#wilted rose syndicate

[the-lion-guard-88]

So today is the 1 year anniversary of the silly smol goober—Goomba Puzzles—being created. Wilted Rose Syndicate Puzzles would like to wish Goomba Puzzles a Happy First Birthday!

Goomba Puzzles belongs to @blue-doofus

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

Kind of continuation of this behemoth post, but I wanted to dig into Seoyu’s dynamic/themes with Trey&Riddle, Ruggie&Leona, and Jamil&Kalim better than I was allowed when I was trying to fit everything into one. Further, I wanted to go over what actually happens to Yuna in their original universe while Seoyu is gone. She got overlooked because the post was getting way too long, and I wanted to focus on Seoyu because he’s the one actually in and created for TWST.

For those who do NOT want to read the hundreds to thousands of words worth of text attached to that little link, I’ll try to summarize what you NEED to know for this as quickly as my yapper brain will allow me to. Then the lore/exploration.

These are my two TWST OCs; the taller one with the slicked back hair is a 22 year old Korean man named Seoyu Shin, while the shorter one with the braid is a 22 year old Spanish-Japanese woman named Yuna Ayakishi-Cabellero. The two of them are part of an organized crime syndicate known as Wilted Rose, with Seoyu being the right hand to Yuna’s boss. He looks gentle, but has a “hit first, ask questions later” mindset and brawls like some kind of feral animal. She’s exuberant and even physically stronger than he is, but is a total genius with an eidetic memory who prefers manipulation and negotiation before violence. He follows her because she puts her people first, but they got into an argument the night he was transported to TWST and a few months after she was made the official boss. It was over her increasingly reckless and desperate attempts to defeat a new gang that took advantage of the power vacuum to threaten some of Wilted Rose’s trade deals.

Seoyu’s character arc is almost entirely about his attachment to Yuna and who he needs to become in order to better support her. This happens slowly over the course of the story, obviously, but the development of Trey&Riddle, Ruggie&Leona, and Jamil&Kalim have the most significant impact on him due to their parallels with him and/or Yuna. Trey&Riddle are the easiest to see; a right hand who enables their boss’ most dangerous behavior, and a boss who takes their ambitions too far out of fear and desperation instilled by their parents. Yuna’s father raised her with vengeance in mind, wanting to get back at the previous boss (the one who was his friend) for drowning his wife/her mother out of paranoia. It made her cunning and strong and all of the things she needed to be to get the job done, but his expectations push her around like a wave. Seoyu wasn’t blind to this, but he refused to take that first step and approach her because he had no idea how to. He let it build up until neither of them could handle it and it blew up in their faces. It’s why he has so little to say to Trey when he tells him about Riddle’s mom and their childhood; he also stayed quiet, and it did nothing good when he did say something. The fact that Trey and Riddle go into Riddle’s overblot with the worst relationship they’ve ever had and come out of it stronger than before gives Seoyu hope that he can actually help Yuna.

Ruggie&Leona don’t remind him of himself nearly as much, but Leona in particular does remind him of Yuna; a genius with an eye for leadership and people who rely on them to find a way to success for all of them. This is why he reacts as badly as he does when Leona nearly kills Ruggie by turning him to sand. It’s not really anger, so much as it is the overwhelming fear he feels watching someone who cares so much find failure at every turn and end up lashing out. That he and Ruggie continue working together afterward is a testament to the strength of their bond, as well as the mutually beneficial nature at its core. Despite the fact that Leona is both a prince and the housewarden of Savanaclaw, Ruggie has a lot more ground with him than a lot of the other vices do. He bites back twice as hard when Leona bites him, and I’m sure that both of them know Leona wouldn’t try to stop him if it got to the point that Ruggie decided to actually leave. It’s clearly different from what he has with Yuna, but Seoyu finds a second hope in Leona&Ruggie. Additionally, the fact that Leona is only two years younger than him (as opposed to 4 like all the other non-fae third years) means that he feels the most comfortable with him.

Jamil&Kalim on the other hand, remind Seoyu far too much of himself and not nearly enough of Yuna to balance it out. He and Jamil both have a lot of snake symbolism and themes of protection in their characters, as well as some rather heavy responsibilities to sunny and exuberant bosses. However, Kalim is almost dangerously oblivious and impulsive where Yuna is all cunning. This is why Seoyu struggles to associate Kalim with her; he values her intelligence too highly and trusts in Kalim too little to be okay with the fact that he forgave Jamil for betraying him. Further, Jamil’s resolve to stop hiding and unseated build a future for himself that is separate from Kalim and the Asims entirely terrifies Seoyu because it forces him to consider what he’ll do if the resolve that he and Yuna find is one where he can’t work with her. It blinds him to the reality that he had a choice where Jamil did not, and he regresses from a lot of the character development he received from Trey&Riddle and Ruggie&Leona. That he’s largely incapable of seeing past Kalim’s sunny disposition and thinks Jamil is unreasonable is NOT a good thing and something he has to fix. Badly. Frankly, comparing him to Jamil is like comparing apples and oranges, because the reasons why they serve Kalim and Yuna are fundamentally different from the other. Unfortunately, Seoyu doesn’t fully acknowledge this until the dreams in Book 7 tell him he’s stupid. It works out.

Yuna’s arc, on the other hand, is far removed from the canon progression of the game because she doesn’t actually get transported to TWST at the same time that Seoyu does. She doesn’t even get into contact with him until after Malleus’ defeat in Book 7, when she realizes that the visions she’s been seeing in her mirrors are actual snapshots of another universe. From her perspective, her best friend of nearly a decade disappeared without a trace after they had an argument. Worse still is the knowledge that the argument was over her being reckless with her peoples’ lives. She’s convinced that he’s been kidnapped (which is technically true) and nearly drives herself crazy trying to find him. She searches absolutely everywhere that she can possibly think of, venturing into enemy bars and interrogating members of the rising gang that tried to steal their trade deals. Eventually, she comes to the conclusion that she messed up so bad that she managed to drive away her most loyal companion. And it breaks her. She’s worried about him, of course, but she’s terrified that she’s turned into the same kind of monster that the previous boss was in an effort to overthrow him. The entire reason that she’d been trying so hard to protect everyone was because she knew what it meant to have someone important to you taken away by someone who you trusted to protect you and your loved ones. Her father made sure she knew that the most important thing for any leader was having people to lead at all. He drove it into her brain alongside a burning desire for revenge before he died, and now all that’s left is anger and directionless ambition.

She decides that she has to better herself, and works as hard as she can to build up Wilted Rose’s strength and stability before getting all those trade deals and territories back from the rising gang. She visits her mother and father’s shared grave (containing a casket with only one body but two rings because they couldn’t find her after she was drowned) and tells them that she’s doing well. That she’s going to make sure Seoyu can come back without any worries about how she’s been handling everything since he ran away. That she’s apologized to the family she used as bait and accepted their fear, but does her best to keep them safe with as many of her top aides as she can spare. She’s even scored a few deals with neighboring syndicates that are just as upset about the rising gang as she’s been. And when she goes home (his home, because she wants to keep it clean for whenever he comes back) that night, it’s the first time since she’s started seeing Seoyu in her mirrors… that he sees her too. He’s there, in that distant universe filled with magic and mystery and a little banged up from a fight, but with her all the same! She doesn’t know how it happened, but she couldn’t care less if it means that he’d been wanting to see her too, and that she gets to talk to him again. Getting him home can wait a little longer, if she has this to sate her need to see him until he figures it out.

In all; both of their arcs are about how they learn to be better for each other. Seoyu slowly learns to confront her as well actually support her instead of enabling her, and Yuna learns how to handle her inherited desire for vengeance with her ambition in order to protect him.

[wanderingsoul6261]

Curtain Call (Jacob Frye x Maxwell Roth)

Author’s note: This is a oneshot between Jacob Frye and Maxwell Roth from Assassin Creed Syndicate. This game is al around an amazing one and I absolutely loved the story. Honestly, I don’t normally ship characters of the same sex (I don’t hate same sex couples. In fact, a lot of fanart I see of these types of couples are wonderful and really adorable.) But something about these two just really fucking intrigue me. 

P.S- I hope nothing I said above offends anyone. I just have a hard time finding the correct words for certain topics without causing offense. If I had said something that offends anyone, please let me know and I will fix it. 

Warnings: Character death-angst

additional information: this oneshot does feature my own Assassin Creed Oc, Ava Layton, an Assassin from the American Brotherhood that has befriended the Frye twins after they came to help her and Green stop the Templar regime. 

DISCLAIMER:This probably isn’t the best writing. But being a college student, I kind of rushed it a bit and I don’t have to time to go back to edit it, so please bare with me on this one. Another oneshot with Starrick and reader should be coming soon, so If you are interested, be on the lookout for that as well. 

--------

Darling, darling, oh, turn the lights back on now Watching, watching, as the credits all roll down Crying, crying, you know we're playing to a full house, house

Jacob stood in silence on top of a building in The Strand Borough. He clenched his jaw as he stared down at the theater before him. He was inside, Jacob knew that part very much. Sometime inside of him told him to walk away. Forget the mission that he had set himself to do and let the man inside of that theater live to see another day. Maybe he would convince Evie to do it instead. 

Jacob closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. No. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. This was Jacob’s mess and he had to fix it himself.  As much as he was felt something for Maxwell Roth, his enemy and someone he didn’t think was possible to catch feelings for, he had to end it. He opened his eyes and looked at the female cloaked figure next to him, crouching as he assumed she looked for a way in. Jacob had asked her to help him infiltrate the theater without too much hassle and she was there on Jacob’s last mission and interaction with Roth. 

Jacob watched as Roth was about to order his men to blow the house to smithereens, just as Ava pointed out the children walking towards the workshop. He had immediately turned on Roth. 

“Wait!” He held his arm out towards Roth, who looked back at him in slight confusion. 

“What in heavens for?” 

“There are Children in there.” Jacob pointed down at them, as Ava readied in case they needed to jump into action to save them. It was something the two friends were adamant about. Keeping the kids of London safe and out of harm’s way, and this moment was no exception. Roth chuckled and shook his head, advancing towards Jacob. 

“Jacob, my dear.” he started. “Starrick uses child labor to manufacture goods. We must put an end to his production line.” 

“Yea but not like this!” Jacob argued softly. 

“Why not?” Roth argued, his voice raising slightly as he argued with the man before him. “I can do whatever I damn well please. Soon you will understand what it is to be free, as I am.” Roth walked over to the ledge and shouted down to the Blighters below them on the ground level. “Light’ em up boys!” 

Jacob ran past him, screaming “NO!” as he jumped over the ledge, tackling the larger man of the two and slicing his throat. He turned and looked up at Roth. 

“What the hell are you doing!” Roth shouted down to him, as Ava finally scaled the side of the building and down and meet with Jacob. Jealousy seemed to flash in Roth’s eye as he watched the female stand behind Jacob, who obviously agreeing with Jacob as well. 

“We’re not playing games anymore Roth!” Jacob shouted up to him. Jacob nudged Ava and the two burst into a sprint towards the workshop. 

“Jacob, we have to save those children before he does something.” Ava cried out, feeling anxious as she worried for the state of the children. On most days, she cared about the children more then she did herself. 

“Working on it Ava.” He answered back quickly, just as Roth blew up the dynamite himself.

No heroes, villains, one to blame While wilted roses filled the stage And the thrill, the thrill is gone Our debut was a masterpiece But in the end for you and me Oh, the show, it can't go on

“Jacob.” The young assassin was pulled from the flashback by his female companion. Ava had pulled her hood down, looking up at him. “Are you okay?” she asked. Jacob stared blankly at her, wondering the same thing. His eyes darted back towards the theater, but he knew the truth. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know what he was thinking about. Ava was good that way. 

“Let’s get this show on the road.” Jacob mumbled as he scaled down the side of the building. Ava watched as he did so, her heart breaking for him. He had been betrayed by someone he obviously cared deeply for. She leaped down, meeting him on ground several moments later, the two walking towards the theater. 

We used to have it all, but now's our curtain call So hold for the applause, oh And wave out to the crowd, and take our final bow Oh, it's our time to go, but at least we stole the show Least we stole the show Least we stole the show Least we stole the show Least we stole the show

It didn’t long for the two to make their way inside. Ava had went got them masquerade masks so that they could gain easy entrance without causing a ruckus and alarming their target inside. 

“Are you sure you want me here to help you?” Ava asked as they finally got entrance, looking up her friend. He stared blankly ahead over the balcony and at the stage. She searched his face for anything that might tell her that he didn’t want her here. That he wanted to do this by himself. Jacob finally let out a sigh, his eyes falling to the floor before finding her own behind the mask she too wore. 

“I want you here...” he trailed off, looking away from her before he continued, swallowing thickly once more. “In case I can’t follow through with the mission. You don’t have an emotional attachment to Roth. It would be easier for you. He needs to go.” He explained softly so that any surrounding guests or Roth’s men didn’t overhear him. Ava nodded in understanding. 

“I understand.” Ava said softly. “Are you ready?” Jacob let out a deep exhale. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” 

Least we stole the show Darling, darling, you know that we are sold out This is fading, but the band plays on now We're crying, crying, so let the velvet roll down, down

At this point in the mission, the two have successfully taken out the doubles that looked like Maxwell. The two now stood on separate side in the rafters back stage, watching as Roth advanced out onto the stage. Two Blighters had torch like sticks that when they blew on them, the fire expanded and lit the curtains of the theater stage on fire. 

“You’re move, Jacob, My dear!” Roth laughed as he watched the guests watching the performance scatter and run towards the entrances as the theater continued to catch ablaze. 

Ava glanced across the backstage area at Jacob, who watched Roth with sadness and what appeared to be longing. 

“If only.” Jacob said softly. 

“Burn!Burn! Burn!” Roth exclaimed loud enough for the two assassins to hear over the crackling of flames. Jacob finally looked over at Ava, giving her the signal. She nodded in understanding, leaping down and darting towards the two blighters that surrounded Roth. 

“Ava, my darling! I expected to see Jacob.” Ava glared at Roth, her eyes flickering briefly to the figure walking through the smoke behind him as she assassinated one blighter, throwing a knife at the other. 

Jacob watched as Ava darted across to the other side of the stage, taking down the last Blighter as he advanced on Roth. Thoughts invaded his mind again about how things could have been different had it not been for Roth’s morals. Jacob never had watched those kids die. He wouldn’t have been to live with himself. all this time he was seeking validation from someone after his father and the moment he finds the one he hoped could give it to him and reciprocated his romantical feelings, they turn around and betray him. Jacob closed his eyes, hearing the metal swishing as the hidden blade in gauntlet came to life, before plunging it into Roth’s back. 

