#Golden Crown Casino

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[radiance1]

Hi, friendly neighborhood wyrm guy here. Finally learned how to do that thing other Tumblr user's do so yey!

Golden Crown

Au where Sun Wukong made himself a crown to look cool, except he accidently made it an artifact that siphons off his power to the wearer, chaos ensues.

Crashed Course

Lmk, but they're in a school.

Sun Wukong listens to Cupcakke

A little addon au that adds nothing but decoration.

??? A lmk/jjtw au made with my oc!

Corallo Marino au

An au made between me and @sun-wukong-brain-rot based on their Stone Monkies hc!

That one Dnd au I decided to expand on

This is the one au I actually felt like expanding on for some reason, a DP and DC crossover where Sam, Tucker, and Danny decided to play a DnD game and somehow the Justice League got summoned into it.

[deliciousangelfestival]

His Silly Princess | Bucky (Oneshot)

Character: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Words Count: 1,671

Summary: A modern royal love story. A naive princess who wants to get away from an arranged marriage. She never knew that her guard had loved her since the beginning. 

Main Masterlist || support me: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Zylovia is a country where monarchy still exists. It’s a developed country located near Western Europe. 

It’s a prosperous country, and the number of unemployed is also the lowest. Tourists love coming here for the casino, race car, and music festival. 

But this country has one outdated rule. It didn’t apply to the citizens. Only for the royal family. 

“If the female royal member marries a commoner, she will lose her status."

You learned that rule when you were 12 years old as the youngest siblings and Princess Zylovia. You didn't put a deep thought into it. 

But now, when you are almost 30 years old, and your older siblings are already married, you think this is good for you.

Because you realize you’re not fit to do the duty as a princess. 

Your oldest brother has prepared since he was a kid to be the king. When he reaches the age of 40, he will be crowned as the king. Your second brother will be the second commander in the military. 

While you have a job as a painting conservator at the museum, your duty as a princess is to welcome the official foreign guest at the castle. You learned some languages, but you’re not allowed to give any opinion on politics.

You don’t hate being a royal, but sometimes you feel like living in a golden cage. 

And finally, you had enough because, on your recent birthday, your parents talked to you about marriage. 

The king and queen don’t want to be separated from their youngest daughter, but they hint that they wish for her future husband from the royal circle. In other words: arranged marriage. 

You clenched your jaw while smiling at your parents. If the man from the royal circle is a real gentleman, you wouldn’t mind. 

But the problem is, please pardon the harsh language; none of the men from the royal family are your type. 

Your type of man must have a stable job, look good in suits, and have a nice body. 

That’s why, for a couple of days, you’ve made a list of potential future husbands. After you write it, you realize most of the men are from the knights. Perhaps because you always went to meet your second brother at the military training ground, so you know some people. 

Steve Rogers

[Friendly, not married, nerd, loves to paint like me]

Ari Levinson 

[Funny, beautiful hair, handsome]

‘Knock, knock!’ Suddenly, someone knocked on your door.

“Come in.”

You didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. You have known him for years, and your ears are familiar with the sound of his footsteps. 

The person who walked into your room has been your exclusive bodyguard for years - James Barnes, but you always call him Bucky his nickname. 

Bucky is a commoner and an elite soldier. If there’s a shooting competition, he will be in the top three. Your second brother always hates him. 

He has received many medals of honors, but he rejects a knight title from your father. You don’t understand why he declined the offer. If he received it, he could enter politics, and he doesn’t have to follow her around anymore. 

He’s tall, handsome, with perfect blue eyes and has fine muscles on his body. Bucky also has a primarily female fanbase when he wears the military uniform and rides a horse at the independence ceremony. 

He became a celebrity overnight.

But you have never seen or heard any rumor about him with a woman. 

“Your highness, in two hours you are going to attend the tennis tournament.” 

You dropped the pen and dropped your head to the table. “Urgh. Do I have to?”

Bucky chuckled when he saw you unwilling to go. One thing you hate about your duty is to be the guest at the tennis game. You prefer to watch the race car, but it's reserved for your brother's. 

Even though you didn’t want to go, you still dragged your feet to the dressing room to grab your coat. 

When you were searching for the right outfit, you suddenly remembered. “Oh no!” You didn’t hide the potential list that you just wrote. You wish you could dig your own grave and disappear. 

And you were right; Bucky saw your writing. He furrowed his eyebrows while he read your paper. “What’s this? Potential man for marriage?”

You stand beside him; you don’t know why you feel scared. This is the first time you have seen him like this. 

His slender, pointed fingers scratched the two names with his nails. There’s a big X on your paper. 

“Don’t marry any of those men.”

“Why?”

A small smile appeared on his lips, along with a soft voice, “Steve hasn’t moved on from his last girlfriend, and Ari, he loves to drink alcohol. I know you hate the smell of alcohol.”

You felt disappointed; you crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash.

“Marriage? Why all of a sudden?” There's an annoyed tone in his voice.

You rubbed your head and muttered, “I need to get married sooner, or my parents will arrange marriage for me, their friend's kid. And you know the truth, I had enough of being a princess.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “But, why them?”

“What?”

He clenched his fist; Bucky stared at her with an annoyed expression. “Why didn't you put me on the list?”

“....”

You waved your hand. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I got married.”

“So, would you like to marry me?”

Are you having hallucinations? Did Bucky just propose to you?

Bucky got on his knees. “Let’s get married.”

You still haven’t come to your senses. Bucky started talking again. “Think about it. Both of us have known each other for a long time. We’ve known each other's likes and dislikes. We’ve been through many things together.”

He’s right. He’s the safest choice if you want to marry someone. You shrugged your shoulders and accepted his hand. “Alright.”

Bucky's beautiful smile appeared on his face. Before he shook your hand, he felt you slightly pull his hand. When you saw him smile, your heart raced. “But, if in the end, we don’t like each other, please wait after three years, then we could get a divorce.”

Bucky chuckled; his attractiveness is not just in his physical appearance but also in his ability to manage his emotions gracefully and restraintfully. He leaned closer to you, and his hands gently grabbed your chin. 

As his calloused hand touched your skin, a subtle warmth spread on your cheeks. You could feel you're blushing. “Silly girl, it will never happen.”

#######

[Bucky P.O.V]

Then he rests your arms on his. “Then you have the excuse to skip the tournament.”

“Hmm?”

“We should inform this first to His Majesty and Her Majesty.”

“Oh, right.” You nodded, then looked straight into his blue eyes again. “This soon?”

********

When both of you walk through the hallway to meet the King and Queen, Bucky tries his best to calm down. He almost lost his common sense when he saw you write another man's name, and there’s a word of ‘potential husband.’

He looks at you and thinks ‘his silly princesses didn’t realize his feelings for her.’ 

Didn’t she know he declined the offer to be a knight so he could be her guard?

If he became a knight, he would work with her second brother. That’s the last thing he wants to do. 

“So, Bucky, don’t worry about money. When I resign as a princess, the kingdom will give us money.”

Bucky chuckled, seeing his sweet princess worried about their future, “That’s so sweet of you. But you don’t need to worry about that.” He gently patted her arms. He wants to tell you that he owns the famous casino in this kingdom and 5-star hotel chains in a few countries.

When both of you are married, Bucky will ensure you don’t have to work anymore. He is pretty sure that her parents will give their blessings even though he’s a commoner (and he’s super rich). The royal family has outdated rules, but because of it, he could marry you. 

Both of you arrived at the king's office room. The guards bowed their heads to greet you. Then you said, “Princesses Y/N and her guard. Wait… and her future husband, James Barnes wants to meet the king.”

The guards and the butler who opened the door lost their composure. They should have known from your body language walking here together hand in hand when usually Bucky always stands behind you. 

This news is shocking compared to the crown prince, who got caught partying too hard and the second prince, who had a messy love life before he got married. 

It seems like your father, the King, hears your voice. Before the castle butler tells him, you hear the gentle voice, “Come in.”

########

[2 years later]

<Former Princess of Zylovia Y/N, blessed with male twins>

It's the biggest headline in the country after you gave birth. You feel overwhelmed; you can't believe that you're parents now. 

The King and Queen hold your oldest son, while Bucky has the youngest son in his arms. 

Bucky's eyes are full of love, looking both at his sons. He was almost scared to death since you gave birth one month early. But the doctor assured both of you this is normal since you're pregnant with twins. 

Even though you're not a princess, you're still surrounded by your family. 

And Bucky still treats you like a princess. You almost lost your mind when he told you his business, which turned into your parents, and your brothers already know it, too. 

You want to knock your head; you didn't even know Bucky's business helped increase the country's GDP. 

Everyone said Bucky was the lucky guy to marry the former princess, but they were wrong. It's you who is lucky to marry him.

-End-

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[world-in-a-nook]

"And upon his name was a crown of jewels, and the brightest was Hope"

character : Aventurine pairing : Aventurine (drunk!Aventurine at the end) x avgin!gn!reader (specified blond hair) ; angst/comfort art : @しかく

synopsis : Aventurine, while sitting in a bar, finds you performing at a bar in Penacony. Surprised to see another Avgin, he watches your dance performance and comes to see you after it. inspiration : dance ; warnings : spoiler for 2.1 (all of the Aventurine's backstory) ; Avgin racism (implied prostitution); alcohol ; petname ( little gem ; darling ;) ; survivor guilt ; might be ooc lore taken from : Signoia, Unclaimed Desolation (I went full on worldbuilder and might have expanded a bit) wc : 3.1k author's note : not my native language

The night had long started inside the bar with drinks passing from hand to hand, chatters getting loud. The cocktail, an Imagined Sunrise, in Aventurine’s hand swirled the sweet colour of sunsets. He was seated in an obscure corner, far from anyone’s gaze. Although his client had long left, he decided to stay anyway to pass time. Why stay in the boring room when you can have fun outside?  His bodyguards would have preferred the former since it meant being less alert but Aventurine wasn’t the type to cooperate especially after a frustrating deal.

Through the rose-tinted glasses, he looked at his surroundings. The bar was crowded like any night of Penacony, people sipping on the dream syrup or on some Soulglad. The chatter filled the room mixing with the clicking of the ice and the music. The coloured bottles shined in the dimlit bar creating drinks. His own was gleaming like some dawn, one that he dreamt so much of. He took a sip before looking at the clock, curious to see if the casino might still be open. His thought process was interrupted by the bar’s owner standing up on the stage:

“Tonight, folks, I’ll present you with an exotic flower from a faraway land. This desert bloom will offer you a performance like none other!”

It was at this point that you appeared on the stage, waiting for the musicians to start. Though Aventurine was already captivated because he could now grasp what the owner meant with “faraway land”. He recognized the patterned clothes, the colourful jewellery and golden hair gracefully swaying with each movement. And when he finally saw your colourful eyes, he felt as if the ground was breaking before him. Each one of your movements seemed like turning his world upside down. He followed the movements of the colourful fabrics, of the golden jewellery. The fabric moving like the wind in the golden dunes, your hair like the rays of gold that warmed his skin. The jewellery chimed together as making a melody on its own. He crossed your gaze through his glasses and couldn’t resist to lean forward in disbelief. Those movements reminded him of the time faraway from now, a time where each shimmering aurora had the warmth of comfort, of home; a time in which he danced with his family and rejoiced in the Kakava festival; a time which felt so far away, yet he yearned for it.

