#i am physically shaken once again

[glassofpumpkinjuice]

medley 3/8/24: it's not a side effect of the cocaine, i think it must be love on acoustic guitar!!!!!!

[heliza24]

Armand and Unbreakable Cycles

So (perhaps unsurprisingly at this point) I have a TON of Armand thoughts after yesterday’s episode. Specifically I want to talk about the function of the 1790s section, and how it perfectly illuminates the cycle of maladaptive behavior that Armand is caught up in and the difference between his stated wants and his actual needs. I think the setup we saw in this episode will also be crucial to understanding how Dubai plays out, so I want to talk about that too.

I know a lot of people love the show and TVC because of Lestat, and there’s some frustration that Lestat was presented in a way that was untrue or filtered. But I really think you have to view this episode as a lens into Armand, which we in turn need in order to understand Louis. Everyone has someone similar to Lestat’s role in Armand’s life; an ex or a situationship or a former friend who takes up so much real estate in your brain because of their outsized impact  on you, who probably never thinks of you in return. We give these people a role in the story we craft of how we became who we are. That narrativizing is kind of the only way to understand yourself and survive (especially if you’re going to live forever). So I don’t doubt that there are things that Armand says that are untrue, or exaggerated, or twisted in his favor. But I do think the important part is the emotional impact his encounter with Lestat had on him, and I do think he’s being honest about those emotions.

(That being said I am of course very excited to see these events play out again in season 3 from Lestat’s POV. Don’t fuck it up AMC!!!)

The main thing that the flashback does is set up the cycle that Armand finds himself in over and over again. He consistently finds himself clinging to control in an institution he is starting to lose faith in, and is then shaken out of his complacency by a new love that seems– falsely– to rescue him.

Depending on how they adapt his very early backstory, I think we can probably assume that this pattern started in childhood for him. Marius rescued him from being forced into sex work, and seemed to offer a much better life. But in reality he was just grooming Armand. (Thanks @toriangeli for correcting a piece of my Marius lore here!)

In Paris he continues maintaining a strictly enforced life of misery for the coven long after he stops believing in it himself, and (by his telling at least) he was grateful to Lestat for having the strength to end it when he could not. It’s so clear why Armand falls for Lestat. Lestat’s refusal to live in shame, his love of the arts, his ability to exist amongst humanity (at least when he is on stage). Lestat is of the world, while Armand and the coven hide from it. 

The reason I think it is so important that we got to see this play out in Paris is the way it illuminates the sometimes tricky relationship between Louis and Armand. Once again, Armand is the head of an institution that operates on strict and oppressive rules. Once again, we can feel Armand’s enthusiasm for this system waning (and see it reflected physically in the lack of ticket sales and general shabbiness of the theatre). And once again, Armand is swept off his feet by this new vampire who refuses to join, who loves humanity, and who has a passion for art. Louis is very much of the world. He refuses to be pinned down into coven life. Armand can’t resist taking what looks like the opportunity for escape in Louis’s love. 

What I think is so fascinating about this cycle is that it allows Armand to remain passive. He never has to be the one to make the hard call to walk away from a kind of life that is no longer serving him. He just has to wait for the next gorgeous man to arrive to deliver him.  As he says to Louis, “those with the most power are often the weakest”. His status and power in the coven prevents him from changing his own life. Or at least that’s what he believes. 

Thinking about this helped me understand the dynamic of what goes down in the sewers, when Armand threatens Louis’s life. Assad says in the behind the scenes clips that Armand goes into that encounter very set on killing Louis, and I believe him.  So I rewatched it a couple of times trying to understand when, and why, Armand changes his mind. The shift occurs when they start talking about Claudia, and Armand says that her mind will break apart soon because she was made too young. Louis says “you don’t know her,” and Armand responds, “I don’t have to. I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen too much.” That admission– I’ve lived through this cycle multiple times before, it is painful, and I don’t want to do it again– is what shifts Armand from being ready to kill Louis to letting him go. 

There is of course an irony here; mentally ill and child vampires do not necessarily need to go mad. Generally they go mad at least partially because of Armand’s actions. And as we’ve already discussed, Armand going to sleep with Louis instead of killing him is really just a repeat of his actions with Lestat. He isn’t really breaking a cycle at all. But I think in that moment he believes that he is. Maybe he even believes that by being with a man who enacted great violence on Lestat, he can drown out the love and anguish he still feels about Lestat. At the very least, Louis has also loved Lestat and can therefore understand Armand’s narration of his own life in a way that not many other people can. 

Ok, so now we are caught up on the past. Let’s talk about Dubai, and how once again Armand is engaged in the exact same cycle of behavior.

The penthouse is Armand’s new coven. He maintains perfect order by controlling the physical environment and shaping Louis’s moods and memories. But just like before, this way of life is no longer serving Armand (or Louis for that matter). You can see that the spark between them has died, only rekindled as a kind of performance when they are in front of Daniel. When Armand is telling Daniel about Lestat destroying the coven, and Daniel accuses Armand of leading Lestat to the coven intentionally… he might as well be talking about himself. Armand has let Daniel into his fortress, and there is at least a part of him that wants whatever destruction Daniel is about to bring into his life.

Daniel fits Armand’s type completely. Daniel is of course more human than Lestat or Louis could ever be. He knows about telenovelas and Bollywood and all other types of art. He’s whipsmart and inquisitive and is not going to let Armand get away with passively maintaining his old order. He’s of the world in a way that Armand finds irresistible. 

I specifically found it interesting how many of the “Great Laws” Armand would be breaking by being with Daniel. Granted, Armand isn’t in the coven anymore when he meets Daniel. But I imagine old habits are hard to break, and being with Daniel would break almost all of them. Daniel is a mortal Armand has revealed his true nature to and allowed to live, Daniel has written about and exposed vampire secrets, and (if we’re looking at book canon) Daniel begs for the dark gift himself, a thing only the maitre is supposed to be able to approve. 

Assuming that a chunk of Devil’s Minion did happen in the 1970s, something interrupted that love affair, before it could settle back down into a new but still oppressive status quo. Something prompted Armand to actively break his pattern of behavior and erase Daniel’s memories. I think it’s impossible not to think about Nicki’s example here, especially after seeing the 1790s flashback. I’m going to assume that 1970s Daniel was struggling with addiction and mental health issues in a way that may have been reminiscent of Nicki. How intentional was Armand in withdrawing because he saw what vampire involvement- his involvement- did to Nicki? How much was his treatment of Daniel a reparation for past mistakes he made?

These last couple of paragraphs are speculation, really, because we won’t know exactly what Armandaniel looked like until Ep 5. But I think it was crucial that we saw this part of Armand’s story before we see San Francisco, because his actions with Daniel will make more sense if we can compare them with the love affairs of Armand’s past.

Regardless, I do think the disparity between what Armand claims to want (maintaining the status quo) vs what he actually wants (to be liberated by a romantic partner) vs what I think he actually needs (to take action himself, instead of waiting for someone to do it for him) is going to play a role in the way Dubai unfolds. I don’t know that Armand will ever get to the point where he’s actively able to break out of the cycle he’s in, because this is Interview with the Vampire, the show of fucked up gothic romances. Vampire life is a series of bad decisions! It’s a weird arrested development you never quite get out of despite living for forever! So it would make total sense if the ending of Dubai mimics the ending of the Children of Satan and the Paris Coven in an unhealthy way. But regardless, it’s gonna be a fun ride, and I can’t wait to see it.

[barelylivingscholar]

Arlecchino with a daughter tw: unhealthy family relationships, manipulation, and gore(?), suicidal thoughts, unstable/mentally ill daughter. Not for the faint of heart, heavy angst, a somewhat positive ending in the last part(?) (Do not read if uncomfortable)

An: I am backkkkk, second semester and last semester’s finals kept me busyyyyyy but I’m here again to post some stufffffff!! Not hsr related but like I also write for Genshin now, apparently… Will post a part two, I guess? “Father. When am I able to hang around with the others? I have done everything that you’ve asked for.” A young girl asked, to which “Father” responds with, “You need to focus on the task in hand. I still have many more missions for you to do before I set you free.” The girl sighed, knowing very well that she may as well never be able to be allowed to play with the other kids… For a moment, the girl had wished that she wasn’t the only one to deal with this kind of burden. The burden being, the “successor” of “Father.” She wanted to play with the other kids as well, but alas, her father does not permit her to do so. Instead, excuses are made, and the standard Fatui discipline is instilled in her mind, always have to act proper and professional, not allowed to shed a tear, or to feel strong feelings regardless of what the matters are. I hate it here. I do not wish to stay here any longer. Every day feels like I am only made to be the person that “Father” wishes me to be. I am never truly happy. I am sinking. Father was not  family. This whole thing is and always was, a lie. Do I ever get to be free? Perhaps I can set myself free. There is a way.  ̶T̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶s̶, ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶d̶̶o̶ ̶i̶̶t̶? --- After burning the corpse of their enemies, I return to the House of the Hearth, albeit bloody and face that is smudged of dirt, the smell of blood and gasoline lingers around me. With every passing servant, caretakers, and also children as well, unsettled and left shaken up at the sight of me. I stained the carpets red. I wonder if “Father” would notice as the carpet is in the same shade of the blood of her enemies…? Will she punish me and discipline me? Although words are exchanged, no form of physical harm done, I am still left isolated.  Like I am to be a monster kept away from people… I feel caged.

This time, I didn’t bother to clean up and went straight ahead to father’s office. Where I know I’ll be punished for such a careless mistake. “Father, I have returned.” I greet, looking to see her eyes staring straight at me. For once I don’t cower. I simply walk up to her and wait for her response. I have no reason to be scared, right? I don’t think I care anymore. Father’s eyes narrowed. The sight of blood that wasn’t mine, the smell of gasoline, in her eyes, I may as well be the filthiest child in the house. One that is simply, uncouth for the position of “successor.” “Why have you not followed protocol? Especially contingency 8? Have I not taught you well?” Her voice sharp, dissatisfied with my performance. It must be a surprise for her that her “successor” had become disobedient. What is she going to do to me, I wonder? Dispose of me? Or would she find someone else who is to succeed her as the “Father” of the House of the Hearth. “I… I have no other excuses.” I was unable to control my voice. It was shaky, wavering. I hate it. Father’s eyes seemed to had harden. I am interested with what is going to be the left of me once this is all over. I look forward to it. I want her to snap at me. Kill me. Foul words for a child like me, but this is what I planned. Maybe it is best that I sleep in eternal slumber instead rather than live a life full of misery. I have nothing to be grateful here. I am not thankful that I am still alive today. “…You are hereby stripped of the title “successor.” You are no longer worthy of the title. I am disappointed.” Is that it? No severe punishments? My mind raced; I was unable to comprehend why had she punished me in a way that is so… Little? Had she gone soft? I do not remember anything that made her want to punish me lightly. Don’t I deserve… More? My brows had furrowed. “Father” did not miss that. “Daughter… Are you, upset?” Her voice sounded confusing, to me. Why do you suddenly care? I don’t understand you at all. I do not feel safe at all. Are you really “family?” “…I’m fine.” I say, my voice a little tight. Unshed tears on my face, I am no fool. I do not need your love.

“You are now excused.” Never had I ever left her office so quickly after that. I had to get away…! I need to get out of here… I breathed heavily as I ran and ran… Until there is nowhere to go. The heavy snow had engulfed me. And soon… I was unconscious. I awoke to an unfamiliar place. This is not the House of the Hearth. I quickly got up, ignoring the sudden rush of blood shooting up due to how fast I went up. I ignore the throbbing pain on my forehead, I focused on my surroundings instead. Where am I? This place is… Different. I jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder, immediately backing off and grabbing a hidden dagger in my boot. “Stay there! I will stab you!” I hissed. Glaring at the mysterious figure. They looked… Kind. I am not supposed to feel that way. There are no kind people in this world. Everyone I know will always lie to me, manipulate me for their gain. Just like “Father.” Just like them…

The stranger had knelt down and attempted to soothe me. I only responded with aggression and threats. They weren’t phased at all. “Who are you? I am no ordinary orphan! I am a murderer!” I shouted, clearly agitated. The man in a familiar coat had not reacted violently at all. I am confused. And angry. “I am Pantalone. “Regrator” from the Fatui. I assume you are one of the Knave’s lost children…” My eyes widened at the statement. He is no ordinary man… I should’ve known, I gritted my teeth and gripped my dagger tight. “I am not her orphan! I am no longer a part of that… I could care less if you are a part of the Fatui, I will die gladly in vain if I have to fight for my freedom!” I hissed. The man is amused. I can tell by the look in his eyes. “I have a better proposal for you, child.” “Regrator” inquired. I had not chosen to back down even at the prospect of an offer. “What makes you think I will take it?” I replied, gripping the dagger tight. “I will not surrender you to the Knave. Rather, I’ll take you in as my disciple.”

Disciple? Is this man sick in the head? Why would I agree to that? It seems “Regrator” had heard my thoughts, and so, he added, “Although, it is up to you if you would rather be surrendered back to the Knave… Or join me and I’ll give you a much better purpose, in life… Not that you have any choice on the matter if you decline my offer…” I had no sense of purpose to live for. I am merely an empty shell of what I was once. I have nothing to achieve… In the end, I don't have what it takes to truly end my life. So I will follow my new superior. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be easily obedient. I am rather mad.” And it was the start of something anew…  I had become, “Regrator’s disciple.” I wonder how “Knave” will react to such arrangements… An: Part two will include Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. There will be other characters who will be included as well but, part one's story was set before Lyney became the sucessor of the House of the Hearth. I am thinking of interesting ideas to write for this story and some alternate routes as well... We'll see once I whip up part two.

[earthlybeam]

The elves reacting to the different types of kisses (forehead, cheek, jaw, wrist elven ear, nose, shoulder, lips...)

Lindir version below. (For the three who’s requested Elrond I am currently writing that so don’t worry 😉)

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Forehead kiss

Lindir’s fingers brushed lightly across the strings of his lute, lost in the soft, meandering melody he had been playing for what felt like hours. The room was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds outside the window. His mind was in a peaceful place, the music flowing freely, when suddenly, he felt the unexpected sensation of warmth on his forehead. The softest of touches—your lips, delicate and tender, pressing a kiss against his skin.

He froze for just a moment, his heart skipping a beat as he looked up in surprise, his wide eyes meeting yours. The soft contact sent a wave of warmth washing over him, a heat that was not just physical but deeply emotional, settling in his chest. His pulse quickened, and his breath became shallow as the tender gesture lingered in his thoughts.

His lips quivered, the tremble barely perceptible, as he glanced upward at you, his pale cheeks turning a soft pink. The faint sound of the lute was forgotten as his hand, once strumming effortlessly, fell still. The kiss had shaken him in the most unexpected and delightful way. “Such a simple gesture,” he thought, but as he lowered his gaze, the depth of the meaning behind it seemed almost too much for his heart to bear.

He gently placed the lute aside, the faint smile that tugged at his lips betraying his bashfulness. He was usually so composed, so in control of his emotions—his voice often bold, his playing effortlessly confident. But now, in the quiet aftermath of that kiss, he found himself disarmed.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers tugging nervously at the hem of his tunic, trying to hide the flush that colored his cheeks. “I do not deserve such sweetness,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though the mere act of speaking might break the spell of tenderness that had enveloped him. But in that moment, he felt utterly cherished, as though all of his troubles and insecurities had been temporarily forgotten in the warmth of your affection.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Cheek kiss

The soft hum of Lindir’s song was interrupted by the gentle pressure of your lips pressing against his cheek. The suddenness of the kiss took him completely by surprise, and he froze in place, his fingers faltering on the strings of his lute. A soft, startled gasp escaped his lips as he blinked, stunned by the sensation.

The warmth of your kiss lingered on his skin, and a delicate blush spread across his cheeks. The feeling was like the first rays of sunlight on a cool morning, unexpected but so deeply welcome. He couldn’t help but reach up, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched the spot where your lips had just been. His heart was beating too fast, and his mind raced in a quiet frenzy. “Why did you have to do that?” he thought, though the question wasn’t one of discomfort. It was the exact opposite: it was one of surprise and vulnerability.

Lindir’s heart was not something he easily gave away, but your touch, so gentle and so unexpected, had cracked something open within him. His cheeks flushed even deeper, and he turned his head slightly to look at you, his gaze half-lidded, unsure of how to respond. His usual confidence was nowhere to be found, leaving him with nothing but the soft beat of his heart and the warmth still blooming from your kiss.

