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princesimp · 3 years ago

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Yan!Helen Otis/Bloody Painter x Reader

I used a prompt by @bowtied-pasta for this one! It's my first writing piece in YEARS so I'm a little rusty, but I hope you guys enjoy! Any constructive criticism or comments are welcome!

Light yandere obsessive type, I wanted to give my boy Helen a little attention cause I think he's underrated and pretty swag so here ya go, if anyone wants this one to continue I might make a pt 2 ☺️

Prompt; You didn’t think leaving your window open would be a bad idea last night. The air was cool and the sounds of your neighborhood were familiar to you, so you knew you would be able to fall asleep. You didn’t think anyone would be in your room when you woke up, but the figure in the corner proved otherwise.

You stayed silent for a while. You knew you’d had a… ‘secret admirer’, let's say, for the past few months. They left a few notes, a gift or two, ordered you a damn doordash meal one time with a note saying to “look after your delicate health”, but for some reason you hadn’t expected them to be in your fucking room. You couldn’t make out their form; they had thick layers of clothing on, and the shadows warped around them to hide most of their face. Could that be a mask? Fuck if you were gonna keep looking to find out, you had a will to live. How could they even stand wearing so much anyways? It was cool at night, sure, but it was still summer, and a heat wave was still going through. You were surprised they weren’t passed on your floor.

You went over the options you had in your head. You didn’t know what the person in your room wanted; if they were angry and out for blood, if they were just a little too infatuated with you and just wanted to see you, if they just wanted a quick fuck, you knew nothing. You didn’t know how much stronger than you they were either, though you could take an educated guess as to how they’d square up against you based on the fact they were ballsy enough to be in your house.. You really didn’t wanna piss them off, they were obviously dangerous, or at least unhinged, but they were In. Your. God. Damn. Bedroom.

Rage was slowly bleeding into terror, now. There was a pocket knife on your dresser. You thought about grabbing it. That’d be a shitty fucking decision though, you had it for opening shit and to intimidate anyone from bothering you, that didn’t mean you knew how to wield a knife in a fight. Maybe you could pretend to fall back asleep and see if they left in the morning? You were shaking like a fucking leaf, they’d call your bluff. On the verge of tears, trembling like a leaf under the covers. They definitely knew you were up, and they knew you were scared, oh god what if that's what they wanted? That’s why they’re here, to scare you, so you wouldn't find help, and they were going to kill you, weren’t they, and, and-

Stop. Now isn’t the time to panic. You did your best to slow your breathing. To not whimper. Not sniffle. To not make a single noise. You heard shifting, and a light thump against your doorframe. A light huff followed soon after, but it didn't sound annoyed; Amused, maybe? No, that wasn't right either- you didn't dwell on it for too long. Their eyes pierced into your soul, you didn’t need to dwell on that to feel it clearly. This went on for a while; you almost work yourself into a panic, manage to calm yourself, they give a (maybe it’s relieved? No, that's not right either, it sounded too relaxed, too content-) huff, rinse repeat. You slowly felt your courage come back to you when you saw it was almost dawn. Your neighbor worked early, you could scream for help if something went wrong. Why haven’t they said anything? It felt like it'd been at least an hour now. You’d think an intruder that knew you were awake would say something, anything.

“Are you the one that’s been leaving me notes..?” you asked, barely above a whisper, bracing yourself and tensing up to prepare for a violent response that never came.

“I am.”

Their voice was a bit deep, a little raspy, and you almost didn’t know what you should’ve expected. They were quite straightforward. You turned your head to face them, waiting to see if they continued.

“And the gifts?”

“The small stuffed bear and the cloud necklace, yes.”

“And that doordash order?”

“You were so stressed that week. I felt you needed a little something nicer to eat.”

You sniffled a bit. They turned their face to you. You were able to get a good look at them now. They did, in fact, have a mask on, white with black eyes and a red smile painted on. They looked... Sophisticated. Terrifying, still, they were so calm and collected, like they'd done this hundreds of times before. Like this was routine.

He tilted his head. You were terrified. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he didn’t know why, but he could still hope to calm you down. “My name is Helen.”

It was a nice name. A name put you at ease. Someone planning something more dangerous wouldn’t give their name out like that, would they? “Please don't hurt me, Helen.”

“I won’t, If I’m given no reason to.” Reasonable. In your head, you correctly translated that to “Do as I ask and don't scream”. That will to live firmly intact, you slowly nodded and sat up, pulling the blankets up with you both for some sense of security and because you felt like you were freezing because of the anxiety and adrenaline running through you. “What do you want?”

He dropped a bag that was on his back that you hadn’t noticed in your panic before, before he started walking towards you. He was slow, like he was approaching a hurt animal, like he didn't want to scare you, like you were a delicate prize. You scooted all the way back, your back squishing your pillows against the headboard as you flattened yourself against it. He paused, until your expression softened a little, from exhaustion or from you calming down he wasn't sure, before he approached again, sitting on the edge of the bed near you.

“You’re so delicate. Beautiful. A lovely muse. I’d just like to observe you. Create beautiful art pieces in your image, maybe show you a few works I’ve completed. Make you the perfect subject, the perfect muse.” He reached out to run his fingers through your hair, not hesitating even as you flinched.

You were confused. That didn’t sound right, there had to be a sinister meaning behind those words, and yet he said them so innocently, so politely, sugar lacing his words, like all he truly wanted was an art subject. “Is.. is that all you want?”

“For now.” He huffed again (Admiration? Is that it?) before pulling his hand away, trailing his fingertips, gloved in black leather, across your jawline, gently tipping your head up. “I can be gentle, kind, even, with you. If you do not force my hand.” You couldn’t even attempt to force yourself to pull away from him. His presence and actions had become alluring; Terrifying still, yes, but you felt yourself entranced by his calmness and by how politely he spoke to you.

He suddenly stood, retrieving his bag and starting to leave quickly through the still open window. He paused for a moment, looking back at you.

“I truly don’t wish to hurt you, Y/N. Try your best to calm yourself.”

He ducked out the window, and in the three seconds it took for you to gather your wits about you and dash to the window to see where he went, he was out of view. You closed your window and sat down right there on the floor, going over what in the everloving fuck had just gone down in your head. Jesus, that… that was a fucking rollercoaster. You brought your hand up to your jaw, tracing where he’d traced, and sighed out a shaky breath. You got up and got back into your bed, attempting to sleep to try and collect yourself.

Fuck it. You’d call out of work for the day later and say you were sick or something.

#helen otis #bloody painter #creepypasta #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x reader #bloody painter x reader #helen otis x reader #creepypasta writing

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dolliedarlin · 4 years ago

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i m p l i c i t ⏤katsuki b.

p a i r i n g : bakugou x f.reader

s u m m a r y : ever since you were young, you were forced to meet with the person dubbed as your finance, Katsuki Bakugou, a Baron’s son who had quite the temper but peaks your interest in every way possible

l e n g t h : 1.9k

g e n r e : olden days au ; fantasy au ; arranged marriage au ; Bakugou is a tsundere ; and we love him for it ; reader is an amazing bean that can keep up with him ; kirishima is your brother ; best brother ever ; rumours are toxic ; never base your opinions on someone solely on rumours ; you attract a stalker ; it’s not your fault ; he just as a twisted yandere mind ; Katsuki is your hero ; he makes your heart flutter ; and he makes your knees weak ; i really want someone to protect me and say what he said at the end of this

w a r n i n g s : swearing from our lovable explosion murder king ; acts of stalker/yandere ; sword fighting

a / n : i didn’t plan on posting this but mother nature decided to pay me a visit today so i basically lazed around in my bed groaning in pain and half starving bc it was too painful to get out at times for food. instead i started writing this imagine again that i had began months ago. this is inspired by Ranma 1/2, which is an anime that i loved watching when i was much younger, it’s not well edited because i’m kinda dizzy rn but i hope you enjoy it!

— first of all, before either you or Katsuki were born, the arrangement for your marriage to each other was already settled by your parents, hence why you were immediately introduced when you were children

— neither of you knew what marriage or engagement meant but you both associated it with seeing each other

— it wasn’t something Katsuki liked but you didn’t quite mind it, he always gave you really interesting reactions that you quickly came to like

— as the two of you grew up together, you always tried your best to get close to him but Katsuki was adamant at pushing you away and keeping you at arms length at all times

— despite all that, you wanted to catch his attention, which meant that you took interest in all the things that he found interesting too. that included: sword fighting, horse riding, duelling ; spicy foods ; battle tactics ; magic etc

— Katsuki always tried to ignore you but secretly appreciated how skilled you had become over the years. you were still nothing compared to him but you were able to battle against a majority of qualified knights and still be the last one standing

— he only scoffed at you because your talents were wasted; you’re too kindhearted to ever use your honed skills properly - it irritates him that other women push you to conform to etiquette, tea parties and high society when you were better than that

— you’re better than shallow conversations about the latest fashion, or the art of sipping tea, calligraphy and painting because he knows how much you train and how much effort you put into your education outside of such insignificant things

— Katsuki knows that you can handle yourself better than any other nobleman he knows of, he’s seen you help your father with his business and vigorously train with your dukedom’s knights

— what’s the point of all that effort if you weren’t going to show anything for it?

— because of that Katsuki always acted like he hated having you as his fiancée despite your optimism about him, as well as your patience and understanding of his unique way of expressing himself

— because the two of you are forced to spend a lot of time together by your parents, you’ve has been able to understand Katsuki and his mannerisms better than anyone else as your mother has always taught you to be openminded - she’s never been like the other noble ladies of society, hence why your father married her

— now, you were following in her footsteps. there’s been much gossip about your unladylike behaviour but you didn’t care, all you needed were your parents’ love and the love of Katsuki. he still needed some more time to come around but you’re positive you’ll get to him soon enough

— you’re positive there’s a different gleam in his eyes whenever he looks towards you now. it had always been one of hatred when you were much younger but his expressions frequently soften around you nowadays.

— no matter how subtle it may be, you always notice

— many rumours circulated about you the first time you had shown your skills openly amongst the knighthood. it had first started with your knights who praised you highly but, as soon as those whisperings reached outside the dukedom, many noble ladies started to gossip about your misdemeanour.

— surprisingly, those rumours were shut down in under a week and you didn’t know why; usually such good gossip material stayed for months and only faded with the years so it was peculiar to have it die down so quickly

— what was suspicious was that, as soon as your rumours died down, stories about Katsuki surged forward.

— when you conversed with other people, they would say how horrible they feel for you having to marry such an aggressive and dislikable fiancee. they would then over-exaggerate all the belligerent and misunderstood characteristics of Bakugou, even making up disgusting rumours that painted him to be more villainous than he actually was.

— “how shameful,” you spat with disgust, glowering down at the noble ladies frozen in their seats, “how dare you openly gossip about my fiancee right in front of me, the nerve! you should know better than to act like such children. if you have nothing better to do then i suggest you leave the kirishima estate immediately and never expect to be invited back,”

— they tried to beg you for forgiveness, seeing as your father held such power in high society, being one of the four noble dukes of the kingdom serving directly under the king as they all had noble blood.

— nobody expected your father to marry you to a Baron’s son. Katsuki didn’t have a higher title than you but your fathers had gone to war together and remained loyal friends ever since, Baron Bakugou went on to acquire his title of Braon after his service in the war but many people still looked down on him from his commoner origins. to think that such educated ladies of high society would use that as leverage to gossip however they wished.

— word of your actions on behalf of Bakugou spread quickly and the two of you became a couple that shouldn’t be trifled with.

— after that day, you always defend Katsuki and never miss the opportunity to express how much you admire him and care for him even if he doesn’t tend to reciprocate it

— you do this when Katsuki’s friends make an appearance, they consisted of your brother, Eijiro, Denki of house Kaminari (son of Marquis Kaminari) and Hanta of house Sero (son of Marquis Sero).

— they usually don’t visit the estate but this time they decided to utilise the knights training grounds for extra duelling practice and happened to catch you just as you were walking out, having finished your own training

— as soon as introductions and polite greetings were exchanged, came the jokes and jives.

— “I wouldn’t blame you if you eloped with someone else on your wedding day, Lady (Y/N), knowing this guy’s attitude,” Denki snickers as he points his thumb at your fiancé, who growled lowly in return.

— “i wouldn’t dare do something like that because, even if this is an arranged marriage, Katsuki will be the only man for me” Katsuki didn’t expect you to be so forward and couldn’t help the blush that coated his cheeks from your response

— Denki whistled in a mix of astonishment and amusement, “Katsuki’s a lucky guy!”

— “he looks really happy to hear you say that too, sis,” Eijiro teased as Hanta grinned from beside him.

— “shut up! we came here to train so let's train already, you dumbasses!”

— the days go by and life is good; the quicker your wedding day approaches the kinder and gentler Katsuki treats you. it wasn’t until the kindness you practiced with everyone you met, no matter their status, became something more in the twisted mind of an unknown individual that you encountered within city streets, while out shopping

— one act of kindness made the stranger crave for your touch and sought you out in the most deviant method. he sent constant letters multiple times a day and even mailed one with his most intimate item of clothing, not only that but he always stood at the gates of your estate, waiting for it to be opened just to slip in and try to meet you again

— of course, he didn’t get far because of the security brought on by your dukedom’s talented knights stopped him at every devious attempt. each incident was reported directly to your brother, who was training to inherit the duchy as soon as your father retired

— Eijiro was having none of it and devised the best plan of action he could, knowing that his image as the heir of the dukedom needed to be thought of so that his people wouldn’t be against him when he took over his capable father’s place. he resisted the urge for an immediate confrontation to plan with you, about how you wanted to defuse the situation

— however, as soon as word got to Bakugou, he ran over on foot to confront the man at your estate, just as Eijiro came down with a squadron of knights and you at his side

— lost in his own world, your stalker immediately reached out for you the instant he caught sight of your figure. on his face, he had a twisted smile and manic eyes, his breathing became heavy as if to savour the same air you breathed not too far away from him. it was frighting and chilling to see such an unhinged man. he was so deranged, he didn’t mind the swords and pointed glares directed at him by all that were present and Katsuki, who was fast approaching from behind

— “Get. Away. From. Her!” Katsuki shouted in anger as he drew his sword and slashed at the young man, making you jump back with a gasp.

— “Bakugou!” Kirishima warned as he pulled you into his chest for protection from the clashing of swords

— “Katsuki, be careful!” you cried. confronting someone with such an unstable mind could go horribly wrong and no matter how skilled your fiancee was, you couldn’t help but worry

— Even though this was the first time Katsuki ever showed his feelings for you in such a dramatic gesture, the worry you had for him consumed your joy as his opponent drew out his own sword and started lashing out with worse coordination than your junior knights.

— what he lacked with technique, however, he made up for in agility as well as his own unpredictability. it made it hard for Katsuki to predict the path of his opponent’s sword so for a time, he was constantly dodging his blade. it didn’t take long, however, for the game of endurance and stamina to come into play and slow down his opponent enough for him to fight back with more accuracy.

— “you revolting rat!” Katsuki growled swinging his sword with might only to grind his teeth when his sword is narrowly dodged. not one to give up, however, he goes in once again and finally lands a hit that forces your stalker to crumble to his knees, “you try and pull that shit with (Y/N) again and I’ll be doing more than just beating you to the ground,” it was an obvious win for the blonde.

— “And what would that be?” your stalker still had fight in him that came off as more irritating than anything else Bakugou had ever encountered in his life of servitude as a royal knight and baron’s son.

— just to prove his point, whatever it may be, Katsuki goes to stand beside you and pull you into his chest with his large hand at your waist

— “landing your ugly, disgusting ass in a fucking coffin!” the venom in his voice was evident and it made you shudder, curling up into his chest for comfort, not knowing that the next words he’d shout would have your knees weaker than any training could ever do, “(Y/N) is MY Fiancee! you touch her and I’ll kill you!”

n a v i . | bnha mlist

#bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugou #bnha olden days au #bnha fantasy au

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years ago

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Standards of Performance, Chapter 2: Fuck-ups and Textbooks

... I know I said I’d update weekly, but here we are. From now on I’ll post every Friday, if not more often. Than you for such a positive response to Chapter 1, it warms my heart! Enjoy :)

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 2, Fuck-ups and Textbooks

Chapter Summary: You narrow in on the pool of suspects while desperately trying to convince yourself that dream psychology is a pseudoscience.

Words: 2225

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

A man stood above you, backlit, so you couldn’t see his face. You were laid supine, staring up at him - vulnerable, but unafraid. He spoke to you, but his voice and words were indistinct, muffled, as if you were underwater.

