#the last and first lines were the very first things i penned for this piece

[catsafari25]

A/N: Hello, hello, I am back! This time with an au inspired by @bionicle-ramblings post here, specifically about what might have happened had Matau not been able to talk Vakama down from his Hordika side. This turned into 3K words, so heads up for that. (Apologies in advance for the angst!)

x

Too far above the ground, Matau waits for the killing blow that never comes.

His claws are weak-numb, dug into the ledge of the coliseum balcony, and in the bowels of the area below the battle still rages. From all the way up here, it's almost muted, like the backfiring of a hundred small exhaust pipes.

If he falls, he won't have to worry about the battle. Or anything else. Not for long enough to matter, anyway.

And still, Vakama doesn't come to finish him off.

Matau's grip slips further towards the edge, the ground beckons him a little bolder, and he doesn't have time to play it safe. He swings his fang blade up, and his claws lose their hold but the blade hits true. It slices into the stone, snagging him in place. He slams into the coliseum wall – but it's better than the ground. Still, he mutters a few ungainly curses and doesn't move immediately. He tries not to think about the long fall below. Tries not to think about the crazed brother above. Fails on both counts.

Only one is going to definitely kill him though.

The other... well. He's still working on that.

He hauls himself up the rest of the way. It's an ungainly process, his fang blade is attached to the stone – and he's attached to his fang blade, so...

It's also a quiet affair. There comes no bloodthirsty snarl, no flare of blazer claws going for his face. Nothing – save for his near fall and the scorch marks in the floor – to indicate Matau had been fighting for his life only seconds before.

It's nice, not dying. Matau's not going to deny that.

Odd, though.

The Vakama he had known would never have walked away before he was sure the job (the job being murdering a brother, but Matau tries not to dwell on that) was done. It's something to do with the mask-maker's perfectionism. You can't make mistakes with a mask; even a single crack will render it unusable. (Not like test-driving. If a lone dent could put a vehicle out of commission, none of the drives Matau had taken would have passed.)

He had at least expected some gloat-threat. Some rubbing it in Matau's face that he had lost and Vakama had won. Is that in Vakama's nature? Gloating?

One thing is for sure: taking it as read that a job is done without checking? That certainly isn't in Vakama's nature.

Which leaves Matau wondering...

What has been left in its stead?

x

Missing maniacal brother or not, Matau has his other brothers and sister to also worry about. And they are not winning this battle.

As he descends – no sign of Vakama – he sees the remains of Keetongu. Alive, but in no state to fight. Beside it is the ittier-bittier remains of who Matau can only assume is (or was, he supposes) Sidorak. Fragments of cracked red armour are scattered across the battle field. An arm – still with the blade attached – lies clear of the damage, whole but unmoving.

Matau skirts round that particular scene. Even the Visorak give the shattered ground a wide berth, steering clear of the corpse of their king and his killer.

The cacophony of spinners and blasts settles. There comes a ringing in Matau's ears, like the auditory equivalent of looking from from a bright light and blinking away the negative image. There's still the gnash and skitter of the Visorak, but it is nothing compared to the chaos of before.

And then he sees the cause of the quietening.

In the centre of the arena, the other Toa and Rahaga are surrounded. Their weapons are lowered, their spinners still, and the battle is over. It had been a reckless last-charge anyway. Maybe if they had been Toa, not Hordika... Maybe if they had had more time to plan... Maybe if Vakama had been with them–

Something – no, someone slams into Matau. He hadn't even realise he'd frozen until suddenly he isn't anymore. He slams into the ground, mask-first. There are claws digging into his left shoulder. An unlit blazer claw into his right.

His rhotuka spinner flares into life instinctively. It rises to attack and smacks into his attacker's face. The claws – both kinds – loosen enough for Matau to shake free and spin to face the culprit.

Vakama snarls at him.

There's something different about the once-Toa – he's hunched further, weight distributed evenly between all four limbs, the eyes dulled – but then the blazer claw is coming for Matau again and he has other things to think about. Namely, not getting barbecued. Matau skips back. The attack was clumsy. Unplanned.

"Come on, firespitter, you can do better than that," Matau goads before common sense can intervene. "You really think a swipe like that's gonna get me?"

Vakama growls and leaps at Matau – further than Matau thinks possible, like a muaka – and Matau drops down, kicking with his feet to deflect the blazer claw. Heat skims the side of his mask.

Too close.

He catches sight of his friends, still surrounded, still surrendered, and now with a newcomer – a tall (ridiculously tall, really; who needed that much height?) grey figure parading before them. A leader? Important, surely.

Dangerous, certainly.

He sees Vakama's rhotuka spinner light up, and stumbles back before the blast can hit its mark.

"We don't have time for this, Vakama," Matau stresses, and desperation edges his voice with a growl. "If we don't do something soon – if you don't snap out of this – the other Toa are gonna be history!"

Another spinner flies past. This one close enough to sear the corner of his shoulder. And still that tall figure looms before his friends, paying little heed to the fight ongoing at the far side of the arena.

Vakama takes advantage of Matau's distraction and closes the gap between them. The blazer claw swipes down. Matau only just grabs Vakama's arm in time, and the fused weapon flares, the flames close enough for Matau to feel the heat.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, "for doubting you! We all make mistakes, Vakama; that's what happens when you're brave enough to make decisions! I understand that now."

The only reply Matau receives is the fire inching steadily closer and another wordless growl. His feet scuff in the dust, and he feels himself slide back.

"You're our leader, Vakama! You're my leader! The others are depending on you – dammit, Vakama, say something!"

Vakama roars, and Matau's grip finally gives. He tries to duck out of the way as the flame bears down on him – but is too slow. The blaze brushes past his cheek and red-hot pain blossoms in its wake.

Matau staggers back and presses his hand against the burn. It's not gone deep enough to crack the mask, but he can feel the protodermis is rough, a thin melted mark across his cheek. Nausea rises through him. He blinks, and looks back to Vakama – expecting, hoping to see his horror mirrored back at him – after all, he was a mask-maker, surely he realises, surely he knows what he could have done – and the blazer claw is coming for him again.

A small, pathetic sound struggles in the back of Matau's throat, but he reels back just in time. His hand is still against his mask, while his eyes...

His eyes are trained on Vakama's.

There is something wrong with Vakama's eyes. Something more than just the rage or the adrenaline. Something, even, more than the venom-green colour. The irises are too full, too wide; they eclipse the eye entirely.

Like an ash bear's.

He realises it's been an awfully long time since he heard his brother speak.

Another blow comes slamming towards him, and Matau responds on instinct, releasing an air spinner that strikes into Vakama. The Toa Hordika is torn off his feet and smacks into the wall of the arena. He collapses to the ground. Still conscious but slow to regain his footing.

"Say something, Vakama," Matau says, softer than before. Toa don't beg, but maybe... maybe Hordika do. "Please."

A venom-green eye glares at Matau. There is blind rage and wordless aggression in those depths. But no intelligence. Matau's seen those eyes before, on rahi, on monsters.

They don't belong on a Toa.

Vakama pushes himself back to his feet – all four of them – and Matau braces himself for the fresh slew of attacks. Is this their destiny? To war like this until one brother destroys the other? Can Matau even bring himself to fight – to not only defend, but fight with the aim to win?

He flinches at the sound of a spinner firing, but Vakama's rhotuka spinner is still idle. There comes another whirr, and Matau glances back to the source.

The other Toa have fired on the tall figure. A last-ditch attempt? He hears the stranger's cackle, their form crackling with energy. Four elemental attacks, and they shrug it off with a laugh? The Toa's combined powers had taken down the Makuta; was this being really as powerful as him?

A spinner fires up, closer to home, and he ducks as the blast goes wide over his head. A reckless, probably getting-self-killed plan fits into place – but it's not as if he's swimming in options.

He starts a sprint towards his friends. Vakama is hot on his tail – too hot – and Matau drops onto all four limbs in an attempt to keep ahead. He zig-zags, hoping that's enough to keep him from being fried-burnt.

Le-Matoran are quick thinkers. They aren't necessarily forward-thinkers, but in the spur of the moment they can react in a flash. That's fine. Matau doesn't need to think that far ahead; his lifespan is probably a matter of minutes anyway. He just needs to survive at least those few minutes.

A blast flies a hand's breadth from his head.

Okay, seconds. He just needs to survive the next few seconds. Realistic goals.

He's close enough to hear the stranger's gloating now – Roodaka, that's her name – her voice crackling in a manner that might be her natural voice or the elemental energy racing across her armour. He hears Vakama's spinner powering up again, and he straightens his course.

All the better to aim at.

Le-Matoran are quick-thinkers. That's why they so often take the role of test-drivers. And Matau was one of their best.

He hears the shift in the rhotuka as it releases the spinner – and swerves at the last second. The heat burnishes his arm, but the full force slams into Roodaka. She staggers back. The crackling energy takes on a frantic pace, flooding her eyes and her heartlight, and still she does not fall.

Well, Matau's going to see if he can change that.

Distantly, he hears a shout – one of the Rahaga? – but he's already releasing an air spinner that buckles Roodaka. The light fades from her, and when she hits the ground – already lifeless – that energy bursts free from her like an earthquake. It rises up and forms a hand Matau only remembers in brief flashes of horror, a hand of darkness and shadow that engulfs Roodaka's body and leaves only a hollow heartstone in its place.

Belatedly, Matau recalls his pursuer, but he needn't have worried. Vakama has frozen, his rhotuka spinner still whirring but not firing up. He stands apart from the other Toa, and at this proximity the changes are undeniable. His eyes are lost, confused; how much of what he's just seen even makes sense to him anymore?

Nokama is the first to step forward. Her hands are raised as if trying to calm a wild rahi. Does she even realise she's doing it, Matau wonders. "Vakama," she says, and there's a shake in her voice that betrays maybe she does know. "It's alright, it's over–"

Vakama's gaze snaps to Nokama and she freezes. She sees it now too: the lack of recognition. The senselessness. A sound catches at the back of her throat. It sounds like heartbreak. It's that heartbreak that leaves her too slow to register Vakama's spinner starting up, that leaves her not wanting to comprehend what her own brother means to do, until a black blast slams into Vakama. Its energy crackles over him, paralysing him and the light dulls from those altered, rahi eyes.

"It's only temporary," Bomonga says, when eyes turn to him and his powering-down rhotuka. "Not a long-term solution. But it'll keep him from hurting anyone. For now."

The Visorak around them rumble. And then, with both king and viceroy dead, and their commander nothing more than a beast, they abandon what is left of their crumbling hierarchy.

Norik's saying something, something about the Makuta and released and danger, but Matau can only stare at the paralysed, inanimate form of Vakama. "We defeated the hordes, right?" he says suddenly, cutting off Norik. "We did what Keetongu said we needed our Hordika sides to do, so now it's time to return us to our old selves, isn't it?"

Norik falters. He looks to where Keetongu lies. Onewa and Whenua are already helping the rahi to its feet, and it emits that strange, multi-toned speech in reply.

"Keetongu says that he can turn you back, if you so wish," Norik translates.

"And... Vakama?" Nokama asks.

Even to Matau, Keetongu's reply sounds... stinted.

"Keetongu says," and Norik hesitates. The Rahaga suddenly looks tired. Spent. "He says the Hordika venom runs too deep in Vakama. There is nothing Keetongu can do for him now."

"There must be something!" Matau demands. "He wouldn't give up on us – not if he was still himself – so we can't give up on him!" The other Toa are staring at him – no, not just at him, he realises, at his mask. He claps one hand defensively to the burn streak. "I'm okay!" he snaps. "It's Vakama we should be worried about!"

Nokama reaches out. Her fingers falter, as if afraid of what she might find. "Did... Did Vakama do that to you?" she asks.

Matau recoils back. "It's nothing. I told you, I'm okay. I'm fine. What are we going to do about Vakama?"

The other Toa exchange glances.

"Anyone?" Matau asks.

Onewa and Whenua look away.

"Nokama?" Matau appeals to the Toa who's always preached the virtue of unity, who had been the only one to refuse to believe Vakama could have kidnapped the other Rahaga, even when all the evidence said otherwise.

She doesn't meet his gaze.

If they had seen what Matau had seen, how the conflict had raged in Vakama... but maybe that's the problem. Nokama had seen the shift in Vakama's eyes, the rahi look...

"We can't leave him to run wild," Nuju says, eventually. "Who knows the damage he'll do in this state."

"Maybe one day..." Nokama begins. "Maybe we'll find a way to reverse this."

"And until then?" Nuju asks. "You know things cannot stay as they are."

"Maybe they don't have to," Whenua says. The others look to him, and his face is wretched. "In the Archives, we have a... a way of dealing with rahi without killing them."

Nuju is the first to realise Whenua's meaning. He doesn't flinch, but – if it's somehow possible for the usually immovable Toa – he freezes. "The stasis tubes."

Whenua nods.

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," Matau says. "Are you suggest-saying we should put him into one of your display cases?"

"It only sends them to sleep," Onewa says. "Right?"

Whenua's mouth thins, like there is a world of distinction between what the stasis tubes do and sleep. "Close enough," he concedes. "His life functions will be slowed down to the point that he won't need either food or air. He won't be conscious enough to know what's happening."

Nokama places a hand on Matau's shoulder. "This will give us time to find a solution," she says softly. Reasonably, as if trapping a fellow Toa – a brother – like a museum exhibit is a natural thing to suggest. Yet, beneath the grip, Matau can feel a tremor in Nokama's fingers.

