#just a snippet really

[tragedykery]

I ❤️ self-loathing characters, characters who struggle with monstrosity (either fearing or embracing it), characters who are so lonely, who have a gaping hole in their chest, who bottle up & repress their feelings, who claw their way up & have ambitions, who fall down & lose everything, who search for identity & purpose yet can’t see themselves outside of what others want from or expect of them, who are hurt & hurt others, who long & grieve, who lie & pretend. characters who are messy & flawed & human

[villain-enthusiast]

TOUCH-STARVED HERO RAHH.

.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, actually,” the hero muttered from their sloppy position on the ground, though the oozing gash slicing across their torso and the fresh bruises circling their throat said otherwise.

The villain arched a brow, crouching down so they were eye level with the hero. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

The hero glowered at them. “Seems like you're deaf, actually. I said I’m fine,” they snapped, even as pain shuddered through their battered body. “Now if you could just get out of my way—,”

“Darling, please. You couldn’t stand up even if you tried, let alone walk yourself halfway across the city to your apartment.” The villain smirked at the hero’s deepening scowl, but the teasing flair didn't quite reach their eyes. “Let me do you a small favor while I’m here, at least.”

The hero bared their teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t need your stupid healing powers. You'll probably turn this into one of your idiotic bargains—," A harsh coughing fit cut them off, rattling their chest.

They tasted blood on their tongue. Fuck.

“Gosh, so prideful." The villain sighed, tilting their head. "Oh look at that, you're bleeding." They lifted a hand and ran a thumb over their hero's lips, wiping away a smattering of blood that had spilled from their mouth.

The hero's breath hitched at the villain's touch, the smallest, most delicate of noises escaping them before they could stop themselves.

The villain paused, their brow furrowing as their gaze took in every little movement and detail of the hero's involuntary response.

The hero's jaw tightened. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to get away, but they couldn't move. Or was it that they didn't want to move? "Villain, I swear—,"

Then the villain’s hand was cupping their cheek, and the hero melted.

A desperate whimper tore from their throat, their head lolling into the cool touch of the villain's palm as all the pain and exhaustion radiating through their body suddenly evaporated.

They closed their eyes, feeling their face begin to burn with shame.

"Oh, sweetheart," the villain murmured. Their other hand swept through the matted strands of the hero's hair, working through the tangles.

The hero had to bite down on their lip so that they didn't make another embarrassing noise. So gentle. The villain's touch was so, so gentle. So at odds to their earlier opponent's strangling grip and blinding punches, so contrasting to gaping loneliness and helplessness of coming home to no one, of having to painfully stitch themselves up day after day after day...

The villain brushed away a tear that the hero didn't realize had fallen.

"Hey, look at me," the villain said softly, nudging their chin up. The hero blinked at them, fighting back a sob. "You need to let me heal you, okay? You're losing a lot of blood."

The hero swallowed, barely processing the villain's words, their brain entirely occupied by the hand still on their face—or maybe it was just the blood loss. "Yeah," they managed, voice hoarse. It felt like their vocal chords were coated in tar.

"I'm going to do your stomach first," the villain noted. "I need both my hands for this, alright?"

The hero nodded, ignoring the inevitable panic that shot through them at the sudden absence of the villain's touch, which returned almost immediately on the deep laceration on their lower torso.

The hero cringed, bracing for some kind of torturous, painful mending, but the villain's powers were warm, soft, like honey in a cup of hot tea or a crackling fireplace during a winter storm. God, how many years had it been since they'd felt so comforted?

A whimper escaped the hero once more. They tensed. Jesus fucking christ.

The villain cracked a smile as they worked. "Don't worry, love. You're not the first person I've healed that enjoys the feeling." They brushed a palm over the wound, weaving the hero's flesh and skin back together. "This is gonna scar, but at least you'll live to see another day, hm?"

The hero scoffed weakly, still drunk on the villain's magic.

The villain swept their hands over the hero's body, feeling for more damage. "Gosh, Hero," they hummed, "you get yourself into so much trouble, do so much for this pitiful city, and for what?" They placed their hands on the hero's battered neck, soothing the inflammation. "When's the last time someone took care of you?" they asked quietly, but the question seemed more for themselves than for the hero.

Several heartbeats passed before the villain pulled away, finished with their work. The hero couldn't stop themselves from chasing their touch, nearly toppling over.

