#let me tell you though; the layering with ashe?

[floating-far-from-earth]

hey so remember that one cg of them I made... They have the aprons now. Teehee. The apron associatesss

[wonderlandwalker]

Remember | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: The capitol has taken you from him, but he won't let them keep you. You can find pt. 2 here!

Content Warnings/Tags: Violence, bullet wounds, major character injury, blood, needles, angst, fluff, no use of y/n

Word Count: 4.0k

Requested by Anon: omg I love your writing and I have an unhealthy addiction to reading angst so could you please write something about the reader being with peeta and Johanna when they where taken by the capital and her being with finnick and recovering while she’s in district 13? 🫶🫶

A/N: The way I smiled when I saw this request I swear. This one has been in the works for a little while and I thought it fit perfectly. It is angst you ask for and it is angst you shall get. I'm considering writing a part two but I'm not sure how to yet. My bad habit of not proofreading happened again and with this one especially it was way too long so if I made any major errors pls do let me know.

The Capitol.

You are currently in the Capitol.

At least that’s where you think you are. You remember being in the arena, you remember running towards the general direction you last saw Finnick, remembering the marks you had gone by in case you had to take a different route. You remember seeing Finnick's face through the plantation, you’d be able to recall those features anywhere. You remember something hitting you from behind and falling to the ground, too caught up in catching up with him to check your surroundings. You remember crying out in pain, hoping he’d hear you. But the next thing you remember is the vision of him slowly going out of focus and losing consciousness not long after. 

At least that's what you think happened.

At least you can still remember, that’s worth something right? You remember your past, and you remember the reaping that led to the arena. The flood of relief that went over you as you finally found your way back to him. You don’t know what happened to Finnick, he was there too after all, but you had needed to split up early. Maybe he had been caught off guard too. Maybe he escaped. Maybe they never even found him. Maybe with him being the idiot he could be, he was probably already on his way here, looking for you. Just like you would have done for him, and he would have called you an idiot then too.

You would get out of here one way or another, that much you knew, but you needed to remember more, you needed to remember the last look on his face, you hadn't had much time to take it in, but you remembered the furrow of his eyebrows, the same expression he always had when he was trying to concentrate, you needed to remember that.

You knew that once you did get out of here, Finnick would be furious, telling you that you had been reckless, that you shouldn't have let your guard down, shortly after telling you how worried he had been. And it would feel like coming home.

Your mind becomes hazier, and it is harder to remember. You feel your head throbbing, and you move your hand towards it until you feel it can move no further. You open your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the bright light that covers the room. You can't see much, can't move your head much.

You remember the rendezvous point you had talked about. You remember the quick “don't get yourself in trouble” and the kiss he gave you right before you parted ways.

You remember the layers of plants and trees you moved through, seeing some of them cut down, letting you know someone else had been there

But you know there is more, more that you missed. The stomped-out ashes that you ran past, you know you should have paid closer attention. But you can’t remember

You need to remember what happened. How you got here. Who got you here. If you really are in the capitol. But your mind doesn't want to cooperate anymore. The room is getting darker and darker, even though the lamp above your head is still dutifully buzzing

You wake up, you still remember where you are, or at least where you think you are. You still remember yesterday, was it yesterday? Why couldn't they just hang a clock in here? 

You look up, and you see a device set up, not too far from where you're lying down. You try to get a better look but the light above your head is too blinding to see anything else in the room. You don’t fully understand it until a man walks into the room with a video camera in his hand and an expression on his face that seems just a tad too happy. 

The camera starts blinking a red light, signalling you that it has started recording. The man has a sort of laser that he presses into your lower stomach, it doesn't breach your skin but it hurts like it does. It takes all your energy not to show him the satisfaction of it.

“Come on now darling, work with me a little.” He says after a while, changing the setting on the laser. The last bit of your energy is gone, and you can't keep the screaming from escaping any longer. It echoes off the white walls around you and when you hear yourself, you barely even recognize it. He seems satisfied with the result and finally puts the laser down. You look down but don't see any burn marks or indication of what has just happened.

He comes closer and you can see he is holding a sort of crowbar, but you're not sure why. You remember how you always left one outside your window in the districts, in case the wind had shut it and you needed to sneak back in. You remember Finnick finding out, giving you a serious, disappointed look, but not telling you to stop.

Before you can think of anything else, the bar hits you with full force, right above the spot he was previously focused on. You didn't expect it, and it knocks the little breath you had left out of your lungs. He hits again, not in the same spot, but close, he is very clearly aiming for your ribs. The switching between high-tech and old-school weapons has you puzzled, but you can't deny the result either of them has.

After a while, he stops, and with the added difficulty and pain that now comes with breathing, you are more than certain he just bruised a few of your ribs.

He walks back, taking the camera in his hands. He aims it at your face and you close your eyes to try and collect yourself as much as your current state allows. Your hair is a tangled mess and you are rather certain there is blood smushed over your face from the cuts you got in the arena. 

“Smile for the camera sweetheart.” He asks, even though it sounds more like an order than a request. You open your eyes to look at him. He is so close, and you want to drive your thumbs so far into his eye sockets you can feel the front lobe of his brain, if he even has one. But you can't do anything, no matter how much you want to fight, you are powerless here. You close your eyes again, trying to block everything out and remember.

You remember District Four, the way the light summer breeze would always carry the smell of the beach to your house, no matter how hard you had it, it always livened you up. You remember the first time Finnick tried to teach you how to surf, being so gentle with you no matter how many times you fell off it, always there to catch you again. You remember your last birthday, well, the day after, but you couldn't even complain about that. He had picked you up from your place and brought you to one of the lakes with him. He told you the story of one of his birthdays when he was younger, along with all the embarrassing details, but of course, it only endeared him further to you. You told him about the presents you got and all the people who came to wish you a happy birthday. You told him everything you could remember. You remember last seeing his face, maybe it was the last time you will have ever seen it. No. No, you remember it, but you’ll see it again, you have to.

“I’ll make sure your loverboy gets to see this, wherever he is, wouldn't want him to miss out on the fun.” 

Finn. Finnick. You remember Finnick. You remember when you returned from your first games. The black eye and broken arm you came home with. You remember how he lost it when they didn't immediately treat you for it. He would now either throw a fit over it for everyone to see or be so stoic in his thoughts even Johanna would get a little concerned.

You see the man standing up, walking to the table, and picking up something new. A syringe, it's a syringe. He walks over and pushes it into your upper arm, and before you know it, your vision turns black again.

You remember waking up to gunshots, and you panic. But after a few seconds, you figure out they’re not near you. There is, however, someone in the room with you, it's the same man again. He looks a little panicked, but you can’t figure out why just yet. The gunshots are becoming louder, and closer, and he seems more startled now. His arms drop to his sides from what he was doing and his eyes widen. Screams are echoing and you can hear footsteps.

You remember that pattern of paddling feet, and you recognize the second pair of steps too, but you can't remember much else.

The man gets closer to you, placing his hand over your mouth, pulling out a gun with his free hand and telling you to stay quiet. You never understood why people say that, it means he has something to lose, and you want to scream out, but your voice doesn't remember how to.

It's even closer now, right outside the door, and you can hear talking. You remember his voice. How he always asked you so sweetly how your day had been, the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you fell asleep. 

You hear the door jiggle, and it makes you want to scream out for him, but your sore throat won't let you. For a moment you think that is it, you had your chance, and you let it go by. He’ll move along the hallway to the other doors and leave you here. But then you hear another gunshot, and they must have shot the lock, because right after you hear someone running into the door with an echoing thump as it breaks open. 

The man next to you had his gun pointed at the door, and he changes it to point at you instead. 

You were right, by the gods you had never been so thankful to have been right. Finnick walks in, and you can see the colour drain from his face as he does so. 

The man standing next to you is starting to get nervous, you can see the sweat starting to drip down his face. He must realize he has been matched, because there are more people by Finnicks side. But the man still has his gun pointed at you, and this isn't over just yet.

You can't keep your eyes open anymore, and when you close them, you remember. You remember your first kiss with Finnick, how nervous he had been at the time. He had been shaking a little and told you he was embarrassed by how much you got to him, but it only endeared him further to you.  He yells at the man to let go of the gun, he sounds nervous again.

But he doesn't let go, he decides to shoot. 

You hear the bullet leaving the gun, and for a single moment, you think it's over. The last thing you’ll ever see is Finnick, but he’s not himself. He’s upset, and even though you know he’s not upset with you, it still tugs at you. Except when you feel the bullet piercing through your skin, that's exactly what you realise. You can still feel it. He didn't shoot you right in the heart, he didn't shoot towards your head, he shot you in the abdomen. You’re not sure why, not sure why he didn't kill you, but you will never know, because not even a second passes as you hear a second gunshot, and he falls to the floor.

You can't seem to remember how to open your eyes, but you can hear Finnick rushing over and right as he reaches you, you fall. You fall into his arms and the memory of it gives you hope. Something comes in contact with your stomach, and the agony of it makes you want to scream out. You can feel him lifting you, and the shift of your body makes the bullet move, making you want to scream again. And if you remembered how to, you would have.

You know he’s talking to someone, but it sounds more like buzzing to you. You can only make out certain parts of the conversation, something about needing to leave, something about infections, and something about an aircraft. 

You can hear him talking again, and this time it’s directed at you. There’s a strain in his voice, and it sounds like he’s crying. It makes you want to comfort him, but you don’t remember how to.

“Please darling, just open your eyes."

But you’re afraid, youre afraid that if you open them, everything will turn out to be nothing but a dream, and he won’t be here anymore. But even if this is a dream, you need to see him. Even if it will turn into a haunted memory, you need to see his eyes looking back at you. It takes you some effort, but you open your eyes, looking at him. You can see tears flooding his face, you can see his lips moving, silent pleas coming from them for you to stay awake. He’s telling you how good of a job you’re doing, he's telling you to hold on. He promises that he won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again and that he won’t let go of you anymore.

You remember how he cried when you were reaped for the 75th games, and how you had told him everything would be okay, how you had comforted him, but you don't have the energy to comfort him this time. You remember hearing his sobbing, his shaking voice when you close your eyes again, not being able to keep them open any longer, even if you wanted to.

You wake up again, and for a moment you think it had indeed all been a dream, that you were right back where you had started, But then you remember the bullet in your stomach. You look down and see a bandage over it, even though it’s already soaked in blood. They must have taken it out. 

You try and concentrate, and you can hear Finnick talking to someone. “Just tell me, I know it’s bad but I need to know.” “Finnick, it won’t make a difference.” The person he’s talking to sounds desperate, and you remember how stubborn he could be when it came to you. 

But you don’t remember more, because your head starts to feel light again and you give in to the feeling.

When you wake up again, you manage to open your eyes, and you can see someone sitting in a chair next to the bed you're in. He’s slumped over, his face half pressed into the mattress and half into your stomach, both of his hands are holding onto one of yours. It hurts a little, but you don't mind, because it reminds you, even when you look away, that he is still there. You remember the way he always softly snores, and the way he wiggles his nose when your hair falls over it.

You think you're connected to a monitor, because something is beeping in the same rhythm you can feel your heart beating, and it gives you a headache. So you close your eyes again, and once again, you give in to the feeling of sleep that looms over you.

Since you had been brought to District 13, he has barely left your side. He keeps putting cold washcloths on your forehead to try and break your fever. It won't help, and he knows it, but no one has the heart to stop him. 

You haven't shown a single sign of life since they had found you. It was unsettling, the silence that filled the room, none of your usual laughter and banter there to replace it. 

It’s only when Finnick's head shoots up that the others notice it as well. The steady beeping that has been imposing the silence in this room for weeks picking up its pace. The beating continues to go faster and faster, your body shaking up from the bed in almost the same rhythm. But right before anyone can do anything about it, it stops. It all seems to stop, you stop moving, and the monitor stops beating.

He starts giving you chest compressions, and someone rushes into the room holding a small bottle, they fill a syringe with the clear liquid and inject it into your arm. Within a few seconds, your heart starts beating again. But it’s only after a minute of the monitor showing him a steady heartrate that he stops his actions.

It’s dark in the room when Finnick wakes up, and if it wasn't for the soft light and the beeping of the monitor, he would've thought he was dreaming, but it seems the reality won’t let him escape. He struggles not to fall back asleep, and every few minutes he does, but every time he wakes up startled again, scared that you’ll be gone if he doesn't open his eyes every once in a while. It was easy to see the toll it had taken on him. His posture was slouched, his face less well-groomed than usual. But no one could blame him, because they could see the way he looked at you, as if you were the sun and your dimmed light turned his world dark. 

He knows the chance you can hear him is small, but he feels the urge to talk to you nonetheless. 

“I don't think I can hold this in any longer. I remember some studies that have shown people in comas do hear what's going on around them, but maybe it’s for the best that you don’t, because you would never say yes.”

He continues but he feels his voice choke up, and he runs a hand through your hair to calm himself down, his other hand still holding onto yours.

“We talked about it once, I still remember every single word you said. You came at me with all your logical reasons for why it would be a bad idea. But what you never understood is that when it comes to you, I'm not able to think rationally, because my love for you will overpower anything else.” He chuckles softly as he recalls the memory he’s about to tell you next.

“I remember when I opened up to you for the first time. I had always held things to myself, but you were so calm as I talked to you. I thought for sure I had screwed it up somehow then. Everyone always tells me now how happy you make me, and they're right. Ever since you came into my life there has not been a single moment when the thought of you did not bring me joy, even when we fought my memories of you could still somehow bring a smile to my face. 

I remember when they showed me the video, they hadn't wanted me to see it, but you know how stubborn I can be when it comes to you. I saw you, I saw the way in which they were hurting you. And I started yelling, ironically enough in that moment, you were the only one that could have calmed me down. I remember yelling at them, fighting with them not to wait any longer, that they couldn't let you wait any longer, they had to have me sedating until they came to a conclusion."

