#the star skews toward the moon.

[a-penchant-for-the-lethe]

Regulus' problem started with James.

James, who would absolutely take any excuse to hold Regulus' hand, asked if it was okay if he doodled little pictures on him. Claiming that it would help him focus.

"What do you mean there's paper right there, Love? Just give me your hand. Please?"

So, James just started scribbling little suns and snakes and one dopey lion (whose ears were vaguely lopsided) looking extremely content while doing so. Regulus - the poor sod, always weak for a happy James - just let him get away with it.

A mistake, he realized much too late. As soon as Pandora saw she wanted to add her own "artistic vision" to his hands and who could possibly resist Pandora? So, in addition to the snakes, the suns, and the lion (whom they'd lovingly named Leopold), there were flowers and vines weaving their way through his fingers and up his sleeves. Small rainbows, in only black ink, on the backs of his hands.

Dorcus was the next one bold enough to ask. A bracelet of triangles was added around his wrists in an up-down pattern.

"Because you only ever accessorize with rings. You need to branch out. See? Bracelets suit you, Reggie."

Evan wanted to add clouds to the ends of Pandora's rainbows ("Rainbows shouldn't just end like that. It looks weird. Come here, let me fix it.") along with the uneven swirls he drew on each of Reg's fingertips.

Barty was absolutely distraught to have been the last in their little group to get to draw on Regulus. It was a terrible betrayal that James got to do it before him, despite it being James’ idea to begin with.

He put tiny X's all the way down Regulus's pinkies. Then, he did the same to his own hands. So they would match. And so that if they were to theoretically make a pinky promise, which of course they would never do, as the serious and intimidating posh boys they were... then the X's would line up.

Sirius nearly triped over Remus when he saw what had been done to his brother because Regulus never painted on his hands as a kid. His memory was always really good, so there was no need to jot down quick reminders on the backs of his palms.

Whenever he did need to remember something, he just wrote it in that little black notebook he took everywhere, the one he would never let Sirius see.

Sirius, on the other hand, was almost always covered in little pictures and notes because he was scatter-brained, but mostly because it irritated their mother to no end.

Regulus never wanted to do anything that could disappoint their mother, so the image of Regulus holding on to his books with arms covered in ink was an odd one for Sirius. Regulus looked defiant. More importantly, Regulus looked happy.

Regulus explained his "predicament" to them in a petulant tone. Despite the small smile that seemed to be making its way onto his face as he recounted how James’ small requests snowballed into whatever the heck was going on with his hands now.

Sirius asked if they could "contribute to the community canvas" that had become of Regulus's skin, and he relented with the worlds most dramatic sigh. Remus drew a crescent moon on Reggie's left arm while Sirius drew a star on his right.

Peter was so shy about asking, Regulus wasn't entirely sure if he would. Regulus found himself very glad that Peter did, however, because when he finished, there was the most adorable and detailed little drawing of a mouse Regulus had ever seen.

His hands were almost entirely covered by the end of the day, so it was honestly a miracle that Lily found space for anything at all. But if Regulus knew anyone capable of miracles, it was certainly Lily Evans. Her design was a simple heart just below his thumb.

"A reminder. And a promise," she had said,"of how much we love you."

When Regulus watched the ink wash away in the shower, he was surprised by how sad he was to see it go. His arms felt bare when he went to bed. He thought it was strange just how quickly he'd gotten used to the doodles, like they'd always been there, under his skin.

He supposed James’s idea wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, initially. He found that, maybe, he already missed Leopold, and Lily's heart, and all the little pictures that served as proof that he was loved.

Eventually, he learned he didn't really need the pictures, though, because he had the people. People who still loved him even when there weren't strangely-ending rainbows and hearts on his hands to prove it.

They'd always been there. His people. He couldn't imagine a world where they wouldn't be. It was like imagining the earth without the sun. The sky without the stars. Unnatural. Cold.

The next morning, Mary and Marlene got to him first. A dimond and a broomsitck were the first things added to his arms, respectively. He thought it was incredible how quickly he'd grown to love so many people even when he never thought he could.

Maybe a younger version of him would be screaming that this could get back to his mother, somehow. That this would disappoint her. He could no longer find it in him to care. Because he had people who really loved him right here. Absolutely extatic that their little drawings came out so well.

His arms were always clean by the time he went to bed, but every day, he got to collect new doodles from all his favorite people.

It was always slightly different. Paw prints or sometimes footprints made their way down his arms. Sometimes, there were antlers or intricately drawn eyes. Sometimes, Peter would show off and draw something incredible that would have everyone else trying a little bit harder with their doodles that day.

Always, no matter how much room was left (be it a little or a lot), there was a heart from Lily. Always. A reminder. A promise. He was loved. By so many wonderful people. His real family loved him, and at the end of the day, that was everything. The only thing that mattered.

They surrounded him with warmth and love like it was the most natural thing in the world for them. Even if he could never be as open as Lily with her endless complements or as touchy as James with his soft hugs and quick kisses, he could learn to love and be loved more. In subtle ways that meant the world to the people who cared about him.

James takes every excuse to hold his hand, and Lily never misses a chance to tell him he's lovely. His friends throw themselves near him in piles and laugh until their lungs ache. His brother is with him again like he should be. Like that's the only way the universe will have it. There is love.

It doesn't matter if someday the only marking left on Regulus' arm was not drawn out of love. And it doesn't matter if the end of the story is not kind. If it is cold and unnatural like a sky without stars, because there was love.

And he can hope that his sacrifice will be enough to make up for his mistakes. He can hope that his final act will help shift the tides of the war, keep the people he loves safe. He can hope that his brother will forgive him if he ever leans the truth. He can hope that his life will leave an impact.

Because the end of the story is not what matters. The only thing that matters now is that the love he had at the start stays with him. It's proof he existed. That was his impact. No one final act of reckless heroics but infinite acts of courage and kindness and compassion that lead him to his people.

The end of the story doesn't matter, repeats like a mantra in Regulus head as water tries to wash away the marking on his arm one final time. The gray hands that grip him can take this mark. He never wanted it anyway, and he won't be sorry to see it go. The ones that matter will stay with him, always.

Beneath his skin. Burned into his heart. Keeping him warm even as cold water fills his lungs and makes him ache in such a familiar way. The harder it gets to think, the easier it is to convince himself that the pressure in his chest is just Lily sprawled across him on the couch. James told a supid joke. Now Regulus is laughing so hard he's running out of air. The moment the pressure eases up, Regulus will get him back.

And if the pressure never eases up, at least Regulus can be sure that he had love at the start, and he has love now. Always. Lily promised, and she's always right. The water can wash away all the ink it wants. Take his air and his life. It can think itself invincible. Because as long as stars burn in the sky, Regulus will be loved.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

calling skz clingy headcanons ◦ ot8

Paring◦ ot8 x reader

Words◦ 3,578

Genre ◦ hurt and comfort

Warnings ◦ reader blows up at the boys a few times, mild cussing I think, hyunjin is lowkey toxic in this but the reader is more toxic, honestly all of our boys are pretty dramatic lmao, they keep getting lazier and lazier😭, I fucking hate y/n in this like fr I'm gonna kick her sorry little ass, seungmins is... suggestive...dirty talk and fingering only for like one line, so is hans lmao all happy endings because I am not sadistic... or realistic

Taglist ◦ @thetoastghost222, @ur-fav-lvr

A/N ◦ honestly this is my super random chaotic thoughts I had at 2am bc I was really hating the way I was writing a love lived between the stars and the sea so I wanted to take a small break and clear my pallet I hope you all like it even though it lowkey sucks lmao <33

Also im lowkey fucking with making headcannons this is kinda fun...

~cookiecreates 🍪

chan

I feel like Chan would be the most emotionally mature about the whole thing, especially when he sees the storm brewing in your eyes before you even spit those venomous words.

"Fuck Chris, do you have to be so clingy all the time?" You shout, your mouth curling in a disgusted sneer. 

You've never flinched away from him like that, never been so mean-

He's first hurt then he sees it-

There are cracks in your demeanor; large gashes in your heart; he could read you like an open book; the stories your soul wished to tell resided in your glassy eyes.

Hurt people hurt people.

You didn't think he was clingy; no, you loved his touch. You were simply overwhelmed, overflowing with so many simmering feelings—his love did not have room to shimmy through.

So he makes room-

He tilts your chin up with a sincere voice and asks, "What's the real reason why you are shutting me out?"

The unadulterated dedication in his words leaves you in shambles. 

Chan would tear open his heart before your eyes just to prove that there are openings for your soul to pour all your pain into him.

and he would still find a way not to spill a drop

"It’s so hard,” you sob. “They told me you were too good for me, that I wasn’t enough. They said I should shut you out, run away before I got too attached. I had to make you hate me so that I could never weigh you down again."

Chan is fuming.

He wants to ask who said that? He wants to ask where they live? He wants to ask if you want to witness their destruction? He wants to ask if he should use a knife or a gun?

But instead, he says, ‘Darling, you would have more luck breaking the bounds of the moon than untangling the way you are threaded into my soul."

what. the. fuck.

Chan the next William Shakespeare up in here

...was this based on something I wrote for my new series...yes. am I ashamed... no.

I'm a hopeless romantic who wants to marry a poet.

Sue me.

You never thought the apocalypse would be so rewarding, because you are reeling, spinning out of orbit, a meteor spit out into space, hurling towards unknown destruction—destruction that tasted like fresh morning dew.

Chan was perfect.

what the fuck were you thinking?

He holds you through the night, chasing away the whistling of the cold winter wind, his warm arms creating a home around your heart.

lee know

do not ever ever ever ever ever ever ever call Lee Know clingy unless you are willing to dedicate your life into creating the next wheel of time because after you plant the seed in his head, he will blossom a garden of newfound insecurities.

"Can you please not be so clingy right now? I'm having a really bad headache," you whisper through the thick fog clouding your brain; you have been living with a red hot rod skewed through the back of your brain all day. You didn't mean to say the word clingy, but it is futile to search a thesaurus from a blurry page, and right now the world seems to be nothing more than a piece of abstract art.

He just wanted to hold you and you call him clingy??

To others, the sentence would be like water rolling off their backs, but to him, it was a ragged shard of glass stabbed straight into his chest.

Lee Know is extremely inexperienced in the world of intimacy, often clumsy with his actions—hesitant with his words, so why would you say such a thing?

Knowing how insecure he is??

You would only ever say it if you meant it fully and completely??

Honestly, in his head, he would be lowkey, really dramatic, but he's so beyond hurt, feeling like you're just picking at a gaping wound.

like I said, dramatic.

justified. yes.

dramatic... also yes.

I am a firm believer that his tough-guy act is only that.

an act.

He was pretending like he didn't care what you said, but when he gets into the other room, it takes everything in him not to shatter into a million different pieces, feeling so overwhelmed with how many emotions are coursing through him.

No matter how much you apologize after that, no matter how much you prove what you said was nothing more than your head foggy and in pain, it still will take lifetimes for that scar to fade.

and he will only ever get over it with a million reassurances and a thousand conversations

which you are willing to do as long as he needs it

changbin

Honestly, I dont really have a clue with this one, but I am definitely leaning towards him being more like Chan in the emotional mature way he handles it, but instead of comforting you at the drop of a hat, he just leaves the room and lets you stew on your sorrows.

"Your so clingy," you groan, shoving his arm off; rolling your eyes as the mattress shifts with his weight. You just want to be left alone. You weren't sad. You weren't mad. You were just tired and did not want to be touched.

In perspective, could you have handled it better? Yes, but what can you do now? I'm going to punch this bitch in the face I swear I hate y/n and I'm creating her

He's first very confused, then the hurt hits like a falling star crashing into his chest.

What do you mean he's clingy??

"Fine," he states, still dizzy from the utter whiplash you were giving him.

like what the hell?

Sleeps on the couch that night (bad idea don't do this)

He stews about it far past the dreams in his head

That is, until you trudge out of your bed in the morning with red-rimmed eyes and a face filled with regret.

After a shitty nights sleep without the heat of your boyfriend's arms, you realized very quickly what it would feel like if you were to never feel it again, and all of a sudden, you never want to be left alone like ever again.

The grudge he was previously trying to hold drained out of him, and in that instance, he jumps up, pulling you into his arms.

He is very quick to forgive you, when you voice your reason for snapping at him, was nothing but compressed frustrations manifested into the wrong source.

hyunjin

hyunjin. hyunjin. hyunjin.

I feel like in a fit of both hurt and the toxic trait of self-isolation, he would be petty and stay at the boy's house for a few days.

He had tried to give you a good morning kiss that day, but you were stressed and late for work, rushing to put on your clothes. The way he whined about wanting to be touched ground your gears beyond belief. You got stuck in your shirt, which was too tight after you shrunk it in the dryer, and your firm has yet to give you another one. Hyunjin's flighty hands wrapped around your waist, trying to help you untangle yourself from the mess of fabric, only for the button to get caught in your hair, pain ripping through your scalp.

"Stop it hyunjin!" you shout, attempting to unthread the way your hair has meshed into the slits of the button. "You're so fuckin' clingy."

It was all a mess—your heap of shifting fabric and jerking limbs, hair sticking up at every angle. His heart was crushed somewhere in a pulp on the floor in front of him.

He just wanted to help...

Your red-hot anger quickly bled into a tightening anxiety that pulled underneath your ribs as you imagined the look on your boss's face when you came in disheveled and late.

"I just wanted to help," Hyunjin sniffles, bouncing his eyes around the room, filling with tears. You heartlessly roll your eyes.

"Here come the waterworks," your voice is steady, flaming with annoyance mixed with a sickening tilt of mockery. His jaw drops.

you're being so mean

His ears burn when you glare at him, disgusted by the tears streaming down his cheeks. He desperately wipes his emotions away with the back of his hand, suddenly embarrassed to even be showing you the cracks in his soul.

He runs away, like, quite literally runs out the door, sprinting to his car and driving straight to the group's house, collapsing in a fit of sobs in Chan's arms.

He stays there for a good 3 days, ignoring all your calls and texts.

No matter how much it hurts his heart not to talk to you, he shuts you out in a weak attempt to show you what it would be like to live without him.

But this tactic is short-lived when you arrive at the boys' house, snot sobbing into his chest.

"i-im so sorry," you repeat over and over and over into his skin, hoping the further you dig into his chest, the closer the words will hit his heart. 

He's not going to lie; no matter how much you cry, a little bit of pettiness will still stay during the conversation, a small scar of his hurt dictating his choices.

"Why didn't you come home? I thought we were over?"

