#it was wanting to put a grieving father out of his misery

[littlegalerion]

As a homesteader, I can say 100% Halsin needs some serious help. He is all about "nature has a balance, where all are cared for", meanwhile here I am, having to pull two drakes off one lady duck because, by nature, both will attempt to breed her as roughly as possible, even if it ends up injuring/killing her.

Also, by nature, my chickens have a strict pecking order. A good few get bullied as they are the lowest in the order. I attempted to introduce some young ladies to my less than a foot tall Sebright Rooster, and he was brutal with the bullying. I had to pull them out, he was so bad.

Nature is not a beautiful, idealistic lifestyle. It is survival of the fittest.

Perhaps Halsin needs to seriously rethink civilizations' role in nature. That we, as people of all races, differ from animals in that we can choose to rise above our basic desires and urges if we so choose. Chaotic change is normal among the wilds, but we can actually bring good change, despite however much evil is in the world.

That is our role.

[myownwholewildworld]

wip wednesday

thank you so very much to the lovely @almostfoxglove for the tag ✨ it's like a few minutes past midnight now but it's still wednesday somewhere else c: i do have a little snippet to share from my PER ASPERA AD ASTRA drabble series 👀 considering i already posted how the story ends (lmao fr...), i thought it would be good to share the beginning hehe. i started writing this months ago in spanish, so now i'm slowly chipping away at translating it into english. please enjoy :D

Marcus walked between the marble columns of a secluded hallway in the Domus Flavia, the public area of ​​the Imperial Palace on Palatine Hill, as if he was an umbra. He put one foot in front of the other automatically, his mind on a land more than six hundred Roman miles away.

The siege of the Dacian capital to the east had been especially bloody. The enemy had presented a good strategy; the thread of many souls being skewed by the Parcae on both fronts. Among them, that of his own son, Augustus. At eighteen years old, he had been a great military promise, the best candidate to one day replace his father.

If Marcus closed his eyes, he could still remember Augustus’ warm, battered body in his arms. His empty orbs, observing the infinite, reflected the horror of his last seconds in this world. A thick and rudimentary pilum protruding from his chest was a macabre picture Marcus would have trouble forgetting. Its tip so sharp, it had pierced through the segmented lorica with ease, embedding itself in his heart, blood still gushing out.

By the time Marcus’ knees hit the ground by Augustus’ side, Pluto had already claimed his son to join His ranks. The bloodshed had continued to unfold around him, a maddening dance of swords, as if the world had not just stopped —as if Marcus had not just lost the only reason that kept him standing.

His reality had just sunk into the blackest misery and the rest of humanity was there, present yet impassive, blind to his pain.

But there had been no time to grieve — not there, during his darkest hour.

np tags (i have already seen a few ppl on my dash doing this so apologies in advance if you're one!): @inept-the-magnificent @orcasoul @punkseyes @iknowisoundcrazy and anyone who wants to join in the fun!

[saintsenara]

Thoughts on: Sirius/Minerva & Sirius/Bellatrix

thank you so much for the ask, anon!

sirius black/minerva mcgonagall

now... this has really intrigued me.

mcgonagall's assessment of sirius in prisoner of azkaban is something which always stands out to me. obviously there's her pride in him - "very bright, of course - exceptionally bright, in fact" - but i'm also always really struck by the slight complacency in the way she describes sirius and james as troublemakers akin to the weasley twins [something which harry clearly thinks is putting it pretty fucking nicely when he sees his father and sirius' behaviour in order of the phoenix] and how this informs her shock and anger at sirius when she believes him to be the death eater who sold out the potters.

one of the reasons i am really quite fond of mcgonagall with snape as a pairing is the really interesting things which can be done with the fact that she's someone who clearly sees what she wants to see - i really like the idea of her deliberately ignoring clues left by dumbledore as to snape's loyalties, for example, and i also like the idea of her having to struggle with the fact that she spent thirteen years feeling guilty for not spotting the signs that sirius had gone to the bad before discovering that what she should actually have been feeling guilty about is not realising how nonsensical it was to ever think he could betray james.

you also have with these two the chance to think really interestingly about the major theme of sirius' adulthood - grieving the loss of the love of his life. the backstory for mcgonagall on pottermore is one of the only bits of jkr's post-series writing that i like - and one of the things i really like in it is that it reveals her to have been widowed incredibly soon after her marriage, having also turned down another engagement in her youth.

[and also that hogwarts essentially becomes for her a fortress protecting her from the real world... a prison, you might say...]

i think you can detect the shadow of this in mcgonagall's canonical flintiness - she can hardly be described as a particularly warm or nurturing teacher [which is fine!] - and i easily imagine that she has a slightly jaded view of love, and that she certainly wouldn't think of it as something resembling a fairytale.

sirius undoubtedly also possesses this cynicism - all love has brought him is a dead james, after all. and i think there's actually rather a lot of bittersweet potential lurking in him and mcgonagall splitting a bottle of firewhisky and grousing about the state of the world over the kitchen table in grimmauld place and one thing leading to another...

will it last? well, neither of them expect it to - and imagine the misery you could write into mcgonagall reacting to sirius' canonical death - but sometimes that's the best basis for something which does...

sirius black/bellatrix lestrange

answered here.

[mental-mona]

A Letter to Non-Jews re: Israel

Jonathan Jaffe

22h

·

A Letter to My Non-Jewish Friends,

Dear Friends,

Please forgive me as I act so boldly as to speak for our collective Jewish community. I am writing in the fear that you may not know what your Jewish friends are currently going through. Surely you have heard the news of violence in Israel and some of you have even been so kind as to express your condolences. In this very lonely time, I cannot thank you enough.

Your Jewish friends and neighbors have spent the weekend in shock, misery and mourning. We are traumatized. Our families are under attack; some are missing and feared dead. Saturday morning began in dread and from there cascaded into frantic WhatsApp texts, panicked calls and constant scrolling through social media. We are not Ok.

If you are accustomed to receiving your news through the heavily sanitized Western media, please know that you are not living in the same world that we currently inhabit. You are not seeing what we are seeing: kidnapped children, naked bodies massacred and dragged through streets, parents murdered in front of their children, the elderly dumped into the back of pickup trucks; pages and pages of images of missing young adults, feared dead or taken hostage in Gaza to be tortured and paraded in the streets. Many young adults were attending a “nature party” music festival, as if Coachella was suddenly infiltrated by dozens of masked gunmen, arriving on machine-gun laden trucks, motorcycles and descending in hang gliders, thirsty for blood. Parents are posting pictures of their children, asking if anyone has seen them to please call them. There are dozens and dozens of such posts. You have not seen the video of the frightened Jewish young boy, mocked, abused and taunted for fun by his terrorist captors. You have not seen people dancing in the streets and handing out candy to celebrate the news of Jewish blood. You missed the Tik Tok videos and live streams of armed gunmen slaughtering parents in front of their children. You don’t know about the houses set afire to burn alive the families huddled within their safe rooms. We have seen all of it. And we know those who filmed it wanted us to see it and shared it with glee. And there is a world in which these videos are distributed in joyful celebration.