He reaches into the pocket of his trousers, taking a small ring. It was his mother's ring, he had found it a while back and had carried it with him ever since. He had thought of moments to give it to you, but every time there was one, every time he was about to ask you, something had happened, something had interrupted him. But there was no one interrupting him this time. “I have thought about asking you this every time I see you, and I can't hold it in any longer. So when you wake up, not if you wake up, because I know you will. I know you will wake up because you have to. So when you wake up, will you marry me.” A little part of him had thought you'd wake up, that you’d answer him. Even if you said no, it would still be better than what's happening right now, because he didn't care if you'd say no, if you’d say you weren't ready, because nothing could be worse than the silence that followed him. And so he slid the ring onto your finger delicately, as if you were to disappear if he wasn't careful. He put the ring on your hand because he knew that even if it wasn't today, and it wasn't tomorrow, someday you would marry him, and he wouldn't let you slip away.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, sleep deprivation and desperation playing a trick on his mind. But then he saw it again, in the beams of morning light he could see your hand moving, as if it was trying to grasp onto something, trying to pull you back into this world. It woke him up in an instant. But it was all followed so fast, the way your eyes slowly opened, squinting at the light. Before you had even awoken for a second, he moved from where he had been right beside you in order to hug you. And he was about to get lost in the thought of your moving lips, tears falling down his eyes, about to get lost in a kiss full of built-up pain and desperation when he noticed, something was wrong. Your eyebrows were knitted together and the corners of your mouth turned down just a little. He looked at your expression, your body language, something was wrong. You looked vulnerable, you looked like you wanted to protect yourself from someone.

It was only when he looked into your eyes that he truly understood something was very wrong.

Your eyes looked as if you were in pain, but it wasn't a look of any physical pain, it looked as if something was endangering you, but he couldn't understand what it was. He slowly moved so as not to startle you and asked you “Darling, what’s wrong” And at first you didn’t respond, but when he kept looking at you, expecting him to answer you, you started to speak. “Am I supposed to remember you?” 

He immediately flinched back at the statement, his shoulder sunk and his eyes dimmed. Someone told him it wasn't uncommon for brain injuries to cause short-term memory loss after a coma.

So slowly, and surely, he made it work. But it was crumbling him down every time you didn't remember the unconscious acts of affection, so foreign to you now. A quick touch on your arm as he walked towards you made you flinch slightly as if his hand had been on fire. The subtle smiles he gave you when entering a room were now met with you looking down. The way that even though you were physically here, you really weren't. 

He promised himself, he vowed to himself that he would make you remember. That no matter how long it took, he would wait for you. He would wait for you to remember, make you remember. Because he had very quickly learned that he couldn’t live without you anymore.

Part 2: Trying to Forget

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part VIII

Word count: 3700+

Warnings: mentions of tormenting, burning, swearing

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part VII | Part IX

"Tie her up to the chair."

Killian's cold voice bounced off the stone walls of dungeons. He hated this place. He felt like vomiting from the smell of urine, blood and death. He didn't have to come down here ever since his father died and how grateful he was for that. However, today he had a job to do here. Someone dared to try to kill a member of his family. It was unforgivable. He wouldn't let it go so easily and make the person pay for it.

He marched down the narrow hallway toward an open cell door. His eyes stopped at the door without grid at the end of the corridor, making the scars on his body itch. He couldn't even count how many days he spent locked there. Or his brothers.

He suppressed the urge to burn this place down and focused on the task at hand. Tied up in the chair sat a lesser faerie with brown skin that looked like fallen leaves, small horns on top of head and black bead eyes. These faeries were harmless and devoid of any significant magical powers. There was no need to use faebane on her.

She hissed at him to which he raised a brow. He had never seen her in the Forest House before. He stopped in front of her with his legs slightly apart and hands behind his back. He had a hard time to control himself. If he could, he would kill her right away and wouldn't waste time with tormenting her. Unfortunately, they needed all information she had because this had to be planned by someone else. Someone enough powerful to get her in.

"Let's start straight away, shall we. You answer my questions and you may live a day or two longer. If you don't answer, well.. I will have a lot of fun with you," he mused and allowed the fire in his veins to reach his eyes, playing with small flames between his long fingers.

Faerie spat on the floor too close to his shoes for his liking. "I won't tell you anything," she laughed.

"Yes, you will," he smirked, pushing off of the wall and stepping closer. Female in the chair frowned in concentration. Before he could put even a finger on her, she flared up like a torch with ear-splitting roar.

Killian tried to put out the fire, but this flames didn't obey him at all. He watched helplessly as she turned into a pile of ashes in a matter of seconds. What the fuck was that?

One of the guards came running with a bucket of water.

"It's too late, idiot," Killian grunted turning to the exit. "Clean it up."

The acrid smell of burnt flesh followed him long after he left the dungeons.

Waking up was like trying to get through too thick layer of ice. At least you finally could breathe even though your throat was sore, the sharp pain shooting in all directions every time you swallowed. You were shivering with terrible cold so much your teeth chattered.

"It's okay. I'm here," a deep voice spoke lowly as a warm, big hand squeezed yours, the other one gently landed on your forehead. The warmth spread to your body in a second. It felt so good that you moaned.

Your eyelids fluttered as you pushed them open. At first you saw nothing but light and shadows dancing around. As things came into focus you recognized your room and Eris leaning over you.

His red hair were messy as if he ran his hands through them at least hundred times, dark circles under worried eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes as at the party, now splashed with droplets of blood.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," he smiled kindly at you. "How do you feel?"

You blinked. How did you feel? You took a moment to check up with your body. You were tired, limbs heavy, but otherwise you were fine.

"I'm just little bit cold," you rasped and frowned.

"It's okay. Your throat will be sensitive for a while. The cold will eventually disappear, too." He helped you to sit up and put the mug with tea to your lips. You took a sip, the hot liquid warmed you from inside.

"What happened to me?"

Eris's features hardened, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flared up with anger so fierce you jerked.

"Someone tried to poison you," he said after he got his anger under the control.

Everything even your mind silenced for a moment. "Why?"

He shrugged and putting the mug down he looked to the side to the window. "That bitch killed herself before Killian got a single word out of her."

You swallowed heavily and frowned in pain.

"But don't worry. We checked all the staff in the castle and tightened security. It will not happen again."

He cleared his throat and turned back to you. He gave you a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. His hand again found yours as if he needed a physical reminder that you were still alive.

"Lay down. You need to rest. I'll stay here with you."

"I'm sorry.." Your lower lip quivered.

"What?" he looked at you confused.

"I'm so sorry. I ruined the party you prepared-"

He silenced you with one long finger pressed to your lips. "Don't. Don't ever say anything like that. It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong. I should have taken better care of you. If I hadn't momentarily lost you in a crowd, it wouldn't have happened. I'm the only one to be blamed for this outcome."

You shook your head, silver lining your eyes. He took a deep breathe and straightened.

"Let's change topic to something less.. traumatic," he smiled cheerfully and again it didn't reach his eyes. "You didn't even have a chance to open your present. Do you want to do it now?"

You sobbed quietly, but nodded anyway. Eris stood up, went to your vanity and took the small box. Mattress dipped down as he sat on its edge and handed you the present. His hand slightly trembled.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he muttered sadly and kissed the crown of your head.

With trembling fingers you untied the ribbon and opened it. On red velvet pillow rested a necklace with silver pendant of crescent moon with a star in the middle. In the center of the star a stone in the same colour as Eris's eyes flashed in the light. You gasped, tears rolling down your cheeks. I've never got a present yet something so beautiful.

"I saw you watching the night sky and wanted to give you something that would represent your home Court because you brought nothing with you from there. At least nothing nice."

"It's also a reminder of the place my.. happiness is coming from," he added almost inaudibly.

"It's beautiful," you sobbed and reached up for him. He hesitated for a moment, but then leaned in, allowing you to pull him down into a hug. As his head rested over your heart, he let out a contented sigh, squeezing you so firmly it almost hurt. "Thank you. It's the most beautiful gift I've ever got."

"No.. Thank you for staying here.. with me."

After that Eris urged you to take rest and you managed to persuade him to lay down, too, and rest with you.

Even with your fast healing it took a few days until you stopped shivering and were able to stand up from bed. Eris spent most of the time with you as your personal heater, but he couldn't postpone his High Lord duties for too long. When he had to leave, his place took Killian who seemed to feel miserable for what happened to you. It took you three hours to convince him to let it go and his trademark grin finally returned.

Except of the two of them only a healer was allowed to enter your chambers and you dearly missed Irene and Ellen who personally overlooked preparations of every your meal and brought it to you, leaving it in the sitting room.

When you grew enough strong to stand on your own, Eris and Killian returned to their duties and your dear friends were allowed to again take care of you. Their gloomy, worried expressions turned into tears of relief as soon as they stepped into your room. They ran to you and hugging you, swore to never leave your side again.

However after your close encounter with the death, something changed in you and you started to look for ways to get some time alone. Though it was quite a challenge. Eris really didn't lie about the tighter security. Irene and Ellen were practically glued to your side most of the day and guards stood even in the hallways and gardens now.

It was hard to escape them, but years spent in the shadows of Hewn City taught you how to stay unseen and unheard.

When you managed to get away, you looked for remote corners of extensive gardens and grounds around the castle. Grateful for moments spent in silence, you just wandered aimlessly around in the brisk air and enjoyed the bright colours of autumn.

Once you found a hidden path on the edge of the forest that seemingly led to the hills behind the castle. After following it for a while you got to ruins of something that at first glance looked like a temple. Fallen pillars and pieces of sandstone covered with moss and greenery lay scattered on the ground around, remains of marble statues peak from undergrowth. Without thinking about the possible dangers you wandered through the ruins, wondering to what god or goddess this temple used to be dedicated to. Your kind had excessively long lives, yet no one remembered the names of gods your ancestors worshipped. Maybe you could try to look for some information in the library when you would return back.

It was fascinating to watch falling leaves dancing through rays of light at this historic site. It filled your heart with similarly warm feeling you felt every time Eris was around. You stretched out your arms and danced with them, feeling light and laughing merrily for the first time since you were poisoned. You were so enchanted by looking up at that magical beauty that you hadn't even noticed you were surrounded.

A low growl caused your steps faltered and made you look down. A dog like creature blocked your way, showing off its sharp canines. You tried to carefully back out with raised hands, hoping it would let you go when you heard a snarl coming from behind you. You slowly looked over your shoulder just to find another few of them behind you.

You were surrounded by twelve of gray and sleek like smoke hounds that growled and slowly crept toward you enclosing the circle. There was no place you could escape to or climbed at. With racing heart you were counting your last moments in this world when a sound of whistle bounced off the stones. The hounds with pricked ears stilled and then barking dashed running toward the sound.

Relieved they were gone, you fell on your knees and covered your face with trembling hands. "Thank the Mother," you breathed out shakily in a tiny voice.

"Did you miss me, guys? Hm? Did you miss me?" A males voice spoke to them in baby talk.

Your face snapped up in shock. Your eyes met with Eris's and for a moment you gaped at each other. His face turned bright red like a tomato and he pinched the root of his nose, groaning.

"You.. heard it, didn't you."

"I think.. yes, I did."

"Fuck," he swore under his breath. "There.. nobody comes up here. Usually."

"They are yours?" You pointed to the scary creatures.

The hounds were jumping at him like overexcited puppies, asking for his attention.

"Well, yes, they are my smokehounds. This place is enchanted so no one can get to them. How did you break through?" He looked behind you. "And where are your maids? They should keep an eye on you, you know."

"I-I ran away," your shoulders slumped.

He came closer and sat down next you, bumping his shoulder lightly to yours while hounds gave you a questioning look.

"Something happened?" he asked kindly.

"No, not at all. They are great and I like them so much. I just.. sometimes I need a moment or two for myself."

He sighed heavily.

"I understand that, but I'll have to check the security nonetheless. At least guards should know-"

"It isn't their fault," you quickly said, looking at him, panicking that you caused problems for those people. "They are doing their jobs conscientiously."

"Well, apparently not when you manage to sneak out so easily," he raised a brow, amused. He wouldn't hurt them, that was clear.

You bit on your lower lip. "They are quite scary, aren't they," you tried to change topic and to your surprise it worked.

"They are the best hounds in Prythian, of course, they are scary."

"I've never heard about them," you admitted.

"How could you?" Eris snorted. "They are so highly prized that it's forbidden to give or sold them beyond the borders."

"Why? What's so special about them? Except of being scary."

"They are magical," he teased you and again lightly bumped your shoulder. You laughed with him. "That wasn't joke though. They have their own magic. They are extremely fast and can sniff out their prey no matter where it hides. Even on the other side of Prythian. They are beautiful creatures, don't you think?"

You weren't sure what to say. They really were nice hounds and their reaction to Eris was cute, but their strange eyes and the intelligence in them gave you chills. If Eris didn't appear so suddenly, they wouldn't hesitate to kill you.

"Do you want to meet them?"

You breathed in sharply. "I-.."

"Come! They won't hurt you, I promise." He helped you to stand up. Playful flames danced in his amber eyes as he took your hand and gently squeezed it, smiling like a small boy who was about to show you his biggest treasure.

Eris took out small silver whistle from his pocket and whistled long tone. The hounds lined up and sitting down waited for next command.

"See? I trained them myself. This is Egon," he started with the closest hound. "He comes from a bloodline that our family owns for generations. Birdie loves birds, preferably for lunch. Pilot usually takes the lead and Kama loves snuggles. She is like a mother of the whole pack. Ivory has the smoothest fur. Badger is a brawler and causes the most of the troubles. Takeo here is a real warrior. He once even engaged in fight with naga. Saved my ass, honestly. I was still too young and stupid back then. Greystone is.. simply Greystone. Ketch loves to play fetch. Lightening is the fastest of them. Patience is obviously the most patient one and Scotch ends any fight Badger starts."

