#sleeplesswork

[weptsorrow]

@sleeplesswork

so. bad news. we have to keep going tomorrow. good news is that I’ll keep going with you

[myristicisms]

@sleeplesswork | vergil;;

things were progressing, certainly not fast, but at a steady rate — a dripping faucet someone had forgotten to turn off, left broken. with every passing day, it was hard to determine whether he was finally getting a footing with everything or if he'd been falling for so long that the nothingness was beginning to feel like floor. . . the headache pounding behind his eyes didn't seem to dampen, but the reception the once angelo received at devil may cry was getting… friendlier. it wasn't exactly the word he'd use, but his presence no longer set off alarm bells, and vergil knew he didn't deserve any more than that. whilst he was trying to better himself — more for dante and nero's sake, and perhaps v's — his efforts were solely to be noticed and appreciated by himself and no one more. yet lady had started greeting him when she stormed into the office to bark something at dante. his brother was throwing his arm over his shoulder, and vergil was trying hard not to be repulsed by the touch ( though it often ended in a fight when his foolish twin refused to let go ). there was also nero, his son; while the boy clearly strived for them to have more of a connection, they were at a standstill, truthfully when vergil was dragged to visit the man's home, he spoke more to his human companion ( girlfriend ), than his spawn. another that came to mind was miriam, the woman who'd been most greatly affected by urizen's actions; whilst she may have despised him more than mary, they forged common ground. she'd started to offer her endless supply of home-cooked meals as-well, presenting them to vergil as if he had the right to judge whatever she created. it took an embarrassingly long time for the man to realise she'd been trying to offer him a meal.

how amusing, he shouldn't be thinking about warm meals as the blood on his hands chills, while what's left on his tongue burns so hot it's all he can focus on. the mangled caucus before him matters not; there's nothing left of it to eat that doesn't involve the stomach where he can smell the human remains. still, he stands there, staring, starving. the pain twists and curls its way through his suddenly full stomach, and yet he feels starved… when was the last time he'd eaten ? v had a couple of meals during his measly month of living, but she wasn't vergil. he couldn't die from a lack of nutrition, but he felt the pain; his hollow insides hadn't started aching until today, though.

in an almost mindless haze, he returns to the devil may cry, watching his bloodied hand push open the agency's front door as if it belonged to someone else. the feeling of being puppeteered was so familiar that it was almost comforting; once alarm bells would have gone off, now it granted a momentary respite from forcing heavy limbs to function without fail. though, in such a stupor, the devil had failed to notice a familiar shard binder within the building's walls.

Silence is tranquility, something she's come to note for many years and yet it still never leaves her feeling any easier. Miriam knows she's welcome where she's sat, the unlocked door of the building further vindicating the fact that the familiar albeit empty space of the business had been a place of conversation and solitude alike throughout the years and yet it doesn't leave her any more calm to be there without one of the residents of the place present and yet still she patiently waits. It's another night she'd intended to waste her time idly chatting with one of the brothers, perhaps preparing dinner for the residents seeing as they won't eat anything of substance if she doesn't. It's ridiculous how fulfilled she truly feels, being able to provide for someone again no matter how minor it was, Nero being out of the house had taken a lot of adjustment and even then the absence of his presence, of not having nearly as many leftovers as she now often does, it's all a reminder of just how quickly time passes and oh how she grieves the past.

Whatever the case it hardly mattered, she has other matters at the forefront of her mind, like how dusty the bar of Devil May Cry is despite having just been taken care of a few weeks ago or how much progress the elder of the twins was slowly inching towards in bettering himself. It wasn't asked of her but Miriam, for her own piece of mind, had been keeping an eye on the man, blue was a color of calmness, loyalty and leadership and while Vergil appeared to be those on the surface, he was a tornado of control and over domination when she'd first had the displeasure of truly meeting the man as Urizen. He's made great progress in bettering himself, slowly opening up to the prospect of new things and foolish a thing as it is she can't help but find some sort of softness for the otherwise prickly and cold man. Perhaps it is her own foolish desires to see the best in everyone regardless of the sins that taint their fingertips or maybe it's the fact that he was much like herself as far as circumstances go, whatever the case she couldn't bring herself to truly hate the elder of the spawn of Sparda.