His contemplation continued: how the fabric’s colours and your movements was a wildfire swaying to your liking, each of the golden jewellery was a spark for every new flame, the chiming of it like the crack of the firewood. The dance sending him into a spin of fascination and disbelief. Each step like an acknowledgment of your presence, each beat of the music making him realize that he wasn’t the only one left. The fire continued to dance and show off its movements with the rhythmic music. The drums beating as hard as his heart, the graceful sway of the fabrics leaving him in a daze. With each new melody, he took a sip of his own drink. His head spined with the dance, the alcohol, and your twirls.

Before a stop, the dance ending, and some applauses. Pearls of sweats had appeared on your body completing your jewellery set. You bowed with the applauses and toss of coins, though Aventurine could hear some of many murmurs:

“An Avgin? They’re just some snake, manipulating their charms for money.”

“They’re just trying to find a fool for the night!”

“You know Sigonians, rotten to the core…”

He didn’t care when those insults were about him. He had heard them so many times now that it felt numb, but he wasn’t the target of it, another Avgin was, and it felt so different. Someone like him was insulted. His eyes darted to see your reaction if you would say anything back. Though you had already escaped from his gaze, the only remain of your performance was your faint perfume.

He wanted to follow you through the narrow corridors, through the dazzling streets of Penacony, through each planet, through the desert dunes until that moment where he could go back to that very moment, that impossible moment in which the festival took place in joy. The faint perfume did bring him back to reality after a moment and like the good businessman he was, he knew how to use his tongue. A slight gesture and the owner approached:

“Good evening, Mr. Aventurine. Thank you for choosing our humble establishment!”

“Oh, but I must thank you, my friend, for the atmosphere, the drinks and even the entertainment!”

“Oh, did you like tonight’s beauty? A rare gem…”

How he objectified you felt repulsing, you were a being, not some sort of possession limited to its beauty. Aventurine bit his tongue, though he had led the conversation where he wanted to, so he asked:

“Oh indeed, a one-of-a-kind. May I ask if it could be possible to see that gem?”

“I’m sorry sir but they don’t accept visitors…”

He gazed upon the owner facing him. It was easy to see his lies: the crossed arms, the slight bite of the lip and this twitch of the eyebrow he had seen in some gambler he provoked. He had encountered so many liars like him, so confident yet wearing their emotions under the spotlight. He didn’t mind it, after all that’s how he won. So, he asked:

“My friend, I have heard that your establishment lacked customers. I might be able to do just that… Some of the Strategic Investment Department needs a place to have fun time. Would you be able to grant that?”

“Yes Mr. Aventurine, of course. Our humble establishment would gladly welcome your colleagues. They would also have a price. The IPC, and yourself, have done so much for us !”

“Then make me another drink for me and your generous patrons! It’s on me!”

The owner rushed to the bar, urging his employees to start serving drinks to all patrons. A big investment for just one fleeting moment. Drinks appearing and going from left to right, up and down, cheers coming from one side to another, praises for the generous esteemed guest. Yet he knew how they were just hypocrites, esteeming him during their drunken state. One moment, he was one of the avgins “rotten to the core” and the other he was an “esteemed guest”, what a joke. He looked back at the owner, now was truly time for the gamble:

“If I may bring a drink to the precious gem…”

“Oh of course, Mr. Aventurine. Let me show you the way…”

A few corridors later and they entered your dressing room, knocking on your door. You were facing a vanity taking off the jewels resting on your forehead and chest. The owner introduced:

“Little gem, one of our esteemed guests wanted to give you a drink. So, I brought him to you. He is a particularly important guest which is giving us new clients which means you could get more money for your performance. Treat him well…”

The owner escaped while Aventurine sighed at the owner’s lack of subtility. He signed his bodyguards to stay outside the door and after a few seconds, you finally spoke for the first time:

“I’m not selling my body…”

“Oh no need to inform me, I’m not here for that…” replied the businessman.

To confirm his saying, he sat down on the furthest couch and laid your drink on the nearest table to you. More seconds of the awkward silence, silence in which he delighted because as a gambler he knew it was a silence of thinking, of calculation. You asked politely while turning:

“Then why are you here sir?”

“Because I think we have something in common.”

“Oh really?”

Aventurine, for the first time, took off his glasses to reveal his colourful eyes while his left hand went inside his pocket. Your gaze met and there was this moment. He could see emotions passing through your mind and body: first, the slight widening of your eyes from the surprise, the lips parting as if trying to find words, the quivering fingers as if grasping for reality and then seating back as in disbelief. At last, the nod of acknowledgment. Both of you stayed staring at each other, like staring into mirror. Two beings that started the same but ended up as opposites. You broke the silence:

“I’ve heard rumours about an IPC debt collector being Signonian but are you…?”

“I’m an Avgin.”

The sentence was short, but it felt like a revelation for both of you. An acknowledgment of each other’s fate, each other’s hardships and despair. The realisation of each other’s suffering by the mere gaze, the lack of shine in each other’s eyes. He broke the silence by sipping some of his drink, it was easier to numb the pain. You took again the lead in the conversation:

“May I ask for your name?”

“They call me Aventurine.”

“Doesn’t sound avgin…”

“As I said, darling, they call me that way.”

Behind the dismissive use of the petname and the play on words, he didn’t expect your wit. Although you were quite right to not trust him at first in this cold world. He couldn’t bear to see you slip between his hands like the golden sand. Another gulp of alcohol, of courage. For a second, his vision blurred and his head spinned. For the first time, through sheer will or maybe was it his thoughts blending into a mess, he broke again the silence:

“And may I call you something else than what that man called you? May I have your name?”

You replied, after a few seconds, with your stage name which he immediately got:

“Oh, come on darling, it’s not that much of a big risk to give a name.”

“Says the one who didn’t give his name either…” you retorted.

“Touché! But I did it because I’m known as Aventurine and besides, I’m part of the IPC. As a member of the Ten Stonehearts, I shall reveal no secrecy and invest in my persona.”

You could hear the sarcasm dripping from his lips and he started to be more talkative, probably from the alcohol ingested throughout the night. Even if you wanted to go, you had to stay and treat him well because of the owner’s order. You would be interrupted in your thought process by the blond:

“Those jewels… Are they from turquoise meteorites?”

“Yes, they are. Mama Fenge has blessed my family with it and so I carry them to each performance”.

“Can I see them up close? No touching you or them if you would like to, it’s just been a long time since… Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen some… Would it be possible?”

He silenced himself by taking another gulp of his drink and he put the fedora away, starting to feel hot from the alcohol. He let out a small sigh of relief when you approached to let him look at the golden chain, which was previously attached to your belt, with turquoises and charms. The melody of the chain lulled him into deeper memories, and he started to talk again:

“You know, I’ve heard that these turquoises were as beautiful as Gaiathra Triclops’ eyes, but I wander if they are as valuable as hers. If turquoises are that valuable, then is that why our land was destroyed? Why were our valuable land and people left for dead?”

You didn’t respond because of the sudden emotion. The alcohol had certainly turned the gambler into a sentimental. You didn’t know how to quite manage to those questions because, you too, didn’t have the answer to that question. The dreading question that didn’t come in each other’s mind since a time long ago, a time that felt like forever. Yet your thoughts were again interrupted by him:

“I have a lucky charm too, not as valuable as turquoises but a gold lucky charm my mother gave me. Lucky charm to a lucky child, quite an irony. Big sis’ told me that it was to symbolize my name. “Blessed by Gaithra Triclops”, Kakavasha, lucky child yet received a lucky charm.”

You didn’t comment on how he just told you his name, his mind obviously elsewhere, probably drowning in the memories and the alcohol’s fog. You parted your lips as if trying to find your words, they didn’t come. The small details in his drunken speech seemed to confirm his identity as an avgin. It wasn’t one of the silver-tongued men but of an avgin, one of the last. You tried to continue the conversation:

“But you were blessed by Gaithra Tricolps. You are here, and you are someone powerful and you are quite fit at gaining money at the roulette.”

“Blessed… Lucky me, I guess! Luck makes powerful but my destiny not lucky, not just…”

“Then, how about we pray to the mother goddess for such luck and a happier destiny?”

His eyes widened at your proposition. You showed him your left hand to initiate the prayer, yet you saw his glassy eyes look at your hand like witnessing some kind of miracle.

He was about to take another gulp of his drink, but his hand was too shaky. He didn’t even know now if it was from the alcohol or the emotions, perhaps both, perhaps one facilitating the other. He approached his gloved hand and, after some clumsy movements, rested upon your hand.

You started the prayer, his voice being quieter. With each sentence, the blond went quieter and staring at the joined hands. You didn’t yet notice, at first closing your eyes in this ceremonial moment but when the prayer ended, you could see how his glassy eyes turned teary. You parted your lips trying to say something, hoping you didn’t do anything wrong, yet your surprising reflex was to embrace him.

You were shocked by your sudden gesture, and you couldn’t see Aventurine’s reaction. Though you could sense how tense his body was, how his shoulders were trembling. At first, you thought he would immediately pull away, and he didn’t. You let out a sigh and wrap your arms around him, not sure how it ended up like this. First you were dancing on stage, swirling to the tambourines and bells, and now you end up with a man – you didn’t quite process that he was an avgin just yet- in your arms.

You thought it would be another moment of silence. Not an awkward one, like when he entered your dressing room, but one of acknowledgment. One of contentment in which each other saw pain and sorrow. Yet this silent was broken by his slurred words:

“I should’ve saved her… I should’ve…”

You should hear the slurred words mixed with the throat tightening. The shoulders continued to shake in your embrace. Blond locks following his shaking. The taste of alcohol blending with the salt of the tears. Slowly dripping on your performance outfit, yet you didn’t care. It wasn’t about your outfit or treating him how the owner wanted. It was about helping him in his pain, comforting him. And you didn’t even know but it was the first time that anyone had treated him that way, that anyone had seen him in such despair, that any miracle had managed to quell his solitude.

Everything felt numb, his muscles tensing as if he couldn’t breathe. How would he dare to live? How was he allowed to? He was blessed, yet it was like a curse. He couldn’t bear to think that the one who didn’t come one was the closest to him. He had selfishly followed and ran, as far as he could, even though he knew something horrible was coming. And when he came back, it was too late: the cackling Katicans, blood drenching the golden sand, the fire devouring the tents. And of course, he had survived. He hated that he survived. Tears running down his cheeks and drenching the colourful fabric.

Yet, in this tender embrace, he could smell your perfume. Eyes slowly closing into those nights he longed for so much time: the warmth of the bonfire, the feast with spiced meals, the laughter and conversation swaying, music echoing in the valleys. It was the night of Kakava. Jewellery and colourful fabrics blending in the dance, his sister looking as beautiful as a gem, inviting him for a dance. The well-known steps coming back to him and following the music. You had come into the dance, and all laughed. He took his sister’s hand to give her a turquoise necklace, as precious as Gaiathra’s eyes, just for her to wear in this special occasion. He told her about all the travels he did, journeying far beyond Sigonia, of all the riches he gathered, of all his schemes that worked and some that didn’t. The tender embrace exchanged afterwards bringing him the warmth he so much desired. Sparks going back into his eyes as the warm embers of Hope coming back. They smiled and dance until the blinding dawn came. He turned to his sister and saw her smile, as bright as the sun.

Yet it was the same sunlight that awoke him. He rubbed his eyes and slowly looked around: he was laid down in his bed, with the same outfit as last night – well what he could remember of it – and his headache reminded him of his alcohol consumption. He could almost hear Ratio’s sermon about how alcohol kills his liver. He took out his phone and checked his messages and bank account, thankfully he didn’t spend anything drunk nor text any weird messages. There was only him in his bed, so he didn’t bring anyone home or they might’ve escaped before he woke up.

