#the hard part about charcoal is that you have to find out what you're doing AND you have to fight w the charcoal about it

[britneyshakespeare]

Contour lines are hard and tedious but shading is also hard and tedious

[rosehxnt]

the stars in your eyes

characters: deuce spade, leona kingscholar, jade leech, jamil viper, silver summary: noticing the small details that make your boyfriend him warnings: mention of leona's scar, swordfighting, otherwise just fluff

Deuce Spade  He'd been nervously shifting in his seat for the better part of ten minutes, every now and then glancing at you just to see you staring at him.  "Do I have something on my face?" He finally asked.  "Yeah, handsomeness."  His face became flushed. "Thank you...but it's like you're staring right into my soul," Deuce nervously giggled.  "It's like I'm staring into the endless ocean." You held your gaze. "But it's even better because it's you and you're right here with me."  He tried to stare back at you for a few seconds, but failed, quickly turning away and finding something to distract himself with. You let out a light laugh as the eye contact ended, enamored by his reaction.

Leona Kingscholar  His chest rose and fell as you observed him. He was once again fast asleep in the botanical gardens, sun cascading across his face.  Absentmindedly, you reached out to slowly trace the scar going over his left eye.  "Herbivore." You had woken him up and he was now staring up at you, his cat-like pupils thinning to slits to accommodate for the midday sun. "What do you think you're doing?"  "I think..." You gaze into Leona's eyes, fingertips sitting still on his cheekbone. "I think I want you to look at me like that forever."  You swore you saw his pupils grow in size, but he'd deny it if you said anything. A small smile appeared on your face.  "I think I want to nap," he replied and, much to your chagrin, closed his eyes to resume his slumber. In your mind, you replayed the image of him looking at you, those emeralds he held easily rivaling even the most expensive jewelry one could buy.

Jade Leech  It was always a joy to see Jade practice his passion. That passion being taking care of his endless mushroom collection. The happiness showing in his eyes was always worth it to you, and you made sure to take in every bit of it.  Except he always noticed your staring. Although, this time he decided to say something about it.  "Why do you look at me with such intensity, my dear?" His casually delivered question threw you off, causing you to find sudden interest in the floor.  "Oh, um, I like it when you're happy, it makes me happy."  "I'm glad you're happy, then," he commented and went back to work making sure each individual terrarium was in ideal condition.  "Your eyes are also super pretty," you found yourself saying. "I love how one is like the sun and the other is like the earth. It's almost like you're my entire world."  It was his turn to deliver a shocked expression, not expecting you to turn the situation into an opportunity to flirt with him.

Jamil Viper  You were content to sit on the sidelines while Jamil prepared that evening's meal. He insisted you not do any of the work, and you questioned if he was looking out for you or the state of the meal. His answer was ambiguous.  So here you were, watching as he moved about the kitchen. His long hair swept over one shoulder, his hands working to expertly chop up the various vegetables, and his eyes flitting to each ingredient as he threw them in the large pot that was to feed the entire Scarabia dorm.  Those eyes, the ones that reminded you of the charcoal used to light fires, similar to the fire you felt for Jamil himself. He'd lit one in your heart through the way he'd always help you when you were getting behind in class or were feeling under the weather. His observant eyes that kept watch for you and worked hard to keep you out of trouble were just one of his many charms.

Silver  You'd been invited to watch Silver and Sebek spar, which you'd looked forward to for days. Both them and Lilia had worked to make sure you'd be safe just in case any blades went flying. This ended up with you sitting on a wooden bench behind a metal fence. Lilia was in the corner watching the two boys the entire time just in case, since they tended to get competitive.  Though your sight was slightly limited, it didn't stop you from watching Silver's expression as he expertly defended Sebek's attacks and launched some of his own. He was focused on the battle and his eyes, which reminded you of the translucent lavender tinted marbles you'd play with as a kid, tracked every movement and flash of metal.  It was hard to remind yourself he was still just a human in that moment. A human who had trained among fae to become a fierce enough soldier to protect their crown prince. A human who would look at you so kindly after the sparring had ended, offering his hand to help you up from where you sat, awestruck.

a/n: i was just thinking about a specific someone's eyes and thought i'd do this m.list & rules

© rosehxnt

[legorumii]

can we have dating hcs for all of the ninja? love ur blog :)) ofc one at a time

" I watch the moon.

Let it run my mood. "

╰╮Dating Headcanons , The Ninja.

disclaimer ; I have not added Jay since I have already done a Jay dating headcanon, sorry!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ COLE ࿐ྂ

Overprotective boy ♡ He's literally all over you. He doesn't want anyone to hurt you. He takes care of you. When you're sick or hurting. Baking cake with him ♡ I hc that he's plus-sized. So hugs with him are like hugging a big teddy bear lol. He gives the best kisses. You can't even begin to imagine how nice it is when his lips brush against yours, but still, the way he kisses is perfect. You melt every time. His kisses are soft and gentle, almost like he’s afraid they’ll break you. He gets flustered easily. It’s adorable. He's the type to be mean and rude to everyone else but you. (And ofc the other Ninjas.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ ZANE ࿐ྂ

Confusing…But he's trying I swear. The best person to go to for cuddles when it's hot. He's like your personal cooler lol. He cooks for you. He calls you cute petnames like, 'love' and 'baby'. Loves kissing your cheeks all the time. He's just too good for this world I tell you. Loves going on picnic dates with you ♡ I have a feeling he's not too much of a PDA kind of guy. He'll do stuff in private. Surprises you with little gifts. His eyes are bright and full of affection as he looks at you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ KAI࿐ྂ

Oh god… He's such a flirt with you it's insane. Always has his hands on you. Your waist, hips, hands. You name it. He's also overprotective. I hc that his face literally catches on fire when he's super flustered. So Imagine flirting with him and getting him super flustered only for his face to catch on fire LMAOO. He can't cook…or bake. So, you cook for him and he loves it ♡ He seems so happier when he's around you. You just make his day a lot better. He's a clingy mf...He's always clinging to your side or sumthin. You find it cute. His touch is soft and comforting. When he hugs you he smells like charcoal. But in a comforting way lol. He's like a cuddly furnace. It makes you feel safe when he's near… And you don't mind one bit ♡

⇢ ˗ˏˋ NYA࿐ྂ

She's very protective over you. She wants you to feel and be safe. She loves keeping you company, even if she is busy. Loves carrying you. And love your laughs the most. She can't stop thinking about it, how much she loves to hear them and see the smile on her face. How much she adores hearing them when they happen in front of her or around her, or when they're a part of her life. How much she loves making you happy, making you laugh. She gets jealous quite easily, too, which is why she does not like seeing anyone else touch you. Like Zane, she isn't big on PDA. It's kinda hard to get her flustered and when you do make her flustered she won't keep eye contact with you. Loves training with you. Giving you kisses after training ♡ You always tell her when she makes you happy. It makes her day. She's a really good listener. She will listen to anything you say. Please play with her hair, she loves it ♡

⇢ ˗ˏˋ LLOYD࿐ྂ

It'll take you guys a while to date but when you guys do it's cute. He loves cuddling you and watching movies together. You can't help but feel giddy whenever he's around you. He likes to hold your hand or kiss you on the cheek. He's always looking for ways to touch you which is adorable. Your eyes are his favorite thing about you. He's always lost in them ♡ He knows how to make tea. So whenever you are sick, he makes your favorite tea ♡ He's always so patient with you. Loves being close to you. It doesn’t matter if you’re just hanging out, sleeping, or training. If you are upset he’ll be there for you no matter what. He can’t cook but he’s willing to learn with you.

" Can't stop thinking of

You. "

all content belongs to @legorumii do not repost or translate on any writing website!

[couriersgraveyard]

Having so many thoughts about Remy lately because of @/getinthefuckingcarkitten's absolutely delicious (っ˘ڡ˘ς) Remy art (which I linked and definitely suggest checking out if you haven't) so needed throw out some incoherent thoughts I had for Remy and my pc (Marina).

Cw: Mutilation (?, it's basically just wing clipping)

✧𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸✧

Thinking about Remy when she first sees your barely conscious body being dragged out of the van. It's not the first time she's gotten potential cattle that's arrived a bit battered, but nothing as bad as this. Hair clinging to your bruised and blooded face, clothes barely clinging on to a body in an even worse state, and oh? What's that poking from your back? Charcoal black wings, its feathers falling off and one- no both wings contorted past their physical limit.

Her eyes linger on them for a moment before moving on with a proper examination. It begins the same, fingers slipping between the lips she can pry open more easily than usual. Only it doesn't end there, she takes it upon herself to strip you bare to get a better look at the damage lying underneath. She continues to prod your body, while all you can manage to do is take strained breaths, murmuring something about some little birdie.

Broken rib, twisted wrist, it's hard to find something that isn't broken or bruised.

It's a truly saddening sight.

But you're still managing to hold on. It intrigues her.

Even in the state you're in, she still has you branded. Is it for the sake of protocol? Or is it to see if you have any strength left in you to at least react. Either way, she'll reach for her branding iron, her eyes locked onto your disfigured wings. Eyes that will subtly light up as you began to writhe in pain underneath her, wings twitching as

she presses the searing metal onto your flesh.

You have potential, a fighting chance.

✧𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸✧

Also, thinking about Remy nursing her poor cattle back to health. Looking forward to seeing those beautifully grotesque wings of yours being brought back to their former glory.

All is going well, you're being such a productive member of the herd. You're also healing at a rapid pace. Things couldn't be better and it stays that way until you ruin things by trying to escape after you wings healed.

But sadly that still wasn't enough. Your attempt ended as abruptly as it began and your fate was sealed as soon as Remy caught wind of it.

You'll find yourself pinned against Harper's table, arms bound and two of Remy's farmhands gripping each of your wings. You'll try to stay calm as you look up at Remy but you'll feel your heart beating rapidly, betraying you.

"You can apply it now, doctor. I think it's about time this cattle has her wings clipped."

It's only once those ghastly words slipped out of Remy's mouth that reality sets in and you begin to thrash around.

"Wait- WAIT!! No nonononono no, you can't! They're not mi- you have no right to take them!! I-I need them- And the anesthesia, whatever that is won't even wor-," you try to cry out.

But your pleas will fall on deaf ears. Grabbing your chin, Remy forces your teary gaze to meet hers.

"Shhhh, this is for your own good. So just be the good girl you once were and settle down. You'll do that for me won't you? You'll go back to being my prized cattle, right?"

You subconsciously give her a nod, opening your mouth to speak. But all words fail to come out once the needle pierces your skin.

It paralyzes you. Your head held in Remy's grasp, the tears rolling down your cheeks as you continue staring into her eyes.

But it doesn't prevent you from hearing the sickening crack of the bone, from feeling your wings and parts of flesh being ripped away from your back. It goes on for what feels like an eternity, and you feel every second of it.

