#which letters will go where in the shape? how much can i distort this letter and still have it recognizable?

[smile-files]

one of my favorite kinds of doodle: take the letters that spell out the name of a thing and use them to create the shape of that thing!!! (if you can't read any of these, they will be written out below <3)

going top down, left to right:

bone; butterfly; bee; joy; moth

kitty cat; snail; love; spongebob squarepants

eye; puppy dog; candy; wally darling; dolphin

hand; the element of kindness; lollypop; pencil

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

•°. alive, back from the dead *࿐

Pairing: Margo Kess (Spider-Byte) x fem!Reader

Type: Fanfic — Angst -> Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: use of Y/N, cursing, maybe ooc Margo, me trying to figure out how to write Margo’s universe properly 😭

A/N: soz guys this is based off a t swift song 💔 ik margo would probably be her no.1 hater and proud of it but anyway

This love is good

This love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead (oh)

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me (oh)

This Love (Taylor Swift)

“I want you to know this is not related to you at all. And I’m not breaking up with you, okay? I’m not.”

Her pre-recorded voice crackled through the speakers of your phone. She sounded slightly wobbly; had she been crying?

“This… isn’t something I can avoid. They need my help. I can’t ignore that. And I’m going - I mean, actually going. Believe me, I wish I could tell you more, but that would put you in danger, and…” A shaky sigh, then a few beats of patchy silence. “Please just… wait for me. I’m coming back. I promise. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise.”

Another long breath, as if she was trying to stabilise herself, to hold together something that was falling apart. “I love you. Remember that. Remember…”

The message fizzled out with a few sharp scratches that made you wince. You stared at your phone for so long that the screen darkened and locked. This had to be a joke, right? Something that was so serious that she had to physically go be Spider-Woman, not operate as a virtual avatar that could be controlled from where she was at home — that couldn’t be real. Could it?

Though she wouldn’t joke about this. Wouldn’t joke about anything related to being Spider-Woman, lately. All jokes and sarcastic little quips about her secret vigilante identity had disappeared completely in the last few months.

And she kept missing dates left, right, and centre. You remembered one heated conversation on the phone about that, to which she had snapped, “I can’t help it if I’m needed to help prepare!”

When you questioned her about that, she had mumbled a hasty response (“I can’t tell you more. Baby, please, I know you’re pissed, but I love you too much to put you in danger…”) and cut the call.

That wasn’t a break-up excuse, right?

Right. She just had to… risk her life. With no explanation. No idea what she would be up against, probably, and clinging to the hope that she had prepared enough.

But she had asked you to wait.

So you would wait. And hope that she came back to you unscathed.

——————

3 months later.

“Bullshit,” You actually laughed the moment you saw the headlines on the news channel. Honestly, you wondered how the news reporter managed to look so solemn. “That’s obviously fake.”

Your friends shared a look, reaching towards you and gently squeezing your hand. “Y/N, we know this is difficult-”

“What’s difficult? It’s fake, isn’t it?” You stared expectantly at them, feeling your heart almost stop in its tracks as the realisation slowly dawned. “No, no, no, this is fake, it has to be. It’s not… not real.”

BREAKING NEWS: POLICE INVESTIGATION CONFIRMS SPIDER-WOMAN’S DEATH.

The block letters scrolling across the screen leered at you, obnoxiously large and taunting. Ha-ha, sorry. Guess you just lost someone you love, sucks to be you!

You realised you were tearing up as the words distorted into wavy, psychedelic shapes.

Without a word, you pushed yourself to your feet and locked yourself into your bathroom, sinking quietly to sit on the floor with your back against the wall. A quick glance at the counter made your heart ache even more; on the shelf next to the sink, rested a pair of small, purple bracelets, both hand-made by Margo. While the beads twinkled and shimmered like a normal bracelet, they weren’t actually there, simply an illusion emitted by a hologram chip on the inside of the cord.

You gently picked up the bracelets, staring at traces on the wall of the soft, pulsing glow that they gave off. If you closed your eyes, felt the faint warmth radiating off of the beads, you might just have been able to pretend that everything was alright. That she wasn’t—

“Y/N! You okay?”

Shit!

You flinched at the sharp, sudden call, dropping the bracelets onto the cold floor. Time seemed to slow down as you watched them fall with two harsh clacks on the marble. Surely they would be okay, right? They were holograms, the beads themselves couldn’t possibly break.

As if the universe was yelling out a giant fuck you, the emitter chip popped out of the cord and broke clean in half. The beads fizzled out with a soft pop. And just like that, of the most cherished gifts you had ever received - from your girlfriend, no less - was gone.

“Not anymore, no,” You muttered bitterly under your breath, swallowing back the sour taste and the lump beginning to form in your throat, all telltale signs that the waterworks would soon be beginning.

She was gone, leaving you to pick up the scattered pieces of yourself and figure out how to carry on living the rest of your life. Margo Kess was gone.

——————

5 months later.

You tried to force a polite smile and act like you were paying attention as the girl in front of you excitedly rattled off completely unrelated facts at light speed.

Partner projects were the worst. There was a time where it hadn’t been so bad, but that was when she had still been—

“Helloooo, earth to Y/N. Hey, are you even listening?”

Oh. “Right, yeah, of course I am,” You blinked at her, quickly disguising your glazed-over, bored-out-of-your-mind expression with a mask of fake interest.

“Well, good. So, about this particular version…” That was about as far as she got before you tuned her out again, gazing enviously out of the café window at the pedestrians and cyclists going about their day. Then you saw something that made you double-take so hard you thought your neck might break.

A flash of shimmery — no, almost glitchy — purple fabric. Hologram-like webs…

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Your words tripped over each other as you pushed your chair away from the table, practically stalling flat on your face in your haste to get outside. The protests of your classmate went completely unheard by you as you burst out into the street.

“Ma-” You stopped yourself before you could call her real name out, scanning the sky for what you saw. “Spider-Woman! Spider…? Oh, Spider-Byte!” Goddamnit, keeping track of her many names was hard.

You glanced around wildly, beginning to lose hope as whole minutes ticked by agonisingly slowly. Passers-by gave you odd looks like you had lost your mind; and, well, you couldn’t really blame them. If a girl was standing alone outside a café and yelling a dead superhero’s name at the sky, you would think she had gone crazy too.

Then someone’s arms closed around you from behind, you were lifted off your feet, and your stomach dropped to the ground as you were swung through the air onto a roof.

You drew in a sharp inhale the moment your feet touched the ground, then relaxed. You definitely recognised that perfume.

She’s back, bitches, you thought proudly as you turned around and flung your arms around her neck, relishing the soft, amused chuckle she let out. She’s back and probably stronger than ever.

“Margo-”

“Shh. I know. I know. But I’m here now, and I’m fine. We’re all fine. We’re all-”

You cut her off by pressing the button right underneath her earlobe that you knew temporarily deactivated her whole mask, cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her lips. The whole thing was almost frenzied, how quickly you had to reassure yourself that this wasn’t just a wishful daydream, that this was real.

You tasted orange and vanilla chapstick, and when you pulled away you saw her lip gloss was smudged pretty badly. Well, that had to be real.

“Welcome back,” You murmured giddily, locking your arms around her again. Her eyes crinkled at the corners with how wide she was grinning. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“God, you have no idea.”

She let out a laugh and hugged you tighter. “Okay, let’s get back. I’m so hungry, I could kill for a bag of chips.”

“Wait, Margo.” The slight seriousness in your tone made her pull away to look into your eyes, raising her eyebrows in question. “Yeah?”

“Is this it? No more… whatever this was?”

She considered your question for a few seconds, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Sweetheart, something as bad as this will never happen again. I promise. We had to fake my death for a few months so that I could lie low and no one would suspect it was me hacking away at their firewalls. I… can’t promise that I will never have to go on a physical mission again, because the other Spiders sometimes need my help specifically, and honestly that’s quite an honour. But you will never, ever have to see headlines of another fake death of mine again. That I can promise.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together as you processed her answer. You were okay with that, you decided. Well, it wasn’t perfect, but hey — you and Margo weren’t that perfect either, and you had gotten as secure as you had because of communication and trust. So maybe you’d need to apply that to this scenario as well.

There was no playbook for loving someone like her, for waiting anxiously every time she swung off to save the city from whatever diabolical virus or villain decided to strike next. You just… had to make the right adjustments at halftime. Reassure yourself that she could handle most things they threw at her, and have faith in your girlfriend’s abilities.

“That’s good enough for me,” You announced, linking your arm with hers. “Now let’s go get some burgers, you must be hungry.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely starving.”

Taglist: @hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099

[magicalmmorg]

How do i make text bigger in adobe

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Adobe Illustrator is a vector-based design software. On the right side of this edit window, click the font size drop-down icon to access a list of font sizes. Select the texts you want to change its font. The program will now enter the edit mode. When the file is loaded, locate and click the 'Edit PDF' tab.

HOW DO I MAKE TEXT BIGGER IN ADOBE PDF

Holding the Shift key down as you drag the handles tells Photoshop to keep the original aspect ratio of the type intact so you don't stretch and distort the shapes of the letters. How Do I Scale and Resize Objects in Adobe Illustrator to a Specific Size In this tutorial, we will be going over one of the basic functions of Adobe Illustrator - scaling an object, image or artwork to a specific size. Open the target PDF file with Adobe Acrobat DC. To scale the text, hold down the Shift key on your keyboard, then click and drag any of the four corner handles (the little squares). Since type in Photoshop is made from vectors, not pixels, we're free to scale it as much as we want without any loss of image quality.

HOW DO I MAKE TEXT BIGGER IN ADOBE HOW TO

Code: PREMIEREGAL Ģ5% off StudioBinder Code: PREMIEREGAL25 ġ0% off Kyno Media Management.This places the Free Transform bounding box and handles around the text, and we can now scale the text to any size we need simply by dragging the handles! This will also give us a live preview of the results as we're resizing the text, which means we can easily scale it to the correct size with no guess work needed. IN This video u will Learn How to Make Blurry Background Effect in Premiere Pro CC Dont Forget to LIKE SUBSCRIBE. Code: PREMIEREGAL10 ġ0% off Filmconvert, convert video into film. ? Music in video is from SoundStripe: "Delphi Dance Party"ġ0% off FilmImpact Video Editing Effects. To change existing text boxes or images, click Edit in the toolbar. The best way to achieve a similar effect is to use the deriveFont (size) method to create a new almost identical Font that is a. To add a logo or an image to your form, choose the Add Image tool, select the image, click OK, and then place it at the desired location. You can't actually change the size of an existing Font object.

HOW DO I MAKE TEXT BIGGER IN ADOBE FULL

? Want to learn create awesome motion graphics templates in Premiere? Take my full Essential Sound course at Pluralsight: Then click Add Text in the toolbar and add whatever information you want to your form. It is 'a little bit messy', and it only works with growing, but not with. It is possible, and I had it in practical use in some forms (not anymore, because they completely changed their forms system). ➜ And, Explore Gal's templates on Adobe Stock: Adobe Propaganda would say, this is not possible, and you will need XFA/LiveCycle Designer to do it. ? Templates and mogrts from Premiere Gal's Store: Root ://Users/username/AppData/Roaming/Adobe/Common/Motion Graphics Templates/ Username/Library/Application Support/Adobe/Common/Motion Graphics Templates/ Where is the local templates folder on your computer?

HOW DO I MAKE TEXT BIGGER IN ADOBE INSTALL

This tutorial will teach you the new April 2018 updates to the Essential Graphics Panel in Adobe Premiere Pro CC and how to install MULTIPLE motion graphics templates (.mogrts) in Premiere Pro at a time (both MAC AND PC) with the new Local Templates Folder. mogrt in your Essential Graphics Panel in Adobe Premiere Pro CC to create quick and awesome titles and transitions for your video. How to Import and Edit Motion Graphics Templates? New Essential Graphics Panel Updates - Adobe Premiere Pro CC Tutorial ? Get Adobe Premiere Pro and the Creative Cloud: How do I change the space between bullets and text in. Type Display in the search box, touch or click on Settings, and then touch or click. Adobe Illustrator enables you to use two different kinds of leading when you create point- and. Touch Search, or if youre using a mouse, move the cursor to the upper-right corner of the screen, and then click Search. Open Screen Resolution by swiping in from the right edge of the screen. ➡️ Essential Typography Library Pack by EasyEdit: To make text bigger or smaller on an external monitor or display: 1. ➡️ YouTube Essential Library Pack by EasyEdit: Youll be amazed at how good that is (just like in the good old days). In both cases, waiting for Microsolft and Adobe to find a solution, your only wise course is to set your display resolution to a lesser pixel size. If you do not have the option to set the background color (depending on which. In most cases black is the best choice since it is neutral and it will not clash with anything in your movie.

HOW DO I MAKE TEXT BIGGER IN ADOBE MOVIE

Envato Market's VideoHive Motion Graphics Templates (.MOGRT): people with lesser viewing aptitudes, needing larger fonts. The first thing you need to do is to create a new movie with dimensions 480 x 360 and select a background color that fits with the colors of your movie.

[elsieys-blog]

Perks of an insomnia-driven night.

Draco Malfoy x ravenclaw!reader

a/n: hi hello, this is my first draco malfoy au and I hope you get to enjoy it as much as I wrote it <3

contains: fluff, tension, cussing, insomnia, room of requirement, Draco's rings, and strangers to friends with benefits.

summary: due to another insomnia-driven night, you strolled and suddenly bumped into a particular Slytherin. He gave you a gift you would cherish forever.

———————————————————

A loud buzz from outside startled you as you curled up on your bed, pulling the blanket up to your torso to suppress the chilly weather. You couldn't keep count on how many times you've tried to close your eyes and think as if you went into a free fall in hopes of getting yourself adrift. But no. You've closed your eyes, opened it again, flat it again but it didn't help at all. You were widely awake despite the fact you hadn't eaten any chocolate at all.

You heaved a sigh before deciding to leave your bed and go on for a short walk on the dimly lit hallways. Perhaps the calmness and stillness of it would soothe you. You pushed the duvet away from your nearly naked body and slipped your slippers onto your feet. Standing up, you went over to the bathroom, did some basic hygiene before twisting the doorknob and leaving your dormitory in a swift.

God, even the Ravenclaw common room didn't look fancy anymore.

It usually does every morning to dawn. But every midnight and pass midnight? It looks like as though someone was murdered and students ought to stay hidden in their dorms.

As your quiet and soft trudges echoed the walls, only a few line of torches lighting your way, you exited the Ravenclaw common room and was now and finally outside. The hallways were now bigger and neverending, as if you had set foot into a deja Vu. A few floorboards you step creaked and so the snoring portraits on every corner and side of the wall yawns and went back to sleep.

You maintained a good slow and calm pace until you forgot to pick up your wand from your room. There was no going back now because it was a long way back. Now you had to squint your eyes so that it adjusted from the pitch black darkness.

Loud cawing from crows scare you sometimes so goosebumps prickled your skin. The only thing you could see was the dots of glitter from the sky and the shadows the oak trees casted on the ground. The shadow was formed strangely and it looks distorted so you held a deep breath, reminding myself that there was nothing to be bothered of. And that everyone was sleeping just fine.

As you walked silently, your head elbow-deep in thoughts, you didn't know you were now staring at a wall so called the Room of Requirement. The walls was approximately fifteen feet, bizarre patterns across it.

"Well, there's nothing else to go, so. . ." Your mind spoke and you closed your eyes, thinking of a plausible reason to get yourself inside. After a few seconds, you heard three faint clicks until the wall molded into a tall door. You glanced sideways before entering the room slowly.

You were met by the darkness once again, but this time it felt comforting. You walked and walked, taking in the unblemished and grubby furnitures hidden beyond the tall door. There were stacks and mounds of unused things that you felt suddenly guilty. As you roamed around without a route, a movement beside you caught you off guard and it piqued your interest. Is someone else here?

"hello?" You started, your brows furrowing as you followed the movement.

As far from your expectations, the anonymous person replied and it was a manly, cold voice. "What are you doing up in the middle of the night? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

A shiver came across your spine. You shyly said, "aren't you supposed to be too?" You saw his shadow lurch and you took the chance to step forward.

He said, "doesn't matter why I'm here. This is my usual spot." His voice was a bit taunting and bragging.

"Well, you're hiding in the shadows so... And you're not supposed to hide if you claim this as your spot." You sternly said, keeping your gaze fixated on his moving shadow.

"I'm not hiding. Have you come to the realization that it's the dead of the night?" He sternly said.

"Yes, but— I think we should come over to the light so I can see you." You plead but you doubt he would actually do it.

"See me? Pathetic."

You sighed. "What? How about let's do it together? I'm really in the mood for some company right now."

The man was hesitant at first but he considered it. As much as he was irritated by someone invading his territory, he kind of wanted a company too. There was a strong exhale across you as he said. "Fine."

You gave an upturned smile, stepping into a small ray of light seeping through a window. The moonshine cradled your face as well as his. He stood tall and with poise in front of you with a neutral glare, looking down as if his eyes belittle you. "Better princess?"

You couldn't help but stare at his eyes. Wait- he was standing in front of you so he blocked the moonshine and you could only see his silhouette. You grabbed his sleeve and ushered him to a better angle. When you gently pushed his back on a partition, you finally got to look at his golden blue eyes, and the bits of freckles that stretched to his nose and cheekbones. His face was sculpted beautifully and even his nose shaped like a button. He was lithe and pristine. And you began to coil into a pit of fire.

"You're- Draco Malfoy?" Your voice shook.

"that's me." He smirked and it only made my headspace ablaze. "And you are?"

You were too busy admiring his features but your mind eventually rebounded. "I- Y/n- Y/n Y/l/n!"