Blunt nails gently dig into her thigh, a pinching reminder of what she nearly lost and yet again she falls deep into thought, memories swirling like a whirlpool of disdain and sorrow at just how terribly her time spent under Urizen's control had been; Despite being able to walk around again with hardly any issue, there still lingered the after effects of not maintaining her glyphs, her energy still sapped away and it's irksome how powerless she is as her body fully recovers many months after the fact. It's a miracle for her to be sat in the familiar building as she is just as it's a miracle for her to be able to witness a familiar figure stumble inside. She almost cracks a joke to him, the beginnings of a smile swiftly falling to concern as she stands and paces to the blood covered man. “ Vergil- ” She speaks up, voice uneasy as she holds a hand out in offering, not wishing to bother him with an unwelcome touch.

[weptsorrow]

mizi starring at ivan so intently, having just watched a round six replay she has questions — most important one being: are you and till dating now ?? she isn’t too sure on how to ask though …

mizi crack for you because her and luka want a go ( and I’m in the car so I can’t spell check my till reply )

( @sleeplesswork )

and he was staring right back, eyes a little wider than usual, unblinking. perhaps if he stared long enough, drilling a metaphorical hole right through mizi's skull, he could see the swirl of thoughts and figure it out.

... but no such luck.

“ what, ” he asked eventually, though given his intonation, it barely sounded like a question, and more like an accusation.

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Random Asks | Always Open

@sleeplesswork asked: while the weiss combat simulator may be programmed to fight all that engage with it, the thing is still weiss, and clearly, it’s not thrilled with the fact it’s his younger brother that activated the program . . . (random little weiss ask for nero ~)

Nero paced the layout, assessing it, feeling for its weak points. He was waiting for him to stir, to come forth and engage with him. He wasn't making it clear whether or not he'd entered the simulation to battle, or to test it in another way.

He might as well test the accuracy. Besides, it had been a while since Weiss and him had been allowed to truly spare...perhaps this simulation could hold up against his energy and power long enough.

Finally, as Weiss materialized, he looked to him. Slit-pupil red eyes took in the look of him...strong and confident as ever, and his gaze softened before a spark flickered in that deep red.

"What is with the look, brother?" he questioned. "I could almost assume you aren't please to see me here. But I seek to test myself, as well as you. So will you give me what I want?"

He certainly hoped his brother would comply, thought he was willing to do what he must to coax him.

[weptsorrow]

with the kiss lingering and till not pulling away— in fact, his actions only seemed to speak of the opposite, with slender fingers brushing through his hair, tangling in them to keep ivan still. it relaxed him, reassured him, enough that the nervous beating of his heart no longer felt intrusive. he felt like he could think clearly, and perhaps... allow himself to let go.

the press of his lips became a little more confident with each passing second, as eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled a soft breath into the exchange. one his hands mimicked till's own in a way, sliding further back and through silvered locks, cupping the back of till's head, careful in angling his face a little more to further deepen the gesture.

ah... was he getting too carried away?

while still keeping his hands on till's face, ivan slowly broke the connection of their lips, allowing them both to breathe once more. he remained close, enough for their noses to brush together, tipping his chin up just enough to allow for a quick peck to the other's lips... oddly reminiscent of something he'd done once before. “ sorry... if that was too much... ”

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎as  if  they  had  returned  to  stage,  he  had  expected  the  instant  rush,  for  ivan  to  close  in  without  a  care.  it'd  be  uncomfortable  again,  even  if  he  welcomed  it  this  time;  the  simple  fact  wouldn't  take  away  from  that.  his  chest  tightened  in  anticipation,  waiting.  yet  there's  a  pause,  even  after  till  speaks.  ivan  lingered,  and  for  the  first  time  recently,  his  nerves  weren't  caused  by  the  idea  of  the  other  man's  sudden  disappearance  into  some  unreachable  place,  but  the  promised  proximity.  his  gaze  flickers  from  lips  to  what  little  of  dark  eyes  he  can  see  this  close,  though  the  quick  glance  doesn't  grant  any  understanding…