He slowly sat up, leaning on the headboard, and heard something fall onto the sheets. After rummaging a little, and taking a sip of water, he found a turquoise charm. He couldn’t quite remember when he bought it or if he won it yet there was some sense of familiarity. He approached it, made it shine in the golden rays before the realisation hit him: it was one that once was on your golden chain. As precious as Gaithra’s eyes yet you accepted to give one to him, a fellow Avgin. He swallowed his tears and stood up, one day he hoped to thank you. He didn’t look at his reflection this morning but if he had, he would see that glimmer of Hope back in his beautiful eyes.

[mrslestappen]

formula one ✩ m.list

# ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ :: cl¹⁶

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ :: Finally feeling familiar with the heartbreak and love songs she has composed, the world's golden girl discovers that love is trickier than it looks—even more so when it comes in the form of a green-eyed Monégasque.

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴅ :: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ :: Monaco is the jewel in the crown, a world of expensive cars, casinos, and sheer luxury that conceals the true reason for its name; who imagined that a night of joy would finish with blood on your hands.

# ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ꜱᴀɪɴᴢ :: cs⁵⁵

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ :: mv¹

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ :: Who would have thought that a mistake on your application could cost you your dream job? And that in the end you would end up as an assistant to a one time world champion struggling to control his anger issues.

# ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʀɪᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴅᴏ :: dr³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ :: ln⁴

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ :: After discovering that he is in love with his best friend, Lando is determined and will do everything he can to prove to her that he is the right man for her. [ coming soon ]

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ʟᴜꜱᴛ :: After graduating from college, you land a job assisting a Formula One driver, but nobody told you that this particular driver would be an absolute nightmare and that your job would basically consist of babysitting him.

# ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ :: op⁸¹

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ :: Being hired as his assistant to help him during his second year in Formula One, you discover that the reason he has trouble expressing what he wants is not that he lacks the ability to do so, but that he is too prideful to do so.

# ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ :: lh⁴⁴

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜꜱꜱᴇʟʟ :: gr⁶³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ɢᴀꜱʟʏ :: pg¹⁰

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ꜱᴇʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇʟ :: sv⁵

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴍɪᴄᴋ ꜱᴄʜᴜᴍᴀᴄʜᴇʀ :: ms⁴⁷

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴀʟᴇx ᴀʟʙᴏɴ :: aa²³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ :: the disease series! all drivers have one, and the reader is always an assistant!

© mrslestappen :: please do not copy my work!

[naffeclipse]

*slides leopardtaur Y/N to you across the table like a seedy casino*

*picks leopardtaur Y/N up and slips them into my inner jacket pocket*

You escaped Fazco's jungle park the moment it fell, darting to the outer regions of dense forest and tangled vegetation to soak in the untouched tropics. Your lower body takes after a leopard with a tawny coat and beautiful black rosettes. You're sleek, swift, and dangerous but not the biggest threat.

While in captivity, you caught whiffs off handlers of strange scents and heard gossip from those feeding you about the other monsters. You don't see any now, but you know to avoid conflict is to avoid encounters. You hunt at different times than might be typical for other beasts and avoid taking prey that might be missed. Usually, you rest in trees and hope to go unnoticed. You enjoy your newfound freedom. You hope to never see another human again.

Unfortunately, you're not alone. You realize that when you catch distant hisses and the echoes of slithering in the undergrowth. There are also the bones left from meals picked clean that you occasionally stumble upon. Massive paw tracks are left in the moist dirt. When you step into it with your paws, the imprint engulfs yours.

You'd rather not find out who those belong to. You're fierce but small. If anything big catches you in its teeth, it's over.

That doesn't mean you're never found. One lazy evening, just after nightfall, you wake up from a cozy nap along a thick tree branch. You yawn, opening your jaws and flashing your sharp teeth, stretching your arms and four legs and flicking your tail, only to realize that there's something above you. Wide, red eyes, caught off guard, stare down at you from higher branches. A naga, deep blue and hooded, dotted with diamonds of red and yellow scales, stares back. He must have been slithering along, not realizing the tree was already occupied. He starts to say something. You've already dashed down the tree trunk and bounded away faster than a bird disappearing into the forest.

That was too close, but not as close as your next encounter. The waterside is dangerous—you have to go there for a cool drink when the afternoon sun is hot. You venture forward, furry ears pricked, eyes scanning the verdant trees until you reach the babbling river's side. The noise is dangerous. It can conceal threats you might otherwise hear before they get too close, but you fold your four legs underneath you and cup your hands to drink delicious sweet water. It runs down your chin before you register another presence. The soft hiss of surprise that echoes.

You jump into the water. Splashing furiously, you turn around to face the intruder only to be met with wide blue eyes and open hands, just as stunned to see you as you are to see him. A naga of golden colors and red patches. He doesn't have a hood, not like the other one. Bright frills frame his head like a crown of beaming gold. He smiles reassuringly, almost too excited, and says, "Hello, friend." You spare him not a word as you swim across the river and disappear into the other end of the forest, ignoring his pleas to wait a moment.

The third encounter is too close for comfort. You don't realize you're being stalked until it's too late. The tall grass made you feel safe and hidden, but it only concealed who lurked here. You spy two gleaming orange eyes between blades of grass moments before the tigertaur leaps on you—and in a second, you're pinned. His paws hold your leopard body down, easily dwarfing you, as his hands grab your wrists. His strength puts an end to your attempts to fight back or wriggle free. He coos at you, much to your dismay. When he leans in close, you brace for his teeth to sink into you. Instead, he licks your cheek and tells you how sweet it is to finally get a proper eyeful of you. You're always running or hiding or sleeping. He wants to know your name. He wants you to know his name. He wants to see you again very soon, ignoring your confusion and disbelief that you're still alive.

He finally lets you up. He grabs your wrist when you try to flee. His striped tail whips about like he's playing while your own snaps in feral agitation. He tells you that you can trust him, especially over those snakes. You break free (did he let you break free?) and race back to the shadowy shelter of the jungle trees, breathing hard and frazzled.

You hide harder, staying in trees more and avoiding moving too much in the middle of the day and at midnight. Your paranoia grows when you notice little offers left under the tree where you had a nap at dawn and dusk: small morsels of meat, berries, nuts, and even flowers that hold no nutritional value but are gorgeous. You hear the nagas more, feel their presence, even catch sight of them as they catch sight of you, calling out, urging you to stop for a moment, please.

The tigertaur finds you when he pleases. He catches you bathing in the river one night and proceeds to help you groom your coat and hair despite your raised hackles, and he tells you that you should hunt food together; it would be far more efficient to share meals, and you need more meat. No matter where you go, where you hide, he finds you. You're certain he takes delight in catching you by surprise by how eagerly he snatches you up each time.

You don't like the offerings left by the nagas but you do take them, even the useless flowers. You don't like the tigertaur dragging a large carcass out, dropping it at your feet, and telling you to indulge, but you do eat. You don't know how to handle the attention of so many large predators, much less what to say when you drop by the babbling waterside to find the yellow naga smiling at you and telling you that it's safe, they won't hurt you. You don't know how to respond when you wake up to a soft hum in the middle of the night and find the blue naga a tree over, coiled up and watching you with a ruby gleam and a soft request to come over to his tree. He doesn't bite.

You don't know what to do but you want to survive, and you don't know if you can with the nagas and tigertaur beckoning you closer.

[r1-jw-lover]

Official John Wick Major Arcana tarot cards featuring Chapter 4 characters

Art by Julien Rico Jr, in collaboration with Lionsgate.

Sources: nerdsloveart, behance

Image descriptions below the cut:

[Start ID: 22 images featuring characters and locations from the movie "John Wick: Chapter 4" as Major Arcana tarot cards. The drawings are in black and white against a sandy beige background, and has plenty of circle motives. Roman numerals are at the top, their corresponding card title at the bottom, and the movie title "John Wick: Chapter 4" on the bottom left margin.

0: The number zero, or unnumbered, tarot card features Killa Harkan played by Scott Adkins as "The Fool". Killa is holding a 2 of spades between two fingers while giving a smug smile that shows off his set of golden teeth. He wears a ring on his right hand and the other hand is holding a stack of cards. Behind Killa is a minimalistic design resembling a casino token with details such as the diamond and clover symbols, as well as the numbers on the dice. In front of Killa is a table with two piling stacks of casino tokens, a gun, and the shadow of John Wick's head looming over a large portion of the table.

1: The number one tarot card features The Tracker or Mr. Nobody played by Shamier Anderson as "The Magician". Mr. Nobody has a smug expression on his face and is holding his rifle in a way that lets it rest slung over his shoulder. By his side is Mr. Nobody's Belgian Malinois. The backdrop consists of simplistic, grayish graphics of map vectors cropped into several circles of different sizes. There is a white-coloured infinity symbol on top of Mr. Nobody's head.

2: The number two tarot card features Rooney, aka The Ballerina, who first appeared in "John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum", as "The High Priestess". Rooney's back is facing towards us as she's performing a ballet move on a circular stage. Rooney is wearing a white crown and a dress that shows the cross tattoo on her back. In the backdrop, where Rooney's face is looking towards, are curtains with the initials "JW" written on the far ends of the frame.

3: The number three tarot card features Katia played by Natalia Tena as "The Empress". With a cool expression on her face, Katia is leaning forward against a set of railings, giving off a domineering aura. Katia is wearing a metallic necklace and a cross on her neck. Behind Katia is the crest of the Ruska Roma and a line in Russian circling around it.

4: The number four tarot card features The Bowery King played by Laurence Fishburne as "The Emperor". The Bowery King is sitting on a throne, but behind him is a pair of eyes staring menacingly at us. In front of him is a logo design with the same pair of eyes, though rendered smaller and appear less menacing, with an X crossed in between and a horizontal line capping the top of the X. At the Bowery King's feet, a few pigeons are shown in the foreground while the Brooklyn Bridge appear in the background.

5: The number five tarot card features The Elder as "The Hierophant". Behind the Elder is an Islamic floral design which extends into a more geometrical pattern. Standing in the background are two of the Elder's men.

6: The number six tarot card features John and Helen Wick, played by Keanu Reeves and Bridget Moynahan, as "The Lovers". John and Helen are smiling brightly towards each other in front of a New York night cityscape backdrop, with the Empire States building separating them at the centre. Above John and Helen is a silhouette of them pressed against each other about to kiss in front of a bright sun with the Brooklyn bridge in the background.

7: The number seven tarot card features John Wick driving his 1971 Plymouth Barracuda as "The Chariot". There is a bullet mark on the front glass pane of John Wick's car. On top is a closeup of John Wick surrounded by a circle of road markings and bullet marks.

8: The number eight tarot card features Charon played by Lance Reddick as "Strength". On top of Charon's head is the infinity symbol, and behind is a design reminiscent of a timepiece neatly decorated with knives, guns and bullets in a circle. Further behind is a faded image of the reverse side of the Gold Coin. Filling the bottom of the frame is the New York cityscape backdrop illuminated by the sun.

9: The number nine tarot card features Caine played by Donnie Yen as "The Hermit". Caine wears sunglasses and is holding a cane in his left hand and a pistol in his right. Caine's head is illuminated by a circle of bright light, which is surrounded by a dimmer, slightly bigger circle with Japanese wave patterns and then large protruding rays of black. In the backdrop are two winding trees along with a city landscape of Osaka, but they are overshadowed by Caine's black rays.

