#verse: forge a connection

[tvrningout-a]

making a sharp turn from cyrillo, i really miss writing kaiya btw!! my brain is just very much not focused on k.ny atm, so i'm heavily contemplating revamping her a bit. i'll keep her k.ny stuff as a verse, but her main verse will be something original, maybe involving vampires?? since i feel k.ny demons are close to them, but i haven't entirely decided yet. part of me wants to throw her into dorverold, too, and make her the head coordinator?? manager?? of cyrillo's household since he houses a ton of vampires and needs people to take care of the particulars.

i also!! want to give her a j.jk verse bc i still have the idea bouncing around in my head that she produced enough cursed energy to draw in a curse that killed her husband for her. she didn't mean for it to happen, didn't ask it to do that, but :' )) that's what happened :' )) and now that i'm typing it out, maybe!! the curse then acts as a guardian/shikigami, similar to rika? but it's a little different and maybe much more difficult to convince the higher ups to allow kaiya and her new friend to live bc it's like :' ) this curse just decided it liked kaiya :' ) it's not bound to her in the same way that rika is bound to yuta. so i gotta brainstorm this a bit more... but i like it a lot tbh!! and maaaybe an added detail is that kaiya is something of a magnet for curses?? that's her cursed technique, much to her initial dismay asdf

[hairmetal666]

They start kissing on stage as a joke.

The night before the first time, they're at an afterparty, pounding shots, and Eddie is reading aloud a piece that just came out in Rolling Stone. "'One of the most noteworthy parts of Munson and Harrington's unlikely pairing is their chemistry on stage. It's like these two men--one on his way to being the latest metal god, the other an indie rock wunderkind--are two parts of one musical whole. Their singing, their playing, even their bodies twine and flow with assuredness; where one goes, the other follows without question. They share a single brain-cell and that cell is music'."

Steve giggles, pours some more Grey Goose into the glass. "If they say that now, could you imagine what would happen if we, like, kissed on stage or something."

"What the fuck, Harrington?" Eddie splutters, having just thrown a drink back.

"I don't know, other bands do it!"

Eddie snorts. "I'm cutting you off." He reaches for the bottle and the suggestion is forgotten for wrestling over the liquor.

Steve barely remembers it in the morning. Doesn't think about it at all as he gets ready to go out on stage.

They're playing one of the instrumental breakdowns when it happens. They're leaning into each other, Eddie smiling over his shoulder at him, their eyes locked, bodies moving together. "You wanna?" Eddie mouths at him.

Steve nods before the question actually registers and by then Eddie's warm, soft mouth is against his and he just-- completely forgets what he's doing. His hands still on the guitar strings, and he melts a little, going completely boneless when Eddie grips the back of his head, pulls him deeper into the kiss. t's over almost as quickly as it started, Eddie pulling away and swirling to the mic to start the next verse.

The kiss sinks into Steve's bones, and that's before it becomes a regular feature of their performances. After that night, they're never at the same time during the show, all initiated by Eddie, all over before he can catch his breath; each one chaste and surrounded by people but somehow more intimate than any make out.

He and Eddie, they're friends, bandmates, collaborators. They've known each other since they first started out, forging an immediate connection with they stumbled upon each other hiding out in the garden at some industry bigwig's party. And as much as he loved his friend, never once in that time had Steve considered wanting Eddie.

But now, now he falls asleep with the ghost of Eddie on his lips, goes into each show with a thrum of anticipation, catches himself thinking how beautiful his friend is when he's all rumpled and disheveled from a night in the tour bus bunks.

They've always been easy with physical affection, but once the kissing starts they're constantly in each other's space, idly playing with hair, laying across laps, heads on shoulders, twisting together on the tour bus couch. Steve is ruined with every touch, every moment; he can't get enough.

The first time Eddie uses tongue destroys every last piece of Steve's composure. They've added a new song to the setlist, a remixed version of Eddie's hit "Prince Charming". It's hard, heavy, sexy, one of Steve's favorites. And in the middle of it, right in the middle, Eddie shoves him against a low platform, kisses him like he's trying to own him, tongues twining eager and wet and full of sinful promise. It's like that every show after, Eddie kissing him deep and thorough, like he's trying to lick up every drop of Steve.

He is, unquestionably, fucked. Unquestionably falling. Can't properly fathom how he'd gotten himself here, desperate for Eddie's kiss, as performative as it may be.

They're packing up equipment after a show. Eddie's hair is piled in a messy bun and Steve is trying not to blatantly stare at the curve of his neck, the stray curls against his pale skin. Eddie's gesturing at something, says, "Can you grab those cords, swee--Steve?" He hands them over without thought, notices that Eddie's face is shining red. He's called away to deal with packing the guitars, forgets all about it, but at their next show, Eddie doesn't kiss him.

They don't talk about it.

Eddie doesn't try to kiss him again.

A week after Eddie stops the kiss, they have a night off between shows. He needs to get out of his head, goes out with Robin. He gets back fairly early, but all the lights are off in the bus. It makes him panic in a way it shouldn't; they've always done their own things. Still, he rushes on board, flips on the lights, his absurd heart beating too hard.

Eddie is curled up on the couch, face pressed to the pillows and covered with his hands. The panic kicks up a notch.

"Eddie?" He steps closer, slowly reaching out to grip Eddie's shoulder.

He jerks upright, earbuds slipping free, phone sliding down his hip. "Steve?"

His face is wet, tears actively slipping free from his eyes as Steve watches.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" His hands flutter around Eddie's arms and face, searching for bruises or wounds.

"I'm fine, Harrington," he chokes out. "Though you were out with Robin?"

"Yeah, I was, but Chrissy called. You know how useless she gets. But that doesn't--you--you're crying. What's wrong?"

Eddie's smile is a wobbly little thing, refusing to stick on his face. "Oh, you know, the usual. Fell for the wrong guy."

Steve forces down the gut churning hurt at hearing that Eddie's in love with someone, intent on comforting his friend. He tries to slip his arm around Eddie's shoulders, but Eddie shrugs him off. It jostles Eddie's phone again, slipping it toward Steve and activating the screen. He has a split second where he's looking at the cover of his own first album, before Eddie's snatching it out of reach, scrambling up from the couch.

"I'm fine." He swipes his sleeve over his face. "It's nothing."

And Steve is putting it all together, the being in love and listening to Steve's music, the kissing and how it ended.--

"Eddie." He sounds all wrong, choked and garbled.

Eddie doesn't turn around, is stuffing his feet into his boots. "I'm--I gotta go clear my head."

He walks towards the door and Steve just--"I've been obsessed with you since the first kiss," he says. Eddie stops, hand curled against the door. "We've been friends all this time and I didn't--I never realized. And then we kissed and--it's all I've been able to think about."

Eddie turns then, facing him, expression unreadable."Steve, what are you--"

"I love you. I'm in love with you." It comes out fast, all jumbled, but he can't stand Eddie leaving, not now.

"You--?" Eddie blinks, bites his lip. "That's not possible."

Steve smiles, can't help it. "It is, though. Turns out, I can't get enough."

Their eyes lock; neither speaks. Steve's heart pounds so hard it might spring free of his chest. Eddie moves first, crosses the small distance between them to pull Steve into his arms.

It's not a kiss, but Steve buries his face against Eddie's neck, breathing him in, feeling the echo to the pound of his own heart. "How long?" Steve asks.

Eddie's soft laugh vibrates through him. "Since I saw you walking in that garden and thought, 'jesus christ, Prince Charming is real'."

Steve pulls away to stare at Eddie in disbelief. "But that's--your--the song?"

"They're kinda all about you, Stevie. But that one most of all." Eddie whispers. His eyes glisten.

"Fuck, Eddie." He doesn't mean to whine, but he's not in control of his voice anymore. "I'm sorry I didn't--" He shakes his head. "I'm all yours, Ed. Whatever you want."

Eddie's thumb catches against Steve's bottom lips, eyes transfixed on his mouth. "Everything, sweetheart. I want it all."

[mckinlily]

Imagine a world where Bruce Wayne did not become Batman. Instead, he is just a Normal Dude. Or as normal as a billionaire deeply dedicated philanthropy in a city as insane as Gotham can be.

Because make no mistake: just because Bruce is not Batman does not mean Gotham is not Gotham.

There are a few new players though—on the Rogues side.

Timothy Drake is the teen business tycoon of Drake Industries. Absent of the inspiration of Batman and the socialization and warmth of Dick Grayson, he is ruthless and logical to a fault in pursuit of his goals and just as viciously chaotic as the disaster little brother Jason knows.

In other words, he’s Gotham’s youngest supervillian. The only good news is his chosen nemesis is Lex Luthor. Maybe. Timothy doesn’t care much about collateral damage. It’s not his goal to harm civilians, but he certainly doesn’t include their safety as a priority in his convoluted schemes to mess with Luthor.

Talon is an undead murderer who slaughtered a huge swath the Gotham’s 1% five years ago and, despite being spotted many times since, has never been apprehended. He appears when he wants and disappears just as readily, and Gotham just has to accept there’s a killer stalking their streets and there’s nothing they can do about it. Sometimes Talon has been known to rescue people, especially, but it’s never clear how or why exactly Talon chooses who is victim verses aggressor. And the end is always brutal and bloody for those Talon deems aggressor.

