#that is precisely the kind of personality that I have

[ambrosia-vinca]

There's a kind of defensive attitude towards criticism re:Lucanis' romance in many corners of the fandom that I partially understand because Veilguard gets a lot of shit thrown at it, and if you enjoy something you naturally want to defend it. But this type of attitude also rubs me the wrong way when people who loved the way his romance played out say that anyone criticizing it must just not understand slow burns/not like slow burn as a genre/not understand Lucanis' character and his trauma properly/must have been expecting explicit sex scenes and a Zevran 2.0.

Maybe some people criticizing his romance don't like slow burns, or were wrongly expecting him to be a sex god, or ignore his trauma. I've seen a few. But that's not all the criticism there is.

Personally, I love slow burns, it's my favorite genre both to read and write (I'm the type of fic writer to think up 200k words enemies to lovers longfics where they've barely kissed after 100k words). I'm also the type of ace person who's not into extremely explicit sex scenes or super kinky romances (especially with male dom stuff, which I personally dislike). And lastly, I'm the type who picks the angstiest possible romance choice.

All this to say that Lucanis and his romance were theoretically made in a lab for me. Slow burn because the character doesn't trust easily and is traumatized by his past experiences and has many things he must resolve, excruciatingly slow to open up? Unexpectedly very sweet, wet, sad man with puppy eyes? Romance scenes that are caring and romantic instead of outright steamy? Perfect, right up my alley! I keep romancing Fenris in DA2 exactly for that reason because I love him dearly, and he breaks up with Hawke for 3 whole years! Still my favorite!

But the whole point of a slow burn are the steps. It's a slow burn, which means little step by little step, the relationship slowly builds to a conclusion, from tentative acquaintances who don't trust each other, to slooowly evolve into something more, and it's precisely these crumbs that make the trope enjoyable.

To me, Lucanis' romance doesn't feel like it does little steps, it feels like it skips steps. I can see the main story beats of a good slow burn, but not the crumbs that make a slow burn. I don't want him and Rook to jump each other after 2 scenes, I want to see more of the fumbling, the hesitation, the dancing around each other. No, dragon age isn't a romance game, I'm aware, but if romance is an option, and it is written to fit a specific trope, I would like it done properly. They've done slowburns and angsty before, and they were good (even Solas', and his romance is super short). I want the evolution of the relationship shown to me, not told in broad strokes and big steps, and I don't want to have to write half the romance in my head or rely on ao3.

We get nothing between the coffee date and the almost kiss, absolutely no reaction of any kind to the flirting, not even a blink. If Lucanis and Rook were capable of having an entire conversation about coffee and kisses metaphors when they barely knew each other, then I think they can flirt a bit more in the following conversations when you pick the romantic option, dance around each other, have Lucanis fumble a little more like he does with Neve when he actually registers Rook is sincerely into him. Even just a sign that he heard Rook when they pick the romantic option in the following conversations, because as it is he immediately resumes whatever he was saying. And if his lack of reaction is because he's suddenly afraid and thinks it's a bad idea, I would like it shown on his face, or as an actual noticeable pause/hesitation. It didn't look like he thought it was a bad idea at Café Pietra, unless he just thought Rook was flirting just to flirt and wasn't serious, but again, none of that is hinted at in any way.

Then there's the almost kiss that follows and is the first actually romantic moment we get after the coffee date, and suddenly Lucanis is all smooth and confident about flirting again. With nothing in between ever since *Illario voice* he got all romantic about roasts. Was he reluctant before and that's why he didn't react to Rook's flirting/caring concern? We have no idea, because while he warns Rook it's a bad idea to be attracted to him, he doesn't seem scared, more amused at their daredevil tendencies. The first time in his entire romance we get a clear indication he's afraid and won't open up for a long time is at the end of this specific scene, when he pulls away, and the way it happens is like Lucanis himself wasn't expecting his fear to overcome him. He wants, he lets himself be pulled forward, and then he suddenly gets drowned by overwhelming terror, and he pulls away.

The beginning of the romance (the date + almost kiss) reads to me as if Lucanis was trying to forget the Ossuary, letting himself flirt and feel attraction and just simply live again as if nothing happened, believing if he didn't think about his trauma and forcefully moved forward then it would stay buried, and then the Ossuary unexpectedly caught up to him, because you don't just bury things like that, it always comes back up at some point if you make no effort to actually process what happened.

And then there's nothing again for a long while. I can imagine Rook leaving space for Lucanis because they're considerate of his feelings and they can see something is deeply wrong, but still, something big and awkward happened between them! Not even one conversation where they try to gently broach the subject and Lucanis immediately clams up? What about some mentions of how awkward things suddenly are between the two? Even through party banter? We got plenty about Hawke and Fenris' situationship in DA2 after Fenris pulls away. The other companions comment on their breakup and how it's painfully obvious they're in love still, no matter what happened, and there are a few banters between Hawke and Fenris themselves. Surely things are a little tense and awkward between Rook and Lucanis as well at that point, and their friends would notice? They don't spend as much time together as they used to, Lucanis doesn't talk directly to Rook much anymore unless he has to, can't quite look them in the eye, doesn't want to stay alone in a room with them. He is still protective of them because he obviously cares very much, but can't bring himself to have an honest talk about his feelings and fears because he's still completely locked in his mind prison and would rather deal with his problems by stabbing his enemies.

Rook being lost because they haven't been inside his head yet and they're not sure if it's because of what Lucanis has been through, or if they did something wrong to get them rejected, and they're stuck because Lucanis completely refuses to open up. There are so many little things that could have been implemented to actually serve as the little steps for the slow burn. You're telling me even Emmrich or Neve, perceptive as they are, wouldn't have noticed their two friends suddenly being awkward and sad and not try to talk to Rook about it at the very least?

And then there's the mind prison where Rook gets all Lucanis' fears and insecurities explicitly told to them. Immediately followed by the scene where you lock in the relationship as he makes them dessert.

Were they in a relationship?? When did they get together? Do they get together right there in the kitchen by the sheer power of cake (ok, relatable)? You don't know! They almost kiss, things are theoretically painfully awkward between them for a while, Rook discovers the substance of his trauma, and poof. They're a couple. Yes, I know that Lucanis' love language is acts of service, but did they communicate at all at any point about what's going on between them? Surely even if Rook helping him out of his head puts him on the road to eventual recovery, it didn't suddenly erase all of Lucanis' trauma and fears and doubts.

I liked Rook calling out the subtext of what Lucanis says in that scene (“it's nothing, or not enough”/”it is, and you are”), I did think it was sweet and perceptive of them. But still, we go from attraction to pulling away to suddenly committing to a relationship with never actually discussing exactly what goes on between them. Never outright deciding they want to try something serious. There wouldn't have been much actual flirting or sincere conversations between them after the almost-kiss, for obvious reasons, so how does Lucanis know Rook hasn't moved on/isn't angry at him after all this time, considering how they didn't communicate at all afterwards and he's not exactly the best at feelings and self-confidence? He just talks as if it's a given they're attracted to him still, and only worries about not being good enough for them. I wanted crumbs of reassurance from Rook, more than what we got, because Lucanis' probable guilt is never actually tackled in any way – he had perfectly valid reasons to pull away, of course, but considering how much he blames himself for anything and everything, I'm pretty sure he would also blame himself for hurting Rook's feelings, even if they're understanding and not actually angry with him at all.

Idk. I have a lot of thoughts, especially about the middle of his romance. The last big scene we get is one of my favorites through all dragon age games, it was so sweet, but I still felt like the entire middle part of the romance lacked a lot of slow burn crumbs, and I was still hungry when I got to the end.

[blueblossomrose]

can you do twst overblot boys with gn reader, who has furina and neuvilette's elemental skill and burst? Reader's fighting style is similar with furina's

Sorry for handing this in so late 😭 another year was so hard fr but I WILL deliver the aks, I swear

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shourd, Malleus Draconia.

Notes: GN!reader, bad english, swearing, more focused on Neuvilette than Furina.

Riddle Rosehearts:

I think Riddle would initially be impressed by your precision and discipline, since, like him, you seems to be an extremely focused and dedicated person to your own responsibilities.

He might feel a tinge of envy towards MC's combat style, especially if the movement flows and is as perfect as he would like his own conduct to be. This could even fuel him to further improve his skills and discipline.

Despite his initial slightly envy with MC's "theatrical" combat style, he couldn't help but admire MC's technical ability to control the hydro element and use this power strategically.

If Riddle were to develop a crush on MC, he would likely become nervous and somewhat embarrassed about his inability to act "properly" or "flawlessly" around MC, fearing that he would be seen as inadequate in comparison to MC's confidence and skill.

If someone criticized your fighting style, Riddle would likely become extremely protective, fervently defending the value of your skills. He would not tolerate unfounded criticism, especially if it involved someone he cared about.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona would have a grudging respect for MC's position as supreme judge. He does not easily admit admiration, but internally he would be impressed by the authority and presence that you possesses.

Leona, being who he is, couldn't resist making sarcastic or playful comments about your theatrical fighting style. Something like, "Are you going to dance or fight for real?" but with a smirk that suggests he's genuinely impressed.

During a battle, he would likely find herself mesmerized by MC's fluid, controlled movement, but would quickly hide any expression of fascination if anyone noticed.

He would likely respect and understand MC's introverted nature, considering he himself avoids unnecessary connections depending. He do likes you company too.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul would be completely mesmerized by your theatrical and danceable way of fighting. He would probably think about how your elegant and calculating style reflects his own meticulous way of conducting business.

MC's combination of introversion and kindness would intrigue Azul. He would feel challenged to better understand how someone so distant in public can, at the same time, exude such confidence in his actions.