✧𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸°•𓉸✧

Also, also imagining the possibility of Remy having your wings cleaned up for the purpose of displaying them in her estate like some sick hunting trophy. The idea of her having them placed on the wall on either side of some luxurious chair so that when she sits down in it looks like she has wings. Also, after you finally escape she'll be occasionally found stroking the feathers on the wings thinking about you <3333

[rugtopper]

I Hate Butterscotch

By Rugtopper

I was beyond excited.  After making every excuse imaginable to see my dentist whenever I could over the years, Dr. Goldstein finally asked me out to dinner.  Yes, I guess I could have been bold and asked him myself, but he is at least 25 years older than me.  I have had a crush on him since I was a teenager.  He is so handsome and dapper.  He also has something else that most anyone, male or female, would find off-putting.  He wears a toupee.  It's not high quality in any way.  It doesn't even match the color of his real hair. You see, I have this bizarre problem:  I have a fetish for toupees.  Every time I'm in that dentist's chair, I get so turned on just staring at Dr. Goldstein's hard, fake hairline.  His toupee is a deep chestnut brown, very thick and full, with a traditional left-sided part.  The thing that makes it stand out is the upsweep off the forehead.  There are far better hairpieces on the market that he could have purchased, but for whatever reasons he went with a less-than-perfect facsimile of human hair.  I have never said anything to him about it, although I have wanted to.  

The night finally arrived.  I had changed my mind nine times over what to wear.  I knew he was taking me to a very upscale restaurant, so I knew I needed to wear a suit.  I had debated which of the three I owned to wear, and decided to wear the dark navy; then, there was the decision about the tie.  I had many in my collection that had belonged to older male relatives who had passed on.  Twenty minutes before he arrived, I finally decided on a bright floral.  My shirt was crisp and white.  My undershirt was taut across my pecs and clearly apparent underneath.  I had decided to wear these silly silk pink boxer shorts with red and white hearts on them - just in case.  I had gone all-in with garters for my socks.  I had worn them since college.  A fraternity brother had gotten me into them.

Dr. Goldstein arrived on time looking handsome as ever in a dark charcoal suit.  Like me, his shirt was crisp and white, but thicker than mine.  Still, I could see the faint outline of the scoop of his a-shirt.  I knew he had more traditional leanings in apparel.  When I opened my front door, my voice caught in my throat.  The way the porch light seemed to magnify the artificiality of his hairpiece took my breath away.  I didn't want to go to the restaurant.  I just wanted him in my bed with his hair on my dresser.  Still, I managed to find my voice and greet him.

"Good evening, Dr. Goldstein."

"None of that 'doctor' stuff tonight, Chris.  Please call me Jake.  Now, are you ready?  That restaurant won't hold our reservation."

"Sure, of course."

I'll skip over the dinner conversation.  It was pleasant, but pedestrian.  The food was excellent.  I thought that I had been fairly successful in avoiding staring at his hair, but I guess I failed because as we got to dessert and coffee Jake put his fork down and looked directly into my eyes.

"Uh, Chris, is there something wrong with my hair?  You keep staring at it."

I immediately crossed my legs and said, "I am so sorry, Jake.  I didn't mean to stare, or embarrass you.  I never would want to do that."

"Then why do you keep staring at it?  You seem to do it all the time, especially when you're in the chair for your checkups."

"I apologize, Jake.  It's just that . . . Never mind.  I can't say."

"Of course you can, Chris.  I've known you since you were 12.  You can tell me anything."

"Okay.  Uhm . . .  I don't want to embarrass you or hurt your feelings."

"You won't, Chris.  Now, just say it."

I took a sip of my coffee.  It tasted very bitter, so I added another spoonful of sugar and took another sip.  "Okay.  Jake, I really love your hair.  I think it is so beautiful.  There, I finally said it out loud".  After I said that, I tightened my crossed legs even more to keep what little I had from popping up.

At first, Jake got this slightly shocked look on his face, then he seemed to blush.

"You didn't hurt my feelings at all Chris.  In fact, I'm quite flattered.  But, I'm also somewhat embarrassed."

"I'm so sorry, Jake.  Now I'm embarrassed for upsetting you." I took another sip of coffee.

"Chris, I'm not upset, but I am a little embarrassed.  You see, this is very difficult for a man to admit, but I actually wear a toupee."

I crossed my legs even tighter, forcing my nuts to roll up inside myself!  I tried to keep a pleasant look on my face, but I was so excited.  I was also suddenly flushed and slightly dizzy.

"It looks great," I lied to him.  Actually, it looked great for someone with my issues, but it looked bad for someone who is trying to convince the world that his hair is real.

"I had to start wearing one when I was in college.  A lot of men are embarrassed about losing their hair, especially at a young age.  Are you okay, Chris?  You don't look well." What I tried to say was, 'I feel fine if a bit warm'.  What came out was some sort of incoherent gibberish.  After that, I think I passed out, but I really don't remember.

The next thing I do recall was the acrid smell of burning hair, and a coolness on my knees.  I slowly opened my eyes.  I was sitting in a huge barber's chair with a clear cape covering me, yet I could see my undergarments!  What was going on?  I looked up and saw my reflection in a huge mirror.  There was a husky man standing behind me.  He had the most exquisite black pompadour, clearly a full wig.  He was holding a tiny pen with a cord attached.  He kept touching the top of my head with it.  Each time he did, I felt a slight tinge and smelled burning hair - my hair.  There was only stubble on the top, but the rest of my hair on the back and sides had been trimmed very short.  I tried to talk, but was unable to utter a word.  In front of the mirror was a shallow ledge.  There were two styrofoam wig heads with a very dark ginger toupee on each.  At first I tried to think who I'd like to see wearing them.  As my mind cleared more and more, I realized that those toupees were for me.  As this reality became clear, I saw Jake via the mirror walking toward me.  

"Oh, good.  I'm glad you are finally waking up, Chris.  You know, I love the cute boxer shorts you wore just for me.  Still, it's a waste of all that silk to cover that little dicklet of yours.  I bet you sit down to pee.  Still, it's good to know you have some traditional leanings in your choice of apparel."

"What's going on, Jake?" It sounded somewhat slurred.  I must have still been hung over from whatever was in that bitter coffee.

The husky barber continued to denude my scalp while Jake spoke.

"Chris, you are very intelligent.  I think you have figured it out.  I am flattered by your schoolboy crush.  I even found the story you wrote about me.  Now, don't look so startled.  I recognized myself in the story immediately, even if you did change my name.  You see, Chris, you were very chatty a few months ago during that extraction surgery.  Afterwards, with Antonio's professional skills, I decided to help you become the mature man you have longed to be.  I think you need to know what it's like to have everyone stare at your hair all the time."

As Jake finished talking, he took a step back.  Antonio took one of the toupees off the styrofoam head and applied four pieces of tape to the underside.  Two of the pieces of tape were curved.  They were placed at the front and back of the hairpiece.  On the sides were placed two straight strips.  Antonio quickly placed the toupee on my head.  The perimeter was rather stiff.  The tape immediately stuck to my scalp.  When Antonio had my new hair on my head, I felt the curved tape in back adhere just above my occipital bone. I knew then that I was forever going to be a Norwood Six male patterned bald man in a rug. I could feel the light mesh foundation of the center of the toupee against my smooth, sensitive bald head.  The toupee was thick and full with a fixed left-sided part.  The texture was smoother than my own hair.  The contrast between my flat brown hair and what had been taped to my head was stark to say the least.  Antonio began trimming my new, fake hair with scissors. He used a small handheld steamer in the front. Suddenly I could tell he was giving me the same up-sweep that Jake's toupee had. I realized that apart from the color, I had the same model toupee as Jake did. The laser wand Antonio had earlier used had killed the hair on the top of my head. It has also destroyed the hair at my temples. Without that, it was even more glaringly obvious what I had on my head. My little dicklet decided to do a happy dance. I was enjoying my new look without a thought about the day-to-day life experiences I would certainly encounter.

I was mesmerized, humiliated, vulnerable, and thrilled all the same time.  I was also a little upset.

"It's butterscotch," I blurted out.  "I hate butterscotch."

"I know Chris.  You told me after that surgery as the nitrogen oxide was wearing off.  You told many, many things.  You told me about your crush you have had for me, and you told me one other thing."

As Antonio finished styling my new hair, Jake walked up behind me, leaned down beside my ear, and whispered, "you have a great toupee, Chris, but it's still just a cheap toupee."

The End

[stvlti]

Official cast interviews for Blue Beetle (2023) from DC Nation

Found these interviews in the back of Ravager: Knight Terrors and Robin: Knight Terrors. They seem to be inserted in Aug publications at random? If anyone finds Bruna Marquezine's interview please drop them and @ me

Update: The above interviews are now transcribed below:

Interview with Xolo Maridueña:

What can you share about the origin story of Jaime Reyes—and his alter ego, Blue Beetle?

Jaime is someone who's coming back to his hometown from college. One day he comes across this scarab that grants him powers beyond belief. At first, he's reluctant to become a hero, but ultimately he'll decide to accept his fate—whether he feels worthy or not!

Like most comic book films, there are tons of origin stories to pull from. I think our movie amalgamates some of Jaime's best stories in comics over the years.

How does this scarab give Jaime his powers?

The scarab, Khaji Da, is a sentient alien life-form on a mission across the universe to detect technological advancements. The scarab just so happens to attach itself to Jaime and he's granted incredible powers.

The powers are more a question of what can't he do? He can fly, punch things super hard, make his hands turn into different weapons. He's kind of just the best superhero out there...if I do say so myself.

Who is the villain of the movie, Victoria Kord?

Victoria Kord is played by Susan Sarandon in the film. Victoria is truly a billionaire mogul with her eyes on the prize. However, she has a bit of a chip on her shoulder because there was a disagreement on who should head up Kord Industries. Susan Sarandon is such an amazing actress and as much as Victoria Kord has a bad side, she's also very charming.

What makes this superhero film unique?

This film really is gonna tap into that familiar family feeling that is irreplaceable. You're gonna meet Jaime's family and say, maybe I don't look like them, maybe our parents don't come from the same place, but I know this type of love and what this relationship feels like. I hope it will make a lot of people realize you don't have to do everything alone.

All the moments that led up to Jaime encountering the scarab were because of the foundation that his family was able to build on.

Interview with George Lopez:

What can you tell us about Rudy, your character in the film?

On my last trip to Atlanta, I was in a car and I looked out the window and there was a guy working for the city with about a 10-inch goatee, glasses, long hair, and a city orange vest that had no sleeves, and I thought, man, that's me. I like the idea that we're so quick to judge somebody by the way they look, and Rudy is a bit of a contradiction from the way that he looks.

Why do you think the scarab chose Jaime Reyes as its host?

I think it chose Jaime because it knew that he's a good guy. The scarab chose somebody who would use their powers for good. If you go back into the bug lair and you see Ted Kord's previous Blue Beetle uniforms it was from a guy that had money, was a little bit eccentric, and would create these outfits for himself...but he couldn't fly anywhere.

What can fans expect from Blue Beetle's costume?

You've seen nothing until you've seen the Blue Beetle costume deploy and the pincers retract! It's amazing to see him fly and fight. He operates in a dark blue and black costume, similar to charcoal, which may be the coolest colors of all time. It feels more like a skin than an actual costume. I've seen a lot of bugs in my day, but I've never seen one that looks like that.

How is being a part of Blue Beetle meaningful to you?

As an actor, I've been fortunate enough to have done stand-up for a long time, had my own show named after me, and a number of other incredible things in my career. However, I would have hated to not be involved in this project. If I wasn't cast in this movie it would've been heartbreaking in a sense, but I'm honored to be a part of it. To know that you're specifically chosen to be in this great project, and give life  to a guy like Rudy, is beyond an honor.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 20 - The American Red Cross Association

You're a blood donor!

Rated M for language, violence, and now vampire shenanigans.

On AO3.