Moreover, you might not understand the historical lens with which we receive these images, a history of mutilated Jewish bodies and killing Jews for sport. To say that Saturday was Israel’s Pearl Harbor underestimates the sorrow and rage of the moment. At least the Japanese attackers had the dignity to focus upon military targets. They did not celebrate the animalistic torture of children and families. Candy was not passed out on the streets of Tokyo when the news of dead Americans was received. To see these images of tortured Jews invokes ghosts passed down from our great grandparents and beyond. We bear both the guilt and shame that it has happened again.

Our friends in Israel grieve. I can say without a doubt that there is not a single Jew in Israel who is not connected somehow to someone who was murdered over the weekend. The same goes for many Jews here in the US. Our Israeli contemporaries have been called into reserve duty, to put their life on the line once again. I received a picture from a friend of mine, a 50 year old father of four, with a sheepish look as he once again donned his military fatigues. My nephew is currently sitting on the border, somewhere under a bush, waiting for the enemy to come. Our family is heading into war. We pray for their safe return.

Here in America, your Jewish friends are under siege. Many of us spent the High Holy Days dealing with bomb threats. Did you know that many synagogues had to be evacuated last month? And that this happens to us all the time? Did you know that Anti-Semitic attacks are soaring by double digits each year, with a 36% increase just last year? Do you perform regular bomb sweeps of your preschools? We do. Are you forced to employ professional security teams to protect you around the clock? We do. And each time we do, we need to find the resources or cut from our programming to find the proper funding. Sometimes, it's not enough and we have to call in the police as well. When violence erupts between Russia and Ukraine, neither Russian nor Ukrainian churches must solicit professional protection for fear of attack. But we do. We are threatened by the far left and the far right, those who hearken to Hamas’ call for the destruction of world Jewry and those who march alongside the Proud Boys. We have seen our synagogues attacked and our congregants killed. We do not feel safe.

Today in New York City, those demonstrating in support of Israel were met with a fierce counterprotest of those celebrating Jewish murder. This happened today, in 2023, in our country. Nazi signs were held aloft. Last week, a speaker was invited on to my child’s high school campus, to spout Anti-Semitic tropes of Jews killing Palestinian babies and perpetrating genocide. Many of our political representatives offer infuriating words of moral equivocation in defense of murdering Jews. We hear the whataboutisms and the disinterested shrugs for a region inconveniently stained with blood. But worst of all, so many of our representatives remain utterly silent. Surely a raucous outcry will come when Israel inevitably defends itself. But when Jews are murdered for simply being Jews, and when we American Jews are targeted for the same, the silence is deafening. There are certainly those who have spoken out with empathy and clear denouncement of such cruelty. We are thankful for the light they provide in this time of darkness.

I wish I was in the mood for peace - but I am not. How can one talk peace as children are murdered over Tik Tok? In this moment, we are reminded that unlike our ancestors, we live in a time in which Jews have gained the ability to defend themselves. This power was not given to us but was won through blood. We no longer need to beseech the local feudal lord nor prove our worth to the ruling monarch. We will do it ourselves. On Saturday morning, the UN neatly packed up its tanks and vacated the northern border, lest they come under untidy fire from Hezbollah.

The Jewish state is now beginning to surely, unapologetically defend itself. Vanished is the false security that a racist, ruthless threat can be endured through the occasional skirmish. You cannot make peace with those who distribute candy to children in celebration that yours have been murdered. And now, Israel will act like any other country would if it was invaded by a blood thirsty neighbor and its citizens murdered, tortured, kidnapped and mutilated. It will do whatever it needs to make sure this can never happen again. And when the world inevitably protests the Jewish use of force, we won’t care. We will sadly disappoint those who long for the centuries of meek, defenseless Jews. We are no longer looking for the world’s approval and a condescending pat on the head.

If you want to demonstrate your support, you can simply ask us how we are doing. And if we don’t feel like speaking at the moment, you can sit with us in silence and we will know that you are here. Just know that we are experiencing trauma and that the sights we have witnessed will never be forgotten. We pray that all is done so that such things are never seen again.

On behalf of a mournful Jewish people,

Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

So major changes to AVOS, please let me know what you think. The seasons are going to be changed as well for Aesthetic.

Main POVs are Sparkpaw/pelt, Violetkit/paw/shine, Twigkit/paw/Skybranch, and later on, Puddleshine. Alderheart has very, very few chapters. Mainly his are only at the beginning of Apprentice's Quest.

Violetkit is put into Windclan with Needletail as Heathertail and Breezepelt's firstborn daughter (Smokehaze and Brindlewing being born with her earlier). I don't know which queen fosters her but I have the feeling it'll be a "unofficial oc". One of the unused names from the Kittypet vote that Wafflepaw one.

Windclan is struggling with their arrogant, selfish leader, but Shadowclan is struggling with their "I never wanted to be here in the first place" leader who refuses to act.

Heathertail mentors Violetpaw, but it is hard for her. She put herself up for ages as an independent cat but now has to watch her father admit that:

A. He wanted to run away from Windclan and become a kittypet

B. He sired a child with a kittypet that he planned to run away with.

C. Then turned his back on them both, tossing them out when Smoke revealed she had been wanting to be in Windclan the whole time, telling them they would never succeed despite Brushclaw being a successful warrior and Windclan being welcoming at the time.

Sparkpelt is only not wanting to help Skyclan because Molewhisker DIED on the way there, and her beloved grandma Sandstorm was murdered by Darktail. She doesn't want to face that trauma again so soon, and people won't stop talking about how Firestar wouldn't do this.

Shadowclan and Windclan both get wrecked, Shadowclan fusing with Riverclan (setting up future tensions) and Windclan merging with Skyclan.

Shadowclan's territory is burnt up badly by Darktail, who now has Windclan's territory as his own.

Violetpaw does not attack Twigpaw, instead she is simply shoved into her, she still feels bad about getting her hurt, even if it wasn't her fault. Needletail helped raise her, but she has complex feelings about this, she doesn't like Needtail's love of violence and Needletail (with Onestar) suggesting the separation.

Ivypool is not a bitch about Dovewing's love-life, instead she does want to go on the patrol, but Bramblestar is the one preventing it. Twigpaw sneaks out anyways with Lionblaze and Fallen Leaves' help (as they were on guard duty), going with Spark and Ivy to find things out. Which oddly lines up with Violetpaw sneaking out as well. The two sisters go it alone, though Sparkpelt fusses over them.

More under the cut!

They see the spirit sign and grieve together. But Violetpaw needs to set things right with everything going on with Needletail. Twigpaw isn't as deterred, and she finds Skyclan.

When Riverclan is attacked, they aren't driven out completely, it is just a display of power, the battle is a stalemate, Mistystar losing a life, and a chunk of Riverclan being taken prisoner.

The Kin are fucking HUGE. They're a big group, enough that the Clans are genuinely having to fight hard for this.

Upon this, Sandstorm's sacrifice, the weaponization of fire, and Violetpaw's misery that she herself inflicted, Needletail realizes this is beyond fucked up. She still gets imprisoned with the starving Riverclan cats though.

Violetpaw's espionage really fucks with her. She is constantly looking over her shoulder. Her relationship with Needletail is strained as hell but Needletail sacrificing herself to save Violetpaw caps it off. It saved her life but it doesn't undo the harm Needletail caused.

In the end, Onestar does die doing the right thing for once. Does he go to Starclan right away? Absolutely not. Prison Sentence for you, boy. But he feels he deserves it and is fine with going. The problem is reflected on the Clans, and while some have the xenophobic knee-jerk reaction to just blame Darktail, a lot of cats realize that the rebellious young cats of the Clans have a point.