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎for  a  moment  he  worried  he'd  said  the  wrong  thing  in  the  end  before,  finally,  he  was  being  pulled  in,  carefully  as  ivan  took  the  lead,  movements  deliberate  and  unhurried.  for  a  fraction  of  a  second,  it's  weird,  being  this  close,  against  lips  far  softer  than  his  own.  his  mind  races,  then,  till  lets  his  eyes  flutter  closed,  and  that's  gone,  along  with  his  nerves  that  had  begun  to  fray  in  the  quiet  seconds  before.  it  wasn't  the  fiery  sparks  hyuna  had  teased  about;  no  explosive  heat  or  mindless  lust  hit,  but  this  was  something  till  quickly  decided  he  liked  more  than  her  made-up  crap.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎his  hand  carefully  moves  up,  tangling  in  black  locks  for  the  second  time  tonight.  his  fingers  tremble  slightly  at  first,  but  the  texture  of  the  strands  steadies  him,  a  small  anchor  to  keep  the  other  man  close  just  a  little  longer.  even  now,  with  his  heartbeat  pounding  in  his  ears  and  his  lips  pressed  to  ivan's,  till  isn't  ready  to  let  go.  not  yet.

[evcryopeneye]

@sleeplesswork asked: for one reason or another, the party had made a pit - stop back in midgar, city of mako . . . it wasn’t something anyone would be particularly keen on, considering those in and affiliated with avalanche were the number one criminals wanted both in the slums and on the plate. but the plan had been to go in and out without being noticed, though when had the group ever been so fortunate ? . . . and yet it’s hard to say if it’s luck or not, when the young wutaian girl finds herself face to face with someone familiar . . . though his clothes are different, and his expression cold, there’s no doubt about it. sonon kusakabe stands before yuffie, a shinra trooper by his feet — almost giving off the appearance that he’d saved the girl if it weren’t for how his weapon was ready to give another blow. the shinobi gives momentary pause, mako - coloured eyes locking onto the girl he once knew.

She hated this place. 

The colour of the hallways. The way the air smelled stale. The fact that for some reason an ‘electric power company’ seemed to fucking hate lights. Yuffie hated it. Hated this place. Hated the company. Hated everything they stood for. Even standing here was enough to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. 

Yet they were here, back here again, because of course fate seemed to have some twisted sense of humour. What else was she meant to do? Yuffie wanted nothing more to get this over with and get out of here, the funny quips and sass had been left at the door for once. This horrible feeling of impending door had washed over her the moment they'd stepped inside and now she knew why. 

A face she didn’t expect to see, staring back at her, recognisable and at the same time, a stranger. 

“Sonon?” His name fell from her lips as a soft question, a near whisper as dark eyes flickered across his features, trying desperately to find something. Despite his weapon being raised, Yuffie found herself too stunned to move. Eyes simply trained on him trying to rationalise this in any way possible…any kind of sense but there was nothing there. This situation was so out of left field that even the great shinobi Yuffie was floored.

[rake-rake]

@sleeplesswork

❝ i missed you. ❞ — millions knives to vash !

Things that you want to hear.

"...I know."

Because how could he not? They were twins, two halves of an all. Nai's absence echoes for Vash in every minute, every day, in every thing he wished he could share with him only to find himself staring into an empty space at his side.

"It's not nice, is it...? Like a hole— a missing piece... Always hurting..."

A constant pain of something missing, of something dear you didn't have anymore. It hurt, too much, and made him think back of better years and a life that seemed too far away now, and doubted— even if he wished— he could ever get back.

"And now, even though we're here, face to face... it's still there. No matter how much I try, I cannot get that piece back... I cannot reach you. Not when you don't want to be reached... Why don't you want to be reached, Nai...?"

[a-vctlan]

— angsty conversation prompts | @sleeplesswork :

what difference does it make ? — vergil to kyrie ( hehe, from your wish list, maybe kyrie can play therapist for this man who desperately needs it . . . )

Her hands clasp together, a self-soothing attempt as she tries and tries to reach out to the tattered bands of Vergil's humanity, held together in knots, distant and aloof, as if afraid he'd crumble if someone where to pull them apart.