There’s no donation chair, obviously. No medical gurney. Your choices are dirt, or your bedroll placed on the dirt. At least the bedroll is close to the fire (and the others, should your atrophied sense of self-preservation decide to wake up).

Astarion tags after you. Waits as you sit and reach for your pack. Shifts almost awkwardly, and keeps glancing from your hands, along your arms, to stare at your neck before, you assume, catching himself and starting that process over. Now that he’s illuminated—and you’re not so groggy—you spot the changes in his body movement. How still he is, except for a barely discernible shiver now and then. He swallows a couple of times, and at first you think it’s nerves, until you catch a flicker of pink tongue between his lips and realize he’s trying to hide how badly he’s salivating.

That’s…you have to turn away from that. Your body has a very weird and off-putting reaction, all flushed terror and all.

“Here we are,” you say. You found the bandits’ food store after the party slaughtered all of them. Most of it went to the camp rations, but each of you got an iced bun. Gale already ate his with no ill effects, but you saved yours to go with breakfast. Your waterskin is maybe half full—you frown at that—and set it next to your bedroll.

“Something wrong?” Astarion says.

“I get all demon thirsty when I donate blood,” you say and uncork the thing to down several gulps. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up. Find the man absolutely bewildered.

“It’s for medical purposes,” you say. “People volunteer their blood, and it gets cleaned up and stored in hospitals and stuff. That way, if someone needs a transfusion—did that translate right? If someone loses too much blood, they can give them some of the donated stuff so they don’t, you know, die.”

“Oh. That sounds…altruistic.” You’d never known someone could make that word sound like a negative. “And you’re one of those…volunteers? Why? What do you get out of it?”

You’ve got your stuff staged and within arm’s reach. Satisfied, you turn back to him.

“Cause I got plenty and my body makes more. They also give you cookies afterward. So how do we do this? I got a good vein in my left arm, in the elbow that they always really like?”

He looks at your offered arm. Resettles himself and motions for you to lie down. Which you do. He takes a knee next to you and you try hard not to think about how vulnerable you are. Some vampire elf man kneeling over you, flat on your damn back.

One of the charcoaled logs collapses into the bed of embers. A soft flash washes over the two of you. In that light, his eyelids lower and he goes all smug and smarmy.

“I think the classic method might be best,” he says.

And that takes you longer than it should. Because you’re used to the cold swab of alcohol in the crook of your elbow. The tight band wrapped around your bicep. Looking away as the tech slides in the needle.

He’s a vampire. They, classically, bite necks. Which yeah, not fun to think about. But it’s the mouth part that trips your pulse and makes it stumble over itself. Somehow, you did not consider that part. To make you bleed, he will bite you. With his teeth. In his fucking mouth. Which means his mouth is going to be at your fucking neck.

“Oh,” you say and want to kick your own ass at how small that comes out. Especially when that fucking goblin grin ticks up on one side of his lips. His lips that will be on your neck. You clear your throat. “I mean, if that’s the best way. Uh. Go for it.”

He dips his head in a bow and his left hand comes to rest just above your right shoulder. Which means he’s reaching across you (flat on your damn back, belly exposed). He leans across you and he is all up in your personal space and you are suddenly, viscerally aware of that. People don’t get close to you (except for Uncle Randy and Sasha and her boyfriend). You don’t get close to people. You’re the one that stands back and waves when Debbie or Jeff leave the office for retirement or transfer, when they all hug each other goodbye. You haven’t held so much as a squirming baby in over a decade.

And his face is going to touch you. His fucking hand comes up, under your chin to tilt your head to your left, looking away from the fire, leaving your neck bare and so horribly exposed to teeth but also his goddamn lips.

You didn’t think this part through, is what you didn’t do. Look at you, getting necked before you’ve ever been kissed. That has to be some kind of achievement, right?

“Easy, darling,” Astarion murmurs and he’s so goddamn close to you you can actually feel his voice.

Your heartbeat ratchets up. Blood pressure probably on the verge of splitting an artery somewhere. You flex your fingers (and toes) and nod.

“Sorry,” you say.

“It’s alright. Are you this nervous when you donate your blood to others?”

Again with that sneer. He’s got you turned away; all you see above his chest is the poof of his hair out of the corner of your eye, “They don’t take it out with their mouth.”

He leans in. You expect to feel a wash of heat, but there is none. Undead. He’s ambient room temperature. But there’s still a presence there. Something solid moving over you, a strange charge in the air you’ve never felt before.

He hums and that soft exhale tickles your ear because he’s right there. “So it’s my mouth that has you shivering, is it?”

For fuck’s—

“Just fucking bite me,” you say.

You’re pretty sure he smiles. Smug bastard.

Then he lunges. It reminds you of a snake strike. Utter calm to piercing pain and you gasp despite yourself. You’ve known pain, before. Gut cramps, menstrual cramps, switch welts. None of them are teeth in your flesh.

It shocks you. Your body seizes up as a sharp, freezing pain stabs the side of your neck. Almost as quick, it fades to throbbing, and then into a gentle numbness.

Analgesic spit, you think. Neat.

The bite itself distracts you for a long minute. You try not to think of fangs in your flesh. Hard teeth digging through skin and muscle and vein. Then Astarion shifts and through the numb, something moves against your skin. Something…wet? Strong, but not hard—

His tongue. The man is licking your goddamn neck.

Just as that registers, Astarion outright groans against you. Your cheeks light themselves on fire. The sound shivers against your skin and his voice vibrates up your throat. The hand not holding him up slips behind your head—fingers gliding along your scalp and lifting goosebumps in a sweep from crown to toes—to cradle the back of your skull and hold you to him.

You bite back the squeak. Hold as still as you can.

His lips are cool and soft. Slurping echoes loud in your ear, mixed with small noises he makes and his cool breath ruffles the short hairs on the nape of your neck.

You squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a blood donation. Just a procedure. You’ve done this many times before. Except this one has a grown man humming and…sweet jesus, he’s moaning. Not audible, exactly. You feel more than hear it.

So far, he’s been lapping at you. His own throat bobs as he swallows (holy fuck he’s close enough for you to notice that and you don’t even have any space because he’s taking it all and his chest brushes yours where the fuck are his legs). But then his voice changes pitch. Then he sucks.

That hurts. Sharp, burning pain lights up the side of your face. You can’t stop your own whimper, or the way you grab a handful—with just your fingertips because more means touching him more—of his shirt.

But that only seems to egg him on. He sucks again. His weight drops onto you holy fucking shit, and the hand supporting him wraps around your shoulders in some fucked up hug. All of it to pull you close. Every alarm left in your brain goes off all at once. Your deep, deep primate brain has memories to recognize a predator securing its prey.

“Astarion,” you say.

He doesn’t answer.

“Astarion, that’s enough.”

Still no answer.

Your head’s going foggy. You never noticed any ill effects during any previous donation—all that comes when people sit up or stand or try to walk over to the cookies table. But you are, and you’re lying down. You know that is a very, very bad sign.

Your arm is heavy when you lift it. You push through—limb shaking—to tap his shoulder. Probably harder than you mean to. But it’s enough to jolt him. His lips break their seal and hot liquid dribbles down the back of your shoulder.

“Mmm?” he says. Then he takes a sharp breath. “Oh. Of course.”

He lifts up immediately. The action only partially soothes you. The majority of your emotional system is still screaming at your vulnerability, at how shaky and light-headed you are, at how goddamn close he still is to you.

You do your best to show none of this as he rolls back and to his feet. It’s a smooth motion, lighter than you’ve seen from him. He’s grinning, a trickle of your blood running down the side of his chin. He touches it with his fingertips, brings them up to suck them clean.

“That…that was amazing,” he says. Dude’s panting like he was the one who got drained half to death.

You don’t dare sit up. You roll to your side to grab your provisions, uncork the waterskin, and slam down as much as you can before your lungs start to protest. You wish it was juice. Your stomach trembles, all queasy.

Astarion’s entire posture is different. He holds himself taller, frame wider somehow. His eyes are even brighter. “My mind feels clear. I feel strong. I feel…”

The next part seems to baffle him. You rip off a piece of the iced bun and slip that into your mouth. You chew slow and careful to make sure your stomach will take it. You’re ripping off another piece before you even swallow.

“I feel happy,” Astarion says. And maybe it’s your imagination, but the last word there sounds tinged in what you might almost call wonder. Even his grin has changed—showing off those fangs you honestly should have noticed sooner.

“You get enough?” you say. He’d better say yes, because you don’t got no more to give for a while. Half the roll is gone, and your stomach seems content to hold it. The thirst taps your shoulder and then screams into your ear. You down more water.

“Quite enough, darling. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He dips into a fancy bow. “You’ve been invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

“Gonna find you a nice, big deer?”

“Indeed. You know, you’re taking this all rather better than I expected.”

The last thing you saw with a vampire in it was that show where they were all sad and hilarious roommates. You’re operating on an entirely different cultural level with zero context towards how him or vampires should exist in this world. Hell, there’s a lot of people of all genders on Earth who’d be down on their knees for him right now.

You don’t tell him that, obviously. You’re not giving him any more ammunition against your ignorance on this matter.

“Just hope it helps you for tomorrow,” you say.

His grin pulls itself back down into the one you’re more familiar with. The one you’re pretty sure now is his version of the “sexy bad man vampire” he’s so keen to wear.

“Well,” he says. “I will aim to please, should we encounter anyone in need of a killing. Sleep well, darling.”

He saunters off towards the trees. A ghost in white disappearing into the dark. On the very edge of your vision, damn near swallowed by the gloom, he pauses. Looks back. His voice is soft and low. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Then he’s gone. Off to hunt something he can actually drain like a capri-sun.

You roll back over and your neck twinges. Fuck. Forgot about cleanup—no phlebotomist with a teeny square of gauze and a stretchy wrap bandage. You don’t have any sterile bandages at all. Damnit. You really fucked this up.

You pull out one of the bloodstained shirts from your pack. One of the less stained ones. Manage to rip off an unbloodied sleeve and press that to the wound. You’re drinking a healing potion first thing. And then keeping an eye on that shit. First sign of infection, and you’re talking to Shadowheart (got hurt during one of the fights; didn’t notice until later and didn’t want to bother you, so sorry, very silly of me).

You tentatively feel the puncture wounds through the cloth. They’re larger than you expected. And very quickly, you feel wet heat soaking through.

Fucker is still bleeding like a stuck pig. You refold the gross, makeshift bandage, press down harder.

Anticoagulant spit, probably. Makes sense; mosquitoes and leeches have that.

You take a swig of water and pop another piece of iced bun into your mouth. It’d be easier to put pressure on that wound if you were lying down. But then your head is swimming and you’re really very tired. Your bedroll is comfortable. Rolling onto your side (so the wound is elevated; you aren’t a total moron!) and you sigh and it all feels so nice, so gentle, you should probably swallow that food in your mouth, should….

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[killerkillerkillher]

NAIL PAINTING w/ 141

first Tumblr post. please be easy w me

content warning: nothing really. written to be platonic, but there's slight hints of pining in there if you want there to be.

reader call sign: Sorrow

no reference to your gender. they/them pronouns. no references to your appearance. reader character has an accent. I just wanted to spice things up a little.

tried to keep them as in-character as I could :) cheers.

PRICE

○ honestly isn't into it at first.

○ he's an older guy with some old school views I would think. would definitely politely reject you the first few times, but not without giving you a bit of an uncomfortable look.

○ one night, however, the entire squad is drinking at the base. one thing leads to another and you bring some of your self-care products into the commons to share.

