#just wanted to sketch him so of was out of my system (its not out of my system)

[malapropismz]

Erm what the Winslow

[ganondoodle]

(new totk rewritten - super rough concept)

so this was a super rough sketch for retrieving the enigma stone of the zora- im currently redoing it since im not happy with this one-

but i have run into a bit of a problem; see the reason why theres monsters causing trouble everywhere is bc ganondorf is trying to keep the stones out of raurus hand(s) thus creating all those bosses to hopefully stop link from reaching them, or at least to slow you down BUT i cant seem to decide whether it makes more sense if the whole reason they are split up among the other regions is because the ancient .. 'sages' wanted to ALSO keep them away from rauru, or if they were instructed by him to do this and await his return (which would be a good reason why they are wearing that sonau helmet still .. if they werent completely in on it i doubt they would do it lol)

(the thought being, would rauru be more likely to not give the stones away at all or he was too afraid that gan could wake up earlier/break free and get his hands on them first- so he sends his trusty servants- sages out to construct big temples and await his return but to stop gan if he were to seek them out first ... also possibly so all the stones arent in one spot, since they, in my rewrite, are the highest concentrated version of spirit energy and would emit an extreme amount of energy likely to attract something... yeha its all based on luminous stoens containting spirit energy and that also powering the shiekah tech .. made a diagram (?) about it once actually, though some parts arent true anymore bc im omitting the whole dragon transform stuff)

(im also using this concept for the skyward sword comic btw, the mining of the timeshift stones being the reason the lanayru region becomes a desert bc the lands been robbed of life energy meant to go back into the system over time edit: i mean this as in an environment was drastically altered from its natural state in an extremely short amount of time, which is generally a bad thing, not as in desert areas just being dead sand filled wastelands, theres plenty of life there if meant to be like that/given long enough time to adjust or turn into it)

while i want to make rauru a villain i also dont want him to be too overtly evil since ... thats kinda boring and just pushes that role onto someone else, im aiming for more nuance overall (which is also why gan isnt some goody two shoes perfectly fine with hyrule, like yeah .. the calamity was his doing still)- so im leaning more towards the latter- though perhaps the gerudo did so more with the intent to keep it away from rauru

(also, i am including mineru after all.. but only as a mummy like so (sorry) but her stone is gone when you reach it bc its been taken by the yiga- for which you have to tract them down and fight koga (and possibly supah/sooga) )

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter three: i smoke out your darkest side

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your favorite accidental demon boy toy maims your piece of shit manager, learns a bit about your past, and visits you in a dream.

cw: explicit, witch!reader, reader is 21+, eddie is immortal, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, wet dreams, lucid dreaming, handjobs, skin on skin grinding, teasing, horror, very intense bodily harm done to a minor character (tongues are lost), blood, gore, bullying/harassment, mention of past abusive ex, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

EASTWICK, YOUR JUNIOR YEAR

The book you found at the garage sale a town over has to be fake. Right? You’ve spent weeks flipping through it, looking at the pages and reading the words over and over, trying to somehow carve them into your memory. 

It seems so improbable, but the notion bounces around in your skull for so long that it grips hold somewhere in there, wiggling down into your belief system until you just can’t seem to get rid of it. 

Magic is real. Witchcraft exists. It has existed, in different forms, throughout history. You’ve just never considered that you could practice it for yourself, until now.

Part of the reason that you decide to try it is that you want to see what’ll happen. You have an insatiable curiosity, and if it works out, you may have just discovered the cure to all that ails you, so to speak. But the other part of it is a quiet desperation for something more. 

Being sixteen sucks. But being sixteen in a small, puritanical town that’s stuck in the past, when you’re considered too weird to eat in the cafeteria without getting wads of gum stuck into your hair by the assholes on the football team, is worse. 

You have no support system, and no way out. Your family won’t even pretend to understand. So, you’re taking to naïve leaps of faith, instead.

The moon is bright enough to illuminate the clouds moving in the sky around it. The air is thick with late spring mugginess and oncoming rain, stifling your skin. The candles arranged in a circle around you don’t help with the heat. Beneath you on the dirt, you’ve used red painter’s pigment to sketch out a pentacle, for lack of a better understanding of how to “cast a circle.”

In your hand, the little cloth doll you’d amateurly sewn together stares back at you with two black button eyes. You’d been very careful when you clipped off a piece of Matt Anderson’s backpack strap to tie around its neck. The wad of ABC gum that he’d shoved into your hair is wrapped in it, and stuffed inside the doll’s body, making it lumpy– but it doesn’t have to look perfect.

It just has to work.

You pick up a cheap plastic cigarette lighter and flick it on. The flame glows yellow in the dark, illuminating the crude red smiley face you’d drawn onto the doll’s head. 

Fucking Matt.

The polyester cloth sizzles when you hold the flame to it, barely singeing the edges. All your rage, all your pent up anger and aggression toward him and the impromptu haircut he caused, floods out of you. The smiley face warps. One of the little button eyes pops off. The stuffing inside is going to catch on in a second–

“Oh, my GOD. What are you doing?”

You drop the lighter with a yelp. Over your backyard fence, your neighbor, Jessica, stares at you with wide eyes.

Jessica is your age, your longtime neighbor and one-time friend, when you were very little. You grew apart in middle school, when she discovered cheerleading and you discovered teen angst. She doesn’t talk to you much anymore, unless it’s to give you a hollow, backhanded compliment.

“Jess– I didn’t– what are you doing?” You squint at her in the darkness. Her blonde hair is up in foam rollers, a baby blue bathrobe wrapped around her willowy shoulders.

“Well I saw fire out here when I was getting ready for bed and I wanted to see what was– I wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, in trouble.” She takes in the circle of candles around the red pentacle, the lighter, the mutilated doll in your hand. “Are you, like… a Devil worshipper?”

“What?” You stand up, still clutching the doll in your hand. “No, why would you ask that?”

“Well, I mean… Reverend Tanner was talking about ‘em in church the other day, and I just thought…” She looks you up and down. Her eyes linger on your oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt, your hands covered in red pigment and soot from the spell you were attempting. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna say anything. I promise.”

“Jess, I’m not a Devil wor–”

“It’s… it’s alright. It’ll be our secret.” Jessica gives you a wobbly, forced smile that you know means she’s lying. 

Your eye twitches in annoyance. You probably should say something. Plead your case, make her understand that this isn’t Devil worship. Tell her that whatever the hell she listens to the preacher at the local parish say about ‘lunatic Satan worshippers consorting with the Devil’ doesn’t apply to you, and frankly, probably doesn’t exist the way she thinks it does. 

Instead, you just sigh. You can’t foresee her being as big of a problem as Matt or any of his cronies. She isn’t vindictive as all that. “Sure, Jess. Our secret.”

“I, um. Sorry, I’m just gonna…” Jessica gestures over her shoulder, and then retreats back toward her house. Her fluffy pink slippers scuff the wood of her patio as she glances back at you cautiously, like she’s afraid you’ll chase after her. 

You watch her disappear inside. Then, with a roll of your eyes, you irritatedly hold the lighter’s flame to the Matt doll, and let it catch fire in your hands. You toss it into an empty Folgers coffee canister and let it burn to shit before you blow out the candles and go back inside. The pentacle on the ground will be washed away with the rain by the morning.

Fuck it all.

As soon as Colin enters his house, Eddie appears on the horizon like a stoic angel bearing a message.

Actually, that’s a fucking lie. He makes the walls cry blood. Always wanted to do that, at least once.

Colin’s a little pipsqueak of a guy in his early thirties, with prematurely thinning hair and skinny legs that make his pants look way too big on him no matter what size he wears. Eddie finds it hard to take him seriously– especially when he’s cowering in a corner brandishing a wooden crucifix like Eddie’s some kind of movie vampire.

“Colin– hey.” Eddie smacks the crucifix out of the guy’s hand, sending it clattering across the floor. Red ooze drips over Colin’s shoulder as he flinches away, whimpering and crying. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Christ, you people are so easy to scare. Okay. Here’s how this is gonna go– you’re gonna quit your job, and I’m gonna make you vomit green pea soup, and then we both go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. Sound good?”

Eddie pauses, tilting his head and squinting at Colin as he starts whispering something. It’s so quiet and wobbly with tears that he can’t quite make it out, so he has to lean close to Colin’s trembling face.

“–thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread–”

Eddie sighs. “That’s not gonna work.” 

“–forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us–”

“Colin, I’m losing my patience.”

“–lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil–”

“COLIN!” Eddie’s head explodes into a storm of snarling beasts, screeching demons and eldritch beings whirling around each other in a tempest that could rival the Tasmanian Devil. A monstrous jaw with three rows of razor sharp teeth unhinges in front of Colin’s screaming face, roaring at him, showing him the glowing pit of hellfire deep in Eddie’s chest.

Colin continues shrieking even after Eddie’s face returns to normal. Eddie rocks back on his heels, inching away from the puddle of urine Colin just released onto the floor. 

“I warned you,” Eddie murmurs. “Needed you to shut up. Now,” Eddie snatches Colin’s phone from the coffee table, pushing it at him. “Call your stupid fucking boss and quit your job so I can get back to my girl.”

Blubbering, Colin juggles the phone in his trembling hands. It takes three tries for him to unlock the damn thing.

After it’s done, Eddie takes the phone from Colin and tosses it over his shoulder. “You just got off so fucking easy– they teach you those fucking manners in Sunday school, too? Stealing tips, making her clean the goddamn bathrooms on her hands and knees. I’d love to kick your teeth in–”

“W-wait–” Colin sniffles, sitting up in his corner. “That’s your girl? The witch?” 

Eddie leans back, his jaw clicking into place as he readjusts it– unhinging it like that always misaligns it. He scrutinizes Colin’s expression; the blubbering, frightened little cretin is gone, replaced by a wild eyed and angry zealot. 

“Oh, my god. Oh my GOD, so it’s true?” Colin laughs hysterically. “You know they say she burned down her neighbors house because they saw her worshiping the Devil?”

Eddie blinks. “What fucking year is this? 1692?”

Colin doesn’t answer, just continues, “And she never got caught. They couldn’t prove it was her. But now, I bet…”

Colin trails off. There’s something dark and menacing in Eddie’s eyes that wasn’t there before– not even when he lost his temper. Lava pools whirling and stormy, boiling and angry like the buildup before an eruption. 

Fear shoots directly into Colin’s mind so hard that he gives a startled jump. After years of skillful practice, Eddie has figured out how to play with people’s emotions in quite the literal sense. Sometimes, he does it harder than necessary. 

“I– I mean–” Colin backtracks, “I’m not gonna say anything. I promise. I– I fucking swear on my life–”

“I don’t care about your life,” Eddie says, his voice as flat as he can make it. “I care about hers.” 

“Please– please don’t kill me!”

“No, I’m not gonna kill you.” Eddie looks momentarily as though he’s considering launching himself forward and throttling the cowering man, but he sets aside his sudden temperament. “I promised her that I wouldn’t. Which… complicates things.”

Colin squirms. “It… it does?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods, his hands pressed together under his nose as though in prayer. “Because you’re obviously not gonna keep your trap shut, so I have to do it for you.”

Eddie stands as Colin retches. His body contorts on the floor, wailing and gurgling until a projectile stream of blood bursts forth and splatters across the living room hearth. In the midst of the puddle of blood, a writhing tongue curls and twitches, severed on one end like it was cut with a sharp blade.

Colin collapses in a pool of his own fluids. He’ll live. Unfortunately.

Eddie dusts his hands off on his pants and whistles. Out of the shadows, the smoky impression of a dog appears, its glowing red eyes piercing through the darkness and mirroring Eddie’s. 

“Dante,” Eddie mutters to the shadow of the rottweiler, standing at attention and waiting for instructions. The dog gives a short whuff of acknowledgement. Eddie snaps his fingers, points at Colin’s disembodied tongue. “Dinner.”

Dante barks and falls upon the tongue enthusiastically. It’s been a while since Eddie’s hellhounds had any fresh meat, only being fed by the souls of the condemned in the Otherworld. 

Eddie turns around in a circle, staring around at Colin’s less than stellar apartment setup. He can’t really judge, he was never much of a housekeeper either, but this guy is on a whole other level.

It takes a minute, but he finds what he was looking for beneath Colin’s mattress– hilariously predictable– in a tin pencil box. There’s about $300 in cash, singles and fives and a few twenties in the mix. A couple receipts from a Coinstar machine, as well.

Eddie snatches up the wad of money and shoves it into his back pocket.

You’ve managed to have one or two lucid dreams in your life. In the past they’ve been something mundane– walking through a city or having a talk with an elderly gentleman on a park bench.

This one is different. You open your eyes to something entirely unexpected. 

Your dream is bright and colorful, despite it being perpetually twilight. As you gain lucidity, you pick up on different things– damp grass on your bare back, skin on skin, a gentle caress up a naked thigh. You turn your head, and you find Eddie there next to you, stirring as if rousing from a dream of his own.

You– or, your subconscious– has already taken the liberty of stripping him of his clothes, and you lay in the tall grass of a meadow. Your arms are around him, your leg hooked over his waist. He pets your thigh, soft and gentle like he’s doing it mindlessly. 

Your hand wraps around his cock and he startles, his eyes flying open as he gasps.

“Oh. This is, um…” Eddie turns his head towards you, snickering as a warm flush spreads across his cheeks. Ringed hands– because of course, your mind would keep the rings in there– come up to cover his face.

You giggle. “Hello, handsome.”

He grumbles something, but he doesn’t manage to say anything of real importance before he moans. You squeeze his cock and roll your wrist, stroking him torturously slow. He throbs in your grip, needy and jumping when you skim your fingers over the vein that runs along his shaft.

“Well, you, um–” Eddie huffs and cracks a smile, dragging his hands down his face as he does to clear away the grogginess that comes from stepping into the astral plane. “You sure know how to make a demon feel special.”

“Not what you had in mind?” you ask, and your voice has a sultry dip to it that makes the demon squirm. 

“Mm, I figured–” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over and spit onto his cock. The sound that kicks up from it is salacious, a lewd squelch that completely contradicts your pastoral surroundings. You watch him, as his mouth hangs open in shock for a moment. His head drops back against the ground, baring the jumping muscles of his long neck for your consideration. “Fuck– figured you dream about unicorns and lollipops or some shit.”

You hum, looking pointedly down at where your hand strokes him between his legs. “Well, you’re half right. S’what you get for hijacking my dream, you little shit,” you mutter, but it doesn’t come out as caustically as you want it to, because you litter his chest with kisses. 

“I just wanted to talk.” He tilts his head, giving you a pointed look. “You seem to have other plans.”

“Well, it’s my dream, and you caught me in a mood, so.” You shrug, rolling your thumb over the head of his cock. You’re gazing down at it like it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, with heavy-lidded eyes and your bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

Eddie groans and bucks his hips up into your fist. His hand comes up to grab your shoulder, a warm touch that sends a shudder through you. “Remind me to do that more often?”

You shake your head slowly. “Nuh-uh, this is a one time thing. You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” 

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence would affect you, even just in your dreams. Everything about him screams for you to unhinge yourself, against your better judgment; his eyes, his scent, even his voice beckons you. Something not quite human or tangible pulls at your senses and clutches at your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s hunger or lust or something else entirely, some other primitive urge that you’re feeling in force.

Eddie sucks in a long breath through his teeth, his eyes falling to your hand as it works over him. His own tremble, holding back from touching you how he wants. 

“There’s, um. You asked me to– uh–” You start trailing your tongue along his chest in a way that makes him lose his train of thought, your lips dragging over his skin, heavenly soft. “Uhhh– not kill that guy for you. So I didn’t.”

“Good.” 

“I cut out his tongue, though.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry.” He isn’t, really. You can feel it, and you can see it in the ghost of a smile on his face. “He was gonna say some shit about you worshipping the Devil. Called you a witch.”

“Everyone already does. And they’re right, aren’t they?” You sigh, and your breath whispers across his overheated skin. “I’m worshipping a devil right now.”

You’re bolder in your sleep. You guess because, to your subconscious mind, there isn’t as much to be afraid of in dreams. Especially in dreams that you can control. All your hang-ups are, well… hung up. And you can let yourself be as promiscuous as you want, at least until you wake up. 

You bite at a spot on his neck that makes him lose his composure. Eddie chews his lip and groans, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull. He grabs your hip and flips you, until your back hits the grass and his hips rest between your legs. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze up at him. Eddie’s beautiful, so impossibly stunning that it nearly frightens you, almost as much as this aching want burning inside of you does. His dark hair hanging around his face, his flushed skin and glowing amber eyes. He’s the picture of immortal beauty and power, and he’s yours.  