Chunks of Kin cats join the Clans, happy to be away from Darktail. Sleekwhisker remains though, swearing that Darktail will live on, his legacy will remain. No one knows what she means by that...

It is deep into Winter and things are TENSE. Food is scarce, and cats are restless. Thunderclan has welcomed in Skyclan, under the pretense that they will find a home eventually.

They're trying, but when the Leader and Second in Command of Thunderclan are at odds, things are split.

Sparkpelt isn't given a 180 to make Alderheart look better. Jayfeather is anti-Skyclan, Cherryfall is anti-Skyclan (mainly because of Mole's death), and some others. It's a sensitive topic (though Berrynose is very much pro Skyclan because if they leave his son died for nothing)

Violetpaw actually gets to break down to her family and cry, because she is not thankful to Windclan for taking her away from her sister, and penalizing her for being different. She tells Harestar otherwise, not wanting to be rude.

Twigpaw says she wants to finish her education first, and continues on a bit in Thunderclan, miserable as she is, she wants to prove to them she is worth something.

Violetpaw is kitty autism, she struggles with social cues and understanding emotions sometimes such as Hawkwing speaking about Pebbleshine making him happy. Twig is also kitty adhd, she is hyper curious all the time, and interrupts others often, which can get on Violet's nerves. But Violet can also be blunt which sets off Twig's RSD.

Twigpaw is named Skybranch after she returns to Thunderclan, the third name Bramblestar has ever confidently given a cat after Lilyheart and Seedfur. She gets it later though, since things in Thunderclan are tenser than a bowstring.

Finpaw still loses his tail, but Violetpaw and the other apprentices are his buddies rather than Twigpaw.

Sparkpelt receives the Prophecy "The Dark Sky must not herald a Storm" after finding Needletail's spirit near the Windclan border during a solo hunt. She tells Alderheart and he stupidly tells the rest of the medicine cats.

All the apprentices want to see Twigpaw, so they all have a secret meeting at the lake where she breaks him out of his shell and he talks about his insecurity about his tail. They bond with these secret meetings and he joins Thunderclan.

Sparkpelt is angry Alderheart went to the Twolegplace when he said they'd go together, he doesn't want attention but NEEDS to be the hero. He gets into a fight with Dandeliontuft and Sparkpelt when they save him because he's insecure.

Ivypool and Tigerheart BOTH go after Dovewing, working together and finally reaching an understanding (Super Edition: Tigerheart's Light)

Snowbush doesn't die, but his leg is amputated.

Violetshine gets together with Tree and Zelda, who stays with the Clans (along with Loki moving to Shadowclan)

Twigpaw is finally given her name, Skybranch, but she doesn't look happy. When pressed during the ceremony, she tells Thunderclan that she has made her choice. She'll always have some love for them, but she loves her sister more. Skybranch leaves for Skyclan with Finleap, and does not come back.

Tree is also a tolly, going by they/he pronouns.

Briarlight doesn't die from the sickness. They immediately move her into Hollyleaf's old Tunnels area, watched over by Hollyleaf and Strawberrytuft (renamed Hollytuft)

Yarrowleaf and Conefoot are found and want to rejoin the Clans instead of Yarrowleaf and Sleekwhisker.

Leafstar is no longer as angry, instead she is visibly stressed out trying to keep everyone happy, and asks the cats of the others Clans "no more shuffling around right now, PLEASE. Skyclan needs more time to settle and find our old clanmates."

Fuzzball actually (completely by accident) gets through to Jayfeather, and when Jay realizes when an ass he's been, he finally changes for the better. Still sarcastic, but less mean spirited, more wanting to actually joke with others. Fuzzball stays in Thunderclan, becoming Fuzzyleaf, a Keeper. He is Jayfeather's mate. His job is to organize and help keep the camp clean.

The Clans like the idea of a Mediator but there is struggle on who to pick for the other Clans.

Sparkpelt and Dandeliontuft are running around playing nurse while this happens, wanting to help their brother out.

More than just Yarrowleaf's kits are taken. I haven't decided who yet, however. But this results in not only Rowanstar's death, but also Conefoot. Died protecting his nephew and niece against their own father, killing Nettle as he drops from blood loss.

More related to Tigerheart's Light, but more Guardian cats come along too.

Blossomfall and Ivypool are mates, their sire is Thrifty, a Loner tom. He looks just like Thriftear! Blossom gives birth just as Dove, Ivy and Tiger get back, the kits slightly overdue, as if they were waiting for their other mom...

Ivypool and Dovewing have a proper goodbye, and there are no hard feelings. None of the shit we got.

When Alderheart visits Velvet in a rare POV for him to bring back her Fishy, he promises that he will come back, that he will visit her. She gives him what is known now as Velvet Thyme and Hattie gets a cameo.

He goes to the Moonpool but the only chat he gets with Starclan is Sandstorm telling him that Thunderclan is in for some troubled times ahead, he just sighs, replying "I know."

Rowanclaw is referred to as Rowanstar in Starclan, out of honour.

Sparkpelt mentors Flypaw, understanding her a lot better and working with her.

Violetshine also takes an alternate path in life, making Sandynose even more of an insufferable prick. She wants to become a Nurse-Maid (permaqueen) and begins her training for that with the other Queens. She is sick of violence.

Sparkpelt is racing with Flypaw to get some energy out when they overhear the medicine cats arguing about the Deathberry Cure.

Dandeliontuft is the one to suggest the cure at all to Alderheart. "Perhaps the deathberries killed the infection, allowing its body to just fight the tiny amount of poison instead."

Flypaw doubts herself heavily, thinking she will never be a Warrior. Sparkpelt gives her encouragement about it, telling her that she will be the most quick-witted Warrior in Thunderclan.

Finleap starts pressuring Skybranch to have kits. He will eventually get shut down, and in the end he leaves back to Thunderclan and will fall into the Imposter's Claws later in life.

Leafstar isn't this oddly aggressive leader, she just wants Skyclan to thrive, and is willing to compromise. Juniperclaw is the antagonistic force here, refusing to agree with Tree's terms. Instead of a random Quick Time Dog Event, Juniperclaw just leaves in a huff. He wants Skyclan GONE.

Violetshine snaps at him for saying Skybranch owes him, telling him that he's an idiot.

Shadowkit has genuine epilepsy, it is treated with valerian but... The outcome looks bleak. This leads into Tawnypelt's Vision. Tigerstar is staying in Thunderclan's camp to keep an eye on Puddleshine, and keeps Shadowkit with him, until Tawnypelt takes him with her to the Tribe to try and heal him, or at least get things under control.

More cats than just Sparrowpelt are poisoned. Cherrytail, Petalnose, and Billystorm all get sick. Leagstar loses a life.

Puddleshine POV (he might be the Shadowclan POV after Violet leaves) going to the Moonpool after his recovery, where he gets the sign, but also talks with Conefoot about the Clans needing to work together, a vision of Fivetrees. Ancient words ring. Unite or Die.

Harestar is most giving to Skyclan, though he acknowledges that Wind land isn't really suited for Sky cats hunting style. Bramble neutral leaning to against, that they should go back to the lake. Tigerstar is for them to stay, but Mistystar says it would be best for them to go back. After all, Darktail is gone, why are they still here?