○ Soap gets the hand masks, Gaz gets a charcoal peel mask, and somehow you even convince Ghost to try the cold eye mask. You think he might have fallen asleep with it on.

○ last is the captain. he doesn't look it, but you're positive that he is the most pissed you've ever seen him. you just have to shake the  "Beach Babe" tan colored bottle once and he's thrusting his hand out to you.

○ the paint job certainly isn't your best but you definitely got all ten fingers. you think. the colour sort of blends in with his skin. you'll leave fixing any mistakes to your sober self.

○ the next morning is surprisingly(not really) quiet. most of the team is hungover and trying to get a hold of themselves, but you're still surprised that Price didn't stop by to reprimand you.

○ you certainly remember the shiet paint job you gave him the night before. your blind grandma could have done better.

○ you look for him and find him in his office with a sparkling water and a bottle of painkillers.

○ "mornin', Captain."

○ "good morning, Sorrow." he just glances at you and keeps typing on his computer. is he mad?

○ "about last night. 'm sorry for paintin' your nails. i know you ain't really comfortable with it and-"

○ he stops typing and grabs his water. the polish is still there. it's even cleaned up a bit.

○ "oh. do you... do you like it?"

○ he just shrugs. "it matches my skin tone, right?"

○ he let's you paint his nails every so often after that.

○ only nude colours though. anything too bright or dark is a hard no.

○ makes the excuse that letting you mess with him is just too keep you busy, but you think he secretly just likes the personal, one on one time that you two have together.

GAZ

○ when you first offer he's a bit hesitant.

○ "like, my hands? um..."

○ the military definitely has given him an aversion to things that are seen as feminine. you, no matter your gender, do not seem to care about that and he finds that admirable.

○ he finds you in the commons one day, browsing your laptop. you're shopping for nail polishes.

○ "Hey, wanna help me decide on a colour?"

○ you both decide on "Army Girl" green and "Mud Bath" brown. it's pretty close to the colours used in your camos.

○ when it arrivesーoh boy. you call Gaz in to help you paint. you cover your hands and he gets your toes.

○ it's his first time so don't expect him to be perfect, okay? he does do pretty well though. takes his time and makes sure that he doesn't get too much on your skin.

○ "Hey, you wanna try it?" You offer again after you're finished. "think of it as another part of the uniform."

○ he folds. he's been a little curious about it since you first asked, honestly. why not? fuck what the others might think.

○ you paint his hands and feet and make him sit with you in your room until it's dry.

○ he likes this, he finds. not just the cool feeling of the polish on his nails, but also having a chance to just sit and talk with you.

○ he WILL pick at his nails just to get you to paint them again.

○ finds he likes natural colours and dark blues.

○ he wears navy blue ONCE and it's over. expect him at your door every time one of his fingers is chipped clean.

○ "Gaz, I might just get you your own bottle at this point."

○ "don't bother. I won't be able to do it like you do anyway."

SOAP

○ he probably wouldn't admit to your face that he's got a slight interest in self care products in general. makeup was never his thing but he'd done one or two relaxation nights in his days before the military.

○ that includes scented bathes, assorted face washes, and unsurprisinglyーa few coats of clear nail polish on his fingers just to keep his hands nice.

○ he did it for the ladies. women love a man that takes care of himself.

○ he notices your rainbow nails one day while out on an assignment. he is instantly curious.

○ after finishing your job, he's asking questions once you're back on base.

○ "you do that yourself, Sorrow?"

○ "hm? yeah. you like it?"

○ "yeah, actually."

○ nails like those aren't in the dress code. you have to remind him that you're all outside the bounds of regular military restriction.

○ he forgot about that lol

○ you bring him the colours that you've got and somehow, one thing leads to another and his nails end up painted with "Succubus' Kisses" purple.

○ he's in love with it. goes off somewhere to find Ghost and show him, then comes back a few minutes later with his nails ruined.

○ "I told you to let them dry!"

○ "sorry! I just wanted Ghost to see how well you did!"

○ you redo his nails. you want to complain more, but sitting so close to your comrade, his eyes focusing on every one of your little movements, a lovely silence encompassing the both of you, makes you shut up and appreciate the moment.

○ he would definitely try to match with you when given the chance.

○ "have you ever thought about getting those pointy nails and sharpening them? you reckon it would be sharp enough to cut rope or something?"

○ "Johnny, I am NOT going to give you tactical acrylics."

GHOST

○ he doesn't mess with nail polish, makeup, self-care routinesーnone of it.

○ it's just never been on his mind and if it has, he still doesn't really care for it. he's got more important things to worry about.

○ you find each other one night, wandering the base at a time where every one else is asleep. you're both restless and shaken from nightmares, and you can somehow understand why the other is wandering so late.

○ you invite him to your room.

○ "not f-for that! I'm just... thinkin' we could both try an' relax more there. I got a few things we cou' use."

○ he definitely still thinks you're coming on to him.

○ he still follows you though, so take that as you will.

○ you bring him back and make him sit on your bed. he waits there while you gather what you think you'll need.

○ "this is going to get us real sleepy, you ain't got a clue." You grin.

○ he did not expect you to pull out a small bag filled with nail polishes. you shake it around with a goofy, tired smile.

○ he doesn't get the deal but pulls off his gloves anyway. because why the hell not?

○ "I like to do this sometimes. I don' know what it is about takin' care of someone but it's relaxing. gets me sleepy. can I take care of you, ghost?"

○ how could he say no to that?

○ you wipe his hands down with a hot towel, clean up anything from under his nails, push back his cuticals.

○ he's massively uncomfortable for the first half of it because no one has given him attention like this ever. half way through though, he's relaxed, back against your pillows, eyes sagged.

○ you finally get him clocked out after giving him an cold sleeping mask. that and cool feeling of the "Devil's Blood" black nail polish works like a lullaby to a baby.

○ you accidently fall asleep against the side of the bed after finishing.

○ this definitely won't be the last time you do this. you'll somehow keep finding yourselves back in your room, the smell of nail polish bring you to sleep.

○ he wears gloves, so his nails aren't usually seen, but if even if they were, who the hell would have the balls to comment on it?'

○ Soap compliments them. he's the only one that notices the varying shades of black and grays that you use on him.

○ "hey, who's got you havin' painted nail anyway, L.t.?"

○ "wouldn't you like to know?"

○ Ghost would never tell him.

[babybatscreationsv2]

Marked ch 1

Marvel | Starker

When Tony's soul marks first appeared he was afraid he wouldn't be good enough for his soulmate. When Peter's marks appeared he was afraid of what the blood and bruises meant. Now they're left dealing with consequences of a dangerous lifestyle and a lot of distrust.

As requested by the beautiful and brilliant Aech <3

Warnings and tags below

Warnings/tags: soulmates au, mafia au, violence, angst with a happy ending

The room smelled like moldy bed covers and stale coffee. Tony could have easily afforded something much nicer, but this motel was close to their target and inconspicuous. He'd stayed here before so he knew the staff wouldn't ask questions if he got blood on the floor. Again.

He let Rhodey have the bathroom first. Sitting on the end of the bed, he looked at the blood drying on his arms. He could taste it in his mouth, but that was probably just the smell of the blood splattered on his cheek doing it to him. Sometimes a man has to take matters into his own hands. He can't always send enforcers. People forget who he is. They forget why they respect and fear him.

"Another hard day's work," Rhodey sighed as he came out of the bathroom. He didn't find the pleasure in the brutality that Tony often did. Maybe he was addicted to adrenaline. Maybe he was just an asshole. Not Rhodey though, he was a good man and he hated this part.

"Thanks for tagging along, Rhodey."

"Yeah well. Someone's gotta watch your back." He leaned against the wall beside the bathroom.

Tony stood and crossed the thin carpet. "No one watches my back better than you, pal."

Rhodes rolled his eyes. Tony passed by and slipped through the door. The bathroom tile was stained green in patches where mold was taking over. He turned on the tap and let the cold water run over his hands. Red swirled down the drain, then pink, then finally clear. He bent down and scrubbed his face clean. Rhodey poked in through the door to hand him a towel.

"You think we could take a vacation soon? The husband is getting restless."

Tony dried his face with the towel and laughed. "Maybe if you let him off the chain every now and then." He looked up at his face in the mirror and frowned. The blood was gone but along the side of his nose was a dark gray mark as if he'd rubbed it with a dirty hand. He took the towel and tried to wipe it away, but it remained stubbornly in place. It was so... faded looking. Like day old engine grease or the barest dusting of gunpowder. It was as if it wasn't really there, but rather it was the ghost of a mark.

Tony stared at his reflection and a chill washed over his skin. He could hear Rhodey talking as if far away. The sound of his own heart pounding in his throat was far louder.

"What's that on your nose?" Rhodey interrupted his thoughts.

Tony blinked. He set the towel aside, unwilling to try again and confirm his suspicion. "What? Uh... gun powder?"

Rhodey raised both of his eyebrows. "So wipe it off." He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.

"It's a fashion statement. I'm trying something."

"You're... trying something." To Tony's horror, a grin spread across his face. "You son of a bitch! You're finally becoming a man!"

"Fuck off," Tony grumbled. He turned back to the mirror. It was still there, that chalky black mark. What even was it? Charcoal? He rubbed at it with his hand and still his face was marked and his fingers came away clean.

Tony sighed. "Why now? I'm an old man."

Rhodey patted his shoulder. "Well, whoever they are, they aren't gonna care, Tones."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah." He barked a laugh. "You're rich as fuck, man."

Tony laughed. "Fuck you." He stared at the mark on his face. A soul mark? On him? He'd gone fifty years without being marked. Why now? What did that mean?

----------

Peter rubbed the side of his nose as he stared at the paper in front of him. His back hurt from leaning over his desk and his legs were stiff and cramped. He yawned and glanced over at the clock. Three o'clock. If he were lucky he could still get four hours of sleep. He looked down at his hands. His right hand was almost entirely black from the charcoal while his left had fared only marginally better. Sure he owned a blending stump, but sometimes you just have to do things by hand. And maybe he'd also dropped it by accident and watched it roll underneath the bed several hours ago. Was blending charcoal with one's fingers a crime? He didn't think so. Not that it would have saved him much, he knew better than that.

As Peter examined the mess he'd made of himself, he noticed something strange. His skin was off in color and oddly textured. Was he allergic to charcoal? That would be just his luck.

He got up from the chair and groaned as his whole body protested. He limped more than walked to reach the bathroom. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light after sitting under just his desk lamp all night. He turned on the sink and started to scrub his hands clean. When he first started college, May had gifted him a bottle of lemon soap she swore could remove any stain an artist could create. It wasn't perfect, but did get up the worst of the charcoal from his skin. His fingernails were a lost cause though.

Peter scrubbed his way up both of his arms all the way to his elbows, but as he rinsed they didn't come away clean. He wiped the water away with a towel to get a better look and found his arms spattered with pink. It splattered upward in places. In others it ran down. As if he'd punched his fist into a paint can. As if he'd... punched a person... and their blood...

Peter backed away from the sink and sat down on the edge of the tub. He traced the stains with his fingers trying to make sense of them. It wasn't blood it couldn't be. And it definitely wasn't a soul mark. Maybe it was just red paint... maybe his soul mate was an artist too. But how did they get paint all the way up their arms like that... and between their knuckles and... Peter stood and went back to the mirror. There on his face were pinkish splatters. As he watched another one formed just above his left eye. His stomach twisted in horror.