The villain caught them before they hit the ground, chuckling. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

The hero felt a lump form in their throat at the thought of the villain leaving. I'm not gonna make it home. Not without Villain. They squeezed their eyes shut, swallowing their pride. "Please," they whispered. "Take me home. All I ask."

"Don't need to ask me twice." The villain swept the hero up into their arms, smirking at their indignant (and exhausted) glare. "You're not walking, sorry. You're getting all my love and special treatment today." They winked, as if they were joking.

But as the villain paced their way to the hero's apartment, and as the hero began to fall asleep in their arms, they both knew it wasn't a joke.

[laddertek]

etho said actually you _don't_ understand the intricacies of how tango is my boyfriend and bdubs is my ex

(and how tango and bdubs kiss too)

Scar: We went on that little adventure, you know! Etho: Yeah, yeah, we had our adventure, that's true, that's true. Scar: You disparaged your teammates. That's it, all right, no more spoilers. Etho: (laughs) Our team has -- our team has some weird dynamics this -- this season. Cleo: (overlapping) Really, Etho? Is there trouble in paradise? (pause) Who's third-wheeling with you, again? I can't remember. Etho: (laughs) Uhh. The -- Cleo: Genuinely can't remember. I know it's you and Bdubs. And...Tango? Tango. Tango. Etho: (loudly) Why -- Why is Tango the third wheel? Why -- why isn't Bdubs the third wheel? Cleo: Because it's you and Bdubs. I'm sorry. I understand how that relationship goes. Etho: (dissatisfied) Hmm.

[kenchann]

uh oh

also change my yuus outfit www

[kuromimel]

loustat reunion in amc iwtv: heartbreaking, gut wrenching, tears all around

loustat reunion in tvl:

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[scarlettfevor]

I just saw this video talking about actresses who've had to wear sexualized outfits on film that made them uncomfortable (think Margot Robbie in Suicide Squad) and it brought up an ongoing concern of mine about how films and tv shows are way more explicit now than they've been before. Thinking about how many actresses have been topless or nude on camera when it's totally unnecessary) Like I know Hollywood is experimental and would show sex and nudity in their films, I don't have a problem with that it's just how disproportionate the amount of women vs men who have to be naked and sexualized in film is. It's misogyny, pure and simple. Forcing actresses to put their bodies and sexuality on display for the pleasure of male directors and a male audience. And I hate that you can never point out how many actresses have come out and said that no, they didn't like wearing sexualized outfits on screen, they didn't like going nude/being pressured to go nude, they don't like sex scenes or explicit rape scenes but still anytime anyone mentions this you have to fight puritan allegations because god forbid you question how a notoriously sexualized and objectified marginalized community seems to always be sexualized and objectified in media.

[scriblesandbits]

So god created us in his image, right? And that’s cool and all but what if it turns out god, like, hates his own image??? What then????

[loveandleases]

(ಥ﹏ಥ)

If you were sober, you would see the war within them. So many unspoken questions linger - why you showed up drunk at their door, why their bed became the one you choose to fall into, why your scent now lingers on their sheets.

Maybe tomorrow.

"Please," G whispers, their voice barely audible and laced with pain. So much pain that you don't notice. Nor do you catch the way their fingers hesitate, aching to cup your face. "Just one... just one-"

Sip, they want to say, only for the word to be lost, the glass of water in their hand forgotten. Their lips hover near yours, close enough for their breath to graze your skin. Green tea, you think in the haze of your mind. G.

Why would you be smelling green tea if you're home in bed? It must be a dream - it has to be. And if it's a dream, then what you do next is alright.

Your hands slip around their neck, fingers threading into their dark hair. G's breath hitches, and you pull them closer. Soft pliable lips, brush yours. Their gasp dissolves into the kiss, followed by a soft moan. The sound sending a shiver through you.

[cod-thoughts]

“Thought you’d sleep in for once,” Ghost muttered, leaning down to meet Price’s lips in a lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed—just a slow, easy press of their mouths, like they had all the time in the world.

“Couldn’t,” Price murmured against him, his hands finding Ghost’s hip. He tugged him closer, their noses brushing together as Ghost kissed him again, deeper this time. Price’s grip tightened, but there was nothing hurried about it, just deliberate and steady, as if he was memorising every detail.

Ghost huffed softly when they pulled apart, the sound low and amused. “You’re insatiable, old man.”

