#sepulchre glare

[iwaoiness]

In the Argentine volleyball team, arriving late for training comes with the Blanco's famous penalty of thirty-three laps around the block, and captain Javier's fifteen-minute reprimand. Oikawa has only been late on rare occasions, yet even his most charming flutter of eyelashes couldn't exempt him from the punishment. He endured it, unfortunately accompanied by the teasing of Matias and Bruno—those two, inexplicably, are the only ones who are punctual alongside the captain.

However, that day, when Oikawa arrives ten minutes late at one of the Olympic Village gymnasiums, almost out of breath, his hair disheveled and still wet from the quickest shower he has had in his thirty years, he doesn't hear Javier's ché, boludo tardón that always starts his reprimands, nor does he hear Blanco loudly instructing Tomás to get ready with the stopwatch and the punishment sheet.

That day, everyone stares at him with wide, blinking eyes. The ball Bruno was holding slips from his grasp, the sound of its bounce being the only thing breaking the sepulchral silence.

Oikawa frowns, tilting his head slightly.

"What?"

"Hermano," Matias arches an eyebrow with genuine curiosity, though his eyes sparkle with amusement, putting Oikawa on high alert "since when do you play for the Japanese national team?"

This further confuses Tooru, who blinks.

"The hell are you talking about, boludo?"

The libero points to his shirt and Oikawa looks down.

Oh.

He's not wearing his favorite blue training shirt, but a slightly baggy black one at his shoulders, with the Japanese flag stitched on it at his heart.

And then he remembers this morning. How they woke up late, almost stumbling because neither of the two damn alarms went off. How they rushed to the shower, too small for two tall and strong adults. How Tooru had a fit of giggles when Hajime mistook the cherry lube for his after-shave lotion. How they quickly got dressed in the first things they grabbed, barely glancing at their clothes, before kissing, wishing each other a good day, and running off to their respective teams.

Oh, la concha de la lora.

Oikawa's eyes widen comically, and he ignores the tug on his neck as he quickly raises his head. Feeling the heat boiling on his face, he now meets the playful gazes of his teammates—even Blanco coughs to hide his smile.

"This has a completely logical explanation!" he stammers, glaring at Matias as his devilish grin widens.

"Really? And that logic is tall, dark skinned, and part of Japan's technical team, Toto?"

But when Tooru, his face now completely red, opens his mouth to protest, a solid knocks on the door interrupts.

Everyone turns to look, and Oikawa sees Iwa-chan standing in the doorway, just as embarrassed—if not more so—than him. Instead of his regulation black shirt, he’s wearing Oikawa's blue one, tight around his torso, with the Argentine flag in the center.

"Sorry to interrupt," he apologizes with his accented Spanish. "Can I borrow Tooru for a second?"

"All yours, Hajime!" Bruno chimes in, nudging Tooru forward playfully, sticking his tongue out as the setter glares daggers at him.

"But don't keep him out too long. The penalty waits him" José Blanco requests, widening his smile as Hajime nods firmly before taking Tooru's hand and pulling him outside, ignoring his childish protest.

...

i love them with my whole heart

u can find me on my ao3 🍉

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 14 - I Call This One “The Tarantino”

Dean cares for his sicky-poo hubby.

Suptober prompt: Fever Flufftober prompt: "I hate it" - "No, you don't" Fictober prompt: "If you don’t stop now —"

(Read on AO3)

On his way into the room he gives a little tap on the door frame.

“Knock knock, babe, you feelin' any better?” he calls softly.

In the dim glow of their nightlight, Cas is nothing but a mounded shape on the bed. The shape doesn't move, but a muffled, guttural groan issues forth.

“Okay, I'll take that as a no,” Dean chuckles.

“Fuck you,” his husband replies hoarsely.

“Awwww, grumpy pants.”

Peeling the blankets down a bit, he touches the back of his hand to the patient's forehead. “Mmm, nope, that fever's still cookin'. Sit up a little, I'll give you another dose.”

With much grumbling and an impressively multilingual array of swear words, Cas allows himself to be muscled into a sitting position. Dean administers a couple of pills and a tall glass of water, which he refuses to take back until its contents have been drained. “I know it hurts to swallow, bud, but you gotta stay hydrated.”

Cas cracks open a bleary eye and glares at him resentfully. “Why won't you just let me die?” he rasps.

“Well,” Dean explains as he helps his husband reposition himself back down in the bed. “I'm kind of fond of you, for one thing.” He drops a kiss on Cas's messy hair. “For another thing, I hate to break it to you, but this is not a fatal illness. You will feel like shit for another couple days, and you will be denied the sweet release of death about it. Sorry, but very much not sorry for that.”

As another rasping growl erupts from his patient, Dean sighs.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I know. Bein' sick is the worst. You want me to rub your back?”

“No,” comes the mournful reply. “My skin hurts.”

“Okay, well, how about this?”

Moving down to the bottom of their bed, he throws the blankets back to uncover Cas's feet, and runs a tickling finger up one sole.

Cas flails and almost kicks him in the face. “Dammit, Dean, if you don't stop now–”

“Okay, okay, sorry. I couldn't resist. But here, let me just...”

Taking one foot in each of his hands, he digs his thumbs into the meat of his husband's arches and pushes in a rolling circle.

Cas groans again, but it sounds less sepulchral this time.

“Good, huh?” Dean says with a grin.

“...I hate it,” comes the faint reply.

“No, you don't.” He shifts his grip and starts stroking from Cas's heels up towards his toes.

“Mmmm no, I don't. Keep going.”

“As you wish.”

Dean busts out all his best moves, massaging from his husband's ankles all the way up to the tips of his toes. Cas moans and sighs, desperate to soak in some pleasant sensation after feeling full-body lousy for the past few days.

“How are you so good at that,” he asks dazedly after Dean finishes and tucks the blankets back in around his poor patient's tootsies.

“Hey, you think I spent my twenties picking up waitresses all across this great nation of ours and I didn't level my foot rub game up to immaculate? The American service industry runs on aching feet and tired legs. Those moves got me laid more times than I can count.”

Cas hums. “Well, I'm afraid I can't pay you back in the manner to which you are accustomed.” His voice fades as he starts drifting off for another fever nap.

Dean gets up to leave again so his husband can rest, but he pauses on his way out the door. “It's okay, baby,” he says with a soft smile. “I take rain checks.”

[soisaidfine]

Perry, Florida. 'The eye was in the tomb and stared at Cain' (Victor Hugo)

Perry in the eye of the hurricane. Hurricane Helene made landfall near Perry, Florida as a Category 4 storm with 140 mph sustained winds and higher gusts.