No heroes, villains, one to blame While wilted roses fill the stage And the thrill, the thrill is gone Our debut was a masterpiece Our lines we read so perfectly But the show, it can't go on

“Why did you do it? All of it?” Jacob had asked, as he now cradled Roth’s body to his own, the two sitting on the stage as the fire burned around them. At this point in time, Ava could not be found and apart of Jacob feared the worse for his friend. Roth only looked up at Jacob, a hand coming to Jacob’s cheek. Jacob found himself leaning closer to Roth’s hand, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. 

“For the same reason I do anything.” Roth answered, before he pulled Jacob closer to him, capturing Jacob’s lips in a kiss. The young assassin was caught off guard at first, being overwhelmed by shock. But as the seconds flew by, he found himself kissing the Templar below him back with passion. Then Roth’s hand fell from his cheek and his body went limp in his arms. Tears pricked the corner of Jacob’s eyes as he sat there, his lips quivering before he was interrupted. 

“Jacob!” Ava scream cut through the air as the man looked up frantically for his friend. He bid one last heartfelt good bye to the man he was once loved below him, before moving to where he heard. She cried for him again, sounding from the second story, and in pain. 

He found her near the entrance, underneath a beam of wood that had fallen. Jacob hurried and helped her out from underneath, pushing her out the front door as the rest of the theater continued to collapse. The two friends flew into coughing fits, hacking up their lungs because of the smoke they inhaled and fighting for their breaths back. 

“Are you okay?” Ava finally broke the silence as she looked at Jacob. Jacob went silent, apart from their continued coughing as their breathing slowly went back to normal and they cleared their lungs of smoke. Was Jacob okay? Of course he wasn’t. His thoughts went back to the kiss he shared with Roth before the older man passed. 

After several moments, he looked back at Ava, who’s face and hands were covered with soot and held her midsection, obviously still in pain, waiting for an answer from him. 

“I should be asking you that. You look horrible.” He answered, not wanting to talk about it, and he knew Ava wasn’t going to push for an answer from him. 

“A warm bath sounds good right now.” Ava said and Jacob agreed with her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, allowing her to prop herself up against him. She winced in pain at the littlest movement, wondering if she broke or bruised her ribs as they walked. 

However, before the theater was out of sight, Jacob looked back one last time, which definitely didn’t go unnoticed by Ava. His heart hurt just as much as her ribs did, but he knew that all of this was for the better. Roth wasn’t going to change and he was only in the way of getting to Starrick. However, no matter how many times Jacob told himself that, it all still hurt him just a little bit more. 

We used to have it all, but now's our curtain call So hold for the applause, oh And wave out to the crowd, and take our final bow Oh, it's our time to go, but at least we stole the show Least we stole the show Least we stole the show Least we stole the show Stole the show Least we stole the show Stole the show Least we stole the show

[nol-overwatch]

The Language of Flowers

He keeps getting flowers at his grave.

[Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison x Reader]

He believed in the saying “Pity the living instead of the dead”, and at his supposed ‘death’ he hung onto that belief like it was his last lifeline. As the years wear on and his vigilante escapades all over the world stoked unwanted attention, it was safe to say that he pitied those who are even alive to incur his wrath. His conquest to uncover the truth of Overwatch’s downfall continued on, friend and foe remained a stranger in his eyes.

On his first year, he returned to his grave, not to reminisce, but to hide from a criminal syndicate who were adamant on hunting him down. It was for a brief moment, in the darkness while he tried to catch his breath, that he spotted a flower on top of his grave stone. It was too surreal; a dark crimson rose sat lonesome on the stone. He figured that some people still thought of him as a hero, and that thought sickened him. With rage he crushed the flower with his fist, and went on his way to find a car to steal.

It was a few months later, that when he passed by a flower shop in London, that he saw the same crimson rose in a bouquet on full-display, a card at the bottom saying “Flowers for Mourning”.

Was he happy that he ‘died’? That naive, charismatic, blonde, blue-eyed fella who thought he could take on the world on his shoulders and still look good for the press to snap a photo of? Maybe. He certainly didn’t miss having to kiss the UN’s ass all the time, or enduring the painful conundrum of the protesters outside of the base. The world despised him anyways, and while he, in turn, could hate them as well, he couldn’t. His moral compass may have shattered but duty above all else stamped right through. He is not Jack Morrison, Strike Commander of Overwatch anymore. He is Soldier: 76, the wanted vigilante in search of true justice.

On his second year, he returned to his grave, a little calmer and a little bitter as age wore him on. He meant to just pass by, before hitchhiking a train to the next state, when he saw another flower, a full bouquet this time, of beautiful pinks and whites. He mused that some people still don’t know when to give up, and left the flowers alone.  A month later, while camping at the mountains in Pakistan, a traveler pointed out to him the same pink and white flowers littered across the plain called Sweet Peas, the symbol of goodbye and farewell in the language of flowers.

Sometimes he thought this vigilante thing would never last. He often blamed his age for it, wondering when will be the day he’ll finally break down due to his old bones and weakening sanity. Sometimes they come in the form of danger, such as being strapped to the front seat of a car while sitting in the middle of the train tracks. It was mostly thanks to his super soldier strength, and the rest to his luck, that he was able to survive that, but Jack knew he couldn’t rely on those two for long.

The third year he returned in the form of an accident; he jumped off a plane and miraculously survived after dropping into the icy cold waters of a nearby lake. He didn’t know where he was going, too preoccupied with the cold settling in his bones, his legs unconsciously reaching the sight of his gravestone. He was dumbfounded to find purple flowers in a vase, reminding him of the lilacs at Gerard and Amelie’s wedding day. He didn’t need to go around and know what they mean: “Good luck to a new beginning.”

He was startled out of his wits when he heard a voice, “Sir, are you alright?” Immediately, he swiveled around, hand quickly going for his sidearm, to see someone wearing a gardening hat and holding a large broom on their hands. The keeper of this side of the cemetery perhaps?

“No, I’m fine.” He gruffly said before sprinting away, concerned that a civilian has spotted him.

Each year, he thought of the flowers and why on earth someone would waste their time on a problematic hero. It couldn’t be one of his fans, right? He remembered, during the glory days, he’d receive fan mail from teens younger than Oxton, and men and women who were definitely older than him. All expressed their admiration and love and at the time, he thought it was ridiculous. He still thinks it’s ridiculous. After all, he’s just a soldier. Surely they would’ve heard of the allegations held against him and Overwatch. Anyone would be willing to drop an Overwatch operative in hiding just for the reward money.

He decided to be a tad bit crafty, and visited his grave a week later just to see if anyone still cared. In his heart, he allowed a tiny spark of hope that someone out there still believes in their mission for peace, no matter how convoluted it was in the first place. He was still hiding from the local syndicates when he arrived at dawn, only to be disappointed at the appearance of an empty grave. No flower, no vase.

He wanted to kick himself; of course, nobody cares about a dead guy. Not anymore.

As he stood there, contemplating about his next move, a familiar voice sounded behind him, “Ah, you’re here again.”

He hesitated turning around to acknowledge them, but he nodded curtly. “Not surprised to see an old timer visit an empty grave?”

“No, more like I’m surprised to see Soldier: 76 around these parts.”

He growled at that, but he didn’t offer any more words. A civilian would try to apprehend him to the authorities, but like hell would he not resist at all. He waited for the signs of apprehension appearing on their face, but surprisingly there were none.

In fact, the keeper wasn’t looking at him, but the grave in front of them. “This man was a hero, not like the others here. And yet, you don’t see enough flowers in his grave.”

“He wasn’t worth any flowers.” He replied, only to see a flash of hurt cross the gardener’s features before it disappeared completely. “Of course he was. Last week, there were red and yellow zinnias on his grave. I just threw them out after they’ve wilted yesterday.”

He was quiet after the outburst, opting to replay the whole thing in his head. Somebody is still giving him flowers?

After a long moment of silence, of him staring hard at the ground and the gardener looking off into the rising sun in the sky, he mumbled quietly, “...What did they mean?”

“Mean what?”

“The Zinnias.” Another brief pause.

“Remembrance, and steadfastness.”

As time went on, he found some semblance of the justice he was searching for. The infamous assassin and guardian of Anubis, Shrike, turned out to be one of his long-dead best friends and former second-in-command, Ana Amari. After their escapades in Egypt, the two have agreed to work together again in search of answers. Ana had aged beautifully; though the same cannot be said for the old soldier, who admitted that he longed for the domestic life. The both wanted to return to their families, but they decided that the world isn’t safe yet for their respective loved ones. Ana, with her daughter Fareeha, and Jack, with his ex boyfriend Vincent.

On the fifth anniversary of the fall of Overwatch, Jack, at Ana’s insistence, visited his grave again. They were in the area and they might as well come see. He remembered, during his funeral, how his parents wanted his grave to be situated at Bloomington, Indiana, his home; not in a cemetery of heroes, not when the body wasn’t even found. He thought how funny and sad it was that they left Gabe’s grave alone, knowing full well how much he meant to their son. Five years later, and that day still held no special meaning to him whatsoever.

Except, maybe, for that one thing that continued to bother him.

When the both of them arrived, some time nearing dusk, he stopped dead at a figure approaching his gravestone. Ana, having noticed this, held tightly to her gun. “Who is that, Jack?” She said hurriedly as they hid behind some trees.

“I have no idea.” His mind was in hyperdrive and his heart was beating so loudly. Could this be the person who was giving him flowers for all these years? He wanted so badly to find out who they are, to ask why they’re still doing this, when his legs suddenly moved on its own.

He walked briskly, and then he started running, and he didn’t stop until he was face to face with the gardener of the cemetery.

He was out of breath, not from the run but from his thoughts all jumbled up, “W-why..? You, you know what happened..!” He roared, his voice echoing across the place. He should be more quiet, more respectful, but damn them all to hell!

The gardener stared at him, too surprised to even form words, when they frowned ever so slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, vigilante.”

“That man was no hero--”

“He was a hero,” They countered, their voice ringing loudly. “And he saved my life and countless others. I don’t care what the world thought about him; he was a good person. Too good for this world I dare say.”

He didn’t like to hear those words, but his tongue stilled, too distressed and bewildered to think that this is even happening. He wasn’t paying attention when the gardener turned their back on him and continued to move towards the grave.

In a gentle, peaceful motion, they settled down a tuft of white chrysanthemums from the inside of their jacket, slightly crushed from the inner folds. They took their time to dust the grave before standing up to admire it; the soldier behind them sulked quietly. “They never found the body, some say it got crushed under all the debris, others say he survived. The latter...saddens me--” They didn’t see him flinch. “--but I find it understandable.”

“The world wanted him dead when he failed to keep them safe, when even with his abilities and his comrades, they’ve all forgotten that he is human as well. I’d hide too, even change my name and my essentials, just so society won’t reject me again. It’s not good, but it’s the most human thing to do.”

They stood up and looked back at the soldier, a look of sincerity evident on their face. “I don’t know what you thought of him, Soldier, but you can agree with me that if he were alive, he’d still be fighting for what he believes in, right?” They said, a gentle smile caressing their features.

When Jack didn’t say anything, the gardener thought it was time for them to leave and start work, when his gruff voice sounded up again, “Chrysanthemums, what do they mean?”

The gardener paused, surprised at that type of question, before sighing contentedly. “Loyalty to one another. I think it’s my way of saying that, I do still believe in Jack Morrison.”

[bottled-bliss]

We could belong in this world

Inspired by this beautiful edit by @headedstraightforthekastle and my twisted need to put characters through all sorts of crap. Part 1/2

When Frank returns home, he glances at Karen’s jacket hanging on the back of the one chair he owns. She had worn it to work on an autumn day, thinking she might need it, but had found out the weather was warmer than she’d expected, so she’d ended up carrying it around for nothing. She had tossed it on the chair as soon as she came in and slowly removed the rest of her clothes before pouncing on him like a tiger. Frank had smiled against her lips, put both his hands on the small of her back and held her to him for some time, as she told him about her day at work; how certain she was that she’d found out who was the leader of the drug syndicate she was investigating. She’d been tired, but happy and proud of herself and Frank had shared her pride. In the morning, he had reminded her to grab her jacket but she’d refused, saying the day seemed too warm for it and that she would get it tomorrow. Or later, later was always an option. But she never came back. And it has been sitting there ever since, collecting dust, like a shrine to decay.

Sometimes, when his whole body doesn’t start convulsing at the mere thought, or when Murdock and Nelson haven’t beat him to it, he goes to her grave. He never brings flowers because he never bought her flowers when she was alive –one of the many things for which he curses himself- and there are plenty of those strewn across her headstone at any given time anyway; sunflowers and roses and daisies. They wilt and wither and then, they are replaced. That’s what he can’t stand, the replacement. But he has to admit he would have chosen daisies for her too. He likes to think it’s Nelson that provides them. He knew her better than Murdock ever did, he would have known she preferred the subtler things, the demure whiteness of a dog-daisy over the dark red roses Frank keeps finding there.

He realizes he hasn’t cried once. All those months and not a single tear. Not because he doesn’t want to; it almost feels as if he has been cursed with constantly being on the verge of tears, but not being able to actually cry. Some losses might be too great to experience like a normal human being would. He handles it well enough, all things considered. Life goes on, as Karen used to say. There should be an after. What comes after Karen Page? He’d go chase it, if he could find it- if it existed at all.

He doesn’t dream about her often either. Every once in a while, sure, as a reminder that even when he isn’t actively thinking of her, she’s on his mind. He has seen how fast memories can fade and he has to wonder if the lack of dreams means he’s letting go of her. But he never meant to do that. It hasn’t even been that long. There are times when the smell of her perfume lingers in the bedroom, like she’s only just left for work, like he’s going to hear the door shutting behind her, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor. As long as she’s not forgotten, she’s not really gone. He can’t forget her. He won’t.

One night, after his repeated attempts at picking fights have borne fruit, bloody and bruised he stumbles to Curtis’s apartment, dispassionately dismissing his friend’s solid advice to quit being a self-destructive moron, as he gets patched up. “Jesus Christ, Frank,” Curtis exclaims. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Frank knows he’s slowly slipping out of consciousness when he sees Karen, standing over him, her eyes full of worry. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mumbles, wishing that there was a way for her to know how much he’s missed her. “There you are. Come to get me?” he asks and as the apparition starts weeping, Curtis gives him a puzzled look. “It’s Karen, she’s…”

“Karen is dead, Frank,” he says, an expression of pained consternation on his face.

“I know,” Frank replies with an exhausted tone. The shadow of his lost love moves forward, reaching a hand out to him, but disappears before he has the chance to lift his own hand to try and touch her. The moment she vanishes from sight, weariness overtakes him and all the lights in the world dim out. In his sleep, he feels cool fingers delicately brushing his forehead, but it’s only a dream. Couldn’t be anything else.

