#spoilers and shading practice all combined into one

[lets-try-some-writing-draws]

"Beware the Immortal Jester."

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #digital art #optimus prime #alternate universe #fan art #the thirteenth prime #the grim dark archives #ehehehehe #spoilers and shading practice all combined into one #I love doing grayscale artwork #so much easier than colored stuff #not to mention its easy to make it cheery or dark with little effort

[denidenizen]

☆ drst hcs ~ love languages

prompt. the love languages characters prefer to give to and receive from their partners — the reader is gender neutral

ft. chrome, gen, kohaku, ryusui, & ukyo

warning. little manga spoilers in ryusui’s section

a/n — first post! dedicated to a close friend who got me into this series and helped me figure these out. enjoy my take on these characters!

☁️ chrome ;;

give | receive ~ gift giving / acts of service

• Chrome is someone who always wants to make himself useful. If he can do things to make your life easier or to make you smile — he will. This translates into how he shows affection to a partner.

• Considering the effort he puts into science just to try and heal Ruri, actions speak louder than words for him. By no means is he someone who can properly express himself through words to you, anyway. He’d be far too flustered.

• Instead, he takes to using a combination of acts of service and gift giving to show that he loves and cares about you. If you’ve complained of a problem — no matter how small — he’ll put forth as much effort as possible to solve it with science.

• If you ever feel sore after a long days of work, he can figure out how to make something to help soothe it! Surely, after making the sulfa drug, it won’t be as hard! Having trouble hauling things up and downhill? He’ll find a process to make it easier for you! If not, he’ll just help you himself, of course! Whatever it is that he can do — he will. If it means making your life easier or taking a little off your workload, he’d do anything in his power.

• For the most part, he’ll try his best to figure it out on his own, but he isn’t afraid to ask Senku for help if it’s for your sake. Once he’s finished, he’ll happily showcase whatever it is he’s made to you — explaining the process behind it as he does so.

• In all honesty, doing things for you, making things for you — it comes naturally to him. Chrome is creative yet practical. In his eyes, of course he’ll make something if you mentioned having a problem with it. Of course, he’ll make you a gift reflective of something from the modern age because you mentioned it. Science is all about making things easier for others and making people smile, so is it so strange that he’ll do that for you — a person he loves so dearly?

• The process coming naturally to him doesn’t mean he puts no thought into it — quite the opposite, actually. Showing his affection through action and gifts comes naturally because he’s always considering you in all he does. He thinks about the smile you’ll have on your face, or the fact that if you could, you’d also do so much for him purely because you love him.

• You support him in a way no one else has before, so he repays you in the way that makes the most sense to him — science and all of the gifts it can offer to you.

• At the end of the day, any all-nighters, struggles, and pain is worth seeing you smile. In Chrome’s eyes, seeing you smile is far more fulfilling than his experimenting creating a fruitful product.

• Chrome thinks that if he can keep making you happy with something he loves doing — something you’ve always effortlessly supported him in, then it just makes his chosen path even more worthwhile.

give | receive ~ words of affirmation

• Considering the amount of effort he puts in for others, Chrome really values when people recognize it. He loves hearing praise and affirmation for his achievements — true recognition for the amount of painful labor that goes into every scientific project he works on with Senku and Kaseki.

• If you praise him for figuring something out on his own, regardless of whether or not it’s something that people from the modern era have already seen, he’ll try to act casually. Chrome will insist that it’s only natural he managed — he is a scientist, after all!

• However, you don’t miss the way he genuinely smiles, face flushed a light shade of red — elated that someone recognizes the hard work and passion he puts into every single process he does.

• After a while of inventing crazy things, smaller things might go unnoticed despite the effort they take, so Chrome really appreciates that you still praise and happily share awe over these things. He likes knowing that he doesn’t have to create something absolutely crazy to be worthy of your praise — you see the effort, not the end product.

• Beyond just praise for his achievements, Chrome needs someone who’ll be there at his low points. It can get frustrating when he relentlessly experiments to no avail, or when he feels like he’s made a huge oversight that’ll result in him having to start from scratch.

• While he’ll never openly express it to others, he has his moments where he feels worlds behind Senku or even Kaseki’s level of intelligence. Some days, he still feels like the boy that called himself a sorcerer with no clue as to the processes behind what he was doing. Sometimes, he loses track of the progress he’s made.

• That’s why it’s so important that you remind him that he is a scientist — he brings his own expertise to the table that even Senku or Kaseki don’t. You remind Chrome that he’s earned his place as a scientist through backbreaking effort and a desire for knowledge.

• When he struggles with an experiment, you channel excitement back into the conversation, insisting that you can’t wait to see what he’ll try next. When he makes an oversight, you tell Chrome that he’s finally got it figured out, so he’s one step closer to the satisfaction of the end product. In Chrome’s moments of doubt, you remind him of how much he’s accomplished and encourage him to keep going.

• Because at the end of the day, he’s bound to have his ups and downs. Having you there to remind him that someone is supporting him — that someone loves him despite any failures or drawbacks is so important to him. It makes things easier and all the more worthwhile.

☁️ gen asagiri ;;

give | receive ~ words of affirmation

• Gen is skilled when it comes to the way he uses his words. It’d be no different when it comes to his partner. He knows exactly what to say no matter the mood you're in — happy to provide words of comfort, reassurance, and support.

• However, don’t mistake his actions as manipulative or deceitful. He will never say anything to you that he doesn’t mean — each carefully selected word is truthful, always reflecting what he believes. Being good with words mixed with being a mentalist does not mean he’ll lie to you.

• Actually, being a mentalist is what helps Gen understand the weight and power that words can have over a person. The last thing he’d ever want to do is use that to hurt you — so he’ll be truthful with all that he says to you.

• Honestly, it’s not difficult for him to be honest when it comes to you. When he praises you, it’s because he’s genuinely proud of the effort you’ve put in. When he helps reassure you, it’s because he knows that, with time, things will improve. After all, he’ll be there by your side to ensure that it gets better. When Gen provides comfort, promising to remain by your side no matter the situation, it’s because he wants to — he hopes to keep that promise regardless of any hardships you may face in the Stone World.

• Gen is far too used to having to use his words to deceive others, so it’s relieving to be able to use them in the way he wants when it comes to you. He doesn’t have to worry about you being skeptical of what he’s saying. You trust him — you know that he’ll never do anything to try and trick you. Every word he says to you is true, and even if he did feel the need to conceal the truth from you, you’d know it’s because he has a good reason to.

• Above all else, Gen wants to protect you and be a constant source of support for you. Whenever you struggle, he wants you to know that you can come to him and he’ll talk you through all of your troubles.

• With Gen by your side, you’ll never stay nervous for too long. As soon as he notices that you’re worrying about something, Gen will be there to soothe you — happy to remind you that he loves you dearly, and no matter what may happen, he’ll be there to support you.

give | receive ~ acts of service

• When it comes to what Gen prefers to receive, acts of service rank the highest for him.

• Gen is used to doing things and having things done for him because of deals he makes. If someone does something for him unprompted, he automatically assumes that it’s because the other person wants something from him.

• Having someone do things for him to make his life easier or to make him happy, purely because they love him, is something that Gen isn’t used to.

• In the modern world, people did things for him because he was famous and they wanted something, be it money or fame. In the New World, people do things for him in order to convince him to use his abilities as a mentalist for some insane plan with a slim chance of working.