He knelt over you, placing one hand to the side of your head. It was silent, still, unmoving except for the dim lights shifting behind him. You felt your breath quicken as the figure shifted almost imperceptibly closer. His tie fell forward, dangling over your chest. It was a beautiful cerulean blue, silky and expensive looking. You reached up to touch it, and the man caught your wrist in a firm grip.

“No,” he said, his words clearer but his voice still indistinct. Low, deep, familiar… but you couldn’t place it.

He released your hand and moved his to your waist, lightly caressing, stroking downward until he caught your hipbone. Your pulse quickened and you gasped and arched upward into his touch, feeling his fingers dig in tighter in response.

“I thought so,” he murmured, swinging one leg over to cage your body with his. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hip wove into your hair and came to rest at the base of your skull, pulling your head up as he leaned down to catch your mouth with his…

Your phone alarm blared, waking you with a start. The dream slipped away, leaving you alone in your hotel bed, a noticeable wetness between your legs.

“God fucking damn it; I can’t have anything,” you muttered, throwing off your blanket and hopping into the shower. You hadn’t dreamed about sex in a while, hadn’t thought about sex in a while, too preoccupied with proving yourself at work. The dream left a longing in its wake, one that would unfortunately have to be addressed at a later time, because you stayed in the shower far too long and needed to meet Hotch and Morgan downstairs.

____________

You bustled into the lobby, clutching your case files and coffee. The others stood by the front entrance, facing away, seemingly discussing something amongst themselves. Hotch turned at the sound of your heels clicking towards them. You smiled, nodding your head in greeting, and-

Oh my god.

You froze in your tracks, face feeling suddenly numb. You registered Hotch frowning in confusion, but you couldn’t say anything to reassure him, not yet.

His tie.

It was the same one, the one that draped over your bare chest in the dream last night, the one attached to the man who you’d been thinking about all morning despite never seeing his face. The same one that hung loosely around Hotch’s neck last night on the balcony, the one that made you feel so voyeuristic that you couldn’t make conversation with him knowing its unknotting exposed his throat, making him appear stripped bare in comparison to the tailored suits he practically lived in.

“You alright, kiddo?” Morgan asked. “I mean, I know I’m a stop-you-in-your-tracks kinda guy, but I woulda thought you’d be used to that by now, huh?”

Morgan’s lighthearted cockiness gave you the boost you needed to shake your head and keep walking forward. “Sorry, thought I forgot my phone. I’m good. Let’s go, what’s the plan?”

Hotch seemingly accepted your answer, but kept his eyes on you as you got into the car. “Local police have rounded up friends and family of the California victim at the station. I’d like you to take the lead on interviews today. Morgan and I will be available should you have any questions, but we’re going to search our victim’s apartment first. Is that alright?”

It wasn’t actually a question, of course, but you gave verbal confirmation just the same. After the incident last week, you wanted a chance to prove yourself in an interview setting with a slightly less hostile subject.

They dropped you off at the station with instructions to compare notes with Prentiss, JJ, Reid, and Rossi after each interview. After setting up the room and conducting a tearful conversation with the victim’s mother, your first interview of the day, a conference call with the others in Arizona and Nevada revealed that the team had missed something big in the initial review of victims: they had all attended the same small, liberal arts college in San Diego.

“So, uh, who wants to tell Hotch?” asked Emily over the phone. Silence on the line, but you could tell what the others were thinking - no one wanted to be the one to deliver the news that you had overlooked such a clear commonality in the victim profiles - one that could have led you to an obvious suspect pool hours ago.

“The most fair way to decide this would be a random selection tool, here, I can pull one up on my phone,” replied Reid, accompanied by tapping sounds as he typed something in.

“No, she can do it, she’s with Hotch already,” said Rossi. “Let’s not waste time on this. Let us know what he says.” The others murmured their sympathies, but ended the call just the same, satisfied with avoiding Hotch’s quiet brand of wrath for the time being.

Sighing, you slumped in your chair in the interview room. Best to just get it over with. You dialed and held your breath, but not for long, as he picked up on the first ring.

“What did you find?” he asked, expectant.

“I just got off the phone with the others, and, it… it looks like they all attended the same college. PLNU, here in San Diego.”

A few beats of complete silence on the other end. You cringed, holding the phone away from your head like it was a bomb about to go off.

After what felt like ages, he responded. His voice was low, stern as always, but it had a clipped quality that you recognized as the closest you’d ever seen Agent Hotchner get to rage. “How did we not find this out during preliminary research?” he asked.

“Well, um, two of them didn’t actually graduate from there, so it wasn’t immediately obvious,” you offered.

More silence.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’re right though, we should have figured this out earlier. I’m sorry, I’ll -”

He interrupted you. “Thank you, I’ll tell Garcia to get a suspect pool together.” Line dead.

You sighed and laid your head in your hands. As far as tough conversations go, that was easy on the surface - hell, you’d had bosses scream at you when you worked retail for something much less consequential. But Hotch was different - he commanded respect without demanding it, and he had a way of making you feel like the only true measure of success was his praise, and by that same vein, his disappointment made you feel like an utter failure. For a man so cold and closed off, he drew the attention and admiration of everyone around him. When you started your internship, JJ had filled you in on what happened to his family - both wife and child murdered by one of their subjects. You weren’t sure how a man who had gone through that was still standing, much less working in the field that exposed them to that danger in the first place. But that was Aaron Hotchner, right? There was a reason that any member of his team would take a bullet for him without a second thought.

You’d only known him for a month, but you thought you probably would too.

____________

The rest of the interviews progressed smoothly, and you found out through conversation with your fellow team members that all three victims had taken a class with the same TA. One of them had mentioned a creepy teaching assistant to her friends at one point or another, shaping this up to hopefully be a pretty clear case of unhinged stalkerdom. Why the grandiosity in transporting and hiding the bodies no one was quite sure, but you, Morgan, and Hotch were on your way to his house along with a SWAT team to figure that out.

When you pulled up outside his address, a little yellow bungalow in La Jolla, you felt your upper lip start to sweat. Morgan and Hotch were pulling on their vests, checking their guns, and you, an intern without weapons privileges (or training, for that matter) were hiding behind the corner of the SUV.

“Remember, we don’t know if this is our guy!” Morgan yelled to the other officers. “We need him alive, don’t go shooting for no reason, got it?”

Hotch turned to you hurriedly before they moved across the street to enter the home. “You okay?” he asked, placing his hand on your upper arm.

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured you, looking into your face intently. "There’s several officers waiting with you out here, this will take less than two minutes.”

You nodded again, unsure how to tell him that you weren’t afraid for yourself, but for them. For him. He was indestructible, fearless, more than twice your age with more than 20 times the experience in the field. But you still felt an innate urge to be there, to protect him in case something went wrong.

His potential as a cult leader is really being wasted at the BAU. Hell, I’d die for him.

Therapy, you decided. You needed therapy.

Hotch nodded, oblivious to your internal conflict, dropped his hand from your arm, and headed towards the house with the others. You heard Morgan yell, a loud bang as he presumably kicked the door in, and more shouting. Your breath hitched in your throat as you counted the seconds, dreading the sound of gunshots.

Luckily, it didn’t come. They exited the house, striding towards you. Hotch’s hair had been disheveled in the commotion, falling onto his forehead. He raked it back with one hand, sighing.

“Nothing. Doesn’t look like he fled, but Garcia didn’t mention anything about him being at work during this time. Morgan’s gonna call her and see if she can find a location; let’s search the house.”

You nodded and followed him, feeling guilty for your overwhelming sense of relief that the suspect hadn’t been home. Morgan stood in the front yard, charming Garcia on the phone. You smiled. It was only a matter of time before those two stopped being idiots and admitted their love for each other; you couldn’t imagine being one of the more seasoned team members that has dealt with their antics for years.

Trailing Hotch through the front door, you noticed immediately how… bare the home was. The furniture was all standard IKEA gray (you recognized it, having furnished your apartment on a budget), the walls were absent of any decoration, and there wasn’t a single knick-knack or distinguishing piece that made it appear as if someone actually lived there. The obvious plainness stood in stark contrast to the sunny exterior and palm trees and other greenery surrounding the home.

Morgan strode in behind you, apparently having concluded his flirting session. “Cozy, huh?”

You nodded. You didn’t have much experience profiling suspects’ living quarters, but you didn’t need to be an expert to know that something was off here.

“Split up. Take the bedroom,” Hotch directed, nodding in your direction. “Tell me if you find anything.”

The bedroom was just as unremarkable as the rest of the house. You tore through drawers of neatly folded clothing, pulled out mounds of blank notebooks from the desk, dug through a trashcan filled to the brim with just tissues (you truly didn’t want to know), and just when you were sure there was absolutely nothing of import to discover about this guy, you pulled up the corner of the mattress to find what must have been dozens of books on criminal psychology stacked within the bedframe.

The suspect was very notably not a TA for a criminal psychology class.

“Uh, Agent Hotchner? Sir? I think I found something,” you called out.

Hotch appeared in the doorway. “Show me.”

You pulled up the corner of the mattress, gesturing for him to look underneath. Moving closer, he placed his hand on your lower back, and looked over your shoulder.

“Criminal psychology?” he asked, unmoving.

You nodded, glued to your position, breathing shallowly, wanting to move to examine the books but effectively pinned between Hotch and the foot of the bed. Your gaze shifted to the left slightly, and you were met with an eye level view of-

That fucking tie. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He moved away to pull the stack of books out of its hiding place, and the muscles in your lower back where his hand was resting suddenly relaxed. You berated yourself internally for being so weird around him - it was a tie, for fuck’s sake, something that your mind had picked up on yesterday and inserted purposelessly into your dream.

Dream psychology is bullshit, you reassured yourself for probably the hundredth time today.

Hotch began to leaf through the books, and you saw that certain passages had been intensely highlighted and circled, with notes scribbled in the margins. He paused to read a few of them before snapping the textbook he was holding shut and standing up.

“Let’s get these packed up and go through them back at the hotel. It’s getting late.”

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cagestark · 4 years ago

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A Hole in the Head//7

Read here on AO3.

I’ve been inactive and some have been worried; everything is fine, I’m just waiting until some irl things clear up. I *am* writing though. Hope this makes up for my absence even a little bit?

About this: nff. Slut-shaming. Sub-drop. General rough and meanness lmao.

He drags Peter off of the couch, one hand wide enough to cradle the back of Peter’s head to avoid letting his skull kiss the floor. Drunk off of arousal, Peter doesn’t fight back, instead arches into the contact so that his hard cock drags along the older man’s, a low desperate sound slipping free from his throat.

“What are you doing?” Peter breathes, hopeful. Bucky settles between Peter’s thighs (and the stretch in them is absolutely delicious; it’s borderline obscene how wide they have to spread to accommodate the other man) and humps down into the warm cradle of his legs, causing fireworks to explode behind Peter’s eyes. “Not that I’m complaining—oh fuck, please don’t stop—”

“Tell me everything you know about what Tony was saying on the phone,” Bucky growls. Peter cracks his eyes open at the strange request. Above him, Bucky’s hair is a dark curtain that parts around them, blocking out the rest of the world. His face is set, jaw clenched. At his hesitation, Bucky grinds downward again and the friction has his eyes rolling. “Tell me, or I’ll stop and leave you here like this.”

“What do you mean, what—”

“Why’d Tony say those things about me?”

“Because he likes you? Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be some ultra smart assassin capable of, oh, no, no, don’t—”

Bucky has leaned up, letting one heavy arm rest flat against Peter’s chest to keep him pinned to the floor and the other resting just above his cock, palm flat against the twitching abdominal muscles. Like this, no matter how much Peter strains, his cock receives no contact. Through his teeth, the dark man says, “What do you mean he likes me? He’s Tony fucking Stark!”

“What’s that got to do with it? Please Bucky, please, it hurts!” Showing mercy, he drags his hand down from where it rests against Peter’s stomach, and when that large, warm palm cups his cock, it is almost enough to make him cum. He struggles to get his heels planted on the floor so that he can arch his hips upward. With surprising tenderness, Bucky cradles Peter’s aching balls in his hand before moving up to wrap his fingers around the clothed cock as best as he can, jerking Peter off in a slow, firm rhythm through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Oh fuck yes, thank you, sir, thank you.”

“Focus, kid, and maybe I’ll let you cum,” Bucky says coldly. “Tell me everything Tony has told you.”

“He, he thinks you’re hot,” Peter gasps, shaking, fingers scrabbling at the carpet for purchase. “He said that he re-respects you, oh god, thank you, don’t stop—”

“Then keep talking.”

“He said that you, you’re art and he admires you and you—oh fuck, please sir, squeeze me tighter, yes!—he said you make him feel safe. When he fucked me yesterday, he said he wished that you’d walk in on us, he said that he thinks about you in the next room listening in. God, please, Bucky, can I cum?”

“What are you asking me for permission for? Like you’re not just a brat who will take whatever he wants anyway.” Bucky says. His voice is cold in the best way, a juxtaposition to the endless heat he pours off, the heat he’s ignited in Peter’s belly. Planting one palm on the floor beside Peter’s head, Bucky reaches down to slide a hand beneath Peter’s ass and drag his hips up off of the floor and grind them against Bucky’s own, their cocks a delicious, explosive friction. “But you told me what I needed, so I guess you’ve earned it. Go on, then. I don’t have all day.”

Peter wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, tangling his fingers in that dark hair and using his heels to get the leverage he needs to thrust his way off the deep end. The coil wound so tense in his lower stomach snaps, balls drawing up as he cums into his sweats, so long in coming that it hurts in the best fucking way. His body jerks, muscles tensing and untensing like he’s in the throws of a seizure. But Bucky holds on to him tight, firmly guiding his hips to drag out the orgasm until Peter feels like a cloth wrung free of water.

His head feels a little fuzzy, throat dry by the time Bucky slips his hand from beneath him. The stickiness in his sweatpants tickles a little where it drips down his legs, but he can’t find it in him to care, not when he’s on this most fragile edge between staying afloat and going under. Then, coldness—and when he opens his eyes, he sees that Bucky has withdrawn, dragged himself and his heat back to the couch and seated himself heavily on the cushions, face tilted towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.

He’s still hard. Peter is just drunk enough to pull himself up onto his knees and make his way to kneeling by Bucky’s legs. The assassin parts them easy enough, leaning his head back up to watch Peter with an empty curiosity, even when Peter opens his mouth and breathes hotly on the bulge in his tactical pants.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, low and dangerous.

“‘m gonna suck you off,” Peter says. His tongue drags a long, wet stripe from the bottom of that twitching bulge to the top. All he tastes in his mouth is the polyester-cotton blend, and he can’t wait to replace that with the taste of Bucky’s cock. A noise rumbles in the dark man’s chest, a warning, but the challenge does nothing except make Peter’s eyes go glossy where he looks up from beneath his lashes. “I don’t mind if you pretend I’m Tony.”

Bucky grabs a fistful of Peter’s hair and pulls his head back so harshly that a noise slips free of Peter’s mouth, his throat bared. Bucky pulls him, coaxing him back to the floor lest he snap his own fucking neck. One thick boot comes down flat on Peter’s chest, pressing just enough to threaten the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Still seated on the couch, Bucky looms over him while he loosens his belt.

“You want my cum, kid?” Bucky asks through his teeth. He draws his cock free from his pants and Peter cranes his aching neck, desperate to see it. The angle is no good, only lets him see the last three inches before the sight is blocked by Bucky’s thick thigh. But what he sees makes his own spent cock jerk. Bucky is thick, flushed a pink just as dark as his lips.With a practiced, firm hand, the man begins to jerk himself off. “Beg for it.”

Beg for it? The words echo in Peter’s head, setting off alarms that he isn’t nearly far enough under to have silenced. Peter doesn’t beg. Alright, he does, but Peter is under no illusion that being submissive makes him any lesser than the people who dominate him. His submission is a gift to them, Peter Parker is a motherfucking gift, one that Bucky does not yet appreciate and has not yet earned.

“No, you coward,” Peter gasps. Both his hands wrap around Bucky’s boot, but even with all his strength, he can’t budge it.

The force behind Bucky’s boot increases. When the man leans over to place more weight on it, he looks downright unhinged, his lips pulled back to bare straight, clenched teeth. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. You’re a pussy! Does coming up with an excuse for your depravity make you feel better later? I had to jerk the kid off, for information,” Peter mimics, throwing his voice in a mocking impersonation of Bucky himself. “I wouldn’t have let him suck me off, but he begged for my cum. You are a twisted fuck. Own it, asshole!”

For a moment, watching the way Bucky’s handsome face twists in fury, Peter thinks maybe he went too far. The boot on his chest adds pressure until his ribs creak, and he feels true fear. Ever since he was a boy, people had warned Peter that his mouth would get him into trouble someday. Maybe this is his ticket about to be called.

