#it sounds nice at least. ive spent longer on worse

[paradoxbeta]

how to make your very own rain world threat theme song!

step one: open up a blank fl studio file

step two: this shoudnt take THAT long, right? like, its just an arp and then you build off from there i guess

step three: oh god the passage of time

[hangovercurse]

Nothing

Part i of the Without You series: When Colson and Megan break up, the boys count on Y/N to piece Colson back together, which only leads to disaster.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Colson being kind of a dick, cursing, a little bit of aggression/ violence. This one’s definitely angsty.

A/N: This was supposed to be just a one part fic. Then that turned into 2 parts. And then 3. And then all of a sudden I had written 5 parts and over 10,000 words. Enjoy 😊 (also this is v unedited so if you see a mistake... mind ya business)

Word Count: 2084

| ii | iii | iv | v | vi |

masterlist

When you got the text from Rook, you knew it was probably gonna be bad. 

Megan just left him, for good. Not gonna be pretty the next few days so maybe don’t come by anytime soon. 

Your heart broke for your best friend. Colson had been really in love with Megan. And as much as you hated seeing them together for your own personal reasons, you could tell he was really happy. 

Ok. Let me know if you guys need me. If it gets bad I can take Casie for a few days. Take care of him for me pls. 

You and Colson had been friends for years now. You knew almost everything about each other, you told him everything. He let you crash at his place after your ex kicked you out, and you had spent many hours curled up with him, watching stupid movies to distract him from his most recent breakup or mental breakdown. 

But this was different. Colson told you he wanted to marry her at some point, and you knew he wasn’t lying. And you couldn’t blame him. As much as you hated no longer being the only women (other than Casie) in his life, you couldn’t dislike Megan. She was just one of those people who everyone loved. 

The thought of texting Colson crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure if it would hurt or help. From the sound of it, he was a wreck.

So, naturally, you texted Pete. 

Have you talked to Cols yet?

With Colson came Pete, or came you, you weren’t really sure. Somewhere along the way you and Pete had become close friends. He was like the older brother you’d never asked for, and he would probably say something similar about you. 

You couldn’t really explain it, Pete could read you like a book. And because of that, he knew everything. He was the only one to catch on to the way you sometimes looked at Colson for too long, or got irritated when he’d bring a new girl around. 

I’m heading over there right now. You should talk to him.

You rolled your eyes.

Not sure that’s the best idea. You guys are better at handling... all that. Once he gets a little less angry then I’ll take him. 

Pete texted you back a few minutes later.

Thanks for the support, kid. I’ll keep you updated. Just pulled in.

Good luck, Petey.

You tossed your phone on your bed, a sigh leaving your lips. You decided worrying was a problem for another day.

No more than 12 hours later you were getting a phone call from Rook. 

“Dude it’s like 4 in the morning, why are you calling me.” 

“Y/N, we’ve tried everything. He’s locked up in his room and every time one of us tries to talk to him he blows up. Literally he almost punched Slim a few hours ago.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, groaning at the predicament. “So now you want me to come over?” You asked, “What do you think I’m gonna be able to do?”

“Well he’s not gonna try and hit you for one. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s significantly nicer to you than to anyone else.”

“What do I even say to him? “Sorry that the love of your life broke up with you but at least we can smoke pot and watch Spongebob?” I mean come on, man. I’m not good at this.”

“Please.” He pleaded, “We’re all out of options and I can’t stand to see him get any worse than he is.”

You moved off your bed and towards your dresser. “Fine, I’ll be there in 15.” 

You threw on the first pair of sweatpants you could find and slipped on shoes, grabbing your key and heading out the door.

True to your word, you pulled up to the house 15 minutes later, parking on the side of the street and heading straight into the house. When the guys saw you, they visibly brightened up. 

“You guys are such fucking wimps.” You rolled your eyes as you made your way towards the stairs. 

Baze chuckled, “We love you Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and continued on your way, stopping by Casie’s room to see if she was asleep. To your surprise, she wasn’t. 

“Hey sweet girl,” you whispered as you entered her room, “why are you still up?”

She smiled a little when she saw you. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m really worried about Dad.” 

You leaned on her doorframe, sending her a sad smile. “I am too. But he’ll be okay. Your dad’s pretty tough.”

“I know,” she sighed, “but he really liked Megan.”

“Did you?” You ask, trying to gauge her emotions. 

“I mean, I guess so. She was nice to me. Most of his girlfriends aren’t that nice to me.” 

“That’s a pretty shitty way to measure if you like someone or not.” She giggles at that. “Don’t tell your dad I said that word in front of you.”

“Ok. She was nice. And she made him happy so, yeah, I guess I liked her. Not as much as I like you but...” Casie’s voice got higher as she dragged out the last word and you just rolled your eyes with a chuckle. 

Casie had this fantasy of you and Colson getting married one day, but you always told her it would never happen. 

“Ok kiddo, whatever you say.” You teased her, “try and get some sleep, okay?” 

She nodded with a smile. “Are you gonna go talk to Dad?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay? If you need to come over and talk or stay the night or anything just call me, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” She said quietly. 

“Love you too, Case.”

You shut the door to her room, moving down the hallway to Colson’s door. You took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, and knocked. 

“I told you guys to go the fuck away.” A muffled yet angry voice said from the opposite side of the door.

“It’s me, Cols. Y/N.” You said, hoping he could hear you. 

When you got no response you asked, “Can I come in?” 

A few more seconds of silence followed, and then the lock clicked and the door opened. You stood face-to-face with your best friend. His hair was a mess, falling in his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than ever, and the frown he wore made him look even more pathetic. You felt your heart breaking. 

As you met his eyes, you gave him a sad smile. “Hey Cols.” 

Instead of responding, he wrapped his arms around you, leaning down and resting his head on your shoulder. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. 

He started walking backwards, pulling you with him as he continued to hug you. One of his hands pushed the door shut and he sat on his bed, finally letting go of you. 

You looked down at him, grabbing his hand and holding it in your own. It was something you had done before, you two were very touchy people and so half of your friendship was just you two cuddling or play fighting or holding hands.

“So we can do one of three things,” you started, “We can talk about it, we can cuddle and watch something stupid and pretend nothing’s wrong, or we can get high and do something stupid.”

For the first time in what you would imagine to be all night, Colson smiled. it was a very small smile, but you took it. 

He looked up at you through his eyelashes. “And by stupid you mean...”

You rolled your eyes, “I mean we can go set off bottle rockets in the backyard or try to jump off your roof and into the pool.” 

“Oh damn. I was hoping you were gonna say you would suck my dick.” 

Your eyes widened at his bluntness and the implication. You shoved his shoulder, “Colson! That’s gross!” You giggled, but his expression was unwaveringly serious. 

“I’m being serious.” He deadpanned and you furrowed your eyebrows. 

“Colson what the fuck?” Your mind was spinning trying to figure out if he was joking. 

You got your answer when he stood up, grabbing your waist and leaning over you. “I thought you’d want to...” 

You took in a breath at the sudden proximity, trying to back away from him but his grip remaining firmly on your waist. “Colson, stop. Please. This isn’t funny.” 

You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. He’s drunk, and sad, and doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

“I thought you’d want to, cause it’ll make me happy. And you’ll do anything to make me happy.” One of his hands reached up and grabbed your jaw, making sure you couldn’t look away.

“Colson you’re being a fucking weirdo, let me go.” You raised your voice. Your heart was racing at this point and the thoughts flowing around your head were not pretty. 

You were always anxious for the day he’d figure you out. When he’d finally realize how you felt for him. But this was worse than anything you’d thought of. 

“You’ll do anything to make me happy because you love me, right?” 

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, wanting nothing more but to look away from his sinister expression. The way he was looking at you made it very clear that he was enjoying your discomfort, your embarrassment. 

“Colso-” 

He walked forwards, pushing you gently against the wall. His arms went to either side of you, his face inches from yours. You tried to look away, but his hand on your jaw forced you to face him.

Any other time you would have loved for Colson to pin you against his wall, but this was wrong. 

“Just say it. Say you’re in love with me, and I’ll drop it.” 

“Colson, what the fuck are you on right now?” You tried to steer the topic away from you, but he wouldn’t have it. 

“Say it.” 

You reached up to try and push his chest away from you, but he was much taller and stronger than you, so you did nothing. 

“Just tell me!” He yelled at your silence. A tear slipped down your cheek as you trembled under him. His face was red and his eyes were watering. 

 “Why are you doing this?” You whispered. This all felt like a bad dream, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“Because I need to know if she was right.” His voice got a little quieter, but he still wouldn’t move away from you. “I need to know if the reason the love of my fucking life just left me is true.”

You were shaking, your breaths getting shorter. “What are you talking about.” Your words were choked. The grip on your jaw started to get a little too tight.

“I defended you!” He yelled, tears falling from his face. “She told me that you were in love with me and I defended you.”

“Colson you’re hurting me.” You whined, trying to wriggle your way out of his grasp. He ignored your statement and continued talking, but his grip loosened slightly.

“And then she told me that she thinks I’m in love with you.” His voice was getting darker. “And that’s why she left. So I want to make it very clear to you.” He paused, leaning closer to your ear. “I will never love you. Ever. Not now, not in a million lifetimes. You mean nothing to me.”

Your vision was blurry from your tears, so you blindly reached out to push him away from you. His body seemed to have given up, as he moved backwards out of your way, stumbling slightly. Through your tears you could make out a smug smile on the man before you ran out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

You ran down the stairs, the guys waiting for you to give them good news, but their hope turned to concern once they saw you. You walked straight past them towards the door, not trusting yourself to say anything without breaking completely.

As you reached for the door handle you heard a faint yell from upstairs, followed by loud banging, and then silence. You sniffled, turning the handle and leaving the house, much to the protest of your friends.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Then & Now (Ethan x MC)

Summary: A particularly difficult case forces Ethan to confront a blast from his past

A/N: This popped into my head and I had too much fun writing it. I will loosely incorporate some of the themes from book 3 and make them better, but this is mostly an AU.

A/N 2: Yes I’m writing another multipart fic while actively ignoring my others. The muses spoke and I had no choice in the matter. Enjoy!

~v~

“Would you like some more coffee, Dr. Ramsey?”

Whatever line he was reading in his textbook blurs as does his vision. Ethan looks up at the face of the newest member of the team, a young resident, Isabelle. He takes the cup, not missing the way her eyes light up as he does so. What is it with residents and their incessant need to kiss-ass and be people pleasers?

“Thank you, Dr. Proctor.”

“Of course! I figured we’d need all the caffeine we could get our hands on with this case.”

Ethan doesn’t respond with words, only offering the young woman a hum in acknowledgement. Instead his eyes land on his coworker, Harper Emery. “Harper, has your team been able to come up with anything new?”

“Nothing,” Harper replies with a resigned sigh.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve run as many tests, MRIs and CT scans as I could, and none of them came back with anything conclusive. We’re officially back to square one.”

Ethan hasn’t been this stumped in years. A week ago, a patient came to Edenbrook after waking up without being able to feel anything from the waist down. A young, relatively healthy 25 year old with no extraordinary medical history, no recent reports of any TBI, nothing. He assumed with Harper–one of the nation’s greatest neurosurgeons–on the case, that this would be a simple fix.

As painful as it is to admit, he’s wrong.

They’ve gotten nowhere with the case, they’ve made no progress, and to make matters worse, he has Leland Bloom and the board breathing down his neck because it’s been years since the team has spent more than a week on a case, so a week with no news reflects poorly on them—on him, as the team’s leader specifically.

The last member of the team, Tobias, clears his throat. “Did he ever mention getting into a fight? Maybe he took a hit to the head, and just doesn’t want to admit it?”

“Maybe, but like I said, none of the CT scans or MRIs showed me anything out of the norm,” Harper says. “I can always ask him again.”

“That’d be ideal–”

Ethan’s sentence is cut off as the door to their office is thrown open, and in walks Leland. “Hello, team!”

The most senior members of the team stay silent, but Isabelle gives a slight wave. “Hello, Mr. Bloom.”

“Dr. Proctor,” Leland greets in turn. “Nice to know at least one of you has manners.”

Ethan checks the time on his watch. “What are you doing here, Bloom?”

“Last time I checked, I owned this entire building and I didn’t need to ask your permission to be here.”

“We’re nearing midnight,” Ethan adds. “What are you still doing here, and not at home? I’m sure Mrs. Bloom would enjoy seeing you.”

Leland ignores the mention of his wife Caroline, pretending like she wasn’t mentioned at all. “I just stopped by your patient’s room to see how he was doing. And then I decided to drop by to check in with you guys. Are there any updates on the Miller case?”

“I’m not discussing patient information with you,” Ethan says.

“Well, I am your boss.”

“And until you go to medical school, graduate, become a doctor at this hospital, and join in on this case, I don’t have to tell you anything. You may own this hospital, but I do not have to discuss my patients with you.”

“Okay, so you guys have no new information,” Leland concludes.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, this conversation giving him a headache even though it just started. “We were actually in the middle of a brainstorming session before we were interrupted, so if we could have some privacy again, that would be much appreciated.”

Ethan’s tone causes Leland to drop the veneer of kindness, the smile dropping from his face only for a second before he catches it. He looks away and sniffs haughtily. “Fine. I’ll check in with the patient tomorrow for a status update, since it’s clear I won’t be getting it from my employees. Thankfully, his father and I go way back.”

“I can’t stop the patient from divulging his own information.”

Leland glances around the room one more time, his gaze lingering on Ethan a bit longer than it does on the other occupants. “Goodnight, doctors.”

Once Leland leaves, Harper turns towards Ethan. “You act like it would literally kill you to be nice to him.”

“Be nice for what? Bloom thinks we owe him undying loyalty and infinite ass kissing because he bought the hospital. He’s pulled a lot of nonsense since moving into this position, but he’s not worth breaking any laws over. My patients deserve their privacy.”

“And I agree, but the extra hostility isn’t needed. The last thing we need is World War 3 with you and Bloom tearing down the hospital. Just be nice.”

“Okay, are we getting back to work or calling it a night?”

The rest of the team glances around each other. Pulling an all-nighter with Ethan while he’s in a foul mood sounds like a nightmare.

“We’re calling it a night.”

~v~

Ethan ends up falling asleep in the office, finally dozing off around 5 o'clock in the morning, surrounded by a mountain of books and the harsh light of his computer screen. The sleep is short lived though as the sound of his pager wakes him up.

He jumps up with a start, and checks the time on his watch before checking his pager. He only managed to get two hours of sleep, but he can’t dwell on that. The page is a 911 alert to his patient’s room.

“Shit!”

He takes off to the 4th floor where his patient is housed, thankful that the early morning hour means the hospital is not yet flooded with people.

Isabelle, Harper, and a nurse are already in the room when Ethan finally makes it. “What’s going on?”

“He had a seizure,” Harper explains.

“How long did it last?”

“Around 50 seconds. We administered lorazepam into his IV.”

“Could this be a new symptom?” Valencia asks. “Or something else entirely?”

Harper shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m going to take him down to radiology for another CT scan. Hopefully this next one can actually yield some results.”

Ethan nods. “That sounds like a plan. In the meantime, Dr. Proctor, add seizures onto the list of symptoms to broaden our search criteria. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Gotcha.”

“We’ll reconvene when Tobias comes in and once we get the new CT scans back.”

There’s a knock at the door and Ethan bristles when Leland’s loud voice calls out to him. “Dr. Ramsey, can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

“With all due respect, I’d rather not.”

“It wasn’t a request, doctor. Hallway, now.”

Ethan shoots Harper a look, and she gives him a quick sympathy smile before he and Leland step out into the hallway.

They move a few feet away from the patient’s door, out of earshot before Leland lays into Ethan. “How in the hell is the patient actually managing to get worse under your care?”

The question actually takes Ethan aback. “You can’t possibly be saying his condition is my fault?”

“I’m saying he’s been here for a week now, and he’s no better off than where he was. You don’t have any information to give him or his family. Do you know how many phone calls my assistant has had to field because they want to get him transferred to a different facility?”

“We are giving him the best care possible, Leland. Just because you and his father belong to the same country club or whatever, does not mean there’ll be some instant diagnosis or treatment that he can buy...or steal. We need to do our due diligence.”

Leland is smart enough to know when a dig is being lobbed in his direction. His eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say, Ethan?”

“Exactly what I just did. Besides, why do you have such a vested interest in my team and what we do? I’m sure you have other businesses and people to micromanage these days.”

“You guys don’t make me any money yet remain my biggest cost. The least you can do is be efficient and answer my questions when I ask.”

“And like I told you last night, I know you own this place. You never let me forget it. But you buying this hospital does not mean I am here at your beck and call, now does it mean I have to be governed under anything that isn’t set forth by the American Medical Association. Now, me team is the best this hospital and this city have to offer, so back up and let us do our jobs.”

“You guys are the best?” Leland chuckles humorlessly. “Act like it. Or I’ll find someone else who can.”

The threat causes Ethan to pause. “What does that mean?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Dr. Ramsey. Loud and clear.”

~v~

“You idiot! Why on earth would you get into a fight with Bloom in the middle of a hallway?”

Ethan doesn’t try to school his bored expression as Tobias paces the entire length of the office, huffing and puffing as he does so.

“I didn’t get into a fight with him,” Ethan amends. “It was an exchange of words.”

“A loud exchange of words,” Harper adds. “In front of our patient’s room, might I add.”

“I had plans for this day to be productive, but the minute that man opens his mouth, I just–”

“We get it, you don’t like him,” Tobias interjects.

“Disliking Leland is an understatement.”

Isabelle stays silent, unable to find a good place to cut in, despite having questions. Ethan’s dislike of Leland Bloom is the hospital’s worst kept secret, but the contention has always been passive aggressive at best. And as a second year resident, she doesn’t have any background knowledge on why the relationship is the way that it is.

“I don’t like him either, but you don’t see me needling him in front of the nurse’s station!”

“Sure Leland is...obnoxious at times, but I don’t understand any of it,” Isabelle says, finally speaking up. Ethan looks at her as if he’s just now remembering that she’s been in the room the entire time. “What happened that caused this much animosity?”