A feeling of vulnerability swept over him, more profound than anything he had felt before. He was usually so poised, so in control of his emotions, but in this moment, he felt like a young elf again, unsure and tender. He glanced down, his fingers now tracing the curve of his cheek where your lips had left their mark. There were no words to express what he felt; he simply could not fathom the depth of such a small act.

When he met your eyes again, his expression was softer than usual, the walls he so carefully built around himself beginning to crumble. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips against your cheek in return, his kiss gentle and tentative, but full of a love that had no need for words. His touch was his thank you, a silent acknowledgment of the affection you had so freely offered him. In that simple, tender exchange, Lindir found a quiet peace, knowing he had a love so pure, so selfless, it could bring him to the edges of vulnerability without fear.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jawline kiss

Lindir had been playing a soft melody on his lute, the notes flowing gracefully from his fingertips, when you suddenly leaned in and kissed him gently on the jawline. The touch was so tender, yet it hit him with a surprising intensity. The warmth of your lips on his skin seemed to send an electric current straight through his body, causing him to freeze in place for a brief moment. His body stiffened, and a soft gasp escaped his lips, his breath catching in his chest.

The feeling was so overwhelming that he felt as if time had stopped for a fleeting second. A shiver ran down his spine, and his pulse quickened with a fierce intensity that caught him completely off guard. His heart raced, his breath coming in shallow bursts as the sensation of your lips lingered against him. His hand, which had been resting by his side, immediately tightened around yours, pulling you closer, as though trying to steady himself in the face of the unexpected surge of emotions.

Lindir’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson, the warmth spreading across his pale cheeks and creeping down to his neck. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the inner turmoil he was experiencing. He had never expected such a simple gesture to affect him so deeply, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.

“Why do you always manage to make me feel like this?” His voice was low, thick with the emotion he couldn’t fully hide. His words came out softly, filled with awe and something else—vulnerability. He couldn’t help but feel exposed, his heart laid bare by such a simple act of affection. His embarrassment deepened as he realized just how much he had been affected by the kiss, but there was also an undeniable warmth spreading inside him.

Desperate to regain some composure, Lindir leaned in hesitantly, pressing his lips against your cheek in return. His kiss was soft, almost shy, an unspoken thank you for the affection you had shown him. The warmth of your skin against his lips felt comforting, even though his heart was still racing. As he pulled back, his chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, his voice barely a whisper as he chuckled nervously, “I don’t know why you do this to me.” The laughter was a nervous attempt to deflect the intensity of the emotions swirling within him, but there was no hiding the deep affection in his eyes.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Wrist kiss

Lindir had been lost in his own thoughts, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on the back of your hand. His mind wandered, but the quiet, intimate moment was broken when you lifted his wrist gently to your lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation of your warm lips against his delicate skin sent a shock of awareness through him, and he immediately blinked, his eyes widening with surprise. His breath hitched as his pulse quickened, a soft flush creeping up his neck and across his chest.

For a moment, he was frozen, unsure of how to respond to such a quiet, tender gesture. It was such an intimate touch, one that seemed to speak volumes without uttering a single word. His heart swelled in his chest, a mixture of surprise and overwhelming affection filling him. His gaze met yours, wide and a little uncertain, as if he were trying to fully comprehend the depth of what had just happened. His lips parted slightly, as though he had something to say, but the words wouldn’t come. “So much affection in such a small place,” he thought, the simple act making him feel deeply loved and cherished.

Despite the warmth flooding through him, a subtle awkwardness settled over Lindir. His usual confidence, especially when it came to his music and his words, seemed to falter in the face of such intimate affection. He found himself struggling to understand how to properly respond. The feeling of your lips still lingered on his wrist, sending soft tremors through his body, and his heart fluttered in his chest, a bit of uncertainty clouding his usually calm demeanor.

He turned his gaze downward, his fingers tracing the spot where your lips had been. For a moment, he lingered in the tenderness of the moment, his chest tightening with emotion. Unable to resist the pull of his feelings, he slowly brought his own hand to your wrist, his lips brushing gently against the delicate skin there. His kiss was soft and slow, an intimate return of the affection you had shown him. There was something incredibly grounding in the gesture, a silent exchange of love that didn’t need words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes met yours, soft and full of warmth, the uncertainty that had clouded him moments before now replaced by a deep, quiet affection. He didn’t need to say anything—the kiss he had returned spoke everything he needed to express. Still, a small part of him felt shy, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to fully embrace the vulnerability of such an intimate moment. But despite the slight awkwardness, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart full, as he met your gaze once more.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Lips kiss

Lindir had been walking down the corridor of Rivendell, his thoughts focused on the tasks at hand as the duties of being Lord Elrond’s aide often kept him busy. He held a scroll in his hand, his steps measured and composed as he made his way toward the council hall. The stone walls of the Elven refuge echoed softly with his footsteps, but he wasn’t entirely alone. As he rounded a corner, his gaze was momentarily captured by you standing just ahead.

You had been waiting for him, perhaps knowing he would pass this way, your presence like a quiet whisper in the air. His heart gave an unexpected leap as your eyes met, a gentle smile curving your lips, and for a moment, time seemed to still around him. The responsibilities of his position, the scrolls of duty that weighed in his hand, seemed to melt away as your gaze softened, and your presence surrounded him with a sense of warmth and belonging.

Before Lindir could find the words to greet you, you moved toward him. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened just slightly in surprise, the familiar fluttering of his heart quickening as you stood before him, so close that he could almost feel the warmth of your presence in every fiber of his being.

Without a word, you closed the space between you, your hand rising gently to cup his cheek, and then your lips, soft and tender, brushed against his. The kiss started as a delicate whisper—a brush of affection so light that it almost seemed like a dream. Lindir’s eyes fluttered shut as the warmth of your touch spread through him, his breath hitching for just a moment before he found himself caught in the softness of your kiss.

His lips, initially shy, barely touched yours as he struggled to gather his thoughts, his hands hesitating at his sides before finally moving to cradle yours gently. One of his hands rested on your waist, feeling the delicate curves of your body as his fingers trembled slightly. The kiss was tender, an unspoken exchange of love that he hadn’t known he needed, yet somehow had always longed for.

But as you kissed him more firmly, as if urging him to allow himself to melt into the moment, Lindir’s breath caught again. His heart raced, and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, the warmth of your lips against his causing him to momentarily lose himself in the sensation. His pulse quickened as he leaned into you, surrendering to the connection between you both. He felt his breath grow shallow, his body responding to you in a way that felt both foreign and utterly natural.

Lindir’s hands moved from their tentative place on your waist to hold you more firmly, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss. His gentle nature gave way to something more earnest, the tender affection he had always carried for you now spilling out in the form of a kiss that was no longer shy or hesitant. The kiss, though still full of tenderness, became more urgent, more desperate, as though he were seeking something deeper within you.

His lips moved against yours in a rhythm of longing and devotion, and for a moment, he forgot the world around him—the duties that had so often consumed him, the responsibilities that had weighed heavy on his shoulders. All that mattered, in that fleeting moment, was the warmth of your touch, the softness of your kiss, and the connection between you.

When he finally pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breathing was uneven, the intensity of the kiss still lingering between you. He gazed at you with wide, soft eyes, his lips slightly parted as he tried to find his words, though none came immediately. He smiled shyly, the vulnerability in his eyes unmistakable, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before murmuring, “I have never known such sweetness.” His voice was quiet, almost reverent, as though the kiss had revealed something new to him—something beautiful and profound that he hadn’t fully understood until now.

Lindir’s heart was still racing in his chest, his body still responding to the aftershocks of the kiss. He had always been a lover of music, of poetry, and of art, but in this moment, he understood that there was a depth to love that no words, no melody could ever fully capture. The kiss had told him everything he needed to know.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Temple kiss

The day had turned soft and quiet, the room filled only with the gentle sounds of the wind rustling through the trees outside and the occasional rustle of papers. Lindir was lost in the peace of the moment, his hand resting lightly in yours, his gaze flickering between the lute he’d left aside and your gentle, calming presence. The day had been full of music, but now it was simply about being together—no words, no performance, just the comfort of your company.

It wasn’t until you leaned in that Lindir truly felt the shift. Your lips pressed softly against his temple, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. The warmth of your kiss enveloped him like a soft, protective cloak, and his body responded instantly. A small shiver ran down his spine as the kiss, though simple, carried an undeniable intimacy—a sense of safety, of quiet love, that grounded him completely in the moment.

Lindir closed his eyes for a split second, savoring the feeling of your lips against his skin. The sensation was so gentle, and yet so profound. It wasn’t a kiss of passion or fervor; it was a kiss of care, a kiss that wrapped around him like the very air he breathed. He felt, in that brief moment, that he was home—that with you, nothing else mattered. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you in this sacred space.

His shoulders, which had been tense with the small, unnoticed stress of the day, relaxed under your touch, his muscles softening as if he were shedding the weight of the world. The tenderness of your gesture melted away the hidden anxieties, and he found himself at peace, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to say anything at all. The kiss had spoken all the words he couldn’t find.

Lindir let his forehead rest gently against yours as you lingered close, a wordless exchange of affection flowing between you. He had never been so at ease, so completely content in someone’s presence. His hand, still gently cradling yours, tightened just slightly, the touch full of warmth and trust. A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he leaned in slightly more, savoring the peaceful connection.

In that quiet moment, his thoughts were filled with gratitude, a deep sense of being seen and loved for who he truly was. “You always know how to bring me peace,” he thought softly, a whisper of a thought that spoke more than words could ever express. Your love, so gentle and unwavering, had a way of soothing the weariness that Lindir never realized he carried until moments like these.

As the kiss lingered, the bond between you seemed to solidify, no longer needing to be spoken aloud. It was a bond of quiet moments, of shared affection, and Lindir couldn’t help but feel like everything he needed was right there in your arms, in the gentle touch of your lips against his temple. And in that moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Neck kiss

Lindir sat alone in the quiet alcove of Rivendell, his attention absorbed in the scroll before him. The soft rustle of the parchment was the only sound in the peaceful corner, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch on, calm and undisturbed. His fingers lightly traced the script as he worked through the task at hand, the rhythmic nature of his work giving him a sense of grounding. But then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted.

You approached quietly, so gently that he didn’t even hear you until your presence was close. Before he could react, your lips pressed softly against the sensitive skin of his neck. The kiss was light but electric, sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. The warmth of your touch seared through his skin, and Lindir’s breath hitched in surprise. His whole body froze for just a heartbeat, caught between the shock of the moment and the undeniable pleasure it stirred within him.

A soft, barely audible noise escaped his lips—an almost breathless “Ah…”—the sound so foreign and unintentional that it only deepened his immediate fluster. It was a soft mewl, more from the shock of being so tenderly kissed than any real discomfort. His breath quickened as his body reacted instinctively, stiffening under the intensity of the sensation. His pulse hammered in his chest, racing faster with each passing second, the sound of it echoing in his ears.

The kiss on his neck seemed to spread a warmth that radiated throughout his entire body, pooling in his chest and settling deep within him. His skin burned where your lips had met him, and the sensation sent shivers down his spine, a thrill of pleasure and vulnerability washing over him. His face flushed a bright crimson, his skin heated and almost painfully aware of your closeness. Lindir’s fingers clenched involuntarily at his sides, as if he were holding onto something to steady himself, unsure whether to pull away or allow the moment to unfold further.

He turned his head slightly, unable to meet your gaze directly, as if the overwhelming intimacy had caught him off guard. A quiet gasp slipped past his lips, and his words came out in a quiet, trembling whisper, barely audible. “You do things to me that I cannot understand…” His voice was thick with a mixture of awe and confusion. He was always composed—careful and poised—but this gesture, this simple kiss, unraveled him in a way he had not anticipated.

Lindir closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure, but his heartbeat continued to race, and the sensation of your lips on his neck lingered in his mind. His body was still betraying him, reacting to your touch in ways he couldn’t fully control. Even though he tried to steady his breath, he felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet, in a way, deeply cherished.

The soft, lingering feeling of your kiss seemed to reverberate within him, leaving a mark of warmth that he could not ignore. He could feel the aftershocks of the kiss, like a pulse of affection that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. The tenderness and affection behind it filled him with an overwhelming sense of closeness, a bond that went beyond words. His fingers, still twitching at his sides, finally reached out slowly, brushing against your arm with a gentleness that mirrored the way your lips had touched him.

And even though Lindir still struggled to find the right words, his heart knew the truth of the moment he felt both exposed and loved, his vulnerability laid bare, yet cherished all the more for it. He could not deny the effect you had on him, nor the joy and warmth that filled him after this quiet, intimate exchange.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Hand kiss

The evening had fallen quietly around Rivendell, the soft glow of lanterns reflecting off the stone floors as Lindir and you walked side by side down a narrow corridor. The distant sound of Elven voices filled the air, but for a moment, it was just the two of you—caught in a peaceful, shared silence. Lindir’s thoughts drifted, his mind at ease with the beauty of the night, until your hand suddenly slipped into his.

It was a simple touch, but the intimacy of it caught him off guard. He looked at your hand, his heart skipping a beat at the way your fingers intertwined with his. His breath faltered for a brief moment, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed the warmth of your hand to anchor him, feeling the quiet strength and tenderness of your presence.

Then, without saying a word, you brought his hand gently to your lips. The soft press of your kiss against his knuckles was like a spark, igniting a quiet fire within him. The warmth of your lips lingered there, and Lindir felt a sensation he had not expected—tenderness, affection, and a profound sense of being cherished.

His breath caught in his chest, his heart swelling with emotion. He had always been the one to give, to share his music, his art, and his words, but in this moment, he was overwhelmed by the quiet love you offered him without asking for anything in return. His hand, usually so occupied with the duties of his position, felt like it was made of something softer, more delicate, now that it rested in your care.

Lindir’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his gaze softening as he allowed himself to fully experience the moment. There was no need for grand declarations or sweeping gestures, just the quiet intimacy of your kiss. His pulse quickened, and a small, shy smile played at the corners of his lips. “Your touch is always so gentle,” he thought, his chest tightening with emotion. His voice was soft, his tone filled with a quiet awe, “I’ve never known such tenderness before.”

Still holding your hand, he brought his other hand to yours, lifting it delicately and pressing his lips to your knuckles in return. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and full of the love he felt for you. His lips lingered there for a moment, a gesture of gratitude, an offering of his own affection.

When he pulled back, there was a slight flush to his cheeks, a soft vulnerability in the way he looked at you. “You have a way of making everything feel… beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. His heart still fluttered with the intensity of the moment, and the simplicity of your affection made him feel as though he was floating in a world that existed just for the two of you.

He tightened his hold on your hand, a silent promise—one he would keep, for as long as he had the breath to do so. The warmth of your touch remained with him, filling him with a joy that he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Shoulder kiss

The quiet halls of Rivendell hummed with the soft sounds of the day—an occasional rustle of papers, the distant pluck of strings from a lute, and the murmur of conversations echoing down the long corridors. Lindir, ever the dutiful aide, was absorbed in his work at his desk, his hands moving with precision as he read through letters and wrote responses for Lord Elrond. He had long ago mastered the art of filtering out distractions, his mind solely focused on his responsibilities. So when you approached him, he didn’t hear your soft steps or sense your presence until it was too late.

Without a word, you leaned in, and your lips brushed against his bare shoulder. The soft pressure of your kiss was a complete surprise, a gentle warmth that seemed to permeate his very being. Lindir’s body froze for a fraction of a second, the unexpectedness of the touch pulling him from his thoughts. His breath hitched in his chest, his heart racing as though it had been startled into beating faster. He closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer tenderness of the gesture.

The sensation of your lips against his skin sent a pleasant shiver through him, the heat radiating from where you kissed him, spreading through his body in waves. His breath became shallow as his pulse quickened, and a deep blush began to color his cheeks, painting his pale skin a delicate shade of pink.

Lindir had always been self-conscious about his appearance, especially when it came to his more vulnerable spots—his shoulders, his neck, the softer parts of him he had never fully embraced. But your kiss—so soft, so tender—made him feel seen in a way he couldn’t explain. It was as if, for that moment, you looked past his insecurities and simply cherished him for who he was.