"I thought that asking to sleep in the same bed as you would be too clingy"

Your heart cracks. He sees it, immediately regretting all his words.

"I'm sorry!" he yelps, pulling your head straight into his chest again.

You shake your head remorsefully, "No, I deserved that."

Even though so much of him still wants to be petty, his love for you trumps the feeling.

(I'm not forgiving you though wtf)

han (this one is long asf)

Han is freaking out.

I mean like the devil's bony hand gripping at the base of his spine, stale breath wafting down the skin of his neck type of freaking the fuck out.

You had a job that required you to go on-site, on-call often, like Han’s—that’s why you were so understanding about his busy schedule; yours was just as bad.

Today was a nightmare. Your coworker, the devil in disguise, didn't show up for the presentation she had created, and since she threw you under the bus saying you helped her (you didn't), you were forced to come in and present it.

Leaving Han at the restaurant waiting for you to arrive-

You forgot-

It was debatably the biggest presentation of the year, showing off her new design to multiple new investors, and yet your phone kept buzzing.

You told Han this was important

You never sent the message

You don't think you have ever seen your boss so furious

From Han's point of view, he's been sitting here for 2 hours, and you are still not here.

There are so many scenarios flying around in his head—

Are you okay?

Did you stand him up?

Are you breaking up with him?

Did you get kidnapped??

Han got tunnel vision when he was scared, his restless brain shooting out dire scenarios faster than he could decipher the impossibility of them. It was overwhelming. The walls were closing in on him. Nowhere in the world was safe. His head was swimming, the room was spinning, the earth was popping through space.

He keeps texting and calling and voice mailing. The icy anxiety crystallizing in the pit of his core turns his fingers brittle, creaking as he jams them into his phone screen.

He can't breathe.

Too many possibilities.

Untill-

Your boss got fed up with your phone ringing, screaming at you to go answer it since it was clearly more important than your job.

he was a prick

You answer it, the heat of your building anger curdling a deadly brew inside your soul. Without looking at the 200+ messages Han had sent you, you answer the 50th call of the day, immediately hissing into the speaker, "Do you know what you just did, Han? I got yelled at by my boss in the middle of a presentation because your clingy ass can’t exist without constantly needing my attention for more than 5 minutes. Stop texting me." Your finger smashes the end call button before unruffling your skirt and walking right back into the room.

Han feels like he might just melt straight into the seats, the way his whole body burns.

The whole world stops for a moment, the earth bleeding down the walls, swirling into pools of muddy color. He was sinking, lungs filling with the ink of a million different sweltering elements.

He ruins everything.

He was so wholly overwhelmed he could barely crawl into his car, desperately gripping the steering wheel while the earth collapsed in on him.

He ruins everything.

It's almost impossible to get to his house the way his tears blur the road.

(that's actually fr dangerous don't drive while crying)

He ruins everything.

He doesn't cry when you walk through the door.

He doesn't touch you when you run to him, standing over him, huddled on the floor.

He doesn't breathe as you cry over his body, twinkling in and out of consciousness.

He ruins everything.

Your makeup runs down your cheeks as you try to shake him awake.

He fainted in the kitchen. It wasn't uncommon when he was alone during his panic attacks, the anxiety ripping harsh bouts of oxygen from his lungs.

You squish his cheeks together, forcing his lips into a pout, shoving your faces together, pouring unadulterated passion into his system.

He short c i r c u i t s.

"I'm so sorry," you sob against his lips. "I didn't mean to be so mean. I didn't mean anything I said. I was just stressed, and I thought I sent the message telling you not to text me, and I didn't. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Your voice is high and wet, pushing his mouth deeper into yours.

It would be sceintifically impossible for your lips to get any closer-

and yet his tries.

He pulls your trembling body into his lap, fireworks exploding from the ashes where your words had lain.

"So you don't think I'm clingy?" His voice cracks, fresh tears collecting on the outer corners of his eyes. You have never shaken your head so adamantly in your whole life.

"No, never, never ever."

"Then come here."

You two have never been so close before in your life, hearts tangling in your chests as he presses your body into his.

You were going to prove just how much you loved his touch.

:D

felix

Oh Felix, my kind sweethearted boy that deserves nothing less than prince treatment. He’s so kind, even though he’s so hurt. He’s actually scared he’s annoying you, so he makes himself more distant so he doesn’t bother you.

""Fuck, Felix, can you not see I am clearly just trying to relax? I mean, you don’t always have to be up my ass all the time," you snap, curling back up into the sheets Felix ripped off. You were exhausted—there was no excuse; you were just really tired. Felix, being the loving boyfriend he is, wanted to hold you while you slept, but of course, you being the dumb idiot you are, shouted at him.

are you stupid like fr cause like THE LEE FELIX WANTS TO HOLD YOU AND YOU SHOO HIM AWAY

you deserve federal prison

Felix is so many synonyms for destroyed that it should be physically impossible to still be alive with a heart that lies shattered in the pit of his stomach.

Felix doesnt know how to feel sad, angry, hurt, upest, embarrassed.

He just clenches his jaw, trying to keep his bottom lip from trembling.

Felix has always been secretly self-conscious about the way he expresses his love toward people, often being very touchy-feely. He understands that this isn’t everybody's favorite thing and how it can get fairly annoying.

He’s already so terrified you’re going to leave him; he overanalyzes every interaction.

But this interaction did not need to be analyzed to know what you meant. You were very direct about that.

The way your venomous words attached to his stomach, pumping him with poison that swirled his stomach sick.

You don’t apologize when you wake up, not believing you need to justify yourself. He was being clingy, and you had every right to express your opinion about it.

im going to punch this bitch in the face

As surprising as this is, he actually doesn’t cry about it. He doesn’t cry about it because he is so worried that him crying about it would annoy you, so he would rather let his sadness seep into the back of his brain than show you emotions that could potentially turn you off.

Like I said, destructively kind.

He really takes what you said to heart, trying his best not to give you any skinship unless it’s to guide you through a crowded room or pull you away from the bustling activity of the road, holding your hand until you get to your destination.

He actually feels like he can’t function without your touch, but he muscles through it, relishing in the small actions he can get.

He tries to show his love in other little things that aren’t physical touch. It gets to the point where he is so deep in his head he shies away when you try to initiate skinship, terrified he’s going to get back into the habit of the joy of touching you and make himself seem annoying again.

He’s so beyond scared of being a nuisance.

It’s been two weeks with this flighty physical touch, and it all finally starts to click when you notice his smile isn’t nearly as bright anymore and some of the stars in his eyes have faded away.

"I want you to be clingy again, please, please, please. I mean, cling wrap, Kola. If you ever think you’re being too clingy, please hug me a little tighter. I’m an idiot, a complete and utter moron. Really, I should be evaluated on why I am even able to exist in society."

His heart literally bursts so relieved he can finally touch you again.

He gives you the most dopamine-coddling, brain-boggling cuddles known to mankind that night.

Your skin is so close together it feels like there isn’t a part of your body Felix doesn’t occupy.

He has created a home in your heart that no other man will ever stay, where he will rest until the day you fade away.

seungmin

Oh bro is pissed

"You're so clingy," you deadpan as his arms wrap around your waist. You had seen a stupid TikTok prank on your For You page and had the brilliant idea to try it on your boyfriend. But the way his whole body tenses against your skin, muscles rippling underneath your fingertips, you know you are so beyond fucked. "What did you just say to me, baby?"

well you just signed your death certificate

So many ideas brewing in that beautiful head of his-

Like, your ass will be red, your stomach will be painted, your mouth will be filled, and you will be descending into the grave. Like all the rest are lovey-dovey 'I’m sorrys,' no—your sorry will be told on your knees.

He will edge you intill you are teetering on the ledge of oblivion

"You want to cum, baby?" He's so condescending, easily lifting your waist from the sheets, his sticky fingers creating bruises when he pins your legs down to gain more access to ruthlessly abuse your g-spot.

"Yes, Yes, Yes, please," you beg, body trembling on the bed, large qaukes of pleasure rushing through your bones as his mean fingers plunge into your messy cunt.

"But that would be too clingy wouldn't it?"

oh how i want his fingers

(this one is really short bc i hate writing smut but i feel like this would be smutty)

jeongin

I honestly have no clue. I feel like he’d be more confused than anything because, like, me?

clingy?

mf I barely touch you?

Honestly, kind of annoyed more than sad—like pissed that as soon as he wants to touch you, you think he's clingy. But he's like Chan in the fact that he sees past your words and into the anger brewing in your eyes, allowing both you and him to cool off before he says something he will regret.

He just walks out of the room and lets you calm down.

I am also a firm believer that this man is healthy as hell.

He could tell that his heart was starting to beat a little too hard and his head was getting a little too fuzzy with all the raging words he wanted to say. But instead, he just walks away and lets you calm down, then talks to you about it before you go to bed because he is also an extremely firm believer in the fact that you should NEVER go to bed angry.

this one is shorter bc like I'm lowkey running out of motivation and ideas

did you like this? check out my new series a love lived in between the stars and the sea here

or maybe read doomsday here

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations: No.20

*just based on my opinions, only take what resonates

I feel like 2nd house overlays can make you overly forgiving towards the person with planets in your 2nd house. It’s a Venusian house and that can bring a sort of desire to see the best in that person (7th can have this effect to a lesser degree imo bc Libra is focused on balance, so there’s affection there but it’s less likely to skew into being overly forgiving)

Chiron in the first can be a very beautiful person when they’ve really healed their wounds. A person who has a sort of glow from their inner light.

Earth moons in general like to receive and give gifts and Capricorn moons tend to be hyper fixated on giving the right gifts to the people they’re close to

5th house Venus could make you more creative in a relationship

7th house venus/Taurus/Libra definitely creates more in a healthy relationship

Mars conjunct MC could mean being known for a career in violence, like martial artist or action star

Lilith MC could mean success in a taboo career, like s*x work or just some alternative field (I’m a tattoo artist :0)

People with planets conjunct your south node are definitely tied to your past life and may be destined to do certain actions towards/with you

North Node overlays can also be tied to past life but they’re usually here to make sure you grow in some capacity/move towards your destiny.

Your Venus sign could show the most beloved features of your body (Sagittarius Venus- a lot of people may notice your legs, Libra Venus- a lot of people may notice your butt, Virgo Venus- a lot of people may notice your hands, etc)

Moon conjunct Jupiter could make you very empathetic, could also make people see your emotions as big whenever you express them

Imo Virgo shows where you are a minimalist (Virgo Asc usually has a minimalist approach to fashion/accessories/tattoos/etc, Virgo Venus or Virgo in 11th could point to having a circle of only a few friends, Virgo in 4th could show a minimally decorated home, etc)

Aries risings tend to have big heads/foreheads or their heads are the first things people notice about them (my mom used to get called tweety bird bc she had a big head and a little body which was mean, but so is she so…..)

Pisces moons tend have this look like they could cry at any time (like their eyes always look wet and sad if that makes sense lol)

Wherever Pluto aspects (trine, Sextile) your personal planets shows where you can be the most transformative (or obsessive/possessive lowkey, especially for harsh aspects like square/oppositions— conjunct feels the intensity of both). Moon can show that your emotions push you to transform, Venus is this for your personal/romantic relationships, Saturn is how you use the lessons it teaches and how it affects your self discipline, etc

Leo in 6th could point to dealing with performance anxiety

Cancer in 8th could point to trauma around family (Scorpio over 4th could point to this too)

Gemini in 8th could point to trauma with neighbors/siblings/cousins/the education system or communication in general (Scorpio over 3rd could point to this too)

Sagittarius in 8th can point to having religious trauma or having intense/taboo experience with religion (Scorpio over 9th could point to this too)

Capricorn can show where you start to lose yourself and can’t go through with when your stressed (I have Capricorn in 3rd and I literally lose my voice when I internalize stress, it’ll start cracking so fast it’s spooky. Capricorn in 5th could mean you absolutely cannot relax when your stressed. In 6th your health starts to act up immediately and you catch colds. In 1st you may have issues with your skin/breakouts when you’re stressed out.)

Mercury in 12th could stay up all night overthinking or experiencing intrusive thoughts

Virgo moons that oversimplify are underdeveloped

The mother of a Capricorn moon views love as super transactional (like if you don’t give them a hug you don’t love them, instead of the child being a person who deserves their own autonomy)(I was watching Beef and I got frickin triggered when Ali Wong’s character said her daughter was “supposed to love her forever” but wouldn’t give her a hug when Ali wanted her to, so she thought her daughter’s love was conditional— I was like holy sh*t I’ve heard that before!! Lol Saturn moon gang lol)

[y-rhywbeth2]

Elven subraces

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest. etc]

(Tel'Quessir only, we're not going into the non-Torillian stuff like snow elves or astral elves)

How many of these bastards could you possibly need, you ask? Well according to the writers there are never enough:

So lore dumps on Moon elves, Sun elves, Star elves, Wood elves, Green elves, Aquatic elves, Winged elves, Dark elves (and their infinite permutations), Lythari, Fey'ri, and Celadrin. And we're not going into the other tiny little pockets of culture like the Llewyrr or the Poscadari.

A brief talk about the mixing of subraces, and then starting the lore dumps off with the moon elves.

(Well, the first half of the moon elves, because I forgot some things after moving onto the star and sun elves and had to add it later)

A note before going into it is that, obviously, elves can be descended from multiple subraces. Mechanically they will take after one parent, usually a mother. In appearance they usually favour one parent over the other, but they may have any mix of traits from their parents.

So a green elf (wood) and a moon elf (high) may produce a child whose 5e character sheet says either wood elf or high elf, with the appropriate stat bonus (3.5e would put them down as green or moon). It takes generations of mixing to produce a distinct subrace as the moon elves and wood elves have.

Canonically:

Shemmithil Maraphiir - better known as Ashemmi - is the daughter of a sun elven mother and a moon elven father. Mechanically she was a moon elf (and identified as one), and she had blonde hair and golden eyes from her mother.

Halanaestra, a tavern-master (barkeeper/pub landlord) on Evermeet is of mixed silver, green and sea elven heritage.

There's also an elven noble house (House Le'Quella) of mixed moon and green heritage.

As the offspring of an elf and a half-elf is mechanically classified as an elf in the Realms it's also possible for an elf to display human genes from a grandparent or more distant ancestor. (Or even a non-human non-elven ancestor).

-

Elven aging, in DnD baseline canon, features a lifespan of aprox. 750 years. That said, sources have varied and different elven subraces have different average lifespans so I'll mention them. It's also worth noting that these are average lifespans, and even the shortest-lived elven subrace (drow) are known to live into four digit numbers.