Eris named hounds one by one, scratching every hound between ears as he introduced them. He was completely relaxed, unguarded. You'd never thought that grown male over 500 could be so carefree, boyish and playful. You tried to pay attention to his words, but his expression captivated you and in the end you couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"Good guys," he praised them and took out a bag of dog treats, giving one to each of the hounds.

"And now listen carefully." The hounds stilled, all eyes on him. "This is my wife, Y/N. You must not hurt her. Do you hear me? She is important." The hounds eyed you for a moment and sniffed the air. Then they barked once as if in agreement. You had to scoff at the absurdity of this dog's army. If you hadn't witnessed it, you wouldn't believe something like this is possible.

Eris laughed out at your reaction. Then as if he got some exciting idea, his lips twisted into wolfish grin. "Do you want to touch them?"

"I'm not sure..," you stuttered and took a step back, but his hand didn't allow you to get too far.

"It's fine. Kama, come here." One of the hounds separated from the pack and came closer, panting.

"Go on," Eris challenged you.

You couldn't and didn't want to tell him no. Slowly you crouched down until you were on a same eye-level with the strange creature. Hound's icy coloured eyes watched you, calculating. It was nerve wrecking. You slowly reached out but didn't touch her yet. The hound called Kama sniffed your fingers curiously and then snuggled to your hand. You hesitantly petted her. Kama stepped closer resting head on your skirt. Before you knew, you were surrounded by twelve hounds that pushed and snarled at each other just to get scratched between ears by you. You giggled petting as many heads as you could reach in that chaos.

Eris was watching you with an affection and a wide smile on his lips. He seemed to be mesmerized by the picture of you surrounded by his pets. After a while he searched his pockets and took out old looking ball. The hounds were immediately at his legs, jumping up to get to the ball. He threw it into the ruins and they dashed after it.

"I always have one with me just in case," he blushed. He took a step towards the ruins and you followed him.

"What is this place?"

Eris shrugged. "I'm not sure, but it looks like temple, don't you think? I found it by accident when I got lost as a child. Ever since then, I like to come here when I need to think or just to be alone. That's why I keep my hounds here, too."

"It's magical."

Eris just nodded. "I started to feel some kind of ancient energy here when I got older. I guess that's what attracts me to this place so much. But since I've became a High Lord, I feel that energy even more intensively. It literally pulses through the ground under our feet. I wish you could feel it, too. It's like..," he shook his head and sighed. "There aren't words that could describe that feeling."

You could feel the magic that he spoke about. You didn't know if it was the exactly same thing as he felt, but it was like walking in a stream of fresh mountain water. It flowed through ground and the remaining stone, vibrating and pulling you deeper to the ruins. Hand in hand you followed it, occasionally disturbed by the hounds with their ball.

You took turns throwing the ball to them, wandering through the ruins. Words weren't important. It was pleasantly spent time and exactly what you needed the most. Eris wasn't trying to pull you to conversation, seemingly enjoying the silence and your company as much as you did. As sun started to set to the horizont he sighed heavily.

"We should head back. It's getting late."

He apparently didn't want to go back nor did you. You loved to spend time with him in general, but this afternoon was even more precious to you. Eris was himself here. No masks, no pretending, no holding back. You could see his real self and hated the idea it should be again hidden somewhere where you couldn't even catch a glimpse of it. You wished this moment would never end.

Maybe that was the reason why you dared to step to him and embrace him, resting your face on his chest. He stiffened, even his heart fell out of its rhythm. But when he finally moved, his arms squeezed you so firmly you couldn't move even if you wanted to. His head fell forward, resting on top of yours. As if it was meant to be like this all the time, it felt so right that it drew a moan from the both of you in the same moment. His fingers entwined with your hair, holding your head from behind and tugging you even closer. Meanwhile your hand rubbed up and down his back in a lazy circles.

When you at last pulled away enough to look into each other's eyes, he breathed in shakily.

"There's something I-," his mouth moved without a sound. It seemed that he desperately needed to tell you whatever he had on tip of his tongue, but instead he only pressed his lips together, jaw tightening and shook his head. "No, that's nothing."

"What is it?" You pressed him, wanting to hear it. He only shook his head again.

"Maybe some other time."

His lips pulled into a sad smile. Taking your hand he led you down the secret path to the gardens. Near the closest castle gates he halted, remembering something important and turned to you. He was about to speak when a servant dashed from the castle, running to you.

"Your Lordship, I'm so sorry to disturb you, but they are looking for you. It's urgent." He came closer and whispered something to Eris who frowned.

"My apologies, but I have to go now. Go straight inside, no more walks today." And he was gone. Sighing you followed after him and went looking for your maids.

The very next day in the morning Irene and Ellen burst into Eris's office, the tears staining their faces.

"My Lord! She is gone," they sobbed.

"What? Who?" frowning he looked up from the documents, confused.

"Y/N! We went out for a walk as every morning."

"We just stopped to pick up some of her favourite flowers for bouquet to her room and she was gone. We looked everywhere, but no one seems to catch even glimpse of her." They cried one over the other.

Pale Eris was at once on his legs, hand already on handle. "Show me where it happened! Quickly!"

On the way out he almost knocked down Killian who was about to open the doors. The papers he held flew into the air, floating to the ground all around them, but nobody cared about it at the moment.

"Y/N is gone! I want every man out looking for her," he shouted at surprised Killian and dashed off with maids at his heels.

[mywritingonlyfans]

Your girl. // Alex Turner X Reader! (Smut)

prompt: alex feeling a little insecure about being right for her and her assuring him.

words: 3K.

warning: it's mainly riding him, bites, choking, cockwarming, and some more... well, it's my regular soft/sexual smut.

He wasn't angry with you, but he seemed distant, lost since he returned home. The cigarette dangled lazily between his fingers, and he was far from actually smoking it, the ashes accumulating excessively before falling into the air. His arrival and immediate move to the balcony made you wonder if he might be avoiding you, although it wasn't hard to tell he was uncomfortable within himself. "Al, babe," you held the dress, struggling to unzip it completely. "Could you help me with this?" A furrowed brow and a heavy sigh. He was irritated, yet he discarded the cigarette before coming over to you. You found it endearing how he kept the smoke away from you, always managing to disappear with it whenever you approached him, as if instinctively protecting you from it.

His cold fingers brushed your skin, tracing the zipper of the dress and slowly undoing it. He pulled the fabric gently, pressing his lips to the exposed area and kissing softly, immersing his nose in your scent, eliciting a smile from you. It was a familiar routine, like something done without conscious thought, yet something both of you enjoyed immensely – it was involuntary for him. "You know, I've started buying more zip-up dresses just to get those kisses when you need to take it off," you remarked with a playful grin.

…

You nestled between the sheets, free from the dress and feeling lighter. Alex wasn't any different; he was covered from the waist down and bare-chested, his arms up in the air. You curled up against him, seeking comfort as if you were two pieces of wood generating sparks, which elicited a laugh from him. He still felt like he was in another world, but being there with you was enough. You wanted to ask, wanted to know how to ease his mind, but you didn't want to pry and potentially make things worse. He lay there, looking tired, perhaps it was just his social battery that had drained, though you didn't quite believe that. When he closed his eyes, holding you tighter, you let it be; maybe he just craved silence after the hectic day you both had. You wrapped one leg over his waist, burying your face in his neck, letting his warm scent lull you to sleep. Thin sheets were the only barriers between you in the warm night, and being able to feel the texture of his skin and his arms around you made you feel relaxed and oddly secure. It was the purest sense of feeling at home.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, as if in pain. What was warm and comforting had turned cold and irritable; Alex wasn't there. You wrapped yourself in the sheet, huddling a bit before noticing the balcony light on. With lazy steps, you made your way there. He, too, had the sheet covering his lower body, a cigarette in his hand. The scene amused you, its dramatic flair matching his, and he noticed you there, not shivering from the cold but from the lack of clothing. He seemed even more exhausted, with swollen bags under his eyes and flushed cheeks from scratching, a sign you had learned to interpret as him overthinking. He had been fine in the morning; you knew he had become like this due to something at the party.

"May I?" You gestured towards his lap, and he chuckled so sweetly that you began to wonder if it was all in your head. Maybe it was just insomnia, right? He nodded. "It's okay if you want to be alone, babe," you persisted, but he assured you it wasn't necessary. Once again, it was just layers of sheets separating you both.

Before you could even rest your cheek against his chest and have him wrap you in a tight embrace once more, he took one last drag from his cigarette, even though it was barely lit, and stubbed it out, placing it aside before planting a kiss on your head. As your hips moved in a slow, tentative yet persistent rhythm and his strong hands held you close, he chuckled, making you laugh a bit too and apologize. He claimed it wasn't necessary, and as you looked at him, your excitement faded; you knew he was still bothered by something.

"Al, babe, what happened? Did I do something wrong?" Your eyes were concerned, so far calm, and Alex felt guilty about that. The problem wasn't with you. "Not you, princess." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead against yours after kissing your nose. "It was something from the party, wasn't it?" You tried again; he needed to talk about it, to stop you from feeling like it was your fault. Still, it was something so minor that he didn't feel like burdening you with it. "It's..." He paused thoughtfully, swallowing hard before continuing, "it's kind of a trivial thing."

You gazed at him, letting him know that your full attention was on him, and lightly kissed his nose. "It's clearly making you sad, so it's not something unimportant." Your fingers intertwined with the curls at the nape of his neck, and your body nestled closer to his. He relaxed in the not-so-fancy chair, surrendering to the comfort of having you in his lap. Even with the sheet, it was obvious you were naked, and his luck seemed endless that you felt so at ease with him. It was unsettling because he was aware that you loved him, yet he still occasionally spiraled into anxiety over the thought of losing you.

You displayed patience, exactly what he needed, a few more minutes under your soothing touch until his mind felt lighter. "I think it's just me, insecurities and all," his voice sounded weak and drawn-out, his hand covering his already flushed face.

You breathed in, forming a smile. Was it wrong to find that cute? "No way, Al." You lifted his chin to meet your eyes, and then noticed the welled-up tears, silent but somehow even more distressing. "Alex, babe, you should have told me," you whispered, not quite sure where to take this conversation. You held him in a tighter embrace as he struggled to fight back tears. "I think it's just my own insecurity, it has nothing to do with you. I don't want you to think that way." He shook his head, and you let your fingers trace his chest, following the path from his chest hair to the necklace around his neck.

"That's good, Alex. You can always talk to me; I wouldn't think any less of you for it, just as I don't now." You used the edge of the sheet to wipe his face. In return, he nuzzled your collarbone, gently biting it until he heard your relaxed sigh. It was intimate and timid, but it was exactly what both of you needed. He held onto your waist, his touch delicate, and reached for the upper parts of your breasts. Your hands lightly tugged at his hair, making him look at you so you could understand him better, until your mind was flooded with how vulnerable he seemed, how easily he could be hurt, and it made you feel a little guilty.

"I'm afraid of suddenly not having you, as if you'll slip through my fingers. I hate not having enough time for you, hate 'earing the sadness in your voice over the phone when you miss me and I can't do anything about it. You were so happy tonight with me, and it ‘urts to think I'll be without you for so many months soon. I know you deserve someone better, someone who fits you more, but I don't want that someone to not be me." He let out as if he was expelling all the toxic air from his lungs, his eyes even sadder than before. The fluidity of his words told you that this had repeated so many times in his mind that there was no space left for punctuation when he voiced it out.

You were speechless, your own eyes misting over. You didn't fully grasp it, but you knew you would try and make it better. He buried his face in your chest amid the sheet still covering you, his soft hair and light body surrendered to your embrace. "You've never failed me, not once. I don't want anything else... I don't want anyone but you." You felt helpless, unable to completely fix or improve the situation. Even your words trembled as they left your lips. You kissed his head, holding onto his arms and letting him stretch out comfortably on the bench. His body was relaxed, and he was a bit vulnerable, yet he still looked at you with affection. His head might be in a daze, but he trusted you. You felt more at ease, seeing that he felt comfortable after sharing this with you, even though it had burdened him. You chuckled softly, and he mirrored your laugh, soon melting as your lips brushed against his, warm and tender so far urgent.

You leaned against his shoulders, lifting your hips and then adjusting to him. The fabric was still a barrier, and your intention was simply to tease him; he gasped into your mouth. "I wish your mind would be kinder to you, Alex." Your voice caught in your throat, and he slowly opened his eyes as if he hadn't realized he had closed them. He seemed a bit sulky, his face and hair still disheveled from sleep. You were equally lazy. Your fingers danced along his jawline, your eyes meeting at the same level, then moving to his broad shoulders, your nails lightly grazing his pale, soft skin. The thought of the future marks you would leave, combined with your rubbing against him, heightened the butterflies in his stomach. He already felt breathless.

Alex was easy to handle, though you might not have noticed that this was true only with you. He was well aware. His pink lips parted as if to say something, but a soft moan cut him off as you pressed your hips between his and moved up and down. There was a mix of characteristic morning excitement and the view he had of you. You could feel him well, his entire length, as you excited yourself while lubricating him. Mornings often felt more needy, and both of you knew how to play into that, but this time it was your turn to take advantage.

His hands went to your waist, gripping it, understanding better than to disrupt your rhythm. He agreed that it was about what you wanted to do with him. Your palm followed his, the sheet slipping down a bit, granting him a better view, though not completely revealing everything. The tips of his fingers traced you slowly, appreciating every detail. He looked at you, his face flushed, and it made you smile. You kissed his shoulder and neck while making him harder and more aroused.

He held you even tighter, your chests touching, every inch of skin connected. You entwined your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling firmly and feeling yourself getting wetter as you saw his hair standing on end as you brushed your nose against him and dragged your teeth along his skin before biting him firmly and leaving with wet kisses. The low groan and his eager hips were so satisfying for you. "Trying to kill me?" he looked at you with clear desire in his eyes, his lips slightly swollen.