Damian is still Bruce’s biological son and raised by Talia in the League of Assassins. But when he was left in Gotham and met his father, this Bruce was so baffled and thrown by a child assassin that Damian immediately takes as rejection and runs away. (He doesn’t even stay long enough for Bruce to be sure it wasn’t a hallucination or very strange dream).

Damian is almost immediately found and adopted by Talon, so now Gotham has TWO bird-themed killers liable to jump down on you from nowhere and for any reason.

Oh, and god help you if you so much as make Talon’s baby Owlet sad. If you’re lucky, it will be the last thing you do.

Barbara is an ordinary librarian…who can be hired as a mercenary hacker for the right price. The public isn’t afraid of her because they don’t know she exists. More than one politician or public figure has been ruined because of the blackmail she unearthed on them. But what side exactly is the police commissioner’s daughter on? And how much of Gotham does she have under thumb?

(Is she a secret ally and accessory to Timothy Drake’s many plots?)

Steph, thank god, is actually NOT a villain, super or otherwise. She’s the one vigilante attempting to help Gotham. Spoiler has connections among some of the caped community like Supergirl or Wonder Girl. But without Bat training or the police cooperation forged years ago by Batman, she’s mostly just striving to survive while taking on Gotham’s many, many gang. Make no mistake, she’s impressive. But desperate. Spoiler comes with guns and explosions. So. Many. Explosions. Gotham has never heard of the “no kill” rule. And likely never will.

(Cass also lives in Gotham. But no one will ever see her or even know she’s there.)

Jason….well. Baby Jason never stole any Batmobile tires and never was adopted by a strange but kind billionaire. He was never killed at 15.

He died in the winter before he turned 13.

And then one day, Adult Canon Jason gets thrown into this dimension. And somehow Gothan is WORSE?! How is that even possible? Also his siblings are running around being super villains and killing people? Bruce! Control your children!!

But this Bruce does not have children (he’s still mostly convinced Damian was a prank or hallucination). He is horrified by the idea of children fighting crime. He has absolutely no idea how to handle exceptionally talented chaos machines with too much passion and no sense of self preservation. And he’s frankly a little disturbed by Jason himself and his guns and refusal to “work within the system” and Jason nopes out of there so freaking fast.

Jason also, slowly, has to become okay with the realization that his siblings are not insane because they were made Robin. They became Robin because they were already insane. There was no way to create a normal human being out of any of them.

(Jason does not want to look too closely at what that says about him.)

In the end, Jason teams up with Steph. He connects her with Dick/Talon, who is more than happy to have a new Owlet to train and preen, and Damian only slightly stabs her. They manage to persuade/threaten Tim into caring enough to help get Jason back to his dimension with misuse of Drake Industry research equipment. Damian very much does stab Tim. Tim retaliates by locking Damian in an industrial freezer. Dick thinks they’re bonding. Jason introduces them to Babs, but frankly he has no idea what he’s hoping to achieve from this. Probably nothing good because Dick, despite being an under-socialized undead assassin with some weird mannerisms and ways of speaking, still manages to pull a woman way out his league like Barbie. And Babs seems to have no problem with the “murder” part that description.

Jason never realized how much Bruce’s strict moral code and “the Mission” were key to the rest of them becoming remotely positive influences in society. Or how little Bruce has to do with his siblings getting into dangerous, violent situation. He doesn’t like anything about it.

They work out how send Jason back, and he returns to his dimension with the feeling he’s just left Alternate Gotham to a gang of supervillains.

…at least they’re together?

And Talon Dick won’t let any of his new Owlets die and will rain bloody vengeance on anyone who tries. So that’s good. For them at least.

(Jason feels absurdly like he should be apologizing to this universe’s Bruce. Or. Someone. He doesn’t. But he feels like he should.)

Back at in his dimension and at the Batcave, Jason pauses and just stares at Batman for a very, very long time. Finally, he takes a deep breath and solemnly nods just once before taking off into the Manor for Alfred’s cookies.

Bruce has no idea what the fuck just happened.

[valtsv]

what is like. The vague plot of the silt verses

Cause I wanna listen now but idk if I'd actually be into it?

the most concise summary i can give you is that the silt verses is a folk horror/weird fiction show set in a world which sort of mirrors our own in terms of its sociopolitical landscape, but with the key difference that gods are real and worship - including human sacrifice - is not just a part of everyday life, but a fundamental foundation that the entire social system is built on. it starts out as a sort of detective thriller-style story following two worshippers of an illegal river god, carpenter and faulkner, as they travel through the territory of the peninsula (the main fictional country that much of the story takes place in) searching for signs of their god's activity, and a miracle to bring back to revitalise their dying faith, whilst also grappling with their own personal relationships to faith and the world they live in, and the people they have to share it with. the scope of the story widens with each season, however, as carpenter and faulkner's search leads to altercations with law enforcement, the forging of surprising connections, and the unfolding exposure of horrors enabled by struggles for power far beyond the reckoning of any one individual. as rising tensions between the peninsula and its neighbour, the consolidated linger straits, threaten to plunge everyone into another conflict of god vs god - corrupt and overfed belief system vs equally corrupt and bloated belief system - we get to see the impact of both societal upheaval and stagnation on several characters in a variety of social positions, from a number of walks of life, and how they respond to both large-scale developments and personal conflicts of equal importance to them as individuals. it's not a story of good vs. evil, or even justice vs. injustice, but of people in all their infinite, messy complexity, and how they navigate the world and their relationships to each other. also there's some morbidly hilarious political satire which is always good fun.

[jellllllo-bowl]

return to my roots (batfam x dcmk)

I want to express my gratitude to anyone who has interacted with my batfam x dcmk posts and may we have more contents of them ✨

yapping below

thinking about whether this should happen in the same universe, or would it be funnier if some of the bats were dunked into dcmk world due to idk the speed force

if it's the former then i want to lean into "batman is an urban legend" outside of gotham, and yeah, night baron x batman is a decently-sized ship in dcmk japan. the BO doesn't want anything to do with gotham.

if it's the latter then maybe only bruce tim and damian are affected because the others are in the same age range as 1/ victims; 2/ BO members; and i don't know yet how to factor them into dcmk. maybe duke and the girls can stay in magic kaito verse. they would have a lot of fun traveling around the world meeting borderline-meta magicians.

bruce tim and damian would still go out at night. somehow the cave connects a random cave in rural okuho to their original verse due to both of them being fictional places (im spewing bullshit)

increasingly intricate crimes keep happening despite their interventions (they manage to lower the mortality rate tho)

how fast can they crack the BO case and likewise, how fast can they figure out the others' identities? i think it depends on how long they can stay out of each other's way (not so long)

conan would make a horrifying robin. IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE *kicking a ball into your face with the force of a truck*

before figuring out his identity im sure there's a developing theory that he's related to the local equivalent of bruce wayne. strong sense of justice and ...kinda blue eyes? and a multitude of weird gadgets and oh, his documents are forged, his parents don't exist??? very suspicious. too bad he actually has healthy and loving parents.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil. 

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses. 

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge. 

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

[soylikethedrink]

Forbidden By Nature

A bird and dog shouldn't be together. You knew that. But you found it hard to resist against the handsome drinksmith at the bar. If people were to know about your secret relationship with him, it wouldn't look too good for you, a Halovian from the Oak Family. And it wouldn't be too good of news to your two siblings, Robin and especially Sunday, who strongly detested the 'despicable and wicked' dog.

⚠️ Tags & Warnings: GN Reader, Infidelity, Major and Minor Character Deaths.

⚠️ Note: Major spoilers from the 2.1 patch. This was also written before the release of 2.2 patch. I'm 100% cooked if Gallagher is actually a nice guy.

Sunday prided himself in his leadership. One could not deny that he was a man of many fortes. His great wit, and his erudition, and his unbreakable composure, these qualities made him worthy of being the head of the Oak family. 

And then there was sweet-faced Robin. While Halovians were naturally born with an attractive aura, Robin could easily draw crowds and crowds of people from different planets with just her voice alone. It wasn't much of a wonder that she climbed her way up in stardom with little effort.

Unlike your siblings, you weren’t interested in the spotlight. Being in the center of the spotlight means that you must possess the voice that the people want to hear and listen to, you must have a face that is easily distinguishable among rows and rows of people, and you must have a heart that naturally desires to be adored. And frankly, none of these appealed much to you. 

But one should not presume that your lack of interest in the world of celebrities implied that you weren’t promised for greatness. 

You were well-versed in the world of business. Your social networking skills were of top-notch quality. Negotiation comes naturally to you. While Robin found joy dancing and singing on the shining stage, your happiness lied under stacks and stacks of wealth and luxuries. Your riches were forged by your own sweat, blood, and tears and most knew that. 

Though some people would have assumed that greed would eventually have spoiled your heart to the rotten core, you would continually prove them wrong. As someone who knew the language and the culture of business, you decided to pass it all to Sunday. At young, he became well-acquainted with the mortal psyche. He knew about the worlds that they wanted to walk on, the lullabies that they wanted to hear of, and the lives that they wished they had. With the help of your connections, he easily made his way up. And before you even know it, he became the head of the Oak Family. 

