#am I planning on drawing this? 👀 perhaps

[corvids-corner]

Jasper and Kurt at a fur con wearing these shirts

[theonottsbxtch]

Hi again! It’s 🐴

I have a request for youuu. What if there is a spy!reader that has been at blows with spy!Oscar Piastri? They’re enemies that will eventually turn to lovers perhaps? 👀 I do love me a good enemies to lovers trope sometimes.

SKYFALL PT.1 | OP81

an: hello again sugar! oh my god the fun i had so much fun writing this, it's a short series. i wrote it all yesterday when i was on a massive coach trip up to see my friend and i am now in love with spy!oscar piastri RAHHH, i also had to name this skyfall because that's like the trademark song for formula one

wc: 2.5k

The rain was relentless, a steady downpour that washed over the narrow Italian streets, cloaking everything in a hazy mist. The city had always had a certain charm, but tonight it felt like a battlefield. She moved swiftly through the shadows, the collar of her coat pulled up, shielding her from the cold rain. She’d memorised every turn, every alley. There was no room for mistakes tonight.

She approached the dimly lit café, her pulse steady, her mind sharp. This was supposed to be an easy job—retrieve the data, disappear. But in her line of work, things rarely went as planned.

Inside, the familiar hum of quiet conversations filled the air. Tourists sipped espresso, locals lingered over wine. She took a seat by the window, her eyes scanning the room beneath her calm exterior. The contact was late. She hated late.

Just as she began to grow impatient, the door swung open, and he walked in.

Her breath caught in her throat. Him.

Oscar Piastri.

Of all the spies in the world, it had to be him on the same mission as her.

He strode in with that same infuriating confidence, the same icy precision that made her blood boil. His eyes flicked toward her, and for the briefest moment, a spark of recognition passed between them, but his expression remained unreadable. He was good at that—masking every emotion behind that cold, calculating demeanour.

They had a history, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Their agencies had been at odds for years, and every time they crossed paths, it ended in a battle of wits, and occasionally, fists. Oscar represented everything she loathed—arrogance, superiority, and an unnerving calm that made him impossible to shake.

She kept her eyes on him, but her heart raced faster now. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. He was here for the same reason she was. The data. The intel. A mission neither could fail.

Oscar made his way to the counter, seemingly unaware of her presence, but she knew better. He never missed anything. Every move he made was deliberate, every step calculated. When he glanced her way again, their eyes locked, and this time, the tension between them was palpable. It crackled in the air, sharp and electric, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons. It could have been cut with a butter knife.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew.

Of course, he knew.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain still. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her riled. Not again. Not like last time.

But that smirk. That damn smirk was infuriating.

He slid into a seat at the bar, casually ordering a drink. His back was to her, but she could feel his attention on her, a subtle challenge in the air. They both knew what this meant. Their agencies might have sent them for the same intel, but there was no sharing in their world. It was winner take all.

The only problem? He was as skilled as she was. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little better.

The waitress approached, handing her a folded napkin along with her coffee. She didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. She unfolded the paper carefully, her hands steady despite the irritation bubbling beneath her skin.

"Looks like we’re playing this game again, sweetheart. Try to keep up this time."

Her fingers curled around the napkin, crumpling it as she glanced up at him. Oscar didn’t turn around, but she could sense the amusement radiating off him.

He was baiting her.

This was how it always started between them. A game of cat and mouse. Only neither of them was ever quite sure who was which.

She stood up, throwing a few bills on the table when she noticed her contact. If he wanted a chase, she would give him one. But this time, she wouldn’t let him win. Not again.

She stepped outside, the rain cooling the heat of her frustration. As she disappeared into the night, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching, waiting.

But if Oscar Piastri thought he could outsmart her this time, he was sorely mistaken.

She moved through the rain-slick streets, her mind racing ahead of her. She knew Oscar wouldn’t wait long to make his move. He never did. This was a game they’d played too many times before, and she knew the pattern. He would strike soon—he had to. They were after the same intel, and neither of them could afford to let the other get ahead.

She ducked into a narrow alley, her hand resting lightly on the concealed weapon at her side. Her eyes scanned the rooftops, the windows, anywhere an ambush could come from. Oscar was as subtle as a shadow, but she knew his tricks.

Her ears caught the faintest scrape of a shoe against wet pavement, and she spun around just as a figure emerged from the dark. Oscar, dressed in black, his eyes gleaming under the streetlight’s faint glow.

“Took you long enough,” she called, her voice dripping with challenge.

“I thought I’d give you a head start this time,” he replied smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the rain. He stepped closer, his movements fluid, predatory. “How kind of me, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

She scoffed, her muscles tensing as she prepared for what was coming. Oscar was many things—arrogant, infuriating, dangerous—but slow wasn’t one of them. He’d never given her a head start in his life, and he wasn’t about to now.

The brief moment of stillness stretched between them like the taut string of a bow, tension building, unspoken. Then, without warning, he lunged.

She darted backward, her reflexes sharp, as his fist cut through the air where her face had been seconds ago. He was fast, faster than most, but she was ready. She countered with a sharp kick aimed at his ribs, but Oscar caught her ankle mid-air, twisting just enough to throw her off balance.

Before she could react, he yanked her toward him, spinning her in a blur of motion. Her body twisted through the air, her legs wrapping around his neck as she locked her thighs, using his own strength against him. For a split second, she thought she had the upper hand, feeling his body jerk in surprise as she clung to his shoulders, her weight dragging him downward.

But Oscar was quick to recover. He snarled under his breath, his hands gripping her waist as he spun, using the momentum to slam her back-first into a nearby table of a cafe that most certainly didn’t deserve this. The wooden surface cracked beneath the force of the impact, and pain shot through her spine.

He didn’t stop. His hands were on her throat before she could regain her footing, the pressure cutting off her air as he loomed over her, his expression dark and dangerous. His body was close, too close, and the heat radiating from him only made the fight more intense.

She struggled beneath his grip, her vision swimming as his fingers tightened. She had to admit, he was stronger than she remembered. But she wasn’t going to lose this one.

A wicked grin spread across her lips, even as she gasped for breath.

"Careful, Piastri," she rasped, her voice teasing despite the situation. "If you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask."

For a fraction of a second, his grip faltered, his dark eyes narrowing in irritation. That split-second was all she needed.

With a sudden, powerful twist of her hips, She used his distraction to break free, her legs kicking up to hook around his arm. She yanked hard, flipping him off balance and sending him crashing into the ground beside her. She rolled, agile as ever, and landed on top of him, pinning him with her knee pressed firmly into his chest.

Oscar gasped, his chest heaving beneath her weight as she leaned down, her face inches from his.