"Fine," he spits.

No one moves. No one wants to be the one to place Vakama into a stasis chamber.

Then Onewa steps hesitantly forward and slings an arm beneath Vakama's shoulders and hoists him up. Matau knows he should help, but by the time he has found the courage to move, Nokama is already supporting Vakama's other side.

x

Stasis tubes really doesn't do the devices justice. Tubes sounds like something small, compact. Round, now Matau thinks about it. But the machines that Whenua leads them to are more like glass cages. There aren't many intact ones left, not after the cataclysm, but he finds a few unused ones in storage and connects it up to a canister of diluted stun gas. Nokama and Onewa gently deposit Vakama's unconscious form onto the tube's base.

No one says anything.

The double-shell rises up and about its captive specimen resident and there comes the hiss of the stun gas filling the tube.

And Vakama's eyes begin to flicker back to life.

"Can't you speed the process up?" Onewa asks.

"It's gas," Whenua shoots back. "I can't pour it out any quicker. What do you want me to do, change the law of physics?"

Vakama reels. He lurches to his feet, but enough of the stun gas has already entered his system to send him off-kilter. He slams into the inner shell, a growl tearing from his throat, and miniscule hairline fractures scatter across the shell. He raises his right arm, blazer claw flaring into flames, and the Toa wait for the freeing blow that never comes.

Instead, Vakama sways.

The blazer claw dips against the inner shell of the tube, extinguished, and his hand – clawed, jointed in the wrong places – rests beside it. His shoulders hunch, but in the way of one overcome with exhaustion, and his breathing slows. His hand uncurls and, if only in passing, nearly looks like it once had.

And he looks to the Toa.

Really looks.

Before the light fades from his eyes, Matau almost thinks he sees the ghost of a smile, small and sad, flicker across Vakama's face. Almost enough to make Matau believe his brother falls into oblivion with relief.

And then the light – and everything that was once Vakama – vanishes.

"Do rahi in stasis chambers..." Matau falters. He stares at the motionless form of their leader, their brother. Vakama is not like Matau; he wasn't always in motion – not physically, anyway. But his mind had always been racing. Too much, sometimes. Thoughts and visions and fears crowding round in a single head, and now...

It feels almost unnatural that he should be so still.

Matau tries again.

"Are they aware?"

"I think they sometimes dream," Whenua replies.

[gyuswhore]

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

est. word count: 10-15k [fat chance]

est. release date: 10th September

warnings: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], angst, statistics, more to be added in final post

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

‼️ JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post. AGE INDICATORS ON YOUR BLOG ARE NECESSARY. ‼️

[a/n]: first look into the TA collab fic!!! @camandemstudios has been along time in the making and I cant wait for you all to read all of the fics in full. accept this piece offering from me and please let me know what you think of it so far!

masterlist

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him. 

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, Mingyu blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page. 

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell. 

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he genuinely wanted to know. 

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer. 

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and wording were the problem.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words. 

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes as the next words leave you in a low voice, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he says it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand. 

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger. 

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did. 

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered different colours of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag. 

It’s only then that you spot the segregated stack of papers in your bag that you remember. 

“I almost forgot,” you say, grabbing the pile and placing it in front of him. 

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply. 

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he says something. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.” 

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

[jellymish-art]

IT IS HAPPENING LADS!! SAM VIMES COSPLAY!!

I've dreamed of doing this for years and now that I've finally gained the Secret Knowledge of Foam Armour, I can finally go for it!

Jokes aside, I asked a couple of cosplay pros for advice at the last con and they were all super nice & answered every single one of my questions, in detail!

So far the breastplate, backplate and badge are done and I'm super happy. Detailed process under the cut!

How it went:

First, the pattern! Shoutout to the guys at cosplay-atelier for the recommendation. They pointed me to kamuicosplay, because they sell downloadable patterns for all sorts of things, including armour. Which is how I got to this:

Downloaded two of their breastplate patterns, smooshed them together and altered them to fit my body and the look I wanted. I did all of that with thick paper. Then I took it apart again and traced the bits onto 5mm EVA foam that I ordered from a cosplay store.

Then I numbered and cut all the pieces and glued them together! I used hot glue, cause it's more accessible and less intimidating for me than other types of glue. It isn't as strong as other recommended glues, but works fine for me. (used many pointers from this tutorial.)

However, safety point: I've seen it recommended to wear breathing protection when heating up foam in any way whatsoever, and that includes hot glue, heat shaping and heat sealing. Use a respirator or other breathing protection that is made specifically for chemical fumes & work outside or in a well ventilated area (i.e. open ALL the windows)! Ask at your local hardware store if you're unsure.

PSA over. Now to the painting stage!

The scratches I made with my fingernails and the tip of a pair of scissors. XD Then I covered everything in 2 layers of black flexipaint (which is a water-based flexible paint/primer that works really well on foam). After that, I worked with regular artist's acrylic paint. Above you can see the first layer being applied with dry-brushing.

Then I went over it with a dark brown wash to make it look dirty (mix black & brown acrylic paint with water & apply liberally)

Then I went over it again with bronze by applying the paint with my fingers, wearing a plastic glove. (Same tutorial as before.) making sure I don't get any paint in the scratches. And then finally, another dark brown wash to make it all look nicely weathered. I did accidentally remove some paint by going over it too often with the wash, but it wasn't too hard to fix.

And this is the costume test, after adding velcro! It's really easy to put on and take off. I'm a bit worried about the velcro on the sides, but I can always add straps on the outside if it doesn't hold up.

Next was the badge:

I referenced a pin badge that came out as a collectible a few years ago (sadly out of stock), cause I love the design! Carved in the letters and lines by drawing on it with a ballpoint pen and applying a lot of pressure. Then painted it with the same process as the breastplate, just with copper instead of bronze.

And just for funsies: here's the back of the breastplate in all its glorious mess XD

On the right side you can see how I attached the badge: By cutting a slit through the breastplate and making a velcro attachment. That way I can remove the badge and add, say, a sprig of lilac, should my fancy take me there. Reason being that our biggest con is in May.

If you know, you know.

Annnnd here it is; the finished breastplate with badge:

I'm honestly having the time of my life. It's a super fun project and I am very excited to see how it turns out! I'm already working on the cape with a good friend of mine (I despise sewing, she loves it XD) and have materials on the way to make some bits of chainmail.

[rubystatic]

Asking For Trouble

I wasn't sure what to write for my first post here. I haven't written for Hazbin Hotel before, but I figured what better introduction to the fandom than a literal introduction between Alastor and the reader? I've had this scene rattling around in my head for a few weeks, so I hope you enjoy it.

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Contents: demonic summoning, Alastor being an eldritch horror, hints of gore, blood, minor self-injury (not sh)

The red paint glistens like fresh blood in the light of the candles. A dozen or more of them, scattered around your living room, resting atop the coffee table, the TV stand, melted onto the top of the bookcase and the windowsill. Thick, black candles you bought from the Halloween clearance sale at the local big box store. You don’t think colour matters, but it felt right for the occasion. If you’re going to do this, you might as well do it right. 

A clear space dominates the centre of the room—all the furniture has been pushed aside, crowding up against the walls to make room. You’ve rolled up the living room rug and propped it against the stairs. 

When you first moved into your basement apartment, you were dismayed to discover that it had a poured concrete floor, and that the landlord hadn’t bothered to put in carpet or laminate or even cheap lino. However, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the rent price was such a steal, you didn’t dare question him on it in case he decided he wanted a less whiny tenant. 

You have reason to be grateful for it now, though. A red pentagram painted on a wooden floor or carpet would be a quick way to make sure you never got back your security deposit. A bit of turpentine and it’ll be like this never happened. 

Assuming that you’re still alive. If this even works.

The thing that started it all, a simple black notebook—some Moleskine rip-off—sits open at the edge of your circle, along with a whole mess of measuring implements. A simple protractor wasn’t good enough for something like this. You’d had to buy some stuff off the internet, and now your Amazon recommendations looked like a geometry professor’s wet dream. 

And there I was, thinking 10th grade math would never get me anywhere in the real world. 

You pick up the notebook, glancing between the scrawled diagrams and measurements and your own summoning circle. It looks right. It had better be, since you spent all afternoon hunched over, painting it with dollar store acrylic paints. Oh, and your life depends on it. Can’t forget that much. 

The notebook is a journal of sorts. You found it behind the bookcase when you first moved in, wedged there and forgotten. The pages are covered in the feverish scrawl of a previous resident. At first you felt a little weird about reading it, but curiosity overcame any moral quandary you had in the end. 

The journal outlines the three month period it took for a young writer to seemingly descend into madness as his work was rejected, over and over. As his girlfriend left him, his father died, and his life fell to pieces. He became more and more desperate, his writing growing erratic. His writing research had already led him down some occult paths, but it seemed he’d decided to pursue them even further.

Which was you’ve come to be kneeling on your living room floor, trying to summon a demon.

Taking a deep breath, you flip to the last page, where the invocation is written, the pen almost tearing through the paper in some places. It’s the last entry. 

You reach out, and use your fingertips to push a plate of venison over the boundary line, into the centre of the pentagram. The meat is a dark, pinkish red, practically pulsing with blood and vitality, as the journal instructs. 

Getting it necessitated a trip outside city limits to a questionable butcher in the countryside who specialised in game meat. The journal is very clear—it has to be fresh. Supermarket meat won’t cut it.

Everything is in place. There’s nothing left to do but begin.

You take a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you lift the journal, holding it open. You have a strange feeling of duality, that you’re both at once powerful and ridiculous. Someone tearing open the veil between worlds to seek higher (or lower) power, and someone playing pretend. 

You force yourself to ignore the latter, pushing it aside and holding onto the image that what you’re doing is going to work. Faith is important, even if it isn’t invested wisely. 

“Let—”

Oh, shit, you’ve forgotten a step. 

Dropping the journal in your haste, you reach for the small pen knife lying at the edge of the circle. Gritting your teeth, you tighten your grip on the wooden handle, and make a small cut on the side of your thumb. Holding your fist out over the circle, you let a few beads of blood, looking almost black in the candle light, splatter the venison. 

You open a bandaid and slap it over the cut, pleased you haven’t completely sliced your palm open like they do in movies. Don’t they know how long that takes to heal? 

Anyway, back to the demon summoning. 

“Let this offering of flesh and blood open the veil between the earthly realm and the depths of Hell,” you read aloud, your voice becoming stronger with every word.

No wonder that writer guy couldn’t get his shit published if this is how he wrote everything. Despite the stilted prose, you keep reciting it aloud, just glad it’s not in Latin, or worse, rhyming. 

“I summon you, o’ Deal Maker, Keeper of Bargains, Purchaser of Souls—” 

Seriously? Writer of Bullshit, more like. 

“I summon you, Alastor!” 

You hold your breath as the last echoes of your voice fade from the walls, waiting for something to happen. The candles continue to flicker gently, and you can hear the muted hubbub of voices from your neighbour’s TV upstairs. Your knees are starting to hurt from sitting on the floor. 

Sighing, you let the journal drop to the floor. It hasn’t worked. Of course.

Why did you think this was going to work? Summoning a demon of all things—

The candles ripple as if stirred by a breath, then their flames spike upwards, rigid. The light throws shadows across the walls, but the shadows don’t move in the right way. They sway back and forth, almost in a trance, as if the room is tilting side to side. 

The candle flames stretch up and up, thinning out into streamers. The golden glow dims, before blooming a bright, venal red. Your ears fill with the sound of static as the painted lines of the summoning circle begin to glow crimson. Smoke boils up from the centre into a plume of pulsing fog, backlit by the red light and twitching shadows. 

Something very old, buried and half-forgotten in your DNA screams at you to run, but you’re frozen to the spot, gaping as a figure takes form within the smoke. A tall, thin silhouette, long limbs distorted. Ice seeps into your gut.

The smoke clears, leaving an apparition, a demon, in your living room. It is not the monster you expected. No red skin, no black pits for eyes, no fire and brimstone… But whatever he is, he’s definitely not human. 

Stretching from floor to ceiling, he must be seven feet tall or more, with a thin, attenuated form and an inhumanly narrow waist. The demon is a vision in red, from his hair to his suit to his eyes, red on red, his pupils black slits in a sea of glowing crimson. 

It’s his smile that truly terrifies you, though. 

His teeth gleaming, the colour of aged ivory. Two rows of sharp, dagger-like points, ready to sink into flesh, designed to rend and tear. Whatever this creature is, death sustains him. 

Red hair, tipped in black, frames his face in a short bob, and tufts up at the top in what you think might be ears. Two small, black antlers jut from the top of his head. 

The static in  your ears crescendos like a wave crashing over your head, and the demon’s smile widens. He hums to himself, his voice a crackle, and looks around your meagre apartment. Finally, his gaze comes to rest back on you, the most interesting thing here.

“My, my,” he says, a strange, Transatlantic twang to his voice, “it’s been a while since someone summoned me. You really know how to set the mood, don’t you? Summoning circle, candles, and what’s this?” 

He leans down to pick up the plate of venison. Your blood has seeped into the meat by now, indistinguishable from the dead deer’s blood. The demon uses his gloved hand to pick up a morsel of the meat, his red eyes widening in pleasure, before popping it into his mouth like an hors d'oeuvre. 