He kept on smiling. "Oh, you!" He began to finally acknowledge your ghostly presence before. "You're the one I shared potions with on fifth year eh? The one where we got perfect scores?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Right. The only reason we got perfect grades for it was because of my skills actually. Don't forget that." He playfully said, beaming a wink at you which got your cheeks turning slightly crimson.

"Ha ha, very funny. I still helped though." You avowed.

"Mhm. But I did most of the dirty work and you just stood there, watching." He laughed and I chuckled. Fun times.

"Fine. Have it your way. I did watch instead of help. Happy?" You jeered but you couldn't help but glance at the collection of rings on his bony fingers. You went still for a moment and decided to ask the unthinkable. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"You- you have nice rings. It looks good on you." You faltered in the slightest but remained a tepid look. "Silver matches you to be honest."

"Silver?" His eyebrows rose and his voice was unbelievably sexy. "I get that a lot."

You keep on staring, checking out the patterns designed on the small ringed jewelry such as serpents and cursive letters. You didn't realize you were smiling until his fingers convulsed. "Y/n?"

You look back into his stormy eyes with embarrassment. "Oh I- I'm sorry, I was just-"

"It's obvious you really like them, don't you?"

"Well, I mean it's pretty but-"

"Would you want one?" His question was out of the blue so you nearly jolted.

Your eyes widen in full extent, the feeling of affection was set into extreme levels that you feel like you're about to explode. "Oh er- that's good thank you, but-"

"It's pretty I get it. And you seem to admire it as much as I do so ..." He paused, removing one of the glinting rings from his ring finger and held it into his palm. "Here, you can have it for me."

Your cheeks were flaming and it was intolerable. He was platonic and you never expected it from him. You sucked in a deep inhale, tongue-tied. "Oh my god, Malfoy, this was so unnecessary-"

"It's alright. Besides, I think that hand of yours need some color." He smiled tenderly, handing you the ring. His height was towering and it only made things worse for you to handle because of how the air thickens and the atmosphere suddenly getting hot.

"I d-don't know what to say." You stutter. "But thank you. Thank you so much, wow."

You got ahold of the metallic ring, inserting it on your ring finger but it didn't fit. It was expected of course. So you tried putting it on your middle finger but it was loose still. As you were about to put it on your thumb, his cold hands gripped your wrist making you halt mid-process.

"What is it-"

"Here let me help you out."

God, he was also wearing a silver glinting necklace. Now that is fucking sexy!

Draco unclasped his own necklace, putting either ends of it into the ring until it hang perfectly. When it was perfectly adjusted just how he wanted it to, he offered it to you without double thinking, a genuine grin sprawled on his handsomely face.

You were still deeply honored yet it felt... Wrong. "Draco- I really appreciate this but- it's yours and we barely even talk-"

"I don't care about that." He flawlessly said. "You remind me of someone I deeply love and... I guess this is my way of being grateful we met at this untimely night." He scoffed and you're a bit sure you saw a hint of blush on his face.

"Really?" You didn't bother asking who that person was since he probably wasn't in the mood to tell you. You were flattered by his words as you accepted his offer.

"Yes. Now take this, and wear it. I want to see your hands with my rings, Y/n." He flirtatiously spoke, giving you another wink.

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous act. As you were about to out it, he stopped you once more and this time you were a bit provoked. "What is it again?"

He shrugged, and now the blush hidden in his handsome features was now displayed. It was cute seeing his pale, porcelain skin yo be tainted with a tinge of scarlet. He took the necklace into his hands and made strong and seducing type of eye contact. You nearly tripped at his look right now as he said. "Let's make this scene a bit... Romantic. And by that..." He clasped the necklace on your neck, his fingers ghosting your skin ever-so-slightly. "I get to do this to you."

You shudder, not just because of the cold weather, but because of his cold touch. It was so nice against your skin that you wanted him to do it again. You smiled and bit your lip to restrain any embarrassing words. "Draco, you're being too sweet-"

"Am I? People always like the idea of making me sound rude. It feels good I get to prove it to you that that is a lie." His hands sat ok your shoulder, the pad of his thumb caressing you pulse point between your neck and shoulder.

"I understand that. When people wanted to make you sound like a villain when truly your just trying to be genuine and basic?"

Draco grinned. "Yeah, Y/n. Something like that."

You contemplated for a moment, the tension between you building up because of how close your lips had been. It was merely an inch apart, your noses almost touching that you suddenly want to feel the saccharine taste of his lips and the soft texture pressed against yours. Maybe it would be the cure to your insomnia-driven nights. Maybe it would ease and alleviate you.

"You're pretty, you know?"

You were taken a back. You stared at his eyes still and didn't even realize his hands had dropped down to your elbows, pulling it closer to him, informing you that he wants your hands to lean on his chest—to feel how ragged his breathing had gotten just by her presence. You flinched a little and smiled.

"Oh?" Was the only word to roll out of your tongue.

"Mhm." Draco was lost in his own void, his concentration had dropped from your eyes and down to your gaped lips. "So pretty..."

Fuck...

You couldn't bear the growing impatience anymore and you knew to yourself that you had to do something about it. Something to help soften his heavy breathing. He looked tired and worn out. Fragile and about to burst. You had to do something about it quick before he breaks.

Shit!

And so you lifted your heel to match his height and pecked a kiss on the corner of his mouth. For a moment Draco closed his eyes to memorize the way both your lips linked—he was awestruck. He smelled good. So good that you wanted to give another go but was frustrated enough that he didn't slam you against the wall and leave you breathless from his aggressive kisses so you just stood there and watched him remember the unsolicited peck you just gave him.

"Y/n-"

"Can I kiss you?" You abruptly said without hesitation. "Again? And this time... Better?"

Shit..

He nodded in the slightest of movement before lowering his head and both your lips met anew. There were fireworks and butterflies erupting in your stomach and all you could feel was how graceful and subtle his tongue shifted against yours and it was pure bliss. And this time, it was rougher than you thought.

a/n: AHHH! i hope you liked this one, and also PART TWO IS COMING SOON! sorry, I left y'all in a cliffhanger ;))

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[ruinaimagines]

Ezra platonic headcanons?

Has it become clear through my other Distortion Detective hcs that I love Ezra? Well if not, this is a clear indicator to my adoration. Thank you for your request, I hope you have a good day!

Ezra Platonic Headcanons:

If you’re friends with Ezra, prepare to be dragged around everywhere. She’s constantly all over the place so the best way to not lose track of her is to just never let her out of your sight.

She’s way more on the extroverted side which can be a bit overwhelming if you are introverted or have anxiety, but don’t worry! She’ll do all the talking if needed. Even if she can be a bit oblivious to the people surrounding her at times, if you let her know about your struggle beforehand she will absolutely keep it in mind.

If you’re spending a day together back at your home or her place, then you can expect to have sessions of sorting through various stickers she has thrown around the place. If you pick up any yourself you can offer trades between what a selection you have, often of which will get very professional for just being over stickers.

If you don’t have any on you, then don’t worry! You’re not leaving empty handed over. If she has any extras, which she probably does, she’ll shove them in your bag to take home whenever you do.

I can see her as the type of friend to just give you one of her random objects at home every time you visit. Most of her self control is Moses, so if there’s no one to stop her from buying the cute little trinkets in the windows of stores then she ends up picking up so much stuff she never even uses.

She seems like the type of person to make collages. It isn’t meant to be some big art piece of anything, she just gets bored and decides to cut up any of the old unimportant newspapers in the city and glue them together to make crude shapes.

Adding onto the collages, she owns a lot of glitter gel pens. Whenever she gets the chance, she uses them. Moses says she can’t sign contracts or important legal documents with them, so she opts for writing letters to you with them instead. She doesn’t even need to write letters, there’s other more efficient ways of talking, she’s just looking for an excuse.

Also a really specific note on top of that, she definitely writes titles in those large colored bubble letters. They’re also really well done too and perfectly spaced, she learned how to as a kid and the skill has just stuck with her since.

She’s going to show you the weapons she gets from workshops and gush about them to you. She treats them like they’re her children and spends a lot of time making sure they’re in pristine condition.

If you’re someone who also has their own gear she would love to see it! You wouldn’t even have to tell her where it’s from because she can just pinpoint it based on her own knowledge.

She’s no mechanic, but she does understand the basics of repair. Should you have a piece of gear that’s been a bit roughed up and you really don’t want to pay the expensive fee that might come with it, you could bring it to her and see if she can figure out what’s wrong.

Best case scenario it’s something minor and easily fixable and she ends up getting it back to working while showing you how to yourself. If that doesn’t work she could try to reach out to YuRia. Problem is that YuRia is kind of not in a human body, so while she could give instructions there’s no guarantee it will work out.

Hey, but at least you’ll be able to return to the place you bought it, or a similar repair site, and be able to skip the possible fees an inspection can give. Everyone in the City is always trying to squeeze money out of you, so if you can get even a slight discount by already knowing the problems then you’ll take it.

If you’re also an avid fan of workshops and what they create, the both of you probably spend hours looking through any news on gear. Ezra quite clearly has her own favorites, but she also never misses out on reviewing new and upcoming workshops. After all, what if they turn out to be completely underrated and amazing? Not like she’s missing out on the chance.

Similarly, if you’re going out in public you two will absolutely stop at any shops you see on the road. Even if you don’t buy anything, because gear is quite expensive, you’ll still be able to admire the design on some stuff. It honestly looks like she has sparkles in her eyes and she will run to see if there is any form of minor merchandise like stickers she can purchase.

She can spend hours staring at just bullets so intently that you’re gonna have to be the one to pull her away and let her snap out of it. As soon as she does come back to reality, you two are both on the road to your next destination.

Chances are you’re going to stop at a restaurant, cafe, or some other food serving place. There’s nothing better than having a good meal, be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

It’s honestly impressive to watch how fast she scarfs that food down. She seems to think almost any place serves delicious dishes, even if it’s really average, and you’re starting to wonder if she actually tastes half of it or she’s just eating so fast it can’t hit her taste buds.

Not as though you care much. If she can find joy in having almost anything, then good for her. It’s nicer to be constantly satisfied than frequently disappointed after all.

If you’re back home with her, or you never left, and you have an inkling of the ability to cook or bake she will beg you to do it with her. I can see her as someone who especially likes baking and mixing the dough with her hands. She doesn’t mind getting messy, and it makes it much more fun than just stirring it as you would normally.

I do not recommend leaving her to manage the oven on her own though. Everything will likely be fine, but you can really never be sure. Considering how some of the past batches you’ve left unattended turned out, it’s always safe to just keep an eye on it yourself.

She will talk about her colleagues but she describes them in such specific and dramatic ways that half of the time they turn out far from what she’s actually said. Like Vespa, who she will complain about both lightheartedly and genuinely. From what you hear her say it makes it seem as though he’s immature, young, blunt, easy to anger, and a show off.

However when you actually meet him in reality he’s not. Well, he sort of is, but that’s specifically to Ezra and the sort of feud they have going on. She tends to describe others in her perception of what they’re like rather than they actually are, if that makes sense.

Take YuRia as another example. The day that YuRia was hired to work at the office, Ezra complained about it to you. As far as you knew, this new colleague was also a show-off, confident to an annoying extent, and actively trying to sabotage her.

A little bit later this story was completely changed and the two actually started to get on positive terms. You don’t actually know what’s going on half of the time but you’re there for the emotional support.

And you are there for support. There are times where she’s just had a horrible day and needs someone to cry to. You do your best to comfort her, even if you don’t fully know what to say. She sometimes just needs a reminder that someone cares.

I don’t think she’d be a super jealous friend, but she sort of is. She doesn’t get angry at you or anything when you make new friends, especially if they make a good impression on her, but she will worry if she starts to have a fear of being replaced.

This worry will be put to rest easily though, just remind her that you’re not going to replace her or toss her away, you could never do that.

[piduai]

Interview with Noda Satoru from the Golden Kamuy fanbook

sharing anywhere is fine, but please credit me.

Q: Tell me how you feel about passing 6 years of serialization. Noda: I was already serializing at the time of my debut, so I guess I’d be able to give a summary when I’m finished. I don’t really think about how many years it’s been, it’s merely a checkpoint.

Q: What made you decide to become a mangaka? Noda: I feel like I wrote it down as my goal in my yearbook back in middle school. I also wanted to become a movie director, but as a mangaka you can create the entire thing by yourself. 

When Golden Kamuy just took off I was living in a tiny apartment and the postman, a young fellow and a reader of Young Jump, realized that I’m Noda Satoru. The magazine was sending me a lot of things, so it was rather obvious. “Are you the author of Golden Kamuy?”, he asked in a surprised tone while looking around the cramped entryway. I could feel feel his confusion regarding the fact that that vast Hokkaido world of the manga was being created in this modest apartment. Or maybe he just expected me to be making more money and afford a better place. Anyhow, I just thought again about how a manga can be created in even the smallest room in the universe.

Q: Who is your favorite character and why? Noda: As always, it’s Tanigaki. But well, I love all of them. I want to showcase only the best parts of them, and it hurts when I fail. For example I’m very happy that there’s a character who stirs the pot as well as Usami. He’d be Katsuo in the world of Sazae-san.  

Q: Which characters are the easiest to draw, and which ones are the most difficult? Noda: Characters like Shiraishi, Tsukishima and Nagakura, they don’t have a lot of hair and even if they turn out a little ugly their faces are well-defined so it’s easy to draw. In general faces that are strongly distorted and resemble caricatures are easy. Meanwhile Asirpa, Kiroranke and Inkarmat have neat facial structures on top of wearing Ainu clothing, so they are a very high-calorie effort for me. Ogata and Kikuta are difficult too. Their faces are distinctive and I have to make them look cool too, which is wearing me out the most.

Q: Have you decided on all 24 convicts at the very start of the story? Noda: Wouldn’t I sound like a badass if I said that that I have? Anyway. There were the ones that were based off real-life Meiji era criminals, such as Shiraishi, Kumagishi Chouan or the lightning couple, and of course there was Hijikata.

Q: Tell me of a funny thing from the manga that you are fond of. Noda: Gansoku’s “Hah! ☆”. And also when Koito Jr. Was flapping his arms and legs around trying to keep himself in mid-air.

Q: Why did you decide on Otaru as the starting point? Noda: I am from Hokkaido, so I’m familiar with Otaru and Sapporo. Otaru is close to both the mountains and the sea. Sapporo used to be a swampland, it’s wide and flat and there is no sea. Otaru is a place where foreigners come and go, there are many criminals roaming around creating danger, and money is found. There aren’t many big cities in Hokkaido. There were Ainu living in Otaru but sources are scarce, however Nakagawa-sensei, the supervisor over the Ainu language, told me not to worry too much about the difference of location, so I figured it would be best to make it Otaru.

Q: Was there any real life experience you had while growing up in Hokkaido that you turned into a scenario? Noda: When I was about 19 someone I knew told me that there is a locust graveyard on a nearby mountain, which sounded so ridiculous I had to laugh in their face. Turns out it indeed was a heap of locusts and their eggs left after a locust plague, that place was the Teineyamaguchi locust mound (a real historical site). I realized I ended up using this in my story. I owe that person an apology.

Q: Was there any scene that was particularly difficult to draw? Could you elaborate on it? Noda: The time Sugimoto went against Nihei and Tanigaki. It gave me a very hard time. Who goes where and does what, how does Nihei carry Asirpa, stuff like this. I had no time to waste either, I just remember that sequence overall driving me insane. 

There was also the sequence with Wilk, Sofia and Kiroranke being at Hasegawa’s photo studio. It’s really frustrating to draw something that you know will bore the readers, the story flow becomes less exciting too. I was praying for everyone to have a little more patience and keep reading, because the twist was so good.

Q: If you were to take part in the gold hunt, which group would you like to belong to? Noda: It seems that Hijikata’s group doesn’t have funding problems, and because Kadokura is there the atmosphere is relaxed too. I’d go there.

Q: If you were to find all that gold, how would you use it? Noda: No idea. Had a couple when I was younger, though.

Q: Were you planning to eventually transfer the action to Sakhalin from the very beginning of the series? Noda: Asirpa and Kiroranke have roots there, so I anticipated that the story will eventually move to Sakhalin. I also expected to have to travel to Amur river myself, but couldn’t go after all, only went as far as Khabarovsk. 

I was thinking of making Sugimoto eat permafrost mammoth. There was talk of a research team or an ivory excavation team’s dog eating mammoth. However there was no reason to make Sugimoto and Co go as up north as needed for permafrost, so I scrapped the idea.

Q: Tell me something about the hardships you experienced while doing research is Sakhalin. Noda: It was tough, but fun. I was only able to understand the clear differences between Nivkh and Orok people by going there; I couldn't by only looking at records and materials while in Japan. 

Complete unrelated, but I was surprised by how many stray dogs wander around there. One time my cameraman and I ended up being chased by one while looking for a factory and we had to run for it. The beast was big, about the size of a German Shepherd. The guide also warned us about junkies, it was really scary.

I also went to the Japanese military pillbox over 50th parallel north and prayed at a cenotaph deep in the mountains. I met a group of Japanese people in the hotel by the place where it's said you can still find remains of Japanese soldiers and their driver, a Russian, seemed to help with collection of the remains on the regular. He said that he's doing it out of reverence, even as a former enemy. As a Japanese, I felt gratitude. The 7th Division are villains in my story, but I don't have any personal bias against either side.

Q: What were the biggest differences between drawing Hokkaido and Sakhalin? Noda: Well... it's Russia. Even though Sakhalin is so close, it's already Europe. The structure of houses is strikingly different. There's also the differences between Hokkaido Ainu and Sakhalin Ainu, and differences between Orok and Nivkh people. There is no manga that will conveniently lay the differences of those down for you. 