• Most things done for him are purely transactional, so when you do things for him, he’s shocked to learn that you expect nothing in return. He tries to scan you for any sign that you may be lying but finds nothing. When he asks why and you respond that it’s because you love him, it’s difficult for him not to fall for you even harder than before.

• Despite being so unfamiliar with this type of affection, Gen adores it. You’re always looking out for him and considering him without him having to say anything. You’ll lend a helping hand without Gen asking, and you’ll make things for him when you recognize that he’s getting worn out.

• Overall, you’re always thinking of him and it shows in the way you act. And every time he asks how he can repay you — if you want anything in return — you’re quick to shut him down. You’ve never needed him to do anything in return — it was never, and will never be, transactional to you.

• To you, he’s enough. Loving him is enough of a repayment, and Gen has never felt happier to have you by his side.

☁️ kohaku ;;

give | receive ~ acts of service

• Kohaku doesn’t see the value in materialistic things, and often finds herself too busy with various tasks to truly offer up as much time as she’d like to you. However, she can show her love through actions.

• Similar to how she hauled hot spring water back and forth for Ruri when she was ill, Kohaku expresses her love in the things she does for you. Her each and every action is imbued with her heartfelt wish to see you happy. There is no limit to the lengths she’ll go to to see you smile.

• If you’re sick, Kohaku will fret over you — stemming from a mix of concern for your well-being and a fear that you’ll become as unwell as her sister did. She hasn’t lost anyone since science was introduced in her life, and she certainly isn’t planning on doing so now.

• Even when you’re not sick, Kohaku is always looking out for you. Nothing escapes her keen eye. When you find yourself even a little tired, Kohaku is there to offer you a shoulder to lay on while you recover and rest. If you’re injured, she’s the first one to help you sit down and try her best to patch you up.

• Despite how direct Kohaku can be, she’s always shown affection better through actions than words. She doesn’t consider herself intelligent like Senku or good with words like Gen. However, she’s nothing if not honest, so her love reflects in the way she acts.

• Kohaku has a good enough memory to recall the things you’ve mentioned wanting or needing. As much as she wishes that she could do something about it herself, she’s happy to pass the task on to the Science Team. If it’ll make you smile, she doesn’t feel the need to be the direct reason for it.

• Though, even if she tries to insist she didn’t lift a finger, the scientists will always credit her for any ideas she brings up on your behalf. As much as she tries to brush it off, she can’t deny the way her heart flutters when she receives your genuine gratitude.

• Kohaku is happy to do anything and everything for you. She wants to protect you because you make her happy — and you’re someone precious to her. If it takes a little effort on her part to keep you healthy and protected, she’s happy to contribute. After all, to her, you’re worth it.

give | receive ~ physical affection

• Kohaku enjoys being shown that she’s loved and cared for. For her, the best way to do that is through physical affection. Kohaku often treats others roughly, having always been someone with a tough love type of mindset.

• However, when it comes to herself, she appreciates it when someone treats her kindly. More often than not, the only touch she experiences is through sparring and fighting — never anything gentle or loving.

• Growing up, she became far too afraid to show affection to Ruri due to her sickly state, not wanting to accidentally injure her sister. Even now, she’s often told that she hugs too tight or squeezes too hard. It makes her afraid to initiate affection.

• It becomes incredibly important to her when you start initiating physical contact on your own. She can be a bit of a brute sometimes — aren’t you afraid?

• She’s equally relieved and elated that you aren’t. You’re happy to shower her in gentle affection and touch — bringing her a lot of comfort. When things get tough, she needs that physical touch as a reminder that you’re still there — that you’re alive.

• The Kingdom of Science has many close brushes with death. Naturally, this’ll include you and Kohaku. When it’s all said and done, she loves being able to relax in your embrace and listen to your heartbeat.

• When she’s having a hard time, she doesn’t always want to talk, so it’s nice to have someone there who won’t force her into speaking about her troubles. Kohaku enjoys that you’ll just be there to hold her tight and soothe her when things start to get heavy.

• As protective as she is of you, she enjoys having someone who wants to protect her, as well. She enjoys knowing that you’ll always be there for her — that you’ll never shy away from giving her affection even if she can be a little brash or rough at times.

• Kohaku may be a warrior, but she’s still human. She craves that physical touch from you, consciously or otherwise. Whether it be holding your hand while walking around, or her just gravitating to your side when she isn’t busy — she always seeks out your warmth.

• Of course, if someone calls her out on it, she’s quick to deny it. However, as long as you don’t mind it, she’s happy to receive your love and touch because it shows her how much you truly do love her.

☁️ ryusui nanami ;;

give | receive ~ gift giving

• Ryusui has a lot of money at his disposal in the modern era and in the new age now, as well. While he can be indulgent, he’s also smart with his money. He uses it intentionally and can remember just about everything he’s spent his money on. He uses his money to uplift and motivate others, so it’s only natural that he does the same with you.

• Even in the New World, he could buy just about anything he wanted. However, when it comes to selecting gifts for you, he’s intentional about it. He sees no point in giving someone a gift if you aren’t going to carefully consider the other person’s preferences. It’d be a waste of money, and it wouldn’t do much to motivate you or make you happy, so he knows he has to be careful.

• Despite his carefulness with money, Ryusui would be more willing to spend more to indulge you. He loves you, and he wants to make sure you know it. Of course, if you tell him not to go overboard with it, he’ll listen to you.

• He’ll find whatever excuse he can to get you a gift. If a mission is successful, he’ll buy you something to commemorate. If he’s been away for a long while, he’ll buy you something to make up for it. Even if you just mention wanting something, he’ll buy it or will pay the science team to make it.

• By no means is he trying to buy your love. He isn’t the type. If he desires you, he knows he can’t just buy you out. Actually, the gifts serve the purpose to make you happy and to remind you of him when he’s busy. As the Kingdom of Science trusts him more, he finds that he’s busier and busier. To make up for it, he wants to make sure you’ll have things that remind you of him or will keep you occupied to ease the loneliness at least a little.

• For similar reasons, he’ll buy you clothing or accessories so, in a way, he can always be with you even when he’s away. Hell, if you wanted it, he’d give you his own things if it’ll help make you happy and ease your heart when he can’t be there with you himself.

• Ryusui knows that he can’t buy your happiness or love, but if the gifts he gets you can make you at least a little happier, then it’s worth it in his eyes. He desires anything and everything, but one of his strongest desires is to see you happy.

• The way you smile when you receive a heartfelt present from him is worth every penny he spends because, in return, he gets to show you how much he loves you and see you at your happiest. That alone is absolutely priceless.

give | receive ~ quality time (slight manga spoilers ahead)

• Since he was young, Ryusui has always seen the value in spending time with those you love. Memories are priceless, so he appreciates when you make time for him. He loves spending quality time with you working on something together, relaxing side-by-side, or even just sitting together and doing absolutely nothing.

• Considering how things went with his brother, Sai, he places an even bigger emphasis on spending time together. While he’ll usually go after what he desires, Ryusui is self-aware, so he knows that he may come off as forward and forceful. The last thing he wants us for you to feel pressured to spend your time with him. That’s why he enjoys it so much when you go out of your way to plan something with him or make time for him.

