#the symbolism the lighting the violence as a form of love it all comes back to the doctors all consuming love for the universe

[puppmeo]

Why is there so much sexual tension. Am i going insane

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 13

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9, 11, and 13), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut), Part 12

Warning! This chapter contains wedding night smut! Please do not proceed if you are not of age to read such things, or if such are not your cup of tea!

Part 13

For all the time Linnea had spent preparing for it, the coronation itself was a blur. Elven memories did not dim; when she thought of it later, she remembered it perfectly. But at the time, it moved in flashes, one clear moment after another.

Gil-galad taking her hand and leading her from the feast, the wedding guests falling in behind them.

Walking the path down to the great Tree, through the gathered crowds. So many had come that the path was narrow, but those closest stepped back to leave more space, bowing deeply as they did so. The sound of a harp beginning to play.

Gil-galad standing next to the Tree. Her crown, resting on a pillow that Elrond carried, a delicate semicircle of golden mulberry leaves. Linnea had chosen the design both for beauty and symbolism; the mulberry leaf was the preferred food of silkworms. The same smith that had wrought the betrothal ring she had given to Gil-galad had been selected to craft the crown, and she had done her work well.

Herself. Kneeling on the steps to the dais, Gil-galad stepping forward and standing in front of her. Him lifting the crown from the pillow. 

“Varda, queen of the Valar, we call upon you. Grant your blessing to Linnea, daughter of Taucion and Lhénes, wife to Ereinion - ”

His voice catching. Lingering.

“Grant your blessing as we crown her High Queen of the Noldor, that she may rule wisely and well for as long as the Father of All wills it.”

The wreath of golden leaves settling on her brow.

Afterward, well-wishers. An endless stream of them, bowing and murmuring their names, seeking to take the hand of their new queen. The formality of the occasion quickly dissolving, save for the line to greet her. Everyone milling about, enjoying the food from the laden tables, no plate or glass empty for more than a moment. The harp joined by a flute, the music turning livelier. A circle forming to dance. 

Gil-galad by her side throughout all of it. 

And then, finally, the sun beginning to set. The crowds slowly dispersing. 

Her husband, offering her his arm.

No staircase tonight. Instead they went directly to his rooms - and Linnea supposed that now it was really theirs. Still his space, and hers below, but a combined third state that was somehow shared. 

Especially the bed.

The door shut behind them. 

They hadn't spoken about this moment. There had not been time, and she could see that Ereinion was nervous, searching for something to do, an action to take that would help him set his compass. It was part of his nature to be so.

“Will you…” He cleared his throat. “I will await you here, if you wish to return to your rooms and summon your attendants.”

That had been their habit during the previous nights. Linnea had gone to her rooms to change, and then returned for tea and shared pleasures and finally sleep. She could do the same tonight. 

But she found herself not wanting to leave him. It felt somehow wrong to separate tonight, even for those few minutes. There would be other nights for the beautiful nightgown and nightrobe that Eressie had made; there was no reason for her to change her garments only for him to remove them again.

And as she looked at him, so beautiful in his white and gold, she wanted to be the one to undress him.

“Perhaps…tonight we might tend to one another?” she offered softly. 

Her words seemed to bridge the distance, the change that was about to happen. Ereinion smiled and stepped up to her, his hand cupping her face, and she rose up on her tiptoes even as he bent down. A longer, much longer kiss than they’d shared outside; more sensual, deeper, slower. 

And when the kiss ended, and she opened her eyes, he was looking so intently at her. And perhaps that was part of why this act, what they were going to do, was so intimate. Focusing on someone else to this extent, making them the entire world; perhaps it could be done without love like this behind it and still be enjoyed, but that seemed like a different thing entirely. His hand was still on her face, and his voice, when he spoke, was the softest whisper imaginable. 

“Will you lie with me, melethel?”

On one hand it was a strange question. They had stood in front of the assembled guests; they had spoken the blessings; they had exchanged rings and gifts. All that was proper had been done. This was the final step for all that had come before. And they had already shared so much passion and joy with one another, learning each other's bodies before this night.

But on the other, it was that final step, the act that made their marriage. And so it made sense that he would ask, just as he had asked her to wed at the beginning of the ceremony.

“Alassenya nás, meleth nín.” 

It is my joy, beloved.

Ereinion smiled. Slowly, he raised his hands to the crown that he himself had set upon her head, and lifted it free. The mulberry leaves glittered in the lantern light as he set it aside - and the laurel leaves of his own crown did the same, as he bowed his head to her. 

With trembling hands, Linnea took his crown off, and set it on the table next to hers. The sight hit hard, made it real in a way that even the weight of the crown on her head had not done: High King, and High Queen. 

When he straightened up, she decided that the rest of the metal he wore needed to go too. Her fingers reached for his belt and swiftly unfastened it, found the chain of his pectoral and unhooked it. He submitted to her attentions quietly, making no move to help except for positioning himself to make it easier. And when she had dispensed with those things, it was only natural that she should push the overrobe off his shoulders, and then that she should gather up the robe itself and lift it over his head.

He liked silk pants beneath his robes, and had made no exception that day. They were pure white, pale as the moon, and the only other thing he still wore was a pair of soft white leather shoes. And in the next moment, he kicked those off. 

Linnea reached for the pants, but he stopped her hands, catching them with his own.

“Turn for me,” he murmured.

She did. She felt him gather up her hair, moving the mass of curls off her back and over her shoulder. Once it was out of the way, she felt gentle tugs at her back, one after the other; he had untied her corset and was carefully unlacing it, inch by inch. It loosened around her, dropping down as it did, until the last of the lacing was undone and the dress slithered off her, over her hips and down her arms, to pool at her feet.

She was left in her undergarments: thin white silk, a shift and drawers. Barely anything at all. And then even less, as Ereinion slid his hands over her hips, catching the shift and drawing it up over her head. 

Her heart raced, as her hair fell down around her. She turned back around.

He was staring. His eyes were dark and wide, shimmering as he looked at her. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but he still looked stunned, and she felt his hand tremble when he laid it on her face to draw her mouth to his again. The kiss was slow for a moment and then became more demanding, as her skin touched his and his arms went around her and the heat in her core burst to life.

They had all night. There was no need to rush. But when she slid her hands down his chest, reaching again for the tie on his pants, he did not stop her that time.

This was new. Not the sight of him, as the pants dropped and he stepped out of them, but all of him. They had always left some clothes at least nominally on during the past nights, not that that had prevented anything at all. But it had been a vague notion that there would be something still to discover on their true wedding night. And as it turned out, that idea had had merit, for him proudly naked with nothing obstructing her gaze was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She let her eyes feast. And he stood there, letting her drink him in, and then it was his turn to finish what he'd started. 

He had held still for her; she did the same for him once she was bare, as his eyes moved over her nude form. His gaze was so fierce that it almost felt like a touch, like his hands were running over her breasts, down her stomach, sliding over her hips and between her legs. Her core burned for him and he had barely laid a finger on her. 

“Ereinion,” she finally whispered, and he smiled. 

“What would you have of me, my lady?”

The glitter in his eyes said he knew her answer, but that he desired to hear it. And she would deny him nothing.

“You,” she breathed. “All of you.”

Linnea took his hands, pulling him to the bed. He followed, and once they had reached it and she had sat and then laid down, he joined her, stretching his long frame out next to her. He always made her feel so delicate and small - but not fragile, because his strength was hers, shared between them. 

Ereinion propped himself up on an elbow, brushing her hair back from her face. She burned for him - and his body said he was more than ready for her - but the gentle touch showed that even so, he would be patient. 

He lowered his lips to hers, taking his time about the kiss. Slow and sensual; it deepened gradually, lovingly. He tasted of honey and fruit, the sweets from the coronation reception, and of the wine that had flowed freely. She cupped his face, stroking her fingers delicately over the lines of his cheeks and his ears, feeling the silken strands of his hair brush her hands. 

When he lifted his head, she smiled at him. 

“What would you have of me, my love?”

Ereinion chuckled quietly, shaking his head, eyes closing briefly. “A gift that I never thought to receive at all,” he murmured. “But not before I ensure your pleasure, melethel.”

She was ready for him. She needed no more than him; she ached for him, her body knowing what it wanted. And she opened her mouth to say so, but before she could speak, he had shifted his weight to cover her, and his lips had started making their way down her bare body.

Clearly, he was enjoying the lack of obstacles. No clothing in his way, no nightgown to push aside in some faint semblance of modesty. He had kissed her skin before; his lips had run over her shoulders, her arms, her breasts. Her stomach, her thighs. But he was making sure that no inch of skin was neglected, feathering his mouth over every bit of her. He lingered at her breasts, his tongue swiping over each nipple in turn until both were stiff and aching, and then drawing them one by one into his mouth to suck. He had learned well, over the past nights; he had learned that this pleased her greatly, that she would writhe and moan for him when he did this.  

Linnea reached, trying to touch him, trying to wiggle her hand between them. Her fingers just managed to brush his sex and he shuddered, shifting his hips away out of her reach, and then laughing again softly at the whine that escaped her lips. 

“Patience, beloved,” he murmured. “Patience.”

Truly, his would outlast the stars; she did not have nearly that much. At the slide of his hand down her stomach, she spread her legs eagerly, and the motion made him moan against her breast. Yet for all his admonishments of patience, he did not delay in giving her what she wanted - his fingers gently caressed the soft folds of her and he groaned at how easily they moved, how slick she was already. She rocked her hips into his hand, pushing for a firmer touch, and that elicited another groan. His finger slipped up, circling where she needed him the most, stroking the sensitive bud of nerves in just the way she loved. But he was keeping it slow; it was another thing he had learned so well, that building her pleasure up gradually resulted in the most blinding, earth-shattering peaks.

“Ereinion…”

She curved her hands over his head, his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair. He abandoned her breasts and slid downward, his hand never ceasing its movements to keep stoking the fire in her. Down, down, down; lips caressing the smoothness of her belly, and then low enough that she could no longer reach him and had to settle for gripping the blankets. Kisses on the inside of her knee and then back up, along her inner thigh, and all the while that hand. Those fingers working their magic on her, first one and then two inside, a gentle stretch and thrusting that was a prelude to what she knew would be happening soon.

His mouth took over the work that his fingers had left. Tongue caressing that throbbing little bud; licking, suckling, teasing. Still gentle, still slow, building and building and building, using everything he'd learned over the past nights. Her eyes were torn between wanting to drink in the sight of his head between her legs and not having the strength to stay open; her head lolled back on the pillows, lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps and whimpers.

The motion of his mouth stopped, although his fingers continued their glide in and out of her - less smooth now that she was clenching tightly around them, desperate for release. She felt him shift back, felt his breath on her flesh as he spoke. 

“Let go, beloved. Let go for me.”

When he leaned back in and resumed that soft, deliberate licking, she came apart. It was a miracle that she did not shred the blankets that her fingers gripped so tightly; her vision went white, and her entire body shook with the force of it. And Ereinion’s tongue did not stop; he kept going, groaning his own pleasure at the feel of hers, prolonging the release until she was limp on the bed, drowning in feeling, unable to move so much as a muscle.

Only then did he ease his fingers from her; only then did he move back up on the bed, shifting so that her spent form lay cradled in his arms. She let him move her, eyes still closed, feeling her heart gradually slowing to normal.

When Linnea finally opened her eyes, he was gazing at her, a faint smile on his face. 

“Are you well?”

She laughed. His question held no trace of nervousness, as it had the first time they had been together. It was knowing now, and even just faintly smug - but she did not begrudge him that in the slightest. 

She reached up, caressing his cheek. “I love you.”

Ereinion turned, pressing his lips to her palm, once and then again. She trailed her hand down lazily, over his neck and shoulder, down his chest - and it was her turn to smile as he shuddered slightly at the touch. He was happy to let her recover, to rest a moment after such pleasure, but that did not mean that his desire had been exhausted.

No, not at all. And the proof of that was found as her hand moved lower, down the firm muscles of his stomach and lower yet. 

He shuddered again, more forcefully, as she wrapped her hand around him. She too had learned; she had learned how he liked best to be touched, and she trailed her fingertips delicately over the side of his sex. The hot, velvety skin quivered, his hips pushing his hard length into her hand, and as she rubbed her thumb over the sensitive head, she felt the silken moisture that told her how on edge he was.  