It seems that the Orok and Nivkh's relation with Japan only got more difficult by the beginning of Showa era, there is only one person in the whole of Japan who can supervise on the Orok language. The professors in cultural studies I consult for Golden Kamuy are truly top-level; not only are they tremendously knowledgeable, they also understand how important to me is to stay impartial.

The wildlife, as well. There's a biogeographical boundary between Hokkaido and Sakhalin, observing animals I would never be able to see in Hokkaido was riveting. 

Q: Did Sugimoto really have a hidden plan during the whole stenka business? Noda: No idea. Even if he used it as a pretext to get everyone involved, though... cut him some slack. He's only a man. Sometimes he just wants to fight and win. Not for Ume-chan or Asirpa-san, just for the sake of proving to himself that he's strong.

Q: Your art is dynamic and detailed. I think your style changed quite a bit with time, though. How would you describe yourself as an artist? Noda: I want to preface this by saying that in no way do I think of myself as more skilled than other mangaka, but if you're drawing everyday for more than 10 hours you're going to improve a lot eventually, whether you want it or not. People who are able to keep the same style for years without change are the ones who are impressive, because it means that they achieved the peak of their potential. Ageing and health problems influence your art a lot, you know. I try to draw by observing. I use a lot of references. Drawing by memory alone is not a good thing.

Speaking of other artists, I once had one of the assistants I had working for me for years draw me a door knob from memory, and the result was a truncated cone resembling pre-packaged pudding. The actual shape of a door knob has an intricately angular circular shape. It's the result of being unobservant in everyday life. Good art requires constant observation.

Q: What was the foundation for your style? Is there an artist you were influenced or inspired by? Noda: Araki Hirohiko-sensei, for sure. During my time as an assistant, many authors told me to not even try to be original when it comes to battle abilities, it's already been done in JoJo, it has it all. He's kind of the Beatles of this industry, isn't he? 

By the way, I usually have no intention of parodying JoJo in Golden Kamuy, but my friends will tell me that they identified this or that reference from time to time. I read Part 1 about 30 years ago but I was obsessed, so maybe some things were just left in my subconscious. I only did one obvious parody, during the stenka fight. Funnily enough that trope started in Fist of the North Star, though, not JoJo.

Q: What's one thing that gives you the most motivation to write? Noda: Fan letters. I know how straining it is to write long and neat sentences by hand, and am thankful for them. I'm happy that people go that far to share their thoughts about my work with me. I'm really grateful to the people who keep reading and supporting Golden Kamuy.

Q: Did you have an interest in Ainu culture before starting the series? Noda: I did not. I'll be glad if my work makes people interested in the Ainu. Prejudice is born out of ignorance, so if you want to learn about the Ainu, don't limit yourself to Hokkaido only; there are museums all around Japan, and they have knowledgeable curators. It's important to remember to take into account the time period and the occupation of the person on which the research materials are based when you're trying to learn about the subject.

Q: You showed us a lot of aspects of life during Meiji and Taisho eras. Tell us about what surprised or impressed you in the process of research. Noda: It's not that I was particularly knowledgeable, so having to check every single thing was quite exhausting. The Ainu, the military, katanas - all of these needed research on my part. 

There are more regulations and rules set for things out there than one could assume, and mangaka who base their works on real life need to be especially careful about this. You have to take into account things like the size of the buttons on a military uniform, how a tea cup is held, and and how different people talk in different ways. For movies there's staff working on costumes and props, there's the cast, there are screenwriters, but in a manga you are the one responsible for every single detail. I wish I had a time machine and travel back to those eras. There are things I couldn't get right here and there that I keep having regrets about.

Q: Golden Kamuy was the main visual in the British Museum manga exhibition between May and August in 2019. I know you went there in person. How was it? Noda: The trip felt like a reward for all of my efforts. The exhibition is jam-packed by opening time, but I got special treatment and they let me inside early in the morning so I could walk around the vast British Museum in solitude. I also travelled between Jack the Ripper's crime scenes at night by taxi.

The driver in a taxi I caught by chance was wonderful, she looked up photos of the crime scenes and surroundings taken at the time of investigation on her smartphone and showed them to me one by one, saying things like "the third victim was found here!". 

I've always had a soft spot for Jack the Ripper, back in middle school I even wrote a screenplay for a school festival stage and played him in it myself. It was done in very poor taste, like that one scene in the Addams Family movie where there are arms blown away and fountains of blood gushing out. The audience loved it. 

Q: Please leave a message for the readers. Or maybe some advice for the troubled youth. Noda: I want people to say that everyone in Golden Kamuy had a satisfying ending, and I want that for everyone involved more than anything. As for advice for the troubled youth, there's none. Life is survival of the fittest. The weak ones get eaten.

[kaori-flowers]

Heylow! This is the sad thingy I wrote about Tommy and Techno. My fingers hurt now but hopefully you enjoy it? :)

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Tommy collapsed on his knees and a line of spit with blood infused with it slid down his chin. He put his hands in the snow and it quickly turned red, flowing down away from his hands. His bloody spit dripped off his chin and onto the snow. Tommy could barely see through his blurred eyes, with tears running down his cheeks and distorting his sight. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth partially, letting the blood drip out of his mouth. His hands began to grow numb, as did his knees. He let himself fall on his side in the snow, and kept his eyes closed. He felt like he couldn't take another step, and he wouldn't. He refused. Tommy just laid on his side in the snow, blood running off him and discoloring all the snow around him. The cold and the wetness of the snow was very slowly soaking into his clothes, turning them damp. It was irritating to Tommy but he felt too much pain to want to even TRY and get up. He pulled his hands to his chest, and relaxed a little as he accepted that he might die here. It wouldn't be too bad, there were many notes he left for Phil, Techno, and Wilbur. There was even one for Ranboo. Tommy felt like it wouldn't be too bad to leave them like this. Especially since they already had prewritten notes. He figured that they would be okay, but.... they unfortunately wouldn't.

Meanwhile, as Tommy was bleeding out, Technoblade was cleaning up the house. He was getting it ready and making more room for Phil. Especially since Phil would be coming home soon and Techno was excited for him to rejoin the house. As Technoblade was sweeping the dirt out his front door he accidentally bumped the bookshelf by the door. It rattled for a few seconds and he dropped the broom to grab it, in attempts to prevent any possibility of a fall. It settled down as 4 large envelopes fell off the top of it, and hit Techno before hitting the floor. He looked down at them, letting go of the shelf, and then crouched to grab them. One had his name, the other had Phil's name, another had Wilbur's name, and the last one had Ranboo's name. The hand writing was clearly Tommy's, and it set alarms off in Techno's head. He never actually SEEN Tommy write a letter. EVER. So he set the 3 that didn't belong to him on the table before gently opening his. Technoblade gently unfolded the paper and it was clear that Tommy actually tried to write neatly. Which was a little odd since Tommy just scribbled things down and didn't care about what he wrote.

"If you're reading this then I'm probably dead....?"

The opening line threw him off rather quickly, and it only took him a few seconds to realize he didn't know where Tommy was. Technoblade stuffed the note in his pocket before grabbing his cloak and throwing it around his shoulders. He grabbed a shovel and left the house quickly, shutting the door behind him. Snow was falling heavily and Technoblade was unsure if he would actually be able fo find him through the thick snow. He held onto hope as he pushed forward. The wind was bone chilling, and he couldn't begin to imagine how cold Tommy was right now. In the distance he could see a very odd shape moving through the snow towards him. As he got closer he figured out ot was someone carrying something. Technoblade powered through the snow, jogging the best he could to reach the figure quickly.

"I-i dont know what happened! I just found him like this! Help him please?!"

Ranboo was a little emotional, especially since he knew everything Tommy had been through. Ranboo grew watching how Tommy was treated, and what others did to him. So it hurt him physically when he found Tommy laying in the snow with blood dripping off him. Technoblade quickly took Tommy from Ranboo, holding him gently as he could. Tommy was clearly unconscious and for a second Techno thought he was dead.

"Don't you have potions you can give to him so he heals?! Help him! Why are you just standing there?!?!"

Ranboo had grown to not exactly be afraid of Technoblade, even though he was extremely over powered. Techno could kill Ranboo in 2 seconds if he really wanted to, but how Tommy reacted to Ranboo he wouldn't. It was clear Ranboo was a great friend to Tommy, and Techno wouldn't kill him. Unless he had no other choice of course.

"Okay. Okay it'll be okay. I can fix this."

Technoblade was talking more to himself than Tommy or Ranboo, but he wasn't sure he actually believed himself. It was said for more of a comfort thing as Techno carried Tommy back towards home. Tommy remained motionless in Techno's arms, and the blood loss made him look extremely pale. Technoblade was afraid that he wouldn't make it, especially with how pale he was. Ranboo followed Technoblade quickly and even opened the front door for him. Technoblade entered carefully and gently laid Tommy on his own bed. He couldn't be bothered to carry Tommy down to his own room. Ranboo shut the front door and threw some coal in the fireplace to warm the house quickly.

"W-what do you want me to do?"

"Stay out of my way."

"Techno! I-i can help!"

Techno growled at him, looking up slightly since he was taller. Ranboo grabbed Techno's tusks and pushed his head away quickly with force. Ranboo didn't like being cornered even if he was being cornered by the person that could kill him in the blink of an eye.

"I can help. I promise I won't hurt him."

Ranboo's voice was loud and it held no lies, and Technoblade realxed slightly. He let Ranboo in, nodding at the chest hanging on the wall. Ranboo quickly walked over to it and opened it, searching for anything useful in it. Technoblade gently pulled Tommy's armor off and then his shirt and pants. He looked him over gently trying to find the wounds that the blood had come from. Ranboo reached Techno's side and handed him a cold wet rag. Technoblade gently took it from him and began wiping the blood off Tommy's body. Tommy shivered slightly, and Techno gently wrapped them up with bandages. After Tommy's wounds were wrapped up Technoblade covered him with the blanket, and gently put his wrist on Tommy's forehead. Tommy felt pretty warm, but then again the fireplace in the house was raging. Ranboo disappeared for a few minutes but returned soon enough with a regeneration potion. Unfortunately Tommy was unconscious though and Techno didn't want to force him to drink. As a precaution! Tommy could choke and possibly drown if Techno just poured the potion in his mouth. So instead Techno set it on the bed side table and kneeled next to the bed. He kept his hand on Tommy's wrist, gently, just in case he woke up any time soon.

"Go get Phil."

"Okay!"

Ranboo left the house quickly, making sure to shut the door behind him. Technoblade looked down at Tommy and sighed, looking him over slowly. Techno closed his eyes and gently grabbed Tommy's hand with both of his. He stayed kneeling next to the bed as he gently held Tommy's hand. He kept his eyes closed and mentally counted as he listened to Tommy's breathing. Techno wanted to make sure he had no problems breathing and it was normal. For now, it was. Thankfully.

Ranboo shoveled the snow out of the doorway and Phil opened the door quickly. Technoblade was kneeling next to his bed where Tommy laid, partially conscious. Techno was fast asleep, holding Tommy's hand. With Tommy's free hand he rose it to his lips to shush them, not wanting to bother his older brother. Techno hadn't been getting much sleep lately, and despite Tommy in serious pain he wanted Techno to sleep. Ranboo shut the door quietly and Phil kneeled down next to Techno. Tommy smiled the best he could at Phil but it was evident that he was in serious pain. Phil got up and walked over to Ranboo, whispering in an attempt to not wake Techno.

"You collect sweet berries and I will collect snow."

Phil handed Ranboo a bucket and then picked up a bucket for himself before leaving through the front door. Techno's ears twitched at the sound of the door closing and he sat up slowly. Tommy wanted to act like he was still unconscious but he was in too much pain to do so. Techno sat up quicker and looked Tommy over to see his bandages were stained red. Techno shifted and let go of Tommy's hand, checking around for any water.

"It's okay. How did you sleep?"

Tommy's voice was hoarse and quiet, but Techno had extremely good hearing. Techno grabbed the glass of water and gently tried getting Tommy to sit up. Unfortunately Tommy was in too much pain and hissed, making Techno stop and jump back. Tommy laid back down and grabbed the glass of water, nearly pouring it out on himself as he tried to drink it. It was very clear that Tommy wasn't gonna make it and Techno's chest tightened as he realized that.

"Techno."

"Yes Tommy?"

"Just one hug before i-"

"Don't."

Technoblade didn't want to hear his little brother openly accept his fate. He lightly sat on the floor and gently pulled Tommy into his lap, making sure to hug him softly. Tommy winced in pain but leaned against him, happy to finally have a hug from his older brother. They usually just argued, wrestled, and fought with each other about everything. They never actually hugged before, but it was Tommy's dying wish. He wanted a hug before he actually disappeared. Tommy closed his eyes and Techno wrapped his cloak around the both of them. Techno's chest felt tight and his throat felt like it had a lump the size of a golf ball in it.

"Tommy..."

"I'll still be around, like Wilbur. But only here with you."

"Tommy I promise I will get revenge! I will slaughter everyo-"

"Shhhhhhh."

Tommy could hear the pain slightly escaping out through Techno's voice and it hurt him. He didn't want to hear his older brother hurt with his last dying minutes. He just wanted to cherrish the moment between them, and wanted a happy moment before he actually died. Technoblade gently put his hand on Tommy's back and let out a slow sigh. Tommy had already planned staying with Techno, even after his life was over. Technoblade remembered the letter and gently pulled it out of his pocket. He uncrumpled it and folded it gently so he could actually read it.

Ranboo had filled his bucket with sweet berries and Phil had his full of snow. They both walked back to the house as quick as the snow would let them. Ranboo opened the door for Phil but dropped the bucket of berries and froze. Phil expected the worse, dropping the snow bucket and entering the house quickly. Technoblade was on the floor with Tommy in his arms as Techno's cloak was draped over both of them. There was a ball of paper by Techno's knee and tears were sliding down his face effortlessly. Techno had a tight grip on the cloak and he sat there silently with his jaw clenched hard. You would almost think he's trying to crack a walnut with how hard his jaw was clenched.

"Techno.... is he-"

"Tommy?"

Phil stumbled slightly before his legs locked in place. Ranboo's whole body was ridged as he stared at Tommy's lifeless body. It was like a nightmare come true and none of them wanted to believe he was really gone. Although Techno was already set in his ways and his mind was focused on one thing. Revenge. Techno was on a dead set goal to slaughter every single person that ever hurt Tommy and especially whoever did this to him. He wasn't gonna rest until everyone paid their price.

"Techn-"

"No mercy."

Phil knew with those two words there would be no changing his mind. Although Phil didn't really care, because he had just close another son. He felt the same at Techno, but he wasn't as violently motivated as him. Phil wouldn't be the one to attack first but he would infact help Techno. Especially now. Phil and Techno looked at Ranboo slowly, making him feel the stare of hatred and pressure. Ranboo pulled his sword out of it's sheath and choked down the hard lump in his throat.

"For Tommy."

So it was settled. Everyone would go down in flames, and pools of blood without a shed of mercy cor their souls. All for Tommy.

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 5~Part 1

Kurama is already in love with Yoshino, he just doesn’t realize it. Also yeah, I hope I did give a warning in Chapter 1.

Chapter 4

*

*

*

-----Part 1-----

Ibuki: “As usual, the powerful Onmyoji of this court is well experienced. As expected of my ‘master.”

Yasuchika: “Stop talking like a creep, you bastard.”

The tone of voice was harsh and unbelievable for a young child.

But Ibuki didn’t show any care....

Ibuki: “How can you be so cold to a cute child? Yasuchikaaa.”

Yasuchika: "Your catnip is too transparent. If you went to Kamakura, why didn't you just drink some of Yoritomo-sama's nectar?"

Ibuki: "That Shogun. Not bad for a playmate, but this time I found something cuter."

Yasuchika: "You mean Kura-rin? What would you have done if he found out we were messing with him? ......Well, you know what, I suppose it's no use asking you."

Ibuki: "You understand me very well, don’t you. I’m impressed."

Yasuchika: "That’s the worst and most disgraceful swear words I've ever lived to hear."

Without seeming to care Ibuki put one hand into his long sleeve and removed the heavy bracelet....

Yasuchika:"......................"

Ibuki: "Phew, I feel comfier in this body."

Ibuki sits comfortably in front of Yasuchika in his adult form, his well-groomed face intact.

His bright, wavy blonde hair was beautifully long, with two ivory-colored antlers peeking out of the gaps.

Yasuchika: "Take it on and off too often and you'll lose it, your charm bracelet."

Ibuki: "Captious as ever. In front of the court and the people in the Onmyoji dormitory, I have to wear the right disguise. .....No one should suspect that a demon is nesting in the mansion of the Abe family, a family of Onmyoji masters with a long history."

A sarcastic smile appeared in Ibuki's noble, slitted eyes.

Yasuchika: "That's enough. Now, where's the rest of the report? The original plan was to test the fox princess's strength and investigate her character, right?"

Ibuki: "And then Kurama poked his head in from the side. It's not my fault if he was there before."

Yasuchika: "Do you take me as a fool. You were aware of Kura-rin's presence, so you deliberately led the demon towards him."

Ibuki: "Have you been using those paper dolls to keep an eye on me? ....Geez, I can’t trust you anymore."

Yasuchika: "Why need a shikigami when I can predict how you’ll act based on my knowledge of your character."

Ibuki: "Are you also good at telling personalities?"

Yasuchika: "Well, of course. And your character is disgusting. You're irredeemable and love to play with people’s hearts."

Ibuki: "No more, or you’ll make me blush, Mr. Onmyoji."

Yasuchika: "Ibuki."