-

Obviously the lore presented is cultural norms and stereotypes, and individual elves may not fit the mould perfectly.

-

High Elves are sometimes referred to as Eladrin, which also happens to be the name for the closely related celestials/fey who dwell in the Feywild and Arvandor. Generally people just call them elves.

Calling a moon or star elf a high elf may cause confusion, as while there are three subraces that fall into the category it's also one of the terms used to refer to sun elves.

All high elven subraces share the same average heights and weights, standing on average about the same heights as humans (in contrast to elves of other worlds, who tend to be shorter)

Height Range: 4'5" - 6'6", averaging the same heights as humans.

Weight Range: 70 lbs - 250 lbs, lighter than a human of the same height and build - likely due to the comparatively physical fragility and 'delicateness' high elves are known for.

-

The People of the Moon - Teu'Tel'Quessir

Moon elves, Silver elves, Grey elves*

*A slur used by gold elves who consider them inferiors (and what an elf should not be).

By far the most likely to show ancestry from outside the moon elf gene pool. For example; while moon elven hair skews towards silver-white, they can be seen with hair of any colour.

Hair: silver, white, silver-white, white-blue, white-green, blue, midnight blue, black. Very, very early generations of moon elves had bright red hair, but that gene seems to have died out.

Eyes: Green, blue, grey, silver. A distinct trait of moon elves is that their eyes are always flecked with gold (which catches the light, giving the impression of literal gold or even stars).

Skintone: 'Bleached white' - also likened to ivory, alabaster and snow - with blue undertones, and an affect that's described as being like 'white marble' (which I assume is the blue pattern formed by veins under the skin where it's thin, but that's just my assumption.)

Average Lifespan: 500-900 years. Second longest lived of the elven subraces.

Patron deity: Sehanine Moonbow, deity of death, journeys, transcendence, dreams, mysticism, the night sky with the stars and moon. Moon elven religion is also the only one to officially include Angharradh in the pantheon.

Wandering party elves who may have to show up to work hungover. Individualistic, impulsive, flighty, fun-loving, hedonistic little bastards who tend to take risks and have a horrible ability to judge said risks: Do first, think later. Being alive is a delight, and the purpose of life is to enjoy it to the fullest (and to have the freedom to do so). If you visit Evermeet some of them will board your ship without warning on the way in and drink all your booze while singing bawdy songs. They tend to embrace change, delight in gambling, and see life as something to be enjoyed - other elves simply need to pull their heads out of their asses.

'Life is for the living and is best spent among the lively. Revel in variety and laughter, for all living things can learn and laugh with each other.'

Origin:

Moon elves are descended from the children of Sharlario Moonflower, an adventuring merchant from the Feywild (although his rival personally believed the man to be a pirate). He was staying in the city of Tintageer when it was destroyed by disaster and fled with the survivors to Toril. Said survivors became the gold elves, while he married a green elven priestess of Sehanine Moonbow. Their children inherited his white-blue skin and their mother's devout reverence for the Daughter of the Night Skies and were nicknamed moon elves as a result, they took to wandering as he did and served well as diplomats between the various elven people who had made their home on Toril.

(The Moonflower clan also went on to be the royal family as history progressed, and some sun elven reactionaries have never really forgiven the moon elves for that since that's their place.)

-

The Road of Life: 'The silver elves strongly believe than an individual must choose his or her path through life.' In the moon elven take on the core elven philosophy there is no one correct way to live life, and every individual must be free to find their own way and chose the path for themselves. It's not the destination that matters, but the journey.

Moon elves have a drive to seek excitement and new experiences; to see and do as much as they can within their lifespan, trying out new things and dropping them for the next as they go. They often spend the longest time in the first stage of the road, characterised by chasing impulse and entertainment, travelling and adventuring, focusing on themselves and their own interests rather than the community - and sometimes lapsing from the second stage (the mature stage where they focus on their society and their place in it) back to the first wanderlust stage in later life. There is no stigma against this however; it's their road to walk and they must walk it as they see fit.

-

Society:

Moon elves found outside of elven lands are transients, usually travelling in extended family groups. Of course, being elves, their idea of a brief stay has them hanging around in one settlement for years, sometimes several decades. They're likely to own houses and have jobs and long-term friendships before they decide to wander off again.

Their nomadic lifestyle often leads moon elves to pick up multiple languages over the course of their lives.

Due to their history of wandering and mixing with the people they encounter, their culture encouraging a love of fun and new experiences, and the presence of Angharradh in their religious beliefs encouraging strength in diversity, moon elves are the most outgoing and amongst the most open-minded and friendly elves (the others are the copper elves, who share their open-minded outlook but are more settled and reclusive). They do have conflicts - some moon elves are embittered by historical losses at the hands of humans; Evereska has historically been barred to any non-elves save Harpers and elf friends. And sometimes the friction between the clashing ideals of moon and sun elves, as well as their bad history, turns to real enmity rather than their usual 'disapproving family members' treatment. But the philosophical outlook moon elves have drilled into their head from birth, favouring individuality, generally leads them to be willing to treat people as individuals rather than members of their group.

Moon elven houses are the most likely to adopt non-elves into house membership, and often frown upon refusing to legitimise mixed children born to their house.

They usually happily integrate with their neighbours in whatever society they're staying in, though if they feel persecuted or othered they're known to respond by becoming the most obnoxious elven stereotype in order to annoy said neighbours. An elven household in a human city isn't going to have a bedroom and is liable to be covered in plants like some kind of greenhouse (these plants are actually edible - to the elven digestive system, at least), but assuming they like their guest they'll put the plants away and prepare a guest room while hosting. Sometimes the plants are enchanted to levitate to the rafters on command.

Fighters aren't uncommon, but moon elves prefer to approach conflict with a stealth-first mentality; moon elven stories favour heroes who outwit and humiliate their opponents with quick thinking and cunning.

Literature, song and poetry favours light-hearted with a focus on humour - especially dirty humour. They have their share of more solemn and tragic historical tales, but these things have their time and place and don't get the focus.

They like to party and all night revels are a common thing. Gambling games are also a staple of moon elven social life and getting dragged into games of kholiast (a very complicated card game involving dice and a deck of 1000 cars) is to be expected.

Pets are common, especially hunting dogs and birds of prey. They don't seem to care for horses though, preferring their own two feet. On the less common selection are blink dogs, pegasi, unicorns and dragonnes (cat-dragon things).

Moon elven culture doesn't encourage hiding or repressing emotion and many wear their hearts on their sleeves. They have a reputation for mood swinging, going from exuberant joy and merriment to 'the pits of despair and melancholy' and back again at speeds that non-moon elves struggle to cope with. Hiding or repressing your emotions is frowned on, and the stoicism practiced by gold elves is derided as a 'colourless' existence.

Customisation and self-expression in fashion is big. Makeup, especially eyeliner and eyeshadow is well loved. Piercings made of metal are less common, and bone - especially from a deceased loved one or revered ancestor - is favoured. If they use metal it's likely to be silver. Most moon elves having such pale hair means that temporary dyes see a lot of use, and they like painting their nails.

They also enjoy fussing over their hairstyles, and braids, ponytails and hair decorations like beads and wrapped wire are popular.

Some - though not all - moon elves have a tradition of body paint and tattooing in 'mystic patterns,' some of which were appropriated from green elven culture while others were maintained from their mutual ancestors. Body paint and temporary tattoos are far more common as their impermanence makes them more appealing: what if you change your mind about the design later, after all? You can change temporary designs as much as you like when you get a new idea and then put the old one on again later.

Almost as if they're making up for their flighty hedonistic ways, moon elves do take their oaths and responsibilities very seriously: an oath from a moon elf should be a binding contract, and oathbreakers are reviled as the worst sorts.

Adopting the local N'Quess fashions aside, traditional moon elven clothing is relatively simple but favours the highest quality material and construction possible. They enjoy embroidery and customising their own clothes, featuring patterns and beadwork and intricately carved stones. Some even add feathers. Where moon elves feel safe they favour bolder colours - cultural wisdom says 'brighter is better' and your peers respect you more the more ostentatious you go - but in places where they feel threatened they dress conservatively and tone it down to more earthen colours to blend in and avoid notice.

While they have the usual elven love of magic, and delight in experimentation and pushing the boundaries of the Art, moon elves despise black necromancy and its creations - likely a combination of their reverence for Sehanine to whose doctrine undeath is an abomination, and their love of life and freedom (to which undeath, a form of slavery and mock existence, is also an abomination). It is not taught or studied in Evereska, which may actually put them at a disadvantage when faced with hostile necromantic spells. Want to be an elven necromancer? Be ready to live alone.

They don't tend to make very good enchanters though, as few have the patience to sit around for ages doing all the long repetitive work that goes into making and enchanting a powerful item ('Sun elves in particular find this trait somewhat embarrassing' and moon elves respond by saying that think the sun elves' taking decades to make a single object is 'obsessive'). They usually make a bunch simple, weaker enchantments to-go.

Evereska, 'the Fortress Home,' and last major elven civilisation on Faerûn, located in the far North-East of the Western Hinterlands is a moon elven state. It does host sun and wood elven residents, but the city is still founded by and mostly populated by the Teu'Tel'Quessir.

The moon elven reputation for open-mindedness may find itself faltering there thanks to an extremely xenophobic noble population; half-elves are barred from certain privileges, such as membership at the Academy, without the backing of a high ranking elven parent and during the spellplage a rise in xenophobia saw many Evereskan half-elves leave the city. They prefer never to let dwarves of half-orcs in under any circumstances whatsoever. Said noble houses are ancient lineages and think moon elves not part of these esteemed houses are second-class citizens. Non-moon elves and non-elves can get fucked. As ever, Toril's nobility are a deranged world unto themselves and you can't really judge what to expect of a people by their rulers, nor what to expect of the nobility by looking at the average citizen.

(The moon elven noble houses of Evermeet tend to be friendlier.)

-

Religion:

Silver elves are pious as a people, and their idea of worship is (can you guess?) partying. You start a ceremony with a few moments of solemn prayer, the elven equivalent of an 'amen,' and then immediately start the revel. Festivals end when the last elf collapses from exhaustion sometime in the early morning after.

Sehanine Moonbow features prominently in their worship, and moon elves account for 54% of the membership of her church.

They are also the only elven subrace to remember the triune goddess Agharradh: the queen of Arvandor and a fusion of the deities Sehanine, Hanali Celanil and Aerdrie Faenya. Other subraces may find themselves called to her service but 93% of her total followers are moon elves. Sun elves are the only other elves who know who Angharradh is, and they dismiss her as moon elves misinterpreting Sehanine and consider her worship heretical (though they largely leave the moon elves be).

[strlingsav]

Reacquainted

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!reader

— You're reunited with Ghost.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You couldn't see anything but the glowing-red rim of your cigarette, taking a drag. The sun had long since set, heading into the later hours of the night. Crickets chirped, almost violently, in the long grass- a welcomed relief from gunfire and explosions.

You leaned against the side of the house, M4 hung over your side. You had already been waiting close to an hour, thighs burning, feet aching. You wanted to rest, to have a hot shower- just the thought of it made your eyes flutter shut.

You heard a distinct sound- footsteps- and quickly threw your cigarette, lifting your rifle to your shoulder. Peering down the sight, you scanned the area, finally focusing in on the looming shadows, swaying with every step through the field of grass. You let out a deep sigh when you recognized the undeniable outline of Soap and Ghost, headed your way.

As they neared, your suspicions were confirmed; a Union Jack velcro'd to Soap's tactical vest, and the outline of a skull on Ghost's balaclava. Seeing the unforgettable mask made you shiver, your nerves already on edge. With a sharp inhale, you let your shoulders relax.

"Wondered when you'd be joining me," You called, lowering the rifle.

"Cut us some slack, you've had a head start," Soap replied, his humour offering a bit of a comfort.

"Or you're just slow," You shouted back.

They strode up to the safe house, finally out of the long grass. Heading toward you, you smiled when Soap extended his hand.

"Welcome back, L/N," His hand gripped yours with a firm shake.

"Thanks, Johnny," You nodded. "Lieutenant," You said, eyes shifting to the man that towered over both yourself and the Sergeant.

"L/N," Ghost nodded.

"Good to see you," You said.

You weren't shy by any means, but under his gaze you felt like hiding.

You scanned his frame, the same old feeling reigniting when you looked at him; a fire deep in your abdomen, fluttering when your eyes ran over his shoulders.

The hands that clung to his rifle were large- another thing you hadn't forgotten- and hiding beneath all the gear was a physique that made your thighs clench together. You tried to remain unaffected, but laying your eyes on him up close, you couldn't help but feel aroused.

"Let's get inside," He said. "On me."

Entering the safe house, you lifted your rifle, doing a quick sweep with Ghost leading and Soap behind you.

Once clear, you turned on the lantern that sat on a small coffee table. It offered little illumination, unable to be seen from outside.

After confirming you were safe, you parted with your vest and rifle, setting them on a nearby chair.

The safe house wasn't in great shape; skewed floorboards, peeling paint, even some crumbling drywall. It served its purpose, however, and you didn't plan to be holed up for long- just until morning.

A dense, heavy smell of mold and mildew filled the air, thick layers of dust and cobwebs on every surface.

"When'd you get in?" Soap asked, sitting with a huff on the chair across from you.

"Couple days ago, been in between places so far. Price filled me in," You grunted as you unlaced your boots, throwing them on the floor with a thud.

"You'll be joinin' us tomorrow then?" He leaned back.

You nodded.

Ghost had retrieved firewood from the cellar, letting it fall in front of the make-shift fireplace. He was hunched over, stacking the chopped logs. He took off his gloves; lighting a match, he held it to a small collection of wood shavings.

He finally stepped back, watching the fire ignite, stoking and rearranging before it began to take.

You sighed, head falling back as you relished in the warmth.

Ghost sat beside you on the sofa, arms crossed, still fully equipped. Your lips turned up into a smirk; he hadn't changed, still unable to fully relax.

Your head turned to the window, eyes focusing on the stars and moon. There was nothing but the crackling fire and crickets to satiate the silence, save for some deep breaths every so often. You were reminded of the nights you'd spent just like that- quiet, Ghost beside you, sharing warmth in front of the fire.

The unspoken agreement to keep your hands to yourselves when you weren't alone was made more difficult now than ever. He hadn't seemed to change over the last couple years, and neither had you; still itching to touch him. Although, now, you were a bit apprehensive- unsure whether he felt the same for you, or if he'd long forgotten the feeling of your touch, and had no plans to remember.

After some time basking in the warm glow of the fire, you heard a yawn.