And this went the same for Robin. As you weren't very fond of the life of celebrities, you faced some obstacles in conditioning her up for success. But you disliked failures, hence why Robin managed to become a top star at a young age with your help, despite the disagreements and disputes that you faced by the people in your surroundings. You then received Sunday’s assistance, who helped his sister to adapt to the life of a star. 

Because of you, the two of your siblings were well-known figures in Penacony. 

Your achievements alone served as the evidence of your success, thus bringing some clarification towards your prestige in the world of the rich. 

But you didn’t reach this elevated level of success overnight. You had some help here and there. Met a few people, some that you shouldn't even acknowledge. 

“Gallagher?” Your voice was pitched with curiosity, as you swirled the drink inside the glass by the stem. “Gallagher, the member of the Bloodhound family?”

Your maid nodded her head in confirmation. “He shared with me that he would like to meet you soon, and asked when you will be free.”

The sip from the drink trickled down to your throat. But the sip could not muster a quick answer out of you. You thought deeply on how you should approach the situation. The kick from the aftertaste finally booted out a response out of you. 

“There's no need for such a formal arrangement. We were close friends,” you said calmly.  “He can meet me right now if he wants to.”

Your maid gave you a second nod, before walking around. As her hand rested around the doorknob, you loudly said, “Actually, he doesn’t need to see me. I will see him myself. It would have been easier for both parties.”

Your maid pinched her eyebrows together confusedly at your suggestion. “But what would they think about—”

Her question was interrupted by the clinking sound of the glass against the table. Raising from your seat, you gathered your purse in your hand. You reassured her, “Don’t fret about it.”

When the door opened, you swung your car keys between your fingers. “I’ll be home around 8 PM. You know what to do if I'm not home by then.”

Before your maid could even argue against your departure, the door behind you was already slammed shut. 

You were an individual who marched forward with a well-strategized stride. It was an uncommon sight to see you standing still, feeling lost. You always knew what to say, when to act. It was almost as if living was natural for you. 

But anyone who observed you from a distance, knew that there were rare moments where there was a crack in the facade you wore. 

Heels clicked against the marble floor, turning the heads of the few customers in the bar. You sat at one of the empty seats, before placing your purse on the table. You wiggled yourself out of your coat, folding it neatly before placing it on the seat next to you. 

Closing your eyes, you indulged in the noises and chatters of the bar. The bar didn’t have too many attendees. But you were hardly bugged by it, as a quiet bar had a greater appeal to you. 

A glass was placed in front of you. It was filled to the brim with a pink juice, in which you suspected it to come from the finest of strawberries. Lemon slices were floating on the surface, with a sticker of the top-star celebrity of Penacony being plastered at the corner of the drink. The presentation of the drink was endearing, you would say. Especially given your background. 

Strangers would have been confused by the strange gesture. But you were no stranger to this place.

“Aw, how sweet.” Your hand reached out for the drink, as the ice cubes clinked against the glass. Even by a simple glance, you could easily guess it. Rose In Rain. 

Before you could even have a sip of it, you can already taste the flavors of the drink melting into your tongue. “It’s not a wonder that the bar has managed to retain its popularity among people of all classes.” 

With a very composed air, the drinksmith pronounced his response, “This is simply a part of my job. There’s no need for such flattery.”

He grabbed a towel, as he began drying the newly-cleaned glasses.

“Surely, a part of your job does not include you offering such a special treatment to his customers,” You teased, as you brought the drink close to your lips. “And why, I wonder. Are you interested in me, Mr. Gallagher?”

He kept the towel away, and you noticed that the folds were rather uneven. His lack of verbal response might imply disinterest, but his body language was telling you a different story. 

“Yes. Because no member from the Oak family, who are raised with wealth and riches, would spend the night in such a shabby, gloomy bar with moody bartenders. How could I not be interested when met with such abnormality?”

“Abnormality,” you repeated after him playfully. “How awful! I used to be addressed by such endearments, now I’m reduced to an abnormality. Do you detest me that much, Mr. Gallagher?”

You attempted to tease an answer out of him, as you slowly stroked his leg with the tips of your heels. 

“And here I thought that you would have a change of character after successfully climbing up in the social hierarchy,” he commented flatly. 

“Let me hear it.”

“Feisty, birdie,” he said in a voice that was tinged with slight amusement. With arms crossed against his chest, he asked in a huff, “Don’t say you come all the way here for that?”

“No,” you denied. “My maid came here telling me that you would like to discuss some matters. I just thought that it would be convenient to come here instead of the other way around.”

“Well, the discussion is not bar-friendly, I would say. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

An exasperated sigh came out of your mouth. “I’m assuming it involves Sunday.”

When your younger brother’s name rolled out of your tongue, there was a slight disdainful glance towards you. “Spot-on. Quite impressive, really.”

“Give him time.”

“And will time grow him out of tyranny?” asked Gallagher. 

“Tyranny?” You repeated him again. But instead of uttering it in a playful chirp, your tone was raised in frustration. “You’re speaking nonsense. He is controlling and demanding, but none of that fits what people might consider a tyrant. You need to kill someone to become one. And I don’t recall my younger brother getting involved in a manslaughter case.”

You slowly pushed the drink away from your sight. You continued, “I come here with the intention to have some fun. Let’s not sour the mood with such hostile arguments.”

“Sunday is young, and inexperienced in this kind of position. But he’s fast-learner. With his wits and charms, it wouldn’t take that much time for him to grow and become a proper man,” you defended.

There was an unusual pause in the conversation. And for some reason, the hairs on your arms stood up from the freezing air around you. Too cold for your liking. Not only the air, but also the man in front of you. Too cold for your liking.

“A higher position comes with higher ambitions, and followed with a higher price,” your voice dropped at a lower note, while shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just the way it is.”

He hummed in response. “It comes naturally out of you.”

Your forehead wrinkled at his remark, but before you could question his comment, he cut you to it: “Almost as if you are speaking about yourself.”

“Funny,” you said, feigning amusement. You heaved out a sigh of exasperation, your gaze fallen on the shiny counter. Your tongue no longer longed for the sweet, pink juice that was served earlier. “Let’s settle this with civility. We don’t need to jab at each other’s faults and families. To be insulting and mocking one another relentlessly is very unprofessional of us, who are known as the people who oversee all of Penacony’s matters.”

“Ah, I see. We are colleagues now.”

You closed your eyes, as you swallowed the rising anger that nearly escaped from your throat. “Yes. What else would we be?”

“Old friends?”

“Stop,” you commanded. Though your lips curled into the sweet smile, the white feathers on your wings started slicking down out of fury. 

“Stop?” He raised his eyebrows, amused at your attempt in concealing your anger. “I’m pointing out facts. There’s no need to get riled up over the truth. As someone who values honesty, I don’t understand why you are upset at the mention of our relationship.”

You exploded in fits of laughter at his provocation. The hand covering your mouth was an attempt in restoring your graceful image. And though the corner of your eyes wrinkled in delight, there was a mischief gleam shining in your eyes.

“Ah. I see it now. Well, forgive me for acting all uptight earlier. I seem to have forgotten that dogs need plays and treats in order to feel fulfilled in life,” you mocked. 

“And where’s my treat?” he asked, playing along with you. 

You grinned back at him, with your nose scrunched in slight repulse. “You will get your treats when you shut up about us. Alright, puppy?”

“No problem, birdie. As long as you could convince your bird friends that they wouldn't be chirping around about our reconciliation. ‘Don’t want to be on the bad side of your spouse. ‘Heard that they’re a scary person.”

“Fine,” the smile on your lips was now hanging loosely. “If that’s what you want the most.”

“Now, here’s where you are wrong. That’s not what I want the most.”

Your face scrunched into confusion, but how the corner of your lips twitched implied that you were not very happy with the way he was leading the game. 

“Then?” you dared yourself to ask. “Tell me. What is it that you want?”

He took out the container of washed blueberries, tossing them in the blender. 

“You,” he answered. It was such a plain reply that was pronounced in a flat tone but it had such a strong effect on you.

The chair that you were sitting in was very uncomfortable, you suddenly noticed. 

“You are a little quiet. Bet your mouth dry,” he asked. He threw out the first drink that was served for you, as he replaced it with a new one. You observed the drink, as the radiant, yet somewhat gloomy, blue color of the juice was toned down by your shadow that loomed over it. “Drink up.”

“Do you mean it?” you asked. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he answered. 

“After all these years?” again, you asked. But this time, with the intention to confirm. 

The toughest challenge in the world was no longer convincing the other four families that your brother was not a despicable, hellish being. But rather maintaining a simple eye contact with your first love at his bar.

He nodded his head. “How is that shocking to you?”

“It’s shocking to me because it has been so long. Was it like, 9— no, 12 years?” 

