#this is one of my most precious pieces

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

And Lilith Sewed the Seam - Sapphic Short Story

The frost came early that year, the year the Queen of Night came to Karelia. We lived in Sharon, a little shtetl in Grand Russe on the Finnish border that was known for its beautiful alpine aerials and lakes like beads of blue glass. The ocean, too, was refreshing to swim in – provided one went to the banya afterwards. I was a young lass in the rime-laden harbors and forests. We Jews of Sharon were a sailing, seabound lot, making our living off fishing and the waves. But mama, bubbe and I? We were seamstresses of the finest caliber. Some would say we were magick. They called us, and our shop, The Weaving Wives.

The boyars ordered traditional kaftans straight from bubbe’s shop, woven with the earth goddess Mokosh and her lovers Veles and Perun on the breast. I had grown up toeing the line between two faiths. I learned both the myths of Baba Yaga eating unworthy children and the Night Howler Agrath screech-dancing on the roof to mark a house that her husband, Sammael, would strike down as dogs bayed at his twelve-winged flight. Sometimes, late at night, I could hear them.

Or perhaps it was only a storm…

Word of bubbe’s and mama’s and my craftiness spread. The year I turned sixteen, the tsarina herself ordered a fashionable cape from us. It was based off the tale of Father Frost’s granddaughter, Snegurochka the Snow Maiden. A tale I had always loved. It was the first project over which I was given complete ownership.

I embroidered white, pale pink and dove gray pearls on the powder blue cape in little clusters of wings shaped like snowflakes, then stitched eiderdown into the golden seams. Bubbe dusted it with malachite flakes to bless it from far off Azov, the riches of the earth piling high upon the tsarina’s head.

Mama, bubbe, and I were the treasures of Sharon. We were married to our thread, the men and women of Sharon said, and they—from the hunters to the midwives to the rabbi, to my own father, a ship captain and whaler—guarded our secrets with their very lives.

We Weaving Wives were a protected, cherished lot. And our craft was our very soul. There was a deep magick in that sewing. For in truth, we were good witches. We could summon sunlight to make yellow fabric like a peach. Melt down rusalka hair in our oven to create the finest threads. Our secrets were the stuff of legends, and we were glad not to tell the rabbi about them, or even dear papa. And the menfolk knew better than to ask, but the women always wondered.

The cape was the talk of the kingdom.

No wonder, the tsarina was pleased.

As fame of our clothing grew, the Weaving Wives gained esteem. Through charitable works we lifted our community up and filled the synagogue coffers to the brim. Our family did good works in Adonai’s name. All so that Peniel – the Face of God – might shine down after the three of us wrestled long with a hill of fabric, like female Jacobs and a needle-bound angel.

But the frost came early the year I turned eighteen, and it stole my bubbe away. Crying tears like glass beads, I looked into my mirror after shiva was over and found myself a changed maid: my long black curls were winsome, I was plump and rounded to please men, and my cornflower eyes could break hearts. I needed a husband. Only… the village maidens had always been far more winsome.

Fair Shayna, with eyes like silver coins. Comely dark Miriam, with a heart like a thorny rose. And Delilah, the marigold of my garden. I had tossed and turned with all of them in the fields and furrows on Ivan Kupalo, what the Western countries called St. John’s Eve, as we searched for fern flowers together to promise bonds of eternal love. Shayna’s lips were soft. Miriam’s grip on my hot hips was hard, determined, just like Malakh HaMavet striking only holy blows.

But Delilah? She was mother-of-pearl dissolving in Cleopatra’s wine. A beauty wrapped in a carpet, delivered to Marc Antony.

I wanted Delilah more than life itself. But Shayna and Miriam had already taken husbands. We were eighteen, after all. Only Delilah, with her red hair, pale skin, full form, and freckles, was left, and to me, she was more holy than any synagogue, a word on the tongue of G-d that would make Chava take an apple all over again, but this time, a blessed fruit. Delilah was a pearl of great price that could redeem. A benediction and wonder that would lighten the load of the Azazel goat on Yom Kippur and set the Temple right.