• Time is invaluable in his eyes. The fact that you’re so willing to give so much of it to him makes him feel loved — it lets him know that you care and you see him as someone worth spending time with. To him, it showcases the fact that you don’t need anything from him to want to spend time with him — you're happy just being by his side.

• Although Ryusui can be a bit flashy and extravagant in his chosen activities and hobbies, he’s happy to do anything with you. If you’d prefer a quiet night in, he’s elated to sit by your side and chat with you away from prying eyes. If you’d prefer something more adventurous — he’ll be there by your side should you ever grow fearful!

• He tries his best to make sure you two capture as many memories as possible in photos. He wants to remember every moment he spends with you.

• In his rare moments of frustration or melancholy, truthfully, he desires nothing more than your company. If he has to spend his day upset or frustrated over an issue or obstacle, he’d much rather do so with you by his side. He finds comfort in your presence, even appreciating if you’re simply in the room with him while he works.

• Being able to simply turn around and have you there means a lot to him. You could be anywhere doing whatever you please, but you’re choosing to instead spend that time in his presence. It makes his heart beat a little faster each and every time.

• Each time he remembers how wonderful it is that he has the person he desires most in the world by his side, he’ll walk over to you, hug you tightly, and thank you for remaining by his side.

• And it always makes Ryusui feel loved when you tell him that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

☁️ ukyo saionji ;;

give | receive ~ physical affection

• Ukyo, with his precise hearing, is typically able to catch on when you’re having a tough time or are struggling with something. However, he isn’t exactly great with words, nor does he want to make you feel like you have to talk to him.

• He knows it can be a little uncomfortable because it’s hard to keep a secret from him. However, he never wants you to think he doesn’t care, so he uses physical affection to silently show you that he’s here for you, loves you, and is always willing to hear you out should you want someone to listen to.

• Whether it be a gentle hug, holding your hand, or lending you his shoulder, he’ll do all he can to express how much he adores you without making you feel pressured into telling him every little thing.

• Beyond just times of need, he’s happy to show you affection casually, as well. It comes naturally to him. When he’s sitting and working on something, he’s used to having you next to him and will let you lean against him or hold his hand. It’s not strange for him to have his hand intertwined with yours even when you’re just walking around the Kingdom of Science.

• Ukyo is a fan of soft, little shows of PDA here and there but will never do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. If anything, he’ll abstain from it completely if it makes you uncomfortable. Either way, in private, he’s affectionate toward you, showering you in hugs, kisses, or whatever your preferred form of physical touch may be.

• Let it be known that he isn’t above teasing you from time to time either. If he hears your heartbeat quicken, he’ll poke fun at you for it, happy to see that he has just as much of an effect on you as you have on him. He finds any and all of your reactions endearing, but will never tease you in public. After all, he’d hate to make you even a little uncomfortable.

• He loves showing you just how loved you are, and when he hears your heart skip a beat, he knows that his message is getting across — you know that you’re adored, supported, and cared for. That’s what truly matters to him above all else.

• If it takes him holding you close and squeezing you a little tighter for you to feel confident in his feelings for you, then it’s easily worth the effort.

give | receive ~ quality time

• Having hearing like Ukyo’s is both a blessing and a curse. While it can give him a one-up on enemies and proves useful for the Kingdom of Science, it isn’t exactly something he can just turn off. Even when he doesn’t want to be, he’s constantly drowning in sound — overlapping conversations, animals from afar, and the sound of hard labor mix into a cacophony that often makes him overwhelmed.

• Typically, he’s good at concealing how much it bothers him to be able to hear so much. Things that may sound quiet to others might echo loudly in his ears, but he’ll never say a word so as to not inconvenience others.

• Having you there to recognize when he gets overwhelmed, and having you there to spend time with him when he needs a moment away from it all is so important to him. Before meeting you, Ukyo has never realized how nice it is to have someone who understands that he’s prone to getting overwhelmed.

• You always seem to notice when he’s getting fatigued or when his head starts to hurt from listening to countless things all day. It never matters when it happens, you always make time for him to pull him away from the chaos of it. You’ll take Ukyo somewhere private and quieter, gently showering him in quiet affection while he rests in your arms.

• Ukyo appreciates that you don’t mind spending time with him in silence. Of course, he loves having fun with you on normal dates, but it’s these silent moments spent in each other’s embrace that mean the most to him.

• It reminds him that you’ll never make him uncomfortable or push him when he’s at his limit. You’re happy just being with him — you don’t always need fancy dates or to even fill the silence with chatter. It makes him feel loved knowing that you’re content to keep him in your arms.

• You’ll sometimes cover his ears for him if even the distant sounds seem to be bothering him. Then, you’ll spend as much time with him as he needs. Ukyo always feels bad for wasting your time in such a way, but he’s quickly reminded of how much you care when you reassure him.

• Time spent with him is never time wasted in your eyes. You’re happy to do so to make him more comfortable and to make sure he’s taken care of when he gets a little too overwhelmed.

• The last thing you’d want is for him to struggle on his own — you love him, and you want him to be able to spend time with someone who cares to prove to him that he doesn’t have to stay quiet when he’s in pain.

• It works — because Ukyo knows that come hell and high water, you’ll always have time to spend with him should he need it, and he loves you dearly for it.

tags.

#dr stone headcanons #dr stone x reader #dr stone fanfic #dr stone chrome #dr stone gen #dr stone kohaku #dr stone ryusui #dr stone ukyo #dr stone chrome x reader #chrome x reader #gen asagiri x reader #gen x reader #kohaku x reader #dr stone kohaku x reader #ryusui x reader #ryusui nanami x reader #ukyo saionji x reader #🎐.denizen drafts

[star-burst365]

We’re all sleeping on the gem that is Matthias Helvar: an essay

Crooked Kingdom spoilers!!

We’re all in denial about Matthias’s death in ck but also he had some bangers lines and scenes even before chapter 40 such as:

finding out his full name was Matthias Benedik Helvar omg why are we sleeping on this

“how about i bite your lip”

“don’t eat the snow” i dont think they were planning to 💀

YOU ARE EVERY BLOSSOM BLOOMING AT ONCE?? HELLO??

his constant feud with kaz

kaz could breathe and matthias would already be fetching the holy water

any demjin moment ever

“you’re all horrible”

to

“they all seem like practical choices 😀”

the grandpa energy

nothing but respect and admiration for inej “the little bronze girl” ghafa

MY GHOST WONT ASSOCIATE WITH YOUR GHOST

the big brooding yellow tulip

nina handed him a gun during the ambush of soc and he fr would’ve killed her if they weren’t being shot at

“I can drink your poison no longer” was so powerful. he went from extreme prejudices against grisha after being raised and literally brainwashed by hatred to bashing his ex-commander in the head to free Nina omg

friendly reminder his entire family was killed by inferni but he still moves past it

something nobody talks about: he combined his hateful past of serving as a drukelle, something made to hunt grisha to lead two of them (Jesper and Kuwei) out of a corner and get them back to the rest of the crows in ck.