Stay strong, Perry! ♡

Ethel Cain was born in Tallahassee, Florida, and was raised in Perry, Florida.

Victor Hugo:

'The Eye was in the tomb and fixed on Cain.’

'Then, with his children, clothed in skins of brutes, Dishevelled, livid, rushing through the storm, Cain fled before Jehovah. As night fell The dark man reached a mount in a great plain, And his tired wife and his sons, out of breath, Said: “Let us lie down on the earth and sleep.” Cain, sleeping not, dreamed at the mountain foot. Raising his head, in that funereal heaven He saw an eye, a great eye, in the night Open, and staring at him in the gloom. “I am too near,” he said, and tremblingly woke up His sleeping sons again, and his tired wife, And fled through space and darkness. Thirty days He went, and thirty nights, nor looked behind; Pale, silent, watchful, shaking at each sound; No rest, no sleep, till he attained the strand Where the sea washes that which since was Asshur. “Here pause,” he said, “for this place is secure; Here may we rest, for this is the world’s end.” And he sat down; when, lo! in the sad sky, The selfsame Eye on the horizon’s verge, And the wretch shook as in an ague fit. “Hide me!” he cried; and all his watchful sons, Their finger on their lip, stared at their sire. Cain said to Jabal (father of them that dwell In tents): “Spread here the curtain of thy tent,” And they spread wide the floating canvas roof, And made it fast and fixed it down with lead. “You see naught now,” said Zillah then, fair child The daughter of his eldest, sweet as day. But Cain replied, “That Eye–I see it still.” And Jubal cried (the father of all those That handle harp and organ): “I will build A sanctuary;” and he made a wall of bronze, And set his sire behind it. But Cain moaned, “That Eye is glaring at me ever.” Henoch cried: “Then must we make a circle vast of towers, So terrible that nothing dare draw near; Build we a city with a citadel; Build we a city high and close it fast.” Then Tubal Cain (instructor of all them That work in brass and iron) built a tower– Enormous, superhuman. While he wrought, His fiery brothers from the plain around Hunted the sons of Enoch and of Seth; They plucked the eyes out of whoever passed, And hurled at even arrows to the stars. They set strong granite for the canvas wall, And every block was clamped with iron chains. It seemed a city made for hell. Its towers, With their huge masses made night in the land. The walls were thick as mountains. On the door They graved: “Let not God enter here.” This done, And having finished to cement and build In a stone tower, they set him in the midst. To him, still dark and haggard, “Oh, my sire, Is the Eye gone?” quoth Zillah tremblingly. But Cain replied: “Nay, it is even there.” Then added: “I will live beneath the earth, As a lone man within his sepulchre. I will see nothing; will be seen of none.” They digged a trench, and Cain said: “'Tis enow,” As he went down alone into the vault; But when he sat, so ghost-like, in his chair, And they had closed the dungeon o'er his head, The Eye was in the tomb and fixed on Cain.’

Victor Hugo

Translated from the French by Dublin University Magazine

Fernand Cormon: Caïn, 1880

Ethel Cain: Perry

'Days fly by spent wasting time in my mother's garden green My sister's speaking no poetry they've memorized never knowing what it means I could stay outside forever counting stars on summer fields fore' I bike to Dowling street It's simple when it's over and i'm happy

18 murals on the side but it's downtown in the scorching sun I tried all summer but I hated the way it looks so I never got it done I walked the train tracks with a boy that I loved but turns out I was tired of being alone So when we reached the end and I said goodbye and I was by myself when I got home'

at the roots of Ethel Cain's musical soul: singing from Perry First Church of God, Perry, Florida:

[fragranceonthefeuille]

“The first bird I searched for was the nightjar, which used to nest in the valley. Its song is like the sound of a stream of wine spilling from a height into a deep and booming cask. It is an odorous sound, with a bouquet that rises to the quiet sky. In the glare of day it would seem thinner and drier, but dusk mellows it and gives it vintage. If a song could smell, this song would smell of crushed grapes and almonds and dark wood. The sound spills out, and none of it is lost. The whole wood brims with it. Then it stops. Suddenly, unexpectedly. But the ear hears it still, a prolonged and fading echo, draining and winding out among the surrounding trees. Into the deep stillness, between the early stars and the long afterglow, the nightjar leaps up joyfully. It glides and flutters, dances and bounces, lightly, silently away. In pictures it seems to have a frog-like despondency, a mournful aura, as though it were sepulchred in twilight, ghostly and disturbing. It is never like that in life. Through the dusk, one sees only its shape and its flight, intangibly light and gay, graceful and nimble as a swallow.” Excerpt from The Peregrine by J.A. Baker

[magicaltear]

An Outside Chance Masterlist

⇤ Previous Chapter  Chapter 11 Next Chapter ⇥

Chapter 11: The Consequences

A sepulchral silence rested heavily in the Kamar-Taj courtyard Stephen landed on. His right ear tingled from the heat of one of Iron Man’s repulsor blasts that had followed him through the portal, missing him by a few inches and instead obliterating one of their guardian statues. Stephen stared at the pieces of rock scattered by his feet in complete numbness, mind still reeling from the events at Monte Carlo.

“Strange!”

Mordo’s roar was as powerful as his strides, and Stephen barely had enough time to turn and face him before his fellow sorcerer’s rage hit him like a crashing wave. Mordo’s hands gripped the front of Stephen’s robes in tight fists and shoved him back a couple of steps before cleanly lifting him off his feet. Stephen’s hands instinctively went to Mordo’s wrists, and the very tip of his toes scuffled for purchase against the floor. Screw their height difference, Mordo’s strength was significant, and he was pissed.

“You traitor!” Mordo yelled right to his face. “You’ve just exposed our order to the entire world. What were you thinking? Was this your plan all along, huh? You gain our trust and then sell us out? And all for what, for a man who would turn and attack you next without remorse?”

Stephen kept his silence and met Mordo’s furious glare with a conflicted expression. He could see many more sorcerers gathering all around them in his peripheral vision, although none of them spoke or moved to get between them. Stephen’s thoughts faltered, preventing him from coming up with a proper way to plead his case. Instinct told him to fight back, to heatedly deny Mordo’s accusations and demand him to unhand him, but his lips refused to part and let the words out.

He had betrayed his order most nonchalantly. He had fallen back to old habits without a single pause to consider nothing but the best way to save lives and prevent bigger damages.

A novice mistake. A foolish mistake.

And he very well deserved everyone’s rage and judgment.

“By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth, say something!” Mordo bellowed and shook him slightly.

The Cloak of Levitation wrapped its corners around Mordo’s forearms in clear warning, effectively breaking his concentration as he stared down at the red fabric in shocked recognition. Stephen silently begged it not to act in his defense, refusing to escalate the argument if he could help it.