And you kissed them, his smile soft as he felt your touch. Your warm tongue met his until breath became scarce, and he was left with a series of your kisses and nose nuzzles. In the final one, you gently sucked his lower lip, biting it hard, and he whimpered, gripping your thigh in approval. You chuckled, a bit smug, and it indeed made him feel good, seeing you so confident. "Not really, more like showing you just how much I'm your girl." He nodded, even rosier now. At that point, you were perfectly aching, pulsing, with your head throbbing for him. Alex noticed how your knees were spread around him, focused on the movement centered at the same spot repeatedly.

"I know you are," he said, low and tender. You pressed your hand gently against his chest, pushing him back so that his head was supported. "Can you say it?" He ran his thumb over your lips, finding comfort in your sweet smile. You lifted your hips quickly, although to him it seemed in slow motion due to his neediness, and kissed him with the same intensity as before. You straddled him calmly, patiently, painfully, as his sighs were overtaken by you. He slid easily inside, and soon you felt comfortable, filled completely. "Tell me I'm your girl, Alex," you were breathless, that much was clear, and you paused, needing to adjust for a few – he was quite a thing to be taken. He chuckled, a guttural sound that vibrated through his chest, a bit too addictive considering you were so close to him. Your fingers traced his neck, almost begging for more, and he held you to stabilize you, not that you were going anywhere. He was so lost in you that it was difficult for him to form coherent sentences from the words that left your mouth.

"You're mine, babe." His raspy voice was a breath, his eyes still shining with desire. "You're my girl." He chuckled lazily, your eager hand tightening around his prominent veins, making him sound a bit breathless at the end. He was so hot and entirely yours. "I like that,"

"Do you, babe?" He gently guided his hand along your leg, his thumb reaching your clit and moving in slow circles. You moaned in relief, helping you endure him better. You let your forehead touch his, peppering his face with affectionate kisses. Gradually, you pressed tightly against him, adjusting your hips to favor your movement. His broad hands roamed around you, feeling your lower belly fill as your rhythm grew more forceful. Holding onto the sheet wrapped around you, he kept you close and firmly pressed against him. His body trembled, his eyes closed, clearly surrendering to the sensations, yet he couldn't take his eyes off you, your breasts following the rhythm, and how entangled you were with him.

He was losing control of his breathing, and you weren't faring much better. He kissed your collarbone, trailing the tip of his nose along your skin and stopping just below your breast. Repeating what you had done minutes ago, he bit into your flesh with desire, then planted heated kisses over the marked skin as your moans escaped quietly. Your nails dug into him, and by now, his hands were defined by the lines of the sheet he gripped so tightly. "Fuck, babe," he groaned, mouth slightly open, his head thrown back on the support. Tears growing in his eyes.

You leaned over him, resuming your attack on the sensitive skin of his neck, a territory you knew well. You allowed for friction against your clit with each movement of your hips, noticing him growing more restless. Your own body was involved in spasms, and you maintained the pace he wanted. You gave him what he needed, letting him have you fully, and brushed the messy hair from his face, granting you a privileged view of his features. His grip on you tightened, and as you grew more breathless, he corresponded appropriately to your stimuli. It didn't take long for your bodies to collapse against each other, your face buried in his neck, muffled moans escaping your trembling legs and weak knees. He held you even tighter, peppering your forehead with more kisses, lost in your breathless state nestled against his chest.

The sounds of your breathing mixed together, still leaving him a bit dizzy, but in a good way. He pulled the sheet over both of you, and as he unwrapped the mess, he saw that he had torn the fabric at some point. His cheeks flushed as he heard you laugh. He held you in his arms, your bodies connected, and brushed the hair from your face. Your voice was still dizzy as you said, "I must be really good at this," he chuckled softly. You were cradled in his arms, attached to his hips. He pushed the hair away from your face, and your throat was still dry. "You truly are," he affirmed, a loving gaze fixed on you.

A soul-warming silence enveloped you, comfortable and cozy. You could feel him growing solid hard within you once again. He didn't have much energy left, and you were almost falling asleep from exhaustion. This was evident in how gently you clung to each other, avoiding any sudden movements. Taking comfort in this, he stayed inside you, warm and somewhat snug. Your delicate hands encircled his waist, his arms covering you and keeping you pressed against him while the sheet did a good job of covering your bodies. You looked at him briefly, wrinkling your nose as you heard the hoarse groan escape him with your abrupt movement. Whispering, you said, "I hope this was enough to quiet your mind a bit. I don't like seeing you upset." You buried your face in his neck again, intoxicated by his scent. He observed you, realizing how foolish he was, yet there you were. "You're perfect, my dear," he said, feeling your laughter and how at peace you were wrapped around him. You were clearly a rational part of him, and he had no reason to deny that. Yes, you had quieted the noisy voices tormenting him.

"I'm your boy, all yours," he breathed into your ear, burying his nose in your hair and planting kisses on you until you fell asleep, so then the intimacy of the moment may allow him to drift into slumber while holding you.

...

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to be tagged you can just lmk or open my !google form! (you can decide in which ones you want to be tagged and also let you're request or thoughts there with me!)

...

here's my ko-fi

...

[sailorshadzter]

just some random jonsa for your dashboards <3

The war bells echo in his mind, long after they’ve fallen silent. 

There is a stillness to the air, a frighteningly eerie sense of discomfort as he stands there, surveying the battlefield. 

In the end, they’ve won, but he must wonder: at what cost? 

King’s Landing is in ruin, Daenerys had certainly seen to that; there was almost nothing left of the once bustling city and what remained was covered in a thick layer of ash. Through the broken glass of the Red Keep windows, he watches as the smallfolk who survived search through the rubble for their families, their friends, their possessions. He watches with sorrow in his heart, his chest tight with the pain, wishing there had been another way. Wishing with all of his might that it could have ended any other way but this one. 

Across the way, a door opens and he turns at the sound of it, unable to help but to smile at the figure approaching him. Just like that, his reason for everything appears when he needs her the most. She wears a gown of gray damask, something far lighter than she’s ever worn in his presence before, but her hair is still styled as it always was, braids and long flowing locks. “I wondered where you’d gone off to,” she says by way of greeting, her rosy lips curving with a smile. “Are you alright?” She asks, softer now, noticing the darkness that clings to him almost at once. 

He turns away, to face the melted puddle that was once the Iron Throne, imagining how it had been just a few short weeks ago, with Daenerys dead on the floor at his feet and the dragon roaring his displeasure. He does not regret what he did to her that day, in truth, he regrets not doing it sooner- perhaps then the innocent people of King’s Landing could have been spared. “Jon…” Her voice is in his ear, her hand reaching for his, her presence warm as she closes the gap between them. A sigh escapes him as he leans into her, relishing in the way it feels when she slips her arms around his waist, her cheek pressing into his shoulder. “Tell me…” 

“I just can’t help but think of them…” He admits softly, his mind returning to the hellish screams he had to endure, the sight of innocent children slaughtered by the dothraki in the streets below the Red Keep. “If only I had acted sooner…. If I’d done even just one thing differently…” Regret seeps into his bones and turns him cold, the memory of it all almost too much to bear. “I might have saved lives instead of…” He cannot even stand to say the words he’s thinking. 

To his surprise, she’s letting him go, but only so she might force him to turn around, her blue eyes bright in the sunlight streaming in through the broken window. “What happened here isn’t your fault, Jon.” She says sharply, though she reaches for his hands as she speaks. “You did what you thought was best to protect us…” Everything Jon did she knew it was for her, for Arya, for Bran, and for the North. “It’s true, your reign here has begun with bloodshed, but that doesn’t have to define it.” She thinks of all this man has done- every battle, every step, every wound… It’s all been done for someone else, for someone he loved. Even this crown he now must wear he only wears because it was best for the realm. “Show the people of King’s Landing that you intend to protect them just as you’ve always protected us.” 

Her words stir something within him and he’s squeezing her hands back, leaning forward so he might press a kiss to her forehead; a lingering touch that leaves her warm down to her very soul. “Thank you, Sansa,” he murmurs as he draws away, but she keeps him close, her lips hovering dangerously close to his. They’ve been here before, too many times to count, and he wonders just when one of them might take the plunge. 

“Your grace?”

They spring apart at once, she blushing to the very roots of her hair, looking down at the floor as Jon clears his throat. It’s Tyrion there, certainly coming to fetch him for the council meeting he’s now late for. “Apologies for interrupting,” the imp continues with a knowing look on his face, but Jon dismisses him with a quick wave of his hand. “The others are waiting for you to begin.” 

Jon is nodding now, taking a single step away from Sansa where she stands, but he turns back a moment later. “Come with me,” he says when she’s looking up again, cheeks still stained pink. “My council could use the wise words of the Queen in the North.” She’s grinning now, nodding before she loops her arm through his, falling into step at his side just as they once did within the walls of Winterfell. Tyrion watches them go, like a young couple in love, wondering just when they might realize it for themselves. 

He thinks how splendid it would be to host a wedding feast in these walls someday, one which would be celebrated for ages to come, one which would usher in a new age of peace. An age of peace which Westeros has perhaps never truly seen before. 

It would be a love story that they would speak of for centuries, if only the two of them would just figure it out.

And so, he follows after them, laughing to himself and feeling far more hopeful than he’s felt in many years.

[shutit-haha]

Wolf Bakugo pt.1

Hybrid AU (As much as I enjoy reading about Bull Bakugo, I'm gonna keep the training wheels on for now.) THERE ARE NO QUIRKS

You met each other amidst an awful storm. The snow stung as it whipped against your skin, you were freezing despite all the coverings and still had to complete the walk home. You weren't the only one though.

"Fuck you I'm licensed," it was a nasty snarl. Something loud and startling within the silence of the storm. It took you a moment to find where it was coming from, blurry white darts obscuring your vision. You found him though, with eyes like those it was hard to hide. Ash blonde, quite large, and a scowl to match his harsh tone of voice. He was decked out in winter attire; pair of gloves, tightly wrapped scarf, layered coat and jackets, nice pair of boots.

"Yeah, well we'll see about that," this voice belonged to a much smaller frame. You wondered how he could be so arrogant when he was clearly outmatched, until your eyes caught on to his utility belt. He was a 'catcher' his belt was filled with things to immobilize men like the blonde.

"Dammit," he gritted his teeth. "You just can't see the collar cause of the scarf." He was tugging at the fabric now, yanking roughly at the deep green. For some odd reason it wouldn't budge, he tugged and tugged at the knot yet it wouldn't unravel. (Must of been some outstanding knot tying skills on his part.)

"I'm gonna need you to lose that hostility," the officer reached for something.

As a kid you always had the bad habit of jumping in the way to take the hit for your friends. Some of them just couldn't fight and well you had to take a punch before you could throw one. (Unfortunately.) This man had no relation to you, had done nothing kind, hadn't even looked in your direction. He had no idea you were there. And yet you were darting across the street, haphazardly looking for cars, and jumping in the way.

"He's mine!" One hand was extended out to the officer, the other near the hybrid. You were careful not to actually touch the bulky blonde, fearing what may happen if you do. "He-he's mine."

The officer eyed the two of you skeptically before pocketing whatever it was he had just reached for. "Paperwork?"

"I left it at home," you dropped your arms to your sides.

"You do know it's a crime to lie to people like me don't you?"

"They said they left the papers at home," that was the hybrid with the crimson eyes. "And I'm telling you," he tugged off his scarf. "I'm licensed," there was his shiny tag dangling from his collar.

The officer huffed, "you outa keep him leashed."

You backed up slightly, feeling oddly offended by his statement. The blonde just huffed and rolled his eyes. "You have a good day sir," you didn't smile.

"You too," neither did he.

"I didn't need your help," a low growl from behind you while he ties his scarf again.

You turn to face him, "yeah I know but-"

"I'm not some defenseless pup," his canines are long and white.

"I'm aware however-"

"And I wasn't fuckin' lying about being licensed," he shoves his gloved hands into his pockets.

"If you would let me speak than you'd know I just did it to be nice," you snapped at him. What the hell was up with this dude? You were then taken aback that pissed you off way to fucking quickly, he clearly was skilled at being a nag. "Although now I'm regretting it," you sighed. "I wasn't even expecting a thank you but now I want one."

"Not happening."

"Yeah I figured," you rolled your eyes.

"Hah!? The hell's that supposed to mean!?"

He was emotionally draining, this interaction alone required too much patience. "It was awful meeting you," you turn away from him then.

Except remember I had said it was cold, well the weather has a way of messing with the human body.

Your knees buckled underneath you before slamming against the icy ground, your teeth were still chattering and a harsh shiver racked through you. "Dammit," the hybrid again. This guy. "You're gonna freeze your ass out here, lose all your fingers." He grumbled as his hand gripped at your elbow to pull you back onto your feet. "Where the hell do you live," his tone threw off that whole sentence.

"You don't have to walk me home."

"Yeah I fucking do," why did it sound like he didn't want to do it?

"I can get there by myself," you used him to steady yourself. You really could get home on your own...in a minute or two. He was firm under your grip, and felt warm, oh so warm. Without thinking you swayed into him, resting against him at a peculiar angle.

"Says the dipshit who- Hey keep your eyes open!"

"I'm not dying," you moved away from him slowly. Ok so maybe you were a little sluggish, but that was only because of all that adrenaline you had just moments ago.

"Come on, dammit." He dragged you along behind him, grumbling the whole way. Obediently you followed, not realizing you hadn't given him your address until you were already at the door.

[kairiscorner]

olivia rodrigo my lodi 🫂

seeing him tonight... it's a bad idea, right? – miguel o'hara x reader (heavy angst)

content warnings! mentions of toxic relationships. please don't read below the cut if you are uncomfortable with these topics ^^

“why can't you leave me the fuck alone?”