Another Puddle POV (ooh) where he puts together that some deathberries are missing. He smells Juniperclaw's scent on them and FREAKS. He tries to tell Alderheart but the boy feels defeated. He feels like everything was for null.

Sparkpelt finds Tree and Zeldaheart, who miss Violetshine terribly since Skyclan has left. Sparkpelt swallows her nerve and, after sending Flypaw back to camp, she will track down Skyclan. The TRUE Spark That Remains.

Meanwhile, Dandeliontuft and Alderheart both go over to Shadowclan's territory carrying herbs, pretending to want to give some extras over as goodwill and check Puddleshine and Shadowkit over.

Upon the realization that Juniperclaw poisoned Skyclan to make them leave, he is not only stripped of deputyship. He is exiled.

Sparkpelt argues with Bramblestar about going after them, calling him out on ignoring their plea when he was the one who made the "All Clans Stick Together" LAW IN THE FIRST PLACE, learning that Skyclan was poisoned... She decides to do it her own way. Spark steals a few traveling herbs, Larksong comes with her, and they go off after Skyclan together with Tree and Zeldaheart.

While on the journey, the rain makes it hard to even see, the cats staying near each other, shoulder to shoulder, nose to tail. Everyone is terrified.

Leafstar loses a life drowning before Ebonyclaw can get her out of the water.

Skybranch finally cuts Finleap off. Enough is enough. She doesn't want kittens, ever.

When they get back, the Clans are in full panic mode, remembering the Great Storm and also the fact that a little kid is missing.

Violetshine dives into the water to save Shadowkit but gets swept further through the rushing water. Juniperclaw manages to save them, but he stares at the Shadowclan cats, the cats he tried to kill off...

"I'll never be able to say it enough, but Skyclan... I'm sorry."

It isn't a redemption. It's him paying with his life to tell these cats he is sorry, that his threat is no more.

Skyclan settles into their space, the Clans all expanding outwards further. Sparkpelt sees Firestar's suddenly next to her sitting calmly, watching with pride. Time seems to stop for a moment.

"The 5 Clans need to face threats together. You united them once more. Sparkpelt, I'm so proud to be part of your family."

[rainstormcolors]

For the meme, YGO 5 and 17, Mokuba 8 and 9. :D

AHH, I put this in a post instead of answering the ask at first... I think I may need coffee. Or I got caught up in something else in my head. Anyway.

Hey there. Thank you for the ask!

Yu-Gi-Oh!

5) …the scene from it that lives in my head rent free.

Seto’s vision/hallucination of his melting dragon consuming Mokuba and watching himself also rot as his younger self glares at him with hatred is such a haunting and powerful moment, and how it was built to and what it builds up to is haunting and powerful. It’s so vivid and emotional and of the mind and of the heart without words.

Also the Heart Puzzle stuff of which I am a sucker for, which people likely already know. Isolation, emotional detachment from reality, trying to heal the inner child, trying to connect with yourself, trying to pick up the pieces and find sympathy for yourself.

17) …the world-building aspect of the story I have the greatest admiration for.

The themes of abuse and tragedy feel organic and just like part of the characters. You see it reflected in their behaviors and attitudes. It’s not overtly discussed and it’s not used as cute bait or misery bait.

The story is also very… I want to say it can be brutally true to life in a way. Shit happens and there isn’t a good moral behind it. To be clear on this point, I think people are in the right to criticize parts of this as this is a narrative, but other parts… it’s just kind of… I’m not even sure how to put it or if what I’m typing makes any sense. But sometimes you need to see and understand that shared experience of shit happens and there isn’t a good moral behind it.

Mokuba Kaiba

8) …a headcanon I have about this character.

I suppose I’ve included Mokuba collecting original comic book art in a few fanfictions now. I also feel the idea of his biological parents is something Mokuba might approach like a scientist, in contrast to Seto who has pushed them out of his mind in canon likely as a form of denial/pain/grief. Mokuba wouldn’t mind looking up their history if the topic somehow came up to him. He was younger than Seto when their biological father died, and while very young children do also grieve, it’s not as much of a cognizant process for them but rather mainly behavioral it seems (I don’t meant to paint broadly though – it’s going to vary).

9) …which of their relationships I would have cultivated more if it were up to me (both romantic and platonic).

I saw your comment supporting Honda’s quiet concern and loyalty to Mokuba, so that perhaps has a few votes for it now. I feel like I’d be interested in also seeing Mokuba interact more with some of Kaiba’s employees, like Isono or the maid. I feel Mokuba being kind of hot and cold with the main cast in canon is rather rich characterization so I don’t want that changed, although watching him grow into those friendships in time might be nice. Whereas Seto seems exhausted by interacting with people in the standard way, Mokuba seems much more animated by it and thus I feel he will be more social than Seto.

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Achemist Chapter 95

This is such a Royai chapter.

Look at Riza's gun. She had the hammer primed and her finger was on the trigger.

Riza's father was the original creator of Flame Alchemy. She watched him be driven to madness by it and is witnessing it all again.

And I'd say Envy isn't even trying to save it's life anymore. It just wants to sow misery and strife among the group even if it dies doing so. They all have so many reasons to hate each other, and them not reacting to his taunts at all is what frustrates Envy the most. Ed doesn't even respond to being called short.

Envy is a being that seems incapable of kindness. The closest it's ever come is when Envy purposely addressed Ed politely when it had consigned itself to death in Gluttony's stomach.

Like all it's siblings, Envy has a sort of ego that makes it feel superior to humans. That sense of ego stems from them existing for a purpose rather than being born by sheer chance. I've mentioned how I think Wrath hates how his life has been directed for his purpose, but maybe all of the Homunculi hold similar feelings.

Envy has had to interact with people. It's an agent of strife and discord. But Envy has seen how humans, born with no purpose, can still come together to lead fulfilling lives. Meanwhile Envy, a superior being, is empty inside. Instead of thinking on these feelings, Envy decided to lash out at humans to ease the pain. And it found some degree of happiness to drag others down.

And when Envy was brought low, Ed expressed pity and compassion instead of the cruelty and mockery Envy expected. And that was the last straw.

As Envy died, it referred to Ed by name for the first time.

Roy's eyes are hidden after watching Envy commit suicide. He called Envy a coward for doing so. Was he grieving or angry. Or maybe he was reflecting on his own life. I wonder if Roy's ever thought of taking his own life. Has he ever had moments where the guilt of Ishbal was so great he considered if he should just die right then?

We don't see him alone often, but when he was reminiscing about Ishbal in chapter 58, he looked like he was struggling to not break down and cry.

And that's another plot thread resolved.

Back in Central HQ, the Central troops have decided to ally with Major General Armstrong.

She's lost the use of her right arm, likely broken when she fell through the rubble in chapter 92. She's still very capable with a sword in her off-hand though.

And when Alex Louis Armstrong regains use of his left arm, he puts on a display of his strength and Alchemy. But he doesn't refer to it as a technique passed down from the Armstrong line. It is HIS perfect muscles and superior Alchemy.

Alex believes his skills are worthy to be called his own because he now fights for a cause he believes in.

That scene with the tank firing on Central HQ seems to be the exact same scene of it from last chapter. The same guy is even reporting in.

FALMAN YOU TRAITOR!! Are you sticking with Briggs cause they made you a 2nd Lieutenant?