"Guess I still have the upper hand, sweetheart," she whispered, her tone mocking, breathless, but victorious.

He glared up at her, lips pressed into a thin line as he struggled beneath her, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed a mix of frustration and something else. Something darker, deeper.

But she didn’t linger on the moment. She leaped off him, her body moving like liquid as she darted toward the edge of the alley, knowing she needed to escape before he recovered.

Oscar was strong, but she was faster. He wouldn’t stay down for long, though. They both knew this was far from over.

As she melted into the shadows, her heart pounding, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had shifted something between them. The game they’d been playing for years now felt different, more dangerous. The stakes had always been high, but now, there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a heat neither of them was ready to acknowledge.

Not yet, at least.

************************************************************************

The sterile lights of the Mercedes Headquarters flickered overhead, casting sharp shadows on the cold concrete walls. Her footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway as she approached the director’s office, her mind replaying the events of the night. She hadn’t expected to run into Oscar—certainly not like that. And yet, here she was, about to explain why she had come back empty-handed.

Her stomach knotted, not from nerves, but frustration. She’d let him get too close. She’d let him distract her. And now, there would be hell to pay.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door to her boss’s office. The room was dimly lit, with a desk cluttered with files and a single lamp illuminating the figure seated behind it—Director Wolff. He didn’t look up as she entered, but the air around him was heavy with expectation. She had been here before—too many times, honestly—but something about this time felt different.

“Agent,” Wolff said finally, his voice low and gruff, as he finished signing a report and set the pen down with deliberate precision. His piercing blue eyes lifted to meet hers. “I take it you have the intel?”

She stood straighter, her jaw tightening. “No, sir.”

The silence that followed her words was thick, suffocating. Wolff leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he regarded her with a look that was both calm and dangerous.

“No?” His voice was soft, too soft, and that made it worse.

She shook her head, holding his gaze. “There was... interference. Agent Piastri showed up. He’s working for—”

“I don’t care who he’s working for.” Wolff’s words cut through hers like a knife. “I care that you don’t have the intel you were sent to retrieve.”

She swallowed hard, knowing there was no good explanation for this. “We fought. He got in my way, and the situation escalated. By the time I—”

Wolff slammed his hand on the desk, making her flinch. “You let him distract you.” His voice was low, but laced with fury. “This isn’t the first time Piastri has interfered with one of your missions, is it?”

She gritted her teeth. “No, sir.”

“And yet, every time you come face to face with him, you come back empty-handed.” Wolff stood, walking around his desk with a measured calm that only added to the tension in the room. His tall frame cast a long shadow as he stopped in front of her. “I’m beginning to wonder if you have a weakness for him, Agent.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Absolutely not. He’s a distraction, but—”

“But nothing,” Wolff snapped. “You’re one of the best agents I’ve got, but lately it seems like Piastri has you off your game. Why is that?” He raised an eyebrow, scrutinising her in a way that made her feel exposed, vulnerable. “Why is it that whenever Agent Piastri shows up, you forget your mission?”

“I didn’t forget my mission.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t help it. The insinuation that she had been anything but focused stung. “He ambushed me, and it slowed me down. I was going to—”

“You were going to what?” Wolff’s tone dripped with disappointment. “Let him slam you into a table again?” His eyes flicked over her, taking in the faint bruising on her collarbone, the subtle strain in her movements. He knew. Of course, he knew. He always knew. “I heard what happened, Agent. And don’t tell me he caught you off guard, because that’s not an excuse I’ll accept.”

She clenched her fists at her sides, biting back the anger that threatened to bubble over. He made it sound so simple. So black and white. “He’s not just anyone, sir. You know that. He’s trained, just like I am. Better, in some ways. I’m not going to pretend that he doesn’t—”

“Better?” Wolff cut her off, his voice rising for the first time. “If he’s better, it’s because you let him be. He knows how to push your buttons. That’s his strength. And you let him. Again and again, you let him get into your head.”

She winced. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know this. Oscar had a way of playing with her, of winding her up, of distracting her just enough to gain the upper hand. And she hated him for it. But more than that, she hated that Director Wolff was right.

“I didn’t let him,” she said, her voice quieter now, more controlled. “But I underestimated him. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You’re damn right you won’t,” Wolff said, his eyes hard. He moved back to his desk, leaning on it as he folded his arms. “Because next time, if you fail to retrieve the intel because of him, I won’t be so forgiving. This is your last warning, Agent. I expect results. Not excuses. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” She said, swallowing her pride. She couldn’t afford to push back. Not now.

“Good.” He didn’t soften, didn’t let her off the hook. Instead, he straightened and looked down at her with a calculating gaze. “We have a mission coming up. A big one. I was considering putting you on the team, but if you’re going to let Piastri get the better of you again, I’ll reconsider.”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. “I’ll handle him.”

“You’d better,” Wolff said, his tone cold. “Because if you don’t, someone else will. And I won’t be as concerned about what happens to him—or you—next time.”

She stood there for a moment, the gravity of his words sinking in. Wolff wasn’t bluffing. If she didn’t prove herself, if she let Oscar interfere again, her career could be over. And worse, the agency wouldn’t hesitate to take out both of them if they became a liability.

She turned to leave, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration, anger, and something else. Something that gnawed at the edges of her mind, though she refused to acknowledge it.

Oscar.

He’d been under her skin for too long, and now, it was affecting her missions. That couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it.

But even as she left Wolff’s office, her heart still pounding from the confrontation, a small part of her wondered if it was already too late. Oscar Piastri wasn’t just an enemy anymore. He was something far more dangerous.

And she had to figure out how to beat him, before he beat her.

part two

[lets-try-some-writing]

For the WIP game, may I ask for something from "Mortal Child"? 👀

My goodness, this was an ask from forever ago so I am SUPER sorry. That said, this WIP is more chapter planning than fic. Still, here's a snippet from what I have! I think I posted the first chapter here forever ago, last year in spring probably.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

‘Almighty Creator, crafter of all beings… if it is devotion which you wish of this foolish son, I give it to you freely.’ 

Standing up methodically, Thirteen gazed down into the Well, observing the shining light of his Maker’s core. Still ever silent, unfeeling, uncaring… Primus did not see him. But maybe… Thirteen could make him see. 

‘I live to fulfill your design. Please, give me purpose! Show me that there is a reason! I will give you everything, I will hold nothing back from you Creator!’ 

Desperation laced his tone as he teetered on the edge. He had nothing to give, no knowledge, no power, or anything else of note.

But he did have his life.

The singular gift Primus had seen fit to grant him.

‘I have nothing to give save what you have granted me. But if it is your will, I return it freely.’