He assures Curtis he’s going to go home and get some rest the next day, even though he doesn’t really want to. Honestly, he’d rather go someplace where he could have the living daylights punched out of him, see if he can discover something, anything that hurts more than this absence, this hole Karen left behind; a broken nose and a few loose teeth aren’t nearly enough, but he doesn’t know what would do the trick anyway. He decides to stop at Karen’s favorite coffee shop, sit down and have a cup of coffee and some breakfast maybe, delay his return to the empty, desolate apartment. The waitress brings him his order and promptly walks away, leaving him alone, the way it’s supposed to be. People go about their lives and he watches them through the window, thinking back to a time when he’d hoped to be one of them, to be dull and ordinary and in love. For a split second, he thinks he sees Karen’s reflection on the glass surface and turns his head quickly, almost certain she is going to be sitting in the chair across from his. There’s nobody there, of course. Coming here was a stupid idea to begin with. He leaves some money on the table and scurries off. He won’t be coming back anytime soon.

As expected, his apartment isn’t the least bit warm or cozy. It’s not even an apartment at all; it’s more of a cavern really, but it’s also the only place which holds the most memories of Karen these days. A wiser man would have moved out. He has considered it, but that would require moving her goddamn jacket from the chair, putting it away, for good maybe and turning his back to everything they had tried to build together. Frank lies in bed and stares at the ceiling until his vision blurs, while darkness falls in the city and gathers around his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them again, two hours have flown by, as the clock informs him.

But something feels different, something’s wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he grabs his gun immediately. He doesn’t know who is coming for him but somebody’s coming. His instincts are screaming at him as he carefully makes his way to the living room. Apart from the noises outside, everything is quiet. There are no red dots dancing across his chest, nobody lurking behind furniture. There is absolutely nothing worrying. He thinks about lowering his gun, when he sees a shadow under the door. It’s moving anxiously from side to side, not at all like a trained killer would move, no precision or skill involved. It takes him a couple of seconds to walk over and look through the peep hole. There’s no one outside. He unlocks the door and opens it to find the corridor completely empty. Just his imagination giving him something to fight then, he thinks as he goes back to bed. It makes sense.

Everything stops making sense shortly after that incident.

He finds Karen’s favorite book on the table when he comes back from work three days in a row and all three times, he wonders how it go there and whether he didn’t actually pick it up and put it back in its place, like he clearly remembers doing. It’s open on a different page each time too. Once upon a time, she had asked him to read it but he’d never gotten around to it. He might, eventually. Since the book doesn’t fly out of the shelf a fourth time, he puts it out of his mind.

It’s almost a week later that Frank steps into the bedroom, thinking he’ll have another quiet night of wallowing in misery, when the darkness in the room stirs, a shadow setting upon him. He barely has time to reach for his gun before Daredevil pins him to the wall. “Where is she?” he hisses as Frank pushes him back.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Murdock is the last person he wanted to see tonight, or any night for that matter.

“Do you know how my abilities work, Frank?” Matt is breathing heavily. He must be angry about something, except Frank hasn’t done anything that could have pissed him off lately. “You might have guessed but in case you haven’t, let me explain. It’s not just my sense of hearing that’s sensitive, you see. I can hear the couple on the first floor whispering about not being able to make rent this month while their kids are playing in their room, but I can also smell the detergent they use for their laundry. It’s Molly’s Suds, by the way. One of the kids probably has allergies.”

“Christ, I thought I was finally free of your rants,” Frank rubs his eyes. “Why are you telling me about it?”

“I’ve been following you for days. I was just making sure you’re staying out of trouble at first, not going back to your old habits.” He gives a short, unamused laugh. “But then my motivation changed, because I caught a smell on you, around you.”

“I don’t give a shit about your motivations,” Frank tells him. “You’d better stop following me, Red. I’m keeping my head down, you have no reason to stalk me.”

“If the only thing I can do for Karen now is look out for you, then I’ll do it and pray that she forgives me for my failures.” He seems like he’s about to cry and Frank feels sorry for him for a split second. Murdock inhales sharply. His head snaps to the side, like he’s just heard something confusing and then he turns back to Frank with a whimper. “You don’t know how guilty I feel about what happened to Karen,” he says. “You will never understand--”

“I’ll never understand how guilty you feel?” Frank growls. “You got some nerve, altar boy.”

“I can smell her all over you, Frank. Out there, in here, wherever you go, no matter how much you reek of booze or blood. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s been in this room recently.”

If things were different, if Frank were the same man he was a few years ago, he would have punched Matt’s teeth out. As it is, he can do nothing but stand there, hands to his sides, guts twisting and twisting. What he wouldn’t give to have Karen back in this room, laughing, sticking her cold feet on his legs to steal some warmth, eating cookies in bed while she worked on her lap top; he wouldn’t even complain about the crumbs now, he’d let her do anything she wanted. All this is making his head spin. A faint, silver light dances in his peripheral vision, dragging a wave of nausea with it.

“Everything fades after a while,” Matt continues. “Colors, memories. Smells are usually the first to go. So why is it still here, Frank? After all this time?”

“You’re imagining things,” Frank tells him with a strangled voice. “Karen’s gone. There’s nothing left.” Of her, of them, of him. They stand in silence as the burden of the moment weighs them both down. Frank has always known love makes you vulnerable, that’s why he’d tried so hard to avoid it. But while being vulnerable with Karen was perfectly fine, he’ll die before granting Murdock that privilege. “If I catch you in here again, I will shoot you.”

Matt chuckles dryly. “No, you won’t.”

After Murdock leaves him the hell alone, Frank plops down on the floor, elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists. Everything fades. He wonders how much longer it will take him to fade.      

That night, there’s a jumble of voices speaking to him all at once in his sleep, asking something or asking for something, but it’s really difficult to understand what each one wants with all the noise they’re making. They sound like a furious wind, raging around him as he tries to keep to his feet. Maria’s voice rises above the rest, giving him something familiar to cling to. “You chose to stay,” she says and he responds yes, yes and I would do it again. “You didn’t make the choice only for yourself. You formed ties that can’t be broken,” she tells him, but he doesn’t understand and the other voices grow louder and he can’t think and he screams just so he can make sure he still has his own voice, that it hasn’t been stolen and forced to join the racket. A whisper suddenly floats over the ear-splitting clamor, silencing it with surprising ease as it addresses him. “It’s just a dream. It can’t hurt you.” Frank feels a cold palm pressing against his cheek. “It’s okay, I got you,” it says and lulls him into restful sleep.

He’s walking to work when he sees Karen again. She’s a little bit ahead of him, head bowed, a waterfall of blond hair hiding her face but Frank knows, he knows it’s her. Not a reflection on a window, not a fever dream. His pace accelerates along with his pulse as he tries to catch up to her, but she’s gone in the blink of an eye. He looks around, trying to figure out which way she went, how to find her, while his mind insists he was mistaken. But she was there a moment ago, she was there, she was…

The next time he notices her among the crowd, he has to remind himself to be more critical. The eye sees what it wants to see, so it’s very possible that the tall blonde across the street is just some woman, a stranger whose hair caught the sunlight just right, blinding him long enough to create the perfect illusion. He feels like he’s going to explode while he waits for the light to turn green, it’s taking too long, too goddamn long. “Karen!” he shouts and a couple of people jump at the coarse sound of his voice. The woman slowly raises her head. Their eyes meet for a moment before a random guy passes in front of her and then, she vanishes into thin air. Frank forgets how to breathe for a while; he starts gasping and thinks he might actually cry this time. He’s growing desperate and desperate people do crazy things. Maybe that’s why he decides to call Nelson.

“Nice place,” Foggy sneers when he arrives at the shoddiest bar in town, where Frank has asked to meet him. “At least tell me their food is great.”

Frank almost laughs. “Their food is great,” he says, grateful for Nelson’s friendly presence. “Thanks for coming.”

“What was I going to do, abandon you in your time of need? Oh, don’t give me that look,” he exclaims when Frank raises his eyebrows. “You might seem all cool and aloof now, but you sounded miserable on the phone. It’s, uh… It’s been a while since I heard you use that tone.” He rubs his forehead. “So, what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Karen.”

Foggy looks happily surprised and nods. “Sure, that’s healthy. You should talk about it, about her. Get things off your chest. ”

“No, not just talk about her in general.” He tries to ignore the lump in his throat. “I was wondering, because she always got herself into some serious shit, you know, do you think that maybe…” he sighs. “Could she have faked her own death?”

“What?” Foggy scrunches up his face and stares at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me that? You, of all people? You were there, Frank.”

He was. He was meeting her after work, he was going to take her out to dinner and ask her… something that didn’t matter anymore. She had turned the corner and smiled to him and he’d rushed to greet her with a kiss. They had been blissfully unaware of the world around them, so they failed to pay attention to the approaching car with the tinted windows; the first shot had surprised her just as much as it had surprised him. Frank had immediately wrapped his body around hers like a shield and received two of the many flying bullets in the back, as the car sped off. No license plates, he’d noted before turning to Karen who was pressing a shaking hand to her throat. He’d asked her if she was okay, hoping for a positive answer, despite knowing very well that the wetness making his shirt stick to his torso wasn’t sweat. “No, no, no…” Frank had stammered, trying to find the wound and apply pressure to it. “Hold on, baby, hold on. I got you,” he’d said but had fallen with her when she crumpled down onto the sidewalk. The gurgling sound of blood spilling from her open mouth as she lay dying in his arms seemed like the punchline to the cruelest cosmic joke.

Frank hangs his head.

“I identified her body at the morgue,” Foggy’s voice comes out in an angry whisper. “I made the arrangements for her funeral. Do you think it was just for show?”

“I think you’d do anything to protect her,” Frank mutters and he must sound so broken that Foggy’s expression changes. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Karen wouldn’t do that,” he says. “She might do that to Matt, easily, and me, with a pang of regret, I hope. But she would never do that to you, Frank. You would be the first person she’d tell. You don’t really need me to tell you that, do you? If Karen had to disappear, she would have chosen to disappear with you.”

“Foggy,” Frank sighs and his eyes move nervously around the bar. “I keep seeing her everywhere.  At the apartment, in the street, everywhere. Even saw her at the park this morning. I know I’m grasping at straws here, okay? But there’s gotta to be an explanation for this.”

“There is an explanation, a very simple one,” Foggy tells him. “You’re grieving, Frank. Of course you’re going to see her everywhere. I do too, sometimes.”

“It’s not that,” he grumbles. “She looks real, like I could reach out and touch her.”

“And have you? Reached out and touched her?”

“No, she…” Frank realizes how crazy it all sounds. “She always disappears before I can do anything.”

“Like a dream,” Foggy insists. “Like a memory.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. Reluctantly, but he agrees. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Let her rest, Frank,” Foggy’s voice cracks. “And let yourself rest too. Don’t go back to the way things were before.”

“You think I’m gonna kill him.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t even tried. So relieved,” he places a palm over his heart and exhales slowly, “but surprised.”

“Yeah, I thought about it.” Frank shakes his head. Karen had gathered all the necessary information to take that scumbag down. All that was needed was someone to write the piece in her absence. It was a shame, a damn shame that she didn’t get to do it herself, but Ellison made sure to give her all the credit after Frank delivered her flash drive to him, notes and all. Was there sweeter revenge than beating someone from the grave they put you in? This was her victory, all hers. He could never steal it from her. “Decided against it.”

“A wise decision,” Foggy says, smiling kindly. “Karen would back me up on this.”

Of course she would. Frank can’t help but laugh.

He takes the long way back, the very long way back, the one that goes through the cemetery. This is something he’s become very familiar with, sitting among graves at night, having conversations with dead people in his head. He’d prefer it if Karen hadn’t joined their ranks, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. If he hadn’t been so careless, if he hadn’t made space in his life for the happiness she brought and kept looking over his shoulder, maybe she’d still be here. “Are you mad at me or something, is that it?” he says out loud, leaning against her grave. The cold breeze that blows by makes his cheeks burn even hotter. “I’m at the end of my rope, Karen, but I’m doing my best. So cut me some slack, okay?” It would be ridiculous to think that she could hear or answer him, but he still waits for a reply that never comes.

When Frank returns home, he glances at Karen’s jacket hanging on the back of the one chair he owns. He feels a howl building up inside his chest, his whole body aching with the effort it takes to suppress it. “Why won’t you give it away?” a voice whispers behind him. Even though it sounds distant and weak somehow, the words are clear. “There are a lot of people in need of clothes out there. It’s not like I’m going to wear it again anyway.” And then, a sigh.

If that voice belongs to a memory, why is it talking about things that are happening in the present? He turns around slowly, reminding himself of the facts; loss does funny things to people, loneliness makes it worse, Karen bled out on the concrete outside his apartment, Karen is dead and buried. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead. But she’s standing right there, leaning against the door frame, frowning at the dust-covered jacket before looking up at him. “I really wish there was something I could do to help you,” she says. The sound is still muffled, like something’s covering her mouth, but he can see her lips moving; shadows don’t speak. He flicks on the light switch and blinks at the sudden burst of brightness, but Karen seems unaffected by it, as she watches him curiously. “This is new,” she mumbles.

“This is crazy,” he responds and decides to take a long pause so that he can properly question his sanity.

AO3 

Part 2

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

These are my two TWST OCs! I’ll answer in order just for convenience’s sake, but be warned that I am very cringe. I thought it would be funny if the MC was just an actual criminal, and then I got way too into it. They’re basically standalone characters who just happen to be part of TWST sometimes because I like the game. I hope this is enjoyable!

1.) Their names? The man with the slicked back hair is Seoyu Shin, while the woman with the braid is Ayakishi-Cabellero Yuna!

2.) Species? Both are completely human. I have been considering an urban fantasy AU where Seoyu is a werewolf, fae, or vampire and Yuna is a witch based on the absolutely amazing manga The Witch and the Beast, though — it’s SOOOO good and everyone should read it right now!!!

3.) Appearance? You can see the two of them in my drawings, obviously, but my artstyle isn’t as expressive I want it to be and I also don’t trust my coloring skills, so… Seoyu is a 22 year old Korean man who is exactly 6 feet tall, with pitch black hair and eyes, pale skin, and a lean build save for his broad shoulders and chest. He tends to wear a lot of athletic gear under baggy clothes, which gives the illusion that he’s softer than he is. Yuna is a 22 year old Spanish-Japanese woman who is exactly 5 feet and 1 inch, with peach pink hair and eyes, dark brown roots, golden brown skin, and a curvy build. She wears a lot of different clothes, but can be seen most often in formal “business” attire like nice suits and formal dresses.

4.) Birthday? Seoyu was born March 20, which makes him a Pisces. Yuna was born July 3, which means she’s a cancer!