“Damn right,” Price shot back, his thumb tracing slow circles against Ghost’s hip. “You’re the one who came in here lookin’ like that. Can’t be helped.”

Ghost shook his head, but there was no real heat behind it, just the faintest curve of his lips, knowing he wasn't wearing anything special. He leaned in again, his fingers slipping under the collar of Price’s shirt, brushing against bare skin. Their mouths met in another kiss, slower this time, like the kindling of a fire, warmth spreading between them with every touch.

Then it happened. Ghost shifted his weight, leaning into Price a little too much as Price tugged him forward. He stumbled, landing hard in Price’s lap, chair creaking underneath them, his thighs bracketing Price’s hips as the two of them froze for a moment, faces inches apart.

“Fuckin' hell,” Ghost muttered, his hands braced on Price’s shoulders as the faintest flush crept up his neck.

Price, for his part, looked completely unbothered—if anything, the grin spreading across his face was downright wolfish. “Now this,” he said, his hands sliding up to Ghost’s waist, “is a sight I could get used to.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes, his voice low and rough. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?” Price replied, his gaze flickering over Ghost—his broad shoulders, the way his muscular thighs framed Price’s hips, the faint pink staining the tops of his cheeks. “Should’ve done this soon as you came in. Hell, I should have you like this all the time.”

“Thought this morning was enough for you,” Ghost shot back, his voice a teasing growl, though the flush on his face deepened.

Price’s eyes darkened, his grin turning into something hungrier. “Not even close.” Wrapping his arms around Ghost’s waist, pulling him down just enough that their bodies pressed together, the solid weight of Ghost against him making Price groan softly. “You’ve no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Ghost opened his mouth to retort, but Price didn’t give him the chance. He surged up, capturing Ghost’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was feral, desperate, all teeth and tongue as if Price couldn’t get enough of him. Ghost let out a low, surprised sound, his hands slipping up Price’s shoulders to his jaw as the kiss deepened.

Price’s hands roamed, one sliding up Ghost’s back to tangle in his hair, the other gripping his thigh, fingers digging into muscle as if to anchor him there. Ghost groaned, the sound muffled against Price’s mouth, his body reacting before his brain could catch up. His hips shifted instinctively, pressing harder against Price, who growled in response.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Price muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he pulled back just enough to drag his teeth along Ghost’s jaw. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath Ghost’s ear, biting down lightly before soothing the mark with his tongue.

Ghost shivered, his fingers slightly tightening around Price’s jaw. “Thought you could handle it, Captain.”

“Handle you?” Price’s laugh was dark, his lips brushing against Ghost’s throat. “Barely.”

The room felt hotter, the air between them thick with want as their movements grew more frantic. Price’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of Ghost’s spine, squeezing his thighs, pulling him impossibly closer. Ghost leaned into it, his breath hitching as Price’s teeth scraped against his collarbone.

“John,” Ghost rasped, his voice strained, his usual composure cracking under the heat of Price’s attention.

“Tell me,” Price said, his voice a low growl as he kissed him again, biting at his lower lip before dragging him impossibly closer. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Ghost didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed Price with a desperation that said everything, his body pressing against him as if trying to fuse them together. Price groaned into his mouth, his hands sliding to Ghost’s ass, urging him to roll his hips into a sinful grind.

Whatever playful teasing had been between them was long gone, replaced by something raw and consuming. Snaking a hand into Ghost's hair, Price pulled him back with a gasp and looked up at Ghost, his chest heaving, his brown eyes burning with want as he took in the sight of his lover—flushed, ruffled, and completely his.

[moonlitkissing]

Whimpery men, gimme

[save-the-villainous-cat]

The hero let out a wet groan, pushing themselves up as the blood ran down their side. It was in itself a funny feeling.

It was a good feeling.

Absolutely no one in this rotten city was able to challenge them. Physically, they were stronger. Mentally, they were quicker. And their dedication, their devotion was like a holy prayer that guided them through their nights.

The hero knew it wasn't a good thing - the longing for a challenge, the desire for an opponent that could actually make them a better fighter. It was a dangerous wish and they had to remind themselves regularly why they were doing this job in the first place.

To do good. To be good. Not to find someone who was their very own nemesis.

However, with the villain's boot on their ribs and that brutal nature of theirs, the hero was struggling not to find this utterly satisactory.

"Yeah, right there," the hero wheezed. "Make me scream."

