#the royal flush

[holmesoldfellow]

"Sherlock Holmes Solo Mysteries" gamebook series by Iron Crown Enterprises (1987-1988, published by Berkley and I.C.E.)

[graviconscientia]

It's been quiet. A calm that seems endless, longer than you've ever had at one time, one you should be so very grateful for. You aren't.

You keep track of the days. You keep track of the hours. You watch the moons shift in their phases, chart the stars as they move across the sky, monitor the shadows a blazing sun casts every day. Things move. Life moves. Planets, oceans, leaves, creatures, people, everything moves. You don't.

You have stayed in the same rooms for perigees, pacing the same hallways, locking eyes with the same photographs, the only changes in your surroundings coming as gifts from others. Tokens of affection from lovers and friends in the forms of food and flowers and fabric… Fine as they are, pieces you are grateful for, but is it enough? It isn't. You wouldn't dream of sounding unappreciative of any of them, but the hive you're holding onto is becoming a museum, full of artifacts of a lost life you're afraid to forget and a new life that you're afraid to live fully.

When you ran into the forest, you thought something would shift. You thought you could ask the the trees your questions, you thought they'd tell you the same things they always had: "you're safe here. this is home. this is where you need to be." They didn't. They offered their embraces, but they stayed silent. You ran to your dad, too, and hoped he'd have something for you. Hoped he'd have wisdom, or at least kindness: "you're safe here. this is home. this is where you need to be." But it didn't happen, not like that. Quiet rumblings, warmth that didn't quite reach your heart, words that didn't match what you thought you needed. What do you need? What are you missing?

You run to the ocean, you wait for something to happen while you stand at the waves' edges, watching the ships in the distance with narrowed eyes. It's dangerous to venture further than this, to test the waters so very literally, but you slip off your shoes, leaving them in the sand, and walk into the water, slow, measured, eyes kept upward even as you slip underneath the surface, listening to what the sea says to you. What do you do? What needs to change? All it says is: "you're safe here. this is home. this is where you need to be." But you know that's a lie. You leave, drenched, angry, frustrated you even asked, and more desperate than ever for an answer.

Nothing changes when you enter your home. The same silence you've become so used to greets you, the same emptiness fills every room and seeps into your lungs. It steals your voice. It steals your breath. It's quiet. You can't stand it.

Messages find you, and they manage to pull you out of the loop of madness you've made for yourself, even if their efforts are short-lived. Your heart softens for their writers, but your mind spends a little too much time with them. You talk of peace. You talk of calm. You talk of quiet, unearned.

"sometimes, peace is welcome. to have the time to be idle. to not have to do anything. it's good, isn't it?" "usually. i can appreciate quiet, but restlessness is usually what i get out of too much of it, yeah." "then we should do something about it."

You decide to do something about it.

You sent a letter, to Asidea, a few days ago. A short one, a frantic flash of words, written through lonely sobs for faces you miss so terribly, on a day where you felt your failures so acutely. There was no response, then. You don't deserve one, you know that. Still, you're trying again. Another letter, longer, with a pair of requests. You send it off, and sit by your transportaliser, waiting for hours. You're giving them three this time. It's terrifying to leave your coordinates unlocked for so long-- what if they come through in person? what if they make demands i can't meet? what if they pull me back before i'm ready to go?-- but you trust your children. You trust that they will not move until all of you are ready.

Before the three hours pass, there's a flash of green, and a box sits atop the transportaliser pad. It's unassuming, a brown box wrapped with a dark red ribbon. You are careful in unwrapping it, nervous that it is a trap laid by someone else, but it is exactly as you had hoped. It's from your children, only, with six letters inside. Your hands are delicate as you hold each sheet of parchment, all held far away from a face wet with tears as you read them. dear mama, they all start, and they all end the very same way. love, forever, always, from the moons and back and beyond. Five letters, written individually, and one penned by Virago with words from all of them. The last letter is heavier. The last letter answers both requests.