It was paint. It had to be paint.

Discovering your first soul mark was a joyful occasion. One to celebrate. So why did he feel so afraid?

It was just paint.

He quickly finished washing off what was real and left the bathroom. It was 3 am after all, he was probably seeing things. They don't call it the devil's hour for nothing. He tucked himself into bed, but it was a while before his heart slowed enough to allow him rest.

[martian-writes]

My Obession, My Muse (Part 2)

Cw: Izuku creates art of morbid things, very macabre, i might describe what he creates in detail if it makes you uncomfy please don't read.

Prequel to "Do You Think Im Spooky". We see everything that leads up to Izuku's blood painting of Katsuki.

Izuku is unsure what possessed his parents to return to Japan. But he supposes it isn't all that bad, he'd be closer to his cousin after all. Hitoshi's school has an excellent art program or so he is told.

Izuku wonders if he'd get in trouble here for his art style in the same way he did in America.

'Too Dark'

'It's a little morbid don't you think? Beautiful yes but not appropriate for school'

Hitoshi's school was typical just like the schools in America, everyone had their own clicks but unlike in America. Izuku was a lone wolf, an outcast, he was the student spectacle and it wasn't even for how he dressed.

His art was yet again the center of it. Though it was because they were curious about his art as curious as they are though. They do stay away.

That's fine, Izuku likes it that way.

Well... they do except one.

Bakugo Katsuki. UA high quarterback.

Izuku couldn't understand why the jock had taken a liking to him but Izuku assumes the jock had initially thought he /could/ bully Izuku. About a week into the school year, Katsuki had approached Izuku, slamming his hand hard on the lunch room table Izuku sat by himself at.

"Oi! Panic at the disco" Katsuki said

Izuku slowly looked up from his sketchbook, to find three sets of eyes looking at him. But the only ones he paid attention to was Katsuki's, because his eyes are the shade of red Izuku loves to paint in, crimson bright red like fresh blood.

"I don't like that guy" Izuku replied

"Hehe it's actually a band" Izuku's gaze flickers to a yellow blonde that has a black streak in his hair. He flinches slightly when Izuku's gaze finds him.

"Actually. It's /just/ the one dude." Izuku corrected before he looked back at Katsuki

The two only stared at each other, Katsuki seemling having forgotten why he walked over here to start with. Izuku was just memorized by the boy's looks. Izuku looked away first, feeling that itch of inspiration coming and if he stared any longer he'd surely want to paint the jock.

Izuku turned back to his sketchbook, dragging his fingers along the charcoal drawing he was doing. Smudging the fine lines he had created, giving the drawing shading without so much work.

'Red' he thought to himself  'it needs red'

Without looking up his fingers ran across the colorful charcoal chalk he had out, he grabbed the bright red he'd darken later. At that moment Katsuki seemed to snap out of it.

"The fuck are you drawing My Chemical Romance" Katsuki reached for Izuku's notebook.

Instantly the sketch book got snapped shut. Izuku's large hand wraps around Katsuki wrist and tugs him close

"If you are going to refer to me as bands at least use my favorites" Izuku says "Please do not touch my sketchbook as im working"

Katsuki was at a loss for words staring into the deep green.

"Hey man let em go" A red head said, Izuku's eyes snapped to him and the red head held his hands up "You're causing a scene"

Izuku's eyes scanned around and there were too many eyes on them. He let Katsuki go and the ash blonde snarled like an animal at him and walked away rubbing at his wrist. Izuku hoped it would have been the last time and wished the way Katsuki looked when he snarled at Izuku didn't engrave itself into his brain and screamed to be drawn.

It wasn't the last time. 

A month later, during after school hours, Izuku had been given permission to stay in the art room to finish his first semester project that he has scrapped mid class period because some girl who- (Izuku later found out had a crush on him) looked at his work before he was done.

There was a reason Izuku sat back of the class, easel facing away from everyone else. Izuku didn't like people seeing his art before it was done, in his head that tainted his work because no one would get the full picture, no one would see his work as they should, as he intended if they saw it beforehand.

The girl should have known there was a reason why he always put headphones in and the teacher allowed him to do what he pleased. Why no one bothered him as he worked. 

Yes his art was morbid, dark and macabre. But Izuku is a talent that no one wants to disturb because Izuku is going to be the next big thing.

Everyone knew it.

The girl had peered over Izuku's shoulder and when he turned to look at her, she was smiling and speaking. He pulled his headphones from his ear and stared at her as she spoke

"I know its um" she stammered "incomplete but its looks really a-amazing"

Izuku's eyes flickered back to his canvas, it was just a black painted background, a half painted woman in the middle, her body bended backwards, contorted. Her jaw open wide and broken, her eyes sunken pitch black and her hair long yet thin brushing against the tile floor that had a puddle sketched that would have eventually become a blood puddle.

He looked back at her oddly, just stared as her face became a-flamed. As she fidgeted. in her spot messing with the hem of her shirt.

It wasn't that Izuku didn't know how to say thank you, he wasn't trying to be rude. He was just baffled? And he felt like he space had been invaded because /everyone/ knew to leave him alone as he worked either because they chose too or were directed too. The class was directed too.

"I'll. Im gonna-" and she scampered away without finishing her thought.

Izuku watched her leave before sitting in his chair, staring at his work.

It was tainted now, he /had/ to start over. So he did, a project that had taken him a while to create, /gone/.

So there he worked, back in the classroom. The only light on was the middle light, the rest off. His favorite bands played so loudly in his ears that he hadn't noticed the blonde jock enter the classroom.

Katsuki watched Izuku work for 20 minutes, watching the way viridian eyes scanned over the canvas with burning concentration. Katsuki listened to the way the brush hit the canvas with swift motions.

To Katsuki it was like watching a ballad. He was amazed and memorized by how Izuku's wrist moved with such smooth motion, every strike of the brush against the canvas was thought out and precise.

Katsuki walked over slowly, stopping just before the easel. He had heard from Hitoshi how Izuku doesn't like people seeing his uncompleted work and after what he heard about some random extra.

Katsuki didn't want Izuku to get rid of whatever he was currently working on.

Admittedly Katsuki is strangely fascinated by Izuku and his art. Most people want to draw and paint flowers, people, pretty things. But Izuku paints and draws the dark, things people don't want to look at or see and Katsuki thinks it's cool.

That's why he was here.

Not because he found Izuku attractive. Not because the green haired male was the type of guy Katsuki would no hesitation fall to his knees for.

No, no. Not at all.

Izuku looks up from his canvas, noting the red eyes staring back at him. Katsuki's mouth moves but Izuku can't hear. So he removes his headphones

"What?" Izuku said

Katsuki rolled his eyes "what are your favorite bands?"

Izuku's eyebrows furrowed "huh?"

"What are you? Deaf? Your favorite bands. You told me if i was gonna call you by band names to use your favorites"

Izuku blinked and set his paintbrush down, wiping his hands down on a rag. He raised an eyebrow "Or you could me by name?" Izuku stuck his hand out "Im Midoriya Izuku, but Izuku works just fine"

Katsuki shoved his hands into his sweats and shook his head "I ain't ask ya name De-ku. I asked what are your favorite bands"

"Deku? Like useless?" Izuku tilted his head "that's not very nice"

"You sure as shit aint being useful! I asked you a question"

"I gave you an answer"

"Not one that answers /my/ question though"

Izuku stared at the blonde, wondering why he truly was here. Surely the band question was an excuse to get his name. Katsuki muttered something before turning away and Izuku watched him leave, the itch to draw Katsuki coming back and Izuku stomped it down.

Katsuki got his name, and had even given him a mean nickname. Now Izuku was sure the jock would leave him alone.

Katsuki did not leave Izuku alone. In fact after this moment it seems as though the football player is everywhere, Izuku could not escape him. It only got worse when Katsuki was hell bent on spending so much time around him, sometimes Katsuki would speak and others Katsuki would just watch Izuku work without ever toeing the line of looking at his work.

Izuku appreciated it but he couldn't understand /why/ the jock was constantly around. Didn't he have better things to do? Katsuki being around so often was not helping this urge Izuku was having to draw him.

Izuku refuses to make Katsuki a subject for his work lest someone says that his artwork is him plotting to murder Katsuki.

Izuku wiped his hand across his forehead not realizing he had left a streak of red paint across his forehead. He stares at Katsuki who is doing homework, Izuku pauses his music and walks toward the jock.

"Don't you have practice?" Izuku questioned as he reached the desk Katsuki was working at.

"Only on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays" Katsuki replied easily without looking at Izuku

"Okay let me rephrase. Why are you here?"

Katsuki looks up and the inspiration to draw him crawls out of the pit Izuku had clearly ineffectively tried to bury it in.

"I'm doing my homework" Katsuki said in a duh tone

"That much is obvious. Why? In. Here. With. Me?"

Katsuki leans back, placing his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing with the movement. Izuku does his best not to get distracted by such defined muscles. "Why not in here with you? You aren't shitty company and you /usually/ don't bother me"

Izuku hummed, not quite sure what to say to that or how to react. So he shrugged and went back to his canvas, Katsuki went back to his homework.

Izuku stares at his canvas, he truly should thank that girl for peeking at his work. Because what he has now it's far more beautiful than the original.

The subject is a grim reaper of sorts, in broken knights armor, eight arms. Four of those arms hold a large scythe that looked like a giant sickle. The tip of it is dark with red, the sky dark and gray almost as if it'll storm any moment. The wheat field isn't a wheat field at all, but a field of bodies, some lay scattered on the floor and the rest well Izuku has to finish drawing them in. 

Izuku picked up his fine detail brush to do just that, when his eyes flicked to the jock. Katsuki has his bottom sucked into his mouth, eyebrows knitted in concentration.

'Draw him'

The voice in Izuku's head startles him. He stands up straight, eyes wide as he stares at Katsuki.

'He is so beautiful'

It was just a /known/ fact.

Katsuki was born to a model mother and he happened to take after her of course he was beautiful. That porcelain smooth skin that has been kissed by the sun from days spent practicing in its rays. The way his hair forms a spikey halo around his head making him look like an angel, perfect bone structure. Had Katsuki been born during Greece's classical period surely he would have been everyone's favorite subject.

He would be beautiful painted in blood, painted in the dark with only his eyes to be seen. Katsuki would be beautiful sitting atop a throne of bones with bodies of the dead lying beneath him.

Izuku swallowed thickly and looked away the moment Katsuki's eyes flicked up to look at him.

He needed to leave.

Gathering his brushes Izuku rushed to toss them into the sink to wash, Izuku grabs the white sheet he was given to cover his work and tosses it nicely over the eisel. After he walks to the sink and begins cleaning his brushes in a haphazard manner, he'll clean them more thoroughly at home.

"Oi" Katsuki said startling the greenette who froze to see that blonde had moved across the classroom toward him "fuck are you rushing for?"

"Huh?"

"You usually take your time cleaning your shit." Katsuku shrugged

Izuku did not notice the pink on katsuki's ears. And he rubbed his hands down his jeans before replying

"Nothing. I- just realized im late for meeting up with some friends"

A lie. Most of his friends were in America and the set he had made here weren't even his friends to fully begin with. They were his older brother's friends and they were studying for their midterms.

Izuku barely hung out with Hitoshi because the insomniac had begun dating one of the jocks and he was trying to stay /away/ to keep away from Katsuki. Though that plan wasn't working out so well considering the jock had decided to use whatever free time he had to be around Izuku.