5.) Background? Seoyu comes from a very wealthy and very large Korean family, who asked him and his parents to move to America in order to open a new branch of their company. As you can imagine, and they had a lot of high and rather exhaustive expectations for him, which resulted in him lashing out — very typical delinquent who picks a lot of fights and comes home late. Out of shame and frustration, his parents ultimately sent him to a boarding school in New York. This is where he met Yuna; the daughter of the second in command to the “Wilted Rose,” a crime syndicate focused on illegal weaponry and luxury goods that got its name from the bar where it was formed. Her father (a Spanish man who had been life long friend with the boss) had raised her with revenge in mind, after her mother (a Japanese woman who fled her home country after the Yakuza she was a part of was taken down) was drowned by his boss for “betraying them.” She basically ran the school, and beat Seoyu up during his first week for being a jerk to everyone around him. They became tentative acquaintances, then good friends, and finally something approaching family. He swore his loyalty to her after learning about her past and the fact that she wanted to replace the boss of the Wilted Rose, and, when they graduated, he got emancipated and joined the syndicate.

6.) OG Universe? They’re not from Twisted Wonderland, but their original universe is hard to define because my only requirement is really that it resembles the modern day. EX: they could be from BSD or Wind Breaker, since those two are stories that take place in modern day Japan and therefore modern day everywhere, but they could also be from their own thing.

7.) Isekai? Seoyu was the first to arrive in TWST, and is technically the “proper” protagonist that goes through the entire canon story. Just a handful of months before his transport, Yuna had finally managed to overthrow the boss, but a rival syndicate took advantage of the power vacuum to try and take over some of the Wilted Rose’s trade deals and territories. She became increasingly desperate and reckless in her attempts to fight them off and increase stability, which ultimately resulted in her using a family owned store that had signed a protection deal with the Wilted Rose as bait. Seoyu, who had been worried but stayed quiet out of loyalty and trust for the woman who he knew to put her people above all else, finally argued with her. He was sent home, and spent a while pacing in his living room before ultimately deciding to take a walk. It was just as he opened his door that the horse drawn carriage greeted him, and he woke up at NRC. Yuna, who was absolutely devastated by his disappearance and thought he was kidnapped, spent weeks trying to figure out where he was taken. Failure after failure took its toll, and, clinging to hope, she decided to turn her attention to her work and take care of her people like she told him she’d always do when they first met. If she couldn’t find him, then she’d keep everyone safe and stay strong until he found his way back. Maybe she should sleep more while she’s at it, though, because she’s been seeing visions of him at an odd school in her mirrors…

8.) Language? Seoyu speaks Korean and English the best, but knows a handful of useful phrases in Spanish, Japanese, and Mandarin. Yuna speaks English, Spanish, and Japanese in addition to a bunch of useful or just weird phrases in too many languages to reasonably count.

9.) Student? Neither of them are really students, since they’re already 2 years older than the oldest 3rd years who aren’t fae. Also because Seoyu did not like school and Yuna isn’t really part of the TWST universe the way Seoyu is? She can pass items through to him once she figures out that what she’s seeing is real and they talk again, but she herself can’t go through. She’s got too many responsibilities anyway.

10.) Job? Seoyu is something like a monitor or enforcer in both the Wilted Rose and the school. He solves problems. Usually by beating them up or scaring them until they stop. He does still act as Grim’s companion though, so he attends class with him when he’s not busy. I’ve already said explained what Yuna is doing, since she’s still in their original world.

11.) Relationships? Seoyu’s relationships with the TWST characters are very complicated, and it depends on what point in the story he’s reached. He’s completely despondent during the prologue due to the shock of being transported to an entirely different universe and then being told that he can’t go back home, but he’s kicked into action when he realizes that he, a cat, and two 16 year old boys are danger during the whole cave thing. From there, he starts treating the three of them like he would his younger subordinates; watching over them and protecting them when need be, but otherwise letting them figure it out in their own. He’s got a particular interest in Deuce because both of them are former delinquents trying to be more responsible. Albeit that Seoyu is trying to be responsible because he’s an organized criminal and Deuce wants to be an honor student.

Seoyu’s relationship to the rest of the dorm hinges on the fact that he sees himself and Yuna in Trey and Riddle. A second in command who enables their boss’ dangerous behavior, and a boss who takes their ambition too far. Being around them makes Seoyu nervous, because he still has no idea how he should have handled Yuna or how he will when he returns. But the resolution of Book 1 convinces him to be more assertive when Yuna gets out of hand, and he admires the way Trey and Riddle have sorted themselves out. They settle into an acquaintanceship, with the occasional shenanigan. Seoyu interacts very little with Cater, on the basis that he does not know what Cater is saying about half the time.

Book 2 introduces a different resolution that Seoyu could reach with Yuna in the form of Ruggie and Leona, who have a rather mutually beneficial relationship. There’s an undeniable hierarchy in place as a result of Leona’s status as both a prince and housewarden, but Ruggie has a lot more power over Leona than most would initially suspect. Seoyu is very angry with Leona when he hurts Ruggie during the confrontation, specifically because it reminds him of Yuna’s increasingly recklessness, but the way the duo resolves the issue after the fight leaves Seoyu with little room to hold onto it. His relationship with Leona in particular is closer than with most of the other students, because they’re the most similar in age and because Seoyu actually fits in with the Savanaclaw dorm pretty well. When Ruggie convinces Leona to house him, he’s very active in their morning practices and takes to sparring with them when they need to burn energy. This is also the way he “negotiates” for Leona’s help; by being a nuisance and waking him up to fight whenever he thinks it’d be the most annoying. 

Now, part of the reason why Book 3 centers on his relationship with Leona is because I don’t have much of an interest in Octavinelle outside of Floyd. I think Seoyu would feel at home in Mostro Lounge due to his experience in the Wilted Rose, but the dynamic between him and the Octavinelle students is rather shallow; every conversation he has with Azul sounds like a business meeting or negotiation where every sentence has a hidden meaning, he and Jade don’t get along because they have similar personalities on the outside, while Floyd likes to fight because they have similar personalities on the inside. Seoyu looks prim and proper and sly, but he’s a total brawler who was better known in the Wilted Rose for hitting hard than signing contracts. Book 3 is the book I use to dig into Seoyu’s base character.

Book 4, on the other hand, puts him into a direct conflict with Jamil that doesn’t go away until the Scarabia dreams of Book 7. The two of them have similar jobs as a result of their status as their boss’ right hand men, and even have similar motifs, but when Jamil betrays Kalim the conclusion they reach is one where Jamil doesn’t have to hide under a mask anymore. And that scares Seoyu, because what he sees when it happens is Jamil and Kalim breaking apart. What will he do if he doesn’t manage to resolve his issues with Yuna in a way that lets him stay with her? What will he do if it turns out that what’s best for them is a future where they can’t have each other? What will he if everything he’s learned turns out to be useless when he goes back? That’s the question that starts to haunt him, and it blinds him to the most signicant difference between Jamil and himself; that he chose to serve Yuna, while Jamil was born into his service to Kalim. That Seoyu thinks Jamil is unreasonable is not a good thing, and is a reaction that stems from his own anxiety rather than actual consideration for Jamil’s character and circumstances. He realizes this partially when he lets the VDC participants stay at Ramshackle in Book 4 and pairs up with Jamil and Leona in Book 6 instead of staying with Pomefiore, but he doesn’t totally accept it until Book 7. This conflict is part of the reason why he’s also uncomfortable around Kalim whenever they meet.

Book 5 is similar to Book 3 in that I use it to explore Seoyu’s character more than his dynamic with anyone else, because it’s the book where we get to see him use the very gentle personality he employed when he wasn’t working in his original universe. It freaks people out because he’d been on high alert since the prologue, and causes him to realize that he’s grown progressively more aggressive since arriving in TWST. He’s gradually developing from the version of himself that he’d built to serve Yuna, and he’s not sure how to feel about it when that version had done so horribly in keeping her stable. Otherwise, Book 5 is rather uneventful because Vil handles his overblot well and the main arc is about Epel and Deuce, who I think are better left alone. If I wanted to insert anything, it’d probably be about Seoyu’s security in his masculinity, since I already knew that I wanted him and Yuna to subvert gender norms and it’d be nice to play with that. Otherwise, I think he distances himself from Rook out of caution, and doesn’t have the encounter with Kalim in the yard. Instead, he has a tense moment with Jamil where the two of them trade barbs and Jamil is the one who goes out to meet Kalim instead. Seoyu only watches.

I’ve affectionately titled Book 6 “the one where Seoyu crashes out” because he does not handle it well when the ferrymen break into NRC and the overblot students are taken. He knows what happens when people are kidnapped, and he also knows that it means they’ll never be the same, if they even manage to come back at all. So he’s in overdrive throughout the entirety of the flight to STYX and the various fights with the charon soldiers all the way up until they reunite with the rest of the cast. It’d be played up for comedy when it’s revealed that they basically just played video games the entire time, but I think the focus would be the on the way Seoyu clearly obsesses over making sure they’re uninjured. Following the movement of their hands like there’ll be a break or bend that wasn’t there before, hovering around them like he’s trying to catch them when they trip from a limp they don’t have, or unintentionally manhandling them when they find a rest stop in order to give them a checkup. It’s likely that none of them had questioned or didn’t care to question who Seoyu had been in his original universe, and I think I’d want to play that up in Book 6 using the contrast between reality and Seoyu’s anxiety. Maybe Seoyu is a bit too quick with the way he targets the charon soldiers’ weak points, and Leona or Jamil can’t help but wonder where he learned to fight the way he does. Just one or two puzzle pieces that mean nothing in their own but matter to the bigger picture.

Now, there is an entire dorm I’ve neglected to mention despite the fact that their house warden is part of the story from Book 2… and that’s because Malleus’ dynamic with Seoyu hinges on my headcanons and expansion of the TWST lore. The way Seoyu convinces the ghosts to let him stay in ramshackle is basically by offering to do the things they can’t anymore, because they’re ghosts and therefore dead. This starts off as them asking him to buy them special snacks they can’t access from their campus bounds, but eventually leads to them showing him a passageway to ramshackle’s basement. This is where he finds their perfectly preserved but unburied bodies, and their real favor begins; they want him to give each of them a proper grave, because none of them can even enter the room. Seoyu agrees, and begins burying the bodies at night in order to avoid being spotted during the day and having to answer a lot of rather inconvenient questions. It’s during one of these nights that he meets Malleus Draconia, who is not very subtle and also has giant horns. Regardless of whether or not their first meeting is the same as in canon or I decided to mess with the timeline a bit, Seoyu figures out who Malleus is pretty much on the spot. They become very weird “friends,” with Seoyu exchanging invitations and entertainment for protection when he begins exploring the expansive tunnels connected to ramshackle’s basement. He discovered them during a routine burial, and they’re connected to the basements of the other 7 dorms. Which makes no sense, given that the dorms are separated by the mirror portals in their own pocket dimensions. Malleus suspects fae magic, but is unable to discern why he couldn’t detect it before Seoyu or why the tunnels exist at all. They just barely finish mapping them out by the time Book 7 starts, and Seoyu tells Malleus that he’s not sure if he’s all that excited to return home. He worries that the world he’ll find is one where the Wilted Rose had fallen apart in his absence, and, even worse, Yuna is nowhere to be found. His dream is one where they’re together again, but the NRC students he’d grown attached to are also there. It’s hard to say what happens after that because Book 7 isn’t fully published yet, but I know that Yuna manages to contact him through a mirror the same night as Malleus’ defeat. It’s the first time they get to talk since he’d arrived at TWST, and both he and Yuna begin carrying a compact mirrors with them in order to keep in contact. Nobody’s sure how exactly the mirrors work, and the fae in particular are intrigued by the nature of the dorm and the trans-universal communication.

This is the start of Yuna’s relationship the NRC students, and she builds a decent bond with Malleus, Lilia, Leona, Idia, Ortho, Grim, Ace, and Deuce just as a result of how often they’re around the dorm for research or Seoyu to hang out. Reconnecting with Seoyu brings back the energy and confidence she used to have, and it endears her to Malleus. She’s entirely unafraid of him, occasionally sitting and chatting with him over the mirror when Seoyu isn’t there. Lilia would’ve been happy with just that, but her criminal energy meshes very well with his insane grandpa energy to the detriment of everyone else. Leona is a feminist, and he’s also lost often enough to Seoyu in hand to hand to know that it means something when Seoyu says she’s strong. Idia is probably very unresponsive at first, and she respects his space enough to leave it be, but sometimes she’ll mirror stream(???) shows from her and Seoyu’s universe while he works. Ortho is very cute and they get along much the same way Yuna got along with Lilia; their energies mesh well. She treats Grim like a toddler she’s entertaining, indulging his stories and responding jovially but not really having any deep conversations with him. Ace is closer to her than Deuce in that she helps him get away with stuff he probably shouldn’t. Not to say that she isn’t fond of Deuce, given how he reminds her of younger Seoyu when he gets mad and starts punching. It’s very funny to her that her second in command was basically transported to an otome game, and she refuses to explain what that is to him. The end of Book 7 basically introduces stability to her and Seoyu’s life that they hadn’t had since they took over the Wilted Rose, began disagreeing, and were separated. Talking to each other does great things for their combined mental health! She has limited interactions with the rest of the canon cast, since she’s busy and they’re still kind of reeling from the whole “Malleus tried to take over the world and then Seoyu’s friend started appearing in all of his mirrors for some reason.”

12.) Hang Out Spot? Seoyu has a horrible sleep schedule because of the combined forces of paranoia and insomnia, so he probably spends a lot of time wandering the campus at night when he isn’t burying the ghosts’ bodies or breaking into Mostro Lounge. He… is very weird about Mostro Lounge. Again with it reminding him of the Wilted Rose and the fact that he’s a criminal, but it’s also just a nice place. And none of Octavinelle are actually criminals, it just feels like they are because of the aesthetic. So he oscillates between being a normal customer and stealing their ingredients in the dead of night.

15.) Special Talents? Seoyu is pretty good at cooking, especially Korean food, and he makes a lot of it during Book 5 when he’s panicking over his identity at the same time he’s trying to convince Vil to let everyone eat more. This keeps going when the VDC team, the Shrouds, Leona, and maybe Ruggie meet at ramshackle, because he’s still kind of panicking about the kidnapping and it helps. Yuna’s incredible dexterity and eidetic/photographic memory allows her to mimic anything she’s seen once. She was indispensable to the Wilted Rose even before she took over because of this, and allowed to worm her way into the previous boss’ top ranks without him thinking anything of it. She’s a genius, simply put.