But instead Bucky slips down from the couch until he’s straddling Peter’s chest, pinning thin arms tightly to his sides with the larger man’s thighs, belt buckle gaping and framing his erection like the golden stage curtains at the fucking Lincoln Center. This close, Peter has to stare straight up to look at the man’s face. When his hands fall back to the buttons on his tactical pants, Peter’s eyes slip there instead.

“Fine,” Bucky mutters. He pulls out his cock, and from this angle it’s truly something spectacular: long and thick and cut with neatly trimmed pubic hair and balls that hang low and heavy. Reflexively, Peter lifts his head up off the floor to see if he can crane enough to lap at the purple, slick head, but he can’t. “That how you want to play it, kid? I’ll own it. I’ll own you, you little shit. Gonna paint that pretty fucking face.”

“Do it,” Peter groans. He struggles to breathe through the weight on his chest, heart hammering. Above him, Bucky strips his cock like it’s a weapon, stroking the length of it with an unforgiving grip while the other reaches down to cradle his own balls, palming them with uncharacteristic tenderness. It’s one of the most obscene, arousing sights Peter’s ever seen, his soft cock twitching where it rests in his own cooling cum. Bucky’s face is just as artful as his cock, head tilted in pleasure, full mouth parted to reveal his teeth clenched tightly shut, the ultimate juxtaposition of soft and bestial.

His eyes slit open while Peter stares, dark stormy-sea eyes. Peter opens his mouth wide like a target for Bucky to shoot, and the way his face twists in arousal, the cry that comes from his throat as his head falls back - there’s no way Peter could ever forget those things. When Bucky cums, it’s downright explosive, pearlescent seed raining down on Peter, striping his face and the curls of his hair and landing on his eager tongue.

A desperate sound slips from Peter’s throat as the taste bursts across his buds. It’s cum, not fine cuisine, but it’s Bucky’s. Above him, the man makes a tortured sound at the sight of Peter licking his lips. When at last Bucky has drained himself, cum trickling down his scarred knuckles, he shuffles off of where he pinned Peter to the floor.

For a long moment, both of them rest and catch their breath. Bucky is the first to move, plucking a tissue off of the end table and holding it out to Peter like a white flag, a peace offering. The expression on his face is mostly unreadable. The man who pinned him to the floor and then jerked off onto his face seems to have receded, letting a more closed off Bucky to the forefront. Peter is more than a little fucked thinking about how fond he is of both sides: the unhinged and the sane.

“Don’t get soft on me now,” says Peter, even if it’s kind of nice. The last thing he wants is Bucky feeling some twisted guilt (all that bullshit Peter said earlier about the man’s perversion was just that—bullshit. Maybe they are all perverts, but at least they’re among like kind). He ignores the tissue and reaches up to wipe three fingers through the mess on his cheeks, slipping them into his mouth to suck them clean.

“That was a mistake,” Bucky says, voice like sandpaper. “It’s never going to happen again.”

Peter gapes. “Why not?”

“Tony—”

“Were you listening to that phone call?” Peter asks. He feels liable to explode, a ball of fury (of hurt) throbbing just beneath his throat, desperate to be released. How long will Bucky continue to play these games with them? With Peter? “He’s fine with it! More than fine. He’s fucking into it!”

“Just because he might like it doesn’t mean it’s good for him,” Bucky grits out. “It’s the last thing either of you needs when you’re still getting over what happened with that cunt Beck.”

“Right,” Peter says, pushing himself up so that the assassin is no longer towering over him. Bucky has an easy four inches on him (and probably sixty pounds), but Peter has never let his small stature keep him from speaking his mind. “Because you’re obviously the authority on what we need!”

“You’re goddamn right I am!” Bucky shouts. “You think you need this? You think you need me? You need me like you need a fucking hole in the head.”

“You—aren’t—Beck!” Peter’s face burns, reddening with fury and embarrassment. How many times and in how many ways will Beck come back to haunt him? How long must he be dead before the cloud of him dissipates from above Peter’s head? “Tony hasn’t ever left me alone overnight in the five years we’ve been together. Why? I haven’t woken in the night once this week to find Tony sitting in the armchair by the bed, cleaning his gun because he can’t sleep. Why? And you heard us on the phone—Tony hasn’t bottomed in over twenty years, but he said he’d do it for you. Why? Because we trust you, fuckface!”

All at once, the fury drains out of Peter. He finds himself exhausted, eyes burning in a terrible, traitorous way. Turning away, he snatches up the tissue that Bucky had grabbed for him and begins to clean himself off, clenching his jaw so that it doesn’t tremble. His hands shake, adrenalin from the sex, the fight, hormones crashing.

Peter sits heavily on the sofa, the pile of tissues beside him. His mind begins to whir, trapped in an endless cycle. It’s his fault he and Tony are in this mess, both lusting (that’s all it is, all it can be, Peter swears) after the assassin. When he speaks, his voice is fragile and cracking, slow and slurred and not at all its typical self, but he can barely hear it, can barely feel the words as they trip from his open mouth: “I just don’t get it. You’re attracted to us. It won’t get you in trouble. Why, then? Why do you keep doing this? Is it—is it me?”

“Don’t,” Bucky says, low and threatening.

Peter doesn’t hear it, lost in the fear that creeps over his mind like fog too thick to see sense through. His words come out garbled around the knot in his throat that is strangling him. “Is it because I’m, because I make things so hard? Running from you ‘n talking back? Because I, I can be good. I swear. Just give me a chance and I can show you.”

Firm hands grab the collar of Peter’s shirt and drag him right up off the couch until his toes struggle to touch the floor, fabric ripping underneath the brutal grip. Now he’s face to face with Bucky who searches his expression with furious eyes and a downturned mouth. “What’s wrong with you?” the man asks. He shakes Peter a little. “You’re acting like—what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Peter says, answering a question Bucky never asked. His voice warbles, thick with emotion, eyes misting. “I’ve never known—”

Bucky squints, eyes raking over Peter’s face before settling on his trembling mouth. “Are you dropping?”

Oh, he thinks, teeth chattering. Yes, yes I am. One of Bucky’s wide palms comes up to cradle the back of his head and coax him to look the larger man in the eyes. They’re narrow, intense, unreadable as always. “Come on, snap out of it. Tell me what helps when you’re like this, kid,” Bucky says.

“Nothing,” Peter says with wet lashes. Because that’s how it feels when he drops this hard, like nothing will help, like nothing will ever get better.

Bucky pulls them flat together, chest to chest, tucking Peter’s head underneath his chin and wrapping his arms around Peter’s thin frame, squeezing firmly because Peter can’t stop shaking, because he’s trembling like a leaf on a tree tossed in the wind. The warmth the other man gives off is heavenly, cutting through the chill on Peter’s skin and soaking into him deep. Awkwardly, one hand begins to pat at Peter’s back.

“You’re okay,” Bucky mutters. “Just—fucking calm down. Please.”

Bucky says please like he’d usually say a threat, and it makes Peter’s heart squeeze.

He shakes his head before burying his face deeper into the man’s broad chest, inhaling while he twists his fingers around the fabric of his shirt. Bucky smells always of leather and cologne, sometimes of sweat, but even the smell of sweat isn’t unpleasant when it comes from the him. Groaning, Peter lets himself relax into the heat and the scent and the arms that feel like the only thing tethering him to this world. Half of him wishes that they’d let go, that he’d float away somewhere where he’d cease to bother and burden the ones he loves.

The ground slips out from beneath his feet as Bucky scoops him up and into his arms. Peter struggles for only a moment until Bucky’s grip tightens in a way that is both threatening and soothing. Under that grip, Peter goes lax and lets the man carry him up the stairs as if Peter were nothing more than a basket of laundry. Outside the doors, Bucky hesitates for only a moment between his own door and the door Peter shares with Tony before choosing the latter.

The sheets smell like Tony. Peter rolls upon contact with them, burying his face and inhaling. Trying to clear the fog from his head. He jerks when someone touches his shoulder, but it’s just Bucky, staring down from so high up with his typical frown and stormy eyes. The bed depresses as Bucky kneels up onto it, coaxing Peter to roll over and sit up. He feels like a child when Bucky takes his shirt off, but there’s no fight in him, not with his mind so far away and his body so weak and fragile. With uncharacteristic tenderness, Bucky uses a cloth dampened from the en suite bathroom to clean Peter’s face of any residual cum, wiping carefully at the delicate skin beneath his eyes, across the expanse of his forehead, down over the slope of his jaw. Peter lets his eyes fall shut, feeling the rasp of the cloth against his sensitive skin, the warm dampness of it.

He lowers Peter carefully back down into the den of soft sheets and blankets and pillows, and Peter stares through heavy eyes at the man’s figure—

Then he blinks, awakening. The lighting in the room has changed, the sunlight tilting to a dramatic new angle to show that time has passed, that Peter has been asleep far longer than he might have expected. His head throbs, the skin beneath his eyes tender and crusted with dried tears, but he sits up anyway and wipes the drool from his mouth.

Bucky is seated in the armchair having pulled it up close to the bedside. He’s slumped over, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. At the sound of the sheets rustling, he lets his hands drop to a more neutral position while he looks up, face blank.

“Why didn’t you wake me for lunch?” Peter asks. His hands still shake, but the terrible tightness in his chest is gone. “I had a salad in the refrigerator, now I’ll bet the lettuce is all wilted. Thanks for nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” says Bucky.

For a moment, Peter thinks he’s misheard. When he asks Bucky to repeat himself, the man looks like he’d rather face torture. But still, he says it again.

“The salad isn’t a big deal,” Peter jokes weakly.

Bucky ignores the attempt at deflection.

“I’m supposed to be keeping you safe. But I just keep fucking up.” He stands up and sheds the dark henley he’d been wearing. Peter’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the man shirtless: pale skin, every muscle defined from his pecs to the abs and the lines that frame his package. Here and there are scars: brutal ones along Bucky’s shoulder that make Peter wince in sympathy; a hole of twisted scar tissue from a bullet wound long healed over. Every last detail takes Peter’s breath away. “If you want me, you can have me,” Bucky says, jaw clenched. “I’ll—take care of you.”

“What am I, a fucking houseplant? Did Tony leave you instructions to water me every other day if my soil feels dry and give me a quarter turn so I don’t bend towards the sunlight? I don’t need you to ‘take care’ of me.”

“Kid,” Bucky says, low and dangerous. “You make it real hard not to throttle you. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here. Dial down the brat.”

“I am the brat. Conversation would go a lot smoother if you’d stop being a dumbass, how’s that for a suggestion? A life hack. Yours for free, asshole. And for what it’s worth, I do want you,” Peter admits. He scoots across the bed until his back is pressed against the headboard, pulling the sheets up around himself. It feels easier, here on his turf, in this place that he and Tony have worked so hard to reclaim as safe. Easier to be honest. “Just not like this.”

Bucky scowls. His abs tense, a distracting motion. “Either you want me or you don’t.”

“You’re missing the point,” Peter snaps. “Just as much as I want you—maybe more than I want you—I want you to want me. I want to be wanted.”

“You think I jerk off on casual acquaintances?” Bucky asks. “I want you, okay! Maybe if we fuck, you’ll get this out of your system—”

“I don’t want you out of my system!”

“What do you mean? What, you want more than a fuck?”

The way he says it, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world that Peter could possibly want—it makes Peter feel cold all over. Suddenly, he realizes the gravity of what he is saying. He’s admitting to things he didn’t know he felt, things that he’d buried. Tony, he thinks. I need to talk to Tony. “Forget it.”

Bucky seats himself again, slouches deeply and tangles his hands in his hair to tug. Watching all the muscles in his chest and torso work makes Peter lick his lips reflexively. “Jesus Christ. I still don’t know what you fucking want from me, kid.” Then, with a vulnerability that shakes Peter to his very core: “I’m not good at this. You want me to snipe a guy from a thousand yards? I’m your guy. You want me to build a bomb with whatever you’ve got under your bathroom sink? I can do that. But this—whatever the fuck this is? I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m just going to fuck it up.”

Peter swallows heavily. A part of him wants to reach out and take Bucky’s hands from his hair, coax him to let go of a grip that must surely be painful. A bigger part of him wants to say something foul and snappy, something that will keep this argument spinning forever and forever, like tires stuck in slick mud. “I believe in equal opportunity,” he says, as gently as he can. Gentleness doesn’t come easy. “So I’d like a chance to fuck this up, too, please.”

Bucky snorts softly. “And with both of us working to fuck everything up, who the hell is going to hold this together, huh?”

And isn’t it obvious? Peter thinks.

“Tony,” he says. “Duh.”

Reaching out, Peter pats at the bedspread beside him. Bucky watches with wary eyes, like maybe Peter has slipped a whoopee cushion under the blanket, or maybe there’s a land mine that’s been left sitting since WWII buried beneath the sheets of a bed in a 2010 built mansion in New York, still active, ready to detonate as soon as he sits. But after a long moment, he pushes himself up out of the chair (which creaks with his muscled weight) and sits gingerly where Peter directed.

He looks lost. Unsure. Younger than Peter’s ever seen him.

“Tell me,” Bucky says, quiet though no less intense. They’re close enough that he doesn’t need to do more than whisper. “Tell me what you want from me. From this.”

“I want there to be something between us to fuck up,” Peter admits.

Peter takes Tony’s call out by the pool. The New York mansion sits on twelve acres of land, which gives him plenty of vantage points to watch the sun as it sets, smearing the sky with oranges and pinks. Even from this distance, he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. The man is ever watchful, as if someone is going to step right out of the woods and try to drown Peter in the in-ground pool.

Tony listens quietly while Peter tells him the events of the day, only interrupting to ask a clarifying question or two. That’s the thing about Tony: he’s an amazing speaker, but God can he listen. Peter is a habitually nervous talker, always eager to fill any silence between himself and another person. It works out in Tony’s favor on nights like tonight, when all he has to do is hum thoughtfully and Peter spills his guts and more into the empty air between them.

The only thing he leaves out is the motivation for Bucky’s actions, the hard-on Peter believes he’s harboring for Tony. That he isn’t spilling yet; not until he has more solid confirmation.

“Are you angry, sir?” Peter asks. His anxious feet kick up ripples in the pool.

“No—why in the world would I be?” Tony asks. “I goaded you into propositioning Bucky, or did you forget? And I’m more than half hard after hearing about your little tête-à-tête this afternoon. I’m downloading the security camera footage from the game room as we speak, just so you know. 39% of the way there.”

Peter smiles, glad his back is to the house so Bucky can’t see. Knowing that soon Tony will be watching him driven to absolute desperation (and then he will see what he let Bucky do to him, not that Peter could have struggled free even if he’d wanted to) makes his gut clench. But as quick as it comes, his smile fades. “I knew you’d be okay with that part. But it’s not like you asked me to go and—catch feelings for him.”

Tony hums.

“I don’t want you to think that you aren’t enough for me,” Peter goes on when the silence lasts too long. “Because you are. And I don’t want you to think I’m a slut, even if I am—”

“Peter,” Tony says, voice low and infused with warning. Peter ducks his chin even three thousand miles away. He still feels the disharmonious undercurrent thrumming in his blood and chest from his earlier drop, and it makes him more pliant than usual. The last thing he wants to do is upset his lover, disobey his lover. “I’ve had it with you calling yourself that word in that tone. Do it again and for the next two weeks I’ll jerk off during my morning shower and the closest you’ll get to sex with me is overhearing any sounds I make through the bathroom door. Understood?”

“Yessir,” Peter murmurs. Despite the sharp words on the other end of the line, Peter’s feet kick happily. There has always been a part of him that believes his love of sex is a moral defect—society, past lovers, past friends teaching him so. The reassurance from Tony is like aloe to that scorched part of him. There’s nothing wrong with him. Tony says so.

“Good boy. The only feelings of yours I’m concerned with are the ones you hopefully have for me,” he says. “Do you still love me, kid? Tell me now if you want me to cut you loose, and for both our sakes, I’ll pretend that I could do it.”

“You can cut me loose, but I’ll never leave,” Peter says. “I know where I want to be, Tony. At your feet. Always.”

“I miss sucking on that silver-tongue, sweet thing.” Tony’s voice is just short of a growl, the sound of it rushing over Peter’s skin like the breeze, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He lays down, back against the tiles of the poolside, feet still in the water. Above him, the sky is just beginning to turn cobalt blue. Jupiter is bright tonight. His heart squeezes in his chest when he dares to think about how lucky he is. Tony. And now Bucky. But he doesn’t want to count his chickens before they hatch. “Come home, sir.”

“You just want to fuck,” Tony says slyly.

Smiling, Peter lets his eyes shut. “I don’t want to go to sleep without you here.”