Inside the envelope is a stack of photographs, copies of originals kept in albums locked away, pictures of the life you left behind and the people still there. Selfies of your family that you managed to sneak in taking, candids of young people enjoying moments between duties and responsibilities-- Virago and Jagara doubled over and laughing in beautiful ballgowns, Perygl grinning by an arrow in a bullseye, Cyther Kaiser and Haakon smearing frosting on each others' faces, Izerti excitedly pointing to a book with her name printed along the bottom edge. More photos of them posing by statues, reading in nests of pillows, holding onto each other in snow, on shores, in sand, on sofas… And there you are, in some of them, pressing kisses to their cheeks, beaming proudly as you stand behind them… There are a few that you've never seen before: one has you looking out a window in your imperial regalia, another is of you giggling with your ex-husband in plainclothes, a third is one taken of the five remaining royals, all of them smiling warmly and holding each other tightly. The date is written on the back of it; it was taken six days ago. It was prepared for a day they knew mattered to you. It was prepared for their mother.

The photos were the first request, and if that was all they gave you, it would've been more than enough. But the second part was answered, and at the bottom of the envelope sits a ring, golden band with cut alexandrite atop it, exactly the same as it was 67 sweeps ago. You slide it on your finger gingerly, then press one of the gems. Slowly, you stand, and glance at your reflection in the mirror in the hallway. It still works. Your perception disruptor still works. There you are, human, with bright blue eyes surrounded by white, a shock of red hair, freckles and scars smattered across pink skin. This is not who you are, but it's what you asked for. An option. A change. A choice.

Everything that's been sent to you is returned to the box, brought to your room, and placed on your desk between a beautifully wrought dragon in a gardenia, and a tiny pillow with a crisp game-like module resting on it. Paper is pulled out of a desk drawer, and teal ink is drawn across it, letters swirled along with frenetic speed, a simple message dressed in verbosity. i love you. i miss you. please wait a little longer. i need more time. i want to see you soon. i promise, we'll be together again. somewhere, somehow. Folded carefully, sealed with wax, monogrammed on the back, you send it off, and you're quick to lock your coordinates. You fiddle with your necklace for a moment, eyes fixed upon the transportaliser, staring at the numbers you've input from memory.

You think this will be one of the last letters you need to send. You think, as well, this is one of the last times you will do this song and dance of scrambling your coordinates, of locking the doors behind you.

Something has to shift. Even in the quietest moments of life, everything moves. Now, you must too.

[vxnuslogy]

— pasalubong.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: kinich wasn't a sentimental person at heart, until you left to travel. neither was he easily upset, but here he was, undoubtedly upset that you didn't give him a gift with your recent package.

— warnings: ooc-kinich and ajaw (still havent done the new aq), he's a bit down bad, and misses you dearly.

— author's note: this is not angst despite the premise LMFAO. art credits to @.n429g on twt. | 1.6k words.

“delivery for kinich!” a mail man shouted, trying his best to not look down over the ledge the scions of the canopy is held. “delivery for ki—”

“i heard ya!” the small dragon yells, taking the sealed letter and small box from the man’s hands and throws a pouch of mora as thanks. 

the man sweat drops at the comical sight of the tiny dragonlord floating up to where kinich was. said man was dangling his legs over the ledge, hair swaying with the wind and an indifferent look on his face as he swats away his small companion and roughly takes the letter in his hands. he could only assume that the two had started another argument once again.

with a sigh, he cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, “thank you for your patronage!”

kinich looked in his direction and gave him a small nod. there were few postal workers here in natlan, so he made sure to at least pay the man generously—especially with how his legs shake and hand clutch the side of the mountain for dear life.

ajaw continued to punch and tug at his head but his attention had zeroed in on the envelope. it felt heavier than the last and you had sent a small package with it. ‘for my dearest, kinich & almighty dragon lord, ajaw.’ the small note said with your signature right below it as well as a wax seal at the corner. your penmanship makes kinich smile and before ajaw can open his mouth, he takes the grapple on his waist and zips away to find a secluded place to open your gifts. they were sacred to him and therefore had to be treated with utmost care.

when he lands on teticpac peak, he sits down by one of the rocks and gently peels away the seal. kinich makes a mental note to stop by a market to get a new container for all your letters, after all, his bedside drawer can only hold so much of you over the years. 

‘to my dearest, kinich,’

with just four words, you had him smiling like a fool. one hand propped behind his back to support his weight as he leisurely soaks in your stories like a sponge. ajaw sits by his shoulder, impatiently demanding him to open the box that came along with your letter. kinich was not even half way with reading before he relented—you always had a knack for making pages and pages of stories, but he didn’t mind. you have been away for nearly 7 years now and send only a letter or two every few years. kinich learned to appreciate the pages of your love every time they arrive.