“13 years,” he confirmed. “I waited for 13 years. For you.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” your wings tucked closely to your neck, as they hid in your hair. “Not only that, this seems like what? A poor attempt to lure me in your little trap? But this. This whole thing— it’s not something that you could blurt out so loudly. Especially in a bar where we have eyes everywhere. What would my spouse think about this, what would Sunday and Robin think that their older sibling is out fraternizing with the drinksmith while their spouse is waiting for them at home?”

“You already spelled it all out. There’s not much for your ‘baby brother Sunday’ to figure out why this reunion was such a big deal,” Gallagher teased. With a shrug, he corrected you, “You got one part wrong though.”

This man. 

“Mind telling me?” You were greatly exasperated at this point. 

“I don’t like how the drinksmith sounds. How about your ex-boyfriend?”

Your hand reached out for your purse, and then the coat that you threw over on the next seat. In a hurry, you rose from your seat. “If this is what we are doing, then I’m leaving.”

As you turned your back against him, he walked around the counter as he chased after you. “Hey,” he called. “Don’t get all pissy about it. Teasing used to be our language. Remember?”

At the corner of your eyes, you took notice that one of the bartenders immediately took over Gallagher’s job. You had a hunch that they had been observing you two in a while. Even guessing what they could have heard gave you a headache.

But the man who was following you from behind was ticking you off even more. Even when you were both outside of the bar, he was still trailing you behind like a puppy. 

Finally, you spun around, now facing him. Baring your gritted teeth, you hissed, “I’m not going to lose my dignity tonight just because you—” You pointed your finger towards him, “—couldn’t move on from the past. I have a reputation, Gallagher. So do you. But unlike you, I care deeply about my image. So, let’s just bid our farewells. It’s for the best of us.”

He seemed to be taken aback by your fierce statement. With his hands placed on his hips, he dramatically tapped his foot against the ground a few times before shaking his head, “Wow. People weren’t lying at all. You changed.”

“So?”

Your jeer was barely registered into his head. With his chin slightly tilted upward, he continued, “You really did lose yourself to the riches and fame.”

The feathers of your wings hackled in anger. “And you changed too. It’s hard to believe that the lone wolf of Bloodhound family has now decided to be gossipy, and the first thing that he did is to believe some moronic rumors. Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“Did your partner teach you that?”

“Teach me what?”

“Teach you to curse,” he said, as he pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his pants. “Because I’m tellin’ you right now, they’re doing a poor job.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You huffed, “Why are you so against my marriage? Do you hate to see me happy, is that it?”

With nonchalance, he nodded his head in confirmation. “Yes. I’m unhappy that you are with them.”

“And so? Do you want me to toss my future away with them just because of what?” You gestured towards him angrily, “Some man?”

“Now it’s some man. Back then, you used to call me cuter names than that,” he teased. “Actually, it sounded even better when you moaned it out in bed,” a muffled groan escaped from his lips as he thought of all the good times you two shared. Well, it was all funny memories now. 

“Should I list it all down right now, birdie?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “How would you prefer me to do it? Should I yell it out so that the whole world knows about your secret scandal with the drinksmith from the Bloodhound family?”

You leaned forward towards him, as he pretended to flinch. Your wings flipped angrily, messing up your hair. “Cut it, dog.”

“Oh, I will,” he agreed, with the tone of his voice now lowered. “But only if you tell me why you left me for that stupid chicken you married to.”

“They’re Halovian, not a chicken,” you exasperatedly corrected him. 

You look at a distance, as you wrung your brain out for an appropriate answer. While you thought deeply on what to say, Gallagher caught a glimpse of the wedding band around your ring finger. 

“Are they wealthy?” he risked another jab. “Old money, or new money?”

“Old,” you answered flatly while rolling your eyes.

He hummed. “So I guessed it right.”

Gallagher pulled out the cigarette out of the box, before putting it between his lips. He patted on his pockets for his lighter.

But you were quicker. You pulled out the lighter from your purse, as you lit it up the end of the cigarette. The light from the fire shone on your face. 

And out of sudden, his intense hatred towards you slowly burned away along with the ashes from the cigarette he was smoking.

You were annoying, that was for the first fact. While the second fact, you were dangerously beautiful. 

“Maybe if I wasn’t much of a social climber, I wouldn’t leave you,” you suddenly confessed. “But I wanted all the fame and the wealth. Because I have a family to support. If I were to run off and marry the guy I actually liked, there’s no such thing as Sunday the Allegedly Tyrannical Leader of the Oak Family or A-List Celebrity Robin in the news and other media outlets. They were out there, taking jobs of some rich pigs. Not living comfortably as today.” 

Now, his mouth felt dry. And the air around him felt hot, making him sweaty and uncomfortable.

With your arms crossed and your wings slightly droopy, you continued, “I saw the ring in your pocket when I was cleaning the house before we broke up.”

Gray smoke escaped from his cracked lips. “You did?”

By the tone, it was clear that it wasn’t your confirmation that he needed. Rather, he wanted your clarification on why you decided to ditch him out of nowhere. 

“You never told me that you wanted to be more than just that,” you said.

“Sucks to know that you hate surprises right now.”

Even in moments of a heated dispute, Gallagher would try to twist it into a comedy. 

“I wanted to make a name for myself in the Penaconian society. And the only way for me to do so was to make myself seen by these prominent people. At the banquet, at the ball, at the party, or at the bar,” you explained.

“I didn’t want to be a nobody. I wanted to become somebody. In that way, my siblings can live an easy life, without some rich snobs telling them what to do, and what to say. How to dress and when to speak. I lived that life. That was how I realized how irksome it was, and how I refused to let it happen to my siblings.”

You looked down to your feet, as your shoes reflected your face. All the treatments you received to retain your youthful beauty, but yet you hardly felt that your younger self was with you. Your younger self wouldn’t make that many excuses. They weren’t avoidant ��� they faced all obstacles head first with a feisty spirit. But nowadays, even a confrontation from a past lover can get you this upset. 

“It wasn’t a part of my plan to be pinned down by marriage. I was just taken aback by the sudden shift of our relationship, so I left. I worked for a few more years, then I received a marriage proposal from them. Old money, goal-oriented, business-minded. I knew two things when I saw them. That marrying them means that I could finally retire from all that social-climbing and establish myself among the elites. And marrying them means that my siblings have a greater chance to become successful. It would be a great investment, really,” you explained. 

“But I didn’t like them that much.” you reassured him. “They were good, but only enough to make me feel wanted. To them, I was just an accessory for him to flaunt off to his rich friends. They lie sometimes, even to me. I can see it right through them,” you admitted. “They lie to feel respected and liked. To fit in, sometimes. And I guess whatever they say about marriage is true. You will slowly become them, whether you like it or not.”

“So let me get this straight. He didn’t teach you to curse, but he did teach you to lie so  you could look better than everyone?” Gallagher joked bitterly. He looked at you up and down, “Yeah, I see it now.”

You decided to ignore him. 

“I liked you because unlike other people I have met, you were truthful. You didn’t treat me like a sweet candy meant to be tasted, or an object that was meant to be possessed. You were honest and you were genuine. I knew it by the first time we just met, when you dissed me about my drink order,” you laughed a bit. “What was it? My first order? Oh, dearest Xipe, I think I forgot about it.”

“Mungbean Soda. With that distressed look on your face, I knew that a few shots of Stellar Champagne was all you needed to keep yourself composed while dealing with those aristocrats,” he answered.

“So then I decided to take your recommendation.”

“Which was Rose In Rain. A classy and sweet choice, but strong enough to make you forget all your miseries for the night.”

“And it was delicious. That tipsiness made me realize how kissable you were, especially under that dimmed, yellow light,” you finished your sentence. 

“Am I still kissable now?” he teased, as he blew the smoke from his mouth. When he took notice of your irked glare, he raised your hands up in defense. “Hey, ‘just confirming.”

“Annoyingly kissable,” you replied. 

You watched the direction of his eyes fall to your lips. And just by a simple stare, you could feel all the blood from your feet and legs go up to your face, making your cheeks and neck feel hot. 

When he removed the cigarette from his lip, he slowly leaned forward. Your breath hitched up in response, he noticed. So he stopped. 

What filled in the air was the strange silence, the acrid smoke and your guilt. 

“What’s stopping you, then?” he asked softly.

Honestly, it was a difficult question to answer. Could it be that it had been an hour past eight. Or it could have been the wedding ring around your finger. Or it could have been because the way your stomach churned at the bitter smell of his cigarette reminded you of why you left Gallagher that day.

“I don’t know,” but your eyes told a different story.

His hand reached out for you, and as he interlocked your fingers with him, he played with the ring, twisting and turning it. But he knew what was your answer when your fingers curled in your palm, suggesting that you refused to let go of the ring.

“Oh, but I think I know,” he answered.

A worried sigh came out of your mouth. “I can’t leave all of this behind. I climbed too high, I’m not sure how to get down. If I choose to go down with you now, the fall would be too painful. And I don’t even know if I could survive through it.”

There was too much running in his head. His thoughts fly from one extreme to another. It was impressive that you could easily turn a decisive, composed man into such a mess: where he struggled to feel pity for you or just kill you off on the spot. 

“Why didn’t you want to be with me?” he asked, losing the childish accents in his voice.