Yasuchika's dark eyes are filled with a murky gloom.

Yasuchika: "You're free to play as long as you don't bother 'him'."

Ibuki: "You really love him, don't you?"

Ibuki plays with Yasuchika's hair with his fingertips giving her a derisive look.

Ibuki: "Okay, don’t pout. Plans have changed, but we're still getting the bare minimum of information using remote monitoring techniques. Unfortunately, I couldn't listen to all the details of the conversation without Kurama noticing."

Yasuchika: "So?"

Yasuchika asked, not caring about the tousled hair and not blinking.

Ibuki: "First of all, our little fox princess is only taking baby steps towards using her powers. She didn’t even think about her fox powers."

Yasuchika: "But Yoshitsune-sama was able to make a wind blade, on the very night he made the pact."

Ibuki: "What I saw at that time, she was scared to be eaten alive, let alone face the demon by herself."

Yasuchika: "......I see."

Yasuchika murmured as if thinking about something.

Ibuki: "But above all that, she is a big softie and even tried to hide Kurama from her own allies. As a result, Kurama was intoxicated by it, so no one died."

Yasuchika: ".....Kura-rin being disturbed. That's something new."

Ibuki: "Isn't it?"

Ibuki laughs happily.

Ibuki: "Fox princess is the eye of the storm. If you play with it enough, it can send you into a tailspin, as I see it."

----Part 2----

Ibuki: "Fox princess is the eye of the storm. If you play with it enough, it can send you into a tailspin, as I see it. I'm sure it will be interesting to see Kurama, out of all people, would have anything to do with a human woman."

Yasuchika: "For better or worse, she's just a normal girl. I don't think she's got much chance of winning."

Ibuki: "It's true that she wasn't able to kill even one demon that time. Even Kurama thinks the same. .....But don't you know me already, Yasuchika? That I love to try humans."

Yasuchika: "I know. That's why I hate you."

Ibuki: "What? You too."

Yasuchika: "Yes."

Ibuki: "Anyways, do you have any interesting news?"

Yasuchika: "..... I hate to please you with all my heart."

Yasuchika picks up a letter from his sleeve and shows it to Ibuki.

Yasuchika: "----The Shogunate has asked me to help the fox princess who wants to practice slaying demons. Apparently, the brave princess is trying to overcome her fears herself."

Ibuki: ".......He...hahahaha...that's a piece of good news. This will be a most amusing game, Yasuchika."

Yasuchika: "Children who are absorbed in playing are apt to fall. You have to watch your step."

Ibuki: "I'll try my best not to fall."

With cold eyes, Yasuchika brushes his hair and looks at Ibuki.

Ibuki's eyes, on the other hand, were shining brightly.

Ibuki: "It's been a long time since I played with Kurama. It reminds me of the old days."

Yasuchika: "You've already harassed him enough when he was a child and you’re still greedy. If that's what you call love, then it's distorted. I feel sorry for Kura-rin."

Ibuki: "I don't need you to tell me about love. You are a misanthropic Onmyoji."

................

Yoshino: "Well, I'll be off then."

Yoritomo: "Are you sure about this, Yoshino?"

Yoshino: "Yes."

Kagetoki: "You really like strange things, don't you? Like going to wars."

The battle, said to be an outpost of Shogunate and the rebels, was about to begin.

Tamamo: “The war began between the Shogunate and the rebels’ respective countries. The two armies go to each other’s side of the battlefield, which has become a stalemate...”

Yoshino: “The two armies are not going all out ahead of the war. In other words...The aim was not to win the game outright, but to win the game in our favor.”

Kagetoki(smiles): “Well done.”

Tamamo: “Once again, I’m sorry I can’t be there for you.”

Tamamo’s shapely brows furrow languidly.

Yoshino: “That’s reassuring enough. Thank you, Tamamo.”

Yoritomo: “I’m sorry. I’d love to send him with you, but he’s got another job.”

Yoshino: “Yes. I understand.”

As a demon who has lived longer than Kurama, Tamamo has a wealth of knowledge about the other side of the sea.

Now under the pretense of being a guest from the Song Dynasty, he is helping to plan tactics for the war against the rebels.

(I’ll do the best I can with what I’ve got.)

Yoshino: “In a real battle against the rebels, you can’t rely on someone else all the time. It’s a good opportunity to practice.”

(Not only that.)

(If I, a pharmacist, go, I may be able to reduce the number of deaths on the battlefield.)

And the nursing regime we planned with everyone in the Shogunate.

If you can try it out on the actual battlefield it will be so much the better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. I’d rather be doing something....

2. I have to be strong...(+4/+4)

3. If I keep trying...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: “Because I have to be strong...”

(To fight that Kurama proudly someday.)

Black feathers fluttered brightly in the scene behind my eyelids.

At that time...

Morinaga: “Ready, Yoshino.”

Shigehira: “.............”

------Part 3------

Morinaga: “Ready, Yoshino.”

Shigehira: “.............”

(They’re here.)

Morinaga-san and Shigehira-kun, who are going to this outpost, are already finished wearing their armor.

Yoshino: “I’m ready as I’ll always be.”

Shigehira: “I won’t listen to you whining once you’re on the battlefield. Okay?”

Morinaga: “I’m counting on you, but don’t take any chances.”

Yoshino: “Yes!”

I follow them tightly and put my feet on the stirrup of the horse that is being pulled.

Shigehira-kun and Morinaga-san, also jumped on their horses, too.

Yoritomo: “---Come home alive. For the sake of the Kamakura Shogunate and yourself.” (Spoilers: she’s not coming home. Come on! even if I don’t give spoilers here, I’m sure you guys will already understand that this is foreshadowing.)

Yoritomo-sama’s eyes, which usually have a teasing tinge, were serious today.

Yoshino: “.....I will.”

I replied with a strong will and went with Morinaga-san and Shigehira-kun to the soldiers.

............

A few days later, on a battlefield, the two armies arrive almost simultaneously...

As if to add fuel to the smoldering fire, the battle situation suddenly flared up.

Rebel soldier 1: “Enemy attack! Enemy attack!”

Rebel soldier 2: “Damn the Shogunate! How did they find out about our supply routes?”

Shogunate soldier 1: “Go! Push through----!”

The rebel wielded their swords in a desperate attempt to prevent the Shogunate soldiers from breaking through.

Swords clashed, arrows whizzed through the air, and the shouts of the soldiers filled the air.

Rebel soldier 1: “Ngh....this is not right. It wasn’t supposed to be this intense.”

Rebel soldier 2: “Oh, this is not a prelude.---- What the hell is going on?”

Rebel soldier 3: “No, no, no----”

Just when the rebel soldiers were moaning in despair----

Shogunate soldier 2: “Gwaa”

Rebel soldier 3: “......!”

Kurama: “----What a mess, I can’t stand it.”

As soon as Kurama, who had ridden in on his horse, jumped into the fray, he cuts down several soldiers with just one swing of his sword.

Rebel soldier 3: “Ku-Kurama-sama!”

Kurama: “It is shameful that a soldier of Yoshitsune should kneel on the ground. I’ll let you choose whether you want to be killed by me before the enemy kills you, or to die in vain in the service of the enemy.”

The heavy voice, which seems to push aside the clamour, naturally freezes friend and foe alike.

Shogunate soldiers 3: “Nn...don’t be frightened! He’s not Benkei or Yoichi, we don’t know his strength....”

Shogunate soldiers 4: “Yes! Don’t let the unknown soldier get away with it!”

Kurama(smiles): “.....Ha. It’s just that I’ve never had a name to tell you before. Why should I tell my name to a weak bug that going to be crushed under my feet, anyway?”

The white blade danced faster than the words, and by the time he had, finished several of the Shogunate’s soldiers had been knocked down without a sound.

Shogunate soldier 5: “Ah.......”

A few soldiers of the Shogunate realized that he was stronger than any normal human, began to retreat.

Kurama: “Too late. Not only were you born weak, but you have a fragile instinct to recognize the strong. Weak and stupid, don’t show me any more abominations than you already have.”

Rebel soldier 4: “Ah.....Kurama-sama, gave us a chance to win!”

Rebel soldier 5: “It's his words of encouragement. Even if we die, we can’t be called weak----!”

Awe and mortal fervour made the blood of the rebel soldiers boil.

They regained their momentum and pushed the Shogunate soldiers back again.

Kurama(Making the ‘I can’t understand humans’ face): “......... Samurai are so annoying.”

Kurama stated and swung his sword again.

.................

(.......It’s  funny, the number of wounded is much higher than planned.)

Yoshino: “Excuse me, please bring the most seriously injured ones to this tent!”

Shogunate soldiers 6: “Yes!”

Rearguard troops were coming in and out of my tent.

Injured soldier: “Nn....Thank...you, Yoshino-san.”

Yoshino: “You don’t have to say anything. Everything will be fine.”

(Aside from the wound medicines I’ve been making....)

(With such a crowded situation, it’s going to be difficult to get the water needed for treatment.)

I stop the bleeding of the wounded soldier and wraps the torn cloth tightly around the wound.

Then----

Shigehira: “Yoshino-san!”

Part 2

[lykegenia]

Nate Sewell x Leah Kingston, hurt/comfort

--

I manage to make it all the way to my apartment and into pyjamas before I wobble. It’s just as well – getting into a crash because I was too teary-eyed to see the road would have been an embarrassing way to go – and at least the hour is late enough that none of my neighbours are around to bear witness to my return. Now that there’s time and distance between me and the warehouse, the adrenalin has faded enough for my stomach to start growling again. Hunger is a practical problem, one that I know how to solve.

Nothing in the fridge will make a proper meal, but the jar of kimchi and the leftover sausages can be cobbled together with one of the packets of instant ramen Nate shoved to the back of my cupboards with a distasteful curl of his lip. It’s ready fast enough that there’s not much time to dwell, but not even the care I take to make it look fancy, garnished with chives from the new pot on the windowsill, can make it taste of more than cardboard. I force it down anyway. The blank wall opposite the sofa stares back at me as I sit, curled up, trying to figure out what to do with my evening now that my plans have gone sideways. The sting in my eyes is easily blamed on the spice in the noodles.

Reading is out of the question, I need something to do with my hands. After a long moment, I set the bowl aside and cross the room to get the workbasket sitting half-forgotten down the side of one of the bookcases. The rag rug unfolds in my hands, creased from long storage. I started it in the quiet nights after Murphy’s capture, intending it to cover the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the repetitive action of tying knots in strips of fabric almost as good as sleep when sleep eluded me. The only choice to be made with it is what colour to choose next, a simple, easy decision without any consequences at all. And silent, so the neighbours aren’t bothered by the noise of power tools in the wee hours. I had intended to have it finished weeks ago.

I’m completing the fourth new row when someone knocks on the door. The time blinking on my phone screen brings a frown to my face, the deep silence tingling over my skin. As unlikely as a trapper would be to knock, I lay my work aside and reach for the Volt gun stashed in the drawer of the coffee table. My feet make no sound as I creep to the door. The shadow cast by the hall light moves at my approach nonetheless, as if coming to attention, and I risk a glance down to check the safety.

And then I look through the peephole.

It’s Nate. He glances up as if the door isn’t even there, his expression a tight knot of worry clear even through the distortion of the lens as a breath shudders between my teeth. The Volt seems ridiculous now. Flicking the safety catch back on, I shove it into the utility cupboard beside the door and take a swift inventory of myself, smoothing a hand through my hair and across my cheeks before I dare lay it on the door handle.

He answers my smile as I swing the door open, but it’s guarded. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I can’t hold his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so late.”

“If I woke you –”

“You didn’t.” A pause. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’ve no idea –” he starts, then interrupts himself. “You’ve been crying.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have.” Because of me, he doesn’t say, but it’s easy enough to read in the tightness around his eyes.

“Alright, yes, fine,” I grumble, as something harsh squeezes in my chest. “Human lie detector. You should come in.”

As I step aside there’s a heartbeat before he crosses the threshold, ducking his head to avoid a collision with the door lintel, and then he pauses just inside the living room, shifting the weight uneasily between his feet.

“But I’m not human,” he says, with no trace of his usual humour. A shiver runs across my shoulders as I lock the door behind him.

“You’re close enough.”

When I turn back to face him, his features are contorted into incredulity. “How can you say that after what almost happened?” he demands. “What I almost did?”

He reaches for me, but the hand curls back around the words that stick in his throat before he can touch me. The shake of his head informs the shape of them anyway, what I knew they would be.

“If you’ve come to break up with me because of one stupid accident you can come back and do it in the morning,” I snap. “I’m not dealing with it now.”

The shock that meets such a blunt statement might have been comical in other circumstances, but there’s also the flicker of other emotions beneath the surface that pass too quickly for me to recognise. For a long, speechless moment the space between us unfolds with all the paths the brewing argument might take. Finally, with a helpless shrug, he licks his lips and makes a choice.

“I’m dangerous, Leah.”

“I think you proved tonight that you’re not,” I retort. “Not to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”

He flinches, hunching over as if winded. “You have no idea how much I wanted to – how tempting it was. It keeps playing through my mind.”

“Nate, I’m fine.” I dare a step towards him. “Everything’s fine. I’m not even bleeding anymore – you can stop worrying.”

When he doesn’t respond, the hopeful smile falls from my lips as I turn away. It’s a fight to keep my hands from wrapping around myself, from betraying exactly how lonely it feels with him so far away, but I won’t give in to the urge. They bunch into fists at my side instead; I’ll be able to wallow as much as I want after he leaves.

He notices. A gaze soft and full of regret falls on me as he crosses the floor, and my skin burns where his fingertips brush my arm. “I’ll always worry about you, and… I’ll always want to know that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” I insist.

His touch falls to my injured hand, to the plaster on my finger. “I frightened you.”

“A little.” I swallow. “But it wasn’t just fear.”

He’s closer now than he was in the kitchen, brown eyes heavy on mine, shadowed by a frown as he tries to work out my meaning. Maybe in the end the flush in my cheeks give it away, because he blinks at last and his mouth falls open, held taut as if he can’t decide whether to advance or retreat, and the embarrassment of the whole thing forces me away with a huff of laughter and a ragged hand shoved through my hair. It doesn’t say much for my sense of self-preservation that I’m turned on by my boyfriend’s predatory instincts, especially when guilt twists so clearly at the corner of his mouth, but he deserves the honesty.

“No one’s ever looked at me with such… intensity before,” I mumble, staring past his left ear. “And I noticed you weren’t staring at my hand. It felt like you wanted… well.”

He hooks a finger under my chin. “I’ve never wanted to kiss you more.” With the confession spoken his gaze drops to my mouth, his fingers turning to trail along the curve of my jaw and down my neck, reverent over the sparking line of my pulse, and he leans closer. “But it might not have stopped there, not once I’d tasted you.”

“You really are like the hero in a vampire romance novel.”

A laugh breaks from his lips at the unexpected tease, my face cradled in his hands as he brings his forehead gently down to mine. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Can I kiss you now?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck. The moment hangs between us – there shouldn’t be any trace of blood left, but Nate is always cautious, always considerate.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he murmurs.

My smile bows against the pad of his thumb, and then the press of his mouth as he closes the last of the distance. After everything that’s happened, the relief of his touch is like a physical thing, setting a tremble in my knees that I’m glad no one else can see. Strong arms wrap more tightly around me to keep me standing, the scent of leather and rain that always follows him as soft as the kisses slanted across my lips.

The movement shifts our positions a little and I pull away at the unexpected sensation it brings, a sharp prod against my stomach.

“What is in your pocket?”

He laughs again. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

“Then I have some serious anatomical concerns.”

Still chuckling, he lets his hands fall from my shoulders and after a moment of rummaging produces a small, square tin from one of the oversized pockets in his leather jacket. The series of Chinese-style paintings decorating the sides suggest that at one time or another it was used for tea, probably directly imported from some small, artisan family business, knowing Nate.

“They were meant to be dessert, but they won’t keep,” he says in explanation.

Curious, I take the offering and pry off the lid. Inside is a nest of soft, crisp tissue paper, and hidden beneath the topmost layer –

“Macarons?”

I hardly dare to breathe. The smooth, round shells are unmistakeable, their sugary almond scent immediately conjuring an image of the old tearoom where I first tried them, complete with pristine white tablecloths and fussy porcelain teacups.

They’re a pain to make, and I’ve never tried. Not only do all the measurements have to be precise, the process followed to the letter, but humidity or a wind from the north or the wrong moon phase can ruin them, and you’d better hope you don’t have plans for the rest of the day. They’re also far too expensive to buy regularly on a cop’s salary. With anyone else I’d wonder what occasion I’d forgotten, or the reason for trying to butter me up, but Nate is just… like this.

“You made me macarons.”

“They’re not perfect,” he cautions, reaching out.

I shake my head. “Yes they are.” They’ve even been dusted with glitter powder, which I suspect is a touch added by Felix – Nate’s romantic but he would never deign to be gaudy. “Thank you.”

“After ruining dinner I thought at least I could give you these.” He shrugs before I can contradict him. “Thank you, by the way, for clearing everything up.”

“Of course,” I answer, reaching for his hand. “Will you stay?”

“I would like that.”

Flashing a smile, I hand back the tin of macarons so I can clear away enough space on the sofa for us both to sit. The scattered rags are stuffed back into the workbasket with the scissors, and the tape measure fished from its attempted escape down the side of the cushions.

Nate helps fold the rug. “I haven’t seen this before,” he says. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s just something I do in spare moments.” I shrug. “Actual crochet is a bit beyond my skill level, but it’s nice to have something to do that doesn’t require thinking. What’s that smile for?”

“No reason in particular,” he murmurs, once more stepping close. “Every time I think I can’t be luckier to have you in my life, you prove me wrong.”