Leland’s kidney disease wasn’t a major secret. Most medical personnel that worked at Edenbrook and the larger Boston area remember the huge media blitz, and all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding his hospitalization early last year. And the official story is Leland got a kidney from a family member who wished to keep their identity a secret from the public, and everyone ate it up.

Only a handful of people know the truth. That a few well placed phone calls and dollars exchanged got Leland to the top of the donor list within a day, stealing a second chance from the true person at the top of the list: a 14 year old girl.

“So long as there is breath in my body, Leland Bloom and his ilk will never get an ounce of respect from me, and I’ll just leave it at that,” Ethan says cooly. “And that’s all you need to know, Dr. Proctor.”

“Okay.”

“I’m just saying man, Bloom is petty,” Tobias adds. “Men like him, who think the rest of us should bow at their feet, don’t take kindly to getting told off, especially in public. Underneath the billions is a tiny ass, fragile ego. Can you just keep a low profile and be quiet for the next day or two, so Bloom doesn’t dismantle this team?”

“I’ll be as cordial as Bloom is,” is what Ethan settles upon. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

The only thing that can rival Ethan’s intelligence is his stubbornness. Tobias knows it’s the best he’s going to get out of Ethan, so he relents. “Okay.”

“Good. Now can we get back to work and stop talking about Bloom?”

His team nods and Ethan sighs in relief.. They still have a chance to turn things around and actually have a good day.

They fall into a productive routine, tossing around different theories, sharing research and narrowing down ideas. Too bad that only lasts for about half an hour before there’s a knock at the office door. A few seconds later, Naveen pokes his head in.

Ethan smiles because part of him was expecting Leland to show up again. “Naveen, this is a nice surprise! Don’t tell me you’re ready to get back in the saddle.”

Naveen laughs good-naturedly at his mentee. “Not quite.”

“Well what brings you down here?”

“I wanted to talk to you for a second, Ethan,” Naveen says.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s not about me, it’s work related. Team related news, that I wanted to tell you personally,” Naveen explains, fully entering the office. “Is there any way I could steal you for a few minutes?”

“If it involves the team, I think we can have the conversation here. Is this about my...spirited discussion with Leland?”

“No, it’s about the case you’re working on.”

“Now I know we don’t usually work on cases for this long, and we’re working on it.”

“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Leland has some concerns about how long it’s taking you guys to treat this patient, and he told me that he wants to outsource some extra help to speed things along.”

“No thank you.”

“He’s already made phone calls. I’m just here to give you a heads up about who he picked.”

“A heads up?” Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. Who on earth could Leland think of reaching out to that Ethan would need a warning about? “Who is he asking for? Mendoza from MK? Catherine Morgan from Stanford? The Boogeyman?”

“I don’t think I’ve reached Boogeyman levels of infamy. Well, at least not yet.”

The voice makes the hair on the back of Ethan’s neck stand up. It’s a voice he hasn’t heard in close to three years, one that he thought he’d never hear again.

His eyes snap up, locking with the large brown ones staring back at him, and all of the breath leaves his lungs at once. The last time he looked into these eyes, they weren’t full of humor like they are now, but pure fire. His chest constricts, inhaling suddenly the most difficult task in the world.

The entire room goes silent, everyone watching as Ethan and the woman stay locked in their staring contest. Isabelle’s eyes dart back and forth, hoping someone can clue her into what’s going on, but Naveen, Harper and Tobias offer zero assistance.

Isabelle takes the quiet time to appraise the stranger. She’s petite, almost a foot shorter than Ethan even with her sky high Jimmy Choos on. The second thing that catches her attention is the mess of dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders, and the amused smirk on her face, like a cat that got the canary.

The woman breaks eye contact with Ethan to look past his shoulder. “Harper, Tobias, hello. Long time no see.”

When he regains the ability to speak, Ethan grits out, “Naomi, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I got an interesting call from Leland Bloom this morning, saying that the diagnostics team was in dire need of some assistance on a particularly difficult case. Within the hour, his private helicopter was picking me up.”

Ethan takes a sterling’s breath and silently counts to 3 before talking again. “I’m not working with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. Not unless you quit.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Drama was never a good look on you, darling, I was always better suited for it.” She turns her attention to the young resident gawking at her, turning on her megawatt smile. “You’re new. I don’t know you.”

“Um, n-no you don't. I’m Dr. Isabelle Proctor.”

“Isabelle,” Naomi repeats slowly, letting it roll off of her tongue. “What a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m Dr. Naomi Ramsey.”

The last name catches her attention. Her eyes flicker over to Ethan’s face, catching the way his jaw ticks as female Dr. Ramsey talks.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head as I talk, so I’ll clear things up for you right quick,” Naomi continues. “No, the last name thing isn’t a coincidence. I’m Ethan’s ex-wife." She sticks out a hand for Isabelle to shake. "Nice to meet you.”

~v~

Tags: @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @cecilecontrera @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest

[imagineyourworld-old]

Timing

Poe Dameron x Genderneutral!Reader 

Summary: You are in love with your best friend Poe, your best friend Poe is in love with you. Is there a chance for you love even though you realize it at different times?

Warnings: Angst, might differ from canon (is there even a canon for what happened after ROS?) 

-------

It retrospect you should have known it was a bad idea. You knew Poe like the back of your hand, you should have anticipated his reaction. But he was leaving for a dangerous mission to Jakku the next day and you couldn’t bare the thought of never telling him how you felt. So you gathered all your courage and did it.  “Poe?”, you started.  The pilot, who was laying on his bed next to you, turned his eyes away from his datapad to face you.  “What is it, honey?”  The way he looked at you made your heartbeat quicken and your hands clammy. Even though he was tired, had dark rings under his eyes and his hair hadn’t seen a brush in weeks, he was the most handsome man you had seen in your life. Part of you knew that he had no reason to return your feelings, he could have anyone he wanted and more often than not invited various people to his room after a night of celebration while you prefered to stay in your quarters altogether. “I love you.”  The words rolled off your tongue as if you’d said them a thousand times before. You and Poe had never shied away from showing or voicing your affection for the other, not when you were kids on Yavin IV, not in the academy and not when you joined the resistance. But this time you tried your best to convey the word’s true meaning, to make him realize what you yourself had realized years ago, that there was no one else for you, that Poe was not your best friend, he was your soulmate, the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.  The man in question let go of his datapad to capture your hands in his. Gently he stroked your knuckles before pressing a soft kiss to them.  “I love you too.”  The way he said it made it obvious to you what he meant. You’re my best friend and I love you. Not You’re the one I have fallen for and I love you.  You shook your head. When you thought back to that day this was the moment you wanted to erase, the one you wished had never happened.  “No, Poe. I am in love with you.”  If he noticed the tremble in your voice he didn’t comment on it. Instead, fast as lightning, Poe sat up straight and looked at you, really looked at you.  “What?”  By now you knew that you had screwed up, but his reaction told you that he had understood you perfectly. It was disbelief that made him ask that question and you had no other choice than to repeat yourself.  “I am in love with you, Poe.”  His eyes darkened. You were looking for anger in them, maybe frustration, but all you found was fear and... regret?  “How can you say that? You’re my best friend, how can you say that you’re in love with me?”  You opened your mouth and closed it again. Poe knew, he had to know, that at least half of the Resistance had a crush on him, so why did it come as a surprise that the same went for his best friend, the one he spent more time with than anyone else?  “I... I just needed to tell you before tomorrow. You know how dangerous this mission is going to be and if anything were to happen I want to to know how loved you are.”  Finally Poe let go of your hands. He ran a hand through his dark curls, again and again. It was a nervous habit he had picked up from his father when he was a kid and usually you found it endearing, but today it only made you feel worse.  “Just forget it. Please. Let’s just watch a holovid or something and forget I ever said anything”, you begged. Tears were shining in your eyes and when the first rolled down Poe, his fingers gentle as ever, brushed it away.  “I think I’d rather go over the mission plan again”, he smiled at you and anyone who wasn’t his best friend might have found that smile convincing, but you knew better. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, alright?”  You didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded. Of course you would see him off before his big mission, you always did. Just as you always spend the evening before the mission together, usually sleeping in the same bed, holding each other close in case... just in case. It had been things like that that had made you think that there was a chance that Poe felt the same way. The secret smiles he sent you, the small touches whenever you were within reach, the way he made it obvious to you that you came first, sometimes even before the Resistance.  Without another word Poe hurried out of your room. It wasn’t until the door closed behind him and you heard a soft beep that you realized he had been in such a hurry to get away from you that he had forgotten to take BB8 with him.  “You wanna go after him?”  Tears were now flowing from your eyes and there was a hiccup in your voice, which was surely the reason the droid decided to keep you company for a little while longer. 

-------

The next day Poe had already left when you arrived at the hanger, even though you were earlier than the agreed upon time.  When he returned you ran up to him. You had thought he was dead and even if he didn’t return your feelings, he was still your best friend. At least that’s what you thought.  You tried your best to hate Finn, but you just couldn’t. Yes, Poe had pretty much chosen him as his new best friend, but he was just so nice and kind and considerate, you couldn’t hate him. Besides, it was not Finn’s fault that you had been replaced. The first couple of month you blamed yourself., You shouldn’t have told Poe that you loved him, if you hadn’t nothing would have changed. Then you blamed Poe. You had never demanded that he loved you back, but you had been friends since before you could talk, how could he just throw all those years away? How could he refuse even your most innocent, most desperate, attempts at conversation?  No matter how mad you were at Poe, your love for him was unchanged. You saw him every day and he was as kind and brave and funny and handsome as ever, all the reasons you had fallen for him in the first place were still there.  Of course you were glad when the war ended and the First Order was defeated for all the right reasons, but part of you was glad you could leave the Resistance. They no longer needed you now that it was time to rebuild instead of fight.  If all your hope of Poe ever loving you hadn’t died long ago it might have rekindled when you said goodbye.  For the first time in forever he took time to actually talk to you. And though his hug seemed as warm and sincere as ever, you couldn’t believe his words.  “I’m sad to see you go, but I’ll visit soon.”  Of course you nodded, of course you hugged him back, but part of you know just how hollow his words really were. They had to be. 

-------

Poe felt bad for how long it had been since he last visited his father. Though Kes never complained, Poe knew the old man missed his son and wanted to see him more often. But there was just so much to do, so whenever he did visit it was usually spontaneous and never for more than a couple of hours.  He opened the front door, not bothering to knock. This was his home after all, even if he rarely ever visited.  The smells that greeted Poe were familiar; his mum’s favourite flowers that his dad always kept someone in the house, a freshly brewed cup of tea and something that smelled like a distant childhood memory.  Even though it should have been impossible, the sound he heard as soon as he stepped through the door was even more familiar. It send sparks flying through his body and made a grin spread on his face. Quickly he put a finger to his lips to tell BB8 next to him to be quiet.  It had been so long since he last heard your laughter. Sometimes at night he heard it in his dreams, saw your face along with his mum’s. The two women he loved more than anything, the two women he lost. Shara’s death hadn’t been his fault, but not a day went by that Poe didn’t blame himself for letting you go.  He had been too focused on the war, on saving people and making a better future to realize that the reason he fought, the person he wanted to spend his future with had been right beside him all along. He didn’t know why he hadn’t realized it when you told him that you loved him, why it had taken not having you in his life to come to the realization that he wanted you in his life, more than anything. And perhaps this was his chance.  He tried to be as quiet as possible on his way to the living room, but as soon as he entered both you and Kes turned around.  His father was the first to get up and envelop Poe in a hug.  “What a surprise. How are you? You must be hungry, can I get you anything?”  Poe declined the offer. Even if he had been hungry, his nerves wouldn’t have allowed him to swallow a single bite. He felt bad for basically ignoring his father, but how could he not when you were standing right there?  “(Y/N), it’s... You look...”  Beautiful wasn’t enough to describe you. Even covered in grease and sweat with only a couple hours of sleep you had been pretty, but now you had no circles under your eyes, your hair was shiny and looked just so soft and there was an aura around you that could only be described as peace and happiness. And though Poe was glad you seemed happy, it did sting a bit that you were so happy without him.  “It’s been a while”, you smiled. If Poe hadn’t been in love with you before that smile would have made him fall for you. In retrospect he had no idea how he had gone most of his life without being in love with you.  “I’ll let the two of you catch up. I should get to the kitchen anyway, Oscar should be here soon”, Kes declared and with an affectionate pad on his son’s shoulder he left the room.  Poe was so busy staring at you that it took him a while to process his dad’s words.  “Who is Oscar?”  The soft smile on your face grew bigger than Poe had ever seen it and a spark took hold of your eyes. He couldn’t categorize that expression, but he knew that he wanted to see it every day for the rest of his life.  He only realized that he had gotten closer to you when he suddenly felt your body heat. He hadn’t meant to, but something about you pulled him in like a magnet. He reached out a hand to push a strand of hair behind your ear, but the second he heard your word’s the hand fell.  “My husband.”  “Your... your... you’re married?”  Thoughts were chasing in Poe’s head. How could he not have known that you were married? How could you marry someone else when he was so in love with you?  Instead of an answer you simply raised your hand. There was a ring where, in his dreams, Poe had seen his mother’s ring countless times. It was fairly simple, and yet it seemed expensive. More expensive than anything Poe could ever have given you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”, he finally asked after moments of silence.  You shrugged, a gesture that was so achingly familiar that it took Poe’s breath away.  “We weren’t really talking anymore.”  Of course you were right. Ever since you left the Resistance the two of you hadn’t spoken. Poe knew it was selfish of him to expect that you should have told him, should have invited him so he could have stopped the love of his life from marrying someone else.  “Oh...”, was all he was able to say.  He should have know that you wouldn’t be in love with him forever, but it hurt even more learning that you were married the day he had planned on telling you that he was in love with you. It had taken Finn and Rey months of trying to convince him to just tell you, after all you lived on Yavin IV, so it’s not like he had to see you every day if you didn’t return his feelings, he could have just left and tried to move on. Maybe, he thought, that was the very reason you had moved on, because you never saw Poe anymore. If only he had visited you as well as his dad, if only he had begged you to stay when you decided to leave, if only he had realized how he felt when you confessed your love.  “Your dad invited us to dinner, so you’ll meet Oscar when he arrives in half an hour. He’s still at work right now, but-”  “I can’t stay”, Poe cut you off. It hurt knowing that you were married and seeing your love for your husband in your eyes, but Poe knew that seeing the two of you together would break him.  “Another time then”, you said with a soft smile. A smile Poe just wanted to kiss off your lips but never could.  When you hugged him goodbye he breathed in your familiar smell, but underneath that there was a slight hint of a cologne that must be your husband’s. In a single second memories rushed through Poe’s brain.  You wearing his shirt and laughing.  You falling asleep in his arms.  You hugging Shara and Kes before the two of you left for the academy.  And the image that haunted his dreams of you with a baby in your arm, BB8 at your feet and Shara’s ring on your finger.  Poe didn’t know how you had managed to survive after he had rejected you because he felt like he was drowning.  He barely heard his father’s soft “I’m so sorry, son” or your “We’ll need to catch up soon”.  It wasn’t until he was in hyperspace that tears starting rolling down his cheeks and neither the stars flying by nor BB8′s comforting beeps could make him feel better.  At least you were happy, that was the only thought that brought him any comfort. 

-------

Once again I should just finish my other stories before writing a new one, but this idea was just begging to be written. 

I might write a second part, if anyone would want to read it, though I’m not sure yet. 

Also please excuse that I couldn’t come up with a better name for the husband, but I guess the reader just has a type. 

[leviathans-watching]

False Dichotomy // IV: the confession

False Dichotomy: when a situation is presented as ‘either/or’ but there is at least one additional logically valid option

As a childhood friend of Oikawa and Iwaizumi and manager of the Aoba Johsai Boys Volleyball Club, you couldn’t imagine your life without them. You know you like both of them, but you resolve to keep the feelings hidden, knowing staying friends is better than either having to choose one or losing your friendship with them both (an iwaizumi x reader x oikawa smau)

masterlist // III: akaashi’s so pretty // IV: the confession // V: shitty movies

***

“Heads up!” echoed across the gym, and instinctively, you ducked, raising your arms to cover your face. A ball flew over your head, hitting the wall behind you.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi called, raising his hand in apology. You waved him off, biting back a smile as you toss the ball to Yahaba, who stood by the ball cart. Afternoon practice had started, and the boys were just starting to get warmed up, slowly but surely falling into their respective grooves.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi were working on sets and spikes, while Watari was practicing receives. Makki and Mattsun were paired up with Kunimi and Kindaichi, to do what, you weren’t sure exactly, but there was a ball moving, so you figured you’d let it slide. If it got too ridiculous, Kunimi would bounce, willing to tattle if it meant he got to see the third years getting scolded. The second years were working on jump floats and receives, meaning the gym was busy and more than a little chaotic.

Kyotani wasn’t practicing with anyone, but he rarely did, instead choosing to spike against a wall. You let him be, focusing your attention on Oikawa, who naturally drew your eyes anyway. His lithe body moved, sending a perfect set to Iwaizumi, who smacked it over the net ruthlessly, no hesitation in his movements. The two worked in perfect tandem, each movement concise and purposeful.

It was beautiful.

They were beautiful.

Realizing you were staring, you ducked your head, pretending to jot down some notes. In the bleachers several girls tittered, expressing their awe and admiration to Oikawa, who did nothing to discourage them, instead sending them a flirty smile.

The fans grew louder, and you swore you heard some gasps. Oh to be able to express your admiration as freely as they could, uncaring of any repercussions because they had nothing to lose.

“Oi, Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi barked, waiting impatiently for Oikawa to send another ball to him. Oikawa turned with a pout, ready to start whining, but before he could, Iwaizumi said something you didn’t catch over the rest of the noise, something that made Oikawa straighten, face screwing up in indignition. Those two were so predictable.

When their argument lasted longer than normal, you stood, noting the look Watari was sending you that clearly read ‘a little help here?’.

“Is there a problem?” You asked, inserting yourself between them smoothly. Iwaizumi was sweating, clearly working hard, and wordlessly, you handed him how towel, which he took gratefully.