It’s the final arc so everyone is returning.

Nina Trauma Count: 8

back

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Job’s Final Defense Continued

1 “But now those younger than I, as far as days, laugh at me, whose fathers I rejected for setting with the dogs of my sheep and goats. 2 Moreover, what use to me is the strength of their hands? With them, vigor is destroyed. 3 Through want and through barren hunger they are gnawing in the dry region in the darkness of desolation and waste. 4 They are picking salt herbs, the leaves of bushes, and the roots of broom trees to warm themselves. 5 They were driven out from fellow people; they shout at them as at a thief, 6 so that they dwell in holes of the ground and in the rocks. 7 They bray among the bushes; they are gathered under the nettles. 8 A senseless crowd, yes, a disreputable brood, they were cast out from the land. 9 “But now I am their mocking song, and I have become a byword for them. 10 They abhor me; they keep aloof from me, and they do not withhold spit from my face 11 because he has loosened his bowstring and humbled me, and they have thrown off restraint in my presence. 12 On the right hand the brood rises up; they put me to flight, and they build up their siege ramps against me. 13 They destroy my path; they promote my destruction; they have no helper. 14 As through a wide breach they come; amid a crash they rush on. 15 Terrors are turned upon me; my honor is pursued as by the wind, and my hope of deliverance passed by like a cloud. 16 “And now my life is poured out onto me; days of misery have taken hold of me. 17 At night I am in great pain; my pains do not take a rest. 18 He seizes my clothing with great power; he grasps me by my tunic’s collar. 19 He has cast me into the dirt, and I have become like dust and ashes. 20 I cry to you for help, but you do not answer me; I stand, and you merely look at me. 21 You have turned cruel to me; you persecute me with your hand’s might. 22 You lift me up to the wind—you make me ride it, and you toss me about in the storm. 23 Indeed, I know that you will bring me to death and to the house of assembly for all the living. 24 “Surely someone must not send a hand against the needy when, in his misfortune, there is a cry of help for them. 25 Have I not wept for the unfortunate, and grieved myself over the poor? 26 Indeed, I hoped for good, but evil came, and I waited for light, but darkness came. 27 My bowels are in turmoil, and they are not still; days of misery come to confront me. 28 I go about in mourning garb, but not in sunlight; I stand up in the assembly, and I cry for help. 29 I am a companion for the jackals and a companion for ostriches. 30 My skin turns black on me, and my bones burn with heat. 31 So my lyre came to be used for mourning, and my flute for the voice of those who weep. — Job 30 | Lexham English Bible (LEB) Lexham English Bible 2012 by Logos Bible Software. Lexham is a registered trademark of Logos Bible Software. Cross References: Genesis 18:27; Exodus 8:20; Leviticus 21:18; Numbers 12:14; Ruth 1:21; 1 Samuel 1:15; 2 Samuel 14:14; 1 Kings 19:4; Job 2:7; Job 3:25-26; Job 6:4; Job 9:17; Job 10:3; Job 12:4; Job 16:10; Job 17:6; Job 19:7; Job 31:35; Psalm 35:15; Psalm 43:2; Psalm 44:19; Psalm 69:11-12; Psalm 109:10; Proverbs 24:31; Isaiah 3:12; Isaiah 24:8; Lamentations 1:13; Daniel 5:21; Habakkuk 3:16; Matthew 20:19; Matthew 26:67; Romans 12:15

[deathchasing]

The memorial service could have been better, he supposes. Maybe more fireballs.

He doesn't really remember what he said up on the podium. He doesn't remember a lot of things he says, but he probably should have been cognizant for this one. The old man had always put a lot of probablys and should haves in his life, what was one more? Instead something raw had spilled out of him, blood from a wound, and the warmth of Obi's guiding hand had been the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.

Blood is all he sees when he closes his eyes now, bursting from Torres's chest, spraying across the floor as mechanical reapers tear him to pieces. There's a feeling he can't name-- a plea for more time, for a second longer, but he doesn't know why. What would Torres having stayed alive any longer really accomplished for Octavio? What had he been waiting for? For the old man to give a damn? Everything for Torres was a means to an end and Octavio couldn't even pretend he was any different, though he'd certainly tried. He should be sad, shocked, something-- a good son would grieve, or like a good Silva, at least pretend to. But that's the crux of this misery, isn't it? Not that Ajay betrayed him, or even that Torres is dead; but that Octavio might be just as much of a monster as the man that raised him. Selfish, ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants, even if the process harms everyone else. No, the only thing to be upset about is his own willful ignorance, the disappointing facsimile of a father he spun from lies to convince himself he mattered. He's not mourning the loss of Torres Silva. He mourns what never was.

[charmed-autistic]

Writing this here cause i don't know what I should do... My dad passed away and was found yesterday. I don't know how to process.

How do you grieve a father who distanced himself and refused to get close because they never wanted you and was violent at times? I lived with him for some time but once i moved out he would return calls less and less. He rarely called on his own and only on occasion answered calls. Who said they cared but refused to put in effort? A father whose health has been getting worse and worse but still stayed withdrawn?

And now I'm supposed to make arrangements and figure out how to grieve while vultures try to go on the attack. How to grieve when people who never care about either of us now wanna just come out to get money off his death.

It's like how to grieve the loss of a parent who never truly wanted to be yours.

All while being in shock. Part of me feels pain for losing him but part of me feels relief that he isn't in pain anymore because every second of everyday was misery for him for years now.and another part of me feels anger at the people who wanna try to make money off his death. I'm trying to figure out how to go forward but haven't had a minute to breath without someone making his death a spectacle.

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: The Holdovers

After the disaster of Downsizing, Alexander Payne has returned to what he does best: dysfunctional families. This time, they are not blood, but rather a misanthropic prep school teacher, his rebellious student, and the grieving mother who cooks the food. They are thrown together over the holidays when the student’s uncaring parents would rather vacation by themselves. The student is neglected, the professor is cantankerous, and the cook is barely holding it together. They each have their own stories, and we are never given every piece of any of them, which is how it should be. In life we never know everything about those around us, as much as we might think we do.

And indeed, the teacher, Paul Hunham (Paul Giamatti) has hidden layers that he is fine with no one knowing about. He is confronted early on about how standoffish he is, and he does not seem to be putting on a front at all when he says he does not care. He is expected to give students from wealthy families grades they didn’t earn so they can get into colleges they don’t deserve, a thing he will not do. Flunking one particular student winds up landing him the job of supervising the students who can’t go on winter break, and he is spectacularly unsuited to the task. He starts with five but ends up with one: Angus Tully.

Tully is the brightest student in the class, which, given his teacher’s strict standards, nets him a B+ on his final. He’s also by far the most rebellious, reacting as he is to a deceased father, an indifferent stepfather and a mother more concerned with her status than with him. He’s been kicked out of three schools, one more will mean a military academy, and his teacher has no problem telling him he doesn’t like him. I felt some of myself in the young man, and I know from experience that it is almost impossible not to rebel under such conditions. He is played with award-worthy precision by newcomer Dominic Sessa. Sessa knows the language, expressions and body movements of a High School student because he was a High School student when he was cast. A scene in which he leads Paul a merry chase throughout the school is vital, as Sessa has to shift from hostile to playful and back again several times in one sequence. This should be one of those rare times in which an unseasoned actor receives major award consideration.