His lips are so close to yours, his mouth open so that his breath gets caught in your lungs. His nose bumping your own, almost like he means to kiss you. 

Eddie rocks his hips, and you feel his erection grind against your cunt. Splitting the seam of your pussy, parting around him as he slides the length of it against you, getting it wet with your arousal. He isn’t… he isn’t fucking you, per se. But it would take just the slightest hitch of his hips, just a little press forward to change that. 

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his back. “Eddie…”

“So you want to play games, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and bassy in his chest.

You roll your hips up into his. You can’t help it– the slick, soft glide of his cock through your folds, the head catching against your clit feels too good. His lips on your skin, his breath in your ear. It’s been way too fucking long for you, since someone touched you like this. Your head drops back on your shoulders, your back arching as you moan–

You wake up.

You fucking. Wake. Up.

You lay, disoriented, on your bed. Your hand rests on your sweaty forehead as your pussy throbs, hot and angry between your legs. Seething with rage and neglect, begging for the job to be finished. 

It was so real. It felt so real, and so good, and you had to go and ruin it.

His scent remains. His smoke fills your lungs, eating up all your oxygen and making your head spin. You struggle to find your balance somehow, trying to quell the ache between your legs, trying to snap back to a reality where you weren’t just about to fuck your dream demon.

“Did you burn down someone’s house?”

You yelp, bolting to sit up in bed. His scent wasn’t just a leftover memory from your dream. You search through the darkness until your eyes find him sitting in the antique chair in the corner of your room, facing the bed, lit only by streaks of light filtering through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. He reclines, immobile, seemingly relaxed as his eyes glow warm and nearly gold in the low light.

You simply cannot handle this right now. Not while you’re coming down from a very near orgasm you just had because of him. 

“What?”

“The guy, Colin–” Eddie continues, as if he’s completely unaware of the absolute torture you’re going through. “He said you burned down someone’s house. Your neighbor’s?”

You wonder for a moment if you could hate him for this, but you already know the answer. You could never hate him. Not really.

“C’mon, you can tell me,” he coos, and then winks. “Tell me and I’ll give you a present.”

You squint at him. He can’t possibly mean what you think he means. You get a mental image of him between your legs, his eyes glowing as he peers up at you, his mouth closed over your cunt. 

He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. The fucker. 

“Yeah,” you admit, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, uh. My fucking neighbor– she started a rumor that I was a Satanist in high school. Got everyone in on it. So, I threw a Molotov through her kitchen window.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Amazing de-escalation tactic.”

“It’s not like I genuinely tried to burn down the place,” you huff. “How was I supposed to know they’d just had the floor waxed?”

Eddie laughs, rocking forward in his seat. His eyes sparkle and his smile is sharp when he pulls a wad of money out of his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “Your tip money. Your wish, my command.”

You’re taken aback, gazing at the paper that seems so bright in the darkness. “Well, that was relatively painless.”

“Was it?” It’s barely a whisper, but something you were meant to hear. Holding his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed across his cheek, he watches you with growing intensity. “Come and take it, then.”

The knowing smile on his lips issues a challenge, one that you would walk away from in any other circumstance. He knows very well what he’s doing. He can read your thoughts, that much is obvious. And since it seems they’re always in the gutter now, he knows how you’re squirming beneath your skin at the sight of him. 

You wonder if you were really the one who ended the dream.

Refusing to breathe– you’re afraid that if you do, the sound of it would give you away– you crawl out of your bed and stand on shaky legs. One look at him tells you he’s gloating, watching the way that you struggle.

Ohhhh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him.

You cross the room toward him, moving slower than necessary in order to steel yourself to the shortening distance between you. You stop short of his legs, extended out and crossed at the ankles.

Eddie doesn’t move, his elevated hand still holding the wad of money. “C’mon then, tough girl.”

You stare at him, trying not to give yourself away, trying for all the world not to scream or throw yourself on him. You hesitantly step forward and snatch the money out of his hand before taking a long step back. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say mildly, trying to keep your voice steady. Even his name sends a rush of warmth through you. The word burns on your wrist. Your body shakes against your will.

Shit. Fuck. God damn it.

He chuckles, standing from the chair, looming over you. “Anything else I can help you with?”

You squint up at him, your voice shaking as much as your hands, now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. It was a one time thing, wasn’t it?”

The expression on his face is somewhere between affection and condescension as he suppresses a grin. His hand comes up and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, urging you to look up into his eyes. 

A note of fondness oozes into his tone. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win.”

Eddie’s touch sends a shock wave through your body, a shiver so strong that your eyes flutter shut. His voice is so soft, so lovingly gentle that it nearly makes you break down, knees weakening, head spinning. 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. “I’ll be here, whenever you change your mind.” 

There’s an edge to his voice, a tone that hints at some sort of plea in there. You don’t know what it could be for– sex? Your trust?

You trust him to protect you. You approach him the same way you might approach a spirit in your house– unfamiliar, sure, but not immediately a threat as far as you know. Here, let me offer you half of my muffin as long as you don’t set my house on fire, okay? Maybe don’t kill that guy. Or maybe do. Depends on my mood.

You purse your lips, thankful that he doesn’t look at you when you say, “I know.” 

You sound a lot more sure than you feel. You desperately want to grab him and kiss him, throw him on the bed and finish what you started in that dream. 

Except, you’re afraid. A dream is one thing; sex in the waking world is another. You’re tiptoeing around some strange patron demon-human relationship that you don’t know how to navigate. It’s in the contract that you have to fuck him, eventually. But you and relationships don’t have a good history, and you’re a little frightened that if you make that leap on your own, it’s only going to end badly. 

You think of Andy. You think of your abusive ex who still just hangs around, waiting to intimidate you. You think of the reason why you went out to make a deal with Eddie, and you think of the dog tag that you buried as an offering because Andy had taken the last thing you truly loved from you.

You know that Eddie isn’t just some normal guy you’re dealing with. Your attraction to him goes against everything that you understand, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you try. You try and try, and you’re a good girl until you’re pushed too far, and then you do something stupid like make a deal with a demon because you’re sick of having to just be strong on your own. And suddenly you want to fuck that demon’s brains out so bad that it’s keeping you up at night.

But… you don’t know him. Not really. And as bad as you want him, with your body screaming for him, it’s still enough to make you hesitate. 

There’s a subtle movement of Eddie’s head, like maybe he can sense your indecision. Maybe he’ll end that torture for you. He’ll read the brimming anxiety in your thoughts and give you what you’re too afraid to ask for. Sex. Sex with Eddie. Sex with your demon… whatever he is.

Sex with his infernal majesty of freaks and misfits.

But he doesn’t. Without another word, Eddie turns, and he disappears into your bedroom mirror. Leaving you to flop down onto your bed, punch your pillow, and scream.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 6

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student's satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸Pairing: JayVik x reader

➸Chapter Word Count: 2,917

➸Tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not

canon compliant

➸Notes: Your Honor, Viktor is a brat. The first few weeks at the Academy, I loved writing this chapter. I just wanna give Jayce a smooch on the cheek, he’s so sweet. ♡ॢ₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎"

➸ Previous Chapter: Pt. 5

“It’s a complete waste of the technology,” Viktor grumbles, tapping his fingers on the desk. “The only ones who’ll benefit are the Councilors padding their pockets with trade deals.”

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind—setting up the lab, scrambling to get everything organized, and, naturally, arguing. This same debate keeps coming up. While the three of you are developing Hextech, the Council’s already decided what it’s going to be used for. Viktor’s furious. They want to build a massive teleportation system, similar to the energy from the night in Heimerdinger’s lab, but on a much larger scale. They say they want it to transport people and cargo across Runeterra. Your problem isn’t with the idea, it’s the scale—hundreds of crystals, each needing its own rune combination. Just thinking about it makes your head throb.

“They’re not exactly giving us a choice,” Jayce says, his voice calm but his posture a dead giveaway that he’s frustrated. His feet are propped up on the desk, balancing on the back two legs of his chair. He’s trying to stay composed, but you can tell it’s wearing on him. Viktor, on the other hand, looks like he’s a hair’s breadth away from snapping.

Viktor’s bent over his desk, flipping through Jayce’s notes with a frown that could melt metal. You’d rather not dive into this right now, but seeing both of them so stressed gets to you. “You’re both right,” you say, pushing your chair back and crossing your arms. “We don’t have much of a choice, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make sure it’s used for something good. I mean, right now, the only way to get to Piltover is by ship, and it’s miserable.” You shudder at the memory—seasick, your mom holding you over the railing to throw up because you couldn’t even reach it. You didn’t have time to warn her the first time and Khal had to clean up after you. He still brings it up. “At least this way, travel won’t suck as much.”

Viktor looks like he’s chewing that over, his face softening a little. Jayce, however, seems to latch onto something else. “You’ve traveled?”

Damn. Not the direction you want this conversation to go. But it’s hard to lie to Jayce when he looks at you like that. “Uh, yeah. My family moved here when I was younger, but I don’t remember much of it,” you say quickly, glancing back at your sketches in an attempt to shift focus.

Jayce doesn’t push, but Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Where did you live before?”

Viktor, as you’ve learned, is relentless when something catches his interest. The more you try to avoid it, the harder he’s going to dig. So, you switch gears before this goes any further.

You pick up one of your rough HexGate designs and hold it out to them with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “What do you think of this? I think it’s the best one I’ve come up with so far.”

Viktor’s face immediately turns from curious to horrified, and you can’t help but stifle a laugh. Jayce steps closer, squinting at the design. “It’s... impressive? But I’m not sure the Council would approve. It’s, uh, a little... much?”

Viktor looks at him, then back at the sketch, deadpan. “It’s... terrifying.” Jayce looks at Viktor, clearly trying to silently say, ‘don’t be mean’. You’re practically bubbling with amusement, and Viktor’s giving you exactly the reaction you wanted.

“No, no, you just don’t get the vision.” You gesture dramatically to the design as if it’s the most brilliant idea ever.

Viktor stares at it, his eyebrows knit together in distaste. The sketch is a monstrosity, but you’re selling it hard. It’s a massive statue-like structure of both his and Jayce’s faces, towering over the city. The jaws of the faces are designed to unhinge, releasing a beam of energy that powers the teleportation. It’s completely absurd. “Oh, we see the vision. It’s just... I’m not sure I’m prepared for our faces to loom over Piltover. It’s a bit... ominous, don’t you think?”

Jayce looks between you and Viktor, his expression full of confusion and concern. “But why are we the ones on it? Shouldn’t you be, too?”

You grin, shrugging casually. “Nah. You two are way more photogenic than I am.” You glance at Viktor, who’s trying not to smile. “Besides, I don’t need a giant statue of me towering over the city. That sounds a little... egotistical.”

Viktor snickers. “I’ll approve the design... but only on one condition.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“We simplify it,” Viktor says, looking at you with a smirk. “Only Jayce on the statue.”

Jayce’s face falls in mock betrayal, and you immediately spring up from your chair, shaking Viktor’s hand with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Deal. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Wait, what?” Jayce protests, his eyes wide.

You cross your arms, a triumphant grin spreading across your face.“Two against one, Jayce. Looks like you’re the face of Hextech now.”

Seeing them less upset—even if just for a moment—makes your heart lighter. You’d draw a million silly diagrams just to keep seeing them smile. But the moment fades as soon as you remember your studies start today. It’s been easier to get lost in Hextech, especially with Jayce and Viktor around. But now… you won’t be able to hide away in the lab much longer.

You start packing up your things reluctantly, and the two of them catch on. Jayce looks up and offers, “Want us to walk you? It’s not far.”

You’d appreciate it, but you know they have more important things to do. You can’t ask them to waste their time.

“Nah, I’m used to navigating this maze by now. I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

Viktor gives you a knowing look, his gaze sharp as ever. He catches the tension in your voice without missing a beat. Before he can protest, you can make your way out of the lab.

You had a million different ideas of how your first lecture would go, but somehow it ended up worse than you imagined. First, you got completely lost. Jayce said it wasn’t far, but somehow it took you thirty minutes to find the place. Then, when you finally made it in, the only seat left was right in the middle. You spent the whole time feeling like you were on display, barely able to focus. You didn’t catch a word the professor said.

The rest of the day was a blur—moving from class to class, barely keeping track of the time, let alone the content. By the time your last lecture ended, you were drained, desperate to escape, but the crowd at the door made that impossible. You almost considered climbing out of a window just to get away from it all.

Then you see him. His eyes scan the room until they land on you, and his face lights up with that wide, gap-toothed grin. For a moment, everything else fades.

You make your way toward him, and when his hand rests on your back, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s just a casual touch, but somehow it makes everything feel a little easier.

“Let me guess. Viktor sent you to make sure I actually made it here?” you say, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin.

Jayce laughs, guiding you through the crowd with a casual ease.

Once you’re in a quieter hall, he looks over at you, still smiling.

“So, how was it?”

His optimism is blinding, and you can’t bring yourself to admit how overwhelmed you are. Instead, you just shrug and smile back. “It was fine.”

You realize, even though you’re away from the crowd, his hand is still resting on your back. You hope he sees your nervousness as a result of the overwhelming day, not because of him. Jayce has this effortless warmth, the kind that draws people in without even trying. He’s like that with Viktor, too—his gaze lingers on him sometimes, full of quiet affection. It’s just how he is, you think. The three of you might share a connection, but in truth, you don’t know much about each other. Maybe that’s for the best. Instead of getting in your head about it, you focus on the comfort of the palm on your back, guiding you home.

As you open your door and turn to say goodnight, you catch him hesitating, like he wants to say something. His eyes flick past you, scanning your room.

“What, does my interior decorating offend you?”

“No—” he chews over his words. “There’s no interior decorating to be offended by.”

Right. The space is big—bigger than anything you’ve had—and honestly, kind of unsettling. The academy provided a bed and a desk, but the rest is empty. “I guess I just haven’t had time,” you lie, forcing an easy shrug.

Oh, he needs to stop looking at you like that—like he sees right through you. His voice is gentler when he says, “I don’t know if Heimerdinger told you, but this isn’t regular student housing. It’s permanent.”

Permanent. He definitely failed to mention that.

“This place is yours,” Jayce continues. “It might help you feel more comfortable if you got a few things. Viktor and I can help, you know.”

You know. And that’s exactly why you hesitate.

“If I present my HexGate design to the council, they might just kick me out, you know.” You flash a grin, but the joke is thinly veiled. The ridiculous, fake design you’d sketched earlier had been for fun—but what if your real ideas get the same reaction? What if you pour everything into this, only to watch it fall apart?

Jayce doesn’t call you on it, just watches you for a moment before saying simply, “Think about it.”

“Good night, Jayce.”

The rest of your week went smoothly, the routine settling your nerves. Even the HexGate project had taken a turn for the better—frustration giving way to excitement as plans started coming together. You’d gotten so caught up in your work that you even started pulling out your designs during lectures, ignoring the side glances from other students. Things had been going so well, in fact, that you’d completely forgotten about your conversation with Jayce.

Jayce, however, had not.

You had been looking forward to a full day of working on Hextech—only to walk into the lab and realize Jayce had other plans. He insisted you all go out to get things for your room, and to your dismay, Viktor had immediately agreed.

Now, you curse Jayce’s insistent kindness as your arms strain under the weight of a couch.

"Left, Jayce—my left, not yours. You’re a very intelligent man, but apparently, using your muscles and your brain at the same time is a challenge." Viktor watches from a safe distance, fingers tapping absently on his cane, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

“I’d like to see you try it,” Jayce grunts back, his voice strained.

From over the couch, you catch Viktor’s amused look as his eyes glint with mock disapproval. “Oh, you would, would you? That is cruel—wishing to see a man with a hurt leg carry a couch.”

“You’re mean,” you huff, adjusting your grip. “Mean and distracting, and I need him focused so I don’t get crushed under this thing.”

As you reach your door, Viktor steps in to help, and you decide it’s time to wipe that smug expression off his face. You smile, letting the teasing tone slip in.

“Here, grab my keys so I don’t have to set this down.”

Viktor’s eyes flick over you, and for just a moment, his expression tightens when his gaze lands on your back pocket. You see the brief hesitation, that almost imperceptible pause before he catches himself and steps forward.

“What, Viktor? Scared to touch my ass?”

He furrows his brows at you, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes—playful, but just a little caught off guard. He reaches into your pocket, fingers slow, deliberate, not quite brushing against you, but you feel it anyway. The space between you both seems to close just a little too easily.