he used military tactics made to kill grisha to save grisha

this was so important for his development i swear

and don’t forget Nina either

“little red bird” please im not okay

MY LOVE AS A PET NAME THATS SO PURE MY GOD

him and nina squeezing in the littlest places just to cuddle together and rest together is so dvfnjkvsfnks

him just wanting to be there for Nina for every step of the way as she recovers from parem

his wet dreams consist of three things:

her “glorious thighs”

a traditional fjerdan life and the domestic lifestyle Fr

literally just vibing in a field of flowers

he saw a nameless husband help a nameless wife with her hair in ketterdam and wished that could be him and nina that’s too sweet help

all he wants is a domestic little life filled with love

but then there’s “he considered brushing it off with his lips, then told himself he should take a walk”

he just told himself to touch grass my god

but also the enemies to lovers lingers, my one of my favorite quotes being:

”you’d flirt with a date palm if it paid you any attention” the shade

also his family? the way he still has memories? so much so he foot massages a pregnant woman?

friendly reminder this man is built like a giant and looks the most threatening out of the group

and he fr lets a girl sing her heart out AND OFFERS TO TAKE HER ON A WALK BY THE LAKE HES SO PRECIOUS

”sing. by all means, sing” famous last words

him complimenting nina on her hair and how she styles it??

the toffee on the boat in soc

constantly regretting his life decisions in soc but willing to die for the crows in ck

the found family trope is killing me

“trickery isn’t my native tongue but I can still learn to speak it” the demjin and crows influence

his lil commander voice to silence the prisoners when they were getting in the truck made inej, someone with the posture of a knifes edge, stand straighter like wtf

HE HAD A WOLF WHY ARE WE SLEEPING ON THIS

HE IS 100% A DOG PERSON

HE AND KAZ WOULDVE PETTED THOSE DOGS FOR HOURS ON THAT ONE CK MISSION

he went from saying meaningful and encouraging things to nina and then when she said she wanted to cry in a corner he switched in 0.2 seconds and said “but…this room is round” oh my god

made out with nina in front of two thirds of the grisha triumvirate

HE PERKS UP WHEN NINA LAUGHS THATS SO ADORABLE

nina and him being twin soldiers sdnnnojnididoskc

him and Jesper’s scenes are honestly amazing, we were robbed

THE DELETED HELNIK SCENE I WANT TO DIE I WISH LEIGH KEPT THAT

he’s literally kaz’s bodyguard when trading for inej

learned a language while in prison I mean that’s pretty impressive

eats honor for breakfast lunch and dinner

”i. Should. Let. You. Die.” He says while trying to desperately save kaz

ran to nina with a bullet in his stomach for one last kiss, for one final goodbye

”save some mercy for my people” that hurts oh my god

the grisha are the favored and children of Djel was so important because that’s him connecting both his past and his much better present together in an actuslly good way

he doesn’t associate his religion with witches and tree handshakes anymore, now he considers those witches blessed by his tree god

in conclusion: I sobbed for weeks over his death and will never recover. thank you for coming to my Ted talk

#matthias helvar #six of crows #nina zenik #jesper #inej supremacy #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #the crows #shadow and bone #matthias x nina #helnik #demjin #the dregs #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wylan hendriks #i miss them so much #ive been crying all day

[bittydragon]

The Void Gives and the Void Takes - 1

Next

Notes: Hello! I am here! Now with Hollow Knight content! Y'all voted for my current project to be released in parts instead of one big oneshot, so here is the first part of my new story! The gt doesn't start until next part, but this one is an important lead in. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Major character death, minor Hollow Knight spoilers

The Abyss, a dark place full of void, buried underneath the long abandoned Ancient Basin. A place of death, where many were left to die for not being a perfect rendition of a creature that a terrified and selfish king created. Locked away from the world in an attempt to seal away the king’s mistakes and reopened by a bug determined to fix the kingdom. 

The quick pitter patter of footsteps on dark tile and the occasional whooshing of the air as a small figure slashed themself through it filled the otherwise silent pit.

A small bug, shroud in void and a tattered cloak, ran as fast as they could, trying to escape the pursuing shades. All Ghost wanted to do was douse their cloak in the pool of void to give them the last ability needed to complete their quest. They only even knew of this place because of their sister’s words in the ashy cliffs at the edge of this kingdom.

So they blamed her for their current predicament, being pursued by the angry shades of Ghost’s lost siblings, all thrown down into this empty pit when deemed unfit for a job position Ghost now sought to destroy. So many lives, taken away at birth, all because they weren’t empty. They weren’t hollow.

One would think they would appreciate seeing Ghost here, knowing that the small bug returned to their family and sought to avenge them and the lost kingdom. But instead, they seemed to be spiteful that Ghost was still alive, that they got to live while the rest of them were trashed. Perhaps it was out of jealousy that their sibling got to live despite not being the perfect vessel either. If only they had a voice to tell them that it was only by chance that they escaped the Abyss before it sealed away forever.

But they had no voice. That part was successful in their creation at least.

So Ghost continued to run. They flinched as the sound of their footsteps tapping against tile changed into the crunch of shattered masks beneath their feet and they tried not to think about the graveyard directly below them as they continued their attempted escape. 

Ghost hopped up onto a slightly higher segment of the pile of masks before quickly placing a hand onto the ground full of death and began to leap up to a platform just above them. However, right as their feet left the ground, a tendril of shadows shot out from a nearby sibling and sent Ghost flying right back to the ground in pain.

They shook it off and pushed themself back on their feet with practiced ease. Ghost brought one of their arms around their chest, underneath the cloak, and grasped themselves in pain, hunching over themselves as the pain finally began to set in.

They quickly came to the worrisome realization that they had taken too many hits while escaping the caverns and that last hit was almost enough to do them in. Thick particles of void drifted around their body and Ghost remained hunched over as they tried to get their bearings. Without a proper moment to focus some of their excess soul into more lifesource for themselves, they’d be stuck bordering death until they found a safe place.

Which unfortunately meant they had to move fast but still be careful. Not a great combination for the small, reckless warrior. But if they didn’t take this risk, they’d die anyway. So it was worth a shot.

Ghost prepared for another leap and quickly took to the air, scrambling to latch onto the platform and quickly pulled themself back up. The aggressive shades continued their pursuit, floating up towards the living vessel and not giving Ghost a moment of rest.

They didn’t waste any time and quickly launched themself back into the air, their borrowed wings from a sibling recently defeated spread out from under their cloak and took a large beat before tucking themselves back under the ragged cloak, carrying the small vessel a bit further into the air and allowing Ghost to reach a platform higher than they could normally reach. 

A quick glance down showed that they were quickly losing the shades of their siblings, who were only able to go so far before being called back into the void. So with a newfound burst of energy, Ghost launched themself up onto platform after platform, occasionally swinging their nail at the mindless bugs in their path and gathering some extra soul for when they could finally take a well needed break to focus, ignoring the small splatters of orange infection spilling from the bugs as their nail made contact.

However, in their euphoria of managing to escape the siblings, they underestimated the distance to the next platform. They reached out to latch onto the platform but found they were inches short of getting a good grip on the side. Before they could do anything else, Ghost began to quickly descend into freefall.

They did their best to maneuver in the air to find a proper landing spot, but they had already used up too much of their stamina to slow their descent with the monarch wings hidden in their cloak. They couldn’t exactly use those to fly yet, they needed to land between beats as they didn’t have nearly enough practice with them yet.