She intended to draw it out, as he had with her. He was not the only one who had learned how to use his mouth, his tongue, to great effect. But as she made to move back and lower her head to his lap, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Not now,” he breathed, and she could hear the tremble in his voice. “Now - melethel, I want you now…”

Oh, yes. Yes. 

For a moment, she wondered how. But he clearly had something in mind; he sat up and pulled her to settle on his lap, astride his hips just as she had been the first time he had touched her. His sex brushed against her still-sensitive core and she shuddered, her hips seeking, pressing down as she draped her arms around his shoulders.

His hand slipped between them, grasping his own sex and dragging it through her folds to notch himself at her entrance. She was used to the feeling of entry by now from his fingers, but this was much different - more stretch, firmer pressure, and the craving for more of both, for that hardness to fill her. 

“At your pace,” he whispered, voice trembling even more. “As slow as you need to.”

She was slick, and the pleasure from his mouth and fingers had helped relax her. But it still made her muscles burn as she sank down, as her body stretched to accommodate taking him in, and she couldn't help but gasp as he slid inside her. Ereinion nuzzled the side of her face, and she turned her head to meet his kiss, all the while lowering herself. And even amid what must have been an onslaught of sensation for him, he stroked her back, soothing her, letting her take all the time she needed. 

When their hips finally met, she drew in a deep, ragged breath, just feeling. Stretch, yes, but also pleasure - and yet, that craving was still there for something more, wanting to move, wanting him to move. 

Linnea lifted her head, meeting his eyes, and gave him a small nod.

He understood. 

There was a shift beneath her, a roll of his hips that pulled him out slightly and then pushed back in. And then another, just as slow and gentle. The movement banished the last of the lingering pain, sweeping it away in a blaze of pleasure; she cried out and he immediately stilled, hands clenching on her, but she quickly took over the rhythm to reassure him, rocking her hips back and forth, and it was his turn to moan, his turn to call out her name.

“Linnea…”

The coil inside her was tightening again, her heart pounding, her body gasping for air, even as the rhythm between their bodies stayed slow. And he was there too; his mouth was open, eyes dark and deep.

His hand stole up, bringing her head down to claim her mouth. The kiss deepened hungrily, and as it did, she felt herself being tilted, laid down with their bodies still one, Ereinion on top of her, and oh, oh, his weight and his warmth and the change in angle of him inside her, the change in position that meant he was in control of the pace; there was more force behind his thrusts, although he was still attempting to go slow. If she'd thought the pleasure would drown her before, now it had the inexorability of the tides pulling her under; the only thing in the entirety of creation was Ereinion's body on her, in her, first and last and only -

And as everything in her tightened, tightened, she was aware of something else new. Even amongst all of the new sensations sweeping through her, it was like a muscle she had never been aware of before - something that could flex if she willed it so. The building pleasure stopped, like a wave stopped by a dam, just waiting for something -

Before she could consider it more, the pleasure broke. For them both.

Even as she was swept away by her own climax, she heard him cry out. He convulsed in her arms, a garbled half-shout, half-moan bursting from him. She felt warmth spread inside her, his release filling her as he spent himself. The dark curtains of his hair cloaked her head as he bent for a kiss, and then she laughed in delight as he peppered her face with more kisses. 

When finally he rolled off, he reached for her, and she went to lie on his chest. His arms encircled her and she had never felt so safe, so cherished. She was a wife now, his wife and his queen, wedded and crowned and bedded. His forever, as he was hers.

Of course, she had already known that. But this day had made it all real. 

Linnea felt his hand lazily stroking over her hair, and a press of his lips against her head. It had been long enough that she felt like she could actually move, and she rose up, propping herself on her elbow, smiling at the sight of him with rumpled hair and cheeks stained pink.

“Are you well?”

Ereinion laughed at that, sliding his hand up her back to tug her down for a kiss. “I am,” he murmured against her lips. “I am well indeed, now that I am your husband. As I have always been meant to be.”

There were no words for that. Nothing but another kiss, and curling herself back up on his chest, letting her eyes close in contentment.

That feeling she had experienced teased at her. It was difficult to summon outside of the moment, but she tried her best, smiling inadvertently as she recalled the pleasure that had filled her. Her hips shifted; she was spent, truly she was, and yet, remembering how he had felt buried deep within her…

“Melethel?” Ereinion stirred beneath her. “What troubles you?”

Quickly, she shook her head. “Nothing troubles me. It was just - there was something different, when we were…something I had not ever felt before, and I was…”

She trailed off, realizing. Of course. She had had no room for thought at the time, but now it seemed so obvious.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh.”

He didn’t press - he waited for her to speak. Slowly, she lifted herself up again, and she could feel her eyes welling up.

“When we are ready to conceive,” she whispered. “I felt - it was something inside that I could open. If I willed it. When the time is right for us. I had known something of it and yet…it is as you said. It is not possible to describe in words.”

He didn’t look surprised. His hand came up to tuck a curl behind her ear, and his fingers lingered on her cheek. “It was so for me as well, my love. And like you, I was unsure of it at the time - though perhaps that is understandable.” The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. “But I felt the same. A part of myself that I could give to you beyond my body. And while it is ill to rush such things, we should consider that this respite - while both the enemy and we prepare ourselves - may be our best chance to know that joy.”

Linnea nodded soberly. Their people preferred to have children during times of peace, to ensure that both mother and father would have ample strength to devote to bearing and raising. Her heart again ached for Eressie, and for all those like her, left alone by the war. But she and Ereinion had spoken of it previously, how there was no way to know how long this war would endure. The enemy was cunning, and patient. He would not strike until he had confidence in victory.

“Soon, then,” she murmured, and he nodded back at her, smiling softly.

“Soon,” he agreed. “But not quite yet. We have time to enjoy these early days of our marriage. I must learn to be a husband first, before I learn to be a father.”

Linnea chuckled, and offered him a sly, teasing smile. “You seem to be well-schooled in all matters that a husband must be,” she said. “But perhaps we should conduct another test? I must also continue learning to be a wife, after all…”

There was a lilt in her voice - a hint of desire, that had blossomed in her when she had remembered their lovemaking. There was much more of the night yet before them, after all, and it was their wedding night. How else to spend those hours but in the practices of marriage?

He heard the desire, and it made him laugh, but she heard that same faint hint from him. And she smiled in welcome, as he rolled her over onto her back, rising over her and nestling his hips between her thighs.

Perhaps she was not entirely spent. 

TBC....

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Seven witches and a vampire walk into a human Halloween party in Hawkins, Indiana. 3676 words.

1986

When the witches came to Hawkins, only the animals sensed a change. Squirrels and cottontail rabbits played in the fields. Foxes and deer lined the horizon. Bats swooped, each of them enamored with Eddie – a bat, from what they could tell, but different.

“They think I’m a God,” Eddie had told you once he realised the influence he had on them.

You’d laughed at him. “Well, I think they think you’re a fun toy.”

The flatlands that sprouted homes were surrounded by a fauna-filled welcoming party that would have given any mortal driving by a heart attack. Naturally, you’d been building wards and glamours to keep the coven safe.

When you felt your sisters close, you walked by each of their homes. Eddie had made good on his promise to give them something. Beside the front door to each of the houses was a potted plant that he had grown. The plants he chose were, to him, symbolic of the witch who would take over care of it.

Asphodel for Ev, carolina for Meg, globe thistle for Mel, bluebell for Ash, lycoris for Hailey, and though a little cheesy, a black bat plant for Kelsey.

The fall sun was out, so Eddie would see the witches’ arrival in his small and fluffy form. He settled on your shoulder as you stood and watched the cars go from pinpricks on the horizon to loud and finally, finally, here.

Meg came screaming out of her car. “Does he want pats?!” She bypassed you entirely, holding her hands out for Eddie. If he felt demeaned, he didn’t let on. Eddie let Meg scoop him up and cradle him in her hands. She wandered off with no further greetings.

“How’s he gonna feel about that?” Kelsey asked, pulling you into a hug immediately.

“He is very preoccupied with making a good impression. It’s sweet actually. So… he will probably let her baby him for hours.”

She laughed then looked at you seriously. “Hi,”

“Hi,”

“I’ve missed you,”

“Stop, you’ll make me cry,” you said, holding in your feelings. “So, uh, where…” Turning around, you saw Meg and Mel’s empty cars. “Where are the others?”

“Uh… There’s Ev,” Kelsey pointed.

Ev was already on the edge of the woods, befriending the fox family you’d come to love. A little further in, Mel was taking photos of the old trees.

Suddenly, Hailey’s voice cut through the air. “Every room has bookshelves!”

As you and Kelsey walked to Hailey’s house, you noticed Ash, suspiciously whispering into her garden of dahlias, pointing to the bluebell Eddie left on her porch.

“Guess the fae boyfriend’s moving in too,”

“She told you?!” you screeched.

“And you told Eddie, guessing by that bluebell,”

“Oh, if you think that’s on the nose, wait till you see what he picked for you.”

…

By the last week of October, your coven was well on its way to establishment. Each witch had a list of things they felt were required to feel at home. Mostly, they worked on their houses and gardens. More wards were put in place not only around the valley but around all of Hawkins. The witches embedded themselves in the fabric of the town, starting the long process of helping it flourish again.

Your sisters were excited at the extended invitation to the Byers Halloween party by Dustin. Costumes were the topic of conversation over forest walks and shared dinners. Eddie continued to charm everyone with his mysteriousness when asked what he would be going as. Bets were being placed. He’d pick something cool or clever. He’d be beautiful.

…

You could not have been more different if you tried.

Eddie wore his hair in a low bun. The blue long-sleeved polo shirt and dark bootcut jeans were so normal it made you feel uncomfortable. As requested, you’d performed a simple illusion spell to make his black boots appear brown. It was only when he held the round, orange, plush toy cat did it make any sense.

“Jon Arbuckle,” he announced.

“No, yeah, I figured when you got the toy at Walmart… It’s just… You look…”

Eddie grinned. He saw how unsettled you were.

“I… Um. I think you need something else,” you told him. Reaching out for his ginger cat, he let you take it. Closing your eyes and expanding the illusion spell, you charmed the toy into looking like the actual Garfield. “Here… This helps.”

Eddie took the cat with a shrug. “And you?” He looked you up and down with a predatory gaze. It made your spine arch involuntarily. “I’m afraid I do not recognise this character.”

There was no magic in your costume – just good old fashion arts and crafts. You wore a very, very long yellow-blonde wig and a golden headpiece with a red jewel at its center. Your white dress was also adorned with golden armour. The knee-high boots were painted gold too. More painted plastic armour on your arms and a plastic sword held high.

“Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” you proclaimed. “Princess of Power!”

Eddie cackled.

“She’s from Masters of the Universe. She’s very, very cool,”

“I believe you,” Eddie replied. “You look every part the Princess of Power.”

 When you joined the coven by the cars, each looked more confused than the last. Kelsey was the first to break the silence.

“Uh… Nice costumes,” she said.

“This is Garfield,” Eddie replied, holding the cat out.

“It sure is, buddy. This isn’t going to weird the humans out at all.”

Kelsey and Mel sat in the back of your car as you drove.

“The makeup suits you,” Eddie told Mel.

“Yeah, I know this is a costume, but this look is like… It’s working for you,” you added.

Mel, in her Siouxie-best black just shrugged. “Stole a lot of the clothes from Ev.”

In Meg’s car, Ash was giving the other three witches a stern talking to about what she believed were ‘cop out’ costumes.

“Dude, I’m not in costume,” Meg argued. “These are just my clothes!”

“Every year you do this, Ash…”

“What’s the point in being a witch if you don’t do Halloween?” she frowned.

“What’s the point in going as Sandy if you don’t have someone going as Danny?” Hailey asked.

“Maybe she does,” Meg mumbled.

All the girls whispered out little ohhhhhhhhs at Ash’s expense. They wondered, pointedly and out loud, if fae do Halloween. What does a fairy dressed like Danny Zuko look like anyway?

“I left the Catskills for this?” Ash whined, secretly amused, and very much comforted by the fact the coven seemed to be accepting of her fae friend.

…

“You came!” Robin was very drunk, therefore unable to hide her true emotions, which were a combination of surprise, fear, excitement, and grief.

“I’m Jon and this is Garfield,” Eddie introduced before you could say anything.