The villain tilted their head and tutted, nearly bored of the hero's games. They let out a sigh and grabbed the hero's hair, yanking them up.

Another wheeze.

And the villain crouched, holding the hero by their hair. Very close. Very intimate.

"Do you think I am stupid?" the villain asked. Their lips brushed the hero's ear and despite the pain, or maybe because of it, the hero could only concentrate on the adrenaline rushing through their body.

"No," the hero said. They had to grin. Sometimes, they wished they could devour the villain, that they could change them and ultimately, that they could control them.

The hero knew it wasn't right. They knew it wasn't good. But they had never felt this kind of obsession towards anyone. In previous relationships, they hadn't gotten jealous, they hadn't gotten angry. They had never struggled like this. They had never doubted themselves like this.

"I know your dirty little secret," the villain said. "I know you like me. You like this."

"I didn't try to hide it," the hero said.

"Not from me. But the public."

"What are you trying to...?"

"Oh, poor hero," the villain murmed. "See, the difference between you and me is, that I do not care about you. If this gets to one, just one flimsy reporter, the people will turn against you. I can ruin your entire career. Your entire life."

The hero had miscalculated. Obviously, they hadn't expected their nemesis to feel the same. But they also hadn't expected them to tell the public. To use the public against the hero. It was a little shameless. But the hero was even more disgusted by their admiration for it.

"So?" the hero asked. Losing the public was a detrimental loss, that much was clear. But was it even measurable next to the fights with the villain? Did it even matter? When the hero could feel this euphoric? This alive? When had the public ever made them feel that way? "I would still have you."

"I do not love you," the villain argued. "You're not as important to me as you think."

"Give it some time," the hero said. "You will love me, don't worry. Everyone does."

The villain simply laughed at that. It was nearly soft. Or maybe the hero wanted it to be. It didn't matter.

"I have to admit, I am quite interested in what you have in store for me. How will you act once the public calls you a traitor? What will you do when I refuse to fight you? You are-" with their index finger, the villain traced the hero's thoat "-so very unique."

"Is that attraction?"

"Obligatory interest."

"And you say you're not in love."

They stared at each other until, finally, the villain dropped them. They cleared their throat and tilted their head. But the hero swallowed blood when their head nearly smashed against the concrete floor.

"I like toying with you, that is all."

"Sure," the hero said. They clutched their heart, tried to breathe. Being close to the villain was a gift, no matter how much it hurt. The hero loved it, loved their words, loved their personality, loved the challenge. It was insane, the hero felt completely deranged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

And the hero was excited. So very excited for the next weeks.

[screebyy]

A little crowlyon dawning comic wheee i finished it please clap

Next

I have lots more written on this but idk if i will do another comic or write part of it as a fic or some mix of both. im just very normal about them right now 🙂

ID/transcript below cut

Panel 1: Crow is walking down a path outside of the dreaming city with a brown cross-body messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Crow is holding the strap of the messenger bag and looking up in exasperation as he talks to Glint, who is floating beside him and speaking emphatically. Crow: “There's still time to turn back…” Glint: “Don't!” Crow: “But -” Glint: “You said you wanted to go through with this!” Crow: “I know but -” Panel 2: Close up of Crow’s eyes as he spots something off-screen. He looks startled. Crow: “!-”

Panel 3: Jolyon is standing next to a natural stone wall, looking away from the viewer. He is resting one hand on the wall and staring out at the Dreaming City watchtower and buildings in the distance, which are overtaken with taken corruption and several taken orbs hang in the air around the city. Crow is standing in the foreground, looking at Jolyon with one hand resting on his messenger bag. Crow: “Jolyon.”

Panel 4: Close shot of Jolyon turning towards the viewer, he is only visible from his shoulder to his nose so his expression is neutral and unreadable.

Panel 5: Camera is looking over Jolyon’s shoulder as he looks at crow. Crow looks at Jolyon with determination. He is holding the strap of his bag with one hand where it falls across his chest. Glint is transmatting away with an enthusiastic expression. Jolyon’s face is not visible.  Crow: “Thanks for meeting me” Glint: “ok good luck bye”

Panel 6: Close shot of Crow’s face. He is looking down and to his left, blushing lightly. He looks uncertain and slightly embarrassed. Crow: “I’m sorry if you… didn’t want to hear from me.” Jolyon (offscreen): “It’s fine.”