“Marrying you was a choice, marrying them, however, was a necessity,” you answered. The softness in your voice felt like a sharp piercing through his heart. “A bird can’t be with a dog. That’s unnatural.”

Quietude witnessed the way you looked at each other longingly. While your heart weighed with guilt and shame, his mind was congested with frustration and anger. But yet, both secretly longed for each other. 

“But  I refuse to accept it as the truth. No, not when I keep on missing you for all these years.”

Before he could come up with a cheeky reply, you shushed him from his sarcastic remarks by resting your hand on his cheek, bringing his face to yours. Your soft lips pressed against his bloodless and dry ones. The heat from a sinful kiss engulfed the two of you closely, burning the part of your skin on your back that he gently touched. His hand rested on your lower back, bringing you closer to him. You could feel his beard tickling your chin, and he could smell your perfume in his nostrils. The bitter taste of his alcohol that he downed melted in your tongue, causing you to groan in delight.

The kiss lasted a few minutes, but you wished it could go on for hours. 

“For the last time,” you reminded him, your thumb rubbing his cheek in circles. “There will be no longer us after this.”

You stepped away from him, as your wings shyly closed your mouth while you were cleaning off your lips with the back of your hands. 

“You sure?” he asked breathily, his pale lips now stained with a crimson-colored lipstick. He might have to lie to everyone that he was drinking too many bottles in the Soulglad in the past few days (though Soulglad was clearly orange.)

“Yes,” you confirmed. You took a few steps backwards. With your hands gathered together, you gracefully bowed your head towards him. An act of courtesy which also served to restore your damaged dignity as a married person from an honorable family. 

“Goodnight, Gallagher.”

You waited for his response, but all he did was stare at you. The light from the lamp above you started flickering, before it completely went out.

Was it longing on his face? It was difficult to make out his expression, especially when the shadow covered him.

You guessed that it was hard to bid goodbyes after such a kiss. 

But for some reason, you felt shivers running down your spine. Beads of sweat were forming on your neck from the cold. Your mind was sending rapid signals to your legs: alerting it to run immediately.

Though your sudden instinct to run was scaring you, you calmed down your nerves by guessing that it could have been because of the kiss. 

Your thoughts were quietened when you saw the shadow of Gallagher rolling his thumb against the metal wheel of his lighter that he pulled out of his pocket.

Yes, yes. It must have been the kiss.

You were scared of your partner leaving you. Or Sunday being humiliated at his work because of his older sibling’s infidelity with some member from the Bloodhound family. And it could be because that person happened to be his colleague who kept on riling him up at work. Or maybe you were afraid that your scandal could create a blemish on Robin’s reputation as a celebrity. Now the whole world assumed that she was a dirty popstar.

But it didn’t seem that your body was agreeing with any of those guesses. 

Gallagher’s frustrated grunt at the stubborn lighter shushed your thoughts again.

You came to notice that your white wings were quickering badly. 

There was too much happening at the moment. You were so overwhelmed by the urge to flight, that you felt that you could vomit on the spot. 

Suddenly, a thought came to you.

His cigarette was already lit up. So what could be the reason why he pulled out his lighter?

The flame from the lighter brought some light to his face, but the sight of the man you used to love led to you gasping in horror. It was gloomy with burning hatred, the glare alone could almost kill you on the spot.

But before you could ask, a mysterious sound of ringing pierced through your eardrums. It belonged to no other but Memory Zone Meme, a secret from The Family that were kept away from you. You could feel it slowly spread its wings, which resembled the terrible noise of bone-cracking. 

You gathered the courage to turn around. But it perceived the sudden movement of its prey as an attempted fight. Feeling threatened, it stabbed its stingers through your body. The ground was splattered with a mysterious blue liquid, followed by the sound of your wedding ring rolling and spinning in circles. 

Your purse that was hanging around your arm was now on the other side of the ground. 

The outside of the dark bar that was filled with heated arguments and sweet confessions earlier died out, with only silence remaining. 

Well, only for a few minutes.

A melodious voice of Robin was heard, muffled by the zipped purse. Your phone rang a few times, playing the same music. It appeared that the caller was worried. Or angry. 

Gallagher crouched down, unzipping your purse. He groaned in repulse when the blue liquid stuck to his skin, as he wiped it down on his pants. He took out your phone, as the name of your spouse filled his vision. 

Your phone was flooded with notifications of your worried partner, asking about your whereabouts. 

Ah, you were supposed to be home by 8 PM. He looked at the time, it was already 9:30 PM.

In your defense, he would also be sneaking around to kiss a drinksmith at the bar if he had an overbearing partner like yours.

He thought of sharing the news of your infidelity.

But then, he scrapped the thought. He wanted to respect your wishes. Something about how the story of tonight was going to destroy Sunday and Robin’s image. Or something similar to that. He didn’t remember much because he hardly cared about your siblings.

It was not like all your siblings had the time to process your death, especially when they were next in line.

So he came up with a different plan. Your password was easy to guess. It wasn’t difficult with the help of your maid who used to work under him. 

A flash from the camera was heard. The phone captured the scene of a mysterious liquid splattered across the ground, with the gold-colored wedding ring shining brightly under the light, with some being covered by the puddle of your remains. 

Along with the picture, he texted, “Not coming home tonight, sorry.” 

He later pressed the send button, before tossing the crushed phone into the trash. 

The plan was to kill you off in your house. But you made it easy for him instead. He was amused, really. 

But his amusement was short-lived. He was disgusted at the sight of your wedding ring, which stared back at him menacingly. He kicked the ring into the trash as well. He wasn’t an expert in the art of interior designing, but he hated the ring being near his bar. It was ugly, hardly matched the aesthetics of his business.

But your finger wouldn’t be too lonely without the ring. Not when he still had the same wedding band from 13 years ago in his pocket right now. What was left for him was to wear it around your finger in the real world, then he could truly move on from his past. Just as you asked him to. 

And just like that, his mission was done.

[niko-sasaki-dbd]

I'm still thinking about Death's words in Episode 1, and the way I think she was not just talking to Wilfred (the soldier), but indirectly, she was talking to Edwin and Charles too.

Let me explain...

"You've been fighting old battles for too long (...) you died over a hundred years ago"

"I came for you then, but you were so confused, so filled with anger and with hate, you seem a lot better now"

I wonder if they overheard her, if that's even possible, or if it was something purely directed to us, as an audience.

It just makes me think quite a lot, because her words were so on point for the way the boys' arc was going to develop. In one side, Edwin fighting against his own mindset in order to face his own identity and his feelings, and then Charles, facing his trauma, and the frustration and anger that he had been carrying since he died.

Oh, and then there's the poem:

They will come back - come back again, as long as the red Earth rolls.

He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think He would squander souls?

[Source: The Sack of the Gods, Rudyard Kipling]

This is not the whole version, only the last verse that Death recites in that scene. I would like to mention the story behind it too, because I find the connections curious.

The Kipling Society refers that this poem—most probably—was written as a form of celebration, "in lofty cosmic terms" of Kipling’s partnership with his friend Wolcott Balestier, who died unexpectedly in December 1891.

Together, it passionately asserts, the two young comrades had fought to conquer the heights, an endeavour which seems long ago now that Wolcott is dead.

[Source: The Sack of the Gods – Background (notes by Jan Montefiore and John Radcliffe)]

Also, about the lofty cosmic terms, these are found in the following verses of the poem:

Under the stars beyond our stars where the new-forged meteors glow,

(...)

Dust of the stars was under our feet, glitter of stars above—

Wrecks of our wrath dropped reeling down as we fought and we spurned and we strove.

Worlds upon worlds we tossed aside, and scattered them to and fro.

I don't know if the connection between the poem and the song that plays in the background of Charles' memories in Episode 7, was intentional or no.

And it's something quite peculiar,

Something shimmering and white

It leads you here, despite your destination,

Under the Milky Way tonight.

[Source: Under The Milky Way - The Church]

But I think is beautiful, if you take into account that the meaning of that poem revolves around the idea of deja-vu, "hearking back to an experience in an earlier life, based on reincarnation"; and that there's always that possibility.

Is this something? Am I even making sense?

[lady-quen]

Verse: The Hound, The Haggard, and the Haunted

Posting an initial version of the lore being cooked between myself, @rostomanologist and @commanderteag ! The context will pretty much be necessary to understand most of the humor oscillating between these chucklefucks :) Chaos plant trio is a thing now.

The Dawnborn Maelmordha and Duskborn Kimarse have known one another since approximately 1320 AE as saplings, at least until Mael's Wyld Hunt and Kima's run-in with the Inquest ensured no further contact. The two wouldn't properly meet again until sometime after 1330 AE, during Commander Maelmordha's Elonian campaigns.

Owing to his death at the hands of Balthazar, Mael, now a lich, struggles with controlling his Diabolist powers, opting to utilize sealing tattoos and enchanted chains to stall the demon essence from consuming his soul. It was after the conflict with the War God that Maelmordha and Kimarse met again, the latter traveling in the area out of curiosity about the Awakened Inquest rampaging in Tyria.