The intimacy of it made his emotions swell, and he fought to steady his breath. “This closeness…” he thought, his heart full of gratitude and quiet affection. The vulnerability he usually felt in such moments was soothed by the calm, steady warmth of your touch. The simple kiss on his shoulder filled him with a quiet sense of belonging, of love, as though you had wrapped him in a safe, unspoken embrace.

When you finally pulled back, Lindir slowly opened his eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a mixture of awe and love. His hands found yours, gently pulling you closer as his lips parted into a shy, warm smile. “You do not know how much your kindness means to me,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet sincerity.

Without another word, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that spoke volumes—an unspoken promise, a quiet thank you for the love and warmth you had shown him in such a simple, profound way.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Nose kiss

The evening had settled over Rivendell in a soft glow, the lanterns casting their golden light on the stone walls as you and Lindir walked through the halls. The day’s duties had faded into the background, replaced by a shared moment of laughter and ease as you strolled together, trading stories and teasing each other in that familiar way that came from being close. Lindir was telling you about a song he had recently composed, his voice warm and light as he laughed along with the rhythm of his own words. The sound of his laughter was like music in the quiet hall, playful and full of joy.

In the middle of his tale, you leaned in without warning, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. The contact was unexpected, and Lindir froze for a moment, his eyes wide as he registered the gentle touch. He blinked at you, his expression one of surprise, his lips parting in a soft laugh that seemed to escape before he could fully catch his breath. The touch was light, almost mischievous, but it filled him with a joy that he couldn’t quite contain.

His cheeks flushed instantly, a soft pink spreading across his face as he reached up, almost instinctively, to brush his fingers lightly against his nose where your lips had just been. He couldn’t suppress the warmth that blossomed within him, the deep rush of affection he felt for you. “Did you just kiss my nose?” he asked, his voice light and teasing, but the softness in it revealed just how deeply he cherished even the simplest gestures from you. His laugh, still ringing with warmth, filled the hallway, making the air around him feel lighter.

“You always know how to make me smile,” he thought, his heart soaring with the sweetness of the moment. The playfulness of it all was such a contrast to his usual composed nature, and yet, it made him feel more alive than ever. The gentle kiss on his nose, so playful and yet filled with love, made him feel cherished in a way he hadn’t realized he craved until that moment.

Blushing even more, Lindir leaned in and kissed your cheek, the gesture swift but full of warmth. His heart raced in his chest, and his breath came in a soft sigh as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His smile deepened, and the joy in his eyes was unmistakable.

“You have such a way with me,” he murmured, his voice soft, the playful banter still lingering between you. But as he gazed at you, it was clear that he was more than just amused—he was moved, his love for you reflected in every glance, every smile. Even in the midst of your teasing, you had a way of making him feel special, seen, and deeply loved.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Elven ear kiss

Lindir sat at his desk in his private chambers, the soft flicker of candlelight casting gentle shadows on the papers scattered in front of him. His dark chestnut brown hair fell gracefully over his shoulders, partly veiling his ears as he concentrated on his task. The quiet hum of the wind outside and the rhythmic scratching of his quill on parchment were the only sounds in the otherwise still room. His mind was fully absorbed in the task at hand: carefully recording a report for Lord Elrond. The peace of the moment, the solitude, seemed to settle around him, and for a brief time, the world outside faded into a distant murmur.

Unaware of your presence, Lindir was lost in his thoughts, his focus unbroken as he worked. Then, in an instant, the quiet was pierced by the soft sound of your approach. You moved toward him with the quiet grace that only an elf could possess, your steps almost soundless as you neared. Without warning, you leaned over, pressing your lips gently against the delicate curve of his ear.

The sensation was like nothing Lindir had ever experienced. The kiss, soft as a whisper, made his entire body freeze, every muscle tensing as a shiver of unexpected pleasure raced through him. His breath caught in his throat, and a low, involuntary moan slipped past his lips before he could stop it. The warmth of your lips against his sensitive ear was overwhelming, igniting a rush of sensations that left him temporarily disoriented. His entire body felt as though it had been electrified, each nerve alive and humming with the intimate touch.

Lindir’s eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, to hold onto the moment without becoming entirely lost in it. His pulse quickened, the rhythmic beat pounding in his ears like the sound of distant drums. His heart raced wildly, a deep flush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, leaving him deeply embarrassed but undeniably elated. “What is it about you…” he thought to himself, his mind struggling to find the words to understand the intensity of what you made him feel.

His ears, finely attuned to every sensation, burned with warmth from your kiss. He could feel his Elven ears, normally hidden beneath the curtain of his hair, turning a shade of red that mirrored the heat flooding his face. His eyes opened slowly, and he turned his head toward you, still dazed from the unexpected intimacy. The softness of your touch lingered in the air around him, as though the kiss had left an imprint on his very soul.

Immediately, Lindir turned away, his hand coming to his face in a desperate attempt to hide his blush. His cheeks burned, the feeling of embarrassment overwhelming as he mumbled under his breath, “I… I didn’t mean to—” But his words were cut short by a soft laugh escaping you. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, finding it utterly endearing. He had moaned, after all, and it had caught him completely off guard.

With a playful grin, you leaned in, pressing your face into the soft waves of his dark chestnut hair, nuzzling him gently. The action only seemed to embarrass Lindir further, and he squeaked in surprise, his body stiffening as though trying to escape the tender, teasing affection. His eyes widened in flustered surprise, and he let out a soft, nervous laugh, half-shocked at the intensity of his own reaction.

“You’re teasing me now,” Lindir whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to regain his composure. But his blush only deepened as he buried his face in his hand, attempting to shield himself from your teasing gaze. His Elven ears burned brighter, the pink hue spreading across his skin like wildfire.

The moment you nuzzled into his hair, Lindir’s breath caught, and he couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that bubbled up from deep within him, the sound a little embarrassed but full of joy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head in playful exasperation, but there was no denying the tenderness in his tone. He could feel his heart still racing from the intimate kiss, but now the warmth of your affection seemed to steady him, even as his face remained flushed and his body still hummed with the aftershocks of your touch.

“You’re not making this any easier, you know,” he added, his voice light and teasing now, though the shy smile that tugged at his lips was still there. He leaned into you, allowing himself a moment of comfort, even as his body flushed with both embarrassment and affection. The overwhelming pleasure of the kiss had made him lose his composure for a moment, but now, in the safety of your embrace, he was beginning to find his footing again.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Back of the neck kiss

Lindir was nestled in the quiet of his chambers, a plush cushion beneath him as he sat cross-legged, lost in the soothing rhythm of his harp. His fingers moved gracefully across the strings, the delicate melody drifting through the room like a soft breeze. The light of the late afternoon sun filtered through the window, casting a golden glow that danced across the stone floor and illuminated the serene scene. Lindir’s mind was far away, adrift in the music, the familiar comfort of the tune grounding him in a calm, almost meditative state.

He didn’t hear your approach, his attention fully consumed by the melody he was creating. The space around him seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the music and his thoughts. Then, without any warning, you were there—your presence felt only when you leaned down, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

The suddenness of the kiss made Lindir stiffen in surprise, his entire body reacting to the intimate touch. A gasp escaped him before he could stop it, his breath catching as an unexpected shiver ran through him. The kiss on the back of his neck felt like a jolt of electricity, sparking sensations he hadn’t anticipated. His fingers froze mid-strum, the soft melody of the harp falling into an abrupt silence. His whole body tensed, every muscle going rigid as his mind struggled to comprehend the overwhelming feeling.

He held his breath for a moment, feeling the heat of your lips against the delicate nape of his neck, and a wave of warmth spread through his entire body. Goosebumps prickled along his skin, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the pleasure surged through him. His heart began to race, the soft beats now quickened with a mix of surprise and something more intense—desire, perhaps.

Lindir slowly turned to face you, his movements hesitant at first, as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the intimacy of the moment with the shock it had caused. His eyes were wide, filled with a quiet awe, and he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as they sought out your touch. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to calm the fluttering in his heart.

His Elven ears, usually so attuned to every sound around him, were sensitive to the slightest change in temperature or touch, and now they were flushed a deep shade of red. He could feel the heat spreading to his cheeks, his embarrassment evident in the way he quickly tried to hide his reaction. He turned toward you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck to bury his face from view, unable to fully suppress the blush that had bloomed across his face. His lips were still trembling from the shock of the kiss, and his heart seemed to thrum with the intensity of it all.

The feeling of your arms around him, the warmth of your touch, made him feel both exposed and adored, his vulnerability laid bare in that simple gesture. Despite the overwhelming sensations, there was a quiet joy in it too. The rush of intimacy, though unexpected, filled him with a sense of closeness to you that left him breathless in more ways than one.

“I didn’t expect that…” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with a mixture of surprise, affection, and the lingering effects of your touch. His heart was still racing, his chest rising and falling with a quickness that betrayed the effect you had on him. “You leave me speechless,” he added, his words laced with affection but also a note of shyness as he nuzzled deeper into your neck, trying to hide the redness in his face.

He was embarrassed by how his body had reacted—how his pulse had surged, how his skin had come alive under your touch. But there was also something in that moment that left him longing for more. The closeness, the tenderness, and the raw emotion made him feel more connected to you than ever before, and he wasn’t sure he could find the words to express just how much it meant to him.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[wherethegoldenleavesfall]

gihun headcanons???

Well first off, I have this headcanon that Gihun was born premature. That since birth, Gihun has been fighting the odds. That Gihun was a fighter from day one.

Others are miscellaneous:

-Gihun's fear directly turns into anger. His fear fuels it in other words. He will fight, freeze, or fawn once he is in danger. He has no care if you insult or hurt him, however he will physically fight any gods or get into argument with them. Or both will happen if they go after his loved ones.

His anger has multitude of levels. 1. Self blame. 2. Wrath is based on injustice and unfairness. 3. Fury is based on being complelety done with people. Like a look that says I am tired, you are being stupid, leave now or else. 4. Is when Gihun goes completely silent, stewing in rage, about to explode.

As the wise prophet Shrek once advised.

-Gihun has a strong, powerful death glare. You have 5 seconds before I go feral. To kick your ass or verbally dominate you in an argument. The strongest is the I will end you twice over, take up necromancy, and end you once again.

-Gihun is neurodivergent. I see him having ADHD, autism, BPD, C-PTSD, depression and obsessive compulsions. I can provide evidence for each, even for the one not mentioned above. Not a cis person by any means. I fully see pansexual Gihun. But Bi Gihun is still valid.

-Gihun upon seeing Sangwoo for the first time thought I will protect this boy and be his hyung. Just picture baby Gihun with I do not care how you feel about me, but you will love my Sangwoo look.

-Was considered a slacker, not any teachers favorite by a longshot, class jester, clown, and scagegoat.

-Gihun struggled in school big time. Had no support or accommodations at school. Was heavily stigmatized in school when younger and still is well into adulthood years.

-Is an engineering genius, dabbles in all engineering fields, excellent mechanic. Pity that Dragon Motors exploited and overworked Gihun so bad.

-self taught themselves engineering and all relavant fields that engineering correspond with.

-Being blacklisted from all Engineering fields devasted Gihun. To the point Jungbae was desperate to get Gihun out of the house and well you know how that went.

-is a surprisingly good at drawing and sketching, keeps so many blueprints around the house.

-can be very hard to read at times during their quiet moments in season 1 and 2.

-is a motor mouth typically, in their calculation mode, Gihun would have the quiet moments mentioned above.

-as Jungbae can attest too any soap opera, sitcom, or any law and order shows will be ruined as Gihun nails every character beat. Who fathered Susie's baby, not her husband Mark for sure. Who is the murderer, its the kid next door. As a result knows the plot twists a mile away. Gihun will take all the fun out.

-can read people's auras and their emotional states well. Knows who to trust, who to avoid, and how to read the mood in a room fast. Is very loyal to people unless proven otherwise; that loyalty blinds them to betrayal though.

-Gihun's faith in people and humanity is an ever twisting, burning, serrated-metal clawed-out heart that still remembers past betrayals but refuses to remove the knives. Refuses to let any ghosts go as well. Gihun is already fully aware of how bad people can get. Gihun is under no illusions despite what a certain someone -cough inho cough- thinks.

-when asleep, heart rare and pulse go so low that Gihun is frequently shaken awake by a worried Sangwoo, his mother, or a concerned Jungbae. Does sleeptalk on occasion. Is prone to sleepwalking as well.

-loves to cuddle and sleep by other people as Gihun seeks heat out in their sleep.

-is a very tactile person and learner.

-can learn fast, will ask stupid questions to see what the person would say or what they omit. Can catch people in a contradiction fast. Can calm down situations fast. People let their guard down around Gihun like spellcraft. And is underestimated constantly. However, Gihun believes they are completely stupid and grossly incompetent.

-Gihun is a scrappy, adaptable, emotional, fierce, messy, and loving disaster of a person.

-did not win their squid game by plot armor, pure dumb luck, or both.

-was and is a complete mama's kid. Even though Malsoon in younger years was always on Gihun's case, was a tiger mom, and was always working. So Gihun, was mostly left alone to own devices.

-Gihun's extracurriculars were ballet, gymnastics, and figure skating. Point being that in iceskating circles, Gihun was referred to as the "Ice Royal".

-growing up took great pride in eating all their spinach and other green foods so they can grow up big and tall. To Malsoon's pure amusement.

-Gihun learned basic vet skills to care for any injured, starving strays. Gihun also knows how to groom them; to take care of them for a short term until they are well again. You can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead hands.

-Malsoon does not know but Gihun has resorted to prostitution and escort service in the past.

- Gihun's favorite colors are pastel shades. Especially the rainbow. Pastel Princess always. Invented the term drama queen.

After the games though, the rainbow 🌈 and pastel colors are gone. And his smile is gone.

-Gihun's favorite animals are kangaroos, elephants, hippos, horses, lions specifically lionesses, tigers, echidnas, the platypus, and wolves.

-Gihun names all the horses he bets on and I like to think he also looks them up.

-as a demigod, Gihun has adhd and dyslexia. Demigod dreams was how he knows what the Frontman looks like.

-after Gihun won the 33rd Squid Games, the aftermath of the final game was dubbed by the workers as the Bites of 2020. As 20 workers were attacked, mauled, and bitten in many places from them trying to pry off Gihun from Sangwoo's body. Put his body in a gift wrapped coffin to take him away. All while Gihun lunged and screamed at them to stop.

-Has many paradoxical character traits. I have found a post with unique character traits. Gihun has 2, 4, 6, 12, and 13 in my eyes.

-entered the squid games already traumatized before, a stepford smiler.

-Trauma post games involve Gihun trying to not take up space by limiting food intake-possible eating disorder. Gihun's room is so painfully bare.

-Gihun has so much insecurities, that if they were money, Gihun would be rich 5 times over. Gihun's insecurities have insecurities. I suppose you can say that they have layers like onions and ogres.

-can be oblivious and callous, rude, or sharp with people. Can be literal minded. Can be violent, deranged, and way too fired up.

-sometimes forgetful, loses focus easily; has skewed priorities at times. Has a limited mouth filter. Can lose the big picture to only see. Can be too food obsessed at times; as demigod big three children have supercharged metabolisms.

-out of box thinker. Loves to keep wires along with a small toolkit in their pockets.

-in a smore competition with Jungbae, Gihun lost to fire 🔥. Jungbae forever holds it against Gihun.

-Gihun and Jungbae's combined antics are the talk of their hometown and neighborhoods. Especially the incident that shall not be named so help me Jungbae.

-once when they were young, Jungbae asked Gihun to promise him. Bros before jerkasses allowing Jungbae to have veto powers over any freaks or non freaks Gihun will date in the future. Especially if they will be Gihun's future spouse or romantic partner.

-has Cloudcuckoolander tendencies and intentionally acts stupid sometimes to get a response, information, or further info ie probing someone's mood. Sometimes is just oblivious to their impacts on other people for good or bad.

-Loves chocolate milk because of the sugar. And well Gihun is lactose intolerant to regular milk.

I hope these are good enough. Sorry for the long wait. 😅

[elen-tari2]

My Kastle Scene Wishlist

I’m not sure what Kastle content we might get in Daredevil Born Again, but there is also talk that they might make a new Punisher show. What are some scenes/parallels that you would like to see between Frank and Karen? Here’s a few of my musings

Reversed Hospital Scene! I would like to see Frank momentarily panic over Karen getting hurt and have a turn holding her hand in a hospital bed. I feel like we deserve this scene so bad. (Caveat: Frank CANNOT be the reason Karen got injured, even if it’s just she got shot in the arm or has a concussion; Karen is in dangerous situations regardless of Frank being near her or not and he needs a wake up call for that). Bonus points for the total opposite of telling her to walk way—this time HE GETS IN THE HOSPITAL BED and puts his arms around her and just holds her and Karen gets to feel completely safe for a few minutes. Just go all out with the hurt/comfort trope for these two. Anyway, I have a whole WIP fic devoted to this, so honestly it has become my top wish to see some parallels drawn with another hospital scene.