Watching MC struggle with tendencies and determination, Azul reflected on his own insecurities, feeling inspired to continue improving himself, both as a businessman and as a mage.

I personally don't think Azul would revel in your hydro abilities, since he doesn't exactly feel the need for contact with water. Well, unlike Jade and Floyd. They would want to jump into the water bubbles you can make.

Yet, he's clearly trying to win you over with his knowledge as a merfolk.

Jamil Viper:

I think Jamil would feel a deep admiration for the MC's skill and specialties, but true to his nature, would try to keep this admiration to himself, afraid to stand out or be obvious in his fascination.

He would notice a similarity between the MC's reserved personality and his own way of hiding talents, which would increase his attraction, as he probably would feel understood on a deeper level.

I guess your reserved and distant nature would intrigue Jamil, awakening in him the desire to understand what motivates you, since he himself hides his true personality.

When others commented on the MC's theatrics during combat, Jamil would be silent, but inwardly he would be smiling, appreciating that you manages to balance mastery and discretion with such grace.

Vil Schoenheit:

Now, Vil It's a different case. He would notice the dedication and rigor that you must have to master such an elegant fighting style, which would impress him deeply, as he values hard work above all else.

He find the contrast between MC's introversion and her confidence in battle intriguing and captivating. He would see it as a kind of inner beauty worth exploring.

He is definitely intrigued to know more about how you developed your combat style and would possibly research it in secret to better understand.

Despite being strict with others, Vil would display fierce protectiveness if anyone belittled or underestimated you.

Idia Shroud:

Idia would probably be obsessed with watching your battles from a distance (via his tablet) to avoid the social pressure of being present, but would be in awe of the elegant fighting style.

If he had the opportunity to speak to the MC in person after seeing your fight, Idia would be incredibly nervous, stuttering even more than usual and perhaps letting out awkward compliments such as, "Y-you... are like, a secret boss with a special animation... I mean, your fight is amazing!"

He would be torn between wanting to praise you and avoiding any kind of interaction so as not to embarrass himself, resulting in long internal dialogues about how to act.

As someone who enjoys drawing parallels with games, he would comment to Ortho that MC's hydro abilities are "perfectly balanced, but clearly skill-based, like that rare build you only see in speedruns."

Idia would probably think of every possible scenario to try to conquer MC, but would give up on 90% of them because he believed it would be "certain defeat without a save point."

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus would be enchanted by your theatrical and fluid style of combat. He might compare it to a dance, finding it deeply fascinating and harmonious.

He realize that although MC is introverted and quiet, your determination and focus when fighting demonstrate an inner strength that he deeply respects. It kind of reminds him of himself.

As someone who has mastered natural magic, Malleus would be intrigued by the your skill with Hydro, possibly considering it a rare talent worthy of reverence.

He notice that the MC maintains an impressive calm even during intense battles, something he would associate with his own serene and measured attitude.

Whenever you faced danger, Malleus would be in the shadows, ready to intervene if necessary.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

This is gonna sound like a morality cop sentiment without the context that I am a person who is deeply enthusiastic about the aestheticized, eroticized violence of NBC Hannibal. But with that context in mind… I often find myself deeply put off by how violence is handled in fanfic, particularly post-canon fanfic.

Because Hannibal is a very dark show. It is thematically centered on the darkness that resides in all human beings, as embodied by the irresistible black hole that is Hannibal Lecter - a theme that most obviously manifests in Will Graham’s corruption arc, but also in subtler, more mundane ways with characters like Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford, who keep repeating their mistakes despite their self-awareness. And it’s a very nihilistic show, concerned not with ethics but aesthetics, with the pursuit of beauty in the absence of moral scruples.

And yet, violence and death always feel significant on this show. Despite (or perhaps because of) the frequent surrealism and black comedy in their presentation, they feel as if they have gravitas. And that’s precisely because of the show’s aestheticism. The corpses we see are so exquisitely mounted, and presented with such deliberation and intention, both in-universe and in the show’s cinematography. And thus these deaths feel as though they have weight, as though they mean something - even if the only meaning we derive from them is that they look beautiful, if ghastly, or that they convey cinematic symbolism.

But there is so much Hannibal fanfic where the violence feels so… disturbingly banal to me. Where the deaths don’t have any narrative weight and are completely trivial to our main characters. And this is imo completely out of keeping with even Hannibal Lecter’s own philosophy on the show, when he says that life is precious - not because he places particular value on life’s preservation for its own sake, but because he fully understands the gravity of what he is doing. His arrogance and sense of superiority is contingent on the understanding that the taking of a life is a serious thing, and a transcendent thing. Not flesh and blood, but light and air and colour. And I don’t see much light and air and colour in the kinds of fics that I’m talking about.

This is all very much entwined with the fact that a lot of these representations of violence seem to be bound up in the understanding that the show, and Will’s arc, is subtextually queer. And it absolutely is. But I often get the sense that these representations of violence, and the relationship between Will and Hannibal, are trying to overlay them with a very 2020s Positive Queer Representation approach, wherein Will and Hannibal’s love is misunderstood by the world, and thus their violence, as the symbol of their transgression, has to be portrayed and received by the audience an unalloyed good.

And this feels hard to explain, because of course this is a show that is very much about the pleasures of transgression. And it invites the viewer to share in that pleasure, in all the aforementioned ways. It’s drawing from a very 19th century Wildean mode in that regard - a sensibility that irreverently collapses all transgressions into one, and deliberately refuses to differentiate between the morally repugnant and the merely socially unacceptable. And that is very powerful as an engine for queer subtext, as it takes the very real feeling of being corrupt and tainted and wrong and leans into the seductive glamor of that corruption, rather than attempting to counteract that narrative (in ways that can feel, when in the throes of internalized homophobia, shallow and artificial).

But, within Hannibal, that thrill of transgression is inextricably bound up in horror. The pull of violence - and the bond it engenders between Will and Hannibal - is irresistible, but it is also a source of deep seated pain and terror. And those things are fundamentally not separable. There’s a sublimity to violence, and to desire, on this show - pleasure and pain, wonder and horror, are intertwined.

And a lot of the portrayals of violence-as-transgression as symbolic of queerness in fanfic just don’t grasp this. There’s an attempt to paper over the horror and the sublimity of the violence, and how it serves the queer symbolism. It always strikes me as though writers grasp that symbolism, but are trying to fit it into the mold of representation-as-a-means-of-social-advancement. It never lands for me and it leads to the aforementioned callous disregard for life that I just find distasteful. Which is not to say that I think portraying violence and murder in a manner that strikes a similar note to the show is an easy needle to thread - certainly not. (Not the least because it’s hard to translate the show’s visual language to writing.) But it is something I notice and that breaks immersion for me very quickly.

[you-know-honey]

A Strange Guy

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Chapter Summary: Jayce needs to go to Undercity for certain materials if he wants to continue his secret project. Which ends up taking him to the only crazy person who take risks to take him. You. Even if it ends up getting you into more serious problems than street fights.

Series: The Path of Zaun

Next Part

N/A: English is not my first language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I'll update it. Remember share if you liked it.

Knock…Knock…Knock

The knocking on the door started softly, like the sound of a drop on wood, almost imperceptible to your ears. The cold air of Piltover came through the window, clean air, so pure that even after so many years your lungs were still not used to it. In undercity you were used to the heavy, dry air, the damp, sticky streets, but above all, dark, where the sun was barely a mirage and everything was ruled by shadows. In the great city of progress everything was full of unusual energy, each piece destined to move with millimetric precision, full of light even at night.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The knocking became louder, making the beams of your very humble bedroom at the academy vibrate. It was not how you had thought you would end up. A small apartment, so old that you thought maybe Professor Heirmerdinger himself lived there when it was just new, but you couldn't expect anything less, without a last name to bear or a sponsor watching your back it was all you had, and still it was better than having nothing like in undercity.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

You woke up with a start, your back creaking as you stood up from the chair and stretched. Some of your notes were stuck to your face and the ink had been ruined by your drool. You were a complete mess right now, but who would come to your room at this hour? The clock read 2:36 AM. You ran your hands over your face trying to help you wake up and tear the papers off your face.

You walked as best you could to the door, tripping over everything in your way. You swung the door open, through the shadows of the night and your irritated eyes, you focused on a tall, burly man standing in front of you.

“What do you want?” you asked. You weren’t in the mood for whatever that guy needed, besides only one person in the world had the right to visit you in the middle of the night and it definitely wasn’t him.

“Are you Y/N?” he seemed quite nervous, playing with his fingers and avoiding eye contact with you.

You refrained from answering for a moment, if this was some kind of joke from your classmates they would pay dearly for waking you up at this hour. “Who’s asking?”

The boy didn’t seem to expect that answer but he answered as quickly as he could, as if he was holding back from spitting out a wave of words.

“Jayce Talis”

I think the raised eyebrow on your face gave him the message that you had no idea who the hell he was, maybe that’s why he seemed embarrassed.

“Mhmm, and what is Jayce Talis doing knocking on my door?” You leaned back against the door with your arms crossed. “I don’t think you’re coming here just to introduce yourself.”

The boy cleared his throat, as if he was gaining courage to be more firm in his way of speaking.

“You’re from undercity, right?”

“You got it, congratulations.” I joked, giving him a sarcastic, slow applause.

You snapped your fingers in front of him when you caught him looking behind you. “What do you need?”

The academy was very clear about where they wanted to invest the funds they received. The biology faculty was one of the last places on their priority list. It had been years since any of the projects proposed by their students had borne fruit or even been promising. This was the reason why you fell asleep on your desk that night, working on your own project.

“I need you to take me there.”

Your eyes widened before bursting into a loud laugh.

“You? In undercity? Are you crazy?” You’ll be eaten alive.” You tried to stop laughing when the boy’s brow furrowed in disgust, but you couldn’t imagine a guy like him, so well dressed in a place like your home.