15.) Body Mods? Seoyu has a lot of piercings, including a tongue piercing, eyebrow piercing, navel piercing, snake bites, and angel fangs that he has not worn regularly since he and Yuna graduated from high school. The ones on his ears are the only ones he uses every day, just because they’re less likely to hinder him in a fight. He has a a large white cobra tattoo surrounded by red anemones that he got the day he was inducted into the Wilted Rose, and probably a few smaller tattoos that I haven’t decided on yet. Yuna has a navel piercing and lobe piercings that she wears regularly, and a huge tattoo of a wave that basically covers her entire back, most of her sides, and even some of her stomach. She got it when she was 16 to 17, so a year after she met Seoyu and beat him up for being a jerk.

16.) Strength? Seoyu is very strong, and fights like a total brawler; throwing his weight around, barely bothering to dodge, and doing whatever he needs to get in another hit. Yuna can fight like that if she so chooses, but her eidetic memory and sheer physical strength means that she has a lot of different fighting styles and doesn’t stick to a particular move set. She switches between them depending on the situation and whatever she thinks is the most fun, granted that her body is capable of doing it in the first place. Her memory wouldn’t be half as useful as it is if she weren’t so physically gifted.

17.) Fun Facts? I made Seoyu specifically for Twst, but Yuna was originally a KNY character who mimicked the breathing styles of the swordsmen and women around her rather than learning any of them outright. In that universe, her personality was the same (energetic, loud, and powerful) but her arc centered around her learning that she had a place in the world and was allowed to think of the demon slayers as her family and purpose just as much as anyone else. In the TWST universe, her arc is primarily about her growing into her position as the boss of the Wilted Rose, while Seoyu grows into someone who can actually help her instead of enabling her when she makes bad decisions. I also wrote about 15 pages of character exploration while desperately trying to figure out what the heck Seoyu’s dynamic with everyone was. Leona was not one of my favorite characters until I’d written about him and Seoyu, and now he won’t leave my head. He haunts me. But anyway; Seoyu in general was hard to come up with a consistent persona for, because I’d originally created him with a Jade or Trey trope in mind. The calculating right hand who appears a lot more gentle than he actually is. But, the more of him I drew, the more I started to think of how I actually wanted to express his brutality and cruelty. Yuna is easily the stronger of the two, and her exuberance would lead you to believe that she’s also more likely to jump into conflict headfirst… but nope! Seoyu is definitely the brawler, and I like the idea of having him play into the twisted nature of the game by contrasting his gentle appearance and demeanor with his “hit first, ask questions later” mindset and his fighting style better suited to a wild or feral animal. Similarly, Yuna’s endless exuberance and sheer physical power contrasts with her silver tongue and preference for manipulation before any actual combat. This is part of the reason why Seoyu is so loyal to her; she knows how important it is to hold fire, and she values her people’s lives above all else. That’s why it’s such a big deal to him when she begins acting recklessly or when Leona hurts Ruggie. Same for when Jamil betrays Kalim and attempts to kill him. It’s a response to his trust in Yuna and his dependence on not only her but his position as her supporter. When I said that Book 5 was the first time we get to see him really use the gentle persona, I mean that he had been openly violent and aggressive since the prologue had set him off. That’s how everyone in the school and most of the Wilted Rose’s enemies knew him; the initially unassuming looking guy who hits first and hits hard. He already knew that his coworkers viewed him that way, but he hadn’t realized that it was also how the school thought of him because he’d compartmentalized and didn’t realize just how often he ends up entering work mode instead of civilian mode (when he’s just the unassuming part because he’s avoiding attention and blending in with the general public.) So when he actually stays in civilian mode, it freaks the canon characters out because they know him in his more natural work mode; a violent menace who is not very subtle about it.

(Kind of continuation here)

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR TWST MCs IM SO CURIOUS

(Here are some questions for ur MCs)

What’s your MCs name?

Are they human?

What do they look like?

When’s their birthday + zodiac sign?

What’s their background?

Were they originally from Twisted wonderland or did they come from a different world?

How did they end up in twst?

Do they speak more than 1 language?

Are they a student?

(If not a student) what’s their involvement at the school? (Staff, worker, etc)

(If not a student) How are they with the students and Teachers/staff?

How are they as a student? (Hard working, lazy, in between, etc)

What subject are they good at?

What part of the school do they like to hang out?

What dorm do they belong to?

Do they use magic?

What’s their unique magic?

Are they related to anyone at the school?

Who are they close friends with?

Do they have a special talents?

Any unique body features? (Tattoos, scars, piercings, etc)

What teacher are they close to?

How strong are they?

Are there any twst characters they don’t like?

Do they have a love interest?

What type of clothes do they like to wear?

Any fun facts about them?

Anything else you want to say about them?

If you have any art of your MCs please share! I’m so curious to see everyone’s MCs 😭💜

[the-lion-guard-88]

dear Mr Puzzles,

Hello, fellow TV man...

.

.

.

*stares intensifies*

I am inside your walls ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ

[sasorikigai]

“ you… you must know, before anything else happens tonight… you must know that you are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. ” liv at hanzo for modern verse!

𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴. || @somniaxperdita || accepting

💥 || The smell of death is bittersweet, almost like wilted roses, or the faintest hint of compost; the smell of old death. One might almost be tempted to take a deep exhale, in order to acquaint the smell of potent, pungent new death. It hits Commander Hasashi like a wall; it’s bitter, rotten fruit of ferrous stench of stagnant blood and old meat of putrescent flesh. The smell of maggots wiggling in the flesh as the strong stink stemmed from the delicate destruction. There was an inside tip from the establishment’s source that there would be a clandestine meeting of enforcers moving trafficked human and drug, making innocent patrons and singers like Olivia Winter a hindering liability. No longer a bodyguard, but as an established upper echelon of his reinstated rank of the tactical retrieval squadron, Commander Hasashi equips his headgear, communicating with the infiltrating squad, lead by his close confidante. 

He is no longer the vagrant, lost, unstable, and desperate widow who instills this loss, in order to find a new way to write of love. He sees everything now; through the generated instincts that carry him through even the uncanny unknown. But the club isn’t an unknown, for over the years of establishing himself as a regular, he had built a considerable rapport and trust with regulars and employees alike. The casualties of fate is akin to the candles flickering, spilling shadow across the decorated concrete walls. How its weight rests on his shoulders, and Hanzo Hasashi takes a long breath and holds it there. The confines of those walls hold so many hostages, along with them Olivia Winter. There remains a deep longing in his veins, and certain terrible sense of déjà vu throbs and pulsates his heart, threatening to break beneath the relentless streams of his heartbeats. 

He may be guilt of summoning demons that dwell within him, letting them run amok and urging them on with chilling glee, but his sinister side will pay the price of ruination if he lets his trauma deeply root and shackle him immobile, tormented by consternation, frustration, and vexation. Hanzo Hasashi still fantasizes about falling asleep permanently, and he supposes it is a morbid defect of his inner personality; for he witnesses so many instances of people in prelude to death, strenuously inhaling and then quietly exhaling that last sweet breath. 

Perhaps the ultimate fate of all reality is total oblivion, he thinks, as he looks through the captured infrared waves of the criminal syndicate’s enforcers. He wouldn’t be the only one with this type of delirium; looking deep into the past and seeing billions of lives before him. How he yearns to be like them, mostly forgotten and painlessly free. He takes solace that his end time will eventually alive, and until then, all he could do is to preserve and struggle to survive in meantime by saving innocent lives. Bullets may rain, and more resistance would be met with cold, calculated justice as the black void of disarray and chaos rampantly stirs the atmosphere. The stench of bitter drugs and ferrous taste of blood wafting, piercing through his protective gears as he smiles temporarily in relief, lest the copper pang continues to permeate from his shoulder wound, a grazed bullet over his deltoid, with another one embedded in his abdomen, its impact staunched by the kevlar lining. 

In the velvet darkness of the quieted club, as forensic profilers clear up the scene and medical personnel tends to each and every one of the wounded, including the Commander, Hanzo had opted to cradle Olivia in his arms, choosing for intimate, private time with his girlfriend. Cold wind may blow around him, but he needs no jacket, because his skin is on fire emanating from the heat of his soul that burns like a dying star. How the proverbial sun of his being cancels out the shadow song of the night, as he encompasses her entirety in the reflection of his amber eyes. “My weary heart may drown in myriads of thoughts like waterfalls, as they flow, pulling my existence along its current causing my being evaporated into the thin air, but all the reenacted love fueling the recreation of my blossomed love will evermore strengthen by the passing days, and more tomorrows to come,” 

“I have never considered myself to love another, but I have, and I always will. You are the luminescent light alighting the darkness, and the thunder of my passion and resolve, awaking the silence.”  💥 ||

[janelizziemarykittylydia-blog]

Shattered Glass Smiles, Chapter 3

Finally (finally) got around to posting this!! Due to vacation drama and a house without wifi, updating was a little difficult, but I’m back now and I’ll (hopefully) be posting more regularly! :D

Thank so much to all notes & comments! You guys are all absolutely amazing! <3 <3 <3

Synopsis:  In which the year is 1959, Feyre is engaged to Senator Tamlin Greene, and Rhysand is the head of a notorious mafia dynasty called the Night Court.

AO3

CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2

-3-

“Bulls, Bullshit, and a Dog Named Bryaxis”

I said the words—I accept, sitting in my dressing room, staring at my mirror.

I didn’t know what I’d expected. My experience with Rhysand Black, however limited, should have taught me not to expect anything: Rhysand was an unpredictable maelstrom, a sparking electrical wire; a fistful of clouds holding thunder.

But after I sealed my fate in a thick manila envelope (I accept, I accept, I accept), Rhysand only replied, “Tomorrow. Metropolitan Museum of Art, front entrance, nine am.”

And hung up.

I rung again—give me more details, what the hell—but he didn’t pick up. Likely he knew it was me, and he wanted to preserve his air of mystique.

Fucking Rhysand and his fucking dramatics.

The night Tamlin hit me, I didn’t go back to bed with him. I’d forgiven, but not forgotten: a cut marred my cheek from where it had hit the doorframe, and while last night might have been the first time Tam struck me, it was not the first time he left bruises on my body.

Tamlin loved me, and his temper was a volatile thing, not so much a product of true malignant intent as a short gunpowder fuse. But it was hard, sometimes, to remember his gentleness when all I could see when I looked in the mirror was a forget-me-not bruise on my cheekbone and a bandage near my eye.

I opened the window above my vanity and lit a cigarette, chain-smoking until dawn.

At seven in the morning, I came back to bed smelling like an ashtray. If Tamlin noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He kissed me goodbye as he left for work, whispering I love you in my ear.

“I love you, too,” I said, and wondered why the words, too, tasted of ash.

***

I’d never been to the Met. I grew up in Boston, and I’d been to museums there, though rarely, but despite my months in New York City, I had never traveled the handful of blocks to the museum.

Back in April, I would have been thrilled. Now I hoped to God Rhysand didn’t ask me to go inside, where portraits would hiss accusations.

I sat on the front steps in the pouring rain, inhaling exhaust and cigarette smoke, as an elegant Aston Martin pulled up to the curb.  Someone opened the door, and Rhysand stepped out, wearing a Cheshire-Cat grin.

It faded when he caught sight of me, in my too-loose clothes and my ratty hair, bandaged and bruised.

“You don’t have an umbrella,” he said. “You’re soaked.”

“Afraid I’m going to ruin your upholstery?”

Rhysand smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze fastened on my Band-Aid. “Get into a bar brawl last night?”

“Tumbled down the stairs.”

“And hit your cheek? Must have been some fall.”

“It was.” I turned my attention toward the road. “Where are we going? I’ assume we’re not actually entering the Met, unless you’re planning to case the place.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not going to steal a Rembrandt, though it’s something to shelve for a later date.”

“Christ,” I muttered.

Rhysand popped open the passenger door, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Get in.”

Part of me wanted to protest—wanted to fight back, and kick, and scream—but that part of me fell quiet, muted by the residual pain in my chest and cheek and chin.

I got in the car.

Rhysand gave me a weighted look as merged the car into the center lane, his lips twisting downward.

A pack of cigarettes sat on the center console, grabbing my attention. “Can I have one?” I asked, reaching for the box.

“No smoking in my car.”

“Why do you have a pack of Lucky Strikes in here, then?”

“Those aren’t my cigarettes; they’re my friend’s,” Rhysand clarified, taking a right. “Nobody smokes in my car.”

But my attention had snagged on another detail. “You have friends?”

“Ha, ha,” he said dryly. “Your witticisms never fail to charm me. But yes, I do have friends, and I don’t smoke.”

“Bullshit. Everybody smokes.”

“Not me.” A cabbie slammed their fist on the horn, and Rhysand flipped them off.

“Why not?” I knew I should be pressing the real question—where the hell were we going—but I couldn’t remember the last time I had met someone that abstained from nicotine, aside from the prissy girls in the ladies’ social groups Tamlin constantly egged me to join.

“Don’t like the smell,” he said, turning down an avenue lined with elegant brownstones and sodden pedestrians.

“I repeat: bullshit.”

He shrugged. “I’ll tell you the whole story sometime, if you want to hear it,” he said. “But not right now.”

“Next time?” I stared at him. “This is a one-shot deal.”

“Is it?” He slammed on the brakes as a little girl crossed the sidewalk, hop-scotching through pothole puddles, splashing her skirt. Her mother hurried after her, wet and scowling. “A heist takes more than one meeting to accomplish, you know.”

“A heist?”

“A coup. A caper, pilferage, act of flawless larceny.”

“Thanks for the Thesaurus. I was more concerned with the fact that I’m involved with a heist.”

“What did you think you’d be doing? You’re working with me, after all.”

“Candyass.”

“Such vulgar slang,” he mused, sounding completely unbothered. “What will prospective voters think?”

“Fuck you.”

“If that’s a proposition—”

My lips grew white. “It was not,” I said. “I would rather fuck a wall.”

“Sounds anatomically improbable,” Rhysand said, “but be my guest.”

I counted to ten silently in my head. When that didn’t work, I tried counting to fifty.

“I have a question,” Rhysand said, somewhere around thirty-three. “Yesterday, you refused to go anywhere that wasn’t a public setting in broad daylight with me. This morning, you didn’t care if you got into my car. Why?”

“We made a deal.”

“As you so eloquently put,” he drawled, “bullshit. We had a deal yesterday, too.”

“I still have a gun in  my pocket,” I reminded him. “And I still know how to shoot.”

“Again, you had a gun yesterday, too.”

“Enough.”

“I’m just—”

“Maybe,” I interrupted, “I was tired of not being able to trust anyone, alright?”

Rhysand’s mouth closed with an almost-audible snap, momentarily startled into silence.

I didn’t say anything else, jaw working.

“You can trust me, Feyre,” Rhys said at last, voice oddly hoarse. “I may be an ass, but we made a deal. I won’t hurt you. I swear on my sister’s grave.”