Karen gets to help in a fight and shoots someone. I feel like since they never got to have the Wesley conversation, a way to show-not-tell would be for Karen to kill a bad guy and then Frank come check on her to be like, ‘hey are you okay?’and she’d be like, ‘yeah, I am.’ She’d be a bit shaken up but grimly holding it together because it’s not her first time killing someone. This would also work in contrast to the scene where Amy shoots the guy in the hall and then Frank infamously takes the gun from her and takes the responsibility of his death away from her. Sorry to make Karen suffer because I know she’ll feel bad about it, but I’d be okay with seeing her character go a little bit darker to save someone’s life. She’s been carrying that gun since DDs2, she deserves to take out a baddie on her own and it’d be a great segue into rehashing some of her past that Frank NEEDS to know about

Frank meets Paxton Page. Will the show make time for this? Probably not. But damn do I want to know what Frank would say if he knew that Karen’s dad cut off his only daughter, when Frank would do anything—anything—to spend one minute with Lisa again. I’d love to see Frank go to Fagan Corners with Karen to put flowers on her mom and brother’s graves. We spent three seasons of Frank being able to open up around Karen and talk about his family with her. Meanwhile she has never once said anything about the losses she’s suffered. Frank needs to know and I don’t want it all jammed into one big backstory dump where she tells him she killed her brother and Wesley in the same conversation. Another option would be for Frank to accidentally visit Karen on the anniversary of her mom/Kevin’s death and she is having a breakdown. If we can’t get into any of Karen’s past, have Frank find out Karen has his burner phone saved in her contacts listed as Home. I’ve seen that idea in several different fics and it just needs to be canon. They are Home to each other.

A scene where Frank holds Karen all night and they don’t have sex, but it’s profound. (Think like Spike holding Buffy). If they are nervous about comics fans being mad about Frank Castle finding love again, give us some physical intimacy and closeness where you know they mean everything to each other but can’t cross the line and make things real. Fan fic writers will know we won and then fill in the rest for those cowards.

If they’re willing to make Kastle real, give us a goddamn kiss. Actually, just let them have sex, because Karen Page has been forced to stay chaste for YEARS and she deserves to get laid. And Jon Bernthal seems to be more than comfortable doing sex scenes soooo please just make it the most beautiful thing ever filmed because they are so in love with each other. It has to be noticeably different in tone from the scene with Beth. And Karen cannot get shot the next day, don’t even start with any of that bull$hit trauma for Frank.

Kastle pillow talk scene. Since it’s Disney Marvel now, I don’t know how much we can hope for with a sex scene. So the pillow talk scene that follows had better be some life-altering confessions of love and cuddles. Do not even think about him sneaking out before she wakes up like he almost did with Beth. Karen deserves something good to happen to her for once, let her have a perfect night and a gentle, soft morning after. She deserves it even if Frank isn’t sure if he does.

Karen Page and Dinah Madani Friendship. I’m rewatching The Punisher s2 and one thing that pissed me off was the scenes of fake bonding between Dinah and Krista Dumont, drinking wine together and discussing men (Frank and Billy, who else). So. To make up for that, we need some genuine female friendships, like Karen and Dinah going to a shooting range together or gym or going out to a nice bar for girls night. Even if Frank has been keeping his distance, these ladies have struck up a friendship and Karen has someone to hang out with besides her lawyer coworkers.

Karen gets to meet Micro/The Lieberman family AND Curtis. David knows how Frank really feels about Karen. Curtis needs to find out Frank DOES still have something good holding him in this world. And Karen should meet Frank’s friends.

Okay those are some of the scenes I want to see for Frank and Karen! If someone could please get this list to the Punisher writers for the future of the show, it’s actually very important that we get some of this or I’m gonna have to come write for the show myself. 🙈

[bluebimbodreams]

The Origins of Decay: A Nosferatu/Harry Potter fic.

///Tags: Snape!Reader, Orlok/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader, Sirius is an innocent man and gets to raise Harry, Hogwarts professor!Reader, Reader speaks to Orlok in archaic English but idk if that needs a tag or not, Orlok refers to reader as Girl///

!!!This fic contains slight emotional and physical abuse. If that upsets you, do not read!!!

Authors note: I wrote this in third person since it's what I'm most comfortable with. Anyway, enjoy!!

Prologue: Come to Me

The wind howled outside her bedroom window, briefly masking the sound of her sobs with its high-pitched shriek. She was miserable in every sense of the word, for she was battling an internal war over her conflicting emotions for her fiancé, Sirius Black. He was a charming older man with the spirit of young stallion that sent any woman or man reeling for his affection, however, as fate would have it, he set his eyes upon Y/n Snape, the daughter of a man he had once tormented during his years at Hogwarts- And Y/n being young and willing to break a few social norms, she willingly began dating the much older man despite the protest of her parents; Maggie and Severus Snape. It was a beautiful romance when it first began, Sirius insisted on waiting until marriage to share a bed with her, and he never went farther than a peck on the lips and a pat on the head. But now that they were engaged, all Sirius could talk about was how he awaited the day their bodies would finally become one and they would finally be the family he always wanted: Which brought her to her second concern. You see, Sirius was raising his young godson, Harry Potter, and he fully expected her to help raise him along with whatever children the couple would have together. And since Y/n was so young, she wasn't ready to take on such large responsibilities just yet, especially this early in life.

Finally, she was shaken out of her thoughts by a strange mix of smells; one smelled of lilac, the other was the looming stench of decay. "At last," she thought to herself, sitting up and spotting a looming specter at the foot of her bed. "My Lord, you've returned to me." she greeted the figure, crawling towards him and gently grabbing the cloth of the withering tunic he wore. "You have been crying, girl." he noted, taking his clawlike finger and wiping away the tear tracks. "I can't stop myself; I cry whenever I think of Sirius." she admitted, wrapping her hand around his wrist and pressing his palm against her cheek. "Then you shouldn't think of him, especially in my presence," He scolded, allowing her to hold his hand in place. Y/n nodded, sniffling as she spoke. "Forgive me, I was consumed by the looming danger in this situation." she answered sarcastically, trying to make herself feel better. Suddenly, the loud clash of Orlok's hand hitting her face echoed throughout the dark bedroom. "Watch how you speak to me, Girl, I am not to be taken lightly!" he shouted, watching as she clutched her face in pain. Tears escaped her eyes again as she caught her breath, looking up at her secretive companion with fear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she quickly sat up again, grabbing handfuls of his clothes and pulling him closer. "Forgive me, please, I did not mean to offend you!" She pleaded, burying her face into his chest. Orlok didn't move at first, letting her make a weeping fool of herself in front of him. The sight stirred something within the vampyre, yet it was neither sympathy nor love. No, it was lust.

"Look at me, Girl," he forced her chin upward, making her gaze into his dark eyes. "Do you see how your affliction is making you behave?" his words were cold like death, yet she couldn't deny the truth in them. "I have told you once before that this human dilemma is beneath you, that he is beneath you. Have I not?" Y/n nodded, knowing that he was referring to Sirius. "I will not have you weeping and moaning like an insolent child, which is why I will give you a choice," Those words caused her to raise an eyebrow with intrigue. "What choice?" she asked, keeping her gaze locked with his. "I will give you until the end of the year to choose me or him. If you choose me, I will give you a life that is fit for a queen..." he inhaled deeply, sounding as though he was gasping for air. "If you choose him, I will leave and never return, no matter how many times you call for me." his hand grabbed her jaw again, forcing her body upwards and inches away from his face. "Choose wisely, Girl, for your choice is of great importance." Her eyelids felt heavier and heavier, until she felt herself fall asleep in his arms. When she awoke, she was swaddled in her bed, completely alone within the room. The only reminder of his visit was the lingering smell of lilac and decay.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 6

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Here we are on book 2!

I took a couple days off because my body was perishing (read: my uterus was being a little bitch) but I am back :D

Today's tea is an apple crumble with milk and sugar and my little reading buddy (Charlie) has returned for this chapter Extra Needy and sporting his new necktie.

Let's get into this long chapter:

And we start three years later! I was wondering if there was going to be a time jump and there is! :) p9

Why is everyone so thirsty in this world RE: Ning YingYing p10

Oh dang. I really want to know what's making people melt into skeletons p13

Shen Qingqiu is such a vibe" I know I am physically useless, but i'm also a walking encyclopedia so I bring that to the party" p14 honestly same

So many corpses in the water!! p18

Oh shit, what the heck Wu Chen's legs? p22

RE: Wu Chen I did lol at "Great Master, you call this a bit uncomfortable?!" p 22

this totally feels more like a curse than a standard plague p24

why am I laughing so hard at "fuck me, with this speed, they wouldn't lose to a runner doing the 100-metre hurdles! 'Old Lady'? Yeah right! I must be blind!"p26

oooo! Gongyi Xiao is back! p28

Baby is back too!! Luo Binghe! pp29-31

omg and now there is a height difference! Shen qinqgiu being the smol one p32

Re: on the subject of thinking it was a curse like 15 pages ago, it is not a curse. I don't know why I thought it would be literally anything other than demons LOL this is the plot of the entire fictional universe of this book p37

Luo Binghe still only has eyes for Shen Qingqiu- even after being tossed into hell p38

I truly love the inner monologue of Shen Qingqiu's thoughts vs what people just kind of assume he's feeling. SQQ: Luo Binghe has brainwashed these disciples, he is definitely coming for me, I am fucked. Everyone else: this poor man misses his student so much, he is so hurt that Luo Binghe didn't go back to him.

LOL at Luo Binghe's hatefire at seeing SQQ and Gongyi Xiao bonding together p42

I can't XD SQQ: I have a huge announcement guys, Luo Binghe is back!!!! Everyone else: who tf is that? RIP p44

no shit that demonic activity increasing in frequency is 100% indeed a bad omen. p47

I'm crying SQQ thinks Luo BInghe is about to kill him p48

not the magpie bridge reference p50

This man is just crushing his windpipe for funsies -> why do I feel like this is their dynamic? p50

SQQ is actually an idiot. This fool is continuously operating under the assumption that nothing in the story has changed and the original story is guaranteed. If he heard these words and responded appropriately he'd probably be fine RE: "Then why did you tell me not to put too much weight on race and that no one is intolerable to the heavens" p55

Goddamn is Luo Binghe just going to keep beating the shit out of SQQ?? pp57-59

He really made him drink his blood (side note: when this is all said and done, I need to read some vampire aus) What even is that blood going to do to him?? (do not actually tell me, I assume I will find out soonish) p59

I am once again here to talk about how utterly Fucked SQQ is. He still has 0 idea that Luo Binghe has absolutely claimed him p65

Oh dang. Still, even after all this, SQQ has not shaken his original fate of being hated p69

Bro should have let Qi Qingyi finish that sentence. Re: out of his mind with grief" also probably would have changed some things (even if he was embarrassed as hell) p71

omg so much happening in this scene rn AND then Shen Qingqiu's ex shows up out of no where?!?!?!?!??!!? p73

this man truly cannot catch a break p75

holy shit not even his ex- his wife??????? p75

oop, we have SQQ backstory reveal p77

But also with this reveal: it's a little weird for her though. Like her family takes in this kid from the street, makes him a servant. He continues to serve them, his "family" starts to view him a sibling, AND THEN they get betrothed (not married). Like what. This is wild poor guy- weird because sibling dynamics, also he was their servant. I think she is the weird one honestly. p77

okay, well, he did kill her brother LOL p78

the water prison does not sound good. p81

he really wants to try and last a month there??? best of luck buddy, he cant even handle riding in a carriage without a snack p85

Bonus picture with no notes!

I'm actually so excited for the water prison- it sounds vile, but I need to know how he get's out/how his relationship with Luo Binghe progresses.

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Why don't you just give in?Pt.4

Fem reader

Pt.3

You

I grab my drink and follow the girls to a nearby table, we’re seated midway between the bar and the back of the pub. I know the girls are watching the lads at the pool table, I can’t help myself either as I look up and watch as Simon loses his current round against Gaz. His movements around the table are sleek, like a panther, and practised as he lines up his next shot. His muscles flexing under his jacket, the hem of his jacket and shirt riding up just enough for my eyes to trail over his lower back. He’s trying, but he’s never been great at scoring, he’s just in it for the game. 

Images of us in bed together lazily flash through the forefront of my mind, him laid on his front as I straddle his bare thighs and massage his back. My thumbs working deep into the knotted muscles of his broad and muscular physique, the feel of my breasts brushing against him as I lean forward and trace my tongue up his spine. The taste of his skin, sweat and his own scent that I can never find elsewhere. 

I clear my throat and shake my head away, willing those thoughts to dissipate as quickly as they had appeared. I shouldn’t be thinking of him. We’re history. 

I stir my drink and make an idiotic point of counting the beads of condensation on the glass. Anything to distract myself. By the time I lookup again I realise he’s gone, I check the table with Soap and the others and he's not there either. 

Breathing a sigh of relief I settle in, despite my little speech in the taxi it looks like we’ll be staying here. Then again I can’t really go elsewhere in shorts, a hoodie, and trainers. The evening flies by, finally we actually start to socialise as a group, no more eye fucking the boys. Just as I start to feel that familiar easy going feeling of the alcohol working its magic on my body, my eyes trail up to the pool table and then the adjacent table and bench. Still no Simon.

I wonder why he's gone, he doesn't chain his cigarettes, and normally after a particularly long operation he parks himself out in the pub until last orders. The more I think about him in the present I can't help the past rear its ugly head. Though it hasn't always been ugly. I find my thoughts shift to us, our passion once upon a time. How fierce it had burnt, the feeling of our bodies, limbs tangled, comfortable and even serene moments in each other's company as we went about mundane ordinary hobbies and tasks. Hopes for the future. His hopes for our future. My inability to fully commit myself. His disappointment and hurt.

“Hey!” 

I feel myself being shaken lightly, blinking and looking around, I'm met with a pair of green eyes. Laura's eyes. Suddenly I'm back in the present, we're in the pub. I realised I'm chewing my thumb, removing it and wiping my thumb dry on my hoodie. I avoid her eyes.

“Yeah sorry, got a little lost there. You know…. I think I'm going to head off. Make my own way back.” 

Standing up, I make my excuses to the rest of the girls, citing plans for the weekend and needing an early night. As I step out onto the street and the pub door closes behind me I take a lung full of air. There's an autumnal chill, I realise how cold I am despite the alcohol coursing through my body. Standing there for a moment longer I make my mind up and walk further along to the taxi rank. My self control crashes, vanishes, and I know I can't fight the inevitable.

Settling into the taxi I nervously play with the cuff on my hoodie, I'm drunk. That's all it is. I just need physical connection. No other reason. I try to distract myself by looking out the passenger window, watching the dark houses fly past as we get ever closer to my destination. My limbs are tingling, I start to panic as I think about the last time we were in close quarters, alone. How he'd looked at him with dark eyes, disappointment and hurt morphing into something else. Anger. How he'd fucked me, lulling me into a sense of security only to pull the rug out from under me after we'd finished. Calling me a slag and practically kicking me out his house. 

His defence mechanism. What did you expect? You broke his heart, did you expect him to carry on with the arrangement as normal, as if he hadn't poured his heart and soul out to you? Only you couldn't reciprocate back could you. Those three words on the tip of your tongue but you're not brave enough to say them. Coward. 

The taxi stops and I'm pulled from my thoughts again. I barely register myself paying the fare and stepping out. I'm outside his home. Simon's home. I'm always awestruck with the mundanity of it. Just a simple two bedroom detached brick property on an unassuming street in Hereford. Close enough for a 15 minute standby, far enough for privacy and comfort away from the Garrison. I feel my heart race and my breath shudder out as I walk those few remaining steps to the front door, I don't even have to knock. The door opens and I'm met with his eyes, I can't tell how he's feeling. It's too dark to see any emotion written on his face.

“Hey” I don't realise how soft my voice is. How nervous I am.