Robin looked at him carefully. “I kinda thought you’d, you know, come as Dracula or something,”

“He’s aiming for soft and harmless,” you explained. “But if you want stereotypical vampire, Ev’s got you covered.”

Ev waved and bared her plastic fangs.

“Riiiight…” Robin said slowly.

“YOU CAME!” Dustin yelled, pushing Robin out of the way, and beaming with pure excitement. “Oh, hey, cool costume!” he complimented Eddie. “I like your Garfield. Nice touch,”

“Thank you,”

“So, do you have to be, like, invited in formally?” he asked, voice lowering, though the music was so loud nobody would be able to hear him anyway.

“Only because I’m house trained,” Eddie whispered back.

Dustin laughed, pointing to him. “Funny. I like a… funny… vampire, I guess… Come in!”

It was only a little before 10:00 pm but the party was already raging. The Byers’ house was filled with people, some of whom you knew, some not. Everybody needed an excuse to let loose and pretend to be okay for a little while, and you felt they were owed at least that.

The backyard was lit with party lights and whatever else could be hooked up to the power. The moon was waning, with barely 4% illumination. The night was dark and cool, and fires burned in emptied-out oil kegs.

It did not take long for your coven to splinter off and enjoy the night. You sipped at the purple coloured punch Robin offered you, surprised that it had much of an effect on you at all.

“Russian recipe,” Hopper grunted as his eyes followed Eddie around the party.

Eddie, who could not drink the punch, was designated driver one of two. Sobriety would not impede his fun though. As it were, nobody would let anything impede their fun.

…

Seven witches and a vampire walk into a human Halloween party in Hawkins, Indiana.

10:14 pm

Hailey introduced herself to Nancy in the kitchen. Nancy was distracting herself from all the things brewing in her unconscious by opening bags of chips and unnecessarily pouring them into bowls.

“Is Pride and Prejudice your favourite of Jane’s work?” Hailey asked.

Nancy looked at her. “Nobody’s recognised me.” The Elizabeth Bennet costume was accurate, albeit not exactly iconic.

Hailey smiled. “You look great.”

Nancy blushed, shook her head a little. “It’s hard to pick a favourite,”

“Tell me about it. Lizzy’s got to be one of her best characters though.” She left out the part about how she’d helped Jane Austen shape Lizzy into something more than what society expected of a woman, let alone a woman in story.

Nancy nodded. “You… Sorry, what are you?”

“I’m a witch.”

Nancy hesitated. “Oh… Yes, but… What are you dressed as?”

“I’m a witch,” Hailey repeated.

“You’re a real witch who dressed up as a-”

“A witch, yeah.”

Nancy still looked confused.

“See, I have a broom.”

10:28 pm

One was in a lab coat, the other in a red puffy vest. One held a huge remote made of cardboard and glue, the other a video camera.

“You really committed,” you praised them.

“We tried to get Jonathan to come as the DeLorean but he’s trying to look cool for Nancy,” Will explained.

“I think the DeLorean is very impressive,” El added. “It would be a cool costume.”

You nodded. “He could have made it a Transformer situation… So, what did he end up coming as? I couldn’t work it out,”

 “Joe Strummer,” Will replied.

“Ah, right.”

Honestly, Jonathan looked like he could have been Joe Strummer or James Dean or a young Lou Reed. Maybe one of the Beat Generation guys. All those white poet musician types ended up looking the same to you.

10:43 pm

Dustin followed Meg through the house, entirely unconvinced. “That’s gotta be a costume,”

“No, Dustin, these are just my clothes,”

“But you look like a pilgrim!”

Meg looked down at her floor length skirt. The billowing cotton. The soft corset cinching her waist. “I mean… I am hundreds of years old… and I take really good care of my clothes.”

Dustin’s mouth was agape. “But you’re magic! You have real magic and you don’t even use it to make a badass costume? And you’re a witch! Aren’t you contractually obliged to celebrate Halloween?”

“No,” Meg replied with a casual shrug. “Why are you interrogating me? There are much more worthy victims in this coven then me,”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, apparently your friend Steve Harrington is haunting Mel. And Ev is dating a werewolf, so…” And with that Meg walked away from Dustin, smirking at the chaos she’d caused.

11:02 pm

You sat in a plastic chair that was probably too close to the open flames in front of it. As you pulled it back and lined it next to Joyce, she smiled at you.

“How’s your night?” she asked politely.

“Uh… Interesting… Yours?”

She nodded and you knew what she meant. “You seem different,” she told you.

You sighed, nodded as she had. “I am. We all are, I think,”

“I think so too.”

Together you sat in comfortable silence and watched the happiness of the party.

“I was glad, you know, when I heard you were staying. Hawkins needs…”

“Help?” you guessed.

Joyce nodded. “And hope. You and your friends… It’s good.”

11:36 pm

“Why didn’t he come? It’s not like it’s a full moon,” Mike Wheeler asked Ev.

“He wasn’t invited,” she answered, looking over the top of him, searching for someone to save her from the teenage conversation.

“Ohhhhh, is it like… Like how vampires can only come in when invited? Did the stories get it wrong and that’s actually werewol-” Lucas Sinclair tried.

“No! Not like that,”

“Is it like when we all thought Dustin’s girlfriend wasn’t real because we never saw her,” Mike asked Lucas then.

“He’s real,” Ev assured them.

“Suzie’s real too,” Lucas began to explain. “They met at camp and-”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s great. Um, who told you about him? My boyfriend, I mean. Who told you?”

Mike and Lucas looked at each other, neither wanting to be the rat.

12:01 am

“You have somewhere to be?” Mel asked Eddie when she saw him watching the clock above the fireplace.

He smiled. “No. It’s… Midnight… Always feels like something is going to happen when the clock strikes twelve,”

“Sometimes it does,”

“Sometimes it does,” he agreed.

12:23 am

The juxtaposition of Erica’s soft face next to all the faux leather, duct tape, and corn syrup blood was both amusing and disconcerting.

“I thought Mad Max was Lucas’ girlfriend’s thing?” you asked her.

Erica was in the kitchen, mixing a feral concoction she was probably going to offer to her brother and all his friends. Not you though. You got a genuine Erica Sinclair smile.

“She’s still in the hospital,”

“What? Why’d nobody tell me? I’ll go and-”

“We don’t know where. Her mum took her. Wouldn’t tell Lucas anything.”

It would be easy for you to find Max. To find her and heal her. It felt a lot like meddling in human affairs though. But what were you now if not a witch that meddled? What was the worth of a rule if it prevented you from helping a teenage girl get out of pain sooner?

Erica saw it on your face. She knew scheming when she saw it. “Oh, you gonna go do some witchy stuff?”

“Maybe… So… the costume,”

“Lucas already gave me shit about it, okay?”

“Oh, no, I was gonna say it’s a cool thing to do. An ode to Max.”

Erica poured some Pabst into a red plastic cup. “To Max,”

“To Max,” you cheered. “Wait… How old are you? Gimme that.”

12.46 am 

Nancy and Jonathan danced together in a bubble of their own. It didn’t matter the tempo of the song or if anyone else was on the lounge room dancefloor. They danced.

1:14 am

“Are you kidding me?! Of course you should!”

“I think there are more than enough books and films to satisfy the human curiosity for the undead,”

“Yeah, but none written by an actual undead,” Dustin continued to argue. He’d been going at it for ten minutes straight. “If you won’t write your own story, Interview with the Vampire style, then you should write about all the others… About what they get right. What they get wrong,”

“And what point would that serve?” Eddie asked.

“Well, I would want to read a book by a real vampire,”

“It may not be in the best interests of anyone to discover that vampires were indeed real. Nor that witches are. Nor the horrors that have befallen your town, Dustin,”

“No! No, man. We gotta get the truth out there!”

1:32 am

Robin and Mel found a quiet patch of grass to lie back on.

“So… He just showed up?”

“Yeah,”

“And you’ve never met him?”

“No,”

“And he doesn’t want anything?”

Mel shrugged. “I don’t know… I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing here. He could move on if he wanted.”

Robin thought about it. “What’s the afterlife like? For us, I mean?”

“For humans? We don’t know exactly. It’s almost like there is an infinite number of possibilities…”

“But Steve – Steve Harrington – has decided to haunt a witch he’s never met?”

Mel shrugged again. “I don’t think it says anything about you or the others that he’s not haunted you instead… I think he probably wants to let you all move on.”

Robin sighed deeply. “You got some sort of potion to help with that?”

“There’s no cure to grief, magical or otherwise…” Mel said softly.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Robin replied, her fists twisting into the grass and pulling the blades free from the soil.

2:07 am

“I guess that’s what a fae Danny Zuko looks like,” Ev deadpanned.

She stood next to Kels, watching as Ash and the tiny winged creature danced around one of the drum fires. The fairy was dressed from head to toe in leather. He had glittering tanned skin and dirty blonde curls cut into a typical 80s mullet.

“She looks happy,” Kels said.

“Mmm,” Ev hummed. “Did you hear his name? Cyprian,”

“Yeah, you’re right, a fae named Cyprian is a lot better than a werewolf named Randy.”

Before Ev could respond, Lucas appeared next to the witches. “What is that?”

“That, my mortal friend, is a witch dancing with one of the fae,” Kelsey explained, wrapping an arm around Lucas’ shoulder.

“Why does it look like Billy Hargrove?”

“He, not it, and I don’t know who Billy Hargrove is, but if he’s half as hot as that fairy is, then cheers to Billy Hargrove.”

2:39 am

The night was burning away fast, you couldn’t slow it down. There was something so beautifully human about it that you wanted to keep safe. Wanted to hold it in your hands. Be in it forever.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Eddie’s voice whispered in your ear and his arms wrapped around your waist. He caught you leaning against the back door frame, watching the world go by. His head came to rest on your shoulder.

“It has all been worth it,” you told him. “Everything we did. For them. To get them here. Everything that happened had to happen, the exact way it did.”

They were not without their scars and their grief. They were changed and could never go back. But they were alive and hopeful and strong. Your strange little humans. You’d watch over them for generations to come.

3:13 am

“Magic begins when our bodies come right to the edge of their sensory and linguistic abilities and… something… keeps going anyway…”

The party had begun to wind down. Most of the witches were getting ready to leave, and the human population had thinned out to a handful of people.

Eddie was towards the back of the assembled crowd, watching you intently.

“And now, in the witching hour when the veil is so thin… The air is thick with witchcraft.”

You were using your most dramatic voice as you strutted around a drum of fire, the entire party’s attention on you. The humans were wide-eyed and hushed.

“In this place and in this hour, we may manifest what was not there into existence…”

Your sisters were trying not to laugh.

“Who will be brave and make their wish?” you posed to the crowd.

For a moment it was silent, only the crackling of the flames audible. Even the music had been turned off. Then, someone cleared their throat and stepped forward.

“Yeah, I wanna make a wish,” Erica declared, looking entirely unbothered by the mystique. If anything, she looked like this wish was her birthright.

You conjured a candle in your hand and held it out to her. “Courage, dear heart,” you told her.

3:52 am

“The first train out of town is leaving. Come on!” Meg yelled.

Mel, Ash, Ev, and Hailey said their goodbyes and followed Meg out of the Byers’ house.

“Family breakfast tomorrow?” Ash asked you as she hugged you goodnight.

“I’ll make pancakes. Better make it a brunch though,”

“Cool. Good luck with that one,” she laughed, nodding over to where Kels had Hopper cornered and ten points deep in an argument about whether hotdogs constitute sandwiches.

“Hot dogs are a sandwich. A sandwich consists of two pieces of a type of bread plus fillings contained within the two slices. A hotdog bun is a bun sliced in two, making it two slices of bread. The only difference being that one side of the two halves are still joined. It still however, is two halves that are obviously independent of each other with a filling separating them, therefore a sandwich. One might ask, ‘well in that case, is a calzone a sandwich?’ No. A calzone is enclosed entirely in bread. The two halves are entirely connected. This makes it fit into the pie category. Not the same as a sandwich, but parallel. One might also say, ‘well what if I don't have a bun, so I use a piece of bread as a substitute.’ Yes, using only one slice of bread no longer puts it into the sandwich category. This now aligns us into the toast category. Toast being a single slice of bread being used as a vehicle for a topping.”

4:20 am

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” Jonathan counted down.

The clock above the fireplace struck twenty minutes past four and the room of teenagers and young adults cheered.