“Are you afraid?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Tony hums.

Peter sighs. “Maybe not. But I miss you even when you’re just in the city—imagine how I feel with you on the other side of the country.”

“I left you in excellent hands. Speaking of which, I can hardly wait to see those hands on you. 92%.”

“So slow?”

“The file is huge, kid.”

“He says he wants to wait until you get back before we fuck,” Peter says, scowling to the stars.

“No wonder you want me to come home. If he can manage to teach you the value of patience, I’ll double what I’m paying him.”

“The two of you are going to kill me.” Peter weighs his next words carefully. “You know, I think Bucky has a hard-on you.”

Fabric shifts in the background. Tony’s voice is sharp when he asks: “What makes you say that?”

Sirens go off in Peter’s brain complete with flashing lights. Abort, abort. “Well who wouldn’t, sir?”

A soft, humored exhalation, and Peter relaxes.

#winterironspider #winterspider #starker #cagewrites #ahith

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dakotacrisis · 5 years ago

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Hanging in the Stars

Soooo...I’m back at the Felinette again cause as we’ve established before I have no self control. Also @emzurl‘s art sparks a need to expand with fanfiction because I have fallen down the Felinette rabbit hole and I ain’t coming out!

Based off of this and this and this. I already wrote one based on one of these but I’m bringing it all together now!

War has broken out between Felix and Marinette. The only way to peace is through invasion of personal space.

---

It was Romeo and Juliet. Those that didn’t even read the play knew the Shakespearean tragedy.

Miss Bustier’s class had finished reading it and she opened the discussion for what her students thought an accurate interpretation of the play was. Little did anyone know the storm this question would unleash.

Marinette had raised her hand and gave her piece about how she thought it was a beautiful tragedy about a poisonous hatred conquered by love. Most of the class nodded along.

Then from the back of the classroom was a deep groan. Marinette went ramrod straight as she turned around to glare at the opposed.

“Felix, you have a different interpretation?” Miss Bustier asked.

“Yes.” He met Marinette’s glare, “To brand this tale a beautiful tragedy is to scrape the mere surface. When in actuality it is better suited as a cautionary tale about the stupidity of youth and trappings of shallow lust.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Miss Bustier nodded, “That was an interesting interpretation. Did anyone else have any ideas?”

“How can you say it is about the stupidity of youth?” Marinette countered, “The shallow lust you claim was actually real love. It only seemed rushed because it had to be introduced quickly to fit the run time of the play.”

“I am not surprised a hopeless romantic such as yourself would choose to believe in the delusion of love at first sight.” Felix rolled his eyes, “What Romeo and Juliet are experiencing is physical attraction that was further exacerbated by a juvenile sense of teenage rebellion brought on by their ancestor’s feud.”

“And I am not in the least surprised that a cynic such as yourself would take such a stance.” Marinette shot back, “Yes their feelings come on quickly but in the context of this story love at first sight does exist. It was a destiny written in the stars that they should love and their love should end in tragedy. Throughout the entire play there are references to the theme of the universe. They know the force that brought them together will inevitably drive them apart but still they beg the cosmos to let them be.”

“Or is it that destiny does not exist. There is no grand plan or greater meaning to the lives of others. We simply float through life experiencing hardships and pleasures. These two idiots were as made for each other as a fast food commercial saying that burgers and fries are a perfect pairing.” Felix stood out of his seat.

“I refuse to believe that everything is left to chance. There are some things in this world that are meant to be and Shakespeare understood that.” Marinette was out of her chair as well. “A feud started long ago that is buried with love. What better metaphor is there for destiny and tragedy and the delicate nature of life and love?”

“I can think of one.” Alya said with a knowing smile.

“Okay kids!” Miss Bustier called out. “I think that is enough for today. We will pick up on this tomorrow.”

The class cooled down from the debate. Marinette was seething but turned away to gather her things. Why was she getting so worked up about Felix’s opinion on a play anyway? That wasn’t like her. But to hear such a pessimistic outlook on one of the greatest love stories ever written had triggered her in a way. Should she have really thought more from the pessimist himself?

“Girl,” Alya slid closer to Marinette, “Things got a tad heated there. Any particular reason?”

“Felix just rubs me the wrong way. The pompous, cold hearted, little cynic that he is.” Marinette swung her bag onto her shoulders.

“Pompous? Yes. Cold hearted? Also yes.” Felix strode past their desk, “But I am a realist, Dupain-Cheng. Not a cynic. Get your facts right.”

“You arrogant son of a--”

“Whoa girl. Calm down.” Alya held her back. “Don’t let him get to you.”

---

Felix couldn’t deny that he didn’t enjoy some good conflict. He lived for debates. And debating with Dupain-Cheng had been interesting to say the least. She had already proved herself a spigot of emotion and thus her views and arguments were strongly driven by her own conviction.

As much as she tried to remain good natured and level headed there was an unquenchable fire within her. And Felix relished nothing more than fanning the flames when given the chance. Maybe it was the fact that she was one of the few genuinely intelligent people in his class. Maybe it was the fact that she was conniving under her fluffy persona. But Dupain-Cheng had a grace and composure that burned bright and made her tower high with confidence. It was...fascinating.

Not that he would ever admit such a thing. He knew exactly how she would respond if she ever found out Felix had been riling her up to glimpse the unwavering girl he quietly admired. Was his avoidance at her reaction born from shame or fear? Perhaps both.

The days went by and the debates he held with Dupain-Cheng grew. His pleasure hidden by an impassive mask he crafted over many years.

It wasn’t until she started ignoring him altogether did his behavior seem to catch up to him. In his head their debates and jabs had all been in good fun. A game of teasing or whatnot. But now she wouldn’t respond. The fire he loved to see had smouldered. She looked tired. Even when he targeted her directly she wouldn’t so much as meet his gaze. The most he could get out of her was a sharp word or a harsh glance.

Had he gone too far?

“Dupain-Cheng.” He walked up to her before class. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t feel like getting into another argument with you, Felix.” She continued to rifle through her locker. Her back to turned to him as she spoke.

“I’m not here to argue with you.”

“That’d be a first.” She muttered.

He reached past her and closed the locker. He kept his arm against the locker effectively pinning her in place so she couldn’t easily run off. “I mean it. There is something I need to tell you.”

She turned slowly so that she was facing him and it was at this point he realized exactly how close he had gotten. Her face was barely a breath away staring up at him. A mad blush rising hot up her neck as she clung tightly to her books.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“I...” Felix couldn’t remember. The speech he had carefully prepared and worded had erased itself from his memory. What is it he had wanted to say!

“Marinette, can I copy your homework? I completely forgot to finish that worksheet from chemistry last night.” Alya came around the corner and saw her best friend pinned against her locker by Felix. “Or should I give you two a minute to sort this out?”

“Alya!” Marinette slid out from Felix and joined her friend. “Good morning! What was this about your homework?”

Felix was still frozen in place by the lockers. What was that! He’s better than this! He’s more composed than this! A pair of bluebell eyes will not unhinge him again.

Not to worry. They had a free period today. Marinette had a habit of using that period to study by herself so he would get to her then. He just needed to keep a level head and not get distracted like he did this morning.

Free period came and everyone trickled out of the classroom. Marinette stayed seated. Now was his chance.

“Dupain-Cheng,” He stopped at the desk next to her. “Got a minute?”

“No.” She pulled out her textbook. “Can you leave? I’m trying to study.”

“And I will leave you to it in a moment. I need a quick word with you. That’s all.”

“No offense, Felix, but I really don’t care about what it is you have to say to me.” She stood up, “And since you won’t leave I guess I’ll have to.”

“Dupain-Cheng, wait.” He called out to her.

She stopped and turned back to look at him. “What?”

“Come here.” he gestured.

“Why should I?” she raised her chin defiantly.

“Fine then.” He crossed over to her. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Okay, you’re here. Now what?” She muttered. Her eyes still met his own but it was a struggle to do so. The warm glow on her cheeks didn’t escape his notice either.

His face was blank but his heart beat painfully loud in his chest. Say something. Say anything! You got her here and you probed this close into her personal space already you need to say something!

“Now I’m going to...” He pushed even closer. The subtle pink of her face exploding into a hot red as he inclined nearer.

Where was he going with this? This wasn’t the plan! Swerve, Felix! Swerve!

“Remove this from your hair.” He pulled a leaf that had been caught in her hair.

He turned towards the garbage can to throw it away. “You really must be more attentive miss Dupain-Cheng. Appearance is everything.”

She made a loud angry growling sort of noise before stomping out the door. Felix stared at the leaf in his hand with a growing sense of dread. What was wrong with him? Two times he lost his sense of direction trying to talk to her. Why was he getting so close to her in the first place? Before he was trying to keep her in place so she had to listen to him. But here she was already listening.

Whatever. This was stupid. Dupain-Cheng would be back to her usual spitfire self in no time. It wasn’t his fault.

He left to go clear his head in the library. There was a secluded spot away from the usual noise he loved to sit and study in. On his way he passed by Dupain-Cheng who glared at him. Her face still bright red from their earlier encounter.

He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto his face as he walked past her. He settled down in his corner and pulled out the travel copy of Romeo and Juliet he had been reading. He had an essay to write and needed to find which quotes he wanted to include.

Romeo: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.

Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.--

“HEY!”

The shout pulled Felix from his work. He gazed up just in time to see Dupain-Cheng descend upon him in a fury. Slamming her hand against the wall next to him trapping him in place much like he had done her this morning.

She was so small though. It would be only too easy to move her and escape to somewhere more secluded but her unwavering gaze kept him in place.

“Do you like it when I invade your personal space uninvited?” She snarled at him, “Huh, smart guy?”

“I do.” The words leapt past his lips without thought.

His eyes grew wide as he searched for something else to say. What was wrong with him? Before he couldn’t get out two words to her and now the two words he chose were damning to his unforeseen intentions. Why was he acting like this?

She backed away from him. Her face a mask of embarrassment and regret. Felix’s own visage was no better. His indifference peeled away to reveal his own embarrassment and excitement from the event.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her mortification hidden behind her hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I just wanted to make you as uncomfortable as you made me.”

“I uh,” Felix cleared his throat, “I see.”

He took a deep breath to compose himself and set his book down. He inched a step closer towards her. He wouldn’t get up close again. His mind would surely short circuit once more.

“It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I only wished you to listen and I feared any other way you may have walked away.” He told her.

“What is it you have to say that I need to listen to?” she kept her eyes locked on the ground. “I already said once I don’t want to argue with you anymore, Felix.”

“I like it when you argue with me.” He answered truthfully. “Debating with you is some of the most and only fun I have in this school.”

“Why though? Why me?”

“Do you really believe that anyone else can hold such intelligent passion?” He asked. She met his eyes once again and he sighed. “You are clever and you have conviction. It is a rare treat to see you bring both to the surface in such an entertaining way. I suppose that it was greedy of me to probe you for my own amusement. You were such an optimist I didn’t think your well of patience and drive could run dry.”

“You constantly got into arguments with me because you wanted to see me get mad?” Her eyebrows knit together.

“The situation is more nuanced than that but to be black and white about it, yes. I guess I was making you angry for my pleasure.”

“That is rather selfish.” her gaze hardened, “Did you not once think of how it made me feel? Having to constantly battle your arrogant opinions? It was all rather exhausting.”

“You left me rather winded after a row as well.” Felix smirked. He crept another step closer. She watched him wearily but didn’t make a move to distance herself. “As firm as I believe it was hard to not get sucked into your point of view. You speak so passionately to stand against you is a chore in and of itself. One I both loathe and look forward to.”

“You are a real piece of work. You know that?”

“A masterpiece?” he quipped with a teasing smile.

She made a small snorting sound that struck Felix to the bone. She was laughing. Genuinely laughing because of him.

“If you say so.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“From now on I’ll leave our debates strictly in the classroom. Agreed?” He held out a hand to her.

“Agreed.” She took his hand firmly and shook.

A bit of daring flooded his system and he pulled her forward bringing her hand up to his face and left a chaste kiss upon it. Her face was flushed that mad red again. “I look forward to our next bout, Dupain-Cheng.”

#it got long #this is what happens when i decide to use shakespeare #i can't be controlled.#it is the east and marinette is the sun #and felix can't keep up with that #insert ben wyatt saying it feels like i'm arguing with the sun #miraculous ladybug #felinette #felix graham de vanily #felix agreste #marinette dupain cheng #writing

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gild-and-fire · 4 years ago

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ggweek 2020: All About Rio

Tagged by the wonderful @inyoursheets and absurd @sothischickshe

Tagging (but no pressure!!) @fairhairedkings @missmaxime @briosgina @mrslackles

Questions from here and I think I added a read more?

Why do I personally like or dislike Rio? (I added this one for fun)

A few different elements of Good Girls drew me in (humor, acting, UST, etc) and I have been hyperfixated hooked since! And not to get too real on the main--jk imma bare it all out here on the internet--I found Good Girls in a time when I didn’t really have much independence or agency in my life. So, obviously, beth being a boss bitch and rio being straight-up unhinged definitely satiated me.

Specifically, other than the fact that he is very very handsome and i would give him my life savings if he just said the word “muhney”, I love that he takes calculated risks (ie any risk he takes on beth), has fun being a prick (“what’s up, you miss me?”, “it’s too good, ma”, “need another bathroom break?”, “we’re consolidating”), has amazing outfits (no further comment), uses his charisma to cajole and charm people into compliance (rip Gil & Lucy), and yeah i just think he’s neat

What are your headcanons about Rio’s and Mick’s relationship? Did they meet through crime? Are they lifelong friends?

OH definitely best buds for LIFE who met during crime and then like just trusted each other’s judgement. I think Demon follows orders without a second thought (which Rio loves), Rio laughs manically whenever Demon says something sassy or rude (which Demon loves), and they neither one takes life too seriously, ya know? They’re both just having a good time and appreciate that the other is on the same wavelength.

Now that’s what is probable. What isn’t probable BUT I want dearly??

Mick barbeques every other month and Rio brings Marcus everytime

Rio and Mick have matching tattoos on their ankles from a very fun night in Canada

They play basketball together and the winner rubs the victory in the other’s face for the rest of the week. Rio always dunks on Mick, but Mick is surprisingly agile and good at stealing (bc he’s not wearing a tiny leather jacket duh)

Mick has tried to set Rio up with his many cousins by bringing them to the bar “coincidentally” at the same time Rio is there

They text each other pictures of their food and share restaurant/food truck suggestions

What are Rio’s hobbies outside of work and Marcus? What do you think he’d get up to on a day with absolutely no responsibilities?

ART! ART! ART! I will not accept any answers except for boxing/basketball and art. That man’s apartment was wayyy to gorgeous, and have you seen his hands?? I can only imagine the things he can do with a paintbrush

What do you think Rio’s goals for the future are?

Total mayhem and destruction (at the Boland residence)

What do you think Rio is bad at (cooking, dancing, singing, etc.)? How come?

There’s NO way he’s good at singing, but i would bet everything i have that he is a good dancer. I mean,, I could stare at the way he walks allllll day.

Why do you think Rio is drawn to Beth? + Why do you think Rio didn’t kill Beth?

Before I joined the fandom, I really questioned why either one was attracted to the other, and oftentimes, I was convinced that they simply were using each other for selfish reasons and for the sake of manipulating the other. Now, I still believe that they use each for selfish business reasons, but that genuine feelings and interests have also developed since around 1.06 and it has been challenging for both ever since business and personal have mixed.

I think the fact that they are two sides of the same coin makes their attraction so delicious for a viewer, but I think that they are both distrustful individuals and thus are destined to always second guess the other’s motivation even if they are being genuine. It kinda reminds me of Epifanio and Camila’s marriage in Queen of the South: they love each other, but the clash of their individual ambitions make it difficult to trust each other.

But, back to the question lol. I think Rio is drawn to Beth and hasn’t killed her because he understands her, sees himself in her, and enjoys how she challenges him. Specifically, they are both motivated by the desire to provide for their kid(s) and their love for crime. Beth hustles hard, leverages her unfortunate situations into advantageous ones, and only trusts herself--I think the same can be said for Rio and that he admires these parts of Beth.

What are your headcanons about Rio’s family? Siblings? Parents? Lifestyle growing up?

This is a tough one bc I absolutely love the different OCs created for Rio’s family and I think it’s so fun to see his older sisters clown him on the daily. However, I’m inclined to think he has one older sister because he drinks his respect women juice and has STRONG younger sibling vibes (re: constantly causing trouble but always acquitted). In my limited experience, I think older siblings have to be more responsible, and Rio plays it a little more fast and loose.