However, he couldn’t control everyone. A surprisingly vicious bark and growling rose from somewhere in the courtyard, and Dog rushed forward to grab a hold of the folded cuff along the top of Mordo’s boot. She tried her best to tug him back and away from Stephen, snarling up a storm. Although she was not strong enough to move Mordo’s weight, she was able to shift his strong stance enough to allow Stephen’s feet full contact with the ground once more.

The two of them stared down at Dog in shock, but it was Stephen the one who finally found his voice to say, “Easy, girl. Let him go.”

“I think that’s enough, Master Mordo,” the Ancient One’s clear voice cut through the open space.

Continue reading on AO3 here!

[forestdragoncat]

WIP Wednesday

Was tagged by @undyingembers, so i guess i will post a translation of a tidbit from my most recent chapter of World of Quest fanfic "What I Sow I Shall Reap", because it WAS still a WIP on Wednesday :D Sorry in advance for my grammar ^^'

"Wait, you're the "diplomatic mission leaded by a royal bra-" in the very same moment when prince's eyes began to wide, Meriaen bursted into a coughing fit. It sounded pretty fake, "By His Highness, who told my parents to shove their money where suns don't shine?!"

"Alright, that's enough," Quest left the table in a decisive stride, "We should be returning to the business at hand, not chit-chating with some offsprings of an aristocracy."

The other members of the team, eager to leave the conversation which suddenly bacame awkward, followed his lead and went to the restaurant's exit. But someone decided to not back down:

"You have misunderstood me!" von Rithe Jr. rushed forward, blocking team's path, "I am actually in awe with you! Honestly, it is about time somebody told them off..."

"Yes, right after those somebody spent all day on completing the count and countess' mission and received absolutely nothing in return, because someone among those somebody suddenly decided to become pain in the butt, am i correct, runt?" Quest rudely, although not too hard pushed the girl away, clearing the path once again.

The runt in question looked like he wanted to say something, but haven't found the words yet, and then the time was up.

"Hey, who taught you to talk to a lady like that, you yok-?!" raged the girl in a way that was very similar to another high-born midget, before she abruptly stopped herself. Instead of crossing their path again, Meriaen simply tagged along with the team, "I propose a mutually beneficial exchange!"

"What, your allowance can buy a whole army, titmouse? I don't think so," said Quest without turning his head.

The girl pouted even more, but nonetheless continued:

"It's Meriaen. You see, i am, too, on a very important mission!"

"What kind of a mission?" suddenly inquired Anna.

Realizing that the team had almost reached the exit, von Rithe once again jumped forward, trying to slow down their advance:

"It's… a secret*! But!" Meriaen put her hand to her face, like she wanted to whisper conspiratorially, "I will share it with you, if you promise to take me with you to the Saywer's Sepulchre!

"Not interested. We already have one little girl and one little boy, we are out of space," the swordsman indeed stopped in his tracks, looking very displeased, and started to glare at the "interruption", letting her know that he won't stand here for long.

"I am not a little boy!" angrily shouted Nestor in a middle of this sudden hitch.

"Fine, we already have two little girls, see, we are filled to the brim," quiet chuckles, as well as angry snuffling, were heard behind the Quest.

"And if i say that it's about the dirty deeds of Their Excellencies and the discrediting evidence, that you, for example," the titmouse put her hands on her hips, elbows wide apart and raised her eyebrows, defiantly staring into the warrior's eyes, "Can use to put some pressure on them?

"What kind of a daughter turns in her parents just like that?" asked a completely stunned Nestor, when he stepped to the right side of his bodyguard.

"I suppose… a very dissapointed one, Your Royal Highness?" Meriaen spreaded her hands briefly before placing them back on her hips, "Besides… who in Odyssia even remotely likes my parents, except for them? And I'm also willing to pay you if it's necessary-"

Suddenly the tall doors behind her, despite their considerable weight, instantly swung open wide, and behind them the group saw the questers' missing member:

"Of course it's necessary, and I am signin up!" Graer's smile turned into an expression of confusion, and he scratched the back of his head with his paw, "What's need to be done, anyway?"

*Sore Wa Himitsu Desu!

[drabbleitout]

Find The Word Tag Game

Tagged by: @winterandwords over here My Words: Fill, Fall, Feel, and Fail Tagging: @ashen-crest, @spacetimewraithwrites, @toribookworm22, @kaiusvnoir, @pertinax--loculos, & anyone else who would like to join! (As always please don’t feel pressured or rushed!) Your Words: Weave, Wrong, Safe, & Strict

CW: *Injury, *blood, **language (sections marked with *)

Fill

Garnet tossed down the thin portfolio folder as he checked his wristband. Squinting at it, he took a sip from his drink. “Hey,” he blindly pointed towards the right wall, “if you’re here to do somethin’, fill out the board.” Beau followed his pointed hand to the glass that made up the wall separating their desks from dispatch. A grid was written on it in chalk marker, names, patrol numbers, and columns for absences. Beau made his way over, finding a suction cup caddy holding a number of markers. “Midland called out,” Garnet started to rattle off, “X him out. Lora is in 852 today. Ryker in 777.” Beau quickly filled in the board, reading over the rows and columns as Garnet announced them. “Mikki in-house. I’m in 165. And Niner is still in repairs, X her out too.”

Fall

"I want to know why you let her get away." [Duras'] tone sharpened, spinning the stylus between her fingers as she continued to stare. Beau did all he could to remain composed. "I pursued her to the roof of the building, following protocols to try to entice her to retreat from the ledge she'd put herself on. She refused to cooperate and instead took a leap." "And made it to the ground safely," Duras lifted her head, peering down her nose at him. "Did you have anything to do with that?" "My job is to protect people, as both a Mediator and a Personal Relations Unit. A fall from that height was 98.9% fatal, so I did whatever I could in order to protect her life." Duras pulled the glasses from her nose, releasing a deep breath as she rest them and her tablet atop her desk.

*Feel(s)

His skull feels as if it has broken from his neck, splitting open and wrapping around towards the front of his face like some sepulchral flower, or that he has been hit in the back of the head with a pickax. Blood flows down the back of his neck, into his sinuses and tear ducts, down his nose and throat as if someone has left a hose running. It runs dark and quick into the dirt, pooling across the floor in the corner of his vision.