The so-called Thanatologist caught onto the "deal" with the Pact Commander rather quickly and, armed with potential blackmail material, figured it most beneficial for them both to engage in a contract. An undying subject for the death scholar and possible help with his condition for the Commander, especially with Kimarse's Revenant former acquaintance in the picture - Noereen, haunted by the spectre of a legendary White Mantle well-versed in bloodstone magics. A bloodstone collar could be forged to act as a magic buffer, but a sample was required, and, well, with most equipment simply dissolving within the Commander's chest portal and the man himself being unable to perform the procedure, Kimarse thought it best to ward her left hand, plunge it in and hope for the best. She managed to pull out the demon core now replacing the Commander's heart for study, but lost the appendage to extreme frostbite. A tradeoff, just like Tyr lost his hand in the jaws of Fenrir - in order to apply Gleipnir.

Enter Maolmuire, a formidable Mesmer with an unsettling connection to the Dream and the sword Caladbolg.

Maolmuire of the Noon, awakened approximately 1330 AE, is a member of a cycle which suffered malformations following the Pale Mother's injury at the claws of the Shadow of the Dragon. Born with a warped right arm and a pair of wings, he stands out from his fellow sylvari, but what happened to his corporeal form is scarcely his only affliction. His connection to the Dream far too strong to the point of being unable to separate his own memories from those of its denizens, Maol's waking and sleeping moments alike are dominated by the three Knights of the Thorn: the Valiant Riannoc, the Marshal Trahearne, and the Commander, Maelmordha. The three personalities blend within him, and a destiny laid out by the Astral Ward itself sends him on a quest into the desert to find the Commander. With expert mesmeric magic, he is able to infiltrate even the Order of Shadows until he eventually confronts the Commander, now a different beast altogether than the pre-death image which yet remained of him inside the Dream.

In spite of being walking reminders of one another's worst traumas, Maelmordha and Maolmuire work together, with the former's condition and ever-fresh grief for the Pact Marshal making the burden of the lich-slaying Caladbolg infinitely heavy. Following the campaign against Palawa Joko, he attempts to return the sword, only to be met with rejection - for now. Indeed, it isn't long before the Mother receives a mysterious vision and nominates the Fourth Knight, who happens to be none other than Maolmuire himself.

The three keep in contact and work together in the future, out of selfless and selfish reasons alike.

[kei-yuki]

Time to time I think about the three forges of Daenerys Targaryen (the little daughter of Alysanne and Jaehaerys I, who died from the Shivers, feeling the cold; Aegon IV's daughter, who married with a Prince of Dorne and began the tradition of hosting children in the Water Gardens, no matter their origin; and the actual Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons).

Obviously, there's a link between the three women stronger and more complex than the name. And some parts of their lives rhyme like the verses of a song.

The first girl could be a queen, but the cold (maybe there's a connection with the Others?) caught and killed her during her childhood.

The second had a political marriage and went to Dorne. But she became known by the Gardens.

These parts of their lives are, too, parts of the life of the Mother of Dragons: to be a queen, to be chased by the cold (for now, in dreams), to have political marriages and because she wants equality for all.

She has a song.

[majorproblems77]

ITS LU UPDATE TIME!!!

AND IT IS ALL ABOUT SKY AND IM SO EXCITED :DDDDD

You know what that means! It means a long post by me! :D

Cant wait to be excited about my blorbo for like 30 minutes, so sit get some popcorn and like some earplugs cause i will try to contain my screaming but I've been waiting for more Sky stuff and I'm so excited!!!!

For point, and because I keep forgetting, all the panels I'll be talking about belong to JoJo and @linkeduniverse

Let's do this!

Alright lets get this out of the way first, I love some parallels right, So as per usual, if I need a panel from anything prior I'll let you know where it's from!

So what do you think he asked him.

Hey sir! Have you seen a guy with a big flag on his back going way to fast come through there?

Man is just like, oh yeah he went that way past the forge that your other weird fellows were at earlier.

He run, Then he hero stop. Power pose activated, target acquired. Then he run some more

Run my blorbo run!

Genuinely interested in what exactly this is, Is it a map? Is it a list of places? Is it a paper with time shift shenanigans in it?

I'm not versed in the postman, Is this normal, or did he do this cause he heard Sky and wanted him to think he was waiting?

This face has be dead. (/pos) I love him so much my dear blorbo its been too long since we saw you last.

Putting this together for 1 reason

Postman is a dick, Sky was so close, That can't be more than 10 or so metres at most. Poor man ran across Town out of town to catch up to you for you to go sprinting off into the woods, and my man is full on Olympic sprinting to deliver this mail geesus.

Also, the compulsory return of the king 🧍, Sky is the king of this pose and will not be beaten. Although Legend comes pretty close.

God the expressions in this update are top tier, Sky is just so expressive. Right now, Man is thinking why he does this to himself.

I'm fucking cackling, this art is amazing and Jojo's sister did an amazing job. Like I feel like I can hear this picture with that teasing tone that my siblings would use on me when we were younger. God I love it.

So even though Sky is looking towards Legend here, so I'm totally under the impression that Legend said Wahhhh, and Hyrule said I cant run. As Hyrule was with wars When they got split up initally. Poor Sky, man has become the butt of jokes. Im glad Four is giving them a look, He doesn't look impressed. Its okay Sky, you've got a friend in Four behind you. :D

War's is the real MVP of this arc in my opinion, Man has been in charge of the ragtag chain while Time has been out of action looking over Twilight. He's at the end of his tether.

Part of me wonders if this is going to impact his fighting going forward? Maybe he'll slip up because he's so stressed. He knows not all of them are knighted. These heroes he is with are NOT soldiers and he can't treat them as such.

And this sentence. Don't Interrupt! sounds like he is scolding rowdy recruits, rather than fellow heroes.

Which if you think about it, Sky is giving essentially a scouting report here, He scouted ahead and has returned to speak about his findings. War's is a captain, in his era he's a commanding officer. He's taken reports of this kind before.

Having a panel with Time, Wild and Twilight in Gives me more life than i think i give it credit for. (I am in the crowd that there's a family connection between these three.)

It's also nice to see Wild, like genuinely smiling.

Moving on

Hero pose again! :D

I love this man

These panels are very important to me so give me a moment while I explain.

Sky probably has her words engrained in his mind. You can see the questioning look, and thinking. "Is this going to work?"

That eternal dream That he's talking about, he knows her power is faded, but he's going to try anyway. I just didn't think he would use it to track what I can only assume is the postman.

It's really nice to have Sky's relationship with the master sword put on display. It means a lot to me and has brought me great Joy through this update.

He cares about her. And even if she can't talk to him anymore. He still trusts her to lead him true.

And this panel breaks my heart! Something inside of him probably really hoped Fi would speak to him or give him more of an indication. Sky looks so sad.

I just wanna hug him, and tell him it'll be alright. He's probably thinking about turning around at this point. Maybe he's thinking about how some members of the chain perceive Fi.

A soulless weapon.

(Or maybe im thinking too much into this)

The way his faith is restored!

Fi did lead him! She did! She's still there somewhere, and his shock! Oh my boy. My sweet blorbo,

And having used like super zoom on that last panel, MY BOY IS SMILING! :D

RUN BLORBO RUN I BELIEVE IN YOU!

(Also appreciation for the full body shot's we've got of Sky from this update, I love it so much I love him so much.)

Did I go hunting for the references, Yes I Did.

I think the following area is the area where they pull Twilight too, rather than the battle field and he then moved on from here to get to the battle field.

From sunset pt4

The pillar behind Sky has the only slant I can think of. It looks to be the same angle, but that could just be me.

If it is that location, it might be closer to that battlefield than we originally (Or at least I originally) assumed.

(If you've got any other places let me know!)

God i love him

Blorbo beloved! Is about as shocked as i am with the whole Mailman thing.

The confidence of this man is unreal. He's ready, he's moving he's going. He's going and ain't going to stop.

Me absolutely yelling at how this portal looks, it so ANGRY, But we know the Shadow is pissed right now. And if the shadow is making these portals and he's angry. I think the chain might be in for a surprise as they move on to the next location.

Which if I have to be honest. I think is going to be Skyloft. I think we are moving into a Sky arch, having had a Twilight Arc. (I also really want to see Skyloft in this universe, and there's an opportunity here. We've had more master sword things. We've had Sky content. who knows where Jojo will take this next, but I'm excited either way.)

Finally back to the chain! :D

The gremlins return :D

Wind's little 3:< face as he's thinking is giving the energy of an upcoming detective arch, He is thinking and he is thinking HARD okay.

Poor Sky. Man has been running around doing all the hard work while the rest of them just enjoy themselves. Hyrule especially is kinda like 'Ohhh... our bad...'

It's actually a kinda guilty look, maybe he feels a little bad about the teasing from earlier?

Now i gotta mention the potion thing, cause its just so damn funny not too. Sky my blorbo slow down you are gonna choke on the stamina potion.

But.

I want to focus on War's here.

And Wild too.

These two. These two are important.

Wild has gone from happy and chill vibes to Oh shit real quick.

After everything he put into the Shadow, while the shadow was injured and watched as the thing exploded. It just decided to come back or something. And Wild, here I imagine is thinking, "How was that not enough..."