“hurry up!” ajaw demanded, waiting with bated breath as kinich opened the box. “learn to be patient, ajaw.”

the dragon only huffed and turned around but it didn’t take long before he dove head first into the array of gifts. while his little companion drowned in material luxuries, kinich took out items in piles and made a mental note to give them to their respective owners.

kinich tucked the small pouch with xilonen’s name along with your letter for her at his side. he will deliver these to her first, he concludes. as he’s sifting through the items, kinich catches a glimpse of ajaw sitting on a toy fox’s head with a small note with kachina’s name. the final item that seemed important was a small box containing colorful seashells with mualani’s name on it.

his brows furrowed in confusion as he sets all the gifts down carefully and sifts through the package one more time. and again, and again, until his lower back felt sore. ajaw noticed his antsy behavior and decided to look at what all the fuss was about. kinich sat down, head lowered with his bangs covering his eyes—ajaw was beginning to worry (but he would rather die than verbally admit it).

“hey!” ajaw turned to kinich who had stiffly stood up. clutching at your letter as the sliver of expectancy in his eyes dimmed. “don't tell me they actually forgot about you?”

“let’s go back,” he says with a subtly sullen voice. “we have to deliver these to the others.”

ajaw makes no further comment and sits on his shoulder as they zip from one place to another. he doesn’t point out the way kinich’s eyes looked duller and the way a frown tugged at his lips—he was upset. 

“hmph! i'll be sure to show them a piece of my mind when they get back!" the dragon complains to him as they arrive back home. kinich beelined his way back to his residence, a bit more aggressive than he normally would.

he doesn’t want to admit that he was upset—it was stupid. so what if you didn’t get him a gift after not hearing from you for almost a year? but how come everyone else had one? hell even citlani and mavuika received one, so why didn’t he?

with a click of his tongue he pushed past all the people in his way, muttering half hearted apologies here and there as ajaw kept calling his name. kinich was not upset nor was he disappointed—he wasn’t a child chasing after the trail of gold you left behind anymore. he was an adult now, someone people look up to and admire. kinich was no longer the shy kid that always wondered if he could ever chase after you.

“kinich!”

with the shout of his name, he was taken back to memory lane. how you would call to him from the ground, a pair of wheels at your feet as you glided through the rocky terrain as if it were made of ice. the smile you flash him as you point to your finish line makes his heart skip a few beats, rendering him only to reply in a nod because his mind has turned into a mushy puddle. 

“kinich!”

you have always been golden in his eyes. smiles bright like the sun, kindness gentle like its morning rays, and hypnotizing in the starry trail you leave behind. kinich remembers the first time he tried his hands on rollerblades. he felt unwittingly afraid of standing on his own two feet, the possibility of his world turning upside down with one single step scared him. but you were always there to ward away his fears. it wasn’t long before he took them off and said with a dead expression that he will never try them again. the laugh that he managed to steal from your lungs made all his suffering worth it.

“kinich!”

he doesn’t like letting things go, not when you’ve taught him how to cherish every little thing. but he’d hate himself if he kept you from your dreams. so there he was, all those years ago, standing by natlan’s borders, unable to say goodbye as the rest bid theirs. you had to make him face you—gently cupping his jaw with both hands and flashing a small smile, giving him a tempting offer.

“let me stay,” you said. you were willing to give up your dreams if it meant making him happy. kinich didn’t want his happiness, he wanted yours.

“leave,” he said bluntly. it made you laugh because it sounded incredibly rude, but the way he held your hand in his shaking hold, lip bitten until it almost bled, everyone knew he was struggling the most.

“i’ll give you souvenirs,” you offered as consultation and it took every willpower he had to say he only wanted you. 

“i’ll keep them safe.” he replied and you smiled.

“kinich!”

urging you to travel has been the best and worst decision in his life—you were enjoying your life but he was stuck missing you. his longing for the sun in his life greatly outweighed his happiness for you. how can he be happy when happiness is spelled with your name? the way you smile, and the way you leave a golden trail?

“kinich.”

“ajaw, enou—” his sentence was cut off when he turned to look at the smiling faces of his tribe. brows furrowed in confusion as he searched the crowd for a certain green dragon, but all his eyes could see was gold.

the wind in his lungs was stolen as the images of smiling faces turn to fade, his attention solely on you in the distance, ajaw by your side as you both waved him over. as fast as the winds could take him, kinich ran straight in your arms—his home. your laugh ringed like morning birds and your hands felt warm like the afternoon heat. you were home; you were his gift.