“Delicious,” he praises. “Not a bit of fat on it, either. How did you know venison is my favourite?”

Before you can answer, his gaze lights upon the abandoned journal. He lets out a chuckle that’s half radio static. 

“Oh, that old thing. I should have known!” He slaps his knee in an over-the-top display of amusement. “You’re all so eager to throw yourselves into the Abyss! Humans, lemmings, what’s the difference?!”

The demon pretended to wipe a tear of mirth from his eye, before finally paying attention to you again. His grin cranked up a notch, practically splitting his face in half, and his hooded red eyes gleamed at you. 

“I haven’t introduced myself. How remiss of me. The name’s Alastor. A pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

The static in his voice fuzzed out, leaving behind a raspy baritone.

“Now, what can I do for you, darling?”

[running-with-kn1ves]

Helloo, I hope you're doing well, if you could I was wondering if you could please do a yandere L Lawliet x reader story, it can be any plot you'd like. THANK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY🦆

A/N: I have yet to write anything for death note 'til now so here's my poor attempt at trying to write L 😅

Synopsis: You are interrogated by a certain stalker-y detective through a twisted turn of events.

TW: Yandere themes, stalking, death (non-canonical character), abuse of power

Word Count: 1200

“After he clutched his chest he just…fell.” 

“....I see.” 

L sat with a notepad and pen in his hand, watching you intently from the other side of the coffee table. You picked up your drink with shaking hands, avoiding the detective’s prying eyes. His dark circles showed his lack of sleep, causing you to mistakenly believe his level of dedication to the case you were discussing. 

“During Mr. Fujioka’s incident, did your spouse happen to be… present with you?” L inquired. 

You sniffled into a crumpled tissue, breath hitching as you tried to answer another one of his prying questions. 

“Uh, no… I’m not dating anyone so.. I was alone.” Your professor’s lifeless body flashed again in your mind, the memory seeming almost hazy and faint now. It happened so fast; one moment you came into his office, asking for last week’s assignments, and the next he was giving his last breath on top his desk above your midterm papers. 

You had feared becoming a suspect, especially with all this “Kira” buzz going around-- but thankfully the man across from you didn’t seem suspicious of you. Inquisitive, but not suspicious. 

“What were your plans after visiting Mr. Fujioka?”

You cleared your throat, dabbing at your eyes once more before sitting up straighter.

“Well, I was just going to head home, maybe stop at the grocery store first… though I doubt I’ll have any time to do that.” you voiced. 

 Trying to wipe the redness from your eyes away, you clenched your shirt to stop from shaking. You assumed the detective must’ve dealt with emotional people all the time-- especially from the recent rise in deaths, but you still felt bad for crying so much. 

Though, you couldn’t be more wrong. L Lawliet did not often deal with witnesses up and close in such a casual manner, especially meaningless ones who were the sole observers to a random professor’s death. If it weren’t for the possible connection of your professor’s heart attack to Kira, L would’ve never gotten this golden opportunity. It seemed luck really had struck him, even though he wasn’t one to particularly believe in “fate.” 

With his knees pulled up to his chest and the empty notepad in his lap, L watched you stare at the coffee table lifelessly. You could hardly give any attention to the males’ strange sitting position or odd attire that did not reflect your average japanese detective, which normally would’ve struck you as strange. 

“Am I… in trouble?” You asked, pulling L out of his thoughts on how oddly fascinating you were when crying. “I mean, am I going to be put in jail until this is all figured out?” 

Your naivety almost made L give a pout of sympathy. How could someone be so wide-eyed and unaware? He kept a straight face despite the confiction your question caused. 

“No, don’t worry. We already have a line of suspects waiting to be interrogated, and you aren’t one of them.” He replied robotically. 

With his fingernail to his mouth, the detective tilted his head as you gave a smile of relief, pushing back more thoughts of your twitching professor and his red face. 

“But one more thing,” Getting up from the opposing couch, L moved to sit beside you. “This incident is very important; you may be a vital piece to our discovery of Kira, as a witness to one of his attacks.” 

L placed his hand near your limp one, pinky nearly touching yours. He looked to make eye contact with you, curious to see those glassy eyes that he had been staring at from behind a monitor for months. 

“I believe a followup might be necessary… There’s a few more questions I’d like to ask you regarding your relation to Mr. Fujioka.” 

You nodded your head, listening intently as the detective dared to push his hand closer to yours. He could feel the heat from your body next to him, your hand so close yet inches too far. He continued to speak though his mind wouldn’t move away from the fact that you were within touching reach, when days ago he could only caress you from behind a computer screen and paper pictures. 

“Perhaps tomorrow? Unfortunately my schedule is quite rigid, though I think I can fit you in during… lets say, eight? I’d be happy to make it worth your while.”

You moved your hand away to grab another tissue, balling it into your fist onto your lap. L bit his lip at seeing you move away, clenching his teeth though not moving. 

“A-alright.” You forced an answer, not daring to reject his proposal out of fear of being seen as noncompliant. You couldn’t afford to get mixed up with the police right now, and this was your best bet on getting this whole situation dealt with. Besides, its not like you could say no to a detective.

“I’ll have someone contact you tomorrow on where to meet. Please be sure to only bring yourself, and wear something… mildly formal.”

You batted your eyes a few times, surprised at the rules regarding another questioning. But you didn’t dare to bring up your confusion, only nodding and holding tightly to your tissues. 

L on the other hand, couldn’t believe your complete willingness. You didn’t raise any questions, going along with his proposition and even smiling at him. If he knew meeting you would be this easy, he would’ve acted far sooner! Though all areas of reasoning pointed to you behaving oppositely, he didn’t mind this twist of events. He already had thoughts on where he’d take you first tomorow. Of course, it’d all be under the guise of the investigation, but he knew if you stayed this trusting the entire time he’d have no problem taking you out to dinner and a nice romantic stroll. 

You allowed him to walk you out of the comfortable faux interrogation room-- which truthfully was one of the police buildings’ lounge rooms that were far more comforting than the cold steel of the REAL interrogation room. Once L caught wind that you were going to be questioned, he couldn’t sit still, taking over all decisions regarding your interrogation. 

Gripping tightly onto your used tissues, you listened to L speak eloquently on the case and your future questioning “date.” The words hardly entered your head though, your mind too focused on how you were going to enter class tomorrow. How you were going to finish your studies without a teacher. And how your professor’s family would react on the news you knew far beforehand.

L looked at you with sunken eyes, giving a twisted, creepy smile. He lifted the corners of his mouth like you did, his hunched over frame causing a shadow to cast over his face, bangs nearly covering his eyes as he grinned. 

The look was…. Odd, to say the least. And yet-- you smiled back, trying to cover up the fact that you had not heard a word he said within the past several minutes. Handing you your bag, the detective hesitantly put a hand to your back as you continued to walk out. You didn't flinch or move away like he had fretted. Instead, you almost leaned into the touch, feeling a small amount of comfort after such a stressful evening. 

If you stayed this trusting, keeping you to himself might be far easier than L thought.

[tsxkkis]

tadashi yamaguchi - cooking genius

a/n = finally found some time to write something with the mess that is school starting last week, and i'm not really the happiest with this work to be honest T-T also i've been reading one piece lately and i absolutely LOVE sanji hence why using his character in this fic

summary = a (not so) secret admirer starts leaving lunches on your desk everyday at school.

warnings = nothing really, pure fluff.

yamaguchi was feeling gloomy from the moment you turned the tv on.

the two of you had a tradition; two times every week, you would meet up at either your or his house, watching different tv shows and movies together as a way to relax from school, volleyball, and other stressful things filling your lives. it was a perfect deal; you finally had someone to talk to about your current hyperfixations, and thanks to you, he finally had the motivation to watch all the things he never truly picked up.

so when you suggested rewatching your childhood favorite series, one piece, he was more than happy to agree. well, at least at first.

a grimace was almost stuck to his face the whole time since a certain blonde cook appeared on the screen, taking in all of your comments about your favorite character as the episodes went by. he listened as you gushed over the blonde, pupils almost heart-shaped at the sight of him in every scene, mumbling something along the lines of loving guys who can cook well as your hands went to grab the snacks.

but somehow, his lack of excitement went unnoticed by you; your focus being completely and utterly on the screen, invested in the story you already knew by heart. what you did notice, though, was a bento box lying on your desk at school a few days later, with a small note on top of it.

'made these just for you :)'

your head immediately turned towards yamaguchi, a tap on the shoulder being enough for him to turn around to you with a questioning look on his face.

"did you see who left it here?" yamaguchi shook his head in response, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you sat down and opened the box, eyes scanning the food inside.

you barely missed the faint blush and shy smile on your friend's face as he watched you notice all your favorite foods inside, digging into one of them with the happiest look in your eyes.

as days went by, more and more boxes appeared on your desk, the food in each one, to your surprise, tasting better than previous meals you got. each one came with another sweet note; whether a compliment or just something nice to make you smile for the rest of the day. before you knew it, you were stuck wondering who could it be; yamaguchi being the victim of listening to all your (terribly wrong) speculations about who might be behind all of this. 

"ahh, i wish i knew who it is." you mumbled under your breath, pen scribbling little doodles on your english notebook, the empty box lying next to it with a few crumbs of the food inside. "you know, i might just marry them on the spot."

yamaguchi's eyes widened hearing those words, a faint blush on his face as he listened to your rambling, tsukishima's comment of how corny you were being going completely unnoticed by him.

he could hear the exciting squeals from you when the next day at school, the note on your bento box was something completely different than before.

'meet me at the history section in the library after classes, please :)'

when the bell rang, signaling the end of your last class that day, you ran to the place as fast as you could, breath shortening with each passing moment as the adrenaline mixed with stress ran through your body.

the history books section was one at the very end of the library, your steps slowing down as you approached the place. when your head finally turned to face the person hiding behind everything that's been making you smile for the last few weeks, you almost couldn't believe it.

"you came." a shy smile appeared on yamaguchi's face, hands trembling as he took in your surprised expression. "i- i was a bit scared you'd back out last second because you changed your mind or somethi-"

"it was you this whole time?"

your body froze, a thousand thoughts flooding your mind all at once. how did you miss the fact that it was yamaguchi? he was the only one who could possibly know you so well to pull this off.

the only one who could actually put in so much effort.

seeing yamaguchi nod in answer made your body react before your mind could even fully comprehend the situation; arms wrapping tightly around the boy's figure, head hidden in the crook of his neck. soon enough you could feel his hands creeping around your waist as well, unsure movements as he gently pulled you even closer to him.

"you said you liked guys who can cook well," his words were a faint whisper as he started explaining, the lack of eye contact with you in this very moment helping him properly voice his thoughts. "tsukishima said it was stupid and i should confess to you already because in his words, it's obvious you feel the same way."

"well, he was right about one thing, at least."

you pulled away from the hug, eyes locking with his as your hands made their way to his, gently squeezing them. yamaguchi had no idea what made his face more red at that moment; the fact that you could feel just how shaky his hands were, or the fact that you just admitted to liking him back.

"i've always liked you, tadashi." hearing those words, he thought he was imagining things. and yet, this whole situation was really happening; it wasn't another one of his stupid dreams, another dumb fantasy of his. "you've just given me another reason to do so now."

yamaguchi blinked. once, twice. his body was frozen on the spot, and yet somehow he managed to let a few words out, said so quietly that you almost didn't hear them.

"so, does that mean... you'll go out with me?"

you leaned in, placing a quick kiss on his cheek, and you could swear that you heard him gasp as you did so.

"i would love to."

taglist: @ox1-lovesick @moonswolfie @wyrcan

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

Season 1 episode 7 [The Thing Lay Still] - part 3/3

- Okay, the triple confrontation Daniel/Louis, Daniel/Armand and Louis/Louis is long but there's so much to say, I have to quote it entirely:

[Daniel] "Well, isn't that neat and tidy?" - THANK YOU DANIEL, I know I can always count on you to point out the flaws and holes in the fabric of Louis' recollection.

[Louis] "'There was a ship. We did get on it.'

[Daniel] 'Yeah, I read that, the first 50 pages. Not exactly the, uh, adventure-of-our-lives feeling I'm feeling.'

[Louis] 'It was a traumatic escape.'

[Daniel] 'Yeah, but she didn't say that explicitly. […] But, um… there's a feeling that she hated your guts there for a while. Why is that?'"

Trust Daniel to always see the little thing that would be inconsequential to anyone else.

[Louis] "'I was haunted by my brother's death, by the abandonment of my sister, by the murder of Lestat, I…'

[Daniel] 'Murder? What murder? It was an act of mercy. You didn't kill Lestat. You spared him out of some fucked-up idea you had about love.'

[Louis] 'Love? I bled him like a pig and waited for the death rattle.'"

Oh, Louis. You are so good at lying to yourself. Good thing Daniel's too much of an excellent investigative reporter to let you fool him like you're fooling yourself. Notice how Louis looks as Daniel undoes all his lies and smoke mirrors? Like he's still trying to cling so hard to the story he's told himself for the past 80 years, like the lie is the only thing that keeps him upright, like if he admits the love, admits he wanted to save Lestat, that would completely undo him and there would be no going back?