Now Wars.

War's is Stood not looking at anything, In fact, I think he's looking past Time. The last thing he said was a two word scolding but apart from that he's been awfully quiet. Now he looks like he's thinking. He's closed off, protective.

The only time I can see where he does this is when he's in what I'm going to call, 'Captain mode.' So, When he's flicked something in his head that tells him he has to be a knight.

He dosent do it often, in fact from what I can see he does it 4 other times.

In order

Devine dark reflections pt 8 - when he's talking about knighthood with Sky and Hyrule

Sunset pt11 - When talking about Wild, and the fact that he's left

Sunset pt13 - When speaking to Twilight about pulling his own weight

Dawn pt 2 - when Twilight is talking about the team they are.

And now here in Dawn 7 - Where they are discussing the fact that an enemy they fought escaped or survived.

All conversations I would assume a captain would have to have with his men at one point or another. I wonder what He's thinking here. It's got me thinking.

Woah, So this took me longer than I thought. I am on the 4-hour mark now. Lmaoooo

Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for listening to me ramble for like 20 minutes.

And just remember

Sky is the sweet bestest blorbo beloved and I love him. :D

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[oathofkaslana]

things collei hangout would need to have to satisfy me tumblr user lee cythams:

- collei tighnari snake healing scene that lives in my head (trying soooo hard for this to be canon you don’t understand)

- reference to collei literally having a death count at age 12

- she meets scara (followed by nahida and some mention/reference to her past and conflicting religious beliefs)

- WE MEET THE GIRL THAT COLLEI SAVES IN HER VISION STORY OH MY GOD

- something about the archon residue

- CYNO AND COLLEI BEING VESSELS (ok honestly I’d rather save this for like. a temple of silence update. but I’ll take what I can get yk)

- just. some. some mention of her ptsd again I’m begging you I feel like it’s being washed out by her anxiety which sucks so much bc I don’t want it to be a ptsd vs anxiety thing I just want her ptsd to be acknowledged with the same ferocity her anxiety is by fans I’m going insane help me

- I’ll add to this later brain going brrrrrrrrrr

the way collei has appeared in two different hangouts and hasn’t had her own.. satiated but at what cost…….

[multicolour-ink]

It helps that Movie!Tails is the most consistent to his game counterpart

Yes that is correct. However, I want to make the argument that unlike Tails, the rest of the animal characters kind of deserve a revamp.

Sonic in the games, has no backstory (and no we are not counting the comics). Aside from small pieces of information that's decades old, and that Sonic Bible that isn't even considered canon anymore, there's not much to go on in terms of why Game Sonic is the way he is. Why is he a free spirit? Who or what set him out on his path?

Also, don't forget, Game Sonic was also a product of the 90s. He was solely created for the purpose to diverge people's attention from "old school Nintendo Mario" and lure them in as the "hip and cool new kid on the block". As the narrative got more and more progressive as the games went on, so too did character writing. But Sonic never got as much depth.

And yes, I can understand to an extent the frustration people have with seeing Sonic act more childish in the movies. But the movies are also slowly developing his character into the more mature one we are more familiar with. It's called progress.

Knuckles (from my perspective because forgive me I have not played all the games nor know every piece of lore) just had a bit of stuff added to his backstory, but also changed a tiny bit so there's more of a connection with Sonic's. He still became the last of his tribe, but instead of them being wiped out by Chaos they instead died pursuing an innocent child for power they had no right to. In both versions, the tribe was led by greed and selfishness. But like I said, the movie verse did it differently to give Sonic and Knuckles this connection. Unlike in the games, where Knuckles has to follow his tribe's last wishes, the movie verse gave him a journey where he learnt he doesn't have to follow those teachings. He can instead use them to forge a better and more noble path. A breaking of the cycle.

Shadow is still too early to tell in my opinion. But his backstory looks pretty much the same. Even if there are some differences from what was told in SA2, the beats are still the same. He was an experiment. He grew very close to someone who meant a lot to him. He then lost said person, and now wants revenge.

The story may go differently but Shadow is likely going to learn the same lesson.

[2much4me-4ever]

I can't get over how (intentionally) brilliant the lines from God Games are.

Apollo [I]

Athena apeals both to his reason ("they tried to do him worse") and his personal priorities ("the'yll thread with caution first", "sing another verse") as the god of arts, giving him both a solid argument and a scapegoat so he doesn't seem to shallow

Hephaistos [II]

Hephaistos is bothered by Odysseus betrail, and one of the most popular story's he is involved in is the betrail through Aphrodite's infidelity (she's his wife, in some versions), and being thrown from the Olymp becourse he was too 'ugly', only regaining respect for his craftsmanship.

Plus the wordgames!! ('trust is forged' and 'build a future')

(((Also, his voicing(?) just perfect. He seems to heave, and the voice sound a little mechanic? which could be playing into the disabillity he is sometimes portrayed to have)))

Aphrodite [III]

She hold a grudge against Odysseus for breaking his mothers heart, showing both her petty side and portraying her as a godess of all love. Additionally, we can't forget that this was shortly after the Trojan war, which she technically started by winnig a competition against Athena and Hera, so there is definitly bad blood between the two. (Still, a little dissapointing)

Ares [IV]

Brilliant! Part!

Ares and Athena are both rivals as the god of war and the godess of (battle) strategie, and their connection is portrayed perfectly by her challenging chant of his name at the beginning of his part!

He also doesn't really cares a lot more about the 'cowordly' tactics of Odysseus (Athena), which lessen the brutality and bloodshed of war. The vocalisation of ["didn't even TRY TO KILL SKYLLA"] is just *chefs kiss* (Still, he is a god of the people, and of armies and rebellion as a whole, so it makes sense for him to rafe at Odysseus betrail rather than the groups.

[Hera] V

Hera just Rocked

The motherly vibes, the royal tone. (One person on Tumblr said Athena listed traits of Zeus ["He's kind of funny","Eh"] to make Hera think of him before delivering the last (and first) blow, which sound plausible, but idk) There is not much to say, so straight toooo

Zeus [+I]

I think it's safe to say Athena knew (or at least guessed) her father woudn't be satisfied if he won. Zeus is made to portray a King, and those are predictable and prideful. She must have known beforehand he would let her 'play a game' or challenge something of her, and that he would be able to take that hit to his pride.

I think she gambeled that, while he coudn't just balantly favour her, or let her hurt his pride, a begging, (maybe half dead) daughter would be enough for his role to allow him to take mercy on her.

(Especally when all the other important gods are present)

(Not saying that he knew what she was up to, that guy definitly shat on her when he fired that lightning.)

[richincolor]

New Releases - Week of August 27, 2024

We've found eight different new releases to shout about this week. Are any of them on your TBR? 

Bridge Across the Sky by Freeman Ng Atheneum Books for Young Readers

A raw and honest historical novel in verse about a Chinese teen who immigrates to the United States with his family and endures mistreatment at the Angel Island Immigration Station while trying to navigate his own course in a new world.

Tai Go and his family have crossed an ocean wider than a thousand rivers, joining countless other Chinese immigrants in search of a better life in the United States. Instead, they’re met with hostility and racism. Empowered by the Chinese Exclusion Act, the government detains the immigrants on Angel Island in the San Francisco Bay while evaluating their claims.

Held there indefinitely, Tai Go experiences the prison-like conditions, humiliating medical exams, and interrogations designed to trick detainees into failure. Yet amid the anger and sorrow, Tai Go also finds hope—in the poems carved into the walls of the barracks by others who have been detained there, in the actions of a group of fellow detainees who are ready to fight for their rights, in the friends he makes, and in a perceived enemy whose otherness he must come to terms with.

Unhappy at first with his father’s decision to come to the United States, Tai Go must overcome the racism he discovers in both others and himself and forge his own version of the American Dream.

The Sticky Note Manifesto of Aisha Agarwal by Ambika Vohra Quill Tree Books, Harper Collins

“How have you gotten out of your comfort zone?”

That’s the Stanford admissions prompt that valedictorian shoo-in Aisha Agarwal can’t answer. Her life’s been homework and junk food. So, when her crush, Brian, asks her to winter formal, Aisha thinks her fate is changing . . .

. . . until Brian stands her up.

As if on cue, a banged-up Volkswagen arrives outside the dance; the driver profusely apologizing for being late to pick her up. Does Aisha know him or what he’s talking about? No. Does the Stanford essay convince her to take him up on the ride? Absolutely.

To Aisha’s relief, seventeen-year-old Quentin Santos isn’t a kidnapper, but he is failing math. They strike a deal: if Aisha helps Quentin pass math, he’ll help push her out of her comfort zone, using a series of sticky note to-do’s—dares—that will not only give Aisha content for her essay, but will turn her into the confident person she’s always wanted to be.

From New Year’s Eve kisses to high school parties, Aisha’s sticky note manifesto is taking off. But when she falls for the wrong guy, hurts her best friend, and still can’t finish her essay, victory feels far from reach.

Is winning worth it if you end up losing yourself in the process?