“and watch you mope about why we're not together anymore all pathetic like that? it's pathetic for sure, but it's just getting sad now.”

you sighed as you took a long drag from the cigarette you fumbled out of the packet and, with shaky hands, took it out of your mouth and puffed a big cloud of gray and white smoke. he chuckled as he watched the puff of smoke dissipate into the air, hearing you cough as the nicotine burned in your lungs. "you okay?" he asked you with what sounded as hints of concern in his voice as he snuck a cigarette from you and lit himself one, putting the stick in his mouth and quickly blowing the smoke out of his mouth. there was something so picturesque, ethereal, about the way he breathed in and out the smoke from the cig–like he was a still life painting, and beneath all those pretty layers on his barely covered up, tan body; the way those black, fluffy curls perched and hanging on the top of his head, down to touch his eyebrows in little hooks just mesmerized you. and it angered you so much that it did, when nothing about him should have any meaning left to you anymore.

you clenched your burning cigarette by its body and squeezed it into two. you blew the remaining smoke out from your nostrils, losing the urge to puff another smoke as you chucked your cigarette to the side and snuffed it out with the foot of your shoe, putting so much pressure on it that the ash spread apart and created a kind of arc-like shape in your stead. he watched as you walked off, sighing softly, the clacking of your heels following you. though you couldn't get away for long since he took your arm in his and pulled you closer to him as he exhaled another puffy cloud of smoke. "it's not a good look on you to be such a bitch, y'know? if you have a problem with me, just say it. we aren't together anymore, don't feel ashamed or any of that... sympathetic bullshit you're thinking of." he practically berated you with his shit ass condescending tone that made you wanna bash his face in.

how fucking dare he talk to you like that? speak for you, do exactly what he kept doing when you two were together—make all his choices your choices, his feelings as your feelings? it may be a far stretch, but hearing him disregard how either of you feel... it sucks ass, it always does. why does he not take you any more seriously after you broke up with him? "are you thinking that i'm supposed to want you back?" he asked you monotonously, breaking the silence as he looks at you with tired eyes. dark circles accentuated the shape of his hazel brown orbs. it didn't seem like this week was of any comfort to him, not when tonight marked the one-year anniversary when you two had broken up. you confronted him, in this very alley that led back to his place, and told him you couldn't take it anymore.

'i don't want this anymore. i'm done. leave me alone and let me live my life.'

and some hurtful words were exchanged that can never be taken back.

'and you think you had a life before me? i'm your everything. you can't... fucking... you can't leave me!'

and some promises were made, on top of the pile of the carcasses of many unfulfilled, unanswered promises and questions that lingered in the miasma of discomfort and willful blindness to what each other wanted back then, needed from each other back then.

'i don't need you to tell me what i can and can't do anymore.'

weaknesses were exposed, and strengths were diminished.

and the love... oh, was there even any love there?

you yanked yourself out of miguel's grasp and crinkled your eyebrows together, shoving your hands in your jacket's pockets, looking away from him as his gaze burns into the side of your head that's turned to him—not letting even a single strand of your hair or patch of your skin escape his exhausted gaze anymore. "i honestly couldn't give a shit about what you want." you blurted out, not leaving the spot you're standing at, despite all the signals in your body urging you to lift your feet up on the ground, kick up, and run away right now before anything else can happen. but you don't. you don't, because you know that there's something more complex than simply wanting miguel to go away in what you want.

but for the life of you, you can't figure even a glimpse or whiff of it out.

miguel sighed as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his wispy hair, more curly locks falling down on his forehead, touching his eyebrows. "right. figures." he muttered. "why the fuck do you have to be here?" you asked him with a gruff voice, cracking due to the smoke you inhaled. "i live around here." he reminds you all nonchalantly, pissing you off even more. "...i know that." "and yet, you came by here anyway." he pointed out. he was always a smart ass, giving unsolicited thoughts and opinions when no one needed them. you refused to respond to that and kicked at the snuffed out, squeezed up cigarette that was bent on the pavement.

"if you want to hurt me, go ahead. i know i did really bad shit to you, stuff you never deserved. go ahead, hurt me." he told you as he approached you, his voice becoming huskier and raspier as you heard him from up close. his voice always got like that after argumets, you just noticed now; the way his voice would soften, falter, like his voice would literally get on one knee and yield—let you have your way after him having his way time and time again. "i can't be good for you, and... i don't think i can ever be good for you, really." he said with a sigh as he dropped his cigarette and snuffed it out next to yours. the bent shape of your cigarettes seemed to form crude hearts, the two big curves of a cartoon heart were shaped out by the curved cigarettes you both snuffed the lights out of; snuffed these hearts' beings out of.

he nudged you gently with his elbow and showed you his hands, raising them up gently to show you he means no harm, no pain, no... nothing towards you. he genuinely wants you to do what you've always wanted to him, no matter what it is, he's come to accept it. "just do what you have to. please don't keep... oh, fuck it." he murmured as you kept your gaze down, away from him. you weren't used to this, you could never get used to this; miguel was never the first guy to shove words into your mouth and plant decisions in your mind for you, but he wasn't the worst. there have been countless times when your heart was used, borrowed, broken, stamped on, torn apart—but none of the people who hurt you ever even tried to make amends; it was never in their nature to give you love, it was only in their nature to propagate hurt, and you never knew why you had a soft spot for human garbage like that, less than human garbage.

though he was never perfect, there was some bit of you that felt a catharsis around miguel when things weren't as bad as they were before the breakup, when you really felt like all those bad days... they'd never happen again; the eye of the storm had passed, and a great, sunny day was upon you. but like all sunny mornings that soon became troublesome, fretful, and stormy nights—they never lasted. miguel's smile was warm, once; his embrace felt welcoming, once—but whenever you think of him... you can't help but hear the echoes of the voices in your head whenever he'd get affectionate towards you, intimate with you: 'his love won't last, don't even hope for it.'

you kept your distance, you liked him—you... you really liked him; more than you can ever imagine. he used to not be so overbearing, he used to not be so angry all the time and more patient, he kept understanding for you that you wanted space... but you were always, always on the brink of breaking, even when it was never his fault. and you still are—the worst part of it all, though? you're always on the verge of breaking because... you can't help but yearn for the past with the old him again.

"you some masochist or something?" you asked him with a deadly gaze as you finally glared up at him, seeing his dark eyes become a little swollen. the sobbing was inevitable for him, his soft spot for you was too sensitive, it was an exposed muscle, exposed nerve of his that made him less... furious, and more... protective, yet vulnerable. he sniffled back his tears and tried keeping his voice leveled. "you could say that." he answered simply as he rubbed at his eye, wiping a tear away before it streaked down his cheek, but you caught him—he always did that whenever you'd scream at him on those off days, even when he tried to help, but just can't help.

you tried not to feel bad, not to feel pity, not to... feel a little guilty that you might've hurt him, too, like he hurt you—but you can't ignore that gnawing feeling in your gut that grew the longer you were around him. constantly being reminded of yourself, of your misunderstood to even yourself's self... you can't help it anymore. "look, it's stupid, i know—it's... horrible of me to ask you to do this, when i don't even know if you want to, that was my problem, wasn't it? i protected you from stuff i didn't even know about, didn't know the slightest bit about? i was suffocating you?" "...yeah." you told him with the quiver of your lower lip, with you instantly bit back as hot tears streamed down your cheeks, your chin quaking as you stifled the sobs; but they could only be held in for so long.

"yeah, you did..." you muttered as, along with the coming rain drops, your tear drops joined the pattering rain—staining the pavement as your sobs and cries were released into the air, mixing with the sounds and roars of the thunder, as miguel silently listened to you now, as you exclaimed out how you really felt all this time to him. "is it my fault i'm so scared you'll leave me like everyone else? is it my fault for thinking nobody really cares about the me behind this face? behind this body? is it... is it my fault i don't want you to protect me from my own demons because, even i can't keep them at bay! is it my fault for thinking you'd... you'd hurt me, and that you... your love wasn't even that?" you choked out, hiccuping and sniffling all the while as you screamed your lungs out at miguel. he hesitantly extended his hands towards you, to reach out to you—but he doesn't touch you, he refuses to touch you unless you personally tell him to.

as your sobbing slowed and your breathing became ragged, miguel finally let out his side of things. "and is it my fault that i felt so... ashamed of myself for not being enough to help you?" he choked out, his eyes watering and his voice cracking. he looks at you, and he can't even bear with himself that you are here—you are finally hearing him say what he's always searched for the words to say, all this time. his lips quiver as he stutters, groaning in frustration at himself as he fumbles every time he tries to tell you the rest of it all. "...i thought that, by you... refusing my help, i... i was losing you. there, there, now you know. i was scared of losing you, like i lost everyone else that ever mattered to me. i didn't know what was wrong, i was... i was scared. but you... you can't see me scared, okay? because w-when i get scared, everything goes to shit. and i... i-i wanna relieve you, not hurt you—you were, are, and always will be... my everything." he confessed, the tears streaming down his cheeks as he breathed in laboriously and exhaled deeply, covering his eyes, remembering to himself that crying won't make you feel better—but it's not the crying you're focused on, it's what he said.

and in that heated moment, when the silver lining tearing the clouds asunder opened up in your eyes—amidst the pouring rain surrounding you two non-stop—you pull him in close... and give him your own reassurance through that kiss that was, in all ways and forms, a bad fucking idea.

you didn't want to break up, you never wanted an ex like him—you never wished he got all protective, but you both hurt each other; this'll never make it right, this kiss isn't an oath to be his or for him to be yours—it's not a declaration of your ambiguous feelings... it's what you felt you had to do, and it... it ceased the hurting for once, for a millisecond. it felt like everything was warm again, but you knew this was fleeting... you didn't know if you could take it as a long, perpetual thing. maybe someday, the answers will reveal themselves in time. but miguel's answer... was to place his palms underneath your jawline, and as the rain pattered against your faces—making it hard to tell where the rain began and where your tears ended—you two spoke a language that neither of you understood until much, much too late.

the problem is... will the message be enough to change anything?

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[pickleking8]

8 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be - Chapter 8

Words: 770

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

Tw: death, guns, bombs, fire (?), let me know if I missed anything

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    The whole world burned in a thousand shades of bright green fire. 

     The air was hot and carried the rancid smell of melted plastic and charred flesh. It hung heavy in the air, the slightest of breezes letting tattered lab coats flutter slightly, a clinical white flag of unconditional surrender. 

    It was loud, too. The fires crackled and popped and sizzled, building into a constant, unceasing roar that accompanied the shrill ringing that seemed to stretch on and on, a sordid reminder of the bomb that had gone off in a flash only moments before. 

     They were probably screaming, but she couldn’t hear them. Even if she had, she doubted she would be moved much by the final shrieks of those damned long before she ever even arrived. They had taken her brother from her. Again. This base hadn’t held him. None of the meticulously organized, glaring white bases that she had searched and razed had held him. She would keep going, though. She would destroy everything and everyone standing between her and Danny .

     Even as she watched, a shriveled body, still blazing with a horrid green fire, stumbled disjointedly out of the wreckage. She traced the man’s (the monster’s) slow, unorganized path as he pitched and lurched all of, one, two, three steps before he fell. His body hit the ground hard, a bony and scorched hand stretched out before him in what, she didn’t know. A plea, perhaps? It wouldn’t be answered. She wouldn’t answer him. 

     In languid, loping steps that crunched over scattered glass, she smoothly crossed the distance between them, and with a swift stomp, she shoved his hand back down into the dirt. 

     The fire burned, and she stood there, gazing with cold, detached eyes over the wreckage. Slowly, slowly, the fire died down, shrinking into glowing green embers and leaving only air clogged with smoke and white ashes. She kept standing, and only when the world had finally faded into oblivion and quiet, burdened still by a layer of smog and desperation, did she move. 

As she turned, black boots grating upon the littered ground, she saw a flitting shadow out of the corner of her eye, and within seconds had a large gun pointed at it. It was dark, though. Black. Not white, so she didn’t shoot quite yet. It remained in the shadows.

     “Come out. Now,” she commanded, with a rigidness to her voice that spoke to the idea that she expected her orders to be followed. And they were. Confidently, the figure stepped forward, and now that it was in the light, albeit obscured by the remnants of flame, she could make out the form. Batman. 

     Keeping her gun expertly trained on his chest, she quickly drew another one and pointed it at Robin hiding against the other wall. He looked startled, like he wasn’t expecting to be seen, and to be fair many, if not most, would have missed him. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted out, ever so slightly. 

     “And the rest. Come out or I’ll shoot,” she said, clipped and clinical, with a jab of the guns at both targets. 

     The rest filed out, begrudgingly, annoyed, from rafters and from windows. They wanted to attack, she knew, she could tell, she could feel the rage simmering underneath their masks and the protectiveness over their own. Good, she could use that. 

     Batman took a quick step forward, only to scrape to a halt when she readjusted her grip on the gun. He quickly regrouped.

     “Who are you? Why have you done this?” he said, his voice a low growl, arrogant and hubristic, as if he was not standing amid a testament to her power. She holstered the gun trained on Robin. 

     “You don’t need to know any more than to call me Aconite. And as for why I’m doing this… well, I’m looking for something,” even behind her mask, the hatred and resentment were clearly heard as she spat out the next sentence, “Something that they took from me.”

     She clenched her fist, and when she opened it, she got the satisfaction of watching several eyes widen behind dominos, as what was revealed was a quickly ticking bomb with garishly flashing numerals counting down the seconds until havoc was wreaked once more. In one smooth motion, she hefted it, lighting fires anew, and when the ringing had stopped and the Bats had all come out from the pillars and rubble behind which they had hidden, she was gone, leaving only a wake of destruction and decimation, and a single warning, behind her. 

     “Don’t get in my way.”