So, that night in my anger and mourning over losing bubbe too soon, I looked into my mirror, in the flickering light, and I cast a magick spell. I made a wish on bay leaves and some goldenrod I had dried earlier that year for Delilah to be mine. As I was threading the bay leaves through a needle, to string them over my dresser, I pricked myself on my thumb.

A bead of red delicious blood bubbled up. Suddenly, the mirror swirled into a gorgeous Ashkenazi royal woman with long black ringlets of hair done up in silver bands, a purple wine-dark dress with gold threading, yellow-green eyes like parched grass, and pale, ghostly skin. Her bruised pink lips were bloody, and there was hunger in her eye.

“Pu pu pu!” I said, warding off the demon, frightened. I clutched the red thread always tied to my bandeau and threw salt at the mirror. It sizzled as it hit the candle, putting it out. Then, silence.

I had not a day before the Queen of Night came to Sharon. She was the talk of our little shtetl, rumored to be disgraced Romanian royalty who had bathed in maiden’s blood and newborn calf spittle to retain her youth. She was old, she was young, she was invisible, they whispered. Dressed head to toe in a black veil, riding in a carriage like a hearse. It was pulled by black bulls, and scarlet, bloody-colored ribbons were woven round the black bulls’ necks.

Just like the blood from my thumb.

Lailah, she was called. I was so lost in fear of her, I did not hear the clinking of bells at our shop. Bubbe was gone, Delilah was not mine, and I was haunted by a ghost.

I was manning the shop till, daydreaming about the demon. She… had been beautiful. Lailah was said to be hideous. To be virginal and pure. To be a vampir or dhampir or G-d knew what! Only, this Romanian countess or ghost or queen had come to my shop, now, smelling of lavender and patchouli. She had been watching me, and I felt like I was drowning.

A musk radiated off her that reminded me of eating dinner between Delilah’s thighs.

Suddenly, Lailah let her veil and robes fall, and the demoness from earlier in the mirror stood naked before me, perfect as a pale statue of Dark Venus, brimstone the farthest word from her.

Her eyes were a poisonous, mesmerizing yellow. Her pubis was lightly thatched with slashes of black, her sex an enticing pink wound. She seemed to be carved from alabaster, her legs ending in owl’s feet, great sooty wings on her back, and a night storm cloud of ebon ringlets framed her sharp, small and upturned nose and wicked ruby-grapefruit lips.

“Lilith?” I squeaked. I did not have it in me to “Pu pu pu.” To reach for metal or iron or salt. To even clutch my red thread.

I knew immediately that if this beautiful, treacherous Queen of the Night asked, I would be her slave. I would be a dog in her yard, licking fruit off her feet, honey off her lips. All to taste… majesty. The divine.

She demurred, smiling to reveal needle teeth that only heightened her beauty. “You have grown beautiful, Jael.”

“Oh. No. I, Lilith, with all my pleading, please, flee this place. We are holy. Adonai shall smite you. And you are too beautiful to suffer,” I said, rambling, not making sense, soaking in Lilith’s beauty, her temptation, her smirk, the way her thick hips and ripe breasts swayed as she walked towards me slowly, like a leopardess stalking its prey.

“But, if I flee, you will be nothing. An adamant bloom plucked too young to thrive. You have all the talent of your bubbe Abigail, and all the strength and industry of your mother Bina. There is a reason our faith is passed on through women, Jael. You are the perfect vessel.”

I froze. “You mean to possess me?”

Lilith narrowed her yellow eyes at me. Oh, how I wanted to reassure her I was not scared. And yet, I was. Highly terrified. The Witch of Endor was in my shop, and darkness filled the corners, Sheol the depths of the yard; the windows were blotted out by the realm of husks. It was only Lilith and I at the axis mundi of the worlds.