And it was that—that last bit—that snagged.

Sister’s grave.

I didn’t know Rhys had a sister.

Then again, I didn’t know much about Rhysand at all.

Biologically, Rhysand had to have a family, but it was difficult to picture this broken boy with the bloodstained hands with a mother that read him bedtime stories at night. Then again, more often than not mothers were not around to read bedtime stories. My own mother had been too busy hosting dinner parties and downing whole bottles of champagne, taking spoonfuls ladanum at night that had less to do with aching joints and more to do with a love for opiates that drowned away the world.

I didn’t reply. I just—looked at him. Sister’s grave, indeed.

“I’m taking you to a shooting range,” Rhys said, hands flexing on the wheel, easing away from treacherous waters that stung when pressed to our scars. “I’d like to know how accurate that aim of yours really is.”

***

The shooting range, as it turned out, was a private structure on the outskirts of an estate in upstate New York—an estate that belonged to Rhysand.

We drove through the Bronx, past crumbling tenements and clouds of sewage that hit too close to home, and into Westchester, driving north for about two hours.

Neither of us spoke. Raindrops slipped down the window, tires squealed on asphalt; chipmunks darted across the sidewalk.

Rhysand wound through a series of turns that led us onto smaller and smaller lanes, until he eased onto a tiny one-lane dirt road, following hand-painted signs. Stark, leafless maple trees wove a net above us, casting dappled shadows onto the seats.

The rain had stopped. The world was quiet.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“One of my homes,” he answered.

“Homes. Plural.”

“My line of work,” he said wryly, “is very lucrative.”

I rose a brow. “Crime does pay, apparently.”

“Not for petty criminals,” he allowed, “but for me, yes. Quite a bit.”

He turned a left, and I opened my mouth, about to speak, but found myself suddenly incapable of words.

I had never thought about Rhysand Black’s house before, but the connotation brought images of blood-stained doors and Anne Boleyn’s head on a pike to mind.

But this—

This was—

The trees parted, revealing a quaint sage-green farmhouse, shutters painted black, flower boxes overflowing with wilted yellow mums. A weathervane swayed on the shingled roof, and in the rolling hills stretching out behind the farmhouse, I caught glimpses of a white barn, chicken coop, and goat pen.

A dog sprawled out on the deck. It lifted its head when Rhysand yanked the key out of the ignition, putting the car into park.

“This can’t be your house,” I said.

“No?” He stepped out of the car, and the dog jumped to its feet, bolting over. It was enormous, big enough for a small child to ride, and shaggy. Rhysand grinned, kneeling on the ground to pet the beast.

“This is—domestic,” I sputtered. “You’re the head of a goddamned crime syndicate. This can’t be your house.”

“I don’t typically take business here,” he said dryly, kissing the top of the dog’s head.

I stared, quite certain I was hallucinating. Rhysand Black did not kiss dogs. He just—didn’t. That was something normal people did. Normal people, with souls and fully-functioning hearts.

“Why the hell am I here, then? Aren’t I business?”

Rhysand reached into his pocket, pulling out a dog treat (did he just walk around with little biscuits in his pocket? What kind of alternate universe had I stumbled into?). “Sit,” he told the dog solemnly.

The dog sat.

“Roll over.”

The dog rolled over.

“Good boy,” he crooned, allowing the dog to snap up the treat, woofing joyfully, tail batting Rhysand’s legs.

“Rhysand,” I said in a warning tone.

“Feyre,” he mimicked. He rubbed the dog’s belly.

“Where are we?”

“I told you,” he said. A gust of wind swept over the grass, tossing up the collar of his peacoat and tousling his hair, black strands falling over his forehead. His skin had gotten darker since I’d seen him last May, no longer an unnatural alabaster, but a deep, rich caramel. “We’re at one of my homes.”

I just looked at him, uncomprehending.

He got to his feet, brushing off trampled blades of grass. “This is where I grew up,” he said. “Before my father started my training.”

I blinked. For such a simple statement, my mind spun with the influx of information—Rhys had grown up in a place like this, a boy once, perhaps with a sister. And his father had trained him. For what? His current business?

Surely not.

Unless…

“Bryaxis, heel,” Rhysand said, whistling. The dog—Bryaxis—trotted to his feet, tongue lolling. I was beginning to reconsider my initial observation; I wasn’t even sure if the beast at Rhysand’s side could be qualified as a dog. It came up to Rhysand’s waist—Rhysand, who was almost six-foot-four, towering well over Tamlin. The creature was a blob of dark fur and claws and fangs, a jaw strong enough to bite a person’s hand right off.

“What the fuck kind of breed is that?” I said, staring at the monster.

“I don’t know,” Rhysand said, completely unbothered. “Bryaxis came from a litter of my father’s bitch. I don’t know what her heritage was, and I don’t remember the sire.”

I narrowed my eyes at Bryaxis. He narrowed his eyes back at me.

I’d never had a pet before, barring the stray cat with rabies that wandered around our neighborhood in Boston, coined Scrunch by my sister Elain. Still, I knelt on the ground, holding my hand out. Waiting.

Something like surprise flickered across Rhysand’s features. Bryaxis trotted over, sniffing cautiously, and I pet the top of his head. He rubbed up against me, fur surprisingly soft.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” Rhysand said, looking at me oddly.

“Of course he doesn’t,” I said. “I can only imagine what kind of riffraff you subject him to.”

He laughed, the sound sudden and startled, and I smiled—genuinely smiled, even if just a little, more at Bryaxis than anyone else, for the first time in… God, in weeks.

The smile pulled at the cut on the corner of my eye, and I winced, pressing my fingers to my forehead.

Rhysand stopped laughing.

I had the sudden, irrational urge to cry, and I didn’t know why.

“Can I see?” he said.

“What?”

“Your cheek,” he said. “Beneath the bandage.”

I rose my hand to the scabby skin, uncomprehending. “See it? Why?”

“To make sure you’re all right,” he said. “If it hurts when you smile, whatever it is, it should probably be cleaned.” He frowned. “You did clean it, right?”

This time I was the one that laughed, a horrible, rusty sound. “I cleaned it,” I said. “Put some whiskey on a cloth and slapped it on the cut. Don’t worry.” I got to my feet, pointedly ignoring how Rhysand stiffened. “Where’s this shooting range? Point the way.”

He didn’t move. “Feyre.”

“Point the way,” I repeated, this time with vitriol. “Let’s go.”

Rhysand looked like he might say something else, but at the last minute, he shut his mouth and nodded. Still, something lurked in his eyes—something raw.

I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he cared.

“Lead the way,” I said again, gesturing before me.

He did.

***

The hills around the farmhouse might have appeared smooth and unobtrusive, but they were not. I struggled in the squelching mud, heels sinking into the grass.

“Motherfucker,” I said, not for the first time.

“Language,” said Rhysand mildly, also not for the first time.

“Climb it, Tarzan,” I retorted, shoving ahead.

I reached the top of another hill, Bryaxis before us, sniffing the ground and occasionally wrenching a poor vole or mouse out of the thicket in his jaws, and stopped in my tracks.

“Here we are,” Rhysand said, barely an inch from my elbow.

I would have moved, but it was cold, and he was warm, and my coat was too thin.

The shooting range sprawled out before us, unofficial and makeshift but still clearly functional. A row of targets stretched out for about twenty feet, each pocketed with holes. A locked shed was shoved off to the side, presumably containing an array of weaponry.

Rhysand leaned against the trunk of a stark, massive ash tree, arms crossed. “After you, Feyre darling.”

“You know,” I said, pulling out my pistol, “I’ve been wondering. Why do you care about my aim’s accuracy?”

“For my business purposes, of course.”

“Right,” I said. “So I’ll need to know how to shoot for the job I’m assisting you with.”

“Correct.”

I clicked off the safety. “I will not shoot a living being, Rhysand.”

“If you’re as good of a shot as you claim, you should be able to aim for the kneecaps,” he pointed out.

I lifted my hands, steadying my stance, and shot.

A perfect hole appeared in the middle of the target. Rhysand straightened a bit.

“You saw me,” I said quietly. “On the floor of that cellar.” An ear-splitting pop, and another circle appeared in the target, no more than a centimeter from the first. “You watched that bitch give me the knife, and”—pop—“you watched their blood pool on the floor.”

Pop, pop, pop.

Funny, how it always came back to me here, fingers wrapped around a gun that I detested but carried out of  necessity and the scars that, unlike the cut on my cheek, would never fade.

Memories flickered in my peripheral vision, me at—

Fourteen, slapping cash down on the counter and getting a little pea-shooter in return,

Fourteen and a half, shooting Coca-Cola bottles in the backyard as Nesta watched from the porch, smoking and silent, Elain covering her ears inside,

Fifteen, when a man shoved me up against the wall on the way home from the club, and I pressed the gun to his belly and told him to go fuck himself,

Sixteen, when I hit all the Coca-Cola bottles on my first shot,

Nineteen, when Tamlin took me away, and I put the gun inside a box and threw away the key,

Nineteen and a half, when they grabbed me off the street,

Nineteen and a half again, when I smashed open the box that held my gun and pressed it to my chest, sobbing and weeping and damaged irreparably.

Pop, pop, pop.

I lowered my gun, chest heaving.

Holes peppered the target, each within the bull’s-eye.

“No more,” I said. “No more blood.”

Rhysand didn’t even look surprised. He flicked his gaze between me and the target, as if he’d expected all along that I could walk my talk, that I was made of sterner stuff than Tamlin or Lucien thought.

Slowly, he nodded.

“And,” I added, “I have more bullets left in here, so don’t even think about trying anything.”

“I thought we moved past that.”

I put on the safety and slid it into my pocket. “You can never be too careful.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is paranoia, Feyre darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What? ‘Feyre’?”

“No.” I gritted my teeth. “Darling.”

Rhys smiled at me. “Why? Is it Tamlin’s pet name for you?” His tone turned mocking, and I bristled.

“No. Tam and I don’t have pet names.”

“How disappointing.”

I scowled at him. “Why do you even care about Tamlin, anyway? It’s not as if our relationship has anything to do with you.”

In a blink, the carefree, joking Rhysand vanished, replaced by a creature even more feral than Bryaxis curled up by his feet. “Doesn’t have anything to do with me,” he repeated, so lethal that I flinched.

“Yes,” I said. “You don’t care.”

Rhysand’s lip curled. “Don’t tell me what I do or do not care about, Feyre. As it just so happens, I don’t particularly enjoy finding you soaking wet on the steps of the Met, pale and bruised to hell.”

“Tamlin has nothing to do with my bruises.”

“Lovely little liar.”

Something inside of me broke in half, cracking with the echo of a broken twig. “I am not your pet project, Rhysand,” I snapped. “I don’t need your pity, and I sure as hell don’t want whatever your twisted definition of care is. I’ll work with you, because I made a deal, but my personal life is none of your concern.”

Rhysand’s face had gone blank, wiped clean. “Fine.”

“Fine.” I stomped back up the hill. “Let’s get out of here. I want to go home.”

He didn’t say a word, but started up the hill after me, Bryaxis loping alongside him. This time, the dog stayed far from my feet.

***

While we made our way through the hills, I paused atop a grassy knoll, Rhysand a few yards in front of me.

Far off, buried in heather and knee-high grass, I caught a hint of carved marble—a gravestone, nestled between the hills, with an angel mounted on top. All I could see from here were the wings.

I swear on my sister’s grave.

Perhaps in a different world Rhysand Black and I might have found common ground, shared in heartbreak and sisters that were no longer in our lives—either through death, or other reasons. Perhaps in a different world I would not know how to shoot, and I could close my eyes at night without hearing the woman scream.

But that was not this world, and I, at least, had too many sharp edges, broken and battered as I was. Anyone that touched me drew blood on their own skin, spilling a trail of poppies through the snow.

***

The second Rhysand and I reached the farmhouse, he started cursing, fluently and expansively.

I stepped around him, alarmed. Three cars were parked in what passed for a driveway: a low-slung cherry-red Cadillac convertible, a glossy black Ferrari, and a nondescript blue BMW.

“What the—” I started, just as a piercing shriek sliced through the air.

“CASSIAN ILLYRIA! GET BACK HERE!”

Rhysand lunged, slamming me to the ground. I had only a second to absorb the scent of jasmine and citrus and the warmth of his body, swearing, as—

As a man came bolting through the drive of the farmhouse, clinging onto the horns of a bucking, braying bull, screeching at the top of his lungs. Rhysand had pinned me down to avoid being flattened.

A few other people ran after the man—a blonde-haired woman that looked vaguely familiar and another nutmeg-skinned man—a petite woman sauntering behind them, laughing with a slender cigarette dangling from an ivory holder wedged between her fingers.

“HELP ME!” the man on the bull hollered.

The petite woman laughed even harder.

“What the hell,” I said, wheezing under Rhysand’s weight, just as the bull flung the man off its ass, directly into a dense thicket of trees.

The cow bolted off, and the thicket rustled, the man rising from the grass, leaves and twigs in his hair. He vomited into the bushes as the blonde-haired woman and nutmeg-skinned man hurried after him, shouting expletives.

“I’m fine,” the man said, before promptly pausing to vomit again.

Rhysand pushed himself off me, face in his hands.

“Feyre,” he said, voice muffled, “meet my family.”

Send me prompts! <3

[the-lion-guard-88]

I would show my 5th image, but it’s spoilers for an upcoming video, BUT IT’S MARTHA FROM THE WILTED ROSE SYNDICATE AU NOOOOOOO NOT MARTHA!!!!

I’m using this image as an alternative

Anyways, how she’d react with the hammer? She’d use her sword and slash it

Irdk who to tag for some reason 🤷‍♀️

TAG GAME!!!!

This hammer will now hit the 5th image of a fictional character in your camera roll! How do they react? THATS FOR YOU TO DECIDE! >:3

Uh here r some starting tags but anyone can join

@astro-eats @rafareba @cl0verdrag0n @normystical @purplehairball @runrabitrunrunrun @malkoddith @b3aut1fulpr1nc3ssd1s0rd3r @biscoconut @zooblemybeloved

[alliciabellweb]

India: Unpredictable weather results in 60% lower rose production

Erratic rainfall has sprung a thorny problem for rose growers across India. While the rose gardens of outer Bengaluru have begun to wilt due to dry climes, the flower farms on the Deccan plateau are battling out excessive rains and low sunlight. The production of roses has slid by at least 60 per cent,… India: Unpredictable weather results in 60% lower rose production syndicated from https://yeuhoavn.wordpress.com/

[ntrending]

Artificial intelligence could help farmers water only the thirsty plants

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/artificial-intelligence-could-help-farmers-water-only-the-thirsty-plants/

Artificial intelligence could help farmers water only the thirsty plants

A robot. (Pixabay/)

Wine growers have a neat, if unusual, trick for making more flavorful wine — don’t water the vines. Let the vines go dry right before harvest, and they will yield smaller grapes with more skin and less juice. Smaller grapes produce wine with a deeper color and more complex flavor.