This odd trio is rounded out by Mary Lamb (Da'Vine Joy Randolph), the school’s cook. She takes her job seriously, perhaps too much so, but she needs the outlet so that she does not spend all of her time grieving her 18-year-old son, recently killed in Vietnam. Randolph has more to do than simply moderate between the two extremes of conservative teacher and rebellious student. Her open grief, when it comes, is not a maudlin moment but a bit of emotional truth, as Payne and screenwriter David Hemingson recognize that pain often manifests itself quietly. She gets her one moment of abject misery, recovers quickly, and does what so many of us must: pours her hurt into a project, namely her sister’s imminent baby.

I devote an entire paragraph to each character because I would watch a movie entirely about any one of them. I very much wanted to know what bits of them Payne and Hemingson had to leave on the cutting room floor. Those bits may be hidden in their environment. When an impromptu “field trip” to Boston becomes a therapeutic excursion for all three, we see that Mary’s sister’s home, an apartment on the fourth floor of a decaying building layered with icy stairs, is a refuge to her. The small rooms and close conditions, things we might consider limitations, grant her and her family the intimacy she seeks, and we keep that contrast in mind as Paul and Angus explore a seedy Boston dotted with dive bars and porno shops, a place where daylight is timid and snow is always dirty.

The real environmental star of the show, though, is Baron Academy, played by Groton, Northfield Mount Herman, Deerfield, and St. Mark's, all real New England boarding schools. With most everyone gone for the season and snow all around, the place is both a warm refuge and a dim prison. This really depends on who you ask, as the teacher sees it as home, the cook as a job, and the student as purgatory. I want to watch the movie again so I can appreciate the way the characters interact with the empty halls and quiet gymnasium. It is a combination of the alluring Hawaiian landscapes of The Descendants and the flat rural no-man’s-lands of Nebraska, a place that meets both extremes in the middle. I wanted to take a walk around it myself, preferably with these eccentric oddballs as my tour guides.

Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use star ratings. Here are my possible verdicts:

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid Like the Plague

[spiritsoulandbody]

#DailyDevotion Remember What Jesus Has Done For You

#DailyDevotion Remember What Jesus Has Done For You Psalm 78 40How often they rebelled against Him in the wilderness and grieved Him in the desert! 41Over and over they tempted God and grieved Israel's Holy One. The Israelites seem to fail God over and over again. The psalmist says they grieved Israel's Holy One. The Holy One is our LORD Jesus Christ. The Gospels identify Him as such. They never seemed to get it right. I certainly can identify with the Israelites. It seems I have sins to ask forgiveness for all the time. My mind isn't blank on Sunday mornings when it's time to confess our sins. Perhaps and hopefully that is our difference. We recognize our sins and repent of them. 42They didn't remember what His hand did when He freed them from those who oppressed them, 43by doing His signs in Egypt and His wonders in the land of Zoan. 44He turned their rivers into blood so they couldn't drink from their streams. 45He sent among them swarms of flies that devoured them and frogs that destroyed them. 46He gave their crops to grasshoppers and what they worked for to locusts. 47He killed their vines with hail and their figs with frost. 48He let the hail strike their cattle and bolts of lightning strike their flocks. The Israelites rebelled against the LORD in the wilderness over and over because they forgot, they didn't remember what the LORD did for them in Egypt. They forgot the great plagues He put upon the Egyptians so they would let them go. They did not remember the almighty right arm of the LORD who delivered them from the land of misery. Perhaps this is why Paul says, “I would have nothing before you but Jesus Christ and Him crucified.” He does not want us to forget with what power we were saved from sin and death. Jesus Christ crucified is the Gospel that saves us from temptation. It is the power of God to bring us from death to life. This message frees us from bondage to sin, the fear of death and from the power of the devil. We need to keep it forefront in our minds if we do not want to emulate and end up like the Israelites who rejected the LORD. 49He sent them His blazing anger, wrath, fury, and trouble — an escort of messengers of woe. 50He cleared a path for His anger and didn't spare them from death. He let the plague take their lives. 51He struck down every firstborn in Egypt, the very first son of their vigor in the tents of Ham. 52But His own people He led out like sheep and guided them like a flock through the desert. 53He led them safely, without fear, while the sea covered their enemies. The LORD commanded the Israelites in Deuteronomy to recall and teach their children and their children's children this history of their salvation. Here the psalmist recalls the final plague of the firstborn in Egypt which was their deliverance and how the LORD led them out like a shepherd leads His sheep to green pastures. Our LORD Jesus Christ, as the Firstborn, the Only-begotten of God the Father, was not spared from death. It was the Father's will to crush Him and by His death make atonement for our sins. Jesus willingly became our Paschal Lamb. He led us through the baptismal waters and guides us by the Holy Spirit through this wilderness of a fallen world into the promised new heavens and new earth. It will be a sea of fire, not the Red Sea which will cover those who oppose our LORD. Let us always remember what Jesus did for us and pass this down to our children and our children's children. Almighty God and Father, with Your almighty hand You struck down Jesus, Your Only-begotten, to deliver us from sin, death and the power of the devil. Give us Your Holy Spirit so we may always remember this and live lives of thanksgiving. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen. Read the full article

[ebbarights]

church and state liveblog (warning ungodly long this time)

let's see how i (famously horrible at dealing with death) handle this episode

if we're seeing roman's entire speech right now we are. for sure. not seeing him actually make it

EBBA MENTION

i am getting my period but i just started crying with rava. god what a fucking horrible situation. poor sophie

i know i say this every episode but. roman is extra tiny this time. him sitting in the car beside shiv like her toddler son

okay the incest jokes are. a lot

jess storyline?? YES QUIT GIRL god she looks so scared

gerri is such a shitstirrer lmao love that about her

caroline calling roman sweet one i'm dead

still not used to seeing pip torrens as a bumbling englishman. he's a german idiot killing machine to me

EBBA SIGHTING

the older alexander skarsgård gets the more he looks like his dad. he should stop he's freaking me out

love how shiv betraying them didn't make a lick of difference to the way the siblings interact

CAROLINE ROUNDING UP THE MISTRESSES

okay honestly the logan relationship round up did more for feminism than that one avengers scene

i hate to say this but. did lukas just check greg out

greg being pallbearer just significantly heightened the odds of coffin flop

wait i didn't check for arian in the credits. was stewy cut AGAIN

oh roman's. not looking good

the rose story. i can't take this

"yeah i pre-grieved. i'm not your son" somebody kill me

his little voice.

the way everybody inside and outside the show saw this coming from miles away and still. it tears my fucking heart out

god i know i always say mencken looks like a falcon but. shark vibes this episode

lmao the camera cutting to caroline muttering when kendall says logan made them

"goodbye my dear, dear world of a father" okay i'm fully sobbing now. like audibly

roman looks so miserable. tbf i already sorta know what happens later but i just. really have no idea where he will be at the end of the show. the only end i can think of is death and that's. not my favourite

"he made me breathe funny" is that an acknowledgement that maybe it's good he's dead or the harm he's done or am i delusional

"how bad was dad" I'M KILLING MYSELF

dog motiffff

god the soundtrack this season

looks like kendall is the one who turns into logan after all

shiv already using her pregnancy as a power play with the champagne. queen shit

tom sleepy motif return?

tomshiv is so. it's just so.