When he pulls the keys out, you glance at Jayce, your grin widening.

“See how easy that was? You could tell Viktor he can’t fly, and he’d probably jump off a building just to prove you wrong.”

You barely hear Viktor muttering under his breath, his voice quieter than usual. “Don’t do what I’m asked, and I’m insulted. Do what I’m asked, and—still—I am insulted.”

He holds open the door, his usual confidence returning. “Left—no—my left.” He huffs a laugh as the couch bangs into the door frame.

“Don’t listen to him, Jayce. You’re doing really well.” You grunt, adjusting your grip.

You don’t notice how Jayce seems to soften at the praise, a slight glow warming his face, but Viktor does. The teasing edges of his smile fade as he watches, and instead of continuing his playful jab, he tucks the observation away in his mind.

As soon as the couch is set down, Jayce flops across it with a deep, exasperated grunt. He’s tall, sprawling across the entire length of it. You smack his shoe, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Budge.”

He doesn’t lift his head, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice as he sighs. “I don’t think I can move.”

You’re tired too, and without thinking, you shift his legs off just enough to make room for yourself. As you settle back into the couch, his legs fall naturally across your lap. The weight of them is surprisingly comforting. You let your head fall back against the cushions, savoring the softness.

You feel his muscles tense beneath you, a subtle shift in the air. When you open your eyes just a bit, you catch him staring. The intensity in his gaze catches you off guard, and your stomach flutters before you can look away. He clears his throat, quickly turning his attention to Viktor, who’s unpacking the rest of the items.

“We should get one of these for the lab.”

You laugh, trying to shake off the unexpected warmth spreading through you. “Oh yeah? Well, you can carry it yourself. I’m never lifting another couch.”

Viktor pulls his gaze from the two of you, placing a new lamp on your desk, but his attention shifts, lingering over the paintings scattered across the space. Some old, some new, but one in particular catches his attention. The blue glow from the scene reflects over both his and Jayce’s faces as they float in Heimerdinger’s lab. He stops, staring at it, the soft light catching his features.

‘Is this really how she see’s us?’ he thinks, something shifting in his chest. ‘It’s beautiful.’

The only thing missing from the piece, he realizes, is you. But before his thoughts can wander further, he shifts his focus back to the lamp. As he reaches down to plug it in, another painting catches his eye. He pulls a canvas from the bag in the corner, completely captivated.

It’s a scene of a mother and daughter, gathered by a fire. Their closeness is palpable, the warmth of the moment so real you almost feel you’re there. The mother is showing the daughter some kind of magic. Viktor’s eyes drift to the bottom corner, and before he can stop himself, he asks softly,

“Did you paint this?”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, moving out from under Jayce and striding across the room, your expression suddenly distant. Viktor’s heart gives a small, unexpected lurch as he watches you, realizing too late that his question has caught you off guard.

“No.”

You move swiftly to take the painting back, but before you can grab it, Viktor holds it just out of your reach, his hand lingering there a little longer than necessary. He can’t help himself, his voice softer this time.

“That’s your name in the corner, is it not?”

You freeze, your hand still outstretched. When you meet his gaze, your eyes lock for a moment that feels too long. There’s an unexpected shift, a warmth that pulls you both closer, though neither of you dares to acknowledge it. You shift just a little, your body instinctively drawing nearer. Viktor’s gaze flickers, and for a brief second, he looks almost... uncertain.

Before the moment can stretch any longer, you use his distraction to quickly snatch the canvas from his hand.“It’s my grandmother’s name. I don’t sign my art.”

You shove the painting back into the bag, zipping it shut a little too quickly.

Jayce’s soft voice draws your attention, “Art like that is meant to be shared, not locked away. We’re already here, we can help you hang them.”

You realize they’re both well-meaning, but you still feel a soft pang in your chest, something you can’t quite place.

Hesitant, you open the bag again, pulling out two paintings—both by your mother, one of a flower, the other of the sea. You hand them to Viktor, the gesture light, almost fleeting, but something lingers in the air.

Without a word, you turn toward the kitchen, the quiet task of making dinner a welcome distraction. It’s easier to focus on that than whatever their kindness is stirring in you. After everything they’ve done for you today, helping you settle in and furnish the place, it’s the least you can do.

[lifeabsurdist]

LORE DUMP

Okii, so this is going to be a super long text post about Stones and Robotnik and the basic idea of the au + some sketches(this time on paper ) I did in the lats few days...

Okey so let's star with stones since he's my pookie and I don't have too much to say about him

Sir Stones is not only the commader of the royal guard, but also the royal family personal guard. For years he has been slowly growing more and more dissatisfied with the way things are getting run.

When princess Maria gets sick he is forced to travel and as help of the mystery alchemist who lives deep in the darks woods outside of the kingdom...

Under the cut is everything about Robotnik

So Robotnik is an alchemist, who has been terrorizing villages next to the dark woods for years. He is quiet feard all over the country. He mostly lives off of possessions he has stolen from the villagers.

Why doesn't nobody do anything?

Well he is the best alchemist in the whole world probably and the best doctor around. He can cure almost anything. From the common cold and different kinds of rashes to the worst fevers and deepest stab wounds.

His mane goal for years has been to find the chaos emerald( this universe philosopher stone) which is rumored to give its possesor mystical abilities to rule not only the kingdom, but the whole world.

And you make ask the question why?

His grandfather is the king and his cousin is the next queen. But why isn't he living in the palace? After he tried to lead a revaluation against his grandfather, he was exsiled...

So the mane plot happens years after this failed revaluation and stars with Maria getting sick.

I hope you have enjoyed this rant. I just had to get out of my system. I also apologize for any spelling mistakes since English is not my first or even second language.

That's about it of what I wanted to post for now since I am planing on slowly publishing a comic of this au. I have currently finished the first 2 pages, but it will probably take avile for me to post anything because of school://

[cowgirlcasanova]

LIQUOR & LONLINESS

pairing | arthur morgan x fem! oc

summary | arthur sees caroline alone by the fire and gives her some company. caroline can’t stand seeing him so exhausted and tries to take some weight off his shoulders

tags | fluff, flirting but everyone denies it, two idiots pretending not to be in love, fireside chat, massage, cute nervous arthur

word count | 2.5k

a/n | hi bffs! this is my first time ever publishing a fic! i’ve been trying to get back into creative writing again so here we are. please be nice to me ok? :)

i plan on publishing more arthur fics with this oc, building up their world/relationship & revealing her backstory. i just always think it’s so fun to read about ocs so i thought i’d give it a try! so this is a little introduction. hope you like it <3

A small sliver of the moon peeked through the clouds reflecting off the bay surrounding Clemens Point.

The glow of the moon and the dying firelight contrasted beautifully on Carolines face, something Arthur couldn’t help but take notice of as he gazed at her from under the awning of his wagon.

He couldn’t force himself to revert his gaze, completely enthralled by the way the shadows danced across her at the smallest of movements. He was already picturing the angle in which he’d have to move his pencil to even attempt at sketching the sight of the warm and cool light dueling on her face. Arthur cursed himself under his breath at the mere thought of filling another page in his journal with her face, something he’d found himself doing far too often these days.

“Arthur you miserable fool.” He muttered to himself, grimacing as he stretched out his overworked body and rose off his cot.

Caroline sat alone, unsure if the heat she was feeling was radiating from the ebbing fire or from the burn of the dark liquor making its way through her system. She stuck to taking small sips of her glass of bourbon, feeling a strange guilt for drinking it in the first place.

As the only member of the Van Der Linde gang to have advanced medical knowledge it all fell on her to heal their various ailments. She often had just enough supplies to keep everyone afloat, but having the law after you constantly made it a challenge to get your hands on much needed medicine. So, she’d save what she could and turn to liquor as her medicine of choice, trying to save all the expensive tonics and remedies for the traumas that really needed it. Bill complaining of a back injury? Whiskey. The days that Hosea's cough seemed to worsen? Whiskey. Even using whiskey as a last ditch effort to warm John after his wolf attack. She always tried her best to stay out of her own medicinal stash of liquor, But, some nights she wanted the peace that came with the burn of whiskey. Tonight was one of those nights.

“Hey there, Miss Caroline.” Arthurs gruff voice breaks through the unusually silent night. The smell of the burning fire filled his nose as he got closer. He approaches her with a courteous nod, running a hand across his growing stubble.

“Mind if I join ya?” He removed his banged up hat, holding it close over his chest, a small sign of respect toward the lady that did go unnoticed by her. Rarely anything he did went unnoticed by her.

She smiled up at him with the warm smile she always wore, but something about it made him feel like that sweet smile was just for him everytime. Though he’d never let himself believe something as foolish as that. When she turned to look at him the shadows on her face stopped battling and the warm light of the fire covered her completely. From Arthurs vantage point it almost looked as if she was glowing.

“Please do.”

He moves as gently as he can for his size, taking his seat next to her on the old log the gang has fashioned into a bench. His usual confidence was tempered by something softer while next to her. His leg brushes against her knee, as he sits down, a reminder of how close you two are. The weight of his knee was pushing the scratchy material of her skirt against her leg and yet, she can’t bring herself to move her leg away from the tiny space they share. In the harsh life she's suddenly found herself thrown into, although by her own actions. She finds herself craving affection and touch more and more everyday. A gentle touch. Not a casual pat on the shoulder from Dutch or a clap on the back from Sean. Something with meaning behind it, with care and tenderness.

When Arthurs leg stays planted firmly, their knees barely brushing, her heart aches at the thought that the ever so tough man beside her may be feeling the same.

"you doin’ alright this evenin’, caroline?” He asks, his voice softer than usual. His eyes moved across her face, taking in the closeness and her warmth that he was now admiring up close.

“Im doin’ just fine. How ‘bout yourself?” Her sickeningly sweet southern accent hits his ears, making him unable to stop a smile from tugging at his lips.

“I’ve been worse.”

“Long day I take it?” She asks, sipping from her glass, not diverting her gaze from him. Her face takes on a concerned expression. He has to glance away from the look she gives him, deflecting his eyes to the fire. Something about the way she looked at him always seemed so soft and genuine. It turned him into a fool everytime.

“Ain’t they all.” He drawls, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.

Arthur stretches out his sore, muscled arms in front of him in an effort to work out the constant deep ache that his overworked body feels. His biceps flex through the thin material of his button up shirt, the material looking like it could give way any moment, unintentionally drawing Caroline's eye. Her heart speeds up as she takes another sip from her glass, doing her best to quiet her thoughts of him with liquor. A quiet, painful groan slips from his mouth at the movement. He closes his eyes and rolls his neck to try and soothe discomfort.

“Did’ya hurt yourself?” She asks swiftly, her voice filling with immediate concern. Arthur scolded himself, trying to push down the warmth he felt over her worrying for him. It was her job.

His eyes warmed at her concern, making her wonder if it was the pain or her that caused the change. She hoped it was the latter. “my shoulder just been actin’ up on me. nothin’ for you to fuss about.”

“Well, if ya keep throwin’ your weight around it ain’t never gon’ heal.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as if she was scolding the tough and hardened man beside her.

He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, hating to be reminded of how often he seemed to be caught in some violent altercation nowadays. He hated it more coming from Caroline, the sweetest woman he knows. He couldn't help but feel like she should loathe him and this life. That she should turn heel and run while she still had a chance at a good life. Maybe even being able to settle down with a rich man somewhere, raise a family. The things a woman like her should be able to do. Not running with a gang of criminals.

“It ain’t the “throwing my weight around,” He says chuckling, repeating her choice of wording. “I’m just gettin’ old”

“Oh, you are not gettin’ old you silly man!” She whacked his arm playfully, the sound making a weak thump because of her carefulness, taking extra precaution to hit his forearm and not his sore shoulder.

All he musters out is a small lighthearted scoff at her strike, which felt more like a love tap.

“It ain’t age! It's all that punchin’ you're doing.” A weak attempt at chastising him, but she's not able to keep the smile off her lips long enough. “And yes, I did hear about that fight at the saloon.”

He looked over at her and the way she clicked her tongue in disapproval. She was still wearing that same smile. He couldn’t help but chuckle when she raised her eyebrows at him, the expression playfully reprimanding him and silently telling him that she was owed an answer.

“Yeah, I guessed you would’ve heard about it. But, they were was askin’ for it.” He felt an odd sense of understanding when she didn’t disagree with him but instead laughed and shook her head affectionately. “I'm sure they was.” Maybe she didn’t see him and his life as horribly as he thought.

“I guess maybe I can be a hotheaded fool sometimes.” He spoke, berating himself under the appearance of a good humored joke.

“That you certainly can be.” She chuckled, with a warm grin. He heard no malice in her words.

The way Arthur sits with his shoulders hunched forward, It's obvious he’s tired, sore, and overworked. It breaks her heart, the way he does so much for others here just to end up sitting here aching internally and externally.

“C’mere,” She gestures to the dirt ground under her feet. “Let me see what I can do for ya.” the pleading in her voice sounds like this is just as much for her as it is for him.

He doesn't want to. Making her work for him? No, it should be the other way. For a girl like her, he should be spending every waking minute running around making sure she has everything she could possibly want.

Before he can turn down her offer, she snaps her fingers, pointing at the same spot. She won't allow him to put himself last this time.

“Yes ma’am” He chuckles at her unusual assertiveness.

She carefully lays her hand on his shoulder, as if she was checking to make sure he wouldn’t flee like a wild horse the moment he felt her touch. Once certain, she rolls the pad of her thumb over his sore muscle, taking great care to be gentle. Like there was something she cherished under hands. The fabric of his shirt moves along with the movement of her thumb, stopping her hands from being able to touch his skin.

His broad shoulders relax under her touch, goosebumps rising over his skin when she touches him so delicately. He’s grateful for the shirt covering him so she can’t feel the way his skin reacts so easily to her touch. His head hangs forward as he lets out a quiet groan of contentment, relishing in the feeling. Whether it's the feeling of the sore muscle being worked loose or the feeling of being cared for so sweetly he’s not so sure. She peers down at his face and sees his eyes flutter closed as she continues her soothing movement. Her eyes were stuck on his face as he relaxed for the first time.

The smile lines around his mouth made it obvious he wore a warm expression often no matter how tough he looked at a moment's glance. His aging eyes were developing small wrinkles on the outer corners from years of squinting in the sun and all the times his bountiful laugh trailed up to his eyes. He always smelled of tobacco and ash, even his scent exuded warmth if you're able to get close enough to notice.

Arthur Morgan, The man who could make statues talk. He didn’t look intimidating to her, he rarely ever did but, especially not in the vulnerable position she’s seeing him in now. In their closeness, she could see the way the longer pieces of his growing stubble had a small curl to them, The way he had a few tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose, presumably from being in the sun his whole life. She realized he didn’t look so sad for once, he looked peaceful. And she was the one making him feel that way.

“That helpin’ at all?” She asks quietly, close enough to him that he feels her breath against his ear.

He nods sleepily, angling his neck to the left to stretch the muscle she’s working on. With the more exposed area, she runs her thumb along his neck, landing just under his jaw bone. He lets out a low, content murmur to answer her. “Mhmm” With her hands on him, she can feel the vibration of his rumble throughout her.

“Alrigh’, jus’ relax.” She whispers, her calm voice mixing with the sound of the crackling fire and the waves of the bay lapping quietly.

He lets out quiet, low groans here and there. The rumble in his voice suggests the sound is emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. His head hangs in his calm state, being enveloped in warm light.

Although this was meant to help him, she could feel it soothing her as well. She craved tenderness so deeply that this moment felt like a relief from all the toughness around her. She wasn’t just offering gentleness, she was receiving it. Arthur trusted her touch and surrendered to it. In this intimate moment, he let her be gentle and soft. For now that’s what she needed.

Even though his hands weren't on her at all, she felt as though they may as well could've been.

“That should help it at least.” She feathers her massage off, now just gently running a soothing hand over the muscle. “I don’t wanna end up aggravatin’ it more.”

He rolls his neck as he stands back up, positioning himself on the log once more. “Felt real nice. Thank ya” She feels his hand pat against her knee, gently squeezing it. Her leg felt cold after the loss of contact, even through a layer of fabric. A chill goes through her entire body. She's grateful for the long skirt covering her legs so he can’t feel the goosebumps across them.

“Don't mention it.” She says dismissively, although her heart is hammering in her chest. She takes a sip from her glass hoping he’ll believe the alcohol is the reason for the redness washing over the apples of her cheeks. “Just glad it did ya some good.”