10: The number ten tarot card features L’Arc de Triomphe as "The Wheel of Fortune". The location is illustrated in such a way that looks like a clock, with the monument at the centre and twelve roads leading towards it. Surrounding the Arc de Triomphe are the letters from John Wick's name arranged in the exact order of north-west, north-east, south-west, south-east, west, north, east and south directions.

11: The number eleven tarot card features The Harbinger played by Clancy Brown as "Justice". The whole illustration is framed as if the Harbinger is contained inside an hourglass, with a half-body portrait of the Harbinger at the top and a full-body silhouette of him forming at the bottom from the sand flowing downwards. Behind the Harbinger's portrait is the Latin quote, "si vis pacem, para bellum", whereas next to the Harbinger's silhouette is a crescent moon. Along the sides of the hourglass outside are two duel pistols facing opposite directions on each side.

12: The number twelve tarot card features Koji Shimazu played by Hiroyuki Sanada as "The Hanged Man". Except for his feet, Koji is portrayed as an vertically-inverted reflection of himself on a pool of water. Koji is holding a katana and his head is surrounded by a circle of dim light and a brighter, slightly larger circle made of Japanese wave patterns. As seen in the reflection, behind him are cherry blossom trees and the Osaka city landscape.

13: The number thirteen tarot card features John Wick, aka the Baba Yaga, played by Keanu Reeves as "Death". John Wick is holding a pair of nunchucks in his right hand. Behind John Wick is a city landscape of Osaka lighted by the moon while his head is surrounded by a row of skull pictograms and two rows of bullets. There is also an faded image of the reverse side of the Gold Coin behind John Wick.

14: The number fourteen tarot card features Winston played by Ian McShane as "Temperance". Winston is holding up a wine glass with a capital C labelled on it, and there are multiple swords projecting from his back like wings. Behind Winston is the hotel name "Continental" and numerous halos of various fonts and patterns, along with the cityscape of New York, with the Statue of Liberty and the Empire States building in sight.

15: The number fifteen tarot card features The Marquis, Vincent Bisset de Gramont, played by Bill Skarsgård as "The Devil". Behind the Marquis is his signature emblem with two black knives crossed behind his head. The emblem is surrounded by two rows of knives. In the background is the night cityscape of Paris with the Eiffel Tower in view, illuminated by a moon that is surrounded by a snake or serpent that's chasing its own tail.

16: The number sixteen tarot card features the New York Continental Hotel as "The Tower". The top floors of the Continental Hotel are being set on fire as the small dark silhouette of John Wick and the debris carried along fall from its rooftop.

17: The number seventeen tarot card features Akira played by Rina Sawayama as "The Star". Illuminating behind Akira is a star resembling a six-pointed shuriken with two Japanese stork paintings on its left and right, which is further surrounded by a circle of alternating arrow fletchings and four-pointed shuriken. Akira is holding a bow and arrow and standing tall as the bodies of two men lie dead around her. In the background are the branches of cherry blossom trees and the sun or moon shining behind Akira.

18: The number eighteen tarot card features John Wick's and Mr. Nobody's dogs as "The Moon". The two dogs are staring up at the crescent moon, which is shaped as if John Wick's head is covering portions of the full moon. Surrounding the crescent moon are small stars and a illustration of the cycle of the moon phases. The two dogs are sitting on a road leading into an ambiguous city landscape in the background.

19: The number nineteen tarot card features the Sacré-Coeur as "The Sun". The rays of the sun spread out far and wide as wisps of clouds drifts behind the giant church. A dark silhouette of John Wick can be seen on the top open window of the Sacré-Coeur.

20: The number twenty tarot card features Chidi played by Marko Zaror as "Judgement". Behind Chidi is the emblem of the Marquis with a black knife cutting across behind his head. Below Chidi are the High Table's heavily armoured soldiers who are backdropped by a big splatter of sandy beige.

21: The number twenty-one tarot card features John Wick as "The World". John Wick's back is facing towards us with his head glancing back, showing us his face. Overlayed on top of him is his surname "Wick" with the "I" replaced by a bright silhouette of a walking John Wick. A circle of bullets surrounds John Wick and bullet marks scatter around him as the emblems of the High Table, the Marquis, the Adjudicator, and the Gold Coin fill all four corners of the frame.

./End ID]

[eldritchcoffeefiend]

Random Head Canon - Post Hoover Dam, Caesar's Legion Aligned Courier

The golden laurel leaf crown was carefully placed on the Courier's head. No. No longer the Courier. Years ago she had another name, a name that had been erased by two bullets, and was replaced by that apocryphal epithet. At least, until Caesar bestowed another new name on her. Now she was Bellona - named after an ancient Roman warrior goddess who, according to Caesar, was known for her bloodlust and madness in battle.

Bellona's attendant was silent and carefully made the final adjustments to the wreath, nestling it amongst the curls and securing it with bobby pins. Once satisfied, she dabbed perfumed oil behind her mistress' ears.

The final touch was the Mark of Caesar, tied around Bellona's neck, the burnished gold dully glinting. Although it wasn't necessary to wear it now, her reputation preceded her now, she did so out of habit and, perhaps, over the years it had unwittingly become a good luck charm for her, evidenced by how the relief of Caesar had been smoothed over time from idle touches.

"Thank you," Bellona said, dismissing the girl and not a moment too soon. From somewhere in the apartment, there was a crash followed by the sound of shouting boys, a barking dog and the annoyed voice of another servant - most likely the cook - telling them all to clear off and let her work.

Bellona smiled to herself and considered going to the rescue, but a knock on the door stopped her. Stepping into the foyer, and opening the door, she found a Praetorian on her doorstep.

"Bellona," he greeted with a nod. "I am to escort you to Caesar for your weekly audience with him."

Smiling, she fell into step next to the young man as he led her out of the Ultra-Luxe and into the glaring midday sun.

"How is Lucius these days?" she asked, resting a hand on the Praetorian's forearm.

"My father's as well as can be expected," he replied. "His eyesight has declined further. Caesar has been generous enough to allow him to serve as an advisor to the new head Praetorian. At the very least it's stopped him from being such a grumpy bastard to my mothers."

Bellona's step faltered. Even after all this time, occasionally she forgot that many of the high ranking officers had multiple wives. For those who served most loyally and faithfully, it wasn't uncommon for them to have at least four. Lucius had, if rumour was to be believed, six at one point. It had also become common, now that the Legion had settled in New Vegas, for these multiple wives to oversee their households in conjunction with one another, raising their children (at least until they reached the age to start schooling and training) and seeing to their husband's needs.

She, however, had been the exception to that rule. Bellona did not like to share at the best of times and had vehemently argued with Caesar that as part of her reward her husband would be hers and hers alone.

"I'm sorry, Gaius," she replied. "He was always patient with me and my ceaseless questions when I first became part of the Legion. I've always highly regarded him. When you see him next, could you please let him know that I asked after him?"

"Of course," he succinctly replied. Gaius had grown up hearing tales of his father's bravery and fierceness, but to hear Bellona speak so fondly of him was odd.

Along the Strip, drunken gamblers milling about had been replaced by rushing slaves, citizens and Legionaries. Tired whores, dubious weapons merchants and hawkers trying to lure customers into the casinos were long distant memories of a different age. Now the Strip was a giant marketplace, the casinos serving as barracks for troops with the penthouses were reserved for the upper echelons of the Legion. The only other exception was Gomorrah, which had been given to the priestesses to be repurposed as a temple.

Bellona held her head high as they approached the Lucky 38, ignoring the whispers and stares. She'd grown used to it, to a degree, as she'd essentially become a living legend - further proof of the divine become flesh , according to Caesar himself and now preached by the priestesses.

Now inside the Lucky 38, the doors sliding closed behind them, allowing the deathly silence of the disused casino to settle over them like a blanket. It had always made her shiver, the darkness, the mustiness - and if she stood still for too long, she was sure she could hear the ghosts of a long dead era whispering in her ear. And, while she didn't trust the creaking elevator, she was relieved to hear it ding and it's doors rattle open.

~@~@~@~@~@~@~

"Ah, Bellona!" Caesar warmly greeted, smiling broadly at her.

She paused long enough to press a closed fist to her heart and bow deeply.

"My Lord, Caesar," she returned the greeting.

"It's always good to see you," he said, waving her over while a Praetorian brought a chair near to Caesar's throne.

As she rose to her full height, her eyes flicked in the direction of Vulpes and, as much as she hated it, she could feel a blush creep into her cheeks. Even after all these years, after everything they'd been through, he still had this effect on her.

A quick quirk of the corner of his mouth, a distinct gleam in his eye - all subtle signs that most would miss. Bellona didn't. She knew her husband too well. She also knew that look in his eye meant that tonight, once the evening meal was done and the children were sound asleep, Vulpes would drag her to bed and ravish her. Although, in all truth, she was happy to acquiesce to him, relishing how he kept her lingering between pleasure and pain until they were both spent and exhausted.

"Everyone out!" Caesar demanded, breaking Bellona's train of thought.

There was a long pause, some uncertain shuffling of feet and finally the men started to file out of the room.

"Wife," Vulpes quietly greeted as he passed by.

"Husband," she replied, practically purring.

And, unnoticed by others, their little fingers briefly linked before Vulpes exited, leaving Bellona alone with Caesar.

Pretence dropped and as she took her seat, she chuckled, "I thought they'd never fucking leave."

Laughing, he shook his head, always amused by the blunt nature of the former Courier.

"I hear that congratulations are in order. Again," Caesar eyed up Bellona's barely there baby bump. "How many is this?"

Resting a hand on her belly, she smiled, somehow looking embarrassed, and said, "Six. Unless we have more twins, which I swear I'll throw myself off Hoover Dam if that happens. It's fucking awful carrying twins."

"The rate you two are going, you're going to have a Centuria of your own," Caesar laughed.

"Not if I can help it!" she exclaimed. "I've... told him no more after this one."

Caesar arched an eyebrow at her in question.

Bellona sniffed and shrugged, "I'm getting fat."

Caesar burst out laughing, pounding a fist on the arm of his throne, but then went into a coughing fit. Producing a cloth from seemingly nowhere, he held it to his mouth until the coughing subsided.

As he sat there wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his hand fell limply into his lap revealing bright red streaks of blood on the cloth.

Bellona stared at it wide eyed.

"Fuck," he gasped. Watery eyes looked into hers and he bluntly stated, "I'm dying."

She gave him a crooked grin and exclaimed, "Well fuck, Eddie, ain't we all dyin'? You ain't nothin' special."

"Fuckin' insolent bitch," he rasped and tried to not laugh. "Should have had Vulpes crucify you ages ago."

"Well someone's got to try and keep you humble. Also, what would have been the fun in that? Besides, do you think he actually would have done it?" she asked, a wry grin on her lips.

He huffed, staring at her, trying to ignore the niggling paranoia in the back of his brain, wondering how many times she and Vulpes may have plotted against him.

And, as if she was reading his mind, she placed a hand on his arm and quietly said, "He would have simply because you commanded it and Vulpes has always loved you more."

Caesar slumped on his throne and stared unseeing into the distance.

"Thanks to you, my Legion has it's Rome. It has gone from strength to strength, growing and thriving more than ever. However..." Caesar looked over at Bellona, his brow furrowed, "I hear that Lanius grows anxious. He's no longer content to sit within our own borders, that he's eager to conquer more lands, more tribes. His eyes are firmly set on annexing the NCR."

"Does anyone else know?" she asked.

"No, only you."

They stared at each other for a long time before she offered him a broad, toothy grin.

"Well, Old Man, let's talk succession."

[blackswaneuroparedux]

On this type of film the only themes to work with are, it seems to me, sex or violence. I chose sex.