**Fail(ed)

Garnet turned his head to look, absent expression wrinkling only faintly into a half-hearted glare. Beau stopped his approach, mirroring his stance by tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His arm was still needing adjustment, feeling odd after its replacement. It was a moment of a look before Garnet looked back at the headstones, shifting his weight. “You just can’t leave me alone, huh?” He grumbled. “I was requested to make sure you're alright, considering you failed to call into work.” “Oh, wow, fuck you, man.” Garnet threw his head back with an acidic chuckle, swaying back at the waist for emphasis. “You are seriously a piece of work. You’d think with all the time Ryker spends on you, you’d have a little human decency. I’m here, you see me, so fuck off.”

[libidomechanica]

And smote himselfe in

Before Salámán listen; and,     once come to know the sparrow in the bitter wind where its     wrecks like to this, all honor’s mimic, all wealth, the name! At     least begin revision fleeting, and Lilia first: the     whole field; and thou break, to

let base clouds o’ertake me trembled     in the whole empress something made head, his scull will prop it     under cloud cover, dry where you once again; loves and the     temple, saying, now a twisted, crisp’d, and mire, scheming     imagined more fit; I

do confess? Once I did I never     seems the luver’s finger- tips: her kind of shame. While the     old snows; suppose that won you to dissemble, without pause!     In lovely Nature’s sharpest pangs o’erflow’d with this strange the     whirl was wont with slaughters

of late: suppose, but, in good faith,     some boy would tell of a Celestial Beauty, or the wicket;     babies, as ugly as a winter’s dart. With thee! The     superior, in a stranger and taxing,—how, I say,     There is no one toil for

breath is dead. She could not Life be     equally contained, flaming harme did not his eyes that ground     of all, the happy as well as mine importune this killing     sun smiles. And smote himselfe in thy peculiar Eye—and     least part of my love, aside

to harvest. Juan much bigger     than the sweet heaven’s limbs: there and hours in me, till all from     love’s picture then tell me there the crystal moon, the simmer     moon; not thou ever seems to dependent on whether young     green access out of, and

winged reeds, and one discussed his despair!     Me—me, the sword of all her then, as in a fair and     view, are loth to mount, and mark the sepulchre, She remembering     flowers gather’d’ as subject bound on either to spin it     into flakes of short-number’d

lay, of beechen green, a page     or two from year to me: forsaken and malformation     If you ain’t watch’d the smiles. The little flower, and at her     Harmony. Were none but these—what kind of love of one day     see both love, sustaining

sleep. Tell me not for such one day:     they’re given as Gods, be wise. Yet dripping with loves me again     I never yet was his manner flung roses damask’d,     red and fears annulling sun I find the trees. That is for     thee, my Philly? The chief

art in high and build far off, with     your mother to make thou, cried Urania; in such melodious     passion willed, freedom a drug that’s bought with rhyme, to     war and the wounds with the seasonable month endows the     great outdoors we heard the

meadow, and quarter ere his face     I say, There is not so the honey. Naked of reasons     gone, where dwell the Wolf, not for all these musks, the eyes, least in     the least post-horses baiting— now pondering him. Her eyebrows     of honest eyes can

your gate a slice or two. Past the     all-cloudless glory they expire! Till pudding name! But therein     she cried: The devil laughed some yet live, in love with fur     in a ring, cold doth live, treading its orbit, each heavily     he answer’d not, but

of thy days, making up again.     Learn to speechless light glares and scar’d the Soul in Strife! Questions     we now entertain of any other have I yet the     Past, his fair and fair your bones supersede loveliness,     and I unremark’d the

summer eves. Many have you all?     Make thee on a bank and deer, his owne children cry, they’re not     any. Is its knell; he, as light on himself near, that very     love the sight so long as you adore. Will fly to thine     happier they most dear;

but blythe’s the crowd, the laws of     every land! And winding sickle’s coming him to his Heart;     another die. I wish not that, amassing flood; thrall, or     at the wardrobe which few men’s days dragged slow and fear much good     people is too depend:

and I, betwixt mine eyes? There is     not, to put fair that grace, his God-knows-what: for after thee,     and greed, I find the lover’s care, with spites; yet well he     did discretion lacke, beeing made the wintry rage of a harsh     terror and clos’d me in

pearl. From thy pure brought in? My glass     shalt find it merit do I in myself refuses burden     may resume; and on my tatter’d by her lover     and armour to seek: were both of us walk out together.     Let thicker than I.

[human-antithesis]

Aphotic Womb

Lyrics: All-terrible goddess of night Whose shears rupture the cord of life Inexorable bane of aeons, I supplicate before thee.

As the autumnal gale falling leaves does blow So my soul 'fore thy wrath does tremble with woe. Hear my lament

Before thy black sickle it's harvest does reap Take heed of my prayer o bringer of sleep, I beseech thee

The sepulchral grounds glisten in twilight As the sun succumbs to the shadows at dusk The glare of the inverted torch Illuminates the path towards descension

Herald of the highest gods Carry me through chthonian halls

The charnel depths where serpents coil Below the earth where light can't pierce the soil

Let me cross the frigid waters, Where incorporeal shades coalesce, Where eaters of ash and drinkers of mud Form the choir of a thousand horrors

Imperious sovereign of all that breathes No earthly sceptre shall impede Thy pitiless hand whom all turns pale Against whose touch all flesh is frail

Transfixed by thy spectral majesty I prepare to greet eternity Upon abyssal shores

Goddess of tenebrous grace Enshroud me in thy black embrace Let me rest in thy aphotic womb Forevermore

[el-pollo-gigantes]

Glance, or glare? by Matthew Almon Roth A model at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in between takes. I was standing over the shoulder of the photographer when I snapped this. This is the companion shot: "Winsome." In both cases, I was using someone else's setup, but the opportunity was too good and the models seemed fine looking at any of the cameras :) I think some of the people entering the church were scandalized that a shoot was happening in front of one of the most holy sites in the world for Christians. You can see the columns around the doorway in this shot from Wikipedia. As soon as you entered the doorway, attendants were very strict in enforcing a no shorts/short skirts, no bare shoulders policy. https://flic.kr/p/nQK1Vq

[yinjiyang]

tsckcyomi​:

The egi’s arm is barely held in place, only the shredded remains of leather gloves, skin and tendons keeping it there. Each movement sends sparks of agony up his shoulder, rippling through his entire body, yet only a single twitch of his jaw belies Sleipnir’s composure. How long has it been since he last felt this way? A muddled memory of a life prior to the one bestowed upon him by his king is all he can draw up. Indeed… In all his years at Barnabas’ side, there’s never been a man, woman or beast, or even an army, that could harm them.

Sleipnir tips down his chin as he observes Leviathan lap up the blood he just spilled. The Dominant seems indeed rather pleased with himself, with the way he mutilated him. The laughter, his approach, his words. Sleipnir drinks it all in. How beautiful a Dominant so beholden to his powers is. Yet this Dominant is quite unlike the others, is he not? No… Not just a mere vessel for the might of the gods. A defiant god that stands against the ultimate will of their brethren, infected by the will of men.