“No, I mean to pay you,” Lilith laughed in a sultry tone, then quickly softened. “I have need of a dress for a ball Ashmedai is throwing. Ashmedai and Sammael are both my husbands, but they are at war as of late. I need to dress for battle. For the manner in which I fight, and who I choose as consort, shall determine the course of Kingship in Gehenna.”

My jaw dropped. “Like the Maid of Orleans?”

Lilith smiled. “Dear Jael, I have been at this for millennia longer than any Frenchwoman. Now, this I must ask you: can you make me a ballgown the color of a mirror, that reflects all it touches, that can withstand hail and hellfire? If you do, you will be wealthier than the tsarina. As you know, the Shekinah often rests with Sammael, and as the Shekinah’s Handmaiden, I ascend to G-d in turn. He lets me do what I like, you see. The world, for me, is freedom. As I mean it to be for all women, Jael. Your namesake certainly agreed. We had plans, Jael and I.”

“The girl who drove a tent spike through her enemy’s head?” I piped out, voice squeaking yet again. I nervously chewed my hair, then spat it out. “Yes, I can make a dress like that. But I do not need riches. Just Delilah.”

“Lilah. Delilah. She is similar, yet nothing like me. A seal, then, of our bargain?” Lilith leaned against the counter and kissed me, deep. “Yes, you taste just like Jael as well. She was one of mine, you know. Perhaps… but no, Jael. Let sleeping Judges lie.”

With that, Lilith disappeared, and the pale, ghostly light of winter trickled into the shop.

I reached for the red thread on my bandeau and snapped it apart, welcoming the demoness in.

For the fabric, I captured moonlight in a jar. I made it slitted at the train, so Lilith could stride across the burning floor of Ashmedai’s ballroom like the Queen of Sheba did to win Solomon’s heart. I wove the bodice of form-fitting silver silk, loose and dyed from rain under the morning star. Do not ask how the Weaving Wives work our magick. We simply do. It was in bubbe’s blood. It is half in mother’s blood. And I?

I surpass them both.

I wrote Delilah a letter that night. A letter to come room with me. It did not say much other than “bosom friend” and “bubbe’s room is empty” and “mama and papa are leaving for America, so it shall be just us, and I could use a shopkeeper.” But I sprayed perfume from Moscow on it, kissed it thrice, and slipped it in a pink bow and thick sturdy envelope into our hiding tree. An alder.

Delilah wrote me back: “If your gown for this cursed queen goes through, then you will have proven to me that a woman can love a woman, like a man loves a woman, and Jael, I do think… I must not write it.”

There were tear stains blotting her delicate signature.

I cried that night. I stitched Lilith’s seam. I used bat wings boiled down to the finest veins to protect the dress from hellfire. Then I crushed the bay leaves of my witchcraft, when I met Lilith in the mirror, into the fur capelet of mink. It was my heart’s treasure. My greatest wish of all.

And finally, a hilt for a dagger, bejeweled with malachite from Mount Azov. It was sacred in Russia, from one Mistress – the Mistress of Copper Mountain – to the Queen of Night.

Lilith came the day after Sabbath.

She tried it on, the silk bunching around her in pleasing, curvaceous angles, the embroidery and pearls and malachite and mink sparkling, and she shone like the tsarina’s silver tiara.

Lilith smiled in the mirror: “It’s perfect, my Jael. Come walk with me.”

Into her dark midnight carriage with the four red-banded black bulls I went. We rode to Gehenna. What I saw would frighten Enoch himself. Dumah, at the gate, with his poisoned sword of gall. Hazarmavet, the Court of the Dead, where new souls ate meat and drank wine in perfect silence. The winnowing of souls in the fire of Sheol with the punishing, purifying angels. A glimpse of Gan Eden and the Silver City where the angels lived, attending the Promised Messiah. It was all like a crack in the sky.