Robert Brownjohn, graphic artist and fill titles director, Goldfinger

While best known for his title sequences for the James Bond films From Russia with Love and Goldfinger, Robert Brownjohn had a short but influential career, which integrated design, advertising, film, photography, and music. A major figure in the New York advertising and design scene of the late 1950s. Brownjohn lived with heroin addiction, and its impact on his New York relationships eventually precipitated a move to London in 1960. There he was at the epicentre of the burgeoning music, art, and fashion scene of London’s “swinging ’60s.

In London, Brownjohn rapidly established himself as a designer of note. While working for the firm McCann Erickson, he designed the opening credits for the second James Bond film, From Russia with Love, his first foray into film. The following year he directed the film titles for Goldfinger.

For both title sequences, he employed a surprising and attention-grabbing approach in which the credit texts and scenes from the films were projected onto scantily clad women, initiating the long-running Bond film tradition of elaborate title sequences featuring seductive women.

Brownjohn’s treatment of type as dynamic, abstract forms in the title sequences illustrated both his mastery of graphic design and the enduring influence of Moholy-Nagy’s use of type and photography. His combination of sexually suggestive images and wry humour was a fitting accompaniment to the James Bond mythos.

Margaret Nolan was a twenty-year-old pin-up known as Vicky Kennedy when she was selected to be dressed in a gold leather bikini and dipped in gold paint by Robert Brownjohn for Goldfinger.

Nolan was suggestive enough to requite state approval lest it drive viewers wild. It got the nod, becoming the the first film sequence to require clearance from British film censors. Nolan’s appearance, although eye catching in the title sequence, didn’t really give her fame of the other women who starred in Goldfinger like Pussy Galore or Shirley Eaton or Tania Mallet.

In the movie, it was Shirley Eaton who memorably played the golden girl suffocated in gold paint.

Nolan got a bit of cash and a small part role as Dink, a masseuse.

That small appearance was noticeable enough for her to grab a small part as ‘Grandfather’s Girl at Casino’ in The Beatles film A Hard Day’s Night. But the casting agents and viewers’ liked her. Nolan would go on to appear in such stables of British light entertainment as Crossroads, Carry on Cowboy, Adam Adamant Lives!, Steptoe and Son, The Sweeney and Crown Court. But she never really leveraged her Bond fame in the same way as other Bond girls were to do in the coming years.

Robert Brownjohn was recognised for his daring, winning the prestigious gold pencil at the Design and Art Director Awards in 1965. The broad acclaim he received for the Bond film titles led to more film and commercial work for clients ranging from Pirelli to Midland Bank to the Rolling Stones. Though he continued to produce original and challenging work, in the latter half of the 1960s, his life became increasingly unstable. He was moving from one partnership to another until he died in 1970, at the age of 44.

[devilsprophet]

Since it's on my mind, actually— verses and their musical counterparts:

FATE DECIDES ALL — This verse takes place either right before or during the events of Age of Calamity.

Deep in the woods there was a fire That burned with an evil desire Desire to feed on the pain A flame that would never retire A pyre that would drive you insane And it said…

Why don’t you cast yourself on me? I promise you won’t feel a thing There’s golden treasures underneath, you’ll see Now please, give yourself to me

GLITTER AND GOLD — During the years between Astor becoming the leader of the Cult of Ganon and meeting the Yiga Clan. Astor is focused on gaining allies and building a treasury for the future demon king. Astor is in his mid-20's to 34.

I am flesh and I am bone Rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold I've got fire in my soul Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

'Cause everybody in the back room's Spinning up Don't remember what you're asking for And everybody's in the front room's Tripping out You left your bottle at the door

NEVER BEEN SATISIFED — Astor has recently joined the Cult of Ganon and is navigating his newfound abilities while attempting to earn his place and climb the cult's ranks.

You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied

I'm sure I don't know what you mean You forget yourself

You're like me, I'm never satisfied Is that right? I have never been satisfied

THE FARM BOY — This takes place during Astor's youth from childhood to 19 years old.

Today I died Somewhere up in the sky I lost My mind And now I'm not quite right Ooo I lost a lot tonight Ooo Somewhere up in the sky

Today I drew So far outside the line Out of Control So, this is me untied

DYNASTIES AND DYSTOPIA — An AU in which Astor is successful in reviving Calamity Ganon, which then leads to the resurrection of Lord Ganon, the Gerudo King. Astor remains his right-hand man as they shape a new world of darkness.

In this gothic underground city We all sin If I bring a couple rounds with me Then we all win I came back and brought the crown with me The king's den Break your nexus and your neck 'cause Everybody's on your head

Underground utopia, dynasties and dystopia Fear is never a option, so dying's not a real phobia I'm beating the odds Rising to every occasion as if I defeated the gods Switch up the mod Nothing but champions comin' up rolled in one little squad

SPLINTERED BRANCH — Various AU verses for other worlds/series.

I am the prophet with the answers you seek Time, I've unlocked it I see past and future running free

I see a song of past romance I see the sacrifice of man I see portrayals of betrayal And a brother's final stand I see you on the brink of death I see you draw your final breath

SO GREEDY — A modern AU in which Astor owns and operates a chain of casinos in addition to various black-market dealings.

Welcome to my casino, lads Are you down for a deal tonight? Let's see if the luck is in your hands If you're ready, come on and roll the dice (Snake eyes) Beg on your knees, you can't flee Bring those contracts to me (Bring those contracts to him)

Pay with their souls or you'll pay with your head Try to escape me and you'll end up dead You can't complain now 'cause that's what you get (That's what you get) That's what you get (That's what you get) For being greedy

[silkendandelion]

Mirage In The Desert - Chapter 8

No summary today, angst is your only hint.

Rated Mature for non-graphic violence and blood. Female pregnancy warning as well, meaning a flashback has a brief description of a hard labor. Ongoing, will cover the Alabasta Arc. Cross-posted to Ao3, same username. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

~*~

“Welcome back, Sir.” Mila said as Crocodile returned at the casino. She chose not to comment on the bags under his eyes, and he said nothing as he walked passed her to the elevator.

“Has the Oasin returned?” He asks Miss All Sunday, meaning Mr. i’s absence for his last assignment. His subsequent leave for Oasis remains unsaid, along with the hope that he had come back to give Crocodile a piece of his mind like he tried to assert.

The numbers above the elevator blink on and off as they descend obediently. Has it always been so slow?

“No, Sir. I didn’t think he would; isn’t he returning to Oasis?”

He only hums to answer her, worrying the cigar between his lips and listening to Mila bid her manager goodnight.

The casino wasn’t immune to slow days, especially following a holiday, but Crocodile found the lobby empty tonight not because it lacked tourists in gaudy bobbles and wide-brimmed sunhats, but because his spot at the end of the bar was empty.

No scribbling thoughts on napkins while he nursed a single drink for hours.

“Welcome home, Crocodile!”, he would say, cheery and bright, yet the ghost of him was easily shooed away by the bartender wiping the already clean counter.

It wasn’t enough.

He should have gone upstairs and straight to bed.

Instead, he finds himself getting off several floors before his own, among the suites, and down the hall that one year ago he had instructed Miss All Sunday to keep vacant whenever possible. No sense disturbing the other guests if their new asset had to be “removed”.

But the betrayal Crocodile anticipated never came, and he continued to leave the floor vacant to not be seen coming and going, led along by his nose on a plume of perfume and following footsteps in the sand to the last door on the left.

Now he’s come to say goodbye, cursing himself for being too cruel to not come when he was there.

A year wasn’t nearly enough.

He takes the key from his breast pocket and feels every pin of the lock sliding open before stepping inside. The suite is only illuminated by the light from the window, and as he flicks on a lamp he wonders if the smell of bergamot and almonds will ever wash out. An empty pack of cigarettes sits among the undone sheets, beneath the window he closes on an unseasonably cool breeze.

The closet is open, messy as ever, a missing jewelry box and some empty hangers telling him he doesn’t have to look under the bed to know his suitcase is gone too.

Will Oasin linens feel foreign on your body now after a year in suits and furs? Or will they feel like returning home?

The desk is strewn with papers; he had expected more to be taken than what few were missing. Or did you simply let your collection get away from you, filled your suitcase to the brim and not made a dent?

His memory has always been too much, and the image of River folded into his chair, hair bundled to his crown and itching the beginnings of his stubble while he writes draft after draft with his golden pen is too vibrant to touch.

“What is ‘for Pete’s sake’? Who’s Pete?” The memory asks him.

And I said, “What are you going on about now?”

You just laughed, deciding you would take a break from your poetry to research who “Pete” is, before giving up and asking if I would explain to you all the idioms I could think of that made no sense to Oasins.

The memory is clear but fragile, all of his memories of River are, and stepping closer to the desk startles the writer away. Most of the papers splayed out are abandoned drafts, notes, and his finger scratches gently over a blue scribble that reads “When is Croco’s birthday?”, beside another, smushed scribble, “silver polish”.

A year wasn’t enough time for me to learn to love you the way you need. Could I have done it in ten years? Twenty?

He wished they hadn’t met here, so hard his teeth hurt when he thought of how much he would give to be back on his first ship, before his rise, before his failures, and see River standing at port with a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

Are you the captain of this boat? I’m River. I’m on pilgrimage from a Paradise island, but I’m handy with a sword if you have work for me.

He had thought he was out of tears until a single, furious drop was lost in his lashes before it even fell.

You will never know how much you mean to me. But I betrayed you the moment we met, and forced you into my employment for reasons I admit were selfish. Finally, you will return to your little island and realize you should hate me. Oasis will be sparred, as per our agreement. And it will be the last good thing I ever do.

One of the papers runs from him when he means to sit, fluttering to the ground and drawing his eyes to unfamiliar literature. Books stacked beneath the desk and, with further snooping, beneath the bed, titles he didn’t assume River to read, he never showed much interest in history, and no names Crocodile could recall from his invoices.

Island Geography of the Grand Line, Volume 1, A-E. Civil War of Recent Memory. Artificial Rain Production: Peace and Devastation. The Great Warlords of Alabasta. His good hand skims the spines and covers, finding them dusty but legible. Quick thumbing reveals a note, a hastily torn scrap to mark his place, written in his scrawl.

“Dance powder.”

What’s this? What do you know?

His hand grips the book so tight his fingers come away from the aging leather in sunken indents.

Who made you curious?

Plenty of traitors come to mind, especially Miss Wednesday (her investigation ongoing), all made to disappear over months and years to keep his plan moving forward. None of them had been allowed to meet River if he could help it, he had been so careful to keep him safe.

Isolated.

No, safe.

Safe from who? ____ ___ __ _

“After we’re finished here, we’ll come back to the ship, and I’ll have you to port by lunch tomorrow,” Mr. 2 assured him, taking his suitcase with gentle hands.

“Thank you. It means a lot to have you take me,” River said.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. The schedule didn’t line up, and he would have to wait in the port town until the land bridge appeared.

Will I ever come back?

The research had felt fruitless, bombarded by most of Alabasta’s history, and unable to draw parallels to their unprecedented times. The country had always been lush, yet suddenly forsaken by their Gods, doomed to die of thirst and hunger with no written record to draw wisdom or anyone to blame.

Until the dance powder.

A king with no evidence of tyranny, his only lay to opulence the palace he was born in, risking his power—his people—for rain? By a temporary solution proven to cause destruction?

River knew hunger and thirst but, even with his inherited disdain for the king, he struggled to justify the king’s rumored actions by anything other than evil.

But isn’t evil meant to be obvious? How can you hide it?