“You’re a damn fine nurse, Caroline” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking almost jovial in nature. He doesn’t look so tense anymore. His shoulders fall in a more relaxed manner and the fire casts long bronze shadows over him, creating contours on his face that give his usually piercing eyes a new kind of gentleness.

“Well thank you Mr. Morgan” She beams at him, happy that her work is noticed. Especially by him. She’s constantly half exhausted with all she does in camp, fixing every small ailment that anyone complains of. And yet, shes not bringing in money or doing “domestic chores” so, Grimshaw sees no worth in her. “I do my best to keep you boys alive.” She laughs.

He scoffs with a lighthearted chuckle at her calling him “Mr. Morgan” He turns his gaze to the fire, watching it dance for a few moments before his eyes flicker down to his hands, looking at them with distant thought. “We’d probably be in a lot worse shape without ya…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She laughs bashfully. She’s never been one to accept a compliment easily. But, something about the sincerity his voice holds always manages to make her consider that it could be the truth. She laughs again, shaking her head as if she was physically shaking the thought out. “Now, any other ways you’ve gone and gotten yourself hurt that I should know about?” Her eyebrows raise playfully.

The same scoff leaves his mouth, along with a low chuckle. “No, nothin’ else. Not now at least.”

“Well stop goin’ and gettin’ yourself hurt and maybe it’ll stay that way.” A warm smile bloomed across her face. He couldn’t help but notice the way a small crinkle formed across the bridge of her nose when she laughed. The sight captivated him too much, she seemed almost holy to him.

“I’ll try. No promises” He said with a chuckle that sounded from deep within his chest. “But, I'll try for you.”

[ko-fanatic]

Leave All Your Love And Your Longing Behind | Chapter One: Double Vision Turning Triple

Rating: Teen and above Pairing: JayVik Characters: Jayce, Heimerdinger, Mel Medarda, Salo, Mylo, Claggor Content warnings: Vomit, References to Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Very Minor Reference to Self Harm (blink and you'll miss it), Slight Well-Meaning Ableism, Co-Dependency, Anxiety, PTSD, Trauma Summary: Jayce gets spat out by the Arcane, again, after all was said and done. All he knows is that he needs to find Viktor. Things here are... very different. A/N: I’ve fudged ages a little bit to make the narrative a bit smoother for what I want to do. You can probably take that as the Arcane being weird, if you wish. And yes, Jayce is already irrevocably in love with Viktor as it’s post-series Jayce. You’ve heard of slow-burn, get ready for light-speed incineration. AO3 LINK

After what Jayce and Viktor believed would be the end, the first thing he could feel in the darkness was burning. From his stomach, a path scorched along this throat and out of his mouth, lungs seizing as he choked and coughed on viscous magma. For all its discomfort, it struck Jayce as familiar.

Unsettlingly, horrifyingly familiar.

He remembers his time in that other universe, how it felt to be hurtled through timelines and threads of everything that could, would and has been. How it had turned his stomach upside down and his thoughts to static, unable to focus for a good few minutes, at least. Then, he’d opened his eyes to that post-apocalyptic hell. The culmination of all the flesh and blood that’d spilled on Viktor’s path to… “evolution”. Hell. 

However, rather than opening his eyes to blackened, twisted metal and death, what greeted him when he finally managed to pry open his eyelids was… a sunlit room. Granted, with a puddle of bile and whatever else that had managed to stay in his system during his not-so-merry jaunt through time and space, but it was still bright and warm.

Lifting his gaze, he could see a blue sky through an airy window, framed by white, gossamer curtains. A desk that was standard issue and groaning under the weight of books - notebooks and textbooks - schematics and blueprints. A neglected pot plant sat on a high shelf above, flowers shrivelled and leaves beginning to turn brown, but not quite dead yet. Something forboding beat in his chest, a little off-rhythm with his heartbeat, feeling like his guts were going to upend once more but pushing through the sensation. 

There were three walls painted a pale cream colour, offset by one navy to make the place seem a little less devoid of personality, but Jayce knew where he - probably - was. 

An Academy dorm room. 

He’d, of course, had his own apartment during his time there, but he’d had acquaintances and classmates who’d lived there, and it was just so reminiscent. 

The deduction was not at all aided by the uniform hanging from the wardrobe door. 

So he was at the academy, in a dorm room that seemed to be his, despite having never roomed at the academy in his stay. The posters on the wall were just too… him for this not to be his room; sketches, his childhood drawing of himself with his hammer (which definitely didn’t leave an awful taste in his mouth), and various memorabilia from magic shows and the like. At least he knew that, brain leaking out of his ears or not. 

Jayce stumbled to his feet, bracing himself on the wall as to not eat wood flooring soon after waking up. 

“Jayce!” A too-familiar voice called as it knocked politely on the door, “Are you alright, my boy?”

Blinking away the double vision, knowing that it was best to open up and see what the Arcane had in store for him this time, he shuffled his way to the door and twisted the handle. 

If it weren’t for his distinctive voice, Jayce wouldn’t have known it was Heimerdinger at the door. Not because he looked different at all, but because the short Yordle was fully eclipsed from view by a mountain of papers and books. In fact, Jayce had no idea how he’d managed to knock at all, let alone so politely. 

A brief spark of a memory glitched through his consciousness. Viktor clutching boxes upon boxes of metal and gears, before he’d needed to switch his cane for a crutch, debating whether to “knock” (read: kick the door) with his good leg and be forced to balance on his bad, or vice versa. 

He’d reminded Viktor that he could do it, and the other man genuinely hadn’t considered the idea before he’d said it. For a genius, he could be… Not stupid, never stupid, even in Arcane-tainted madness. He could be silly. 

Jayce caught the pull at his lips and dragged himself back into this unfamiliar present. 

“Uh… Fine! I’m… fine,” He attempted to assure, but he didn’t sound all that convincing. Evident when Heimerdinger dropped the stack he’d been carrying - with an impressive thump, one might add - and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re usually up and about by now, and when you missed the first meeting on the agenda, I thought I’d come looking for you,” Heimerdinger explained, “Very unusual behaviour from you, my boy. If you’re ill, you only need to say and I can continue on for today.”

“Meeting…?”

Jayce ran a hand through his - much, much shorter - hair, scratched at his shadowed-but-not-bearded jaw a little, trying to catch up. Heimerdinger was treating him like…

“I can cope without my assistant for a day or two, Jayce, Godsend though you are,” A small, gloved hand reaching up to rest on his forearm in something so painfully fatherly and caring, “You’re pale, and you’re equilibrium and balance are obviously off. Take the day.”

“No!” 

Jayce stopped himself in his tracks, coughing into his fist at the yell that came out unbidden. That probably didn’t help his case; the yelling or the embarrassed coughing. 

“With respect, sir, I don’t need the day off, I’m fine,” He smiled, playing off the small piece of spoon-fed information he’d likely get, “My alarm clock didn’t go off, and I was disorientated from being woken up by your knocking. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Heimerdinger looked him over, slowly, before sighing and nodding in a vague approximation of approval. 

“Very well, I’ll wait for you to perform your morning ablutions and dress yourself for today. No need for the uniform, you’ll recall, as we’re mainly going to be off-campus today,” Heimerdinger reminded, as far as the older man knew. 

Off-campus? So, presumably, that left supply shopping, personal errands, or council work. He should probably dress a little nicer, just in case… 

Heimerdinger cleared his throat, Jayce snapping out of the trance enough to watch as the man unclipped a well-loved clipboard that had been fastened to his belt, and passed it over. An agenda. Helpful. 

-*-*-

Working in a lab with Viktor meant that one learned to be as quick as possible when getting ready. Not because Viktor was mean, or demanding, but because of how excitable and surprisingly impatient he could be. Jayce was similar in that regard, the two of them often going days with only the basics of hygiene and self-care in favour of more planning, more theorising, not breaking their concentration for anything. 

Viktor drank sweetmilk and ate a truly horrifying amount of sweet things - baked goods, chocolate, and every fruit that was in season. Jayce drank black coffee that Viktor had tried once and nearly spat straight out, making the most adorable “blegh” sound and sticking out his tongue once he managed to choke it down, looking far too much like a grumpy cat. A probably inappropriate joke likening it to self-harm was made, and Jayce snorted so hard he gave himself a nosebleed. 

It’d probably been something to do with them both approaching the 100-hour mark without a wink of sleep. Still, it was a memory that he still held close, rose-hued and warm. 

Walking alongside the professor down the expansive, winding hallways, he still had yet to see Viktor. Back to the academy days, strange universe or not, he was expecting to hear some comeback or quick wit, or spy a mop of unbrushed hair as he took a “surprise nap” on a desk or table somewhere. 

He’d even been scanning the benches for his lanky frame, in case said “surprise nap” had taken him out in the hallway. No luck, however.

He was almost surprised by the amount of walking and the amount he was expected to carry. If he was Heimerdinger’s assistant also in this world, then maybe the man gave him a bigger, more physical share of the work. It hurt to imagine Viktor attempting to run around, trudging up and down the many staircases while his weak spine bent from the load he carried. 

Another flash of his other life, Viktor’s eyes shying from his own, arms crossed uncomfortably as he talked about his journey from people-pleasing and too “accommodating” for his own good, to self-advocacy and willingness to protect his admittedly fragile health. 

“Heimerdinger was very willing to support me, actually,” He’d chuckled, bathed in lamplight, a wicked twist of humour to his eyes, “At least, after I fell down the stairs.”

Swallowing hard, Jayce kept his head up, striding through the distortion as if there wasn’t any.

“I, uh… Suppose Viktor will meet us there?” Jayce ventured, deciding to try and prod a little more. 

Heimerdinger, however, simply gave him a confused glance. “I don’t know, lad, I’ve no recollection of a Viktor,” He hummed, “A friend of yours?”

A friend of ours, he manages not to say, breath a little too short to work with, everything swimming again. Cracks and fissures sprung through his mind, a recollection of the lifetimes upon lifetimes that Viktor had found him in. Smiling lips and soft eyes… A lack of runestone bracelet.

“He’s… He’s the best student the academy has ever seen…” Was what he did say, unable to keep himself from divulging that, speaking a little too openly for a world he wasn’t meant to be in but hoping that might make Viktor… appear? Like Heimerdinger was… He didn’t know, doing a stupid prank? As if the man would. 

“Jayce, there is no Viktor in the academy, as far as I’m aware,” Heimerdinger fiddled with the hem of his gloves, “And I would be aware of someone like that, if he managed to impress you so. Still, if your new little friend is that bright, he should certainly apply! I trust your judgement in these things.”

He hesitated, for a beat or two. 

“Morality of lying about being a student to - presumably - talk to you aside, of course.”

Viktor… wasn’t here? Not a student of the academy, even? Because Heimerdinger would know Viktor, with the man’s voracious consummation of knowledge and his sheer intellect, Heimerdinger would have to notice that. 

Did that mean that Viktor… Never got out? That he was still in the undercity, with poison in his lungs and pumping through his veins? That the violence and the dank still surrounded him, swallowing up his light?

That he could certainly be dead already, if that were the case.

He doubled over, books and papers dropped and scattered like debris and rubble, feeling like he’d been shoved off his feet, slammed into a wall.

His hammer dropping onto his leg, a mirror image to Viktor.

“A-Actually…” A big gulp of air as he tried not to vomit on the other man’s head, “Professor, I really don’t…”

“Feel well?” 

Soft replaced sharp, Heimerdinger’s careful, nurturing tone somehow a little louder than the screams in his head. 

“Go on, my boy, take a few days off, I can manage,” He assured, “I’ll pop by later, just to make sure you’re alright, but go rest and drink plenty of water.”

“I will.”

Barely ten minutes later, sprinting through the streets of Piltover and towards the bridge, Jayce couldn’t help but think that breaking promises was becoming an awful habit of his.

-*-*-

Heimerdinger could, despite all rumours to the contrary, get on perfectly well without Jayce. He had the agenda clipped to his belt as he had this morning, dropped the mountains of papers in his office, and had got himself to the meeting room with time to spare. He was glad that the perpetual over-worker had been persuaded to look after himself, even if he had to turn an alarming shade of green before he finally retired to bedrest.

However, Councillor Medarda was quick to point out the change of routine.

“Good morning, Professor,” She greeted with her typical smile and disarming humour, “I see you’ve lost your shadow this morning.”

“Yes, Jayce was quite unwell - I managed to shoo him off home,” He explains, taking his seat with a little effort. 

Jayce only tried to pick him up once, but the memory still comes up occasionally when he has to hop up there. Awkward apologies and a puppy-ish will to help that just made him such an endearing person. This morning he was… off. Quiet, and sullen. 

Perhaps he was missing this new friend he mentioned! A quick attachment, certainly, but that actually put another worry he’d had for his assistant to bed: his lack of close friends. 

Jayce was certainly friendly with others, but the more Heimerdinger observed him, the more shallow the connections seemed. Far be it from him to badger his employee about such matters, but as he mentioned before - Jayce was endearing. He wanted the boy to be alright, and his overworking habits combined with few close social connections were worrying. As were other things.

“Jayce, my boy, what are you doing?”

“... Just people watching,” He’d said, eyes cast down over the balcony…

Yes, a friend was just what the doctor ordered! When Jayce was a little less dizzy and such, he could introduce the pair of them, perhaps! He’d be very interested to see the person who managed to captivate him so.

“Fellow council members,” Salo, of all people, began, expression grim, “We’ve uncovered yet more unsanctioned engineering work in the undercity, with the same graffiti as the others.”

Salo passed a handful of pictures to Hoskel, gesturing for him to look through then pass them along.

“This seems to have been a big project, requiring manpower and hours without interruption,” Salo continued, “Along miles of pipeline, as well as naturally occurring cracks in the rocks which lead lower. You are all aware of the system that was put in to migrate the factory fumes lower than the populated areas? Well, it seems our work didn’t meet someone’s standards.”

He spat the last word as if it were a curse, rolling his eyes and looking the most ticked off Heimerdinger had seen him… perhaps ever. 

“The sketches being passed around are of the devices themselves, including the graffiti -”

“I believe the young ones call it a tag, Councillor Salo,” Heimerdinger very helpfully corrected, met only with a slight narrow of Salo’s eyes before the man carried on. 

“Including the tag scrawled on them, but we also have a composite of a possible suspect, seen hobbling away from the scene by a witness.”

Heimerdinger accepted the pictures from Councillor Medarda with a nod of thanks, before parsing through them. 

The sketches of the device itself was… lackluster, seemingly not done by someone with a scientific or engineering background, but even so, it’d be hard to discern specific functions without seeing one for himself, in person. 

The copies of the tag were… odd. On one half was a crudely sketched, blue monkey, all big ears and separated jaw, a cartoonish, angry frown on its face. The other half was some sort of… reptilian creature in the same style. A lizard, or perhaps a salamander, in a green so pale it could have passed for white.

The composite wasn’t much to go by, a filtration mask covering half of the person’s face, but a few key details were available. A tousled mess of brown hair, interrupted with streaks of blue, red and purple; three piercings on each ear - one lobe and two cartilage, symmetrical; hazel eyes ringed with dark liner; a mole peaking out from the golden metal of his mask, beneath his right eye.

While they had nothing of his mouth, nose or jawline, it was… quite a few distinguishing features to go off. Which led to three avenues of thought: the suspect wasn’t smart enough to cover them up (unlikely), the suspect was just that cocky (more likely), or thirdly…

For some unfathomable reason, the boy wanted to be caught.

“Councillor Salo, you said the suspect was… hobbling?” Councillor Medarda inquired.

“Yes, he walks with a cane and a limp.”

-*-*-

Chest heaving, Jayce’s frantic running was finally halted, his lungs feeling fit to burst and legs weak with exhaustion. A blockade of people stretched in front of him, so dense he couldn’t pass without shoving. The need to just keep going was strong, almost reminiscent of the pull of the runestone in Viktor’s hand, his own clasped around like a lifeline.

“We’ll end this, together.”

He was about to start pushing through, when he took a second to actually observe the situation. 

The undercity was bright, almost bustling, and not in any way it had been before. Clean streets, adequate lighting, air that was almost as fresh as above. 

Nothing like the few stories Viktor had divulged, nothing like what he’d witnessed as a council member. 