A hint of fear wormed its way into his spark as he began to lean. If this wasn’t enough, if his life ended there without ever having been given a chance to matter-

Well that would be the end wouldn’t it.  

‘Father.’

He called out. He fell. His frame careened into the darkness of the Well and the world passed him by in a blur of color. The light of the surface faded and distantly Thirteen could see Amalgamous reaching into the Well, trying to stop him from tumbling to what was likely his death. Thirteen had not noticed his fellow Prime’s arrival. He had not wanted any of the others to see him in his state… it would only bring them more pain.

‘Forgive me.’

Thirteen wept as he fell, time seeming to slow as he heard his brother Prime screaming out his designation. How foolish he was, thinking that his creator would heed his calls. He was nothing, a speck of dust in the void of eternity. It was presumptuous of him to think anything would come of his devotion. What was one being compared to a god? And now because of his sins, he was going to die and Amalgamous would have to watch. He could only faintly hope that this was somehow part of Primus’s grand plan, if not for him, then for his fellow Primes.

Thirteen pulled away from the world, refusing to allow himself to see as he fell for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, at some point between the dawn of time and the end of all things, his fall slowed and he hovered in a void with only a blinding light beneath him. Looking at the light was agony, it burned more than even the fires of Solus’s forge. A being Thirteen was never meant to witness or understand was observing him, picking him apart with sight alone. He wished he could hide or scream, and yet he knew it was his maker who gazed upon his wretched form.

There was no describing that which Primus was. There was too much to say and yet nothing at all. He was light and he was dark. He was the beginning and the end. All Thirteen knew was that this being was one he was bound to, one that even his very spark was meant to bow before in submission. What was a Prime before a god?

Tendrils of light wrapped around him, touching, feeling, burning. It was torture, especially as his form seemed to break itself apart under the watchful gaze of the divine. Thirteen could hardly think, and yet amidst the torment, he wondered.

‘Is this why you made me father? An experiment? A creature to observe and discard when its time has run out?’

A part of him wanted to be hurt at the concept as the tendrils dug into him, climbing up toward his spark. Yet, as he felt the power of the divine drawing nearer to his core, he could not find it within himself to be upset. At least this way, his life would have meant something, even if it was only as a trial. He could be hopeful that if this was his end, perhaps Primus would use what he was to make something better, something purer than Thirteen.

‘Hush dear one. You are not unloved.’

A soothing voice echoed in every atom of Thirteen’s being. If he had the capacity to shed tears, he would have been doing so bitterly as the comfort eased the burn of the tendrils. He could hear him, Primus, his father was there and speaking. A chorus of voices and sounds so melodic as to be almost maddening to hear. His Creator was perfect, and Thirteen could only revel in the glory.

‘To you I give the most precious of gifts.’

Agony assaulted his spark, tearing and ripping and burning in the most torturous of ways. Despite that, Thirteen felt nothing but joy as Primus uttered his words of comfort. Thirteen had purpose, he had design. With every passing moment of perpetual pain, there was something new forming alongside him. It was a different kind of pain, one that did not burn or sting, but rather ached in a manner almost akin to longing. A burgeoning life, something different from Thirteen and yet so connected to him that no matter the distance, he knew that the shard would always return to him.

‘Know the pain of creation dear one. Know the suffering of new life and cherish it. For this is what it means to be divine.’

The chorus of his Creator’s voice soothed the suffering, and soon, the pain faded away into memory. Everything still ached, but it meant little as Thirteen felt the blazing mote of innocent light burning within him, spreading warmth and a crisp cool throughout his frame all at once. A life, one so small as to hardly be capable of even the most basic of thought remained tied to Thirteen’s own. A gift, a blessing, a new beginning. 

‘Go, devote yourself to your creation. Know life for what it is, and when you are ready, you shall know your design.’

His father’s command echoed in Thirteen’s spark and mind, authority unchallengeable seeping into every part of his being. He dared not even consider disobeying as the void faded away and he was lifted up, light consuming his vision once more. The next he knew, cold ground greeted him, a complete surprise to Thirteen as his frame rattled at the chill. 

“THIRTEEN! Thank Primus! I thought-!” He did not have a chance to react as strong arms lifted Thirteen up, cradling him close. Above him Amalgamous loomed, his ever shifting form configuring as he observed Thirteen, trying to search for damage. Thirteen for his part did not react, his mind focused on the life within him.

He did not need to see it. Something had been altered in him on a fundamental level. Whatever Primus had changed him. He was different now, and the world no longer felt quite so cold, not when the little light within him pulsed, flaring and fluttering around his spark in curiosity that prodded at Thirteen’s mind with the utmost adoration and love. Was this how Primus felt when Thirteen and his fellows called out to him? Was this the joy of a creator?

‘My Little Light…’

The light within him shone brighter, glowing like a newborn star in absolute untainted joy. If Thirteen had the capacity, he would have smiled. He did not understand his purpose, but he knew his mission. This small life within him was to be cherished, and he would give everything to guard it, no matter the cost.

Such was Primus’s command, and so great was the newfound love that bloomed within him. 

[elainemg97]

✨Elain and Azriel’s Winter Solstice 3 a.m. chat✨

✨ACOFAS and ACOSF Spoilers✨

Hello peeps. This time I wanted to draw Elriel on winter solstice after everyone had gone to bed and Elain was showing him her plans for the garden. To me, this was the turning point in their relationship. Not only did Elain gift Azriel the headache powder, their interactions after this moment contained a lot of tension. In fact, in the Azriel bonus, he states that there’s been stolen hand touches and glances. That’s not platonic, fam. He also kept the headache powder on his nightstand and stared at it every day.

All of this gives me the impression that /something/ must have happened that night and that they’re now very smitten with one another. They were /alone/ past 3 AM. Like?? I’m sure the conversation must’ve drifted off to other topics. Maybe they talked about themselves. Their likes and dislikes. Kind of like a date. And most likely, a kiss did not happen, but perhaps the hand touches and maybe a near kiss? I guess only they know, lol, but I’m certain this night definitely changed everything for both of them 🥹. 