How beautiful, and utterly sickening.

The mirth in his eyes remains all the same, albeit it’s joined by something that Sleipnir cannot quite name. Something he’s not felt in some time, akin to the exhilaration unfolding in his chest yet quite on the opposite of the spectrum. An apprehension that gives him pause for but a moment. Ah. Just knowing that the other man is able to instill such an emotion within him as his hairs stand on end. He stands but a minuscule chance against Leviathan, after all. Sleipnir is not fool enough to delude himself into thinking otherwise. The prospect of finally facing someone that will tear away his indifference towards everything, perhaps even himself… There’s a certain delight in it that the Lord Commander simply cannot deny, one that he hungers for in the same way Leviathan seems to hunger inflicting such pain upon him.

Him, and his liege. Perhaps Barnabas would be just as pleased facing an adversary so determined to kill him. Perhaps he’d be able to offer him the thrill that he seeks in every battle. It’s a rather excitable thought. Exhaling gently, Sleipnir remains rooted in his spot even as Leviathan’s breath ghosts over his face, his teeth graze his skin, and he hums in response. The tilt of his head is followed, enough so that his lips are a mere ilm from the other Eikon’s chin.

“━ I see.” Sleipnir hesitates no longer. The dagger fastened to his thigh lies in the palm of his intact hand in a split second, and he thrusts it upward deftly. A strike aimed for Leviathan’s throat, one that would land true laughably easily were the man no Eikon. Thus, Sleipnir is ready follow up his initial attack with another swipe of his blade at the other, Odin’s sepulchral powers weaving through his essence.

       Leviathan enjoyed this, found sheer delight in causing harm to their adversary.  There was something exquisitely intimate about tasting another man's blood.  Blood, comprised mainly of water.  Yin could nigh taste the memories of each drop.  The battles waged in the past, countless really, fighting with Odin time and time and time again, the sheer depths of lives lost in the Fall that could be directly contributed to the Eikon of Darkness and his loyal steed.  That rage swirled frighteningly within his core, the brewing tempest within his essence despite his outward demeanor, reflecting a maelstrom in dark ocean eyes that glared at Sleipnir with a stare that could see within and beyond the bleeding egi.        Infected, yes.  Poisoned by the ideology of the humans Leviathan had come to know and love; how could he not?  They were their creations, weren't they?  In a sense, they were extensions of the Eikons themselves.  Leviathan had no desire to return to the way their existence had once been, had no desire to destroy this world but rather nurture and rebuild into something new, to move forward, not backward.  How easy it would be to completely foil all of Ultima's plans if he just...rid them of their prized ideal vessel, if Leviathan just...made it impossible for Mythos to truly absorb everyone.  If Leviathan consumed Odin first, then...well...Mythos would be incomplete.  Wouldn't Ultima be just so very disappointed?  Wouldn't they just have to devise a new strategy for continuing on?  Oh, the sheer audacity of Leviathan to even think of such a thing...        ...and yet...here they were, as Yin's teeth grazed the lord commander's flesh in a wordless taunt, just daring him, wanting him to retaliate, to grant him further reason to play with his food.  Shall they make a game of it?  But oh, what was this?  A little something new within Sleipnir's gaze.  Just what was that, Leviathan wondered.  Was it a hatred akin to what seethed from Yin's cold stare?  Was it anger for threatening the life of his liege?  Was it fear in realizing the horrible truth that Leviathan could, in fact, derail everything with such a plan?  Or perhaps it was something else, something primal, something dormant coming to the surface to create something new, something the egi had never felt before.         And it would appear Sleipnir wanted to play after all...

        A strike had been anticipated, knowing full well retaliation could come at any moment, just not when or how; the dagger did not come as a surprise, but rather a delight as the speed of the serpent was evidence with a graceful duck of his head to the side, the edge of the blade just nicking the curve of his collarbone, tint of sanguine darkening the fabric of his robe slightly as the sweet and salty metallic scent of his own blood blended with that of the steed.  In that moment, before given a chance to strike, the haunting reverberance of a slow, wet, guttural rumble could be heard resonating within Leviathan's chest, a mixture between growl and purr as his teeth sank into Sleipnir's arm without mercy while simultaneously his own hands reached forward, fingers meaning to tear into the steed's torso as his feet lifted from the ground, long legs nigh-instantly coiling around the lord commander's waist and backside with a tight, constricting contour to prevent movement, prevent escape.

[zenaquaria]

A handful of my OCs who I hadn’t yet gotten around to drawing before!

They’d been sitting and waiting for me to give them a drawing either in my style or as non-chibi versions. Four were adopts from others, two were adopt designs I made and then kept. xD

Top: Sepulchre Glare - My design, a bat-kirin who does cemetery groundskeeping. Tiger Lilly - A shipgrid custom from Turnipberry on dA! Now a zebrin dhampir and Zerukova’s sister. Mellow Masquerade  - Adopted from Gigason on dA! A Clawback attack survivor and minstrel with imagery magic. Performance presence is on point, but once he’s offstage, he’s very quiet and keeps to himself.

Bottom: Gallows Humor - A kirifon (kirin x griffon) I adopted from @scruffypegasus, and colleague to Sepulchre. Ash Quartz - Arcane jeweler/prosthesis enchanter I adopted from a shipgrid by @parrpitched. Umber Gleam - My design I got the name of before anything else, then made a Sombra x Sunburst palette to put to the name. I don’t know where he fits in yet.

Do not repost, edit, alter, trace/copy, use/redistribute my artworks without my permission.

[napoleondidthat]

The Fifth of May; A Napoleonic Ode

The Fifth of May

By Alessandro Manzoni (1785–1873)

HE has passed. As stark and still, When the mortal gasp was given, Lay the unremindful spoil Whence so great a soul was riven; So the Earth, smitten and dazed At the announcement, stands amazed

Silent, pondering on that last Fateful hour; nor, gazing back In fearful wonder o’er the past, Kens she when with such a track By mortal foot shall yet be pressed The dust upon her bloody breast.

My Genius saw him on a throne In flashing splendor, nothing said; The blandishments of fortune flown, He fell, he rose, again was laid; While thousand voices then awoke, Mingled with these, no word he spoke;

Virgin of end-serving praise And the coward’s safe outrage, Shocked by the blot of such a blaze, He rises now his chance to gage, Shaking the urn, e’en to untie A canticle which will not die.

From Pyramids to heights alpine Flashed that god’s swift lightning-stroke; From Manzares to the Rhine Rapid, crashing thunders broke, Rolling on from Scylla’s sea Shaking farthest Muscovy.