I would also venture a guess that if he had a “stable”/”traditional” childhood, he likely wouldn’t have fallen into crime? I have a hard time placing what his parents and upbringing was like, because I only have my frame of reference and like who thinks that’s sound judgement lol. But I suppose that Manny’s own backstory would be a good starting point: he grew up in a rough area, has traditional grandparents (who likely supervised Rio when his parents were working/not home), and is hustling to move up in the world. I also think that he is someone who has come to discover and define his own style over time, but wasn’t able to when he was younger.

Do you think Rio’s been arrested before Beth got him arrested in 1.10? When, and what for?

MY bby? My “too smart for his own good”, “two-steps-ahead” bby??? ABSOLUTEL Y NOT i think the shutdown episode is such a good example of why not, and i think we know that beth is a BIG, glaring exception in his normal business dealings, so getting arrested doesn’t happen often, if ever

If Rio weren’t a crime boss, what jobs do you think he’d be good at? Why?

OK so I went back and forth on this one. Let me explain my thoughts

I think he is well-suited for being a PM in tech because it requires “disruption” and Rio definitely loves to disrupt things lol, and he is a natural leader who can motivate a team to follow his lead.

I DO not think that working at a consulting firm or law firm or something businessy like that would be up his alley bc its way too stuffy and too many rules (ethics & compliance training, what the fuck?) But Rio is also good at being a snake

Maybe a math teacher? Before you laugh, hear me out. He’s good with kids, he’s good at math, and we know he likes to give lessons!! (does he do it well? Idk but obviously beth was ready to shoot boomer in S2 and then taught Max in s3, so there’s that lol)

But yeah, I think an entrepreneur in tech is perf bc is requires a certain degree of rule-breaking, a certain degree of charisma, and strong math/science skills.

#ggweek2020 #rio #i love one (1) disastrous man #still monday over here!!#mine

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dear-yandere · 4 years ago

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—ask collection!

a collection of mostly very old chats and sweet asks that i never got around to answering! thanks for the patience and love!!

beware, fairly long post... woops....

chat asks.

darling: Eu-jin is best boy. Change my mind.

vanya: i am physically incapable of fulfilling that request, how dare you do that to me... i’m biased since he’s my own oc, but i would die for my (very best) boy eu-jin... who can resist such a gentle yandere that loves you so whole-heartedly?

that reminds me! he’s actually based off of kuroyuki and gekkamaru from the otome nightshade, so if you want similar characters by any chance, do check them and the game out ♡

darling: I was watching the dub for Part 5 of JoJo's Bizarre adventure yesterday...Mista called himself Daddy and I like- sdfghjfgsdhnhnmj!! My heart can't take this--

vanya: WAIT HE DID???? i’m not even big on daddy kink and reading that made me go 😳 this is vital information to know... what episode was this??? for research purposes, of course. gotta perfect my yan! mista, after all~...

darling: for yandere songs, have you heard of the major to minor covers by chase holfelder :O? the way he delivers the lyrics in some songs (betty, all i want for christmas), added with the key changes to minor, is really fantastic, and gives a stalker-ish vibe imo! and he's a really good singer in general

vanya: i have!! a good chunk of them are actually on my personal yandere playlist, so i end up hearing them frequently when i’m writing!! i haven’t been keeping up with his uploads recently, so ‘betty’ is completely new to me and just, wow???????????? this man is an absolute god send for us “romantic” horror fans... ♡

this ask gave me such a lovely idea, though, darling: assigning yandere types/mbti based off each of chase’s minor key covers. i think i’ll do that just for you. ♡

darling @blossomiich: I reread some of your old character interaction asks and saw the one with Jotaro hugging his Darling after a panic attack and the elephant seal plush reminded me of the iconic C H O N K Y ringed seal plushie that was kinda trending and I can totally imagine Jotaro having one of those >w< that's so adorable!

vanya: i honestly don’t remember that interaction, but then again i don’t remember most things hmghng so i looked it up and

j...just imagine star plat hogging it and not letting joot cuddle with it 🥺 the duality of man...thank you for this cute image...

darling: Umm, sorry for asking this. I'm just curious because of your bio language in your header. Are you Chinese too, perhaps?

vanya: no worries!! i’m mixed guyanese (indian, chinese, & possibly black and/or portuguese), but my family only celebrates (or rather, acknowledges?) our indian descent, since the majority of our family is predominantly east indian.

my header is actually a quote from a danmei novel (and one of my all-time favorite fandoms), tiān guān cì fú (heaven’s official blessing)!

darling genki stan anon: Omg you're writing for free now, i didn't expect that one lol. It's a cute show innit? Not a nagi stan but I feel like nagisa has that kinda unsnapped personality that would make him peak delusional yandere material lolol like oikawa but less threatening and without his head being up his own ass 😂. Hope you're doing well!! -gsa

Gdjsjs im such a fool, i think my last ask said something about not thinking you'd write for free when i literally just pointed out kisumi on your sideblog LMAO my bad 😅 😂 also ill hold back on the gen chan requests because ive already asked so many in the past! Thank you though 🥺. Also feel free not to post this, it can just dip into my onesided chats with my lil flower 💐 so long as you receive them im fine 😌 -genki stan anon

vanya: nagisa isn’t my favorite (kisumi is), but gods if he wouldn’t make a great yandere. honestly, out of the iwatobi boys, nagi is probably the most unhinged. i wouldn’t peg him as delusional, at least not at first; i think he’s very lucid and knows exactly what he wants and how to manipulate people in order to get it!!! kisumi is fairly similar now that i think about it... i might... have a type...

please feel free to send in gen-chan requests whenever you want!!!! i’m kinda super asocial, so it’ll take me a while to answer, but i love getting asks from you since you’re so sweet and excitable!!! your little flower reads and cherishes them all!! 🥺

also darling genki stan anon: Sorry for spamming you with asks hdjkdks, u dont even need to reply im just kinda brain empty venting here whether you recieve them or not 😂 i just needed to confess that while yes i am #1 gen simp, and he is undoubtedly my fave oc of yours but that Ilya tentacle smut had me very much so highkey kinda 👀, had to re read the genki oral style drabble to bring my head back. He dont even need to worry about luca bc that man a thot. I think therin is a thot too but like lowkey, a classy thót -gsa

vanya: omg i’ve kept this one for forever mnmghngh i might’ve even answered at some other point, now that i think about it... but i just 🥺 gosh i hope i find my muse soon, because i really wanna write you a genki fic 🥺 hhhh

the ilya tentacle smut was so in character for that boy... i have no clue how to write monsters, much less tentacles, but i’d honestly do anything for him 🙏 kinky russian boy...

therin is definitely a classy thot, the kind that only bangs the finest concubines then turns around and slut shames you for banging the very same prostitutes gbfmngnfg rules don’t apply to him, in his kingdom...wish that were me tbh ✊😔

sweet asks.

darling one: i've read almost all of your dazai and chuuya fics and i love them so much!! your formatting is also super aesthetic just a question, i saw on your kofi that you also draw so i was wondering if you drew all the header arts?? bc they're all super pretty :) have a great day!

darling two: Just wanted to say love the writing and the way your format your posts is so aesthetically pleasing. One day I hope my posts looks half as good as yours because I legit can't get over how pretty and organized it looks.

vanya: omg thank you so much!!!! one of my bffs, yue, is to thank for the formatting and aesthetic choices, really! if you wanna see more of her aesthetic formats and posts, she actually runs a few blogs! you may know her as @milkscafe, formally @milkaaton! i adore her and her aes choices so much 🥺

as for the headers, i don’t draw 99.98% of them! i have drawn a couple, but they’re so few and far in between since i almost never finish my art wips haha... my older posts are lacking proper credits because i’m an absolute idiot, but i’m slowly working my way backwards to credit them all where possible! they’re all indeed super pretty!!!

have a great day yourself, my love!!

darling: THEY’RE NOT BAD CONTENT, I LOVE THEM ALL

vanya: this was in response to a now-deleted lil blurb but i kept it in my inbox because i wanted to say i love u very much and seeing this ask each time i open my inbox makes my heart skip a beat ♡

darling: Listen I love your writing, you inspired me to start it myself! I've always loved to write, and read of course but your style and concepts just stick with me. If you where to write something besides Yandere content/fandom content and started your own series? I would read the shit, out of it. I'm always nervous to interact with my favorite writers because you know, I'm afraid of the impression I'd leave but I just wanted to say this anyway! 💞💞💞🔫😳

vanya: wowowow fgfnmgnfmngfg that’s such a high compliment my brain just gmfnbgmnf go boom fogjfngnfg and thank you for the interaction, us writers truly appreciate it no matter how awkward or nervous you think you may be / come off!!!

darling one: As a writer, your post struck a nerve with me. I don’t send feedback to writers I like nearly as much as I should (and certainly not as much as I’d like in return as a writer). So, as such, I’m going to start doing that when I can, starting with you.

You are an incredible writer. You were one of the first yandere writing blogs I found and you’re still one I check in on regularly to see what you have been working on. You can portray a sense of suspense and intrigue in a natural way that many other writers - published ones included - struggle with. You delve into the darkness without it feeling forced, and you have an amazing grasp on the psyches of the characters you write for (which is a quality I adore in writing and strive toward myself).

I’m not great at ending these things so I guess.. you keep doing you? Because the you is great and I appreciate it.

darling two: hey. i'm here to tell you that from the bottom of my heart i love you and your writings. i really admire your writing skills. you inspire me. one of your posts once saved me from a nervous breakdown. thank you for everything you do. you're a wonderful person. good luck!

darling three: I wanted to tell you that thank you for writing such wonderful beautiful writings and that you take time to edit and write I hope you are taking care of yourself 💖❤

darling four: Thanks. I was having a hard time and deleted all my apps, but as soon as i opened my phone my first instinct was to look at your blog and i got my motivation back. Thanks (:

darling five: Hi ! I just wanted to say I really enjoy the stories you write and how they are detailed so well ! Stay safe and I hope you have a good day/night ! ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

vanya: ahhhh, these are very old asks mostly dating back to my “tumblr writing community is dying” post, and i’ve kept them this entire time because i’m just so starstruck. i have no clue how to reply to compliments, so i’m not sure what else to say besides that these asks made me very happy and got me through a few insecure moments!!! i’ve actually been feeling a little down about my writing recently, mostly because of lack of motivation / inspiration, so revisiting these really warmed my heart, so thank you truly ♡ i’m certainly keeping the originals in my inbox until the end of time!!

darling @monstrously-obsessed: psst, this local cryptic mom thing send all of their love for you 💕

vanya: your local herbo says she loves you very much momster 🥺 mwah

also, to the anon worried about my safety:

thank you so much for pointing that out!!! it hadn’t even crossed my mind when i made those ocs, so i appreciate your concern! i was contemplating revamping those two as is, so this is a great place to start! thank you again!!

#asks collection #not a fic #vanya rambles #[ vanya LITERALLY rambles ]#[ life's hard when you're this asocial i swear fgmnfgnmfg ]#[ now to answer concept asks ]

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bladekindeyewear · 5 years ago

Link

Andrew has a post over here (or rather, “a message Hussie sent to the Perfectly Generic Podcast”) detailing his thoughts on the Epilogues, how he thought people would feel about them, and why he made them the way he did. Interesting read-- here are my thoughts as I was reading:

Wakraya -Today at 4:34 PM

Pst pst :3 We just got a statement from Hussie on the Epilogues if you ever feel ready to check that out

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:00 PM

ooh

yeah if there's a link?

Wakraya -Today at 5:01 PM

https://www.reddit.com/r/homestuck/comments/cuywff/the_homestuck_epilogues_bridges_and_offramps_new/

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:02 PM

yeah I was like "there's a HARDCOVER version?!??" trying to google what you described

Wakraya -Today at 5:02 PM

Oh yeah it just got announced recently, and this is what Hussie said about it, sent to the PGP people just a bit ago

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:03 PM

collapsing the bubble, yeah... he understood all this pretty well

readin further

"it's heavily implied to be a piece of bridge-media" --definitely, so why... there couldn't possibly be a follow-up, could there? ...

"Our continued attention is the very property which incites new problems," -- yeah, I definitely understood that as a theme of the Epilogues... but it also felt like a slap in the face to everyone invested in those characters for that exact reason, and torturing us like that should give way to SOME kind of more settling payoff to offset it, right? right andrew?.....

"But "implied" is all it was. There was no immediate announcement for followup content, and I'm not announcing anything here yet either. More time was always going to be necessary to figure out what to do next, including what form it takes, the timing, and all those questions." --okay yeah that's... SANE. That's MORE sane than the follow-up to Homestuck it seemed to be implying, the creation half to the destruction half. Because as much as it seemed to be implying that with those ending sections, I really couldn't imagine a continuation to such a ridiculously saturated story as FEASIBLE; you couldn't possibly loop in anyone who wasn't into the first body of work in the first place. But... then why leave so many of the characters in such dire straits, unsatisfied, their happiness jeopardized even after the lesson was imparted about how our looking in damaged things?

"For now I think it was alright to just let things simmer for a while, and give people an extended period of time to meditate on the meaning of the epilogues and why they involved the choices they did. But regardless of anyone's conclusions about it, I can at least confirm that it WAS designed to feel like a bridge piece since its conception." ...I'm not, uh. ENTIRELY. sure. that Andrew understands. how paralyzingly invested we are in some of these characters. :neutral_face:

"Is it this way because an epilogue SHOULD be this way? No. It is this way because I thought that was the most suitable role for an epilogue to play in the context of the weird piece of media Homestuck has always been." Fair... but that was the impression the end of Homestuck gave us in the first place, right? Art and message over our feelings. That's been the strength AND curse of Andrew's work. His relentless artistic integrity. He's going to give the message he wants to give even if it kills us. :c

this mulling over how he played with "Intermission" is fun, spelling it all out and how eagerly he wanted to play with and subvert those tropes...

Wakraya -Today at 5:14 PM

Oh, keep going

You're going to like the end I feel

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:15 PM

yeah all this is gonna go up on my blog if you let me

Wakraya -Today at 5:15 PM

Absolutely! :p

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:16 PM

"So now the label "epilogue" has been toyed with in a similar way, and also in a manner which exposes an apparent flaw with the label. Or actually, just by using the label "epilogue" at all, it seems the story is admitting to an apparent flaw." --So how were those who DID interpret the ending of Homestuck as not addressing stuff that needed to be addressed supposed to interpret it, though? Those who needed a more explicit explanation of why Andrew was seeming to "toss aside" so much of what they cared about as stuff that "didn't matter"?

He knew those people existed... hence the outcry!

you can't deliver a message to those people with a mocking thrust, you've gotta be, hm... more delicate about it? IF, that is, you feel an obligation to those people in the first place

and I was never sure whether Andrew DOES....?

hmmmmmn

"It's already an unhinged implementation of the label before you even read it, which means it's probably time to get nervous about whether it satisfies your expectations about what the content existing under such a label should provide." Yes, you knew people were gonna get super nervous even before they cracked open the cover... and then you DELIVERED, rather intentionally, on some of their worst fears.....?

"My feeling is, there's almost no choice but to turn the conventional ideas associated with epilogues completely inside-out, because of the inherent contradictions involved with crossing the post-canon threshold and revealing that which was not meant to be known." Yes, and I understood Andrew was trying for that. But... um....... what about satisfaction? You gonna give us ANY comfort after that's been dealt with, that lesson imparted? Why throw all our feelings by the wayside after you've communicated that overall lesson?

"By deploying it as mock-fanfiction, and including other authors, I'm making an overt gesture that is beginning to diminish my relevance as the sole authority on the direction this story takes, what should be regarded as canon, and even introducing some ambiguity into your understanding of what canon means as the torch is being passed into a realm governed by fan desires." --Yes, I've read that really good tumblr post I won't bother linking (EDIT: because I can’t find it, or where I commented on it, it was probably in discord; could someone link that to me? the one that talked about how this epilogue posed as Fanfiction and took on those trappings but could never BE that, and how it was their opinion ((though not mine FYI)) that Andrew didnt understand that?) that expresses how the author's intervention into this "territory" ruins the effect that this sort of work is supposed to have, and how it can't be judged as similar, but given the stuff that Andrew was TRYING to get across -- the sort of, "freeing fanwork from the vestiges of canon" stuff and the other lessons he's alluding to in this very Reddit post -- he didn't have much choice in terms of presentation framework. Could it have been presented more elegantly, less fanon-hijacky? Sure, he ain't perfect... Could it have more explicitly endorsed other interpretations of so-called canon as more valid than this, or AS valid? Absolutely, but he's never been one to spell things out for us so plainly... Ah, but could it have ended in a way to give those of us so nervous about the work more SATISFACTION, less grief? THAT is an entirely DIFFERENT matter that I hope he answers as this post goes forward.... readin readin'.......