He then took stock of those around him, seeing… braces, wheelchairs, canes, crutches. If he started shoving his way through, he’d definitely hurt someone, and while some desperate, slathering part of him didn’t care…

“Excuse me!” He all but yelled, trying to duck and weave through any opening he could, just to get a little closer, just to possibly stumble across Viktor in the sea of metal and mobility aids. He needed to get closer, had to find him, had to -

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jayce’s momentum was stopped by… a scrawny teenager with a bad haircut. Firm on the ground for someone so lanky, squaring up his shoulders despite the general height and size difference between them, “Do you have a ticket?”

“Ticket?” Jayce echoed, trying to stamp down any instinct to just push the kid out of the way, “No, you don’t… I’m looking for someone, I need to see Viktor.”

“You and everyone here, bud, step out of the crowd for a minute.”

… What…?

Jayce barely reacted as he was redirected out of the throng, that floaty, spacey feeling returning once again. The double-vision turned triple, brighter streets fading into crystalline, white structures surrounded by flowers. People turned to disciples and followers, Viktor’s fingerprints shimmering on their faces -

“Y’know, you don’t look very disabled to me - OUCH!!”

Another boy, much stockier than the other, almost seemed to materialise out of the crowd to punch the first in the back of the head. 

“What has Viktor told you about assuming, My?” The newcomer sighed, “Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” The scrawny kid huffed, hands held up in surrender, “He was pushing through, though, didn’t even know about the ticket system.”

“Did you tell him?”

Silence. 

“Thought so,” The boy turned back to him, pushing the gear-patterned goggles from his eyes and resting them on top of his head, “Hey dude, my name’s Claggor, the dumbass is Mylo. We’re working security today. We have a ticket system instead of a line, so people can take breaks to sit down and rest, get something to eat and drink, that sort of stuff.”

“Oh… uh…” Jayce eloquently stuttered. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where to go,” Claggor smiled, “Any assistance needed, just say. Cool?”

“... Sure…”

Jayce had to just… play it by ear, follow instructions. At least he wasn’t aimlessly running anymore, with no way to find Viktor. The other man had almost fallen into his lap, easy to find as soon as he crossed the bridge. 

He would’ve just taken a ticket and waited patiently, as everyone else seemed to be doing, had he not actually… spotted Viktor as he was led to the small booth. 

And time stood still for that moment, the rapid beating of his chest freezing like his heart had simply stopped.

Viktor was very different, visually. Brown hair highlighted with bright blues, purples and reds, his clothes so obviously Zaun that the sight instantly sent prickles down his back, piercings around his ears and tattoos trailing up his arm in swirls of dark ink. 

Even with his back to him, however, Jayce knew it was him. From the cane by his side - covered in paint though it was - the foot of his good leg tapping to the beat of heavy drums and electric guitar blaring from a beaten-up speaker by his side, to how he soldered the plates of metal in that oh-so-familiar way. If he hadn’t been wearing a mask over his mouth and nose, Jayce was sure he’d see his partner’s tongue peaking out the side of his mouth.

It was so different, yet so similar that he moved on his own, magnetised, to his other half.

“Viktor!” He yelled as he slipped out of Claggor’s grip. 

The familiarity ended, as this other Viktor chugged the ominously purple liquid in the cup beside his hand, used his good leg to push off, spinning around in his chair and grinning - not the soft, small smiles shared in the lab with the blue glow of hextech carving his cheekbones - but something more… manic…

Something almost like… Jinx.

“That’s me!” He all but sang, and Jayce could only collapse to his knees.

[headingalaxys-spicy]

"Become my Doll" Yandere! England X Reader Oneshot drabble.

Not incredibly explicit. But mentions alcohol and kidnapping so like not for all readers.

Synopsis: Drunk in a bar, lost in a haze, vulnerable to manipulation of the magic British man. He’s had a long-standing obsession with you, and now he’s going to capture you. 

Yet another lonely night where you had no desire to go home. You wanted to do nothing but forget your difficult day: rude people, too many food orders at once, and a plethora of stupid comments and questions that came your way. 

You wanted to scream, you wanted to yell, you wanted to wring someone out for lacking empathy for you as you struggled throughout your day. Being in the serving industry was a pain. 

All you had was your papers, pens, & penicillin drink that was halfway finished due to the alcohol sweetly numbing your nerves. You could forget about the troubles plaguing your life. You were blissfully unaware of the emerald eyes that had attached themselves to you. They surveyed your every labored move that was coated with sadness. Every minute that passed by as you were mindlessly scrolling your social media or looking through the 30K+ photos saved to your phone that you could use for your next art piece. You’d get sucked in by one of the colorful pictures of your past, wondering how you’d gotten from there to here. 

The rabbit hole you’d fallen into had just begun. One of your favorite songs started to play before the chaos of the world pervaded your life in every way. 

As you decided to dive into your interests when you were younger and happier. Old cartoons were the first thing that appeared in your mind's eye. All the early morning weekend days that held all the nostalgic imported works mainly from Japan, maybe one or two from Italy and France. The bright colors that had attached themselves to each outfit. Your mind wandered off to episodes that you liked the most. You picked up your pencil & pulled your your reference board on Pinterest. You got to work. Music from the show of the past filled your ears for the majority of the night. 

Blissfully unaware of the danger you were in. You were in treacherous waters. The alcohol in your system only made you more susceptible to the risks on the horizon. 

Eyes that were only a few tables off. 

Said eyes that were attached had summoned a cute magical being. Its mint wings fluttered and flicked. The tail and fuzzy ears perked up to meet his master's command. He snapped his fingers. The flying bunny immediately knew it was time to carry out his task. The creature perched himself on your shoulder. Of course, you were oblivious to the magical being since you lacked the gift to see it at all. 

The British Gentleman in his pressed black suit had the clear advantage. Arthur enjoyed taking in your beautiful face, just like the gin that was intoxicating him. 

He let his eyes wander back to the ancient spell, which he reread a few more times. He even used his pointer finger to underline the words. Arthur wanted to perform this spell with precision and perfection. He silently whispered the words. 

The papers below his finger began to glow faintly. The crimson light brimmed over with how intense his emotions were for you. However, he had to continue to keep it under wraps, or he risked botching the spell. 

You’d just completed your sketch & you were ready to set down your pen lines. You had noticed that your left shoulder felt somewhat heavy. It was time to get up and refresh your body as you downed the rest of your cocktail in two gulps. Your eyes wandered around the bar, and you stretched your stiff limbs out. When they landed on a figure of a British man that you were sure you’d seen before. 

However, your memories of meeting him before were covered in a thick brain fog. You didn’t flinch like you would have before. You were at most only 1% sure you’d met him before. Even still, your heart still trembled a bit. 

‘No, no I’ve had a couple of drinks….I’m overthinking it.’ You reassure yourself. You catch the bartender's attention to get a glass of sparkling water. You wandered over to the large open windows that let in the late evening air. You allowed the crisp night air to fill your lungs. The atmosphere began to feel a little suffocating. Black spots occasionally dotted your vision. You swore you’d felt an invisible hand playfully draw a line down your back. 

When you whipped your head around to see how that happened, there was no patron nearby. 

Your left shoulder felt like it had a heavy weight on it. The eyes that were on you felt as though they were devouring the sight of you greedily. You dared not to turn your head back to look at the British Man who continued to read silently. Even though his back was to you, it felt like he had eyes in the back of his head. 

‘It’s okay Y/N. Breathe. Breathe.’ You reassure yourself. You slow down your breathing by taking in deep five-second inhales & five-second exhales. Booze, cologne & the smell of aged oakwood filled your nostrils. All these scents combined were familiar and comforting. 

Your senses were put into a higher state of alertness when a waft of ‘Penhaligon’s The Tragedy of Lord George.’ Plugged your nose. You recognized this aroma. It made the hairs on your neck stand on high. Your nervous system was set on red alert. 

“AY YO! Y/N ! Y/N! WE’RE TAKING A SHOT!” Your bartender friend snapped you out of your traverse to the subconscious truth that you were having a difficult time gaining access to. It just quite couldn’t break through the surface as you walk back to your seat at the edge of the bar. You noticed that the British man had now occupied the seat that was right next to yours. He was admiring your sketch work. 

“What’s the occasion?” You ask curiously. “I got you a shot, love. Cheers to you & your talents.” He had a smooth, buttery British accent that transformed people into steamy vapors. It disarmed your nervous system to a degree, but not entirely. You were still on alert. 

Your face became thoroughly flushed at the sweet compliment & gesture. Your bartender friend slid you (insert favorite spirit here). The bartender, along with the handsome British man, raised their shot glasses & you followed suit. 

“Cheers!” The glasses clink together & you toss it back in one swift gulp. You could have sworn there was an obscure and peculiar aftertaste in your drink. But you’d ignored it for now. Maybe it was due to the last drink you had. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, love. My name is Arthur, and as I came to order my next cocktail, I couldn’t help but notice your lovely sketches.” You couldn’t quite place why it felt as though you were a moth being drawn to a flame, but you sat down next to Arthur anyway. 

“Thanks, I’m self-taught. I enjoy drawing when I’m stressed out or need an escape.” He chuckles and gives you a sly smile. You could have sworn you’d seen a mischievous glint within the pool of his verdant eyes. You know you’ve seen that before, haven’t you? Your mind was still clogged with a thick foggy smoke. Unable to remember why you were uncomfortable…..no somewhat terrified to be near the man sitting right next to you. 

Yet the energy in the air & the alcohol in your system numbs your mind. You were at ease amid the brewing storm. The stiffness you began to feel was back, but it was starting to affect your feet and shins first. The memories that sought to keep you safe couldn’t be assessed due to his flying furry friend keeping your mind in a thick haze, and he began to devour them. 

“You must have been working on it for a long time for it to look this good. Quite exquisite.” As you’d come to sit down, he’d somehow captured your right hand and bestowed a kiss on it. 

Shockwaves of bright electricity swept through you, followed by an instant stiffness that began to take it over. 

‘What’s this feeling that's beginning to take me over?’ It was rather exciting to have the attention of the man with stunning, magical green glowing eyes. Was that hunger you saw within the depths of his orbs? 

“Thank you. Hahaha, it’s not much, but it’s honest work.” You say sheepishly with an attempt at faking confidence with a comedic punch. You noticed a swampy, thick tenseness creeping into the air. You couldn’t help but wonder if you drank over your limit somehow. It felt as though you were now unable to move your shins and feet, and that feeling was beginning to spread more. But since you were relatively inebriated and enjoying your high, you didn’t want to consider it too much. You were out of your depth, and the incoming storm began devouring you like a hungry beast. 

All your mind could really think about was that you still had to line your sketch, think about possible color palettes….. And why did he seem so familiar? Why couldn’t you place your finger on it? 

As the night dragged on, you passively entertained the strangely familiar British man as he droned on about whatever it was. Your body continued to get stiffer progressively. It’s a if you were turning into a doll. You were unable to move your legs at this point and you failed to the glow that was emanating from his book and how it seemed to grow more powerful thought the night. 

Or was that just the alcohol in your system talking?

The familiar calming lull and dizziness of the booze that had engulfed your system. It wasn’t just that it was the powerful magic that was also taking you over. 

It had been a while since you’d spoken to the curious British man….but why had the motion of your Micron stopped moving? You try to move it again, but it’s as if your bones were made of plastic, wood, or stone….. Regardless of how hard you tried, you were unable to move any of your muscles anymore. It was like being in sleep paralysis but much worse. 

“Arthur.” Now that the name has some time to sink in, some of the smog in your brain has been swept away. Important fragments of memories shot up to your consciousness. That was until the mint rabbit grabbed and devoured them. 

It didn’t matter much anyway; much of your mind couldn’t comprehend. 

Your body had been turned into stone. It could only move at the command of the psycho British man. Who now had complete control. 

You’d been turned into a doll against your will now; you could be molded into anything he pleased. 

At the night's end, all your stuff had been abandoned in your favorite bar. You’d been taken deep into the abyss of the night. No one would be able to find you. Not at all. 

You’d been turned into England’s doll that would obey his every whim. Long gone where the days of freedom. You were meant to serve him.

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Answers Gen 1 pt.70

Takara's office was buzzing with enegry when M arrived. She stopped at the front desk instantly recongizing the long term receptionist.

M: Hi Renee. How have you been?

Renee: Mercury Hi! It's so nice to see you. It's been too long since you've come by. I'm good. How are you?

M smiled genuinely, she had always liked Renee. She was a sweet girl who you could usually find sketching. M had been honored to receive one of herself a few years back when Renee had been just an intern.

M: I'm good, thanks. I'm here to see Takara.

Renee: She's been waiting for you. She's just finishing up with a meeting. Do you want to wait in her office?

Before M could decline. Takara appeared.

Takara: Mercury.

Old fashioned but customary with Tomarang elders, M bowed when she greeted Takara.

M: Takara, hi.

Takara: Stop that M. You look tired.

Takara chastised her earnestly.

M: I didn't sleep well.

Takara: I can imagine. I saw the photos.

Mercury fidgets unable to quell her frayed nerves.

M: Yeah, I've seen them.

She responds dejectedly.

Takaras' demeanor softens. She sighed heavily and pulled Mercury in for a hug. M tightly embraced the middle-aged woman she had known all her adult life, drawing comfort from the contact.

Takara: Come.

They take the short walk to Takara's office. She takes a seat behind her desk but M stands.

Takara: Why didn't you call me as soon as you saw them?

M looked away slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal. She had prayed that Takara was calling to discuss the book but had suspected otherwise.

M: Is this what you wanted to talk about?

Takara: Look. Who is this?

She turned around to inspect the photo on the screen and her temper flared.

M: Paris. How do you know her?

She practically hissed through clinched teeth.

Takara: I don't, but after I saw those photos I had my people do some digging. The images led back to this girl. She not only took them but was also the one who posted them from an anonymous page. Stupid girl doesn't know how to clean up behind herself. She didn't even get rid of the originals online properly. Guess she thought deleting them meant they were gone forever. How naive.

M: Okay. So Paris took the pictures. She's friends with Madison and Madison is seeing Kason. Are we all caught up? This doesn't change anything, He was still there. With her!

She could feel that anger she had been worried about rising, as she drew the conclusion that Takara was defending Kason.

Takara calmly responds.

Takara: Yes, he was there. With me.

M: With.. you?

Takara: Yes, with me.

Takara tapped a few keys and pulled up her emails. She scrolls for a while before stopping on an email thread that is addressed to Kason. She opened the email and scrolls to the top allowing M to read each email in its entirety. Then she opened a web browser and pulls up The Sims Daily from a week prior. In the Recent neighborhood stories section are images of Kason, Takara and Madison all at the cafe. Next to it was the usual celebrity sighting story of Takara and Husband of bestselling author Mercury Gratz eating at the local cafe.

M felt her world shift back into place. The relief she felt overwhelmed her and she went to take a seat, unsure her legs would continue to support her.

Takara: You see. Our little red-haired friend conveniently left yours truly out of the photos. Kason was helping Madison's club host an event, for you.

M: Why didn't he just tell me?

Takara: Me again. I swore him to secrecy.

M smiled to herself. She knew what it meant to be sworn to secrecy by Takara. It was like taking a blood oath.

Takara: Guess he took it pretty serious. Kid's got guts holding out like that when someone tried to take advantage. Shows how much faith he has in your trust in him.

The relief instantly turns to guilt. It plagued her mind with doubt and regret.

M: (Did I believe him? Will he forgive me? Does he hate me? I called him a liar. How could I be so ungrateful?)

M: And Madison?

She asked instead. Trying to stay focused. Takara shook her head dismissing the implied question.

Takara: Trust me when I say that Madison means you no harm. If she was after anyone it would have been you, M. I promise you, nothing is going on. I wanted to talk about your book deadline but maybe that's enough for today. Go home, kiss and make up with your husband and get some rest. That's and order.

Brindelton Dog Park (While M is meeting with Takara)

Kason arrived at the dog park 5 minutes early. He unleashed Comet and set him free. The clouds were dark and gray. They danced across the sky, teasing with the threat of rain. He pulled his coat tightly around him, the cold and cloudy day adding to his already somber mood. He took a seat on the bench and waited.

Madison: Hey Kason. I don't have much time. What's up?

He stood, his body ridged.

Kason: What the hell is this Madison?

He asked his voice nearly a growl.

Madison: ....Paris.

She spoke her friend's name with resignation. That alone was an admission of guilt. Madison had planned to tell Kason about her friendship with Paris back when she'd gotten that confusing note the night of their meeting. She'd had a bad feeling and figured it was best to come clean before Kason found out on his own. Unfortunately, she'd gotten caught up the next couple of days calling and video chatting with Beckett and it had slipped her mind. Now it was too late.