“Iwa-chan’s being a brute!” Oikawa watched you balefully, trying to earn your sympathies.

“Bullshit!” Iwaizumi objected, rolling his eyes. “Oikawa’s getting distracted and disrupting Watari and I’s practice time.”

Ah, an argument they had had countless times.

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get back to practice, please? Watari’s waiting.”

“Alright, alright,” Oikawa raised his hands innocently. “But can you toss to me? I’m having a hard time getting the angle right to set for myself.”

If it meant he’d get back to practicing, you’d do anything.

“Alright,” you agreed, and Iwaizumi briefly touched your shoulder, palm burning into your skin, even through your shirt. He gave you a small, rare smile, and you grinned back, heart thumping in your chest.

You struggled daily to stay cool with them. Being best friends for, god, how many years was it now, meant you were all comfortable with each other, meaning physical touches weren’t scarce among you. That didn’t use to be a problem, but now every time one of them hugged you or something, you had to force your blush to stay down, trying to calm your racing heart.

It was inconvenient.

Wiping your hands on your pants, you took the ball Oikawa gave you, getting into position. You had spent many summer nights doing this exact practice with them, so it was easy to send him a toss he could set. Watari got back into position, and soon, the boys were a flurry of movement, the sounds of hitting and spiking echoing around you.

Ducking back to get another ball, you felt eyes on you. Instinctively looking around, you noticed a guy standing in the doorway of the gym, eyes fixed on you. You waved, a bit confused. He was another third year, from a different class. You thought back, trying to remember his name.

Right, it was Morinozuka. Morinozuka Akira.

He returned your wave, waving you over. “Hold on a sec,” you called to Oikawa over your shoulder, heading towards him.

“Can I have a moment of your time?” Morinozuka asked. “I know you’re in practice, but i’s important.”

Looking back to the gym, you noticed Iwaizumi and Oikawa watching, and behind them, Mattsun wiggling his eyebrows. He was such a child.

“Yeah, but it’s gotta be quick,” you eventually agreed, following him as he led you out of the gym toward the courtyard. He stopped, fidgeting with his hands.

“So,” he started. “I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I see you around a lot and really admire your dedication and passion. You seem to really be committed to whatever you do and I really admire that. I just- I really like you and was hoping to get your number.”

A confession? You hadn’t expected that. A blush rose on your cheeks as you took in his words. But even as you blushed, you knew your answer.

“I’m sorry, I can’t return your feelings,” you said softly, and his face fell, making you feel even worse.

“It’s, ah, alright,” he reassured you awkwardly. “I knew it was a long shot.”

“Sorry,” you apologized again. “I really appreciate you trying, though. That takes a lot of bravery.”

“Yeah.” Morinozuka shifted, and you took a few small steps back.

“I really got to get back to practice, but see you around.” You both knew you wouldn’t really see each other around.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” he bowed slightly, and you had to admire his composure. You hoped he got over it quickly and found a nice person who liked him back.

Turning around, you headed back to the gym, blush still hot on your skin. As you let yourself back in, you felt eyes on you. Without seeing them, you knew it was the third years.

Determinedly picking up your notebook, you headed over to Oikawa and Iwaizumi who were waiting, almost expectantly.

“Alright,” you too initiative, letting your voice bounce around the room. “There’s not much time left for practice, so let’s get moving.” The first years jumped, getting back to practice, and the second years reluctantly followed. Of course, the third years didn’t listen, congregating around you.

“What happened?” Oikawa pressed, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Iwa-Chan was all worried.”

“I was not,” Iwaizumi insisted, frowning at Oikawa with this look in his eyes. “Asshole.”

“So what did he want?” Oikawa asked again. “Did he want you to tutor him? Beg you to join his club?”

“Confession?” Makki suggested, and Oikawa snorted.

“Right, he wanted to confess to little y/n! The same y/n we’ve seen covered in fruit punch.” The words were mirthful, and you knew he didn’t mean any harm, but still, you pulled back.

“Really? Is it so hard for you to believe someone would like me?”

“Well,” Oikawa faltered, looking to Iwaizumi for help.

“I think Oikawa means it’s hard for us to see someone liking someone like you since you know, we’ve known you for so long,” Iwaizumi tried unhelpfully, and a fash of hurt panged in your chest.

Someone like me?

“I see.” You shrugged Oikawa’s arm off of you completely, pressing your lips together. “I think I’m going to go help the first years now.”

You weren’t sure if you were going to cry or if you were pissed (or both), so you just pushed past them quickly, ignoring the sympathetic look Makki gave you as you walked between him and Mattsun.

“Jeez, what’s with them today?” Oikawa asked, tone colored with confusion. A muted hit reached your ears, and you had the feeling that it for once, wasn’t from Iwaizumi’s hand, as Mattsun groaned “You guys really are dumb sometimes, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Makki chimed. “You can’t see, at all, how that could be taken the wrong way?”

“Wrong way? Was there a right way to take it?”

Whatever Iwaizumi said in defense was inaudible, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear it.

V: shitty movies

a/n: written part is unbetaed so lmk if there are typos

taglist is open! send in an ask or reply

please like, reblog, comment/review💖

taglist: @gautier-lei @vanilla-beanzz @tobiovic @notsodeadgirlwalking @darlingkuroo @cloudymotel @420-uwu

[elriel-oblivion]

WHO'S READY FOR SOME HARDCORE NSFW 🔥😈

Ashes from the Deep

Part IV

--

Just kidding! 😅

Lol, sorrynotsorry for that fake intro haha, but here's part four for real 😅 Thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented on/reblogged the last part, I really do appreciate all your support 😊🥰🥰

Shoutout to @julesherondalex again for finding one of my fave paragraphs ☺️☺️ I think I only have one fave line this time 😅 And thanks to all who comment their own faves!! I really like seeing what you like in each piece - and it def helps me gauge what kinda writing/literary techniques work and engage people the most 😊😊

I hope nobody's disappointed by this part lol, I really enjoyed writing it in tandem with the previous one 😅

Word count: 4.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed

I've also finally posted all four parts to AO3 if anyone prefers to read there 😊

Ashes from the Deep

Part IV

--

The water falling from the jug to Azriel’s head was the only sound in the bathroom. His hair absorbed the water, darkening to a midnight gleam. A thin breeze entered the room, and now without a blanket, Elain's exposed arms prickled with goosebumps.

Elain plunged a hand into his hair, breaking the mud between her fingertips. A quiet breath passed through his mouth and the corners of her lips rose.

She rubbed his scalp, coaxing as much dirt to the surface as she could before guiding another jug of water through his hair. Some of the mud drained away, some clods of sediment sticking to the basin. She poured over a final jug and stained water trickled into the drain. The warmth of the water tickled through her skin, replacing the cold from outside.

‘Is that nice?’ she asked, brushing the water through his hair with both hands.

His body seemed to relax, one foot sliding forward a little. ‘It is,’ he said thickly. He cleared his throat.

Her fingers continued to gently work at his head, and when sure his hair was completely wet, she ran the bar of soap under the tap. Soft lavender entered her nose and she inhaled deeply. That calm scent loosened her own muscles; this could be as much a session of serenity for her as she hoped it'd be for Azriel.

So long as she held taut the chain on her heart.

Soap foaming, she immersed her hands back into his thick hair, forming a lather. The lavender smell intensified, a wave of tranquility sweeping over her. She blinked slowly, as though her mind were wading through water.

Another sigh from him drew her attention back to his head. She needed to focus on this task; for Azriel, she could stay awake a little longer, especially since she’d already started.

Her fingertips massaged his skull, pressing a little deeper at the base where knots had a tendency to form. Elain moved her own neck, a sharp stab sparking at the top of her spine.

She hadn’t mentioned it to anybody yet – didn’t even know if she would – but her visions had been so feverish the past fortnight. Sleep felt like a luxury as she tossed and turned with psychedelic madness flashing behind her eyes. A turquoise expanse of sparkling ocean, birds shaped from sunset, glittering gowns in every shade, and a too-wide smile with pointed teeth were just a few of the recurring images attacking her every night.

Bathing before bed wasn't helpful. She'd hoped the calming scents of the herbs she'd found would be enough to pacify her mind and lull her to sleep. So far, there was no positive result beyond a loosening of her muscles. At least some of those herbs relieved the intensity of the dark circles round her eyes.

Mellow darkness, however, was a true reprieve, one which she found in her garden in those quiet evening hours, when the sky, having bled through its saturated sunset, was awash with deep muted blues.

As if she’d summoned it, a similar darkness manifested around Azriel’s body, swirling thickest about his head like a black cloud. His shadows rose like vapour, tendrils reaching out and twining about him.

Elain’s hands were hidden among those dark whorls, and they whispered on her skin in cool caresses. She leaned over his head and said, ‘Azriel?’

His eyes flicked open. ‘Huh?’

There was something boyish and confused in the way he blinked and she laughed lightly. ‘Your shadows are sort of hiding your head.’

He turned his head an inch or two. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and those shadows began sweeping over each other, wisps kissing her as Azriel pulled them in.

Elain’s hands were stationary until those shadows were completely reeled in, a faint frown on Azriel’s face. Sorrow lurked there, perhaps that he couldn’t be cocooned in that safe space.

Guilt coated the chain around her heart.

‘Don’t be,’ she murmured. Did he hear the shame in her voice? She hoped not; he should be resting, not worrying about Elain’s feelings. ‘You can close your eyes again.’

He did, but not before she caught a shadow lingering behind his eyes. Were they a glimpse into the shadows he leashed within himself, or were they a reflection of something darker, more sinister, perhaps?

That guilt began to cut into her heart now, icy claws digging. Cold squeezed her chest, a cold unrelated to the outside breeze breathing over her skin. How could she think Azriel was sinister? After the countless times he’d reached out to comfort her, be with her, listen to her – and the sincere light she saw in his eyes. Even the hope Rhysand had spoken of that day of the last battle in the war. The hope whose meaning he'd learnt from Azriel, learnt to experience from Azriel.

No, it was absurd. Yes, Azriel was a warrior and yes, he’d killed people. Possibly worse, she didn’t know. But those shadows she knew with certainty weren’t formed from the darkness of nightmares and malevolence and all things wicked.

They were a darkness of safety and security, of nights spent in a loved one’s arms. When a child sought their parent; when an adult sought their partner. They were the darkness found deep underground, where the earth was pure and things grew. Where life grew.

And just like his shadows, he too was not crafted from unholiness. There was unrelenting virtue glowing in him, burning whatever taint touched his darkness. She’d seen it in his eyes when he’d found her at the Hybern camp, when he alone had armed her with his own dagger at that later battle – and then run straight into the thick of it without Truth-Teller.

She didn’t know what she would’ve done if he hadn’t survived while she held his blade.

So when his shadows leaked out again, wrapping him in twining vines and wisps, she said nothing. Simply continued to work in that lovely lavender soap, giving as much care as she could. He deserved it.

She poured jug after jug of warm water over his head, wading her fingers through his locks to wash out the soap. Within a minute or two, the water was running clear. She yawned and dried her hands on a fresh towel.

‘Az, you can lift your head now.’

The guilt relented a little, icy claws releasing. A cold still filled the space left behind. But before the warmth of his presence, his existence, could balm her heart as it often did, she froze. His shadows parted to reveal a tear slipping from his eye. Just a single tear but so abrupt it was jarring on the shadowsinger’s face.

‘Azriel?’

He was unresponsive. His breathing was regular, body relaxed in a state of sleep. Except for that tear. What was he dreaming of?

She raised her hand to his face but let it hover in the air. Would this wake him? Would he even be fine knowing Elain had seen him cry?

She touched the tear anyway, placed a knuckle right beneath it. The tear slipped onto her hand and she wiped off the trace left on his face.

Azriel stirred, voice raw as he said, ‘Mother?’

Mother – was she what, who he dreamt of? There was such a childlike insecurity in his tone that Elain’s heart squeezed. She moved her hand back a little when her own voice sounded wispy. ‘No, it’s Elain.’

His eyes opened, gaze darting around the room. There was a small crease in his brow as he blinked away whatever haze remained from his dreams. The shadows dissipated.

Confusion limned his features in the few seconds it took him to fully awaken. Did he know he cried? That she’d wiped off his tear? No, that wouldn’t be okay. Elain had to distract him, if that were even possible for a spymaster.

Sometimes his title overwhelmed her. Sometimes she found security in it; did he see things he didn’t want to on his travels? Did he have access to a wealth of information he didn’t initially understand, just as Elain didn’t comprehend her visions without further probing?

‘I asked you to lift your head but you’d fallen asleep,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to wake you, but we should dry your hair before you really go to sleep. Especially if you’ll be going outside again. Although I would ask you to consider taking a guest room.’

That frown deepened for a second before he smoothed out his face. ‘Right.’ He sat straight, and Elain set a hand under his head as he stiffly pulled it up. He rotated his neck a bit, water dripping off his sodden hair, sliding down his face.

She placed the towel over his head, patting it across his scalp. Some strands escaped to hang over his forehead, so she pulled them back, ruffling the towel through his hair. All the while, he watched her, but she busied herself with the water that glistened on his neck. Anything to avoid his eyes.

Then he dropped his head – from tiredness or something else, she didn’t know – so she took the opportunity to dry the back more. Drying his hair took more effort than washing, he just had so much hair. The small towel quickly became damp so she continued with the one round his neck, and a short while later, deemed his hair dry enough. Still wet but not sodden, so she combed her fingers through it, smoothing out the tips that stuck out. She left both towels on her bathtub, touching a knuckle to one of the trailing plants sitting on a stool nearby.

She heard the chair scrape across the floor, Azriel rising, so she laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait. I want to clean your face, too.’

The idea of having to look at his face for however long it took to clean sent a thrill through her and she woke a little more. The chain on her heart slipped from her control a little and she leashed it back. Her chest tightened as she grabbed a cloth and ran it under the tap. She knelt next to him, honing in on that giant gash on his cheekbone. She touched the cloth to his face.

He winced and her hand stilled. ‘Sorry.’

A small smile graced his face, and he said, ‘Don’t be.’

She recognised the words from earlier and breathed a laugh. ‘That cut does look very bad, though. I think I’ll have to clean it with alcohol too.’

‘Let’s crack open that wine then.’

Something sultry laced his voice, the chain in her chest slipping again. The metal warmed and Elain fiddled with her grip. She let out a shaky laugh. ‘Not tonight, Azriel.’

Goodness. A late night wine session with Azriel. There was heat in her cheeks and she didn’t know how to tone it down. It was even worse with his face so near hers. He’d see it all. Her face warmed further, and it was only the dirt and blood on his that reminded her he was in no position to be drinking the night away. Not with fatigue so clear on his features and in his posture.

And not with Elain. That toed a line she didn't deserve to cross.

So she gave focus only to his skin, wiping the cloth across his face. Once most of the mud and blood was off, she rinsed the cloth, then wiped him down again. He turned his head and as his eyes fixed squarely on her, the chain heated further. She tried to grip it elsewhere, but every link was as hot. It wasn’t uncomfortable – quite pleasant, actually – but she was sure it would be soon enough if she didn’t move now. The cool air sweeping into the bathroom did nothing to help. If he would just stop looking into her –

Elain abruptly stood and on a whim went to close the window. Maybe he'd think she was cold, though she'd regret trapping the air when it was stifling here soon.

She moved to the cupboard by the door, her back to him. She took a deep breath, taking her time to pull out a bottle of alcohol, in pouring a few drops of it onto a clean cloth. The distance between them was refreshing. The chain didn’t cool, not with Azriel still so close in the same room, but at least it didn’t warm any more. Elain took a moment to readjust her grasp and pull it again.

She composed herself and knelt beside him. The alcohol’s scent permeated the air and her own nerves bristled. ‘This’ll hurt.’

His smile was slight. ‘It’s all right.’

She bit the inside of her cheek and touched the cloth to the wound. His jaw clamped like a vice and she lightened her touch, the cloth barely kissing his skin.

This wasn’t the right way. She needed to clean that wound, regardless of what pain it’d inflict. It'd be temporary, the sting. So she pressed the cloth harder, dabbing it across his cheekbone.

His features were stonelike at the contact. Did pain ever become easier to bear? Would the prick of a thorn be less painful in a decade than it was now?

If Azriel’s face was anything to go by, she guessed no. Perhaps some pain couldn’t be learnt; perhaps the body never fully digested pain.

Perhaps she'd never fully recover from the desolation in the Cauldron.

‘Are you all right, Azriel?’ Her voice was so quiet, like she didn’t want to flare the hurt any further.

‘I’m all right. Are you all right, Elain?’

‘I’m fine.’

He wasn’t all right and nor was she, but neither was willing to broach that right now. There was so much to him she didn’t yet know. What was it that shadowed his eyes so often? What darkness clouded his mind before he fell asleep? In due time, she’d learn, but that human impatience, the sense that there was never enough time, threatened to run her tongue.

Time stretched out before her. She’d learn. He was her friend, she just needed to give him time to teach her the workings of his soul. And in return, she would bare hers too.

Neither said a word as she pressed the alcohol into every wound, cleaning his cheekbone and temple, a scratch across his jaw. She stared at the graze there for a few seconds. She’d ask Madja for some calendula oil later; that would speed the healing process.

She sighed as she washed the cloth. Something had loosened the chain, but it wasn’t a sudden unravelling. It’d just been gradual and she hadn’t noticed, one link falling back at a time. Her heart expanded. There was torment in Azriel’s posture, on his face, and it hurt. It hurt that Elain couldn’t do anything for him besides give basic medicines for his body.

But he was more than just a physical form. He had a heart and a soul, both so tight with whatever misery lurked in his past, and she couldn’t do anything about that. For all the light she saw in the world, all the places of brightness, there was ten times as much darkness, ten times as many nooks and crannies where gloom and wretchedness dwelt. What good was the light if it didn’t burn away the shade over everyone’s souls?

She spent more time washing the cloth than necessary.

The chair creaked. ‘You can talk to me, Elain, whenever you need.’

The chain slipped again, Elain’s fingers grappling for those final links. It hurt so much that he was willing to give so much. Her smile was too bright as she turned and said, ‘I know.’