Most of the time, falls were not a big deal, as Ghost was an expert at catching themself as they hit the ground. But the panic over the fact that they still hadn’t focused and were still inches from death was clouding their mind. If they landed among the siblings…

Ghost didn’t have enough time to move out of the way through the air as their body suddenly collided with sharp, metallic spikes poking out of one of the suspended platforms. It hurt. They felt their mask split in two, both sides falling to either side of the dying vessel and plummeting to the mask-covered cavern floor below.

They silently dissipated into shadows, unable to voice their agony as they were created to be. While being a vessel had its perks, this was not one of them.

They felt the void reach out to them as their consciousness faded out from existence, which would’ve been more concerning if they were more aware in the moment.

#hollow knight #the knight #or as I like to call them: Ghost #bitty writes #not sure how to go about tagging right now but oh well

[xenomorphee3]

Cute moment between Miles and Zu

For those reading my Quaritch story on Ao3, I know you miss Zu! That's why I put this flashback in the most recent chapter. To tide you all over. You will see her again really soon. AND you will soon see some really awesome art of her and Miles that I've commissioned 👀 (There's some art of Zu that I've done on my page, if you want to see what she looks like. Pinned and if you scroll down a bit.)

Story spoilers!

[Recent Flashback when the four were waiting for Phase 2 of their mission to kill Jake Sully, after they had already threatened Mo’at and set the C-4 at the Tree of Souls]

The four were resting in their minimalist camp in the forest floor of the Hallelujah Mountains for the evening and the sun was setting soon. They really had no major tasks while they waited for the third day where they’d finally get Jake Sully’s traitor ass. So they all just relaxed, cleaned weapons, gathered and subtly cooked food, and had light, rotating watch shifts. Lyle had practiced speed field stripping various types of the weapons they had brought along, and Mansk found himself reading on a small pocket-sized tablet he had brought. He was trying to identify some of the flora around them. He was reading Grace Augustine's famed textbook on Pandoran botany.

Miles decided to disassemble and clean his WASP revolver, his favorite weapon. For fun and for boredom really. He sat down, legs crossed on his long sleeping pad, shaded under the large, green understory leaves and leaned over and began to disassemble his sidearm on the flat foam pad in front of him. Zu, who was taking in the unique sights and sounds of this forest compared to those of her volcanic archipelago, saw her mate sit on the sleeping pad, focus in his eyes, and went over to watch him. She sat down at the end of his sleeping pad, gripping both of her knees, watching him sweetly, her tail curly lightly, the extra long furry tuft at the end moving loosely, brushing the grass.

Miles glanced up at her and smiled, catching her orange eyes which looked reddish orange under the shade of the leaves above them, then looked back down at his task with focus. He was trying to hold in his smile as he worked, knowing that she was looking intensely at what he was doing, and at him. Zu had not seen how this type of weapon was disassembled when helping the Marines to train her people’s warriors on Sky People weapons. Only M69 AR’s and the Hydra machine guns, so this was interesting to her.

“This is your favorite weapon, My-ulls?” Zu asked in Na’vi.

“Indeed it is. I also like my knife.” he said in English, kindly, not looking up from what he was doing. Zu rolled her eyes, frustrated at him not speaking Na’vi as she demanded of him for the next few days, but at least he indicated that he fully understood what she said regardless. And she wasn’t going to press him to speak Na’vi at this moment given the focus he had on his task, and she also wanted to know more.

Zu replied in English, “It is so small. Why do you not like the big ones? Mansk likes the big ones.” Zu asked, nonchalantly. 

Mansk heard this and for the first time that Zu had ever heard, he actually said, “Oorah.” Even Miles and Lyle were surprised at this, and Lyle heard what Miles said, “Oh yeah he does. Get some,” to Mansk in a mocking way. Mansk smirked and rolled his eyes.

Miles chuckled and said, “Well, I’d like to think it’s not the size that matters, it’s how you use it,” he said cheekily, winking at her, but humorously knowing full she would have no understanding of the innuendo he was making. He chuckled to himself. Lyle and Mansk were grinning. Zu tilted her head slightly at this– at his wink combined with the statement, and the clear amusement that the three had which she didn’t understand. She looked like a confused kitten with her head tilted. Miles grinned when he saw this, thinking this was just the cutest damned thing, and he went back to re-assembling his weapon. His tail curling behind him in a pleased manner.

Zu chimed in casually after a moment and said, “I like my spear. It is bigger than the blades that many of my people use. Better reach.” 

“And you wield it marvelously , my dear.” he said, sincerely and looked up to her with a suave facial expression. Remembering full well how she kicked his ass with hers and how positively hot he found that.

Zu looked down, blushing. This man, her mate, who she was already so intimate with could still make her blush. Just thinking about this fact made her blush more and her tail softly curled to side in a C-shape. Miles caught her blush and her tail and he pressed his lips together, trying to hold down his smile. 

Miles was now in the final stages of reassembling his weapon. After a few more clicks, insertions, and attachments, he held up the cleaned and reassembled WASP revolver in his right hand, locked eyes with Zu, a bold grin on his face, and slapped the clip in. Zu’s eyes widened slightly with excitement, her tail flicking upwards. Something about seeing him do this she found so very attractive. Miles then placed his revolver to the side and looked at his watch.

Zu then asked, “My-ulls why do you look at that so much?”

Miles replied, “It’s my watch, it tells–”

“Yes, yes I know. It tells you when in the day it is. But why do you need to know when among obvious moments? We have sunrise. We have eclipse. We have sunset. Is that not enough?” she asked, curiously.

Miles just looked at her and thought for a moment. She made a solid point… for people who lived a village life. But of course it is important to more discreetly count down the time between and within these big moments. He thought. Though he was military-oriented.

He said, “Well, what if I want to know how long it is until eclipse? Or the evening. How much time I have left to do something?” he posited to her. 

“Can you not tell, My-ulls?” Zu pressed. 

Miles was amused. Zu was just sitting here flexing her natural Pandoran circadian rhythm over him. 

“No. Not all of us can be experts on Pandoran day night cycles, Princess.” he said with a cheeky snark.

Zu then looked down with a smirk, still holding her knees while sitting. Her tail curling quickly. Mischievously. Then she looked back up to him and said, “Well My-ulls. Night is coming soon. Do you want to know how I know that? Because the sun is setting.” Zu said with a mocking tone looking up to the canopy, the golden rays of evening light scattering through.

Miles pulled his lips back in a grin, biting his lower lip with his upper arch of teeth and then quickly lunged at her from his sitting position, catching her off guard and grabbed her to bring her back into his body, Zu screamed out with surprise, laughing, playfully trying to push him off and escape the clutches of his huge arms and hands.

Miles said, “You smart-ass.” 

Zu gave him a playful snarl.

#avatar james cameron #avatar fanfiction #avatar oc #navi oc #navi avatar #ash people #avatar quaritch #quaritch fanfic #recom quaritch #james cameron avatar #recom wainfleet #recom mansk #fire na'vi #avatar the way of water #avatar 3 #avatar movie #lyle wainfleet #avatar mansk #mansk #miles quaritch #corporal wainfleet #colonel miles quaritch

[ceejaykayess]

Endgame spoilers for AI The Somnium Files abound, play the best part of Uchikoshi's wild ride (said by someone who hasn't seen anything before his Zero Escape stuff).

Can't believe this started with me just wanting to draw my own take on a non-mask wearing Date in Nirvana Initiative and then evolved (devolved, even) into wanting to draw character-centric pieces on the various Dates that then further changed into wanting to work on actually adding background to works which just turned into "make most of it black, but draw attention to symbolism."