Kason: Yes. Paris. Care to tell me how you know her?

Madison dropped her chin to her chest, her eyes were downcast in shame.

Madison: Kason, I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you.

Kason: Tell me what Madison?!

He barked, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

Madison: The truth is I knew who you were the day we met. Paris is my best friend. She put me up to saying hello.

Madison: At first I was just going to say hello and leave. I wasn't interested in Paris's game. Then you told me you were married to Mercury and...

Kason: And what? You started a game all your own? Mercury saw those. She thinks something is going on between us.

He replied in an accusatory tone as his eyes filled with disappointment.

Madison: I'm sorry! I told Paris to leave you alone months ago. When she called you after her business trip. I never wanted any-

Kason: You Knew about me for that long? You're as bad as your sick friend. I can't believe I trusted you.

Kason shook his head and turned to leave. He stopped a few paces away and called over his shoulder.

Kason: I'll tell Takara the event is cancelled.

Then he whistled for Comet and left.

Previous Next

Beginning

Poses

@elen-shine Top secret & Male emotions

@starrysimsie on the line

[princess-of-the-corner]

One thing Ive always wondered is, in a P5xDeath Note setting, what would Light and L think of the PTs. Because they're like Kira as a criminal taking down criminals, except not in the murder way. And L doesn't have room to talk about their methods considering he also did some bad stuff to catch Kira. Its more of a shower thought than anything

Oh this would actually be FASCINATING

I do think..... it's been a While™ since I read all of Death Note so my exact grasp on them may be a little shaky but

I think Light would originally see the Phantom Thieves as comrades in arms of a sort. They're trying to circumvent a corrupt system that lets these criminals go free via making the criminals turn themselves in. Different methods, but they're both on the side of Justice.

There's three spots where Light's ideology and the P5 crew would differ and cause problems:

1.) the Punishment.

Light's acts with the Death Note is to just kill these bastards. This guarantees that a punishment is handed out. The Phantom Thieves may get their target to turn themselves in, but punishment for them depends entirely on the corrupt system that was protecting these people in the first place.

2.) Innocents/Law enforcement trying to stop them

Though the Phantom Thieves worry about the cops coming after them.... they don't really feel the need to go after any of the cops themselves. Hell in many ways they /can't/ because their Targets need to have a Palace. So they can't do something like what Light did with killing the entire FBI squad looking for him or the battle of wits with L.

Not that they would really want to. They seem a touch more aware of 'yeah we're doing something good but kinda sketch ofc the cops want us contained especially as we could easily kill people like a certain someone is doing already'

3.) Kira Himself

Given Light's whole thing was beginning as well-intentioned 'I'm gonna punish criminals that are getting away with crimes because the system sucks', ya boy took a trip on the slip n' slide right into a God Complex.

He's exactly the type of person the Phantom Thieves would target.

And anyone going against Light gets taken out.

Swinging over to L:

I think L would find them..... interesting.

Like yeah he doesn't have room to talk re: doing sketch as hell things to catch criminals. I think there's a little less gray areas since his actions are at least given the go-ahead via legal channels. So like, he had a warrant when he installed cameras everywhere.

But even so it certainly is sketch as hell.

I think the Magic aspect of it would have him fascinated and oddly more chill with it? Like the Phantom Thieves can only target people who have a Palace, which is in a way 'proof' of their crimes. So it's less 'playing judge, jury, and executioner' in the way Light/Kira does.

Though ofc not every person with a Palace is a criminal. It's based on warped perceptions not on crimes. But again they're just seeing that someone has a Palace and going in to deal with it. Not the same.

Especially as it's harder to nail down what the Phantom Theives actually do that's 'illegal'? Like there's no law against entering someone's mindscape. The item they steal isn't 'real'. They don't break the person's free will, just help them come to the realization themselves and they then of their own free will deal with the situation.

Yeah they /could/ kill someone through this but that's like arresting any rando on the street because they /could/ go up and stab someone.

[whxre-bxby]

Mansk(recom) Characterisation

I have Mansk brainrot <3 here's my interpretation of him and some random things I want to point out. Some of it is canon :)

I will totally be adding more things to this as time goes by.

(This is a clusterfuck of thoughts, no order sorry. It's a mess. This has absolutely no structure)

HE IS NOT NEARLY APPRECIATED ENOUGH AS HE SHOULD BE

Masterlist

MANSK HAS AN AMERICAN EAGLE TATTOO ACROSS HIS CHEST (I think that's what it is, I'll make a separate post about it with sketches)

Just like the eagle Quaritch has except its wings are spread above his (massive, sexy) pecs.

(I saw some art and maybe it's not an eagle but a three headed angel of death)💀

Here is a random picture I found of the back of Mansk's head. <3

love him sm

The look of DISGUST he has when handling Tsireya (gorgeous queen).

(ew it's wet, quickly tie it down)

She's wet from the ocean and his hands must have gotten wet and he's all grossed out from the 'fish-lipped alien' and has to touch it.

Deffo thoroughly wanted to wash and disinfect his hands after.

The man HATES nature. I mean he despises it, on Earth too (whatever was left of it). That's why he is wearing the opposite of Walker's outfits. He's covered, head to toe. Expect for, well head. But everything else can't come in direct contact with nature on Pandora because to him it's scary and gross.

He hates native Na'vi too but once he becomes a recom, it dies down a little. Now, his hate for them is divided between blue forest Na'vi and the water Na'vi.

He still thinks of himself as human rather than Na'vi. I'm saying, when the man woke up from recom, he needed to be alone for the rest of the day while the others were discussing the mission. He just left the room and locked himself in his room, sitting in silence. He didn't want to look at himself in the mirror because it was too much. He just died and now he was back in the form of his enemy. The enemy terrified him because that's how he died in the first place.

While Lyle's first thought would be to pull down his pants and check out (yk) , Mansk would refuse to remove his clothes because he was worried he would lose it if he genuinely saw himself properly for the first time. I'm saying if the man saw all of himself in the first few days he would be so lost in himself and overwhelmed he would break down and cry. He seems like this intimidating tall man who has it all figured out but I'm telling you HE IS A SENSITIVE SOFTIE AND TAKES EVERYTHING TO HEART. He would avoid reflections, keep his head down and prefer not to directly look at his teammates because they were blue too. (Blue Na'vi racist kinda, but with PTSD)

He is quiet. Not shy quiet, just observing quiet. When he does speak he uses the least amount of words to express himself. Mansk is clever and when he says things they have been thought through by him. He never speaks before thinking. He's confident but doesn't express it. Basically the opposite of Lyle.

He likes wearing his shades because 1. they look dope 2. he isn't happy about being in a Na'vi body so he wants to seem as human as possible. Adding to that, his tail freaks him out. He wishes it weren't there. Sometimes he forgets it's a part of him now and it scares the shit out of him. His new body has him feeling really down because he knows that he can never return to Earth like this.

Grillmaster 100% without a doubt. I love that this fandom just decided that. It fits so well. Can't cook things like pasta or make soup. He can grill and fry shit. That's his thing. For properly baking something he will need luck on his side but it might work.

Another random thing. This man NEVER gets sick. I'm saying he's immune to it all. You're sick? Have the flu? Covid? It never gets him. He's safe with the immune system of a god.

He gets a sore jaw from constantly biting down and clenching it due to stress (just like me fr fr)

Adding to that, he almost always looks like he is in deep thought. He looks almost scary because he seems so intimidating. It's rare when he smiles.

THAT'S WHY THIS PICTURE IS SO PRECIOUS.

(Quoting Taylor Swift: Yeah, you got a smile that can light up this whole town) :0

YOU PRECIOUS MF COME HERE AND GET SOME LOVE! ISTG SO FUCKN CUTE I WANNA EHUEIJDNJKE AHHHHHH

He is the type of person that lays in bed for hours before falling asleep. Maybe because of some fucked up shit he has seen that stays in his head. He also refused to sleep on his back in his new body because of his tail and braid.

If there would be a skiing holiday, THIS MAN SNOWBOARDS. Quaritch would be the dad with skis and a large backpack.

He is super precious and soft. Will never want any of his teammate to know but if he finds someone he likes, he will be silently obsessed. Not in a creepy way, but he can't stop thinking about them. He doesn't fall for people easily but when he does HE FALLS HARD.

Mansk is self conscious so if he likes someone he will never act on it and never tell anyone. At night when he is alone, he would be going over all the reasons of why it wouldn't work out and why his crush doesn't like him or can't like him.

All he wants is to be cuddled, taken care of and kissed to sleep. Honestly, that's it. He wants to give everything he can to the person he cares about but will need constant reminders that they actually like him back and that he isn't just imagining it. If the person is gone for a few days, his bad thoughts will return and when they come back he will be distant and ask things like 'Sorry, I'm bothering you aren't I? You probably have lots to do.'

TO WHICH YOU HAVE TO TACKLE HIM INTO BED, WRAP HIM IN A BLANKET LIKE A BURRITO AND CUDDLE AND KISS HIM ISTG HE NEEDS LOVE BECAUSE HE HAS BEEN DEPRIVED OF IT HIS ENTIRE LIFE.

Leading to his fam, he joined the military because his dad did and so did his grandpa etc. It's a bloodline thing and because of that, he's never been loved properly and always treated as a soldier in making. He needs to be drowned in love.

SUPER NERVOUS around his crush. Sweating palms, stuttering, all that shit. He's down bad.

Here is him freaking out that they are under attack and yelling "NA'VI" in his super masculine deep ass husky voice✨️

More...

gorgeous fuckin precious bean

- if ANYONE compliments ANYTHING on him he will never forget it and always think back to that moment

Example : "Hey Mansk, nice shoes/shirt/shades/tattoo's"

"Thanks." Is all he says but HIS HAPPINESS IS GOING THROUGH THE ROOF AND WHEN U GO AWAY HE WILL TURN AWAY FROM OTHERS BECAUSE HE CAN'T SUPPRESS HIS SMILE ANYMORE.

NSFW: if the person he likes is wearing an apron with barely anything on or nothing underneath = huge turn on, instant boner, Mansk will become putty in your hands

random: (lyle listens to taylor swift (shake it off while working out))

have a nice day :)

Tag list:

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

[ya-zz]

Merry Christmas

This was a thank you to @yore-donatsu for taking time out of her schedule to sketch some Ramattra stuff for me which I still adore and smile at each time I open my phone or log into my pc 😭