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Next - Masterpost

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Rogue Jazz is my favorite, and I'm not really sure if I did her justice, but hopefully it came across well. I was really trying to make her very cold and detached, just done and willing to do what it took to get her brother back. I also want yall to know that Aconite is a flower that can mean both a warning/caution and death, as well as courage and protection, which I thought was very fitting for Jazz in this. I also want you to know how I envision her costume, I would draw it but I cant draw (I tried drawing Jazz. It did NOT work).

I mostly think of a black outfit, to counter the white of the agents, with her hair free and a full mask. I also think that she has glowing purple accents, to go along with her name, and because I think it looks cool. Just imagine the most badass, coolest thing you can and you're there. If I'm being honest I was also imagining her demeanor to be a bit like Jinx from Arcane while she's fighting, just slightly (a lot) unhinged and willing to do whatever in order to protect Danny.

I also want to apologize for the lack of updates, my grandpa died so it's been kind of tough for me lately. The funeral is in a couple of days, so it might be a while again before another update, but yeah. Or maybe this will spur my writing. Who knows.

Anyway, I would appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer, and I thank you for reading!

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Taglist: @tkiesai

[heylabodega]

The year that I was 32 I was happy. The year that I was 32 I was so happy that it made me nervous, I was so happy with my friends and my job and my art and my home and my hair that it circled back around to anxiety that I might lose any piece of it or things might (will, eventually) change. I continued my streak of making new friends, of learning new things, of getting new jobs, of being proud of myself.

The year that I was 32, my aunt and I became the only two women in our family to know what it's like to be 32 and childless, I texted her wonderingly and triumphantly. The year I was 32 I think I finally parented myself up to standard level, loved myself and forgave myself and protected myself enough for the 1.25 parents I didn't have.

The year that I was 32 flew by and I was so happy to be getting older. I felt the weight of the years not as a burden but as a foundation. I felt my understanding of myself deepen, as I felt my relationships deepen with their layers of time, with the sheer amount of happenings and words exchanged and things seen. I was sometimes still, but rarely, self-conscious about being older than my coworkers. The year that I was 32 I loved my coworkers so much, I wanted to tell them about things and hear their thoughts and get their opinions and soak up their expertise and their beautiful, beautiful self assurance.

The year that I was 32 Daniel and I went back to doing trivia, and I was relieved that he wasn't angry with me. I recognized a softening in him that I recognize in so many of us, the softening of experiences not turning out the way you thought they would, the new understanding.

The year that I was 32 I finally got to babysit Remy, got to shepherd him safely from daycare to sleep sack, check on him three times to make sure he was breathing in his crib, pull him into my lap when he hit his head and coo I know I know I know it doesn't feel good when we hit our head.

The year that I was 32 I kept getting both more and less forgiving. The understanding of how hard we're all trying, of how many things happen in a life; but likewise the how hard we're all trying and sometimes it's not enough, how many things happen in a life and sometimes they're someone's fault.

The year that I was 32 I didn't buy any makeup except some mascara refills. The year that I was 32 I got so beautiful again. I'm sorry to say it, but it bears acknowledging. I saw it in the mirror and I could see it in other people's faces sometimes, but unlike when I was younger, it felt like mine and not the world's. I got more sure of my artistic opinions, felt they were valid, felt like 'I didn't think it achieved its objectives' coming from me was a valuable critique.

The year that I was 32 I spent my going to Paris money on a studio space. I went to the ER again. I slept and slept and slept. I went to Scotland, the most beautiful place in the world that rearranged my insides in a way I may never be fully able to describe. I went to LA for two weeks and fell even more in love with Marie and Solomon and their life. I went to Tampa for 24 hours, i went to Portland for a week, I went to Delaware for a weekend, I went, still, back and forth between DC and New York so many times that I thought I'd go crazy.

The year that I was 32 I almost never cried, except occasionally when a TV show got me, when George Bailey was the richest man in Bedford Falls, when we listened to Let's Get Married by The Proclaimers in the car in the Columbia River Gorge and my mom was driving and my brother was in the backseat and we would see my sister soon and hike up to the waterfall where my grandpa's ashes are scattered. I couldn't stop smiling though, walking around Greenpoint in the sunset, smiling smiling smiling until sometimes I also cried.

The year that I was 32 I was so proud and so happy that I hoped I'd run into people I hadn't seen in years on the street so they could ask me what I'd been up to and I could tell them, beaming, the happiness coming through my every pore. I didn't run into anyone I hadn't seen in years. The year that I was 32 I was still myself, so so much, over and over, every day, and I began to really accept that.

[k-s-morgan]

The new chapter for TGSTLTH was fantastic as always and I can't wait for part two :D

So I've had a question that has bothered me sometime about the end of season 1 of Black Butler, and I feel like your explanations fit in with the anime the best xx

So, when I watched the scene of Ash/Angela fighting Sebastian, Sebastian 1). Tells Ciel to close his eyes even though he has seen his true form all layers exposed (unless he hasnt yet in ur story) and 2). Ash/Angela asks so shocked/horrified that he is a demon even though he has known this the entire time.

This reminds me of a theory I read on here where the person said that his true form, with all layers exposed, is too harmful for human eyes and can cause madness, and he didn't tell Ciel to close his eyes out of shame but to protect him. This could also explain the angels reaction to his raw form/power? I know in some mythology even being in their presence can harm people/environment, which fits in with your latest chapter when Ciel didn't even get burned when being in contact with many "layers" of his true form exposed.

Just wanted your take on this, and if this theory somewhat fits in with your image of Sebastian. <3

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy it))

I indeed believe that Ciel has never seen Sebastian's ultimate true form, and I think the anime implies it as well in the moment you mentioned. This is why in my story, Sebastian shakes off different layers. For example, let's imagine that 20 layers separate his true form from his human appearence, and with Ciel, he sheds 3, 5, 10, etc. But he never shed them all.

We can see him in different states throughout the anime, too. The heels, some feathers, red glowing eyes, claws, darkish or greenish energy emanating from him - this is the form he shows to Ciel and their enemies. But in the fight with Ash/Angela, we don't get to see his final look. We see flashes, which increases tension and fascinatinon, and we see Ash/Angela's terror. I think it's a brilliant decision because the mystery always scares most, and we are left to wonder how Sebastian really looks like, what's so terrible about it that Ciel is asked to close his eyes and the angel is horrified.

That said, I love the theory you shared and I think it fits canon very well (my story, too)! It's logical that looking at the pure form of a demon could cause irreversible harm to humans, and it would be natural for Sebastian to want to protect Ciel from it.

Both explanations easily apply, in my opinion: Sebastian protects Ciel while also not wanting to risk the chance that Ciel might feel as terrified as Angela by his looks. The last thing he wants at this point is for Ciel to fear him.

As for why Ash/Angela is scared: I think they overestimated themselves. I have a headcanon that Angela never saw a real demon in their pure form, so seeing Sebastian was a shock - their species are repellent to each other. Since Angela is fallen, she is no longer as strong as pure angels, which also has an effect on their battle. Sebastian destroys her easily once he decides on it.

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader  ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: i want answers. what the hell is going on? is the information worth the price? word count: 2.4k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc, mention and slight depiction of suicide a/n: as of the day i'm queuing this up (6.25.24) we have officially caught up to where ashes is on ao3! \-^o^-/ ao3 will still be updated first, and tumblr will hopefully be shortly after.

When you woke, the only thing you remembered dreaming about was your old apartment. Again, it was the day you found your mother’s body, but you weren’t reliving the day. The bathroom was all wrong, too. It was way bigger than the one from your childhood. There was light blue tile on the walls and floor. A shallow layer of water covered the whole floor, with hints of rusty orange that seemed to curl around your foot with each step you took.

At the far end of the room the porcelain tub and your mother’s limp arm dangled over the edge, dripping blood into the water. On her forearm you saw it—that endless knot. Was that what was on her arm when you found her? You remember that there was something, but it was the first you knew of it. You don’t remember your mother having any tattoos. But she always wore long sleeves, even in the sweltering heat of summer.

It was possible that all the information you and Shika had compiled was influencing what you dreamed. The endless knot tattoo was superimposed on your mother’s arm because your brain wanted to make sense of it. Everything was a clusterfuck and you wanted to hibernate until the end of the world.

Unfortunately, you were graced to live another day. You ambled into your living room and saw Shika in the kitchen. You sniffed to make sure nothing was burning. Whatever she was making smelled good, but you had no idea what was in it because you didn’t know what food you had on hand. The rumble of the dryer reminded you that you’d forgotten to move Shika’s clothes from the wash.

“Rise and shine,” Shika said, focusing on whatever was in the skillet.

“What did you find to make?”

“Nothing. Your cabinets are empty.”

“Ah, just like my soul.”

Shika glared at you and you stuck out your tongue. She rolled her eyes before saying, “I ran down to the convenience store and got one of those heat and eat things.”

“A classic,” you said, nodding. You flopped down onto your sofa and noticed the blanket neatly folded on the opposite end. Your coffee table was still littered with your conspiracy theory. There was something legible on the scraps of paper.

“Did you rewrite all my bullshit?” you asked.

“Woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep,” Shika admitted. “We should get a cork board, push pins, and red string. Everything is so fucked about this.”

You snorted, “You’re telling me! Ugh.”

There was a comfortable silence before you remembered something you wanted to gossip about that you didn’t mention last night.

“Did you know Kirin had a wife?” you asked.

Shika dropped the wooden spoon with a clatter. “What?! There’s no fucking way. Wait, you said had.”

You nodded, even though Shika wouldn’t see it. “Yeah, Miko told me that Kirin has a grudge against her because she could save his wife or lover.”

“There’s no way that man was ever married. Maybe an arranged marriage, I guess. Something about gang politics?”

“That would make the most sense,” you agreed. “I’m so confused about everything and the Four Symbols know more than they’re letting on.”

“Without a doubt.” Shika nodded in affirmation.

“I’m going to talk to Suzaku,” you said.

That caught Shika’s attention. She looked at you with wide eyes before her brow crumpled with concern. “After everything that’s gone down,” she started hesitantly.

“I appreciate your concern, truly, but I can’t stay cooped up here and in the dark. If they know something, I want to know it.”

“What will you barter with?” Shika asked. There were unspoken words between you two: Knowledge always came at a price. “Everything you told me involves the secret spy missions you’re going on with the Haitanis.”

Shika had a point, and you hated that she did. “Okay, you got me there. I guess I can try to lie my way through it. If he beats me up, it’ll be nothing new.” You shrugged. “I also heard from Nezumi that my regulars are getting antsy.”

“They are. I did some of his—well, yours, I guess—jobs last week. They’re not happy dealing with new faces, and they want to call bullshit on you being sick.”

“Everything is going to hell,” you concluded after a long, ruminating pause. “They’re gonna have to figure out if I’m worth more than the money they’re gonna lose out on if the deals expire.”

“Suzaku announced at the last division meeting that he was looking for your replacement. They’d take your regular route and form some kind of bond with them.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, Suzaku said something about someone promising to pull more money than you ever did.”

“Big words,” you muttered.

“We all thought so too. Aside from me, Hato, and Nezumi, people were furious that someone who they’ve never met was just going to step into the top spot. They were all clamoring about how they had been doing their jobs longer and they deserved a ‘promotion’.” Shika’s sarcasm combined with the air quotes drew a small laugh out of you. “It’s like they think this is some boring nine-to-five office job.”

“I think it would be good to go visit Suzaku,” you said. “I want answers. And I want to meet my replacement.”

You heard Shika sigh loudly. “Fine,” she said. “But eat breakfast first.”

Every day was a new opportunity to piss Suzaku off. You could see in his head that he was delivering you to hell himself, but you just smiled and waved. “I started getting lonely, you know,” you said. “And stir crazy. I don’t want to stay cooped up anymore.”

Suzaku leaned back in his oversized, cracked leather chair and looked at the ceiling. His lips moved in a quiet countdown then he took a deep breath and sat back up. “They’re Kirin’s direct commands,” he said.

“Does Kirin know you’re on the verge of losing some of the regulars I brought in?”

Suzaku sucked in a sharp breath. “You heard about that?”

“People talk,” you said. “And I have friends now, they tell me everything. Looks like your hands are tied. Who’s my replacement? Am I just going to play prisoner with my debts frozen for an indeterminate amount of time? Seems like a waste.”

“We’re waiting on more information,” Suzaku started carefully. You knew immediately he was talking out of his ass. No more orders had been given and Suzaku was hoping some vague excuse was enough to keep you from asking.

“You’re lying,” you said simply. “There’s been no other orders or information. Did Kirin even tell you the real reason I’m locked up?”

“He didn’t have to tell me,” Suzaku growled through gritted teeth. “We already have an idea of who’s after you. Genbu’s men have been busy lately, gathering intel so we can get you back on the street.”

“Who’s after me?” you asked boldly.

“You wouldn’t gain anything from knowing.” Suzaku’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not someone you’ve heard of.”

“If they’re after me, I deserve to know.”

“You don’t deserve shit!” Suzaku lunged so fast you flinched. His fist slammed down on his sturdy desk and he glared at you. Real, genuine anger burned behind his eyes and it knocked you down a few pegs. You took a subtle step back, but you weren’t leaving without answers.

“Who are they?” you asked again. You decided to push your luck with a white lie. “They’ve all got the same tattoo, the endless knot or whatever? I saw it on one of the guys in the fake deal.”

You watched Suzaku’s resolve falter. You almost thought about revealing what Miko told you, but you weren’t about to endanger her. Suzaku flopped back in his chair. He put his arm over his eyes. You took advantage of his silence and pushed on, “What do they want from me? How do they know about me?”

“Lotus,” Suzaku sounded tired. You would’ve pitied him had he not contributed to the downfall of your youth. “What benefit does that information give you?”