"Alright," Soap said, finally shattering the silence. "I'll see you two in the mornin'." Standing to his feet with a stretch, he called out as he rounded the corner, "I'm takin' the bed."

"Bastard," You shouted back.

No response- you let out an exhale.

"How long you here for?" Ghost asked, eyes still glued to the flames.

You turned your head, staring at the side of his mask. You were happy he asked- hopeful that what he really wanted to know was how long he'd have you.

"As long as it takes to get this done," You said, feet curling up under yourself. "Miss me that much?" You teased.

Ghost hardly scoffed, a quiet reaction that you had tuned yourself into. You were used to his demeanour.

"I wouldn't blame you," You said, turning to focus on the fire. "Last time we worked together, we had fun."

Your lips twitched, fondly remembering the first kiss you ever shared, inside a Humvee. The first time you'd had sex: the forest floor after being forced to camp out for the night. Ghost was barely able to resist you; and there you were again, his very own ghost, haunting him with your face, your body, even your smell. But you weren't privy to his innermost conversations, and still felt the undeniable fear of rejection.

He hummed softly, again, barely audible.

"Was hard to keep my hands off you back then," He said, his voice raspy as he tried to keep it down.

"Back then? Have I really lost my touch after just a couple years?" You furrowed your brows.

"Not entirely, you're just older now- not as young and innocent," His voice was serious, but you heard the mocking inflection in his tone.

"If anything, you stole my innocence." You leaned closer.

"Well worth it," He replied. His chest rose and fell as he hid a small laugh. "Now you're spoiled goods."

His tone was dry, and if you hadn't known Ghost for as long as you did, you would've punched him.

You gently pushed his shoulder. "You're no young-buck yourself."

"Thought you liked my experience," He turned ever so slightly, eyes peering down at you.

"I faked it, every time," You bit back a grin.

"That's a shame- might have to have a do-over."

Your heart leapt.

"I thought you preferred my youth and innocence?" You drawled, mimicking his tone.

"You know better sweetheart- I prefer you." He was still facing forward, though his eyes were dead set on yours. Relief and excitement flooded through you.

You felt your body temperature rise a few degrees, the warmth spreading between your thighs. As if you'd never left, he charmed his way into every single thought in your mind. You moved even closer, legs shifting slowly to slide yourself over his lap, thighs straddling his hips. His hands took hold of your waist within an instant, like muscle memory. You shuddered, the nostalgic feeling of his hands on you was enough to have you seeping though the seat of your pants.

His eyes shut, inhaling deeply, trying to contain himself- it wasn't easy with the way you fit so perfectly against his body, and he wished he'd taken off his vest so he could feel you better. He couldn't lie to himself, you were still just as hard to resist.

"Are you just gonna sit there, or get yourself reacquainted with my pussy?" You asked.

"Fuckin' filthy, you are," His eyes snapped open, burning into yours.

"I missed you," You said. "Especially missed fucking you."

He let out a soft chuckle.

"Can't make you wait any longer then, can I?" He tilted his head.

"It would be incredibly rude," You teased.

"Suppose I'll have to indulge you," He said.

Your tongue stuck to your cheek, hiding a smug grin. He lifted his vest over his head, letting it fall off the couch behind you, before his hands were back on your waist.

He held on tightly, helping you rock your hips against his crotch. The seam of your pants hit your clit in a way that made you whimper. He took note of your reaction, taking over all movement as he dragged your hips against him.

"Missed those pretty little moans," He said.

He let out a low growl, feeling you grind over his cock, which had been hard since he first laid eyes on you again. He had to admit- he found a woman with a gun to be quite arousing. Particularly, you. It was you who occupied his thoughts for those years spent apart, and during the rare nights he had to himself, he imagined you- sweat on your brow, calling his name, your soft hands on every part of his body.

You thought no differently; Ghost had no competition. The man worshipped you, respected you- you couldn't keep your mind off of him. Of course, the two of you had had some unsavoury arguments between teammates. With both of your strong personalities and tactical experience; it wasn't strange that you'd argue every so often. But those were resolved after-hours, with very dirty sex.

Seeing each other after so long was bittersweet, knowing eventually you'd have to go your separate ways, with the possibility you'd never see one another again. But he had you now, back in his grasp, riding his lap like you were trying to make him cum, and all other thoughts had left your minds.

Your head fell back, breathing heavily as Ghost lifted your shirt off your body, his balaclava inching up so he could feel your skin on his lips again. The feeling was invigorating, like taking a sip of water after a drought. He must've thought so too- a quiet moan coming from the back of his throat.

You allowed him full access to your body, your hands gripping his shoulders as he marked every inch. His lips covering your breasts, flicking his tongue over your nipples the way he knew you liked. His hands massaged your breasts, thumbs encircling your nipples. You were gasping, calling for God inside the small room.

His calloused hand ran down your stomach, fingers undoing your trousers to crawl beneath your panties.

You exhaled sharply, "Fuck, those fingers," You flashed a smile, pleasure rippling through you.

His fingers spread your pussy, feeling his way from your entrance to your clit, applying enough pressure to make you jerk against him. He continued, fingers rubbing your clit from beneath your jeans.

"Never forgot how wet you get, barely even need to touch you," He breathed, leaning into your neck.

His breath fanned against your neck and chest, fingers working tirelessly. Your head tilted to the side, and he took advantage, pressing his lips to your throat.

"I thought about these fingers on some lonely nights," You inhaled sharply.

"Tell me," He urged, his tongue sticking out to taste your skin.

"Inside me," You said, arching your back. "Rubbing my clit," You paused, shuddering when your abdomen began to tighten. "In my mouth."

He groaned softly, his other hand pulling you tighter against his chest. Slowly, he inserted two fingers, waiting for you to accommodate him before he stimulated your clit again.

"God- you're gonna make me cum," You nearly laughed.

"Already, huh?" He teased.

"Don't ruin it," You breathed, eyes shutting to focus on your building climax.

"I know you like the back of my hand, sweetheart. Go on, give it to me," He cooed.

You were panting now, hips bucking against his fingers. He was deep inside you, letting you ride his hand until you came undone. Your thighs flexed, calves nearly cramping by the time your orgasm finished. Your abs were tight, hands reaching around his neck to hold him in place.

He gently removed his hand from your pants, pulling his shirt over his head. You had regained your breath, now distracted by the image of his torso and chest, glistening with sweat in the orange tinge of firelight, just as toned as you remembered.

You let your thoughts get the better of you, reaching out to flatten your palms against his chest. Moving down, your fingertips traced every hill and dip on his abdomen. He shivered.

"Take your trousers off," He ordered, standing you up.

You slowly slid the camo-coloured pants off your thighs, kicking them to the floor. Your panties were next, hooking your thumbs in them, and pulling them down.

His eyes were glued to your body, taking in every curve, every freckle, every stretch mark. He licked his lips.

"You've seen it before, stop staring," You chastised him, feeling a bit insecure under his eyes.

"Could see it a million times, never gets old, sweetheart."

You felt your stomach flip.

He yanked his belt from his pants, his meeting yours on the floor. He guided you onto the couch, your back moulding to the cushions. Goosebumps covered your skin, nipples erect with the cool air.

When Ghost crawled over you, his body emanating heat, you sighed with content. He leaned down, his lips pressing against yours. Your breaths were in sync as your lips moved against each others. Your hands reached up to his jaw, fingers clinging to the stubble you could feel beneath the mask. You melted into the couch, letting his body and yours become one. You whimpered- unable to move past the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction.

His tongue dove inside your mouth, sliding against your own. You exhaled softly, a small pang in your stomach as you realized just how badly you missed him; the taste and feel of his lips on yours. It was like coming home.

He pulled back, whispering into your mouth, "Been dyin' to taste you, love. Put your legs on my shoulders."

You didn't need to be told twice, doing as he said. He left a trail of hungry kisses from your jaw to your hip bones, teeth biting at your soft flesh. You were writhing with anticipation, hips circling to rub against his groin.

His tongue flattened against you, slowly introducing it to your clit. The impact made you jump, and his hands steadied your hips. He didn't let up, now licking and sucking at your clit more aggressively.

"Taste just as good as I remember," He mumbled against you, your pussy fluttering with the vibrations.

Your fingers tangled in your hair, lips parting as you panted, calling his name. Your breath hitched in your throat when he submerged your clit in his mouth, sucking harshly.

His fingers returned, his tongue showing no mercy as he drove into you. You swallowed, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, it wouldn't take long to reach your second.

Your thighs flexed, heels digging into his back as you used him as leverage to bring your pussy closer to his face. He groaned, the vibration running up your spine. You reached down, your fingers gripping the balaclava. Your eyes squeezed shut, choked gasps escaping your lungs.

He continued his torture, devouring you so well your legs began to shake. His hand clamped around your thigh, squishing your flesh in his grasp. The added stimulation pushed you even closer, sparks of pleasure erupting before it became a full-fledged fire, engulfing your body.

Your back arched off the couch, moaning aloud as you came. Your hand slammed against the back of the couch, holding on for dear life as your pussy clenched down.

"Christ," He murmured.

His fingers withdrew slowly, mesmerized by the way your pussy clung to them. You'd soaked his fingers and his face, and you pulled him up over you to taste it.

He grunted with satisfaction when your lips cleaned off his fingers, then his mouth. You savoured the taste of yourself on his lips, closing your eyes as you sought out his tongue, tastebuds recognizing your own flavours.

You sat up, lips still on his, waiting for him to sit back. You knelt on the floor before him, his thighs spreading as he realized you were reaching for his cock.

Your eyes met his, a lust-filled stare that only broke when you pulled his briefs down, revealing his cock. He grunted in approval, watching you shift to get comfortable, lifting yourself closer to him.

You hoped you still had the same touch, hoped you'd be able to make him feel as good as he did you. When you leaned forward, letting a trail of spit fall onto the tip of his cock, he inhaled deeply. You looked up at him, enjoying the sight of anticipation in his body language.

You decided not to torture him, not this time. You'd missed taking him in your mouth, his hand in your hair, his soft groans as you took him deeper into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around the tip, suctioning softly before diving a bit further.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," He moaned, his hand reaching to the back of your head, gripping your hair. "Can't say I didn't think about this mouth."

You wanted to smile, the praise only made you wetter.

You took him as deep as you could, saliva pooling around his cock as you plunged him to the back of your throat. Your tongue cradled the underside of his cock, moving with your head as you moved up and down his length.

His head fell back, hips shifting when you brought your hand to his cock, twisting your wrist. You accidentally slurped, the excess saliva draining down his cock. He grunted in response, spurring you to do it again.

Your quiet moans, heavy breathing as you sucked in air through your nose, made his breathing pick up. Watching your lips tight around his cock, hand wrapped around him, eyes looking into his, he took your cheek in his hand.

"'M gonna cum if you keep that up."

You stopped, letting his cock slip from your mouth. Sniffling, you wiped your mouth, straddling his hips once again.

His hands reached did your hips, eyes following you as you knelt over his thighs, taking his cock and aligning it with your entrance.

As you slowly sat down, you moaned in sync, pushing through the soft walls of your pussy. You finally reached the end, his cock buried deep inside you. You breathed quietly, a shiver running through you at how absolutely full you were.

"Oh my God," You mumbled, head falling forward to his.

"So fuckin' tight, sweetheart," He said, his voice strained when your pussy squeezed around him.

You began moving your hips, rolling forward. His pelvis rubbed against your clit in a way that made your eyes roll. His cock nuzzled against your G-Spot, and every movement was pushing you closer to your climax.

His grip on your hips loosened, his hands reaching up to massage your breasts. He slid further up, gripping your throat with you grinding against his body. You were panting, heart racing, stomach tense.

He grabbed your waist, flipping you down onto the couch. His cock still buried inside you, your thighs around his waist, he began thrusting into you. His head fell to your shoulder, eyes on you as he watched you moan.

"I missed fuckin' this cunt," He grunted, moving his hands above your head to grip the arm of the couch.

Your eyes trailed down, from his dark gaze to his abs, flexing with every thrust, to his cock, moving in and out of you. His biceps strained above you when you reached out to his chest, palms rubbing over his pecs and his shoulders. You couldn't pull your eyes away from his body, and watching him fuck you had you even closer to cumming than before.

You licked your fingers, reaching down to rub your clit while he plunged himself deeper inside you.

"That's it," He grunted between thrusts. "Play with it."

You arched your body against his, moaning his name in whispers as you felt the beginnings of your orgasm. He recognized your facial expression, eyebrows drawn together, wet lips parted slightly, whispers falling from your tongue. It made his knees weak.

"Oh- sweetheart," He groaned. "I already know. Cum on my cock."

"I'm cumming," You choked, pussy clenching around him.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, gasping for air as you bore down, riding out your orgasm. Your face flushed with heat, and watching you recover in the glow of the fire was a sight to behold. Your body covered with sweat, hands pressed against him, wisps of hair sticking to the sweat on your forehead. He savoured the sculpture he'd moulded you into.

He was close too, driven even closer when he watched you. His grunts became more frequent, relishing the way your pussy clung onto him. His hands gripped your waist, allowing him to thrust quicker inside you as he chased his climax. He was panting, pecs flexing as he held you still, cock driving deep inside you. His quick movements allowed you to enjoy the last fleeting moments of your orgasm.

"'M cummin' sweetheart," He breathed.

"Inside me-" You sighed.

He groaned upon hearing your direction, and watched your breasts bounce with every roll of his hips. In seconds his thrusts were faltering, hips jerking sporadically against your thighs. He let out breathy pants, finally stopping.

He stayed there for a moment, his eyes locked with yours.

"Now I know why we did this so often," You teased.

"Seems your touch ain't gone after all," He quipped.

You smiled.

You hated to think about it- leaving again. Seeing Ghost again brought feelings to the surface that you weren't even aware of. You hadn't realized how important he was until you found yourself relieved to learn he was okay, alive. Now, buried inside you, you knew it wasn't a simple matter of concern for your fellow teammate. It was more than that.

"I might stay a bit longer," You said, avoiding his gaze, in fear of rejection.

He settled back on his heels, still inside you.

"Could use you around here," He nodded. "Not many as proficient as you left."

"So it's a matter of my skills?" You shot back, a small grin on your lips.

"That's part of it," He replied. "But, I did miss your arrogant arse."

He left a smack on your ass as he pulled out, offering you his shirt to clean up with.

"A little more sweet-talking and I might just marry you," You chuckled.

"Sight of you like this every mornin' wouldn't be too bad."

"Think you'd survive?"

"Barely."