4:37 am

The drive home was peaceful; you kept the radio low and listened to the first rumbles of a storm that was brewing way over beyond Indianapolis. It would arrive tomorrow afternoon. You could smell it in the air.

“They’re special,” Kelsey said from the passenger seat next to you. “Your humans,”

“Even if some of them think a hotdog is not a sandwich?”

“Even if some of them think a hotdog is not a sandwich.”

After seeing Kels into her house, you and Eddie finally retired to your home.

“Happy Halloween, my beautiful little witch,” Eddie cooed when you crawled into bed with him.

“Happy Halloween, my lovely, lovely, vampire.”

End Note: Sorry for going a little M.I.A. I had writers' block (still do) and have felt a weird sort of disconnect from my online world. I'm slowly getting back into it though.

Accurate: the moon phase for October 31, 1986. Not accurate: 420 being associated with weed in 1986, I think that happened sometime in the 90s.

Also, I took a quote from A Spell in the Wild by Alice Tarbuck and paraphrased it a bit ( “Witchcraft starts when our bodies come right up to the edge of their sensory and linguistic abilities and life keeps going anyway.”).

Finally, the hotdog/sandwich argument is a direct quote from the irl Kelso, my inspo for Kelsey.

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

[maybe-im-dark]

Okay, so let’s talk about something that’s been on my mind since forever: how Victor Creed (Sabretooth) and Logan (Wolverine) are dressed throughout X-Men Origins: Wolverine and how it symbolizes so much more than just “good vs. evil.” Strap in, fam, because we're about to go DEEP. 💥

1. The Color Contrast: Black vs. White 🖤🤍

Have you noticed that Victor ALWAYS wears black in the movie, while Logan almost always rocks white or lighter colors? I mean, it’s not exactly subtle, but it’s not JUST about the whole “black = evil, white = good” trope. It’s so much more nuanced than that. Let’s break it down:

Victor in Black: Black is often associated with darkness, mystery, and destruction. It makes total sense for Victor because he represents Logan's feral, animalistic, and destructive side—the side that doesn’t hold back, that doesn’t care about morality or right and wrong. Victor embraces that darkness. He doesn’t hide from it, he OWNS it. He’s comfortable in it, and he doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what he is: ruthless, violent, and dangerous. But it’s also important to note that black is a color that absorbs everything, just like Victor absorbs all that negativity, that rage, and that darkness that Logan tries to suppress. 🖤

Logan in White: Now, Logan in white is interesting because, yeah, white represents purity, goodness, and heroism. But Logan? We KNOW he’s not some squeaky-clean hero. He’s been through war, trauma, and all the shades of gray in between. So, why white? It’s because he’s TRYING to be better. He’s striving to be more than just an animal, more than the weapon others see him as. He wears white as a form of defiance against his darker nature. It’s not about being good—it’s about aspiring to be good, to be more than just his instincts. It’s him holding onto that tiny flicker of humanity in the midst of all the blood and violence. 🤍

2. Victor as Logan’s Dark Reflection 🪞

Here’s where it gets even juicier. Victor isn’t just a villain. He’s not just Logan’s enemy. He’s literally the embodiment of everything dark that Logan could be if he stopped caring. Victor is the feral rage, the unrestrained violence, and the part of Logan that LOVES the fight. And that’s why Victor haunts Logan so much—because he represents what Logan is terrified of becoming. 🐺

When you see them fighting, it’s not just hero vs. villain. It’s Logan fighting himself. It’s him battling against that part of his soul that wants to give in to the rage, the bloodlust, and the sense of power that comes with being untamed and unrestrained. Victor is basically holding up a mirror and saying, “This is who you are, and you can’t run from it.” And that’s why it’s so important that they wear opposite colors because they’re two halves of the same whole. They are literally the darkness and light within Logan at war. 🌑🌕

3. The Yin and Yang Connection ☯️

I mean, let’s be real here—Victor and Logan are the literal embodiment of Yin and Yang. They balance each other out. You can’t have one without the other. And here’s the kicker: Logan NEEDS Victor. He needs that darkness to remind himself of what he’s fighting against, of why he’s trying to be good, why he’s trying to hold on to his humanity. Victor, on the other hand, needs Logan to have that contrast, to have a reason to keep pushing, to keep proving that embracing the darkness is the only way to survive.

4. The White Turning to Red 🔴

And here’s the most heartbreaking part: Logan’s white clothes are always getting covered in blood. It’s like the movie is screaming at us that no matter how hard he tries to be good, to be “pure,” the violence and bloodshed always find him. And isn’t that the ultimate struggle? You can fight your darkness all you want, but it’s always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for you to slip up.

Victor doesn’t have that struggle. He’s at peace with his darkness, which, in a twisted way, gives him power over Logan. And that’s why Victor ALWAYS looks so calm, so confident, because he’s not fighting himself. He’s already made peace with who he is.

---

TL;DR: The black and white clothing in X-Men Origins: Wolverine isn’t just a lazy good vs. evil thing. It’s a visual representation of Logan’s internal struggle between light and darkness. Victor isn’t just Logan’s enemy; he’s the living embodiment of Logan’s darkest impulses, the side of him that craves violence and power. And Logan’s journey is about trying to find balance between that feral side and the part of him that still wants to be a good man.

So yeah, next time you watch the movie, pay attention to the colors, the symbolism, and what it really means about who Logan is, what he’s fighting against, and why Victor will always be a part of him. 🖤🤍

[nyumiisblog]

✦ Title: Sundown for the Strongest

✧ Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

✦ Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader

___________________________________

Warnings:

• Character Death

• Violence

• Graphic Imagery

• Suicide Mission

• Emotional Trauma

• strong Language

✦ Genre: Tragedy, Romance, angst/no comfort.

please do not steal, or repost. reblogs and likes are appreciated.

✧ Synopsis:

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, has always been a symbol of hope and confidence. But now, in a devastating battle against Sukuna, the unthinkable happens. Reader, his love and closest ally, is forced to watch as the man she loves falters for the first time. With promises of a future shattered, reader will stop at nothing to save him—no matter the cost. But fate is cruel. And sometimes, love isn’t enough to keep the light alive.

This battlefield was a graveyard of crumbled stone, torn hearts and broken promises. Satoru Gojo’s once-brilliant and powerful form, always so assured, so confident, was now dimmed, battered…a pitiful sight. His soft, white hair soaked in blood and sweat, a nauseating mixture.He is—was? the strongest sorcerer alive, but look now even he was struggling—truly struggling…for the first time, in this broken, twisted and broken world. His eyes, those piercing beautiful light blue eyes, that emanated a hopeful gleam, a hopeful light, symbol of peace for those he protected and served as the menacing cold eyes of the honored on. That had held her heart…the woman struggling to fathom what she was seeing; narrowed with strain, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

______ Arakawa stood a distance away, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her skin, puncturing the soft tissue in her palms. She could barely breathe as she watched him stagger under Sukuna’s relentless onslaught, each blow tearing through his defenses. Every fiber of her being screamed to run to him, to help him, but Panda and some others held her back, their hands gripping her shoulders, their voices murmuring urgent pleas to stay back…. ‘Stay back?’ She kept spiraling mentally, how could they be so brazen … so inconsiderate.

“_____, please. If you go, he’ll be distracted trying to protect you. He needs to focus on Sukuna!” one of them said, desperation in their tone. —Distracted? By me…? She pondered, it felt as if this was a bad dream, a nightmare…maybe it was a nightmare. Satoru would never lose, he made a promise to her and she knew how anxiety had her…

‘WHAM!’

Her pleading eyes never left Satoru. She could see the weariness in him, the way he flinched every time he was forced to dodge a blow just a little slower than before. She could still hear his voice from the night before, his promise that he would come back to her, that she didn’t have to worry.

✧

—“I mean he’d give me some trouble, but— heh I’d win..” he charmed her with a smirk, playfully tapping his cheek before running a hand through the beautiful silky white hair of his.

✧

But now, all she saw was that promise slipping away, crumbling with every hit he took.

She couldn’t just stand there and watch the man she loved die.

With a surge of cursed energy, _____ broke free from the hands restraining her, it felt like a sharp breath of air; needed yet pained.

Sprinting towards him. She barely heard their shouts; no. her thudding heart drowned out their shouts, the organ of love pounding too loudly, drowning out everything except the sight of Satoru,…her Satoru, fighting for his life.

As she reached him, she intercepted a blow from Sukuna that would have shattered his defenses, her cursed scythe crashing against Sukuna’s attack. The shockwave rattled her bones, but she held firm, refusing to let it break her. Her gaze never wavered as she looked up at Satoru, defiance burning in her red eyes, shaking pupils filled with worry. That’s all she ever did, she’d worry.

“______!” Satoru’s voice was thick with a blend of fear and anger. He grabbed her arm, pulling her close, his fingers digging into her skin. “What are you doing here?! I told you to stay back!”

She met his gaze, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief her eyes brimming with tears. “And you thought I’d just stand there and watch you die? You promised me….Satoru.” Her voice ached, overflowing with repressed emotions

“You promised me you’d come back!”

He shook his head, his grip tightening as his jaw clenched. “That’s why I told you to stay back. _____, if anything happens to you—” His voice broke, his hand lifting to her face, thumb brushing her cheek as if to memorize her touch. “I can’t lose you,______. Please, go.”

A tear slipped down her cheek as she shook her head, her heart breaking at the fear in his eyes, even through chaos she was being coddled in his arms…his ever-loving touch. “I’m not leaving you, ‘toru. I don’t care if it means I die beside you! I’d rather that than a life without you.”

His face softened, his gaze filled with an ache she’d never seen before, his eyes glaring into her soul with trembling pupils. He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, resting his forehead against hers. “______… you—, fuck… I love you.”

“I love you more ‘toru…”

But Sukuna’s laughter cut through the air like a blade, snapping them back to the grim reality surrounding them. Satoru’s face hardened, and _____ could see the unspoken words in his eyes—the silent plea for her to stay safe, to somehow survive this.

Without another word, they turned to face Sukuna, their powers combining as they fought with everything they had. ____’s scythe slashed through the air with brutal precision, siphoning cursed energy from Sukuna with each swing, while Satoru’s attacks struck like lightning, quick and devastating.

…But Sukuna was merciless, he was a heartless man— each blow more savage than the last. He seemed almost amused by their efforts, his laughter taunting them as he toyed with their lives.

Throwing herself in front of Satoru again and again letting the scythe consume too much, her body taking hits meant to break him. Blood drenched her clothes…the putrid smell of rusting iron, her vision blurred, though she refused to stop, her determination fueled by the love and fear clawing and ripping at her heart.

“_____, please—don’t do this!” Satoru’s voice was a desperate plea, the shakiness and fear of a love bird being separated from their significant other, he watched her stumble, her body battered and bruised.

But she only shook her head in the rouse, her voice trembling as she half-smiled at him through the pain. “I told you, Toru… I’m not leaving you.”

His face twisting in anguish, his hand reaching for her, fingertips gently brushing her cheek as if he could somehow shield her from the horrors around them, he’d do anything to be able to do that.

But Sukuna’s next attack was relentless, driving them back, forcing them apart.

Then, in a single, terrible instant, …..

;a heart wrenching moment of fate,

A fuck you from the universe.

it happened. Sukuna lunged forward, his clawed hand tearing through Satoru with a brutal precision that left no room for mercy.

______ could only watch, stunned, horror freezing her in place with her mouth hunt ajar unable, no— refusing to believe that Sukuna’s hand cleaved through Satoru’s torso, ripping him cleanly in half.

✧

-

“When we have our daughter…let’s name her Hinata, hm?” his blue eyes battered, looking down upon her as she rested against his chest.

“Hinata..?” her voice echoed in confusion,

“Yeah, she’ll be our sunlight in this dull cursed world.”

-

✧

the memory fading from being brought back to reality.

Satoru’s upper body crumpled to the ground, crimson red pooling beneath him in a gut churning manner, the organs splattered as if he was nothing. His once vibrant blue eyes, always so full of life and sharing hope, now stared blankly at the sky, the light fading from them as his body lay broken severed in half gruesomely.

In a heartbeat, everything went silent. The world around her blurred, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was seeing. Satoru—her Satoru—was gone. Her hand slapped against her mouth to stop herself from throwing up, visibly swaying from the dizziness that captured her. The man who had promised her a future, who had held her close and whispered words of love, was now nothing more than a lifeless form on the cold, unforgiving ground? No, no, no. Never.