[Daniel] "You were shot point-blank by an alderman. You were dropped a thousand feet and survived. You torched Antoinette just to make sure. Where does the trash go, Louis? You take the trash down to the street, some guys show up in a truck and they throw it in the back, and then, they drive it out to the middle of nowhere, right? No. They take the trash to the dump. And having lived two blocks away from the dump just outside of Fishkill, New York, with my first wife, I can state, with authority, what else you'll find there. Rats. Big fucking rats, the size of Kevin Durant's sneakers. Enough blood in them to bring back the dead. Especially one in a trunk with locks on the inside. You knew it, Louis. You had to. The biggest rat eater of them all."

Thank you for bringing back Moonlight Sonata! Haven't figured out yet if it's intra or extradiegetic tho. I love its presence in this episode. It's my favourite piece of classical music (I know, very original) and it's so gothic par excellence.

Mention of the first wife, Alice/Armand, no, I will not get down from this hill.

I love how Daniel's theory posit Louis as having done some planning for himself outside of Claudia's and even Lestat's, with the trunks locking on the inside and the rats needed to revive.

[Rashid/Armand] "'This session is over.'

[Daniel] 'How many days in the Islamic year? How many names are there for Allah?'

[Rashid/Armand] '355 and 99.'

[Daniel] 'Why does a 200-pound bouncer pass out after he sucks him off, and you, a wet T-shirt away from 130, doesn't even blink?'"

Ha, Daniel said 'okay who the eff are you and why am I smelling bullshit'. Meanwhile Armand said 'oh shit we're getting too close to dangerous waters and Louis is about to lose it, better reassert control'. But also, Muslim!Armand. Definitely. Not a throwaway line, not just pretence. Rolin Jones I'm counting on you to not fuck this up.

[Louis] "'I couldn't burn him.'

[Daniel] 'But Claudia could.'

[Louis] 'No', she couldn't.'

[Daniel] 'She stuck a pen in his neck. She recorded his last words in his own blood. The girl did not have a fuckin' problem tossing him on the grill, okay?'"

And Louis' wall of lies is breaking and shattering… And the pebbles of the zen garden, his other big trauma, don't help either…

[Daniel] "You cursed her into the darkness. You chose Lestat over her time and time again. You don't need a memoir, Louis. You need a hundred sessions of EMDR. You know the shit they put soldiers through when they see one of their platoon buddies get blown up in front of them?"

Say it, Daniel! These messy vamps need therapy.

Making jokes to avoid the sheer anguish in Louis' face, voice and body language, both in the 1940 flashback (the image of Louis holding Lestat's body and yelling is tattooed on my eyelids) and in 2022 (Louis sitting in his zen garden hugging and rocking himself, eyes screwed shut, trying to block Daniel and Armand's voices and the memories lives rent free in my mind).

[Daniel] "'144 years and you're still Louis the Pimp, paying a whore to sit in a room and talk with you. 'Cause why? You got some story you wanna tell the whole world about yourself?'

[Rashid/Armand] 'When you hear it you'll be ashamed, ashamed of what you say to him now!'"

Please don't hold back, Danny, do tell us what you think exactly. But hey, Louis needs to hear it.

The fuck are you talking about, Armand… Also notice how agitated he is? Feeling protective of Louis, or feeling like he's losing control of the interview, the interviewee and the interviewer all at once?

Love Armand taking off is gloves in the background. So subtle, so crucial. And then the lenses.

[Daniel] "'This is the same shit that happened in San Francisco.'

[Louis] 'Not exactly.'

[Daniel] 'How is it any different, Louis?'

[Armand] 'This time I won't save your life. Louis can sometimes act out. I protect him from himself, always have. Stopped him that night in San Francisco.'"

Oh, hello, Armand's decided to play Superman. Aaaaah, Armand's orange eyes, I love them!!!

Can we talk about Armand's infantilisation of Louis? "He acts out, I protect him from himself"… Like a child that can't regulate his feelings and needs to be put on time's out. The manipulation is deep and multi-layered, it's not just the memory alteration. Notice how Louis is pretty much dissociating, staring at the grey wall, face slowly becoming inexpressive and voice returning to flat and empty, from the moment Armand started telling off Daniel?

[Daniel] "'You were there.'

[Louis] 'You don't remember.'

[Daniel] 'No, I don't remember.'

[Louis] 'What was that you said about memory? 'A monster', was it?'

[Daniel] 'But I saw you standing in the sun.'

[Armand] 'As we age, the sun loses its power over us. What's a mediocre star to a 514-year-old vampire?'

[Louis] 'Daniel Molloy, I'd like you to meet the vampire Armand, the love of my life.'"

One, don't be too cocky, Louis, there's plenty you don't remember about that night too yourself.

Two, and we've come full circle again, the monster memory making itself fully known after lurking all season long.

Three, shut up Armand, the Sun is not a mediocre star, it's part of the entire reason there's life on this planet, show some respect. Sun deities are some of the most frequent deities around the globe. You need to come back down to earth.

Four, all the books being out of reach to Louis, another way Armand's exerting subtle control.

Five, "love of my life", BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAGA *deep breath* HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA, that line kills me every time I hear time. Why you lying Louis, stop fucking lying all the time. Sorry, Armand.

Daniel seeing them side by side and hearing that stupid line after listening to Louis ramble and compose poetry on the spot about Lestat for the past week or so: "hm. I sense bullshit of the highest degree. Time to destroy that whole tower of lies one by one.".

Aaaaaaaaaah, that was such a rich and intense episode!!!! What a grandiose season 1 final!!! So many different elements that have got to be revisited by other perspectives to get the full painting. So many seeds planted for season 2 and even season 3!! The writing is flawless, the acting is exquisite, the music is gorgeous, the costume, set design and stage direction are masterful. I am in love with this show.

ep1 | ep2 | ep3 | ep4 | ep5 | ep6 | part 1 | part 2

[zhalfirin-binds]

WIP - wheels whithin wheels (see the finished bind here)

decorating the case (hot tooling vs. cold tooling) It took me a while to give up on trying to find anything online that was anything like what I pictured for case decoration. So eventually I gave it a shot on my own.

I drew and re-drew the designs, copied them to size, did rough cut outs to arrange on the case and traced them through sketching paper. Which in return was fixed to the inside of the case so it would not shift while I was tracing and became my guide for tooling.

It took me several passes with different tools to get a nice imprint, but it was still not very distinct.

So finally I moistened the leather slightly and broke out a foil pen thing to go over the pattern with heat.

Last step was colouring the case, I did one copy first just in case it looks terrible, then there would still be a 'good' copy to send out to my typesetter.

For colouring I used a fine brush and gouache water colour and mixed it with methylcellulose to make the colours stick without smudging. Does it work? Well, for now it does. I haven't carried it around, but it withstood reading, I guess that's good enough. Was it necessary to add some glue to the paint? Who knows? I used watercolours once and they were kind of easy to brush off once they'd dried. So it felt like a good idea to prevent that by adding some methylcellulose glue.

This little piece of cardboard had a role too btw. I used it to even out the backside of the case and avoid having a step between the leather and the board. So when I drew on the case there was no area that could give and ruin the lines. I also taped the sketch paper guide to it.

[midorisudachi]

“The Inquisitor And Her Commander”

As some of you may have noticed, I am a huge fan of the Dragon Age games, especially Dragon Age Inquisition. Last year, I had planned on drawing all the main [playable] characters up until Dragon Age Day (which took place on December 4th), but I just didn’t have time to draw more than three characters (the Inquisitor, Solas, & Varric…please check them out in my gallery) due to being busy with work and other things. I’ll eventually draw the other characters when I gather more motivation to do so.

For now, please enjoy this piece. I hope everybody likes this. I worked very hard on this artwork. It took longer than usual to create, due to all the small details, the poses, & the armour. (Armour is not easy to draw for me!) For those of you who are DAI fans, you may recognize the flowers: Crystal Grace on the bottom and Andraste’s Grace on the top. I know Andraste’s Grace is not in DAI, but I thought it would be pretty to add to the artwork (since it technically exists in the Thedas world).

 My OC Inquisitor is named Bryony Trevelyan. She is actually my 2nd Inquisitor character, the first one having been an elf (which I may draw someday). I had been playing DAI for the 3rd time, a few months ago, as a male character (since I wanted him to be in a romance with Dorian, so yes, my male Inquisitor is gay), but I stopped for a bit since I am playing Skyrim at the moment (with updates & mods). Anyway, back on the main subject: I drew Inquisitor Bryony Trevelyan in the Armor of the Dragon Hunter outfit (from the Jaws of Hakkon DLC), which I had altered the colours by tinting it with Veil Quartz. I based her crown from concept art for DAI. So much armour in the game! Which I love, especially since the DA games don’t give female characters the stereotypical skimpy outfits…I love that I get to make my female characters wear bad-ass armour.

Cullen Rutherford is such an adorable and slightly awkward character around my Inquisitor. I knew I had to romance him right away, because his looks are the type of man I am attracted to in real life. (I’m not going to lie…in the game, he’s hot for a video game character. Ha ha!) I’ve always enjoyed the flirting in the DA games when it comes to the relationships. The best scene was right before their first kiss, when Cullen got interrupted by a member of the Inquisition, and then got mad about it. Ha ha. I liked when my Inquisitor asked Cullen, “The day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?” And Cullen replied (with a laugh), “Longer that I should admit.” Awwwww.

I also liked the part in the Winter Palace, when all these people were flirting with Cullen, and one asked him, “Are you married, Commander?” And Cullen replied, “Not yet, but I am…already taken.” Double awwww, because a loyal man is so dreamy. :3 I actually had Bryony & Cullen get married in the last DLC. :3 They adopt a Mabari (dog), too!

I love DAI too much. :D It’s such a fun game with the most gorgeous graphics (especially on the Xbox Series X).

Drawn with Sakura Pigma Micron pens, then coloured in with a mixture of Copic Markers & Ohuhu Markers. I used Koi Watercolours for the background. White accents done with both a gel pen and white watercolour. Gold acrylic was used for the Inquisition Symbol & the lines, which the scanner absolutely murders...the gold is such a pretty, shimmery metallic in real life. The light green around my art was done in Photoshop Elements.

Dragon Age Inquisition © Bioware & Electronic Arts

Fan artwork © Jacqueline E. McNeese

[ccbb2222]

You Know I Hate it When You Cry: Part 1. Rooster x Reader

Wellll here we are. I wrote an entire piece last week that got deleted and maybe it was for the best...here's take 2.

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader pairing

Summary: Something stirs in Rooster when he sees the new bartender holding back tears.

Warnings: *** This story contains Mentions of Abuse (physical, emotional, sexual)*** Please be advised this could be triggering. Angst, Eventual Smut, Protective and adorable Rooster.

18+ Minors DNI.

"You don't get to just FUCKING walk away!" A voice yelled through your phone speaker as you sat in the parking lot of the Hard Deck. Tears brim your eyes as your hands shake uncontrollably.

"I- I know, I'm, I'm sorry," You try to stutter out before being cut off immediately.

"You think I don't know what you're up to?" A dark laugh echoes after his cutting words, "You escape back to Miramar, fuck some naval men and come crawling back? You fucking slut."

His words cut deep, and you feel a chill run through you at the malice behind them. "I need to go," You force out. "Don't call me again."

Quickly ending the call, you block the number before more texts can force their way through.

Something I see: the steering wheel. Something I feel: the rough denim of my jeans. Something I smell: my perfume on my wrist. Something I hear: the faded music from the Hard Deck.

Taking deep breaths, you slowly ground yourself back to the present. You wipe your sweaty palms against your thighs and open your car door. You could leave him in San Francisco in a cloud of dust, but he knew where you ran to. It was only a matter of time.

Breathing out a shaky exhale, you open the door to the bar and plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"Hey baby!" Penny greets you with a grin. She's standing behind the bar filling up a glass with the latest draft beer.

"Hi Pen," You greet, walking towards her and ducking under the bar, placing your purse in the bin beneath.

"Doing okay tonight?" She asks with a skeptical look. Penny always knows when something is wrong, but she never pried.

She welcomed you in, tear stained and bruised when you showed up unannounced at her home just over two weeks ago. You cried in her arms that evening: the loss of what was once a magical romance, the life you thought you built in San Francisco. And although Penny, a family friend for as long as you could remember, was there to hold you, you just wished for your mother. Your supportive, goofy, and loving mother whose life was cut short by an untreatable cancer.

So as Penny, the closest thing you had left, gave you that look, you couldn't help the tears that slowly started to line your eyes.

"I can't talk about it now, Penny," You say, wiping at your eyes, "I want to just get through tonight, if that's okay?"

She nods with a sad smile, "Whatever you gotta do, baby. I'm here when you need me."

Unbeknownst to you, a certain brown haired aviator took in this conversation from across the bar. Ever since you started working at the hard deck about a week ago, he couldn't help but keep tabs on you. You were gorgeous. A bit shy, a little timid, but always laughed at his jokes and were always a good sport about Hangman's relentless flirting.

Your very first shift he had introduced himself and the rest of the Dagger Crew, giving you the scoop on the regulars and taking the time to learn more about you. What he knew about you was...admittedly not a lot. While you were kind and offered smiles to him, he knew you were guarded.

"What's got you so upset?" He softly asks to himself, leaning against the pool table and blatantly ignoring Bob who attempted to rehash today's training to him.

"Rooster," Hangman calls from the dartboard not even looking in his direction, "Stop staring and go talk to her."