I have to drop my gaze, stammering against the urge to protest. “You’re the one making me fancy desserts.”

“I have to find something to do while you sit buried under all that paperwork,” he teases. “Shall we enjoy them?”

His hand stretches out in offering, and with it he draws me down to his side, patient while I get comfortable, tucked up under his arm safe and small and enveloped in warmth. A kiss brushes against my forehead. Even after months, I still marvel at how Nate can make my apartment feel so much more like a home just with his presence, and as he tilts the macaron tin towards me, knowing how easily I might have gone without it tonight – how I would have thought it normal, once – turns the gesture into something even sweeter.

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: There Is a Unique Song in Your Mind That Only You and Your Soulmate Know

The song in your head was . . . unique, to say the least. Arguably, that was the point: To have a song so distinct that there would be no bones about it this was your soulmate. But the older you got and the more thought you gave it, perhaps you were a special case. Because in spite of it being practically tattooed to your mind for as long as you could remember, you could never actually voice it, much less hum it any kind of justice.

It wasn’t that you were an incompetent singer -- after all, even the most incapable were at least able to sing just enough to find their partner. No, no, it was more like whenever you tried, no matter what you did, it just seemed. . . distorted, for lack of a better word.

Attempting to replicate it would always pose a problem because first you would need to decide what part to even focus on: The overbearing brass section; the delirious woodwinds; or the strings that sounded warped whenever they weren’t being trampled by everything else.

But if you were feeling particularly daring (or perhaps stupid), you would try with what you had decided were the singing parts. There weren’t any actual words, from what you could make out. But what you could discern were the pitches. Or rather, pitch: Rising above the cacophony, there was a high D-flat. Tainted by its surroundings, perhaps, but it was definitely there.

It was a note only a professionally-trained soprano could hit so unwaveringly. Admittedly, it might have been wishful thinking on your part to assume this meant your partner was connected to opera -- there were plenty people with symphonic pieces playing in their heads that found themselves matched with butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers.

But even if it were, at least your ambitions had gotten you a pretty pleasant job: Not just anyone could say that they had gotten a job as a costumer at the prestigious Opera Populaire.

However, the downside to this was that not just anyone you came upon there could admit they shared your affliction of an aria.

“Is it . . . supposed to sound like that?” you would often get asked after every “performance” you gave. The answer, unfortunately, was maybe which meant you definitely weren’t meant for each other on that aspect. You tried not to feel too shocked after a while, especially as the pool of possibilities began to dry up.

Nonetheless, you stayed: After all, the pay was good and the people were, for the most part, decent.

Perhaps, you often found yourself contemplating, it’s just my lot in life be alone and go insane. For whatever this noise is to slowly drive me into the embrace of madness -- You would often pause after thinking such things, ceasing your needle as you tended to split seams or loosening beading. When have I ever spoken like that? How dreadfully dramatic! Maybe being in this place was having more of an effect on you than you’d thought . . . Or maybe you truly were losing your grip on reality.

You were humming more often, for one, and not even any of the arias from rehearsals that you constantly had to hear La Carlotta screeching. There would be many times as you worked the midnight oil where, in a moment of clarity, you would realize you had been humming your own song. You tried to consider why this was (maybe you had been singing it so often since you got here that it was becoming second nature; maybe it was to give you some sense of companionship as you tended to stay up late in the sewing room by yourself lately). But as much as you wanted to believe in the latter option, to provide yourself some romantic comfort and hope, the reality was there was also a bit of a third option: Perhaps it was a reflex to quell the increasing sensations of feeling like you were being . . . watched.

The dance choreographer’s daughter, Meg, had recently begun to whisper about the possibility of a ghost living in the walls of the opera house. You had no idea where she’d gotten that idea, nor did you want to invest any stock in it, but it was moments like tonight where you couldn’t help but wonder . . .

Against your better judgement, you paused your hemming and tempted to glance at a nearby mirror before mentally scolding yourself.

Don’t be so ridiculous! you fussed. You are not going crazy and even if you do, it’s not going to be over some ghost that isn’t even there!

And that was that.

Until one morning, that is.

Notes weren’t exactly the most practical means of communication in the opera house. The way of the little world generally boiled down to just shouting upwards (or downwards) at nearly any given location, and surely the message would get to whomever it was for. There was just something ominous about receiving a note, sparking both curiosity and anxiety.

The blood-red seal in the shape of a death’s head wasn’t doing much for your morning, either.

You glanced around the workshop: Nope, nobody was here this early. You tried listening for any breathing heavied by anticipation amongst the piles of petticoats in need of washing or the mannequins sporting half-finished gowns. Nothing. If this was a prank, whoever was pulling it was either really good at hiding or was perhaps missing the point of sticking around to watch the victim’s reaction.

But, as you so often found yourself doing whenever in this room, you went against your better judgement: Gingerly, you peeled away at the parchment’s lips before retrieving the letter from within . . . and couldn’t help but furrow your brows.

You read it again. A third time. A fourth. But the black script remained in the same strange message:

Dear (M./Mlle. L/N),

I extend to you my fondest of greetings, as well as my firmest of apologies for my belated welcoming of you to my opera. I can assure you I shall not fail to be attentive to you again. On that note, it has not gone unnoticed that you have a melody you struggle with conquering.

It is a fragile piece. One that, in the wrong hands, could fall sour and lay defiled. I write this to offer you my services. I believe I can help you. All I ask of you is your dedication. Then and only then will you and your song be brought to your true potential.

I await your response with anticipation.

Your Ever-Obedient Servant, O.G.

You blinked and flipped the paper over, but nothing more remained to be seen. What you saw was all you had, but what exactly even was that? You looked at the signature once more.

Who the hell was O.G.?!

Truly, if this was a prank, what sort of purpose did it serve beyond to confuse you? You had half a mind to toss the paper in the wastepaper basket and carry on with your day . . . except for the fact that another half of your mind was . . . reluctant to say the least. You weren’t quick to call it a gut-feeling -- that was the term you’d used when deciding to use that D-flat note as a lead, and look where that got you: An opera house where nobody you knew of seemed to recognize your song.

No, a more proper term probably would have been . . . curiosity. Morbid curiosity, even. Though as you tucked the envelope and letter away into your apron pocket, you decided to correct yourself: Intrigue. Sentimentality. And, admittedly, some anticipation as to what would happen next.

You tried to continue on with your morning, deciding to use the quiet to collect yourself and to dwell on the subject for a later time. But as you positioned yourself at your table, ready to sew roses for the dress of the prima donna’s upcoming role, you couldn’t help but give yourself pause.

You could have sworn that distantly, faintly, you heard your song being sung.

It sounded . . . otherworldly . . .

[youcantfiremebecauseiquit]

idk if u care but crispin gray recently had an interview about his entire career and it kind of changed my perspective of queenadreena…idk if for better or for worse lol. it was weird to see him so dismissive of a lot of his catalogue w katie except for ‘love your money’ just because that was the only remotely chart successful song. i get you want to be able to sustain yourself but jeez him and katie really had a weird back and forth relationship

Sorry i'm replying late, i've seen the interview pop up on Youtube but honestly i was too invested in university shit recently & generally not in the good mood for that but i'm planning to watch. How did it change your view on Queen Adreena, did he say something mean specifically on QA or Katie? I mean i gotta watch it but honestly? Not surprised in the slightest. A few years ago he was asked to describe fave songs he recorded throughout the years and he listed more of Daisy Chainsaw ones than anything else, with Love Your Money as number 1. The differences in their points of view are real something, Katie Jane absolutely HATED Love Your Money, same as Daisy Chainsaw. Kinda apparent he wanted bigger fame but DC dropped fast and QA failed to live up to their predictions.

i had a time when i liked to dig up old Queen Adreena interviews that are lost in the old internet & generally not available for years (which i planned to post on is-she-suffering but my investment in that site is... varied in its intensity). Also that was back in the days when i wrote Queen Adreena book during manic phase and tried to sell it but lost motivation Well since i don't do anything with that knowledge anyway i'll put what i know here as i love fan discussions

So they sure had/have odd back and forth love-hate relationship & that's the reason why their career went how it went. There's been a huge tension between them at some point. I'm sure you know she had a major mental breakdown (probably schizophrenic episode) after Daisy Chainsaw, or even beginning before her leaving, and then she went into isolation and lived with an old woman in Lake District for awhile. She left Daisy Chainsaw cause Crispin didn't want her to come up with her own songs (all of DC was by Crispin except for Lovely ugly brutal world by KJ).

They almost split up as Queen Adreena after Drink Me. The material for The Butcher and The Butterfly was written at different times, originally it was meant to be called Atom Bomb at Bikini but it was constantly delaying and they eventually recorded everything they've got live. So that's obvious right? But i was surprised to find out they were writing songs separately. Some of them (i forgot which though) were written by Katie Jane and Pete Howard's sons band (they're even credited) + some with Melanie Garside, Richard Adams + some other musician. Katie Jane didn't like it. They intended it to be their last album at the time. She also hated live at ICA show but they released it cause they were broke

But that's a digression. I just wanna say that at this point they were done with each other but kept pushing it. Katie had her own art projects and stuff, Crispin started Dogbones with Nomi and i just remember how vaguely pissed at Katie he waas in the interviews. Like he stressed that Dogbones is his number one priority and if Katie wants to do something with Queenadreena, she must wait til Dogbones have a break first or something, and it sounded oddly bitter.

RaCH and Djinn era are just so weird, they had opportunities but let them go in a way. I don't think many people know but they were huge demand in Japan. They entered album charts and were interviewed by 11 magazines and 6 (!)TV stations there (wtf happened to that material i want to know???). But they only played 5 times or less.

Katie said she considers the band dead but they decided they can try to play for a couple more months. But aside from that she 100% lost the interest in the band around Djinn. There's an interview where she says "the overall image is Crispin but the shape will change again at rehearsals". And you can hear it, it’s more blues rock than anything. IMO it's their worst production wise. Instruments are fine but Katie's voice is so badly produced that sometimes i find some songs fucking irritating, cause they didn’t cut out her breaths and the vocals are TOO LOUD, to the point of distorting. As if she stands too close to the mic. The album is fine but it feels unfinished.

And here we come back to Crispin... here's what he said after the QA split:

Why the Dogbones started? “I needed to work more than the previous band I was in was working, the previous band who shall remain nameless, haha… um… Queenadreena. I wanted to work more than the singer of Queenadreena wanted to work… so that’s why it started. Fine by me… but I really like to be in a band, I’m not a solo project kind of guy. The last album (‘Djin’) did come out in the UK, but it was so low key because Katie kind of disappeared so there was little point in promoting it. Personally it’s my favourite by far so it was a shame but there you go… So here are Dogbones, it’s not been an easy ride but we are trying very hard.

Ok so the bitterness is kinda apparent isn't it. I think there were two reasons why they argued so much, first musical differences. Katie at some point lost interest in loud rock music for some years and went the folk way in Ruby Throat. I have a theory that Taxidermy and Drink Me are more influenced by Katie Jane and Butcher and Djinn are more Crispin. During first albums i think Katie more actively took part in music composition and choosing arrangements. She wrote lyrics, melodies but also composed a lot of songs on some little electronic keyboard thing and 4 track (Heavenly Surrender, Pray for me, My Silent Undoing, all Lalleshwari +more). Plus she wanted more peaceful/dreamy sound on Taxidermy than full on rock, Crispin complained about it in some 00's interview, that he'd like it to be more rock. Then there are 2 versions of Drink Me, the original has rough and alt versions of songs (it was sold by Katie and it's leaked on FB and probably YT). Crispin Gray apparently really hated the final Drink Me. Now next album is The Butcher & The Butterfly and it's more standard blues rock, no more crazy dreamy things of previous albums etc., Djinn is even more blues rock but darker. Djinn was his favourite at some point while KJ hated Butcher, not sure about Djinn. So i think they had different views on where they should go, Katie made her weird simplistic creepy tunes (like Lalleshwari) and folk melodies adding that strange things to noise rock. Crispin probably wanted blues & rock.

Other than that, i’m convinced they are bitter exes, lol. There’s been rumours about them dating during Daisy Chainsaw for years, plus Katie had a history of dating band members. Crispin wrote X-ing off the days about her. I don’t know if they dated again in Queen Adreena. Then there’s this interview, timeline is unclear, either The butcher & the butterfly or later:

„Katie writes all the songs herself and often looks for melodies and structure with the drummer. With Crispin - her husband or ex-husband, which is not entirely clear to me - for almost three years she has no longer been in a room. "Sometimes we send him a letter with a new song and that's all we can do. All we have are our lungs and our musical talent and we have to do with it. It is repugnant difficult life, I know most of the time how I should deal with it." But Queenadreena will still remain even exist? "I think so, we are now pretty busy and I see where the ship aground.”

I always wondered what exactly happened after Djinn, i’ve seen Katie Jane say „i think they gave up on me” while others said she disappeared. Other times CG said there’s no bad blood between them but at the same time there’s been some weird tension.  As of recent i thought they reconnected somehow through the internet and had a good relation but who really knows.s

I get why Crispin gets irritated when people compare everything he does to „stealing from KJ” but honestly, he gave them good reasons, at least in the 90’s. I can believe Starsha Lee singer isn’t copying Katie cause she’s from Brazil or something and she didn’t know Queen Adreena before. But everything else… Crispin’s problem is that he doesn’t know what he wants. He spent 90’s chasing something, tried singing himself, had girl singer replacements and even one KJ copy. Dogbones was ironically his most original non-Katie band, even with all their grunge influences. In a way he wants to be a frontman and at the same time doesn’t. Idk if he’s very controlling, but Daisy Chainsaw shows he valued his songs/lyrics first & in Queen Adreena he had to step back a lot, cause Katie’s condition was she would be in charge of the lyrics. I don’t think he realizes how strongly Daisy Chainsaw issues affected Katie, i mean from her own words you can read that aside from media attention/hate, her being unable to write lyrics had a role in her breakdown. I think she now let go but for years she hated remembering Daisy Chainsaw and she felt kind of worthless cause she was only somebody else’s mouthpiece. I’m not trying to say he’s cruel or anything, but i firmly believe rock lyrics writers should sing their own songs or else there are problems.

They both were writers-composers with different vision and i have impression they struggled a lot while shaping their songs, cause they both stuck to their ideas. Hence 2 versions of Princess Carwash maybe. Katie once said that he „gets terribly upset with her” cause she writes her songs on a simple wind organ and uses a few chord buttons only. Clash of writer ways/personalities/egos and at some point they had to let go.

Maybe he prefers music/bands where he was 100% in control including lyrics (note he wrote/sang some lyrics in Dogbones too). Daisy Chainsaw achieved bigger success US and UK wise as they were offered to play Top of The Pops, and they’re more well liked/remembered by „general alt public”. Queen Adreena however is way more valued as a cult band, with cult following and admiration in UK & France. Most people think Pretty Like Drugs and other QA songs are his best work and he probably finds it irritating cause truth is, he never managed to be more successful than Daisy Chainsaw/Queenadreena. Love Your Money is ironically the least Crispin Gray/DC/QA sounding song in my opinion. I kinda find it irritating that he downplays Queen Adreena cause it was probably his best work in this band but whatever

So yeah sorry for the word spill, that’s what i can think of it right now but as i said, i haven’t watched the interview yet, it’s just this kind of treatment is in a way consistent for him

[rtfmp2021]

Federico Leggio

Federico Leggio is an Italian graphic designer, who focuses on visual identities and moving graphics. When it comes to the colours and business of his art it's quite simple, however the repeating type speaks for itself in the way it moves and is distorted. He creatively replicates the words onto the art, giving them a visual meaning as well. I think this is a really clever idea because it's clear in what he's displaying, but without being predictable and instead impresses the viewer. Small details like grain or blur help it stay interesting and more realistic, otherwise it could look boring, flat and overall too simple.

Most of his work is short animations, of which can really bring life to some of his typography. Without the moving aspect these pieces are still clear, but it adds a whole lot more of interest, appeal and fascination. As for the still images, Leggio ensures they're just as impactful as the animations, introducing interesting effects and experimenting with other aspects like size. Overall I am inspired to create similar art in that it's simple, but the effects added bring them out in a whole new creative light. I also think the limited black and white colour pallet is clever, because it allows the effects to be fully seen and not hidden in a busy background or bright colours.

This first piece displays the word 'twist' multiple times, animated to move in the action of twisting. You can see Leggio has used a black grain to give depth, so when the word twists round it has a shadow and what's at the front is pure white. This is a perfect example of how important small details are, without the grain you wouldn't have as strong of a twisting effect and look flat. I think by duplicating each twisting word 3 times it fills the space more, and there's another aspect introduced because all 3 words are synchronised. I really like this piece because it's so intriguing, I notice that as I'm analysing it I can't stop starting. I think this is because it's so simple yet so interesting to view, which is how I want my typography art to result in.

The next animation show the word 'waterfall' repetitively falling, one again in the same manor as the word used. Like waterfalls, the type fades away as it gets closer to the bottom, replicating them realistically using digital effects. In this piece you can see how Leggio isn't afraid to make text illegible, at the top there are many duplicates of the word layered which makes it completely unreadable. However the lower the words fall the more space there is between each word, although nearer the bottom the words fade away with grain and are squished down. Overall I think his ability to copy such accurate movement in animating words is impressive, he's also inspired me to not be afraid of illegibility and experiment with new digital distortion techniques.