The light of a flashlight at the end of the hallway caught both of your attention, your laughter had attracted a police officer who was making rounds in the academy.

“I don’t think you should be here, Jayce Talis” you smiled, ready to close the door and have someone else take care of him.

The man clenched his jaw and clenched his fists, he was annoyed, not at all pleased with you playing with him, the police officer’s increasingly closer steps left them little time to act.

“Hey!” you shouted when the man pushed you aside and snuck into your room, closing the door behind him.

You didn’t say anything when the police officer’s flashlight stopped in front of your door a few seconds before continuing his rounds. The academy was very strict about students in the hallways, their strategy had been foolish and risky. You could scream, alert the police about him…but you wouldn’t, because then you would bear the brunt of the possible punishment.

“What is all this?” he asked, moving from the door to walk curiously around the small living room.

Behind your back, what you had tried to hide from him, was your small private laboratory. The desk was overflowing without space, filled with papers and notebooks in total disarray, one of the walls was completely covered with terrariums, large ones with flowers that possibly no one in Piltover had ever seen before. A sight for someone so curious to Jayce.

“It’s none of your business” you replied, there was no way to excuse the sight, it was just what it seemed. You let yourself fall on the couch reluctantly.

He smiled maliciously “Maybe not, but I bet Professor Heimerdinger did”

Your body rose as if a spring from the couch had lifted it, you grabbed one of the books on the nightstand, the thickest one and threw it in his direction, with such good luck that you managed to hit him directly in the forehead.

“If you say anything I’ll kill you!” you screamed while trying to keep your composure and relax your agitated breathing.

He didn’t scream in pain, although you were sure he would have if it weren’t for the fact that the policeman would have surely heard him and well…it was the female student wing “Crazy…” he sighed while touching his forehead with his fingers, luckily there was no blood. He took the chair from your desk and turned it to sit in front of you, with a grimace you dropped back down onto the couch. “Let’s make a deal.”

You had no other choice so you just nodded.

“Take me to undercity and Heimerdinger will never know about… whatever you do here.” he said as he pointed at the terrariums.

“They’re toxin purifiers…” you muttered under your breath. You weren’t happy that they treated your job like a simple child’s game.

“What?”

“They’re plants that purify the air and earth of toxins, I’m trying to make them work on a large scale.”

“I’ve never seen that kind of plants,” he exclaimed, and it made sense, they were rare and it had been extremely difficult for you to find them, they glowed in the dark, some with leaves that seemed to move like tentacles, others gave the image of a skull.

You let out a small, egotistical and proud smile. “Of course not. They are plants from undercity”

“How did you get them?” he asked, standing up and bringing his hand closer to the glass of one of the terrariums.

“What do you think?” you walked towards him as soon as you saw him approach the terrarium, you had been working on this project for years and you weren’t going to let any of his imprudences ruin it.

He rolled his eyes, you weren’t being easy to deal with, not that you wanted to be. He let out a small growl before turning around to glare at you.

“Are you always this charming?”

“Only with those who enter my room without permission.” You forced a smile.

He sighed again, massaging his temples in frustration.

“Let’s stop playing games, take me to undercity tonight and no one will know about your research. Period.” He crossed his arms, seeming very determined to continue with this crazy idea.

You thought of some way to dissuade him from that, but he seemed too sure and perhaps too desperate for you to convince him. There weren't many undercity students in the academy, you could count them on the fingers of one hand and you would have fingers left over, but you supposed that no one was crazy enough to go down again after all the comforts that the academy offered.

“Why do you want to go?” You asked, giving up, after all if it was something simple you could do it, otherwise you would hit his head with something and leave him in the main hallway so it would seem like it was just a bad dream.

“It's none of your business” he replied, almost in the same tone that you spoke to him.

“You already stuck your nose in my business, it's only fair that I do the same.” He also sighed and sat back down in the chair.

Both of you were realizing that their pride would only lead them to an ego fight until dawn and neither of them were comfortable with something like that.

“I need some machinery parts…” he said, obviously not wanting to reveal too much and biting his tongue to avoid accidentally saying anything too much.

“Machinery parts? You could get that at any market here.” you snorted, finding it ridiculous that he wanted to go down for something he could get in much better condition in Piltover.

“They are specific parts, I couldn’t get them here without raising suspicions” he mentioned, taking a notebook out of his vest.

You hadn’t noticed that he had something inside his clothes, it made your hair stand on end to think that it could have been a weapon and you hadn’t noticed. You swept those paranoid thoughts from your mind to continue listening to him.

“Show me and I’ll tell you where to get it” you walked slowly behind him, leaning an elbow to rest your face on his shoulder, he winced but you didn’t care.

He opened the book to one of the bookmarks, very clever of him, so you wouldn't take a quick look at the rest, on the page there were very specific tools and materials, and you knew that things like that wouldn't be easy to get in the (in your opinion) very basic markets of Piltover, if he said to make them on his own, it would attract the attention of the teaching staff and since this boy had sought you out, that was probably the last thing he wanted.

You looked at the notebook for a moment, hoping to see something that would give you a clue about what he was up to. “You sign every page? A bit of an egotistical on your part.” He just rolled his eyes, but you noticed that he tried to cover his name on the page with his thumb. “Do you have money to pay for something like that? Things aren’t cheap downstairs,” you mentioned, letting your face fall on his shoulder.

“Will this be enough?” he asked, leaving in the coffe table a bag of considerable size with gold coins.

You let out a small giggle. “If you’re not easy to scam, I suppose this is enough.”

“So, do you accept?” He turned his head in surprise, getting too close to yours, both of you moving away from each other as if you were leprosy.

You thought about it for a few minutes, it seemed like something not too difficult to do, go get some gadgets and come back, it didn’t seem that difficult. It would be easy.

“Okay, deal.” You extended your hand to him, who didn’t hesitate to close the deal with a smile.

“So… are we going now?” he asked, like an excited child going on a trip for the first time.

You looked him up and down very critically, everything screamed Piltover boy.

“Not with those clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asked, looking at himself for any wardrobe flaws.

“Do you want to be stripped? If you come there’s dressing like that, forget about getting anything.” You crossed your arms, thinking of something that might work, you didn’t think he had a change of clothes in his vest.

“Do you have any ideas?”

An invisible lightbulb lit up above your head, accompanied by a mischievous smile that chilled his blood. “I think so…”

“I hate you.” Jayce exclaimed. If looks could kill your body would be unrecognizable.

“Who goes on an undercity with gold details on their clothes?” you quickly replied with a murmur. It wouldn’t be wise for any police to see them right now.

“Couldn’t you get something better?” he stretched the tight collar of the shirt that clearly wasn’t his size.

“The janitor’s clothes are fine, don’t complain.” You poked your head out of one of the alleys. “A cop is coming. Against the wall.”

For once he heard you, it was funny to see him stick to the wall, a little more force and he would go through it. You did the same, clearly with more class than him. It had been a long time since you had worn those clothes, you had buried them in the back of your closet in the hopes of never wearing them again but somehow it was the most comfortable you had been in a long time.

In Jayce’s case you couldn’t say the same, he looked like a cake in the wrong mold, the poor janitor’s uniform barely fit him, the buttons were trying their best not to jump out of the buttonholes of the shirt, you didn’t even try with the shoes, they were too small so you just limited yourself to putting tape on the gold details and making him step in every mud puddle on the way to the bridge.

When the policeman walked away, far enough so that he wouldn’t hear you, you motioned for him to follow you, both of you successfully sneaking to the end.

“This place isn’t so bad” he said as you walked through the streets of the surface.

“This isn’t undercity” you mentioned, giving him a quick glance before quickening your pace and tightening your grip on the backpack on your shoulders.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, as if he didn’t expect that answer from you. Somehow that irritated you.

Going back to that place simply awakened a huge irritation inside you, you couldn't control it, it was the part of you that kept you alive all that time. Both arrived in front of an old establishment in ruins, next to a dark precipice.

“Do you want the easy way or the interesting way?” you adjusted your backpack and began to stretch all the dormant muscles in your body.

“Which is the interesting one?” He asked, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets when you pointed with your head to the precipice “The easy one, definitely the easy one” he quickly said.

You sighed, you had definitely liked the idea of ​​jumping on roofs and sliding down pipes with the minimum of safety.

“As you wish princess” without warning you entered the place, at the back was the elevator “ I was thinking of giving you the panoramic view tour”

Jayce ran after you, as soon as he set foot inside you turned on the elevator and with the sound of old mechanism working you warned them that they were descending.

The sight in front of Jayce left him with his mouth open. The view only gave an industrial and decaying place, in the darkness the only touch of light were the saturated neon signs of some stores, he was surprised how they were still standing, above them rose buildings more similar to the architecture of Piltover, only a few could afford that luxury, as they went down the air became heavier and more humid with different smells that he preferred not to think about too much, he knew that the path would not be easy when you hid a knife in your pocket.

“Just in case” you told him. It's not like he would be of support if they found themselves in crossfire but at least it would be enough to keep away a few addicts and minor criminals.

The elevator soon filled with people and Jayce felt you press your back against his body to make him crash into the wall, you didn't look at him, nor did you apologize, it was what you were used to doing and he seemed to understand it well.

Each inhabitant had a unique style, crazy and anti-gravity hairstyles, old clothes or with patches everywhere, some with prosthetics made to make them look more intimidating than to take care of their health.

Going down you took his hand and pushed him through all the people in the elevator, you received some insults but you wisely ignored them.

Returning gave you back the feeling of hopelessness you used to live with, remembering all the time you were fighting to survive at all costs. Every inhabitant of undercity was resilient, refusing to let themselves die, clinging to life and the dream of something better with nails and teeth.