"I'm not staring at her." Bradley defends.

"Uh, yeah okay." Phoenix snorts into her beer. "Seriously Bradshaw, it's getting pathetic. Go talk to her."

He sends her a glare before pushing off the pool table and heading in your direction.

"Hey there," You hear a soft familiar voice greet you.

Placing down the glass you were drying you notice Rooster standing in front of you, a soft smile on his face. "Hey Bradley, what can I get you?"

"Oh, just another draft please," He says, then runs a nervous hand through his hair.

You nod and start to fill a glass for him, noticing his free hand drumming a pattern on the bar top.

"Are you, uh, doing okay?" He asks before he can stop himself.

The question catches you off guard, so much so that you forget to turn off the tap and Rooster's beer overflows in your hand. "Oh shit!" You say, quickly turning off the tap, dumping the now frothy beer, and starting over. "Sorry," You collect yourself, the embarrassment turning your cheeks pink, "I'm okay."

"It's just that I noticed you looked a little upset earlier," He tries to not sound like a creep, and man, if he could just stuff these words back into his mouth, then he'd do it in a heartbeat. "I'm sorry," Rooster backtracks, "It's none of my business." He puts his hands up and then places them back on the bar top. The drumming starts over as his fingers nervously tap a rhythm against the wood.

"Thank you for asking," You hand him his beer with a small smile, "That's really sweet. Just some boyfriend trouble is all." You explain.

Rooster's face falls. He didn't realize you were taken. He also didn't like the fact that someone out there was making you feel this way. It made his fists clench. "I'm sorry to hear that," he manages.

"Well," You place your hands on the bar and push your body back, reaching for the dishrag. "I guess more like ex boyfriend problems. I don't know anymore. And I won't bore you with the details."

His head snaps up at the muttering of "ex", and all he can think is, tell me all the details, darling.

A few more officers approach and you realize you need to cut your conversation with Bradley short. "I should uh," you motion to the group waiting to place drink orders.

"Oh right, of course." He nods, before quickly adding, "You working tomorrow night?"

You nod, and smile when you see his eyes light up.

"Great, well, I'll see you tomorrow night." He says, turning to walk back to the group of aviators who instantly make fun of him.

"Bradley Bradshaw, huh?" Penny says to you as you fill another beer.

"Shut up, Penny." You say with a laugh and an eye roll.

"All I'm saying is, you were in tears when you walked in, and one conversation with that guy has you smiling ear to ear." She says with a shrug and a wink.

"He's cute, I'll give him that," You let her gloat for a few seconds before you remind her of the painful reality. "He just has no idea what he would be signing up for."

Surely Bradley wouldn't want a girl who wakes up shaking and panicking in the middle of the night, an ex that somehow still contacts her even though she blocked his number time and time again, and ugly, tender bruises littering her abdomen.

He needed someone fun and carefree. He already had a stressful enough life as a fighter pilot.

So as he offered you a smile once again from across the bar, you give him a half smile back before avoiding him completely.

He was too good of a man, and you wouldn't take him down with you.

_______________________________________________

Soooooo thoughts? Part 2!

Throughout this, we'll see Reader struggling a lot with self esteem and not feeling good enough or worthy of love.

I'm really excited though for her and Bradley's relationship to grow. Lots of soft Rooster, protective Rooster, and sexy Rooster ahead.

[mollywog]

A list of people Katniss Prim’s-the-only-person-in-the-world-I'm-certain-I-love Everdeen loves (in the order mentioned in the text)

Prim

How could I leave Prim, who is the only person in the world I'm certain I love?

Rue

Sing. My throat is tight with tears, hoarse from smoke and fatigue. But if this is Prim's, I mean, Rue's last request, I have to at least try. The song that comes to me is a simple lullaby, one we sing fretful, hungry babies to sleep with. It's old, very old I think. Made up long ago in our hills. What my music teacher calls a mountain air. But the words are easy and soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece of time we call today.

[proceeds to sing a song]

The final lines are barely audible.

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

Peeta

It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Prim, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin.

But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch?

And now I know. It's because you have no choice.

* There are other instances- just sighting the first

Haymitch

I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall - Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first. When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic.

Additional Notes:

Katniss doesn’t talk about feeling a sense of debt to Haymitch, even though he continually helps keep her alive. This feels significant, and I choose to believe it’s because she considers him family

Haymitch is included in the running away from D12 scheme because she can’t leave him

After the bombing in D13 and failed propo she only wants to be comforted by Haymitch “because he loves Peeta, too.”

Gale

"I've heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain."

Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it's been packed in snow coat.

Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say Ilove Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it.

Madge

I nod and go straight to my room. I sit on the bed, knowing I will never write those letters. They will be like the speech I tried to write to honor Rue and Thresh in District 11. Things seemed clear in my head and even when I talked before the crowd, but the words never came out of the pen right. Besides, they were meant to go with embraces and kisses and a stroke of Prim's hair, a caress of Gale's face, a squeeze of Madge's hand. They cannot be delivered with a wooden box containing my cold, stiff body.

Too heartsick to cry, all I want is to curl up on the bed and sleep until we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. But I have a mission. No, it's more than a mission. It's my dying wish. Keep Peeta alive. And as unlikely as it seems that I can achieve it in the face of the Capitol's anger, it's important that I be at the top of my game. This won't happen if I'm mourning for everyone I love back home. Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.

Honorable Mention

(She at minimum cares about and feels responsible for these people - love could be implied.)

Mrs. Everdeen - Katniss loves Prim, Prim loves their mother, Katniss at minimum feels responsible for her mother if only for her sisters sake

The Hawthornes - She provided for their family from the woods after Gale starts work in the mines. They are included as part of her escape plan in CF. She gets Hazelle the job working for Haymitch when times are lean.

Finnick and Johanna - Come on! She doesn’t say as much, but she loves them, right?

District 12 - she altered the Lady the Goat story to protect people back home. Also Greasy Sae.

Cinna

Effie

Please add your thoughts!

* Inspired by this question

[samieree]

Part 2!

Heimdall x reader (Greek Goddess)

Many of you liked this shot, so I decided to write the second part 😁 Enjoy! 💕

-> part 1

~

Apparently you two were supposed to talk today, so you were waiting for Heimdall to come talk… But it was late and you were still sitting in your room waiting for something that probably will never happen.

Was he just playing with you? He messed with your intimacy and decided to leave it like that? Was he trying to prove something or what?

You still remembered the warmth of his body, his hand in your hair as he gently combed it… and most importantly, you remembered how he brushed his lips lightly against yours. It was a very short and fleeting moment, but it was etched in your memory. You ran your finger slowly over your bottom lip as you thought about that moment, then shook your head.

You were supposed to talk today and he blew you off. He doesn't deserve you to think about him. Right?

You shouldn't care at all. It's that asshole's loss, not yours. Besides, you two don't even match… Okay, who exactly are you trying to fool? You couldn't just stop thinking about him, especially when it started to look like you two might get along…

Determined, you grabbed a piece of paper, ink, and a pen, and sat down at your desk to write a letter. At first you let out all your anger at him, but the more you wrote, the softer your words became. And you ended up writing the last line with tears already running down your cheeks and smearing the last words about how you feel about him. You set the pen aside and quickly wiped the tears from your face with the back of your hand. What did it get you to cry because of… Love… Even when you had your episode with Ares, it wasn't like that. Maybe a little after he died, but it was so long ago you can't even remember.

You got up from the table, leaving a letter on it. You weren't so sure if you wanted to give it to him anymore... Now you needed air most of all after waiting in the room all day. Maybe you can drop it off at his door later, but you'll see.

* * *

The walk definitely improved your mood, especially since you also met Sif, with whom you chatted and joked a bit. You've almost forgotten about your recent minor meltdown.

You were almost to your room when suddenly someone covered your eyes with some fabric  and pulled you back. This mysterious individual stopped against the wall while you were now leaning your body against his.

“Just don't scream like a slaughtered pig, no one's going to kidnap you, sunshine. At least in theory.” So Heimdall hasn't forgotten that you were supposed to talk today?

Just what was he actually doing? Did he make up another stupid game, this time blindfolding you?

“In theory?” you replied, trying to get the fabric off your eyes, but Heimdall slapped lightly your hand quickly as soon as you did.

“Appreciate that I'm trying at all.” he murmured. You felt him tie the shawl behind you so he doesn't have to hold it all the time.  Then he came out from behind you, firmly grabbing your hand.

“It's dark anyway, and I can't see much.”

“Stop or I'll leave you right here.” You giggled and didn't say anything else, just nodded.  Maybe you were supposed to be offended by him, but you were too curious about what he came up with…

You were already surprised that he would do such a thing at all.  You'd never expect any surprises from him, except for some stupid jokes. But you hoped there would be no silly jokes today.

 “Sta…” He didn't have time to warn you, you already tripped over a stair you forgot existed.  Fortunately, he was ahead of you in time and caught you. “...ir.” he sighed softly.  “I knew it”

“You could have warned earlier.” You replied as you continued walking.

“I could.” Two things intrigued you about this situation. Did he lie that he knew it would happen, or did he want it to happen so he could play the knight on the white horse who saved you from falling.

It would have been nice if he had answered that silent question of yours, but apparently he preferred to remain silent. That's why you decided to assume from his ‘I could’ that he wanted to play your hero. It didn't even bother you.

Suddenly you stopped. You felt him let go of your hand and grab your waist tightly, lifting you up and placing you on what you thought was the saddle, you weren't sure. You were sure of this belief only when you touched what you were sitting on and a little further, realizing that it was Gulltoppr.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked as he sat down behind you. Then he wrapped his arms around you lightly, grabbing the reins. You felt that closeness again, the warmth radiating from his body when you were close. You weren't sure at first, but you leaned back against him, feeling his breath on the side of your forehead now.

“Over some cliff I'll throw you off, or into a lake I'll drown you in, I haven't decided yet. Alternatively, Gulltoppr may eat you.” You rolled your eyes, though of course he couldn't see it, but maybe he sensed it.

“And seriously?”

“Seriously, I'm not going to tell you.” The warmth of his breath transferred to your ear and cheek. “Some trust would be useful, sunshine.” He whispered in your ear and you shivered at his voice.

You didn't expect it, especially since you were blindfolded the whole time, but… You liked it. He must have sensed it because right after that he placed his hands on your thighs as if nothing had happened, which made you tense up even more.

You didn't even know how far you were actually riding, you were too focused on those small gestures that could take your breath away for a moment. Especially every time, when he was gently running his hand over part of your thigh...

You must have finally made it there because his hands disappeared from your thighs and he himself jumped to the ground.

“Come on, jump.” You heard his voice from downstairs. You remained skeptical at first, not moving from your spot. “Don't worry sunshine, I'll catch you.”  You could bet he smiled as he said that.

For lack of a better option - although you could have tried to remove the shawl from your eyes again, but you decided not to spoil the surprise - you simply slid off the saddle. Luckily for you, Heimdall didn't trick you and he caught you, setting you down and taking your hand again, leading you behind him

“You can keep the shawl.” you heard as you stopped again and he started to untie the fabric you had in front of your eyes. It gently descended, landing on your neck, and you finally saw where he took you. “It's yours anyway”

It was this one place by the river, not outside the walls of Asgard. You always liked coming here by yourself, it was probably your favorite place, especially late in the evening, when the moonlight reflected so beautifully on the water, as it does now.

But wait... It's your scarf, so... Was he in your room...? Does that mean he could potentially find your letter to him? No, definitely not… But you left it on the table, damn…

“Okay, first of all…” And here it is, he found the letter.  He just held it in his hand, standing in front of you, maybe one small step away. “I'm surprised by the amount of insults you've come up with for me, I especially like ‘fop’ but the top prize goes to ‘gold teeth piranha’, creative.” You already felt yourself blushing. “Secondly, what did you write at the end? It's so fucking blurry I can't read it.” You averted your gaze.

You remembered exactly what you wrote there, but you tried hard not to think about it. You didn't want him to read it all out of you like an open book. It's enough that he could see that you cried while writing this letter.

“Hey, you wanted to talk, so… talk to me now.” He noticed and stepped closer.

Okay, you only live once. You took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth.  Damn, you're the goddess of love, you shouldn't be embarrassed…!

“I like you.” You said but still didn't look at him.

“Many people like me…”

“I love you and you made me cry today because I thought you totally blew me off and yesterday you were just making fun of me, that…” You were already looking him straight in the eyes when you said it. You watched him slowly walk even closer to you, you only stuttered when he was so close that your bodies were almost touching. “That we have some things in common and… and there could be something between us…”

“Between us? What?” You looked down a little, embarrassed and saddened by the tone of his statement. Besides, you tried hard not to pay attention to the hand, whose fingertips gently traced your neck and shoulders. “Wall? Abyss?” He leaned even more towards you.  His hand had already traveled to your cheek, and his face was close enough that you only had to lean forward slightly for your lips to connect. “Or did you mean love?” You closed your eyes for a moment, making more and more attempts not to cry as soon as he painfully rejects you. Classic Heimdall, sends out conflicting signals all the time, only to hurt someone badly afterwards. “But don't cry, sunshine. If there's one thing that's certain in this world, it's that I'm not lying: We're alike. I'm even willing to risk saying that we could get along. On many levels.

You didn't expect such a twist, but you didn't have much time to think about it. Your lips were finally allowed to meet, which gave you a sudden burst of warmth. You hadn't kissed in so long that for a moment you were afraid you'd forgotten how to do it.