“pasalubong, for kinich,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice. 

“pasalubong?” he repeats, hands coming to cradle your smiling face. “what does that mean?”

you smile wider and hold his hands with your own. “it means gifts given by homecomers. but,” you tuck away a stray piece of his hair behind his ear as you tempt him in another embrace. “it can also mean ‘to meet again.’”

kinich laughed—airy and bright, like the setting sun. this was so you, he thought, burying his head in your neck. trying to make up for all the lost physical contact he had missed. 

“thank you for the gift.” he said with a smile.

you pat him on the back and hummed in delight. “i came back just for you.”

“i’m honered,” he jests and takes a step back, not letting your hand go. “you should be! the trip back home is nothing short of tedious!”

he chuckles because kinich knows he’s a goner. no need for xilonen’s amused teasing, mualani’s persistence and kachina’s curiosity. everyone in his tribe and maybe even natlan knew, kinich would wait for you knowing you’ll eventually come home to him.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[007srpblog]

New Ship Name!

The Royal Flush is the ship name for James Bond and Destiny Chiffre!

[incorrectbatfam]

I feel like Bruce is really, really thankful for Cullen sometimes. Finally, one kid who looked at vigilantism and said “screw that noise.“ Bruce doesn’t have to worry about Cullen fighting clowns in his underwear or trying to run Gotham’s entire crime scene or jumping off buildings by the power of Cape or threatening people with swords. This one is normal and Bruce will never see him on the eight o’ clock news cussing out the Riddler.

Bruce: I just want to say, Cullen, although I love the rest of my kids equally, it's a relief knowing you would never get yourself in trouble with this messy vigilante business.

Cullen, climbing out the window to see his Royal Flush gang member boyfriend while wearing a jacket Midnighter gave him: Yeah, for sure.

[blitzy-blitzwing]

A quick applecider doodle. :V

[transmechanicus]

The audacity of well established bands to only sell merch for their most recent album. You bastards, you fiends, your peak popularity was in 2007, sell me a tshirt with old album art for the love of god.

[0ketinha]

oh, i did this

the babygirls:

Canon JD

Brotherhood JD

Royal Fush (by @year2000electronics ) JD

[hauntingjasper]

Are we gonna talk about these two being Card Wars nerds and being so good at it that they actually injured two people + Gumball being The Floop Master

pls bring back my unhinged Card Wars bfs

[floydmtalbert]

masters of the air part v.

[ramavoite]

Starlights Royal Straight Flush!

[year2000electronics]

mentoring the pop princess

[graviconscientia]

[now honestly] which of your children do you think is most like you?

A tricky question! I do think all of them have traits that mirror mine, and none of them had the influence of their fathers. So while they do have aspects of their fathers, mine are a bit easier to spot. It is the game of nature versus nurture. Six of them are Alternian trolls, with Alternian parents. Davodign was the only non-troll, beloved all the same, but my genetics weren't present in his. He picked up my sense of humour, most of all. He was clever and kind and giving all on his own. He was a full person before I came into his life, and was one after it, too.

Izerti had my genetics, but wasn't from the same... brood? (Litter? Event, truly.) as the other five. She had my face, my curiosity... She always had her nose in a book. But she was trouble, too. How I loved her curiosity, her willingness to try new things. She truly was a wonder.

Virago has a strong sense of duty, a sharp gaze with a gentle heart, and hasn't stopped being stressed for sweeps. Cyther Kaiser is a very charming young man who is happy to flirt with any individual who enters his line of sight. Haakon is bright, observant, so much more dangerous than anyone gives him credit for (even though they do know he is very dangerous). Perygl is so fiercely loyal and defends what he cares for without hesitation. Jagara has my face, too. A perfect copy of mine, without any of my history on it. We have been told she is the most like me, with a romantic streak, brutal wit, and fair features. But she is so different, too. Far more confident than I have ever been, certainly.

I do not know who is most like me. It really does depend on the task at hand. I hope they all want to be a little like me, but they never want it so much that they would change their beautiful individual traits for it.