Maybe he should, a part of her whispers, made to rebuild himself from the ashes of what he used to be… but she lets these thoughts lie, shaking her head as she tries again.

"Does it have to make a difference to matter?" Although her physique is frail, there is no waver in her voice as she speaks, her stubbornness not allowing her to let this lie unresolved. "Life is not about the peaks and valleys of our existence, and to reduce ourselves to only these things will leave you unfulfilled, craving more no matter how much you achieve."

She wrings her hands, briefly moving up to brush against the necklace that Nero gifted her, a small moment made into a precious memory for the mundane nature of it.

"I ask because there must be something you enjoy about the world, reasons that made you give us another chance." Defeatist words, understanding of the intricacies of his position - people like her are little more than prey animals to beings such as him, and yet like a deer she stands before him, doe eyes and a fluttering heartbeat. "It is true that the world is often cruel and senseless, taking away things precious to you… but I promise there is beauty in it too, and I would gladly help you find it, if you let me."

[hiislegacy]

Starter | Muse: Vincent

The collapse of the floor was unexpected, and were he not what he was, such a height would've been fatal. Several stories down, further than he thought possible for a place like this, until his golden boots landed on dark tile. He had heard of places so secret, more than anything known to the likes of his ranking within the Turks, even, but to find such rumors to be the truth was almost eye-opening. Of course, it made sense they'd have more than what was already common knowledge, hidden away beneath the very building of their main headquarters.

His gaze flickered around the darkness, and he went deeper into it, ignoring the debris that still fell in some places from the damaged structure. It wasn't clear why this had all collapsed from before, maybe from the stress of overall use, or of battles he and his companions had previously in it. Which, now of course made him wonder if the others were safe. Yes, he had escaped his immediate danger, but what of their whereabouts? Their rescue mission was proving to be more difficult, and they'd possibly just screwed up safely getting Cloud out of this facility, from his very recent kidnapping.

Vincent sighed, and pulled out his PHS device, trying to tamper with it. That dark screen flickering on and off several times, with his knob turnings and inputs not working; a voice was heard, Barret's maybe, and then it was garbled static. Annoyed, he kept trying as he walked more into the space that was gradually becoming larger in volume. "Barret, do you copy?... Tifa? Anyone?" He'd say whenever the line was opened in a hum, before more static would come through.

@sleeplesswork

[mingos]

@sleeplesswork ❤️'d for a loaded question. // (law)

　　　❝ would you prefer to know the exact date you'll die, or not? ❞

[belovedcorvidarchive2024]

you came. — from law !

❣ | Memes :: This One | Send 'You Came' for my muse to help yours out of a Bad Situation

It had taken weeks of travel for them to start getting along and working together, a fragile sort of truce that was still being figured out. Working together better meant less running away, insults a little less personal and sharply worded, but the surprise in those rasped words pierced his heart, razor-sharp. The marine fell to his knees beside his companion, measuring his breath through a wave of panic that welled up from somewhere deep and unexpected. Something must have shaken loose at some point, some sort of growing fondness made visible suddenly, when that tiny voice calling out for him had stopped him dead in his tracks mid-search for the missing boy. He looked so small. Law was small, small and frail even for his age especially now that his sickness was really starting to catch up with him. They could talk about what had happened while they were briefly separated after this last hospital later, right now he needed to take him somewhere safe and warm to recover.

" Of course I did. "

He did his best to keep as much fear out of his voice as he picked him up, carefully gathering him into his arms even though he knew he shouldn't. Law would be furious actually, depending on the specifics his condition - had he been more with it, in more of a position to get mad or protest, he probably would have griped at him about moving someone with a potential head or back injury. But he cradled the kid close to his heart anyway, briefly nuzzling his face into his scruffy hair before pulling himself back onto his feet. His heart wanted him to pause right here and keep talking to the kid, but his brain knew it would be best to keep going. He had to, because he was all Law had. Both of them were all the other had. He had to walk extra careful, for he absolutely would not stumble or drop the boy.