I can pass information on to the Haitanis, you thought. Out loud you said, “If they’re going to be a persistent problem, then I deserve to know before I get back out there. It’s been a while and I’m still being held hostage in my own apartment. You haven’t found out shit. You know I’m good about snooping around. I could—”

“Nobody else will be familiar with them,” Suzaku cut you off. “As far as anyone knows, they’re ghosts that haunt Kirin. Stray members who off themselves after they’ve said their piece.”

“They were trying to break me with Hifumi’s and Kichiro’s deaths. There was no reason to kill them. They communicated through a third party and would know nothing about the true culprits,” you pointed out. “I’m good at what I do, but I’m not that well known.”

“The boys were an unfortunate loss,” Suzaku said, almost sounding like he was sorry. “They got tangled up into something bigger than them, and it caught up. Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t want Shika, Nezumi, or definitely-Hato harmed because of their involvement with me,” you said. “They’re your other top runners, so you can’t risk them as well.”

The four of you were at the top for a reason. You weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. You did what was necessary to pull in money. Others in the division may covet your positions, but they didn’t have the wits, determination, or guts to be at the top. They wouldn’t be able to adapt as quickly as you four. Suzaku was already down to three of his top four, and his number one was in isolation. Wuxing was going to take a hit they couldn’t afford, literally and figuratively, if things kept up like this. You had to play this in your favor. How could you spin it so this information is going to help you? You could make a bargain. You were pretty good at that.

“Rumor has it you’ve found a replacement for me,” you said. Suzaku’s eyes narrowed, but you ignored him and went on, “I will personally train them and then stay cooped up as long as you need me to. Just tell me who’s after me and why, or at least, why you think they’re after me. They know about my family, and that’s not common knowledge.”

At least Suzaku had the decency to look torn about making a decision. “He has been running with Nezumi,” he started, keeping the name of your replacement to himself.

“But my regulars don’t like Nezumi. They made a deal with me, so they want to do business with me. If I personally endorse this newcomer, they’ll be more accepting. I pass the baton to the new guy and retire until further notice, and you tell me what the fuck you know.”

“Allow me to make a call,” Suzaku said, standing up and swiping his burner off his desk. He strode past you and out the heavy door, which slammed behind him.

The door cracked open and you saw Shika looking around the corner. You had asked her to stay outside because it made you feel better. She was also going to be back up if you and Suzaku got into one of your regular screaming matches. You were overdue for one.

“He looks like you’ve got him cornered,” Shika said. “Shit must be real bad if he’s actually considering your bargain.”

“Shika, please,” you whined. “I know how he ticks and what cards to play. I can gamble with confidence against the boss.”

“And how many black eyes did that give you?”

“Well, I’ve only got two eyes so—”

Your banter was cut off when you heard Suzaku greet Shika. She simply dipped her head respectfully and moved out of sight. Suzaku walked into his office and behind his desk. He pulled open a few drawers and tossed an envelope on the desk. He then took a cigarette and a lighter from another drawer. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, before exhaling a cloud of smoke that made you cough.

“Take a seat,” he said, not looking at you. His hand gestured vaguely to the two straight-backed chairs in front of his desk. “I got clearance from Kirin to tell you very limited details. On top of your bargain, he wants you to add ten percent more to your debt.”

“Only ten percent?” That was news to you. You figured it’d be a higher percentage. You weren’t sure what you owed them anyway and it didn’t matter that much if you took on more. It would maybe cause problems when Kakucho tried to batter your freedom, but you doubted Wuxing would let you go so easily. Still, you had to hope or you’d find yourself splattered on the pavement.

With all the shit going on, the negotiation for your freedom would be pointless. But, if you passed along your duties and restored your business relationships, they wouldn’t really have a need for you. You figured they’d either shoot you in the head or let you walk free. If you had no gang affiliation, you wouldn’t be able to make new deals. It wasn’t like you were having any luck with them now.

Ten percent of your current, unknown but likely insurmountable, debt was a paltry sum to pay for information. Maybe Rokuhara could help you find some things out. They could help you put pieces together, but not without a price. What did you have to offer them? Maybe you should instead offer to work for Rokuhara instead of going for absolute freedom. It wasn’t easy to escape this life. And you’d take Kakucho over Suzaku any day. At the very least, you’d be free of Wuxing’s clutches. Nezumi and definitely-Hato were going to be released from their contracts soon, and Shika could leave any time she wanted as long as she tied up any loose ends. If you got out, you wanted to make sure they got out unscathed too.

“Fine,” you agreed. “What’s another drop in the bucket, eh?” You took a seat in the uncomfortable chair to your right and lazily crossed your legs. “So what can you tell me?”

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

[jams-sims]

(Here ya go I just posted my comment i left under Manly video here with some edits)

I was right! I'm not at all surprised by the mother saying, she can't believe Ashely brainwashed Andrew. Firstly Andrew isn't as weak as he lets on. The problem is it benefits him to play that role. I also find it super interesting she said she protected the kid after they killed that little girl. You'd think as a parent you'd want to talk to them. But throughout all the flashbacks it's always been just them two together. With Andrew sometimes being with other people. (it could be that our siblings here are unreliable narrators but even as we saw them interact with the mother she seems to stay constant with the memories we've seen.)

Jesus it off rips again, Ashely and her need to not have shit tossed back her way. That's why I said Andrew is less bad just because he thinks about shit. He is still bad but Ashely is constantly digging into him. Right after the parents are gone, she back to accusing him. She makes shit all the more difficult they had the easiest out!! Put their parents back in bed. Alive and in a coma you'd think it was a medical problem!

And Ashely in all her wisdom says no let's chop them up. They are chronically stupid, Ashley says she saw a sigh of relief coming from Andrew when she killed them. Yeah because it is usually him killing people and Ashely using it to blackmail and gaslight him afterward. It's a cycle and I'm shaking my phone because of it.

Andrew's withdrawal from Ashely during the dismemberment scene is telling. Because Ashely never validated any of Andrew's feelings whether that be his plans or worries. The "relationship" has become (even more so) lopsided. He no longer puts up a fight but that means he no longer communicates with her.

Ashely is more like her mother than she thinks. Only in the way she treats Andrew. They both see him as someone reliable but not much else. Someone they can lean on but not really take his emotions into account. Andy was someone she could manipulate full stop. Andrew is who Andy truly is while fighting for some type of autonomy. On the 1st bridge scene Andrews not joking when he says he wants to kill Ashely and then himself. And again Ashely brushes him off, he breaks down for her. "I only asked you for one thing Ashely." And I think that layered because after they killed the girl that liked him. Andrew gave up everything for Ashely, from the ice cream and the girlfriends. It was never enough that he said it even as a kid. Now that he reaching a breaking point and he asks for one thing from her she can't do it. (Andrew even proves my point when Manly picks to trust Andrew)

GOD DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE MOM AGAIN! (during a trust scene in the basement.)

INSTANTLY! When Andrew talks to her she says "I'm sorry for always making you look after her." I had a nano second of Oh that's a good start- AND THEN SHE FOLLOWED THAT SHIT UP WITH "DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS FOR ME ANDREW?" AAAAAHHHH

The only saving grace and I mean the only saving grace is. The mom fully stopped and said this is her fault, that she fucked up. I find it super interesting though with Andrew and I wanna know which one is more canon. Between the Accept and Decline. Accept Andrew admits to being stuck. He's not happy, but he will stick with Ashely (Codependence)

The decline is funny and the mom full out says "Are you fucking her?" because she can't think of another reason for him to do all this. (Again not fully realizing how fucked up it was to let him raise Ashely while also being a child himself. but also Andrew has stopped taking such a nose dive in his mood. It's lighter because Ashely trusted him.

The ending tho have way different vibes. Distinctly Ashley worries about two different things in one ending Ashley's worried about Andrew killing her because she has finally pushed him too far. In the more positive and light-hearted one. She worried Andrew had changed so much that he no longer needed her. That the thought of honeypotting him could make him stay. Because now Andrew is no longer spiraling and because he's more confidant and les remorseful he's mirroring her. It makes her upset. Both ending end with Andrew getting a mole on his hand with an eye. Which could mean a lot of things. That he is marked for a service later, that he has a tar soul but it hasn't hatched.

To go back to the "scene" they way yall were acting on tumblr you'd think that wasn't just a fuxkin wink from the devs. Which it was- thats all it was.

Andrew had the perfect reaction. It's a normal reaction, Ashley on the other hand thought it may have happened sooner or later and that's without Manly picking the never say never option. So the siblings are sibling it up without it being weird.

But what really gets me is what ending is considered Canon or is it up to the audiences to pick. (also if you reading this hot mess tell me what ending do you think is canon) It's clear the Bad end is tied to not trusting Andrew. I'm assuming that's what the skulls mean. A more natural ending comes from Andrew's growth. Because instead of it being Ashely worried about death. She worried about him leaving which would fit her narrative more. Although I like angry Andrew ending.

[luxe-in-luxury]

Come Home to Cake

Kaveh comes home, bruised and bloody. Al Haitham is worried.

Tw: Slight mention of Blood.

There are three facts that only Kaveh knows about Al Haitham.

Fact one: Al Haitham is a terrible cook. Give him an egg, a pan and a stove, and he’ll somehow manage to turn a perfectly good egg into a plate of charred ashes.

Fact two: Despite Fact one, Al Haitham is a fantastic baker.

Fact three: Al Haitham absolutely hates it when Kaveh comes home, bloody, bruised, injured. Like how he is now, stumbling through the door, a poorly wrapped bandage at his side, the white fabric turning red.

“How?” Al Haitham stood up in a flash, grabbing at his lover’s arm, worry flooding through his eyes.

“Eremites…They ambushed me.” Kaveh winced, the sudden pull on his arm sending a shock though his wound. “I thought I was helping an injured woman all alone in the desert, but I came close and those fuckers jumped me.”

“You shouldn’t have been so kind. Where are your bags, your mora, your work?” Al Haitham let go of his lover’s arm, not wanting to hurt him further.

“What?” Kaveh turned his head, angrily looking Al Haitham in the eyes, ignoring his question. “I shouldn’t have been so kind? Are you being serious? Do you even know me? What if she was actually injured?”

“But she wasn’t and now you’re the one who’s injured.” Al Haitham stepped away, returning a second later, first aid kit in hand.

“I rather risk getting robbed than ignore someone who’s in trouble.” Kaveh snatched the first aid kit from Al Haitham. “And since you can’t care about injured people, I won’t bother you with my wounds.”

Kaveh limped into his room, slamming the door behind him. Al Haitham sighed, before knocking on his door.

“Kaveh? It would be better if you let me help you with your wounds. You’re in pain and-”

“Leave me alone!” Kaveh shouted from behind the door. “I don’t want to see you!”

There was silence for a while, before Al Haitham wordlessly headed to the kitchen, gathering the flour, sugar, eggs, and all the other ingredients one would need to bake. He busied himself in the kitchen, hearing the occasional noises of pain coming from inside the room, most likely Kaveh’s wounds hurting as he applied alcohol on them.

It wasn’t long till Al Haitham knocked on Kaveh’s door again.

“I told you to leave me alone!” Came Kaveh’s voice from inside.

“I made you a cake. At least take a look at it.”

The door cracked open, as Kaveh popped his head out. Indeed, Al Haitham was holding a slice of Strawberry Shortcake. A strawberry rested at the top, surrounded by little blobs of cream. Underneath, a layer of cream and sliced strawberries was sandwiched between two layers of fluffy pieces of cake. Al Haitham even prepared a napkin, nicely folded and placed at the side, for Kaveh.

Kaveh huffed.

“Do you think you can make me less angry with one slice of cake? Well, you thought wron-”

“The rest of the cake is in the living room.” Al Haitham interrupted.

Kaveh stared at Al Haitham for a second.

“You thought correct.”

Kaveh walked out of his room, his bandages having been changed, but still too loose for Al Haitham’s liking.

The rest of the night was spent with Kaveh eating his cake, delighted by the sweet taste, and Al Haitham busy retying Kaveh’s bandages, making sure they were nice and secure.

“I apologise for telling you that you shouldn’t have been so kind. You are always so selfless and charitable, and that’s a good thing, but I worry about you. You came back to me today, even though you were deceived by eremites, but what if one day you don’t return? What if one day your kindness lead you to your death? “ Al Haitham said, holding Kaveh’s hand. “Losing your mora to scams is one thing, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I lost you.”

Kaveh squeezed Al Haitham’s hand in return. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so dramatic. I just-” He sighed. “I couldn’t just leave her there. But I promise you. I’ll always come back home to you. “

Al Haitham gently hugged his lover, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe I could come with you on your next expedition. I’ll protect you. Make sure you’ll come home.”

Kaveh laughed. “Don’t you have Grand Sage duties to attend to?”

Al Haitham simply shrugged. “If Sumeru could survive with such an incompetent Grand Sage like Azar, Sumeru can survive a few days without me. “

“Haitham!” Kaveh playfully hit his chest, smiling. “If we come home and Sumeru is a mess because you aren’t here, I’ll hit you.”

“That’s okay. All I need is you to come home to me. All I need is you.”

An hour later, a small slice of the cake was all that was left on the table, as Kaveh fell asleep in Al Haitham’s arms, exhausted. Al Haitham covered the cake up, before carrying Kaveh princess style to their bedroom, turning off the lights in the living room. He’ll deal with the last slice tomorrow, but for now, all that mattered was his lover in his arms.

Inspired by this lovely art by @fairy-deliveryy

Also crossposted to Ao3 💗

[bestgirlinc]

The Perfect Soundtrack in a game.

Hey Folks, Wanted to talk about something important to me, music.

See, Music in my opinion is probably one of the most important things in games. It sets the tone, tells a story and sets one of the biggest impressions on the game.

From Serious games to less than serious ones. From MUSIC to Atmosphere and everything in between, video games RELY on their soundtracks more than many realize.

But One question on my mind: What makes the PERFECT Soundtrack?