Pt.5

[tmntheadcanons]

tmnt 2003 headcanons: sleeping

Leo:

The room needs to be pitch black, dead silent and ice cold for him to fall asleep.

And he is a very light sleeper. I feel like he was always a bit like this but also trained himself to wake up quickly and easily when he hears something.

And he sleeps straight on his back like he is in a coffin.

And he sleeps with one pillow and it's the same, flat pillow he has been using for the last 10 years.

He won't go to sleep unless he knows everyone is home.

I think the difference between him and Donnie would be that Donnie doesn't let himself sleep but Leo actually can't sleep. I feel like he's naturally a bit of an insomniac but when he tries to sleep he kinda spirals in his own thoughts and stresses himself out.

But it's not always stress that keeps him up it'll be like the song Mikey was singing the same four lines of all day is now violently stuck in his head keeping him awake and he's thinking about how he is going to murder his brother in the morning.

Mikey:

Sleeps with a minimum of 5 pillows. One for spooning, two for his head, one for his feet and one to violently throw off the bed while half asleep at 3 am.

He can really sleep anywhere though. (And he will)

He talks in his sleep. He'll mutter a lot of non-sensical stuff and also he'll sometimes just straight up laugh in his sleep. And he rolls around a lot during the night.

I think Mikey has the wackiest dreams. His dreams are very vivid and if someone shows up in his dream he will go out of his way to tell them about their guest star appearance in his absolutely off the wall bonkers dream.

Also he is the one who has the most nightmares

He likes to sleep with a little bit of noise. He likes the tv playing or music playing while he's falling asleep and if it's dead silent he'll find it a little unsettling.

Same with lights, he likes to have a lava lamp or some sort of soft light on in the room.

I think he would go absolutely feral for one of those galaxy project lights.

Also he's totally a blanket hog.

Raph:

The second his head hits the pillow he is out.

He could be mid conversation and just pass out. But it's only ever when he knows he can. He's good at staying awake if he needs to keep watch but if he's relaxed he can fall asleep in like 30 seconds.

And he sprawls out when he sleeps. He will starfish.

Or be half hanging off the bed.

And he violently snores.

And talks a little bit in his sleep too but not as much as Mikey, just every once in a while.

His dreams are super mundane. He'll come back from an absolutely wild experience, fall asleep and then dream about like doing the dishes.

But every once in a while he'll get a bad stress dream. I could see it being something social related like humans finding out about them and freaking out, or his whole family being upset with him because of something he did.

I feel like Raph would like a bit of white noise when he sleeps, like a fan or something. He doesn't need it to fall asleep, but he likes it.

Like Leo, he is also a bit of a light sleeper, but he falls asleep again pretty quickly after he wakes up.

Donnie:

He's good at staying awake for long periods of time but once he's out, he's OUT.

Must be physically shaken to wake him up.

He is frequently sleep deprived so every once in a while he will crash and sleep for like 14 hours. Most nights he goes to bed way too late especially when he's working on something but usually when he's finished he'll have a recovery day.

Like I said with Leo, his issue is that he doesn't let himself sleep. He won't actually go to bed he will just suck back coffee and keep doing what he's doing. However, I could see him having similar issues as Leo after Good Genes or SAINW, where he overworks himself at night to avoid spiraling thoughts while he's trying to fall asleep.

I feel like he's bad for being like "Okay I'm going to stop working and actually go to bed" and then instead of sleeping he sits in the dark on his computer on the internet until 4 in the morning.

He curls up when he sleeps he never sleeps just flat on his back.

But he'll always wakes up in a weird position he'll be like upside town on his bed in what looks like a yoga position and be like "How did I get here?"

[didmyownresearch]

The Five Stages of Perception

Before I started learning physics, I thought Quantum mechanics was very weird and mystifying. Then I took several courses in Quantum theory and came to the conclusion that, although it is indeed counter-intuitive, it is still logical and can be grasped and fully comprehended. But then, one day, I suddenly understood what this theory implies with respect to reality. I had to admit to myself: Quantum mechanics is far stranger than I had imagined before I've studied it.

Well, some time ago I stumbled upon a saying attributed to the nine-century Zen master Qingyuan Weixin (Ch'ing-yüan Wei-hsin), that goes like this:

“Before I had studied Zen for thirty years, I saw mountains as mountains, and waters as waters. When I arrived at a more intimate knowledge, I came to the point where I saw that mountains are not mountains, and waters are not waters. But now that I have got its very substance I am at rest. For it's just that I see mountains once again as mountains, and waters once again as waters.”

Now, this Zen koan, or proverb, seems to indicate quite the opposite progression than the one I have experienced with Quantum physics. Starting with the pragmatic, simplistic view: everything is as it seems; Then, coming to question the external appearance of material objects; Finally finding rest at the understanding that, at the "very substance", a cigar is just a cigar.

Then I thought some more about the koan. I reckoned that, rather than contradicting my own experience, the two paths are in fact complementary. There are not three but five stages of perception, as one comes to understand the world better. They are:

The naïve state: everything is grasped at face value, without any questioning.

The mystic state: things are not as they seem. There is a hidden, spiritual nature to matter.

The materialistic state: objects and phenomena may be complex, but they are governed by mechanisms that are knowable and intelligible.

The bewildered state: things don't add up. There is something fundamental that we don't understand about nature. Mountains are not mountains.

The enlightened state: it puts your mind, finally, at rest. Alas, you must be enlightened to be able to grasp it.

The ancient Zen masters didn't have any science and therefore could not truly comprehend a materialistic view. Qingyuan Weixin begun its journey from the naïve stance of the layman, but after he was introduced to the arcane Zen knowledge, he adopted a mystical view. Then, (so we are supposed to believe) by absorbing the essence of Zen thinking, he managed to leap straight into the enlightened state.

I, on the other hand, started from a mildly mystical view of physical nature, but quickly adopted physicalism, as befit a respectable man of science. This comfortable view was shaken and finely shattered as I grew older and wiser. So, both me and master Weixin climbed the same ladder, but stepped on different stairs. He started lower but reached higher. I'm still stuck, bewitched, bothered and bewildered.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

hey ha! saw requests are open so i take the chance and may request something also sorry for the english 👉🏿👈🏿 soooo the thing is im obsessed with lucifer from sandman in an unhealty way and there is this idea in my head that lives rentfree so luci saves f/reader that is trapped "in" a demon that shows them there bigges fear and all the things and people that they did something to they regret so we are crying and fearing but luci comes like " T_T...you shouldnt be here" grabs over our shoulder puts there wing protectiv around our back und guids us to the illusion that the demon is creating at a point where the illusion brings us to hesitate the next steps luci push us forward and be like the lightbringer angel they are and we are like 🥲🥲🥲 mhmhm thanks and fluff stuff

i know its kinda specific and its ok if your not up to this but want to drop here im a fan of your writhing so im looking forward to everything you post xD

so have a good one ans thanks for your time 🌚❤️

Hiiii anon!! Thank you for the request! It’s detailed, and I love that 🥰 I tried to follow your request as best as I could. Hope you Enjoy!! 💞💞

Shadow Shadow ~Soft!Lucifer Morningstar xGN!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: angst, happy ending fluff, demonic possession, crying, anxiety, implied anxiety attack, greatest fears, comforting, pet names, fluff ending, etc.

Enjoy (:

The dishes had piled up in your kitchen sink. They had been bothering you all day, so with a sigh, you got up and went over to address them. You started cleaning the dishes one by one…

Your ears perked up when you thought you heard the door move. You looked back at the kitchen door, but it hadn’t moved. Odd, you thought.

Suddenly, you felt something invade you.

The feeling was hard to explain… Your eyes rolled back and you started levitating off the ground slightly, as a sharp, yet un-uniform, non-physical shape pierced and entered you. You let out a strangled scream as you started to feel your body go numb. You were sucked into yourself, having no control over your body anymore, somebody else was now at the wheel.

Everything around you was dark. You could still vaguely see through your eyes, but you were being pulled into the darkness more and more.

Suddenly you were pulled into a memory filled with true fear and terror. You started to shake as you were forced to relive these twisted thoughts and memories. They were warped, having heightened fear and fright. You started crying, falling to the ground and shaking uncontrollably.

You didn’t know how long you were in those state, but you were cradling yourself on the ground, scared to death and sobbing uncontrollably.

Suddenly, you heard a voice, not one of your own.

“You should not be here…!” The booming voice exclaimed.

You then felt the invasion start to be pulled out of you.

The feeling was still hard to explain… Your eyes rolled back and you started levitating off the ground slightly, as a sharp, yet un-uniform, non-physical shape pierced you once more, but this time exiting you. You let out a strangled scream as you started to feel your body come back to you. You were sucked back out of your depths, having finally control over your body again, the somebody else at the wheel now gone.

When your vision came back to you, you saw a tall figure with strong wings standing in front of you. You were still shaken and scared for your life. Your lip trembled and you immediately put your hands in front of your face to protect yourself.

“My name is Lucifer.” The large being spoke softly, bringing one of their wings around you, “What’s your name, little thing?”

The wing around you made you oddly calmer. You felt protected. And you felt like you could finally breathe.

“I… Y/N…” you whispered, wiping the tears away for your eyes.

Lucifer nodded slowly in understanding.

“That is a lovely name.” They cooe, “I am sorry that you had to experience that, my sweet…”

“What… W-what was that…?” You whispered.

Lucifer sighed.

“One of my more roudy demons who got away from me.” They admitted, “It won’t happen again. You need not worry.” They reassured you.

“No but what was that…?” Your voice trembled as you thought back to the horrific feeling that you had felt in every bone of your body for that time.

You winced and tears threatened to spill down your cheeks once more. Lucifer sighed in sympathy.

“You see, Demons like to thrive off of the human mind… And this demon specialized in fear” They explained gently, “So the demon pulled out your biggest fears to feed off of and survive inside you. Humans call this possession.”

Tears began to flow down your face once more. You nodded at their words.

“It was so awful…” you choked out, your voice cracking.

Lucifer’s wings held you closer and their hand came behind you to rub your back.

“I know, little one…” they cooed lovingly, “But the demon is gone now. It will never bother you again.”

“Ok…” you whispered, looking up at the Lightbringer with watery eyes.

“Thank you” you choked out.

“Anytime, little one…” Lucifer gently spoke, “I’ll come back to check on you soon, alright…?”