You shook your head to clear away that fog of thoughts, you weren't here to go back to the streets, you were here for work. Both of you walked in silence a few more blocks, loud and noisy music could be heard coming from most of the premises.

“Keep your eyes forward” you told him when you caught him looking at a modified weapon in the hands of a thug with an unfriendly face.

He listened to you, like a punished puppy he looked at the ground and let himself be guided to a small and lonely alley where they barely change.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked, he seemed somewhat worried. Sure two academy students caught trying to buy contraband in undercity deserved a considerable punishment if they were caught, but to be honest it was the least of the problems they could face right now.

“Show me what you need to finish this quickly.” He quickly pulled out his notebook in the correct bookmark, it was definitely things he could get here. You examined the sheets for a few moments before rushing over and tearing one of them off.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he yelled at you, pulling the notebook away from you and putting it back. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was very upset about it, the way his voice sounded and the heaving movement of his chest made it very clear to you.

“I’ll give it back to you later, don’t yell, we can’t go together or we’ll attract trouble.” After all, you were the expert here. “See the beech store?” you pointed with your index finger, there was a white-haired boy cleaning the glass of the entrance.

“The one that says Benzo’s?” Jayce asked, you just nodded.

“Go to that store and look for the rest of the stuff, it’s like a premium junk store.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked as he saw you putting on some goggles that were previously hanging from your backpack.

“I going to get the rest. I'll give you 30 minutes, if you're not out of the store by then you'll be back upstairs alone.” You pulled up your shirt collar to cover your nose. “Don't let them rip you off.” Giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder you ran off until you were lost among the people.

“Wait, you don't have any money!” Jayce shouted your name but the sound was swallowed up by the noise of the people, he had no choice but to trust that you would come back. Resigned, he walked as fast as possible to the store you had indicated, as soon as he entered he was already amazed.

He was greeted by a small child with white hair, who watched him from the counter, following him with his eyes wherever he went.

“Can I touch something?” Jayce asked, in other cases he would have expected the arrival of an adult but his minutes were numbered.

“Only the ones you plan to buy.” The child answered suspiciously while playing with a wrench on the counter. He was almost sure he used the same tone of voice that you used with him all this time.

“Okay…” Jayce shrugged as he looked at all the artifacts carefully to know which one to take “It’s all stolen?” he said to himself.

“Stolen is a very big word, let’s say they were bought without permission” The boy appeared at his side as if by magic “Buy something or leave” the boy crossed his arms in front of him.

Jayce sighed and began to take things and put them on the counter, at first with some laziness and before he knew it he already had a considerable mountain of things and was going for more.

“Why do you need so many things sir?” the boy asked as he noticed how the mountain of things grew and grew.

“I’m going to do something revolutionary” Jayce said proudly, if everything went well it would change everyone’s lives forever.

The boy nodded curiously, he was willing to ask more questions until his curiosity was satisfied but the bag of gold coins caught his eye the instant it was placed on the counter.

“How much would everything cost?” asked Jayce.

The smile on the boy's face was big and malicious. "This would be enough." He quickly grabbed the bag of money and put it under the counter before his naive buyer could complain or change his mind. Jayce was more than satisfied with everything he had acquired, his mind was already plotting how he would put it all to work. He looked at the old and strange clock on the wall of the store. He still had a few minutes of free time before you arrived.

"Waiting for someone, sir?" the boy asked, playing with a gold coin between his fingers.

"Yes," Jayce replied, his gaze fixed on the door, waiting for you to enter at any second.

"What's all that noise?" Jayce asked as he heard screams and moans of pain from outside the store, as well as a huge commotion among the people walking by.

"Some idiot caused a fight." The boy seemed too used to situations like that. He got off the counter stool and approached the door, ready to put up the closed sign.

His hand only stretched a little before returning to his body at a surprising speed. The door ended up swung wide open, cracking glass and wood alike, a hooded figure dropped to the ground, trying to catch his breath.

“Put… everything in the bag… we have to go… Now!” you got up from the ground, taking off your goggles.

“There’s the idiot.” the boy calmly returned behind the counter.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jayce asked as you carelessly threw all of his recent purchases into the backpack and threw it into his arms. “What do I do with this?” your adrenaline began to spread to him, you didn’t have to say anything to him as he adjusted his backpack himself.

“I pissed off the wrong people, we have to get out of here” He grabbed your hand tightly, something that made you scream in pain, you didn’t have enough adrenaline to not feel that your wrist was really hurt. Both of you left the store and ran, you could still hear them shouting your name, it seemed impossible to lose them.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Jayce pushed you into a small alley, both of you too exhausted to take another step, but your pursuers didn’t seem tired at all and they were getting closer and closer.

“You’re getting out of here. Wait for me at the end of the bridge, I’ll lose them.” You let go of his hand before he could stop you. With shouts and exaggerated gestures you managed to get them to follow you. “Hey! Finn! You’re falling behind!” you shouted and said goodbye to Jayce with a wink.

It wasn’t hard to lose them alone, yes of course, they were thugs with guns but you knew Finn well, the last thing he would want is for a bullet to go through his former ‘treasure’. You had run into him while you were walking through the market, taking some things from here and there, just what you thought Jayce might need, you can confess, you got distracted in the food area but who could judge you? It's been years since you tried something homemade. You ended up wandering until you reached the limit between the market and the red light district, there was your limit but there was also him. His eyes were fixed on you like arrows, you tried to calm down as he approached to greet you, you weren't friends, not even good acquaintances, if it were up to you you would erase him from your mind forever. When he got closer, that's when you punched him in the golden jaw and ran away, obviously it didn't take long for him to send his bitches after you.

Getting into that kind of trouble wasn't in your plans, you cursed yourself for having let yourself be guided by nostalgia and curiosity, that shouldn't happen again.

“Come on Y/N, is this how you treat an old client?” Finn’s voice echoed in the desolate street, his thugs had disappeared from your sight but they had to be close, never too far from their master.

You remained silent, it would be foolish to answer him and give away your location while you looked for a way out of there, the cliff you had mentioned to Jayce was close, if you managed to jump over it you could use one of the huge pipes to get out of there and knowing Finn he was too cowardly to follow you there.

You came out of your hiding place with the objective you plain in your mind. A huge hand grabbed you by the hair and slammed you against the wall, your thoughts scrambled a little from the blow, you were dropped to the ground full of broken glass. You tried to stand up as best you could but the small glass stuck in your skin and small rivers of blood dripped from your fingers.

“Aren’t you saying hello to an old friend?” Finn asked, placing his gun under his jaw, as if he were talking to a pet, forcing you to stand up.

“You're not my friend,” you spat the words in his face, he didn't seem to like it very much.

“You’re right…I was much more than that for you” his hands grabbed your thighs and forced you to hug his hips with your legs . “You still remember” He dropped the gun to the ground and quickly caught your wrists with his hand.

The feeling of having his body close to yours was too unpleasant. He made a gesture with his face and his thugs left, you rolled your eyes, hitting your head against the wall, but this time you felt higher than just the wall. You surreptitiously looked up, some rusty fire escapes were above you like a blessing.

A smile settled on your “perfect” face, you let your legs climb up Finn’s body until his face was between your legs and although your hands were trapped you managed to stretch enough to hold the first bar surreptitiously.

“Honey…you know I don’t do that” Finn replied with that stupid and pitiful tone that imitated flirting.

“But I do.”

Before the idiot realized it, your feet were on his shoulders, staining his expensive shirt with dirt, using him to push yourself up and make you touch the last bar of the emergency staircase, getting him to let go of your hands wasn’t difficult, you just hit them against the rusty metal, with the brief moment of freedom you used a bar to balance yourself and push yourself to a more comfortable position until you climbed up and reached the top. Finn tried to follow you but with a couple of kicks the ladder basically crumbled, creating an ideal distance between the two of you.

“Bye Finn” you didn’t stay to hear the answer, you ran as fast as you could before they found a way to follow you.

You ran in the darkness with blind faith that you wouldn’t fall, a dim light indicated that you were approaching the precipice and the sound of pipes greeted you, without hesitating for a second you jumped. It was easy to land on them, they were giants, while you ran back to Piltover you managed to see Finn and his thugs on the edge of the cliff, he wasn't happy at all but that wasn't your problem.

When you got to Jayce he seemed totally nervous and worried, he had dodged a few guards and was afraid that they would have caught you.

“Did you lose them?” He asked just to confirm.

You just raised your thumb, giving a long sigh “Job done”

Jayce sighed just like a worried mother would and both began to walk, this time calmer, without haste and better yet without pursuers.

“So… this is your house?” You asked when both stopped in front of a nice apartment complex in the academic district.

“Yes… umm, thanks for tonight. Without you I wouldn't have been able to get any of this” Jayce shook his backpack a little “I'll give it back to you tomorrow”

“Don't worry…” you turned to leave but a mischievous smile crossed your face “I promise that next time we go I won't get into trouble”

Jayce let out a genuine laugh “Prove it”

Your response was to laugh with him, while you let yourself be absorbed by the early morning mist until you finally disappeared from sight.

That morning, before going to the academy, Jayce opened the door to his balcony while sipping his morning coffee, only to find a small ribbon of stars and beneath it the page you had torn out of his notebook.