A smile crossed your lips, and he reached over, pulling you up into his arms to rest against his chest.

[plounce]

rob plounce's ffxiv fic reclist

this will update as i continue to find stuff i enjoy. (it also exists as a page on my desktop blog!)

disclaimer: this is just stuff i’ve read that i’ve enjoyed! i have my own favorite characters and pairings, so my reclist skews heavily towards those. i’m not super into in wolshipping, so there won’t be much of that, sorry! i have not read everything in every pairing and character tag, so don’t take this as a comprehensive guide. these are just things that i liked and think are worth reading.

fics are noted with wordcount, pairing (or as gen), and rating (e = explicit). * means it's been recently added to the list.

spoilers ahoy!

scions

*flight of an anorak (17k+, G) gen - urianger childhood backstory fic with transfem urianger! incredibly well-characterized urianger narration. breaks my heart and brings a smile to my face with every update.

lost and found (8.8k, T). gen, light moenuri - you know how moenbryda’s parents basically adopted urianger after they basically abandoned him? this fic is about that. also urianger autism :)

while eating (2.2k, G) gen - more baby autistic urianger with bastard parents. sob. at least moenbryda’s parents are there.

foster (1k, G) gen - pre-canon, thancred overhears fourchenault and louisoix talking about him.

second impression (4.8k, T) gen - fourchenault is a bit more of a classist bastard than in canon and is a dick to thancred, but gets past it. mostly. thancred does his best.

the stars in their abundance (2.7k, T) gen - pre-canon from the perspective of g'raha’s mom in corvos!

cross (1.1k, G) gen - minfilia and thancred clean up the mess of thancred’s possession.

your song, carried onwards (4.9k, G) gen - thancred’s rescue of alisaie from the WoD in the hvw patches.

a stranger in the woods (4.3k, E) thancred/marcechamp - you know, the guy from tailfeather in heavensward? they hook up. thancred gets taken care of.

dust in your eyes (8.8k, T). background ships include wolchefant, wolcred, and haurchefant/urianger, but is mostly about thancred being a sad bastard who is always too slow, too late, and trying to be his best self but not totally succeeding. and haurchefant being a great guy. good character stuff.

how massive is the spirit in us (2.2k, G) gen - ryne character introspection… makes my heart hurt.

testing the waters (1.8k, G) gen - thancred teaches ryne to swim.

the shimmering light (2k, G) gen, light thanuri - urianger settling into the bookman’s shelves. fun il mheg worldbuilding.

almost crystal, almost ascian (10k, T) gen - minfilia and the exarch meet up a few times over the course of a century. their parallelisms. the horror of being “minfilia.”

off the hook, provisionally (974, G) gen - y'shtola talks to the exarch in the wake of 5.0 about his deception.

among the shelves (5k, G). gen - the twins and ryne hang out and talk about the other scions.

portentous news (842, G) gen - urianger’s first morning on the moon in the middle of endwalker.

adventures in unlikely friendship (23k, T) gen - wol+cred friendship! i really like these. the bozja one is delightful. passively-suicidal bestiessss

void parsley sojourn (4k, T) gen, light thanuri - urianger hotboxes the rising stones. very charming depiction of urianger as a weed nerd. makes me laugh and smile every time i read it!

there is (maybe) an ascian among us (11k, T) gen, minor side pairings - post-endwalker, the scions try to get to the bottom of a conspiracy about thancred, who just wants to grill for gods sake! comedy.

two scions walks into a bar… (26k, T) gen, but eventually thanuri - a series where the author intended to just analyze and write about thancred & urianger’s relationship as gen, but then slid into shipping lmao. covers ARR-early STB with a bit of post-SHB. great character work for both of them!

respite, despite (25k, T) thanuri - urianger pining from pre-5.0 to the close of endwalker… good pining, good urianger misery, good romance. wagh!

erasing all the lines in the sand (30k, E) thanuri - mutual pining, miscommunication, coparenting! bookman’s shelves fic.

(in parantheses) (9.9k, M) thanuri - thancred's rescuing of minfilia, time in the first, and the mental stress that emet-selch gives him due to ascian trauma during shadowbringers. also getting together with urianger.

sleepy-eyed soldier (4.6k, M) thanuri - elidibus puppetting ardbert's body brings thancred’s ptsd over having his body used by lahabrea roaring back to the surface in the form of nightmares and hypervigilance. (mind the CWs)

trouble in paradise (2.3k, E) thanuri - transfem urianger!!!! :D :D :D great kind-of-an-asshole thancred character work. hurting each other but trying to fix it.

sole conundrum (412, G) thanuri - pre-edw garlemald scouting mission. urianger autism :D

three of swords reversed (3.2k, T) thanuri, moenuri - urianger dealing with grief over moenbryda and thancred in the later half of endwalker.

another sunrise (5.8k, T) thanuri - post-edw wanderings - urianger deals with a mystery, sudden solitude, and a crisis of doubt! ends happily.

take root in this barren soil (and grow back stronger) (7.4k, E) thanuri - thancred shares what the training regimen of a sharlayan spy entails, not expecting urianger to react so strongly.

to wander is a dream (46k, M) thanuri - post-edw. i don’t tend to enjoy hanahaki fics but this fic is so so so good. thancred being an emotionally stunted asshole, urianger being the world’s most beautiful martyr (for better or for worse), lots of fae stuff, both of them struggling to not be repressed.

why do we forbear? (9.3k, E) thanuri - modern au fake dating, which would usually not appeal to me but this one’s real cute. (currently unfinished)

*to care for those we love (11k, T) ryne and her parents, thanuri - ryne drags thancred to the bookman’s shelves and does her best to administer first aid in urianger’s absence. each chapter is from one of the trio’s pov - i’m usually not super into 1st person, but this fic uses it really effectively in imparting each character’s mindset. it’s very sweet!

ancients

on call (2.5k, T) hythades - emet-selch goes out of town, and hyth is asked to step in for a soul-seeing duty. and he futzes with emet-selch’s office.

mail run (840, G) hythades - “A young archival intern keeps finding completely legitimate reasons to do all the deliveries to a very specific Bureau of the Architect clerk. For no reason at all.” young love!

as stars to a sky (1.8k, T) hythades - little vignettes about life in the pre-sundered world.

the seat of destruction (13k, M) hythades - canon-divergent au where hythlodaeus is the one to take the seat of emet-selch, and the sundering still happens. my favorite ascian!hyth work.

affective memory (9.3k, T) hythades - pov from the shade of hythlodaeus as he wanders around emet-selch’s reconstructed amaurot.

for good health and opportunity (14k, T) pre-emetexarch - emet-selch visits the crystal exarch numerous times over the course of a century. frenemies!

other characters

“nero tol scaeva did nothing wrong”… (5k, G) gen - a bunch of job npcs try to arrest nero for driving without a license. goes about as well as you might think.

biohazard (1.1k, G) gen - nero hates valens’ ass. not because he has “morals” or anything he just thinks valens is a dogshit project manager.

left in the dust (3.9k, T?) cidnero - ARR nero finds amnesiac marques working in the lichyard. miserable little man.

adrift in memory’s fog (16k, T) cidnero - cid’s frequent bouts of amnesia have led to a patchy memory - enough where he forgets that he and nero were betrothed as teenagers. (trans cid!)

the troubled envoy (1.3k, T) gen - maxima’s diary entries during the stormblood patches, including his thoughts on his weird boss.

the last abandonment (1.9k, M) gen - maxima wanders the ruins of garlemald and reflects on his time in the garlean left. by the same author as above - i really rec all their maxima fics.

this cathedral where your face stains the windows (2k, G) ysayle/igeyrohm - “Someone had to teach Ysayle summoning.” great ysayle heresy stuff + toxic yuri.

this blessed day (80k, M) gen - lucia’s journey from a captured garlean spy to aymeric’s right hand. lucia……

cadavre exquis (6.4k, T) gen - emmanellain helps pack up haurchefant’s things at camp dragonhead ft ishgardian homophobia and an underground queer zine scene.

the lantern jar (19k, T) cirisadu - OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD. this fic is so good. cirina and sadu growing close. lots of development of steppe spiritual traditions and beliefs.

duet (13k, T) estivrtra - estinien encourages vrtra to live more fully as a dragon. cool dragon stuff.

a view of you (14k, M) estivrtra - estinien gets fatally wounded, and vrtra keeps him alive via a great sacrifice (sadly unfinished, but what’s there is a great read)

veteran advisor (15k, E) vrtra/estinien/gaius - really great gaius character work here where he and allie are on vacation in radz-at-han, and the impact that has on both of them. but also? it's mostly about big!varshahn getting railed. good for him!

this home wrested forth (2.5k, T) gen - sidurgu from DRK quests and alaqa from WHM quests meet up and deal with some gridanian wrongdoing.

a fervent desire (111k+, E) sanson/guydelot - an incredibly in-depth retelling of the BRD quests. great work developing these characters and giving them really in-depth motivations!

and love you shall find (9.8k, E) sanson/guydelot - BRD quests, but what if sanson journals as an accommodation for short-term memory loss?

[fuedalreesespieces]

inukag week - day 1: yearning

nan chun

read on ao3!

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Inuyasha waited for his mother to light the lanterns. It was a nightly tradition of theirs, unspoken but consistent throughout the long, tedious days of isolation. Though the luminous glow of stars flooded their home, Izayoi insisted on lighting the four lanterns christening each corner of the house – for warmth, she said simply, her sticks of incense trailing their smoky tresses through the buffeting winds. 

The orange flames made grand, admirable leaps past their wilting wicks, and Inuyasha watched them as they flickered desperately over the clay diyas. They bathed his mother in soft golden hues as she did away with the day’s cumbersome adornments, sheet after sheet of silk layers from her jūnihitoe. She tied up her heavy hair best as she could, then came to sit behind him, their chins tilted towards the moon’s silver face. 

The wooden teeth of her comb gently began to part Inuyasha’s hair. “Haha-ue,” he said, “tell me a story.” 

She hummed in consideration. “Shall we continue last night’s tale of the bridge oni?” 

He refused to admit that that story had been so vivid it practically roosted by his ear like an owl, reminding him to check underneath the low stone bridges cusping the estate each time he crossed them. “No,” he said with feigned disinterest. “Something new.” 

“I’ll tell you...” her voice trailed off, “...the story of the youthful bakeneko.” 

Bakeneko?” 

“If she were to stretch her torso, it would span the length of this lake,” Izayoi said. “But she kept her form to that of a young village girl. She would offer to brush the hair of the other little girls – see, her brush was lacquered gold, and nobody could believe it was hers and hers alone. It was so shiny, the others could glimpse their reflection in its metal from afar. And so naturally they all wished to be pampered by the bakeneko, in the hopes that they might get a look. 

The girls came each day to get their hair combed. The bakeneko told them stories and gave them fresh persimmons, and she kept them so distracted that they hardly ever looked to her face.” Izayoi’s fingers pulled away at stray, tangled locks, tilting her son’s head to the right. The lake surface skewed in his vision like a spinning metal disk. “When they left, their hair shined with an silky veneer, but their skin was wrinkled and tight.” 

“What’d she do to them?” Inuyasha asked, wrenching his head out of his mother’s hands to face her.  

 “So impatient,” she teased, her grin endearing. “The youkai’s golden brush was the culprit. The comb’s teeth were magic, and with each stroke they tore the youth from one’s scalp, like a bat siphoning blood. In this way, the bakeneko could stay young forever.” 

Izayoi’s fingers traversed Inuyasha’s spine, slow as a spider’s crawl. “Eventually she was chased out of the village...but there were always other villages, and there would always be youth to steal.” Her fingers rested at his upper torso, and when he was sure she would say something, she attacked with a barrage of tickles. He shrieked with laughter, running out of her reach and tumbling onto their sole futon.  

“Not fair!” he shouted. 

Izayoi’s eyes glittered with mirth. “I’m afraid you walked right into the bakeneko’s trap, my dear son. Look how you crumble like an autumn leaf. You’ve grown old already!” 

He quickly returned to her lap, his stubby hands finding the ticklish spot on her neck, and she joined him in laughter, making no move to push him away. There were few moments where he was able to make her laugh so boisterously, and he suspected that years in the main estate had made her bottle up the sound, like a sweet fragrance stifled in a clay jar. 

But there was no one here on this wooden island, so she laughed until her chest hurt. For warmth , she repeated, snuggling close.  

“Haha-ue,” he asked sleepily, as they lay curled up on the futon, “why did the bakaneko want to live forever?” 

“Who can say?” she told him. “Perhaps there was something she wished to do. Perhaps she wanted to extend her life to figure out what.” 

Inuyasha thought about it for a moment, his mind muddled by encroaching sleep. He understood that part, at least. He’d never thought about how being half-youkai would effect his lifespan, but if it meant he could keep these nights with his mother, and every day after that, then...then he supposed he wouldn’t mind living forever. As long as she was at his back, her warm robes enveloping him and the sound of waves lapping at the edge of his consciousness, for as long as he was given. 

. . .

The first thing Inuyasha noticed was that his wife was not in the house. 

He knew she wouldn’t be. Her miko duties required that she rise early, and she could often be found in the shed assessing her medicine stock at this hour, or attending to the village herb garden. 

 Her side of the futon was neatly made, and he did his best to match her efforts as he rose for the day. The blankets smelt of the lavender soap she lathered herself with each day to remove the aroma of herbs from her skin, a mild yet soothing scent. He found himself holding them longer than necessary, savoring the comfort they brought. 

There was a cup of tea by the fire, the same kind she always made before departing. He decided to take it with him as he strode out, the ceramic warm in his wrinkled hands. He stood outside for a moment, watching the villagers slowly awaken – men heading out to the fields with their eldest sons in tow, women gathering together to cook the evening meal as they gossiped, their children playing beneath the shadow of their connected cutting boards. 

 A fine, powdery snow sprinkled the stones above their huts. Below, flowers began to push through the wet soil, flanked by dewy grass.  

“Dad?” a familiar voice cut through his inspection of the flourishing plant life. “Staring into space again, huh?” 

Moroha ascended the hill, a basket of apples at her hip. He smiled at the sight of her – it seemed her wife had finally convinced her to wear a cloak, much to Moroha’s chagrin, and it hung snugly at her shoulders. She reached into her basket and offered him a piece of fruit. 

Inuyasha slipped it into his suikan, ignoring her previous jab. “Is Kagome still at the shed?” 

“She just left the hot springs. Why?” 

“Nothin’. You know where we’ll be if ya need us.” 

“Dad...” she trailed off. “I dunno if you should go alone. The path there is still pretty icy. I heard ojisan fell on his way up to the temple.” 