A rippling guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and broken, as she fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she dropped to the floor in panic frantic hands grabbing at his splattered organs… desperately trying to reassemble him…tears flooding down her cheeks while she swallowed hard, why isn’t he coming back to life?

Looking down at her hands, the sight his blood staining her hands, shoving down her throat and pulling a hurl of vomit out of her, launching to the side and throwing up aggressively before pushing herself back up frantic to resurrect him.

Cradling his face, gently tapping his cheek while her tears dripped pitter patter onto his face ‘please baby,..’ his skin was cold, too cold for her liking, his body motionless.

She felt as if her own heart had been brutally ripped from her chest, blinking aggressively trying to stabilize her condition while her vision had gotten too hazy.

“No… toru… no…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her fingers tracing the bloodied lines of his face, her tears mingling with his blood.

“You promised me… You said you’d win…”

But he was gone, the dead doesn’t magically reappear no matter how hard you sob and plead. The warmth that had been her anchor, her reason to fight, the fire in her soul extinguished, …. leaving her adrift in a sea of grief. Floating above Atlantis, the sea growing rough and dark desperately trying to drown her with each wave plunging her deeper into darkness.

This whole situation was built on shaky ground.

She clung to him, her body wracked with sobs as she pressed her forehead to his, her tears falling onto his lifeless skin, hands frantically gripping at him.

“I… I can’t do this without you, ‘toru…” Her strained voice cracked, barely audible as she held him close, as if her touch alone could somehow bring him back, keep him with her. But he remained still, a hollow shell, his promise broken in her arms. “What about Hinata…our future sunshine….” she dryly cried out, her throat felt like sandpaper. Two shaking hands cupping his face, her forehead resting upon his…”my alantis…” she trembled out placing a kiss onto his lip.

He was her hero.

A deep, searing rage erupted within her, burning through her grief, igniting a fury so fierce it threatened to consume her. She lifted her head, her gaze locking onto Sukuna, her eyes blazing with a hatred that knew no bounds. A heartbroken females’ rage.

With a scream that tore through the air, she rose to her feet, her scythe trembling in her hands as cursed energy flared around her, dark and overwhelming. A suicide mission. She charged at Sukuna, her strikes wild and relentless, each one fueled by the pain in her heart, the love that had been torn from her. She was fighting but at what cost?

‘You couldn’t protect him, ____.’ Echoed throughout her head.

Sukuna was unstoppable, his laughter echoing as he swatted her away, each blow leaving her more broken, more bloodied. But she refused to stop, like a mosquito trying to drain a little more blood from a human. She couldn’t. Her body was failing her, her vision blurring, but she kept fighting, her every breath a silent scream of vengeance.

“I can’t…”

…

..

.

She dragged on just to collapse beside Satoru, her trembling hand reaching for his, her fingers brushing against his bloodstained skin. Her body curling up in a little ball, her head on his chest…like the little girl she once was. She clutched his hand, holding on as if she could somehow anchor herself to him, even in death.

“I’m… sorry, Toru,” she whispered, her voice a broken murmur as her vision faded, her body growing cold beside his. “You know… I..wouldn’t keep my promise… either…”

Her eyes drifted closed, her final breath leaving her lips as her hand remained entwined with his, their bodies lying side by side—a testament to a love that had defied everything but death, and promises they could never keep. atleast not in this cursed world.

[oceanlipgloss]

HALLMARK

ANDREALPHUS.

+ warnings: angst, mentions of blood.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Spoils of war are of endless incarnations. So much violence, so many forms. Like white feathers soaked in crimson, for instance.

Some wounds always throbbed, bled and wept—raw forever, impossible to forget. Plasters or bandages aren't the only way to silence them for a minute. Sometimes, a kind hand makes for a proper disinfectant. Light and temporary, yet ever so tangible.

Old scars and white feathers, fresh blood and a soiled halo—those are his hallmark. They are the souvenirs of pain and death. They are the vengeance that holds his destiny and drips with the weight of tragedy, red and ugly. They are the invisible photographs of a black past.

It is said that change leaves no existence untouched; it caresses the sun, the moon, the stars; it strokes the brain, the soul, the heart. It aims for the universe and paints the sky.

A truth, or a lie?

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

What a cruel lie. How could it ever be perfectly true when some things never change—never different, eternally the same?

Like his sorrow, like his pain.

Love is not a healer. Care is not an ointment. They may make things better, but never for forever.

Right, or wrong?

Right.

Right.

Right.

If change has such a generous touch that reaches all, however, could it not let delicate hands alter his hallmark, just for now, just this once?

Burgundy smeared the halo in her hand. Haloes are a craft of paradise, but where was the heaven in all this sorrow? The halo itself was dainty, but it was burdensome to hold, massive with the weight of the past as it was. Heavy.

His body was warm and his lap was soft, but there was something cold and hard in his heart.

Devils don't have white wings, but the symbol of angelic flight burdened his back.

Blood dyed the feathers between her fingers. One after one she removed them, one by one they fell off his hair and sunk to the floor. Marred wings dropped to the ground like lifeless souls.

New beginnings might be real, but they may as well also be a myth. They depend on one's heart. They take time to come true. Grand things begin very small—tiny step after the next.

New beginnings might not last, but that may very well be alright. Perfection isn't summoned by the first try.

Soft waves was his hair under her fingertips. The braid was broken now. She was weaving it anew.

A little change.

There was nothing to see either way, so he closed his eyes. Serenity ghosted its palm over his lids for the first time in a very long while.

A few seconds of peace, foreign and quaint.

Why did she touch him like he was made of glass? She was the fragile one.

But...perhaps he was, too, sometimes. On the inside. His wounds were still fresh with hot blood and oozing pain.

He felt an unfamiliar rubber band constrict his braid.

Maybe, just maybe, he could cherish the tranquility of this night—but it doesn't really matter if the trophies of revenge lay on the ground at the moment.

After all, the past never once only took the form of defiled hearts, crimson feathers and dripping haloes. A dead angel's glowing scythe can't rip apart the bodies of despair and bloodlust.

And so, tomorrow the past will seal his heart again. It will turn him into a vicious hunter again. Because...some wounds are never meant to heal; they are fated to forever throb, bleed and weep.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[s-b-party]

Interpretation/Analysis of Connections between Lan & Yaoshi

Lan - the Aeon of the Hunt

Symbol has a bow (not upright, facing downwards) & arrows

Looks similar to a centaur (like Sagittarius)

Color scheme consists of black, blue, and purple mainly with hints of pink

Yaoshi - the Aeon of the Abundance

Symbol has stalks of wheat

Looks like what a forest spirit might look like

Color scheme consists of green and yellow mostly

Lan & Yaoshi are considered to be enemies & it’s obvious that they’re meant to be opposites of each other almost like foil characters, but it’s interesting how they both complement each other despite their differences

Lan is a destructive Aeon while Yaoshi is considered to be more peaceful, one is followed by death in their wake while the other is followed by life

By setting up this dynamic, it shows the necessity of having both Aeons existing simultaneously

The concepts they represent help curb the other’s more extreme results (for example, Lan’s hyper focus on their revenge pulls in many others who weren’t involved in the destruction of their homeworld, Lan helps create life in light of their violence; Yaoshi on the other hand is an Aeon that can’t allow death or illness as long as they live, which perpetuates immortality, so hunting is what prevents life from going out of control)

They represent the cycle of life & death, which is well-matched by their icons/symbols

A bow and arrows are one of the most common objects to depict a hunter (funny enough when I first saw the symbol, I thought it was supposed to be a deer with antlers but it was only until I noticed the arrows that are more faded in the background that their symbol is actually supposed to be a horizontal bow & arrows 😂 although it’s not supposed to be a deer, it is still good to note that deer are often associated with hunts w/ them being the victims rather than the hunters)

The stalks of wheat that make up Yaoshi’s symbol are often a sign of fertility since grains have been a source of food for many civilizations (farming/agriculture was important for starting out, eventually small groups of people would become civilizations); they can also at times represent resurrection/rebirth since they can grow back as long as there is suitable soil present

Considering the two symbols together, the bow & arrows and the ears of wheat are crucial to the identities that Lan & Yaoshi encompass to the point that they appear in the respective Aeons’ splash art (Lan wields their bow, Yaoshi holds wheat in one of their hands w/ a ring of wheat behind their head); they’re very fitting icons since they’re ancient as well (bows & arrows are one of the oldest forms of weaponry in history, wheat [& grains in general] has been one of the most important sources of food over the course of history)

Another thing to note is the difference between their color themes

Lan’s design utilizes blue & purple which makes them look like they have a nightly aura

Yaoshi’s design uses vibrant green & yellow which makes them look as if they’re part of forests

Now this is just more my own overanalysis but I feel that their color schemes help to establish a connection that presents Lan as the heavens & stars to Yaoshi’s earth

****I didn’t really mean that in shipping terms but I honestly can see it 😂

I love their designs a lot which is why I wanted to look further into their relationship & then I somehow got ideas along the way & fell into a bit of a rabbit hole 😂

****I feel like this thread isn’t finished, I might have to come back to this later; for one thing we’re still in the beginning stages of the game so there’s a lot more that can happen in the future which im very excited for, so I guess this is essentially a WIP (technically I guess all my lore threads are WIPs until the games are done pumping out info about the related topics)

Anyways have my first HSR lore thread ehe

[farfromstrange]

Foreigner's God Masterlist

PAIRING: Matt Murdock x OFC

AO3 — Spotify — #foreigner’s god

❝ Sometimes, the greatest power lies not in what we can control, but in what we can uncover within ourselves. In the depths of darkness, secrets await, and it is our choice to embrace them or let them consume us. Together, they embarked on a journey to unearth the truth, unaware that love, like a tempest, would shatter all their plans and rebuild their world anew. ❞

⤹ SUMMARY:

She was born with the ability to manipulate reality and the world around her. Hydra raised her and turned her into their deadliest weapon until the Avengers saved her and offered her a chance at a better life. A dark past often comes with secrets that demand to be uncovered. There might actually be more to it than meets the eye, a kind of power that’s been sleeping deep within her, waiting to be discovered. But how does one get over losing everything without losing themselves?

One reckless night on a rooftop, a bad decision leads the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen right into her arms, and he decides to tag along on her journey down the past.

As it turns out, Matt Murdock is a man unable to take no for an answer when he has set his mind to something, and once she decides to let him into her heart, all the plans she made for the future fall apart.

Or, in which a troubled Avenger forms an alliance with Daredevil to fight a common enemy and save their city, but they end up saving each other instead.

⤹ CONTENT WARNINGS:

SLOW BURN, Canon typical violence, ANGST, EVENTUAL SMUT, light BDSM, Oral sex, daddy kink, praise & pain kink, blood & cum play, Switch!Matt, toxic behavior, language, severe mental illness, PTSD, implied/referenced torture, substance abuse disorder, self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Hydra, age gap, religious imagery and symbolism, eventual romance, some fluff, mutant powers, mentions of child molestation, near-death experiences, catholic guilt, NOT TONY STARK FRIENDLY (at least until chapter 40 or so), turning good characters into bad guys, not completely canon compliant

-> There will be chapter-specific warnings before each chapter because they tend to vary with each one!

⤹ AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello everyone! I didn’t expect this to blow up the way it did, so I decided to edit the entire Masterlist and repost it while I continue editing the chapters on AO3 and here, too. Welcome to everyone who’s new here!

Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

I’m trying not to describe any specific physical traits like body shape, hair color, etc. (although I think I called her skin “pale” once or twice in reference to her lack of sun exposure) in any of the chapters. The character was assigned female at birth and also identifies as female with she/her pronouns, but other than that, I do not give her any traits other than her name – Eliza Bennett. Her looks are entirely up to your imagination! So you can view this as a reader insert or not, whatever you want. It’s up to you how you interpret this story.

-> Series takes place in early season 2 and continues from there on.

-> This work is 18+ ONLY!