" It's - I've got you, kid, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna be fine, just gotta find somewhere to rest. Somewhere warm. "

[infintasmal]

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

@sleeplesswork : " i suppose it's not easy going to war against friends. " — from arba to paimon !! The Dragon Republic

Paimon, a woman so characterized by her smile and warmth, now looks on, pained and distressed. She clutches her hands in front of her chest, just over her heart as it quickens. She tries to smile but it falls short.

"War is never easy. It is senseless and hateful. But to lose a friend to that hate is like a war fought in the heart, that which can shatter the soul. I hate that most of all," she says, quiet, still trying to appear bright and confident. "But it is never too late to come back to someone's heart. You-- no matter how time has changed us, were always treasured as my friend. I will not throw away those days of happiness and peace, I will fight to bring them back. Even if we stand against each other, I will always have loved that friendship we all shared. It saved me. I only wish I could do the same," now her smile is back, wide and hopeful in her remembrance.

[weptsorrow]

while ivan's features remained indifferent, there was an undeniable spark of anger boiling beneath the surface. he didn't experience such strong emotions often, let alone allowed them to show, but seeing his best friend be grabbed and mistreated like this was the one thing that never failed to bring them forth. he didn't flinch at the display of blood or bones seemingly cracking, till crying out, even if he hated hearing them. there was nothing he could do.

mizi's pod was right next to his own, and it was the one thing that separated him from till, and he'd noticed that in the last few seconds before the younger had lost consciousness, his eyes were looking for her. not the raven-haired man; no. it was like he was little more than a ghost. it didn't matter— ivan was used to this. he just found it curious that even in his last breath, mizi was the one last hope till tended to cling to.

it didn't take long for the remaining survivors to be taken backstage once more— it was ivan's turn to sing now, and as he entered the dressing room, he found himself... alone. with till knocked out and mizi unwilling to talk to anyone, two other contestants dead, and luka was who knows where, while marty was in the adjacent room rehearsing some lines in these last few moments; he could hear the man singing.

“ ... ” the loneliness didn't bother him; if anything, he found the irony of it amusing. it always came back to this. ivan had no friends, no one rooting for him. he imagined that if he died, unsha would just be mad about all the money he'd lost by betting it all on the wrong dog. and probably couldn't face urak after this; he remembered hearing about their scuffle. what was even more ironic was that ivan had found a liking in his owner's rival's pet. if they knew, they'd probably be even more mad than about the potential lost investments.

he stepped over to the mirrors, fixing his hair, flashing a few smiles with a tilt of his head... but perhaps this wouldn't be neccessary, given the song's nature. perhaps he could be himself, just this once. as he was looking at his reflection, dead eyes with a glint of red, he heard the beginning of the countdown, breaking the white noise— further complaints about till ruining everything again. it was a good thing their guardians were relegated to the audience, so they weren't here to punish their pets by whatever means they deemed neccessary... but somehow, in some way, ivan swore he could hear urak's yelling through all that.

the man sighed, and tugged on each of his gloves and adjusted the belts on his thigh, before shifting his gaze towards his opponent who'd just joined him in the room. ivan said nothing, and simply headed for the elevator. he wasn't nervous as they began to rise up. his eyes were focused on the microphone stand in front of him, allowing for them to close as the first rays of light hit his face with the saturn-inspired stage opening above him. a step forward was taken; he heard the first beats of drums. slender fingers slid up the silver stand before wrapping around the microphone itself, and he pulled it closer to him with one final breath.

the soggy darkness crouched down even if we shake our heads, it's always the same place i can't reach you, so i imagine alone you who shines, i stand next to you

ivan sang for himself; there was no one listening. the crowd didn't matter, his so-called father didn't matter, the remaining contestants didn't matter, and... till, well— he didn't care, ivan knew. the only reason why he needed to sing this well was to ensure that in till's following round, nothing could go wrong and make him lose. he didn't know if he hated this or not— the stage was pretty, he loved the stars. but it oh-so made him remember things. he loved the stars... but he also hated them.

marty sang his part next and... ivan was convinced he could deliver the lyrics much better than that. another breath, and he grasped the microphone with a newfound vigor, singing the next lines of the chorus with something he thought repressed. an emotion he couldn't quite describe; but it left him wanting.