Finally, Ashmedai’s realm. A realm of exotic desert fruit and pleasure girls and winebearer ephebes. Hot searing heat, simoom winds, oases and belly dancers. It was scandalous.

Sammael’s forces of death, poison and decay camped at the door. I waited in the carriage as Lilith walked on French heels to the forefront, her dagger held high, her dress that I had painstakingly, feverishly sewed gleaming under the hot desert sun.

Lilith’s beauty sparked Sammael’s shedim and lilim and seirim into frenzy. They descended on Ashmedai’s forces as the demon king emerged from his glistening sandstone palace with his forces, dates and palm and rivers of jewels surrounding us on all four sides.

I watched as Lilith turned the tides of the battle, flirted with Ashmedai, lured Sammael. In the end, Lilith took both Ashmedai and Sammael’s crowns as they kneeled and kissed her hands off their heads. She melted the coronets down with fiery breath from her beautiful lips, then formed two gold arm bands for her pale limbs.

It seemed Gehenna had a new ruler.

I am old now. Delilah is my bosom companion. I talk to Lilith in the mirror, late at night, I am aged, Lilith is ageless, and she tells me tales of the world: the invention of electricity. War in America. Discoveries in Asia. How her plans are in motion to free women, so one day, we are not so tied to the cycles of our womb, forced to labor in birth pangs like Chavah.

Delilah and I adopted three girls, and we teach them the secrets of weaving, sewing, and stitchery. We are bringing the crafts of our shtetl into a new age. My parents died in America and seemed to have prospered. I have no intention of leaving Karelia. We are the exclusive gownmakers for the new tsarina.

It is a good life. It is a small life. Lilith and Adonai shower riches upon our community – not too much, but enough that Sharon is known as blessed. The Shekinah still roosts with Sammael, and will until the Temple is set right, and Her people ascend.

I am happy all my days. So is Delilah. When we die, we will be led by Lilith the Perpetual Regent of Gehenna to be her personal weavers and outfitters, and our daughter’s daughter’s daughters will know true freedom in the modern age.

And all because Lilith sewed the seam.

[pocketwei]

05.09.23 ⚔️

[cipherr]

[beanghostprincess]

*holds you by shoulders*

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE THING ABOUT 1082 I WAS SURE IT WAS SHIPPY THING AND NOW I NEED TO KNOW

*starts sobbing while slowly falling to my knees*

…….please

I SAW THIS YESTERDAY NIGHT WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP AND I JUST WOKE UP EARLY TO REPLY BECAUSE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR AGES FOR THIS QUESTION I AM GOING TO KISS YOU ANON-

I do love and adore the shippy part of 1082 because I am a very intense Shuggy shipper and I had been waiting to read their break-up for sooo long. But it's not exactly what made the chapter life-changing for me, tbh.

Buggy's speech is... Is incredibly beautiful and encouraging. It explains so much about his character, the dynamic he has with Cross Guild, and why he's so resentful toward Shanks. Throughout the manga, we've seen him in serious moments, yes, but usually, Buggy is pretty much used for comedy relief more than anything. This is one of the first times we've seen Buggy realize the position he has now and say "Fuck it. Already on the verge of dead for these two, might as well do something with this shitty situation because for once, I have the opportunity to be brave and be more than what people think of me". There's literally nothing stopping him right now, and he prefers to risk his life enraging Crocodile and Mihawk than letting this opportunity of showing who he truly is slide.

And tbh, we haven't seen them ever since (I am starving please-) but I am really hopeful his speech somehow makes Crocodile and Mihawk have a little tiny itty bitty of respect for him at least. Because out of the three? Buggy is the one who deserves the title of pirate more.

Mihawk and Crocodile don't have dreams or ambitions and see pirating as a business. Even when Crocodile did have ambitions (remember when the silly rubber guy destroyed all of his dreams that was a funny arc haha) his whole personality has always been more of a mafioso than anything. Mihawk is a simple man and is bored with life being at the top of the top, he clearly wants something interesting to happen but doesn't see any use in looking for it himself. They care about their commodities and wealth. But out of the three, Buggy is the one who had to give up on his dream and now he has the opportunity to fulfill it.