[vxnuslogy]

– my proxy.

pairing: wise x gn!reader

premise: belle is currently suffering from an incurable disease of watching her brother play oblivious to your obvious hints of affection. she only prays that you confess soon or at least realize that wise actually feels the same.

– warnings: none

– author's notes: i am so normal about wise. whenever he starts talking in game i just burst into a fit of giggles. filler post for now. | ~700 words.

wise despite his name, wasn’t all that wise when it comes to noticing the very obvious hints you throw at him (or maybe he does know, he just isn’t speaking up about it). but belle does, and it sends her into a fit of giddy giggles that she hides behind her fist whenever it happens.

a fond and amused glint in her eyes whenever wise gets flustered after you call him “my proxy”. it wasn’t anything out of ordinary, wise always calls himself your proxy anyways, but whenever you do it on missions or when you go to hollows to accompany the cunning hares, it never fails to flush his cheeks a pretty pink. belle would let out a snicker and kick his feet from under the table and she’s always met with a warning glare. not once has he mentioned the romantic undertones of your words despite picking up on it himself. 

or the times when you would always drop by their store to hangout in his room. more often than not, when belle comes to check on you both, you’d be fast asleep on his bed with a bangboo in between you two. a devious smirk would always creep up belle’s face when she tip toes into the room and quietly open the cap of a washable marker to write on both of your faces. wise, when he wakes up, would come running down the stairs to chase belle around for writing “[name]’s proxy” in big bold letters on his cheek while you laugh. never once wiping the words of “wise’s hollow raider” with a heart on the cheek opposite to wise’s. 

belle isn’t ignorant nor is wise, but it does frustrate her when her brother doesn’t speak up about his very obvious feelings about you. a sudden feeling of irritation blooming within her chest when she sees your crestfallen expression when wise keeps calling you “just a friend” when general cop or the tin master ask what your relationship is. belle doesn't miss the flash of slight hurt in your eyes before you mask it with an awkward smile and wave of your hand, agreeing with what wise said even though you obviously want to be something more than just a friend.

she’s frustrated with you too. the hours the two of you spend in their workspace, curled up on the couch as you vent out your frustration at wise’s obliviousness. eight out of ten times, belle would just urge you to confess directly, however, you would always go quiet and murmur into the bangboo in your arms that confessing isn’t an option. at first, belle was rightfully confused. she saw how you looked at wise; you looked at him as if he hung the sun and moon himself. he was your entire world and you had him putty in your hands with just two words. it wasn’t until the day after when belle finally realizes –when nicole has her arms wrapped around your waist and an angry flush on her face when you enter their store battered and bruised, but still smiling– that this was a first for you too. 

before becoming a regular client, you would recklessly jump into hollows without a carrot or a proxy. barely making it out alive if nicole hadn’t found you and made you a member of her little band of misfits. you were enamored with wise when he first patched you up. you didn’t have anyone before him that cared enough to lecture you about danger, your recklessness, and bad habits. he was probably the first person that genuinely showed concern for you so belle understood for a moment why you didn’t want to confess. she’s watched enough romance movies and read books and comics to know that confessing has its risks. your friendship that you painstakingly built with her brother brick by brick would come crumbling down if you said those three words.

“my dearest proxies,” you barreled into their store front with a bright grin. belle doesn’t miss the twinkle in wise’s eyes when he sees you. “let’s go out for lunch. my treat!”

“what’s the occasion?” wise asks, putting down the boxes of videotapes on the counter to give you his undiverted attention.

your grin reached your eyes as you waved a piece of parchment in front of them both. “it’s paycheck day! and what better way than to treat my proxies to lunch for taking such good care of me.”

“count me in!” belle merrily jogs towards you and gives you a high five.

“what do you say wise?” belle flashed her brother with a knowing look. the boy only shook his head and started leading the two of you out the store.

“well, how can i say no to free food?”

wise stole a laugh from your lungs as you tangled your arms with them both. “that’s my proxy. now let’s go!”

belle never misses the way wise’s cheeks flush whenever you intertwine your arms together; it was as easy as breathing for you. she just hopes that one day you’ll see for yourself that wise also feels the same, he’s just clueless and a little shy to show it unlike you.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[ihavesomejays]

pumped this out for a homie in an hour this morning

this scene is from this fic by alicura and omg it has me in a chokehold

[nixienewt]

Terry McGinnis for the *squints* 8 Batman Beyond fans