He stood. His gaze was so direct on her that she only held one chainlink now. Just one link remained in her hand, one link between her and the release of a beast she hadn't yet had the courage to face.

The link heated. Her muscles loosened and her hands fumbled with the tap, the cloth falling from limp fingers.

He would realise. He would know what she was thinking and feeling if she didn’t get a grip on herself, on that final chainlink. So she turned her body to face his and cleared her throat. ‘We should go downstairs to the fireplace. It’ll be warmer there.’ For his damp hair, of course.

No matter that whatever cool air remained in the room did nothing to tame her heat.

His hand was cold on her wrist, a shiver tracking her bones, and colder still were the shadows that swept them up and into the living room. Good, there was much more space here. Her feet hit the floor and she bent to place three logs in the hearth.

Moonlight glinted on the steel she struck against the flint but the metal didn’t spark the way she’d seen it do when everybody else lit a fire. She tried again, Azriel silent beside her. This was pitiful. She swiped the steel a couple more times, and a spark finally appeared.

It was too silent here. ‘Those shadows are quite convenient at times, aren’t they?’ she said.

He breathed a laugh. ‘They can be.’

She let the spark catch on the cloth resting on the hearth and threw it onto the logs, a blaze finally blooming. She doubted anybody else took that long to start a fire. Heat bathed her legs.

Elain didn’t know what to make of the lack of judgement she found on his face when she stood. Though, it was common with him, how honestly he looked at her. She shouldn’t be surprised. Save Nuala and Cerridwen, he was perhaps the only one who didn’t view her as a naive fool, a child. None of the others said it, but she saw it in their eyes, that patronising glimmer.

He was leaning against the mantelpiece with a forearm, one leg crossed over the other, the portrait of casual elegance. It wasn't often she got to see him looking so relaxed. Then again, he was tired.

Her eyes met his. ‘Just a few minutes now and we’ll be warm.’

His eyes were soft; he didn’t say anything. Just kept looking at her. Into her.

The air warmed. That was a quick few minutes.

Just the flames. Of course it was the flames. Anything else would be ridiculous.

The wound on his cheekbone was an angry red in the dim light. ‘I think you’ll need a bandage for that wound.’ Some herbs would be prudent too.

‘I’ll be fine without it,’ he said.

She pleaded for interference from something, anything. ‘It’s quite deep.’

‘Not a match for my Illyrian healing.’ The smirk that followed sent a hot spark down her skin. The chain now burned and she lost her grip on it completely, that leash uncoiling and slipping down, down, down into the abyss of her core. Her heart swelled like a dragon inhaling a mighty breath.

She needed a distraction from his achingly stunning face. The wings behind him were not a reprieve at all. Especially not after what she'd overheard about them. Certain people tended to forget she was in the room and had heightened hearing when they talked about the sensitivities of the Illyrian wings.

Her face heated and her heart throbbed against her chest. How improper these thoughts were. The air was stifling now. Perhaps they should've stayed in the bathroom. Even the weak chill of night air would be better than this. She wished she could have shadows to cool her down like Azriel did. Or to hide in. She'd seen him do that plenty of times.

His wings rustled and he straightened, coming off the mantelpiece. His eyes were glazed, somehow even more stunning than they were outside earlier. The fire highlighted the grey brown storm swirling in his gaze while streaks of emerald glistened like the veins on leaves in the height of summer.

It felt like the height of summer too in this heat.

He frowned. She cleared her throat of the pocket of air lodged there.

'Oh.' A bead of sweat glinted on his temple, right above the gash there. The sting that would ensue was an unnecessary pain, so she reached up to wipe it away.

As her finger touched his skin, above the crackle of the flames, a loud thudding beat entered her ears. Azriel caught her wrist and a small gasp left her lips.

His eyes smouldered, that thunderstorm churning in the dim light. His heartbeat. It was his heartbeat she heard. It ran and ran, crescendoeing like a drum before the climax of a song.

Was the shadowsinger feeling the same as she? Did his heart yearn to touch hers too?

It was unbearable, the alternative. Unbearable but probable.

Her voice was thick, with longing, with desire, with anguish all entangled when she spoke, 'I can hear your heartbeat.'

He said nothing. If he truly didn't reciprocate -

She almost couldn't continue but pushed out, 'And it's a beautiful sound.'

That song in his heartbeat finally climaxed, a thunder of sound pounding the air.

'You're beautiful, too,' he breathed.

Her own pulse throbbed, heartbeat echoing in her throat. Tears blurred her vision of him. She blinked them away; she wanted to truly see every inch of his wonderful face.

His breathing lightened.

As did hers.

He was a mirror, Azriel. He saw her; he saw what she hid from everyone else, clear as day. It was his eyes that told. His words, too, in that smooth voice, free of condescension.

And now no mouth had ever looked so inviting.

And maybe this was okay. This fondness, this attachment she'd developed for him. It wasn't a sudden spark - childish and unquestioned. This had been building for a while now. Months. Maybe even since the first year she'd met him. And maybe it was improper and she was a lady, but perhaps it went beyond expectation. If her sisters could give themselves wholly to their love, then so could she.

Love. It was exhilarating, liberating to open up that well inside her. To no longer have that chain leashing her heart.

And because she knew he'd not make another move, she whispered, 'Are you going to kiss me?'

The fire hissed as a log tumbled further into the hearth. Shadows smoked behind his eyes. 'Only if you want me to.'

Without a doubt, she wanted this. There was a certainty, a clarity in her bones that sang high and free. It whistled through her marrow and glided into her blood, awakening her soul. She was not a child. She could want this. She could have this.

'Yes.'

A frown marred his face and her heart dropped. His eyes were now a hurricane, darkened like night descended over them. Torment was etched in the line of his brows, in the flicker of his jaw as it ground together.

He was afraid. Of hurting her. Ruining her. She'd seen the way he always glimpsed his hands, glancing away with revulsion in his eyes. He thought he was a disgrace, a savage.

But how could that be? How could this male, this male of honour, loyalty and charm think so little of himself? He was better than any male she could've had the pleasure of knowing.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said, 'and I want you to know I trust you, Azriel. You will do me no harm. You couldn't.'

His eyes shuttered as he lowered them, brows still furrowed. He still held her wrist, so, pulling his arm with her, she reached out and stroked his brow with her thumb. She rubbed back and forth in gentle motions until that crease was gone, and he exhaled slowly.

'I trust you, Azriel. So kiss me.'

The moody veil of night lifted from his eyes, the tempest calming to a glistening haze. His heart still pounded, so wondrously loud as he leaned down, his free hand settling against her cheek. He was unhurried, tentative.

It was agonising. Worse still, he paused with an inch of space between their lips. His night-chilled air and cedar scent blended with the smoke and wood of the fire, seductive as it crept into her skin and twined around her bones like ribbons of mist round pillars.

With shadows flickering over his face, and the light so sultry beside them, his eyes were alluring. She'd never let herself notice that before. 'Kiss me,' she said faintly.

Elain didn't breathe as his lips touched hers.

__

Feedback's welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17 @a-happybird @thewayshedreamed @sleeping-and-books @thefangirlofhp @januarystears @courtofjurdan @ladylochan

[dalekofchaos]

The erasure of R2-D2 and C-3PO. Disney’s worst failure

R2-D2 and C-3PO make up the core of the Star Wars Saga. They are the first characters on screen; we are quite literally introduced to the universe from their perspective. They are the only characters who survive all the way through the Saga, from Episode I-VI. In Episodes I-VI, it was a deliberate choice for R2 to save the lives of the main characters at least once per episode (he fixes the ship’s shields in I, stops Padme from being boiled in II, helps Anakin and Obi Wan escape the battle droids in III, shuts down the trash compactor in IV, fixes the hyperdrive in V and gives Luke his saber in VI). C-3PO partly helps Luke along his journey by telling his exploits with the Rebels, C-3PO while annoying helped our heroes get out of tight situations and C-3PO is the only reason why the Ewoks helped the Rebels destroy the Death Star II’s generator.

It cannot be overstated how important these two characters are. In fact, a critic even argued that the Star Wars Saga was about the two droids being sent to different masters, and being the observers to all the mistakes and follies they make.

So just WHY has Disney completely ignored them? R2 no longer has his “save the day” moments; that’s literally just reserved for BB-8. When does R2 directly save anyone in the Sequels? And C-3PO, the translator, has been kicked out because Rey doesn’t need a translator because she’s already fluent in however many forms of communication the plot demands. Oh, and we don’t need R2, because Rey can fix anything she wants. If the purposes of 3PO and R2 can be replaced by an annoying Volleyball and a demigod, then why did you even bother to bring back C-3PO and R2-D2?

Even Anthony Daniels was baffled by the treatment of C-3PO "In these new movies, I have felt like a table decoration. And that is difficult because I recognize this character is worth so much more. But I understand it is a whole film, not a feature about C-3PO. That is just my personal disappointment. I get paid whether or not he does anything but it would be nice for him to have a purpose."

In TFA, C-3PO has a red arm? Why? Find out in a comic. In TLJ he does pretty much nothing and has one small moment with Luke that Mark and Anthony had to adlib because Rian Johnson couldn’t understand why these two would have one final moment. So in Rise Of Skywalker. C-3PO says “Let me take one last look, at my best friends.” Best friends? You barely knew Rey, Finn and Poe. They’ve been treating you like a nuisance all movie. Then we get a stupid “GOTCHA” gag by giving us another fucking fakeout death.

It would’ve made much more sense if we saw 3PO’s eyes imagine Han, Luke, Leia, Padme and Anakin. Oh and guess what would’ve been better? “R2, please. Let me do this. But first let me take one last look, at my best friend.” 3PO saying this to R2 would’ve made much more sense. Oh and no fake out death because that was bullshit. C-3PO gives his life to translate the Sith dagger(yes it’s as stupid as it sounds)

R2-D2 is the most screwed over character in the entire Sequel Trilogy. He spent all of TFA in low power mode either waiting for or trying to find Luke, finally does... and then he swears at him, plays one message to try and guilt him and then gives up entirely. Seriously, R2 only shows up in that one scene in the entire movie, the droid that was the most loyal little thing in the galaxy leaves the fate of his best friend and master to some random girl he knows nothing about. That's not R2. R2 would have followed Luke around and tried to save Luke instead of just sitting on the Falcon the entire time. I just find it IMPLAUSIBLE that R2-D2 would ever leave Luke. Then in TROS, R2 spends 95% of the movie being cut out. Why is R2 left out on the final adventure? R2 does not sit around, R2 goes where the action is. The treatment of R2-D2 in the sequels, ESPECIALLY AFTER KENNY BAKER’S PASSING IS INFURIATING!

Once again, let’s look at R2′s importance in the first 6 movies. George Lucas said the reason why R2 D2 has a major role in all six films is because the entire story, and therefore the canon, is actually being told BY R2-D2. He even went as far as making sure R2 saves the lives of the main cast once per film (1-Repairs the Naboo Ship and allows everyone to escape the blockade 2-Picks up Obi Wan’s distress signal AND saves Padme from lava 3-Overrides the Elevator lockdown and distracts Grevious 4-Shuts down the garbage masher 5-Fixes the hyperdrive allowing the cast to escape Vader 6-Gives Luke his lightsaber)

In the Sequels R2 never saves anyone’s life, completely breaking one of the core traditions of Star Wars. Worse, in TFA, he’s Shut down completely meaning he cannot possibly record what’s going on, hence, the entire film, and by extension the Sequel trilogy, is no longer a part of R2’s story.

Duel Of Fates actually used R2-D2.  During the heat of battle, R2-D2 would have taken a fatal blast, destroying the droid's circuits and rendering it little more than an empty shell. As Chewbacca carried R2 on his back, similar to how he once carried 3PO all those years before, R2's best friend would have been inconsolable. As a droid C-3PO has very rarely shown much emotion other than worry and fear for his own life. Seeing him mourn the death of his best friend would have made this one of the toughest death scenes to take in the entire history of Star Wars. C-3PO consoles a damaged R2-D2 as a Star Destroyers crashes to the ground in the background. C-3PO consoles a damaged R2-D2 as a Star Destroyers crashes to the ground in the background.

The fact they did absolutely nothing with R2-D2 and just fakeout deathed C-3PO in the final movie is insulting. The fact that they completely erased the importance of the storytellers of Star Wars is where the Sequels truly failed. This, I think, is the most glaring and obvious evidence of Disney’s lack of understanding of Star Wars. Over the years many, many things had changed in the Saga but the one constant was R2 and 3PO. And now they’re being unceremonious kicked to the curb.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Sanctuary

Request from Threadedsafetypin: a story about Jack helping Sammy to recover from ink infection.

---

Most members of the Joey Drew Studios music room knew that Sammy behaving strangely was status quo. So, when was Sammy first infected with ink, few people were alarmed. Complaining about seeing Bendy in his sleep? Stress. Increased irritability? Stress. Spacing out more often, seeming more exhausted, looking more drawn and bedraggled than usual? Poor guy really has to get a grip on his life- but at least he’s still functioning well enough to get the songs out on time.

Jack Fain, Sammy’s best friend, was the only one who realized that this wasn’t just one of Sammy’s episodes. He’d confronted Sammy about it a couple weeks ago, and it hadn’t gone well. He had snapped about his health being his own business and told Jack to go away.

Jack was used to Sammy being irritable, so he didn’t take it personally. “Okay. I can’t help you if you’re not ready. Just know that I’m here for you when you’re ready to talk. I care about you, and want you to be okay. Alright?”

Sammy had grumbled an “alright,” and left. His symptoms had only worsened since then, and Jack was rather worried that Sammy would never be “ready”- at least, not until he was very ill. But he couldn’t think of any way to help the process along unless Sammy was on board as well.

Then, one day while Jack was working in the sewers, he heard footsteps. Only Sammy knew that he hid away in the sewers, so it had to be him. Jack got up to meet him, and saw that Sammy had a defeated look on his face.

“Remember when you said to come to you when I was ready? Well, I’m ready,” Sammy said, as though admitting a dark secret. He took off the white gloves he’d taken to wearing lately, revealing ink-black hands. “The ink did this to me, and tried to convince me that it was a good thing, but I can’t deny that this is a problem anymore. I don’t think that a hospital could help me, and I’m scared that Joey would kill me if it got out the public. I don’t know what to do.”

Jack stood stunned a moment, looking at Sammy’s hands. They clearly weren’t just stained, but tainted down to the bone. It looked like there were some pockets of ink just beneath the surface as well.

“It’s okay. I’ll find out what to do,” Jack promised.

---

“Norman, can you come with me for a minute?” Jack asked. “I need to ask Mr. Drew something he won’t enjoy answering, and I’m hoping that if you’re there next to me, he won’t kill me on the spot for it. Alright? All you’ll have to do is stand there. And you’ll probably get some nice secrets out of it.”

Excited at the thought of listening in on such a conversation, Norman agreed, and the two of them made their way to Joey’s office. The door shut loudly.

“Joey,” Jack began, in a tone one might use to calm down a wild animal, “someone I care deeply about is infected with ink. Now look- I don’t want trouble. I don’t have any personal reason to want your secrets to get out. Please tell me how to help him get better, and I’ll do it completely inconspicuously if it’s possible.”

---

“What did he say?” Sammy asked. The look on Jack’s face wasn’t especially encouraging.

“Well, he said that a hospital can help you- if we take you a couple miles from New York, first. He said that the ink is alive in you, and it needs to be taken away from the ink machine in order to kill it. If we don’t do that, the ink will live in you no matter what anyone tries to do to get rid of it, and you’ll be in and out of treatment for the rest of your life- which would likely be a very short, unhealthy one. So, that isn’t an option.”

Sammy didn’t understand why Jack looked so hopeless at the thought of killing the ink. “Okay,” Sammy said cautiously, “That sounds doable. What else?”

“Well, the thing is that once the ink is dead, it won’t be able to help keep you alive, so all that tissue damage, organ damage, and dehydration is actually going to hurt you. Joey gave me some tips on how to increase the chance that you’ll end up at the hospital alive, but it’s still possible you won’t make it.”

Sammy was in shock. “I-I might die before I make it the hospital?”

“Yes. Joey said that you should go home and eat something with a lot of liquid in it. I take it you physically haven’t been able to drink anything but ink in a while, have you?”

“It’s been a few weeks,” Sammy admitted.

“He also said that we should lance any obvious deposits of ink before we head out. I can help you with the lancing. And... one last thing, Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“I quit this place, because it’s dripping with a deadly biohazard. I definitely suggest you do the same- especially if you’re in the habit of drinking ink, which Joey said you might be.”

Sammy sucked in a deep breath. “Please tell me that’s everything.”

“That’s everything.”

“Alright. Thank you, Jack. Honestly, thank you.”

The two went to Jack’s place, and with a knife, they set to work lancing any obvious deposits of ink. Sammy had them all over- on his legs, on his chest, his back, and some fairly severe ones on his hands. One by one, they were cut open, squeezed out, and bandaged. By the end, Sammy was in a lot of pain, and Jack’s bathtub was stained not only with substantial amounts of ink, but with a fair amount of blood.

“I don’t feel stronger,” Sammy admitted, looking down with his arms crossed over himself. “What if Joey gave us this advice to trick you into killing me? Or he didn’t understand how far along I was?”

Jack sighed. He’d made a good point, honestly. But Sammy needed comfort. “He didn’t lie. I’m sure of it. Just trust me, alright?”

“Alright,” Sammy replied.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” Jack asked, “It might help you dread tomorrow a little less.”

“Are you sure you want me here? I’ll get ink and blood all over the place.”

“You will? Then we haven’t bandaged you up enough- you shouldn’t be leaking like that. And anyhow, don’t worry about it- it’s just one night, I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Sammy agreed to stay over, though all he wanted to do was wash off and rest. The next day, the two of them headed out of New York in Jack’s car.

“Alright, Sammy, you know the drill. Tell me when you feel the ink dying, and I’ll turn the car around as quickly as possible.”

Sammy nodded. It was only a few miles before he did.

“Now,” Sammy croaked. He was already looking greener. Jack found a place to turn around and took it. 