Panel 7: Close shot of Jolyon’s face. He is staring down at Crow with a distant, slightly pained expression.  Jolyon: “What do you want?”

Panel 8: Close shot of Crow’s hands gripping the strap of the messenger bag. He is twisting it with both hands, clearly fidgeting due to nervousness. Crow: “I’m…”

Panel 9: Side shot of Crow and Jolyon looking at each other. Crow is leaning slightly forward, while Jolyon looks entirely neutral. Crow: “I’m trying to make amends.” Jolyon: “Amends. For what?”

Panel 10: Close shot of Crow’s face. He looks confused but determined, and is looking up at Jolyon with a furrowed brow.  Crow: “For-... For Uldren, for everything-”

Panel 11: Extreme closeup of Jolyon’s eyes. He looks angry and his eyes are suddenly glowing with intensity as he glares down at Crow. Jolyon: “No. What specifically?”

Panel 12: Low angle looking up at Jolyon, who is glaring down at Crow with an intense, angry expression, bordering on hatred. Jolyon: “Tell me. What exactly do you remember?”

Panel 13: Extreme closeup of Jolyon’s mouth as he sneers, speaking through gritted teeth. Jolyon: “Crow.”

Panel 14: Shot of Crow’s face, he looks startled and distraught as he stares at Jolyon. Crow: “...”

Panel 15: Crow looks away to his right, looking ashamed. Crow: “I remember enough. I remember when things were good between us. And when they were… less good.”

Panel 16: Extreme close up of Jolyon’s left eye, he is looking down at Crow and looks alarmed. Crow: “I remember the garden.”

Panel 17: Wide shot from behind Crow. Crow is looking up at Jolyon. Jolyon is flinching and looking swiftly away from Crow to his left. Crow: “After that… things start to get confused. Honestly, I don’t understand everything that happened between us at the end… But I know it wasn’t what he wanted.”

Panel 18: Shot of Jolyon looking away, looking extremely upset as Crow talks. Crow: “So… I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Panel 19: Extreme close up of Jolyon’s eyes, he is squeezing his eyes shut and still looks emotional. Crow: “And so is he.”

Jolyon: “...”

Panel 20: Wide shot from behind Jolyon. Jolyon turns back to look down at crow, his face is not visible. Crow is still looking up at him. Jolyon: “Okay. Is that all?”

Panel 21: Shot of Crow’s face, turning down to look at the messenger bag at his hip. Crow looks nervous and is blushing with embarrassment. Crow: “Um…”

Panel 22: Close shot of Crow’s hand as he opens the messenger bag and reaches inside. A purple box is visible inside the bag. Crow: “No.”

Panel 23: Wide shot of Crow. He has pulled the purple box out of the bag, and is looking down at it, blushing slightly. In an inset panel, Jolyon is looking at him suspiciously. Crow: “Do you know about the dawning?” Jolyon: “Yes… The Awoken don’t celebrate it.” Crow: “I know.”

Panel 24: Close shot of Crow’s face as he looks down at the box. He is smiling wistfully, and blushing. Crow: “But… in the city, we give each other sweets, to say thanks. And… I don’t know. Now, it always reminds me of this time…”

The background shifts to a black backdrop, with white snowflakes falling quickly.

Panel 25: Extreme close up of Uldren Sov’s face in a flashback. It is dark, and snowing. Uldren is wearing a hood and is hunched over while looking straight ahead at the viewer. His hair is obscuring his right eye, and he looks serious and intense. Crow: “It was centuries ago. Back when the last city was just a tiny settlement.”

Panel 26: Close up of Uldren holding a pair of dark gray-purple binoculars, with glowing magenta lenses. He is resting his hand with the binoculars on one knee in the air. Uldren is wearing a dark blue shirt and black gloves with burnt orange detailing, and a long black cloak. Crow: “I… He was doing surveillance on earth. Keeping tabs on the people trying to build a sanctuary beneath the traveler.”