“Sure is helpful that I ain’t Miroku.” 

“Yeah, but you’re also only three years younger than him and tripped over a root yesterday, so there isn’t that big a difference.” Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “At least let me get you the cane Aki made for you-” 

“Keh!” he bellowed. “To hell with that. I’ll be walkin’ with my own two feet.” 

“You’d be doing that regardless,” she said dryly.  

“I don’t need that scrap of wood. Tell Akira she can keep it.” 

“Dad!” she admonished. Her gaze sharpened, the way it did when they hunted together and she’d spotted their prey before him. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that...” 

Moroha dropped the basket of apples and lifted him off the ground, sprinting downhill. He sputtered – a combination of expletives Kagome would have whacked him on the head for saying, despite the fact that Moroha was well in her thirties and had exhausted cursing to its limit. Kagome herself was guilty of profanity too, the worst in the family by far, for she always cursed at the most inopportune times and immediately denied doing such a thing afterward. 

Mikos don’t curse, she once declared jokingly. So whatever you just heard come out of my mouth is the sign of a whimsical imagination.   

Just the reminder of that outlandish statement made him laugh, and Moroha peered down questioningly, though she didn’t say anything. He suspected she was starting to rationalize all his behavior with ‘he’s old’, which was a little insulting but granted him a sizeable amount of leeway. And though his younger self would rather have cut his tongue out than admit it, being carried was a nice gesture. She cradled him gently against his chest, just as he had done with her for the earliest years of her life. The thought made him yearn to raise her all over again.  

“Put me down here,” he told her, before he grew too emotional. It was much harder to hide things like this from her than ever before, and it was a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have so early in the morning.  

She obliged, eyebrows drawing forward in concern. “Are you sure? There’s still a ways to go.” 

“Not too far. I wanted to walk some of the path anyway.”  

Moroha squeezed his shoulder. “Alright. Stay safe.” She lightly kissed his cheek. “Don’t trip on any tree roots. I won’t be there to pick ya up.” 

He snorted at her cheeky grin, but allowed her the last word as she departed. The path ahead was a meager distance. Beneath his feat, the ice cracked and bit into his toes. It was cold enough that his breath steamed in the air, but warm enough for little blossoms to begin emerging from the dull earth.  

The goshinboku remained as unchanged as it had always been. Its thick trunk was dusted with the final shavings of winter’s snow and rose higher than its companions. Boughs stretched out to meet the sun, heavy with new, budding leaves. Kagome sat at its feet, her bright red hakama easy to spot among the pale foliage. She held one of her arrows, caressing the pointed tips with a fixed, droll gaze. 

At the sound of his footsteps, her eyes brightened. “You’re early.” 

“Moroha brought me,” he admitted, coming to sit beside her. “Said the path was too slippery for an old man.” 

Kagome laughed. No matter how many years passed, that sound was eternal, beautiful and never-changing. He found himself more desperate to hear it each day. “Whomever could she have been referring to?” 

“You’re laughin’ now, but it’ll be you next that she’s coddlin’.” 

“You shouldn’t say anything about coddling, Inu-ya-sha. You carried me everywhere.” 

“’Cause you were slow.” Their fingers coiled together like braided twine. The wrinkles in his skin are little compared to the ones in her own, but they share the same calluses. “And ‘cause I wanted to be close to you.” 

She smiled. “Maybe that’s how Moroha feels, then.” 

A silence descended between them. It happened often as they grew older and less words were needed, only the comfort of the other. A fox scampered past, kicking up snow. “Do you think she’s worried? ‘Bout us, I mean.” 

“It’s natural for her to worry,” Kagome said. “Sometimes I overhear her talking with Gyukuto. Miroku’s been sick lately, and his fall hasn’t helped. After Sango passed, I think it’s on all their minds.” 

Sango’s passing had been, thankfully, a peaceful one. She had succumbed to the long lasting injuries from Kohaku’s sickle. They had revealed themselves slowly after the birth of her final child: a consistently aching back, stiff muscles, and in a year, she couldn’t move above her hip. Confined, her children kept her entertained in their hut. Despite the confounding nature of their mother’s condition, in Sango’s final months, their home had been a merry one. 

Kohaku had shown up briefly for the funeral, and no one had seen him since, but Sango’s grave was always clean when Miroku and Kin’u came to pray. Moroha had been inconsolable for weeks, and eventually she began looking at her parents differently, realizing that they, too, could leave at any moment.

“Did ya ever think about it?” 

“Mm?” she hummed. 

“During the journey, when we were hunting the shards...” It felt like such a long time ago. “Did you ever wonder about dyin’?”

Kagome was silent for a moment. “A few times,” she admitted. “But it was always dreams about you, or Sango, or Miroku’s deaths. Naraku kept pulling the rug out from under our feet, and I always wondered when we would hit our limit on how much power we could consolidate. Naraku always had something up his sleeve, but there were only so many things we could do...”  

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her silver hair plastered against the tree. “In the end, he was mortal like us, and it didn’t matter how many tricks he had.” 

Inuyasha nestled closer. “‘M glad.” 

Kagome rose one incredulous eyebrow. “Glad I was thinking about death?” 

He gave her a deadpan look, and she laughed again, clear as melted springwater. “Very funny.”  

“I try.” 

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, savoring the dregs of her laughter. “What I meant was...’M glad we have this. Enough peace that we can sit and think about a natural death.” Inuyasha sighed. “Sometimes I just think I’m dreamin’. I never thought about bein’ old. Now my daughter’s offerin’ to carry me to my wife. My daughter. My wife.” He made a sound of incredulity.  

“It’s not so crazy. You’re very handsome,” she teased, snuggling close. “What were you thinking of when you were younger, then?” 

“Survival, mostly. What I was gonna eat that night.” His claws brushed against her knuckles. “When I was livin’ with my mother...I dreamed about stayin’ forever with her.” 

“Immortality?” 

“Nah. I wanted to live as long as she did. That was the only way to be with her forever, ‘cause if I lived longer than a normal human, she would die before me. And after she died, it was food. Shelter.” He peered up at the branches, where light filtered through. “Strength. That’s when I started searchin’ for the jewel. I wanted a lotta things. And then I wanted you. You know...you made me start wishin’ for things I didn’t think I gave a damn about.” 

It was always his most candid statements that made Kagome blush like she was in junior high again. “Oh?” she squeaked. 

"Oh?” he echoed. “Soundin’ real mousy there, Kagome-” 

“Shut it, you,” she hissed, a grin on her lips. “You don’t get to romance me and make fun of me after.” 

“I thought that was our routine by now?” 

Her grin widened. A flock of birds settled in the goshinboku’s branches, shaking snow onto their heads. Inuyasha remembered the apple he had stashed away and broke it in two, offering one half to his wife. The ate in silence, the sounds of the village greeting them from below. They had sat here season through season, but the comforting presence of the tree never waned. It stood steady and reassuring, even as their backs bent from age. 

Inuyasha shifted gently, opening his mouth to tell Kagome they should get going, but she had fallen asleep. Her eyes were fluttered shut, and she made no movement as he swept her hair across her brow. He could hear her heartbeat and the soft cycle of breathing, in and out. The blood-red apple laid listless in her hand. With how pale her skin had gotten in the cold, she resembled a body awaiting embalming. 

He draped his suikan over her and kissed her forehead. It could be his last, but strangely enough, there was no fear in the thought.  

[biblioflyer]

Star Trek and the Maquis: A Contest of Metaphors

This was inspired by an Ask many moons ago. I had the majority of this written within a week but then two hurricanes and a lot of wrangling over how to edit it coherently later, I'm just going to publish it as a series of rather messy and meandering essays.

The Maquis are a bit of an inkblot test for fans. While the narrative certainly goes to great efforts to skew us towards being sympathetic to them and aghast at the Federation's complicity in trying to squelch their uprising, I maintain there is room for valid disagreement on just how "in the wrong" the Federation was.

The inkblot test aspect of it comes down to how different members of the audience think about state level warfare and irregular warfare, aka insurgency, and maybe even terrorism.

For instance the Maquis, or at least Michael Eddington's faction, will wind up crossing the line that most people seem to think is the line between insurgency and terrorism: namely the indiscriminate targeting of civilians and noncombatants. Although a disturbing feature of debates about fictional and non-fictional peoples and movements can include some litigation of who is really a non-combatant and whether the moral protection that status confers can be stripped away by mitigating circumstances like being the beneficiary of state violence or being an accessory to atrocious acts without actually directly carrying them out.

At the same time, we also know that the Federation's attempt at a lasting peace with the Cardassians was doomed from the start: brazenly insincere on the part of the Cardassians, purchased by the Federation with a high price in moral credibility, and ends in the Cardassians welcoming the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant. This line of thinking often ends in a presumption that since efforts to secure peace ultimately failed, those efforts were wholly a waste, preemptive violence should have been undertaken, and anyone who acted as if the failure of peace wasn't preordained was a blind fool.

Knowing where the story ends doesn't mean we can't still debate the Federation's degree of culpability for not intervening sooner to ensure that things don't reach a point where indiscriminate targeting of noncombatants by ex-Federation civilians is imminent.

A big part of what makes this an inkblot test is because it almost assuredly is a reflection on which analogies loom largest in the mind of the viewer. As it turns out, your preferred reference point for understanding war may strongly influence who you are sympathetic to and how you interpret the risks and ethics involved in any course of action chosen by the Federation and Maquis.

Understanding the Maquis

What I am going to do is, look at three main ideas that I think are most critical for seeing different sides of arguments around the Maquis, the Federation, the Cardassians and how each is understood by fans in terms of sympathy or malice, and in some instances, how they might be understood differently depending on how said fans process stories of state and irregular violence.

The social context of how different fans (and Trek writers) think of state level warfare and irregular warfare.

What was actually happening in the Trek universe around this time and to what degree the Maquis narrative encourages treating its storyline as existing outside of any other broader context.

The competing interests of the state to protect the many vs the rights of the few to defend their homes and way of life.

These are going to get elaborated on in subsequent posts, but very quickly here's a summary of the main points:

Social Context

Since the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, this has become a dominant metaphor for understanding the Federation - Cardassian relationship. Suffice to say, those for whom this metaphor has the most power understand this as an unambiguous contest of moral systems wherein the Federation is guilty of abdicating responsibility for victims of an expansionist autocracy with numerous atrocities on its record and no extenuating circumstances that reduce the magnitude of the Federation's guilt.

Prior to 2022, it is my observation that several other metaphors might have applied: the Kurdish resistance to ISIL (another metaphor that strongly favors the Maquis and condemns the Federation), the Afghan Mujahideen (a cautionary tale in which the nurturing of a sympathetic resistance movement facing oppression has unintended consequences, i.e. 9/11), and finally Cold War dovishness. Cold War dovishness I would describe as not so pacifistic as to be unwilling to engage in any amount of armed conflict but a deep wariness of it. This is an idea that conflicts between a great power and a lesser may be much more challenging than expected, pose escalation risks that could become existential, and even if carefully managed the conflict may have second and tertiary consequences that neutralize, even harm the agenda of the greater power: i.e. "blowback."

I bring this guy up a lot, but I do think there was an episode or two where Tomalak might have been the Romulan Vasily Arkhipov. The Soviet officer who arguably saved the world by defying standing orders to use nuclear weapons during the Cuban Missile Crisis when certain conditions were met. I bring up Arkhipov a lot, along with Stanislav Petrov (a second Russian who may have saved the world) because I think he's incredibly important to understanding how Pre-Dominion War Trek understood state level conflict and why a power like the Federation that constantly signals about how important it thinks universal sentient rights are might sign away some inhabited planets to move down a few steps on the escalation ladder.

Astropolitical Context

The careful viewer recognizes that the Cardassians are far from the only problem the Federation has and thus, while we are not explicitly reminded of these issues, they are important context for the Federation choosing a bad peace over waging what many fans perceive to be a virtuous and largely consequence free war. After signing the peace treaty with the Cardassians, these problems are also likely explanations for why the Federation seems to dither and pursue largely diplomatic solutions to the Maquis crisis with the Cardassians rather than throwing its weight around or even directly siding with the Maquis.

The Borg are a known unknown: they are an existential threat if they choose to be, the Federation lost more ships in one battle than had ever been previously mentioned as being in one place at one time in Trek history. We can massage this to fit with later canon by assuming the Borg were, to borrow an Ian Banks term, an "Outside Context Problem." It had been a while since some inscrutable, unstoppable weird alien thing had bypassed every patrol and defensive position to menace Sol directly (although there was that time where it happened twice in the span of a decade) and the Federation had grown so dramatically that it really couldn't afford to have more than forty ships within 48 hours notice to cover Sol, including ships just fitting out, under refit, or in ready reserve.

The Klingons fought a civil war that ultimately exposed ties between the Romulans and the now disgraced, but previously deeply influential Duras Family. Schisms like that don't necessarily heal cleanly or swiftly. The allies of the Duras were shamed and likely had to pay lip service to unity, but they almost certainly had ideological and pragmatic reasons for aligning with the Duras, a disdain for the Khitomer Accords being among them.

The Romulans are another known unknown. They certainly want the Federation to think that they're willing to risk an existential conflict over particular disputes but play their actual motives close to the vest. The fact that these conflicts don't actually spiral into war at least seems to strongly suggest that the Romulans are paranoid, not suicidal, and that their imperialism is tempered by pragmatism. We're never privy to any info dumps on Starfleet's intelligence assessments about their relative power compared to the Federation, but logically even a weak Romulan Star Empire is capable of a lot of mischief up to and including inflicting massive civilian casualties if it desires.

I'm open to correction on this if someone with a more recent engagement with the Maquis arc thinks I'm wrong, but it's my contention that very little of what I just wrote found its way into the foreground as part of the Federation's rationale for accepting a peace with the Cardassians. By foreground I mean cited as reasons for the peace or for siding against the Maquis by Federation characters.

I don't think making peace with an authoritarian regime is the sole reason why the Federation gets held up as an example of why the Federation is a more cynical and "US-coded" actor than it likes to pretend, but even I was surprised at just how exculpatory the broader context is. I expected to wage a rhetorical fight to defend peace on its own merits and wound up being shocked at how during the same period the Federation is trying to maintain the peace with the Cardassians, how many near misses the Federation has with open war with powers that had the potential to decisively win against the Federation, and in the case of the Borg, not just subjugate but utterly annihilate the Federation.

Which many, whose needs?

The argument you very rarely see these days, especially in a post 9/11, post Russian invasion of Ukraine world is that the Federation should have just removed the settlers and called it a day. The irony here is that from a strictly utilitarian, harm reduction standpoint this might actually be the right move.