"If the epilogues really prove to be the bridge media they were designed to feel like, then I expect this trend to continue. The fanfiction format is effectively a call to action, for another generation of creators to imagine different outcomes, to submit their own work within the universe, to extend what happens beyond the epilogues, or to pave over them with their own ideas." True, but... gosh darn, Andrew, you coulda been more explicit with that. Especially with the potential pave-over-ability of it all. Expressing that a lot more explicitly would have gone to help smooth over a bunch of that one tumblr post I mentioned's concerns. :T

"It's also an opportunity for people to discuss any of the difficult content critically, and for fandom in general to continue developing the tools for processing the negative emotions art can generate." Yeah, I... have to admit, I'm not as good at dealing with negative content in media as I should be. And that's definitely part of what is making the fanbase feel stabbed in the heart, yeah, but..... again, it feels kind of as if Andrew does NOT understand how irrationally attached so much of the fanbase is to these characters and how irrationally overinvested in their happiness, and all of this feels kind of callous. :frowning:

Wakraya -Today at 5:27 PM

He's very aware of how powerfully a lot of people feel about it, with all he's gone through with the Fandom. He really is just like this isn't he?

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:27 PM

"fandom is something which can develop better skills as well. Skills like critical discussion, dealing constructively with negative feelings resulting from the media they consume, interacting with each other in more meaningful ways, and trying to understand different points of view outside of the factions within fandom that can become very hardened over time." Hmn! That's...... true, yeah, but wow did you take a HAMMER to it instead of a scalpel

yeah

Andrew's always just

well it's like I said isn't it?

He's got that artistic vision, and even though he knows he's in an interaction with the fandom and shapes things to it by the design of the story, he is N O T compromising that artistic vision

even if it feels like a punch to the gut to us

immersion therapy :frowning:

not sure I can say whether that's right or wrong! only that it hurt XD

Wakraya -Today at 5:29 PM

It hurts, but he does understand.

Perhaps precisely because he understands, he pushes us to our limits

He doesn't matter if he loses part of his audience in the process- He wants to showcase a message.

Painful as it may be, that's kind of admirable in a stubborn way.

And when he delivers happiness, he does it in spades

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:30 PM

yeah, he never cared about losing support because he said what he felt was necessary

Wakraya -Today at 5:30 PM

And if it is something actually like

Problematic

He does backpedal and fix things up

BlastYoBoots -Today at 5:31 PM

"But I don't see why it can't be an objective to try to improve fandom, just as creators can improve their work." --and he was DEFINITELY, DEFINITELY trying to improve the way members of the fandom treated a WHOLE BUNCH of different affectations of the Homestuck fanfiction in the community. that was something kind of admirable and insane throughout the epilogues... on the deeper scale, how he used the Roxy arc in Candy to at the end put the reader to task with "HEY!!! How do you know this wasn't how Roxy would canonically act in this situation? You don't know the inside of her head! ALL SORTS of stuff is valid! You can't use those reasons to point at certain fanfiction and call it BAD." And I do love that. With a more insane surface example, the dog dick stuff. Jesus. XD

"So now I'm looking to all of you on the matter of where to go next." --oh SHIT. :X

Well, there's a problem. XD

fuck, you can't just ASK us what we want XDDD

"Wherever the most conscientious and invested members of fandom want to drive this universe, as well as the standards by which we engage with media in general, that will be the direction I follow." mother FUCK

well, now the pressure's on. god help us all XD

time to post this

#Homestuck #Epilogue #Homestuck Epilogue #upd8 #Andrew Hussie #spoiler #spoilers #Homestuck Spoilers #Epilogue Spoilers

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yfere · 5 years ago

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Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E65

Why no one started singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G tree song during this episode, I have no idea. Thank you to @alarnia and @softazelma for helping with data entry. Masterpost here.

+500 to Liam O’Brien/The Sympathy Vote If anything, the investigative report humanized the man, what with his agonized expressions, the hard choices he’s making, the deals, trying desperately to hold onto his friendships. Sam Riegel seems like a robot in comparison, with very long bits. #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

-100 to Marisha Ray/Trustworthiness as the person in charge of the investigation into Liam O’Brien’s campaign, we expect a certain amount of clearheadedness and integrity, which does not include getting high before giving testimony. Fire her from the case! #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

+23 to Jester/Yasha for an adorkable conversation about Yasha’s hard rock harping career, using the imagination to handle hard feelings together, as all good Jester ships should. The offer to wipe Yasha’s memory again if there’s anything she doesn’t want to know or remember #ThatsLove, and Yasha channeling Jester’s slightly unhinged love of animals and peacemaking by speculating they could offer the udak some scritches to quell its murderous impulses. Yasha quoting Jester only about 500 times a day, worshipping the ground she walks on, believing she has the power to heal the grass, and then placing that grass into her pressed flower book to remember the moment with #ArtisticSolidarity.

+31 to Beau/Yasha, with a few Battle Aftercare Points for Yasha helping up Beau after the fight, and for an even more emotionally charged watch conversation that resulted in a Ljore Drop from Beau. Talking about past loves and betrayals, the “types” that Beau prefers. Yasha appreciating Beau’s lack of judgment, Beau only slightly ineffectively wielding her I’m-Horrible-Too trump card, Yasha saying she’s “seen” Beau “a lot.” Floating the idea that it is actually possible to move on from Zuala’s death. Beau offering to help Yasha dig up the body, because that’s not weird at all, That’s Love. Darlings. Points taken away because the focus of the conversation was almost entirely on other people they love and have loved, and Jester, which brings us to…

+10 to Beau/Yasha/Jester, as in the launch of the second major intra-party poly ship in the shipping calculus lab, we have two wlw who spend a substantial amount of their Lesbian Bonding Time just talking about how beautiful and perfect and incredible Jester Lavorre is. Fuck Caduceus, this Literal Saint walking amongst them can heal grass with her spit and her “radiant glow”. With the same logic, we can expect that her toenails cure poison, her kiss brings you back from the brink of death…Also, Jester lending Verbal Support to Yasha’s physical support after the gloomstalker battle, as Beau wrestles with embarrassment over not having done anything

+10 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester as our second poly ship gains points with Caleb saving both Fjord and Jester from plummeting to their deaths and Fjord taking the chance to thunderstep them both up the tree again!

+17 to Jester/Fjord but as usual, Fjord’s contribution to the Rescue-the-Jester operation looks a lot flashier, so he gets more of the Romance Credit. Not only that, but many points for a competitive tree-climbing adventure straight out of a romance novel where Fjord’s Need To Impress The Love Interest gives him enough adrenaline to actually beat out Jester on athletics, swinging her up safely into the branches like a magical green Tarzan. Fjord (and Beau) being lovingly sketched in Jester’s book so she can remember the moment forever. Excellent Battle Couple vibes in distracting and shooting down gloomstalkers while on the moorbounders, not once but twice. Fjord also made an admirable attempt to Rescue-the-Jester during the first gloomstalker attack, but Caduceus got +6 to Cockblocking for immediately assassinating the charmed gloomstalker before Fjord’s spell did any good. Fjord yelling at Nott for not listening to Jester. Plenty of point loss, however, because Fjord is never going to learn to love Jester’s animals, losing his cool and yelling about what her “fucking animal is doing” STOP, Fjord.

+5 to Jester/Caduceus, for the aforementioned gloomstalker assassination, and being #Blessed alongside Yasha and Fjord, but point loss for Caduceus rolling his eyes at Jester’s well-meaning attempt to spit the grass to life and saying “that’s not how it works,” saying “that’s not how it works” about the scrying despite having never succeeded in doing it himself, and for Jester insisting that the massive tree is an evil “vampire tree,” much to Caduceus’ dismay.

+15 to Caduceus/Arts-n-Crafts for sweetly weaving a sunhat for Yasha while everyone else does dumb shit like nearly getting themselves killed, damaging a holy tree and antagonizing the largest bird of prey in several miles’ radius. He’ll probably sit through whatever encounter happens next week continuing to weave that hat.

+20 to Sam Riegel/Heatstroke as he responds to Concerns over his sweating and over-warm getup by putting on more layers. I’d expect a President with some more self-preservation in him, but if he offs himself with poor costuming choices at least he’ll be taken out of the running, am I right? #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

+16 to Beau/Jester They also earn many Battle Points, as Jester sends her nastiest Guiding Bolts (according to Sam Riegel, an expression of love) rocketing towards the gloomstalker attacking Beau. Beau instantly thinking of Jester’s skill with art and asking her to copy the map, and Jester adorably sketching Beau as one of her favorite people up in the tree, besides thinking that Beau’s tree climbing skills are Incredibly Impressive, and sneaking alongside her and Fjord to get a better look at the roc nest. Point loss for Beau saying Jester’s map was “garbage” which, even though Beau meant the map itself and not Jester’s skill in copying it, Jester still took personally.

-10 to Caleb/The Mission as he confesses to “losing faith” during watch with Nott, feeling like they’re failing and they don’t know what they’re doing.

+25 to Caduceus/The Mission as despite the Wildmother telling him Things He Did Not Want To Hear during his Communing session, Caduceus gets a massive, massive sign he’s going in the right direction in the form of Melora’s tree, and a detailed vision of all the places he’s expected to go to when he sleeps that night.

+19 to Caduceus/Nature as Caduceus plays around in the dirt, pokes at some interesting moss for several minutes, and gets to hang out, utterly smitten with a massive tree that is the best thing ever look at it.

+4 to Caleb/Fjord as no one listens to Fjord’s desire for a short rest, and even his puppy eyes directed at Jester is not enough to sway them, until Caleb catches on to Fjord’s plight and uses his #ItPaysToBeADamselInDistress power to say he wants a short rest, and shift the party to his favor. Caleb wanting some light to read his now-apparently-waterproof book for the Tiny Hut, and Fjord eagerly offering to cast a spell to make Caleb and everything around him darker. It’s the thought that counts? Point loss for Fjord ignoring Caleb’s advice against antagonizing the chasing gloomstalkers.

-2 to Caleb/Cat-Shaped Creatures as asking Frumpkin-the-Vulture with his razor claws to knead and drape himself on people is not nearly as comforting as actually having a real-life cat do it. However, +10 to Caleb/Vulture Culture for that and for turning himself into a huge bird of prey to cart Nott around.

-5 to Jester/Cat-Shaped Creatures (also -5 to Jester/Pets) as despite attempting to comfort Yarnball after the first gloomstalker fight, Yarnball remains spooked enough to break formation when they encounter them again, at which point Jester channels Alison Hargreeves vibes by lying and using mind control to get the poor thing back in line.

-4 to Fjord/Caduceus as Fjord gets a special, potentially life-saving visit from the Wildmother in his dreams, delivering him for the moment from Uk’otoa….and repays her by fucking up one of her most sacred places on the planet with repeated wood-shattering Thundersteps. Caduceus can’t watch.

-40 to Fjord/Uk’otoa as Uk’otoa now has a schedule of bothering Fjord every one to two weeks. I shudder to think how Uk’otoa is going to react once the Wildmother can’t protect Fjord anymore, now that he’s escaped from their clutches once.

+1 to Fjord/His Inner Bard for motivational rapping of...questionable quality

+3 to Caleb/Caduceus as Caleb very sweetly refuses Caduceus “wasting” his light spells on him, asks him about his feelings towards the tree. Caduceus looking to Caleb before anyone else to see if investigating the turtle shell is a good idea.

+4 to Nott/Jester as Nott offers some excellent advice on how to get ones’ way—ask the same question over and over again until you get the answer you want, and if that fails, do what you want anyway. Jester being the Most Concerned with Nott’s drinking, and alongside Caleb successfully steering her away from a suicidal (though heroically romantic) standoff against the gloomstalkers. Nott helping Jester and the others float safely down, and instinctively trying to save Jester and Fjord during their first fall. Bonding over an appreciation for big square dicks, which would only, and I mean only count for point gains between these two individuals. Point loss for Nott calling Jester “crazy” and saying she’ll scar Luke for life, which is probably just a deflection but a hurtful one. Jester catching Nott after she fails to climb the tree and just barely managing to stop herself from being negative and saying “Good effort!” instead, because Jester can’t help but feel like it’s her job to Be Encouraging.

+30 to Nott/Keeping It Together Maybe as she’s totally fine, she’s just going to drink a lot and nearly kill herself trying to stand off against the gloomstalkers and go stealthing alone in the middle of the night and rip the heart out of her enemies—she’s fine guys. It’s all under control

+2 to Clerics/Loneliness, as both Jester and Caduceus are abandoned to take a watch alone. Even so, their love for the others shines through, with Jester phoning up Kiri, and Caduceus preparing breakfast for everyone.

+1 to Caleb/Jester as Caleb tries to gently defend Jester to Nott, a few different times—a difficult thing, to dissuade Nott of anything!

+25 to Nott the Best Detective Agency/Detective Work and Beau/Nerdom as Beau is the one to find the map of the area to have Jester copy, alongside Nott’s excellent vision catching Melora’s tree at a distance. Then, Nott’s investigation of the tree alone demonstrating Admirable Detective Curiosity, while Beau is the only person to recall exactly what the tree is and its significance to the Wildmother and the Calamity. Jester finding their target running his hands along some mountain in the Prenumbra Range, looking for the correct place to put the emblem that he bought from the scout courier.

+3 to Essik/The Mighty Nein as he is “proud” that they’re hanging out cheerfully in the middle of the Badlands. At this point Essik seems to have just accepted that they’re a dumpster fire and has resolved to pat them on the head so long as they do the bare minimum and keep themselves alive. A few days from now they’ll give him a call from the bottom of the ocean, yes yes that’s very good children, we’re very proud of you here and that’s what I’ll tell anyone who asks because it’s not like I staked any part of my reputation on backing you to the Bright Queen or anything.

#fjorester #beauyasha #beaujester #lavorregard #bashter #widofjorester #widofjord #fjorclay #nott the best detective agency #widojest #jestasha #critical role #cr spoilers #clayleb #shipping calculus #late and lacking in jokes because I've been busy feeling sad about pirates #and work #clayvorre

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retro-rudy · 4 years ago

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Logic- No Pressure Album Review

In summation of Logic's career, the foremost qualities that can’t go unnoticed is the dedication, respect and admiration the man has always had for the art of hip-hop. From the beginning, dating back to his Young Sinatra mix-tape series, in an era where trap beats were overtaking hip-hop, Logic arrived as a breath of fresh air with his conscious driven lyrics and entertaining flow, fueled by the boom-bap style he enjoyed from earlier influences such as Wu-Tang Clan, A Tribe Called Quest, and Mos Def. Logic lived up to the hype and expectations by delivering a successful debut album and painting a promising future, in which, considering how the industry measures success, Logic went onto surpass by reaching the heights of mainstream play and various award nominations with his next 2 studio albums. Amid the commercial success came the broader spotlight, the very one that emphasized his every move, and drew fluctuated criticism to an all-time high for the Maryland emcee. The challenges for Logic however were not the subjective opinions people had towards his music, but rather stemmed from the more personal jokes, memes, and the non-music related opinions that seemed to overshadow the music he was creating for audiences. In 2019, these unfortunate circumstances led Logic to step away from music and social media for some time with no public explanation to the reasoning of his hiatus. That was until the ever so unpredictable 2020 saw Logic emerge with a staggering album announcement accompanied by an unexpected retirement announcement.

Logic, returned in 2020 as many anticipated, with his 7th and final studio album, No Pressure. The joint announcement of album date and retirement came on July 16th, just one week before the set album release date. While the announcement was abrupt and left many with lingering questions, the 1 week wait would eventually lead fans to the clear reasoning of his decision through No Pressure’s foundation of honest and convincing lyrics.

Right out of the gates, Logic sets the tone and premise of the direction he will take the album on the opening track, No Pressure Intro. Logic applies audio from the famous Orson Wells “The Hitchhiker” introduction, which Logic chops and edits perfectly to bring us into the album. Within the edits, Logic cites No I.D and The Incredible True Story to give the intro a fun twist that adds the thematic touch many have grown accustomed to in Logic’s discography. The fundamentally ear-hitting boom-bap beat produced by NO I.D could not have been curated any better for Logic on the opener. Logic and the instrumental go hand in hand as he delivers bar after bar for over a minute and a half before reaching an abrupt interruption that catapults you into the next track. “B*tch I’m too alive, like twins in a womb, come hither, consume” and “But it cost a fee to be the boss it cost to be, over possessions like an apostrophe.” are some of the more standout bars on this intro.