Panel 27: A wide shot from behind Uldren, who is sitting on top of a dilapidated building on earth. He is looking down on a festive nighttime scene. There are several buildings that have been partially destroyed and reclaimed by time, but dark silhouettes of people have made a home in them. The windows are all glowing with firelight, and the buildings have been decorated with glowing garlands and colorful flags. Between the buildings, many people are visible, holding hands, hugging, and waving at each other. It is snowing very hard, and snow is piled up around Uldren and the village. Four inset panels show closer views of people within the village.  The first shows a woman hugging a man from behind. The man is holding a steaming hot cake inside a baking tray, and is wearing baking gloves. The woman is pressing her face against his neck, and the man is turning towards her and laughing. The second panel shows a human man throwing his arm over the shoulder of a blue exo. The Exo is waving at somebody to the left, and the man is looking the other direction and lifting a tankard of beer in cheers. The third panel shows an Awoken person and a human woman sitting at a table. The Awoken is holding a warm mug of tea, and is smiling lightly at the human woman. The human woman is turned towards the Awoken and is leaning close to them. She has placed one hand on their arm tenderly. The fourth panel shows a closeup of two people, one with dark hair and one with light hair. The light haired person is cupping the dark haired person with one hand, and is leaning in to kiss their other cheek. The dark haired person is blushign and laughing with their eyes closed. Crow: “They had almost nothing. But they were celebrating. Sharing, and laughing.”

Panel 28: Another closeup of Uldren’s eye as he watches the scenes below him, he now looks sad and distant. Crow: “It was snowing, nonstop. It was so cold. And he was so lonely…”

Panel 29: Uldren is walking away from the viewer, through a dark pine forest covered in snow. His cloak is blowing in the wind.

Panel 30: Uldren’s ship is flying towards the Dreaming city in the distance, weaving between two cliffs in the reef. Snow is blowing in the ships glowing purple trail.

Panel 31: Wide, side view of Uldren as he walks through the snow-covered dreaming city. In the background, ornate arches and pillars can be seen, along with an awoken statue. Snow is falling hard, and it looks windy.

Panel 32: Shot over Uldren’s shoulder as he bangs loudly on a wooden door. His hood is up and his face is not visible.

Panel 33: Waist-high shot of Jolyon opening the door. Jolyon is wearing a green sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and gray sweatpants. Jolyon: “Hello?”

Panel 34: Side shot of Uldren rushing inside, tackling Jolyon with a hug. Jolyon looks startled, and is stumbling back inside the doorway as the snow blows inside. Jolyon: “Wha-”

Panel 35: Side shot of Jolyon and Uldren embracing. Uldren has buried his face in Jolyon’s shoulder, and Jolyon is cupping the back of his head tenderly with one hand while his other arm drapes around Uldren’s shoulder. Uldren is clutching Jolyon’s sweater with one hand. Jolyon: “Aren’t you supposed to be on earth? Why are you back so soon?” Uldren: “Why do you think? I was freezing my ass off.”

Panel 36: Close shot of Uldren’s face pressed into Jolyon’s sweater, he is smiling wide and blushing slightly. His hair is falling over his face and his eyes are not visible. Uldren: “Listen- this is kind of stupid, but… Do you want to bake something with me? Something sweet?”

Panel 37: Shot of Jolyon’s hands in present day, holding the purple box that Crow has given him. The lid has been removed, revealing that it is full of cookies. They look like italian almond cookes, covered in powdered sugar and slivered almonds. Jolyon: “Hah… you remember that?”

Panel 38: Crow glances away, smiling nostalgically and blushing lightly. Crow: “Yeah. We made… well, I guess they were kind of like almond cookes? There were almonds in them, at least…”

Flashback Panel 1: In the background, a memory from the flashback is visible. It shows Uldren and Jolyon standing in a kitchen. Jolyon is standing behind Uldren and holding his waist affectionately. Uldren is holding a mixing bowl on the kitchen counter with one hand, and is pouring something into the bowl with his other hand. Several ingredients are visible strewn all over the counter, along with piles of spilled dough. Jolyon: “Haha, what are you doing? You’ve got to measure.” Uldren: “Following my royal intuition.” Jolyon: “Your intuition kind of looks like cat puke.”

Flashback Panel 2: View of Jolyon and Uldren from the front. Uldren is mixing the dough with a wooden spoon, and looking down at the bowl with a soft smile. Jolyon is behind him, with one arm wrapped around his waist. His other hand is holding Uldren’s arm tenderly. Jolyon is leaning down to kiss Uldren’s cheek. Jolyon: “You’re making a mess of my kitchen, Sov.” Uldren: “I’ll clean it up.” Jolyon: “Will you?” Uldren: “For you? Probably.”

Panel 39: In present day, Jolyon is staring down at the tin of cookies, smiling faintly. Crow (offscreen): “We didn’t really have much of a plan…” Jolyon: “Uldren wasn’t big on plans. Or recipes.”