N/A: For the person who sent me a one-shot request… You could be more specific, my brain is a bit slow and I didn't understand the request 😅

[vigilskept]

i know it would've been difficult for them to tackle, but it absolutely kills me thinking about the missed opportunities of getting into religious angle of everything that's going on in veilguard.

because it's insane, right? that there are gods in this game. and the game will tell you over and over that they aren't gods, that they're Just Mages, but that's actually not precisely true. they're something very different from what a tevinter magister is, at least, and not only on a power-scale.

powerful spirits are gods in this setting. that was the religion ascribed to by most of humanity, before andraste. the avvar and chasind still ascribe to that belief.

a lot has been said already about how the game fails to engage with belief for dalish characters, and i agree. i think the game also really fails its andrastian characters here though because this is actually huge.

it's not just whether the golden/black city is/was the seat of the maker. it's the very meaning of what god is that's at stake here.

the maker has abandoned humanity. only through the pleas of his prophet andraste is he willing to consider the idea of offering a second chance to his creation. he will not respond to your prayers, and he will not give you answers. his will is inscrutable, to be interpreted only through the words of his prophet which have been changed over the centuries.

and if you are a mage, you are taught that this maker has cursed you. your very being is a curse.

and then you meet elgar'nan. and then you meet ghilan'nain.

they are not your maker. not really. not even if you're an elf.

but these gods are knowable. they will speak to you, personally. they may even do so with kindness. they will tell you what you could do to please them, and even offer you something in return.

and what they ask is terrible. maybe even unfathomable. but in a world where exalted marches have been called in the name of the maker and entire circles annulled, isn't that enough to give you a little pause?

[ghostlyreader09]

Crimson Thread Series: Part One

aged up damian wayne x yn

hi im just on a writing spree, let me know what you think of this one.

ps we have cool powers in this one!!!

Gotham at night was a living thing—dark, suffocating, and full of secrets. The city’s pulse thrummed in the silence between the stars, the only sounds the hiss of traffic and the hum of streetlights that never quite seemed bright enough. From the highest rooftops to the deepest alleyways, it was a place that demanded vigilance.

Tonight, however, something felt different. Not danger. Not a threat. But something else. A whisper in the wind.

And then, he saw her.

A figure, graceful as a shadow, moving through the streets with an elegance that was both unsettling and mesmerizing. She was fluid—unnaturally so—and though her cloak billowed around her like the wings of some dark bird, she made no sound. Her steps were silent, as if the very air conspired to keep her hidden. She was the kind of person who didn’t belong to Gotham, but who had nevertheless found herself tangled in its web.

Her name came to him, like an echo carried on the wind: Sanguis. The rumors were fleeting, half-spoken whispers that spoke of her power to heal. Of the strange abilities she wielded over blood and body. But no one knew her—no one had ever seen her face for more than a moment. She was a phantom in the night, an enigma wrapped in mystery.

And yet, he was drawn to her.

Damian leapt from the rooftop, his movements fluid and practiced, landing in the alley below with the grace of a predator. She didn’t notice him at first—how could she? She was too focused on the injured figure she was kneeling beside, her hands moving with precision over his wounds.

“Who are you?” he demanded, stepping into the dim light of the alleyway, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

She did not flinch, did not even glance up. Instead, her hands hovered over the man, a soft glow emanating from them. “Someone who helps,” she replied, her tone distant, indifferent to the force of his presence.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not from here,” he said, as if that alone was enough to condemn her.

She looked up then, her face half-lit by the faint glow of her power. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, met his. “No,” she replied softly, almost as if to herself. “I’m not.”

There was something in her gaze—something that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. There was no fear in her eyes, no hesitation. Only a calm certainty, like she was exactly where she belonged, no matter how strange or foreign it may seem.

“I don’t trust you,” Damian said, taking a step closer, his posture rigid, ready for a confrontation.

She stood, slowly, her movements precise, yet languid, like she had all the time in the world. “Trust isn’t necessary,” she murmured, her voice almost musical in its softness. “It’s just a word.”

He studied her carefully, something inside him pulling at the edges of his resolve. “I’ll make sure the people in this city know exactly what you’re capable of,” he said, his voice cold, harder now.

She raised a brow at him, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “They already do,” she said. “I don’t need their trust. Just their healing.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, frustration rising like a tide within him. He stepped forward again, his fists clenched at his sides. “You heal them,” he muttered, his voice taut. “But what do you get in return? What is the price?”

She looked at him then, her gaze softening for the briefest moment, though her words remained calm. “The price?” She repeated, her voice distant, almost wistful. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He was about to retort when the faintest flicker of movement caught his eye. The man she had been tending to stirred, his body slowly coming back to life, the blood that had pooled around him now starting to fade. The healing was swift—too swift.

Damian’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression darkening. “You’re not just healing them, are you?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away from him, her back straightening. The man was now breathing steadily, his wounds sealed. She didn’t wait for thanks. She simply began to walk away, her dark cloak flowing behind her like smoke.

“Stay out of my way,” Damian said, his voice taut with restraint. “This city doesn’t need people like you.”

She stopped, just for a moment, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the streetlamps. Her words, when they came, were soft, as if whispered just for him. “Then why are you still here?”

The encounters became frequent. Every time he tracked her down, every time he found her—healing in the shadows, mending broken bodies and wounded souls—Damian found himself facing the same cold, quiet resolve. She never told him anything more, never gave him the answers he sought. She remained an enigma, untouchable and distant, and for that, Damian hated her.

But it was a slow-burning hatred. The kind that ate away at you, that built itself into something more, until it twisted and turned inside him, until it became… something else.

What bothered him more than her abilities, her cold aloofness, was the way she made him question his own certainty. She wasn’t like the criminals he faced, the petty thieves or power-hungry thugs. She was something more complicated, something darker. Her powers were unnatural, yes, but her reasons—her purpose—remained hidden.

Damian’s suspicions gnawed at him, consuming him. She wasn’t human. She was something else—something beyond the simple moralities he had been raised on. He had to know.

And so, he watched her, followed her, keeping to the shadows. He tracked her movements through Gotham, always staying just far enough behind to remain unseen, always watching, always waiting for a crack in the armor she so expertly wore.

But one night, when the city was thick with mist and the stars barely made their presence known, something changed.

Damian found himself cornered. Outnumbered by a gang of mercenaries, he fought tooth and nail, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. The blows rained down on him, his body bruised and battered. But it wasn’t until the pain of a deep cut across his abdomen caused his vision to swim, until the edges of his consciousness began to slip, that he realized how alone he truly was.

Then, in the distance, he saw her.

Sanguis.

She appeared like a shadow, moving through the mist with the same silent grace he had come to know too well. But this time, there was no coldness in her gaze. There was something else in it now. Something almost… reluctant.

She knelt beside him before he could even protest, her hands glowing softly as she placed them over his wound. Damian flinched as the heat of her power met his skin, but it wasn’t the heat that shocked him—it was the raw, unyielding energy that surged through her fingertips. The pain in his side lessened, but it wasn’t without consequence. His blood sang in his ears as his body seemed to reject her touch, a strange and dizzying exchange of energy.

“You’re mad,” Damian rasped, barely able to speak, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Her gaze softened for a fleeting moment, but her voice remained firm. “I’m saving you.”

He gritted his teeth, his body trembling from the strain of the healing, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. “You’re insane. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Sanguis didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes were focused, unwavering, as she finished the healing process. The air around them hummed with something palpable—something heavy.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said quietly, her voice distant, yet grounded. “And I’m doing it for you. For Gotham.”

The weeks that followed were a silent war, waged in the quiet spaces between their encounters. Damian began to understand the price she paid for her healing—a price that was invisible to everyone but her. She was breaking herself, piece by piece, and yet she continued.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Damian could no longer look at her with the same cold contempt. There was something unspoken between them now—a shared understanding that neither could voice, but that neither could ignore.

She never gave him the answers he sought, never revealed her true nature or why she did what she did. But in the silence between them, in the fleeting moments when their eyes met across a battlefield or beneath the streetlights of Gotham’s endless night, Damian began to realize that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the enemy.

Maybe, for once, they were fighting for the same thing.

——————

The Batcave was still, as it always was. A hollow echo reverberated through the cavernous expanse, filled only by the low hum of monitors and the rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards. The glow of digital screens lit the faces of Gotham’s protectors, but the silence between them was thick, palpable—a tension that hung like a storm on the horizon. They had gathered here, in this dark sanctuary, trying to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that eluded them.

Damian stood apart, watching from the shadows, his presence more felt than seen. His arms were crossed tightly, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body coiled with the same restless energy that had kept him on edge for weeks. He could feel their eyes on him, even if they said nothing. Alfred was the only one who didn’t seem to care for his silence, but even the older man’s usually comforting presence couldn’t soothe the knot that had settled in Damian’s chest.

“What do we know about her?” Bruce’s voice was low, measured, as it always was. The leader. The patriarch. But there was something different in his tone now. Concern. A subtle shift, barely perceptible, but unmistakable to those who had grown accustomed to reading his every mood.

“She’s elusive,” Tim Drake spoke up, his fingers gliding effortlessly across the keyboard, his eyes flicking between lines of code. “But that’s nothing new. Whoever she is, she knows how to stay hidden. She’s got a network of data wipes around her, almost like she’s actively erasing traces of herself.”

“Not just a criminal,” Damian muttered, his voice edged with frustration. He could hear the soft clicks of the Batcomputer as Tim continued his work. “She’s a ghost. A shadow that slips through the cracks.”

“I’ve encountered her,” Bruce said, his eyes dark with a hint of the same frustration Damian felt. “She has a strange ability to heal, yes. But we’ve only seen what she does from a distance. Her powers—there’s something more to them. I need to know what.”

“Her name is Sanguis,” Damian interjected, his voice tight as he took a step into the circle of light. “And she’s more than just a healer. I’ve seen it in her eyes—the way she takes from people. The way she absorbs their wounds. I don’t think she’s just fixing them. She’s using them.”

The room fell silent. The weight of his words hung in the air like a fog, thickening the already suffocating atmosphere of the Batcave.

“Wait,” Jason Todd, the ever-impulsive second son of the Bat, spoke up from across the room, his arms folded, leaning against the wall in that way he always did. “You’re telling me she takes on their pain? She absorbs it? That sounds like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.”