"Oh" was all Katsuki said before going to gather his things to leave.

The pair walk out the school building and Katsuki adjusted his book bag on his back before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I have a game coming up soon." He said "You should come, eyebags is going"

Izuku side eyes Katsuki "I'll think about it. Those... school events... aren't my scene"

Katsuki nodded. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

"He likes you," Touya said one day when his brother Tomura decided he was going to take Izuku back to campus for the weekend.

"What? No one likes me" Izuku replied as he let Touya do his special effects makeup on him.

"That Jock clearly does" Himiko said looking up from her sketchbook.

The group were currently sitting in the basement of the college campus house Touya rented for the year. The basement had become his studio and he was testing a new technique that gave a 'burn victim' effect without having to use so much makeup.

Before Izuku could protest, Tomura looked up from his switch.

"He spends a lot of time around you. Respects your art boundaries. And invited you to his game" Tomura said

Spinner- who Izuku has no idea why they call him that he just goes with it. Looked up from his gothic literature paper.

"That is like THE definition of him liking you" He said "He invited you to his game"

"Plus didn't you say you want to draw him?" Jin asked

Izuku sighed "Yes but... i /can't/ draw him in my art style... it'll freak him out"

"Why are you worried about that if you don't like him?" Touya asked with an eyebrow raised "unless you do and that's why?"

Izuku squawked "I d-don't like him!"

A chorus of "RIIIIGHT" rang out.

Katsuki couldn't possibly like /him/.

Last minute and last second Izuku had decided he would go to the game. His parents were happy to see he was expanding his horizons in activities.

Izuku had become captured by the game, screaming with the crowd, Izuku had gotten into the school spirit, their school was winning. Izuku was happy with his choice, he was glad he came out. He was but that was until their school had won, Katsuki had rushed a touch down and scored, the stands had erupted its shouts and cheers. 

The team lifted their quarterback on to their shoulders, Katsuki had ripped his helmet off and was chanting with his team. The pride that oozed off him, dripped into the crowd and into Izuku.

Katsuki's head swivled as he looked out into the crowd, a proud grin adorning his features, arms raised above his head chanting "Hell yeah!"

Red met green through the sea of people. As loud as it was in that moment, the world had quieted, and it was just them. Katsuki flashed Izuku a smile, full of teeth and there in that moment, Izuku knew he was /fucked/.

That night Izuku woke from a dream, frenzied with the need to draw. So he grabbed a clean sketch book, and Izuku drew until the birds chirped and the sun shined through his window.

But Izuku couldn't stop the voice, the inspiration he so desperately tried to stomp out came back and sunk its claws into him.

Izuku missed school.

"He's looking for you," Hitoshi said when he found Izuku sitting under the bleachers of an empty school gym one day.

Izuku brushed his fingers along the charcoal, smudging it before grabbing the red marker that tucked behind his ear and uncapped it.

"Yeah? When isn't he looking for me?" Ixuju replied

Hitoshi crouched down in front of Izuku "why you avoiding him?"

"I'm not"

"You are"

Izuku ignored him.

"Bakugo is a little rough around the edges but he is a good guy" Hitoshi said "He likes ya"

Izuku still didn't reply, finishing his drawing. Izuku flung the book to him.

"I /like/ him too" was all he said.

Hitoshi flipped through pages and pages of just Katsuki. Katsuki was drawn in macabre ways that left him breathless.

"He consumes my mind. He is all I ever want to draw, paint" Izuku said." That's why I'm avoiding him. He has become an obsession"

"He is your muse," Hitoshi said quietly, staring at Izuku's latest drawing.

Katsuki dressed in battered and bloodied football uniform, a helmet broken in a way that resembled a crown sat upon his hair.  He sat on a throne of bones of a deserted football field, the grass was dead. The sky was dark red, apocalypse like. Laid out like a present for Katsuki, other football players all knelt down in worship of him.

"He is."

"Stop hiding from him."

So Izuku did.

That's how Izuku ended up in the art room painting a canvas in that deep dark red he loves so much. Using his fingers and backs of his brushes to mark out Katsuki's face do all the details of his beautiful face.

His scowl, his lashes, his cheek bones. Those lips Izuku were growing more desperate to know what they tasted like.

Izuku sighs when he finishes the painting, wiping his hands on a rag. Izuku throws himself into his chair and throws his head back.

"What if he doesn't like this?" He says to himself "what if it scares him off"

Izuku tosses his head back and closes his eyes. He hopes today Katsuki doesn't look for him, Izuku isn't ready to show him the stuff he has created.

A squeak of sneakers catches his attention moments later, his head flies forward and he curses to himself.

There stood in the doorway of the darkened classroom stood Izuku's obsession.

Katsuki.

"H-hi" he stammers

Izuku's heart flutters in his chest. He makes Katsuki nervous.

"What are you doin here?"

"W-well. I- um"

Katsuki is cute when he's nervous.

Izuku raises his pierced brow "You were looking for me... weren't you?"

Katsuki doesn't reply, eye darting everywhere but never looking at Izuku.

"You know" Izuku says "Most people stay away from me"

Katsuki takes a few steps closer "its because you make them uncomfortable"

Izuku looks back at his canvas "Now why would /I/ make them so uncomfortable?"

Katsuki shrugs & walks closer "You have a reputation"

Izuku scoffs "I have a reputation?"

Katsuki hums and Izuku watches from the corner of his eye as the jock walks closer and stops a respectful distance away from the easel.

How he is so fucking hot and respectful?

"They feel that your methods, your art is-"

Izuku cuts him off as he stands up with a smile. Izuku never really noticed how short Katsuki was compared to him, how small he seemed next to him. It makes his smile widen "Spooky?"

Izuku tilts his head as he waits for Katsuki to reply. His eyes roam over the very face that haunts his dreams, fills his head and his sketchbooks. Without a second thought Izuku grasps Katsuki's small wrist in his hand, covering his eyes bringing Katsuki closer to him and the easel.

Izuku stares at the canvas for a moment before leaning close to Katsuki's ear "Do you think I'm spooky?"

Izuku removes his hand and waits with bated breath as Katsuki takes in the art before. After a moment Izuku hears a quiet

"Beautiful"

He is floored.

"Yeah? Doesn't? Creep you out that it looks like I drew you in blood?"

Katsuki stares at the painting but shakes his head no.

Izuku's eyebrows practically touch his hairline in surprise. He leans back against a table as he hums.

"You are weird pretty boy"

Katsuki turns to him blush, coating his cheeks "Am i?"

Izuku nods and Katsuki steps closer to him. Their shoes toe to toe, the jock looks up and says

"I don't find you spooky"

The honesty in his eyes sends Izuku's heart into a race. His stomach filled with butterflies and his breath hitches.

"Am I still weird?" Katsuki questions

Izuku's eyes drop to Katsuku lips, they are so close that if Katsuki just tilts his head up just a little more they could kiss.

"Very."

Katsuki surges forward pressing their lips together for a second. He pulls away & Izuku digs his ringed fingers into Katsuki's spikey locks. Pulling him closer to kiss him longer, deeper. When they pull away chests heaving, forehead pressed together Izuku says

"Bad omens"

"Hah?" Katsuku asks looking up at hin in question

"Bad omens is one of my favorite bands"

Katsuki pulls away with a smile on his face "Now you answer my question? You are so chicken shit"

Izuku laughs and nods "I guess so"

"Can I see more?"

"Huh?"

"Your art. Can you show me more?"

Izuku nods "i think i have some sketch books you'd like"

Katsuki smiles up at him before pulling him for another kiss "Cool".

[babybluebex]

good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

[hivemindscape]

Hello, fanfic person back again, I honestly have a big plot in mind for rust!crimeboys where it’s all fun and games until Tommy doesn't have a great time and respawns to find out Wilbur has gone missing. Which then leads to him getting help from Ranboo and his sworn rival from Fort Kickass, Tubbo.

But now the brain rot I have for your winged revivedbur au is massive.

Wilbur’s wings have almost become a sort of burden to him when he gets them back, he’s not used to the new weight he has to carry, it throws him off balance. Wilbur is learning how to live again, to walk without stumbling, to fly without falling.

And he despises it, but there's also that sense of him needing them to live again. It’s like when I saw a poem about Kintsugi, the art of mending broken objects with gold and there's this part right,

The marks on my skin

are the spilled ink on a page,

the streak of unwanted paint on a masterpiece,

the broken piece of charcoal still put to use.

Wilbur didn’t technically need his wings, their useless to him and he lost them years ago. Yet there's still a use for them, when he gets cold he can wrap himself in them, if he learns how to fly and feels suffocated he can go above the clouds to breathe. And like in your one-shot when words aren't enough they give him an excuse, and an olive branch to fix what he destroyed if he doesn't mess it up again.

I mean, what better way to bring back something that's been broken than to give him back something that started the cracks from the start.

Wilbur’s wings are the start to him healing both physically and mentally.

There's my daily rant for the day. :)

HELLO AND HOLY SHIT

actually, like. How did you hit all that, nailed it down like that? I was reading and smiling and going ?????? did i write that? Did you read my bloody mind?

I keep being stung in the heart thinking about how he despises the new burden, how hard it is to go backwards when you've already grieved and let go years ago. How he knocks things off, how he cannot adjust to sleeping on his stomach, how he's too lazy to maintain them well and they hurt.

But also, he can feel a piece of himself slot back into place. And then more and more do, when he is preening for the first time, when he is preened, when he covers Tommy from rain with his wing, when he feels warm wind ruffle the feathers, when they keep the little of the warmth that his undead body produces.

And the utmost tipping point of that journey of healing, as you so accurately put it, is him learning to fly. Learning again, or learning for the first time, I havent decided yet (Im thinking it'd be more tragic if he never experienced flight at a teen with not yet strong enough wings. Skies are part of avians' soul, and, as you yet again realised, that part being taken was what started the cracks in the first place. I think it could so perfectly explain his never-ending rush to prove his worth, and his dependancy on how others perceive him. His self image was shattered when he was in the age of solidifying it, and he reformed it under the influence of trauma and an absent father probably) but in any case. He will fly, and he will feel alive. And that will finally be a substitution for adrenaline rush via rivalry and self-sabotage he keeps chasing right now.

You're so cool, for thinking of a poem and for reading between the lines. God it feels awesome to be understood so easily so fast, youre inspiring me right back with this. Please let me know what your ao3 handle is so i could subscribe

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCLXIX

this week is pancake tuesday and I'll be working closing. I'll be working closing all week. I had too much floor freedom so they must stick me back in the box. to spite this I will endeavour to get writing done. the n-dash boys need backstories, after all. @diphthongsfordays

eat (summon story d0 - this needs to be rewritten)

He looked off the the side and collected himself. “Alright. So we’ll plan out the array language and draw up the glyphs with charcoal beforehand, then recruit someone to die, then do the summoning, then go eat lunch. Does that sound like a plan?”

Shae shifted her weight back and forth, considering. She dropped her arms with a huff and a small smile. “Fine. But you’re choosing the language and I’m drawing the glyphs. Yours are terrible.”

Zan glanced up the sky, not really offended. “What can I say, I’m better with words.”

“Great, so you can use your way with words to persuade someone to die for us.”

earth (the sleepy stash, 2022)

Beomgyu looks between the universe and Taehyun's face. "It shouldn't be so hard to gather universe. It should come freely off the earth, spirit and separate."