Panel 40: Jolyon says from offscreen, above the rest of the panel: “Whatever they were, they didn’t turn out very good.” In the panel, Crow is blushing furiously, looking nervously at a thought bubble to his left with a shaky smile. Within his thought bubble another memory is visible, of Jolyon and Uldren kissing passionately on a couch. In the background of the memory, several “BEEP” sound effects are visible. Jolyon is on top of Uldren, holding Uldren’s head in one hand while kissing his neck. Uldren is smirking, while pulling Jolyon’s shirt off with both hands. Jolyon (flashback): “Oven’s going off. We should probably get that.” Uldren (flashback): “I don’t give a shit.” Crow (present day): “Um. Yeah. They were kind of… burnt…”

Panel 41: In present day, Jolyon is smiling faintly, looking at one of the cookies as he holds it up in front of his face. Crow (offscreen): “These are better, I hope.” Jolyon: “Seems like it.”

Panel 42: Close up of Jolyon taking a bite of the cookie.

Panel 43: Crow is smiling enthusiastically up at Jolyon. Jolyon (offscreen): “They’re good.” Crow: “Good!”

Panel 44: Close up of Jolyon. His smile is falling, he looks seems distant and emotional as he looks down at Crow. His eyes are glistening with the first signs of tears. Jolyon: “I uh…”

Panel 45: Jolyon turning to his right, digging the heel of his hand into his right eye as his tears start to fall. He looks distraught, squeezing his eyes shut. Jolyon: “I should go.”

Panel 46: Shot over Crow’s shoulder, Jolyon is walking swiftly away, holding one hand over his face. Crow is looking after him, with one hand reaching awkwardly towards Jolyon. Crow: “Wait…” Jolyon: “Thank you.”

Panel 47: Shot of Crow’s face as he watches Jolyon leave. He looks startled and upset. Crow: “...”

Panel 48: Crow facepalms, looking frustrated and embarrassed. Crow: AUGH.

Panel 49: Crow is sitting on a rock on the cliffside, he is hunched over and propping up his face on one hand. He looks defeated and is sighing. Glint has re-appeared next to him, and looks enthusiastic. Glint: “That could have gone worse! He said they were good! How do you feel?” Crow. “Fantastic. Why did I let you talk me into this?”

[awriternamedart]

"How do you do it, gambler?"

Aventurine glanced up from the drink in his hand, an identical one clutched tightly in Dr. Ratio's.

"Do what?"

"Maintain a relationship."

Aventurine blinked, before his head shot up again to look at the doctor. Veritas didn't even spare him a glance, eyes glued to the scene in front of them— a grand IPC ball, held for investors and connections to be made. It was always a busy and grand event, one the Intellegensia Guild had to attend to maintain the IPC's investment.

It really wasn't Dr. Ratio's scene, but he had been chosen as their representative anyway.

"I'm not particularly adept at that, my dear doctor." Aventurine chuckled, watching the alcohol swirl in his glass.

"You are far more able then I am. Even upon falsities and fake promises, you managed to chat and converse with people in a sort of ease," Ratio slowly tore his eyes away from the crowd, glancing back to Aventurine before his eyes dropped to the floor in front of him. "..Its admirable."

Aventurine could just barely process what Dr. Ratio was exactly saying— direct praise?? From the good doctor himself???— before Veritas set down his now-empty drink on a bypassing waiters tray.

"Do you ever feel.. second-rate?"

Aventurine paused, taking another languid drink as he contemplated. It wasn't often the dear doctor opened up— he should tread carefully.

"I can't say for sure. Why?" He kept his tone even, trying not to distract from Veritas' thoughts. It was hard enough to get to know him in the first place, to squander his trust like this would be a waste.

The Doctor took a deep breath, practically hiding himself in the shadows of one of the many grand pillars decorating the room.

"I am not adept at conversation."

Aventurine could agree with that. Something about the doctor made it difficult to respond in kind— he was dry, a vague bit brutish, and if Aventurine dared, a little bullheaded. He seemed so sure of himself, founded confidence that was backed up by his many achievements. It was a little intimidating for the average person, he supposed. But as he looked on, that sort of Dr. Ratio seemed to fade ever so slightly, leaving behind someone who was still sure in his knowledge and discoveries— but struggled nonetheless.