[the asterisk (*) indicates explicit sexual content; (^) indicates the chapter has been edited to fit the new style]

— ACT ONE: HYDRA —

chapter one: I Did Something Bad (^)

chapter two: Raise A Little Hell (^)

chapter three: I Think He Knows (^)

chapter four: This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (^)

chapter five: Hold Me While You Wait (^)

chapter six: Ivy (^)

chapter seven: right where you left me (^)

chapter eight: doomsday (^)

chapter nine: Block Me Out  (^)

chapter ten: 1 step forward, 3 steps back (^)

chapter eleven: New Invention (^)

chapter twelve: It’s Nice To Have A Friend (^)

chapter thirteen: Devil Town (^)

chapter fourteen: Family Line (^)

chapter fifteen: So it goes…* (^)

chapter sixteen: Do I Wanna Know?* (^)

chapter seventeen: Look Who’s Inside Again (^)

chapter eighteen: Anti-Hero (^)

chapter nineteen: You’re On Your Own Kid  (^)

chapter twenty: Innocent* (^)

chapter twenty-one: Green, Green Dress*

chapter twenty-two: mirrorball*

chapter twenty-three: The Avengers (pt.1) 

chapter twenty-four: The Avengers (pt.2) 

chapter twenty-five: For Real This Time 

chapter twenty-six: Black Out Days 

chapter twenty-seven: Dear Reader

chapter twenty-eight: Look What You Made Me Do 

chapter twenty-nine (Bonus Chapter): Haunted

chapter thirty: Hayloft II

chapter thirty-one: Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)

chapter thirty-two: Chasing Cars

chapter thirty-three: How To Save A Life

chapter thirty-four: Foreigner’s God(*)

chapter thirty-five: long story short*

chapter thirty-six: this is me trying*

chapter thirty-seven: New Romantics*

chapter thirty-eight: Lavender Haze*

chapter thirty-nine: As It Was*

chapter forty: Monster*

chapter forty-one: Daylight

— ACT TWO: PUNISHER —

chapter forty-two: I’ll Get The Coffee*

chapter forty-three: She Knows*

chapter forty-four: Cold As You 

chapter forty-five: Bird Set Free 

chapter forty-six: Human*

chapter forty-seven: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve (^)

chapter forty-eight: Bad Blood (^)

chapter forty-nine: Dark Paradise (^)

chapter fifty: Meet Me In The Hallway (^)

chapter fifty-one: Demons (^)

chapter fifty-two: Say You Won't Let Go (^)

chapter fifty-three: I Will Be Your Remedy (^)

chapter fifty-four: Dancing With The Devil (^)

chapter fifty-five: Why Am I Like This? (^)

[chronurgy]

also, 1, 3, 4 for aunrae :>

Ooo thank you again!

What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their Class/Subclass?

Aunrae is a 10/2 conquest paladin/light domain cleric. In game her oath is technically vengeance, but I'm using conquest here because I think it fits her character better.

Like all drow, especially high ranking drow, Aunrae was trained in swordplay from a young age. And it was clear from that young age that this charismatic girl took easily to violence. The Matron Mother quickly picked up on her youngest daughter's talent and realized that the girl would soon have options beyond her station, possibly with the other houses, and sought to bind her to their family. She had her other daughters killed to pave the way for Aunrae to succeed her, but not before forcing Aunrae to swear an oath at a shrine to Lolth, an oath that bound her to destroy their family's enemies. The paladin abilities she received were seen as a blessing from Lolth upon her and their family. She trained for years, drilling day in and day out until she could have sworn the movements were ground into her very bones.

Her first level in cleric came years later, when she first stepped out of the underdark and into the world above. Eilistraee had been sending her dreams for some time, but when she reached the surface she was gifted a level of light cleric to remind her that she would never again need to stand in the darkness, and her oath was changed to redemption. It was to remind her of just how far she'd come, and to encourage her to help others like her who dreamed of the surface and a kinder life still.

After the death of Elinor, oath in tatters, she arrived at the temple of Bhaal and did the only thing she felt she could, the only thing she felt she was good for, the only thing she knew how to do, had trained day in and day out for, and knealt before the altar of her father, her new family, and swore them an oath - an oath to destroy all of their enemies. She rose a conquest paladin once more. Her single level in light cleric never left her though, this one connection to a beautiful and peaceful life, and she clung to this sign that she might not be destined for nothing but darkness in her worst moments (she refused to ever kill anyone carrying an eilistraeean symbol).

When she wakes up on that nautiloid, devoid of all memories, it's the paladin maneuvers ground into her bones that come back to her first. She knows she is built to dominate and destroy. But her first night after the nautiloid, her first night back on the surface, she feels that same bright and loving presence she had felt all those years ago and wakes with a light that will carry her through the underdark, for which she feels both a nostalgia and a dread she does not understand.

She takes most of the rest of her levels in paladin, finding and renewing her grip on her old strengths. The second level she takes (or rather, is gifted) in cleric comes after she kills Isobel. It was an accident - she lost control during a fight just as she had all those years ago when she killed Elinor and her family. Sobbing, miserable, and especially after receiving her monstrous new form, she is convinced that there is no place in this world for someone like her, that she will never escape her terrible fate, and that she is bound only for darkness. It's in this state that she feels that bright, loving presence again who reminds her that no one is forever bound to darkness and that if she needs, she can make her own light. She need never fear being lost in darkness again. It's this reassurance that allows her to reject Bhaal, in the end, and change her oath once more to redemption.

What would your Dark Urge consider to be their greatest skill? Is this accurate?

She would consider her swordsmanship to be her greatest skill. I wouldn't necessarily say it's her greatest skill, but it's certainly one of her best.

What would your Dark Urge consider to be their greatest flaw? Is this accurate?

She would call her greatest flaw what she considers her "obsessive need" for love and friendship. Even during her time with the Bhaal cult, she still made friends amazing the cultists, had people she loved and was close to (including Orin). The problem, of course, was that Bhaal wasn't very happy with that, and she tended to black out and murder them. She's wrong about it being her greatest flaw though. This ability to care for people and form connections even against all odds is in many ways one of her greatest strengths.

[acorrespondence]

I was just thinking about how much I love Boyd in your Boyd/Raylan kid fic, and sorry this is such a vague question lol but I'd love if you had any like bonus Boyd backstory or details that you'd want to talk about in that universe, or like just any info on how this version of Boyd and the like perfect imo characterization of how he would be as a dad and a partner came to you!

Oh no this is a great question! Well, great for me because I love to talk about this stuff, maybe not so great for you since this answer is about to be real long and rambly haha. Ultimately though I think it comes down to the fact that, at his core, Boyd is a lot less like his father or even Arlo, and a lot more like Mags Bennett. I think on the surface level, they’re actually quite different—Mags has her matronly, pillar-of-the-community persona, and her ruthless pragmatism is tucked away underneath that, but it bubbles up to the surface sometimes. Boyd, on the other hand, inhabits his personas much more fully, and cycles through a lot more of them. I think probably the biggest difference between them is that Boyd really doesn’t seem to believe in violence as a form of control, at least not for those in his employ. Killing Devil and Dewey isn’t a way to control them, it’s just a solution to the problem their presence presents. Even when he gets violent with Ava in the last season, he’s not using it to influence her behavior, it’s just more of a controlled version of a child’s tantrum—you hurt me, so now I’m gonna hurt you.

At their cores, however, Boyd and Mags are both motivated by the same thing: the idea of legacy. I think many people often mistake this in Boyd as a survival instinct, and I sort of agree, in the way that legacy and lasting impact past death are our way to blunt the innate human fear of mortality—death may be inevitable, but our works and stories can continue on. Except I think saying he’s “just trying to survive” throughout the show kind of neuters his character a bit. Because one of the things that makes him so interesting is that everyone else around him is just trying to survive, and he’s not. He wants more than that, and makes other people believe that he can get it, not just for himself but for them too. It’s why he can rally people around him so easily.

In fact, he routinely does things that he does not *need* to do, that put his life directly in jeopardy, in favor of making a name for himself and trying to improve his position in life. And in so doing, he and Mags fall into the same trap: this idea that legacy is achieved only when you beat the game. All the suffering will be worth it when you reach that light at the end of the tunnel. Mags hurts her children over and over again, both directly and indirectly, all in the name of securing her legacy, *for them*, and in the end it takes Doyle dying and losing Loretta and getting the thing she thought she wanted for her to look back and realize: *that* was her legacy. Nothing good was ever going to come out of any of it. Every action she took in the name of securing her legacy was actually destroying it, was moving her further away from the thing she thought she was working toward. All that suffering in the name of legacy? That *is* her legacy. That’s what she’s leaving behind. Ava saw it clearly, even if none of the rest of them did: it’s all just people making choices, all down the line.

I honestly think characterizing Boyd as being motivated solely by survival throughout the series is a bit of a disservice to his character development as well, because I think his whole arc in the show is leading up to his realization, in the finale, that his life is actually more important to him than his symbolic life after death—whether that symbolic survival is secured by religious means, by his epic Bonnie and Clyde-style love story with Ava, or by his adherence to Raylan’s own personal mythos that places them in opposition on a time-tested scale. These are all just the natural replacements for his astronaut goals and later his goals in going off to war—the theater for his exploits grows smaller and smaller as he fails to make a name for himself outside Harlan. Ava even came right out and said it: in Lexington she’s anonymous, no one knows her name or marital status or anything about her. If anyone’s going to remember Boyd, it’s gonna be Harlan (though several times throughout the series he gets designs on something bigger, it never pans out). In the end, though—and in contrast to Mags, who couldn’t see past the crumbling of everything she’d thought she was building—Boyd makes the decision to put life over legacy.

On the surface, his situation in season 2 might *seem* like it should have done the job of disillusioning him about legacies already, but that was more of a symbolic suicide, Boyd resigning himself to the fact that he was doomed to have no legacy and thus making *no* choices. He didn’t deny his previous legacy; it was taken from him by his father. He doesn’t even get the legacy of having killed his father, or of having killed the woman who killed his father. And following that, other people make his choices for him: Kyle with the mine robbery, Ava with their relationship. But he’s *not actually dead,* and his commitment to not making choices is a choice in itself. He’s absolutely capable of fighting back against the desires and machinations of those around him, but he just—doesn’t. And in the end, both of these non-decision decisions in their own way present him with a new legacy, which he immediately latches onto as soon as that light comes back on at the far end of his tunnel. If he’d made the realization that his life is more important than his legacy, he wouldn’t have needed this symbolic revival, because *he was never dead.*

For the purposes of my fic, the inciting incident that caused the canon divergence had to be a latter such event, to my mind—Boyd losing his way—because otherwise he’s just going to stagnate in Harlan and stay in his neo-Nazi persona long enough to get calcified in it like Mags, or until something shakes up the game board, like Raylan’s arrival. But it wasn’t enough just to give him a kid, because all he’d care about was the legacy he’s securing for that kid. So I had to figure out how to make Bo do the equivalent of killing all his followers in the woods. So: the kid’s mama runs off, Ava leaves Bowman to try and make a life on her own in Corbin, Boyd’s really low on child care options and figures Bo’s a better bet than Bowman. Only it turns out that’s kind of a rock and a hard place situation (we know from season 6 where Bowman learned his wifebeating ways, and Bo definitely strikes me as the “small children and animals don’t understand any kind of discipline but physical” kind of guy, whereas Boyd as I’ve said doesn’t really believe in control through violence, likely because it never really worked on him).

Enter: Boyd going to Raylan hoping he’ll give him purpose, just like he did in canon after the equivalent event. Only this time, Raylan offers him more than just the potential for retribution against his father. He offers pretty much the same thing Ava did, for the low low price of papering over the past. So Boyd basically teaches himself architecture—few other legacies last longer than buildings, and if you make enough then at least a few of them are bound to stick around a while—and invests in a series of failed startups until he’s hit, quite suddenly, with a Mags Bennett-style reality check as detailed in chapter 5, forcing him to confront the legacy he’s already created and the fact that it’s absolute shit. Luckily for him, unlike Mags, it happened before anyone died, and he had a chance to course-correct. Fast-forward to now, where Boyd is *trying* to make choices that actually bear out his goals, but maybe still puts a little too much stock in legacy, since he hasn’t yet reached that final step of enlightenment that he hits in the finale when he refuses to pull on Raylan.

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Christmas address by President of Ukraine Volodymyr Zelenskyy

Fellow Ukrainians!

Millions of Ukrainians today are waiting for the first star to appear in the evening sky, heralding the arrival of Christmas. A holiday of many shades. A great church holiday. An important national holiday. A family holiday. Christmas, which is always loved by children and awaited by adults. Christmas, which fills hearts with light. Christmas, which always gives hope.