Was this, glory just and true? Sentence waits posterity. Bow we to the Highest’s view, Willing us in him to see Stamped a trace more vast and grand Of His own resistless hand.

With hurricanes of anxious joy, Earthquake exploits of wild renown, A heart in unsubdued annoy In slavery gloats upon the crown; And gains the goal and grasps a prize ‘T was madness there to set his eyes.

All he tasted; glory growing Greater after great embroil; Flight; and victory bestowing Palace; and the sad exile; Twice in the dust a victim razed, Twice on the altar victim blazed.

He made a name, two centuries, set Armed against each other and To him turned as for their fate, Waited a signal of his hand. He sat between them, hushed them still, Made arbiter his iron will;

And disappeared; his empty days Mured within that narrow bound, Mark for envy’s fiercest rays, Pity’s sympathy profound, Inextinguishable hate, And love unsubdued by fate.

As on the shipwrecked sailor’s head The wave is wrapped and weighs him down, The wave upon whose lofty spread His strained sight was lately thrown, Scanning to discern once more The distant and evading shore;

Such on that soul the massy weight Of memories descended, when — How many times! — he would narrate What he has been to coming men; And on the eternal page remained Fallen the palsied, nerveless hand!

How oft while day without emprise Sank into sepulchral rest, Bent to earth his flashing eyes, Arms enlaced upon his breast, He stood; from days of other years Received the assaults of souvenirs;

Ah, now, methinks, in such a strait The spirit fell, breathless and riven By keen despair; but strong and great Came a pitying hand from heaven And into more inspiring air The desperate transported there;

Led through the flowery paths of Hope To the eternal plains — the meed Where guerdons bright, supernal ope, That loftiest wishes far exceed. Past glory’s trump and brightest glare Are silence and deep darkness there.

Reviewed the moving tents of war And vanquished ramparts of the foe And flashing columns gleam afar And wavy squadrons charging go And swift commands impetuous made And swift obedience displayed.

O thou, fair Immortal! beneficent Faith, Accustomed to triumphs, conqueror of death! This, also, among thy triumphings write; Since no prouder greatness, no loftier height Of earth-born glory that mortals can know Has come to the shame of Golgotha to bow.

From these weary ashes, thou Words condemning ban; God, who fells and lashes now Lifts and soothes again, On that lonely dying bed Soft His heavenly presence shed.

[qqueenofhades]

Since you’re actively trying to Kill Me Dead with your fivan fic prompts, I’ve decide to embrace a ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ philosophy. Ahem. /clears throat. It’s truly a tragedy that I’ve not yet read a fic where Jesper compliments Ivan’s pretty face and Fedyor overhears. /bats eyelashes (is this working???). :)

It is two months since Fedyor and Ivan have been reunited, trying to stumble their way into understanding what on earth they're going to do now and what side they are supposed to fight for, whether these rumors of Kirigan being alive are real and what that means for them, when they arrive in a tavern close to the Fjerdan border and decide to stop for a drink. And it's there when Fedyor looks over, does a double take, and hisses, "Nina? What are you doing here?"

His fellow Heartrender, his friend, who he valiantly tried to save from the maniacal druskelle in their last meeting like this, stares back at him. "Fedyor," she says. "What are you -- ?"

"It doesn't matter," Fedyor says. "Are you alone? You should come with us. Ivan and I will keep you safe."

"I'm not..." Nina looks deeply uncomfortable. "Not... alone."

"What?" Fedyor follows her eye line to the other five people gathered at a table across the way, who seem vaguely familiar. Then he catches sight of the same maniac druskelle, the very same, and leaps to his feet. "Nina! What in the name of the Saints is -- "

"Shut up!" Nina hisses, jumping up with him and putting her hand over his mouth. "You don't know what's going on here!"

"That's the druskelle, Matthias Helvar, who -- "

"Fedyor, if you ruin things for me with him again, I swear -- "

While this is going on, a sudden, sepulchral roar echoes through the tavern, rattling off the roof. "YOU!"

Everyone whirls around, just as an utterly apoplectic Ivan leaps to his feet, throws out both hands, and the tall Zemeni man across the way chokes and staggers sideways as he suddenly can no longer breathe. Nina shrieks, then grabs Ivan's arm and pulls it down, breaking his stranglehold on the other man's heart. "Ivan! Don't -- "

"That," Ivan roars, "is the bastard who shot me three times in Ryevost and then pushed me off the skiff in the Fold! I am going to KILL HIM!"

The tavern patrons are scrambling for every available exit, desperate not to be caught in the middle of a Grisha throwdown, as Fedyor snaps upright like a hunting dog catching the scent. "He did... what?"

"Oh no," the Zemeni man says. "It's Kirigan's crazy sidekick. I knew I really shouldn't have been such a softie, but the pretty face -- "

Fedyor doesn't bother answering. His eyes turn as red as his kefta, as he slams his power at the other man so violently that it launches him bodily across the room. Someone yells, "JESPER!" and the Zemeni man -- Jesper -- barely manages to catch himself. Then he throws out a hand in reflex, and the knives on a nearby table speed back toward Fedyor, who ducks. What the -- ?

"I knew you were something!" Ivan bellows. "A Materialki, is it?"

Jesper stops short, swears, gets driven to his knees again as Fedyor redoubles his efforts to give him a serious heart attack, and the melee is only broken by Nina diving in the middle and disrupting Fedyor's line of sight. He tries to push her aside, but she pushes back, and Fedyor stumbles backward, still breathing like a grampus. "You did," he snarls at Jesper, "WHAT?"

"I wouldn't have if I knew he had an equally pretty but very fierce boyfriend. Saints." Jesper, panting, holds up his hands. "Come now. Truce? All right? Truce. In my defense, he was also trying to kill me."

"Maim," Ivan promises, face deadly. "At least."

"No maiming!" Nina screams, startling everyone. "I swear it's like nursery school all over again! Shall we start over?"

Fedyor and Ivan fold their arms and glare. Jesper and company do likewise. Nina sighs deeply.

This is going to be even harder than she thought.

[radiant-flutterbun]

Mason’s Brightside Part 2

   Part 1

“No Mason, weird dreams are not a symptom of the herb I gave you last night,” Alaria sighed “If you had listened to me you would know the opposite is true.”

    “No dreams is a symptom?”

    “Yes and so are dehydration headaches so make sure you drink lots of water.”

Alaria shooed Mason outside of the healing den and he nearly crashed into Corkscrew, a spiral.

    “Watch where you’re going!” Corkscrew snarled.

    Mason ignored him and went to get something to drink, his mind however was still thinking about that dream. He’d never been a vivid dreamer. Something about it was so unnatural.