 “Everything hurts...” Sammy complained. It was true. He felt weak and heavy, as though a large percentage of his body had suddenly become dead weight. His lungs stung, and when his breathing was wet and slightly laboured. Pain was building in his head, in the cuts he’d given himself the day before, and especially in his organs. 

“It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise. Just hang in there, and drink some water.” 

Though it was hardly his most overpowering sensation, Sammy was very thirsty. Jack watched with concern as Sammy took one of water bottles in weak, shaky hands, took a sip from it, and then fell forwards, entirely limp.

 Jack slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He was going about 85 miles an hour, and he mentally calculated that he’d need about eight minutes to get Sammy to the outskirts of town and hopefully not too much longer to get him to a hospital. Risky as it was, Jack grabbed Sammy’s hand to check for a pulse. It was certainly there. A cop by the side of the road saw them, but let them go by- perhaps seeing that Jack was hardly doing this for pleasure. Thankfully, traffic was thin that day. Jack checked Sammy’s pulse again while at a stop sign- still strong, and pulled up in front of a hospital. He ran in, pushed his way past a line of people, and spoke to the secretary. “My friend is in my car. He’s unconscious and I have reason to believe that he needs immediate attention if he’s going to live. Please help him.” 

Within a minute, Sammy was being rushed in for medical attention, leaving Jack to wait in the lobby and fill out the necessary forms. Hours later, a nurse approached him. “You’re Jack Fain, the one who brought in Sammy Lawrence?”

 “Yes,” Jack answered.

“Well, Mr. Fain, we have some serious questions for you. What happened to Sammy? His condition isn’t exactly easy to identify.”

“His workplace is filled with a biohazard. He got infected and kept it secret for weeks. How is he? Is his condition stable?”

The nurse grimaced. “Stable, yes. He’s on life support, but we’ll be able to keep him alive. We’re not sure when or if he’ll wake up again since we haven’t been able to diagnose. Would you like to see him?”

“Sure,” Jack replied.

Seeing Sammy laying still as a corpse on a hospital bed, with three different IVs in his arm, a tube in his throat, and the beep of a heart monitor nearby, was not an encouraging sight. It moved Jack to tears. “Call me when he’s up. Or when it’s time to say goodbye,” Jack croaked to the nurse. With that, he left.

Jack spent the next few days fraught with anxiety. To make matters worse, the hospital had called Jack to ask where Sammy had worked and gotten infected. Jack had said he didn’t know, because he didn’t want to risk either of them being killed by Joey for leaking his secrets. If Sammy died, he’s have to wonder if it was partially on his own hands. Jack’s husband tried to reassure him that he’d done all that could be done, and Jack knew it was true, but it was still a scary time.

In what felt like weeks but was actually just a couple days, the hospital called Jack and told him that Sammy’s tissue damage seemed to be repairing itself and that he was responding well to treatment. Thankfully, none of his organs had been damaged enough to require a transplant. A week later, he was called to tell him that Sammy was awake again.

Seeing Sammy again was a massive weight off Jack’s shoulders. The dark spots on his body had shrunk significantly, and he looked much healthier, especially now that most of those tubes and wires were gone.

“Sammy. You’re alive.”

“Yep. I must be part cockroach because it takes quite a bit to kill me.”

Jack smiled. “Ha, yeah. The radio is calling you a walking miracle. Even though probably haven’t walked yet, since you just woke up.”

Sammy prickled. “No, I can walk. I’m not that weak!”

“Right, sorry. So, when you woke up, did they pepper you with questions on how you got into this state in the first place?”

Sammy took a quick look around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “Well, they asked me where I worked. I told them it was an ink manufacturing plant that I didn’t remember the name of. I think they bought it. Why, are people pestering you about it?”

“No. But I’ve been hearing about the investigation on the radio. They all want to know about the man who who somehow got several pounds of ink into his system and lived. As far as I can tell, no one suspects a thing about our old workplace, or magic. I think we’re free of it, buddy. I don’t think Joey is ever going to be in our lives again.”

Now Sammy looked like a weight had been lifted from him. “I had no idea how badly I needed to hear that until now.”

Over the coming weeks, Jack regularly visited Sammy in the hospital. He looked stronger every time Jack saw him. The news story died down without much fanfare. Sammy got out with a clean bill of health, and Joey Drew Studios gradually became a distant memory to them.

[missmonsters2]

The Color of You || Part VII

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé. 

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on. Please note this part includes abuse & torture (semi-graphic).

NOTE: This is a pretty dark chapter about reader. Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this series, any natasha stories I do, Wanda stories, or everything

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI 

PART VII of X

Count: 3249

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

10 years ago...

Your name was being shouted from a distance. You turned your head, seeing your mother calling you back into the house. Closing your sketchbook, you got up, dusting your pants before making your way back in.

“Really, you shouldn’t be outside too long,” your mother half-heartedly scolded you.

“Why not? We’re in the countryside. There are no neighbors for miles and miles away,” You rebuttal, a little upset that you had to come in.

Your mother merely raises her brow at you. “You’re getting a bit more of an attitude every day, missy. I didn’t say anything when you got your tattoos, but no sass-mouthing me.” 

She says it so jokingly that you can’t help but smile along.

“It’s going to rain today,” you say, and your mother seems confused.

“Really? The weatherman said it’ll be sunny all day,” she muses.

“It will rain,” you confirm. 

“Best get the laundry in then,” your mother rushes off.

You grin, watching your mother runoff. Your family was wealthy with your father running his own company, but even so, you lived in a beautiful house out in the countryside, away with people and no hired help. Well, you used to have a maid at least, but she had quit saying the countryside was not settling well with her body. Your family paid her a lot of hush money.

Your family adored you, and when they discovered your strange gift, it really worried them what could happen to you if anyone knew.

The worry that people would take you, want to experiment on you, or take advantage of you pushed your parents to make the decisions they did.

So, you and your family took care of your daily things while your father would go run his company, often coming home late at night. 

It was a simple life.

Everything was good.

Or so you thought.

“I just...I don’t know what we’re going to do. I may have to claim bankruptcy. We’re hardly making the payments we need to do. The company just keeps getting worse, and I don’t understand why. I had to lay off 80 people today. I’ve closed down many factories in the last month.”

You stood quietly at the door, slightly ajar for you to peer in to see your father in a stressed state as your mother tried to comfort him.

“Should we move back into the city?” Your mother suggests, but your father shook his head.

“No, it’s worse for our daughter out there. You know that. There are too many people and sounds. It triggers the visions.”

Your mother purses her lips but agrees. They sigh stressfully together, your mother’s head on your father’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out, darling, we always do.”

It made you feel awful. 

That night you stared at the ceiling in bed, praying an answer would come.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You were in the field again, resting against the tree, sketching the view before you.

It was peaceful, but in the sense that it’s the calm before the storm. You were anxious.

Last night, you were getting horrible visions of a man in a fiery crash. He was stuck in the vehicle, screaming a name you couldn’t hear. The vehicle caught on fire, and there was so much blood.

The crash had disfigured his face, but his expression haunted you.

You weren’t sure what to do with it because you didn’t know who this man, where he was, or when it was happening. 

Hell, you couldn’t make out his face without the blood and shards of glass.

A part of you wasn’t sure if maybe you were just having nightmares.

But the same vision kept coming over and over the next few nights. You were getting ragged, and your parents could tell. 

They were happening more frequently, with more details each time, but it wasn’t like you had any more understanding. 

You spent a day, just trying to mimic what the man was saying in the car before he died. Your mouth followed his movements, but you weren’t getting anywhere. 

You felt like you were going to go crazy, watching the same man dying.

It kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going...

Until one day, it stopped. 

A part of you was relieved, but there was a drop in your stomach wondering if it stopped because it happened, and it was no longer a future possibility. 

The days were peaceful once more. 

Well, as can be. You could tell your parents were getting more stressed as they were running out of money, getting closer, and closer to bankruptcy.

You were sure the peaceful days were coming to an end, and you felt so guilty you couldn’t do more. 

“--rry, I’m just really lost. How do I get back to the main road?”

You turned your head, stretching to see a tall, handsome man with a couple dirt stains on his suit. 

He looked shy.

Your mother merely laughed at his sheepish boyish grin.

“Well, let me draw you a map. Why don’t you come in and grab some tea? Must’ve been some adventure, huh?”

The man laughed and walked inside. 

You quietly crawled through the tall flowers, peering inside the kitchen glass door to see the man sit down. 

You tilted your head to the side, observing him.

He was obviously wealthy, catching his Rolex watch on his wrist.

You did find it a little weird for someone to get lost here. This was quite out of the way of anything.

He turned his head, and then your eyes met. 

He looked shocked, mouth agape. 

He actually flushed and looked away. 

Since you were caught, you stood up, coming through the side door of the kitchen. Your mother looked shocked to see you. Even a little wary.

“This is my daughter,” Your mother told the man, introducing you.

The man stood abruptly up, coughing slightly as he stuck his hand out towards you.

“I’m William Cain.”

Your mother hummed. “Your dad doesn’t happen to own Cain Holdings, does he?”

William nodded, and your mother gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I heard about the accident. I’m really sorry to hear about him.”

William merely thanked her with a half-smile before looking back at you. You tilted your head down, looking a the map your mother drew and hummed.

Grabbing the pen, you re-drew the path he should take.

“Is it wrong?” Your mother asked.

“No, but...the roads are tricky over there. It is best he takes this route back to the main road.” You quietly say, passing the sheet of paper to him with a small smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

And then you left. Your mother is someone that doesn’t like you meeting strangers, so it’d be best to limit interactions.

She heard small noises from downstairs, but soon, William was on his way.

She thought that was the end of that.

Until he showed up again.

And then again, and again, and again. 

The next couple of times, he came with small gifts like chocolate, cookies, or little trinkets, saying it was a thank you for helping him.

The next couple of times, he would come up with ridiculous lies to say he was visiting. 

One day, he merely said he wanted to see you.

Then the reasons no longer mattered. 

You couldn’t classify that you were in love with William, your heart just didn’t feel that way. But you weren’t unsatisfied to be with him. Especially knowing he could help your father.

Before you knew it, he wanted to whisk you away, back to his estate. He thinks you just have a frail body, which is why you’re in the countryside. He promises your parents of a quiet place for you, where you can still have fresh air, and lots of room to draw and paint. 

He promises a partnership for your father’s company.

And with your reassurance, they hand you to him. 

“Don’t tell William about your abilities, dear,” your mother tells you as she helps you pack your clothes. “I know he loves you, but you never know.”

You nod, feeling your throat burn as your about to leave your parents. 

“We can visit at any time. Heck, we may even decide to move back to the city,” your mother tries to reassure you, but you’ll miss her anyways. 

With hugs and kisses goodbye, a final piece of advice, you part ways with your family.

Never to see them again.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

William’s place is quiet. 

Much more quiet than you had expected. There are no pictures on the wall, only paintings and trinkets. You meet his mother, who’s just thrilled to have ‘such a young, graceful lady around.’

She seems sweet but also distant. She looks out the window a lot like she’s expecting someone to come home at any time. 

William is still finishing university, it was a wonder how he found so much time to visit you. On top of that, he was busying himself to take over his father’s business. 

You’re still getting used to the city air. It’s not quite the same as the countryside, but you find that you don’t mind it at all. 

William seems to be keeping you a secret because, as the years pass, you never meet anyone new. You’ve visited your parents rarely, and it seems to be getting more infrequent.

There’s an unsettling fear in your stomach, and you don’t understand why. It feels like you’re being tested. William asks your opinion on everything, trying to gauge your reaction.

You’ll purposely choose the wrong thing or say the wrong thing because your mother’s words can’t escape your head.

You’re now having reoccurring nightmares of the man dying in the car crash again. He’s screaming and screaming, but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Waking up in cold sweats and an empty bed, you’re scared out of your mind. 

You want to leave. 

So in the dead of night, while William is gone, you sneak into the hallways. 

Suddenly, you hear footsteps and noises. Panic overtakes you as you scramble through a door you haven’t been through before. You shut the door, leaning against it as you listened to the footsteps and voices walk right past you.

Sighing in relief, you stood up straighter and turned around. It was dark, but the moonlight outside illuminated the room enough for you to see. 

You realized that it wasn’t so much a room, but a hallway. Against the wall were portraits lined up side by side. Walking over, you looked at the photos one-by-one. Typically, this was a room you weren’t allowed to enter. William or a maid always led you away.

This must be generations of men in William’s family, you thought. 

You come to the last photo. It must be William’s father. You haven’t really seen a big, clear picture of the man before. Even in news articles, they were always taken from afar. 

You stood before the large portrait that seemed to loom down on you, staring at you with his clear features and eyes.

A sharp pain shot through your head as you hissed, hand coming to your eyes as the images rush through your head.

It’s the dying man again.

But you can hear everything this time, see more clearly.

“WILLIAM! WILLIAM!” He screams, desperately trying to unbuckle his seatbelt. The car is incredibly hot, a small fire coming from under the hood with smoke. Shards of glass are stuck in his face, and there’s just so much pain. 

He can hear a car door shut just a few feet from him. He turns his head to see his son come up to the window.

“WILLIAM, GET ME OUT OF HERE!” He yells, pulling at his seatbelt again. A truck just came out of nowhere, and the fire was starting to grow.

William stood by the driver’s side, careful to not lean too close with the broken glass as he crouched down, his face stoic. 

“You don’t understand our legacy, father. You’re going to ruin everything our family has created for generations.”

His father watched as William got up, walking away without even stumbling. 

“WILLIAM! WILLIAM!”

He called and called, but his voice was soon drowned out by the sound of the vehicle exploding.

Your head felt heavy as you were gasping in pain. It was like your right eye was throbbing. 

“You know, don’t you?”

You whipped around to see William, who just turned onto the hallway, casually leaning against the wall.

You stumble back a little bit, but then your back hit someone else’s. You turn your head to see Evelyn, the last maid you had.

“Evelyn...? What are you--”

“It’s fine, release her,” William cuts you off. 

Evelyn lets go of your shoulders, and William walked to stand before you.

“You know what I did, don’t you?” William says to you again, his arms crossed over his chest.

“N-No, I don’t--” You stuttered.

“Don’t lie,” William tsked at you. “I heard from our little rich circle years ago about your parents who had a darling little girl...but something was off about her, she was always predicting things that happened.”

William uncrossed his arms, lifting his hand to caress a strand of your hair. “I paid Evelyn a lot of money to see if it was true. Then I swept you away...keeping you here to see myself.”

“So,” William drawled, “What else have you seen?”

“N-nothing,” you say, and it’s true, at least nothing related to William. 

William merely smiles at you.

“I guess we’ll have to change that.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was dark.

And cold.

You don’t know how many days you’ve been in this...hole.

Evelyn has taken you deep into the basement. You’re sure you’re well beneath the floor in this cell. 

They dropped you in here with no way of getting out.

It felt like you were in a well. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your screams were echoing.

Arm out as your hands stretched to reach...reach something.

“I don’t like it when you run, don’t you understand that by now?” William’s voice sounded disappointed with you. 

The blade he held carved into your skin, and you could feel a warm liquid dribble out and slide down your sides.

“P-Please stop...” you begged with tears in your eyes and throat raw from screaming.

“Don’t run from me anymore.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You were back in the dark.

Knees crouched to your chest, you had your head down. 

Evelyn came by, and you were mad at her. Hated her with every fiber of your being. 

You want your parents, your parents will know you're missing if they keep visiting and you’re never around.

Evelyn says your parents won’t visit anymore.

You won’t get to see them until you’re dead, she tells you. 

You don’t know what to do anymore. 

You’ve been in here for weeks. Your back has begun to scab over, but you refuse to give anything to William. 

You stare straight ahead, even if you can’t see anything.

You start to wonder if you should give up and join your parents.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Still nothing?” William says to you as you’re forced to kneel before him.

He comes up to you and gets down on one knee. Your face is bruised, and he cups it gently like he cares about you.

“I don’t want to treat you like this, you know. I meant what I said to your parents when I said I’d take care of you. You need to let me take care of you.”

You clench your jaw at the mention of your parents, but you don’t say anything.

William moves in to try to brush his lips against yours, but you vehemently turn your head away.

For a second, you think he might hit you again, but he just sighs.

“Evelyn, take her back,” William says, but he turns to you again. “I want you to help me, but if you can’t, I don’t have any problems achieving what I need to without you too. Don’t become useless to me.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your back rests against the slightly curved wall. Your hair feels matted, and you just feel grimy in general.

William's words keep replaying in your head, but you can’t help but feel hopeless.

You’ve stopped eating the meals Evelyn brings you. 

It doesn’t matter anymore, you think. 

You stare into the nothingness so long you think you’re eyes have adjusted. 

People think that the dark is just black, but it’s not. There are no words to describe the lack of colors around you. 

A sharp pain hits your head again as you hiss, bringing your hand to your eye.

The sudden colors are so vivid and bright, it almost hurts you. 

You see flashes of red hair, luscious lips, a black suit, and a pair of piercing emerald eyes.

You just see quick flashes of different scenes, but you know one thing for sure.

She’s going to take down William.

“Natasha,” you whisper to yourself as if to test the name on your lips. 

It makes you feel warm.

And you get a feeling that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Then I got myself together...forced myself to give into William and paved his way exactly the way it had to be to bring you here.”

You feel something wet hit your bare back.

Turning your head as far as you can to see tears falling from Natasha’s eyes and it trickles down her face, hitting your back a couple more times.

You wonder if it’s awful to think she looks beautiful when she’s crying too. You turn your body over, Natasha adjusting herself so you can do so.

With your bare chest exposed to her, you lift your hand and cradle her cheek, smiling a little when she presses herself more into your palm.

“Why are you crying?” You ask her softly, using your thumb to wipe a tear that was falling.

“I’ll kill him,” Natasha says, turning her lips into your palm as she kisses the area tenderly. 

You chuckle softly because you’re not sure if she really will or not, but it warms your heart nonetheless. 

“Do you want to know something interesting?” You ask, your other hand pulling on her shirt, so Natasha will lean down closer to your lips.