For the second year now, we have learned another form of it, another dimension. This is Christmas in times of full-scale war. Christmas with a different mood, context, and flavor. 

And a family dinner at home is not the same as usual. Because not all of us are at home. And not everyone has a home. And it has become much more important not what dishes are on the table, but what people are at the table. And how precious it is to have them around.

How important it is to stay in touch with those who are not around, who are defending Ukraine now. What a relief it is to see a "double tick" on the screen meaning the message was delivered and read. How crucial it is to get a response from them.

How our gifts, values, and traditions have changed. How today it's not so much about how we decorate our homes, but rather how we protect them and clean up the mess, sweeping the enemy out of our home. How we rejoice at seeing the first star in the evening sky and not seeing enemy missiles and "Shaheds" in it.

How joyously and sonorously sound the hundreds of our carols, and just three words: "air raid over."

How our wishes have changed. How children's wishes have changed. From the simple and usual "I wish for dad to come home early from work" to "I wish for dad to come back."

For all fathers, husbands, brothers, grandfathers to come back. Mothers, wives, sisters. To return victorious. All those who are meeting the Christmas Eve in the trenches with weapons in their hands, facing the enemy. All our warriors of light. Guardian angels of Ukraine, who prove to us every day: good will prevail, light will prevail, one must have steadfast spirit, and strong faith. Those who prove that miracles do exist. But we have to create them ourselves, obtain them ourselves, make the impossible possible.

Every day we pray for each of them. We pray for an end to the war. We pray for victory.

We will do so today as well. Wherever we are. Wherever we spend Christmas. Today, all Ukrainians are together. We all meet Christmas together. On the same date, as one big family, as one nation, as one united country. And today our common prayer will be stronger than ever. The people's prayer. Today, it will unite millions of voices - more than ever before. And it will resonate today without a time difference of two weeks. Resonate together with Europe and the world.

And this is a unique prayer. For people, for peace, for justice, a prayer for life. And today it will be heard in different parts of the world, coming from the hearts of different people, in different languages. And even from different denominations. Because this is a prayer for life, and it has no borders.

In troubled times, as we defend our land and our souls, we are making our way to freedom. The way to gaining comprehensive independence, including spiritual one. Freedom of our faith from the ideology of slavery. From a cult that has nothing human or sacred within it. One that brings violence, aggression, hatred. One that takes away security and peace, takes away other people's lands and human lives. Yet one that will be defeated. By the power of faith, the power of truth, the power of law, the power of justice, the power of our Ukraine.

Right now, I am in the Kyiv Pechersk Lavra. Majestic. Iconic. Ours.

A thousand-year old symbol of Ukrainian history, our culture, religion, Orthodoxy, and all of Eastern Christianity. A proof of our unyielding fortitude, resilience, tough challenges and ability to overcome them. Invariably reviving and growing.

Throughout its history, this place has experienced numerous upheavals and hardships. Profanation, desecration, looting. The Horde, the Nazis, the Soviet times. This place was captured, burned, and destroyed. But no one has ever been able to destroy it completely and forever. The Lavra has always withstood to be reborn again. And after each blow, it not only recovered, but grew bigger and stronger. Because it was and remains a place of power for people. A source of hope and spirit for our people. For everyone who believes. In the victory of truth. The victory of Ukraine.

Christmas Eve is the time of the longest nights of the year. But tomorrow the day starts getting longer, the light starts prevailing. The light is getting stronger. And step by step, day by day, the darkness retreats.

And in the end, darkness will lose. Evil will be defeated. Today, this is our common goal, our common dream, and this is what our common prayer is for today. For our freedom. For our victory. For our Ukraine. For the day when we can all come together at home in a peaceful year of peaceful Christmas. And say to each other: "Christ is born!"

Dear Ukrainians! I extend my Christmas congratulations to all of you! May the light of faith reign in your souls, the light of hope fill your hearts, and love and prosperity fill your homes.

As our ancestors used to say and sing: "Let the sky and the earth bear fruit. Let the sky bear stars, and let the earth bear flowers. God grant it!"

And as we will say today: "Let our Ukraine bear victory and peace. God grant it!"

Congratulations, dear people of Ukraine!

Christ is born! Let us praise Him!

[hakodate-division]

"Peace of mind is the meaning of life."

Introduction

Kotan Anchikar is the leader of the Hakodate rap battle team, Kuma no ie. He is known by his MC name, Kamuy. The newly-appointed chieftain of the Ainu people after his father sadly passed, this young man has very large shoes to fill as he tries to lead his people the right way in a world that is ever-changing. With Chuohku exerting their influence over all parts of Japan, can he and his tribe continue to maintain their way of life in this constantly shifting landscape?

As a member of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, Kotan has sunbaked skin, which is ironic considering his people thrive in cold climates. He has black eyes that are very keen and perceptive. Underneath his eyes are red lines that symbolize his heritage. He has black hair that is tied in a short ponytail that goes down past his neck, stopping at the top of his back. He doesn't have noticeable muscles but is in shape due to his lifestyle.

He dresses rather formally, as depicted by his attire, which is due to his job as the chieftain of his tribe. He dresses in the Kinagashi style, wearing a light blue haori with an olive-colored nagagi underneath. His nagagi is fastened with two haori himo. He wears tabi socks and a pair of zōri over them. On the back of his haori, there is an imprint of a bear's face. Finally, he has a charm earring in his right ear.

Name Meaning

Kotan (古潭) - means 'owl god' and has the numerology number seven.

Anchikar (アンチカル) - means 'evening', is one of the famous last names used by the indigenous people in the Ainu culture.

Aliases

Chieftain

His father's son

Big Brother/Onii-Chan: His younger sisters

Biographical Info

Gender - Male

Age - 26

Birthday - November 27th

Ethnicity - Ainu

Hair Color - Jet Black

Eye Color - Black

Height - 178 cm/5'10"

Weight - 71 kg/156 lb.

Star Sign - Sagittarius

Piercings - Charm earring in his right ear

Markings - Two matching red lines under both his eyes. Plus, faded scars on his arms and legs.

Family

Mother (Deceased)

Father (Deceased)

Younger Sisters

Grandmother

Voiced By - OZworld (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - Kamuy

Occupation - Chieftain/Spokesperson of the Ainu People

Division - Hakodate

Team - Kuma no ie

Position - Leader

Favorite Food - Cep Ohaw

Least Favorite Food - Sea Lion

Likes - His heritage, his way of life, his younger sisters, bears, snow, his people, hot tea, hunting, mountains, skiing, rituals, festivals

Dislikes - Poachers, people who insult his way of life or heritage, people who insult or hurt bears, hot days, his sisters teasing him, people comparing him to his father

Hypnosis Microphone

Kotan's Microphone is a ribbon mic on a stand. Both the mic and the stand are made entirely out of wood. The stand is based off the inau sticks that the Ainu people use during rituals. The stand is also decorated with yellow feathers.

His Speaker takes the form of a spectral bear that stands up on its hind legs. In its paws, it is holding onto a speaker.

His rap ability, Blessings of Kim-un-kamuy, allows Kotan's speaker to fuse with him, drastically improving his attack, defense, and stamina. It also makes him immune to any negative effects the enemy may use on him. The downside is that he can only stay like this for up to three minutes. If he and his team haven't won the battle by then, he is automatically eliminated.

Kotan's rap themes are centered around the Ainu people and his way of life. He often raps about how the world is evolving or changing too quickly and that people need to slow down and enjoy life as it comes. He also raps about the struggles and rewards of responsibility, and about his love for his family and friends.

Personality

A humble and somewhat soft-spoken young man, Kotan is not exactly what one would expect as the chieftain of his tribe. He often appears to be meek, innocent, kind, moderate, and nice in contrast to many other people in Japan. A pacifist by nature, he dislikes violence and arguments, often seeking other methods of trying to resolve a conflict. His father, who was a skilled talker, always instructed him to never resort to violence, unless it is a last and final resort. And maybe not even then.

That's not to say that Kotan will not defend himself or his people if needed. Despite disliking violence or arguments, he will gladly fight to protect his home, his family, his tribe, and his way of life. He does not suffer insults or being mocked gladly, and won't stand by while someone degrades him or his people. He also will not tolerate poachers preying on the animals. If they are hunting for food, then that is one thing. But he won't tolerate or forgive people who kill animals for sport or, worse yet, for fun. However, he will not reciprocate and kill them as it is his principle to never take a human life.

As stated, Kotan deeply respects the Ainu culture. The Ainu revere nature and consider animals godlike beings kamuy, so he always honors his prey and everything he uses as gifts from the kamuy. Because of his love for people's way of life, he often struggles with new-world ideas or things that conflict with the Ainu way of life. However, he knows that the world is constantly changing and evolving, and he is not so foolish as to believe that he and his people will outlive the rest of the world. This makes sticking to his ways all the more difficult. He often wishes there was a way for him to preserve his people's independence and a way to ensure that the Ainu will never be forgotten or erased.

As the current chieftain of his tribe, Kotan often feels the pressures of his position. Though he is dedicated to leading his people, he often suffers from self-doubt and stress due to his bad habit of trying to handle everything by himself, or by trying to appear fine when he really isn't. He wants to be a great leader like his father and often finds himself comparing himself to the former chieftain, which only helps to stress him more. It often takes his grandmother lecturing and chastising him to bring him back to his senses. She frequently chides him to 'stop being someone that he is not, and just be himself.'

Though he often appears cold and withdrawn, around those he is comfortable with, Kotan is very jovial. He loves his younger sisters very much but wishes they wouldn't tease him so much. And he always looks to his grandmother for some sort of wisdom or guidance. He is good friends with his family friend, Ted Bridges, and has a good relationship with Kokomi, who taught him how to ski, which helps him with hunting. Though he is cautious around outsiders, after warming up to them, he is a good friend to have.

Background

*Coming soon*

Trivia

His sisters frequently tease him about the fact that he hasn't shown interest in a girl before.

When he is stressed, he'll often disappear from the village for a time to walk through the mountains and forests to calm himself.

He owns a wolf and a hawk, both of which help him to hunt.

The land that he and his people live on was given to them by the former Japanese government.

[luxmaeastra]

Diem was here to get her mother, she turned, pausing before another cell. Luther and the others stopping a few feet from her.

He stepped toward her, ready to defend her.

"Diem? Is -"

They both stiffened, at the flash of silver. The eyes glowed in the gloom of the cell. Luther stepped toward the cell, his hands reaching for his sword.

Diem held him back, stepping toward the cell.

The body that stepped into the light was ordinary. It had the same silver eyes as hers, the same hair. They were younger than she had thought they'd be.

"You."

She clenched her fists.

"You're in my head. What do you want?"

Orsus titled their head, the corner of their lip tugged upward.

"The same thing as you. The Asteri to pay."

She shook her head.

"You want violence, there's good in -"

The prison shook, they all looked to the ceiling. The ancient symbols etched in the bars flared bright red. Diem somehow knew the Fortos king had used his own blood to do it.

The male leaned toward her, gripping the bars even as they seemed to burn him.

"You should hurry and get your mother out. They're coming from the South and East."

Luther's jaw clenched and he tugged Diem to him.

"The Rebels?"

The smile this figure gave was slow, dark. They looked to Diem.

"You'll do anything for those you love. You think I don't have those who love me? Who haven't searched for me and will cities for me?"

------

Xaden turned to cousin Estrella, following her lead. Their parents had urged caution, has urged for the reports to be confirmed.

But he and Ella had not. Orsus had been the closest to them. And he knew first hand if anyone had taken him or her.... Orsus would have stopped at nothing to get them back.

They'd have leveled worlds for them.

//For Ella//

Caution. She knew better than to run into this situation without it, but she also knew that the sand was falling through the hourglass. Time was not on their side, time was going by too fast.

Claw marks were dug into the ground from where she walked, she landed after going ahead to patrol the area and get intel. The whisp of magic curled around her as her armour fell back into place, the only signs of her shifted form was the slight feral look within her eyes.

The small amount of men who had joined them kept their distance, they respected the cousins when they needed their space.

"The castle will not be easy to get into, but there are ways if we have the right kind of distraction," she said to Xaden as she picked up the water flask to drink from. "They are definitely there, I could feel a shift in the magic."

They had to have known they were coming, they had to know they wouldn't leave them to rot and suffer. It was the one thing she and Xaden agreed upon, the one thing she was certain.