But luckily that moment of shock passed quickly and you soon started kissing back, your hands in his hair, between the braids. Suddenly you felt him grab you under your thighs and lift you up.  You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips and then felt your back crash into the nearest tree.

The heat of his lustful kisses soon descended to your neck and part of your exposed decolletage. You gasped softly at every contact of his mouth and tongue against your skin.  You savored the moment as much as you could, throwing your head back and resting it against the tree trunk, when suddenly…

 You heard a yawn and felt Heimdall lean his head against your breasts, closing his eyes.

“I haven't slept in four days, give me a minute…” He yawned again, cuddling closer to you.

You smiled to yourself and laughed softly, taking his hands from under your thighs and after a moment you were back on the ground. But not for long, because with your back still against the tree, you sat down on the ground, looking at him.

“Come on.” You said and patted your thighs, seeing his surprised expression. He looked at you strangely, obviously not used to this kind of thing at all, but eventually he sat next to you and then lay down, resting his head on your thighs.

Your smile widened as you slowly undid his braids, watching his relaxed expression as he lay there with his eyes closed, resting. Even if no one has ever done it to him like you do now, you could be sure that he likes it and will want to do it again.

You secretly hoped that one day you would be able to lay your head on his thighs and just rest while he would be playing with your hair...

“Sing you a lullaby?” You asked as you saw him start to fall asleep.

“I'm not a child.” He replied, even opening his eyes for a moment to look at you. The fact that it was dark made the unique color of his eyes even more striking. Until you stopped stroking his hair for a while, plunging into your daydreams. “But you can keep on caressing…” These words brought you back to reality.

You chuckled under your breath and continued to brush his hair, humming something softly. You stared at his calm face for a moment, but then you shifted your gaze to the water, which was still reflecting the moonlight. Even though you've seen it so many times, it's still a beautiful sight...

“Maybe we'll go back…?” You wanted to suggest going home so he could sleep in bed, but it looked like he'd already fallen asleep on your thighs… “Sweet dreams, tease.”

~

-> part 3 -> general masterlist -> God of War: Ragnarök masterlist

*some tags for those who seemed to be waiting for part 2* @apocalypticwafflekitten @looking4regi @manymaria111 @grand-admiral-luna @heleciacrow @sp-the-fae-queen @xplore-the-unknwn

[crowncrown]

MORE GENLOSS BRAINROT LETS GOOO

!!!MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!!!

Generation loss’s ending is so incredible I can not STAND IT OH MY GOD I need to write out my thoughts before my brain explodes because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since.

The first episode was an absolute curveball to everyone who’s been keeping up with the spooky ranmail and everything and I’m not gonna lie I was a little nervous about what this show was really gonna be when I was watching it. But the thought process it took behind every detail to make something so goofy actually be horrifying once you understand the context of the next two episodes WAS BRILLIANT. Every piece of the puzzle just adds more and more to the storyline and it makes me want to dissect every detail of the vods for hours.

But I think the most bone chilling part of this-very intentionally I must add- is the final sequence. We witness every one of the characters sacrifice themselves for GL!Ranboo and GL!Slime isn’t any different spending his last breaths being killed by the wire creature (for lack of better words) to make sure Ranboo hits the finish line. But as soon as you feel any level of triumph you realize that Slime is just like Sneeg in the episode before sacrificing himself to ensure the show goes on.

Because it was never about the hero.

Ranboo isn’t special. He’s just another pawn in the game with the illusion of being the protagonist to make it more interesting for the desensitized viewers watching these people die over and over.

He was never meant to win.

And then that leads to us.

The audience.

Given the illusion of choice.

Do you publicly execute this man? Or do you let him live to be tortured the rest of his miserable existence until he is inevitably killed by Showfall for breaking the rules. If you spare him, is it a fate worse than death? We fight with this moral dilemma, trying to decide if it’s our decision whether people live or die.

But he’s a murderer! He killed people and showed no remorse! Showfall metaphorically whispers in our ear that he earned this fate for the terrible actions he committed. But was it him? Did he have any control over the actions he committed throughout the show or is he a victim?

He begins begging to be let go. To just escape from this snare he never asked to be trapped in the first place. The audience heavily leans towards letting him live because maybe being alive in this horrible show is better than the execution. But he knows that was never an option for him. He watches as a cartoony figure jokes about his demise and a audience poll decides his fate. And in that moment he realizes his choices were never his own.

So he gives up.

Begs to just be put down because being part of the cast means he will hurt more and more people the way he’s been hurt. That he will be the cause of more and more pain, and very likely more murderers.

And the audience decides death is the best route for him to take.

Maybe he died believing this is his fault. That the audience decided he should be dead for the horrific things he chose to do. But did he ever really choose?

His story was a tragedy before he could even pick up the pen.

And then there’s Showfall. Once again the ever present voice in our ear. Whispering that we are just the same as he is.

You just chose to murder a man. Is that not any different than him killing the innocent to progress in this game? Showfall now has the audience in the same grip as the man in the guillotine.

Your story as an audience is a tragedy long before you will ever pick up the pen.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Recall - Part 1

A LONG F*CKING DAY

A/N: Howdy, friends! I am SO excited to kick this one off. This story has been in the works for a little over a year, and after spinning it around in my head like a rotisserie chicken, I am VERY pleased to say that it is finally Yee Haw Time. I have posted four short (the longest one is under 3k words) “teasers” leading up to this series, and they should probably be read along with it to get the full effect. They can be found on the series masterlist. This one is definitely going to be a bumpy ride, but I hope if you choose to read along you will find it worth the twists and drops. It is set during the events of Kingsman: Golden Circle, and that’s the last thing I’ll say about that. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: language, violence, gunshot wound, mild smuts, lots of angst, Jack Daniels himself. 

Summary: When Jack is shot on a mission with two Kingsman Agents, he’s treated with Alpha-Gel and rushed immediately back to the lab at Statesman HQ - where you, Ginger’s lead research assistant, wait to assess and reverse the damage. For Ginger and Champ and the other Agents, things like this are all just part of the job. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated. 

It had been a long day. 

No, that’s putting it too damn lightly. You pressed your thumb to the pad near the handle of your front door. The reader scanned your print, a thin blue line of light moving across it to identify the loops and whorls as your unique set. Letting out a sigh as the device beeped, you keyed in the code and heard the lock click as it opened. Today was batshit insane. 

A welcome rush of cool air greeted you as you stepped inside, and you let your heavy eyelids fall shut as you exhaled. You were tired and stretched thin and still in shock from the day’s turn of events. But at least it’s not hot in here. You slipped the shoes from your feet, stepping first on the heel of your left and pulling it free of the ankle boots you wore. Repeating the action with your socked foot on your right heel, you kicked them aside. They tumbled to join the small collection of footwear near the front door of your apartment, the three-tiered rack full of sneakers and sandals and other styles you hardly ever wore. 

Sighing heavily, you hung your keys and ID tag on the peg next to the light switch and flicked it on. The empty room came fully into view then and you gasped. Locking on to the mirror on the far wall, you nearly mistook your own reflection for an intruder. The skin under your exhausted eyes was puffy and swollen, the bottom lids rimmed red from rubbing at them. Your hair was a mess, the bun you’d had it secured in now loose and hanging low at the nape of your neck. Several pieces stuck out all over from the habit you’d formed of scratching your scalp with the end of your pen when the answer to a problem you were trying to solve continued to evade you. Wrinkled, untucked, and worn for going on 36 hours, your clothing only added to your general unkempt appearance, the look of utter deflation that was written all over you. 

Fuck, I look...

Closing your eyes, you released a slow breath through your nose and swallowed the chunky block of emotion threatening to rise into your throat. No wonder Ginger said what she did. You looked like absolute shit, but you were the farthest thing from surprised about that fact given the events of the last day and a half and everything that had gone wrong. Oh, Jack. His face flashed behind your clamped lids then as though you needed the reminder of just how close of a call it had actually been, and you shuddered, glad that you still had a hand on the wall near the light switch to help steady yourself.

He almost… he could’ve…

You didn’t know how to finish that thought, though, because the truth was that technically he had died. There was no almost about it. Luckily, the younger of the two Kingsman Agents Jack had been out with was quick-thinking enough to locate and use Jack’s Alpha-Gel, despite not having received the training that Statesman Agents did on how to do so, and it had been applied rapidly enough to start reversing the damage immediately. But the fact of the matter was that he’d been shot. In the head. At point blank range. And even with the advanced healing technology available at Statesman, there were never any guarantees that an Agent would wake up. 

He will this time, though. And that’s all that matters. 

For now that had to be enough. You reminded yourself that he was out of the worst of it now - that he would live and that if all went well, he’d regain his memory and would be back to the man you knew in a shockingly short amount of time. Ginger had started running the Recall program - something she would only do if all of his vitals were stable - right before all but ordering you out of the lab and back to your apartment. 

“I… I can’t leave him alone like this, Ginger.” There was no need to pretend that your desire to stay by his side had anything to do with research this time. Your study on the effects of the nanites and the way they knit brain cells back together had already been completed and submitted to Champ for review. But more than that, Ginger knew how you felt about Jack. “I’ll just-“ Your eyes scanned the room and landed on one of the empty bays, the cranial device lifted away so that it was essentially just a bed. “I can sleep here and-“ 

“No.” She shook her head, her short hair swaying above the collar of her white coat, her decision firm. The expression she wore was gentle and sympathetic though, as she reached for your shoulders with both hands. “Gonna put my foot down on this one. You’re running on fumes, Maraschino. Between the extra hours you put in when Tequila went down and all of this?” She gestured vaguely at the lab. “You’ve done all you can tonight.” But- She sighed, lightly squeezing your upper arms before dropping her hands to her sides. “I’m sorry. But you need to get some real sleep. And some food and maybe a shower.” 

You nodded, your attention shifting from her eyes and falling behind her, where Jack lay motionless. The sight made your whole chest ache, made your breath shudder. It was bad enough knowing what had happened to him, what he’d suffered physically to put him there. But unlike the last time you observed him undergoing the Recall procedure, this time you knew what his trigger image was. This time you knew exactly what was waiting for him when he woke up - the soul shredding loss of his wife and the son he never got to meet. 

And you knew not because you had gained access to his file through higher clearance. You knew because Jack had told you. 

“He shouldn’t be alone.” Your voice - thin from exhaustion and tremulous with worry - was hardly audible when you spoke, and at first you weren’t sure if you had actually said the words aloud. 

“He won’t be.” Ginger shook her head again, the motion smaller and slower this time. “I’ll stay. I haven’t been here for two straight days like you have. Besides, I have some files from Merlin to go over. I can do that here and keep an eye on Whiskey.” 

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but as long as he wouldn’t be left alone in the cold, dark lab, nothing but his own worst memory to keep him company, you agreed. Not that you had any say in the matter. Ginger hardly ever pulled rank on you, but you knew she was only seconds away from doing it then if you made it necessary. Licking your lips, you swallowed and finally brought your eyes back up to meet hers. 

“If I’m not back, will you call me before you wake him up? I… I want to be there.” 

She gave you a nod and a soft smile. “Of course I will.” 

Glancing down, you turned your wrist to check your watch, where you had set a countdown for the time left on Jack’s program. You had to blink the bleariness from your eyes to read it, the green-blue numbers seeming to shake against the dark screen before they sharpened enough for you to make them out. 

6:38:23 REMAINING

You stared at the seconds, watching the digits change as you let out a breath, and then dropped your arm back to your side. Okay. Moving on autopilot, you bypassed the kitchen and headed straight for the bathroom. Though you hadn’t had a real meal in over twenty four hours, you had absolutely no appetite. I can grab a protein shake on my way back to the lab. It would be easier to stomach than something solid, or at least that’s what you told yourself. I just need a shower. And some sleep. 

At the very least, you knew one of those things was possible.

Avoiding the bathroom mirror so you wouldn’t make eye contact with yourself again, you reached for the faucet and turned the hot water on. Wisps of steam billowed out over the top of the glass enclosure, the air in the room warming as you stripped your clothes off and left them in a heap on the floor. Reaching behind your neck, you undid the clasp on your necklace - the only piece of jewelry you ever wore to work aside from your comm watch - and coiled it in the little white dish on the counter. The shink of the chain and then the plunk of the pearls strung along it as they hit the ceramic were sounds that normally started to set your body at ease, especially when mixed with the rhythmic rainfall of the water. It was routine, something you did every night as you wound down and readied yourself for rest. 

That night, though, you hardly heard them. 

Regardless, you moved on with your process, stepping into the shower and pulling the door shut behind you. For several minutes you simply stood under the spray, eyes closed as the water soaked your scalp and skin, running down your spine and dripping from the ends of your hair to roll over your shoulders and chest. The steam in the air made it slightly easier to breathe than it had been for the past few hours, and you took a few full, deep breaths, bringing your hands up to your head and pushing your palms back over your hair. Fuck. A sob fell from your lips and you didn’t try to keep another from following it. You needed to cry, to let everything out that you’d been holding in since the call came into HQ that there was an Agent down. As a Statesman medical research tech you couldn’t let emotions get in the way of your work, no matter how you felt about the man currently convalescing in Recall bay two. But off the clock you were beholden only to your heart and the way it clenched painfully with worry and fear. 