Headcannon: A lot of the main cast barely pays attention to them or their whereabouts; therefore, I believe they find solace and friendship in one another. They find moments here and there to catch up and talk about their days. We just don’t hear about it cause Elain is always ignored (and recently very sneaky 👀), and Azriel is always in the shadows 🤭

[hyenafu]

Ahhhh, I'm guessing ya likely only made Team Mushy for PMD day and re-release of Red Rescue Team, but do ya plan to make more art of them down the road?~

Perhaps! I am a big Pokémon fan, after all, and this is hardly the first time I’ve imagined my OCs as Pokémon. I always love to draw Pokémon, but there’s so many ideas, and so little time…

But I am happy that other folks enjoyed seeing them! 💖 that makes their chances of reappearing all the more likely. Especially since only a few people have seen Serperior Rhea… 👀

[lutiaslayton]

I'm sure you've heard it before but I just wanted to say thank you so much for your attentive documentation, translation and obvious adoration for professor layton! Your work is truly a treasure trove for the series and it's incredibly generous of you to share it with everyone! Very excited to see your translations of the novels :) !!

Thank you so much for your message! There are indeed some times I look back on how it started-- Initially this really was all just for the sake of my personal fanfiction research, but whooooo boy did past me have no idea of the size of the rabbit hole she was about to dive into.

It's such hard work that it simply felt natural to share it and spare others the trouble! Especially if it also could give others the chance to not only use my finds for their own fan content (be it encouraging people to draw the underrated obscure character Jeremy Campbell, or... having people genuinely create content inspired from my puzzle theory??? guys it will never not be so, so flattering and wholesome 😭💖), but also maybe, just maybe, encourage them to give me a hand just a little bit hahahahaha. At the very least, I'm glad that my lore analyses are getting your brain cogs running every now and then, giving you new ideas and sharing with me deductions and observations I had missed!

I do wish I had more time to myself right now, because I am admittedly spending way more time than I'd like on stuff that is all at the same time tedious and Layton-related, but that I also can't "really" share here because it's mostly background tasks such as doing research on lost media and doing some coding and cleaning up my local files for the sake of making it easier to find X and Y content + sharing it ASAP... But the thought that it's all going to be worth it the day I get to share it with you all and that this is for the better good of the whole fandom is keeping me going <3

I do think I might need to make a priority that post I planned to write about how I do my translation work without actually being able to speak Japanese. Perhaps if I finish and publish that post some of you guys will be motivated to help me translate things faster 👀

[bobbinrobins]

Do you have any headcanons for Ground Bird's Nest that you doubt you'll ever be able to put into the fic itself, but you still have these ideas? (hopefully with avoiding any true spoilers, of course)

(asking on anon cause anxiety lol)

-🪻(for if I ever submit another ask, I guess)

Ohhhh boy do I. I think about this AU constantly and writing this story has been an exercise in self-restraint, by which I mean trying not to go overboard with the scope of the story by adding every silly idea I have. (I will say once I finish the main story I might end up writing some one-shots...👀)

But til then, here are some of my headcanons!

Bruce and Alfred have definitely installed little pulley systems/dumbwaiters for the kids to get up and down on the furniture with ease. (Totally not because Bruce gets a mini heart attack every time he sees one of them climbing a rope...nope...)

Damian has always admired Titus from afar and begs Bruce to allow him to meet Titus. Bruce is initially very very hesitant out of fear for Damian's safety, but finally relents(also I'm saying Titus is a trained therapy dog so he's a very good boy!). He's super careful about it, because he's not sure how Titus will react, but Titus is just as enamored with Damian as Damian is with Titus and is super careful with his new lil buddy. (Have you ever seen videos where people give their dog an egg and the dog is super careful with it and protects it?) Damian is now preparing to ride Titus into battle.

Once Bruce finds out about Tim's love of of human technology, he absolutely showers him with tech. He'll bring him spare nuts and bolts and wires and batters so Tim can craft away, or otherwise things like an old phone he has lying around, or a calculator, etc. He also very happily fields hundreds of questions from Tim about the topic. The two of them basically just nerd out all the time.

Cass occasionally likes to join Bruce or Alfred to watch TV. She saw someone dancing on it and quickly became enamored. Bruce immediately gifted her in old iPod or mp3 or something along those lines so she can play music and dance to her heart's content, be in alone in her room or out on the counter.

Tim and Damian have definitely tried to sneak into the Bat-Mobile several times and have been thwarted each time. (One night, perhaps...)

That's all I've got for now off the top of my head! (Sorry for the lack of Dick and Jason headcanons; I'm drawing blanks for them right now, which might be because I have a couple ideas that I am planning to add into the story! :))

Thank you for the ask! 💌💌

[kthvbear]

And that part believes every word he said.

oh god, this is :((

“I wasn’t going to. But I will if you do,” he answers. For just a moment, your heart doesn’t bleed but recover, pounding when he draws closer and breathes, “I’ve been missing you.”

this is so confusing 😭😭 AAAA is he still lying?!

“I told you that I missed you,” he says, apparently unaware of his effect on you. Or maybe he knows — maybe he just needs you to fall deeper. That might be his intention, right? “Even if I wasn’t bored, I’d still seek your company.”

that might be his intention..... BDEJSEYD why u hurting me this way rid‼️

Perhaps he’s scared you’ll leave him, ruin his plans and force him to find another prey. He might not be apologetic of his own behaviour after all — just needs to convince you.

😭😭😭😭😭 this is breaking my heart too much 😩😩 and EXCUSE ME, your writing is so elegant?! istg it gives actual royal vibes like no other ❤️

You’re running out of words.

it's the same for me.

His fingers drop to your waist, and then sensually wander up. They stop just below your breasts; he leans in. His mouth brushes your nose, your jaw, and your lips.

NO STOP!! 😭😭 they need to communicate first, from jungkook's pov it is bc of him missing her but oc...? why is she not stoppikg him? her feelings have come too far :( poor babes 😞

“Do you know why marriage would be so bad?” you start. Forlorn doe eyes stare back at you, genuinely clueless. He looks hurt now, and his pain aches in the depths of your heart, too. “Because I’d be trapped in a loveless situationship with someone who saw a way out of town in me.”

she finally said it oh myy good goddd 😭

So you say, “I hope you’re proud of that.”

when i tell u my heart fucking clenched... because what is this torture?

“I never thought this far, I only…”

why the fuck is he not denying any of it?? please tell me he's not telling the truth rn 😭🥺

oh thank fuck it isn't the whole truth. what is it that he is hiding and needs to be done? 😞😞

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was never my intention to break your heart. No matter how much we disliked each other.” His feet urge him to step over the threshold, but your stance is obviously, resolutely against it. “The idea was my uncle’s. And yes, I obliged.”

one hug for u because you didn't let it go completely downhill 🥰

“You could be here only to get what you’ve needed for so long.”

i hate youuu, rid. this is getting </3

But you explained, “The rain falls from far away. We’ll never be able to reach the sky. So feeling it here on the ground, where we stand, isn’t it something big?”

this is such a pretty wording 🥺❤️ how do you even come up with these :((

Wiping at the corner of his lips, he takes a deep breath, and when he’s caught his voice eventually, he asks you, “I think I dreamed of you.” A sudden confession. Followed by a pause, giving way to a question, “Am I still?"

awwwh omg this iss some cute shit 🥺

And then you say, “Tell me about her.”

ooof, a cliffhanger at last 👀👀

argh rid, amazing work ❤️❤️🥺 this was so good, and i am proud of you for being able to finish this!! definitely rooting for the next chapter 🥰🥰

candles & flames: fire | jjk (m)

chapter II: fire

Summary: The aftermath of wicked deception and painful revelations. You’re lost and confused, and so is he.