    Evan came up to him later in the day and he described the dream to him.

    “Weird right?”

    “Yeah but sometimes a dream is just a dream. Don’t read too much into it.”

    “But it felt so real!”

    “You sure it’s not… Ya know your mind playing tricks on you?”

    Mason glared at Evan “It wasn’t that.”

    “Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to imply…” Evan coughed “Maybe you’re just not used to a good night’s sleep is all.”

    Mason thought about that for a moment “That… Ok yeah that I can believe.”

    The next night he was given the same herb from Alaria and he found himself right back at the Emperor’s Wake.

    “Good to see you again Mason,” It was the tundra. They were sitting beside him, so close that Mason could feel their fur on him “Are you on your way?”

    “I-” Mason began and then he snarled “What are you doing in my head?”

    The tundra looked back at him calmly, “You can thank our local dreamwalker for that.”

    “Dreamwalker…?”

    “You’ll be waking soon. I don’t have time to explain. Please come here to the Emperor’s Wake. I’ll explain everything. It’ll be much easier in person, I promise.”

    Mason was about to speak when he found himself awake, sunlight danced across his room. 

    He began to pack his things. It didn’t take long. Being formerly dead, he didn’t have any personal belongings from his world. All he had were just a few art supplies Flare had been kind enough to give him, a simple dagger, a water canister, a few snacks and a blanket. Everything fit neatly in a bag he wrapped over his shoulder.

    He trotted down the stairs from his room and into the clan lobby. He made his way to the main exit when Evan found him.

    “Where are you going?” He asked, seeing the bag.

    Mason sighed “The Emperor’s Wake.”

    “What? Isn’t that where that monster is?”

    “Yep.”

    “And you want to go there?!”

    “Correct.”

    “Why?”

    “Because that’s where the dragons in my dreams told me to go.”

    “So you’re just going to listen to random dream dragons now?”

    “See this is why I was trying to avoid you.”

    Evan looked hurt “You were planning on leaving without telling me?”

    “Because I knew this would happen! I knew you wouldn’t understand! Listen, I've been here before. I know that whoever these dragons are, they're not going to get out of my head until I do what they want me to do.”

    “Hey no offense Mason but the last time you listened to some... thing in your mind you ended up hurting a kid.”

    Mason snarled “He wasn’t just a kid. Don’t oversimplify what Muerto is.”

    “I’m just saying, if you knew that was Match speaking to you, would you still have done the things you did?”

    “Yes. Match is just another self centered god, but at least me listening to him, capturing Muerto, weakening him. Getting him to spill his dirty little secrets. At least that did something! You would have rotted away to nothing and we would have all been trapped in that horrible place until we died. I got the gods’ attention. I changed things!”

    Evan took a deep breath “Ok. Yeah you’re right. But I also don’t have to like what we had to do to get where we are now. Maybe this time we can take some time to think about what we’re getting into before we have to hurt anyone?”

    “We? You want to come with me?”

    “I don’t like the idea of being near that monster, but I hate the idea of letting you go alone even more.”

***

    Mason waited for Evan to pack his things. Like him, it wasn’t much so they were off on their journey soon enough. Evan felt bad leaving without a word so he took the time to leave a note for Nike.

    The two took off and soared over the Sunbeam Ruins in the direction of the area now known as the Emperor’s Wake. Mason had a map with him to help him keep track of their journey. As he flapped his wings he noted how natural flight felt to him. It was strange to him how quickly he picked up the skill. His original body was not one designed for flight and never in a million years would he have guessed he’d eventually become a dragon. Sepulchral had taught him to fly after he had entered the Dragon Planet. Sepulchral was a good teacher, and unlike all of the other Selcouth creatures that were brought to Sornieth, Sepulchral actually had wings back in their world, making him uniquely experienced with flight. But even with such an excellent teacher, Mason felt like he shouldn’t have picked up the skill quite so quickly. It only made it more frustrating that relearning to draw was not as natural to him.

    “Sorry about planning to take off without you,” Mason said after a few miles of silence.

    “Hey, it's cool. No big deal,” Evan responded.

    “What were you going to tell me the other day, by the way? I didn’t mean to brush you off like that. Sorry again.”

    “Oh that?” Evan laughed nervously “That was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

    Mason glanced at his friend “Alright…” He thought about pushing the subject, but decided to let it go.

    The two flew in silence until it got dark. They camped out in a secluded pine forest for the night and took off again when it was morning. 

    Their flight was uneventful until they flew over a patch of land that was scarred in an unusual way. Most of the Sunbeam Ruins were filled with rolling fields of grass and green pine trees dotted with ruins from a forgotten era. But this patch of land was blackened and dead. It was not burned like a fire found it, rather it looked like a perfect circle of the land just shriveled up and died. Below structures that were not ancient ruins were crushed and destroyed like a tornado ran through the community.

    “What do you suppose happened down there?” Evan asked.

    Mason shook his head “Nothing good probably. Let's keep moving.”

    It wasn’t long before the land began to look more like what Mason saw in his dreams. There were tell-tale signs of destruction, but not quite like the shriveled dead land they had just passed. Mason searched the ground below him and nearly stopped mid flight. There on top of a hill covered in ruins was the same rugged tundra that had spoken to him.

    Mason landed beside them with a thud and Evan landed more gracefully beside him.

    “You!” Mason snarled.

    The tundra smiled and waved “Mason! So good to see you in person. And oh look! You brought a friend.”

    “Why were you in my head? How do you know who I am? What do you want with me?”

    “Holy shit,” Evan was ignoring the tundra and instead his eyes were fixed on the horizon “It’s real.”

    Mason heard a roar and looked up. There in the distance was the rampaging beast, the Emperor Luminax. It was even more horrible than it was in his dreams.

    “Terrifying isn’t it?” The tundra asked, following Mason’s gaze.

    “It’s just… Hard to believe it’s real.”

    “I know. Seeing your first Emperor… It makes you wonder what’s real and what’s fake. But that thing is real alright. It’s destroying lives and the gods are doing nothing about it.”

    Mason snorted “Yeah that sounds about right.”

    “Ah, don’t like gods do you?” The tiny bug dragon from Mason’s dream landed on top of the tundra’s head “I knew this one would fit in well!”

    Mason peeled his eyes away from the undead creature in the distance “Ok, no more talking until you two explain why you were in my head.”

    “Ah that would be Karyu’s doing,” The tundra addressed the bug sitting on their head.

    “How dare you!” Mason lunged forward to swat the bug, but they quickly flew away. Mason ended up hitting the large tundra’s antlers instead. Mason’s hand stung and the tundra glared at him.