"Things are not as simple as they used to be. Nothing remains untainted."

"You're untainted." Beomgyu finally smile just a little, and his own inner light burns a little as it grows. "You're much more soul than body."

Taehyun smiles back. "You're soul, too. Your body is just clothes. You are part of the universe, don't forget."

tree (a universe of you, 2021 - continuing on with the theme I guess)

she doesn’t look up or down at him, just exactly sideways, and the house around them adjusts to make them equals.

“I don’t need any more universe,” she says with her tongue coated in stardust. “I see it in your eyes.”

“I see it in your eyes,” he answers, sawdust and tree sap on his palms, paint on the roof of his mouth. his words have colors like the fire when the sky’s full dark.

cold (youth story draft 02)

Mark squints off the to side before looking back at R’s grin with not nearly the hardest glare, hands rustling in his jacket pockets. “Can we go inside now? It’s cold out here.”

“Yeah, it is.” R rubs his own hands together.

“Why’d we have to meet outside to begin with?”

“I thought it might help defuse our tempers.” R is eyeing his shoes with disinterest.

Mark exhales a bigger breath and it lingers in the air for a couple of extra seconds. “You’re so stupid.”

bend (summon story d0)

“We don’t wish to speak of it,” Wryn said, their voice a tangled mess of throat and bone. Their stance was guarded, knees slightly bent as if anticipating a fight. Hands raised and lowered, tightening to fists.

Zan was not built to be a shield, but he placed himself in between his friends anyway, knowing himself to be foolhardy rather than brave. He wasn’t protecting Erin, though. He had near absolute faith in Erin’s ability to protect herself, from whatever had chosen to stand against her. Wryn, on the other hand; Zan could never be certain what Wryn could or could not handle, physically, mentally, or relationally.

He stood between them for Wryn’s sake, if not to be a wall, then at least a door that could be shut. “You don’t have to. I know it must have been awful. You don’t have to talk about it.”

I use pink for bad things. absence, belonging, consequence, dearth, energy. BONUS: ambivalent, blather. @ashen-crest (belonging, if you're picking words) @cielnocturnes @dustylovelyrun @enchanted-lightning-aes @emelkae OR ANYBODY or nobody

[jezy]

My Ben 10 Reboot/Grim Dawn OC-- Libra Renov! :D

Warning! Some of these parts have uncomfortable stuff, so if you don't like it. Might wanna either scroll down faster or endure it if you still wanna read it.

Libra has a lot of expertise with being a Sage of Illusions but she's also a healer and wild card in case missions go south. Which is about 50/50 percent most of the time.

She's also one of the smartest sages there is. But she sometimes focuses on the puzzles way too much so she doesn't notices anything going on around her.

Libra has a few friends but they're just a bunch of royal jerks. Except Hex, she liked him when they've met. Disa and Libra are friends too, but she trusts Hex more than anyone.

Before Libra died, she was a human with wavy chocolate brown hair with deep blue eyes and fair skin. Now, she's an aetherial with messy black charcoal hair with glowing green eyes and her skin's pale white.

She is an adopted royal, let me elaborate : Her real parents' kingdom got dethroned by another kingdom in ledgerdomain. The king and queen who has a tomboy daughter which they don't like, and resulting for said daughter to left them with no heir. So when they dethroned Libra's parents, they took toddler!Libra under their wings and taught her how to be a girly-girl princess.

At first, Libra loved it but when she grew older she became a rebellious child (in secret) and would often read her adopted father's books about magic without permission.

When she met Hex (when she first sneaked out for the first time), she realized she can be so much more than just be a useless princess in her kingdom. She could help people on the front instead of doing it behind the walls of the castle.

So ever since then, whenever she gets the chance to do something rebellious, she would do it using illusions as distraction then she helps the people in need with a disguise. (Like Robin Hood).

Her adopted parents didn't liked it obviously and were trying to figure out who would do such a thing. They still haven't found out it was her.

Libra & Hex are the "friends to lovers" couple. They're glue you can't easily separate and will hurt you if you hurt one of them.

When she found out that she's getting arranged marriage to Hex's younger brother, she didn't liked it. Yes, she knew about Hex's younger brother, Spellbinder, but she didn't liked him like that.

So when Libra & Hex became 18 years old, they eloped to Cairn and became Sages since then. They're not exactly married in legal standards, but they don't mind it one bit.

When Hex gets pissed at someone, its Libra's job to calm him down.

Since she's the only thing that stands between Hex and his anger to the whole multiverses. That is, when she died in the first cataclysmic war.

Libra deeply cares about Hex and is deeply hurt whenever Hex does something he regrets. Like, cursing his brother when Spellbinder forcefully kissed her lips.

Of course, Hex hid away from her for a few years because of the fear he'll hurt her too.

This made her depressed and longed for him, even to the point on not eating or sleeping because she misses him too much. Till Disa slaps her from her depression and yells at her to get a grip.

Libra was slightly thankful for her, even though it hurts like hell. She now learned a lesson that Hex would come back. Which he did, and Libra basically sprung out to crush him with her hug.

Libra cried rivers when Hex came back, as well as him.

After that, they now have more love to each other. Which is a blessing for the other sages since they now feared/despised Hex because of what he did.

They were peaceful, until the cataclysmic war....

Now, the cataclysmic war isn't just some war, it was a war between The Gods of Cairn and The Aetherial. (I'll probably make a post about the Aetherials and Gods of Cairn, since I can't explain everything in here)

It affected everyone even The Sages, half of the faction died including Libra. Who got trapped inside the spell of the Handmaiden Shield and burned alive by the aetherfire the aetherials had caused.

When she died, her soul got flung down deep into where the aetherials (now just spirits) had now reside. When they noticed her and found out she wasn't one of them, they tortured her for eons till they came back to take over the world. But she held it together for as long as she can take.

That was until... Theodin Marcell, The Master of Flesh, had began experimenting & reanimating the bodies of humans. He searched for test subjects (alive and/or dead) and found Libra's corpse in an ancient graveyard, and decided they will make her their most perfect masterpiece.

And so he did, first they forced Libra's soul to go into an aether crystal (a sort of physical form of aetherials). Then, he sliced open Libra's body's chest and planted the crystal inside her heart. Then he started reanimating her.

When she first came back to life, she was strapped naked in an electric chair. She tried to get out obviously until she saw Theodin Marcell coming down.

"Ah, so you're awake..."

"What do you want with me?!"

"The higher ups of the Aetherhold has accepted my request to test on you, Miss Libra Renov..."

"That still doesn't my question bastard!"

"The higher ups also want you to join our army. A special soldier, if you will."

"I'll never join you! Not after what your kind has done many eons ago!"

"Of course, I know you won't accept, so we'll do it the hard way instead..."

"Wha--" Then she screamed. Theodin had activated a switch that activated the electric chair. There were iron nails, nailed through her hands, and seemingly connected to the wires up to the switch. Making her feel the pain through her nerves system.

It hurts like hell, it felt like she was on fire. Her organs felt on fire, her brain-- Everything felt like on fire.

Theodin kept doing this to her till she threw up bile onto herself. Coughing up the remaining bile in her throat.

"Hmm, interesting, a human body can take so much of electricity before they perish. But you however, since you were blessed by the gods, you can take so much more..."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"That means, I have to do more experiments on you. But since you just woke up, I'll let you rest. Tomorrow, we will continue, and by then... You will sooner or later become a masterpiece....."

She only glared daggers at the possessed man as she was dragged away to a cell. They threw her and pinned her down, then they chained her up against the wall to make sure she doesn't escape.

Her hands felt numb from the electrocution, her body was shivering from the cold and shaking from the electricity. Her brain felt dizzy, if she focuses too much on an area, she would throw up.

Whatever the hell Theodin has in store for her, she'll endure it. She won't break from him. She'll get out and escape as soon as she finds a way how.

Besides, how worse can it get?....

Surely it won't be too much for her? Right? She's seen disturbing things, she has the confidence that she won't break.

Oh how wrong she was...

How very wrong she was...

The next day, when she was being escorted to the experimentation room. She tried to escape.

There were many aetherial possessed soldiers and once they saw her, they started shooting at her. Unfortunately, she was hit multiple times and died.

But that wasn't the worse part, the worse part was when she started to wake up. What she saw was scarring.

Her body's opened up like some frog in a science class, she could see her organs and everything from her perspective. Bloody equipment on a table, her beating heart, and Theodin poking and putting something inside her. It was enough to make her nauseous.

"Oh? Awake already?"

She was freaking out and started to squirm a lot.

"I suggest you don't squirm, unless you want an important organ to get cut from your recklessness."

She immediately froze from his words.

"Good pet." She growled at that nickname, she was very disgusted by him.

She tried to look around for any places where she can run, or anything nearby that she can use to break out of her confinement.

But she couldn't do anything, she knows that. She can't escape and she'll just bleed out if she somehow miraculously did. She was trapped.

She had no choice but to stare at what Theodin's doing to her for hours, mortified. And when he finished stitching up the slices he made, he did one more thing.

"Oh, and since you tried to escape. A little torture will be necessary."

And so he did, by stabbing her leg unexpectedly, in which she screamed. He kept doing this to different parts of her body until she began crying and whimpering.

Her face was covered in cuts and limbs that have stabs all over them. There were a few close calls to her neck making it look like scratches.

"Oh, you're crying? That's pathetic."

"...."

"Still not answering?"

"....."

"Whatever, because of your recklessness you got shot down by our troops. So I suggest you stop being stubborn and just accept it. You can't escape. And if you do, we'll be coming after you."

Those words slowly drilled down into her brain, she tried to ignore it but couldn't. In the next few days of those horrible electrocutions and mortifying tests that include getting her shoulders dislocated in the process, she was beginning to starve.

Theodin doesn't cares though so he just ignores Libra's whimpers of starvation and continued on the experiment. Even if it means Libra gets slammed like a bruised ragdoll.

There's more, more worse than that. When Theodin realized he couldn't do more experiments on Libra due to her lack of energy. He feeds her near-expired food, by literally shoving it down her throat till she chokes on it.

She absolutely doesn't likes it and tried to escape once after that. But she got stabbed from behind her and died once more.

Everytime she tried to escape, she keeps dying. And everytime she was brought back to life, she was punished. Either it was electrocution, beating her up, stabbing her randomly, or really painful whips in the back.

Her brown hair became darker until it was charcoal black due to getting electrocuted many times, her skin was so pale that you would barely see the cuts in her face. She has spots of burns on her skin when aetherfire was shot at her, body that has stitches everywhere, and her hands was beginning to glow bright green due to prolonged exposure to electricity.

Her head hurts, a lot and her chest feels funny every time she exhausts herself.

She cries in her sleep everytime, she can't take it anymore. She is in so much pain, so much stress. That she didn't even saw the worst part that happened to her.

"Fuck you..."

"Oh my, how dirty your mouth is."

"Screw. You. I can tell whatever I want to say."

"Oh my... Don't tell me you've forgotten one of the rules of your faction... That would be very disrespectful of you."

"Wait, the rules??"

"Yes, don't you remember the faction you joined and its rules?"

"My faction? Yes, my faction!... The err... S..So...The Sorcerers!"

"You meant 'The Sages'?"

"Wait, 'Sages'??? I thought--"

"Oh don't tell me you don't remember, The Sages of Cairn? The faction you dedicated your whole life into."

"Of course I remember! Its just err..."