Trinchero Family Estates in Napa Valley, California wanted to make sure it was watering its grapes just the right amount, so they worked with Ceres Imaging to map their fields. Ceres used drones to capture color, thermal, and infrared images of the vineyard, and they used artificial intelligence to analyze those images to see if the wine producer was overwatering its grapes.

It turns out that, in parts of the vineyard, Trinchero was. Their wine experts found that areas that got too much water had also produced slightly less flavorful grapes. The company now uses the imaging technology to make sure it isn’t watering their vines too much or too little, and to find leaks in the irrigation system.

This technology represents the cutting-edge of agriculture. High-tech firms like Ceres, Prospera, Farmers Edge and the Climate Corporation are using artificial intelligence to help famers decide when to plant, water, spray and harvest their crops. As climate change worsens rainstorms in the Midwest and exacerbates drought in California, the technology could also help growers navigate more severe and volatile weather.

A vineyard. (Pixabay/)

“Today’s irrigation delivers the same amount of water to all the plants in a field, even though each plant will retain water differently,” says Daniel Koppel, CEO of Prospera, which (among other things) analyzes images taken by cameras mounted on movable sprinkler systems. “Also, the amount of water a plant needs depends on the age and size of the plant, whether it has fruit on it or just flowers, et cetera”

Firms can use thermal imaging, for example, to see if crops are getting enough water. Thirsty crops tend to be a little warmer than others. That’s because, normally, plants release some of the water they soak up through their roots out through tiny pores on the underside of their leaves. When that water evaporates, it cools off the plant, just as sweating cools off humans. Thirsty plants, however, close off these pores to avoid losing water, which leaves them a little warmer. If farmers can identify precisely which plants are parched, they only need to irrigate those crops, which helps them save water, which will become harder to come by as climate change fuels longer and more severe droughts.

A Prospera scientist working with a camera mounted on a movable sprinkler system. (Prospera/)

Firms are collecting images from cameras mounted to sprinkler systems, drones, planes, and satellites, and are using computers to analyze those images to identify which crops are besieged by caterpillars, surrounded by weeds, or covered in fungus. Computers then tell growers to spray those plants — and only those plants — with insecticide, herbicide or fungicide.

This helps growers use less water and fewer chemicals, which saves money and keeps farms healthy. Using less insecticide, for example, helps preserve honeybees, which are needed to pollinate many crops. Using less synthetic fertilizer can cut down on pollution. Fertilizer on farms tends to make its way into waterways and, eventually, the ocean, where it devastates sea life. Koppel says that Prospera’s technology has allowed greenhouse growers to use 30 percent less fertilizer and water.

Aerial imagining shows which crops need water or nutrients. (Ceres Imaging/)

The hard part is getting computers to determine when crops are sick, injured, or thirsty. So firms have developed systems that can learn to interpret images, growing smarter over time. Those systems also combine information gleaned from images with data on temperature, rainfall, soil quality, and other variables to determine when and how much to spray and water crops.

Does this count as artificial intelligence? “If you would ask that with three of our computer science PhDs in the room, you probably wouldn’t get out for a day or two,” Koppel says. He contends that Prospera’s system qualifies as AI given that it is constantly learning on its own. “You’re using machines to continuously figure out what’s going in the field based on imagery,” he says. “Also, the machine is synthesizing data to make decisions.”

Koppel believes that artificial intelligence will usher in the next great agricultural revolution. Previous technological advances — irrigation, mechanization, synthetic fertilizers, genetic engineering — have allowed humans to grow more food with less work. He says that artificial intelligence is going to allow growers to be even more efficient by taking the guesswork out of farming.

Caterpillar damage (left) and wilting (right) as detected by a computer. (Prospera/)

“Typically, a farmer will either make a decision based on intuition — which is not data — or he will feel the ground,” he says. But rather than rely on intuition, Koppel says it would be better to use computers to analyze images of every inch of the farm. Those computers could recommend decisions based on data they have collected from farms all across the world — a grower in Mexico might benefit from data collected on a farm in Israel.

Koppel says that computers can fill in farmers’ blind spots, likening farmers to doctors, who are prone to making mistakes. “I really don’t like to go to the doctor,” he says. “I would prefer having a machine that is unbiased. You know, a doctor maybe saw a few thousand people, and the machine has seen hundreds of millions of people. And the doctor doesn’t remember everything he studied in university, and the machine knows everything all the time.”

In the future, we could see robots that can tell when a strawberry is ripe and pluck it gingerly from the plant, or droids that can find weeds and spray them, or machines that can determine when and how much to feed dairy cows. However, while AI holds incredible promise for farms, it also threatens to be massively disruptive, especially at a time when many farmers are returning to more traditional growing methods.

The Dino large-scale weeder. (Naïo/)

“Some farmers might not wish to make the transition, either lacking the skills to flourish in a more techno-centric system or the motivation,” says David Rose, an environmental geographer at the University of East Anglia who has written about the future of farming. “Some farmers might not consider the use of AI to be compatible with their lifestyle, preferring instead to use their experiential knowledge and be closely connected to their land.”

He says that autonomous robots could threaten the safety of workers and animals, and could also put a lot of people out of a job. Heavy reliance AI could also sever farmers’ connection to the land. That’s the future depicted in this John Deere commercial, which Rose described as “chilling.”

“I am not saying that we should not embrace AI in agri-tech. It definitely has the potential to improve decision-making, help us cut through data, improve efficient spraying, automate manual or laborious jobs, attract younger, more technical workers to the industry, and increase profitability. But almost no one is talking about the societal and ethical implications of AI on-farm,” he says.

“What does the world look like in which AI is used routinely on-farm? How is that different to now?” he asks. “And how do we look after the potential losers of the tech revolution as well as the winners? I think if we just start thinking about those questions and accepting that, in a democracy, technology trajectories should be open to challenge, then this is a good thing.”

Jeremy Deaton writes for Nexus Media, a syndicated newswire covering climate, energy, policy, art and culture. You can follow him @deaton_jeremy.

Written By Jeremy Deaton

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Fleetwood wins Race to Dubai after Rose wilts, Rahm claims tournament win

Jon Rahm won the DP World Tour Championship but there was a bigger prize for Tommy Fleetwood, who pipped Justin Rose to Race to Dubai glory. Fleetwood wins Race to Dubai after Rose wilts, Rahm claims tournament win syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[dawnajaynes32]

Pink Rose Study with Amato Wholesale

The Pink Rose Study! We’ve had many requests for a pink rose study, one with a focus on medium pinks that are not too blush pink nor too hot pink. Here we have a nice collection of 11 medium pink roses, hopefully you find something just right for your needs! All 11 varieties were provided by Denver, Colorado based Amato Wholesale. Thank you team Amatos for these beautiful roses!!

Day 5 – Geraldine

Geraldine Vase Life: 10-12 Days Width when open: 2.5″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: So few thorns and leaves on this variety that I was able to clean them with my hands, no knives or thorn stripper. However, be careful when cleaning as the flowers can pop off at the neck. The blooms did not budge much during the almost two weeks I watched them. How they look when unwrapped is pretty much how they stayed, perhaps a tad bit of unfurling of petals. The pink has this touch of dusty pink to it, would work just fine if they look you are going for has an antique feel.

Day 5 – Hermosa

Day 5 – Hermosa

Hermosa Vase Life: 9-10 Days Width when open: 2.5″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Lots of leaves to remove during processing, but thankfully not a lot of thorns. I found I needed to remove a lot of the guard petals on Hermosa. I liked Hermosa because it added a punch of color to the range of these pinks, it would work great in arrangements to add a splash of richer, darker pink. Overall, I felt it’s shape and size is very closely related to Geraldine, it also doesn’t open much after many days in a vase.

Day 3 – Jessica

Day 5 – Jessica

Jessica Vase Life: 10-11 Days Width when open: 2.75-3″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: I found it necessary to remove all the guard petals on this variety, they were bruised and not pretty. Once given some time to open this rose had a very pretty shape. I liked that it kept this sweet and pretty rose shape with slightly pointed petals, it would look great mixed with other varieties and offer its own unique shape. Plus, this is a true pink. Would be great for both bridal work and arrangements. If I were to call up the wholesaler and request that they pull a medium pink rose for me, this is the rose I hope they do pull!

Day 3 – Mother of Pearl

Day 5 – Mother of Pearl

Mother Of Pearl Vase Life: 8-10 Days Width when open: 3 – almost 4″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Opens up into a large bloom. I found this variety to be very interesting to watch as it matured. First, there are 25 stems in the bunch and I noticed each bloom was a slightly different color! This is great if you like to have variety and texture in your designs or if you are going for an antique look. This would not be the rose for your project if you desire all the flowers to be exact. The outer petals are pink and then can fade to latte or lavender inside the center. If you happen to like the Koko Loko rose seen in many rose gardens then you’d probably like Mother Of Pearl, it has that same essence of coloring and feel in the shape it blooms into.

Day 5 – Nena

Day 6 – Nena

Nena Vase Life: 10-12 Days Width when open: 1.5-2″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Cutie! Yes, it’s a cute rose. Petite enough that it could be used for a boutonniere. Plus, it doesn’t bloom open which is another reason it makes a good boutonniere. The outer petals are white and has a pink center.

Day 3 – Novia

Day 6 – Novia

Novia Vase Life: 8-10 Days Width when open: 2-3″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: During processing I noticed the stems were very strong and few thorns, very easy to clean. It has a light, sweet scent. The blooms are a good size and would be great for arrangements and centerpieces. The outer petals are very light and the center is a sweet pink. A thought on Novia, it is a good size and shape for centerpieces, but I wouldn’t personally use it for bridal party bouquets, the blooms aren’t refined enough or offer an interesting enough shape to be set in bouquets. As the rose aged I did pull off a lot of the outer petals as they were browning.

Day 5 – Pink Mondial

Day 5 – Pink Mondial

Pink Mondial Vase Life: 9 Days Width when open: 2-3″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Strong stems and few thorns to clean while processing. I had heard that Pink Mondial opens up huge, yet, I found this bunch of blooms didn’t budge much – a few of the blooms opened to a max of 3″ wide. It has a bit of that dusty, antique look and would mix well with Geraldine.

Day 3 – Sexy Pink Roses

Day 3 – Sexy Pink Roses

Day 5 – Sexy Pink

Sexy Pink Vase Life: 10-11 Days Width when open: 4-5″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: The stems are softer than the other varieties, use a gentler hand when processing. This rose had the best scent in the group! By day two the rose was bloomed fully open. This did concern me at first as I wondered if opening that quickly would translate to a short vase life, thankfully that did not happen. Day 9 and maybe 2 stems had wilted down. The rose is gorgeous with hints of pinks, peaches, and cream. It has a very garden rose full petaled look to it and would be beautiful in bridal bouquets and centerpieces. The blooms are a nice, full size.

Day 3 – Sophie

Sophie Vase Life: 9-10 Days Width when open: 3.5-4.5″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Have your rose stripper at the handy, lots of thorns on this one. A large, full bloom that is perfect for centerpieces as it takes up a lot of real estate in the arrangement. A great, solid pink color and very consistent coloring on all 25 blooms. This one can take a full day or two outside of the cooler to open up prior to using in wedding arrangements.

Day 5 – Sweet Akito

Day 6 – Sweet Akito

Sweet Akito Vase Life: 10 Days Width when open: 2.5″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Get your rose strippers out, this one has a lot of painful thorns to clean off!! I had expected this bloom to be smaller that it actually was, I thought it would be a good one for boutonnieres. Turns out it is much bigger than expected. Would work well in bridal and bridesmaids’ bouquets, a medium sized bloom. As you can see in the photo at the top of this post where it is grouped with 4 varieties, it is actually larger than Titanic.

Day 5 – Titanic

Day 5 – Titanic

Day 6 – Titanic

Titanic Vase Life: 10 Days Width when open: 2-2.5″ Bunch Size: 25 Stems Origin: South America Details: Easy to process because there are not a lot of leaves or thorns, but the stems are soft so be sure to handle with a gentle hand. A good, trusty medium pink. This rose did not open up much during the time I watched it, I thought it might unfurl more, but did not. A good size bloom for bouquets or smaller centerpieces.

Details about all the roses in this study: -The Roses were never placed in the cooler once I received them! -The Roses were set out in the house for the course of the rose study. -I did not use quick dip, flower food or crowning glory, or any other “helpers”. Just freshly cut stems placed in clear water.

A HUGE THANK YOU to Amato Wholesale for providing all of these roses for the Pink Rose Study. http://www.amatodenver.com Amato Wholesale Florist, Inc., 6601 Downing Street, Denver CO 80229 | Tel: 303-287-3329

Check out the videos:

Day 4 of The Rose Study:

Day 9 of The Rose Study:

Pink Rose Study with Amato Wholesale syndicated post

[trentteti]

The Logical Rose-ning Section: Your Recap of The Bachelorette, Episode 3

Rachel Lindsay is a practicing attorney who once took the LSAT. And you, dear reader, are an aspiring attorney who will soon take the LSAT. Rachel Lindsay is also an aspiring married person, serving as the bachelorette on this season of The Bachelorette, the love story these depraved times deserve. And you, dear reader, may also be an aspiring married person? Either way, you definitely have at least a few things in common with Rachel. So every Tuesday, we’re going to be tracking Rachel’s romantic journey on The Bachelorette, and see what we can learn about love, loss, and the LSAT. Welcome back to the Logical Rose-ning Section.

Last time: Rachel tested the contestants’ abilities in “husbandry.” Most of the guys are awkward dorks. There was a boring controversy over whether a catchphrase-spouting guy who was literally wearing a tank top he’s trying to sell to you is there for, you guessed it, the “right reasons. Kareem Abdul Jabbar showed up to watch some of the guys play ball, but considering the appearance of DeMario’s side girl Lexi, you wonder if they had Kareem confused with Wilt Chamberlain. Rachel showed some impressive lawyer skills when mediating between DeMario and Lexi, and then dismissed DeMario with righteous fury. Obviously DeMario respected her wishes and the legal concept of res judicata and left. JK, he showed up again to plead his case.

DeMario shows back up

We pick up right where we left off last week, with the opposite-of-triumphant return of DeMario. Rachel deigns to meet with him. And, to his credit, DeMario starts off pretty well with a polite handshake and an explanation about how he should have been more truthful to Rachel, whose motto is to “always keep it 100.” He drops a quote about how life’s joy requires experiencing pain. He explains how he hope joy will come from this painful experience. But then DeMario gets increasingly desperate and starts rambling about his Uber driver’s advice and completely loses the thread. Know when to end closing arguments, dude.