Here is one of Leggio's still images where the word 'count' is partially duplicated in all directions, the type fills the page completely and surrounds the one whole word. Thanks to this the word gets slightly engulfed and stands out less, however it's not enough because you can still see the word clearly. When it comes to the visual representation of the word this piece isn't as obvious, but the relation between counting and amounts can be seen through the amount of repeating letters. I really like the effect of the repeating split words, it uses one word and a simple technique but displays a really cool design. I think it looks like layers from a bird's-eye view and I would love to create this effect, with which I could add colour, change fill, add stroke etc to highlight the main word even more.

Next is an animation of the words 'ferris wheel' going round and round like the fairground ride itself, here you can see Leggio has incorporated a blur effect to show depth as the words move round to the back. It also makes the words a lot clearer and easier to read because the lines aren't sharp, otherwise they would constantly be overlapped by the smaller words and therefore stands out less. Although there are many duplicates of the words, they're compact within the one and only object of the piece. This leaves it to be very simple which is perfect for not disturbing the effectiveness, however I think a more interesting font would've made me further intrigued to view.

My final example of Leggio's doesn't particularly match with his usual concept of visualising words, however it's a new kind of distortion of which I think looks really intriguing. There is a complete contrast with his other pieces in that it looks super busy, the whole background is covered in small words with very little empty space. However within the chaos is a scrunched up ball looking shape, filled with the same text but in a much larger scale. Therefore this piece is a perfect example of how Leggio experiments with scale and other contrasts, whilst still using only two colours and one set of words.

[trellanyx]

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky

AO3 LINK

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Time slowed to a crawl without any help from Crowley. Every bit of movement and sound heightened to match his growing panic: the crunch of wet sand under his boot; the waves rolling rhythmically against the shore; the unrhythmic, staccato beating of Crowley’s useless heart; and there, standing on the water, was Gabriel, his long, pristine coat flapping around his ankles like wings in the wind.

“Nice place,” Gabriel continued, unbothered by Crowley’s silence. Hell’s sake, he was probably enjoying it. Gabriel looked around the empty beach, taking in the expanse of shore and sea and sky that Crowley and Aziraphale had claimed as their own. “Open, quiet, private. Dull as shit, but then, you’ve never been one for taste. I mean.” Gabriel laughed like an old friend. “Just look at who you hang out with.”

Crowley turned to face Gabriel openly, stepping to the side until he blocked Gabriel’s line of sight. The cottage was still half a mile away, but Crowley would be blessed and damned if he was going to let Gabriel a single inch closer to the angel inside.

“You get one warning,” he snarled. His eyes flashed poison-gold, pupils thin as a virgin guillotine blade. “Fuck. Off.”

“Tsk. That’s not very nice.”

“We had an agreement.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “We did?” he asked, with all the shallow grandeur of a carnival conman. “That’s news to me. You sure you’re not thinking of…?” He nodded downward. “I know they’re too cowardly to come after you twice, but you and me? We haven’t spoken since the airfield. Am I right?”

Gabriel grinned, and a thin layer of his joviality slipped away with the tide. Crowley could see a thousand years of bloody crusades, swelling with corpse-rot and worship, living in the curve of Gabriel’s smile.

“Y’know, funny thing happened a few years ago, after you two betrayed the Almighty,” he continued. “We tried to execute Aziraphale, you know, and it didn’t take. Flames wouldn’t touch him. Very unsettling.”

Shut your stupid mouth and die already.

Crowley hissed hate through his sharpening teeth.

“Then we hear from Downstairs that they tried the same thing with you, and you survived holy water.” Gabriel shook his head. “And I’m thinking, nah, that can’t be right. Those two idiots?”

Heat began to boil in Crowley’s veins, blurring the air around him and causing the sand under his feet to steam as the water seeped inside began to evaporate.

Gabriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite idiots, though, are you? I’ll give you credit—it was a clever trick.”

“Weird,” Crowley mused, like he was contemplating an unfamiliar menu item, not seething with hatred and panic. “I didn’t think your head was small enough to be pulled back outside your own arse. Is that why you’re here now?” Crowley tsked in fake sympathy. “Did it take that long, Gabe?”

Gabriel’s smile froze, and his stolen eyes became diamond-hard with barely controlled disgust.

“I imagine it’s difficult, being wretched longer than you’ve ever been divine.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, like feathers inside a pillow he was about to smother you with. “Your memory’s fuzzy—I get that. Still, though, I’d think this one would’ve stuck. Aziraphale at least had the decency to be properly afraid of it.”

“Is there a rest stop between now and the fucking point?” snapped Crowley. He jerked back in revulsion at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.

“Surveillance, dumbass! Every second the earth has existed has a record. We didn’t have a reason to look before, but now, well.” Gabriel spread out his hands with a shrug. The warmth was back in his smile; a spray of blood from a mortal wound, cordiality and cruelty trickling down the grain of the cross.

Bless it, Crowley thought, but he was an idiot. Because he’d known. Gabriel, for all his inanity and pompousness, had never been stupid. No, worse than that—Gabriel was apathetic. He didn’t bother to learn or observe anything outside his own interests, and this made him appear bumbling, full of hot air and nothing substantive.

But when he did decide to pay attention…

Crowley’s wings shattered the barrier of their prison ad cracked the air like a shot. Gabriel watched placidly as they extended to their full height and wingspan. The air around Crowley was already distorting itself as reality broke down, unable to keep the demon’s true form from answering its master’s summons.

“I will kill you,” Crowley promised, his voice echoing with void and devastation. “I don’t care if I go down with you. You’ll face oblivion before you can even step in Aziraphale’s direction.”

“Oh…” Gabriel chuckled. “I know you will, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley screamed from the abrupt shock of divinity lancing through his chest, scattering light between his atoms like shrapnel. A high note, unbearably terrible and beautiful, rang in his ears and splintered his bones, sending Crowley to his knees in an acolyte’s post. He gasped as it passed through him and stared at Gabriel with mounting horror.

The first thing that was burned away from fallen angels was their name. It was the word She used to call them into existence, each letter encrusted like jewels in the crown of Her Glory. To lose their name was to lose themselves. Crowley couldn’t remember his holy name; sometimes, if he tried hard, he could see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, but it was smudged with pain. He’d always assumed the names of the Fallen were taken back into Her essence, no longer fit for creation or memory.

“Surprised?” Gabriel asked. “Oh, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley gagged as blood filled his mouth. “—did you really think we’d forgotten you? When a demon’s former celestial name can cause this amount of damage, why the hell would we ever erase them?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Poor, stupid A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley clutched his chest as the hole where Her Grace used to be was seared with divinity that was no longer his. Stupid indeed. Even the humans knew that names had power; why should the first names in all creation be any exception?

When he raised his head to hiss at Gabriel, black ichor dripped from Crowley’s eyes.

“Enjoying your little party trick? Go ahead.” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Say my name. Say it as much as you fucking want. I want you to.” He smile-snarled at the Archangel. “Let my name be the last thing you ever fucking say before I punt you into a black hole.”

“You still don’t get it.” Gabriel sighed. “Here’s the thing, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley flipped his middle finger as he shook with a fresh wave of pain. “I didn’t actually come here to kill you.”

“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.

“It’s true! I just came for a chat.” Gabriel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He came to kill you.”

In the space between heartbeat and thought, Sandalphon slipped out from behind Gabriel like an oil spill. The churning waves died beneath his shoes, becoming glass-smooth to match the patch of ocean Gabriel stood on. His smile didn’t bother with the pretense of friendship that Gabriel’s did; it held only the horrifying truth of belief, the kind that made martyrs out of the unwilling and called it just.

Crowley reared like a hooded cobra, cornered but desperate, and furious enough to attack anything that so much as twitched in its direction.

“Can’t even handle killing a demon on your own, can you, you piece of shit?”

Gabriel hummed like he was actually giving it some thought. “I prefer to think of it as not getting my hands dirty.”

“Hello, Crawley,” Sandalphon simpered. His golden teeth reminded Crowley of long abandoned treasures in a skeleton’s graveyard. Awareness coiled sickly in his gut.

Crowley could take Gabriel, or even Sandalphon, on his own. Whether he’d win was up for debate—an angel’s powers were, by design, made to cancel out a demon’s—but Crowley knew that he could at least cause one of the archangels severe damage. But two of them?

He had to try. If he could stall them even a minute, Aziraphale could—

“But you know what, I’m a sporting angel.” Gabriel clapped his hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, whose eyes were beginning to glow. “How about I give you a chance to prove me wrong?”

Sandalphon held his hands out in front of him like an offering, and the water immediately began to churn. When he breathed in, the tide drained away from the shore into a growing whirlpool blackening the water beneath his feet. Sandalphon raised his arms in a conductor’s stance, his eyes glowing lightning-bright and salt-white.

The flames under Crowley’s scales froze with horror as a wave grew behind Sandalphon. And grew…and grew…

And then it began to glow.

Gabriel whistled appreciatively at the literal tidal wave rising above their heads—every atom of which was vibrating with celestial blessing. Even the scent of seawater in the air was poisoned with divinity; Crowley felt his right eye start to twitch.

“Survive this, demon,” Gabriel intoned. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Survive this, and I swear by the Grace inside me that I’ll leave you two alone.”

Fragments of ideas and plans rattled around Crowley’s mind like dice, and every one of them came up snake-eyes.

The wave had swelled too large to dodge. He could run, fly, crawl through the sand, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of range before Sandalphon brought the flood down on his head. It would be the same if he attacked. No amount of hellfire would touch the angels so long as they were surrounded by their watery barrier. Even trying to stop time, as he did in Tadfield, would be useless to him. There was no reality-bending Antichrist to aid him, no angel…

Oh.

Aziraphale.

I’m…I’m about to die, aren’t I?

The roar of water dulled and muffled, suddenly far away, as if it was respecting Crowley’s privacy in his last moments. Realization skinned him raw; if Crowley was gone, who would protect Aziraphale? Who would listen to him read his favorite poetry aloud? Who would groom his wings? Who would take him to dinner, to the theater, to the stars and to bed and everywhere in between?

Who would love him?

I’m fucked. I’m fucked and I can’t stay and I’m going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m going to make you cry. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to love you.

Gabriel waved. “So long!”

I know I said I’d be happy with whatever I could get, and I meant that, I did, I meant it because it was you. But angel, angel, I’m too fucking selfish. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, I want more, Aziraphale.

I want more time.

“Farewell,” sneered Sandalphon.

I want to talk with you more, drink with you more, I want more mornings where you’re the first thing I see when I wake up.

The tidal wave rose until it blocked the sun’s light, casting Crowley in a long tombstone-shadow. He should attack them. He should at least try, deny them the satisfaction of striking him down without resistance.

“Auf wiedersehen!”

But Crowley’s mind wasn’t on the beach anymore. It was back in their cottage, curled in Aziraphale’s lap with a deathbed confession.

I want more lunches, more dinners, more desserts, I want more walks and drives and I want to tease you more, kiss and hug and fuck and love you, I want to love you so much more Aziraphale, I want I want I WANT—!

“Goodbye.”

…I don’t want to go.

Sandalphon’s arms surged forward to bring down the wave, and several things happened at once.

A white-gold missile of light slammed into Sandalphon with enough force to send him barreling into Gabriel’s side and shoot them both away from Crowley like a torpedo.

The wave collapsed in on itself and flooded the beach.

Crowley threw his arms in front of his face, hissing as the holy spray connected like a thousand paper cuts in a salt bath.

He only had seconds to register the pain before something grabbed Crowley around the middle and rocketed him above the saturated sand.

Crowley panicked when he felt the heavenly aura surround him, instinctively squirming and kicking until he was flipped onto his back and saw his favorite shade of blue beseeching him to be still.

“It’s me!” Aziraphale shouted over the water. “Crowley, it’s me!”

A gallows moan pulled from Crowley’s chest.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale crushed Crowley to his chest at the same time Crowley’s arms strangled the angel in a python’s grip. Aziraphale stroke-dragged shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair; his desperate whispers of darling darling darling kept rhythm with Crowley’s racing heart. He whined when Aziraphale pulled away to look him over.

“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale demanded. “Did it touch you?” His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the sizzling freckles on his arms, and Aziraphale growled.

“Monsters.”

Belatedly, Crowley registered that Aziraphale was holding him in a bridal carry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his vest was unbuttoned, and his bowtie was loose; he’d hadn’t even bothered to miracle his appearance, he’d been too much in a hurry to save Crowley from—

“We have to get out of here!” Crowley scrambled to fly on his own, holding Aziraphale’s hand the whole time. “Angel, we’ve gotta—”

“No.”

Crowley’s neck snapped back to Aziraphale fast enough to give a human a severe case of whiplash. “The fuck you mean no?!”

“They won’t stop,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless we make them.”

Now that he was sure of Crowley’s safety, the abrupt serenity settling around Aziraphale’s shoulders made Crowley bristle with terror.

“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

His wrist twisted, and Crowley did a double take when he saw that Aziraphale was swinging a fucking umbrella like a broadsword. As it spun, the umbrella came alive with ice-blue fire, licking its way down to Aziraphale’s fingers and sparking like a blacksmith’s forge.

“Aziraphale, what—”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A pillar of seawater erupted into the air. Crowley reeled back, but Aziraphale was already in front of him, the umbrella wide open and shield-wide, causing any stray drops of water to evaporate before the fire.

“Promise me something right now,” muttered Aziraphale.

“What is it?”

Aziraphale closed the umbrella and shifted into a combative posture.

“Do not interfere. Please.”

“Azira–”

“Promise me, Crowley.”

“No!” Crowley ripped his glasses off and threw them into the sand like a gauntlet. “You’re out of your blessed mind if you think I’m gonna let you—”

“My dear, in just a minute quite a lot of ethereal seawater is going to be slung around.” Aziraphale’s warrior eyes softened when they looked at Crowley’s incredulous face. “Please, love. I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

Unable to refute him, but unwilling to back down, Crowley jabbed his finger at Aziraphale’s flaming umbrella. “What are you even going to do with that, anyway?”

“Something I should have done long ago.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and all protests shriveled in the demon’s throat. “I love you, Crowley. Wait for me.”

Aziraphale floated down to where Gabriel and Sandalphon reappeared on the water, enraged and sporting several extra sets of wings and eyes.

“Y’know what, I am sick of your shit,” Gabriel spat. “I was trying to be nice about this, show a little mercy by not making you watch Sandalphon kill your–”

A shower of water exploded in Gabriel’s face. He swore and sputtered, leaping back…and gaping at what he saw. As did Crowley.

Aziraphale had impaled his umbrella-sword through Sandalphon’s chest. He lifted Sandalphon until only the tips of his loafers skimmed the water. Sandalphon looked too stunned to try to retaliate, even when his wings fell slack and his extra eyes rolled back into nothingness.

Aziraphale radiated contempt as he unceremoniously yanked his weapon out of Sandalphon’s chest and stepped away.

With his face still frozen in a look of utter shock, Sandalphon’s knees splashed into the water. He pitched forward until he was face down in the ocean, bobbing listlessly as he bled out. Moments later, the rest of his mortal vessel sank with the finality of a suicide.

Discorporated.

Aziraphale’s fire was still burning through Sandalphon’s flesh; Crowley could see a pale blue glow under the waves as Aziraphale turned to fully face Gabriel.

“…So that’s how you want to do this, Aziraphale?” All emotion, satiric or sincere, abandoned Gabriel’s face in favor of cold-iron fury. “You cowered before the apocalypse, and now, now you choose to fight? For this infested world? For him?”

Gabriel jerked his chin upward, disgusted by the mere reference of Crowley on his lips.

“There didn’t have to be a war, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. With his raised head and squared shoulders, he reminded Crowley of a well-fortified bulwark.  “Not between Heaven and Hell, nor between us. Crowley and I have only ever asked for peace.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Without the flood, the olive branch has no meaning. You understood that once, Aziraphale.”

“No, I didn’t,” murmured Aziraphale. “I never did. I had only hope that one day, I would. No more.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “I’m done blindly attacking whatever is put in front of me, and I’m done hiding like that’s something shameful.” He pointed his makeshift weapon at Gabriel; its calm, defensive blue a far cry from Aziraphale’s original sword—the weapon that fit so perfectly in the hands of War.

Gabriel spread his wings like he was baring his teeth. “You understand what will happen, don’t you? Attacking a superior?”

Aziraphale mimicked the action. “I answer to two voices in this universe, Gabriel, and yours isn’t one of them. None of you are. Not anymore.”

“You’ll Fall for this.”

Aziraphale’s form shimmered and bled until it was little more than sun and steel covered in a thousand glaring, resolute eyes.

“So be it.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel’s magic slammed against each other before their bodies did. The water crested from the shock waves and began to glow again, completely baptized by the unfiltered celestial energies rippling through its currents.

Crowley’s corporeal form tore from his body as he took off towards the fighting. He was never a soldier before he Fell—Crowley’s purpose was that of creation, of forming the precious galaxy that angels like Aziraphale fought to protect—but one didn’t roost in the bowels of hell for a couple millennia without learning how to fight dirty. Crowley swallowed what remained of earthly light into the hollow maw where Grace once shone, his fangs and claws dripping liquid nightmares. Even the broken shards of his halo were sharp enough to pierce an angel’s skin if Crowley just got close enough—

A geyser of holy water shot up and nearly took out one of his wings. Crowley reared back with a hateful shriek as more bless-bright jets rose around the warring angels like a cage. Crowley circled them agitatedly, trying to find Aziraphale in the fight. They were moving too fast and too bright; even Crowley’s supernatural gaze could only pick up afterimages, like a video with delayed audio. He pushed his consciousness out, seeking Aziraphale’s aura in the midst of the chaos.

All of Gabriel’s heads and wings were out, surging towards Aziraphale’s core to gouge him clean. Aziraphale met him blow for blow with his umbrella, the ludicrous sight at odds with how Gabriel snarled at it every time Aziraphale swung towards him.