However, two extremely valid critiques are that this is rooted in presentism: we can argue that there are reasons to suspect the peace with the Cardassians isn't worth the isolinear chips its encoded on but the principle actors can't know for sure in the moment it's all going to be pointless.

It also flies in the face of Trek's ethos that, while consequentialism is highly important, it's tempered by the notion that virtue ethics has its role to play as well. That is to say that some actions are just or unjust, good or bad simply because they are. Thus I cannot think of a lot that would be less Star Trek than a forced relocation of people from their homes. Of course one might also say that it's not especially noble to risk interstellar war and billions of lives over attachment to said homes.

Whether the same Star Trek ethos demands that these people be protected is a nastier business that circles back to what metaphor we use to think about state and irregular warfare in Star Trek but also whether we as fans lean more towards the virtue ethics side of the equation or the consequentialist side.

What makes the Maquis interesting is that, like so much of DS9, the writers refused to provide the sort of easy, positive sum solution that Trek, or at least TNG, was/is known for. There is no scenario in which risks are not undertaken. No scenario in which an empathetic being is going to walk away with a clean conscience. One way or another, either the safety of the settlers is being used as a commodity, their rights revoked entirely, or the other trillion odd beings in the Federation are asked to be in solidarity with the few and risk everything.

Up next: Storytelling insurgency in Star Trek

[unholyverse]

waterparks // alternative press issue #341

(full article text under cut)

WATERPARKS

THESE POP-PUNK UPSTARTS HAVE CATCHY SONGS, AN ENDORSEMENT FROM THE MADDENS AND AN UNIRONIC LOVE FOR HAIR DYE AND FUNKY-COLORED JELL-O. THEY ALSO HAVE A LOT TO PROVE-AND THEY'RE READY TO GET TO WORK.

STORY: EVAN LUCY x PHOTOS: JONATHAN WEINER

Awsten Knight knows what you're thinking: This time last year, his band, Waterparks, were veritable nobodies. You'd probably not heard their two EPs (2012's Airplane Conversations and 2014's Black Light), and the band's SEO was likely so suspect, there's no way a Google search would place the Houston-based trio above their hometown Wet 'n' Wild.

What a difference a trip around the sun. makes. Since late last year, the group scored a record deal with Equal Vision, picked up Good Charlotte's Benji and Joel Madden as their managers, performed at the 2016 APMAS and even graced the cover of AP's Warped Tour issue-all before releasing their first album. Along the way, they've cultivated a passionate (and ever-growing) fanbase, thanks to an irreverent sense of humor, insatiable work ethic and saccharine-sweet pop-rock sound. But as their star has grown, so have the rumors and confusion about just how they ended up on a collision course with success.

"I saw somebody online say, 'Isn't this that industry-plant band? Like we were made by a label or something." Knight remarks from Los Angeles, where he and his bandmates are putting the finishing touches on bonus tracks for their debut full-length, Double Dare, and filming a video for the album's first single, "Stupid For You." "People are always like, "Where'd this band come from? This band blew up overnight! That's really not the case."

Indeed, it's been a grind for Waterparks, who formed back in 2011 and, after years of hustle and hard work, got signed last year after a demo serendipitously ended up in Equal Vision's online submission box. Even today, as Waterparks—Knight, guitarist/vocalist Geoff Wigington and drummer Otto Wood-seem to have an indefinite amount of momentum and a limitless future, there's always some humbling experience to remind them the big time is still a few steps away. Look no further than their method of transportation for this summer's Warped Tour: a modified Sprinter van handily equipped with sleeping quarters- but no air conditioning.

"The van didn't have A/C until we got to the North, Knight remembers. "We did Texas and Florida, the whole South, with no A/C. People thought we were in a bus. It'd be like, 'Oh yeah, when you guys go back to your bus…" He laughs. "How can you be egotistical when you're sitting there in a sweaty van going, 'Fucking kill me?'"

Lifestyles of the rich and famous it isn't, but that's fine with Waterparks. They're used to surprising people, whether it's with their origin story or their music. A testament to both their artistic vision and desire not to be pigeonholed as just another pop-punk band, Double Dare sounds like an album made by three men raised in iPod shuffle culture. The album opener "Hawaii (Stay Awake)" skews toward more standard pop-punk fare (a sound that definitely provides a backbone for the 12 tracks that follow), but the band are quick to add bits of pop, electronica and (surprisingly) hip- hop to the melting pot, leaving Double Dare feeling instantly reminiscent, yet wildly unpredictable. There's the unabashed pop charm of "Take Her To The Moon," a DeLorean ride back to the scene's neon days that's awash in glassy synths; the biting "Little Violence," which takes aim at "fake-ass band guys," along with the now-defunct site AbsolutePunk; "Stupid For You," a roller coaster of vocal runs mixed with razor-sharp hooks; and the jittery "Dizzy," which combines mile-a-minute rapped verses with a towering half-time chorus.

Knight, a textbook over-writer, wrote and demoed more than 40 songs for the album, which the group whittled down to the 17 or so they actually tracked in Los Angeles with producers Courtney Ballard and Benji Madden. What makes Double Dare such an engaging listen is not just the songwriting, but the way Waterparks dress it up. Throughout the album, Knight's voice serves almost as a third guitar, cutting in and out and swirling around the mix to give things added depth and a secret sonic weapon their peers lack.

"Listen to Kesha," Knight implores. "People have heard a lead guitar a billion times-no one gives a shit about a sick guitar lead. What's going to sound sonically cooler to the average human: a lead guitar- which people have been hearing for the longest time- or the literally unlimited sounds I can cut my voice up into and make it [serve the same purpose]? It just sounds cooler."

As a teenager, Knight studied raps by the likes of Busta Rhymes and Ludacris (he even performed a cover of Fergie's "Fergalicious" at an early show), and he thinks it would be "sweet" to be in a boy band. "You have to stand out, otherwise there's nothing interesting about what you're doing," he explains. "We've always tried to do different shit. A lot of our songs are a pop-driven thing, but it's a band. Girl-pop, to me, is the best genre [in music]. Even if you don't speak English and you hear a Kesha song or a Katy Perry song, it's going to sound so good. The melody is everything: It sounds so happy. Put those songs next to whatever progressive metal band and their fucking guitar sweeps. That's the difference between being a band people like and being a musician's band. [Adopts nerdy voice] 'Oh, that time signature change, blah blah! No one gives a shit except nerdy dudes, and nerdy dudes aren't going to buy your record, anyway. I want to make shit my little sister and her friends would be into."

If Knight is that unabashedly honest about his musical intentions, the words he writes take it a step further. At its core, Double Dare is the antithesis to the public image Waterparks have cultivated over the years. From their irreverent music videos to any number of off- the-rails interviews (including some from this summer's Warped Tour where Knight donned a wedding veil), the band's public persona is that of perpetual Peter Pans. While that might be true (Knight frequently drops words like "butthurt" in conversation), the open-book nature of his lyrics here reveals life isn't all fun and feces jokes.

As such, the songs on Double Dare read like pages ripped from a personal journal. Whether he's dealing with crippling insecurity ("I wish I was as brave as my last name"), self-doubt ("And I'm doing all right/ But is 'all right' enough?/Because I'm living my dreams, but I live at home") or true love ("If you died, I'd hope you'd haunt me"), Knight's words are blunt, painstakingly detailed and instantly relatable. He might project as a court jester, but he's deadly serious about his art.

"There's a time when Awsten can be serious, and that's when he's talking about his music, Benji Madden offers. "In order to sell records or magazines, people feel like they have to be sensational or play a funny game. If you talk to Awsten about anything other than music, you'll get totally jokey, bullshit answers-which I love. But if you talk to him about music, he's a really smart, intentional, thoughtful guy."

"Being honest about it is the best way to go about it," Knight says of his songs. "I've never liked the vague lyrics, like, [jokingly sings] "I've gotta find my way. I've gotta get out of this place! All my favorite lyricists are killer with metaphors or are able to uniquely describe things. I like getting into things and being specific." He references the acoustic ballad "21 Questions," easily one of the album's highlights, but a song slated for the cutting-room floor until Madden stepped in. ("I feel like that song could be one of those scene classics," the Good Charlotte guitarist offers.) It's hard to imagine the album without it.

Outside of being a steady hand in the studio, the Maddens are the perfect mentors for Knight, Wigington and Wood. After all, it was 15 years ago that Good Charlotte went through everything Waterparks are currently navigating, claims of being a test-tube band and all. They've learned everything is cyclical, and they're passing on the lessons they learned to the bands they manage.

"They're so wise," Wigington explains in a separate interview. "You shut up and listen. They've told us, 'Hey, things are going to start getting weird. There will be things you haven't been used to, especially if you're out on the road! But they've told us to look out for each other and have each other's back and helped instill a sense of camaraderie so we can deal with whatever weird shit comes our way."

If their current career trajectory continues, things will be getting weirder and weirder in the Waterparks camp soon. The band have secured the opening spot on Sleeping With Sirens' fall tour, and they're already making plans well into 2017. With a new album ready and the furthest reaches of the scene at their fingertips, it seems like there's really no limit to how big this thing can get. It's already surpassed their wildest dreams in the past year; imagine what one more could bring. Not that it would change their demeanor, of course.

"I'd like to be able to live comfortably to the point where I could ride a bike into a swimming pool filled with Jell-O and have it not be a big deal," Knight says unflinchingly, when asked what success would look like for him. "I was thinking blue or purple because I like cooler colors. Red seems messy. Not yellow or orange, because I don't like those flavors as much. I used to be allergic to blue dye when I was younger, so I'd probably pick that just so I could be like, 'Fuck you." alt

[cosmama]

plots please bwahaha.

plots vibes please✨ ( may be selective )

i. them being forced to like, actually have a relationship: i'm not going to be redundant because we all know that the relationships within SM ( especially in the manga ) aren't always as fleshed out as people would like, etc. etc.. the extent of saturn / hotaru's relationship with serenity / usagi is being someone the former probably didn't even know existed and the latter mostly just felt sorry for and later really knows through chibiusa despite the inners/outers being portrayed as this big family. now there's akari, who is someone that has mostly been alone her entire adult life - there's a relatability, at least somewhat, that wasn't there for past incarnations. i would imagine things would still be very awkward between them for a variety of reasons but if saturn is one of the first to revive post chaos-war...it's a new era for everyone. they should at least make an attempt to try and get to know each other. so yes, awkward, big sister-figure akari. we have depression, PTSD, and cake of course.

ii. akari wouldn't hesitate to try and kill hotatu / saturn if she deems it necessary: she's an extremist that believes the ends justify the means and a pep talk from usagi wouldn't suddenly change that - it only reframes what she's extremist about. between her PTSD and deep fear of being alone again, she's very adamant about protecting her home because 1). she never wants to be at such a low place like she was in the stars arc again and 2). everyone worked so hard to recover and she won't see that peace ruined again. anything that's a potential threat to that peace would need to be removed - quickly. she's fully willing to kill her own children ( and does kill one ) if they cause problems across her i mean, the galaxy so i think if there was another incident where saturn had to swing her glaive, they would come to blows - even if doing so is fruitless and the end will come to earth anyway.

iii. alternative act iii canon concept: she needs to be put down(tm): i believe in sa/ilor moon being the big good(tm) and actually prefer her using her power of love to heal the villains in the 90s anime first and only really 'killing' the aspects of chaos possessing those people. that said, i also do really like the fact that the manga calls out that she's been killing her 'siblings' the entire time and that the balance between darkness and light must be maintained. because we 'hear' about what it's like when it skews towards more darkness / chaos but we don't really 'know' what it's like when it skews towards cosmos' extreme which is too much light / order. while it's not my 'main' canon for when she wakes up after being crystalized, there is the real possibility of her waking up and sort of...breaks from remembering the trauma of war which she refuses to relive. so people are going to have to fall in line with her view of order - whether they want to or not. so then she turns into rhea from three houses. the end hehe

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Winners & Sinners (Hung, 1983)

This probably goes down a lot easier if you've seen the sequels, as the comedy here is frequently low brow but not mean spirited. For example, there's a scene where Richard Ng prances around the house thinking he's invisible and goes to creep on Cherie Chung in the bath. But whereas My Lucky Stars had a ten-hour long groping scene, here he heroically refrains from groping her, making this the least problematic HK comedy. It also helps that unlike the later movie, Chung is in on the joke rather than the subject of it, and aside from everybody in the movie understandably trying to get with her, she is treated by the movie as one of the guys.

Like a lot of classic Jackie and Sammo flicks, this has some truly mindboggling action to go along with the mindnumbing comedy. The balance is definitely skewed toward the latter, but the whiplash is not as severe as the sequels. My first exposure to this movie was seeing a clip in The Incredibly Strange Picture Show of the rollerskating car pileup set piece. That led me to expect a lot more Jackie in this than there actually is, but let us say we get a lot of bang for our buck. There are a ton of cameos as well, including Yuen Biao taking offense to Jackie accidentally wolf whistling at his girlfriend Moon Lee.

Anyway, the fact that Sammo ends up with Cherie Chung at the end should be an inspiration to portly men everywhere. And Sammo's intimations to her in an earlier scene have an autobiographical quality that will appeal to Sammo auteurists. And we have a couple of musical highlights, including an infectious theme song (which at one point accompanies a montage where the gang gets cute matching outfits) and a surprisingly good cover of "Young Turks".

[roguestorm]

in case no one's answered your tags about the new ultimate universe (6160) yet: yes, it's different from old ults (1610)! it's been going on since late last year, i'm personally loving everything so far, and i think you'd specially enjoy the x-men title!

the connection between the two universes is that 1610!reed (the maker) escaped from prison and travelled to a different dimension where he manipulated everything so that most heroes never got their powers or decided to fight crime. things happen, and the heroes that would become the ultimates start giving out powers and guidance to the would-be superheroes, in hopes they would decide to join their cause and "fix" their world (all of this is from ultimate invasion 1-4 and ultimate universe 1, both by hickman). the ongoings so far are:

ultimate spider-man (by hickman), where peter is married to mj, has two kids, and works at the bugle where he's basically family, but he feels like something is missing from his life. then he gets a mysterious orb and a message about how he was destined for something greater and had this stolen from him. inside the orb, there's a spider.

ultimate black panther (by bryan edward hill), where wakanda is basically the only place where the maker's forces haven't managed to conquer, despite the efforts of africa's overseers (a duo that calls themselves moon knight). this isolation is disrupted when a suicide bomber kills t'challa's father, and he leaves the country to investigate what is going on outside the border. there, he meets and partners with two rebels fighting against moon knight's men: killmonger and storm.

ultimate x-men (by peach momoko), which is set entirely in japan (here known as hi no kuni) and stars a young hisako ichiki dealing with the recent suicide of a close friend. it's quite different in tone from what you'd expect, very self-contained and skewing more towards horror than action as a genre. we haven't gotten there yet but apparently the x-men in this universe are going to be a teenage japanese girl gang.

and the ultimates (by deniz camp), which only had its first issue released this month, so there's not much to say yet, but some character choices seem very interesting.