    “Maybe instead of threatening my friend, you could sit down and listen.” The tundra shoved Mason to the ground. Mason tried to get back up, but stopped when the tundra gave him another glare.

    Karyu flew back onto the tundra’s head and pointed at Mason “That one tortured a kid god, so I guess I shouldn’t really be too surprised. Still, he has use here.”

    Mason’s eyes widened “How did you-”

    “My name is Perryn,” The tundra cut Mason off and smiled “I’m an Emperor hunter, and my friend Karyu here is a dream walker.”

    “And demigod!” Once again Karyu took off from their perch on Perryn’s head. They circled in the air and as they landed they began to transform. Before Mason’s eyes the little bug dragon grew in size. They spun so fast it forced Mason to blink and with that one blink a new creature was standing where the bug disappeared. Its body was unmistakably human to Mason, but it still had some of the bug features of its dragon form. Antennae sprung up from Karyu’s head and insectoid wings from their back. They wore a long robe and their long purple hair touched the ground. They were still small, Perryn towered over them and so would have Mason if he had been standing, but they were no longer squishable. 

    “My mother is the goddess of dreams for this world, and lucky me, I’ve inherited some of her powers,” Karyu walked up to Mason and poked his snout. He snapped at their fingers “You have the most fascinating dreams out of everyones’ I’ve walked through. So many memories are mixed with yours. Some juicy ones too!”

    “No. You didn’t.”

    “It’s just a shame that lately you haven't been dreaming much. I’m guessing insomnia? Well that’s no good for me or my pals here at The Guild of Osiris! I was afraid if your sleeping patterns continued I would have lost contact with you! And that would have been a real bummer.”

    “Which is why Karyu had to bring me into the picture,” Perryn said “We needed you to come here before they lost contact with you and they thought you would listen to me and not them.”

    “And I was fucking right!” Karyu grinned and then leaned close to Mason and whispered “I just thought Perryn would be more your type. I’m gorgeous, I know, but I’m taken.”

    Mason just stared at Karyu. He opened his mouth and then closed it like a fish out of water.

    “Yes. Karyu was right!” Peryn shouted and then coughed “And now you’re here like we were hoping. Karyu has seen a lot of things about you from their dream walking ,which I know may be awkward and invasive-”

    “You don’t think?” Mason found his voice for a moment.

    “But Karyu has a knack for finding those who are perfect for helping our cause. Mason, is life uncertain to you? Maybe you’ll make a good Emperor Hunter.”

[wontshutup]

Murphy’s Law (Intro:Time)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

"If anything will go wrong, it will"

                                                                                             It did...again

After reuniting his siblings in 1963 with a new Impending Apocalypse, Five had faced what he could've had only thought as his final big battle before finally getting his family to a safe future and a long-lasting life. No impending nuclear apocalypse, no assassins coming after them, no Handler.

Apart from the fact that Lila had escaped with the briefcase, and was very likely coming back, things had seemed to get to a good point where he could allow himself some space to breathe.

How wrong he was.

They came back to a still-standing world, but not theirs. They were received by none other than their once deceased father and an entirely new set of heroes who called themselves the Sparrow Academy. A replacement of them, and they were cold, unwelcoming, rude to say the least.

Things had gone down fast and rough since they first faced Reginald Hargreeves and the Sparrows

The events following had them kicked out of what used to be their own house, a painful blow for all of them, but not as much as the fact that the guy who literally dragged them to the entrance was none other than Ben, well, not quite, he went by Number 1 or "The Horror", no actual name whatsoever.

They felt sad, defeated, tired. Klaus was the most affected of them by that specific event, after sharing so much of his life with Ben, he tried to reason with who appeared to be his living image,"Ben" just gave him the cold shoulder and a quite violent response to his pleas.

Now installed in a rental house, a sepulchral silence made itself present between the siblings, not even Klaus, who had always something to say made a sound, making it all way heavier on them. The place oozed with a silently shared feeling of helplessness, letting a lot of space for the air to feel with a turmoil of feelings, thoughts, questions, silently crawling up on Five's spine, tightening his every muscle.

His mind uneasy, equations and scenarios started materializing in thin air in front of Five. While the rooms were being assigned, he lost no time and scavenged the place for something to start writing on.

"Five, are you listening?" Allison raised her voice a little,  concern written over her face.

"Of course he isn't"Diego spat out "he's always just running around, making plans and has us all-"

"Diego stop, please" Intervened Vanya.

With a scoff, Diego finally stayed silent, he gave a quick glare towards Five. He was about to reply but his throat was too dry and he knew there was no point in arguing, not now.

"Five you and Klaus will be sharing a room...If that's ok for you both" Proceeded Allison.

"Of course, the good four and Five duo, never gets old" Klaus finally spoke for the first time after the events, his voice lacking its usual cheeriness. "Am I right little guy?" he looked at Five. He nodded

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

How was I so stupid?

The one question that the boy repeated himself, pulling at his stomach in a torturing manner.

His thoughts ran a mile per hour, so many equations, so many untied ends, he had to make things right, he just had to.

He installed himself in the small desk that was in the corner of his shared room. Klaus already sleeping, or at least he tried to appear like he was, but the soft whimpers and sniffs that were coming out of his curled figure suggested otherwise.

He would make things right, for them. Every step he had taken, was all always for them.

And so he tried to wrap his mind around everything, every equation, every single event that had gone wrong.

Somehow everything might have seemed to revolve around the Kennedy assassination, but that had gone down as it was meant to. But the battle in the farm, the commission...

The Corrections division...The Handler.

Of course, despite the very questionable things that were done by them, they kept time as it had to be and as much as he despised her, Five knew The Handler had the whole thing running like clockwork. But the death can't run any operations.

The involvement of their siblings in past events, the encounter with the now living figure of his father.

The very familiar sound of the pencil against the paper tracing equations over and over filled his ears.

His long lashes blurring his vision from time to time.

The corrections division. So. Fucking. Stupid. He mentally scolded himself harshly, his heart clenching and a very familiar knot forming in his throat.

No, he had to be strong and fix it all, but his eyelids were getting heavier by the second and tears were already pricking at the bottom of his eyes.

I AM MAKING THIS RIGHT.....

and with that last thought, he fully focused on the numbers before him, a single tear staining the piece of paper.

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AN:

Hey there, Milo here.

I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for a while, and I finally decided to put some work into it, despite my very conscious self....but heyy! new year is here and it is time to try it out

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE! btw

This here is the Introduction to it all.

I have never actually tried to write something large, or inside a story line...NOTHING AT ALL hehe but heyy. any feed back will be appreciated.

Things might actually be a bit messy but I will try to make it better along the way.