Stacks of books neglected to give answers to his questions, and no one in town had been willing to talk about such awful circumstances with the local layabout who’s meant to smile and play blackjack—not ask questions. How can they enjoy their holidays if he’s bringing up the suffering of a country they will only see for a few weeks?

Maybe it’s that simple. Kings are evil by design and no one can save Alabasta now. He looked to the sky where Oasis would be if he could see beyond the horizon.

“Those clouds don’t look too good.” He said, pointing to the storm system that skirted the sea off the edge of the island, melting almost unseen into the indigo of a stale sunset.

“They’re headed south... Maybe my island will get some rain.”

“Un, deux—huh? What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mr. 2. We need to go further inland.” He gestured to the map they were given, as bare as their instructions.

‘Enclosed is the location of a house on the western shore of the island. Retrieve any suspicious literature. If not possible to retrieve, destroy all evidence. Do not be seen.’

“What does Mr. 0 want with this?” River said.

The ballerina stopped, more grounded than River could ever recall, having assumed they meant to cheer him up with a joke as they always did. “Don’t look so worried, baby. As long as we work together.”

Regardless, River flicked open the strap on his sword holster, his instincts unwilling to let him ignore the prickling static in the air, the sweat on his spine. “Of course, Mr. 2. I’ve just been anxious lately.”

They squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve been a lot of things lately.”

The night grew darker, their clothes wetter, the longer they walked, joined only by the new moon and the silence left behind by the wildlife asleep in their holes.

“Is that it?” River motioned to a house, more of a shack, beside a pit that might have been a watering hole before the drought, now looking like it might swallow the leaning dwelling with the first stiff wind—consume it the way the drought has eaten everything except agony and rage.

“Look’s like it, Mr. i.”

“You take the front of the house, I’ll go around the back,” River said quietly.

Mr. 2 entered the house with their usual commotion, a threat to all inside that retreat was the better option, but a swift kick to the lock of the back door revealed no danger. No one at all, actually.

“OH—How awful, who even lives this way?” Mr. 2 covered their nose at the stench, the acridity of perpetual neglect. An open window lended the ammonia to unwanted animal activity, mixed with gunpowder and sweat, keeping both agents fighting to not vomit onto the rickety floorboards.

“I’m gonna be sick—” Mr. 2 ran from the house, presumably far away while River wrapped his ascot around his mouth and rooted through sandy belongings with the tip of his boot.

Literature? Evidence of what? There’s nothing here but trash and—

He spotted a clean floorboard among the dry-rotted floor. “You removed the sand when you moved it last,” he said to himself, finding the board ripped easily off it’s trick latch with a firm yank.

He gasped.

That’s a lot of guns.

In varying degrees of disrepair, the haphazard collection of weapons covered a glimpse of something else. Documents? “How many guns does one person need—”

A quiet click rang out in the dark shack, and the press of warm iron against the back of his head made him freeze.

“You Baroque Works?” Came a man’s voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He showed his gloved hands to be empty, but the stranger doubted he was unarmed under his coat and kept the gun pressed to his hair.

A second click, probably a knife, and River was already sizing up the stranger by the amount of sound the floorboards made under his anxious feet. “If I cut that coat off, am I going to find a tattoo that says you’re lying to me?”

“How do you know about our organization?” He listened to the attacker side step, reaching for something? He recalled rope among the trash.

“Miss Saturday made sure word traveled. Though most of us are dead now.”

“She’s dead too,” River reminded him.

“Everyone who follows Crocodile too close ends up that way. It’s just that most of them are pirates and mercenaries so no one thinks anything of it when he goes to work.”

“What is it you want? Information? I only have cash,” he jokes, and the way the gun shakes when the man yells at him makes him wonder if he can haki his skull; he’s never tried.

“SHUT UP—”

From where Mr. 2 had gone to will their stomach to stop swimming, they hear yelling coming from over the dune. “River?”

“—You’re just one of his dogs, I don’t have to keep you alive to bring him down.”

River ducks so hard his brain rattles, and the gun goes off in the wall across from his face. The stranger is armed but ultimately an amateur, he decides, performing no great feat to tackle him to the ground. His weight comes down hard on the other man’s legs and dust flies up in their faces where the floorboards protest.

”Stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself,” River says as his swords press in an ‘X’ over the man’s throat, tight but not bloody, so long as he doesn’t move too much, a threat he hopes will stick.

”I’ll kill you,” the man grunts as he claws at River’s coat with grimy, bandaged hands.

“You said that—stop moving. Let’s talk.”

“I don’t talk to mercenary dogs like you.”

He hesitates for only a second but long enough the man sees him falter, and uses his bigger bulk to buck him off.

River huffs when he lands on his chest. “All right, no talking then—”

WACK. Metal strikes the back of his skull.

River wants to touch his head where he’s sure he’s bleeding but the blows keep coming, the stranger now pressed to his back as he grabs handfuls of his coat for leverage to beat him over and over, harder still.

”Wait, stop—” The pipe hits him again and he feels something in his cheek give, but his patience is what’s beaten to hell as he rears up to grip the stranger by his wrist, feeling the bones creak before he lets go of the pipe with a shout.

Their positions reverse with River holding him down, fingers digging into the back of his neck while he shoves his face into the sandy floor and spits the blood off his teeth.

“I don’t want to hurt you… but you don’t want to talk, you just want to beat me blind.”

“I told you, I’m going to kill you—”

“WHY?!” He presses him harder into the floor, feeling his nails bite even through the gloves.

“Because it’s you or him! Crocodile has done enough to this country, all of his dogs deserve to die!”

He can feel the stranger shaking where he grips him. Or is that me?

“What does that mean? His methods, this company is… criminal, sure, but he’s still a Warlord; he has no motive to harm this country. It’s his business, his power.”

“Every day he lives, this country is one day closer to death.”

”Don’t… don’t give me riddles. Not now.” He lets his hands fall away, but neither man moves.

“What does he have you do for him, huh?” The stranger wheezes quietly where River held him too tight.

“Make collections? Run shipments?” He coughs. “Keep guests spending money at his casino?”

River squints but the stranger doesn’t see him, his eyes are somewhere else, reliving a war River can’t say he understands. “Everything you’ve ever done in his name has contributed to my people’s suffering.”

Your people? “See, now I know you’re fooling; no one controls the weather, certainly not Crocodile.” He pushes off his knees to stand, wishing Mr. 2 would come through the door and help him onto his feet.

“The Sand-Sand man is threatened by water. His men brought the Dance Powder.”

River’s voice feels small even to his own ears. “Shut up.”

“You can’t believe the ‘Hero of Alabasta’ crap, can you? Not when you’re so close—” The fold of his brow makes River want to vomit; he’s tired of people looking at him like that.

Like he’s so naive.

“He’s framed the King—”

“Shut up—”

“He’s using you—”

“Shut up—”

“He keeps us hungry, weak. He’s evil. And you’re his dog—”

“SHUT UP!” His swords fall to the floor but his hands are hard, throwing the man away with a crash that he’s surprised doesn’t obliterate the rickety shack.

His sob hitches in his chest when he manages to breathe.

“I’M NOT A DOG!” His throat burns when he screams. “Does a dog cry when you say it’s useless?! Does a dog care if you were lying when you said you loved them—”

He stops when he receives no interruption.

The man is still where he landed among the debris, eyes almost-closed and drowsy except for the blood that runs from behind his ears and down his neck.

“No,” River chokes out, at his side in an instant to cradle his head, feeling give where there should be none. “No no no, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please, don’t—I—Seth, help him. Seth!” His teeth creak where they grit, tasting salt when he struggles to suck in air.

“River!” Mr. 2 steps over the mess in the doorway. They freeze, meeting frantic eyes as River leans posed over the man, blood on his cheeks where he wiped his eyes to see how horrible his world has become.

“What happened?! I heard shouting, and I ran over.” They stoop to press fingers to his neck. “River… River, let go, he’s gone.”

They peel his hand’s away one finger at a time, a large palm on his quivering jaw to force him to meet their eyes.

It wasn’t Bon Clay he saw staring back but someone harder, the person they painted over every morning in their vanity mirror. The one who years ago accepted a job for Baroque Works with delight and said “whatever it is, it’s better than here”.

“You have to breathe, River, or you’re going to hyperventilate. Please, baby, breathe. In… out. Again.”

Air stutters from his lips, eyelids screwed shut squeezing more tears down his cheeks.

“A little better? There you go, you’re going to be okay.” They smiled, and it was the cheery okama who brought him in for a hug, pressing his head tight to their shoulder.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

He opens his mouth but can’t will his aching throat to speak. How do you even say that your world has come crashing down? And you’re helpless to stop it?

“… I know you did what you could. Write up the report tomorrow: we found nothing. And I’ll see you for our next assignment, yeah? The next one will be better.”

More tears fell onto their shoulder, another flinch of a sob in his chest.

Mr. 2 disappears to bury the man properly, mournful they have no name to mark the grave (for whoever came looking for him), and River can hear them speaking over the grave as he rummages to the bottom of the compartment under the floor.

The guns had been laid across rumpled papers, some financial statements, some transcribed conversations that River had no time to study.

Is this what we’ve been sent to destroy?

Are those my letters?

He held back another wave of tears, not this, not again.

‘River! Let’s get to the boat!’ He heard Mr. 2 call from outside.

There’s no time to consider the words of a stranger (no way to ask him anything else). No time to hesitate.

“We were instructed to destroy any documents we found.” Mr. 2’s voice comes from the doorway, and River freezes where he’s dragging stacks of documents from the hole to shove in handfuls into a stained, makeshift sack.

Everything you’ve ever done in his name has contributed to my people’s suffering.

If the dead man spoke the truth, did any else know? Was River the last one to know? He decided the only way this day could get any worse would be to discover Mr. 2 was actually his enemy.

“… I can’t do that.”

Mr. 2 sighs, rubbing one eye like they also wanted to go home. “How many more secrets do you need, River? Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m exhausted. I don’t—I don’t know what any of this means, if that man was telling the truth.”

“What did he say? You must have feared for your life or you wouldn’t have…”

River feels his eyes getting hot again. “I can’t tell you—”

“But—”

“Because I’m trying to protect you. Don’t friends protect each other?”

They kneel beside him to cradle his hands in their own. “Who’s going to protect you?”

“I don’t know, but I—we can’t destroy these documents. Please trust me, we can’t—Mr. 2!” River pleads when they step away. He scrambles to gather them in his arms, maybe he could save a few, and halts when another sack landed beside him.

“It’s a trick question: I’m going to protect you.” They flash a winning, toothy grin. “Hurry hurry, baby, pack faster, we have to get back to the boat before the sun comes up.” ____ ___ __ _

On Oasis, the days weren’t usually this quiet.

800 people, even peppered across a small island in pockets of families, made enough noise to compete with the birds and the tide. Someone always needed laundry hung, or help bringing in a mouthy fish, and they relied on community more than food, more than the sky.

But not today.

Parents decided the laundry could wait, hunters held off filling their zeer pots, and children took turns looking out the window to see if the leaders had emerged.

For Claudia, she stood waiting at the edge of the land bridge (there was no market today), while Ines and her leadership decided if they were going to war.

Her aching hands rung the necklace in her fingers while she watched the horizon, the same blue pearls in River’s earrings, now cutting into her fingertips where she couldn’t let go.

20 years ago, she had yelled at him for going off to gather clams for the necklace without telling her, unmoved by the way his lip trembled. She looked down her nose at the young River while he feebly explained he just wanted to find pearls.