What on earth had he done to it? It repelled Gabriel’s magic whenever Aziraphale opened it to use as a shield, and its blue flames greedily clung to Gabriel’s face and feathers whenever Aziraphale landed a hit. It didn’t cause the same amount of damage as hellfire might, but the force with which Aziraphale choreographed his blows was enough to knock Gabriel back, if only for a second.

Lightning shot down from above at Gabriel’s command, crackling through their watery battlefield like spiderweb veins. Aziraphale lost his footing as electricity surrounded his legs like barbed wire, and Gabriel struck, knocking Aziraphale backwards into the water. He reared back, teeth gleaming, and surged towards Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale threw up his umbrella with both hands and caught it inside Gabriel’s mouth, inches away from Aziraphale’s nose. The flames flared in Gabriel’s face, covering his head. Gabriel howled, and swung out with his claws.

Aziraphale screamed.

“ANGEL!” Crowley surged forward, water be damned, when—

“STAY BACK!”

Aziraphale staggered to his feet; half of his eyes were lidded or shut, dripping with golden blood. One of his wings was bent out of shape, claw marks breaking up the trail of snowy feathers.

Gabriel covered half of his face, his own lustrous blood spilling through his claws from the lashes Aziraphale’s magic scored across his Grace. Gabriel glanced at Crowley through the fire still licking his face, and Crowley could feel the archangel’s viciousness in the back of his throat, choking him like his tongue was swelling.

That feeling was all the warning Crowley had before the geyser bars exploded like a supernova. Aziraphale’s magic slammed Crowley backwards, burning like acid through Crowley’s teeth and rings, but with enough force to knock him almost entirely back to the other end of the beach, away from the water. Crowley writhed in the air, holding onto Aziraphale’s magic even as it burned, trying to get a sense of its strength from this small sample alone.

Up ahead the angels were clashing again. Starbursts of water rose and exploded like fireworks around them.

Aziraphale was strong, every inch of him exuding the strength and sharpness of an angel entrusted with an entire platoon of soldiers by the Almighty herself. He wielded the umbrella like it was truly steel, parrying and stabbing, smashing his good wings into Gabriel’s face and essence to knock him back. Streaks of golden blood splattered around them like paint, mixing with the shining water. Crowley couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.

Crowley swelled and spun his rings in terror and tried to keep track of Aziraphale, to pick his essence apart from Gabriel’s own holy energy. It was almost impossible to lock onto thanks to the speed with which it was being thrown around, but after six thousand years and counting, Crowley was finely attuned to Aziraphale’s magic. The difference was faint; Aziraphale’s magic was warmer, shaded with gold. Gabriel, due to his higher rank, had a much brighter aura, a blinding white that hurt Crowley’s infernal eyes when he looked upon it for too long. It was much brighter than Aziraphale’s, pulled from a well of magic deeper and purer than any other angel—

With sickening clarity, Crowley realized what Gabriel was doing.

He was stalling.

By nature, Aziraphale was blessed with less endurance than Gabriel had. Despite how strong and determined his angel was, Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s pool of magic would run dry long before Gabriel’s did. And Gabriel knew that too, because he’d switched to a more defensive style, dodging and blocking, and timing his strikes with a luxury Aziraphale was never created for. Gabriel intended to wait Aziraphale out, to strike him down when Aziraphale’s magical strength abandoned him. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale could still fight even then—he’d certainly try, anyway—using his muscle memory to attack Gabriel without ethereality, but a Principality with a sword was laughably outclassed by an Archangel with deep reserves of magic left. Aziraphale would lose.

Aziraphale saw it too. His attacks grew more vicious, more aggressive, as he tried to end Gabriel quickly, before his own form betrayed him. But despite the blows that did land against Gabriel, the archangel showed no signs of tiring.

Gabriel swung the clubbed tips of his wings at Aziraphale’s blind side. Aziraphale allowed himself to take the hit so that he could lure Gabriel close enough to smash the handle of his umbrella against Gabriel’s temple, hard enough that even Crowley could hear the sound of crunching bone. Light poured out of the gash on Gabriel’s head as he locked his magic around Aziraphale, beating at him with his expansive wings and causing a swirl of water to cyclone up and around them, obscuring Crowley’s view even further.

Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore; if being drowned in holy water meant the difference between Aziraphale’s victory and death, then it wasn’t even a choice worth thinking about. Crowley wrestled his magic back into his corporeal form and held it tight under his breast. His skin split, and scales flickered up and down his body as his magic frayed the edges of Crowley’s human-shaped form, not meant to be drawn so close and held back in such a way. Crowley grit his teeth with enough force to crack his fangs. He felt on the edge of a seizure, a destruction all his own, but there was nothing for it; Crowley would need to be small for this, lithe and nimble. They only had one shot.

Crowley drew back his hands as he flew towards the angels, and a growing ball of hellfire and dark energy formed between his palms. The fire had to be strong enough to pass through the holy water without losing its shape or power—power that would be needed to knock Gabriel back and give Aziraphale an opening.

Pain throbbed behind Crowley’s eyes; his pupils were disappeared, leaving behind a glowing sulfur-yellow stare. The water was overcharged with holiness, and there was enough of it flying around that it would take all of Crowley’s reserves to create something infernal enough to pass through it. If he was struck down before then...if he missed...if he hit Aziraphale instead...

It was impossible to avoid the spray; Crowley jerked in flight as hundreds of tiny burns connected with his body, like standing over a pan spitting hot grease. It hurt like Heaven, but not enough to keep him back.

Aziraphale’s magic was flagging under Gabriel’s, making it even harder to untangle from the threads of Gabriel’s power. But he was still there, Crowley’s brave, fierce angel, and it was enough. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley would come to him. Always.

Crowley weaved between the ribbons of water whipping through the sky, laser-focused on Aziraphale as he lined up his shot. This needed to be timed just right, or he would lose the element of surprise and Gabriel would destroy them both.

Thankfully, time and Crowley were on friendly terms.

He couldn’t spare the energy to pause time completely, but he could break off the barest sliver to slow the seconds around them. Just enough for him to see the forms previously hidden by light.

It would be up to Aziraphale to take advantage of the split-second Crowley was about to give him, because Crowley would be unable to dodge or block anything Gabriel might throw at him after he recovered. Even twist-sick with terror, he never feared that Aziraphale would miss his chance. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to save them both.

He trusted Aziraphale more than anything in creation.

As Gabriel twitched in his direction, Crowley poured everything he had and was into his attack and blasted the ball of hellfire and dark matter into Gabriel’s side. Gabriel stumbled off balance for a single second, and it was all Aziraphale needed.

With an almighty scream, Aziraphale stabbed Gabriel through the eye with the sharp tip of his umbrella.

The water instantly splashed down, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel in a pool of luminescence. Gabriel dropped to one knee, then the other, and gripped the umbrella embedded in his skull with both hands. He snarled at Aziraphale who, without breaking eye contact, slowly pushed the umbrella, fire and all, through Gabriel’s eye socket.

“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.

“There are worse things to be,” said Aziraphale. “Deliver my message, Gabriel. To the angels, to the demons, to the Metatron and Beelzebub themselves. Tell them what happened to Sandalphon. Tell them what happened to you.”

Gabriel convulsed as Aziraphale deliberately pushed the umbrella deeper until it broke out the back of Gabriel’s skull.

“And tell them that if they ever threaten us again, I will make them wish for something so sweet as discorporation.”

Bleeding out at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel cursed Aziraphale in a language Crowley hadn’t heard since the Beginning. His grip began to slacken on the umbrella, and Crowley dared to relax.

Then, without warning, Gabriel’s left arm threw back in Crowley’s direction to hit him square in the chest with the last of Gabriel’s power. Caught off guard and too depleted to respond quickly enough, Crowley arched through the air and landed square on his back on the now consecrated beach.

Crowley screamed as the holy water soaked up by the sand seeped through his shirt and wings and skull. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Aziraphale’s horrified face.

The scent of clean linen pulled Crowley from unconsciousness with merciful gentleness. There was no more briny smell of wet sand and saltsea. Nothing of ozone or blood. Just clean cotton and an imprint of Aziraphale’s cologne. Crowley breathed in deep, searching for traces of his angel like an experienced perfumer: saffron and sandalwood, juniper berries and sage, and sometimes, if it was a good night, the warmth of cocoa that Crowley could still taste sweet as cream on Aziraphale’s tongue.

“Sssh.” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Not so sudden. I’ve done all I could, but you’re likely to be sore for a few more days.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, seized with desperation to confirm—and there he was.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, trembling with relief and reverence. He took Aziraphale’s hand and turned it palm-up to run his lips over the lifeline.

“My love,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding as helpless as Crowley felt. He squeezed Crowley’s hand with a strength that would’ve broken mortal bones; Crowley only shuddered and held Aziraphale tighter, grounding himself in his angel’s touch. He kissed each of Aziraphale’s knuckles twice before he could drag his eyes back up.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale laughed wetly. “He asks, after half his backside melted away.”

“Hey, I saw a lot of eyes out of commission,” Crowley reminded him.

“You shouldn’t have been close enough to see in the first place!” Aziraphale snapped. His face twisted and broke down, and he bowed over their joined hands like he—Aziraphale!—was seeking penance. “You foolish, wretched—I told you to stay back!”

“You also tell me to drive slower and be nice to my plants.” Crowley’s voice was gentle, but he couldn’t make himself sound apologetic. “You needed the opening, angel. He would’ve worn you down eventually.”

“Don’t you dare spout logic at me, Anthony Crowley. You almost died.”

Every time you took a blow. Every time he came an inch closer to destroying you. Do you think I could ever separate my survival from yours, Aziraphale? Now? Still?

Crowley bit his split tongue and propped himself up on an elbow. He was on his stomach, his wings still out and brushing against the floor. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at them yet, to count lost feathers and new scars. He cleared his throat to dislodge the misery choking him with every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath.

“…And Gabriel?”

Aziraphale sniffled. “Gone. Discorporated, I think, or possibly dead.” He raised his head enough to half-heartedly glare at Crowley. “I was a bit too distracted to watch his exit at the time.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s skull, down his neck and across his jaw. When Aziraphale closed his eyes to the touch, Crowley kissed both of his eyelids. What else was left to say? “I’m sorry, angel, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Hush,” whispered Aziraphale. He held Crowley’s palm to his cheek, and ran his thumb in circles atop Crowley’s pulse point. He looked thinner than he’d been before Crowley left him for a morning flight—

(how many mornings ago now? how long had Aziraphale sat in a vigil he was never meant to keep?)

—and bruise-dark circles hung below his eyes. Crowley’s gaze sidestepped reality to see the mantle of magic draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Its light was weak and watery, stretched thin as tracing paper over the angel’s essence.

“You look exhausted,” Crowley murmured.

“Battle will do that. Fear will do that.” Aziraphale opened his swimming eyes (Crowley was starting to hate the sight of water). “Crowley, you were so empty when I reached you. I thought—I thought you were—”

The dam broke and Aziraphale bit his free hand, trying to muffle his sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks. He never let go of Crowley, who felt his fingers become slick when Aziraphale nuzzled his palm and smeared tears across the half-scaled flesh.

“C’mere. Aziraphale, hey.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s grip until he could once again see the sky blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Come lie beside me.”

Swiping at his tears, Aziraphale shed his clothes and climbed in nude beside Crowley, who immediately shifted until he could rest his ear over Aziraphale’s heart.

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you face any of them alone,” he murmured. “No more than you could abandon me.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest, followed by his cheek and salt-tipped lips. “Angels don’t get the monopoly on protection, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale shakily laughed. “Well. That might become a moot point soon, anyway.”

Crowley’s heart plummeted in horror. “You haven’t—”

“No, not yet.” Aziraphale cast a bitter glance at the ceiling. “Gabriel’s always loved to pull rank, but even he doesn’t have the power to make those decisions.”

“They can’t.” Crowley reared backward, onto his knees. “You were defending yourself!”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but Crowley was too petrified at the thought of Aziraphale actually Falling for him to appreciate the absurdity of expecting Heaven to actually play fair.

“I was defending you,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there’s still the matter of Head Office finding out we defied them twice—”

“Aziraphale—”

“Vis a vis apocalypses and executions that weren’t, well, executed—”

“Stop sounding so calm about this!”

Crowley’s ears might’ve rung from the sound of his own scream, but he couldn’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his wild heart, panic twisting like a noose around its ventricles and chambers. Aziraphale only looked at him for a moment before shifting to sit upright. His wings were also out, and they wrapped around Crowley’s damaged back, mingling with his feathers.

“Crowley. I meant what I said when I challenged him.” Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and brought them to his lips. “I’ve already disowned them in every way that counts, anyway.”

“You can’t Fall,” Crowley protested.

“I’m not afraid anymore, dearest.”

“I can’t be the reason you Fall, Aziraphale!” Crowley ripped his hands from Aziraphale’s in favor of dragging them across his scalp; his nails, still halfway stormblack and clawed, opened the way for blood to lose itself in his slaughterhouse hair.

“You, you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know how agonizing it is, to have everything you were broken down and put back together in the wrong order. You don’t know how it feels to have that phantom pain follow you for the rest of eternity. You don’t know how it feels to be worth less than ash. Angel, angel…”

He reached for Aziraphale, aborted the movement, and curled in on himself, irrationally afraid that one more demonic touch would be enough to push Aziraphale over the edge. “I can’t condemn you to that. I could never so much as look you in the eye again.”

The clean scent was gone. All he could smell was burning flesh, burning feathers, burning hair and burning soul and Aziraphale, Aziraphale stinking of brimstone just as Crowley did, his wings turning black as disease and his halo shattering to form something twisted and ugly.

If You’d ever listen, listen to me now. Don’t put him through this. He’s the greatest thing You ever made.

Don’t drag him down to my level.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley shook his head. “I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around Crowley, slowly tugging him back into his embrace; Crowley followed helplessly, but kept his shameful tears buried in the soft white curls across Aziraphale’s chest.

“Crowley. Crowley look at me.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. “Please, dearest.”

A golden eye blinked miserably up at him. Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re right. You can’t be the reason I Fall. Because if I do, it will be because I chose to do so. Because I choose this life, here, with you. Because I have never felt so happy, or so good, than I feel when I’m by your side.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s chin up; his kiss stung with gentleness and the miracle of being known. Their wings cocooned around each other, and when Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s his thoughts fell silent, blanketed by the heat of their embrace and the whisper of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips.

“Earlier you said you answered to only two voices in the universe,” Crowley murmured.

“I did.”

“The first is Hers.” Crowley didn’t bother to mask it as a question, but Aziraphale heard one anyway.

“Hers,” he said softly. “Not Heaven’s.”

“And the second?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s nose, giggling when Crowley playfully scrunched his face. “Oh, my love. Does it even need saying?”

This time, when Aziraphale shifted to lay on his back once more, he didn’t need to pull to get Crowley to follow him down.

[youarejesting]

Femme: 35

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader,

Rating: Amajin

Warnings: Tripping out in dreamland

Length: 2.4k words

Announcement: I dedicate this to my friend @h5naaa​ It made me happy, and all you said was “I really can’t wait for the next chapter” and that made me happy. 

Recap: Cooking video finally complete. Shower and a sexy check-up with Hoseok. A Christmas Eve break-in. Christmas Day proposal. Barbecue lunch with friends. And a heart-melting quickie in the bathroom. 

After all the celebrations and all the calls home where you smiled and showed off the ring to countless relatives. The sun finally set, marking the end of Christmas Day. You walked to your room early and bid everyone a good night.

“Wait Noona” Jungkook’s voice stopped you in your tracks, he hadn’t called you that in a while, you turned knowing he was clearly upset.  “Kookie leave her be she has a lot to think about,” Yoongi called him back to the couch with a wave of his hand, your not so conversation in the bathroom let him know you needed time. 

“Wait, princess, I don’t want to sleep alone?” Jimin said sadly ruffling his hair, Yoongi pushed himself up off the couch and placed his arm around Jimin's waist, giving it a small squeeze to try to bring him comfort. “You can stay in my room Chim”

“Hey, I don’t want to sleep alone either” Taehyung whined looking around at his hyungs, hoping someone would invite him to cuddle. Seokjin sighed pinching the bridge of his nose trying to look cool.  “Alright, you can sleep in this handsome hyungs bed tonight?” 

“Ah, slumber party in Jin’s room” Hoseok grinned pulling Jungkook by the arm, but he barely budged and his eyes hadn’t left yours.  “Ya! I can’t fit that many in my bed go with Yoongi and Jimin, they are both small” Seokjin scolded pushing Hoseok back into Yoongi who rolled his eyes dragging Hoseok by the back of his soft sleep shirt. 

You could hear Yoongi scolding the two boys already as they walked down the hallway “no giggling, no being annoying, don’t touch my things, you wake me when I am sleeping and I will beat your asses”

Namjoon saw your pleading look and responded with a curt nod. Stepping behind Jungkook, he placed his hand onto the maknaes shoulder.  “You can stay with me, come on, give her some time to think”

“Good night, Jaykay goodnight my baby bear” Taehyung waved at you both before scurrying off after Seokjin. “Hyung can I hold you while we sleep?” “No”

You walked slowly into your room noting all the gifts the boys had brought you. How they all made you so happy. Unclipping the collar from around your neck the velvet making you smile. Memories from that first meeting, those shy boys. They loved you a lot, and you loved them too. 

Settling in your bed, it took about ten minutes of the tight feeling in your chest to finally break you. You sobbed quietly, everything was pouring out sadness, love, happiness, guilt, fear, everything you bottled away since you met you thought you had dealt with but you really just pushed the issues further and further back. 