"I'm willing to be a distraction if you are able to get in and get them out."

[boowhumps]

Whumptober 2023

Day 19

(@whumptober)

By - B.W

⚠TW⚠

~ Swearing

~ Mentions of Death

~ Mentions of SA

~ Mentions of Abuse

Enjoy!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Roses..

Probably the most known and loved kind of flowers..

They come in a variety of colors..

Red..

Pink..

Yellow..

...

White.

Oh.. How I love white roses..

Devoid of color, simple yet alluring..

Bright as the light you follow when death arrives..

A symbol of..

Purity..

Innocence..

Angel-like..

When a white rose rises from the ground, it's a sight..

It's tended to..

Taken care of..

With the hope that one day it'll grow to be the perfect flower..

As it grows, so does the distance between it and purpose.

In a field of flowers, the white rose lies among the other, colorful roses. Slowly, the colorful ones are picked out..

No one really looks at a white rose a second time..

So it begins to wilt..

Slowly giving way to extinction, unaware of why things are this way.

Then the rose will be given care again.. and it'll thrive, again.

Then abandonment.

Then purpose.

Over and over again.

No one notices when the petal begin to fall to the floor

They turn to nothingness once they fall..

Then, the flower dies.

Finally they're noticed.

But now it's too late..

Unbeknownst to you all, I am the white rose here..

And you only notice me when my petals are stained red..

__

Silence.

The halls are quiet.

Too quiet..

Amne's footsteps are the only sound. The rhythmical sound of her boot heels clicking on the floor are another.

No one is here.

Gone. As if they never were here.

But I know.

They want me back-

No.. not me.. not Amne..

Karyme.

They want Karyme back.

The name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth when you say it.

A name associated with agitation, death, violence, abuse, assault.

It's unfamiliar to me now.

Amne.

A replacement. Anme was deprived from Amnesia.. A mask to don, to blend in..

And if it wasn't for.. him..

There would be no Amne.

Amne wasn't ever real. Just an act. Just a title to hide behind.

It failed.

I became what I most feared..

..you know, there's a reason we're the Sain-Santos.

The Sain part stands for our lack of instability, and our ability to control ourselves..

The Santos part stands for our good values.. our way of being seen as angels..

..that couldn't be farther than the truth..

We're unstable.

Unpredictable.

Unlovable.

Unwanted.

..we are not made to be human..

We were destined for greater things..

We exist to bring chaos..

Destruction..

Suffering..

Misfortune..

We will never know the difference between accepted love and unwanted love.

We'll never drop the guns..

We will rise up, taking every generation with us..

That's why we're here..

Well..

I'm here for more.

Revenge.

Power.

Control.

Happiness.

Things I've come to yearn for.

So close, yet so far away..

You can't let your death be in vain.

That is not the Sain-Santos way.

Sometimes.. blood must be spilt.

People must be broken.

Love must be destroyed.

If you die, they might care..

But what if they didn't.?

There's so many 'what if's', but sometimes there is no 'If.'

"Sometimes.. you just do.." Amne whispers.

The axe swings back.

And it goes forward.

Admist a pool of someone else's blood, there is a new leader.

The one that rose from the ashes.. and shows no mercy..

The one who was left for dead and came back in her true form..

The one who gave it all up.. just for revenge.

David is dead.

Briar is dead.

Brenden is dead.

Silva..

Silva.. is dead.

...

L̴̢̥̞͚̫̠̰̳͍̹͎̠̲̺̳͛̾͌̆́̂̒͗̓͝ͅO̸̙͙̺̰͚͎̙͔̦͇͗̒̋͛̄͐̓̽̄͛́͂̀̑̕ͅͅͅ️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅG̶̨̛̼̹̮͚̻͔̘̣͉͈͚̏̈́̿̅̀̏̀͌͒̀̐̇́͘L̴̢̥̞͚̫̠̰̳͍̹͎̠̲̺̳͛̾͌̆́̂̒͗̓͝ͅI̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍V̶̨̹̞͔͑̅͂͐Ě̵̢̧̛̦̼̜̲͕͕͍̤̙͉͓́̅͒̽̍̐͋͜͝Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝M̴̨̦͓̰̌͆̉̃̄͆͜ͅ️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅĚ̵̢̧̛̦̼̜̲͕͕͍̤̙͉͓́̅͒̽̍̐͋͜͝️S̴̨̛͇̺͇͕̟̘͎̗͖̙͍̭̞͇̒͆̀͝I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[amberduan-ual]

Art In Site Launch Presentation (16/2/23)

Notes

 “I hate those lonely, winding corridors–empty of people…”

 bring ppl back into the spaces with photography and color

> also integrated visual language into wayfinding

> includes experiences from actual child patients

colorcoding the floors

“NHS staff experience many cases of aggression”

develop visual language in wayfinding scheme so it can communicate universally

> many ppl who enter the hospital do not speak english as their first language

> simplify wayfinding language as well

testimonials from staff say that artwork helps contribute to reduction of violence and aggression

> patient flow increased, children’s trust in doctors increased, etc

children often don’t know what’s going to happen to them, which can be overwhelming and contribute to long-term phobias

> using storytelling (comics) to show what a hospital experience is like

making sure storytelling is also accessible to ppl with different abilities

“deprived of play, the child is a prisoner”

play can also help staff diagnose what may be wrong with a patient, what areas are in pain

transform a scary experience into something exciting!

glow in the dark designs, art on the ceiling, etc

 “above all what matters is to not lose the joy of living in the fear of dying”

maggie centres, incorporating beautiful interior design into spaces for cancer patients

bringing lighting into underground spaces where there’s no natural light

four categories: mental health, emergency, children’s, general/other

 mental health > space should inspire ppl to get better > enclosed spaces where patients can’t leave should feel homely and welcoming emergency > process things are happening all the time, etc children's general/other

things to consider: applications and art locations where to integrate art and design? > elevator, ceiling, doors? community > who are they, what do they need symbolism and narrative! > how does it tie into the local area, its culture and heritage > wildflowers in the Olympic Stadium area constraints of the environment > fire regulations, robustness, infection control

come up with a concept that pulls everything together in a simple idea

your deliverable: bring your creative concept to life in poster form (A2 size)

include some text, perhaps a couple paragraphs title (try for smth poetic, convincing) quote from someone related to the healthcare sector?

Actionable Items: look at the Art in Site website do some research into statistics and such choose a section to focus on

The launch presentation from Peter Shenai was really inspiring and I could feel how passionate he was about bringing human-centric art/design to hospital places. The brainstorm session afterwards was really helpful for generating ideas and widening my perspective on the possible scope of my direction. This project is definitely closest to my heart in comparison to the Handsome Frank and Chatty Feet briefs because I believe that art should be able to directly impact and benefit people. Using creativity to help others is something I think we as artists should always be thinking about and seeking opportunities for, in addition to our own artistic expression.

Personally, I don’t have much experience of being in hospitals myself (besides the time I was born) but I’ve had loved ones close to me stay in hospitals. In high school, I had a friend who was diagnosed with leukemia, a cancer that affects the bone marrow. When she was hospitalized at our local children’s hospital for long-term chemotherapy, I remember sending her daily drawings to try and cheer her up, to remind her that people outside the hospital were thinking about her and cared for her. She unfortunately passed away my second year of high school but I still think about her often, and this project made me think about how long she was in the hospital and whether or not she was comfortable in her environment there. Recently, my grandfather contracted Covid19 in China and was admitted to urgent care. Since my family lives in the United States, we were unable to visit him in the hospital ourselves. My uncle who was able to be by my grandfather’s side video-called my mother often while in the hospital, and the few glimpses I saw of the hospital environment were sterile and metallic, white and unfeeling. It seems like the area my grandfather was in was a temporary setup because of the overwhelming surge in Covid cases in China in the last few months. My grandfather passed away while in this environment and while I’m glad that my uncle was able to be with him, I wish that he could’ve spent his last moments somewhere with a little touch of humanity and love. If not at home, then at least in a space designed to comfort. If we can improve patients’ lives even a little bit with our art, then we should try to do so as best we can. 

I’m interested in how space and geography can influence our thoughts and behaviors, especially with the goal of comforting and enriching. When we step foot into a room we immediately make a judgment about the atmosphere and vibe of it. A room with “bad vibes” could be lit with harsh white lights or flickering bulbs, the furniture arranged haphazardly, given little to zero decoration or furnishing, furnished with echoey material, or a number of other factors that impact our experience of a space. We should consider the purpose and intention of a space, who and how people will be using/moving through it, and the opportunities it presents while designing. 

I quite like the idea of integrating the environment and community outside the hospital with its interior design, since patients can often feel like they’re being cut off from the external world during their stay. I think it could present opportunities to ground people while they’re going through a difficult time and remind them of their life outside of the experience. I’d like to do more research on the impacts of art in benefiting patients’ moods as well as lowering rates of aggressive behavior. On the flip side, I think medical staff could also stand to greatly benefit from well designed healthcare spaces. Our healthcare workers go through such demanding and often extended work hours, often experiencing high levels of stress as well. Doctors have such a high degree of burnout and rate of depression, so being able to help them as well would be a good factor to consider when approaching my project. 

There’s a lot of directions that I could go into with this project so I think I’ll follow a double-diamond sort of approach to find my solution. I’d like to do a large amount of research and consider my options before really narrowing in on the context and framing of my project so I don’t overlook anything. Also, I’m not a healthcare professional, so it’d be good just to get my bearings and inform myself on this topic instead of assuming anything. The brief that Peter sent seems really informative and has links to a lot of research which will definitely be a good start on where to look.

[transmutationisms]

no yeah i see where you're coming from, and i do specifically have thoughts about this in relation to how david lynch talks to/about madchen amick, esp in conjunction with the storyline where gordon and shelly kiss. i think the link here between these two angles is the way sexual violence in twin peaks is often metonymously used to stand for broader processes of cultural decline and familial breakdown: laura, diane, the teenage girls at one-eyed jack's. so there's this persistent sense that, like, the brutalisation of a woman's body by rape is symbolic of these larger processes of violence, which isn't inherently a bad narrative use of rape imo, but paired with how the camera does and doesn't frame violence and women's bodies, i would agree with you that it doesn't always land as any kind of critique. there's also an obvious contrast here to how josie was written in seasons 1 and 2, and then naido being found naked in the woods and ultimately turning out to be a white woman in disguise.

i think too that this ties into how characters' debasement throughout twin peaks is sometimes at the hands of others (laura, diane, ronette, audrey) and other times located more as something they've brought upon themselves in some way (leo, richard, chantal/hutch, and a lot of the characters who use drugs, which is a line of commentary i strenuously dislike). it's not that lynch is incapable of seeing men as victims of violence, but when i think about characters who are really portrayed as being at the mercy of others and subjected to violence, it tends to be women. in a way this is really summed up by the sequence in 'got a light' with the frog/locust hatching from the atomic bomb's explosion site and crawling into the mouth of the girl who found what she thought was a lucky penny: so, a reversal of fate, with good signifiers (the penny, the lincoln-impersonator woodsman) corrupted by the originary act of violence, all of this conveyed again via a girl's body/death.

anyway idk where i'm going with this really, i just think this series is ultimately frustrating to me bc there are elements that form the beginning of saying something interesting about rape and violence toward women's bodies as both symbolic of and resulting from these much larger processes of violence and exploitation. but then there are also elements like denise still being written transmisogynistically in 2017 (and gordon clearly being protective over her but also seeing her that way specifically because she's written as kind of reductively sexual!), or like, the way the entire show persistently still falls back on the family as this sort of originally pure and loving relationship that gets corrupted (by bob, by drugs, by snipers eating cheetos, &c). but anyway yeah i don't disagree with your main point about lynch's invocation of and relationship to beauty lol

ok sorry to twin peaks post but i do think the return is fundamentally motivated by an exploration of the 'loss' of an ideal american innocence lol. which was always implied in how bob was used in the first season-and-a-half but is expanded in the return in a way that's deeply dependent on belief in some moral pre-history of literally an imperialist nation. again, a tension inherent to a small-town cop drama-soap opera set in the pnw, but like, literally invoking truman bombing hiroshima and nagasaki was certainly a choice that was made. and i don't think lynch necessarily thinks the earlier innocent condition is one that america can ever go back to (except for norma maybe) but it is still the thing being counterposed to modern forces of familial breakdown, interpersonal violence, &c &c