You hiccuped and nodded. Then Lucifer left and you were back in your kitchen. With your dishes.

~~~

Lucifer Morningstar Masterlist

[deliciousspecimen]

A/N: Hi everybody! This is the last part of my Young Silco fic :} Im am already writing a sequel, and I am excited to keep this story going. I hope you all like it!

Ember in the Dark pt.11

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.10 - Sequel

pt.1

Warnings: Violence/Physical Assault, Child Endangerment/Trauma, Death/Grief, War/Revolution, Substance Use.

Word Count: 9273

Summary: (Y/N) helps build a fragile life alongside Silco, Vander, Felicia, and Connol, raising Violet and Powder as their found family. After a violent encounter with Enforcers leaves everyone shaken, tensions escalate between Silco and Vander, leading to a planned uprising at the bridge. (Y/N) chooses to stay behind to protect the girls. The revolution ends in disaster- Felicia and Connol are killed, Silco vanishes, and (Y/N) is left to carry the girls to safety. Vander returns alone, claiming Silco abandoned them, but (Y/N) doesn’t believe it. She searches- finds no body, no trace- and quietly holds onto hope. Years pass. Violet and Powder grow. New kids join their family. The Last Drop becomes a haven, and (Y/N) stays at its heart- scarred but steady, protecting what remains. Silco’s name fades from conversation, but not from memory. She never truly lets him go.

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The Last Drop was alive with its usual rhythm- voices echoing off brick walls, the low clink of glass, laughter that rang too loud. But the second (Y/N) stepped inside, saying her hello’s, the mood shifted. Not all at once. Just enough to make the air feel different.

Felicia noticed quick. Her head snapped up from where she sat, Violet balanced on her hip. Her smile dropped like a stone. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of blood, the tension in (Y/N)’s shoulders, the way she clutched her bag like it was stitched to her ribs.

“Oh, god…” she breathed, already half on her feet. “Vander-”

Connol moved before she could finish, steadying Violet as Felicia stood. Vander looked up from where he was drying a glass behind the bar, brows drawing tight. He didn’t speak yet.

But Silco didn’t wait for anyone.

His stool scraped back sharply. The half-full glass he’d been nursing tipped and spilled across the bar, forgotten. He was across the room in seconds- quicker than anyone had ever seen him move when it wasn’t life or death.

His hands were on her before she could get another word out. One arm caught her around the waist, steadying her. The other came to her chin, tilting it gently, his fingers cool and trembling. His jaw clenched. Eyes scanned every mark on her face- the cut at her lip, the bruising along her cheekbone, the scraped edge of her brow.

“Who did this?” he asked, voice low and tight, almost quiet enough to miss. Almost.

She winced when his fingers brushed a sore spot, but she didn’t flinch away. Just looked up at him through lashes heavy with exhaustion, a ghost of a smile on her lips. It didn’t land.

“Enforcers,” she muttered. “Just a patrol.”

His expression darkened. He didn’t tighten his grip, but the air around him seemed to shift- an unspoken pressure that made the room hold its breath.

“They searched me,” she added, hoarse. “Didn’t find anything. They just… wanted to make a point.”

His thumb brushed a streak of blood from the corner of her mouth. His hand lingered there, and something flickered in his expression- hurt, maybe.

“You let them?” he rasped.

“I didn’t fight,” she whispered. “If I had… I might’ve hurt them. I didn’t trust myself not to lose control, even… If I can control it more now, than before...”

Silco closed his eyes, jaw tight with restraint.

Behind them, Vander stepped out from behind the bar. “Get her upstairs,” he said, voice low. “We’ll talk after.”

Felicia was already moving again, clutching Violet like a tether. Her face was a storm.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) tried to say, barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” Silco muttered. He slipped the edge of her cloak back over her shoulders, tightening it around her with careful hands. “Come on.”

He didn’t give her the chance to argue. With an arm secure around her waist, he guided her toward the stairs. His steps were sharp, shoulders taut with silent fury. Not a word was spoken as the door clicked shut behind them.

The quiet in the room was thick- not awkward, just heavy.

Silco didn’t ask her to sit. He simply steered her gently to the bed, helped her lower herself with careful hands, and moved across the room in a blur of precise motion. The tin basin. The pitcher. A cloth. A bottle of disinfectant- stings like hell, but it kept you alive.

He knelt in front of her and tilted her face toward the light. The cloth was warm. Gentle. He wiped the blood away with a steady hand.

She flinched when it passed over the split in her lip. “Sorry,” he murmured, almost too quietly.

“You’re better than they were,” she said, voice barely audible.

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t answer. He reached for the bottle, soaked a clean cloth, and pressed it carefully to her temple. It burned.

She hissed, eyes watering.

“Hold still.”

It wasn’t sharp. Just soft enough to keep her grounded.

He worked in silence. Cleaning every mark. Every bruise. Every scrape. His focus never wavered, but she could see the tension behind it- the way his brows knit together, the way he breathed through his nose like it was the only way to stay calm.

When he reached her hands, he stopped. Just for a moment.

They were torn up. Raw. Stone and dirt ground into her palms, her knuckles purpled from impact.

His thumbs hovered there, then moved with excruciating care, picking away the debris, soaking the cloth again and again. He didn’t speak until the worst of it was done.

“... You should have fought back.” he whispered, voice rough.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “Not again.”

He said nothing. Just reached for the gauze. Wrapped her hands with the same precision, knotting them tight enough to protect, not tight enough to sting.

When he finished, he lifted her hand to his lips. A kiss to her knuckles, light as air.

“You should’ve called for me,” he said, finally.

Her throat caught. “I didn’t know if you were nearby.”

“I don’t care,” he said, sharper now. “I would’ve burned the streets down to get to you.”

His eyes met hers. They burned- not with blame. But with something colder. Sharper.

“I’ll find them,” he said. “And when I do-”

“Silco.” Her voice was small, but it cut clean through the tension. “I’m okay. You got me. That’s what matters.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then his shoulders eased, just barely. He brought her hands to his lips again, eyes closed.

“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” he murmured.

“I want this,” she said, forehead pressing gently to his. “I want you.”

That was all it took to make the rage inside him quiet- at least for now.

He held her. Close. Like he could block out the world just by keeping her there.

No more words passed between them for a while. Just the sound of breath, the warmth of quiet touch. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands bandaged, shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she hadn’t said. Silco crouched in front of her still, hands never straying far.

Eventually, Silco helped her up with the same care he’d shown before. Arm around her waist. Not holding her up- just holding her steady.

They moved down the stairs together. Every creak felt too loud. The hum of the bar had returned, but the energy was different. Tense. Quiet.

Felicia still sat in her usual booth, Violet asleep in her arms, a worn blanket draped across them both. Connol was beside her, quiet and still. His eyes found (Y/N) the moment she appeared.

Vander was behind the bar again. Arms crossed. Watching. Measuring. Counting bruises.

Felicia’s eyes widened when she saw her. Relief flooded her face, but it didn’t erase the lingering anger.

“You’re alright,” she said. Like she needed to say it out loud to believe it. “Really alright?”

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, voice steadier now. “Just a little beat up.”

Vander exhaled through his nose and turned for a clean glass. “Sit,” he said, gruff but not unkind. “Drink something warm. You’ll feel it more in an hour.”

(Y/N) gave a tired smile. Let Silco guide her to the booth across from Felicia and Connol. She didn’t lean on him. But she didn’t let go either.

Silco didn’t leave her side. He slid into the booth like he belonged there, quiet and sure, his arm settling along the backrest, fingers grazing her shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was grounding- anchored, solid.

Felicia leaned forward, eyes narrowed as she took in the bruises on (Y/N)’s face. “If I ever see those bastards near here again…” Her voice was tight, sharp.

“Fel,” Connol said softly, placing a steadying hand on her knee.

She didn’t look at him. “No. I mean it. We can’t just keep letting them do this.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Still, he stayed silent. Not here. Not yet. Not when the eyes of the bar had already turned toward them. The murmur of conversation had slowed, dulled. Now, even those who tried to act like they weren’t listening… were.

The atmosphere thickened. Simmering tension pooled in the corners of the room- quiet, heavy, waiting for a spark.

Vander stepped in, a steaming mug in his hand. He set it gently in front of (Y/N), then stepped back, arms folding across his chest.

“We take care of our own,” he said. His voice was low, but it carried. “Always have.”

(Y/N) curled her fingers around the mug. Her eyes stayed down, watching steam rise in slow spirals.

Silco’s hand moved to her back, palm warm through the fabric. His thumb pressed slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades. Grounding. Gentle.

The bar’s rhythm resumed in cautious pieces- clinks of glass, low conversation, chairs scraping against wood- but something had shifted. A quiet understanding passed between the walls. One of theirs had been hurt. Again. And the Undercity remembers.

Behind the bar, Vander didn’t move much. But his posture spoke volumes. Hands braced against the counter, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. He wasn’t pouring drinks. The bottle beside him sat forgotten.

His eyes hadn’t left (Y/N) since she walked in- since he’d seen the bruises blooming across her skin, the blood drying at the corner of her mouth. The way she winced when she shifted. What haunted him most wasn’t the damage.

It was that she hadn’t even fought back.

She hadn’t used magic, hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t screamed. She was just walking. And they jumped her like she was nothing.

His fingers curled into fists. The wood beneath his palms creaked under the strain.

Silco noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed. But he didn’t speak. His attention stayed on her, thumb still tracing circles.

Felicia broke the silence with a venomous whisper. “This city’s rotting from the top down.”

Connol said nothing. His jaw was clenched, hand resting protectively atop Violet’s blanket, as if shielding his newborn daughter from the world.

Vander’s voice, when it came, was quiet- but sharp as a blade. “She didn’t even raise a hand.” His gaze was distant, as though staring through the bar. “Didn’t say a word. Just walked. And they still thought they could beat her bloody.”

His fists trembled on the counter. “That’s the kind of peace they’re offering.”

Silco’s eyes flicked toward him. “Starting to see it, are you?”

Vander didn’t answer. But the silence said enough.

His shoulders sagged slightly, breath shuddering out. “I’ve spent half my life pulling people back from the edge. Telling them to wait. To think. To survive instead of strike.” He looked at (Y/N) then, something pained and heavy flickering behind his eyes. “But what do we do when there’s no fight left to stop? When we keep our heads down, and they still come for us?”

(Y/N) looked up. Her voice was quiet, raw. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not because I was scared.”

Her gaze dropped again. “Didn’t matter. They just wanted someone to hurt.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. No one had an answer.

Vander ran a hand across his jaw, slow. “This city’s gonna crack,” he muttered. Then, barely audible- “And I don’t know if I can stop it this time.”

The weight in the room pressed against her skin, heavier than the bruises blooming beneath it. (Y/N) stared down into the mug. Herbal. Faintly sweet. Something Vander probably mixed together himself- pain relief, maybe. Or just something warm to hold. Something that made you feel less hollow.

She took a careful sip. The heat stung against her split lip.

The others were still talking. Still shifting around her like a gathering storm. Silco hadn’t moved. His hand stayed firm against her back. Steady. Present.

But even that comfort felt distant. Sharpened by the silence in her chest.

She didn’t want their fury.

Didn’t want Felicia’s wild-eyed rage, or Vander’s coiled grief. She didn’t want Connol’s quiet worry, or Silco’s unreadable stillness.

She just wanted them to stop looking at her like this was something new.

It wasn’t.

Pain had followed her since childhood- persistent, predictable, a shadow stitched into her every step. There was always someone bigger. Someone crueler. Someone who needed to remind her she didn’t belong.

This wasn’t new. It was just more of the same.

She didn’t want pity. Or promises. Or rage that would burn everything down.

She wanted peace.

She took another sip of her drink, hands trembling slightly, and said nothing.

Silco leaned in, voice low against her ear. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

She didn’t answer right away.

But eventually, she nodded.

He rose first, then reached for her gently, helping her stand without a word. He didn’t hold her- just offered the support, and let her decide how much she needed.

They didn’t look back as they left.

The climb upstairs was slow- not just from pain, though it still lingered with every step- but from the weight in her chest. A hollow sort of gravity.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t lean on him. Just walked.

Silco didn’t press. He kept close. Always within reach. But didn’t touch her unless she faltered. He walked with a kind of quiet restraint, as if every instinct told him to pull her in- but he knew she needed space more than shelter.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Inside, the room welcomed them in silence. Dim neon light filtered through worn curtains. The scent of the day- dust from the mines, candle wax, and faint smoke- still clung to the air.

(Y/N) didn’t stop moving. She crossed to the window, cloak slipping from her shoulders and falling where it may.

She didn’t pick it up.

She sank into the window seat, flicked her fingers, and summoned a small flame.

It sparked, sputtered. Her hand trembled.

She clenched her jaw, tried again.

This time, the fire steadied. She lit the cigarette between her lips and leaned back, exhaling smoke toward the cracked pane. The breeze drew it out slowly, like breath finally let go.

Silco stood near the door, watching.

She looked hollow.

Not broken. Not weak. Just… dimmed. Like the fire in her chest had drawn back behind old walls. Her hands trembled around the cigarette. Blood dried like rust along her bandages.

She didn’t try to hide it.

She didn’t say a word.

Silco stepped forward- slowly, deliberately- and knelt beside her, one arm resting on the windowsill. He tilted his head, studying her profile, but didn’t speak right away.

“Talk to me,” he said at last, his voice low, nearly lost beneath the hum of the Undercity outside.

(Y/N) didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the distant glow bleeding through the cracked glass- the Undercity’s fractured light, flickering like something half-remembered. Smoke curled from the cigarette between her fingers. Her silence stretched, brittle.

“I’m just tired,” she said finally. “Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Silco swallowed, jaw tensing. She wasn’t talking about the bruises. Not really.

She drew in another breath of smoke, slower this time. “People always look at me like I’m strong. Like I can take it.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “And I can. But it’s starting to feel like that’s the only reason I’m still here.”

Her eyes dropped to her bandaged hands, and her voice cracked.

“To take it.”

He didn’t speak. Just reached out, fingers brushing hers as he gently took the cigarette from her grip. She let it go without a word. He crushed the ember into the ashtray, then stood, pulling her carefully to her feet.

She blinked up at him, caught off guard- but didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around her. Not tightly. Not to shield or protect. Just close. Like he was anchoring her, grounding her in something real.

“You’re not here just to endure,” he murmured into her hair. “Not to me.”

Her hands gripped the front of his shirt before she could even think of it, her face pressing into the warmth of his chest. His heartbeat, steady beneath her ear, became the only rhythm she could hold onto. The scent of smoke and iron clung to him, familiar, oddly soothing.

Silco said nothing more. He just held her, patient and still, while her body trembled quietly in his arms.

She tried to breathe. Not cry. Not break. But it was hard. The bruises on her ribs and hands still throbbed beneath her skin, but the worst pain lived deeper- in the place that never got the chance to heal.

Her voice, when it came, was almost too quiet to hear.

“I wish it was different.”

His arms tightened, just slightly.

“I know.”

“I wish I didn’t have this magic,” she whispered. “Wish I didn’t have to hide it. Didn’t have to be afraid of it. I wish I could fight back without making things worse. I wish we weren’t always hunted. Like prey in our own streets. I just…”

Her breath hitched. “I just want to live like normal people.”

Silco didn’t respond right away. His thumb moved slowly over her back, quiet and steady.

“Normal’s a lie,” he said eventually, his voice rough. “But freedom? That’s worth everything.”

She gave a shaky exhale, her cheek brushing the warm skin above his collarbone. Her eyes were heavy now.

“Feels like we’ll never have it.”

“We will.” His voice shifted- firmer now. Not idealistic. Certain. “Not tomorrow. Not soon. But one day. I’ll make sure of it.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength.

Instead, she let herself lean into him, her body slowly releasing the tension it had carried all day. Her heartbeat slowed, syncing with his. If she couldn’t have peace, at least she had this. Him. The quiet safety of his arms.

The exhaustion caught up all at once. Her breath warmed the hollow of his neck as her grip loosened- not from retreat, but from surrender.

Without a word, Silco shifted, guiding her toward the bed. She didn’t resist. Just followed, limbs heavy with the weight of it all.

They slipped under the thin blanket, the only light coming from the dim Undercity glow through the window. She curled into him instinctively, her head on his chest, her hand tucked between them like she was trying to keep something safe.

Silco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close until there was no space left between them. His legs tangled with hers, and he rested his chin gently on the top of her head.

It wasn’t the first time they’d fallen asleep like this. But something about tonight felt heavier. Closer.

Not just comfort. Not just need.

Recognition.

He didn’t say it, but she felt it in every breath, every touch, every heartbeat: I see you. I won’t let go.

Her body softened in his arms. Her breathing slowed.

Still scarred. Still whole. Still his.

And in the faint hum of Zaun’s restless night, they drifted off. Two souls bound together in the dark, held fast by something stronger than all the things trying to break them.

Time passed.

Not all at once. Quietly. Gradually.

The bruises faded- from her skin, then from her routine. Her hands healed. The ache in her chest took longer. But even that began to dull- softened by warmth, by routine, by Silco’s constant, quiet presence.

And Violet grew.

From a bundle of soft blankets and curious eyes to a sharp, babbling toddler who could clear a room with a single shriek and charm it again with a crooked grin. She toddled through the bar on unsteady legs, fearless. Felicia stayed one step behind. Connol three steps ahead, trying to catch every fall.

She became The Last Drop’s heartbeat. Even the roughest regulars melted when she approached with sticky hands and wide eyes. No one said no- not even Silco, who would scowl as she climbed into his lap, then let her stay anyway, a hand gently steadying her back.

(Y/N) began working fewer shifts in the mines. At first, it was just a few missed mornings. Then it became habit. She helped Vander behind the bar, swept the floors, restocked the shelves. Quiet work. Grounding work.

She said it was to help out. But they all knew better.

It was the Enforcers. She was avoiding them. Avoiding herself, maybe. The edge of what she could do- what she might do, if pushed too far.