so black, black as it can be the dark sea gets deeper as you approach like a black, black sorrow a story of such woe at the end of this story, there is only a cold spot stained with blood and empty air

memories resurfaced, ones that bitterly reminded him of all the things he'd done in hopes of being noticed, of being liked back... and the anger that came with never receiving it. anger was so easy to pinpoint, so easy to identify. much more than something as vague as love. ivan's voice turned raw with the intensity he was singing; maybe the audience did matter. maybe, just maybe, someone that cared would hear him.

it was then that he noticed the holograms of the stars of this elaborate stage falling— he turned his gaze up towards them, reminiscent of the time he'd almost died, and the time till had turned his back to him.

it was beautiful.

holding the microphone in one hand, the other rose up, reaching out towards that illuminated void, as if he could touch those stars, as if they could possibly bring him some salvation— but they were all far too out of reach... the fact that they were mere projections didn't even cross ivan's mind in that moment. he just wanted. wanted, wanted, wanted.

such black, black sorrow to me you are to me, you are my black sorrow you are my black sorrow you are my black sorrow

the score board had then settled on a distinct score difference of 90—68, and amidst the last few chords of the piano, ivan could hear the piercing sound of a bullet; and the bull thud of a body hitting the floor right next to him. he didn't look marty's way, solely staring down onto the audience cheering. in the front row, he could make out unsha and his ever-present bodyguards. and ivan didn't feel anything. no sense of pride nor accomplishment. it was just a deed done; a neccessity. there was no revelling for him in their cheers and applause, before he turned his back to them all to make space for the final round of the night.

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she  had  remained  unresponsive  since  the  end  of  her  round,  her  body  still  as  a  statue,  golden  hues  dull  and  vacant,  reflecting  none  of  the  light  that  had  once  danced  in  them  —  the  exact  thing  till  had  been  playing.  even  after  her  face  had  been  meticulously  cleaned,  she  gave  no  sign  of  acknowledgment,  her  features  eerily  serene.  deposited  unceremoniously  in  the  observation  pods,  she  found  herself  an  unwilling  spectator,  bound  to  watch  a  spectacle  she  no  longer  wished  to  be  part  of.  the  muffled  strains  of  another  song  floated  effortlessly  into  the  room  —  but  mizi  didn’t  listen.  she  couldn’t.

‎ ‎ ‎it’s  only  when  the  large  screen  suddenly  flickers,  illuminating  the  room  in  harsh  flashes  of  red  and  as  it  cuts  to  till  that  her  head  sluggishly  lolls  upward.  her  eyes,  still  unfocused,  take  in  the  image  of  the  younger  man  —  his  guitar  raised  high  above  his  head  like  a  weapon.  she  watches,  detached,  as  he  brings  it  crashing  down  with  a  ferocity  that  makes  the  instrument  splinter  organs  spilling  out.

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — a  cacophony  of  voices  erupts  in  the  room,  a  discordant  symphony  of  anger  and  disgust.  a  colourful  array  of  curses  fills  the  air,  each  word  shouted  venomously,  slurs  spat  with  unfiltered  hatred  against  non-human  beings.  robotic  hands  descend  swiftly,  their  cold,  metallic  grip  unyielding  as  they  shove  till  toward  the  exit.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎he  kicks  out  hard,  barefoot  smashing  against  metal,  but  his  resistance  is  brief.  another  claw  latches  onto  his  arm,  twisting  painfully,  while  a  third  seizes  his  leg,  forcing  him  to  stumble.  a  sickening  pop  echoes  through  the  room  as  his  shoulder  is  wrenched  too  far  back,  and  a  sharp  cry  escapes  his  lips.  still,  the  limbs  are  relentless,  pinning  his  arms  tightly  against  his  sides  as  a  bulky  restraint  is  slammed  around  his  torso,  cinching  him  inescapably.  a  muzzle  follows,  clamped  over  his  mouth  with  a  brutal  efficiency  that  leaves  no  room  for  protest.