Kinda funny I got less content with each subsequent image, with the first being the one I'm most confident in. The faces just got more and more scuffed as I had to draw them from different angles to any references I have. Something to practice on, I suppose.

The first piece could be called "SINKIN' IN THE CAPTaiN'S BRaiN," since it's meant to combine the background of the two of Date' Somnium and their shared motif of being places where to interact with things, light needs to be on them. Which I have thoughts about, thoughts about natural Dadte, but now's not the time.

The second piece, similarly, could be called "VaiNLY PSYNCIN' IN THE CHaiN," or "CHaiNED, PSYNCIN' IN THE VaiN." Depends on whether you want to think of it as Saito pridefully entering Date's mind full force, or Date being forced to drown within Saito. I am horribly curious what PSYNCIN' IN THE CHaiN looked like from Saito's PoV, though. I wonder if it shared the usual motif, or if the topic of discussion being very forcefully turned to something generally unhappy would shift the Somnium's paradigm.

The third piece does not have an elaborate title, since it focuses the least on giving a proper background. It was made to be similar to the final Mental Lock in PSYNCIN' IN THE CAPTaiN, but also reminiscent of the game's cover art. I suppose you could call it... "PSYNCIN' IN THE MIRai"? But, that doesn't suit as much. Actually, to follow the idea of it being my weak spin on NI Date, we could call it "New Invitation." Or something.

Now, the important part. The Date. There isn't really much I could do on him that hasn't been done before, but that's fine. We all build together and all that. I first wanted it to be, a Date that wore his usual clothes but in a way Falco would have worn them. That is, open jacket, and replacing his sweater with a button-up purple and black-striped shirt. Showing off his chest, the whore.

Problem is, Date's usual jacket has huge fucking crossover. Any IRL equivalent I could think of usually had a vest-cut for the neck, instead of some fucking Nomura-type neck protector. So, I had to content myself with not showing off as much of the Datitties as I would have hoped. Instead, his jacket looks all poofs at the side, which is a poorly made attempt at showing that there's an invisible wind blowing everything to the right side of the image, as weakly shown in left-Date's hair being blown back and Falco's jacket being blown forward. Very, very weakly, when I consider how not as much detail as I would hope is conveyed in the pictures I took... how do I rectify that? Take closer pictures?

Whatever, next. Date has his hair in a ponytail, which you can vaguely see over his left shoulder. It's so grey compared to the rest of his hair, because I thought, "Ah, what if in the six year gap Date grew his hair out in his ignorance, and got some of it dyed by, I dunno, a friend he met, and made it the same shade as the mask he kept as a memento from whatever life he led before he woke up memory-less." Some of his lower hair near his neck is dyed, too.

Date's right hand is gloved and his left hand is ungloved because I thought it looked cool, shut up. Also, he has his right hand over his face because I decided that's what he does when he Wink Psyncs. Mizuki gives a peace sign, Ryuki shows off his respect to the aliens, Date listens to his inner-Saito (the part that is a dramatic bitch, not the serial killer part) and poses like an anime villain losing it.

#ai the somnium files #kaname date #saito sejima #art #I made their right hands match #First one has a closed fist with the pointer finger stretched #Second is the palm laid flat out #And third is a clawed hand #Falco is chasing Iris and Hitomi's right hand in the third picture #Cause he wants to desperately protect those things but failed anyways #God I made his and Left-Date's faces bad in the third picture #Side-ons should not be that difficult #Not that Falco's face in the second picture is anything to write home about either

[saharamotorsfze]

Efficiency, Style and Value Unite-Introducing the Toyota Raize Crossover!

 Efficiency, Style and Value Unite-Introducing the Toyota Raize Crossover!

Toyota has long been a pioneer in the crossover market. Way back in the 90s, they helped spawn this new vehicle segment that blended aspects of SUVs and passenger cars. Now, over 25 years later, Toyota is staying ahead of the trends with an all-new subcompact offering - the 2023 Raize.

As the brand's entry-level crossover, the Raize fills an important gap in Toyota's lineup. It provides buyers the elevated ride height and cargo practicality of a small SUV, without the big vehicle price tag. Standing at just over 157 inches long, the Raize fits neatly between the subcompact and compact classes. Yet its styling takes clear inspiration from larger Toyota SUVs like the RAV4.

From the front, the Raize sports an aggressive look courtesy of its angular bumper design and slim LED accent lighting. The distinctive face is completed with LED headlights and daytime running lights. Out back, LED taillights and a roof spoiler lend the Raize greater road presence than other subcompacts. Toyota offers the Raize in eight rich exterior colors too, like an eye-catching shade of yellow, allowing buyers to express their unique style. Whether choosing a pop of color or sophisticated white pearl, the Raize's styling makes a bold first impression.

Step inside the Raize and you'll find its cabin centers the driver experience. The large 8-inch touchscreen and shift knob are logically positioned high and centered for easy access while driving. Quality soft-touch surfaces and metal accents raise the ambiance from your typical budget vehicle. Comfort was also a top priority - the front seats feature enhanced bolstering and cushioning for long commutes.

Advanced driver assistance tech keeps Raize occupants connected and safe on the road. Standard features include the Smart Panorama Parking Assist System with bird's-eye camera views, along with Blind Spot Monitor and Rear Cross Traffic Alert. Toyota's extensive Safety Sense 2.0 suite provides autonomous emergency braking, adaptive cruise control, lane departure warning and more high-tech security blankets.

Beyond its stylish good looks and high-tech cabin, the Raize truly innovates through its focus on environmental responsibility. The heart of the Raize is a 1.0-liter 3-cylinder dynamic force engine. Despite its tiny size, Toyota's Dual VVT-i technology squeezes out impressive power delivery. An intelligent Continuously Variable Transmission maximizes efficiency by holding revs in the ideal range.

 The results speak for themselves - EPA estimates for the front-wheel drive Raize check in at an outstanding 44 mpg combined. Even the more capable all-wheel drive trims manage a still stellar 41 mpg. With a small 35litres fuel tank, those numbers translate to driving ranges up to 430 miles between fill ups. Few vehicles in any class can tout efficiency credentials like the Raize.

 Pricing for the 2023 Toyota Raize starts with reasonable price, undercutting many comparably-sized CUVs.

 With its sleek styling inside and out, family-friendly utility and eco-minded virtues, the Raize is sure to appeal to both new buyers and veterans upgrading from smaller vehicles. Thanks to impressive efficiency, leading-edge technology and excellent value - the Raize is perfectly poised to become one of Toyota's most popular additions yet, The Perfect Subcompact Crossover for Modern Lifestyles

Just like Toyota Raize, SAHARA MOTORS FZE is a name synonymous with reliability. Our showroom is committed to delivering a great customer experience by providing all the necessary assistance and support.

 Visit SAHARA MOTORS FZE DUBAI or contact our team for a seamless experience in acquiring your next brand-new Toyota Raize today!