➳ pairing:Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: oblivious jk, hurt oc, misunderstandings, miscommunication is my brand lol, deception, lies, tension, tears, fights, crying, yearning so much yearning !!!, insecurity, flashbacks, pov switch, mention of past minor character death, jk as a kid, angst!; explicit sexual content: hook-ups, fondling with tiddies, biting, bit of choking, kissing, fondling with pussay, erection, bit of grinding, bit of dom!jk, yearning; the ending </3 ➳ wc: 22.8k ➳ a/n: phew okay, here goes :’) super nervous about this one, and super excited for the last/upcoming one. i hope everything turned out well and that you guys enjoy it. as always, do let me know what you think… i appreciate y’all a lot 🥺 !! 👑🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is part 2 to my mini-series candles & flames !! read part 1 here <3

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TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

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When a rhythmic knocking sounds against your entrance door the next morning, you already know who trudged his entire way down to your house.

Keep reading

[ikeromantic]

Heya!!

I adore the way you write and understand the characters, and so I was wondering if you'd be comfy with indulging me about a little request of mine - ikevamp Leonardo da Vinci x a chubby inexperienced MC? 👀 I melt at even the tiniest of touches and I'm wondering how this lovely scoundrel would deal with someone like that. In any case, I hope you're doing swell!!💕

This was harder than I expected! I considered going very very spicy with it but I don't know how old nonnie is so . . . approx. 1000 words of Leo and some light touches. A little spicy!

Leonardo found his compagna in the library. She was curled up in a chair, reading. He stood there for a moment, studying her. His cara was not a traditional beauty, he knew, but he found her alluring. Her soft curves, the slight roundness of her sweet face, the curl of her hair against her cheek. She was perfect.

And perfectly oblivious to his presence. She hadn’t looked up yet. Must be a good story, he thought. Leo cleared his throat, but she still didn’t twitch, except to turn the page. He moved to stand beside her chair, letting his fingertips graze her shoulder through the fabric of her dress.

“Wahh!” She nearly threw her book in surprise. “L-leo!”

“You didn’t notice me, cara?” He put his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

She gave a soft laugh. “Well I am noticing you now!” Her hand brushed her shoulder where he’d touched her. 

Leonardo didn’t miss the wistful gleam in her eye or the tender lift at the edges of her lips as she traced the same path his fingers had. Funny, as he hadn’t meant anything with it particularly. But his compagna was clearly affected. Was it only the surprise? Or perhaps her shoulder was very sensitive. He felt the sting of curiosity and the temptation to tease.

“So, what did you need?” She set the book down, careful to mark her place. 

“Just to see you.” He moved to sit in the chair across from her, ‘accidentally’ letting his hand brush hers. 

Her skin dimpled lightly where it met his. She tucked her hand into her lap with a little breath. “Th-that’s very sweet. I thought you were busy today helping Isaac. Or I would have come to find you.”

“We already finished. He left with Sebas to order the parts for this new counting machine.” Leo leaned forward and set his hand on her knee. There were at least three layers of cloth between them, but he could still feel her warmth and the pulse of life beneath. 

“Oh?” She shifted as if to press her leg closer to his touch and then froze. Her eyes darted to the window as heat crept up her cheeks. “I - ah - th-that’s great.” She cleared her throat. “So what did you want to do for the rest of the day?”

Leonardo chuckled. “I have a few ideas.” He let his eyes caress her curves, following the plush lines of her body, the swell of her breasts and hips, the slight gather of fabric between her thighs. 

“Want to share?” She glanced at him shyly, still not turning her head to face him.

“More than you know.” He grinned. Leo let the tip of his index finger draw a line up her leg. There was no missing the shiver that swept up from that light contact through her body. 

Leonardo stood and went to check the library door, making sure it was locked from the inside. He hadn’t planned to linger, but her reactions were so precious that he felt a certain eagerness to see what else she might do. He didn't want to shift the mood, the tension between them. 

She watched him with wide eyes. “Did you lock the door?”

“From the inside. Are you thinking of running, cara? You can.” He took out a cigarillo and placed it between his lips. Just for the sweet scent and the feel of it there. 

“No.” His compagna bit her lip. “I’m not scared.”

He knelt beside her chair and took her foot in his hand. “Good. You shouldn’t be.” His palm skimmed up the back of her calf, feeling his callouses tug at her silk stockings. “I want you to enjoy this.”

Her eyes shut for a second. “Mmm. Yes. Ok. W-what are you going to do?”

“Nothing much.” He tugged her slippers off one by one and set them beside the chair. His cara was watching intently now, a blend of curiosity, wariness, and desire heated her gaze. Leonardo knew she’d never been properly spoiled. It was something he wanted to change. 

Gently, he began to rub small circles on the bottoms of her feet with his thumb. Fairly innocent, though he could admit to himself it was prelude to less virtuous activities . . .

Her breath shook as he massaged the tension from her, moving his hands slowly up to her ankles and calves. Every so often, he’d find a sensitive spot and she would breathe in sharply, then slowly let it out as his skilled fingers eased the discomfort away. She relaxed enough that she barely seemed to notice when he passed the line of propriety. 

His fingertips grazed the top of her stockings, the bare flesh just above them. That was when her mouth opened in a surprised little ‘o’ and a soft moan escaped.

“Should I stop?” His amber eyes were lanterns, glowing with desire and love. He wasn’t even aware of the way he looked as he gazed up at her, his cheek resting against her knee.

“No,” she sighed. “I - I like it. When you touch me.” 

“Good.” His lips moved against her, breath tickling. The tip of his cigarillo caught on the folds of her skirt. He tucked it away with a laugh.

Her mouth was a thin, tight line, holding back her reaction, though she could not stop the rush of heat nor the tension in her body. 

Leonardo wondered if anyone had ever touched his beloved in this way. Part of him hoped not. There was something to be treasured in believing he was the first to explore her body with her. But it was intimidating too, knowing that his touch would be her first and likely last.