Thank you again, and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas!

~~~

Ramattra x reader (gen)

Word count: 4715

The sun was beginning to set over the village in Nepal, and the sky’s ablaze with color; warm oranges and reds peek over the mountains as the night fades in. The air is crisp and cold, and the stars are beginning to twinkle in the dark abyss that’s approaching quickly. It’s a peaceful and serene night without many disturbances. The stars shine brightly in the sky, and the moon casts its silvery light over the village. 

The winter evenings in the Nepal village are a time for rest and relaxation whilst the monks in the monastery gather together to prepare a small event as they talk about their day, tell stories, and laugh together. The evenings are a time to forget about the stresses of life and to simply enjoy the company of loved ones.

Whilst the village below was bustling with life, the monastery just as vibrant and while many of them did not celebrate the idea of Christmas, they were happy to indulge those who were. Decorations were drawn up, holly and tinsel lining the walls and in the main entrance way stood tall a tree littered with baubles and ornaments that were gifted from the villagers. 

Candles were lit, illuminating every dark area inside, somehow never going out despite the wintry breezes that pass by. The stone floor was icy, human feet would freeze should they walk on it. The omnics could feel the cold, but it wasn’t detrimental to their systems so they didn’t mind, however they would always ensure that any human that visits would wear shoes to protect their feet at this time of year. 

The monastery was warm, certain rooms warmer than others and one of which was your room. With the fire on and the snow falling outside, it looked like a scene out of a movie. Bundled up on the chair beside the fire, you sat there with your mind focussed on your work. There were exactly six days before Christmas Day, six days before the monastery held that small gathering between the monks and of course, you were invited among the group. 

For once, you felt like you belonged. They were always there when you needed support, a shoulder to cry on or even just a friendly chat in the morning or evening. Someone was always there for you.

One omnic more than others. 

Although… you hadn’t seen him for a few days and that worry was growing with each passing day. Ramattra had been out of the monastery, whether he was avoiding the holidays, the monks or you, it was a thought that constantly crossed your mind. 

All you could do was help the monks prepare, lending a hand when they needed it and accepting theirs when you needed it. You were doing what you could to take your mind away from the missing omnic. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, something that reminded you of home; being a child and helping decorate the tree, running around the stores with your parents getting the last minute gifts, accidentally smashing a bauble but the spirits were high that you didn’t get yelled at. 

If only you knew what Ramattra was doing and where he was. It wasn’t like him to wander off without a reason, especially without telling you his plans. Ever since you grew close to the omnic, Ramattra would talk to you almost every day and he’d tell you his schedule should it conflict with yours. 

Looking out of the window, you sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. The clouds were growing thicker, a storm was approaching.

It wasn’t his first Christmas, definitely wasn’t his last, but this year it was different for him. 

He didn’t want to tell you what he was doing, he made sure nobody knew. It was a surprise, and he was making sure that there were no obstacles in the way of his plan. So far, everything was going smoothly. 

As the snow continued to fall, covering the villages of Nepal in a thick blanket that only grew within the coming hours, Ramattra began his return to the monastery. He was two days travel away, but with the constant snowfall, he knew it was going to take longer.

Ramattra had to plan accordingly. His model wasn’t necessarily made for wandering in deep snow, he figured that out the hard way a few years prior. His cooling was verging on freezing, system error coming up critical. He was lucky to have made it back inside before the worst had happened and he shut off. 

By his calculations, he had three hours before his cooling completely freezes, he had to be somewhere warm before those three hours were up and while he had his cowl to keep him warm, the cold still pierced through to his chassis which in turn began to lock up his joints. 

His monk robes clung to him, wet and freezing as he started his walk back, staff in hand to help him move up the cobbled roads. Ramattra passed several humans, each wrapped up warm with coats, hats and scarves, gloves protecting their fragile hands. He looks down at the bag he was carrying, hoping that what he had picked out for you was correct in size, but also something you would wear with pride, something you would love because he got it for you. 

A gift, for you. 

Ramattra had never bought a gift for anyone in his life, but you were someone special, someone who he held close to his circuits. You wandered into his life and he had never once regretted it. Despite some misunderstandings and debates, you are one he doesn’t want to lose. 

He would protect you. Though his disregard and hatred is high for the human species, you were the exception. Ramattra would make sure you were happy, that you were healthy. He would make sure you were safe, no matter the cost. Should he be decommissioned against his will, he would hope and pray to the Iris that you were safe. 

He pauses in thought for a moment, optics looking ahead yet not looking at anything in particular. His system alerts him, cutting his thought short. 

[ WEATHER WARNING. SEVERE SNOW STORM ]

The omnic looks up to the sky, now noticing how dark it had become since he started his travel. His hand twitches around his staff as he looks back down and continues to walk along the road, the snow getting heavier, thicker with every passing minute. 

He was close to the village edge and the moment he decides to walk past those stone pillars, there is no protection from the cold, no shelter until the next village which was under three hours away by foot. 

Ramattra sighs, entering a small inn and paying for a room for the night, the omnic innkeeper escorting Ramattra to his room. It was too risky to go out when a storm was coming. He sits down on the bed and stares out of the window as his processors work to figure out a new plan should the storm last too long. 

He looks down at the bag, servos tracing the metal pad on the back of his hand. For once, the omnic was nervous, worried that he may not make it back to the monastery in time.

Ever so slowly, his plan started falling apart. 

—

Commotion could be heard all throughout the monastery as the monks rushed around to cover up the windows to keep the heat in, but also to protect themselves and everything inside from the harshness of the storm. 

The clanking of feet outside of your door startles you before it fades off, the monks rushing past your room as they keep working. Meanwhile, you stay seated, bundled up warm beside the fire that heated your cheeks. You were too comfortable, too cosy to move in fact. 

Your room was warm despite the open window where thoughts escaped from and where worries left. However, the warm room felt lonely without Ramattra seated in front of you on the floor. Hands craved to be tangled in his cabled hair whilst he meditates before they slip down and tilt his head back so you could smile down at him, reassuring him that you cared and that he was safe with you. 

The fire burns your eyes as you stare into it, cheeks hot as you wonder where Ramattra was. Something wasn’t right but you couldn’t quite place it but as the storm continues, winds howling outside and snow sticking to everything it touches, you could only fear the worse. He was out there. 

You had two options; wait it out and hope that he got home to you safely, or venture out there in hopes to find him… but that came with great risk to your life. You’d have to plan accordingly, know where shelter is, know where he had gone. One plan you could do easily was the travel; there’s inns dotted around the village, many didn’t require payment to stay if you’re sheltering in the main living area, but the second part, finding where Ramattra went, was the tricky part. 

He never said he was leaving. Never mentioned it to you or any of the other monks. One hour he was there and then the next he was nowhere to be seen. One monk pointed out that he had left through the main door, everyone including you, assuming he was going down to the village to visit the library or pick up some parts for his projects that he was tinkering with. 

But then that begs the question; why didn’t he ask you to come with him?

Ramattra would always come to you first and ask if you wanted to join him on a small trip to the village, a walk in the garden, join him in meditation or even just sitting in silence in the small monastery library. You were the first to come to mind and system with him. You were the one whom he wanted to spend time with. You were special to him. 

A human and a ravager - an unlikely and blossoming friendship. 

Turning your gaze back to the window, tears pricking your eyes from staring too long into the fire, you let out a shaky sigh as you watch the snow fall in large clumps. You think about venturing out there to find the missing omnic, but then that means risking your life. The storm had claimed many lives in the past, human and omnic alike. Even those fully prepared don’t make it to their destination without careful and precise planning. 

“Where are you, Ramattra…?” You sigh, holding your mug a little tighter, feeling the slight tingle as it burns your palms. “Please be safe…” 

…

…

Three days had passed and there was still no sign on the missing omnic. Many of the monks were getting concerned, others were still prepping for the event in three days.

You had gathered what you could, layered on several shirts and coats, the thickest pants and socks you could find and the winter boots you were gifted earlier on in the year by another monk. Your hat, scarf and gloves were snug, keeping your fragile hands and ears warm as you ventured out into the icy weather, the storm still strong as it battered your cheeks. 

The backpack was heavy on your back, as you tread carefully down the slippery monastery steps. Everything was telling you to head back, to go back inside where it was warm and safe, where your life wouldn’t be on the line. 

All you were hoping was that Ramattra was safe, that he hadn’t succumbed to the harsh winter storm, buried under several feet of snow. The thought makes you shiver. 

“Please be okay…” 

You repeated the same three words over the last three days; when you woke up to an empty sofa, when you stared at the water in the cup before drinking it, when you showered and spaced out thinking the worst. He was the first thought when you woke up and the last one before you went to bed. 

“Ramattra…” 

Your quiet pleads were silenced by the wind as you stumble outside of the monastery walls and out of the first village after hearing that Ramattra was not here. There was no going back now, there were four hours of walking to go before you’d reach the next village. It would usually be a lot quicker, an hour and half at most but with the snow making the terrain uneven and unsafe, it added more time. 

The snow continued to batter your body as you tread carefully along the edge of what you assumed was the path, following the walls and rope that travelled between the villages for this very purpose. A guide for travellers to follow. 

A guide for you to find Ramattra. 

Meanwhile, he was preparing to leave the second village, bag and staff in hand as he set the timer within his HUD the moment he stepped out of the door and into the harsh cold. His system was on high alert, the temperature below freezing as he started his walk into the white abyss. 

The snow didn’t seem to let up at all, constantly falling and covering his shoulders and hooded head with a thin, sparkly sheet. He needed to get back and soon, this specific road was longer than the previous one and the longer he stayed outside, the riskier it was for the omnic. While the snow continued to fall, it was a miracle it never went any higher up his metal calves. The sun was still warm, slowly melting the top most layers.

His staff sunk deep into the snow, piercing holes that only filled up within minutes and his treadmarks that followed behind him followed the same agonising pattern. Left, right, left, right, and the only colour that surrounded him was white and grey with the occasional beige rope and grey brick. Monotone. Dull. He’d much rather be back within the confines of the monastery, back within your hold, soft hands caressing his frame and settling his mind. He needs the colour back… 

He needs you. 

Far off in the distance, his systems pick up faint movement. Something was approaching him slowly and no matter how hard he tried to single the entity out, the snow was too thick and continued to get in the way.

Ramattra deemed it another traveller, but then wondered why someone would be venturing out at this time knowing how bad the weather was. 

It wasn’t until he got closer that he realised who it was. His systems went into overdrive as he heats up, rushing over with panic rising within his wires. 

“[y/n]!” His hand drops the staff into the snow and reaches for your face, lifting your head up to face him. “What are you doing out here?” His tone was full of worry and concern. He notices how cold your body is despite the several layers you have on. “You are freezing!” 

Through slurred and chattered words, you speak quietly to him. “Came to find you.” 

Though touched, Ramattra shakes his head, turning to pick up his staff before looking back at you. “Your concern touches me, but you could hurt yourself.” 

“Was worried.” 

Ramattra notices the lack of words and takes another look at you, seeing the flushed cheeks and blue lips. Placing his staff in his other hand, he pulls back your hat and sees how red your ears are. His system flares up, warning him that frostbite had begun setting in for you. 

“We need to get you back. Now.” There was urgency in his voice as he covers your ear back up. “Can you walk?” 

You stare at him, your own head trying to process his words. 

He sighs, dropping the bag and staff back into the snow as he takes off his cowl and draping it over your shoulders, pulling the hood over your head. He turns and kneels, allowing you to climb onto his back to which you do without questioning him. Before he stands, he grabs the bag and staff, hooking the bag into the crook of his arm and carrying the staff in his hand once more. 

Before he starts walking, he slowly heats his back up and runs through several different plans on how to conserve what power he has remaining in order to get back to the monastery without too much damage. 

There was roughly an hour left of the journey, however, with you on his back and the added weight of the clothes and whatever was in your backpack, he estimates another half an hour at a steady pace. I am pushing it… he thinks to himself, beginning the walk. 

“Where did you go?” You mumble into his back. 

“I had an errand I needed to run.” He states, the grip on your thighs was tight as he keeps you from falling from his back. He feels you nod and hum. “You are a fool.” 

“I know.” 

“Something could have happened to you.” 

“I know.” 

“This is serious. Your body isn’t made for these harsh climates. You should have stayed at the monastery.”

“I was worried.” You tighten your grip around his neck, feeling the warmth seep though your clothing from his back. 

“You are making me worried right now. You have frostbite.” He sighs, trying to keep his pace fast. 

You smile, nuzzling your head into his back, the cowl covering your face from the snow. “It’s nice to know you care.” 

Ramattra squeezes your thigh once. “I have always cared about your wellbeing.” 

“Liar.” 

He chuckles. “Okay, maybe not all of the time, but more so since we got closer.” 

“You’re nice when you’re soft.” 

“I am not soft.” 

…

…

The walk back to the monastery was slow, Ramattra having to make a quick stop in one of the local stores to pick up some hot tea for your hands to hold on the rest of the journey. He stayed silent, not muttering a word to you about where he had been and what he had been up to, and that irked you somewhat. After risking your life to look for him, you had hoped he’d be a little more forthcoming with his whereabouts.

When you two had arrived at the monastery, finally safe within the confines of the stone walls, the monks inside were relieved to see that the pair of you were okay. One monk handed you a hot drink after taking the other empty cup from your hands, whilst another was quick to pull you towards the nearby fire to warm up. 

Ramattra watched on, a comforting feeling coursing within his wires as he realised just how much your presence meant to the others. He tilts his head towards you and if he could smile, he would be doing just that. 

By the time the evening came around, the pair of you had wandered back to your shared living quarters, finally stripped free of the outdoor clothing. He sat with you, the usual spot of him on the floor and you sat behind him on the sofa. He let you keep wearing his cowl, marvelling in the way it made you look and bundled up in something he loved to wear made him feel warmer.

“I was worried about you.” You finally broke the silence you shared, hands tangled within his cabled hair. 

“So you have said.” He chuckles. “You did not need to come looking for me.” 

“What if you never made it back?” 

“You do not need to worry about that. I planned accordingly.” He states. 

“But-”

“I am here now, am I not?” He tilts his head up to look up at you. “Your concern for me is appreciated, but you did not need to risk your life.” 

“I would risk everything just to make sure you were okay.” You smile down, thumb brushing the white faceplate of his. “Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you.” 

“It is our first Christmas.” Ramattra shifts his optics, looking at the soft glow of the fire within your eyes. 

“One of many, I would hope.” You could feel his head get a little heavier as he leans into your hands. You continue to speak, voice soft and loving. “I wish you would’ve said you were leaving. Everyone was worried about you.”

“I will remember that for next time, but as I said-”

“I do not need to worry.” You laugh, badly mimicking him. 

Ramattra chuckles before looking forward again, the fire warming up his faceplate as he goes back to a meditative state. 

“Are you charging again?” You whisper, pulling his cowl up around your arms. 

“Yes.” 

“How long do you have left?” 

“Two days.” 

“Why is it so long?”

“I have been in and out of this state for the last four days.” He states, fingers twitching on his lap. “I… May have dropped to below ten percent.” 

“Ramattra!” 

…

…

The omnic was in and out of conversation during the two days he was charging, but those two days lasted longer than either of you had wanted. Christmas morning came around and Ramattra was still sitting there on the floor.

The fire had been put out and relit several times over. Your hands stroked his wires while you sat there in silence, listening to the hum of his inner workings; and even now as you sat on the sofa in the exact same spot, Ramattra was still motionless on the floor. 

Part of you worried, but the occasional twitch of his servos was all the indication you needed that he was still here. 

He finally woke up in the early afternoon. His hands flexed before his fans picked up speed slightly which startled you out of the small nap you had fallen into. The room was a comfortable warm, dangerous even, as it pulled you under for the last hour. 

“You’re awake.” You say, voice quiet as you sit up. 

“So are you.” Ramattra chuckles. “My charge is finally complete.”

“I’m glad.” You reach up to him, pressing your forehead against his. “You were gone longer than two days.”

“I am sorry.” His own hands come up your jaw, pulling you in a little closer. 

“You babble omnicode a lot.” 

“I do?” He tilts his head in questioning. 

You smile, letting out an airy laugh. “Yes. It’s quite funny.” 

“I am glad you find humour in that.” 

He doesn’t let go of you as he pulls his face back. “You are still wearing that.” 

You look down at the cowl still draped around your shoulders. “Yes… It smells like you.” 

He chuckles. “Keep it. It looks good on you.” 

As you look up at him, Ramattra admires the way your face lights up before finally dropping his hands. 

“And, I have this for you.” He steps away, heading for the bag that he had placed at the foot of the bed when he entered the room those two and a half days ago. He returns, handing the bag to you. 

“Ramattra…” You look down at the bag and then back at him. “You really didn’t have to go out of your way-”

“I insist. It is the holidays after all.” He gestures for you to sit down on the sofa and sits besides you when you do. 

He watches you, optics shifting their aperture as the fire flickers. When you pull out a soft sweater, carefully knit in your favourite colour, your cheeks heat up and not from the fire. 

“Rama…” Your voice was gentle as you feel the knitted garment, fingers tracing over the soft fabric. 

“I do hope it fits. I had to guess.” He admits, looking down at his hands. 

You smile, tugging off the cowl and pulling on the sweater. The sleeves were long, bunching at the wrists. It was a size too big, but in the cold weather, it was perfect for snuggling up into. Straightening the fabric on the front of your body, you look back at him, a warm flush on your cheeks. 

“I love it!” Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. 

His arms come up, hands caressing your back.

“I do hope it keeps you warm, even in the harshest of winters.” He mumbles into your neck. 

“You went out of your way to get me this…” Tears prick your eyes. “You remembered.”

He chuckles. “It is hard for me to forget. We were walking through that village five months ago when you saw it in the window. There… Is also something else.” Ramattra feels you pull back and then look at him with confusion. 

“Something else?” 

“Yes.” He pulls you off of him and grabs the bag, pulling out a small box and handing it to you. “I… Had this one personally made.” 

“What-” The shock was evident on your face as you stare at him. “Ramattra-”

He hushes you, holding onto your hips as he watches you open the box. 

“Ramattra…” Your tone softens as your fingers touch the small necklace that sits in the cushioned box. “This is…” 

“Merry Christmas, [y/n].” His thumbs gentle rub the sides of your body as he keeps his grasp on you. 

“Thank you…” 

“Anything for you, my dear.” He trails his hands up your sides before resting his palms on your jawline, pulling you in as he taps his forehead against yours. 

“Promise me one thing?” You ask, placing the box down and holding onto the golden metal of his jaw, thumbs caressing it slowly. 

“That highly depends on what that promise is.” He jests, moving his hands back down your body and squeezing your sides. 

“Please tell me the next time you might be gone for a few days…” 

Ramattra leans further into you, thumbs pressing into you. “You are insufferable. I promise.” 

You laugh, tilting your head up and pressing your lips against the centre of his faceplate. “Thank you.” 

His fans pick up, humming quietly in the silent room. 

“Are you blushing?” 

“Would you consider this blushing?” He tilts his head before looking away. 

The smile on your face makes him turn away further. “You are blushing.” 

His grip gets a little tighter which causes you to laugh more only for him to pull you flush against his chest. 

“Ramattra!” Through the giggle fit, you wrap your arms around him, feeling his body vibrate as his inner workings get louder and faster. 

He only chuckles in response, body warming up with every passing second you stay with him. 

“[y/n]...” His vocaliser softens, optics staring out of the window as the snow falls outside. 