"You seem to have forgotten your faction."

"N-No I don't! I do remember them!"

"Oh then please, tell me all about it."

"Its..erm, ugh! Why can't I remember?!"

"So you don't remember anything? Anything in particular. Your friends, your family, even your lover?"

"I...I don't remember....." Then laughter erupted from the man, as she tried to remember.

That was the worst part, she couldn't remember anything. Her memories full of holes, fuzzy dreams with no meaning to her, and sometimes nightmares would crawl into her mind. The only thing that she held onto was her name and the name of her lover, Hex, but memories of them being together was long gone.

And soon, Theodin had managed to succumb Libra in her weakest point. Where she was easily manipulated by the aetherial....

After a couple more years of experiments, torturing, etc. She was empty both inside and out. Her eyes were dull of life, her vision (sometimes) was such a haze but she didn't really cared.

Theodin had turned the once stubborn Sage into one of his mindless (very scarred soldier) soldiers for battle.

She couldn't feel pain no longer. After what she went through, she slowly became numb to pain. Which was good for Theodin Marcell, as they now have a perfect masterpiece, ready to go and do their bidding.

But the downside is that she became a masochist so every wounds inflicted to her, was a pleasure for her instead of pain. So she had to wear a mask, so people won't find out she loved the pain on herself.

She became a Mage Hunter, a mixture of an Inquisitor and an Arcanist. She disguised herself using illusions (that she vaguely remembers) and infiltrated the barracks of The Black Legion.

She then proceeded what Theodin tells her to do, smuggle the aetherial spirits to people who are the weakess mentally and with most negative emotions.

After Malmouth had fallen she continues hunting down humans for Theodin to "make a masterpiece" out of them. That was until Hex arrived.

One day, she received a mission to protect Warden Krieg in his home. So she used a rift to get there quickly, and when she did...

She saw none other than Hex who's fighting aetherials at the moment.

She stood there staring at him, thinking about how familiar Hex is to her. Though, she didn't know it was him. Until she decided to call out for him when he was finished with killing the aetherials.

"...Hex?"

That immediately caught Hex's attention and saw Libra standing there, shock mixed with confusion.

"How do you know my name?"

"I..I don't know, but I remember someone named Hex.... I'm not sure.... I just called out to you..."

"Well people don't know my name unless--"

"I'm Libra..."

That made Hex shut up quickly and come up to her with widened eyes before hugging Libra. Her mask was quickly swept to the side as Hex kissed her.

The hug and kiss really made her feel nice and warm. Like, they've been doing this for who knows how long.

But soon, the warm feeling disappeared when he let go, "How can I know you're Libra??? She died eons ago..." He said with sadness in his voice. That was a good choice, being skeptical was a good choice.

"I don't know either.... I can't remember anything, my memories are filled with holes..."

"Can you remember maybe a little bit?"

"Well, I've been getting nightmares more recently... My dreams were always different but I think I remember burning in one of them..."

"So it really is you... What happened?"

"I'll tell you, but first, we need to go somewhere and then we can talk."

Hex only nodded and followed her to a hidden place. That was when she told him everything she remembers so far, after the end of her talking Hex looked like he was going to rip Theodin Marcell into two. Which makes her scared.

She doesn't want to lose the only warmth that she has now, she needs to protect him. That was how she betrayed the aetherials and helped Hex with his missions.

This doesn't please Theodin though....

But she doesn't care, she's obsessed with Hex's warm feeling and she doesn't want to lose it.

Even though her memories is filled with holes, Libra felt like she belongs to Hex.

And since Hex is now together with Libra again, he can help her with those hole-filled memories.

And maybe now she can slowly remember what they used to be...

Here's the current gacha design for Reboot!Hex and Libra (Since I can't draw, lel)

Hope you enjoyed it!

[akanemiura]

"Miura, are you awake?"

"I am."

"We have some news from the healer. I'll let him tell you"

Control has been a lifelong pursuit of an elusive beast for this impatient hunter. I've done everything to have it: eat well, but never too much; find discipline in pouring tea when what you really long for is your sword; find peace in your sword when what you really long for is a warm cup of tea; swallow pride, exhale temperance; make kin of death, invite it to your door, and then move past it. I have climbed mountains and city walls, felled giants with a fluid stroke of my blade, tasted the tang of their blood and let it bathe me joylessly in their fall. I have painted a target on my back as the greatest there is, and now--

"Am I going to die?"

The medic smiles down at me, which is strange, I think, given my state. The charred-earth musk sticks to my pores, has woven itself into the fabric of my uniform; their warships became as common as cloud cover, and this is my souvenir for undermining their presence. As though any amount of personal preparation could have made me ready to raise my sword against missiles and gunfire from the heavens, a trait that is just so deeply, painfully me. Here it is, another quart of rich Miura blood given to foreign soil, my legacy becoming part of the patchwork landscape on this star. My essence sprouts clover, starts a fresh crop. Who stood a chance under weapons such as those? Not even the greatest, not even me.

"No, but you have a reason to live."

"Thanks, but I don't need help with that."

"Think again. We gave you a thorough scan when we were drawing out the shrapnel, to see if we had missed any smaller fragments. What we found, Miura, is that we missed one in particular." He pauses, pleased with his metaphor. I feel the hate rise in my belly— "You're pregnant. Have been for a little while now, by the look of it."

Oh.

I remain calm, but the surface is as thin as skin on warm milk. Not far below lies a seething magma floe shifting serpentine, waiting to explode, waiting to bury villages and lay waste to lush landscapes in its rage. Nothing but charcoal and cinders when this untamed beast that has been my familial inheritance is allowed to roam free. I stare at the overcast (if it's smoke or cloud, the difference is no longer worth finding) and I let them leave me with pleasantries I don't hear, but I know their glances are cast backward to see what comes next. I touch my belly like it's the scene of a crime. I breathe in, how easy. I breathe out. I breathe in, it's fine. I breathe out. I breathe in, I can control this. I breathe out. I breathe in, what in the hell am I going to do about this. I breathe out. I breathe in, what am I going to tell my father, shit fuck I have a husband, too; shit, can I lie about it, will it look like him, will it be obvious what I've done, am I sure, am I sure-sure, it is so hot in here, do they know how hard it is to recover when it feels like this medical tent is set up ten fulms inside Ifrit's fiery asshole—

--

A lone samurai exhales a breath she forgot she was holding as she stands at the bustling docks of the Doman Enclave, shielding her eyes from the sun. She's already come so far from the smoldering battlefield, but there's just one more voyage before she finds herself back in her own bed. Two ships bob patiently in the water, as though they too are unhurried to leave the warm drench of sunshine that soaks the settlement. A fresh wind picks up her ponytail and twists the ends of her sash on playful fingers as the dockworkers skirt around her edges, too preoccupied to do more than offer a passing glance before they're back to rolling barrels across the planks. They are blissfully unaware of the precipice upon which they all stand, the tilting platform that hangs precariously in the balance.

Much has changed since the liberation; she had been standing on a hillside and watched this place burn, but now it stands of its own volition, prideful and gaining. There was someone there with her, too, back then. And though his company was complicated, for now, it is as easy as turning left instead of right.

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

could you talk a bit more about your internship thingy? it sounds so fun!! (only if you're comfortable, of course!!) i think i want to do something similar 🤔

Of course!!! I’m so sorry it took me so long to answer, nonnie 🙈 I don’t know if there’s something specific you’d like to know, so I’ll just give a little overview!! And if you have more questions, feel free to message me or send more asks!! 🥰🥰

So my internship is in television production. Which sounds SUPER exciting, but because of the pandemic and the nature of internship site (they work in advertising), I didn’t do as much as I would have liked. However!! I did learn a great deal about pre- and post- production. I also got to work with some huge national companies (which I’m not technically allowed to talk about, shhhh 🙈) and be a production assistant on set while filming!! Here’s a breakdown of a typical day in my different “roles”:

Pre-Production Assistant: On days when I was working pre-production, I would do anything from budget catering for shoots to create call sheets and budgets for the entire project. I would also help with scripts and blocking with the director and director of photography. However, sometimes this also meant sorting through thousands of pictures to choose eight for a 30 second b-roll montage. So, definite ups and downs.

Production Assistant: These days were my favorite!! They were hectic and boring and long and they flew by. And I know none of that makes sense, but trust me. It was a journey 😂🙈 So on these days, I was more of a typical “intern” (think like the ones you see in movies and tv shows). I was constantly on the phone with my director before I arrived, getting everyone’s coffee orders, grabbing breakfast and lunch, setting up tents and loading up water coolers for the crew. This sometimes also meant assembling furniture or scrubbing the labels off of wine bottles and lighter fluid (don’t ask 🙈). I was in charge of snacks and keeping the crew happy and caffeinated throughout the day, but I was also in charge of making sure the set stayed quiet while they were filming. There were days where I sat in operating rooms for hours and opened and closed the door quietly while the director and DP argued about the difference between the procedure of a colonoscopy and an endoscopy. There were days where I was cleaning ketchup off of our actor, picking hot dogs off the floor and washing them to reset props, and getting charcoal all over my shoes (and clothes and face) as I reset again and again and AGAIN. These days have a LOT of sitting around and waiting. I mean… a LOT. It’s probably going to be over half of your 8-16 hour day. But you’re also the runner for anyone and anything. So when I was needed, I was sitting in lavish chairs while the lighting team color balanced for the camera, I was running to the grip’s truck and opening EVERY drawer to find a hammer, and I was taking notes and marking time points for voice over work. It was so much fun 🙈

Post-Production Assistant: This was the part of production I was most familiar with before I started my internship, and it’s pretty self-explanatory. On these days, I worked with the editing team, the graphics team, and the creative director. The one division I never worked with was audio, and it still bugs me because I wanted to. Post-production is where most of the “magic happens”, so to speak. It’s where you really see your project start coming together and where the most changes happen (in my opinion). One minute you could be clipping together a 30 second commercial, and the next you could get an email saying that the client wants it to be two minutes and they need it in three hours. And you don’t have enough footage. And graphics hasn’t even touched it yet. But you’ve got to figure it out. It’s a weird kind of rush 🙈 Honestly, post-production is so broad and there’s SO much that happens in this stage, it’s hard to describe it briefly.

My advice to you (not that you asked for any, but here we are) is to be prepared for anything. And be open to anything. If there’s one thing about any stage of production, it’s that it’s CRAZY and constantly in flux. But that’s what makes it so fun!! If you’re not going to school for production, try to familiarize yourself with film and editing software!! Go shoot a few videos on your phone and try out the free trial of Adobe Premiere. Mess around in Logic (if you have a Mac) or Ableton Live if you’re into music. Watch tutorials on YouTube and research different kinds of demo reels. This will get you familiar with what is expected of you in this line of work and what you should be prepared for. And then, start applying!! I find that most people in production are patient and willing to help you learn. They want to share how cool their jobs are!! And don’t be discouraged if you can’t find an internship — if you take the time to study up on the different processes, you can make your own projects in Final Cut (Mac) or Premiere (PC) without a ton of fancy equipment!! I would say, before you start applying, to try to create a few things on your own. First of all, you’ll see if you enjoy working in production. And second, you’ll have finished projects, however short, to present to potential employers so they can get a good feel for your skill level.

And remember: you’re going to be an intern. You’re not expected to know everything. You’re not really expected to know anything. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to say “I don’t know”, as long as you’re willing to learn. You’ve got this 🥰👏🏼