Natasha hums.

“When I saw you...I held onto you. Through every dark night, painful crying, and feeling so wretched...I remembered you.” You whispered as Natasha’s lips got closer. Your thumb stroked the softness of her cheek as Natasha gripped onto your sides tightly, screwing her eyes shut as you told her what she meant to you.

“You’re such a beautiful color, Natasha. You’re the soft blue that comforted me, the yellow that brought me happiness, a pure white that gave me light the darkness, and the green that brought me hope. Do you understand me?”

You’re so desperate for her to understand.

Because without her, you would’ve never made it out alive, and you need her to know that.

Your lips brush against Natasha’s as her body lines up with yours. You shiver, feeling her cover your chest.

“You saved me.”

Natasha won’t let you say anymore as her lips crashes onto yours, but you feel her emotions dripping into you as she kisses you deeply. Her grip loosens as she pushes her arms under your back to hold you closer. 

“You’re mine,” is all Natasha can say.

PART VIII

[jhindraven]

okay now that issue 6 is out and ive read the thing like 3 times, im gonna do my full review/breakdown of the zed comic and allll my thoughts on it.

no screenshots bc i dont want this to be longer than it is already, and also im not gonna talk about the art itself either. this is simply about the characters, the story, and how that relates to the lore of league itself.

all of this is my opinion, you can agree or disagree with me whatever, yadda yadda lets begin

ISSUE ONE

Probably the best one? In my opinion. The lack of expectations really helped this one not suck. Also the most consistent when it comes to characters personalities, comparing them to the in-game voice lines from league and the card game.

There are scenes in issue 1 that almost foreshadow, or at least reference, the events of Issue 6, specifically Zed looking up to the statue of Kusho, and how Zed kills Althon vs how Zed kills Kusho later on.

The dialogue between Shen and Akali is.. a little clunky? Shen’s dialogue is just a little. formal. but to the point that he sounds like he’s lecturing a stranger, not talking to a former student.

Jhin giving Zed his scalpel from 19 years ago is a neat detail that I wish they used more in the story. Sure, we can assume now that Jhin probably only got it because Kusho gave it to him at some point after releasing him- which means that the scalpel is one of the many wasted plot opportunities I’ll bring up here. Part of the appeal of that scene, if only just for me, was the idea that Jhin stole it from Zed while he wasn’t looking. I remember people pointing out background characters and being like “but what if that’s Jhin there! what if he was there all along!!”  But that has now been thrown out the window.

A thing I wish they did was shown more of Jhin’s ‘performances’, even if only in a montage. To show more of the impact this had on Zed and Shen, the strain it put on them mentally and emotionally, and how it affected their relationship. But I understand time and probably page restraints. So whatever about that.

Again, I think this was the best one. Set up the story well, showed why everything happening is important for the character. Neat, cool. Let’s move on

ISSUE 2

Seeing the bodies was pretty fucked up, but tbh? That shit vibed. It’s one of those things I hoped they were gonna do and they did. The bodies looking like porcelain with gold blood?? And the peacock feathers???? Thats fuckin cool as hell.  Then they never did it again.

In the flashback comes one of the worst fucking things in this comic. Yevnai.

Listen I adore Yevnai as a character, one of my favourites to come from the comic. You know, in the ONE ISSUE SHE ACTUALLY SHOWS UP IN????? She shows up as simply conflict between Shen and Zed (which never actually comes up mind you), as bait for Jhin, and for? Zed to show that he can sense magic from her kids to show that she’s been cheating on her husband with Quno the vastayan servant (bc we know Zed hates vastaya i guess?). oh and Guess What? the sensing magic thing also doesn’t show up again. 

Oh and Jhin follows Zed to Yevnai’s place. But nothing happens from that.

Issue 2 was good, but just a total waste imo. A lot of plot points set up only to never happen again. Best things about it were dead bodies, Jhin’s tiny Zed and Shen puppets, and the knowledge that Shen still writes letters to Yevnai :’(

ISSUE 3

I got so fucking pissed when this issue came out, no shit. They took the events of The Man With The Steel Cane and just. Threw it out the window. I did a whole other post about my issues with it so I won’t just rewrite the same shit twice. But I had to actually stop reading and pace angrily for a bit. I HATE issue 3 bro.

The scene with Kusho :) . Good to know that was now a waste of misdirection because EVERYONE seemed to call that Kusho was still alive. What bullshit. But I’ll get to that.

The inconsistencies in character really show in this one. And that connects to it being a shitty rewrite of The Man With The Steel Cane. They probably wanted a fight between Shen and Zed by this point, being halfway through the comic, and just shoved it in there. Doesn’t mean I’m not mad about it.

Akali and Kayn’s dialogue was probably the best thing in the entire issue. I don’t vibe with Akali/Kayn as a ship personally, but it got a giggle out of me im ngl.

Akali attacking Zed. I guess yeah sure she would. Fits her whole “fuck you i wont do what you tell me shen” vibe. But SHEN? calling off the armistice between the yánléi and kinkou due to the actions of one of HIS ex-students?? Shen would never. Let’s add another point to the ‘This Is Really Out Of Character’ board!

The sworn and witnessed scene was nice, it’s what Kayn deserves. Finally knowing the Kashuri Faction was nice, too bad they never get fucking mentioned ever again I guess.

There’s so many references to The Man With The Steel Cane that they could’ve implimented so much better, especially dialogue. I can’t read the original story without feeling cheated out of what it was before Issue 3. So more wasted potential I guess.

Issue 4

This was a big step up from Issues 2-3. My personal favourite, but not the best (if that makes sense). But there isn’t too much to talk about here? Jhin sets off his bombs from the last issue, it looks cool, but there’s no real story to talk about here. There is a lot of character stuff to talk about though.

Zed choosing to save Shen over getting Jhin is fucking HUGE for Zed as a character. For a character so hellbent on vengence throughout the entire thing choosing instead to save his "hated enemy and closest friend” ?? im sobbing.

This whole comic was emotional as hell, and the most character development we ever fucking saw in this thing. From Zed’s daddy issues to the realisation that Zed’s shadows are shades of Jhin and Kusho (which is now fucking hilarious and makes no sense after Issue 6).

There was a lot of setup for plotpoints that actually did show up later for once, like Kayn being the temporary leader and all that jazz. What it had in emotion, it seemed to lack in real story progression until the end. 

Issue 5

This issue was weird for me. Like there was a lot of plot and a lot of character shit that seemed so condensed that it felt like nothing. Zed’s confession in the cell-wagon and the information that Shen was out fighting Noxians too? Alright, sure okay. 

Shen still seems wildly out of character for me, since we mostly know him as this beacon of peace and calm- he’s so violent towards Zed all the time it’s strange. Like he points a sword at Zed while saying that he isn’t allowed to kill Jhin, wtf

The callback to Awaken is fucking superb. Really solidifies that video into the lore of the game. Camille being mentioned had me like :hearteyes: This is a nitpick- but I wish we knew what happened at the end of Awaken. Is Camille okay? Did Jhin get injured? It was a week ago, if he did get injured- where and how did he recover so fast? Little details  that I wanna know, not really for any real story purposes.

Rhaast finally showing up :hearteyes:, nothing else to add bc nothing else happened with him.

Jhin making the most of Piltoven technology is really cool, and its a scene that made me go “OH YEAH he was a stagehand for a good period of time!!”  That’s what we call Tying In Pre-Existing Lore fellas.

Jhin just really shined in this issue. Really set him up to be The Big Bad of the comic, like he had a monologue and everything! Once again, though, that gets absolutely wasted by Issue 6.

Issue 6

Where do I fucking start?

Let’s start with Jhin. I don’t know about yall, but since we spent a solid 5 issues chasing after him I expected more of a dramatic fight. More like the explosions in Issue 4. But uh we got. Some fancy prop work before he got punched in the face twice and thrown on the ground. It’s What He Deserves but like you know, he deserved worse.

As much as I didn’t want it to happen, I’m disappointed they didn’t unmask him at all. His mask was still fucking pristine by the end of the fight!! Not a scratch, not a chip!! But to be fair I think we got maybe 2 pages worth of a physical fight with Jhin so,, sure. Whatever. Out goes 5 issues of setting up? Not to downplay the conflict in that scene of course, I think it was pretty cool. It was just so anticlimactic at the end like wh-

Kusho! Haha they got us good!! The dead dude is actually still alive oooo~ [heavy sarcasm]. Why. It wasn’t a good twist! It was a “oh. okay yeah sure” twist. This might be my heat of the moment response but I have no words for how cheap and absolutely horseshit that twist is. Good thing we only have to think about it for 10 pages because HE FUCKING DIES AGAIN. WHAT A WASTE!!

Whatever, whatever, thinking about it makes me so mad because they set it up barely in Issue 5? I’m just tired this actually drained me irl.

At least we have baby Kayn and good dad Zed at the end to cleanse us of that.

HEY actually did you know that they thought that Good Dad Zed was considered contoversial by Marvel’s editors?? HUH????

whatever, whatever. i’m pissed. 

BONUS SHIT

So Jhin’s lore has now had an update to connect with the comic. And it’s fucking weird. Now suddenly Kusho didn’t care about catching Jhin after he found out it was just a human person murdering people? And that it was essentially Not Their Job anymore??? excuse me??

CONCLUSION?

This comic started with a good beginning and a lot of potential. It brought up so many new theories and so many new headcanons. But all that potential and all that interesting story got washed away with unconnected plot points, ‘important’ characters that show up once, and a cheap twist ending that simultaneously came out of nowhere and was easily predicted (in the bad way). It was a fun read for a while, but the ending has soured the experience I had reading it.

Some issues may come from time + page constraints, and the limitations of the medium. But those were mostly minor issues. I wanna give the artists and the writers the benefit of the doubt, maybe blame Marvel as I like to do. But...

6 months worth of waiting for an ending like this? I’m just disappointed.

[eternaleve]

Watching A Broken Frame music videos for the first time!

Carrying on with my Depeche Mode video rewatch project with the vids for A Broken Frame (first post is found here https://eternaleve.tumblr.com/post/624649762286780416/ive-spent-the-course-of-covid-lockdown-cycling)

I looked through my vinyl and found I did not steal my mother’s Depeche Mode singles from this album (I only stole all her Elvis Costello and Joy Division and a bunch of Japan singles which I suspect she snuck to me in hopes of making me like them) but they are all mysteriously gone. My abusive stepdad recently moved out and I have thoughts about what property he took, but this just seems petty. 

Anyway, let’s talk about A Broken Frame! Vince Clarke left the band to go and be the Paul McCartney of 80s electronic music, forming Yazoo and Erasure. Apparently he did not like success and touring and stuff, which is far because it’s a lot of pressure, so he’s out and Alan Wilder is in after responding to an ad in Melody Maker. Remember music journalism? He joined as a tour keyboardist and appears in the videos for the album, but didn’t contribute to the album.

 A Broken Frame was released eleven months after Speak & Spell, which doesn’t seem to be enough time to me for a band to create another whole album's worth of material. It just seems that a band spends a few years perfecting their sound and a selection of songs, and then a record label says, ‘Great! Now do the same thing, but in a much shorter timeframe, under much more stress, and in snatched moments between being shuttled from gig venue to gig venue!’. I understand there’s a ~hype train~ that music acts have to follow, because bands can slip out of notice so fricking quickly, but the pressure does not seem set up to maintain the mental and emotional well-being of people. I’m sure nothing like that will happen in the history of this bad though!

This album cover is considered one of the world’s greatest photographs for a reason. It’s stark and beautiful and has echoes of socialist realism and is just a really striking image. I don’t know who has final say over art direction in the band but whoever does has a great eye for images. The picture is taken over by Duxford and as I’m from the Midlands I have been to Duxford on a hundred school trips (it has a big air centre with WW2 planes and things and bits of the Berlin Wall), so I’ve probably been past this field an uncountable number of times without even realising it.

See You (Jan 1982, No 6 UK charts)

I like how it looks like fuzzy felt. It feels very, very different from the singles art from the last album, I guess to indicate a clear difference in direction? Maybe? This is the first single for the band written by Martin Gore and starting his reign as songwriter.

All the music videos for this album were directed by Julien Temple and are Not Liked by the band. I generally quite like Julien Temple’s work and watched a lot of it as a teen (stepdad being hugely into the Pistols), so I am intrigued to say the least how these will turn out to be.

This does give me a bit of a nostalgia kick for an old-fashioned style train station. It’s pretty much what my home station used to look like before everything was privatised, bought out by Virgin, turned bright red and full of commuters. I like how the station sparks to the beat of the music and that someone okayed an actual spending budget for this time around.

YOU HAVE TO LEAVE THE STATION THE PHOTOBOOTH IS HAUNTED

Not going to lie, this looks 100% like my Dad’s first ever passport photo. I like the addition of the bowtie. It adds a real ‘First Communion’ vibe to the whole look. The nose stud… well, I had a nose stud at the exact same period of my life. Same age too, I think, only mine stayed around a lot longer when it definitely should not have done.

It was at that moment he knew he had made a grave mistake in confronting the ‘Telephone Box Killer’ on his own.

Insert a standard ‘Original Selfie’ joke here. The use of the photobooth gives a cute little through line in the video, as well as giving other band members a chance to be present. I remember using photobooths to take fun photos, before they started costing so much goddamned money and put them only in the most inconvenient places. I still have a bunch that I keep in my purse.

… And now everyone’s working an office job? To show the passage of time? Or because it’s now a bit with music, so we’re showing the use of keyboards through office equipment that sort of requires you to make similar hand movements?

Something, something, statement about technology? The photobooth theme was fine! It was cute! It said something about the regret and passage of time from teen to young adult romance! Why are there now a lot of calculators?

Just in case you forgot - the single’s out now. Wink, wink.

But let’s go back and check in with our corporate overlords. Bob, how are you doing on the spyware floor?

… is this Julien Temple? Is it a music video within a music video? Did he put himself in the video? Could this part not have been done by a member of the band? Like, y’know, that new one who was clearly added in partly through this video?

I like the main core storyline of the video - thinking about a past relationship and then happening to run into them again unexpectedly - but I can see why this is perhaps not well thought of. Next one!

The Meaning of Love (April 82, No 12 UK charts)

This reminds me a lot of the cover for the first Adrian Mole book which was published the same year. It does not match the first single at all or the album, but I guess the album art was yet to be done? Or maybe two different departments handled them, because I would have gone with a different single cover if I knew that one of the greatest photographs of all time was in the wings for the album.

Reader, my heart dropped. I knew we were in for some deeply 80s bullshit. And, like, not good 80s bullshit.

This is the lounge act in the cruiseship of my nightmares

Martin Gore there looking like 99% of the lesbians on the DIY punk scene.

What the fuck is going on?

What, and I must reiterate, the fuck is going on? Are those pies? Pie eyes? Pie eye glasses? What does it mean?

Now’s not the time for your science homework, it’s time to film a music video.

Great, I know what image will be repeating in my night terrors tonight. Martin Gore’s face earnestly singing at me from the depths of a paramecium.

THIS JUST GETS WORSE AND WORSE. THERE IS NO SITUATION ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET MADE BETTER WITH PUPPETS.

No, my night paralysis nightmare will be Dave Gahan’s face turning into a fucking pie over and over and over again.

Oh, I see, the Meaning of Love is that your wife will turn into a bitter harpy that won’t let you live your dream and also your life is ruined because she keeps letting the puppets sleep in the bed.

I guess the video has a sort of XTC vibe? It does remind me of the video of ‘Making Plans for Nigel’, which I do like, but also this video is fucking awful should be seen to be believed. I liked the band’s awkward choreography which was four men showing how much they did not want to be doing any of this.

Leave In Silence (August 82, No 18)

The font is nice. That’s about all there is to say for this. It doesn’t match the other two singles. I’m not saying everything has to be matchy-matchy, but it is nice to have visual similarity and consistency. This looks like the record label gave up on trying.

Okay, so we’ve got the album art sorted and starting out with a - I guess you could call it ‘low rural farming vocalisation’, and neither of these two things match the other singles or music videos, which have had a very poppy, teen girl, Smash Hits vibe. 

This week on The Generation Game, you could win a stainless steel bowl, a cuddly toy, and the lead singer of Depeche Mode!

This video started with a group of people vocalising while pouring out grain and looking very plaguecore, now we’re all playing around on a conveyor belt because I think Julien Temple has run out of ideas and is being artsy and surreal and weird to cover that up.

Ladies and gentleman, I’m sad to say that ‘The Fanciest Little Cowboy’ competition will not be running this year due to a lack of other contestants. This is a very fancy Little Cowboy though.

…. I…. what? 

I have seen many bad, bad, bad cursed images in my time, but this is going straight up to the top. What the fuck does this say about the song? The band? The image the record label is trying to project? This pointless weird imagery for the sake of being pointless and weird.

It’s okay, Jess. Bright Red Martin Gore can’t really hurt you. Only haunt you.

And now spacehoppers. Because of course spacehoppers!

The players from Pathologic show up to make a cameo appearance, matching nothing in the video, and seeming wildly out of place with everything else. Pick a theme or story, Julien! It is EITHER the Generation Game OR a terrifying children’s show OR guttural Soviet inspired plaguecore. You can pick one! Not all of them!

The Blue Man Group really had a rough start. The wheat is… just there. Because I guess Julien Temple couldn’t think of how to organically weave it an advertisement for the album. So there’s just a bundle of wheat for no good reason.

By this point, same, mate. That is the only reaction I am having.

These videos were… not great. I think ‘See You’ is the best and most cohesive - it tells a cute little story that ties in with the themes of the song and provides an emotional resonance. And then things just go off the bloody chain a bit. They get weird and experimental in a way that does not work in selling the band or the song. They seem pretty disconnected from what a music video should be and Julien Temple seemed to just run out of ideas by ‘Leave In Silence’. C- Mr Temple, must try harder.

And then onto Construction Time Again! ... well, when I get round to it. In a few days maybe.