You hum, slowly relaxing against him. “Yeah?” 

Ramattra hesitates before speaking. “I love you.” 

He feels you tighten your grip on his back and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. The sweater feels soft and warm in his hands as he rubs up and down your back. 

“I love you too.” 

You stay in his hold for a little while longer, revelling in the warmth he was emanating. Hands dipping in and over the metal braces that lined his chest and back. His body hums quietly alongside the fire and your breathing. 

“Perhaps we should show ourselves to the other monks.” He tries to pull away but when you hold him just a little bit tighter, he stops talking altogether. 

“They can wait a little longer…” Softly spoken by you, Ramattra chuckles in response, pushing you further into his chest. 

He goes to speak but nothing comes close to the amount of love and comfort he was feeling. 

Your breathing slows, body relaxing against him. “If this is how we spend this Christmas, I hope we spend the others like this too.” 

“That can be arranged.” 

“Just… Without the whole running off into a storm thing.” You laugh, leaning back and looking up at him. 

“Your persistence about that issue continues to astound me.” He tilts his head to the side, hand coming up to caress your cheek to which you lean into. 

“I love you, Ramattra. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas. I love you, [y/n].” 

[dbmars]

I posted a new fic! Don't worry, it's only 2.7k. You don't have to make as big a commitment as Hannibal wants to make with Will... that they spend the rest of their lives together.

This prompt came from Alisha, one of our Patreon patrons for The Feast Is Life podcast. If you'd like to wield the power of my pen (or my typing fingers) you can do so for just 5$ a month:

Something Blue

Will knows.

He has to know. 

I’ve ordered the fires extinguished in his brain. As I picked up the phone to tell Dr. Sutcliffe I’d changed my mind, I knew I was setting events into motion that could end with my death or lifelong imprisonment. I also understood that taking such a risk was imperative, as it may be the key to the greatest happiness I’ve ever known. The one certainty I clung to as I foiled my own plans was that Will would know me. See me. What he would decide to do with that knowledge is impossible to predict. 

But now, sitting in Jack’s office, I can’t be sure he’s received my messages. Understood the scope of my declaration.

I supervised his care during his recovery from encephalitis, driving him to his appointments when it wasn’t safe for him to be behind the wheel, picking up prescriptions and groceries. Cooked him proper meals, meant to nourish and calm the inflammation as well as delight the senses. I fed his dogs, paid to have his lawn serviced and the house cleaned and the hounds groomed. 

It was in his nature, of course, to refuse help. Will’s father raised him to reject charitable offerings out of pride. Pride, also, insists he must be self-sufficient; alone and lonely so long, he wears fierce independence like armor. But I am nothing if not patient and persistent, and he submitted long before I thought he would. 

His desire to be taken care of crumbled that pride like a faulty dam springing leaks before its catastrophic collapse. I’d like to think I had something to do with it. Not only care, but care from me . 

Once Will recovered from his immune system's misguided attack, we resumed our therapy and our friendship. Both flourished, a well-tended garden, roots deep in the soil and blossoms unfurling in the sun. We discussed killing the way others might discuss art, poetry, music. He invited me to fish with him and cook the catch after. I invited him to dinner. It’s become our routine to linger in my office for hours after his session is supposed to have ended, drinking wine by the fire. He let me sketch him once, his face in profile, illuminated by the flames.

One night, three months ago, he put his hand over mine on the arm of my chair. Gave it a tender squeeze. 

And that is when I decided to reveal myself to him, come what may, though the gesture of affection has not been repeated since.

[navtechnicianez]

About Me

Hi! I'm Ezra. I just finished my 3 year Space Navigations Technician diploma. I fix the systems that allow spaceships to find and steer themselves to where they want to go. I thought this job with Pony Express would take me to interesting new places! They didn't tell me I would be working on a historical relic, though...

Silly little Mouthwashing self insert roleplay blog~

Click read more for more info/boundaries!

Boundaries:

first time roleplayer. please be niceys 🥺

private dm roleplays kind of freak me out like feels like theres a lot of pressure. so I'll probably stick to asks and posting.

pretty much no topics are off limits to me.

just dont be weird or mean or rude to me okay

// for OOC

About Ezra (the character):

(subject to fine tuning as I work out the character)

Age: early mid 20s

Gender: nonbinary (closeted; someone with a savvy queerdar might notice but otherwise their femme presentation enables them to go through life as a "woman." To them, it's "not worth the fight".)

Sexuality: bisexual with a preference for men

Pronouns: any, with some preference for they/them. Though for above reasons, most will default to she/her at first.

Backstory: They are a Navigations Technician. Their job is to maintain the sensitive equipment within the flight console that allows the ship to chart its course and steer. Fresh and green out of their diploma course, they took this job with Pony Express over a better paying job maintaining unmanned ships that would have kept them closer to Earth. If asked, they would say they wanted the adventure, but inside they just wanted to get away from their family back home. On the Tulpar, they come to find that not only is the sense of adventure not quite so grand in a small windowless metal box, but the technology that guides spaceships has advanced a lot in the decades since the Type-F freighter 0926WO Class C was in its prime. Simply put: they don't know how to maintain the systems they were brought on board for, beyond a few barebones similarities to the modern technology they were taught about in school. They spend much of their time poring over the manuals and schematics, praying all the while that nothing breaks before they can figure out how the hell to fix it. Add in a dash of autism while being stuck in close quarters with a handful of total strangers and they're in for an interesting time.

Personality: Somewhat self doubting and unsure of themself, their skills, and their direction in life. Preoccupied with being liked, as such has a hard time being authentic at first. This shows as a kind and genial outward demeanor; someone who makes every effort to be polite and accommodating. Though this kindness is often based in a sense of fear, it isn't in itself a facade, more an optimistic "treat people the way you want to be treated" mentality. Tries to be open minded, empathetic, and understanding of people's differences, problems, different life circumstances. When comfortable with someone, they let loose the weirdness, obsessive tendencies and dark humour. Takes a lot to make them dislike someone, but when they do, internally they get really vindictive, spiteful, and all around unforgiving. Prone to bouts of depression, but will try very hard not to show it.

Interests: Likes to read fiction. Particularly fond of scifi. An artist at heart, enjoys creative pursuits all different kinds, but is focusing on improving their drawing and sketching for the duration of the haul, drawing the different environments of the ship and the people within them. Music is incredibly important to them, and it's almost impossible for them not to move to the beat of a song in some way. They are particularly involved in goth subculture, though their music taste expands beyond it. Loves to sing, is okay at it.

Relationships:

Curly: Doesn't quite know what to make of him. Thinks he's handsome and charismatic. His position of authority makes her uneasy. Curly is kind, which counteracts that. But his closed off nature throws her off. So any attempts to get to know him better and build a more comfortable (to her anxious mind) relationship fail. A mix of good, friendly interactions, and very awkward ones when she starts trying too hard.

Jimmy: Relates to his sense of humour and his mistrustful, self-centered worldview (as well as the deep insecurity they can sense within him), though they approach it with a different mindset than he does. Starts finding him very attractive as their relationship progresses, ending up with a pretty significant crush. Is much more willing to look past his faults and negative traits because of this. Lacking in the confidence to pursue him directly, they put in a lot of energy making themself and their attraction noticeable, but not so noticeable that they look desperate.

Anya: Sort of intimidated. Feels a kind of pressure to relate to her on the basis of them both being "women," something they've always had difficulty with, despite the fact that this is not something Anya 100% positively expects from them. Anya is so unfalteringly nice they feel really bad being as uncomfortable on the inside as they are. Is also quite jealous of Anya's passion for medicine and drive to achieve it, as that kind of ambition is something notoriously absent from their life.

Daisuke: Least intimidated by Daisuke out of the crew, they get along well enough, being so similar in age. They both like video games and art. But his energy can be a lot for Ez. Even so, they really relate to his lack of drive, and feeling like they ended up in a place they didn't want to be/weren't ready for in order to appease their parents. So when he opens up about it, they end up commiserating on this topic.

Swansea: Is technically their direct superior, though they don't spend nearly as much time under him as Daisuke does. Reminds them of their dad somewhat, so they end up flip flopping between being taking him for what he is and liking him, being incredibly intimidated and even fearful of his gruff demeanor, and being pissed the hell off by him. Though they were highly unprepared for the reality of working on the Tulpar and start off quite clueless about the workings of the old equipment they were brought in for, being educated on the matter they're still pretty capable, and thus tend to escape his ire.

(headcanon: pony express employees have to buy their own uniforms. this work dress is a style they offer, but is more expensive than the typical jumpsuit, and you have to sign a waiver absolving the company of responsibility for any injury incurred by the improper coverage of this attire. ez also owns a regular pony express jumpsuit.)

About Ez (the roleplayer):

23 | they/she/he

writer. find me over at @xyfanficarchive for more info <3

[dark-is-d3ad]

OK, I'm moving soon, and I'm currently sitting in the middle of my ravaged flat surrounded by boxes, jars, and all sorts of things you never know you even had before it's time to go pack them up.

So here's a bunch of soapghost headcanons about moving in together.

• They end up helping each other to pack things. The flat they chose is a two-bed in Epping, really close to the forest. Easy to get to when they come back for a break, technically still in London, but in a quieter area on the outskirts of the city. Ghost checked for a multitude of things, including ways to get in and to retreat, hidden cameras, and he's making a custom surveillance system for it. You can never be too safe, right?

• The second bedroom is going to become Johnny's art studio. Ghost has dibs on the living room, he's got a huge TV and a PS5. And his humongous bookshelf will also go in there. They plan it out perfectly, so that they can spend time together, but also can have their alone time without bothering each other.

• Ghost refuses help at first, but then Johny just shows up with his portable speaker, and hangs out with him. It's a little distracting, and he has way too many books, they run out of boxes. Ghost never tells him, but he's grateful, it was getting overwhelming.

• Ghost's place looks neat, if not a little barren, his things are all sorted to perfection. He's got a collection of shotguns, too. And a huge table, perfect size to work on them comfortably. Cleaning and servicing guns never fails to calm him down. His favourite is an older one, a Benelli M2. It's in pristine condition albeit a little worn, its barrel needs to be changed because it can only last through so much shots, but Ghost kinda wants to keep it as it is, even though it's not practical. He's sentimental about it. They spend a lot of time packing them all up carefully.

• Johny actually asks him to come over, because his adhd gets unmanageable when he goes through all his things, and it's easier if a very specific person makes him stay on track, otherwise he'd be still stuck there reading his diaries and going through his pile of sketchbooks, and oh, the drawing supplies, he has the urge to use that beautiful box of designer gouache his sister gifted to him literally right now because he forgot about it, and now it's so tempting. Ghost thinks of it as of a mission, so he comes up with a strategy and keeps it tactical. And he makes Soap take breaks every once in a while.

• Soap's stuff doesn't fit into the van. Even with the furniture dismantled and packed, he's got so much things, a lot of them art supplies, a huge easel, half-finished paintings, canvases he forgot about or he hadn't had time to come back to. And his bed is freaking huge. They finally cram it in, but it's a really tight squeeze. Comparing to this, Ghost's was half-empty. Thank god their new place is on the bigger side.

• Ghost gets distracted, too, when they pack the paintings. He's not an artsy kinda guy, yet they are so good, he's entranced. It's Johnny's turn to make him focus. Soap doesn't think much of his art, and Ghost makes a mental note to compliment it more often. He really wants to see more. Hell, he'd even pose, if Soap ever asks for it. He won't tell him though.

• There's a "do not touch" black sketchbook with a little white scull drawn on the cover, and Soap flushes deep red and packs it away in record times. Ghost is intrigued beyond measure. He has assumptions of what's in there, and he sneakily checks it out when Soap goes to pack his clothes. It's full of sketches of him. Soap actually took his time to study him, he thinks, even the tattoos are all looking exactly right. The ones from the shower make him wonder if Soap actually memorised him that well or he got some sneaky reference pics (how did he manage that, the bastard). It's got notes, too. It takes an effort not to read them, but Ghost feels like he already intruded a bit too much, so he puts the sketchbook back where it was. Just in time, because Soap pops out with an absolutely ridiculous coat in his hands, and goes "hey, look what I used to wear when I was 18!"

• Ghost has a freaking lot of random jars. They're all empty. When asked about it, he confesses that he wanted to make jam, his grandfather used to make a lot of it every summer. It's one of the good memories he has, and there's not so many of them. He tried to make it once, but failed, and had to throw away the whole batch. They keep each and every one, although it seems stupid.

• Johnny's art stuff is a whole lot. He's got tree branches and clay, and a fucking mannequin (it scares Ghost every time he walks in Soap's living room, because his side vision registers it as a person, and he can't get over it). The mannequin has a crooked smiley face drawn on it with a sharpie. There's sheets of metal, fabric, a lot of acrylic, and a ton of instruments. He was trying to get into modern sculpture, Soap says, it didn't really work out. Needs more 3d thinking. Ghosts proposes to try again after they move. He's good at fixing stuff, and he's really good at guerilla warfare, they'll find a way to make even the weirdest thing Soap comes up with hold together.

• Soap's got little led garlands wrapped on every vertical thing at his place. At first Ghost thinks it's stupid, but when the night comes, and Soap lights all of them up, it actually feels almost magical. They sit on the floor with mugs of tea and coffee, and, although it's messy and everything is moved out of place, it's still beatiful, and it feels so safe. Ghost finds himself feeling more like a 5 y o than he probably ever did, sitting there just watching lights slowly light up and fade. He's never been good at making his places cozy. He'll ask Soap to work on their new flat to make it more like that. He really wants the lights there, too.

• Johnny's mugs are all different. He's got the "guns and coffee" with a redrawn Starbucks logo, the mermaid holds two pistols. Ghost gets the "under all your tattoos you're still a mainstream cunt" one when it's Johnny's turn to make tea. He pretends to be offended. There is a pink one with "unt" on it. It makes sense when Soap turns it, and the handle finishes the word. There's one with lots of bees, and it reads "bear daddy". Ghost makes the stupidest jokes about it.

• Ghost hasn't got a lot of kitchenware, and all his plates and mugs are white, the cheapest ones from IKEA. And he's only got one chair. No guests - no need. Johnny finds it a little depressing, but says nothing.

• Johnny's spicerack is probably the second biggest collection he has after his art stuff. He likes cooking, and he likes trying new recipes. His favourite go-tos sit separately on the kitchen counter. Ghost has to admit that he's really good. Ghost's spices are just salt and pepper, which gets him "and you live like that? Lt!" from Soap.

• When they finally move their stuff in, a call from Price comes. There's things to do like right now, get ready in 5, be at base in an hour and a half. Ghost likes his work, yet he can't help but get a little grumpy. He really wanted to get it over with. And to see what comes out of it with all things in place. And to have a chill evening with Johnny, watching these little lights again with some quiet ambient playing on the background. "It's OK," Soap says, "we'll get it sorted when we come back."

OK, that's gonna be it for now, I have a sad option and a silly option to go for, but I'd rather make a part two and separate them.

[justforbooks]

Source Code: My Beginnings by Bill Gates

In contrast to the current crop of swaggering tech bros, the Microsoft founder comes across as wry and self-deprecating in this memoir of starting out

Bill Gates is the John McEnroe of the tech world: once a snotty brat whom everyone loved to hate, now grown up into a beloved elder statesman. Former rivals, most notably Apple’s Steve Jobs, have since departed this dimension, while the Gates Foundation, focusing on unsexy but important technologies such as malaria nets, was doing “effective altruism” long before that became a fashionable term among philosophically minded tech bros. Time, then, to look back. In the first of what the author threatens will be a trilogy of memoirs, Gates recounts the first two decades of his life, from his birth in 1955 to the founding of Microsoft and its agreement to supply a version of the Basic programming language to Apple Computer in 1977.

He grows up in a pleasant suburb of Seattle with a lawyer father and a schoolteacher mother. His intellectual development is keyed to an origin scene in which he is fascinated by his grandmother’s skill at card games around the family dining table. The eight-year-old Gates realises that gin rummy and sevens are systems of dynamic data that the player can learn to manipulate.

As he tells it, Gates was a rather disruptive schoolchild, always playing the smart alec and not wanting to try too hard, until he first learned to use a computer terminal under the guidance of an influential maths teacher named Bill Dougall. (I wanted to learn more about this man than Gates supplies in a still extraordinary thumbnail sketch: “He had been a World War II Navy pilot and worked as an aeronautical engineer at Boeing. Somewhere along the way he earned a degree in French Literature from the Sorbonne in Paris on top of graduate degrees in engineering and education.”) Ah, the computer terminal. It is 1968, so the school terminal communicates with a mainframe elsewhere. Soon enough, the 13-year-old Gates has taught it to play noughts and crosses. He is hooked. He befriends another pupil, Paul Allen – who will later introduce him to alcohol and LSD – and together they pore over programming manuals deep into the night. Gates plans a vast simulation war game, but he and his friends get their first taste of writing actually useful software when they are asked to automate class scheduling after their school merges with another. Success with this leads the children, now calling themselves the Lakeside Programming Group, to write a payroll program for local businesses, and later to create software for traffic engineers.

There follows a smooth transition to Harvard, where in the ferment of anti-war campus protests our hero is more interested in the arrival, one day in 1969, of a PDP-10 computer. Gates takes classes in maths but also chemistry and the Greek classics. Realising he doesn’t have it in him to become a pure mathematician, he goes all-in on computers once a new home machine, the Altair, is announced. He and Paul Allen will write its Basic, having decided to call themselves “Micro-Soft”.

The early home computer scene, Gates notes, was a countercultural, hippy thing: cheap computers “represented a triumph of the masses against the monolithic corporations and establishment forces that controlled access to computing”, and so software was widely “shared”, or copied among people for free. It was Gates himself who, notoriously, pushed back against this culture when he found out most users of his Basic weren’t paying for it. By “stealing software”, he wrote in an open letter in 1976, “you prevent good software from being written. Who can afford to do professional work for nothing?” This rubbed a lot of people up the wrong way and still does, at least in the more militant parts of the “open-source” world. But he had a point. And that, readers, is why your Office 365 account just renewed for another year. Fans of Word and Excel, though, will have to wait for subsequent volumes of Gates’s recollections, as will those who want more about his later battles with Apple, though Steve Jobs does get an amusing walk-on part. (Micro-Soft’s general manager keeps a notebook of sales calls, on one page of which we read: “11.15 Steve Jobs calls. Was very rude.”). This volume, still, is more than just a geek’s inventory of early achievements. There is a genuine gratitude for influential mentors, and a wry mood of self-deprecation throughout. Gates gleefully records his first preschool report: “He seemed determined to impress us with his complete lack of concern for any phase of school life.” Later, he explains how he acquired a sudden interest in theatre classes. “Admittedly the main draw for me was the higher percentage of girls in drama. And since the main activity in the class was to read lines to each other, the odds were very good that I’d actually talk to one.” Strikingly, unlike most “self-made” billionaires, Gates emphasises the “unearned privilege” of his upbringing and the peculiar circumstances – “mostly out of my control” – that enabled his career. Adorably, he even admits to still having panic dreams about his university exams. The book’s most touching pages recount how one of his closest friends and colleagues in the programming group, Kent Evans, died in a mountaineering accident when he was 17. “Throughout my life, I have tended to deal with loss by avoiding it,” Gates writes. He says later that if he were growing up today, he would probably be identified as “on the autism spectrum”, and now regrets some of his early behaviour, though “I wouldn’t change the brain I was given for anything”. There is a sense of the writer, older and wiser, trying to redeem the past through understanding it better, a thing that no one has yet seen Elon Musk or Mark Zuckerberg attempt in public. That alone makes Bill Gates a more human tech titan than most of his rivals, past and present.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?