(watching the cruelty show) that's just fucking cruel

the roy boys versus shiva-shiv i want to see that wrestling match

gerri looking after roman

i already know what roman's doing but. WHAT is roman doing

he wants to be hit so bad :((((((

in conclusion. somebody put me out of my misery

[anawrites3]

"Honestly, Bruce, what were you thinking?"

Clark sighed exasperatedly as he dodged a porcelain vase flying his way - a third of which shattered pieces were already adorning the wooden floor of King's study chamber - trying to bring himself to be just a little bit more empathetic towards his fellow monarch. He couldn't even recall now how many times has he heard the words "outrageous" and "shameless" this night. If he had to be completely frank with himself although, it was hard. It's not like he didn't feel bad for Bruce when his dear friend found himself in a situation like this, with a choice that was leaving him with no good options. It was only normal that he also felt mad at him since it put his dear nephew in an even worse position.

As a bargaining chip.

"You could've accepted any courtship from so many young and virtuous men!" And Clark remembered many of them and their families taking interest in the young prince as soon as his 16th birthday came; sir Wallace with the brightest smile he's ever seen, lord Queen's charge, prince Roy, even foreign knights like mysterious sir Lucas or sir Raptor seemed bewitched by young prince's charm. Clark found Bruce's overprotectiveness amusing back then, now though..."You should've let them try at least when they asked for Richard's hand, then he wouldn't--"

"I thought" Bruce growled through gritted "I'm giving him a chance. To fall in love, to choose by himself. I thought I'm giving a chance to my son, not to some..." Bruce waved his hand in the direction of his desk where the offending letter lay. "Some old, deprived bastard to ask for him like a war trophy!"

Clark didn't have to look at the letter again, he remembered perfectly the words that horrified him more than his friend's grieving face. Lord Wilson - The Terminator as they called him - whose own kingdom was in a state of war with Gotham for years now, years that took thousands of lives, proposed conflict resolution, a pact that would unite the kingdoms in peace against stronger opponents like Nanda Parbat.

Slade Wison wanted young prince Richard as his spouse - such a small price, a bastard son for peace. A beloved child for the misery of father.

Anon, I love you so much!!! It’s so good ahhh I love royalty aus! I already said it earlier but I’ll say it again - I’m having love/hate relationship with you rn because ITS SO FREAKING GOOD but because of it I almost wrote a whole fic in this reply! I hope you don’t mind me adding to your idea, I really couldn’t stop myself! You guys seriously need to tell me if you’re okay with me writing about your ideas when you send me asks haha

Slade is a sly fucker for using a war like this, damn. And I love how Dick is a bastard son. Or maybeee people just think about him as a bastard son because Bruce took him in and he’s not a royalty by blood. UGH I LOVE IT!! Oh and I really like that Clark is here as well!

Thank you so much for sharing with me! I had to write something for you and I tried to keep it short but... well, see for yourself I guess

/ / / / / / /

"You should have let those men interested in Richard get closer to him." Clark spat out. He knew that there was nothing they could do about it now, knew that Bruce hated the situation even more than he did but he needed to let those words out. "You should have let them at least get to know each other so then Dick would be able to decide for himself. But no, you were just scaring them away instead and now-"

Another vase crashed against the wall where Clark was standing just a moment ago. Bruce grabbed another thing close to him - a potted plant, as there were no more vases left - but before he could throw it at Clark as well, another voice spoke up.

"You're making a mess." Dick said quietly from the doorstep. He had his arms wrapped around himself and looked smaller than a prince ever should. "Other people will have to clean it up for you."

"Dick..."

"I've thought this through." Dick began in a mostly steady voice, not looking at any of them. He wet his lips nervously. "Well, there wasn't really much thinking to do but still... I'm- I'm going to accept Lord Wilson's offer."

The pot slipped out of Bruce's hand and hit the floor loudly, spilling the dirt all around the king's feet.

"No." he said firmly, when he finally found his voice back.

"Bruce-" Clark tried gently but the man ignored him.

"No, Dick. I'm not letting you-"

"Then what do you want to do?" Dick demanded. He looked up at his father at last, his eyes red and rimmed, expression taut as if he was in pain. "What else can you do? Do nothing and just let even more people die in this damn war? Wait a few more years so Wilson'll ask for Jason instead when he gets old enough?"

Bruce stumbled as if he was punched. Clark didn't blame him, feeling himself like he was about to collapse.

"Dick-"

"We don't have a choice, Bruce. And I know you know it." Dick straightened with a shaky breath. "As a crown prince, it's my responsibility to take care of my people. I'm not letting them die for a war that has no purpose. If it takes just one to save hundreds- thousands... then I'm ready to do it."

- - - - -

Dick looked out of the carriage's window, trying to get his hands to stop shaking.

Bruce demanded a meeting before giving Wilson their answer and the king of a neighboring country agreed without any further demands. All warfare was suspended now that the peace treaty was being arranged but their warriors still waited with a held breath - none of them could know whether an agreement would be reached.

Dick knew. There was no way he would ever allow more people to die for nothing, not if he had a way to stop the war. Agreeing to Slade's terms was his decision, it was for the better of both countries. Still, thinking about it like that didn't help with stopping the trembling of his hands.

He met Slade Wilson only a few times in his life but he knew how powerful that man was. There was something about him, something that screamed danger. He had this aura around him that made others fear him, made them want to run away even with being aware that turning your back to him might be fatal. But with that fear came respect. Wilson was a good king, people were saying, he was rigorous but fair.

Maybe he would be a good husband as well.

"We're almost here." Clark announced softly and Dick lifted his head to stare at the castle looming in the distance.

"Oh." he breathed out quietly. He sent his uncle a small smile. "Thank you."

"Of course." Clark replied with a smile of his own, though a bit more forced. He wasn't happy about the deal either. No one was. Even Jason grabbed at his sleeve this morning and tried to stop him from leaving.

Bruce didn't look up. He was staring at his knees with a frown since the moment their journey started and it was clear he was thinking about something hard. Dick placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"It's the best solution." he said when he met his father's eyes.

Bruce placed his hand on top of his and closed his eyes with a tired sigh. He looked so old, so fragile. Not like the proud king he should be.

"Maybe..." Bruce began slowly in a raspy voice. "Maybe if we offered him something else. We still can-"

"He won't agree. You know he won't."

"Maybe it won't be that bad..." Clark offered weakly but Bruce just glared at him.

"I'll be alright." Dick assured them.

He really tried to believe those words himself as the carriage stopped in front of the castle’s entrance.

- - - - -

Slade was already waiting for them in the throne hall when they arrived. He was talking with one of his generals but quickly turned their way when they stepped inside the room. His single eye immediately found Dick and the young prince hid his trembling hands behind his back.

He felt as if his heart was beating loud enough for Slade to hear it even across the giant hall.

"King Wayne. Lord Kent." Slade greeted them with a nod, standing up from his throne. The smile on his lips was a little bit too predatory for Dick's liking. "Prince Richard. Welcome. I’m honored to host you in my country.”

Dick bowed his head. "Your Majesty."

"We appreciate your hospitality, Your Majesty." Clark said, ever the diplomat. “We are aware it was all pretty sudden.”

Not even a week passed since they received Slade’s letter. No one could blame Dick for wanting to stop the war as fast as possible - there was no point in delaying what they all knew would happen anyway.