Oh, fuck, Jack, you have to be okay.  

The thing between the two of you wasn’t exactly new, but it had been becoming more and more serious over the past few months. What had started as harmless - if not a bit shameless - flirting had given way to a mutual interest and attraction that sparked a flame from the very first time he cupped your cheek with his large palm and kissed you. It had grown since then, the two of you sharing your bodies and giving each other small pieces of your stories at a time. 

It had grown enough for you to know that you loved him. But those words had yet to make it from your lips to his ear. In that moment, all you wanted was the chance to tell him, even if he wasn’t ready to hear it yet. 

Finishing your shower, you toweled off and brushed your teeth before dragging yourself out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. Changing into a set of sleep shorts and a loose tee, you finally climbed into your bed and peeled back the sheets to slip between them. The fabric was cool as it fell over your legs, and you let yourself sink into the mattress and pillows. 

But as you lay there in the dark, desperate for a few hours of respite from the emotions and adrenaline, all you could think of was the last time he was there between those sheets with you - and how maybe he was ready to hear those words. You rolled to your side and stared at the empty space beside you, letting your memory take you back to that night.

Eyes still closed, he blew out a breath as your fingers traveled into his hair. “Hot damn, darlin’, that feels incredible.” 

You couldn’t help the smirk that dragged its way across your lips at the change in his voice. Humming, you lowered yourself completely until your chest was pressed to his. “See what happens when you’re not rushing to put your boots back on, cowboy?” 

The boots in question still lay where he’d kicked them off, discarded on the other side of the room along with his jacket and the belt with the hefty silver buckle that you’d relieved him of hours earlier. From there, a trail of leather, denim, corduroy and suede, his clothing and yours, led to the bed where the two of you were tangled. It was longer than he had ever stayed with you, typically needing to rush off to a meeting whether virtual or in person. Once or twice he’d even had to leave quickly on a classified mission. Today though it seemed neither were calling him, and while you tried not to think anything of it, it was hard with the way he was reacting to such an innocent, casual touch. Swiping the tips of your fingers over his temples again, your smirk became a full on grin as you watched the muscles of his throat work down his swallow. 

It could be like this all the time, Jack. 

His large, rough hands slid over your skin, following the contour of your spine. “Seems I’m gonna need to find a better way to juggle my demanding schedule so that we can find ourselves in this particular situation with more frequency.” He took one hand from your body to lift your chin, the other settling at the small of your back, and found your eyes with his. “What’dyou think?” 

You felt your heart stop and laying that close you knew he felt it, too. Not fair. It was all you’d wanted for months now, ever since that one time had turned into many, many more. But you knew where he stood on taking things anywhere past sleeping together. “I fell in love once, darlin’, and I’m still deep down in it.” That’s what he’d told you when you’d first started this thing, and you knew better than to press him on it. You didn’t press yourself on it either, fooling yourself into believing that you wouldn’t love the way his boots looked on your bedroom floor. Or the way his scent clung to your sheets. 

But I do. 

Pushing that from your mind, you recovered and answered him. “I think it’s worth a shot, Whiskey.” 

He had asked you not to call him Jack in bed, and though at first you flinched each time you were forced to use his code name in lieu of his real one, you’d quickly gotten used to the condition. But this time when you did, you saw his eyes narrow, a look you thought was close to disappointment flashing in them before they widened and brightened again. What? Why did- You cut your own thoughts short then as your fingers found a small divot just beyond his hairline, slightly above his ear. Huh? What’s that? 

“Hey… D’you have a scar here?” You ran your fingers through his hair again, spreading the thick dark locks so you could get a closer look at what you’d found. Funny, I never felt that before… don’t think it’s in his chart, either. There was definitely a circular indentation there, though it looked old, completely healed over, and suddenly you were overcome with the notion that you were likely the only living person aside from Jack himself who knew it was there. 

He chuckled through a lazy smile. “You tell me, gorgeous. By now I’ve lost track of ‘em all.” Before you could ask him what he meant by that, he tightened his hold on you and flipped you over so that you were under him. The gasp that the quick reversal made you draw slipped out in a sigh as he settled his weight down on you. “You wanna see if you can find another one?” 

Yes. You wanted to know all that you could about him, because there was so much that he couldn’t share with you. You had worked within the Statesman organization for years before your path crossed his, so you understood the need for all of the closely guarded “company secrets”. As a senior Agent, Whiskey had access to information that would make most people’s heads spin and you knew that. 

Hell half of what I know would make people’s heads spin. 

The point was, you knew enough to know that what you didn’t know about his work- the details of his missions, the meetings- was for the best. It was safer that way, for you, for him, the other Agents, everyone. Your job was to assist Ginger in the lab, helping to ensure that Agents were always receiving the most cutting edge, top of the line treatments and care. Your clearance level was only as high as it needed to be, and you were fine with that. 

What you wanted to know about Jack had nothing to do with what made him a great Agent, and everything to do with the things you knew he could share with you but chose not to. 

I just want to… 

You knew about the woman he’d loved and lost, that she’d been carrying his child when she was taken from him. You knew that the cluster of three aster flowers tattooed over his left pectoral were in memory of the family they never got to be. Your heart shattered when he’d shared that part of his past with you, and ever since he had you could see it in his eyes; a deep sadness that swirled just beneath the surface. He never told you anything more about her, never gave you anything else about the incident and you respected him enough not to ask. You looked up at the man, his face hovering inches from your own, and threaded the fingers that were still buried in his hair around to the back of his head, flexing them to tighten your grasp. He groaned, like you knew he would, and his eyes darkened, erasing the sadness. 

I just want to make it easier for you, Jack. 

“No,” you finally answered him regarding a hunt for more scars on his body, even though you were fairly sure you’d just located another divot at the base of his skull with your pointer finger. “I can think of better ways to spend our time, J-“ 

Fuck. 

He cut you off then, kissing you before you could either finish his name or correct yourself. His hips dropped over yours as his tongue parted your lips, and the sound you made was one of complete shock at how intense his kiss was. You knew he had heard you almost slip. But instead of making him pull away like it had once or twice in the beginning, it seemed to spur him on. 

Interesting…Are you changing the rules on me, Daniels? 

Your thoughts were broken up as he brought his left hand to the side of your face, simultaneously tilting your head for a better angle and dragging the pad of his thumb over the rounded top of your cheek. His right hand traveled slowly up from your waist to your ribs. You responded to his touch by rolling your hips up into his while you pressed his bare back down on top of you. Still kissing him, you smiled against his lips at the tickle of his mustache near the corners of your mouth. Using that as his invitation, he slipped his tongue through your grin and licked a breathy moan out of you.

God, I could kiss him forever. 

He continued to kiss you for a few seconds longer, the movements of his lips slow and intentional, but Jack was the one to pull away first. He didn’t put any distance between your bodies, though, shifting only enough so that he could look at you - and at what he was doing. The hand that was on your ribs moved to where the chain of your necklace lay pooled against the center of your chest. Rolling one of the pearls between his rope-roughened fingers, he pulled away from your lips and gazed down at you with nothing but mischief in his eyes. 

“Wanna see somethin’.” He mumbled, maneuvering the small white orb in his grasp. “Hold still.” 

Pinching the pearl, he brought it over to your left breast, the chain uncoiling over your skin. Carefully, he set the gem on the peak of your nipple, pressing only enough to keep it in place with his pointer finger. “What are you-” Your question never made it out of your mouth though, and your eyes snapped down to your own chest to watch. 

Your breaths became more ragged as he dragged and rolled the pearl over your pebbled flesh, the delicate links in the chain brushing over the sensitive bud to make you suck in a gasp. He used the pearl to draw a series of circles both tight and close to your nipple as well as looser ones that extended out to the soft swell of your breast, and then let it go, the chain going slack against your body. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what that would look like for too long.” He brought his eyes up to yours again, that devilish curiosity still present in them. “Better than my wildest dreams.” 

You hummed. “Felt amazing, Whisk-” Throwing your head back suddenly, eyes shut, you sucked in a breath that instantly came back out in a moan as he brought his hand down between your bodies to slide two fingers into you. 

Oh, fuck.  

Curling his fingers, he leaned down and kissed you again. Hard. “Use my name.” But his growl was whisper soft against your lips as he unfurled his thick fingers inside of you, pushing deeper. “Please, darlin’. Wanna hear you say it.” 

You whimpered at the need in his voice as he said the word please, twisting his wrist so that his thumb could plead at your body, too. “Feels good, Jack.” You sighed, heat blooming simultaneously in your chest and lower belly at the moan he let out when he heard you say his name. 

You had been crying without realizing it, salty tracks running down your freshly cleaned cheeks to dampen your pillowcase. Eventually the tears stopped and you felt yourself finally give over to sleep, body feeling heavy and thick as you were pulled under. Stretching your hand out over the sheets beside you, you closed your eyes and let one final thought echo through your mind. 

I love you, Jack. 

–  –  –

The sound that woke you wasn’t the alarm that you had synchronized with the Recall program - it was a message alert. 

What? Did I miss the alarm? Is he-

Blinking rapidly as you inhaled deeply through your nose, you sat up and looked down at your comm watch. Your heart pounded and your head felt fuzzy and it took you more than a few blinks to focus your vision, eyes blurry after crying yourself to sleep. When you did, you saw that the countdown was still ticking away, and while it was close to done, you hadn’t missed anything. 

1:18:03 REMAINING 

Just below it on the display screen, though, another text box popped up just as your phone chimed on your nightstand, signaling a new message. 

GINGER ALE: MARASCHINO - GET BACK TO THE LAB ASAP - SOMETHING IS WRONG. 

No. You felt your throat tighten, trapping your heart inside of it as you read the words. No, no, no. Scrambling to free your legs from the sheets, you swung them down and over the side of the bed. No, Jack. You stood, your shaking hand flying out to turn on the light and blast your room with brightness that your eyes weren’t ready for. You were glad you hadn’t eaten anything when you got home, because the wave of nausea you felt then surely would have made you sick. 

No. He has to be alright. 

Licking your lips, you read Ginger’s message again, trying to calm your panic enough so that you could get yourself dressed and back to the lab as quickly as possible. What does it actually say? There were no codes used - Code White for when a reset didn’t take, Code Blue for when it did but only partially, Code Red for when an Agent was in critical distress. She didn’t… she didn’t use a code though, so… You took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. So it’s… whatever’s wrong, it’s not… 

He wasn’t dying. His reset hadn’t failed. If your countdown was correct - which it was - he wasn’t even awake yet. You allowed yourself to take what relief you could from those facts. But it was fleeting comfort when you realized what Ginger’s lack of code usage actually meant. Whatever the problem was, it was one that had never been encountered before. You would be completely in the dark. 

You reached for your phone, responding to Ginger’s message to say that you were getting dressed and would be back down to the lab as quickly as possible. Crossing the room in three brisk strides, you opened your closet and threw on the first pair of pants - a dark chocolate brown pair - and top - a light beige button up blouse - before heading for the bathroom. Fingers already gathering your hair at the nape of your neck as you moved, you used one hand to twist it into a bun, the other grabbing for the elastic on the counter that you’d taken out of your hair earlier, securing it again.

Arms coming down to your sides, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Good enough. You were about to turn away and make your way out to the front hall, but your eyes, wide and alert despite only getting about four hours of sleep, caught on the gold chain that was coiled in the dish next to the faucet. The memory that had played out before came back in flashes - the way the delicate piece of jewelry looked and felt in Jack’s hands, the way that since that night, whenever he saw you wearing it, he always made it a point to touch one of the pearls. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the chain and clasped it around your neck, tucking the length of it beneath the lapels of your shirt. Alright. Time to go. 

As you leaned against the wall to shove your feet back into your boots and take your ID badge down from the peg, you blew out a breath. It had been a long fucking day. And it still wasn’t over. But all you cared about was the man laying in bay two, and getting back to him in time to help Ginger figure out what the fuck was wrong before the problem got worse. You could sleep later, when he was back on his feet and calling you darlin’ again. When he was healthy and safe and out of the woods. The panel next to your door beeped and the lock engaged with a click as you shut it behind yourself. 

I’m coming, Jack. Hold on, I’m coming. 

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Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.  

tags: @something-tofightfor @paracosmenthusiast @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascal @hellovanessax @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80​ @writeforfandoms​  @theredwritingwitch​ @silverstarsandsuns​ @competentpotato​ @pedro-pedrito-pascalito​

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Year In Review: Favorite Lines/Snippets!

Hello, my lovelies! Many thanks to @anincompletelist for not only creating this tag game, but for including me in it! I have ALWAYS loved a good quote that can hit someone right in the heart, and this year, I've been incredibly lucky to write a few such segments myself (that hit ME in my own heart!). Words that I stepped back from the keyboard after writing and thought "did I actually write this?"

Additional thanks to @kiwiana-writes and @firenati0n for the tags on their years in review as well!

What If I Do?

“Fuck,” is all that he can say, but even that tastes of Alex, of top shelf whiskey and the cinnamon he always adds to his coffee. Alex had spoken the word into Henry’s mouth on countless occasions, so he was all-too-familiar with the way it slipped off of his tongue so smoothly, as if the letters themselves were forged together just for him by some foul-mouthed god who knew the damage such a word might wreak in the possession of someone as fearless as Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

Gravity

But though fire may burn through carefully worded commands parading as suggestions on a pretty page, it stands no chance against the might of a golden crown. He only wishes he could fan the flames high enough to reach that blessed melting point. Watch it all soften and liquefy until it’s no longer a gilded cage but a puddle at his feet. He thinks, bitterly, that even then he wouldn’t have the time to escape before it would congeal and stiffen and trap him once more, forever frozen as a statue rather than a prisoner. And perhaps they’d prefer it that way. Statues can’t fight back.