"How can you call yourselves pirates with schemes like that?! You're doing it all backwards!! [...] Way back when... What did you guys want to be?! [...] I wanna be king of the pirates!! Wealth? Power? Why stop there when we can have it all?!"

This is something a real pirate would say. He talks like Roger here, I am going to curl up and cry don't look at me-

What I like about One Piece is the constant use of themes like dreams and freedom etc, etc... That's something we all know. But you wouldn't expect it coming from Buggy, of all people. And I think I'm pretty fond of him being brave and finally acting upon what he truly wants to do. What makes it great is that you have this comedy relief character standing up for his dream in front of clearly two other antagonists that have control over him in, well, strength and everything. But Buggy has something they don't and it's so, so much ambition and a dream that could be considered childish but it's the representation of freedom and doing things because you want to follow your heart. This is kind of why I always say Luffy would be more fond of Buggy if he knew the whole story and would probably support him a lot--

What I like the most about this chapter is both Buggy's character development through a speech + flashback and Mihawk and Crocodile being completely stunned by it because they weren't expecting this to happen from Buggy of all people. I know I sound like a broken record but I really, really, want them to respect Buggy a little bit more after this. Also, Buggy doesn't do this only to announce he's going to follow his dream now that he's on equal footing with Shanks. He does it because the other two mention needing overwhelming power over the rest. Buggy isn't stupid and knows how manipulating people works. The thing that makes pirates work harder isn't money, it's a dream. And there's nothing a pirate desires more than the One Piece, so that's kind of why he announces it publicly. First, to establish power, and second, so that way Mihawk and Crocodile don't get rid of him because seriously, Buggy is a better boss than these two because their followers appreciate him and don't feel forced to follow him.

Not to mention that the whole thing also shows more of Buggy's relationship with Roger and how left out he felt because people thought highly of Shanks instead of him. But Buggy, even if he was jealous, was willing to follow Shanks despite his feelings because he accepted being less worthy of respect than him. Shanks shone brightly and Buggy decided that, even if he wanted to be seen like that too, he'd give up on his dream and support Shanks instead because at least they'd do this together, just the way they did everything back at the time.

But then Shanks hesitates, and I think that's Buggy's last straw because he sees giving up going for the One Piece as something disrespectful to their captain (dad) and thinks it's unfair that Shanks is so respected by everyone even though the one wanting to follow their captain's steps right away is him. It's honestly frustrating. And then you understand better why Buggy is angry at Shanks-- Yeah, he made him eat the devil fruit and lost the map because of him (not really but whatever), but the way I see it that's just a metaphor for the real reason why Buggy is so resentful. Shanks' existence, even if it was not on purpose, made Buggy feel so powerless he gave up on his dream. And eating a devil fruit means the sea hates you and you can't have any independence in the pirate world, and losing the map is kind of like losing the only thing that guides you. He left Buggy with nothing and let him carry the burden of a lost dream.

This is funny because Shanks did absolutely nothing wrong and everything is a product of jealousy and miscommunication, but I understand why Buggy blames Shanks and this chapter makes it clearer and explains it perfectly.

Basically, it's such an amazing chapter for Buggy's character and it's definitely my favorite for him specifically. Although the flashback does wonders for my Shuggy heart.

Also, adding more points for the revolutionary plot in the end and Sabo showing up because I adore him <3

[bifairywife]

you guys have no idea how hard i laughed at this scene-

even luffy's "ohhh!" moment after kills me i love them so much-

[beaulesbian]

i think what made me actually interested in reading one piece from the start (and wanting to catch up quite quickly after watching opla), was seeing how is it now continuing with all the main characters.

that the core of the strawhats are all there, especially zoro and nami who were with luffy since the beginning, that all the strawhats are sticking by luffy still after 1000+ chapters and episodes, and made me so curious to dive into the story, and reassured me that it will be worth my time

[cocofawn]

ꮚ    ׄ    🌱ᩙ 🦌   𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝒻 𝒾 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 .ᐣ    ݂    ੭੭        ׄ    

‘ like a river flows surely to the sea, darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be. take my hand, take my whole life, too. for i can't help falling in love with you . . 🦡 ∯ 🦌 ’

[possiblyfunny]

Hey, look guys, more art-

HOPE.