But you had to let them out, you took a pen to paper and you started writing. You let everything out until your only thought was how much you loved and wanted to be with the boys. Falling asleep from exhaustion. 

You walk through an orchid of peach trees. It was drizzling as you walked past the trees, they flowered and each tree ended up covered in ripe peaches. You saw a brown bunny hopping along. Feeling playful you decided to follow it. At the end of the orchid, there was a single tree this one was different. It only had one flower which when it bloomed bore a single apple. 

Reaching for the shine red apple your fingertips barely touched it when you heard a sound. It was rhythmic. Listening closer you realised it was someone rapping. Turning to the source you could see a school of fish swimming around a lilypad.

Kneeling down by the side of the pond you could see everything easier. On top of the lilypad was a Caterpillar smoking heavily lounging on the surface. His head tilted back as the smoke poured past his lips. He smirked in your direction. Rapping in Korean leisurely yet there were still some parts you couldn’t understand properly. 

The days of my youth seem so far away And now it's full of buildings and cars But this is my home now (Seoul, Seoul) Why do you sound like 'soul’? What kind of soul is it that you have? What holds me back by your side like this?

“Hello, I was wondering if you had seen-” He raised his hand to silence you continuing to rap. Waiting politely for him to finish but, he didn’t. Following one verse after another. You noticed he looked like Namjoon and frowned why was he refusing to speak to you. “I was wondering if you had seen a rabbit?” 

If love and hate are the same words I love you Seoul If love and hate are the same words I hate you Seoul

“Oi! Shut up and listen to me” Lifting him onto your palm, so you could look at him eye to eye. “I would if you would talk to me,” “I was talking to you”

“Not in a way I could understand” he leaned back in your hand a cocky expression on his face before he started rapping once more. “Try the apple Noona” The fish spoke blowing bubbles that floated into the air. You noticed they looked like the young boys next door. “Try it Noona, it’s tasty”

You couldn’t refuse their smiles and took a bite. They hadn’t lied; it was delicious, but you shrank. Shocked when you became shorter than the grass. You didn’t have much time to ponder how your clothes shrunk too before the rabbit ran past he was just as small as you. He was singing.

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer

The rabbit was fast, you couldn’t hear any more of its beautiful voice. You did, however, notice he resembled Jungkook. Staggering after him through the grass. You heard singing again, you almost thought you had caught up to the rabbit, but this voice was different.

What am I trying so hard to find now? Where am I continuously drifting to?

“Hello, who is there?” You asked laughter echoed “Jin is that you?” “Yes, it is I, the Amajin flower; Kim Seokjin” you looked up to see Jin’s face but he was a flower. Looking down on you like the sassiest thing in the world. “Where are you running off to?”

“I am not running anywhere, I am trying to find something?” “What are you trying to find?” “It’s a rabbit looks like Kookie”  “A rabbit that looks like a cookie?” He asked and you protested “I saw a rabbit not too long ago he went that way but is that really what you are looking for?” “It is. Thank you,” Running after the rabbit as he took a dark path into the forest.

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer

You walked through the forest getting lost. Sounds of laughter and the smell of alcohol filled the air, you moved faster wrapping your arms around yourself. You felt like you were being watched the voices were eerily familiar and unpleasant. Up ahead you could see a fork in the road.

“Hello?” you looked around trying to find the rabbit. You spotted two arrows pointing opposite directions but with no words. Leaning in trying to see if there were any faint letters on the wooden signpost, you were disappointed once more. “Damn it why are there no words on the signs, how the hell am I suppose to know where to go?”

I still wonder, wonder beautiful story Still wonder, wonder best part I still wander, wander next story I want to make you mine

“You seem lost, in this beautiful forest” A voice like the richest dark chocolate seemed to float around you. Like a ghost materialising before your eyes, there was Taehyung grinning a big boxy smile. He had cat ears and long striped tail.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it beautiful,”  “Why not anywhere is beautiful with you” Tail swishing as he began singing once more, floating around the space content and curious.

Come back to my home, come back home

“I want to know which way to go?” “That depends, my love…” Giggling he rolled upside down in the air and humming “on where you want to end up”

“Well I don’t really know anymore” Voice growing quiet he grinned brightly, landing on a tree branch he sat upright his tail swishing and hitting you in the face “I was trying to find a rabbit he had brown hair”

“He went that way, toward the Mad Hatter,” He pointed down a path and swung forward on the branch. He toppled over completely until he hung upside down his face in front of yours. Planting a kiss on your cheek, and disappearing as easily as he appeared his humming faded out slowly. Continuing down the path until you came across a small house it looked strange everything was distorted and odd-shaped. You heard the sound of instruments playing and saw Hoseok dancing on the table around Teapots. 

But all of this is about reaching you It's the answer to my journey I'm singing to find you Baby to you

He was singing, trying not to startle him as you approached you spotted Yoongi. As small as a mouse with little rounded ears, Yoongi was sleeping on a saucer. Hoseok was caught up in his dancing he didn’t notice he was about to step on him. Grabbing Yoongi you held him to your chest. “You almost stepped on him! Why wouldn’t you look where you are going?”

“I am sorry, I was just celebrating” Hoseok frowned jumping down from the table walking to a faraway seat and slumping into it. You followed him curiously his mouth had fallen into a triangle frown and he was busy playing with the tassels on his jacket.

“What are you celebrating?” “Celebrating yes” Standing up once more he was on another tangent “We are celebrating because today is the day, It’s a warming party”  “Warming party?” you said curiously as Jimin appeared from behind a chair where he had been stoking the fire to boil the tea. His long ears twitched and he tended to move them when he talked like gestures “Jimin you are here too, and you are a rabbit?”

“I am a march hare miss, I am here for the warming party” Jimin looked stylish as ever. He smiled picking up teapots and putting them on the burner plate above the fire to boil them. He was meticulous taking one or two at a time and arranging them so they would all get hot.

All your answers are in this place you found In your Milky Way, inside your heart

“What is a warming party?” Handing Jimin a teapot making him smile bright as his fingers brushed against your hand. “Well, have you ever been cold darling, so cold your bones feel like ice,” Hoseok wouldn’t even let you open your mouth “well this is the opposite of that, have a warm cup of tea”

What else would there be? Is it even right? It's honestly different to the future I had hoped for

Yoongi mumbled laying on the saucer while the others worked to boil tea. What they needed so much for was a mystery. Hoseok leaned over your shoulder. “He is very excited about the warming party he has been thinking about it for weeks now, ever since we got the news” Looking endearingly at the small Yoongi mouse, his eyes blinked gentle open and he sat up looking at you. He looked sad. The pity kind of sad, like he knew something you didn’t. It made you feel uneasy.

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer

The rabbit ran by singing as he went; you went to follow but Yoongi grabbed your hand standing on the edge of the table your pinky in his hand. “Where are you going?” “I am going to find the Rabbit”

“You are so cold,” Yoongi muttered dropping your hand. Hoseok shouted the word cold laying you on the table, you turned to see him grab the steaming kettle. “We will thaw you out in no time”

Screaming you ran scared for your life, Hoseok was going to pour boiling water onto you. Landing in a garden full of white roses, you looked around and saw some children painting the flowers. You looked confused passing them by only to be captured. “Let me go where are you taking me?”

“To see the King and Queen” dragged into the room where you were forced to kneel. You felt the uneasy feeling return. “You are hereby charged with the crimes of abandonment, how do you plead?” “I didn’t abandon anyone” Your head was turned to the side, where you saw your hibernation pod. 

“Does this not belong to you?” “It does but, I do not see how I-” you looked up and in front of you were all of your family members just as you remembered them. You felt your eyes start to water. “I didn’t abandon you?”

“Then why do you feel guilty,” your mother asked her face stone cold and her expression deadly serious. “I don’t know” You sniffed “I just don’t want you to think I am happy that your gone, it feels bad to feel happy like I didn’t care about you all” “And is that the case y/n?” With a firm gaze from you were helpless to your emotions. “No, I miss you so much?” 

“Then come home, all you have to do is climb back into the hibernation pod and you can come back to us” Your mother smiled holding her arms out. The doors were thrown open and the boys were all there.

“I can’t”  “Can’t or won’t” “I want to stay with them, I love them” “Then that’s all we need to hear, we are happy for you” your family members took turns hugging you and saying goodbye.

“We will always be here for you, right here” Your mother gently placed her hand over your heart and you heard singing.

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer Take my hands now You are the cause of my euphoria

You woke feeling kind of heavy and dry like you had run a marathon, your eyes stung and were puffy from crying yourself to sleep. But you felt lighter like all your problems were solved and they were. You decided from now on to let your emotions out and voice them with the guys. And you wouldn’t make yourself feel guilty for being happy without your family.

You spent a good half an hour starring at the gorgeous engagement ring. You remember Jimin telling your boss how it was moissanite, which you knew a thing or two about stones and moissanite was first discovered in a meteorite. Moissanite was more brilliant and had a higher dispersion which meant it gave off a lot more sparkle. 

It was pink moissanite in the shape of a heart, with a halo of white diamonds each with flawless clarity. The band was white gold as you had told Seokjin one day that it golds didn’t compliment your skin tone. After getting positively mesmerised by your beautiful ring your hand dropped onto the pillow beside you and you rolled so your face was pressed into it squealing.

It was four in the morning and you couldn’t wait any longer, walking through the house opening the first door to see Seokjin wrapped in Taehyung’s arms. You walked over and shook them.

“Mmm, what is it are you okay?” Seokjin sat up confused his eyes barely open and you kissed him fully on the mouth, you pulled away telling him you loved him dearly. Repeating the process for everyone excluding Yoongi as you didn’t want to wake him, unfortunately, he did wake and was pissed. 

“You can’t keep your moaning to a minimum Jimin” he scolded “Sorry Yoongi, I love you” you leaned over and kissed him quickly and he pulled you down onto the bed and wrapped his arms around you so he could sleep again.  “Now not a fucking word until the sun fucking rises”

When the sun did rise you didn’t want to move but the others slowly made their way into Yoongi’s room and he huffed as if he was mad but you knew he loved the love. That is until Taehyung decided to lay on top of everyone and kiss them all enthusiastically. “We are getting married!”

Femme Media 35

Next Chapter

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[inspirationdivine]

The Masque of the Red Death || Lydia and Winn

Timing: 27 June Parties: @inspirationdivine @packsbeforesnacks Summary: Winn is invited to a fancy dress auction, but doesn’t realise just how exclusive that invitation is

Boy, rich people sure moved fuckin’ quick. The ink hadn’t even dried on all the documents Nate had had Winn sign before the werewolf was gettin’ letters slipped under his front door. Despite the house’s age, and Winn’s plans to gut the place, he’d decided to move in, not really needin’ more than a mattress and a kitchen to keep him happy-ish. And he really, really needed to get the fuck out of the same house as his dad. He’d left him Denny, for now, and it had been nice, bonding or whatever, but Winn was a goddamn adult, and maybe had, like, an almost-boyfriend now. He refused to bring Noah into the same house that Daniel ‘let me tell you all about my original Chaucer’ Woods lived in. But thinkin’ about Noah did bring a smile to his masked face. 

The carved wooden mask of a wolf was a bit on-the-snout, but funny as hell, to Winn. ‘Sides, no one would guess. They’d all be wearin’ masks from all over the animal kingdom, if the invitation was anything to go by. Why you needed to wear a mask to a silent auction was beyond Winn — and, God did he hate these things, but makin’ a good impression was important, with rich folks especially, he knew from years tailing his mother at charity dinners. But the vibe felt… off, as he made his way through the crowd. Like he’d broken one of those stupid unspoken rules, somehow. It wasn’t his suit — there were people wearin’ far more outrageous (he assumed?) colors than purple here — so what could it have been? He stopped at a painting, pretending to understand the abstract shapes and what he (again, totally just guessin’) he took as a bold color choice. It looked messy, and a bit ugly, given his color-blindness. Maybe he really wouldn’t ever get art.

Lydia had never lived in so small a town that had such a thriving elite supernatural community. She’d never lived in so small a town, either. It wasn’t too surprising that so many of the rich and wealthy were supernatural beings, with their longer lives, lack of needs for conventional expenses, extensive networking skills, and all the other ways that put them above the average human. It was even more lovely to be surrounded by people who felt the same, in one way or another. These events, for all their glamour and fun, had oh so many rules. A costumed silent auction with no allowances for pheromones, compulsion, or other unsavory reality distortions. Then again, in a hall where the only humans were the waitstaff, was it really a necessary rule? 

Lydia wandered around, holding her champagne in a white gloved hand as she mingled and chit chatted with the crowd, especially anyone that made her chest hum. Oh dear. Lydia paused, eyeing the young man by a Wassily Kandinsky piece, with a wolf mask. She winced, and hoped that he was either a fool or altogether much too new to these things, and not some human trying to sneak in. Surely the outside guards had already checked him, but still… the mask was incredibly tacky. “Making quite the statement there, aren’t you?”

Hearing a woman’s voice from behind him, Winn turned, regarding her own mask with interest. It was a bit hard to tell through Winn’s colorblindness, but he could tell the shape of a hummingbird. Long, elegant, and very, very fancy. Winn wondered if those were real feathers. He didn’t know anything about the woman, but the mask… suited her, Winn decided. He looked down at his outfit, then back up at the woman. “I’m not quite sure I know what you mean? No one has ever told me I don’t clean up well, though, so I hope it’s not the suit.” He winked through the mask, grabbing a flute of champagne for himself from a passing waiter. “I’m— Ah, I only just moved to the East End, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’ve made some sort of mistake. Never been one for following the rules.” He grinned, wolfish and self-sure. “I’d ask your name, but that probably defeats the purpose of these,” he tapped the mask on one of its carved ears, “and what’s in a name, really?” 

“Oh, not at all, the suit fits you like a glove. You look positively dashing,” Lydia replied with a grin, looking him up and down. Maybe not necessarily new money, but certainly young money, in both his appearance and attitude. Although, some species ended up rather frozen at a certain age both physically and mentally, did they not? “Oh, I’m not so sure the masks are for secrecy. I’m Lydia, just so that you have something to call me by. I was only commenting on your mask. Wearing another species as costume is rather passe, don’t you think?”

“Uh,” Winn said, intelligently, “I thought that was the whole… point? I mean, unless you’re secretly a hummingbird, right? No one’s wearing a human mask, so we’re all breaking that, right? It was on the invitation. Wear an animal.” He scanned the crowd, trying to figure out if there was anyone without a mask, but the only exceptions were the waitstaff. “I’m Winn. Call me Winn. So…” He grinned. “This is the part where you tell me you are a hummingbird, I take it?”

“Winn,” Lydia repeated with a smile, offering him a faux curtsy. Although, her smile was entirely quizzical as she looked around the room, at the shining floor and glittering diamond chandeliers, and all the kinds of people around them, wondering if somehow they hadn’t come to the same event. “Darling, do you not… realise that no one in this room is human, spare a couple of spellcasters and the waitstaff?”

Well, fuck a duck. “Oh,” Winn said, a soft syllable in the air. He gestured to his wolf mask, dumbly. “So, does everyone know I’m a…” The question hung in the space between them. “Or do they just think I’m an asshole?” He started laughing, ‘cause, really? It was funny as hell. First non-wolf supernatural shindig he’d been to, and he’d already managed to fall face first into a stupid rule. “I— Wow, okay. Alright. So, guess I should’ve thought this one through a little more. Y’know, I was wonderin’ how they got my address. I’d literally just signed the papers.”

“Well, now I do, which is ever so slightly less tasteless than dressing up as someone else’s species. Not all that original, either,” Lydia said, but it was with such a soft smile that it was obvious she was teasing. “No, not that, but you do rather stand out like a sore thumb. If you’re new to all this, though, I’m sure all will be forgiven quickly. Besides, I’m talking to you now, we’ll have a crowd in a hurry.” Lydia smiled, offering her arm for him. “Let me get you a drink. Are you planning on bidding on anything tonight?”

“Oh boy.” Winn huffed out a sigh of relief. “That would have been awkward, huh?” He took Lydia’s proffered arm, setting his downed glass of champagne — ugh, he really hated that shit — and letting her lead him to… assumedly the bar? Lydia wasn’t wrong, though, a crowd did seem to flit about them, seemingly drawn into Lydia’s sheer force of personality. “Um,” Winn said, thinking through much of what he’d seen, “if I’m bein’ totally honest, I’m a little worried now that anything I buy would end up cursed?” He raised his free hand to the back of his head, running it through. “How, uh, about you?”

Lydia smiled, ordering a drink from the bar and gesturing for him to do the same, ‘on her tab’.  “Well, some of the items in here are cursed. Some bewitched, some haunted, some just have attitude.”  She smiled, gesturing around the room. “That one, there, the painting of the lady at a cliffside, can you see the markings on the ceiling above it? Warding signs.”

Sipping his new (and extremely fruity) drink, Winn followed Lydia’s gaze. “Attitude?” Winn questioned openly, taking in the painting that Lydia had pointed out. Glyphs, sure enough, were dotted on the ceiling in, what appeared to Winn to be, nonsense shapes. “And warding from what? Are there, like, ghosts in the paintings?” He got the sense that question was dumb, maybe, but Lydia had to know he was, somewhat, new at this.

With their drinks in hand, Lydia led him along the gallery, speaking lowly even though she knew there were plenty around that could overhear, no matter how quietly she spoke. “Yes, that one is haunted. This sculpture of a face in pain contains vampire ash, and has a bit of an attitude. Then these coins, believed to be from Roman Aos Sí, are entirely fake. So, tell me, what do you want to know?”

“Oh, Lydia,” Winn said with a lopsided grin. “I want to know everything.”