The Rope

This is not supposed to be his life. He was always supposed to love Alex from the other side of a wall, never daring to climb over. So instead, he’d punched a hole in that fragile wall under the winter moonlight in the White House Garden, the taste of Alex on his tongue. And again and again he’d punched new holes in the weakening structure, reaching through and grabbing and clawing at whatever pieces of Alex he could grip, knowing that he’d never be able to grasp his heart. Except when, somewhere along the bloody way, he had. But Alex was never supposed to let him.

Ghosts

His first attempts to contact Henry are a flood. Incessant, desperate, confused. All paragraphs and punctuation. And then a storm. Intense in the moment but eventually losing its power. Streams of single sentences sent in quick succession. Then a trickle. Droplets of isolated words over the course of agonizing days. Until finally, they dry up completely, and Henry’s thread of communication falls lower and lower down his inbox. Alex tries not to actively seek it out.

The Maldives

“I love you. I don’t have your extensive vocabulary to say it, but the truth is that I’m absolutely crazy, head-over-heels, desperately in love with you, and I’ve spent so much time not saying it that I want to spend the rest of my life saying it as much as I can. I want to wake up beside you each morning and say it before we start the day. I want to text it to you from across any distance between us, whether it’s an ocean or the couch. I want to gasp it at the ceiling when you do that thing with your tongue. And I want it to be the last thing you hear before you fall asleep each night. I love you, and I want you to hear it so many times that it heals the pain of thinking you’d never hear it in the way you always dreamt.”

You can’t escape this drying ink

He knows, as they approach the door just down the hall from the main ballroom, what awaits him on the other side. He knows it as certainly as he knows what a terrible mistake he made on these very grounds to start the new year. A blank page already gushing bright red ink before he’d ever had the chance to write a single word other than “Alex.” He’d dripped his bleeding pen across the map as he fled, red ink footsteps trailing behind him in the snow, a smear across the map over the 3,700 miles separating them. He’d trailed it from the plane to the car, from the car through the palace, staining the perfect ancient path walked by kings and queens as he retreated back into the cage of his own making, a cage he never should have left, for now he knows what damage he wreaks when he allows his heart to guide him.

Save a horse Alex is a book that Henry has read countless times. He knows the placement of every punctuation mark, from the freckle above his hip to the smallest of scars on his knee, sustained while thoughts of Henry plagued his every waking moment, Alex admitted to him once. He’s familiar with every piece of dialogue from “motherfucker” to “sweetheart” and his personal favorite, “baby.” He’s bookmarked all of his favorite pages and even added his own annotations, like the way Alex always wants to look Henry in the eyes after they make love, regardless of what positions they may have ended up in, or the soft snores that come only when Alex is completely and utterly spent, nothing left to give but the sound of his breathing that never fails in lulling Henry to a deep sleep after him. But in the constant reading of the book of Alex, Henry is never bored. There is always something new to parse from between the lines. Words that aren’t explicitly stated. Details that can only be found by diving deeper than the surface. And Henry is happy to spend the rest of his life sinking to the depths of it, turning the pages again and again.

Heart enough

“Well, normally with a royal guest staying here, I’d roam the halls in a white sheet moaning about taxation without representation, but the joke would be wasted on someone as dull as Henry, so here I am…”

Alex has never seen Henry like this. So raw and vulnerable. Someone who needs. Frankly, he didn’t think it was even possible for a prince as polished as Henry to ever falter. Never thought a spine as rigid and straight could ever hunch, that a heart as walled off and locked away could ever break. How very wrong he was.

The taste of the whiskey from Alex’s flask and the champagne Henry drank earlier in the evening mixes with the rainwater that continues to pelt them from above, falling in their mouths and baptizing their tongues in the memories of this night that Alex knows he will never, could never, forget.

Wind me up, fill your cup like a river, drunk on watching me drown

He’d almost be impressed that a statue sculpted out of unforgiving, unchanging marble could affect anything but a strong-jawed, tight-lipped expression of utter disdain, were it not for that very first meeting of the prince and the president’s son. But nothing Henry could ever hope to do in his meticulously scheduled life of cutting ceremonial ribbons and haunting the corners of ballrooms is capable of wrenching and scraping the clock hands backwards, turning back the years of disappointment Alex has felt for ever pressing his fingers to a photo in a magazine and allowing himself to dream of someone just like him. Someone who understood.

Alex quickly realizes, though, that he’s never stood this close to the prince before. Never made out the freckles hiding beneath the carefully applied makeup. To the dungeons with a blemish on a royal face! Never noticed the halo of hazel around his pupils, a tiny island in eyes as blue as the ocean. He wonders, briefly, if Henry would choose to embrace these perceived imperfections if given the chance. Would the open, grinning young man from the magazine sign his looping script on an agreement of a royal portrait painter dotting a canvas with physical proof of being kissed by the sun, or mix up a bit of color other than the most stunning cerulean for his eyes? Or does he relish in the mask that he wears, locked as perfectly into place as every strand of his golden hair?

The injury of finally knowing you

He listens to the quiet sound of snow drifting to the ground around him and thickening the blanket of white. He listens to the distant thump of music and the explosion of fireworks across the city, of liquor-soaked laughter and raucous cheers. He listens and listens, his ears straining as if some part of him hopes to hear his father’s voice break through the clouds as brightly and certainly as he knows Orion shines somewhere above the earth upon which he stands on trembling limbs. What he doesn’t expect when he listens is the lilt of another voice from behind him, an all-too-familiar sound that never fails to color his dreams in flashes of vivid molten gold, fiery scarlet, and radiant orange, lighting his very imagination aflame. Every word spoken by that voice now grows a fraction louder with each soft, crunching step through the snow.

Unsure who's done this so far, but wanting to throw out some tags for @indestructibleheart @thinkof-england @whimsymanaged @sparklepocalypse @duchessdepolignaca03 @ships-to-sail @magicandarchery @suseagull04 @rockyroadkylers @inexplicablymine @littlemisskittentoes @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @lizzie-bennetdarcy @songliili @priincebutt @daisymae-12 @happiness-of-the-pursuit @leaves-of-laurelin @roseharpermaxwell @adreamareads @indomitable-love @cricketnationrise @clottedcreamfudge @ninzied

[stellar-imagines]

WINTER 2022 SPECIAL: ❝#33 with Law.❞

[ Fandom: One Piece ] [ Characters: Trafalgar D Water Law ]

「#33 ❝ Hey, cut it out. It’s the holidays.❞ with Law.」

TRAFALGAR D WATER LAW

Be it the New World or the Grand Line, the weather is always unusual and the standard rules of meterology don't apply.  The ocean currents and weather patterns are insanely inconsistent, they can change drastically in an instant. Travelling as a crew member of the Heart Pirates meant that you'd always be underwater. Of course, you'd occassionally resurface when Bepo started complaining about how stuffy and hot it was getting. You often look forward to the moment you would resurface, hoping to see a new and interesting island to explore. The moment an island came to view, Bepo was already waving you over and handing the binoculars to you.

You grew excited at the sight of the bright lights and snow covered paths. Bepo hurried headed back into the ship to inform everyone that its time to land. Not long after, the entire crew emerged from the submarine to admire the scenery and enjoy the fresh air. Law was the last one to step out, showing little to no interest in the island that you have discovered. The sun was already starting to set and he could see the bright lights from the city.

"So, who's going to do the recon this time?" 

"Me! Me! I volunteer!" you waved your arm excitedly.

"Me! I wanna go too!" Bepo raised his paw up high.

The moment you stepped into the island with Bepo, you were in awe with the white the covered rooftops of the building. You adjusted the fluffy winter jacket and rubbed your barehands together. There were children playing around, making snow angels and snowman. In the middle of the city, there stood a large Christmas tree that wasn't visible from the docks. The lights and decoration were just breathtaking and you could feel the festive mood around you as the citizens set up stalls.

After asking around, you and Bepo discovered that the town is going to hold a festival tomorrow to celebrate Christmas. There will be warm food, drinks, dancing, music and games. When you returned to the Polar Tang, you excitedly told the crew about the festival tomorrow and how the island seemed to be pretty friendly towards pirates. Most of them were eager to go to the festival tomorrow, seeing how this is a very rare opportunity. You find yourself happy at the thought of finally enjoying something fun. The New World wasn't as kind as you thought, you had fought many battles and honestly, you all deserved a break.

Especially your captain — boyfriend — Trafalgar Law.

"Law! Let's go to the festival! They have oden!" you barged into his room without even bothering to knock first. Law glanced up from his paperwork to see that you were already properly dressed for the occassion. He didn't understand why you and the crew were so excited over a festival like little kids.

"No, I'm busy." his reply was instant. 

"Surely, you can take a break from work just for tonight!" you tried reasoning. Law continued to ignore you, sorting through his files and pulling out a fresh new paper. You pouted and stomped over towards his desk while he continues to do his work, paying you no attention. Tapping your foot impatiently, you observed as Law began writing down a few things.

"Hey, cut it out! It's the holidays!" you snatched the paper from his hands and placed it in the filing cabinets. Law lightly glared at you, letting out a sigh as he put down his pen onto the table.

"You need to have some fun, yourself!"

"[First Name]-ya! I need to finish listing the items we need to stock up on." he watched you dig through his wardrobe, pushing aside the clothes that did not fit the current season. You then pulled out one of his coat and tossed it onto his lap before pulling him towards the door. 

Before Law knew it, he was already standing at the entrance of the town. Even from this distance, he could hear the laughter of people from the central square. You were going on and on about the exciting things that you're looking forward to. Law could only stare at the scenery in front of him. It reminded him so much about Pleasure Town and Flevance — all the hard things he went through.

He could still recall that day. With each of his steps, the sound of cracking snow reached his ears and all he could see around him was a vast silvery expanse dotted with trees with pointed leaves. Law doesn't forget. The presecution suffered because of the white lead disease. The hatred of people, their restrangement, the wounds they caused. The moment he set foot on this very lively, winter island, all these memories that he would like to forget, just resurfaced one after the other. The quarantine of Flevance, his hometown nicknames the White City, by those people who believed white lead disease was contagious.

The government had abandoned them, as a result, a war broke out. What's more, his father, nother, sister and chruch friends were murdered. The day his town was burnt down and loved ones killed, he decided that he would no longer believe in anything or anyone. The voices was still loud and clear to him. Law blinked twice and looked at the city they Polar Tang had docked on. When he blinked again, he saw a town burning and heard the voices of his family and friends screaming in agony—

"We can just stay inside if you really don't wanna go....." 

”But that doesn’t mean you have to stay. You can just go with Bepo and the others.” he tried reasoning with you.

"It wouldn't be the same....." you mumbled.

For a moment, he stood still like a statue, waiting for his mind to clear up. The first thing he saw was the frown and look of guilt in your eyes. It reminded him of his sister when she accidentally spilled water all over his new medical book. If he wasn't paying attention to you, he would've missed the dejection in your voice. He remembered hearing how excited you were earlier just from the more sight of the bright lights and beautiful decorations.

He lets out a sigh and grabs your hand.

"Let's go." he said, pulling you towards the direction of the town.

"Wait! I thought—" you tried reasoning. Law stopped and turned around to see you looking confused.

"Well, you thought wrong, let's go already." Law cuts you off and tugs at your hand lightly.  

Since he was walking ahead with you following behind, you couldn't see what kind of face he was making but you wonder what made him change his mind. He seemed to be against it earlier and now he's willingly dragging you along. Whatever the reason is, you hope that he's not doing this because he feels forced to do so. Once you both reached the central square, you could spot some of your crew having fun, eating, dancing and singing along with the citizens.

"Hey, captain! I thought you were coming!" Shachi waved at the two of you.

"You decided to leave your nest!" Penguin teased.

"Shut up, [First Name]-ya wanted to go." Law retorted instantly.

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy your date!" Shachi chuckled before disappearing into the crowd with Penguin.

You watched as your two friends continued to mingle in with the crowd. You glanced over at Law, hearing him grumble about the two in annoyance. For a moment, you tried reading his thoughts, wondering what he was thinking. He didn't look like he wanted to be here. Then again, Law was never enthusiastic when it came to parties and events like this. The crew has tried to get Law more involved in parties but he would just avoid being the center of attention and stand at the side. You looked off to the side when he caught youu staring at him.

"What's wrong? Didn't you want to eat some oden? I'm starting to get hungry too." he brought up.

"I do, but! It feels like I'm forcing you to be here."

"Who said you're forcing me? I'm here because I want to be here."

"Really?" your eyes were a bit hopeful when he said that. All the feelings of guilt disappeared after hearing those words. You found yourself smiling when Law nodded in response.

"Then, let's stop stalling around. Let's just go already. I don't want to hear you complain and whine about how it's all sold out." Law replied with a small smirk. You pouted at him andtook charge, grabbing onto his hand and dragging him towards the oden stall.

"Shut up! I'm gonna eat my fill!" you said out loud.

Total: 1454 words Published: 25.11.2022

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