I’ve been wanting to draw him like this ever since I first saw him smile, but my will to draw eluded me until now! This started off as a doodle, so, please excuse the messiness. I drew this to de-stress.

“Fire” Red belongs to @creatively-cosmic. They have a blog called @themissingnumbers, which is really good! Go check it out if you want to see more.

[Sketch + Colored Version below the cut!]

[zoros-debt]

sure she might scam you, but she's still a sweetheart!

[theramblingsofadork]

✨💞Happy Valentines Day! 💞✨

Have some cute (yet lore important and entirely not self-indulgent ) Rivetline art~!

I got the idea for this when I accidentally stumbled across this song while searching for a different one.

This is a cute, yet important moment where Starline realizes the respect he’s held for Rivet runs much deeper than he thought.

Throughout their time and interactions together during the completion, Rivet and Starline become rather close.

While at first he isn’t keen on her dragging him out of the lab and encouraging him to do things outside of his comfort zone, over time as she helps him loosen up a bit, she becomes the only one he allows to get away with it.

Against all odds, he finds himself growing to enjoy and respect her company as much as she respects his. She enjoys encouraging him, doesn’t mind listening to his ramblings, and they work well together, since despite her roots, she has a fairly decent grip on robotics.

This particular outing, they both end up researching together for the team project in a library in town. A song Rivet loves happens to start playing on the radio. So naturally, she starts to dance to it, inviting Starline to join her. He refuses at first, but after watching her have fun for a little bit, he rolls his eyes when she beckons again, and lets her pull him out of his seat with a smile.

The two end up waltzing and twirling around the room, getting more and more into the moment and laughing as they get lost in the song. But it all comes to a sudden head when Starline spins and dips her bridal style.

The whole world shows to a stop, and they both slowly realize just how close they are. The weight of this position, how romantic it is for him to be holding her like this…

And just how beautiful the other person’s eyes look in the glowing light of the fireplace.

It’s the moment where he suddenly realizes, he’s caught feelings for her.

And it’s a terrifying, and beautifully confusing moment for him.

Rivet can sense his hesitation, and despite herself, she doesn’t want to push him into something he’s not comfortable with. So they end the dance, and Rivet soothes over his frazzled nerves before they get back to what they were doing.

Sadly, neither of them get much more research done that day.

💞💖

[chenziee]

I need to write more fics about how lovestruck Law was on the Onigashima Skull Dome rooftop when Luffy told them to get down

I've never been the same after that

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

First Sentence Game

I promised you I'd do this, @sisterofficerlucychen. It's only been 10 days, which is kind of a record for me.

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagging (hopefully I'm not misremembering that any of you write fic) @chenlucys, @violetsandmagpies, @daisyejones, @whitesunlars, and @electricbluebutterflies.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bearing the Unbearable Weight (The Rookie):

In the days immediately after the break-up (the collapse of her world) Lucy logs a record number of hours at the LAPD shooting range.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nothing More Than His Wife (The Rookie):

The new Mrs. Tim Bradford is haunted by a ghost. It follows her everywhere, popping up in the most random spots. The ghost is at the nearby Korean food truck, in her husband’s car, hanging out in the park they had a picnic at. The ghost is not a particularly malicious one, but Mrs. Bradford can’t help but feel like she’ll never measure up against it, against the specter of Lucy Chen. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i used to know my place was the spot next to you (now I'm searching the room for an empty seat) (The Rookie):