Her sister’s words came back to her, the ones she demanded Claudia agree to even as she fought to speak with the contractions crashing over her. After hours in the water, the other mothers were beginning to worry, and she brought Claudia close.

“Listen to me, Claudia... Be kind to him. My River.”

“You sure it’s a boy? You haven’t even met him—”

“Be kind to him. Be kind to Joel.”

Claudia nodded, barely, and the two sisters ate around the fire that night with a veil of embarrassment when Sofia laughed at how close she came to death. Joel didn’t find it as funny as she did, soothed only by the sleeping baby in his arms.

“You sure we can’t name him Joel the second?”

‘No.’ Both sister’s barked at him.

Be kind to River.

Claudia looked down at the little boy struggling not to cry, quiet hiccups in his chest, and a guilt began to constrict around her heart.

“Let’s go swimming. Would you like that? And we can look for clams tomorrow, together.”

Esai and Ines were already at the shore, and River wasted no time leaping into the waves after his friend, leaving a trail of linens that Claudia huffed as she picked up and shook one by one.

“You’re hard on him,” Ines said from beside her.

For a young woman playing mother, who had hoped never to have children of her own and, still grieving the loss of her sister and brother-in-law, she was at least self-aware to flush at being seen through. “Of course, I am. He’s wild; he needs a firm hand to raise him right.”

“He’s not wild,” Ines laughed, soft and kind. “He’s a little boy. A boy who needs love more than anything, so he can look back on this as ‘Claudia always told me to stay in the shallows because she loves me’, and not ‘Claudia never let me do anything fun’.”

She blushed even darker under the older woman’s confident grin. “Then how do you suggest I go about being more loving?”

“I never said I knew how to do it, just that you should. Every child’s different, you have to figure it out.” Ines settled down into the sand to close her eyes, her hard work finished, it seemed.

Claudia turned back to the sea with a scoff. Their two boys bobbed in the shallow water with smiles, Esai using his greater bulk to lift River from the waves and toss him, the latter landing on his belly with a cutoff shriek.

He flinched, sensing he was being watched, and turned to Claudia with slumped shoulders.

“Sorry, Claudia! I’ll be more careful!”

Be kind to River. “No, Esai, it’s fine! Actually, how far can you throw him?” She smiled, mischievous, and River pawed his soaked bangs from his eyes.

“What?!”

“Yeah, how much do you weigh anyway?!” Esai shouted back. He dove under the water to attack from below, snatching River up with a war cry to meet his warble of terror.

Ines and Claudia laughed from the shore. “That’s a start,” the former said.

“I suppose if it’s Esai, its fine,” Claudia said.

“Like I said, it’s a start.”

Easy to smile. Kind eyes. That ink-dark hair, and a smudge of birthmark on your left shoulder that I never told you matches your mother’s.

You laugh like him, he always laughed too loud and squeezed his eyes shut like his belly hurt. I can see that Sofia’s eyes are yours now, and when you’re older you might think they’re too soft on a man’s face. But it’s Joel’s face, his voice, and your mother’s stars in your eyes when you tell me about a book I don’t really understand.

It’s just the two of us now. I know I’m not the mother you wanted, but I will give everything I have, everything I am to be the mother you need. For Sofia. For Joel.

For you, River.

“The sun’s going down.”

Esai’s voice startled her from her reminiscing, her grip finally softening on the necklace that left lines on her hands. “He said today.”

“I know, Claudia. I know.” His hand hovered in the space between them, wondering if she would let him comfort her.

“Nothing on the den… den mushi? No letters?”

He wanted to tell her River was fine, but it felt wrong to tell her what might be a lie when she was already hurting. “You know how River is, he’s dumb.” That’s worse, that’s worse.

“Esai—!”

“I know, I’m sorry! Sorry, sorry. I really don’t know how to…” He scratched his neck, willing to admit to himself he was as rubbish at making people feel better as Claudia.

“The leaders have made their decision,” he said finally. “I’m taking 35 of us to Yuba to fight in the rebellion. We’ve written a letter to the resistance leader that will hopefully precede us.”

“That’s so many—Ines agreed to this?”

“If I’m going to lead us one day, I need to be willing to make any sacrifice… And I want to know what happened to River too. Maybe from the mainland I can finally give you answers.”

She let him hug her, embracing him in turn as she reached to rub the nape of his short hair.

“Ramon is going with me.”

Her back tensed against his palms. “No way Ines agreed to that. Are you sure? He’s a leader, there must be some rule against it.”

“He’s our strongest Temple user, and he volunteered. Said how can he face his children anymore if he doesn’t fight for them?”

“They’ll be the ones to suffer if he doesn’t come home.”

“He’s made up his mind, and I’ll make sure he comes home. Make sure River comes home.” ____ ___ __ _

“I’m closing up for the night,” a street food vendor called out to River as he passed. “Have you had supper? Last chance, traveler.”

He considered the time, adjusting his grip on his suitcase. “Well, you talked me into it. What do you have, sir?”

“You’ll love it.” The man piled his plate high with the last of the night’s stock, and River wondered how many Alabastans would go hungry tonight because they didn’t live in the tourist’s city.

“You coming or going?” The man nodded to River’s suitcase as he wiped his hands.

“I had planned to go, but plan’s change,” he blew on his food, still wincing when hot sauce splattered on his lip.

“I hear that. Welcome back to Rainbase.”

He paused the food on it’s way to his mouth, the hair on his neck standing up when he thought of the casino down the street, the suitcase beside his feet.

“For now.” ____ ___ __ _

“River. Shouldn’t you be across the country by now?” Miss All Sunday asked as he entered the lobby, a genuine gape of surprise on both of their faces.

Can she see my guilt on my face? That I’m more of a liability now more than ever?

“Are you all right? River?”

He backed away from the hand she extended towards him, only heightening her worry. “I’m filthy—exhausted.”

Not a lie, at least. “I need to lie down… Goodnight, Ro—Miss Manager.”

She turned to watch him go to the elevator, his head swiveling around and gripping his suitcase until she could see his knuckles through his gloves.

He never got her name wrong in front of the guests; it was always something she liked about him, his attention to her wishes.

Upstairs, he dropped his key twice before getting into the lock, and his hands froze when the hammer didn’t slide free.

Already unlocked.

I’m sure I locked it. Of all days, I locked it today, I know it.

He swallowed against the sting of his throat, his instincts hammering in his chest to run, out of Alabasta, passed Oasis, somewhere where there were no kings and the water was cool.

Someone was in his apartment.

And yet he found himself turning the knob, his heart willing his body to move when his head only wanted to go home.

A familiar tobacco cloud drifted out into the hall, and the headiness of the smell told River the intruder had also closed his window.

“Crocodile?”

He sits at the desk, ankle propped on one knee as he reads one of the books from River’s shelf. He doesn’t acknowledge the door but it’s not strange, and River feels his shoulders relax to see him acting like the past couple days were all one long, horrible dream.

But he can’t see the notes on the desk, the papers now organized after Crocodile read every single one to determine how much of his plans were running around in the fool’s brain. Turns out very little existed in the suspicious notes, nothing but his aching soul in the memos of a man he mistrusted again when there was none.

You weren’t meant to come back here. I don’t know if I can take it.

But he can’t restrain himself from seeing him. “Are you hungry? I can ring the kitchen for—”

Crocodile doesn’t finish his statement, and River doesn’t fight his stare. He lets himself be caught by the intrusive thought of black eyes in blue water, the moment you know you’ve wandered too close to a predator, and you know it sees you too.

For all the untruths River tells by saying nothing or insisting he’s fine, Crocodile couldn’t manage to make a liar out of him, and he can’t make any kind of excuse for the tears in his eyes, or the pattering drips of his heart leaking onto the floor.

Those golden eyes, warm only moments ago, are suddenly boiling—threatened—seeing the proof on his face that a fundamental truth has shifted between them.

“What happened out there, in the desert?”

River’s tongue lay immobile in his mouth, the quivering of his diaphragm keeping him breathless, lest he try to breathe and be unable to exhale.

Crocodile stands waiting for his answer, watching the dumb flap of his lips when he can’t bring himself to speak, deception by omission.

Did you ever think the light would burn, my love?

His aching soul stands before him, all his love, his pain smeared across his cheeks in hot tears, and Crocodile steels himself to remember that killing him, widening the hole in his chest with the bloody hook he tried to spare him, had always been an option.

“What will you do?”

[caelcstis]

kiss &&. tell. // @la-poderosa​ stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd . // dia mammon

                 IT WASN’T WELL KNOWN to the public, or even to mammon’s brothers, that the prince and greed were together. sure, they were seen often together, but no one ever pieced together why. no one seemed to have guessed that their crowned prince was absolutely smitten with this demon in front of him who was excitedly dragging him across the square. 

                 shopping dates, meal dates, it was all very simple yet extravagant for mammon all the same. the only place he wouldn’t take his mate was the casino. not only did mammon have awful luck to balance out diavolo’s extremely GOOD luck, but it wasn’t the best image to find the devildom’s next king gambling. 

                 golden eyes caught a small hideaway during their exploration in town and his grip suddenly tightened to grab hold of mammon’s attention. a deep laugh came from the prince and he was tugging the small demon along now. ‘ come here real quick. ’ he ushered the avatar along until they both could squeeze away from the public eye. quite literally, actually, with how large diavolo was, he was nearly suffocated and crushed between the sliver of walls. he only wanted to be here for a minute, wanting to have just a small second with his mate in private . . . 

                 he reached down to cup underneath mammon’s chin and placed his free hand on the damp bricks behind him. diavolo leaned down to press a soft and chaste kiss to soft lips, but he knew it wasn’t enough for the both of them. his eyes quickly offered a small glance to the demon in front of him, who was eagerly waiting for more affection, and he was pressing more kisses to greedy lips. they were soft and playful, occasional nips tugging at lips and tongues tasting each other briefly. 

                 the crowd outside seemed to be heavier the longer they stayed, and diavolo knew that if they continued to remain here, they’d either dive deeper into their desires and be caught, or they’d still be caught . . . only making out instead. either way, it wasn’t a good outcome for the both of them who were sharing a secret together. 

                 despite the small protests and whines from mammon, the prince regained some posture and he pressed one last kiss to the top of his head. ‘ come on, before any prying eyes catch us. ’

[musicboxghost]

I've been listening to Midnight Burger and having a great time so far. ❤️ Podcasts always make me want to learn visual art bc I have *such* a clear vision of these characters in my head, but no way to have them realized.

So, if you please, my HCs of the diner crew's physical appearances:

-Gloria: Latin American woman with medium brown complexion. Thick, straight black hair with streaks of gray that are a slightly frizzier texture than the black and tend to escape her high ponytail like the shorter face-angled strands and flyaways. Midsize build. She's got hips, thighs, a little tum, but definition in her arms bc kitchens are *hard work*. 5'7. Thick brows that frame big brown eyes. Dimples. Full face. Low rise, well-worn boot cut jeans (an early aughts favorite of hers), fitted local businesses T-shirt (like a favorite hometown coffeeshop she's supporting) apron tied around hips (functionally a big pocket for sugar packets and such), comfortable sneakers with good tread. Confident and friendly body language (ex. Smiling with comfortably crossed arms)

-Leif: White Slavic man (I think diner food, I think hometown comforts like pierogi/ paprikash/ stroganoff/ etc) with fair skin, sunburn across a broad nose with prominent bump in the bridge. Shoulder length, faded purple hair with ~4 inches of light brown roots showing, pulled into a messy low ponytail. 6'3. Big and broad with a bit of padding to him. Poorly shaven in general with a tiny little goatee/ soul patch. Deeply hooded, gregarious green eyes. Wide mouth and easy smile. Big hands. White muscle tank, black kitchen utility pants, full length dark apron, converse held together with duct tape and space junk that stopped being white years ago, casino visor worn backwards.