Damian’s eyes flickered to Jason, a brief flash of something darker crossing his features. “It’s not a bomb. It’s… more controlled. Calculated. But the fact remains that she’s hiding something.”

“Could be the price of her ability,” Tim suggested, his voice soft as his fingers danced over the keys, searching for answers that didn’t seem to exist. “Not a lot of data, but there’s been mention of people she’s healed—victims of accidents or injuries. The reports are conflicting. Some say they just walked away, fully healed. But others… there are no records. No follow-up. No sign of them ever being seen again.”

“Or they’ve been taken,” Damian murmured, his thoughts racing. He could feel the puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind, but none of them fit. The weight of the mystery was pressing down on him, heavy and suffocating.

“And she never stays around long enough to talk,” Bruce said with a deep sigh. “She disappears before anyone can ask questions.”

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence that seemed to stretch on forever. In the quiet, Damian felt a flicker of something—a memory, perhaps. Something that had been gnawing at him for weeks. He saw her face in his mind—her dark, unreadable eyes. The fleeting moment when her touch had pulled the pain from his body, the agonizing sensation of his wounds closing and her own taking their place.

She had healed him. He had felt the exchange—couldn’t deny it now. But what had it cost her?

“What if she’s not… evil?” he asked, his voice quieter than before, as if testing the words in the air. The shift in tone was subtle, but unmistakable. He had never voiced such a thought aloud. It was dangerous to even entertain it.

Bruce’s gaze flickered to him, sharp and calculating, as though the words themselves were a betrayal of everything they stood for. But instead of reprimanding him, he merely tilted his head, considering. “You’re suggesting she’s… what? A vigilante?”

“I don’t know,” Damian admitted, his voice low. “But she’s doing something more than what we’ve seen. She’s healing—yes. But there’s something about her… something beneath it. She’s not like us. But that doesn’t make her a villain.”

Tim, still absorbed in his search, sighed heavily. “I wish it were that simple. She’s not giving us much to go on. Whatever she’s doing, she’s keeping her identity locked down tight. Almost like she’s afraid of being discovered.”

“Afraid of being found,” Damian corrected, his gaze distant, as if seeing something none of the others could. “Not just discovered. She’s hiding something more than just a name.”

Alfred, who had remained silent through the exchange, stepped forward, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. “Master Damian is correct in his assumption. But I believe there’s more to Miss Sanguis than mere fear or secrecy.”

“Then what is it, Alfred?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s her game?”

Alfred’s gaze flickered to the darkened corners of the cave, as if he were searching for something that wasn’t there. “Perhaps it’s not a game at all. Perhaps she is… something else. Something different.” He paused, his voice softening. “We are all bound by the cost of our choices. Some of us carry our burdens in ways that are visible to the world. And some, like her, bear them in silence.”

Damian’s thoughts stirred, the weight of those words settling in his chest like a stone. Was she truly carrying something heavier than any of them could understand? Was she paying a price for her healing that none of them could even fathom?

The room fell quiet again, each of them caught in their own contemplation. There were no answers yet. No clear path forward.

Finally, Bruce broke the silence. “We need more information. Keep an eye on her. Track her movements, Tim. And Damian,” he turned his gaze to his son, the unspoken weight of expectation between them, “I want you to stay focused. We don’t know if she’s a friend or foe. But we’ll find out.”

Damian nodded, but something in his chest tightened. His father’s orders had always been clear-cut, but this was different. This wasn’t just a mission. Not anymore. Something inside him, something fragile, something unspoken, had begun to change.

The next night, as the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over Gotham, Damian found himself watching from the rooftops once again. His gaze swept over the streets, the alleys, the quiet places where shadows lived.

And there she was—Sanguis.

She moved through the streets like a wraith, her cloak trailing behind her, her every step graceful and unhurried. She didn’t see him, not yet, but he was watching—watching her as she healed, as she touched the broken bodies of those who had been torn apart by Gotham’s cruelty.

Her power was a strange and wondrous thing, and he could feel it even from a distance—the way she moved, the way she shifted the very essence of life within the bodies she touched. She wasn’t just a healer. No, that was too simple.

She was a keeper of souls, a silent guardian who traded her own strength to save others.

Damian’s fingers clenched at his sides. This city didn’t need another shadow in the night. But maybe, just maybe, it needed someone who could walk between the light and the darkness. And for the first time, he wondered if he was the one who had misunderstood her.

okay so what do we think???? i like it! i can upload the next bit after i lock in for physics😢

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

One of the main reasons why I silently freak out so much after talking to people in a group setting is because I listen to them (or at least try to act like I’m listening to them) but the very instant I open my mouth to speak, they start talking to someone else, or someone else talks right fucking over me even though they know I‘m trying to speak. Every. Single. Time.

And it’s not just so-called “neurotypical” people. Oh no. It’s neurodivergent people too. And the neurodivergent people I understand; but they also have to understand that not all of us are fast talkers and some of us need people to be patient or we will never get our information out. My brain-to-mouth processing speeds are extremely extremely slow and I cannot talk quickly to save my life unless I am reciting something I already have memorized. If someone cuts me off in any way before I am finished, my brain gets stuck in a buffering mode for three seconds at the very least, and more if they continue to cut me off when I’m trying to communicate “No that’s not the end of what I’m saying and that’s not what I even meant by that. Stop making hasty generalizations about a point you haven’t even heard through yet.”

But no matter who I am talking to, right before I am able to finish my extremely well-thought-out point that I’ve been formulating in my head for months or years prior in the mirror, I always, without fail get cut off because everyone gets impatient with my long pauses and doesn’t even want to attempt to listen to what I have to say because they think what they’re about to say in reaction is more important. And it’s not like I’m taking over the conversation or talking more than I listen; I’m just taking more time than they are comfortable with to say a typical amount of words.

And then those same people always tell me, in a somewhat patronizing tone, “You’re so quiet! You’re such a good listener!” Yes because that’s what you’ve made me. Why should I talk to you if you won’t fucking listen to me for three seconds. And no, after a certain point I stopped listening to you because why should I listen to you if you don’t ever listen to me?

Everyone’s nice to me and says they want me there at their social functions but they still subtly exclude me. God damn.

I suppose they want to look at me, or perhaps inhale my aroma. Like I’m a house plant.

[ingravinoveritas]

This weekend, I went to a pop culture/comic convention in my area to see a few friends, and had an interesting experience. When I was first walking from the parking lot to the convention hotel, a man I'd never met or spoken to before came up to me just before I got to the doors. I was initially wary, as I've encountered more than a few creepy/pervy men at this convention in the past. But what he said to me, very politely, was: "Excuse me. Are you one of the movie stars?"

I can't emphasize enough how much this came out of nowhere. I also don't know what gave him the idea that I was a movie star, maybe other than what I was wearing (a purple sequined dress, a silver cross necklace, and blue/white/red slingback peep toe heels). But the question pleasantly took me aback, and after I said that I wasn't one, he added, "You're dressed so nice. You look beautiful." Which also was unexpected, and after I thanked him for his very kind words, he wished me a good night as I continued on in to the hotel.

My point in mentioning this is that there tends to be a very specific idea of what/who a "movie star" is or looks like, and not in a thousand years would I categorize myself in that way. But I think maybe looks/external beauty are only one part of it, and the rest is confidence--surety of self, and how you move through the world. I have more confidence now than I have had any previous point in my life. I know who I am, and I think I'm finally understanding how that affects people's perception of me.

So yes, that was just an interesting little moment and probably one of the highlights of the weekend. (The other was running into a David cosplayer who had on David's purple-green fuzzy sweater and purple Doc Martens (see below), a kilt for a character in Sandman, and a face tattoo and snakey eyes for Crowley--three cosplays in one!) Good Omens really is everywhere...

[taz-writes]

here's a hot take for today

the narrative function of sex is the same as the narrative function of fight scenes is the same as the narrative function of songs in a musical

no i will not explain

[straynoahide]

That's reasonable. Although I englobe it as "political" antizionism - comprising all the Israeli community, precisely bc that's the effect and also the intent. That's also why I never use "Arab-Israeli conflict" when Arab Israelis are literally held hostage as the 'Israeli' part. Mista'arvim, Druze solidarity, and all that.

Also I actually don't have any particular disdain for American progressives, I was just trying to see where you're coming from, but I do have a fundamentally different worldview and what is typically American is seeing any ideological disparity as suspect.

I'm a Hebrew Catholic, one of such pro-Israel groups, although I don't currently reside in Israel, most of my coreligionaries do. I also have other personal ties to people in there. I'm not casual about it.

And if you're interested, the disconnect happened when you reasoned out loud that I wouldn't be curious because I made a typo of Khamenei as 'Khomenei' and then you referenced Khomeini. I don't do that, I don't like that kind of pettiness and it makes a conversation feel like a performance.

ICC arrest warrants against Israel

The ICC isn't issuing an arrest warrant against Netanyahu bc he is a Likudnik, right-wing, corrupt, or a flawed person. They're issuing an arrest warrant against the PM of Israel, period.

The ICC would still issue this warrant against a PM of Israel that was from a socialist zionist party or a coalition that included antizionists. Israel is a pluralistic democracy and those exist in the Knesset. They're doing that in alignment with the UN to go after the gov that reacted to Oct 7 with the Simchat Torah War.

In the eyes of these international institutions, Jews alone have no right to a nation where they can exercise sovereignty and self-determination. So pay attention as media frames this maliciously and tries to set the premises of the conversation in a way that suits them; that pseudo-humanitarian rhetoric is premeditated, and funded, by the same people who instigated Oct 7 - Iran and its terror proxies.

The ICC has never given this treatment to the leaders of China and Iran, despite the fact they are responsible for crimes and war crimes. Even the situation is not comparable to Putin, who is engaging in a war of aggression and not a war of self-defense.