The hardest part of Lucy’s day is going to bed. Two weeks earlier, before the breakup, when going to bed meant making funny faces at Tim as they brushed their teeth together and slow kisses and cuddling, it had been the highlight of most days. She had looked forward to bed. Now she brushes her teeth alone and crawls into a bed that is just hers. Or almost just hers. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How I Show I Love You (The Rookie):

Tim doesn’t know the last time he spent time doing something solely because he enjoyed it (other than watching a couple hours of football each week). Never mind doing something fun with another person. And certainly never with a rookie who hadn’t even passed their one-year mark. But he also hasn’t trained someone like Chen before. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i get along without you some nights (Prodigal Son):

The Christmas tree was already up when Martin was… (Jessica was still trying to find the polite term for it, trying different ones on) taken away. Normally Jessica insisted on no hints of Christmas in the home until the Thanksgiving dinner had been cleared from the table, but Malcolm had campaigned valiantly to put it up early. As per usual, Ainsley had joined in, asking Jessica to make an exception to her rule and then Martin had given Jessica that look, the one that had been crumbling her resolve since the day they met. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cotard's Delusion (or the Process of Being Resurrected) (The Rookie):

I am dead. It’s the only thought ringing in Lucy’s mind as she closes her eyes, leans her head forward, finding no place to rest in the barrel Caleb has determined will be her last resting place.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dirtying the Slates (The Rookie):

So, Bishop and Lopez, or mostly Lopez, rig the roundup so Tim wins. Interesting , Lucy thought. She twirled her ring on her finger for half a moment, considering if it was her place to comment or not, before throwing caution to the wind and interjecting. “Wait, uh, are you guys trying to rig it so that Tim wins?” (Rule one of getting information in an interrogation: start with a question you already know the answer to.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wrapped Around Your Finger (Like a Ring) (The Rookie):

Chen would not stop messing with her ring and Tim was a matter of seconds from using his TO Voice to go and confiscate it. Even winning the round-up (again) hadn’t put him in a good enough mood that the reflection from the light of the food trucks bouncing off the opal ring wouldn’t annoy him. Chen clearly was not aware that her rhythmic movements meant he was hit in the eye by a reflected ray of light every four seconds. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Search of Air (The Rookie):

During her sophomore year of college, Lucy had had to memorize all of the symptoms of a panic attack as listed in the DSM-V. Technically the assignment was just to learn four or five of the 13 listed in the manual, but Lucy, ever the perfectionist, had been determined to memorize them all, to always be just that much better at psychology than the people around her. So, when she found herself once again locking herself in one of Mid-Wilshire precinct’s utility closets, it was that list of 13 symptoms she thought back on. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Through a Glass Darkly (Prodigal Son):

Malcolm Whitly's favorite color has always been red. It’s warm and bright and passionate, just like him. It’s the first color you notice in any crowd. It calls out to you and then pulls you headfirst into its world. His father had a red sweater when Malcolm was about 10. It was the softest thing Malcolm had ever felt. Martin said he had had to throw it out one night after spilling tea on it, but Malcolm had always loved that sweater. He still does. He has spent the intervening years searching for one that was similar so he could buy one for himself. He has loved the color for almost three decades now with absolutely no sign of his opinion changing any time in the near future. Red reminds Malcolm of his father and he loves his father. 

Malcolm Bright's favorite color has been blue most of his life. It’s calming and stable and peaceful, all the things he strives to be. It’s a color that can fade into the background when needed but also draw your eye if you’re looking for it. It’s always there to be beside you when you need it. 

[dutchmancallypso]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by • TAZ SKYLAR 🇮🇩 FANPAGE • (@tazskylar.id)

[gender-fag]

.

[beanghostprincess]

So my fiancé ( @meiko-komoko ) and I found similarities between our current hyperfixations and I made these moodboards just because

[pepprs]

STILL wide awake! i did not put down my phone! and now im hungry. so i will not be sleeping tonight ♥️