Yes, someone had answered my question, but thank you for all this information! A very helpful breakdown :)

I have to say that as a marketing move I think it is an astonishingly bad idea to call your second smaller interconnected universe the same thing as your first. Especially if they’re trying to appeal to new fans? Although, to be fair, I don’t know if that is the pitch.

It being Hickman might explain why I haven’t paid attention — I tend to tune out when they announce a new large Hickman project.

I definitely will check out Momoko’s X-Men series, and I might read the Black Panther as well. I’ve liked enough of Hill’s work in the past to give it a chance.

[robotawakey]

story i handwrote (for a test LOL) a bit ago that i wanted to post online bc i liked it very much i don't think sharing this is a crime i am literally the one who wrote it (un)whole. an earthquake shudders through my entire body as the center of my solar system brushes a hand across my cheek, a solar flare lazily tracing a heart across my atmosphere. i watch, gravity locking me in place as my sun revolves on her heel, destabilising my orbit. i can do nothing but stare as her magnitude diminishes, ebbing further and further away. I am powerless as the last of her luminescence dissapears on the horizon of the corrugated metal stairs. i'm drifting, alone. no star to steady me on this endless fall through space. nothing to support me in the cold, unwelcoming void. my environment is suddenly unfamiliar, faces becoming unfriendly and objects warping into hostile forms without my sun to illuminate them, the only true light now absent. i focus on the rythm of my own stride as i encroach on the place i sleep. the lock clicks beneath my fingers, tumblers dropping one-by-one into place as the key nudges embraces them. the behemoth of a door rests as i unceremoniously place it behind me. it's night. it was night the moment her light no longer scattered just right, tracing incomprehensibly beautiful patterns across my eyes. but now it's really night. as did my sun, Sol dips across the horizon, the moon casting pale, malevolent shadows with it's iridescent ghostlight. my head rests on the pillows, lucid recollections of yesterday flashing into my mind, starting not from the morning but from dawn. daybreak is when i open my door and she's there waiting. the sun rises when i lay my eyes upon her, just as it sets when she dissapears. yesterday was euphoric. every moment spent together was perfect. like the smell of freshly-baked cookies. the cool sensation of feet in the water on a warm summer's day. my eyes open. i sink to the abyss, gasping for air as the pressure of being alone surrounds me. i feel empty. imperfect. unfinished. i desperately grasp at the feeling, trying to embody "we" again. but the cookies are burnt. the water's too cold. the empty expanse of nothingness stretches for aeons in every direction. opportunities for happiness are suddenly hollw, unaccomplishable. an endless cycle of lonely, restless nights dances arrogantly across my mind like the cruelest party crasher. the feeling of despair swallows me as my brain finally flickers off. i fall lopsidedly out of bed, a fractured, disrupted moon too far off-axis with a skewed orbit. the yellow light oozing out the windows and incessant birdsong indicate Sol has returned. i drift around the house, a trail of mess following the nebula around me. i reluctantly let just enough cereal trickle into a white porcelain bowl to be considered "breakfast". things begin to be organised into my grey bag. a poor excuse for lunch. expired tablets. a notebook. i hoist it onto my scrawny shoulders, letting myself take a deep breath before standing up straight. once more, the tumblers fall into place to let the door ease open. her radiance begins to seep towards me with every degree of the widening gap. i am whole again. i am finally home once moer. i am complete, finished, perfect. my orbit is finally centered, stabilised by their pull. they grow ever more in luminosity as i stumble through the doorway, colliding with their arms. it is dawn again.

[magic-in-onyx]

Fakiru Week 2023 Day 5: Spy

An Oaken Tree slumbers in darkness,  Upon it an inscription etched;  To choose a Fate toward doom which leads,  Would it truly be Happiness? 

Go forth brave Sentry!  Go forth Maid of Hope!  Conquer darkness, silence and fire,  Fell the spies that the Prince ensnare with rope  Most unyielding! 

A need for a heart  The young sovereign hopeful has not!  For a long time in the umbra and the cold,  Absolves one of all feeling! 

Or do you plead differently?  For if so, may be onto you  The brightest of Glories! 

Just as the Raven Lass spoke,  Into the forest most dense,  Into darkness void of any flare   Encroach mutely the lovers pair. 

And as they walk in silence  The umbra yet darker grows,  Leaving only the little duck’s jewel-half of cruor  To light the way, as if it knows,  Whom to seek, what to look for. 

The jewel-half red,  And the jewel-half clear,  Make a whole from two bodies bled,  And split into two desires diverse, but equally dear:  One – tied to a debt most painful,  One marked in a love of sorrow,  One corrupt and lonely, the colour of deep maroon. 

Two – tied to each other, faithful,  Two marked in a love pure and hopeful,  Two released with a kiss of promise, the colour of crystal  And a spring of water clear. 

And who’s to say what love corrupts?  Who’s to say if Odille in the wrong was,  For the love that had taken from both the loved and the lover  That which most precious to them had been!  For even though love is strong,  It is easily scarred,  Though it is beautiful,  It is easily tarnished, and if it is fought over,  It may sometimes lead to Death. 

And to the stars, the moon, and Death,  The Creator ties his Fate!  The scales no longer! in equal tip  To Happiness,  To Glory. 

From the darkest shadow  Of the thickest of canopies,  A single doll emerges.  She greets the Sentry  And the duck upon his shoulder  Most pleasantly. 

On her wooden face a smile bright,  Though void of feeling her eyes are;  She offers then the lovers pair a path to follow;  A path to lead them to that which they desire – In their hearts need they only write  With sunlight  Of where light reaches not,  And address that which closest is  When it is far. 

Mum the young Creator stays –  He need only nod his head.  For should he utter but a word,  His silence would no longer attract  That which its cloak in shadows stygian hidden maintains. 

So nods the doll also,  Her skewed smile grows skewer still.  Her hollow eyes then upon the duckling fall.  “Which do you love, truly?” she calls,  Demands. 

Mum the duck remains also,  Though her heart in the silence sings:  “Both I love truly,” it coos gently,  “But differently.” 

The Prince to the duck dear is,  For his kindness offhand offered –  To him she had given her freedom,  And loyal to him she remains  In friendship and affection agape. 

The Knight to the duck dear is,  For his kindness in passion posed –  To him she had given, and gives still!,  All of that which she her own considers. 

And to the Knight loyal she remains  In affection deeper, more selfish, than the one  Which had bound her limbs  To the spectacular stage which in the tale of  Prior events contained  Had been. 

The doll’s eyes blink out of sync,  Her glare stern – as if she knows?!  “Proceed,” she calls,  Then back into the darkness thick  She disappears. 

Though her guise had gone,  Her voice lingers –  Echoing off canopies and trees,  It calmly sings: 

“I wish I could help you more.  “You must find your own way!  ���For bound am I as ever I had been,  “To my father who had birthed me,  “Pulled, carved and forced me forth,  “From wood and dirt and the bog of deepest mud,  “His design to enforce.  “For a cruel father is he,  “In his hand a bag of tricks –  “Truly it contains the expense of his worth!  “But a single wraith is he,  “A ghost about to perish!” 

“Gentle Sentry, gentle Maid of Hope,  “The Prince ensnared I have,  “For no other choice had I.  “Disobey I could not.  “A spy remains I.  “One unfaithful, unlike yourselves,  “Who must for her sins  “Now atone.” 

In that moment a bright fire  Engulfs all in and out of sight –  The doll of herself a pyre  She had made –  A glare of light most bright! 

The fire burns and scorches,  The air grows dry,  The darkness of the forest in so undoing.  But the Creator young and his Beloved protected remain,  By a single ring of water clear  Which springs forth from the earthen bowels,  Then later replenished remains  By rains which themselves from clouds fall,  Clouds embroidered with ember and smoke. 

An Oaken Tree slumbers  No more in darkness,  But in crimson light engulfed.  Upon it an inscription etched;  To choose a Fate toward doom which leads,  Would it truly be Happiness? 

Go forth brave Sentry!  Go forth Maid of Hope!  A need for a heart  The young sovereign hopeful has not!  Has he?  For a long time in the umbra and the cold,  Absolves one of all feeling! 

Or do you plead differently?  For if so, may be onto you  The brightest of Glories! 

**

&lt;Prev> <Next>

AO3

[tonyglowheart]

lmao okay I decided the star headband was a bit... hm, like, both simpler than I wanted and like, not sophisticaed enough of a look. so now the concept is, like, sun? crown? to lean into Icarus iconography that makes sense to me and other Tony aficionados.

but arguably it's also very "art deco-inspired," so it still tracks right? lol

Anyway so here's the current moodboard:

right right side accessories are an option but I think they still perhaps they skew a bit junior for the look I'm starting to envision. In which case, leaning towards the set on the left - though undecided about earring options. (the sun one has a pearl for the stud and I'm not sure about that. the fringe one is cool but might be a bit long. but I haven't found a fringe one I like better)

for shoes, I'm still... torn amongst options lmao. These 5 are my current top contenders, I've actually considered & discarded many. And have a couple more that are sort of circling around as options, but anyway these are my main ones rn. I think 1 + 2 are the top contenders, with 4 and 5 close behind.

okay I know I said I wasn't doing stars anymore (mostly bc I couldn't find a headpiece I liked) but omg look at these vintage Avon earrings (left), and also this extra-ass sun crown from Aliexpress (middle) - which I decided was too much/too costumey. Conversely, I think the other headband is... too simple though I do like the embellishments.

there's this one, but I'm not convinced about the moon. but I think this would be very fun with the Avon earrings...

also actually, if I add in the arc reactor, then suddenly the stars 2.0 options don't not make sense... like if I don't do a light-up arc reactor, then the sun accessories are the way to go I think. but WITH the light-up arc reactor... it gives me more leeway to go costumey without it being like, "halloween costume" if that makes sense?

debating if I get a bag, but if I do, here are the options I'm considering

bag 1 is the top contender, I think it looks best on the moodboard. But I was v tempted by bag 2 bc my friend who is going with a Cap-y look is maybe doing a quilted pattern blue acrylic purse, and the red glitter would match. I'm not entirely convinced by it bc it's like one of those ones where the glitter inside moves, so your stuff would be visible. and I don't like that. also, a potentially breakable/leakable situation is also not gr8

the bottom two are very art deco, with that last one almost too on the nose I think.

also lol, I was like. do I want a cape for extra drama. (yes I do). But I'm not convinced the cape (first left) would work with the look. the studded shawl on the right might be okay? but it would be more of a "shawl for warmth" situation. Which I'm not sure I strictly need. I mean, it's SD, which can get a bit chilly at night, but it's also July...

two other shawl/capelet options would be these guys - which are definitely "safer" options/for a bit of extra warmth options

I also sadly really like this off Shein, but it's NOT a cape, it's a cape + jumpsuit set. Although. If I'm doing sun accessories instead of star, then the star would no longer go with the concept... (I do kind of still like it, though, just like, in general...)

anyway. god I still need to decide on the shoes. and. I'm leaning towards 1, I think?? but I have wide feet which is also why I lean towards a pump sometimes (like, where the shoe has sides lmao)...

anyway here's option 1: https://us.shein.com/Metallic-Detail-Point-Toe-Stiletto-Heeled-Ankle-Strap-Pumps-p-13687807-cat-1750.html?mallCode=1

option 2: https://www.aliexpress.us/item/3256803883007046.html?spm=a2g0o.cart.0.0.10a738dareWPiK&mp=1&gatewayAdapt=glo2usa

option 4: https://us.shein.com/Faux-Pearl-Decor-Point-Toe-Stiletto-Heeled-Ankle-Strap-Pumps-p-10762292-cat-1750.html?mallCode=1

.....I still need to. decide on shoes....

[pennyinpaige]

Hello and Good Rising!

The sun so far has been hopeful and positive, but my mother worries like the shadow side of the moon. The night fills her head with worst case scenarios and she speaks of fear and anxiety throughout the day but the sun helps me bloom. The love I have for the world is defined within my soul but from those who don't understand worry for my well-being. They're scared I will get lost, stolen, or be in the depths of despair as I travel through and live on all the lands. As my heart yearns for many eyes to be made visible towards the interconnection through all human beings, my mind is tapped into the essence of my purpose. My heart transcends through knowledge of cultures, living through every one else's everyday life, observing their minds and listening gracefully. Analyzing where they are at mentally and emotionally and connecting that to their physicality.

I feel pulled to understand and guide. Ask questions that can open their mind. Their perception of themselves that maybe they didn't see before as they can offer me likewise. Through watching my surroundings and touching the earth underneath their feet, my mind expands further intensifying the love stimulated from it's full capacity. Sleeping under the same moon but within their home. Seeing and feeling something other than what my country owns. Pushing me to transcend in ways I couldn't if I decided to stay. So I leave and keep my every day at bay.

I don't leave often for I am not running from anything but rather running to everything. I'll arrive back home and sit under the sun next to my tree. I'll arrive back home and let the moon paint my face and answer my minds plea. I come back to the place where I always sleep to collect my thoughts and reestablish all forms of humanity, indefinite information that was made available to me. I pull the time of the past and fill my body with it temporarily. Let it caress my body and fee my soul presently. It energizes my gratuity and reflects all the memories. This is what guides me to the next lead, transcending my spirituality.

With birds that fly high and butterflies that migrate; Fish that swim in deep oceans and ants that create their paths; I am nature. Through fears or ambition, I trust the wings the Universe gave to me. I trust the light my Angels use to guide me. I trust my Ancestors and the courage they give me. I trust God for he is inside all of us and I am nourished. I feed, water, and listen to him and he grows inside me.

My mothers shadows skew her view of my souls power. The quest of my purpose in life that I choose to endure rises concern from a familial love but perhaps showcases a deep seed that's rooted into a lack of trust. I will ease generational fear by being an example of what is possible when you truly let go. When you relax your hands and quiet your mind, you hear everything, you see everything. Let me show them the starred footprints I'll leave behind, as they are not scared for me but perhaps scared of what they couldn't be.

Water Yourself & Blessed Be

Peace