Hamas and Israel are not morally equivalent, and neither are their leaderships. It is Israeli Jews that have been indicted, not Netanyahu. And that indictment, is wrong.

[leucoratia]

Kraz, royal healer

Kraz (Razzy if they like you(but they like everyone)(except Jerry)) is a human (?) mage who voluntarily exiled themselves to the underground to follow monsterkind during the war. They are later appointed royal healer by the king and queen and has devoted themselves to the betterment of monster society ever since. They are the only human the royal scientist ever tolerated (although would you call sharing lab coats and beds tolerating or...something else?)

Information

-Species : mage (half monster, half human)

-Age : older than the barrier. As long as they will to live, it appears that a mage cannot age.

-Gender : apparently born a female, although it is unclear how sexual dimorphism develops in mages. Kraz does not specifically care.

-Soul : Green

-Height : 1.99m (6'5)

-Hair colour : Black (somehow iridescent ?)

-Eye colour : deep dark brown. Their sclera is grey as well.

-Build : sickly thin, actually skin and bones. They never eat much of anything, claiming that they do not need a lot of food. It worries people quite a lot, especially Toriel, but they have been like this for hundreds of years so... at least they're not dead ? Still, they scare the kids.

-Personnality : a sweet, calming presence. They exude an aura which makes anyone around them feel at peace. Although they are quite akward and generally anxious, they smile easily and brightly. Kraz is very friendly, caring, and kind to a fault. has quite an outdated manner of speech. A jokester. Always does their best to please people around them. Deeply devoted. Probably has some sort of attention deficit. Easily fascinated. Suffers from chronic bird behaviour (will bring you trinkets??).

-Likes : gardening, playing the piano, cooking, puzzles, collecting shiny trinkets, science, herbal medicine, cultivating bacteria, gift giving, late 1800's fashion, dark spaces, funny socks, Gaster.

-Dislikes : loud noises (especially clamoring crowds), being watched, sudden movements, bright reflective surfaces, small enclosed spaces, bitter foods.

Backstory

Kraz was born to a human mother and a monster father during the war, as mages often are. Abandoned by their mother, who could not endure the shame of their birth, they were taken under their father’s wing and raised amongst a small monster village. Early on, they manifested an extremely intense green soul and spectacular magical power, even for a mage. Although unequipped and unprepared to nurture such potential, the monsters in Kraz's community did their best to encourage the toddler's magical prowess, such as having them heal cuts and bruises, or speed up a few carrots' growth. But as war progressed, human armies swept through monster territory and eventually raided the child's village, pillaging and slaughtering everyone in their path. In these times mages were rare, being the product of monster-human relationships, but extremely sought after by humanity, who could only manifest minor magic potential. Stumbling upon the young Kraz and recognising in their physiology the traits of a "hybrid", human soldiers immediately identified them as a mage and took them away to be raised amongst humans. Their father, if he ever survived the attack, never stopped looking for his little bird until his dust settled on the ground. And so Kraz was raised in human war camps and settlements, amongst soldiers and other mages. Being so young, they only ever had vague memories of their time amongst monsters and soon put them to rest. As they grew, their healing powers grew with them, and it was soon clear to the commanders that Kraz may as well be the most spectacular healer that they had ever known, capable of rising men at death's door back on their feet and ready to fight in mere minutes. Suffice to say, as one of their greatest asset, they were sent from battlefield to battlefield, from division to division in order to rise the almost dead and reinforce the dwindling human forces. But they had a fault. Kraz, at their heart, was kind. Compassionate. Caring. And oh so, so young still, no more than fifteen. And the pain, the suffering inflicted by and to monsters broke their soul into pieces. See, despite all the propaganda, they could never quite bring themselves to hate monsters. Hate half of themselves. And so in the midst of the battle's confusion, in secret, they would slip a hand or a green bullet towards a bleeding frog here. A dusting lion there. They wished they could just run to them and pour their whole magic into the wounded, but the human soldiers watched them. Always. But eventually, as war was nearing its end, temptation was too great. They could take it no more. And so during a bloody battle, they slipped away from the soldiers surrounding them and ran to a fallen monster, who was already dusting away. A skeleton. The young mage fell to their knees, reaching for the monster's broken face with magic already at their fingertips and reassurances spilling from their lip, and poured everything they had left as the soldier tried to struggle and speak. He barely was able to call to them, in a language they didn't know, his bones just starting to reform, but fate is oh so cruel. Kraz could only slip their guard's attention for so long, and just as life started to flicker back in the man's face, they were torn off his bloodied body and promptly covered in his dust, their work undone by the fall of a sword. As the soldiers dragged the teen away, they could only claw down at the dusty floor to rack up the dust, and a nametag. Dingbats.

"Traitor", they were deemed. "An error of nature", "a freak", they were called. But a valuable freak nonetheless. Their magical abilities were still wholly unmatched through all of the land. They were needed. And so Kraz was beaten down, corrected, whipped back into shape. Into following orders. Royals spoke of banishment. Of a barrier. And they needed mages.

Finally, monsters were defeated. They were to be sealed underground. Kraz and the other mages assembled, staring down at a beaten monsterkind, a sea of eyes and bleeding hearts crying out at them as they chanted the words.

They couldn't do it. They couldn't.

They ran to them.

As the barrier rose up, this child fell to their knees in front of Asgore and Toriel and begged them to let them stay. To right this wrong. To help. They did.

And so Kraz poured their heart out. It wasn't easy, getting monsters to accept human help, even though they shared some physical traits. They slaved away for nothing in return, growing crops magically in dead ground and never taking even a grain of wheat for themselves. Endlessly imbuing water with their energy to create remedies for everyone. Only accepting the bare minimum of food to stay alive, even though they felt as if they were tearing this food away from the hands of the needy. They tried so, so hard to repair humanity's sins. Clear their name in the eyes of monsters.

And eventually, it somewhat worked. Instead of frowns, they were faced with smiles. Children stopped crying when they saw the healer's incomplete beak and started to spare them a smile. The elderly stopped refusing treatment from them. And even though they still had to face a seemingly unclimbable wall as they began further studies in medicine, biology and microbiology, chemistry, agricultural sciences, magical studies, anything to broaden their knowledge and help, they made it. (No thanks to the shy, awkward, standoffish and straight up rude engineering-chemistry-physics student which whom the king and queen pushed Kraz to hang out with. They said that it would "help the both of you, you kids would work beautifully together". Not that the mage minded, as a matter of fact they quite enjoyed his presence and always did their best to be agreeable and overall lovely company; but the skeleton never quite seemed to get over his absolute loathing of humans. Oh well, no matter. They'll keep trying anyways.). Eventually they did succeed and ascended to the position of "tolerable fellow student who I regularly hang out with" in the eyes of their adversary. When Kraz got their first doctorate, in medicine, WingDings even cracked a smile. And as the two completed their studies, the now mage-doctor was promoted to "acceptable collaborator". A win for the ages!

Kraz finally moved out of the derelict place they were practicing medicine in since the war to a more acceptable place (which was, well, their newly furnished house, courtesy of the royal family for their friendship and as a congratulatory gift for their doctorate) and kept working as always. But with an official title to strengthen their position, and what some may call a reluctant friend, things seemed lighter. Monsters were flocking to their office, business (which was still free but their patients insisted on leaving little somethings) was booming, their ties to their fellow "collaborator " deepening, and the doctor became sincerely appreciated in their community. Maybe not in all monsterdom yet, memories of the war never quite fading, but it was progress. Things were going well.

But it seemed that fate had other plans.

One day, plague broke out. The illness decimated monster populations, entire families perishing from an unknown condition.

And Kraz, oh Kraz, tried everything. Every spell, every potion, every cure they could think of. Nothing worked. They asked for help to the other healers, consulted with other scientists, even asked the engineers if they could think of something, anything. Nothing worked. They could only watch as the malady swept through monsters, powerless to watch them die, just like they did during the war.

No. No.

They would not stand for it, they would not STAND FOR THIS !! They will find a cure. At any cost.

They locked themselves in their laboratory.

One day. Two days.

Three days.

Six days.

Eight days.

Their colleagues had tried banging on the door, shouting at them to come out, to go home, they would not answer. They called for the doctor’s friends, to no avail. Eventually, it was WingDings Gaster, the royal scientist himself, to be at their door threatening them to “kick their feathery ass if it’s the last thing he does” in order to get them to open the damn door.

No answer.

But the royal scientist was a stubborn man. And when words failed, he proceeded to take the door’s security system apart and barge into the lab, only to be taken aback by the stench. He covered his non-existent nose with a sleeve and bit back the urge to let last night’s dinner see the light of day again, ushering the doctor’s worried coworkers away. It reeked of illness. It reeked of plague. The skeleton, being the only one without lungs and hence immune to all airborne diseases, made his way through the mess of papers, vials and…patches of blood and hair…to the form bent over his friend’s table. Kraz was staring straight at him with their big, beady dark eyes which seemed to be glazed over. They looked even paler than they usually do, which is to say whiter than snow, and seemed so frail that they could snap at any moment. Their face was also swimming in what seemed to be bloodied spit, over a mountain of papers scribbled with words that made no sense. Suffice to say, they looked like death itself. They looked dead.

It was as if Gaster’s bones were made of ice. Barely thinking, he grabbed his friend’s limp body, by Asgore were they TALL, and zapped away somewhere safe. Somewhere clean. His place, apparently.

He cleaned Kraz. Changed them. Laid them in bed. Listened to their delirious babbles, relieved that at least they were alive. In a moment of clarity, the doctor pleaded him to retrieve some instruments from their lab and conduct a series of tests on samples of their blood, which he was urged to collect daily.

