or bleed but he can still hear the pain in every voice.

The blades descend like wolves, hungry and vicious, denied of justice too long. The monster screams, a nails-on-a-chalkboard-pipes-creaking keen piercing the heavy air, the blades seeming to eat away at the rotten flesh and junk that holds the thing together, until the creature is nothing but a writhing little body, pale and bloody and still choking on shrieking laughs, but the blades do not stop, from every direction they pierce him, dig in between bones with awful, slick, crunching sounds until the Joker is nothing but dust lost in the desert sands at the hands of divine retribution.

The blades squirm and scream, tormented souls avenged but not sated, blood of one not nearly enough to quell all of them. Jason does not let them seek anyone else out, he calls them back in a tongue Dick can't even begin to figure out and they all turn on him like a swarm of buzzing locusts. They sink back into his flesh, sheathing themselves in the wounds that had killed them, the brass wings retracting with them, until the skin pulls itself together, nothing but a flush to his skin to show that anything had ever been amiss, and then he's falling, a shooting star heading straight for the ground and Dick wills his weary body to cooperate with him as he runs to break the fall.

Jason lands in his arms and they both tumble into the hot sand but somehow Jason burns hotter, even through the protective fabric of their suits. He's still, too still, but he's glowing with life and Dick can feel the vibration of a scream building in his throat when he puts his ear to Jason's chest.

[hhighkey]

Decode // Background

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

note, here’s the background/intro! since mihawk won the poll! (cross posted on other sites as well)

Masterlist

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I. Fifteen years old when she was ripped from her mother's arms as she was dragged away. Her father stood motionless in the corner with a bag of money in hand, not enough to pay for the three of them. The pirates laughed. Laughed how he wasn't man enough to take his wife's place, to leave a young lady without a mother. How young Sabine cried and screamed, wallowed as she followed them outside. No pleas to them nor the Father would be heard as her mother was thrown to the ground. The woman yelled at her daughter to look away. Pop. An incessant ringing deafened her as she dropped to her knees, eyesight blurry on the limp body of her mother. A pat on her head. Pirate's cruel laughter reverberated through the air as her life came crashing down. 

Not long after did Sabine find herself on a big boat with luggage at her side. A nervous bubbling in her stomach made her feel sick, knowing where her father was pushing her off to. The Monastery was beautiful- large and expansive old castle with dimmed white bricks. Ivy climbing the walls and up kept gardens littered all about. While faith had been all she had to for years- she accepted her temporary vows with disdain in her blood as doubt pricked her mind. 

II. Eight long years passed, and she'd yet to give herself to the Father- to take her permanent vows. The judging glances and murmurs burned, on how she still adorned the white veil after so many years of service. 

Service. Her faith wavered. Rosary clutched in hand as the winds shrieked through the shattered stained glass of the church's nave. Pews splintered and smashed against walls. Flickering candles around her. Tears streamed her cheeks as the ghastly figure stalked around her as she chanted prayer after prayer. Her body shook. Chills up and down her spine. Red stained the tiled floors of the bishop she'd arrived with. Alone. Scared. Only a light guiding her as she rehearsed everything she remembered. Its black eyes and cursed lips screamed as it dissolved and churned. The small music box vibrated as the raven colored smoke succumbed to the words of the Father. Blood trickled from Sabine's eyes as she heaved, palms on the floor covered in broken glass that left her with bloodied cuts. 

III. Every night was the same. Her sisters gathered around her shaking her calling her name, telling her it was okay as she screamed and writhed. The same figure haunted her dreams. Sabine eventually found the strength to request leave- a sabbatical- so there she sat in a cardinal's office with her plea. And it was heard. How her community looked up to her with awe that an un-vowed nun could keep such a demon at bay- that it made sense how she needed time. But Sabine needed to breathe. She needed to leave the monastery to experience a life she once had before her mother's death. Yearned for seeing girls her age laughing and drinking, wearing dresses she only dreamed of owning, dreaming of marriage to someone who loved her. For faith saw her through and she thanked Him everyday but, she could serve him as herself. Not with the restrictions. This sabbatical she prayed would show her what she truly wanted. 

IV. Gecko Island took longer to reach than she'd have expected. But Syrup Village made it worthwhile. The bustling town, the fresh air- the knowing that she had all the time in the world ahead of her (a year really). A chance to start anew to learn her heart's desire. Sabine felt lighter without her habit on and without the eyes that always stared at a young nun passing through a town. As if she was a two headed monster. A cool breeze fluttered her hair as a yelling carried within ear shot, "Pirates are coming!" 

V. "You should join my crew, find the answers to your doubts. Maybe along the way realize you have a dream whether it be with those church people, with us or.. I don't know!" At first she laughed. Her- a pirate? Pirates changed her life for the worse so it'd been a ridiculous thing for Luffy to say. Yet Luffy's smile was enough to win her over, how could anyone say no to him? And as she saw what those straw hat pirates did for Kaya and she wondered, maybe pirates could change her life for better, or maybe she was desperate. With six months left on her sabbatical and Luffy's oath to bring her back to the monastery in time, Sabine felt genuine excitement for the first time in years as she boarded the Going Merry. 

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playlist

01. all around me― flyleaf 02. lacy― olivia rodrigo 03. like a prayer― madonna 04. slut!― taylor swift 05. roslyn― st vincent & bon iver 06. i caught myself― paramore 07. judas― lady gaga 08. holy (til you let me go)― rina sawayama 09. turning page― sleeping at last

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Character Moodboards—

PINTEREST BOARD

Oakes Sabine

sister mary sabine

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Dracule Mihawk

strongest swordsman in the world

posted : oct 14 2023

edited: july 12 2024

taglist :