 Learn more about the product: https://www.saharamotorsfze.com/RAIZE

#toyota #dubai #export #new cars #luxury

[trusttw]

C230 kompressor 2004 specs

#C230 kompressor 2004 specs manual

That makes the C230, like all two-doors, a poor choice if you regularly carry more than one passenger. Even though an electric motor pulls the front seats forward and out of the way at your command, you still have to fold yourself up to get in the back. Our biggest complaint about the interior is the drawback that it shares with all two-door vehicles: It's a pain in the tuchus to get into and out of the back seat. The only cure, aside from calling JC Whitney for a $39.95 set of simulated tiger fur seat covers, is to pony up another 1,300 bucks for leather seats. It looks tacky in a Subaru, even more so in a Mercedes, in our humble opinion. It reminded us of the wild, color-flecked fabric Subaru is fond of using, which should not be taken as a compliment. While the seats are firm, comfortable, and niceIy adjustable, the upholstery left something to be desired. It makes for a very airy and open feeling car, despite its size. But that doesn't mean you'll have to slather your bald spot with SPF-60 on sunny days - a single push of a button extends shades across both panels. Overhead, the roof is essentially two huge glass panels. There's a big window in the rear hatch with yet another smaller window below the spoiler and between the taillights, to provide greater visibility out the back. One of the best things about the C230 is the way the passengers are surrounded by glass. We noticed that the C230 slipped a bit on wet roads, which doesn't give us much confidence that it would keep you moving in the snow, even with its traction control.Īside from being small and light enough to be fun to drive, the C230 also felt solid and substantial. One note of caution: The C230 is rear-wheel drive, which means it's at a disadvantage in slippery weather. It scooted around corners with very little lean, and it felt solid and controllable at all times. It's a well-balanced rear-wheel drive car on a very solid suspension system. The six-speed transmission is well suited to the car, too, with the top gear cutting the engine speed at 70 mph from 3,000 rpm to around 2,600 rpm - for a noticeable improvement in noise, engine wear and gas mileage. The supercharged engine is an ideal match for this 3,300-pound car, providing plenty of pep without being overpowering. Solid is a word that always comes to mind when driving a Mercedes.

#C230 kompressor 2004 specs manual

You do get a choice of transmissions: a 6-speed manual or a 5-speed automatic. The C230 comes in only one body style and with just one engine choice: a 192 horsepower, 2.3-liter, 4-cylinder engine with a belt-driven supercharger (that's the Kompressor part). Mercedes also hopes these happy, young C230 owners will hop their way up the Mercedes line, from the C Class to the E Class, finally graduating to an S600 before bequeathing their worldly belongings to their future Mercedes-owning offspring. No doubt the company hopes that its new, spunky hatchback will attract younger buyers who thought they couldn't afford a Mercedes, or buyers who want the nicest damn small car they can own. The C230 is something of a departure for Mercedes, which has a reputation for making solid, conservative expensive sedans. It's well designed, beautifully made, fun to drive and nicely equipped at a target price of $24,950. The C230 Coupe is a new model for Mercedes. But this car is clearly the new king of that hill. It used to be that a fully loaded VW Golf was as upscale as you could go with a practical and sporty two-door hatchback. It's also the nicest two-door hatchback on the market. The C230 Kompressor Sport Coupe is the smallest and least expensive Mercedes you can buy. "It's hard to think of another hatchback coupe that offers the combination of solid feel, safety, sporty performance, airy feel and distinctive looks."

#C230 kompressor 2004 specs

[daugaard98vaughn]

Prada Baggage

The larger bowling bag, with a carry deal with and shoulder strap, is nice for many who simply can’t pack gentle, but we’re drawn to the small shoulder bag for its ’90s vibes. Even these unfamiliar with the Prada legacy can respect and acknowledge the worth of a Prada piece as the standard and fashion-forwardness of every Prada purse is obvious from the get-go. From the exuberance of the flashiest pink backpack to the hidden pleasure of a easy leather wallet tucked into a purse, Prada handbags excite and delight with their exquisite detailing and stylish designs. In addition to the nylon that units sure Prada luggage aside from the crowd, the model has adopted using Saffiano leather as part of its signature crafting for Prada purses. When it comes to more rich supplies, Prada is no stranger to combining utilitarian building with unique detailing. wikipedia handbags The tote is made from leather-based and enhanced with fringes, two high han... https://phoenet.tw/prada-replica-bags.html Prada has frequently gone towards the grain to raise kinds that have long been out of fashion. In 1996, there have been attire and skirts in clashing patterns and muted earth tones that seemed flat and outdated, all worn with chunky excessive wedge sandals. Feminine in form and grand in design, this Double Zip tote by Prada might be a loved addition to your closet. This Prada black textured shoulder bag has a flap together with a buckle situated at the backside for added security. I landed on this specific structured Prada bag because, to me, it felt extra timeless and elegant than a few of the different well-liked designer picks. The rectangle shape was a traditional, and there were zero bulky zippers, gildings, or extra-large hardwear, which, in my thoughts, seemed distracting and too chaotic to actually be thought of versatile. So, with a few extra dollars in my checking account, I scrolled on over to The Real Real, found a style I'd been eyeing for a while, and checked out before I might change my thoughts. “I like my Skechers, however I love my Prada backpack,” Bianca Stratford declared in10 Things I Hate About You. Over 20 years later, the reference is still relevant. And luckily there are more than sufficient options on the market. From theroomy nylon backpackthat’s good for touring (whenever that’s again within the cards) to theMini Velawhich, spoiler, isn’ttechnicallya backpack. Started in 1913 by Mario Prada, the brand’s unique shop in Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II still has the mahogany cabinets that displayed its early wares such as travel gadgets and purses. Today, these fantastic leather goods are joined by the clothing, wallets and different various equipment that keep the brand on the slicing fringe of trend. Our Prada Diagramme leather-based tote shoulder bag is available in a nude colour. This is a traditional one among our Prada purses. Crafted in Italy and created from Saffiano lux leather-based, it's perfect for daily use. It is out there in a lovely shade of black that add... Designed in green leather-based, that includes a wristlet and the brand's signature on the front, this multi-functionality organizer from Prada is stylish and classy. Carry your telephone in the sweetest cellphone pouch by Prada. Designed utilizing Saffiano Lux leather as a crossbody bag, the pink pouch has a zip-enclosed interior, a high handle, a removable ... Brand new Prada playful patchwork multicolor purse with brown leather-based detachable strap . Feathers, suede, studs, and accent colours often make appearances on Prada baggage in stark contrast to the practical silhouettes beneath. Prada purses are classically continental – chic fashion staples for ladies the world over. Always unique and expertly crafted, every seasonal collection is the peak of desire. I've gone on to wear that factor in all places, from New York Fashion Week, with elaborate, eye-catching outfits, to brunch with friends, where it helps amp up a simple denims and T-shirt combo. I've stuffed it with cardigans and water bottles before heading to the office, and slipped my make-up bag and a change of sneakers in there for weddings. Partially due to the impartial shade and somewhat easy design, I've discovered it seems just as nice with a flowery robe as it does with an identical sweatsuit . It's become the bag I reach for each time I'm in a pinch and don't have any clue what to put on. Aside from the exterior brand plaque, Prada bags also have an inside plaque, which design might differ relying on the bag’s style. The colour of the plaque ought to match the color of the bag’s leather. Some styles don't have the inverted triangle emblem however instead have the words Prada Milano displayed. Most Prada luggage are available a soft flannel or silky mud bag with the Prada emblem printed on the front, although there are only a few exceptions. If you may have been eager to get your hands on an genuine bag from the Italian luxurious fashion house, the websites under are the most well-liked stores to buy them online. The value for this stuff starts at $140 and tops out at $12,900 on 1stDibs, while the common work can promote for $955.. Prada has produced a quantity of signature designs over time, rendering the distinctive types provided by the model more and more exclusive and instantly recognizable when spotted in the street. The Cahier features metal corners and a strap closure harking back to leather-bound books, giving it a contact of playfulness to balance out its refined look and making it a favourite style of Prada purse. The Prada printed totes display a distinguished vintage style brand on topstitched canvas in brilliant colours, making them well-liked choices for those who love a youthful, nearly girly aesthetic. Vintage Prada purses provide up an endless of prospects when it comes to both materials and shapes. Dazzling in an aesthetic white shade, the bag is crafted from leather and features two rolled handles. If you’re prepared to bask in an unforgettable designer purse, store a range of Prada baggage online at Mytheresa. You’ll take pleasure in outstanding Customer Service and trend recommendation from a world-class group of runway-savvy staff. For smart-casual workplace apparel, pair a Prada Saffiano leather bag with ballet flats, skinny denims and a feminine designer shirt. Waterproof and damage-resistant, this trend must-have is a resilient accent, perfect for rush hour. Our Prada Nylon Bi-fold Long Wallet is out there in a traditional black color.