Well I obviously think that is subjective. Naturally that's up to everyone's own individual opinions.

Mine though? It's pretty simple. It has to work as both a Soundtrack to a game, AND, it has to work as an album. The Soundtrack has to work in both regards and be uplifted in different ways in both regards. Naturally I want to give examples.

Silent Hill 2 is often considered the best in the series, but as far as Music is concerned I think it takes the silver trophy. The Soundtrack is great, genuinely amazing. But the problem with it is that a lot of it feels more just atmosphere than it does music. Take this for example:

This is Ashes and Ghost, a song used for the Blue Creek Apartments section when enemies are around. Is it bad? No, far from it, it works perfect for the game. Sets up the atmosphere great and is an overall great song IN GAME. But it isn't listenable. Mostly just scary atmosphere to me.

But of course, let's also add my favorite:

The Melancholic tone, the guitar that that drives it, the garage tone to the whole thing. It makes it feel more natural and real. The song is down to earth and homey. Perfect for the tone the games give of real people delving into hell (metaphorically speaking)

Now, Does SH3 have atmosphere songs to? Yes, Yes it does. BUT here's the thing. The Soundtrack works though. For the actual SOUNDTRACK, they trim the fat and make it a full actual album. Yeah, I think this counts. To me, if they put the thought of which ones to put in it for you. That works too. The soundtrack's melodic tunes used actually fit a full album. Listen to is and you feel like you have both a great OST and a great album. Here's my favorite.

The Way the song perfectly explains Heather's emotions and pain. The way it epitomizes how much the pain has changed her in just a single night. The way the song sets up all of the emotions. Utterly perfect song, for a near perfect game. Silent Hill 2 and 3 both could be considered perfect, but I give the gold to 3 as it feels like it tried a little harder to be listenable than 2.

Bloodborne is another perfect one to me. The soundtrack is gothic in nature and every boss has a unique song that fits the boss perfectly (Except the Chalice bosses, but we don't count them). The Songs are all amazingly done and fit the game so well, telling the story of the characters perfectly often without any words at all. Here's 2 of my favorites:

This song is why I am giving 2 songs here. This one is very good and super haunting, for many acting as the END GAME'S FINAL BOSS THEME. It's quiet and scary and is a song that you've heard a few times before even all the way back in the beginning of the game. You were MEANT to fight this boss. This is what you were put here to do. You never had a choice as you realize it had been a leitmotif* the whole time in the game.

This song is the epitome of what Bloodborne's music is like. Haunting, intense, intimidating and perfect. Lady Maria stands tall as the Postergirl for the whole DLC expansion: The Old Hunters. Her Song becoming even more haunting when the lyrics are translated (A rare luxury in FromSoft games) Telling the tale of how this whole thing with the fishing village happened and the regret she feels. She isn't a bad guy, she isn't trying to kill you for a bad reason. She just want you to back off and not repeat HER mistake. That whole thing makes an extra layer of sadness to her theme, especially for me who more than repeated it by joining her family's group.

Many out there will wonder which FF soundtrack I think is perfect and while I will tell you my favorite one right after, just for fun. I think this is the best soundtrack they made. Trigger is more the fan favorite but it's soundtrack has some pop culture songs in it which takes me out of it (Robo's theme being the obvious example). This Soundtrack though, oh it fits so well. Not a single song misses the mark. The Music feeling like you've entered into the tropical world of the El Nido archipelago. The composer researching how the music in these places are like to properly recreate it for the soundtrack being the icing on the cake. Here my favorite:

The Opening song accompanying the opening movie paints a picture of the grand journey you are about to go on, and the vast array of unique locations. The Song is beautiful and unique and feels like a song straight out of the world itself, I get lost every time I listen to it.

The swan song for the Turn Based RPG era of Final Fantasy. Final Fantasy X's music plays a pivotal role in the game and fittingly is genuinely beautiful. Feeling like a mixture of sci-fi, Religious and Tropical. The Soundtrack features many amazing beats worth remembering and listening to. I often get lost in the songs. That said not all are album worth and so it's not what I choose as Perfect. But damn is it so close it might as well be.

Auron being the (in my opinion) Best character in the game, if not series, naturally his song is my favorite. He's a man who epitomizes the themes of letting go of the traditions that hold us back and hurt us, and embracing a future where we work towards true happiness. He's the kind of character who I love to cheer and cry about. His music fits him so well that by itself I cry a bit

Of Course I was going to add a fighting game soundtrack. Killer instinct is an amazing special case in fighting game soundtracks. All the songs feel like genuine songs out of an AMAZING album. Each song having a unique feel that explains the character perfectly in every way. Now many love the soundtrack, but why Killer Instinct? Because while I love Guilty Gear's soundtrack as a Silver medal, the soundtrack is poorly mixed in game. Baiken's theme being the best example. I'd show you but it's hard to show via article. But KI does things differently. The soundtrack is dynamic and flows with the flow of combat, making it perfect on that regard alone. On top of that there is the in game mix and the Album mix. Both being great, but the thought to make an album mix makes it all the better. Here's My favorite:

This song is often considered the best in the game. I'm Back to Rise is such a well made song. It's intense and epic while simultaneously tells the story of who TJ Combo is. You get to know him JUST FROM THE SONG ALONE, but you don't sacrifice gameplay. Honestly, I love this OST so much it was the first game soundtrack I actually BOUGHT.

Finally the one that surprises people the most when I tell people: The Sims. The Sims has this great relaxing atmosphere designed to fit in with the retro 60s aesthetic of the game itself. The music is jazzy but in like a GOOD smooth jazz sorta way, while including appropriate other songs when necessary. I often listen to it when I'm out, blending in well with my day to day, while not hindering me like louder soundtracks. Here's my favorite:

Now to me, this shit is so fucking relaxing. I get lost in the beautiful piano solo. I just want to lay down and relax and read a good book, maybe grab a cup of tea with honey and just... relax... Which is perfect for the game. It wants you to feel like that for the fun doll house aesthetic. Building a house in late stage capitalism has never been more fun.

I hope this has been a fun look into my mind and hopefully helped prove my point on what I think makes a perfect soundtrack. If not I hope you at least had fun. Do you have games YOU think have perfect soundtracks? Tell me! I'd love to hear your opinions on what is the BEST Gaming soundtrack!

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Does this make any sense?

He sat across from her like it was nothing unusual, positioning his dinner tray in front of him with practiced ease.  Beatrice noticed numbly that every item on said tray was meat: the same roast chicken that she had, along with marinated beef tips and a bowl of what appeared to be cooked rabbit livers.  She couldn’t tell exactly what was in his drink cup, but by the smell she guessed that it was dairy-based and likely alcoholic.

There was nothing remotely plant-based anywhere near him.  The tray was plastic, his utensils were stainless steel, and his clothes were entirely made of polyester.  The table was metal, painted over with a layer of matte white paint, and it was placed far away from the food lines themselves, so that his anomalous influence couldn’t affect them.

Beatrice looked down at her own tray, watching as her green beans quietly deteriorated in their bowl, turning first to amorphous green mush and then into a pile of damp, clumpy ash.  He followed her line of sight and gave her a small, sheepish grin.

“My apologies,” he said.  “I didn’t notice those on your tray, else I would have waited to approach you until you had eaten them.  If you tell the canteen staff, I know they will be happy to replace them.”

Beatrice stared at him.  He speared a beef tip on his fork and started to chew on it.  His wrist moved the same as a human’s, and his teeth and jawbone seemed to be organic, but this only served to exacerbate the animal anxiety stirring in her chest.  The “uncanny valley” was a term so overused in modern contexts as to be rendered meaningless, but it was the only one she had to adequately describe this situation.  This “man”, this cyborg, was just human enough to call attention to his differences, and those differences were all the more extreme for how little he seemed to acknowledge them.  He continued to eat without a care, picking up one of the livers with no fear for how the butter might grease his fingers or slip into the fulcrums of his joints.  He simply licked them clean with evident enjoyment before reaching for another.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence, him eating and her watching, but eventually he paused to acknowledge her dumbfounded expression.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Doctor?” He asked, frowning.  “That was not my intention.  I can sit elsewhere, if you would prefer.”  Though his voice was monotone, it still managed to convey concern, enough to help her find her tongue again.

“No,” she denied quietly.  “It’s quite alright.”  She inhaled slowly and took five seconds to get ahold of herself.  So she was having dinner with an SCP.  Was that so unexpected?  This was site 17, after all.  Her orientation instructor had highlighted the fact that some of the residents were allowed the privilege of eating with site personnel.  Ava wasn’t allowed, but several others were, including the one sitting across from her.  Clearly, that meant the Foundation found his presence among their staff acceptable.  He was polite and considerate.  She could surely be the same.  “I apologize, you just caught me by surprise.”

“An understandable reaction,” he conceded.  “I know that my appearance can cause confusion and alarm.”  He grinned wryly.  “I learned to accept that a very long time ago, but I still appreciate those who look past my… peculiarities.  I assure you I can be charming company if you let me.”

[7r0773r]

Late Wife by Claudia Emerson

Natural History Exhibits

I. Sometimes they used the hoe, or the dull blade of a shovel, a stick of firewood, sometimes the handle of the broom. I grew up around women who would kill any snake, never mind what the men said about moles and mice, about markings or the shape of the head— the good ones, harmless. Draping the body over a low branch, my mother would claim, still breathless from the killing, rain, this will bring rain.

II. In this city's museum, beyond the rooms of taxidermy, past the lit cases of arrowheads and spearpoints, snakes are kept in bright glass cells— a whole wall of them, a live mural glistening, changing — the harmless by the deadly. I recognize without reading the sign the black rat snake; I know already that it kills not by sudden poison but wraps itself instead around its prey, then tightens that embrace until it feels the fear leave with the struggle, then the breath— until the constricted heart grows still.

III. It had to have come up from the cool underbelly of the first old house we rented, climbing pipes like branches to make a nest of the rusty sink-cabinet drawer where I kept the silverware. I opened it, and the snake lay coiled, brooding on its bed of edges —blades and tines— the hard bone handles, a wedding gift from my mother's aunt. The snake never raised its head. I hesitated, then eased shut the drawer. Later, I would wash every fork, spoon, and knife— and set the table.

IV. I know now I should have killed the snake and hung its long body as straight in death as the glistening barrel of a gun. I was young, new in my marriage-bed, but regret was al- ready sunk sharp in me. Like any blade, it would grow dull slowly. The wound would heal around it until its absence would cause the greater pain. A good story, though, how I let the snake escape, drain back into the house, and for years I told at that same table what I had to tell, how it disappeared the way it came.

***

Chimney Fire

I learned to dread winter early, before fall showed any real sign of itself, the world still filled

with locusts, crickets, bees in the boneset, ashen moths quickening the dusk. Then around the time the hickory nuts

began to fall— the tree far larger than the house and fertile with sharp husks that struck, and struck again, startling

the tin roof and me beneath it— I began to dread as well the silence I knew would come yoked

to the cold. By then, you'd cut and stacked the wood, cleaned out the stove. In late afternoons, we scoured

the undergrowth for fatwood—skeletal sap for lighting the fire you rarely let go out. Every night you'd close

the stove down tight before we went upstairs, and the meager heat from that slow burn might keep the pipes

from freezing, but it wouldn't reach the bedroom where we slept beneath layers leaden as water that would not

float me, dense as mud beneath that water. In the morning, all our breathing had turned to ice,

blooming like white lichen on the insides of the windowpanes. One night, one winter, nearing spring, the fire would not

be kept; the chimney caught it, and we watched, heard it pour up into the tree the fire would have consumed

with the house, if it had burned much longer. But slowly the flames turned back, receded to the familiar—rise of smoke, banked coals,

my eyes, my mouth filled with ashes.

***

Pitching Horseshoes

Some of your buddies might come around for a couple of beers and a game, but most evenings, you pitched horseshoes

alone. I washed up the dishes or watered the garden to the thudding sound of the horseshoe in the pit,

or the practiced ring of metal against metal, after the silent arc-end over end. That last

summer, you played a seamless, unscored game against yourself. Or night falling. Or coming in the house.

You were good at it. From the porch I watched you become shadowless, then featureless, until I knew

you couldn't see either, and still the dusk rang out, your aim that easy; between the iron stakes you had driven

into the hard earth yourself, you paced back and forth as if there were a decision to make, and you were the one to make it.

***

Frame

Most of the things you made for me—armless rocker, blanket chest, lap desk—I gave away to friends who could use them and not be reminded of the hours lost there, the tedious finishes.

But I did keep the mirror, perhaps because like all mirrors, most of these years it has been invisible, part of the wall, or defined by reflection—safe—because reflection,

after all, does change. I hung it here in the front, dark hallway of this house you will never see, so that it might magnify the meager light, become a lesser, backward

window. No one pauses long before it. This morning, though, as I put on my coat, straightened my hair, I saw outside my face its frame you made for me, admiring for the first

time the way the cherry you cut and planed yourself had darkened, just as you said it would.

***

Second Bearing, 1919

for my father

I have asked him to tell it—how he heard the curing barn took hours

to burn, the logs thick, accustomed to heat—how, even when it was clear all

was lost, the barn and the tobacco fields within it, they threw water

instead on the nearby peach tree, intent on saving something, sure,

though, the heat had killed it, the bark charred black. But in late fall, the tree

broke into bloom, perhaps having misunderstood the fire to be

some brief, backward winter. Blossoms whitened, opened. Peaches appeared

against the season—an answer, an argument. Word carried. People

claimed the fruit was sweeter for being out of time. They rode miles to see it.

He remembers my grandfather saying, his mouth full, this is

a sign, and the one my father was given to eat— the down the same,

soft as any other, inside the color of cream, juice clear

as water, but wait, wait; he holds his cupped hand up as though for me

to see again there is no seed, no pit to come to—that it is

infertile, and endless somehow.