“I need to help them Dings. Please. Please, I beg of you, do this for them. Or else I would have done this for nothing. Please.”

Eventually, the unthinkable happened. They got better, the little colour their cheeks normally had returned. As soon as the healer could walk again, they were out of their friend’s house and back in their lab (ignoring everyone’s admonishments). Barely a week later, there was a cure for the seemingly incurable plague.

Monsterkind was saved.

And everything was truly fine. Kraz was promoted to Royal Doctor (a fact they endlessly teased Gaster with, because Now you can’t boss me around anymore mister science man), was granted a whole department in the Hotland labs, and was now revered though the kingdom! Their promotion to head doctor was also accompanied by another, to the exclusive rank of “beloved special stupid idiot who gave themselves the plague” in the soul of a certain someone. They weren’t going to live that one down anytime soon. But well, when the royal scientist’s coworkers noticed that his lunch was packed daily in the common room fridge with “Do not forget nourishment today dear, I will see you tonight at our usual, -A stupid idiot “stuck to it, let’s say that the air in the Core labs was decidedly more pleasant. And Alphys, a young intern that the Doctor befriended during one of their numerous visits to their collaborator-friend-lover(?),  could barely contain her gushing to anyone that might listen.

Yes. Times were good.

Until a human fell.

[lunarriviera]

HAPPY BDAY HEI-YE MY HOT MESS OF A LOVE, if i'd known you were celebrating today i would have written you a fic. this weekend, i promise. you're my most favorite.

[nikki-handholder]

hey can yall tag story spoilers or put it under read more. please

[protect-namine]

I am about to start a neji route (because I feel that I need at least three playthroughs to fully understand neji and his plays, so I can't leave him for last). so my thoughts on this may change, but for the moment, my thesis is that neji and kisa are the same kind of thespian, just in different fonts.

(I am slightly exaggerating kisa'a character here. there are hints and I do think pushing the envelope of what her character could be is part of what makes kisa... kisa. as I'll explain later, for better and worse, kisa is constrained by the conventions of being an otome heroine.)

anyway. in essence. neji turns Other Persons into stories,

and kisa turns Other Persons into performances,

while they both simultaneously run away from, avoid, or sacrifice Becoming Persons themselves, for the sake of theater

or maybe it's the other way around. something something discovery if not recognition of the self through the other... except they're both unreliable narrators so who's to say if the recognition actually takes hold, really. kisa at least is a little bit self aware. neji, on the other hand, deals with realizations of the self through writing, without actually processing them (e.g. ms robin, domina, etc).

I keep thinking about (novel) kisa closing her eyes and feeling like her sense of self would melt away until tsuki centers her and gives her theater as a way to heal from the grief of losing her mother. it happens again during tsuki's univeil performance: kisa curling in on herself and tsuki pulling her back to theater as way to help kisa move forward with her dreams. pretending to be others is more fun than being herself.

and then there is neji (insert spiderman pointing at spiderman meme). but in his case, he would rather play eccentric roles, caricatures, comic relief, than be a Person With Depth on stage. neji is always either a seer of some kind (a fortune teller, a ghost who sees 10 seconds into the future) or a bit character (employee A), or... whatever he initially planned for domina. he is the mechanic behind the stage, but never the lead actor. his vulnerabilities do not need to "stolen" for the story, though others' are fair game.

kisa does not think about gender as it applies to herself in her daily life (mostly) and only sees it through the lens of acting and theater. how does she act mukai vs maiden, charles vs chicchi? the same way that neji does not think about the motifs and characters he writes as a window to himself, but rather as objects to be put on stage. rukiora is based on a younger neji, mary jane is I Am Death: Revisited (mary jane is to takihime as gashadokuro is to jacob), sissia is always meant to be the foil to I Am Death. but neji doeen't really understand that just like how he didn't understand oh rama havenna. sissia (kisa route, jack jeanne ver) is to kisa as domina is to neji.

literally kisa at her most extreme is just theater thoughts 24/7

kisa "I don't like being me; I'd rather be other people" tachibana 🤝 kokuto "I need to experiment and witness visions I can't create or I'll die" neji: this is a totally sane and Normal way to cope with abandonment and grief 👍

(it is not implied in the game, but since kisa turned to theater to cope with grief as a child, I wonder if the reason she never looks too deeply into tsuki's disappearance is because she's once again using theater as an excuse to conveniently Not Think About It. out of sight, out of mind. tsuki must be doing well, wherever he is, whatever it is he's doing.)

there is also the meta perspective of how kisa in-game inhabits a role where the player can (and is expected to) self-insert. otome dictates that protagonist kisa must be malleable to the player (who can choose to focus on a variety of relationships in her stead), and the plot dictates that actor kisa must be malleable to her stage roles (jack or jeanne, maiden or hero, flower or vessel), and novel kisa dictates that kisa must malleable to pretending to be other people because it's more preferable to being herself.

every thought she has about herself must be tied to acting, somehow. kisa's personhood is defined through stagecraft. she is the maiden, and mukai, and charles, and chicchi, and sissia. she can romance anyone in the school, of the player's choosing. she can be jack, and jeanne, and jack jeanne. don't get me wrong; kisa is her own character and has a strongly defined personality, but the story also demands for her to be malleable. a painting and a blank canvass at the same time.

neji externalizes where kisa internalizes. where kisa Must Perform™ to function and to avoid herself, neji Must Create™ to function and to avoid himself. scriptwriter neji dictates that neji must use everything at his disposal — his memories, his classmates, his obscure knowledge — as inspiration for stories. director neji dictates that he must use everything he knows about his actors — their complexes, their relationships, their weaknesses and strengths — as inspiration for stories. from the cook (mitsuki) needing apricots for a recipe and wanting to harvest honey from a beehive, to mary jane (fumi) being good at sewing and wanting an equal in jacob. suzu and sou fighting and developing a rivalry leads to jire and fugio fighting over chicchi. kai limits himself as a vessel in hasekura, and kai learns to embrace his desires as the priest. from the water/ocean/drowning themes, to rukiora being based on neji's younger self, and her family life and relationship with domina.

every thought neji has must be tied to stories, somehow. neji's personhood is scattered through stagecraft. the more you read his plays and lyrics, the more you get a glimpse of who he is. it is to the point that neji himself doesn't... really see how his stories reflect himself. ms robin being a "random" song the jazz lounge singer sings thay hasekura and ando can dance to, oh rama havenna being a so-so throwaway play that neji doesn't understand why it's entertaining. lmao. neji, please.

and this is why when problems arise, neji becomes a demanding director and kisa becomes a chameleon actor with a shaky sense of self (we don't really see this a lot because jack jeanne is not that dark of a story and kisa is still an otome heroine of an uplifting game, but it's a reasonable conclusion if you push hard on the kisa from neji's "good morning" exercise, or kisa going ham on method acting as charles. kinda wish the game explored more of that. I think a very stressed kisa can get lost in method acting, just as a very stressed neji is almost paralyzed by the fear of the death of talent).

idk where I was going with this. just. them. they have the same issues, just in different fonts. and I think that's actually what first attracts neji to kisa. kisa "steals" (to borrow neji's own words) just like him. kisa is a fountain of inspiration, an ever changing muse. and neji provides kisa with an endless amount of prompts and characters for her to inhabit. kisa does like to play pretend a lot. that's why she's in theater!

kisa and neji: Art Imitates Life people stuck in a Life Imitates Art video game

ANYWAY usual disclaimer that I'm jotting down livebloghing thoughts and I know some spoilers to neji's route but I'm only just about to actualy start his playthrough so. yeah. this was drafted all the way back in may lol, opinions may change and all that

[derpinette]

i am addicted to the black tar heroin known as fangirls

[quatregats]

Thinking about Marie Ladon (under cut for major spoilers through Lord Hornblower)

Contemplating Marie as proxy for what couldn't be with Bush/Hornblower trying to understand his own emotions towards Bush. It's unclear to me what parts of Marie are real and what parts are not; the entire sequence at Graçay is dreamlike to begin with, and the second time Hornblower visits, in Lord Hornblower, it feels equally so. Marie is also a deeply idealized character who seems to understand Hornblower's every need and meet his every want; but we know not to trust the internal monologue at all, and when Marie does actually break through it in a few rare moments, she does seem to be a very different sort of character - the same is also true of Barbara, but Forester is a bit more obvious about it. The thing about Marie is that not only does she only appear in these out-of-the-world, in-between spaces in the narrative, often in a very overly-perfect way, but she also appears at points where Bush and Hornblower's relationship has taken significant turns and Forester only partially elaborates on it. In particular, Bush and Hornblower become very close on the way to Graçay, and appear to have grown even closer upon leaving it (and there are distinctly romantic-adjacent comments on both sides of this sojourn), while on Hornblower's second trip to France, he has lost Bush and clearly been deeply affected by the loss - in fact, it causes a rift between him and Barbara which he deepens by seeking out Marie. There are parallels there in death as well, with both characters dying in the same book - Hornblower lives out death first with Bush at a distance, then again up close with Marie. They move in odd tandem with each other, and while Marie often appears out of nowhere and takes center-stage, Bush always looms large in the background with a longer, more emotionally-wrought storyline that can never quite come to fruition.

I wonder, then, if there is something to be said for Marie as a sort of narrative device for Hornblower's relationship with Bush. She's not that relationship directly, but instead almost a way of processing it - processing the raw desire in Flying Colours, or processing death and grief and a lost illicit relationship which might be far happier than any legally-sanctioned one. She stands in for what Hornblower can't say, and she lets him process and fail to process his ghosts. I'm not quite sure where to go from there, but I think that it's interesting how she serves to act out the things which Hornblower otherwise doesn't dare to say; in Marie there are the echoes of what Hornblower and Bush are, or could be.