Vander never asked questions. Just passed her a towel and a crate to lift.

And Silco?

He didn’t say much. But he was always near.

She felt it in the way his hand brushed hers when he passed a bottle. The way he leaned in close when the bar was loud, voice low, a flicker of humor in his eyes. How he watched her, always. Not possessive- present.

The world didn’t get easier. But it got smaller. Closer.

The city still tried to claw peace from their hands- but they held onto it anyway. Nights at The Last Drop had quieted. Less yelling now. Fewer brawls breaking out in dark corners. The fire hadn’t gone out, but it burned lower, steadier, like the amber light spilling across the bar’s worn wood.

The Undercity hadn’t changed. It was still raw. Still scarred. But something beneath it had settled.

Maybe it was Violet, growing fast and fierce, commanding a room with just a look- Felicia’s look- while perched on a hip and sucking juice from a chipped cup. Maybe it was the way Vander and Silco had finally stopped talking past each other.

They hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Too many nights had ended with slammed doors and clenched jaws- Silco all edge and conviction, Vander slow-burning with old weight and weary patience. But something had shifted. Not just in the room, but between them.

(Y/N) saw it first.

The way they leaned closer during late-night talks, voices low as the bar emptied out. Vander no longer shutting Silco down the second Piltover came up. Silco, surprisingly, actually listening- pausing, considering. Like he’d finally realized not every battle needed to be waged in fire.

Maybe it was understanding. Or maybe it was, again, Violet.

She’d changed everything.

Hard to talk about revolution when a toddler was dragging around a chewed-up mug, insisting it was “hers.” When her tiny feet echoed across the floorboards, scattering dust motes in the lamplight.

So when Silco spoke of the future now, he didn’t say now. He didn’t say soon.

He said eventually.

And Vander, once immovable in his pacifism, didn’t dismiss it out of hand anymore. Just nodded. Quietly. Said things like, “Maybe. Someday. When she’s old enough to run if she has to.”

(Y/N) had overheard them once- stood in the doorway, unseen, as Vander cleaned out his pipe behind the counter. Silco leaned nearby, arms folded, eyes on the wall.

“We can’t keep takin’ hits like that,” Vander muttered, jaw set. “They come down here like they own the place.”

Silco didn’t bristle. Didn’t grin. Just replied, low and even, “We won’t. Not forever.”

Vander wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’m not about to light a fire I can’t put out.”

Silco nodded. “I’m not asking you to.”

A beat passed. Then Vander looked at him- really looked at him- and said, “But we’ll be ready when it comes.”

That was all. No shouting. No threats. Just a shared promise, spoken like a quiet oath.

Not today… Not yet. But one day.

(Y/N) stepped back from the doorway, heart heavy in that strange way- full of knowing. Not afraid. Just aware. The world would shift again. That was inevitable.

But not while Violet was still tugging on pant legs and chasing flecks of light like they were treasure. Not while mornings were still soft and slow, Silco brushing past her in the kitchen, his fingers grazing her back, his voice low and familiar.

“Let her be little,” he’d murmur. “Just a while longer.”

And Vander would nod. And they’d wait.

They’d build.

Time, as it does, slipped forward without asking.

Violet turned four. A blur of questions, fast feet, and sharper opinions. She mimicked everyone- Felicia’s sass, Vander’s sighs, even Silco’s scowls (to his quiet dismay). She perched on barstools like she owned the place. Vander even carved her a little wooden step to stand behind the bar, though she mostly used it to sneak sips from mugs when no one was looking.

And then, one morning, Felicia walked into the bar with Connol trailing nervously behind her, hands wringing.

“Well,” she announced, hands on her hips. “Looks like the baby bin wasn’t a waste after all.”

(Y/N) nearly spit out her tea. “You mocked me for keeping that thing.”

Felicia smirked, rubbing a hand over her belly. “Yeah, well. Maybe you’re good for something after all.”

Silco didn’t say much about the news of the new baby.

But he watched.

Watched Felicia move with a kind of defiant ease, even when the weight of it slowed her down. Watched (Y/N) make space again- pulling the bin out of storage, folding tiny clothes with a strange, wistful look in her eye. Watched Violet mimic it all, dragging around a spare bottle like she was training for something.

Spring came fast. And with it- so did the baby.

The bar cleared out quickly. Regulars were shooed off. Towels boiled. Water warmed. Ren showed up right on time, muttering, “You lot breed like rats in winter,” while rolling up her sleeves.

(Y/N) stayed with Felicia through the pain, Connol at her side, Vander hovering in the doorway. Silco didn’t pace this time- just stood by the window, hands behind his back, breathing like it hurt to do it wrong.

And then the cry came.

Sharp. Fragile. Real.

Everyone stilled.

Ren wrapped the baby carefully, then looked around. “Well?” she said. “Who’s first?”

Felicia, exhausted but smiling with that same smug pride, didn’t hesitate. “Give her to Silco.”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“Vander named Violet,” Felicia said, leaning into Connol. “It’s his turn.”

Silco froze. Looked to (Y/N). She gave him the softest nod.

So he stepped forward.

Ren guided his hands under the baby’s head. He held her like she might vanish. Small and warm and impossibly new.

She was wrinkled and red and making soft, wet noises- but her hair…

Silco stared.

Fine, pale fuzz. Blue. So faint it was barely visible. But unmistakable.

“She looks like…” he started, stopped. Swallowed. “Powder.”

Felicia blinked. “You mean the color, or-?”

He didn’t look up. “I don’t know. It just fits.”

(Y/N) leaned close, gazing at the newborn. “It does,” she murmured. “It really does.”

Felicia smiled faintly. “Then Powder it is.”

The name stuck- odd, but perfectly hers.

And life moved on.

When Powder started walking (and then sprinting, and then climbing everything), Felicia and Connol got restless. The bar was safe, yes, but they needed more. The mines, for all their danger, offered steady work.

“We’re not vanishing,” Felicia promised one morning, Powder on her hip, Violet tugging on her coat. “Just a few shifts. Keep things balanced.”

Connol added quickly, “We’ll be around. Just not always underfoot.”

Vander frowned- he always did when someone went underground- but he didn’t stop them. He just nodded.

And that left them- Vander, Silco, and (Y/N)- as the keepers of the Undercity’s most chaotic duo.

Violet, sharp and loud and entirely too clever, claimed a booth as her throne and demanded pastries as taxes.

Powder… Powder was stranger. Quieter. She wandered more. Spoke to herself. Built towers out of bottle caps and knocked them over to study the fall.

And Silco, of all people, shadowed her like a silent guardian. He never said why.

But he always caught her before she fell.

It started gradually.

Silco began keeping her within his line of sight- subtle, instinctive. Even while buried in planning or half-snarled conversations with smugglers, his gaze would flicker toward her. A quiet “no” and a hand on her shoulder was enough to pull her away from dangerous corners. Sometimes, if he was deep in one of his journals, he’d lift her onto the stool beside him without a word. Powder would climb up too, wide-eyed, watching his pen move like it was casting spells.

(Y/N) noticed it first.

The way Powder drifted toward Silco, no matter how crowded the room was. The way she’d tug at his coat until he looked down, then silently lift her arms to be held. And the way Silco- sharp, precise, always in control- would let her crawl into his lap without protest, wrapping one arm around her as she fiddled with the buttons on his vest like they were treasure.

It was disarming. And a little bit adorable.

One afternoon, (Y/N) found him slumped in the back booth of The Last Drop, half-asleep. Powder was curled up against his chest, her small fingers hooked into the edge of his vest. His hand rested over her back, thumb moving slowly in quiet circles. She leaned against the doorframe, watching for a moment before breaking the silence.

“You didn’t cuddle me like that when we were little.”

Silco cracked an eye open, unimpressed and half-drowsy. “You didn’t drool in your sleep.”

(Y/N) snorted and stepped closer, brushing a strand of blue hair out of Powder’s face.

“She’s got you wrapped around her tiny, sticky fingers, y’know.”

“She’s unpredictable,” he muttered. “Like a bomb with a smile.”

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t even try.

And as (Y/N) watched him shift just enough to pull the blanket a little higher over the girl in his arms, something warm and aching settled deep in her chest.

The Last Drop had always been a place of smoke and whispers- rebels meeting in corners, laughter shared over bruised knuckles and bitter liquor. But lately, the air had started to change. The whispers were louder. Plans took shape in the shadows. Smuggling routes reopened. Piltover shipments vanished, and the Enforcers never knew where to start looking.

The Undercity was stirring.

And at the center of it all stood two men: Vander, still carrying hope like a torch, and Silco, burning with something far more volatile. They didn’t agree on everything- rarely did- but they had found rhythm again, like bones remembering how to move.

(Y/N) watched from the edges.

Because she remembered what came of getting too close to that kind of fire. A sheriff dead. Ten people turned to dust. Her magic crackling out of control. The way the city looked at her afterward- not like a girl, but like a weapon that might go off again.

No one spoke of it anymore. Not Vander. Not Felicia. Not even Silco.

But she hadn’t forgotten.

So while they pushed forward- Vander meeting with people at dawn, Silco vanishing into alleyways and fixer dens- (Y/N) stayed behind.

Not because she was afraid.

Because she couldn’t let herself become that again.

So she looked after the girls.

Violet was seven now- quick-footed and fierce, with scraped knees and a sharp tongue. She climbed faster than most runners, had already started asking questions too big for her age.

Powder, at three, was quieter. Sloppy, brilliant, always tinkering. She'd pull apart broken tech just to rebuild it into something entirely new- and entirely unpredictable. More than once, Vander had flinched when her latest invention sparked to life.

(Y/N) was their constant.

She packed lunches. Cleaned up cuts. Told them stories when the nights grew long. Her rebellion wasn’t with fire and fists anymore. It was in keeping the people she loved intact while the world tried to wear them down.

One night, Silco came home late. His coat was torn at the shoulder, dried blood crusted on the sleeve. He stepped into the bar and stopped.

On the couch, (Y/N) lay curled with both girls half asleep across her- Violet stretched over her legs, Powder tucked under her arm. She looked up, eyes tired but soft.

“Don’t ask,” she said before he could speak. “They ran themselves ragged.”

Silco crossed the room and crouched beside them, his hand brushing over Powder’s hair, then Violet’s arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, flicked to (Y/N), darker than usual.

“You’re keeping them safe.”

“I have to,” she murmured.

He didn’t answer. But the thought hung there between them, heavy and unspoken.

And who’s keeping you safe?

(Y/N) didn’t need him to say it. She just reached out, brushing her fingers along his cheek, whispering- “I’m still here.” before carefully picking up the girls, and making her way up stairs.

The bar was full later that night. Shoulder to shoulder with the ones who mattered- runners, smugglers, chemists, old fighters with iron in their bones. You could feel it in the air. Something was coming.

Upstairs, (Y/N) and Felicia stood over the sleeping girls.

Violet had begged to stay up and “help with planning,” eyes shining. Powder had clung to her half-broken toy like it would anchor her. (Y/N) tucked the blanket in around them both, brushing their hair back with a hand that lingered too long.

“I don’t like this,” she said quietly as they stepped into the hall.

“I know,” Felicia replied.

Downstairs, the tension pressed against the walls like a held breath.

Vander stood tall at the center, arms crossed, jaw set. Silco was beside him, leaning slightly forward, hands clasped behind his back, speaking low.

No heat. No fight.

Just resolve.

When the time came, Vander raised a hand.

The room fell silent.

“We’ve been patient,” he said, voice clear and steady. “We’ve followed their rules. Tried to build something real in the cracks they left us.”

A few voices murmured agreement.

“But patience hasn’t bought us peace. It’s bought bruises. Blood. Fear.”

He swept the room with his gaze.

“And every time we let them walk our streets like they own ‘em, we tell our children this is all they’ll ever have.”

(Y/N) stood at the back with Felicia, arms crossed, shadows curling around her like second skin.

She didn’t speak.

She just listened.

Vander’s voice sharpened.

“So we’re taking it back. No more waiting. No more silence. If they want to walk our streets- they’re gonna have to bleed for it.”

Cheers rippled across the room, building slowly.

Then Silco stepped forward.

His voice was quiet. Precise. Cold.

“We hit them where they’ll feel it. The bridge. That’s where they hold power over us. That’s where they watch us- control us. So that’s where we remind them we’re not beneath them.”

Heads nodded. Plans took root.

And in the flickering light, (Y/N) stood still.

Watching. Remembering. Holding the weight of fire in her chest- and refusing to let it burn her again.

Vander lifted his hand to calm them. “We’ve got numbers. We know that bridge better than anyone. We fight smart. I’ll lead it.”

The bar erupted.

Chairs scraped. Bottles clinked. A half-dozen people surged forward, shouting their loyalty, their hunger for retaliation.

But not (Y/N).

She didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Her arms stayed folded across her chest, lips a thin line. Heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to run.

She got it. Really, she did. That righteous fury- they wore it like armor. And part of her wanted it, too. To burn hot. To burn back.

But all she could think about were two small girls asleep in the room upstairs… And the last time she’d let her magic answer violence with more of it.

Felicia stood near the wall, arms crossed, looking worn down to the bone. She glanced over, voice barely a whisper above the chaos. “You good?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the center of the room. On Vander, solid as ever, holding the weight of the whole damn Undercity on his back. On Silco- quiet, sharp-eyed, unreadable.

She murmured, more to herself than anyone else, “I don’t know if this is the right way. But I think they’ve already decided.”

The meeting bled into the night, the bar slowly emptying until only low voices and the smoke of half-burned cigarettes remained. A plan had been made. A date.

Three months.

The bridge.

It still felt far.

But not far enough.

(Y/N) sat alone in the booth by the window, untouched drink in front of her, eyes distant as the Undercity’s green glow shimmered through cracked glass. Vander’s voice rumbled somewhere behind the counter. Silco’s lower, quiet, murmuring something to a smuggler near the back.

She barely heard them.

All she could think about… were the girls.

Powder would be four in two weeks. Gods. Four. She used to be a quiet bundle wrapped in a frayed blanket- Silco had held her once, stiff and unsure, like she might shatter. Now she was a walking whirlwind, inventing things from nothing but wires and junk.

And Violet- eight. A spitfire with scraped knees and fire in her veins, fierce as Felicia, stubborn as Vander. She looked at (Y/N) like she hung the stars when she helped her tie her boots or sound out long words in dog-eared books.

They weren’t hers. Not really.

But they were.

And now there was a war coming.

Not a whisper. Not a theory. A date. A choice.

She looked down at her hands. Scarred. Capable. And shaking.

Not from fear. Not exactly.

But because she knew what this path cost.

She heard a chair scrape back and looked up just as Silco approached. His coat was still draped over one shoulder, his expression unreadable, though the shadows beneath his eyes were darker than usual.

“You didn’t say anything,” he said as he slid into the booth across from her.

(Y/N) held his gaze. Steady. “Didn’t seem like there was much room for second thoughts.”

Silco tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t agree?”

“I don’t think it matters,” she said. “You’ve already decided.”

Her voice wasn’t bitter. Just tired.

Silco didn’t argue. Just leaned back, fingers tapping against the table’s edge. “You’re thinking about them.”

“Always.” Her voice softened. “Powder wants a new toolbelt for her birthday. Violet’s been asking for boots like Vander’s.”

She smiled, sad, faint. “They don’t know what’s coming.”

Silco went quiet. Long enough that the silence almost felt like an answer.

“Neither do we,” he said finally. “Not really.”

“But you’ll still go.”

“I have to.”

“I know.”

They sat there, still and silent, the weight of three months stretching out between them like a lit fuse.

Then- “Promise me something,” she said, eyes locked on his.

Silco straightened. “Anything.”

“If this falls apart,” she said, low and sure, “make sure you are safe.”

His eyes darkened- not from coldness, but something heavier. Fiercer. “I will.”

“I’ll stay behind,” she added. “With the kids. I won’t fight. Not this time. I’m not letting them wonder where I went.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “You won’t lose what you built,” he said quietly. “Not if I can stop it.”

She nodded, throat tight. And squeezed his hand back.

Powder’s birthday came faster than expected.

The Last Drop still hummed with the tension of what was coming. But that day… that day, she didn’t let it touch them.

She slipped out early, arms full when she returned- scraps of cloth in soft colors, sweets from the docks, a small mechanical toy she’d bartered for with a vendor who owed Felicia a favor.

Most wouldn’t notice the changes in the bar. But the ones who mattered? They would.

Ribbons of powder blue and pink, twisted with wire, hung along the stair rail. A booth had been cleared- mismatched dishes, a crooked cake Vander swore wasn’t terrible, and two paper signs marked in shaky handwriting: VIOLET and POWDER.

Violet was the first down, barefoot and wide-eyed. “Is that cake?”

“Patience, firecracker,” (Y/N) grinned, scooping her up. “Birthday girl’s not even here yet.”

Felicia followed, Powder half-asleep on her shoulder, hair sticking out like she’d wrestled a static storm. Her fist still gripped a screwdriver.

“Happy birthday, Powpow,” (Y/N) whispered, lifting her carefully.

Powder blinked. “Is that… a cake?”

“Told you!” Violet beamed.

The party was quiet, small, warm. The best kind. Powder opened her little pile of gifts- buttons, gears, a satchel just her size, and a handmade goggle strap from (Y/N) that lit up at the clasp.

“Now you look like a real inventor,” she teased, ruffling her hair.

Powder beamed and threw her arms around her neck.

Across the room, Felicia met her eyes. A look passed between them. Quiet. Thankful.

(Y/N) just nodded and held Powder tighter.

She didn’t forget Violet either- slipping her a box wrapped in old newspaper with boot laces dyed her favorite color.

“Not your birthday,” she said with a smirk, “but being a big sister’s hard work.”

Violet grinned, tackled her in a hug.

The day passed in soft bursts of joy- chalk drawings on the bar walls, Powder tinkering with her new tools, Violet staging wild games in the back room.

For just a while, nothing else existed.

No war. No countdown. Just them.

Later, when the girls were asleep upstairs- bellies full, faces sticky with frosting- Felicia pulled her into a long hug.

“You’re too good to us,” she murmured.

“You’re my family,” (Y/N) whispered back. “I’d do it all again.”

Felicia sniffed. Laughed softly. “Don’t say that too loud. Might end up with another kid.”

“God, no.”

But she laughed too.

It was Powder’s day.

And (Y/N) made sure it was a good one.

Even with the clock still ticking.

The days had started to blur. Since Powder’s birthday, time had shifted- tilted on its axis. What used to feel like months now passed in weeks. Weeks collapsed into days. Now, the revolution was close enough to taste, and (Y/N) felt every second of it like a noose pulling tighter around her throat.

She kept moving. That’s how she managed it.

She cleaned up after the girls, swept the bar floors, restocked shelves, re-fastened loose nails. She fixed Violet’s boots in the mornings, helped Powder organize her new toolbelt, double-checked the locks at night. Always busy. Always doing. Because the moment she stopped- even for a breath- something in her chest cracked open.

She avoided Silco more than she wanted to. Slipped out of the room when he came in. Kept her replies short when he asked questions, her gaze lowered, never lingering. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t distance. She loved him- god, she loved him. But something in her gut had gone wrong. A slow, sick churn that wouldn’t leave her.