"Not at all." Slade replied easily, his eye never leaving Dick. No one said a word about the grim expression on Bruce's face. "It's recommended for me and Prince Richard to get to know each other better after all."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You still didn't get your answer." Bruce hissed through his teeth.

That at least made Slade look away. Dick could breathe a little bit easier without that heavy pressure on him.

"Of course not." Slade hummed. He glanced at Dick again. "You're free to stay here as long as you want before answering to my offer. We all know that reaching an agreement, especially in war times, takes a lot of time and thought."

Bruce pursed his lips into a thin line but before he could answer, Clark placed heavy hand on his shoulder and spoke for him,

"We're grateful for your generosity, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid we won't be able to stay for long."

"I wasn't talking to you. My offer concerns Prince Richard, does it not?" Slade's fingers wrapped gently around Dick's hand and guided it to the king's lips to place a kiss there. "By all means, my prince, make yourself at home."

Part 2 Part 3

[gabzlovesu]

ME FIRST.

episode 1 // masterlist

warnings: none

Duty and responsibility — above all else, they mattered the most. They were so deeply instilled in you from a young age that they’re all you know. Everything you ever wanted fell in line with them, so things like desires became adulterated to the point that you were unsure of what you truly wanted for yourself.

Well, right now you were sure of one thing: you wanted to turn and run the other way — far, far away from the big, white door that awaited your entrance like the gates in pits of hell. Your undeserved 'punishment' was nigh and there was no escaping it. 

You never could’ve fathomed standing on this side of the door, following in the very same footsteps of the women you considered foolish. Unlike all the other young women in Mondstat, the idea of a courtship had yet to cross your mind since your attention laid elsewhere.

You were not only angry, but ashamed, and the ridiculous feathers on your head weren’t helping. However, the headpiece was no match for the heavy responsibility that was placed on your shoulders. If this all went well, then things could finally change for the better in the solemn nation. The immense pressure had you clenching your fists, and you could feel your nails digging into the flesh of your palm through the white gloves that graced your arms. With your eyes closed and a deep breath you mutter, “For Mondstat, you’re doing this for Mondstat,” over and over like a hopeless chant that would magically cure your anxiety.

“Presenting Miss Y/N L/N.” The white doors give way to the bright room, rich sunlight spilling in through the glass windows and landing on you and you finally cross the threshold. With every step, you feel your heart gallop a little faster, and you don’t notice when the sound of your heartbeat filled your head and began competing with the comforting chant you tried to recite. 

You stop just a few feet short of the Queen, seated on a golden chair embellished with too many jewels to count. “Your majesty,” you curtsey low and let your eyes fall to the floor, just as you practiced a thousand times the night before. 

“My diamond has arrived.”

This fate of yours was set in stone less than a year ago when King Crepus, the reputable and noble kind cherished throughout all of Mondstat, died in a terrible accident. Some have fabricated conspiracies as to what was the true cause of his untimely death, while many others grieved their loss. Meanwhile, the people who are probably suffering the most are his sons, who watched their father’s demise with their own eyes. 

Shortly after the passing of King Crepus, there was a secret meeting held with the Queen, the princes, and some advisors. One of the seats at the large oak table was reserved just for you, the most loyal advisor of them all. Little did you know that the freedom that came with your position would be stripped from you the moment you entered the room.

“In light of recent events, I have decided that the season will continue as planned.” Whispers erupt among the advisors, but with a sharp look and the clearing of her throat, they’re quickly silenced. “The people miss their king dearly, and I do too, but we cannot remain stagnant and allow ourselves to wallow in misery. Instead, we should rejoice and make way for growth through the unions of noble families.” 

“And what are we to do of the rumors concerning King Crepus’s passing? This is not something that can be ignored and left to fester until it causes people to become suspicious or possibly even rebel against the throne.” The advisor’s words are full of worry, and so was he as he frantically moved his hands about as he spoke.

“In due time those silly rumors will die down and be put to rest. As for now, not a single word is to be uttered relaying the details of what happened. Even if the truth comes out, words spoken to a man mean nothing if he does not want to believe them, and I can assure you that the ton has already fabricated their own version of the truth in their minds.”

There’s no objection — either they feared to speak freely or they simply agreed. As for your opinion, you couldn’t determine where you stood on the matter so you choose to review the facts.

“Your majesty,” you stand and give a small courtesy before proceeding, “With Diluc’s coronation well underway, are you hoping that he will find a suitable courtship during this season?” 

“Ah, you are as sharp as ever, my dear.” There’s a bit of praise hidden in her words, and the small curling of her lips confirms it. “Though there is another factor in all of this…” The Queen waves for one of her servants to bring over some tea, taking a sip and making everyone wait for the important information she was withholding.

“You will be joining the court this season as well.” She gauges your reaction as she drinks more of the brewed tea. 

You manage to hold back a grimace and instead give a smile with a light laugh of disbelief, even though your eyebrow twitched with annoyance.  “Forgive me your majesty, but I have no interest in things of that nature. I think it would be best if I continue to serve you as an advisor.”

A moment of silence passes, and you two are the center of attention as everyone anxiously watch the showdown that had suddenly commenced.

“This is going to get interesting, brother,” Kaeya muses with a smirk and leans back in his chair. His red-headed counterpart only ignores him and rolls his eyes. Other than Kaeya’s remark, they don't utter a single word. The brothers could only watch the exchange from the sidelines, not just because it wasn’t right to speak on this issue, but also because they knew their mother would get her way in the end. 

The Queen speaks first. “My child… I am sure that there is more to life that interests you other than politics and being an advisor. It is time for you to marry and bear one of your own, and I am afraid that window is closing very quickly.” 

“If a man is not in my interests, then I will not have one.” You stand tall and remain adamant, you were prepared to die on this hill. The Queen has all of your respect and your loyalty — without question, but this was asking for something that you were incapable of doing.

With a heavy sigh, the queen comes up to you and grabs your hands in an act of reassurance. “By no means am I telling you to pursue something that would make you unhappy, but I insist that you at least show that beautiful face this season.” She places cups your cheek, and pleads with her eyes, “Mondstat needs a diamond to admire instead of the unfortunate events that have transpired.”

So now as you present yourself to the Queen, you remind yourself: For Mondstat. It is your sole duty to serve its people and the crown. 

TAGLIST FORM

tagging: @hungrynessforfics @dejwrites @rinhoes @iloveitblackbhna @protectpancakes @fight-me-bitch @nneedynymph @indiecursor @po3ticb3auty @nanaminshousewife @festive @apollostears @cosmicglowe @thenerdyrebel @luffysthickwaifu @svlims @4ngrysgf @daichisbunnybaby @urwifey2 @picayunne @kurtaclangobrr @kookieflvr @woahhajime @syomi @chrolloderulo @vivisspamm @erentoes @kutosznn @takemichiluvr @sweeneyblue1 @tyga-lily @jeanslove @getoswhore @thicksimpx @cosmicyeager @sakurashell @38riku @tonaken @muzanskimono @wiserebelpartypie @hellavile @g0revixen @sintiva @sleepy3 @yuujilove @yooniluvbot444 @imperatorkhaleesi @scandescent

i will probably make a separate taglist for this series. i’m sorry if you did not want to be tagged in this <3

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you.