-Ava: Kurdish American woman with golden brown skin, gray almond shape eyes alight with energy and knowledge. Long hawk nose. Curly dark hair worn loose and big, practically gravity-defiant with lots of bounce. 5'11. Willowy build, very angular. Galaxy off freckles sprayed across her heart-shape face. Dresses femme and very comfortable. Lots of soft colors and mismatched pieces (ex.light cotton cardigan with some midriff exposure, capri length palazzo pants, velvet slippers or leather moccasins, but unusual accessories like Mardi gras beads/ a chunky sci-fi gadget watch/ cigarette tucked behind the ear. Lots of emphasis on lush fabrics, comfort, and defiant playfulness and femininity)

-Caspar: Black man with dark brown complexion. Taper with long twist out at crown and bangs. Thick glasses. 5'5. Athletic build. Very disheveled businessware (ex. Button downs with a few buttons undone, some misaligned, and no tie, half-untucked to slacks that are too long, etc). Heavy eye bags. Lots of mysterious dramatic bruises. Dark top surgery scars sometimes visible through the gaps of the world's-most-poorly-worn dress shirts. (This man is tired and stressed. He should look like it).

I'm not very far yet but I think the diner crew are just delightful ❤️ Now that I've got my version of them solidified in my head, I'm so excited to look for everyone else's HCs/ art 💓

[sofiadragon]

It goes by so fast:

Puppet accounts

Cult scene sacrificing a goat

Cooking a cannibal for dinner

Severs Alastor's head, Charlie is perturbed

Cthulu tentacles were replaced by a cake of Lucifer offering up Alastor's severed head

Lucifer is everything: the card backs, slot machine, all the characters are just other Lucifers with different clothes. Lucifer all the way down

slot machine also has apples, snakes, and either hellfire or a crown

The fountains are Lucifer's head

While Lucifer sings in the big top, Alastor's background looks more like a small stage sideshow tent when it isn't completely abstract or part of the hotel property

Nun Alastor has an upside-down cross on the habbit

Alastor multiplies himself much less, and there are faceless shadow people in his verses too

Alastor's claws around the door on the line "I'm truly honored" as if reaching to grasp Charlie are very ominous

Alastor is looking at Lucifer not Charlie throughout the "You're like the child that I wish that I had" verse

Golden Fiddle, he won that duel in Georgia in this timeline

Alastor dropped that Piano on Lucifer

Alastor gives Charlie the heavy responsibilities on top of the stress she starts with and then helps lift them, so he's solving a problem he made

"In your needy hour..." they are standing on a pentagram sundial

Alastor's backgrounds are all rather sinister even when it's just a janky rectangular pattern, Lucifer's are mostly just pretty casino and circus bigtop

Alastor gives a thumbs-down before Lucifer gets eliminated from Al's sideshow stage

Alastor is NOT OK when Mimzy shows up, same strained smile from when Angel flirted with him

All in all, this beef is exquisite and I'm so glad we get the battle of the mentor figures.

Hell's Greatest Dad - Hazbin Hotel (Spoilers, duh). Holy shit, the epic dad feud.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Kemal Ataturk, who strides the Turkish landscape like a colossus — significantly a bronze statue of him in a dinner-jacket (with the trousers cuffed) commands the Golden Horn — is in the position of a man with no more worlds to conquer. His reforms have been so drastic and so comprehensive that in cultural and social fields at least there is very little left to do. He abolished the fez, turned the mosques into granaries, Latinized the language. He ended polygamy, installed new legal codes, and experimented with a (paying) casino in the sultan’s palace. He compulsorily disinfected all the buildings in Istanbul, adopted the Gregorian calendar and metric system, and took the first census in Turkish history. He cut political holidays down to three, demanded physical examination of those about to marry, and built a new capital, Ankara, in the Anatolian highlands, replacing proud Constantinople. He limits most business activity to Turkish nationals and Turkish firms, abolished books of magic, and gave every Turk a new last name. He emancipated the women (more or less), tossed the priests into the discard, and superintended the writing of a new history of the world proving that Turkey is the source of all civilization.

Kemal Ataturk, a somewhat Bacchic character, the full record of whose personal life makes you blink, is the dictator-type carried to its ultimate extreme, the embodiment of totalitarian rule by character. This man, in personality and accomplishments, resembles no one so much as Peter the Great, who also westernized his country at frightful cost. Kemal Ataturk is the roughneck of dictators. Beside him. Hitler is a milksop, Mussolini a perfumed dandy, and Goemboes a creature of the drawing-room. At one of his own receptions Kemal, slightly exhilarated, publicly slapped the Egyptian minister when he observed the hapless diplomat wearing the forbidden fez.

No man has ever betrayed more masters, and always from motives of his own view of patriotism. In 1918, a staff officer, he was chosen to accompany Vahydu’d-Din, the Crown Prince, to Berlin, and there assist him in consultations with Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and the German high command. Three years later Kemal booted him, as Sultan VI, out of Turkey.

After the Armistice Kemal was sent by the authorities as inspector-general of the eastern vilayets to investigate a nationalist insurrection in Kurdistan. He was ordered to find and quell these rebels. He found them all right. But instead of crushing the movement he took charge of it! Within two years he brought victory in all of Turkey to the very organization his superiors had sent him to suppress.

In 1926, following a not very professional attempt on his life, he hanged what amounted to the entire leadership of the opposition. Among those he allowed to be sentenced to death and executed were Colonel Arif, who had been his comrade-at-arms in the Greek campaign, and Djavid Bey, the best financial mind in Turkey. Kemal had a champagne party in his lonely farm-house at Chankaya, near Ankara, to celebrate the occasion, and invited all the diplomats. Returning home at dawn, they saw the corpses hanging in the town square.

(In 1930 Kemal decided that totalitarian rule to the extremity which he carried it was a bore, and, uniquely among dictators, he proceeded to create an opposition, naming various men to be its leaders. Somewhat timidly, they accepted. Kemal wanted to see if Western democratic methods would work; he wanted an opposition bench to argue with in parliament. The system didn’t work. The Turks, with the memory of 1926 in mind, didn’t seem to understand. . . .)

...

Kemal’s early life was that of a rebel and above all of a hater. He wrote revolutionary pamphlets and even poems. He was sentenced to jail in Constantinople, but his skill as an officer made him valuable, and be was released. Although a “Young Turk,’’ his position was that of a suppressed oppositionist; he detested the Young Turk triumvirs, Talaat, Mavtr, and Djemal, a feeling they warmly reciprocated. But his reputation as a soldier was invincible, after service on the most remote, dangerous and hopeless fronts, and the way to his career was open.

That career is without parallel in modem times. Kemal engineered the congresses of Erzenun and Sivas and organized the nationalist movement, leading it to victory. Other people have created nations. Kemal’s job was harder. He took a nation that was centuries deep in rot, pulled it to its feet, wiped its face, reclothed it, transformed it, made it work. In 1919 Turkey was so crushed and broken that it would have welcomed renunciation of sovereignty and a British mandate. In 1922 Turkey was the one enemy state so strong that it practically dictated its own peace terms.

Kemal alone, it may be said, does not deserve credit for all this. The general program of westernization was planned by the Young Turks and he simply appropriated it The Greeks were destroyed by the duplicity of Lloyd George and the treason of the allies, also by their own incapacity, not by Kamal’s armies. Sultan and caliph were doomed in any case, and it is no tribute to Kemal that he kicked them out The Treaty of Lausanne was won not by Ismet Pasha, but because of jealous squabbles between the Western powers. And so on.

Kemal lives these days in Chankaya, a complete recluse. His model farm is his avocation ; a true megalomaniac, he designed the water reservoir in the shape of the Sea of Marmora! He married a woman named Latiii Hanum in 1923, but divorced her a few years later ; now he lives alone. He is the most inaccessible public character in Europe. King George V himself would not have been more difficult to interview. Unlike all other dictators, he keeps from the foreground; the Turkish papers do not mention his name half a dozen times a month. He has a group of soldier underlings and cronies with whom he plays poker. Rarely, he gambles at cards with foreign diplomats; he usually wins, then insists on returning his winnings. He still likes to drink.

The Turkish dictator differs from almost all others in that he had no socialist period in youth and even in maturity betrays not the faintest interest in socio-economic stresses. His only policy was Turkey for the Turks. He is certainly a revolutionary, but as far as economics is concerned he might be President of Switzerland. The theory that all nationalist dictators must bear to extreme Right or extreme Left breaks down on Kamal Ataturk, as it did on Pilsudski."

- John Gunther, "The Turkish Colossus," in Inside Europe. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1940. p. 477-481

[fierykitten2]

If the Paradox Pokémon visited the F-Zero Universe (not intentionally a sequel to the F-Zero racers as Pokémon Trainers post but it can be if you like). Not in any particular order just because I thought some were better off as pairs/groups

Walking Wake visits Big Blue and swims in the oceans. The rest of the Proto Beasts and Neo Swords follow it there (actually they probably teleported due to one of the Neo Swords) but don’t understand the hype of the water. At some point the group goes to Green Plant, which Wake claims is the perfect place for Iron Leaves to exist. Leaves points out that not all Grass-types are perfectly content with a forest but it does admittedly not prove its point. Gouging Fire decides to check out Fire Field, Iron Boulder insists they visit Red Canyon, Raging Bolt goes to Lightning and Iron Crown takes the group to Cosmo Terminal. They go as a hexad because they decided they were sticking together although Crown insists that no one else will be that interested in Cosmo Terminal. Somehow they end up going to every single location in the SNES game, X and GX (maybe except Sector and Casino Palace) and possibly even Mist Flow, Illusion and the MV locations (assuming Mist Flow and Illusion exist in the main timeline. Also the MV locations probably don’t have race courses yet)

Roaring Moon discovers that the year is 2671. Things do not go well from here. Iron Valiant tries to protect the universe from Moon (and admittedly does an extremely good job). And then becomes an F-Zero racer

Great Tusk tries to participate in the Grand Prix to prove that it is “great”, while Scream Tail points out every single time Tusk mentions this that the “great” actually refers to Tusk’s height and/or long tusks, not how objectively good it is

Iron Moth discovers that the locations Sulfur Swamp and Volcania were scrapped and gets sad because that’s the only reason it came here. Iron Jugulis comforts Moth and the two of them somehow end up meeting each of the racers

Iron Bundle and Iron Hands go on a romantic trip to White Land and eventually meet up with Jugulis and Moth to go check out the racers. Also the two of them are probably really into the idea of Falcon and Robert getting together and try everything to get them together, even things like Hands moving the Blue Falcon and Golden Fox to be closer together (only when they’re not in use obviously)

When Scream Tail finally gets a break from reluctantly hanging around with Great Tusk, it takes Flutter Mane to see the different hair salons (they’ve gotta have good hair stylists there, have you seen how Robert and Jack style their hair?) and just get the craziest hairstyles you’ve ever seen

Iron Treads and Iron Thorns prank Mr. Zero. When Thorns is done with the pranks, it chills with Sandy Shocks, who is just vibing to the awesome music (they both vibe to it)

Brute Bonnet and Slither Wing… idk

Koraidon is interested in the races and Miraidon gets an upgrade turning it into an F-Zero machine called the Iron Serpent. Iron Valiant is probably the racer. I think Koraidon just watches them on the side supporting Miraidon