[furieas]

@craneguard​ said  :  🖐🏽 for klaudwinters 😔

send in 🖐🏽 for five times our muses touched .

i.

      klaud returned home late from the factory  ,  tonight  .  an extra shift meant she wouldn’t have to think about today            -  the anniversary of her husband’s death            -  but it would sink in as soon as she shut the door  .  klaud would sigh  ,  press her temple to the door and sit there ‘til small footsteps came down the stairs  .

     play with me  ,  momma  .  klaud was too tired to here how wrong it sounded  . 

     go to bed  ,  sweetheart  ,  she told him  ,  and then it was quiet  .  she thought he’d scampered back up the stairs  ,  but the shadow behind her shifts  .  she hears flesh ripping and bones cracking and it’s no longer her son’s voice  ,  but her husband’s calling to her  .  klaud  ,  darling  ,  how could you let this happen to me  ?  how could you let me become this  ?  how could you  ?  how could you  ?  how could you  ?

     today was the anniversary of her husband’s death  .  now it is her son’s  ,  too  .

      her ears are still ringing with the wails of her husband’s voice  .  there is no sound but the rain and her ragged breathing  .  a heavy darkness blankets the room and for once  ,  klaud is grateful because she’s not sure she could stand to see the blood on her face and hands  .  let me fade away here  ,  she thinks  .  there’s an angry screech of metal scraping against the ground  .  she doesn’t move  ,  but lau snarls  ,  curling her farther into himself  .  i’m so tired  ,  she thinks  .  it would be nice to sleep  .

      a set of heavy boots come to rest in front of her  .  they squeak and grown in protest as their wearer squats down and it reminds her of the way her son’s bones cracked and squealed  .  she wants to rip her ears off  .

      get up  .  the voice is gruff and uncaring  .  she does not move  .  my son  ,  she says weakly  ,  even if she knows the answer  .  where’s my son  ?  

      your son was long dead before this  .  numbness washes over her  .  she does not cry  .  now get up  .  he offers his hand down to her trembling form  .  it is not soft  ,  or kind  ,  or reassuring when she takes it  .  there is no promise there  .  but it is something  .

      it is something  .

ii. 

      it’s been months since that night  .  klaud has learned several things  .  one  :  her son had indeed been dead for months  .  two  :  somehow  ,  she’s joined a secret organization meant to stop those monsters  .  three  :  her pet monkey is not simply a monkey  .  four  :  general winters socalo is a bastard  .

      she hated him from the moment he’d found her  ,  all that time ago  ,  and training with him only made it worse  .  he’s insufferable  .  arrogant  .  utterly infuriating and he knows it  .  

      for the fourth time today she’s pinned  .  slammed to the wall  ,  with madness at her throat  .  winters shakes his head like this should be the easiest thing in the world and she’s failing  .  you’re dead  ,  he says through gritted teeth  .  again  .  

      her breath fans over the edge of his sword  ,  angry and hot against the cool hum of the innocence  .  the frustration is almost too much to bear and she scrambles for something  ,  anything to get leeway  ,  but there's none to be found  .  klaud lets loose a frustated  ,  gutteral noise         -  nothing but anger and desperation and hatred         -  and headbutts him  .  he reels back just enough for her to kick him off and she goes for another blow  .  winters catches her fist in his hand  ,  but he’s bleeding profusely from his nose and grinning  .  

      good  .  use that anger  ,  he says  .  she thinks he looks proud for a moment but that might be her imagination  .    again  .  

iii. 

      she spends many nights awake these days  .  it’s been a long time since all the generals have gathered together at headquarters  .  being here leaves her more restless than usual  .  she realizes it has that effect on them all when one night winters joins her on one of the many balconies around the building  .

      klaud doesn’t say anything  .  she’s a changed woman  ,  now       -  hardened by battle and more loss than she ever thought she could take  .  it’s been a week since they’ve all gathered  ,  years since she’s seen him  .  she’s not sure what to say  .

     can’t sleep  ,  huh  ?  he starts for her  .  she shakes her head  .  yeah  ,  me neither  .  hate this fuckin’ place  .  at least the view’s decent  .

      she understands all too well  .  he doesn’t say anything else when she doesn’t  .  maybe it’s the summer air  ,  or the ungodly hour of the night  ,  or the silence that she can’t stand that makes her speak  .  my son used to try counting the stars at night  .  he  . . .  she stops  ,  scoffs , and shakes her head  .  nevermind  .  i’m sure you don’t care for it  .

      not really  ,  he says  ,  shrugging off the door frame and instead leaning against the railing next to her  .  his arm brushes hers  .  but go on  .

iv. 

      winters returned to hq two days after he’d gotten the call  .  ala’s voice had been frantic and the static had been terrible  ,  but he’d heard the words klaud and hurt and death in the same sentence and for a reason he couldn’t discern his lungs felt tight at the implications he was left with  .

      he’s relieved  ,  then  ,  to see her softly breathing when he burst into the infirmary  .  saya scolds him about disturbing her but he hardly cares  .  she’s slept for days  ,  the nurse says  .  i’m not sure if she’ll wake up  .

      when  ,  he corrects her  .  when she wakes up  .

      it’s days later still and there is no sound but the rain and her ragged breathing  .  winters doesn’t dare be seen here during the day  ,  but night by night he’s spent his time leaning against the window  ,  watching her chest rise and fall  .  he grows more frustrated by the hour  .  just wake up  ,  he says to himself  .  winters reaches out to brush the strands of hair from her face  .  wake up  .

     he retracts quickly and gets up to leave the minute saya opens the door  ,  a string of curses running under his breath  .

v. 

      he spends most days in the training room even though it doesn’t help  .  the anger doesn’t go away  ,  and that seems to make it even worse  .  but it’s harder to sit in that room and watch her look so still  .  so deathly  .  and most people have the sense to leave him be  .  there’s no one to stop him           -  no one cognizant  ,  anyway  .  no one would dare try  ,  especially not tonight  ,  not when he’s leaving holes in the walls and cracking the floor  .  he still can’t get her out of his mind  .  why  ?  what is this  ?  what has she done to him  ?  there’s no way  .  there’s no way he  ,  winters socalo  ,  could care about someone  . . .  right  ?

      he’s too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear the door creak open  ,  but then        -

                little late to be tearing the place apart  ,  don’t you think  ?  

      he freezes  .  her voice is ragged and weary  ,  but he’s never heard anything sweeter  .  he turns  ,  slowly  ,  to see her leaning on the door handle for support  ,  and his shoulders drop in an instant  .  madness thuds against the ground and the playful smile on her face falters as he softly  ,  slowly walks up to her  .  what is it  ,  winters  ?  she says  ,  nervousness masked as a joke in her voice  .  you look like you’ve seen a ghost  .

      winters reaches towards her and she flinches  ,  only slightly  ,  when his fingers cradle her face  .  she sputters but he just presses his forehead to hers  .  his touch is light  ,  as if afraid he might break her  .  he watches her lips purse  .  he wants to kiss her so bad  .  you pulled through  ,  he says through heavy breaths  .  it’s barely a whisper  .  

      yeah  .  her hands reach up to cover his  .  yeah  ,  i did  .

[lo-ve-ly-lu-na-blog]

Lucifer and Her King (Devil!Cal AU)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Drinking, cursing, sexual implications

Chapter One

The club was aglow, and so was she. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wild and untamed, her smile infectious and bright. She was Lucifer-- and she was about to embark on a journey labelled the beginning of her descent.

Her descent started with a man with curly brown hair, a smooth grin sliding across her face. Lucy, however timid, wasn't in the particular mood to await pursuit tonight. She felt a pull between her and the dark stranger. Though the pull nearly knocked her off of her feet, her own will pushed her harder. She finished her drink -- though she instantly forgot how it tasted -- and made her way across the room.

Calum wasn't in the mood for partying. A once-in-a-blue-moon event his friends had joked, but he wasn't in the mood for jokes, in a similar fashion. He lived life to the fullest -- drinks and girls and friends and fun. His life was great. So, why did he feel like something was missing?

The mystery girl approached him resembling an angel. Her hair -- though untamed and messy -- shone under the green light, her eyes -- though slightly glossy and unfocused -- set him on fire. He watched her as she drew closer and closer, her body water through the club's jagged rocks of dancers. When she reached him, he didn't say a word. This girl was an angel in disguise.

He smiled devilishly when she dragged him onto the dance floor. The sounds he made were even more devilish when she kissed him. When she pulled him out of the club? At that moment, he wasn't just a devil -- he was the devil.

Lucy let Calum tug her down, down, down into him as they fled further away from the music and the people in the club. Their breaths were quick, but their hands were faster. When they parked, she ran from the cab as if darkness threatened to pull her in, he ran as if it threatened him with light. Up the stairs, through the doors, onto the bed -- it was all too slow, so they moved faster. They whispered sounds they didn't know they could make, coaxing them out of each other with every buck of their hips.

His name was Calum, his voice was velvet -- soft and smooth and the fire threatening to burn her --, and he made her eyes roll back.

Her name was Lucy, her body was a rose -- beautiful and fragile and dangerous enough to spark a fire in him --, and she taught him things he thought he'd already learned.

Their bodies, as moulded together as they were, was only the beginning of a knot that would pull them both in tighter than they might be able to handle. Their lives were about to change, for better or worse, and they, at the very, very least, had that one blissful night under the stars and Fate's grim grin.

♚

The morning sun woke Calum with a hiss. He turned over, not thinking anything of it until he remembered that he always kept the drapes windows closed. His back, now erect, dampened to a slouch when he remembered his friends must have opened them, simply to bother him. He heard a loud laugh trail underneath his door from the kitchen.

Yes, that’s it, he comforted himself in his head. Luke, Michael, and Ashton are just destroying my house, per usual. If he were anyone else, he would have thanked God for the lock on his door -- crafted of the purest titanium -- instead, his thoughts remained quiet.

He tossed and turned in a vain attempt to sleep, but they were much too loud for his eyes to close. Finally, he jumped out of bed -- growling and groaning as he dressed and brushed his teeth. He reached for the lock on his door, only to find it unhitched. The day prior seemed to drop onto him like a piano from the sky. His eyes widened as he raced towards the kitchen. A girl like her alone with his three mischievous and flirty friends? He felt a surge of possessiveness burn through him, scorching his lungs.

He skidded into the kitchen, only to find Ashton, Luke, and Michael eating donuts and drinking beers. He didn’t find them drinking beers at nine in the morning as unsettling as the lack of Lucy in his kitchen.

He skimmed the room in an instant. He didn’t find anything that even hinted at the memory of her in his apartment, Calum found nothing out of the ordinary, except the clothes she’d torn off of him so eagerly were no longer on the floor, but folded neatly on the coffee table.

“G’morning to you, too, Cal,“ Ashton joked from the counter, tipping a beer in Calum’s direction. “Nice of you to join the party, like the one you left without warning last night.“ He quipped.

However, Calum wasn’t particularly in the mood for witty banter. He gripped Ashton’s collar and slammed him against the nearest wall, his temper flaring hotter than the flames that glowed blue upon his head.

Ashton choked on the beer in his throat, but Calum didn’t mind. In fact, he licked the beer that landed on his lip and swallowed it gratefully. “Where is she?” Luke and Michael sat quietly on the counter, chewing their food calmly as they watched the scene their friends had made. It was quite entertaining, actually.

“Who the fuck is She?“ Ashton asked through quick inhales to his friend, whom he was certain had gone crazy. 

Michael, the more reasonable of the bunch, ventured into the depths of Calum’s fury. "Cal? The apartment was empty when we got here," He paused, digesting Calum's reaction. His grip loosened, Ashton landing firmly back onto the ground.

"What?"

"The apartment was empty," Michael continued, taking a small sip of his coffee before continuing. "Except for you and your fuckin' snoring, of course."

Calum turned around, picking up the coffee labelled "Caleb" and gulping it down -- it scorched his throat the whole way, and he savoured it.

"I don't snore." That was all he said, and then he walked right out of his own apartment, his mind awhirl with feelings and ideas he couldn't understand.

Fate sent a piteous look towards the curly-headed boy. She knew how the story would go, but she wished she didn't.

♚ 

 Lucy couldn't think, not when the previous night haunted her every movement. Little did Calum know, that club was her home, working all day, partying all night. She only slept in her apartment, and rarely did so. Angel's Hell was her home, and her coworkers were her family.

Ivy leaned across the bar, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder. "You left early last night," Lucy felt her cheeks warm -- still, she continued cleaning the counter in silence. "I also caught sight of this beautiful boy with tattoos like constellations and eyes like a drug."

Lucy froze, her eyes remaining downcast, not meeting Ivy's. "He didn't see me, though." Ivy pulled away from Lucy, moving on to mop the floor before their five o'clock opening. "He only had eyes for you, El Diablo."

Ivy had given Lucy the name El Diablo because of her riveting taste for satire, knowing Lucy was an angel. At least, that's what Lucy thought.

"We just spent one night together," She finally admitted, cleaning the bar with a much faster pace, eager to switch topics. "It was nothing."

She stiffened. Ivy had already expected this answer, but hearing it was another torment entirely. "I don't trust him," She said with a quick bite.

Lucy snorted. "You don't trust any men, Ive."

Ivy spun Lucy around quickly, though Lucy was sure she hadn't placed a single hand on her. "I'm serious, Lucy," Her eyes seemed to burn, but with light instead of fire -- they were such a bright brown they were mesmerizing. "Stay away from him and his whole posse, they're bad news."

Lucy shrugged her off, memories flashing before her eyes -- the dance floor, the car ride, the bed, the morning. "It was just one night, Ivy, calm down." She tossed the cloth away, breathing harshly. "I'm probably never going to see him again, anyways." She made her way behind the counter, shrugging past Ivy. "Excuse me," Was all she said sharply before she made her way to the back of the store.

Ivy sighed, looking up towards the ceiling, or, more specifically, beyond it. "You'd better have a good plan for this." She muttered to her superiors before she returned to the floor, scrubbing away the dirt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let me know if u want to be part of my tag list ❤

[lorettadelluci-blog]

TASK IV: THE EXTRAS.

summary: when loretta calls, you always pick up. there’s never any other choice. word count: 1.9k trigger warning: ptsd mention, illness mention

i. what’s worse, do you think: falling out of love with someone quick enough that it’s like it never happened, or falling out of love so slowly you wish you’d never met?

ada wilhelm can answer that question with ease. she stares at her call log, mouth pressed into a tight line. it’d been hard enough to hear it over the low roar of the private jet, but she’d gotten the voicemail.

ada, loretta had said, like she does every time she’s going to break ada’s heart, her voice emotionless, listen to me.

listen to her? for what? but ada --- stupidly, recklessly, knowing she’d have four board meetings waiting for her once the wheels hit the ground --- sat there and listened as loretta made it clear.

i don’t --- i’m not sure when i’m coming back. and i know it’s not fair to you, but i think it’s best if we... called this done.

she cycles through the emotions rapidly: anger, sadness, joy, grief, pure and unfiltered rage and envy. it’s not fair. but loretta’s never been fair. she’d thought for so long that maybe they could make it work. that if ada worked hard enough, kept up with the phone calls and text messages and spoke when loretta needed to listen that maybe things would be different this go around. she’s not sure what it is, exactly, keeping them together, but it hurts more than an open wound.

they’d met when they were barely kids, just out of college, and ada... she’s not stupid. she’d been in love with loretta since the day they’d met. and she’d never been selfish. not exactly. WILHELM was rightfully hers. her position at the top of the ladder is still hers. everything she’s clawed out of flesh, every minute she’s spent pouring over code and emails and texts and videos --- it’s all still hers. loretta wouldn’t take that from her. her wealth, her home, her newfound family --- they’d all be safe.

but this sacrifice doesn’t feel fair. not to ada. her phone shakes in her hands so she sets it down and smooths her skirt out, attempting to regain some semblance of poise. restraint. she thinks of the wedding ring, still in its velvet box, sitting on her mantelpiece. her fingers twitch. it’d been a nice dream, at least, for a little while. a happy one.

she orders a drink and lets it be. loretta’s been a ghost in ada’s head for too long. maybe it’s time to stop mourning.

ii. the phone rings at three in the morning, when the party is still raging. they’re celebrating a good closing to the fiscal year: more wealth, more power, more room to grow. she’s not sure when someone gave her another mimosa, but what the fuck is franchesca gonna do? not drink it? she pulls her phone out and stumbles upstairs, laughing in the same pitch as hannah in accounting past a slew of guests.

they’re happy. why shouldn’t she be happy? this is --- this is her fucking company. she did this.

she stares at her screen, squints. the letters eventually blur together to form a name: ‘etta.

the joy drains out of her chest like water in a sink. oh shit. oh, shit. oh, shit. oh shit. she fumbles with her hands to slide the button on the screen, pulls the phone to her ear. “loretta! hey!” does she sound drunk? fuck, she better not sound drunk. she sets down the mimosa near the bed, where hopefully the cat won’t decide to swipe it over.

“franchesca,” loretta says. there’s a long pause. franchesca can picture her now: reading glasses on, the weariness of hours without sleep on her face, looking the picture of medusa. beautiful, tempting, deadly if you stare at her too long. her heart skips a beat.

“what time is it in italy? shouldn’t, uh --- shouldn’t you be asleep?” is she slurring her words? she swallows.

“it’s nine in the morning, and i’m currently enjoying a cup of tea. it’s three am in new york, though, franchesca. should you be awake? i know you have an interview with entrepreneur at ten.” oh, she sounds pissed. she sounds so fucking pissed. franchesca’s known loretta long enough to know when she’s pissed.

franchesca’s not going to question how she knows about the interview, either. best not to beat around the bush if this is how it’s going to play out. “’m not... you just woke me up. what is this about? is everything okay?”

“listen to me, franchesca.”

two things about loretta delluci franchesca has learned in her best efforts to imitate her: she likes to use names, because it grabs attention. it’s not uncommon to hear your name three times in five sentences around her. when she says listen to me, you fucking listen. she straightens her spine and gets ready for the lecture.

it’ll be short and sweet. “i’m listening.”