He turned his head to let his lips press against the skin just above her stocking, not a kiss exactly. Just touching. Leonardo was rewarded with a strangled little moan and the sight of her fingers digging into the armchair fabric. He deftly undid the stocking straps and slid them off her legs. His fingers dragged slowly across her skin in the wake of the silk leaving little marks trailing down her calves. 

Her legs twitched under his grasp. More as he followed that touch with his lips. The lightest touch. The tip of his tongue just above where her ankle. His compagna's breath was shallow now, and getting ragged. Yet he’d done almost nothing to warrant it.

“You are so sensitive, cara,” he said hoarsely. His breath, if he’d admitted it, was almost as jagged as hers. "I can't wait to touch the rest of you."

She gave him a wide-eyed look, equal parts wary and eager.

They were in for a long, hot afternoon, Leonardo thought. The best kind.

[soupbender]

I'd love the see the notes for Bad Fortune AU, on Tumblr or AO3 or wherever! Even a bulleted outline can be very entertaining 👀

I love your drawings about the AU where Zuko is a fortune teller!! Thank you for making them!! - AnonFisio

SORRY FOR REPLYING TO THIS SO SO LATE i am trying to finally shake off my hiatus a bit… and okay my notes are thee most confusing thing like even i barely understand looking at them now. but i do have a little segment of the first chapter written in that same document so im including that below:] if i reorganize the notes i may post them sometime since i will never ever finish this particular au tbh 😭

The midwives track rain-wet feet into the delivery room. Outside, the clouds are swirling so dark they blend into the night sky, thick and unforgiving, highlighted only in passing with the full moon.

These are not the proper conditions for a royal birth. Funny, how the heavens do not care about that.

(Or, perhaps, they do. Perhaps that is worse.)

It is nearly dawn by the time Ursa cradles her baby. She lies on a pillowed ledge by the round window, overlooking the gardens. Wind and water whip at the just-blooming flowers; scatter the fragile leaves. There is not a hint of thunder in the sky. No lightning cracking through the stars.

Zuko’s skin is cold as rain against hers.

The sun bursts over the horizon line just as Prince Ozai breaks into the room. Ursa holds Zuko tighter to her bare chest and privately wonders what it would be like to have a husband who she would hold her child out to. Who she would trust to cradle him.

Ozai barely glances at the boy before announcing, “The doctor will prepare a solution. The child will die peacefully.”

“No, please,” says Ursa, thinking she rarely says anything else these days.

Ozai considers, “Fine. Out of my mercy, he shall be left upon a cliff face. If the Spirits—“ here he raises a mocking brow, unimpressed as always in his wife’s belief in such things— “see fit, then the boy will be taken in by some other wretched soul.”

Ursa had not wanted the child, had not wanted the husband, had not wanted the marriage. This is a poorly-kept secret. But with Zuko pressed to her now, her heart speeds at the idea of leaving him (a feeling that will reoccur in her life, but thankfully she is no prophet and does not know this.) “What do the Fire Sages say?”

Ozai’s lip curls, “A reading, that’s what you want?” He gestures to the puddles in the grass, the overflowed pond, “Even I could spout that nonsense with omens like these. Clearly, he shall be no bender. He was not even born under the right stars.”

Here lies the center of the problem. Every member of the royal family has been born by the sign of the Dragon—Ursa had learned, upon her arrival at the palace, that the wedding time was very planned. It made her a little sick. Maybe it was this same sickness which had carried through her pregnancy, maybe that is why the child has been born a month too early. Maybe that is why he has been born a Rabbit—a sign of kindness. Of virtue. The same sign, incidentally, as his mother.

An embarrassment to the royal name.

“Let the Sages tell it,” Ursa begs, a choking sensation rising in her throat, “please, my dear. At least—consult the Firelord first.”

It sends a chill down her spine, the way Ozai’s eyes land on her, the gaze somewhere between wrath and disgust. But it unnerves her nowhere near as much as the way he looks at Zuko.

+++

“You must already know,” is what he says. The words are quiet, gentled by pity. He says them only to her, carefully lowered that her husband looming in the corner might not hear.

Ursa gulps, considering pulling her baby right to her heart and running fast from the Head Sage.

“Get on with it,” Ozai snaps.

The sage’s eyes flick between them, panicked, before he collects himself; before he focuses on Zuko, asleep in his mother’s arms, this child cursed by his very birth. This child born too early and too cold. This child born with clouds over his head; without sun; without spark. Without any great glory. This child whose only piece of luck, it seems, is in being born at all.

“The level of prowess he will reach with bending is… unclear,” he announces, and Ursa’s heart drops to her stomach.

“He’s a bender?” Ozai asks, too calmly.

The sage’s eyes flash, frown deepening, recognizing the awfulness of his own honesty when he replies, “…It is unclear.”

“Roku’s granddaughter,” Ozai scoffs, “the result is just as worthless as his bearer.”

Ursa does not sob. She holds an eruption behind her throat—kept at bay, lock and key. She holds herself inside herself. She holds her heart with hedge cutters.

“But,” the Sage puts in, “he may yet have other talents. I foresee the possibility of a… truly glorious future for him.”

Ozai snorts, “The mightiest non-bender is still a non-bender. It’s a stain upon the royal name.”

“What other talents?” Ursa asks, except it sounds more like begging.

“A special ability,” the Sage answers, “unlike anything the Royal family has seen before. It could be the difference between the Nation’s victory or defeat.”

It is an act of courage, however meek, that the man looks her husband right in the eye when he speaks. That he emphasizes the sentence with care.

Ozai lets out a low, exasperated growl. It is an act of begrudgement that he says, “The boy has six months to spark.”

It is only after the prince and the sage leave that Zuko starts to cry.

“Good job, Zuko,” Ursa mumbles, half-mad and half-asleep, “Good job, darling.”

***

In a month’s time, the Fire Sages will lie about the date of Prince Zuko’s birth. In a month’s time, the entire nation will celebrate Ozai’s heir. In a month’s time, no one outside of Caldera will know the truth surrounding the little prince’s birth.

In six month’s time, Ursa will feed her son a spoonful of ground fire-flower. She will hate herself as she brings him coughing ash to her husband, as he hums his approval of his firstborn bender.

In nine month’s time, Azula will be born a dragon. The sunlight will reflect off Ozai’s sharp teeth, and only then will Ursa realize that he did not smile once the day of his son’s birth. Now here he is, bathed in midday light and summer heat, grin closer to a shark’s than a father’s.

[ninzied]

I am OBSESSED with your Kanthony fics (and obsessed with Kanthony in general so I have read MANY fics)!!! If you're taking ideas, could I inspire you to write one (or do you know of one) where we get more of Kate's backstory? We got so many flashbacks with Simon in S1 and wish we could've had that with Kate, too, especially since her mother's death also impacted her in the book! Maybe impending motherhood brings up those memories?