On No Pressure, Logic’s overall mood comes off positive, natural, motivated and unforced which benefits each song on this record in its own way. On songs such as Hit My Line, Celebration, and Amen, Logic’s unhinged and unpressed mind state injects everlasting life and validation to the long peace, love and positivity advocate. Logic’s comfort with his current-self shines through on Hit My Line with a confident, worry-free chorus and candid verses as he persuasively calls on god for a fixing of humanity. Logic’s positive drive has been a stapled message within his raps since the beginning of his career and the messaged remains well intact on Hit My Line and the entirety of this project. The confidence he shows when he says, “They say they don’t want messages in rap, it ruins the art. Well here I am people, yeah, now tear me apart.” further endorses his attempt of leaving it all out for this record with no regrets. Even on the track, Celebration, where Logic taps into his braggadocio side of rap to pen out the worry-free mindset he now has and how there is nothing for him to prove to anyone, you can hear the freeing mentality he has as he spits:

“It’s been a minute now; my style is feeling infinite now. Used to people pulling me down, it ain’t shit to me now. Don’t let it get to me now: threw out my phone, they can’t get to me now.”

These tracks dwell on a cheerful and flamboyant tempo that Logic ceases throughout the entirety of the tracks. The same can be said for songs like Dadbod, Perfect, and 5 Hooks, that show versatility in terms of beat choices and the ability of Logic to naturally execute each varying flow that comes off as effortlessly in this stage of his career.

Meshed in with the collection of the more upbeat and elated-expressive tracks, Logic sprinkles in tracks built off well executed hip-hop samples that serve up a heavier dose of conscious articulated bars. Dating back to the Young Sinatra mix-tapes, Logic has never been shy to wear his influences on his sleeve, and tracks like GP4 and Man i is prove this to the be the case in present day. GP4, a nostalgic tie-in with Logic’s Growing Pains’ song collection, which we last heard on Under Pressure, contains a sample constructed from OutKasts’ Elevators song from ATLiens. Given the track record of various and well-respected hip-hop samples Logic has placed on each of the Growing Pains’ tracks, this one fits cohesively with the bunch. Much like the previous Growing Pains’, Logic leans on his story telling to paint witty and mental pictures of a variety of thoughts floating in his mind. From adolescent memories, to admitting his once determination of becoming the greatest rapper alive now being inessential, Logic goes onto acknowledge how the greatest rapper alive might not even be rapping and is instead stacking groceries at an ordinary 9 to 5 with no care in the world, resembling much how Logic feels at this point in his career. On Man i is, Logic’s maturity and growth flourishes among the inspired instrumental created out of an iconic mashup consisting of OutKasts’ SpottieOttieDopaliscious, Tarika Blues’ Dreamflower, DJ Screw and Pimp C. Logic self-reflects as he looks back on where he came from and what he endured, to which through it all has led him to this point in life where he can confidently say he is sincerely proud of the man he has become. In hip-hop it’s made well-aware that high expectations are to be met when paying homage to classics and Logic absolutely fulfills the task on this one in a form that without a doubt places Man i is among the most prominent tracks within his discography. Open Mic\\Aquarius III keeps Logic on the lyrical prowess and serves as a bridge for fans to connect with the bar for bar artillery the emcee has long had. The beat switch that takes place in this track is superb with the pure hip-hop cypher sound of Open Mic interestingly transitioning into the more jazzy and mellow Aquarius III. The high-volume of bars continues immediately on the following track, Soul Food II. The deserving sequel to one of Logic’s held in high regards track off his debut album Under Pressure. Logic retains the format of spitting a series of bars as he did in the original Soul Food. It’s warming and evident to hear the growth in both, his mentality as a human and abilities of his craft as an artist when you hear both songs in sequential order. In Soul Food II, mentally, Logic remains as humble and passionate as ever while sonically the tone and delivery of his raps resonate with the listener enough to have them capture and break down his every word. This along with the metaphors within this song is what prompts Soul Food II to standout on its own and give its predecessor a run for its money, and dare I say, maybe even edge out the original.

On the last leg of the album is where I find Logic taking the listener towards the conclusion of the album on a pure, passion driven energy specifically due to the openness of Dark Place, and the spiritually motivating Heard Em Say. Dark Place is the first of its kind for the emcee as it is by far the most personal track Logic has ever released. While Logic has been open about personal situations before, it has never been to the degree and sentiment he lets out on the track. What was meant to remain an unreleased and personal track shares a transparent view of his feelings regarding the real toll the amount of negativity and criticism took on his mental state.

“Writin’ rhymes was easy before the fame. Now I’m constantly overthinkin’ every line, it’s a shame. Rap used to fill me with joy, now it’s nothin’ but pain. I’m stuck in the game, tryna get back from where I came.”

The entire song contains some of Logic’s most honest and heart-breaking lyrics that transport you directly to the most difficult year he experienced as a mainstream artist. “I’d love to end this on some positive shit. Hit you with punchlines instead of some derogative shit, but it’s okay to be sad sometimes and tired of shit.. I guess.” Logic becomes as relatable to the listener as ever with his sincerity on here. And while the song might show vulnerability, it’s okay. In the end the fan and artist label are irrelevant compared to the human label we all fall under. Another evident example of the earnest connection between Logic and his Rattpack. Fittingly so, the best in my opinion is saved for last. Heard Em Say easily ranks in the top 5 of Logic's entire released discography for me. From self-producing the song, to writing one of his most heartfelt verses, the song sums up as one of Logic’s most range defining cuts from an artist standpoint. The 3rd verse on Heard Em Say is one of Logic’s best verses from his discography, and impressively so isn’t due to the depth of lyricism, but due to Logic’s infinite passion heard throughout the verse. Logic grabs you with every word and instills raw emotion and inspiration with a hopeful send off in quintessential fashion Logic has long been known for.

After Confessions of a Dangerous Mind failed to reach favorable appreciation within hip-hop enthusiasts, and his fan base respectively; the project left many wondering if perhaps Logic’s better days were behind him. With unfavorable reviews and criticism weighing heavily on the emcee, Logic spent the better part of 2019 and 2020 writing raps vigorously on his Louis Vuitton rhyme book as he mentions on the freeing Amen. Logic stated in an interview with Nick Huff Barili of Hard Knock TV, that No Pressure essentially came to fruition out of his essential love for hip-hop no longer being intact, before coming to the conclusion of ending his career and delivering a final project in the form of which he came into the game with, a project he would give his every ounce of love for hip-hop to, to showcase pure hip-hop built on a foundation of bars and verses made up of the emcee’s best abilities. With executive production from No I.D, No Pressure achieves this and sees Logic set the record straight in his place among hip-hop. In retrospect, while the time apart might have been difficult, I believe both Logic and fans of Logic in the long run reached a perfect ending of a prominent and inspiring career. No Pressure serves as a celebrated accumulation and reflection of the inspiring emcees’ hip-hop career, the final chapter that gives the fan closure and comprehension for his farewell. Logic is now free of pressure and has found happiness by obtaining the greatest blessing in life, family. Thank you for delivering us this classic, and the best of wishes on your future endeavor Bobby. Final rating: 10

#Logic NoPressure hip-hop music review journalism Rattpack YoungSinatra Rap

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theartoflovingthomashunt · 5 years ago

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Rosebud

[Red Carpet Diaries Masterlist] || [Hollywood U Masterlist]

– – – Characters: Alex, Thomas Hunt

Rating: PG

Notes: @choicesnovemberchallenge Day 2: Anniversary; @rcd-appreciation Day 2:Favorite Movie; @choicesjanuarychallenge2020 Random prompt: “Hurry up! Would you?!”; @prompt-nonny RCDAW Prompt #2

Setting: This takes place a year after Alex and Thomas’s first date [fic here], which also places this just before RCD Book 3 (in the canon timeline). As such, Thomas is just starting to realize he doesn’t have a new idea for his next film and is feeling a little melancholy. – – –

“I had this thought,” Alex began.

“Oh no,” Thomas quickly interjected.

“I swear, it’s a good one this time!” Alex assured him. “Today is the one year anniversary of our first official date and because I love you so much, I decided to cancel our dinner reservations and thought we could stay in and have a movie night instead. We haven’t had a lot of time together lately with our schedules being so hectic. It just felt like this would be a better way to celebrate us.”

“You’re right, that is a good idea,” Thomas admitted.

“I thought my favorite hermit of the hills would approve.” Alex caressed Thomas’s face in her hand before softly placing a kiss on his cheek.

****

“Hurry up! Would you?” Alex called.

“You are so impatient,” Thomas protested, returning with popcorn and drinks.

“Can I help it if I missed you already?” Alex offered coyly.

Thomas quirked an eyebrow and smirked subtly. He moved beside her wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Alex snuggled into his strong arms. “What are we watching?”

“On our first date, you told me how important Orson Welles was to you when you were a child so I chose Citizen Kane,” Alex answered.

“A true classic; one with which you can never go wrong,” Thomas responded.

“It’s not only that...” Alex said softly, shifting to look up at Thomas. “I know that you’ve been feeling uninspired since The Last Duchess. Your last film was amazing, but I know in your mind it wasn’t as good. I respect that, but I’m worried about you.”

“Worried about what?” Thomas questioned a bit defensively.

“I know you. I see it in your eyes. There’s doubt and I’ve never seen that before,” Alex explained. “I know Welles is important to you which is why he is perfect for this moment. He made this masterpiece at only 25, the very beginning of his career. Obviously, it is widely considered his best work and yet, he went on to make many other substantial and significant films in his life. I know how much you value your art and craft. You are so very much like Welles, but not every project can be Citizen Kane or The Last Duchess. What matters is that you keep telling stories that matter to you.”

Thomas sighed heavily; his melancholy showing on his face. “As ever, you are completely perceptive. I have felt a lack of creativity lately. Nothing has sparked my imagination. When I was younger films came so naturally. I never really thought about them. Now...”

Alex ran her fingers through his hair and settled on the base of his neck, holding his gaze. “Yet another reason why I chose this film. I remember watching an interview with Orson Welles in my film studies class. He said that it was only when you knew something about a profession that you become timid and careful. When he made Citizen Kane he was ignorant of what the expectations of cinema were. He let his unhinged imagination drive the vision he created day by day. He had no fear.”

“Greatness is not something that can be artificially created,” Alex continued. “You are one of the most incredible filmmakers in the world. But even you need to take a step back and free your inhibitions. Don’t overthink it. Give your imagination time to break free, like when you were a child.”

“I have at least one thing going for me that Welles never had,” Thomas shook away the tears forming in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Alex questioned. “What’s that?”

“You, of course.” Thomas placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. Holding his lips there for a moment while he truly appreciated every moment of their time together over the past year. “There are many things I admire about Welles, but I promise you, I will always be faithful to you. You are the best thing that has ever happened in my life. I never knew I had the capacity to love anyone or anything as much as I love you.”

Alex leaned up so her lips could meet with his. She felt all his fear and doubt in that kiss, but his warmth and love for her overpowered them. Alex pulled at his lower lip, “I love you, too!”

Alex watched as his eyes filled with joy. She knew this wouldn’t be a magic fix for Thomas, but she was content in knowing that for this moment, she had helped alleviate some of the uncertainty that was building inside of him. She reached over to the table and grabbed the popcorn, taking some. “Now, I believe we have a movie to watch.”

Thomas wrapped his arms around Alex once again, placing a final kiss on top of her head. He held her a little closer this time, both of them savoring the quiet moment as the opening credits began to play.

---

Thomas Tags: @the-soot-sprite ; @alleksa16 ; @lilyofchoices ; @twin-skltns ; @hopelessromantic1352 ; @flyawayboo ; @mfackenthal ; @thearianam ; @riseandshinelittleblossom ; @alj4890 ; @rcd-appreciation ; @choicesnovemberchallenge; @choicesjanuarychallenge2020; @prompt-nonny ; @the-choices-fanart-giver

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jahaanofmenaphos · 4 years ago

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 4 - MORAL MAZE

Jahaan had been traipsing through the maze for quite some time now without running into anyone. After his spat with Saradomin and Zamorak, he was glad for the solitude. He knew at some point he’d run into the dragonkin - just his luck, after all. From Sliske’s announcements, they’d been making quite the mess. Recently Jahaan had stumbled over the debris of a broken statue, no doubt their doing.

Jahaan had no idea how long he’d spent in the maze, but it had to have been a couple of hours by now. His waterskin was empty, and the measly amount of food he’d packed had long since been scoffed. The thing about being stuck in a labyrinth was the lack of visual progression. Sure, he’d reached the glowing orb thing first, but beyond that, it was a free-for-all. Yes, he’d solved a whole bunch of puzzle doors and trap rooms by now, but they didn’t show any signs of lessening. Who’s to say Zaros wasn’t one locked door away from the Stone, or Saradomin hadn’t run himself in circles and was back at the start? Of course, the frustration was exactly what Sliske was hoping to elicit in the competitors. Seeing them squabble and break would surely be amusing for him...

Eventually Jahaan stumbled upon Zaros and company, the deity greeting, “Well met, World Guardian.”

“Hello Zaros,” Jahaan cordially replied. “How are you finding the game so far?”

“It is an unnecessary formality,” Zaros replied, betraying no emotion. “Sliske loves to caper and play the fool, but his time now is almost at an end.”

“You expect to win the game?”

“It is not a question of winning or losing,” Zaros stated. “I have never seen the need, or felt the desire, to participate in mortal entertainments and this is no different. I have made sufficient effort to ensure that whatever the outcome, things will transpire according to my design.”

Jahaan narrowed his eyes, warily. There was something subtly threatening about Zaros’ tone, something insidiously ominous, but Jahaan didn’t want to delve too much into it now, lest he accidentally make another enemy here.

But if I get the Stone, how would that fit into Zaros’ plan? Jahaan couldn’t help but muse to himself.

Such a thought only spurred Jahaan on, not wanting to waste any more time with idle chit-chat. He admired Zaros, but not enough to relinquish the Stone to the deity, should he claim it.

But before he left, he desired a small word with Azzanadra, who looked a lot more sullen and morose than usual. The Mahjarrat seemed to be staring off into space.

“Azzanadra?” Jahaan called.

The Mahjarrat looked up, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. “Apologies, World Guardian. My mind was elsewhere.”

“That’s okay,” Jahaan was slightly worried about Azzanadra’s tone but thought better than to question it. Mahjarrat hated talking about their feelings at the best of times, but in front of their god? Not a chance. But Jahaan had been hoping to run into Azzanadra, so he pushed his concerns aside for a moment and said, “When I met with Wahisietel, he said another Ritual was on the horizon. Did one actually happen?”

Azzanadra nodded, gravely. “A Ritual was conducted, but Sliske did not attend. It does not seem to have affected him, though. Not yet, anyway.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jahaan asked, having ideas of his own but hoping for some clarity.

Clearing his throat, Azzanadra’s eyes darted to Zaros and Char, refusing to meet Jahaan’s own. “Apologies, Jahaan. We can discuss this after the Stone has been claimed.”

Azzanadra strode off down the corridor, Jahaan numbly watching him go. He looked to Zaros in hopes of an explanation, but only received a courteous, “I must continue. Perhaps we will meet at the end, World Guardian.”

Strisath and Sithaph had separated from Kerapac at the start of the labyrinth, not caring for the more reserved strategy of the Dactyl dragonkin. No, the Necrosyrtes didn’t have the patience to follow Kerapac’s lead, instead taking to barrelling through the labyrinth like an unhinged tornado. Unsurprisingly, they hadn’t gotten far in the labyrinth, save for the few mask-based riddle doors they got through by pushing every button until the door yielded. They shrugged off the static shocks they endured like they were pinpricks.

Wings didn’t help them, though they insisted on repeatedly trying to fly over the walls, the forcefield stopping them every time.

Unfortunately for Armadyl, he just so happened to run into these dragonkin.

Armadyl’s breath caught in his throat as soon as he saw the dragonkin storm around the corner, halting his avianse and trying to subtly move in front of them to protect them.

Gulping, he whispered to his entourage, “Stay back. Don’t provoke them.”

As soon as Strisath and Sithaph locked eyes with Armadyl, they stalked over, a hoarse gargle from a forgotten flame dying in their throats.

“Why so scared, little budgie?” Strisath taunted, hungry eyes raking up the avianse god’s tall frame.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Armadyl tried to sound confident, but his tone was wavering.

“Nor we with you,” Sithaph’s tone was taunting and cruel. “Why would we fight the ‘Great Armadyl, holder of the Siphon’?”

“‘Great Armadyl, Beheader of Bandos’,” Strisath joined in with a cackle, skulking around to block one of Armadyl’s exits.

“‘Great Armadyl, Stone Coveter’,” Sithaph hissed, a strangled rasp of a sound.