It was the same feeling she’d had before the last sheriff fell. Before every loss she hadn’t seen coming.

Everyone else seemed ready. The Undercity buzzed with tension, with quiet coordination. Weapons hidden. Escape routes mapped. Vander kept a layout of the city splayed across the back room table. Silco paced over it with sharp eyes, memorizing the paths like scripture. They were prepared. They believed.

And she wanted to believe with them.

She knew their reasons were real. She knew they were fighting for something better. But that didn’t stop the pit in her stomach from growing each time she walked past Vander bent over plans, or Silco murmuring to the others, fire catching behind his words.

At night, when the bar quieted, she sit awake in the dark listening to the soft sounds above- Powder’s breathing, Violet’s snoring- and wondered whether she’d ever hear them again once the smoke cleared.

One night, she stood at the window long after the lights were out, arms wrapped tight around herself. The city glowed that familiar, sickly green in the distance.

She didn’t hear him until he spoke.

“You’re avoiding me.”

His voice was soft. Not accusing- just... true.

(Y/N) flinched. Closed her eyes.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, barely a whisper.

Silco stepped closer, not crowding her, but close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

“Of the fight?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Of what it’s going to take.”

Silco was quiet. Then, low and sure- “It’s already taken everything. This is the only way we get it back.”

She didn’t argue. Just turned her gaze back to the window, watching the city pulse.

“I just want them safe,” she murmured. “That’s all I care about now.”

He nodded once. “Then stay with them. No matter what.”

She turned finally, looked at him fully for the first time in days.

“You’ll come back?”

There was a pause. A long one. Then-

“…I’ll try.”

Not a promise. Just a truth.

It had to be enough.

…Dawn came too fast…

The Undercity held its breath beneath the pale, grey light, every alley and window draped in anxious silence. No birds. No whistles. No drunken laughter. Just boots, gear, metal. War at the door.

Inside The Last Drop, the air felt frozen in place. Violet and Powder sat on the stairs, wide-eyed and quiet. Not babies anymore. They understood enough.

(Y/N) knelt in front of them, steadying her voice even though her hands trembled.

“Just another day,” she whispered. “That’s all. You’re staying with me, doors locked, windows tight. We stay quiet, okay?”

Violet nodded slowly. “Is something bad happening?”

(Y/N) smoothed her hair and kissed her brow. “No. Not to you.”

Then came the footsteps.

Silco. Vander. Felicia. Connol. Benzo. Others, too. Armed, armored, resolved.

(Y/N) stood and moved to Felicia first, hugging her tight. “Watch Connol’s back.”

“Always,” Felicia murmured.

She hugged Connol  and Benzo, firm and quick. Then Vander- no words, just a shared embrace, the kind that said everything without needing to speak.

And then Silco.

He stood still, but the moment she reached for him, his arms wrapped around her in an instant. No hesitation. It was the kind of embrace that tried to memorize- her scent, her warmth, the way her magic thrummed just beneath her skin.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned in, kissing him deep and desperate, her fingers curled in his coat, the other at his jaw. When she broke the kiss, her lips ghosted his ear.

“You better fucking come back.”

His breath hitched. Just a little. Then he rested his forehead against hers.

“I will,” he whispered. “If only so you don’t burn the city down looking for me.”

She huffed a shaky laugh. Didn’t let go until she had to.

And then- like that- they were gone.

She locked the door behind them with trembling fingers and turned back to the girls. Wrapped her arms around them and held on.

Outside, the Undercity marched to war.

Inside, she kept the light on…

The silence was wrong.

It wasn’t peaceful. It was bracing. Even the air held still, like the city was exhaling for the last time.

(Y/N) did everything she could to distract the girls. Old books. Chalk drawings. Gentle songs hummed through clenched teeth. But her hands kept shaking.

And she knew.

Then- the pounding. A heavy, urgent fist at the door.

She ran. Unlocked it.

Benzo stood there, blood on his shirt, breathing ragged, eyes wide with horror.

“They knew,” he gasped. “They were waiting- we walked right into it- too many-”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest.

“Stay with the girls,” she ordered, already pulling on her coat.

“Auntie-!” Violet cried.

“Don’t follow me,” (Y/N) barked. “Stay with Benzo.”

She was gone before they could answer.

Smoke painted the sky as she ran- choking, black smoke that billowed across rooftops. The closer she got to the bridge, the thicker it became.

She arrived to chaos.

Screams. Steel. Bodies. Blood slicking the cobblestones. Enforcers everywhere. Zaunites, too- some fighting, some fallen.

No time to think.

Magic surged to her hands, golden light cracking from her fingers. She fought like she was made for it. Threw herself over downed allies, cast fire toward enemies, keeping them at bay.

Then she saw him- Vander, bloodied and using his gauntlets to fight with every muscle. She cut her way to him. No words. Just movement. Two parts of the same storm.

And then-

“Auntie!!”

The voice cut through everything. High. Familiar. Too close.

She turned, eyes wide.

Violet stood just beyond the fight, Powder clinging to her side.

“Benzo let them leave?” she breathed, fury flashing hot.

She darted to them.

“Where are they?!” Violet sobbed. “Where’s Mama? Dad?!”

(Y/N) looked to Vander.

His eyes dropped- just once- toward a heap of rubble nearby.

And she knew.

She followed his gaze.

Felicia lay crumpled, blood on her temple, Connol’s hand still wrapped around hers. Still. Silent.

Gone.

Violet froze. Shaking.

And everything inside (Y/N) shattered.

Violet threw out an arm, shielding Powders eyes with her fingers. “Don’t look,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her hands trembled.

(Y/N) was there in an instant, scooping them both into her arms and holding them tight- tighter than she’d ever held anything. Powder buried her face against her collar, breath hitching with quiet sobs. Violet clung to her shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. (Y/N)’s knees nearly gave beneath her, but she didn’t fall. Not yet. She took a shaky step back from the wreckage, her eyes stinging, her lungs burning. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

She held her girls.

Then Vander was beside her, silent for a moment, his hand landing heavy on her back.

“Take them,” he said, his voice raw, thinned by smoke and grief. “Please. Get them home. Somewhere safe.”

She looked at him- just once- and nodded. No argument. No questions. Just turned and carried them away.

One on each hip. Powder crying soft against her neck. Violet stiff and silent, arms locked around her like a vise. The walk back to The Last Drop felt endless. Every step rang in her bones.

She slammed the door shut behind them, bolted it, barred it. Dropped to her knees with both girls still wrapped in her arms. Held them like the world was trying to take them from her.

But in the back of her mind-

Silco.

She hadn’t seen him. Not once.

And the thought of him- alone, somewhere in the smoke, maybe bleeding, maybe worse- was already beginning to split her down the middle.

Vander didn’t return until long after nightfall.

His footsteps dragged through the rear hall like dead weight. His coat was half-burned, his hands red and raw, crusted with blood. The door creaked shut behind him, too final. Like a war had ended, but no one had won.

(Y/N) was on the floor by the hearth, sleeves rolled, hands trembling as she dabbed soot from Powder’s cheek. Violet sat close, arms around her knees, eyes fixed on the door.

Vander stood there, silent.

She looked up at him, heart already sinking. “…Well?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her. Through her. Like he hadn’t left the bridge at all.

“I couldn’t find him,” he said finally. The words scraped out of him. “He’s gone.”

Her chest tightened.

Vander’s expression twisted. “He disappeared. Coward.”

She flinched.

“He let it all fall apart.” He began to pace- restless, agitated, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I trusted him. And he ran.”

(Y/N)’s hand froze, cloth paused at Powder’s temple. That didn’t sound like Silco. Not the Silco she knew. But she could see it- the rage in Vander’s eyes, the betrayal coiled beneath his skin.

Now wasn’t the time to argue. The smoke was still clinging to them all.

So she said nothing. Just nodded once. Quiet. Then turned back to the girls.

Powder sniffled. Violet leaned closer, a protective arm around her sister’s shoulders.

(Y/N) dipped the cloth again, wiped the soot away gently, one streak at a time. As if she could clean the night from their skin. As if it would undo any of it.

Vander sank into a nearby chair with a heavy groan and didn’t say another word.

The silence that followed didn’t feel like peace. It felt like a wound.

Silco’s name wasn’t spoken again.

Not by Vander. Not by Benzo. Not even by the few who survived and had once stood beside him.

But (Y/N) searched.

She helped move bodies from the bridge- limbs stiff, clothes torn, faces she’d known. She found Connol’s body. Felicia’s. Wrapped them herself. But Silco wasn’t there.

She checked every face, every coat. Her hands shook with each one she turned over. Hoping. Dreading.

He wasn’t dead. Not there. Not anywhere.

He was just- gone.

And somehow, that was worse.

Then, one night-

She was settling the girls into bed. Powder was half-asleep in her lap, Violet rubbing at her eyes and pretending not to yawn.

A slam. The front door.

She flinched, head snapping toward the stairs.

Vander. Soaked through. Water dripped from his hair, his boots. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at her. Just stormed through, fists clenched, leaving muddy footprints in his wake.

She watched him disappear into the back, heart thudding.

She didn’t ask. Not yet.

But something in her chest sparked. A small flame. One that hadn’t burned in a long time.

Weeks passed. Then months… Years…

Life reassembled itself in jagged pieces.

Violet grew louder, bolder, angrier. Powder withdrew into wires and gears, her grief funneled into creation.

Mylo came crashing into their lives a year later- mouthy, reckless, impossible to ignore. Vi challenged him before she even learned his name. Claggor followed soon after, calm and steady, the quiet gravity that kept the chaos from flying apart. And Ekko, sharp and fast, found a home with Benzo. He and Powder bickered constantly, but they always came back to each other.

The family grew. And (Y/N) stayed. Because someone had to.

The Last Drop softened. Fewer fights. More meals. It became a place worth protecting.

But the ache didn’t go.

Silco’s absence lingered in the corners. In the shadowed streets. In the quiet before sleep.

She never stopped loving him. She tried to. But she didn’t.

She stopped asking Vander. The look in his eyes when she did- the guilt, the anger- was enough.

So she let it go.

Or tried to.

The Undercity healed, if slowly. Vander swore off war, true to his word. The bridge remained, scarred and quiet. A marker of what had been lost.

Violet turned sixteen. All fire and fury, taller now, stronger. Protective to a fault.

Powder turned twelve. Brilliant. Strange. Her inventions more creative, even if most didn’t work, her mind was faster than ever. Her little fort in the kids room was a workshop of ideas no one else could follow.

And (Y/N) was still there.

Still waiting.

Still loving someone who might’ve died on a bridge or walked away from everything.

This was their world. Fragile. Messy. Real.

But somehow- it was still theirs.

[charmwasjess]

director's commentary on that truly homoerotically loaded sparring scene in... i wanna say Sitting? but i am not entirely sure and i can't go to check bc ao3 is down again :')

but i am sure u know the one

OH I KNOW ODDLY-EROTIC-YET-PLATONIC FIGHT SCENE

It’s a sparring scene, but in the context of the fic, Dooku has had his shit rocked hard on a mission, he’s still recovering, his lightsaber is damaged so he’s using a borrowed blade, and his confidence in himself is shaken. But he gets Sifo-Dyas up in the middle of the night because he’s going crazy without being able to spar. It’s got to be Sifo-Dyas because Dooku is too embarrassed for anyone else to know how weak he really is. It’s really too soon, but he needs this, he half begs Sifo into it, who goes on to very tenderly kick his ass. 

I wrote it before I ever shipped him with Dooku, so I couldn’t figure out why their dialogue and all was coming out so …suggestive. I chalked it up to Sifo-Dyas’s personality - okay, he’s a playful troublemaker, he’s a bitch, he’d probably flirt with a cardboard box. But I think it’s this mixture of rawness and intimacy, need and response, and the physical play of their bodies and their lightsaber forms. It felt 100% more like writing a sex scene than a sparring scene. And I’d keep that dynamic when I eventually paired them: Dooku is uncomfortable around the idea of sex, not always sure of what he wants or his relationship to his own pleasure, and he relies on Sifo-Dyas taking the initiative to get out of his own head and enjoy their shared physicality. It's a top Sifo/bottom Dooku scene without anybody taking off their clothes.

---

“So exactly how long has it been? Just how wound up are you?”

Dooku turned and gave him a look.

“Oh. That bad?” Sifo-Dyas whistled softly. He passed his own saber from hand to hand and smiled. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Dooku moved to take his place across from him, trying to make himself go slow, not rush into it. “I am far from capable of that just now.”

“Oh, good.” His friend sounded cheerful, if a little tired. “We’ll finally be an equal match for once.” Without further ceremony, he fired up the blue of his saber, and brought it into Soresu's opening brace-ready stance, one arm extended, the blade parallel to his cheek. His features took on a cast of half shadow, half ice.

“Don’t be like that. It isn’t true,” Dooku frowned. “And it isn’t kind.”

“All right, you’ll still win as usual, but this time I might make it last a bit longer for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant it isn’t kind to you. You are a strong sword.”

“Thank you for the compliment. I was trying to make you smile.”

“I smile,” Dooku said, not smiling.

[sunbeamah]

Hi everyone!

Firstly I'd like to sincerely apologise to everyone who follows me, and who's been waiting for an update on any of my fics. I made promises for chapters and posting times that I didn't keep, and I should never have made them when I was in such a shaky place.

It feels really silly to act like I'm a public figure or something, but I know many of you care about the fics I post and want to know if they'll be updated and whatnot. I'll put a heading below the cut for that specifically, so you can skip the first bit (explanation of what's been delaying said fics so much).

These past 2 months a lot has happened in my life. My parents got a divorce and I have experienced more betrayal, disdain and hatred from my father's side of the family than I ever thought possible. The same family that inspired me to write trouble in tokyo, the family who I love so much, has shown me once again who they truly are. I've experienced everything from violence to exclusion to just straight up being ignored, and I'm still a bit shaken from how quickly everything turned. I'm physically okay and safe now, and I'll heal emotionally.

I realise now that I was always an outsider looking in. My family is full of close-knit sibling groups, and I'm an only child who never quite fit. I was always too awkward, too different, too disappointing in the visual sense, to ever really fit in. They were all nice enough when we spoke one-on-one, so I thought maybe the reason why they ignored me and excluded me in group settings was because, though they loved me, they just loved or liked each other more. But I was just turning a blind eye to all the things they did because I wanted to protect. Whether that protection was for myself and my feelings, or my images of the people I felt were close as siblings to me, I don't know. But I understand now.

Families in my culture don't have to be blood-related. It's silly to forgive people of all their trespasses and put them on a pedestal just because you share a grandparent. I know all this, and yet here I am, still crying.

Updates on my fanfiction specifically

I still have many troublesome extras planned and half-written, and I will be finishing and posting those! The Kusozu brothers are a strong family with a genuine, unconditional love for each other that I still believe exists! I'm sure it's out there waiting for us all :)

I'm so sorry to everyone who's sent me an ask I haven't gotten back to yet, I sincerely thank you so much for sending them. I want to reply with a fic chapter for you all, and that's the only reason why I haven't responded.

The Butterfly Effect chapters I promised had to be scrapped. I will be writing better ones and hopefully posting them in a more timely manner.

The Cat!Yuuji au Nine Lives has 3 more works to come. They're short, silly little ficlets that aren't serious or heavy at all.

My many, many, many jjk fics unposted will start to be posted soon. I've got lots of inspiration and lots of emotional turmoil to write out, so please excuse me if it's something a little angstier.

[theflyindutchwoman]

Hey, you okay? Yeah, you? Yeah, I am now.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.21 - Going Under

Bookending this season with two undercover missions for Lucy and Tim was a really great move to showcase the progression of their relationship… The first one allowed them to finally be in touch with their feelings for each other whereas that second one gave them the opportunity to experience how this type of life could impact them, to begin acknowledging their fears and setting necessary boundaries. In both cases, they were working together. But the tone of the episode is very much different. And this time, they're on separate sides. Vegas gave Tim a direct glimpse of how good Lucy was at undercover work… But for all the danger they faced, he was right by her side. Here, he can only be a witness and this difference of perspective changes everything. It is stripping him bare. And it is particularly visible in this scene, when Lucy gets shot at.

That look of fear on his face is so visceral. Even though he's able to give all the information on the radio, his eyes are anxiously locked on that window, waiting for a sign from Lucy that she's fine. Holding his breath in the meantime. And Lucy… The way she immediately pops up from her hiding place, looking straight away in his direction, not caring one bit that she could give them away… In that moment, all that matters is to reassure him and make sure that he is okay as well. That eye contact despite the distance… And the relief on his face… How he even needs a few seconds to compose himself and start breathing again before starting the pursuit of the shooter… It is so raw.

And it is very apparent that he is reeling. He makes a mistake right away, by putting the sirens on despite being still parked right in front of the restaurant. Luckily for him, Teska is too busy being worried about the cops to notice that there was a police car watching him. As good as Tim is at compartmentalising, he can't do that when it comes to Lucy. That was already clear during her disappearance… But now that they're together, it's that much more difficult for him to stay objective. Like he told her once, it's her. And that leads him to the second mistake, one that could have cost him his life : 'If your head is not 100% in the game, it'll get you killed'. That's what he said to Lucy during their previous UC op… And that's what almost happened here. He is so rattled by the events of earlier that he is caught completely off-guard. Just like in the hotel room. You can see the realisation hit him… How his lack of focus could have been fatal. It's the fact that he admits being lucky to another officer, that he needs to say it out loud, that shows how shaken he is.

It's only once Lucy calls him, once he can hear her voice that he starts breathing again. Tim picking up right away, the phone barely ringing, proves how on edge he has been the whole time. And while she seems to fare much better outwardly, the way she barely waits for Teska to leave her before calling Tim tells a different story. She couldn't even wait for the car to be several blocks away for safety… That's how much she needs to hear from him as well. To reassure him and herself that they're both alright. And his immediate words being to ask if she's okay… Followed by 'I am now'… Again, this is so visceral. He can't even hide his fear, it's purely instinctual in that moment. And with the way she answers yes, it's clear that they both need to see the other as soon as possible… Need that physical reassurance… None of them are able to bounce back like they did in Vegas. Even once the mission is over.