!! thank you, and thank you for thinking of me! i agree, we could've done with a lot more kate backstory on the show! (looking at you, s3) but i suppose fic will have to do for now ;);) here's a sneak peek of something that deals with remembering her father (though i love your idea about motherhood too, if anyone else would like to tackle that prompt 👀):

.

Kate loves the theatre. The costumes and the spectacle, the thrill of immersing herself into new worlds. The breathlessness of that moment when the house lights dim and the curtains draw slowly, inexorably open. Opera is no exception; though she may not always understand the words, the emotion within them, held tight in every note, is something she feels with her entire body.

Kate loves the theatre.

She does not so much love the idea of attending the theatre with him.

Edwina is the one who had insisted.

.

“Didi,” she’d said, with much excitement over tea one morning, “you love this one, don’t you?”

Kate indeed caught herself looking over Edwina’s shoulder with interest. The black-and-white advertisement did nothing to dull the glow of excitement, practically golden in its color, that she felt at seeing the words there before her.

For the first time since they arrived to London, she was not thinking of things like duty, lost dowries, and securing a future for her sister, if not the true love match she had intended.

She was thinking, perhaps a bit selfishly, of how it would feel to enter a theatre again, that world within worlds, the weightlessness of joy that would transport her at the mere sight of a stage.

She heard herself asking the question before she could help it. “Would you want to attend?”

“Oh,” said Edwina, regretfully, “Her Majesty has invited me to dine with her that evening. But of course you must go! Perhaps Lord Bridgerton could escort you!”

Kate stayed her tongue, but only just.

Even the viscount, who did not usually find cause to disagree with her sister, could not help but voice an objection of his own. Something about the accounts, and there was the wedding to plan for, after all; though his excuses were vague, for he offered no concrete tasks or duties to indicate how exactly he was to contribute to said planning.

Edwina must have sensed her opening, for she was relentless.

“Didi,” she said, in a solicitous tone that could only mean more trouble for Kate. “Remember how Appa used to sneak us into performances whenever the maharaja chose to attend?”

She did. Of course she did. Her heart ached at the thought, like an old scar that felt tender anew whenever it was soon to rain.

Edwina turned to the viscount. “Our father was a most dedicated clerk to the prince, and his efforts often afforded him such tokens of appreciation as getting to take Mama to the opera. Kate and I weren’t exactly allowed, of course, but he would bring us through the side entrances, masquerading us as part of the help, and then we’d hide in the rafters to watch.”

Kate could still feel the draft as it loosened the hair from her braids, the thrill of it all tracing cool fingers up her spine as the first notes were plucked from the strings down below.

Edwina smiled as if lost to the memory herself. “Oh, the music we would hear. And Appa had such an ear for it; he would sing us to sleep for nights afterward, such that the show would go on in my dreams.”

Kate felt herself bristling then. That Edwina would offer something so personal so freely to the viscount – it was not his to know. It was not just hers to give.

And there were things she did not say – could not say, for she was too young yet to understand certain cruelties in this world.

What Edwina did not say was how many times Appa too would be mistaken for one of the backstage hands. What Edwina did not say was that it took no masquerading at all, for all they needed was to show their brown skin, darker even there by comparison, the plainness of their clothes and shoes, and they would be ushered in with nothing more than an impatient word at their lateness.

For some reason, the thought almost shamed her, and she did not want it. She did not want the viscount to have such a kind of power over her that even the purest, most joyful memories of her father could be affected so.

She opened her mouth, meaning to speak on his defense, but the viscount spoke up first.

“Your father sang?”

He was looking at Kate when he asked it, not at Edwina, though she’d been the last to speak. There was a note of surprise in his tone – not quite an accusation, but something within that range, as though he could not believe she would not have thought to mention it to him before.

Kate tried to blink back her confusion. “He did, my lord. Very well, in fact.”

The viscount glanced away for a moment, then set down his own papers. There was an air of finality to the movement, and she thought that was that, until he looked at her again and said, simply, “Then we must go.”

[fereldanwench]

For the kiss prompt, i would love to read the 22 "kisses in the rain" <3

So I guess this would technically work as a first kiss prompt, too. 👀 Takes place right after Goro and Valerie escape the ambush at his hideout:

"Wait, I can't--I can't breathe."

Valerie stumbled against Goro, who was doing his best to keep her moving despite his own injuries. With a grunt, he hoisted her arm over his bleeding shoulder, almost dragging her to the nearest deserted alleyway. He helped her steady herself against a crumbling doorway, dark and out of sight from Arasaka's pursuing soldiers.

"We cannot stay here long," Goro said.

Valerie breathed in deeply through her nose and nodded. Even through the cacophony of sirens and heavy rainfall, she could hear the static and beeps of the corporate communications, too.

As her panting slowed and her vision returned to normal, Valerie noticed the blooming stain of blood on his upper arm. He must have been hit when he rushed back to help her to her feet. She closed her eyes, silently cursing Johnny and the Relic and herself and the entirely fucked situation they were in.

"You got shot because of me," she said.

Goro shook his head, giving her a slight but reassuring smirk. "I am alive because of you."

"For now, anyway," Valerie replied softly. "What's the plan? What happened to Hanako?"

"I believe she was unharmed. I also believe her brother's reckless attack revealed his true colors, as you say. She could have easily been killed in that ambush. She must know that, too."

"So we, what? Wait for her to come to her senses?" Valerie asked, not without some edge.

"I do not know what else to do," Goro admitted quietly.

Valerie studied his face in the dim light provided by the neon signs across the street. His jaw was tight, his gaze low and solemn. Gunfire echoed through the streets, only a few blocks away if Valerie had to guess.

"We need to split up," he said, repeating the suggestion he had made shortly after their exit from the squalid apartment building. Right before Valerie had collapsed and he rushed back into the line of fire to help her up.

The sheer notion of abandoning the one person who had stayed by her side during this entire shitshow was almost enough to trigger another Relic attack.

"No. Nope. Bad idea." Valerie shook her head vigorously. "We're better together," she added before he could say anything.

His lips twitched in another faint smile. "Perhaps you are right. But we will buy ourselves more time if their forces are also split up."

"I don't know how much more time I can afford."

"All the more reason we must move now."

An Arasaka transport splashed down the rain-soaked street, and Valerie heard the unmistakable sound of the van doors opening and soldiers stomping into the asphalt.

Compelled by a boldness that only desperation could bear, Valerie gently cupped his cheek, damp with sweat and rain. Goro tensed under her touch, and she swallowed and started to pull away, but he brought his hand up to hers, covering her fingers with his warm palm.