“franchesca, if you fuck up this interview tomorrow like you did with bloomberg, i’m going to take a red eye back to rhode island and ruin things so badly for you that you’ll be in debt for the rest of your goddamn life. you have a job to do, and i’m paying you to do it for a reason. get it together. no more slip ups. i won’t ask twice. am i clear?”

there’s a clatter, sharp and sudden, from right beneath her. orange mimosa is spilling across her floor, beneath her prada pumps, and there sits garfield, staring up at her with relative innocence. franchesca swallows. “i hear you.”

the line goes dead. party’s over.

iii. each day in verona has henri asking himself why, exactly, he decided that verona was the city to get away from the mob in.

you leave chicago to get away from the mancini-sullivan bullshit and you end up in capulet-montague bullshit instead. great job, morrol. real smart, dean might have said. but dean’s dead and buried somewhere in the desert outside vegas.

dean, as it happens, also looks so much like faron vasiliev that henri’s having some feelings right now he’s not particularly comfortable addressing. he pops his nicorette --- sourced in from the states en masse, because jesus christ, quitting is hard and nothing else really works --- and lifts the binoculars back up.

even from almost a mile away, it’s still easy to see that faron vasiliev looks at calina sokolova like she’s the sun. legs kicked out in front of him, tilted back in his chair, henri watches them cross the street and disappear into some antiquated tea house often frequented by capulets and montagues both. it’s a miracle the little place hasn’t been set on fire yet by either group.

he’s not sure why he does this shit for loretta. not really. sure he’d owed her a favor, but this is different from a favor. this is putting his life on the line for someone who otherwise doesn’t give too much of a shit about him.

the sound of dean’s body hitting the dirt rings out in his head, just before the shot of the gun, and the guilt. the immense, incapacitating guilt that had henri running from chicago in the first place. he knows, idly, that dean had deserved to die for what he’d done to the sullivan family. he’d fucked them over. he’d known that then, and he knows now.

when cristopher mancini tells you to kill a man, you just do it. you don’t ask why.

but dean had wanted nothing more than to just... get away from everything. disappear just like henri had asked him to, over, and over, and over again.

let’s get married. let’s just fuckin’ do it, dean. we can go, he’d said. we’ve got the money.

just a little while longer, dean would insist, every single fucking time. what bullshit. absolute bullshit. he wishes, maybe just a little, that he’d died with him. it’d be easier this way.

his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he answers without checking to see who it is. who gives a fuck anymore? 

“henri, how are you?” loretta asks. she sounds... chirpy. criminy.

“peachy keen,” he lies. “what do you know about a faron vasiliev?”

iv. three things happen to freya when she returns to los angeles after her second year abroad in italy: she gets the internship she asked for. her mother’s medical bills are magically paid. both her brothers listen to her when she talks, now, and that’s almost enough to make her want to be honest with them.

she goes back to st. louis in august to finish her degree, finally, and then after that it’s off to work with whatever tech-based company will take her. twenty-two years of hard work and determination and a little bit of lying, and her dreams are coming true.

loretta calls every friday at seven o’clock, and freya’s not dumb. she knows to pick up the phone. the nail polish on her hands is still drying when she fumbles with her new iPhone, using her foot to clumsily crank down the volume on the radio she’d been using in her bedroom. “loretta! hi! hey!”

“hey, kiddo, how are you doing?” loretta’s voice is warm, and it fills freya with unexpected affection. the things she’d done in verona had been awful, and she’s still not sure that those ghosts won’t follow her home, but they’d been worth it.

worth it for the free tuition and worth it because her mother’s chances of survival over the next twenty years are so much better than they’d been three months ago. “good. how’s verona?”

“boring without you here. i miss our morning reviews and you ranting to me about ancient architecture and history.”

she snorts. “not the cool, fun, spying stuff? just the history?”

loretta quiets for a second or two, and she’s wondering if she maybe put her foot in her mouth. “i almost wish i’d never dragged you into any of that. but you’re safer in america than over here, at least. i’ve got your back.”

it’s a relief to hear something she wasn’t really listening for anyways, but freya feels a sudden tightening in her chest. “i don’t regret any of it. it was --- what the capulets and montagues are doing? they’re ruining verona. i’m not even from there and i saw it. the bridge...”

loretta sighs. “yeah, i know. but hopefully this whole thing will be done. i’m working on it, and you and i can both go to bed resting easy.” she sounds tired. really, really tired.

“will you call me next week?” she asks, voice soft, like she always does. maybe it’s stupid, but she worries, and loretta delluci isn’t a woman you just forget. she can almost picture her face: the way the lines around her eyes soften, the curve of her smile, the warmth of her arms when they’d hugged one last time in loretta’s apartment before freya’d had to go to the airport.

“of course i will. you keep me updated, okay?”

“sure thing. i’ll let you know if --- if anything happens.”

loretta never says goodbye, over the phone. she always just ends the call. with the promise she’d apparently needed, loretta leaves freya with bad punk rock on the radio and a smear of blue polish on her index finger.

she still scrubs at her suddenly wet eyes anyways.

[alicedoessurveys]

Would you rather lose your best friend or your boyfriend? I don't have a boyfriend anyway but id rather keep my best friend because he’s been my friend for as long as I can remember Do you think people who pay hundreds of dollars on perfume are ridiculous? each to their own, I personally wouldn't spend hundreds on perfume because I am poor  What is the last thing you tried on in a store? dungarees, which I bought  Do you know who Georgia Nicholson is? nope Do you ever sleep through your alarm? I do, but I hear the alarm in my dream until I eventually realise its my alarm and wake up 

Do you think Sophia Bush is a good actress? I don't know who that is  When did you realise you are no longer a child? I have no idea, I cant remember. I don't think it was a sudden change, it was a gradual thing like more and more having to do adult things Is sleeping naked more comfortable then in clothes? I like sleeping in underwear, but not completely naked Are you comfortable enough around your friends to change in front of them? I used to be super self conscious about it but then when I joined the theatre and started doing shows that required quick changes I ended up just not caring anymore about getting my bra out infront of people

Does your best friend wear makeup? nope he doesn't  Who is someone you do not understand at all? majority of people What is your morning routine? depends on the day. usually get up and head to the bathroom, then go down for some cereal and watch something on telly while I eat. then go get dressed for the day and do whatever is on the agenda for the day. Tuesdays I get up, get dressed straight away and head to morning dance class. Sundays I get up get dressed and head to church.  Have you already met your true love? nope Have you ever had a dream in which you were making out, or more, with someone? yes, I dreamt last night that I was kissing someone but I cant remember who and its really bothering me  Do you prefer to fix the problems or just end the relationship? at least try to fix Have you ever accidentally stepped on a cat tail? yeah its a horrendous feeling  Do you ever go to Plyrics.com? nope I don't know what that is

Did you know that when a worm is cut in two both pieces grow again and continue living? thats weird  Do veggies gross you out? don't gross me out, I just don't like them  Do you know what Bluekaffee is? nope Chicken burger, fish burger or ham burger? chicken What is the best brand of ketchup? Heinz Would you run down the street completely naked for 1,000$? if it was dark and no one was around to see it then possibly yes because I am that poor and desperate  Have you ever dated someone in secret? yes How do you get splinters out?  with tweezers What is something all relationships need to be healthy? trust, communication, humour, love Do you know who sings ‘Lover I don’t have to love’? nope Do you bring pillows and blankets on road trips? yes If a stranger adds you on facebook, do you add them back? no Does walking by yourself make you nervous? depends where I am When dog’s bark, do you think it actually sounds like ‘ruff’? sometimes  What about when cows moo? yeah How far is the airport from your house? like 20 minutes away CSI or Crimnal Minds? csi Can you make cookies from scratch? yes I love baking Do you ever send people good morning texts? no Is there someone who makes you blush when you just say hi to them? not really  Do you kiss your pets? yes Have you ever forgotten where you parked your car? omg always  Does your leg itch right now? how did you know! What’s worse then a stomach flu? all of it  Can you fall asleep in cars? not easily  Why did you go to church the last time you went? I go every week Who made you dinner last night? the pizza takeaway place  Do you say mag or magazine? magazine  Would you rather marry someone repulsive or be alone forever? forever alone Would your parents approve of you dating someone of a different race? yes How old is the oldest person you know? late 80s Do you think Americans are pigs? no What was on the last sandwich you ate? tuna and cheese Whose the last person who asked your name? someone at the theatre  Remember the loot bags you used to get at birthdays? Weren’t they awesome? they were pretty awesome yeah lets bring those into adult life When is the last time you saw a monkey on TV? I have no idea Do you buy scratch tickets? no Who has it easier: adults or teenagers? Why? dude neither, life is just difficult. teenagers have it tough because they're expected to figure out who they are and what they want to do with their life while also having to deal with hormones and shit and adults have it tough because we’re expected to have it all figured out by now and know who we are and what we want to do and pay bills and just ugh  What’s the last thing you spent over twenty dollars on? pounds because England, it was grocery shopping yesterday Would you be sad if you were 50 and still not married? I mean I hope im married by then but id also rather be single than trapped in an unhappy marriage just because im scared of being alone  Have you ever been so drunk you couldn’t even talk right? hahahaha I mean maybe slightly yes  Do you know anyone with a million middle names? nope Are brand name food items really better then store brand ones? sometimes yes, sometimes no. usually yes  Is ceaser salad the best kind of salad? I don't like salad Is it dark out yet? yes, its 10pm Do you believe that love is just an excuse to get hurt? no Is there a Booster Juice in your city? ive never heard of that If its called INTERNATIONAL house of pancakes, why isnt there one in Canada? I don't think we have that in England either, false advertising Do hugs help when you’re sad? sometimes, depends what is making me sad. also is im sad someone being nice to me tends to make me cry  How did you meet the last person you kissed? we did a show together at the theatre  Do you buy more things online or in stores? in store What is the best thing to eat with fish? I don't like fish other than tuna, and I aways have it with cheese  Isn’t it annoying when people treat music like a trend? I don’t care, man. I have bigger issues. Do online dating sites ever work? depending on what you want to get out of the dating site, yeah they can

[fandomsfeelsandfanfics]

How to Play a Player: Epilogue/// Sirius Black x Reader

PROLOGUE  PART I  PART II  PART III  PART IV  PART V  PART VI PART VII

SUMMARY: Everyone knew about Sirius Black. He was almost notorious for being a heart breaker, yet somehow girls always got drawn in. Maybe it was time that someone got revenge for all of those girls.

WORD COUNT: 1,730

WARNING(S): nothing

A/N: We’re finally here, the very last part. Ugh I am so excited and thankful for this series success, I could not have possibly asked for more. I've been looking for this for the longest time so thank you so much for everyone who's read this.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

   You took a deep breath before pushing the door open. It was considerably warmer than the cloudy sky you were leaving behind. The smell of tea and sweets slightly overwhelmed you from the moment you stepped in. At least it was quiet. Although, it was absolutely packed, most people were sitting in small groups quietly talking to each other. 

   You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you, maybe because you were the only person there completely alone. You stared down at your feet, trying to cross the room as quickly as possible. Madam Puddifoot’s was usually absolutely unbearable but it was even worse when you were alone. 

   When you finally reached the other end of the room, you looked up. The bookshelf towered above you and you leaned down to reach the shelf you were looking for. You pushed the book into the empty space on the shelf, knowing that you’d never need it again. You never even wanted to look at this book again.

   Still, you spent a second staring at the spine of the book, thinking about how you wished you’d never found it. That book ruined everything. Finally, you took a deep breath and stood up straight. You realized that it had started to rain and thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here for just a little bit longer.

   Then you remembered where you were. In that stupid cafe, surrounded by couples and feeling embarrassingly lonely. 

   So you walked across the room again, quicker this time but still looking at your feet. The door opened and you hoped whoever it was would just walk around you. But they ran right into you. 

   “I’m so sorry.” 

   “Don’t be.” You looked up and saw Sirius standing there. You took a step back. 

   “Sirius...I....what are you doing here?” You knew you’d be facing him sooner or later today but you didn’t expect it to be right now or here. He’d passed you a note earlier this week about meeting him at Dominic Maestro’s today but besides that neither of you had said a word to each other since everything blew up. So you really didn’t know what to expect. 

   Either he was going to completely crush you or he was going to forgive you, which you didn’t think you deserved. Either way, you weren’t exactly ready to face him. Despite how much you’d missed him, in this moment it all felt wrong. 

   “I was on my way to Dominic Maestro’s and I saw you in here and I thought maybe we could walk together.” He put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and bit down on his lip. He was clearly nervous. “What are you doing here?” 

   You rubbed the back of your neck. “I uh...I had to return the book.” He tensed at the mention of the book. 

   “Right so this is where you got it. I didn’t think they had that type of thing at Hogwarts.” He looked away from you for just a moment before meeting your eye once again. “We could just stay here, since it’s raining.” 

   You looked around the room, feeling more eyes on you than before if that was even possible. You wondered if Sirius had ever been there with a girl. Actually, you really didn’t want to think about that. Merlin, you hoped this wouldn’t become some sort of thing. You finally looked back at him. “Actually,” you began,” I’d rather we go.” 

   “Yeah, same. This place really isn’t my scene.” He turned around, opening the door. Before you could take a step forward he paused, turning towards you. “Uh, here.” He took off his jacket and handed it to you. 

   You looked between him and the jacket before finally taking it and throwing it over your head.

-

   By the time, you arrived Sirius was absolutely soaking wet. His hair was sticking to his forehead and he brushed it back in one swift movement of his hand. His shirt was stuck to his chest and you tried not to stare but you could so clearly remember what his muscles felt like under your hand. For a second, you just wanted to touch him again. 

   You quickly moved your eyes up to his face, to keep that thought off your mind. His face was covered in water droplets and suddenly you felt bed for taking his jacket. 

   “You shouldn’t have given me your jacket.” You reached up to take it off but he put his hands on your shoulder. 

   “I didn’t want you to be cold.” His hands remained there for a few seconds before finally, dropping back to his sides awkwardly. You didn’t try to take the jacket off again. 

   You two stood in silence and suddenly, you became aware of the song playing throughout the room. Good Day Sunshine. You smiled, you loved that song. 

   “Isn’t this ironic,” Sirius remarked. A sound about being in love on a sunny playing on a rainy day when you were probably seconds away from getting your heart broken. Yes, very ironic. 

   That was probably why he was being so nice to you. So that he could let you down gently. “C’mon,” Sirius said. He walked over to the Muggle Music section, which you of course expected. It was tucked away from the rest of the store, no one could see him make you cry there. 

   He sat down and patted the spot next to him. You sat next to him, sitting close but not close enough to touch. Moments went by with neither of you talking, you were just listening to the music. 

   “So are we gonna talk or are we just going to sit here and listen to Good Day Sunshine?” You tilted your head to the side so that you could look at him. 

   He staring straight ahead. “Just listening to the song isn’t such a bad idea. Enjoy it.” You looked away from him quickly. Closing your eyes and letting the song wash over you. 

   When it finally ended a different song came on, one that you couldn’t recognize. You knew band however, Weird Sisters. You didn’t like them too much so your moment of bliss was over. “This song absolutely sucks,” Sirius groaned. 

   “It’s not too bad, it’s just not the Beatles.” 

   “Well, only The Beatles are The Beatles, which is kinda the whole problem. There’s other good music but they are just the peak of music so sometimes you just have to settle. And I am not settling on this shitty wizards band.” For the first time since you’d been sitting there he looked into your eyes. He immediately recognized how nervous you looked. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear me criticize music right now.” 

   You shook your head. Although, you loved that look in his eyes when he talked about music, you could barely even think about that right now. 

   “You want to talk about us?” You nodded. “Me too. But I don’t even know what to say. I thought I had it figured out because late at night when I’m thinking about it and thinking of what you did, I can’t even imagine ever talking to you again.” You thought he was going to say that. You bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from tearing up. 

   “But then I’ll see you and you’ll smile and all I can think about is listening to Beatles songs with you and kissing you and then I know I’m screwed. Finally, I got my shit together and I knew I had it decided and I knew what I was gonna tell you but now, you’re in my jacket, looking gorgeous and Good Day Sunshine was playing as if things weren’t irresistible enough.” 

   He ran his hand over his face, looking utterly defeated. “Now I don’t know what to say.” He was looking away from you again. You moved so that you were sitting in front of him and he was forced to look at you. You took off his leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. 

   “Well, I’m not wearing your leather jacket anymore and I’m not smiling and this definitely isn’t a Beatles song, this is just me and you.” You put your hand in his hair, which was only now barely starting to dry. “Tell me how you really feel and don’t try to spare my feelings. Tell me what you want.”

   His eyes trailed across your face and then his hand came up to touch your jaw. “I want you. Because there is literally nothing that you or I can do to change the way I feel about you. And no matter what song is playing or what you’re wearing, literally no matter what, I am always gonna want to be with you. I don’t know how to feel about what you did but I believe what you said about how you feel so it doesn’t matter anymore. Although, you will be making that up to me, which I’m sure you’re absolutely fine with. You are fine with all of this, right?” 

   You nodded again. You could tell that he might have something else to say but you couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His other hand came up to grab your waist. You could feel him smiling and there was no better feeling in the world. 

   You pulled away, feeling out of breath. “Sirius, I'm sorry.” You paused for a second, trying to decide whether or not to say what you’d been thinking this entire time. You decided quickly that you needed to say it and he needed to hear it. “I love you.” 

   “You can stop apologizing. I love you too.” He kissed you again. His hands moved up your body, he couldn’t seem to get his hands off you. He kissed your cheek then your jaw, just under your ear. “I have missed you so much.” 

   He leaned his head back against the shelves, just looking at you, taking you in. His hand came back to your jaw and his thumb rubbed circles on the side of the cheek. “Ooh, then I suddenly see you. Ooh, did I tell you I need you. Every single day of my life,” he sang lazily. “Got to get you into my life.” 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Tag List:

@siriusement @young7711 @ashkuuuu @sly-vixen-up2nogood @just-some-nerd @loveisloveandmorepeopleneedit @magical-spit @solangeloshiper @private-random @beedudu @names-add-meaning @never-ready-to-say-goodbye @obscurilicious @all-throughthe-night @nadinissavage @you-are-the-first-dream @maraudersandco @ranger-wizard @mnemosymedream @maralisa124 @dreamawkward137​