Indiginerds edited by Alina Pete Iron Circus Comics

First Nations culture is living, vibrant, and evolving…

…and generations of Indigenous kids have grown up with pop culture creeping inexorably into our lives. From gaming to social media, pirate radio to garage bands, Star Trek to D&D, and missed connections at the pow wow, Indigenous culture is so much more than how it’s usually portrayed. These comics are here to celebrate those stories!

Featuring an all-Indigenous creative team, INDIGINERDS is an exhilarating anthology collecting 11 stories about Indigenous people balancing traditional ways of knowing with modern pop culture.

Bvlbancha Forever, by Ida Aronson and Tate Allen

Walk With The Earth Mother, by Maija Plamondon and Milo Applejohn

Roll Your Own Way, by Jordanna George

Digital Eden, by Raven John and Asia Wiseley

Amplification/Adaptation, by Em Matson and Nipinet Landsem

Welei (I Am Fine), by Bianca “binkz17” and Rhael McGregor

Saving Throws, by James Willier and Sam “Mushki” Medlock

Dorvan V, by Alina Pete

Uncured Horror, by Gillian Joseph and Wren Rios

Airwaves Pirates, by Autumn Star and PJ Underwood

Missed Pow Wow Connection, by Kameron White

Twin Flames by Olivia Abtahi Lee & Low Books

When djinn start to show up in twins Leila and Bianca’s small Virginia hometown, the only way they and their families will survive will be if the twins can get past their differences and start to act like sisters again.

Twins Bianca and Leila could not be more different from each other. Being both Argentinian and Iranian in a small town has always been hard, but with Leila shunning her heritage and Bianca embracing it, the two walk very different paths. They run in different circles of friends, and barely talk anymore. Leila’s a homebody who loves to craft and plans on marrying her high school sweetheart. Bianca’s more anti-establishment and plans to get out of Dodge as soon as humanly possible.

But on their eighteenth birthday, the neighbor’s barn is burned down–and it doesn’t seem to have been caused by anything normal like an electrical or fuel source. When Leila encounters a mysterious monster arising from the fire, suddenly she gains strange powers–and can no longer touch iron or even eat foods with high iron content.

What are these creatures and where are they coming from? What do they want with Leila–or other people in town, for that matter? Can the twins learn to rely on each other–and their cultures–to banish them? It’ll take a sisterly reconciliation for the girls to find out and to save their hometown in this New Visions Award-winning fantasy adventure.

Everything We Never Had by Randy Ribay Kokila

From the author of the National Book Award finalist Patron Saints of Nothing comes an emotionally charged, moving novel about four generations of Filipino American boys grappling with identity, masculinity, and their fraught father-son relationships.

Watsonville, 1930. Francisco Maghabol barely ekes out a living in the fields of California. As he spends what little money he earns at dance halls and faces increasing violence from white men in town, Francisco wonders if he should’ve never left the Philippines.

Stockton, 1965. Between school days full of prejudice from white students and teachers and night shifts working at his aunt’s restaurant, Emil refuses to follow in the footsteps of his labor organizer father, Francisco. He’s going to make it in this country no matter what or who he has to leave behind.

Denver, 1983. Chris is determined to prove that his overbearing father, Emil, can’t control him. However, when a missed assignment on “ancestral history” sends Chris off the football team and into the library, he discovers a desire to know more about Filipino history―even if his father dismisses his interest as unamerican and unimportant.

Philadelphia, 2020. Enzo struggles to keep his anxiety in check as a global pandemic breaks out and his abrasive grandfather moves in. While tensions are high between his dad and his lolo, Enzo’s daily walks with Lolo Emil have him wondering if maybe he can help bridge their decades-long rift.

Told in multiple perspectives, Everything We Never Had unfolds like a beautifully crafted nesting doll, where each Maghabol boy forges his own path amid heavy family and societal expectations, passing down his flaws, values, and virtues to the next generation, until it’s up to Enzo to see how he can braid all these strands and men together.

Our Shouts Echo by Jade Adia Disney-Hyperion

Survival Tip #1: The world is going to shit. Whatever you do, trust no one.

Sixteen-year old Niarah Holloway’s only goal in life is to get through it unnoticed. That, and to spend her first summer in LA building a doomsday bunker in her backyard. Because if the past few years have taught Niarah anything, it’s that the ocean levels are rising, minimum wage is a scam, and the people who are supposed to protect you will hurt you. Now the only thing that helps Niarah stay afloat amidst the constant waves of anxiety and dread that threaten to drag her under is her new mantra: Be prepared.

But Niarah wasn’t prepared for Mac Torres. Not for his disarmingly cute face, or for his surfer lifestyle, or for the way his smile resuscitates her heart. Mac is a bomb that blows Niarah’s world to pieces, but instead of disaster, he fills it with sunset bonfires, breakfast burritos, and new friends.

For years, Niarah’s life has revolved around ignoring the demons of her past, avoiding the problems of her present, and preparing for the catastrophes of the future. Now Mac—with his sunshine laugh and infectious optimism— is determined to show her another way to be. But in a world where the worst feels inevitable, can one summer be enough to light the way to a hopeful future? Can one summer be enough to fall in love?

With Love, Echo Park by Laura Taylor Namey Atheneum

Seventeen-year-old Clary is set to inherit her family’s florist shop, La Rosa Blanca—one of the last remnants of the Cuban business district that once thrived in Los Angeles’s Echo Park neighborhood. Clary knows Echo Park is where she’ll leave a legacy, and nothing is more important to her than keeping the area’s unique history alive.

Besides Clary’s florist shop, there’s only one other business left founded by Cuban immigrants fleeing Castro’s regime in the sixties and seventies. And Emilio, who’s supposed to take over Avalos Bicycle Works one day, is more flight risk than dependable successor. While others might find Emilio appealing, Clary can see him itching to leave now that he’s graduated, and she’ll never be charmed by a guy who doesn’t care if one more Echo Park business fades away.

But then Clary is caught off guard when an unexpected visitor delivers a shocking message from someone she thought she’d left behind. Meanwhile, Emilio realizes leaving home won’t be so easy—and Clary, who has always been next door, is who he confides in. As the summer days unfold, they find there’s something stronger than local history tying them together.

Libertad by Bessie Flores Zaldivar Dial Books

A queer YA coming-of-age set during the rigged Honduran presidential election, about a young poet discovering the courage it takes to speak her truth about the people and country she loves.

As the contentious 2017 presidential election looms and protests rage across every corner of the city, life in Tegucigalpa, Honduras churns louder and faster. For her part, high school senior Libertad (Libi) Morazán takes heart in writing political poetry for her anonymous Instagram account and a budding romance someone new. But things come to a head when Mami sees texts on her phone mentioning a kiss with a girl and Libi discovers her beloved older brother, Maynor, playing a major role in the protests. As Libertad faces the political and social corruption around her, stifling homophobia at home and school, and ramped up threats to her poetry online, she begins dreaming of a future in which she doesn’t have to hide who she is or worry about someone she loves losing their life just for speaking up. Then the ultimate tragedy strikes, and leaving her family and friends—plus the only home she’s ever known—might be her only option.

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

What makes a Sin? Do they need to have a certain power level or resonance with a particular ring and Hell’s power just chooses them? Does becoming a Sin have any effect physically and/or mentally?

The way Sins are chosen is an intentional mystery in my verse, Hell is an alien realm with an alien mind even to those living within it

Demons were just crawling directly out of hell like maggots out a corpse in the beginning, some died, some bred and started species and whole ecosystems and shit, Evolution sped run, like if every period of life was happening at the same time - Society was getting it's start at the same time fish were learning to walk on land. The sins were all from of this first wave.

The Sins started out as regular demon warlords fighting for control of the newly created Hell, they eventually emerged as the most powerful at which point they'd have an the inner realization that they are now A Deadly Sin, even without really understanding what that means

Now, they do not know if this is something they become, or discover about themselves, their power could be why they were crowned, or they only have such power because they were born a Sin

It doesn't feel like a transformation, if it is one they aren't aware of it until after its happened. The word 'Envy' or 'Wrath' pops up in their head and it just feels right

They also aren't sure if they take their sin from the ring or if the ring takes from their most prominent trait, (is Mammon greedy because he's king of the greed ring, or is it the Greed Ring because Mammon is greedy)

They're extensions of their Ring, have a similar sense for theirs as Lilith has for hell as a whole. They can feel shift and can communicate with it to a limited degree.

This comes with pretty complete immortality, which is also why they were so quick to seek each other out, find someone who Gets It

You would think Lucifer's appearance would help answer something but he just made everything worse by quietly assuming the Pride sin in a few months and everyone only realizing after the fact

Did it happen when he first arrived(was 'given' to hell)? Well the others didn't recognize him as one then, which Beph explicitly does later, maybe when Lucifer accepted Hell in, but he forged his connection directly with the first ring later, after he had already had the realization that he was Pride - and it had been feeding off his power beforehand, he was just letting it feed him back

Maybe it's planted, grows inside them over time, until it kills them or they survive it and the line where they end and hell begins is too blurred to matter. At least you get cool cosmic powers out of it.

Is a spore a fungus? When does it become one?

@fallentheatre you'll probably like this one too