"You be safe, Goro," she whispered.

"You stay safe as well." His thumb lightly brushed her knuckles. "Valerie."

He all but breathed her name, the murmur almost lost in the city clamor. The high-pitched whir of an Arasaka security drone buzzed nearby, and Valerie knew the thundering footsteps of the elite forces would soon follow, but she still couldn't bring herself to move.

"We have to go," Goro said.

But she still couldn't. Not without Goro truly understanding why she went back for him.

Cradling his jaw in both of her hands, Valerie pressed her lips against his.

Goro stiffened again, his hand clenching over hers, but before doubt could drag her away from him, he returned the kiss. His fingers slid into rain-soaked hair at the nape of her neck, drawing her closer as he deepened their embrace with a hunger Valerie had been sure only she felt.

The marching footsteps grew louder, and Valerie tightened her arms around Goro's neck for one last desperate kiss before they pulled away from each other.

"Go, Valerie. Now," he said.

Valerie nodded and took a step backward, watching him through blurry eyes, before turning away from him entirely.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

For what it's worth, I really am sorry for the prompts 👀👀

Thank you for the prompt!!!

I've had this idea for an AU in which Agustin survives bouncing around in my head for a while now and this fits perfectly. I got distracted and made this way longer than I meant to. Whoops

[TW: crucifixion, possibly very vague suicidal ideation if you you tilt your head and squint]

“Vale.”

Vulpes retreated, loyal lap dogs falling in line behind him and Agustin looked back down at the crumpled ticket in his palm. The numbers scrawled across the repurposed Pre-War paper were unmistakably Vulpes’ handwriting, even with half of them rendered unreadable where the blood had soaked into it.

“Creative liberties” his ass. Vulpes had been there when Agustin had brought the idea of a lottery to Caesar and he knew full well that it had been intended as a way to keep the casualties to a minimum. Pick off one person at a time, give them the chance to surrender. But, Agustin supposed it hadn’t worked the first time, why would he think it’d be any better the next time around?

At least the Golden Valley operation was never intended to be a massacre.

It hadn’t ended any prettier than Nipton. Maybe the intentions didn’t make a lick of difference in the end.

Agustin had seen Arcade draw his plasma defender from the corner of his eye, was well aware that it had been trained on him from the moment Vulpes was out of sight. Vulpes had willfully blown his cover, smiling all the while at Arcade like he intended to eat him alive and perhaps Arcade couldn’t quite glean it from their short encounter, but Agustin was familiar with that game.

Jealous bastard.

Arcade Gannon was everything Vulpes Inculta was not, different in all the ways that mattered. He hadn’t known it when he'd stumbled across him in Freeside, but it dawned on Agustin that perhaps that was why he’d dragged Arcade along with him to aimlessly wander the Mojave. It had been nice while it lasted, playing make believe that he was a good person, one worthy of Arcade’s companionship.

Maybe Vulpes was right to be jealous.

Forcing down the lump in his throat, Agustin let the lottery ticket flutter to the ground as he lifted his hands in a placating gesture. If it came down to it, Arcade would hardly have a fighting chance and they both knew it.

“So tell me, was it always your plan to lead us into a Legion trap or was that just a spur of the moment thing?”

Agustin sighed. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Arcade didn’t waiver, stance firm despite the betrayal etched across his face.

He continued though he was under no illusions that Arcade would trust a word he said. He respected that, respected him. “I never intended to put you in this position, if that’s what you’re asking. I just…”

Had fooled himself into thinking that this time it would be different? That it would go any better than his last half hearted escape attempt? If he truly hadn’t wanted to be found, he wouldn’t have been. He was put in charge of the Speculatores for a reason, chief among them being his ability to disappear wherever, whenever. Freedom had never been in the cards for him. He was too stained to ever scrub the Legion from his skin, too far gone to find redemption. It was self sabotage at its finest.

Arcade didn’t wait for him to finish his thought. “I don’t know if I made this clear enough when we met, but Caesar is bad. I sympathize for whatever inane brand of brainwashing he must have drilled into you, but I’m not going to follow you around at his behest so that the Legion can get yet another foothold in the Mojave.”

Brainwashing. Agustin had always held himself above the tricks that every other Legionary fell for, but maybe Arcade was right. Every year that dragged on frayed his morality further and further and if he could have seen ten years ago where it would lead him… well. Perhaps he wouldn’t have allowed himself to get that far.

As if to confirm, a powder ganger groaned from one of the crucifixes behind him and Agustin had half a mind to shoot him just to get him to shut up. Would have been the kinder thing to do than to let him suffocate under the unrelenting desert sun.

He probably deserved the latter.

Agustin dropped his hands to his sides, palms facing out to prove his nonexistent innocence. He wouldn’t hurt Arcade. He couldn’t hurt Arcade.

“I know. If you are going to pull that trigger I suggest you do it now or forever hold your peace.”

He could see Arcade grinding his teeth, the nearly imperceptible twitch of his finger where it threatened to move to the trigger.

After a long moment, Arcade lowered his gun, not turning the safety back on nor returning it to its holster. “Is this the part where I run for the hills?”

“If you’d like.” Agustin swallowed, did his best to ignore the ache in his chest, to hold on to that mask of indifference he had perfected. “You have no reason to believe me, but I’m not going to kill you.”

Arcade huffed something close to a laugh. “Well that’s reassuring.”

Exhaling, Agustin shifted his eyes to Arcade’s boots. It wasn’t out of shame, though it probably should have been. He just couldn’t bear to witness the hurt on Arcade’s face any longer.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.” His voice quivered, the sound foreign to his own ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed any emotion to seep into his tone, even with Vulpes.

Arcade’s sigh mirrored his, but he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve. Agustin wished he could stay there forever, let Arcade whittle him down to the bone until he was stripped of his cruelty and cowardice. He still wouldn’t deserve him.

“Me too.”

[lucidconsumespods]

Hello! My name is luciddreamarium, my other blogs are:

@luciddreamarium (original art)

@lucidlikesthings (fanart)

@lucidreblogging (purely for reblogs)

I made this blog so I could have a place to keep up with podcasts I’ve listened to!! And to reblog things and perhaps engage with fandom more— or in some cases make an effort to create fandom 👀. Feel free to interact! I work all day and spend a portion of my free time in video games or drawing so replies might be a bit slow but I tend to check my tumblr a couple times a day!

Also please excuse mistakes, I primarily use my phone and the tumblr app sure does function. My icon and banner were just pics I had available on my phone at the time. 👌

Here is a list of all the podcasts I have either listened to or am planning on listening to!