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎teal  hues  flash  with  fury,  darting  around  wildly,  searching  for  any  way  to  keep  fighting.  but  before  he  can  find  one,  his  head  is  shoved  unceremoniously  against  the  glass  of  his  observation  pod,  the  faint  green  glow  casting  shadows  across  bloodied  features.  through  the  haze  of  pain,  he  catches  a  glimpse  of  movement  —  long,  pink  hair  shimmering  like  silk  under  the  lights.  his  gaze  freezes  momentarily,  and  he  almost  sees  her  face.  she’s  looking  his  way,  he’s  sure  of  it  —  but  the  connection  slips  away  as  quickly  as  it  comes.

‎ ‎the  door  to  the  pod  hisses  open,  and  till  is  thrust  inside  with  a  force  that  hits  him  against  the  front  of  the  glass.  his  head  pounds,  thoughts  spiralling  in  dizzying  loops,  each  one  more  fragmented  than  the  last.  his  body  feels  too  heavy, strength  drained,  and  though  he  knows  she’s  there,  watching  him  from  across  the  divide,  he  can’t  muster  the  will  to  lift  his  head.

[myristicisms]

What happened..?

There's nothing but darkness, heaviness in once feather light limbs, his eyelids refuse to work with him and his throat feels dry. There's a pulsating in his chest, hot and terrible and angry; ( I'm dead, aren't I? That's right... ) But a dead man wouldn't feel such severe agony, would he? When you die, that's it, or that's what he's always thought anyways. He can hear shuffling beside him, the quiet hum of machines nearby invading his senses alongside a distinctly sterile scent and Ace realizes perhaps he's not dead.

Why?

He felt the tranquility of death's clutches brush over his body, the gentle cold touch something of a comfort to his overwhelmingly hot body and at the time the heat hadn't been from his own flames; magma had left his nerves singing a loud dirge that even now he could still feel. Wake up. Wake. Up. Danger, that's all he could think to be in because who would bother to save him? Why waste valuable resources? Valuable time? ( Pops... Luffy... ) Are they okay? Whitebeard didn't look too good but the man could handle anything, he had to.

It doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore aside from opening his eyes and seeing where the hell he is. Something that proves harder than expected, they feel dry and his eyelids are lead heavy but slowly they raise and almost methodically he blinks, trying to get the dryness to go away. It doesn't.

Neither does the searing agony in his chest.

Amber eyes slowly shift about, taking in his surroundings of the unfamiliar room he's in, momentarily he's half tempted to go back to sleep in hopes of fighting the exhaustion heavy upon his bones but the dread mixing with the agony in his body keeps Ace wide awake, or as wide awake as a sluggish pirate could be anyways. Shallow breaths are all he can take, and even then the very movement of his lungs slowly expanding ache something fierce but then... How are his lungs in tact enough to be able to do that?

Slowly, fingers manage to find their way to his sternum, the tips brushing against wrappings covering his diaphragm and he feels his heart beating beneath his palm. It feels wrong, his body feels wrong. Agony aside, Ace knew his organs had been severely damaged, portions completely destroyed from the heat of that bastard Akainu's magma and yet they're in his body fully in tact, perfectly working with one another to barely keep him alive even with the aid of all the machinery hooked to his body.

Even despite that, all fire fist could worry about was his kid brother. Whitebeard probably had everything under wraps, he had to, pops was the strongest pirate alive, a king among men but Luffy was being targeted...

Soft rumbling thrums through his throat, unfamiliar- no, not unfamiliar just not used to anymore, a feeling to his long since useless vocal chords. It's raspy, painful with the way air pushes past the muscles of his larynx to make the sound and his lips, dry and split painfully move into shape: Weak as he is, one word tumbles from the pirate's dried tongue while his eyes stay skybound, staring at the ceiling blankly.