Rachel, whip-smart as she is, sees through all of this. She says, “I need a man who, when confronted with a difficult situation, doesn’t lie about it.” She can’t get passed DeMario’s initial response to seeing Lexi on the group date, which was basically the live equivalent of dropping a “New phone who dis?”

Then Rachel really drops some fury. My episode notes at this point just read “Dayumn girl.” Rachel tells DeMario that his quote about needing pain to experience joy was cute, but that his hypothetically joyful future is not in the Man-sion. “Forward isn’t that way, it’s that way, outside of this house,” she says.

After Rachel dropped the mic on a dumbfounded DeMario, the remaining guys are all like, “We’re here for you, Rachel.” And she just responds, “I’m good. I’m great.” She is. Rachel doesn’t need you guys. Let’s just kick all the guys off and have a show about Rachel and her dog traveling the world. A Travels with Charlie for the digital age.

Rose Ceremony

The rest of the cocktail party really just shows how not up to Rachel’s level these dudes are. Jonathan wears giant hands? Alex does a Rubik’s cube? Will dunks on a Playskool hoop. Dude, she just kicked off a dude who can dunk on a real hoop.

Blake continues to freaks out about Whaboom. The Whaboom guy tells a bizarre story about Blake standing over Whaboom guy’s bed sensually eating a banana. Blake’s defense is that he doesn’t eat carbs. These guys.

This all a prelude to the rose ceremony, where Rachel will take an axe to some of the chaff remaining in this group. At the ceremony, she apologizes for the DeMario sitch. But she doesn’t apologize for sending these jokers home. And she shouldn’t! Bryan, Bryce, Eric, Anthony (literally don’t remember this guy, he must be new), Will, Jonathan, Jack, Matt, Alex, Adam, Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King (who adorably accepts his rose offer by saying, “How Kenny say no?”), Brady (also don’t remember this guy), noted racist (which should not be surprising given his penchant for Richard Spencer’s haircut) Lee, Iggy, Fred the bad little summer camp boy, and Diggy get roses, joining Piggo Mortensen and DeanBot2000, who received roses on their dates last week.

This leaves Blake, and Whaboom out in the cold. And frankly, that’s fine by me. During the entire ceremony both Whaboom and Blake freak out about how each is much more deserving of Rachel’s affection than the other. Even when Blake is saying his goodbyes to Rachel, he brings up Whaboom. After their confessional interviews, they get into an argument that is literally the exact argument the protagonists of a romantic comedy have before declaring their love. These guys just need to kiss and get it over with. Maybe they’ll leave this show, discover their unbridled passion for each other, and make Whaboom every night under the stars. If and when they do though, it’ll be away from the watchful eye of The Bachelorette cameras. They’re gone. Anyway, drum roll for aspirant drummer Blake and a 12-Whaboom salute for Lucas.

Group Date Number 1

And with that, we are on to the episode’s first group date. The date card invites Bryan, Jonathan, Peter, Alex, Will, and Fred along for the ride. The card reads “Lights, Camera, Action. Come join me on the set of Ellen.” They’re going on your mom’s favorite show, Ellen.

On the set of Ellen, Rachel calls Ellen her “spirit animal.” Ellen follows Rachel’s creed of keeping it 100, and gives her unflinching assessment of these clowns. When Rachel tells Ellen about the creepy tickling Jonathan pulled during their first impression meeting, Ellen says, “I don’t like that. Why is he still here?” When Rachel tells Ellen about Will’s Urkel cosplay, Ellen says, “I don’t like that either.”

Once filming of the Ellen show begins—which again, your mom definitely saw, since it is her favorite show—Ellen implores the guys to take their shirts off and dance with the crowd. The guys could not be more eager to oblige her request. Alex, who possesses the physique and Russian heritage of peak Ivan Drago, goes especially crazy, dancing on woman of all ages. Hell nah, Alex, don’t discriminize.

Once things settle down, the guys play “Never have I ever” with Rachel and Ellen. Poor Fred can’t catch a break. He’s already playing at a disadvantage, having been a bad little boy at the summer camp Rachel went to. On syndicated television, Ellen asks about him being a bad little summer camp boy. During the game, it’s revealed that most of his fellow contestants on the date have already kissed Rachel. Later, he awkwardly asks her permission for a kiss. He uses a cheesy pick-up line about how she might catch feelings after the kiss. Rachel then tells him that she still sees him as the bad little summer camp boy, and for that reason, she can’t reciprocate these feelings. She knows all about reciprocity, given that she has that word tattooed on her ribs. Fred is left packing. Alex then gets the group date rose. Sometimes the Russian villain wins.

One-on-One Date

Anthony, who is apparently a human being who has been on this show the entire time, gets the coveted one-on-one date. “Meet me at the Rodeo,” the date card reads. He’s thinking bulls and rodeo clowns and cowboys and horses. Turns out she meant Rodeo Drive (pronounced “Roe-day-oh,” a street in Beverly Hills that’s literally a gilded ode to the conspicuous consumption demanded by late capitalism). But she’s on a horse. Because rodeo. They’re spelled the same. Get it? Get it? You get it.

They take horses around Rodeo Drive as tourists gawk. They buy cowboy boots, tacky shirts, and visit a cupcake ATM. Anthony is very buff and handsome, wears size 13 shoes, and looks very commanding on a horse. But he’s basically a cipher. He feeds a horse a cupcake, and hopes the horse doesn’t defecate in the store. The horse, of course, does. At dinner, he talks about being an “old soul.” That’s about the extent of the banter these two have. I don’t see them going far. Or maybe I’m actually falling for Rachel and view Anthony as a threat? Who can say? Anyway, he gets the rose and they re-enact a scene from memorable Oscar loser La La Land.

A Break for Some LSAT Studying

We’re having fun here with The Bachelorette. Hopefully we’re feeling like we’re unwinding from a hard day of studying for the upcoming LSAT. Taking care of yourself is an important step in the study process, after all. But with the LSAT less than a week away, I know the time spent on The Bachelorette can feel like, at best, a frivolous distraction. At worst, the show can make you feel like it’s actively making you dumber.

But it’s not! In fact, The Bachelorette can help you study for the LSAT. It’s especially helpful in reviewing the common fallacies, a super important skill for Logical Reasoning. Just take a look at all the fallacies committed by the dudes on this show!

Blake: After being booted by Rachel, Blake said, “I really thought that I was going to get the chance to spend more time with Rachel.” Looks like you’re committing a perception vs. reality fallacy, Blakey. Just because you think something is true, doesn’t make it so. And that weak logic is why you’re going home.

Chris Harrison: The nominal host of this program, who got literally five seconds of screentime this episode, said, “Get ready for a date that you can only do in LA” in reference to the Ellen taping. There’s actually two fallacies here. First, Chris Harrison relies a false equivalence. Ellen actually films in Burbank, which, although located in Los Angeles County, is a city separate and distinct from the city of Los Angeles. So that’s an equivocation fallacy. Second, Chris also commits an exclusivity fallacy in assuming that the greater Los Angeles area is the only place Ellen films her show. Ellen has taped her show in New York before.

Alex: In flirting with Rachel, our 80s Russian villain contestant says, “Your left eye goes to your emotions; your right eye goes to logic.” Despite being able to solve a Rubik’s cube, Alex doesn’t display sound logic here. Alex is actually committing an exclusivity fallacy, in assuming that these functions are mutually exclusive.

Anthony: During the one-on-one date on Rodeo drive, Anthony says, “I’m just thinking, [the horses] ate the horse cupcakes. I just hope they don’t let it loose in the store. That’s bad for business.” Here, Anthony is assuming that the cupcakes will cause the horses to defecate in the store. But of course, the cupcakes didn’t necessarily cause the horses to defecate in the store. Actually, the horses are devout Marxists and were merely expressing their displeasure with the store’s vulgar paeans to capitalism. This, of course, is a causation fallacy.

Group Date 2

Back to the show! For the second group date, Brady, Dean, Adam, Kenny, Bryce, Lee, Jack, and Eric all get invitations. Iggy is left out in the cold. The card reads, “Sometimes in relationships, the women have to take charge.” These numnuts immediately get sexist, and assume the “charge” is referring to charging items to a credit card during a shopping spree. Women be shoppin’, am I right?

Before the date, Eric begins his slow descent. He’s never been in a relationship before, and he feels like he’s making himself emotionally available to Rachel, but hasn’t seen her live up to her reciprocity tattoo and given herself to Eric. Eric wonders if her heart is in it. Eric then gets into a little tiff with Iggy when Iggy offers unsolicited advice.

On the date, Rachel brings Raven, Corinne, Jasmine, and Alexis—her fellow contestants from last season of The Bachelor. They’re going to give advice to Rachel, despite the fact that Rachel is older, smarter, and more self-assured than all of these women. But hey, they’re her “girls” so they’ll come along for the ride. Raven asks Dean and Lee who is here for the “wrong reasons” and the both say Eric.

For the second week in a row, the group date to be strongly tilted to professional-wrestler-slash-doting-father Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King. They go to a honky tonk where the boys mud wrestle. And for the second week in a row, Kenny doesn’t win. Bryce somehow manages to the muzzle the Pitbull, and takes home the chintzy championship belt that the producers managed to find.

Rachel consults with her “girls” about the contestants, and the girls bring up concerns about Eric. Rachel then bids her girls adieu. Corinne, upon realizing that her time on camera is coming to a sudden and certain end, makes this face:

After the wrestling it’s the after wrestling, and the guys get cleaned up and meet Rachel at a ranch in Agoura Hills for drinks and “deeper” conversation. The plea for “deeper” conversation means different things to different contestants. For Kenny, it means admitting to being a Chippendales dancer and giving her a taste of what he dished out to Bachelorette parties for many years. The other guys have super boring conversations in comparison.

Eric, who has been marked as a “red flag” by the boys and girls of The Bachelorette, admits to being vulnerable. Rachel then goes into lawyer mode again, and refers to statements made by Bryce and Lee about Eric’s “bad motives.” Any 1L could tell you that this evidence is objectionable as hearsay and conjecture, but Eric mostly looks dumbfounded and, increasingly, angry.

After this conversation, Eric confronts Bryce and noted racist Lee. Eric determines that Bryce’s concern genuine, but that noted racist Lee is being very suspicious. Eric says Lee has a lot of snake in his DNA. I mean, do you disagree?

Despite all this, Eric gets the group date rose.

Rose Ceremony

During the second rose ceremony, Iggy and Lee both realize that they’re captaining sinking ships on this show, and try to bring down Eric with them. They both bring up their issues with Eric to Rachel. Namely, that Eric brought up issues about whether Rachel was being genuine about the process. Rachel then wonders if she should have given Eric the rose. She ultimately lets Eric keep the rose, but tells him her “antennae are up” and she’s onto him. Eric then confronts the entire group, and when Lee gets smug in a very serpentine way, Eric gets a little heated. Just when the dramas about to get real, they hit us with the TO BE CONTINUED …

What we learned about love

For Blake, loving Whaboom is the greatest love of all.

What we learned about loss

Being a professional wrestler does not guarantee that you will win a wrestling competition. But Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King, you’re still a winner in our hearts.

What we learned about the LSAT

Despite getting a nice common fallacy review this episode, we still don’t have any idea how well Rachel did on the LSAT. However, some internet sleuthing uncovered that the median LSAT score for the Fall 2008 entering class at Marquette Law School—the class that included 2011 graduate Rachel Lindsay—was 157. However, Rachel is a +75-percentile human being if we’ve ever seen one, so our guess is that she scored between the high 150s and mid-160s. We’ll keep you updated on this story as more details become available.

The Logical Rose-ning Section: Your Recap of The Bachelorette, Episode 3 was originally published on LSAT Blog

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Try a Large Beautiful Bouquet of Roses

Flowers provide one of the most tried and true gifts for those that you love. No matter the reason for sending a large beautiful bouquet of roses, it is hard to go wrong if you are planning to give flowers to someone you love. Flowers are also an excellent gift for those that you do not know personally. Tulips or carnations can be a wonderful way to show a colleague, employee, or supervisor that you appreciate them.

Large Bouquets of Pink Roses

Though roses are one of the most common flowers that are given for the gifts, it is important to know that there are many different types of roses. A beautiful bouquet of roses can be made not only from blossoms that are red but also from roses that are white, yellow, or pink. One of the trendier types of roses are ones with purple petals rather than the other colors. It presents a majestic appearance rather than the traditional one of crimson.

It is important to note where the rose is grown because it will likely impact how crisp and fresh the rose looks and feels to whoever receives it. Locally grown flowers will often have a better appearance as they have not had to go through as long of a transportation link in going from the garden to the florist and then the florist to you. Large bouquets of roses can be completely destroyed if the roses start to wilt prematurely. Instead of a crisp wonderful appearance they will look like an afterthought rather than an effort of love and compassion.

Beautiful Bouquets of Roses for Delivery

When you are ordering a large beautiful bouquet of roses, they can come in a bundle or in a vase though each has different connotations as to the gift. A bundle of stems will likely signify a gift better suited for yourself or a friend while one in a vase we’ll be more appropriate for interaction that can be more romantic. Floral arrangements can be given as a romantic gesture, and a beautiful bouquet of roses generally can be seen as an appropriate professional gift.

Order Beautiful Rose Bouquets from Enchanted Florist

Roses are commonly associate with poise, elegance, and grace. They are synonymous with romance and passion, and provide the perfect way to show your feelings to someone that you are romantically involved with. Even a single rose can be a gesture that will make you stand out in someone else’s mind. While many think roses are expensive, it is easy to find a florist that will be able to work with any budget that you have. Roses are not only for the rich though they are often correlated with the wealth. The next time that you go on a date consider purchasing some flowers from your local florist in order to set the tone for the entire evening. If you want to show just how serious you are roses are the way to go.

Enchanted Florist

4416 Fairmont #104

Pasadena, TX 77504

(832)850-7677

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Enchanted Florist’s Facebook

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We are located at:

https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m23!1m12!1m3!1d3467.4397891607023!2d-95.17854968489411!3d29.64900998202793!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!4m8!3e6!4m0!4m5!1s0x8640986520ffd41b%3A0xf4b941f48e14967d!2sEnchanted+Florist%2C+4416+Fairmont+Pkwy+%23104%2C+Pasadena%2C+TX+77504!3m2!1d29.649009999999997!2d-95.176361!5e0!3m2!1sen!2sus!4v1458583585021 Try a Large Beautiful Bouquet of Roses syndicated from http://www.enchantedfloristpasadena.com/rss.php?action=newblogs&type=rss

from Enchanted Florist https://enchantedfloristpasadena.wordpress.com/2017/03/27/try-a-large-beautiful-bouquet-of-roses/