#selenaites

The  slow  bloom  of  ruddy  color  in  his  cheeks  is  in  such  sharp  contrast  to  the  rest  of  his  pallor  that  no  amount  of  Maybelline’s  Expertwear  in  Night  Sky  can  distract  the  eye.    The  cowl  doesn’t  extend  to  his  cheeks  either,    so  his  embarrassment  is  on  full  display  now.    The  Batman’s  only  escape  is  into  the  shadows  and  away  from  Clark,    and  he  doesn’t  even  take  that  exit.    His  gaze  is  averted  though.

❝    I–    ❞  Vengeance  does  a  decent  imitation  of  a  marionette  doll,    jaw  grinding  as  he  opens  and  closes  his  mouth  thrice  before  ultimately  gritting  his  teeth.    Clark’s  all  warm  light  in  the  foreground,    nothing  truly  antagonistic  about  his  opening  line  of  defense  at  all;    it’s  blinding  and  infuriating  and  the  Batman  cannot  run  far  from  it  even  if  he  were  to  slip  into  the  darkness  at  his  back.    ❝    I  wasn’t  exactly  thinking  about–    grammar  rules–    I  had  a  lot  going  on–    ❞

the boy counted his steps very carefully, measuring each with precision until he came to stand outside of a familiar set of doors. at his feet stood the door to one of his companions' rooms-- warm on the inside, with the hearth of a fire crackling ceaselessly to provide rest and comfort to the elf that lie within. how long he had planned to stay there, standing in front of that door, was a mystery of itself. it felt like hours and very likely was, from how the palms of his hands had started to turn slick with sweat.

gods-be-damned. this wasn't easy. not the way z'ress or resz'iir had made it look whenever they went down and out into the cities. especially back in fylhasera... nar'szelas scrunched up his nose and furrowed his brows, fingers curled tight against his palms. whirling around on his heels, he began to stalk down the stairs, the smells of both fresh supper cooking far below and the salty bay air of fortuna beckoning him into the night. blistering at his own inadequacies, he swung himself around the corner and grabbed hold of the hollow, wooden banister, crushing it against his fingers with even his mediocre strength --

@selenaites / faith:     i’ll deal with my own problems my way.

@selenaites as CASSIAN: don't talk about me like you might know how i feel .

for a long moment , she allows them to stand in silence , their only companion the quiet rush of nighttime winds ---- scattering softly through the sparse trees that cling to the harshness of the cold city - scape around them . her gaze sits , incomprehensible and strange , focused on the frame of his body , the lines of his face . she reads him the same way he would read a map ---- the roads and valleys of him , dots in the constellation of his being / the subtleties that make him human , the differences that tear him asunder from the twin sister that stands just inside , speaking in harsh tones the brute and curt movement of her hands could have no other explanation to the hotel desk clerk , the two of them left outside " and yet isn't it all a matter of perspective ? "

" have you been speaking to my brother , sophia ? " a hand is brought to her mouth , a purse of lips ---- the briefest pause , before the cigarette is placed there , and a lungful of smoke is drawn in ( the scorch along her throat , the swell of nicotine flooding through her system , it is all such a beautiful release ) it is almost enough to battle away the hurried rush of thoughts , the cacophony that screams and whistles and clamors to the forefront of her mind . mud on the hem of her pants , but clean shoes , wrinkles on her shirt , mirrored to the contours of a body that had worked relentlessly for days at a time without rest , a smudge of ink on the ring finger ---- another sharp drag , ash burning and crumbling at the crux of her fingers , begging to be stamped out . the smoke seethes through her clenched teeth , lips parted in hushed exhale ; eyes close , for just a moment , forcefully righting her train of thought back on the conversation

Tyrants came before him and turned over this land only to themselves. There was someone before him who dealt treaties like blows, laws like punishments, and action like war. Once, when he was young and reckless and shockingly more arrogant than he is now, he’d made promises to be different. It won’t always be like this, he’d vowed to his brothers. And once he’d believed in himself that he would make those changes. But is anything really new? Rhys wakes up to more blood spilt than he can ever remember having been there when once it had been someone else before him and only his dreams spread out across the endless sky. Is he really any different?

@selenaites poses his prediction with a gravity borne of experience. Rhys can see the way it already pains his brother, the truth of war, the loss that is always promised. It’s not the General for a moment that sits and plans with him now. Rhys just sees one of his oldest friends, his family, hurting and feels gutted along with him. “You know, I usually count on you for optimism.” For hope. Rhys sets a hand down on the map between them to draw Cassian’s gaze away from war strategies and divine moves. “What is it? Do you doubt your armies now? I know there is unrest in the camps, but surely they will rally for this.”