"I find people.. grating, sometimes. But connection is one of the few necessities of livelihood, and so I try to converse with my peers as often as possible. It is.. difficult. It often feels as if they have no interest in what I am saying, neither asking questions nor inquiring further, and when I try to do so to show interest in their research, they often retreat back, saying it is not finished or the such. Offering to help only ever seems to drive them further away." Taking out the laurel clip in his hair, Veritas' thumb drifted over the gilded leaves, the polish in the finish reflecting his face back at him. "Despite my best efforts, I rarely ever follow up because I fear I intimidate them. I have seen them recoil at the mere sight of me."

Aventurine could just watch on in surprise— Veritas had never shown an inkling of this before. When he had first gotten to know the doctor, he had assumed Veritas simply didn't work with his peers due to a difference in dedication, or perhaps view. He was among the brightest and best in the Intellegensia Guild, always praised behind his back for being one of their stars.

Perhaps that wasn't the front Veritas had put up at all. Perhaps it was what Veritas was forced to wear in the face of his peers, forced to be seen as the cold unobtainable, the pinnacle of what they should be.

Being on a pedestal like that, it must be lonely.

"Do you not go drinking with your coworkers or something?" Aventurine leaned against the wall, cold of the stone seeping through his suit. Veritas glanced up at him, before looking back down.

"..I was never invited. It is against social convention to come along if you aren't invited, isn't it? I'd rather not strain and worry them more. It could impact them negatively if I were to come along and invite stress to what is supposed to be a time they unwind." He turned the laurel over in his hand. "..perhaps I missed my opportunity."

The light of the pedestal Dr. Ratio sat on seemed to blind all those who looked at it from underneath. They couldn't see his face, only his back— but as Aventurine leaned against the wall, gazing at the doctor in front of him, he got that different perspective.

There was.. resignation, in his eyes.

"Perhaps I am just doomed to be a looming figure above many. And yet, I'll still never be enough." His voice tapered off slightly, head dropping even just that hint bit more. "I am fully aware how much others are compared to me, and I hear them speak of my achievements behind my back. I wish they would stop, if I am being honest. Or at least tell me of my praise directly."

That surprised Aventurine.

"What, do people not give you a compliment or two? For someone so easy on the eyes and as esteemed as you, doctor, I find that hard to believe!" He chuckled— but it quickly faded out as Veritas looked to the side.

"Not often do I get comments directly on my achievements, no. Nor on my appearance, before you came along." He sighed. "You are.. the only person who does so."

The only one who's tried.

-

The Only One Whos Tried - awriternamedart

[buildoblivion]

listen dracula is my favourite gothic novel for many MANY reasons, but the winner has to be the literal ghost ship with a desperate dead man tied to the wheel in eternal prayer

[lux-aurea-lunae]

Prompt 16 - Hot Chocolate

“Do you have any hot cocoa? It’s freezing outside.” Villain rummaged through Hero’s cupboards.

“There’s hot chocolate powder in the cupboard closest to the fridge.”

“How do you turn on your stove?”

“Just microwave a cup of water.”

“Microwave? I didn’t know you had such terrible taste,” Villain said, affronted.

Hero cracked an eye open, but they couldn’t see Villain from their current position. “What’s the difference? It’s just hot water.”

“That’s another thing. You make hot cocoa with water?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s so much better with milk!”

Leave it to Villain to pick fights over the smallest and strangest things. “Milk is easier to burn and more expensive than water.”

“But it tastes better!”

“It tastes perfectly fine either way.”

“You sound so boring!”

“And you sound childish.”

“See, this is why we can’t be together!”

“It’s not because you’re a villain and I’m a hero?”

“No! It’s because you insist on settling for subpar satisfaction when there’s better options available to you! You can’t let yourself truly enjoy anything because you feel guilty every moment you’re not suffering!”

Hero stared at Villain, speechless. How were they supposed to respond to that? How did the argument go from hot chocolate preferences to Hero’s guilt complex?

“Woah, that got a bit heavy,” Villain said. “We really need to talk about your mental health, but that’s a conversation for another time. What I’m trying to say is, you should indulge yourself every once and a while.” They shoved a mug into Hero’s hands. “Here, just try it.”

Hero didn’t want to admit Villain had a point, but it did taste pretty good. “How about I compromise by microwaving the water until it’s boiling, then adding milk to it?”

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice.”