Trying to quell his shaking, Armadyl let out a long breath and began, “Look, I am not interested in the Stone. Not personally. I want to lock it away, far away from any gods. I'm here to end this. And I could help all of you! I may be powerless here, but away from this game - I would free you. I would try to free you!”

Sithaph tilted his head to one side, licking his lips with a forked tongue. “You would do that for us? You would set us free? We wouldn't feel this... rage, this strength in pain? It would be gone?”

Sighing with relief, Armadyl excitedly continued, “Yes, all of it! I would dedicate myself to returning you to your noble roots, I-”

He was cut off by having to duck a fireball that was aimed too close to his head. Smoke huffed from Strisath’s nostrils as he grunted, “Foolish pigeon, it would be easier to rip out your stupidity than rip out the Stone's curse.”

Sithaph barred his fearsome set of teeth. “You stand here, with the gift of the elder gods removed from you, and claim to save us? Arrogant bird. The fury of the dragonkin cannot be quelled! Not by you, and not by any of the other pathetic creatures that call themselves gods…”

With that, they both let out an ear-piercing scream in tandem and bolted down the next corridor.

Armadyl watched them go, thankfully with a pride more singed than his feathers.

Once again, a vexing puzzle door blocked Zaros and his entourage from progressing in the maze. The puzzle blocking the door in question was a mechanism of sorts, one comprised of a dial that could only be solved by deciphering the rune symbols surrounding it. There were dozens of potential combinations, but Zaros had soon figured out the correlation between the composite runes in an incorrect colour and the number of twists required on the dial. A good twenty minutes at a previous gateway had led to that discovery and, to their relief, Sliske had been consistent in his solutions.

When they walked through, who was there to greet them at the other side, but Zamorak and his entourage.

The thick tension between the two groups was suffocating, a choking silence of calculations and false bravado.

Of all of them, Azzanadra was the first one to break the silence. “Well… this takes me back.”

“Be silent, worm,” Lord Daquarius warned. “You are in the presence of a god!”

Licking his lips, Azzanadra cracked a challenging sneer. “Do you have any idea who we are?”

“Relics of the past who should have stayed buried,” Lord Daquarius spat back, clutching onto the hilt of his sword.

“Better a relic than an usurper!” Char boldly retorted.

“Enough, all of you,” Zamorak groaned, exasperatedly. “Zaros, Azzanadra… it’s been a minute.”

Azzanadra replied, “We seem to be running into each other a lot these days,” he squinted at Moia. “I do not recognise the company you are keeping. What is she supposed to be?”

Zamorak introduced, “This is Moia. Lucien's daughter.”

Azzanadra’s face turned a sickening shade of disgust. “Lucien's… daughter? How? But… her face. What is wrong with her face?”

“I am half-human,” Moia announced, lifting her chin in dignified defiance.

“Half?” Azzanadra choked. “But that is not possible… my lord, did you know of this abomination?”

“Yes,” Zaros confirmed. “But she is not important. The secret of her creation died with Lucien.”

“Thankfully!”

“But I could be the future of our race!” an insulted Moia protested.

“Our race?” Azzanadra spluttered through the indignity. “Better to not have a future than this… this 'hybrid'!”

“Zamorak told me you were a self righteous fool,” Moia growled, baring her teeth. “I see now how right he was!”

Shaking his head, Azzanadra asked, “Zamorak, how can you stand to be around this 'thing'?”

Zamorak simply replied, “Moia is a loyal follower. She is also perfectly capable of speaking for herself.”

Still, Azzanadra persisted, “My lord, we cannot let this abomination roam free. It is an insult to the Mahjarrat. We must kill it!”

“We must do nothing of the sort,” Zaros firmly disuaged. “Moia is here as Zamorak's agent, and Zamorak and I have come to an understanding, as you should remember.”

“Oh, really? And here I was hoping for the big showdown…”

Zaros audibly sighed. “Hello Sliske.”

“By all means, don’t let me disturb you,” Sliske continued, his honeyed voice dripping through everyone’s last nerve like acid. “I really am sorry to have missed that shindig on Freneskae. You two finally kiss and make up, hm?”

Zamorak’s grin turned malicious. “Sliske! You know, I really wish you had made it to the Ritual,” he flashed a devilish sneer at Azzanadra. “It would have been fun to see some of your closest companions finally prove they were sick of you.”

At this, Azzanadra started to storm forward, but Zaros held an arm out to stop him.

“Come on Zaros, let them get it out of their system. After all, I’ve stripped you all of your powers. Even Azzy’s feeling the effects. It would be fun to see a little fist-fight between him and Zammy.”

“Be quiet, Sliske,” Zaros warned, coldly.

Naturally, it was a warning Sliske did not heed. “Then Zamorak, maybe you could take Zaros on personally? After all, you’ve already spent an eternity without your god powers. You KNOW how to fight. You could easily take him.”

Zamorak had had enough. “Shut the FUCK UP Sliske!”

Sliske tutted. “Oh, Zammy, you're still such a bore. Go on, then. Go back to your disappointingly non-violent squabbling.”

“It is time to leave,” Zaros announced.

“Actually, I wanted to speak to you alone, Zaros,” Zamorak’s tone was measured, his anger dissipated.

Char boldly interjected, “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of all of us, usurper.”

Hushing her, Zaros assured, “Do not fear, my child. Zamorak and I have come to an understanding. I wish to hear him out. Please…”

He motioned for Zamorak to follow him to the far end of the corridor, though both deities knew they were being watched like hawks by the beedy eyes of their respective entourages.

“Your followers are very protective over you,” Zamorak commented, looking over his shoulder at the glare Char was shooting him. He waved in return.

“They are,” Zaros simply replied.

“Of course, while we’re both here, stripped of our powers…” Zamorak trailed off, an unreadable glint in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“This would be the perfect time to complete the rebellion.”

“By killing me?”

“Yes. I don’t think they could save you in time.”

Calmly, Zaros inquired, “And will you do so?”

After a long pause, Zamorak let out a deep, pent up sigh, and said, “It’s very, very tempting... but no.”

“And why not?” Zaros’ stoism did not waver.

“Because the rebellion’s thousands of years in the past. Because you helped save the Mahjarrat. Because we share a mother? But also because perhaps... I finally realise that I haven’t got shit to prove to you anymore. When you were gone, I conquered worlds. I brought death to whole races and redemption to others. Thousands of years ago I wanted to prove I could be a better leader than you. I’ve since proven that a hundred fucking times over.”

Though it couldn’t be seen behind his mask, Zaros’ lips danced with the faintest glimmer of a warm smile, one he hadn’t achieved in a milenia. “Good. It was always my hope for you that you would fulfil your potential. I simply did not anticipate it coming in the form it did.”

Zamorak felt like smiling too, but he restrained himself. “Yes, I recall you spoke of my potential when you made me your Legatus Maximus, back when I first became a general of your armies and swore to do your bidding.”

Zamorak relaxed his tensed up stance, his face washing over with a tranquility he hadn’t felt since stepping inside Sliske’s labyrinth. “It’s strange… we have not spoken like this in so long, my lord. I feel… 'loyal'...” his eyes grew wide. “Wait…”

Zaros brought a single finger to the lips of his mask, signalling quiet. “Sliske must not know. I will not take advantage of you.”

Zamorak knew this feeling - he felt it many times before, even right before he stabbed Zaros with the Staff of Armadyl. It was the insidious, smoky feeling of having his mind infiltrated, a power Zaros held and administered so easily. The ‘curse’ that Zaros spoke of, doomed to enforce loyalty in the beings he commanded over, never knowing if it was genuine or not.

What the fuck? Was his divinity… somehow not stripped...

However, instead of anger at this unwelcomed familiarity, he only felt serenity. He knew not to ask questions, and he knew why not to ask, because he knew the answers; these questions and answers belonged to Zaros - they were not his own. “Then... this feeling of calm...?

“It is not real,” Zaros confirmed. “Your rage will return. Your rage at me, in particular. But I urge you, Zamorak, for the sake of the warlord who once showed so much promise, and the righteous divinity you have become, do not let it master you. Now, I must depart.”

“Goodbye my lor-...” Zamorak shook his head, clearing his mind. “Goodbye, Zaros.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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starryikevamp · 6 years ago

Text

愛の光

a napoleon imagine.

by: admin xuan

note: in case you were wondering, i really wanted to just title this ““the light of love” but both the count and arthur imagine had “love” in it so being the unoriginal person i am, i gave up and named this in japanese.

There’s many people who would claim to have no fears.

They would either boast, with an impressive inflated ego and a spectacular ignorance, or some others would simply say this devoid of any emotion. The proud, and the dead. But there’s always something that strikes fear into our souls— we are, after all, human. It is natural for humans to fear, and such sources come from million of things, including holes, sharp objects, etcetera.

And there’s one of them. It’s not darker than the rest, but it’s horrible. Nobody human in a sense could possibly come to like it. And this thing, this source of fear, is war.

You don’t know when an area was going to be blown up, or marched down by soldiers, and you don’t know when you might end up dead. All you can hear is the thunderous roar of aircrafts zooming past the sky like ravens meant to kill. To your left, there’s a mother holding her newborn, her hands working deftly to soothe the high-pitched high, while her eyes tremble. On your right, there’s a family who looked like part of their soul left along with their loved ones. The air stinks of uncertainty along with gunpowder, and fire is everywhere, and you don’t know where your feet is leading you to.

If you take cover for a few days, at the best, you would probably stumble upon a man with fatal wounds. There’s a piece of ripped cloth stained with black, a sign of long-dried blood wrapped around his shoulder, and his clothes are burnt and tattered at places. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less spare a glance towards you. He can’t move, can’t fall asleep, can’t do anything except to wait till he’s saved or succumb to death itself.

Fire. Screams. Gunshots. And blood.

Blood.

“...Napoleon. Napoleon? Are you listening?”

The sight of your eyes basked in worry snapped the said man back to reality and away from the snares of his mind. He reminded himself, briefly, that you would trouble yourself to no ends just to make him feel at ease, and immediately rearranged his features to a more relaxed one.

“I’m sorry.”

“Geez, you… oh well, whatever. I was just asking if you’d like to go with me to Theo’s art exhibition this weekend. He was just boasting about it to me this morning.” If Napoleon wasn’t listening, he hid it well. It’s almost like a default mode he’s in, especially when you’re at this proximity to him, he just can’t help but admire you, all while absorbing your words completely. Today, like any other days, you’re glowing. It wasn’t like a harsh glare of the sun, but more like the comforting dim lighting from a bunch of fireflies in a dark field. The type where you can fall back onto the soft grass, and allow those tiny sparks to overtake you gently.

Other suitable comparisons would be like the streak of light across the night sky as it approached dawn, or the silver threads of moonlight. It’s all about light with you.

“If you want to go, I’ll come along too.”

“Really? In that case then, thank you!”

There was only one thing that was comparable to the sun, in his opinion. And that was your smile.

It had been a Tuesday when you told him that, and as clocks tick away, the much beloved weekends finally arrived. The whole mansion was very much alive with buzz, however subtle it was. You and Vincent were of course, the middle of it all, being two balls of pure excitement, jumping around and being all over the place since early morning. The rest would’ve no doubt loved to join in, but it was too amusing to watch from the sidelines than to be directly involved.

Out of the rest, a few weren’t going, but majority was. Isaac couldn’t place the priority of his student’s education before this, and couldn’t join with much regret; Jeanne said he had some business to take care of, which probably wasn’t a really good thing. As an ally and friend, Napoleon would step in, but the former assured that he would be fine, and won’t she be sad if you came with me? convinced him well enough.

Regardless, the rest travelled together, something rare since everyone did what they wanted to do all the time. Until you arrived, that is. Somehow, your smile has been their motivation to do anything, and it was one common goal they all had— whether Napoleon’s happy or not, he couldn’t deny that you did have that effect on people. It was kind of like a drug in some sense. Even now, as you skipped happily alongside him, your arm carelessly linked with his, there was a carefree and beautiful smile, blooming like the most vibrant of flowers. The sight brought butterflies in Napoleon stomach.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

A most nondescript building, just like the one Theo described, stood a few hundred meters away. From here, Napoleon could spy a few people streaming into it just as you spoke. Theo must’ve done something to attract them, since all the artworks were by talented, but unpopular artists. It was truly a kind thing to do, he decided, as the group drew closer to the entrance.

The exhibition, in summary, was an interesting one. Napoleon wasn’t one to pay much attention to the arts, and he realises it even more so whenever Vincent or Theo ask about his opinion on something, or even Mozart. Literature-wise, he didn’t fare as bad, but the point was that he did expect to breeze through room after room in this building. And yet, something about these paintings rendered him speechless, made him feel as if he was sucked into this otherworldly place— the stoic woman, the merry young girl on the swings, he could see all this happening in front of his eyes, like a animated picture.

And then he saw it.

The enormous painting of two worlds merged into one, namely, Hell and Heaven. The way the artist expressed their form of Hell was painful to even look at. Bare, bloody bodies twisting and turning, people moaning for salvation, all while standing atop of a black, burnt mass, and fire could be seen dancing in the background.

It reminded him of something.

Fire. Screaming. Blood.

Gunshot.

The moment it rang out, he stiffened. For a while, Napoleon thought the nightmares that he thought had faded long ago rushed back all to him, and that he heard it all in his head, but there were people screaming, running and shoving past him, and smoke assaulted his nostrils. His reflexes told him to run, but his eyes searched for you; you should be around him, nearby, or with one of the guys, and Isaac was tugging on his sleeve with surprising force, so he caved in and ran to the exit. All was well, or so he hoped.

One person was missing.

“Damn. Damn!” Theo muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

The building was now in flames, shining like an unearthly light amidst the deep darkness of the night, and Napoleon was starting to think that it might not be a fleeting nightmare after all. This was real. There were kids wailing, people screaming, there had been a gunshot, and there’s a fire. To him, Hell just presented itself in the human world; and to make matters worse, you were gone.

“I’m going in.” He declares to no one in particular.

“Are you out of your mind? We don’t even know if she’s trapped in there for sure. What if she’s somewhere out here, safe?”

Anyone who’s seen his expression that night would’ve said that he looked like a man on the brink of desperation. That there was a insane fire in his eyes rivaling the one right in front of him, and that he ran into the fiery inferno without even a second’s hesitation.

It was hot. Of course it was, with the long tongues of flames licking any surface possible bare, and the wooden structure of the ceiling was about to collapse any moment soon. The cement floor, however, was safe enough to cross, and with a great kick, Napoleon easily unhinged the door to the next room. He seemed calm enough, and one would’ve thought that he’s got his nerves together. It wasn’t true at all, for his mind was a mess of thoughts, ranging from what if it’s too late to what if I don’t find her. His muscles were the ones that deserved the credit for his fluid actions, toned by years after years on the battlefield. It was so vividly imprinted into his mind, and the images flash across his eyelids whenever he closes them. Crimson-dyed dried grass, the remains of a tattered flag dancing its last solo— it makes him sick. Just like that first time, bile threatens to spill out, and his heart is hammering away at his ribcage. He can’t move an inch, nor mutter a single word. It was terrifying to the core, and everything stench of death.

A single, weak cough. Then two. It sounded like heaven compared to the crackling of fire surrounding him, and the sight of you curled up in a corner of the room almost brought him to his knees.

You were decently away from any flame nearby, thanks to the lack of objects in the room itself, except for one painting that’s reduced to blackened metal and ashes on the ground. Your clothes were dirty and soot stuck to your sweaty limbs and face, but all that matters was that you were very much alive, and without anything like a bullet wound found on your body. Napoleon silently held you up in his arms, bridal-style, and although you could barely crack open your eyes to look at him through the sting, the way you relaxed into his arms brought him back to earth a little. It was a reminder, of how you trusted him with your life, and that you two would never be apart in times like this.

And so, just like that, the whole thing ends with the both of you exiting the place from the window in the room. Thankfully, you were on the first floor, but Napoleon doubted that it would’ve been a problem even if he jumped from the second. There’s the rest of the guys, for one, who attended immediately and somewhat frantically to you, and secondly, you weren’t majorly harmed. Napoleon had got you out just in time before you could inhale too much of the smoke, and you obtained some first degree burns, but it was overall a miracle that you should be generally fine after being stuck in a burning building.

Everything afterwards passed by in a flash. The fire and gunshot were caused by a man called Gauguin, and Napoleon would’ve liked to personally give him a piece of his mind, but he entrusted the task to Theo instead. It wasn’t really his part to interfere, especially when it concerns past grudges and such affairs.

He remembers so clearly when it happened. It was nighttime, and there was a gunshot, followed by screaming and fire, and later he discovered that he obtained a bleeding ankle. It would’ve been an eternal night, if not for his love of the dim little fireflies.

If not for his love of light.

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