“ Luffy..? ”

lil starter for @sleeplesswork | Law :)

[weptsorrow]

a quiet hum, the room was empty, two dead, one injured and another refusing to leave her pod. it was rather peaceful, all things considered, last year it took a couple more rounds for the atmosphere to grow this heavy. a smile paints pale features as the man dressed in black steps backstage, luka adding one more to the death toll. ❛❛ congratulations ❜❜ he hums, alone in the dressing room, his lovely competition off somewhere else, he hadn’t paid her much mind.

a quick little luka ask !! feel free to ignore, as I’m still getting the hang of him and mizi :D

( @sleeplesswork )

he stared down on marty's lifeless body, the blood pooling beneath him, ruining the near-identical outfit to ivan's that he wore. the crowd cheered and applauded his victory— amidst them all he could even make out the silhouette of his guardian —but ivan didn't really feel anything. no pride, no happiness, no relief. he wondered if this was because he didn't know the other at all— he hadn't even attended the same school as the rest of them. would he have felt different if it was anyone else sharing the stage with him? he stood on the edge of the saturn's ring; he wondered how they knew he'd always liked the stars. he supposed if there was one thing that he didn't know, it was the thought that went into the layouts of each round's stage, specifically tailored for their participants.

well, not like it mattered. ivan offered his fans one final bow and a little wave, before being prompted to leave. coming back to backstage was somewhat disappointing; he knew till craved mizi's attention and affirmation, he'd heard the song among other things, but the selfish part of him had hoped that he'd be there, the same way ivan had been there both before and after round two— even if till happened to be knocked unconscious afterwards. he looked around, wondering if he was still out of it and in his pod. instead, he was met with a sight of blonde.

“ ... ” he knew he should behave. he knew exactly what sort of response and behavior this situation called for. he knew, and yet he struggled to actually put it forth effortlessly.

how strange. acting never took effort from him.

ivan knew a thing or two about the man. not much, but just enough to know that he was the biggest threat of them all. older than them, also from anakt, and the past season's winner. his song was next, and, well... the truth was, ivan was quite intrigued to hear it, to watch him perform— part of him wished he'd lose, though. yet, he severely doubted that'd be the case. be it now or even later once he'd go against mizi in round five— ivan liked the girl, he did, but... he also knew better, and he didn't have high hopes for her.

“ thank you. i hope we'll get to sing together later, ” he said, voice cold and monotone. it was a lie, though— if ivan intended for the competition to turn out his way, and he did, for as much as he could extend his influence anyway, then he knew he and luka would never share the stage. frankly, a shame.

“ good luck. ” but he knew the other wouldn't need it.

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Regress Meme | Open

@sleeplesswork asked: regress - and one for weiss and nero of course ~

Everything felt wrong. It felt as if the work was scraping away at his senses, screaming at his presence. He felt like any moment, he would be shoved far, far, far away, deep into something else. He wasn't sure why this was happening, why he was feeling this, and if he was feeling it all so strongly because he'd escaped that stupid heavy outfit the doctors made him wear. They were changing uniforms, given that now he was seven, he was growing bit by bit again and his attire would need to be adjusted.

He just remembered running, his senses, his power, overwhelming, spilling, bursting, until he tripped here.

And he kept stumbling and running, as he finally, FINALLY sensed something familiar. A harsh, strong, heavy beacon of pure energy. It...he knew it, it was so deeply familiar and ingrained in his mind and his heart, but it was heavier now. It was MORE now. He could barely care about why. Bare feet slapped across cold ground, a torn black gown flowing around him, and a few bandages fall away to be consumed in the darkness trailing behind him, occasionally consuming metal and such from the flooring and the walls when he'd almost trip or run into a wall.

Finally, he found it...and he stared, in horror.

White hair. It was his. That energy...it was his! But this...? This was not right...! THIS WOULD NOT BE!!

His brother, his dear brother, his beloved brother and protector...bound to a harsh thrown. A sob tore from trembling lips past jagged and irregular teeth, tears dropping slowly from red eyes torn between rage and sadness and a fear he'd never felt.

"Brother!!" the young boys voice broke out then, a cry of despair, of anger, of desperation, before black tendrils formed from flowing darkness, and reached to take hold of every chain binding the bound man. They gripped until the metal creaked and whined. And the boy cried again, "BROTHER!! WEISS!! LET GO!!!"

His eyes shown with power, and the tendrils tore the chains apart, leaving the man unbound once more. Breathing unevenly, controlling sobs and failing, careful footsteps were taken until he was just a few steps away from the thrown and where his brother sit, unsure if he was even conscious. And then the sobs overtook him as the darkness eased around him, like a blanket hanging behind him as he threw himself upon his brothers lap, holding on to what he could reach for dear life.