#fake prada bag #prada fake #fake prada #fake prada purse #fake prada wallet

[canary3d-obsessed]

Lost Tomb Reboot Lewks: Part 14

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for both seasons of The Lost Tomb Reboot and also vaguely for Daomu Biji in general

For Look 72, Wu Xie strips out of his jacket and shirt so he can use the shirt as a makeshift air filter. Underneath he’s wearing a tight black a-line undershirt and a black bulletproof vest. 

Welcome back, Wu Xie’s bare arms. We’ve missed you.

So have Huo Daofu and Xiao Bai.

Look 73 is a spare, unpretentious tee shirt and jeans combination that Wu Xie accessorizes with the looming spectre of death, the amorphous fog of the afterlife, and the shades of his departed loved ones. 

He looks chilly in this outfit; he needs a hoodie. Preferably a hoodie with Xiao Ge in it. 

(more after the cut!)

When he comes out of this interstitial space he’s added the lifesaving accessory of a nebulizer mask. My son had one of these as a baby, that had a duck face on it.  Wu Xie’s mask is a sensible orange color. I am sensing a missed opportunity here. 

Look 74: When he feels a little better, Wu Xie switches into this absolute crusher of a look. 

Featuring a beautifully fitted, butter-smooth brown leather jacket, and his trademark chaps trousers, he is ready to get back on the adventure trail in a big way, impending death be damned. 

This is a good outfit for having a tragic conversation with your beloved real uncle while your shady not-really-uncle won’t give you guys one fucking minute of privacy to say your goodbyes. 

He accessorizes this outfit with the blatant theft of a motorbike with a sidecar, which he uses to hold his backpack, and of a cool motorcycle helmet. 

He looks a bit like Qin Hao (Sha Hai’s Wu Xie) here, doesn’t he? He’s got that harder look in his eye, reminding us that he is still a relentless motherfucker when he needs to be.

If you’re hoping for any scenes in which Zhu Yilong is clearly actually riding this motorcycle, incidentally, don’t hold your breath. 

I have seen Zhu Yilong on a moving motorbike in Granting You A Dreamlike Life, so I believe he could be filmed on a motorcycle where his face and the motorbike’s moving wheels are visible in the same shot, but TLTR does not give us this level of motorcycle fanservice, alas. 

Anyway, Wu Xie completes this outfit with a greyish, brownish button-up shirt with a tabbed buttonhole detail at the collar, and a belt with an intriguing quick-release buckle.

And backpacks; lots of backpacks. 

Much later, we will see that this is a great a good look for bonding with fellow members of The Unnecessary Thigh-Strap Club. 

Look 75  is everybody’s orange jumpsuit.  It is the same jumpsuit on everybody, but each person wears it a little differently.

The collar has three stripes below the closure, which creates some visual interest and plays up the different ways the characters wear it. 

Liu Sang and Xiao Bai both wear it with the collar zipped up. Later, Liu Sang can use this structured collar to accentuate all the blood that’s going to be on his face. 

Wu Xie wears the color open and popped, perfect to set off some intense gazing

And Pangzi wears it to get comfy with his favorite cuddle buddy. 

Look 76 is Xiao Bai’s awesome pumpkin-and-green ensemble that she wears at the campsite in Thunderville. 

It’s utilitarian enough to fit right in with the rest of the team, but bright enough to give it a feminine touch. The jacket has a deconstructed hem, giving it a casual vibe and showing off her ass.

Xiao Bai’s clothes usually have some kind of interesting tailoring detail, while always being very practical. It’s a nice, consistent way of showing her personality. She enjoys being cute and fashion-forward, but she is a woman of action first. 

Bonus Look 1

This Look belongs to Liu Sang, the third member of the Unnecessary Thigh-Strap club. I am not complaining about any of the unnecessary thigh straps. 

Bonus Look 2

This look is just Xiao Bai running in a wetsuit. I’m not made of stone. 

#dmbj #the lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #the lost tomb reboot spoilers #lost tomb lewks #canary3d-original #my gifs

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path. Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 32: Lonely-typical themes & imagery; temporary memory loss, mental confusion, and dissociation/dpdr; misgendering (including use of “it” pronouns; same context as last chapter); references to Mr. Spider (including survivor’s guilt & Jon downplaying his own trauma); internalized victim blaming; references to the children stuck in the Dark’s domain during the apocalypse; suicidal thoughts (and allusions to past suicidal actions, but no details given); a bit of rejection sensitive dysphoria; vague reference to past abuse (Martin’s mother) and comparing oneself to one’s abuser; memory of a past discussion re: Martin slapping Jon during the apocalypse (wherein Martin apologized and Jon predictably tried to minimize it, which Martin shut right down); grief & loss. SPOILERS through Season 5.

___

Chapter 32: The Run-Around

The ghost comes back, because of course it does. Even a command from the Archive has a time limit. With enough practice, Jon might well be able to enhance that ability, learn to administer more complex and sustained compulsions. He has neither the need nor the desire to test those waters.

In the early days of the apocalypse, the Eye needled at the edges of his mind, hounding him to explore that untapped sea of potential. Ignoring that call was once an exercise in spite, requiring no small amount of effort and resolve. Here, now, the Eye is – for once in its rotten, protracted existence – mercifully subdued.

“Jon.”

The apparition crouches down in front of him, sending up a little waft of dust as it settles onto its knees. Reflexively, Jon shrinks back. He clenches his teeth at the wrongness of it all, at this disturbance of a place that should be still and quiet and barren.

“…breaking ground that should be left burned and empty. And I’ve started to dream again–”

“–it wasn’t a dream, though, or a vision. Everything had changed, and I was somewhere new. I don’t know if that’s true – maybe he was just trying to mess with my head or make a point–”

“–I could feel a numbness in myself even as I looked at him. Was I finally becoming like them? My internal world melting away into nothing but a pantomime–?”

“Listen, Jon, I…” Martin gnaws on his bottom lip in silence, agonizing over how to proceed. It’s as if the two of them are perched on a precipice and a single word could mean the difference between coaxing Jon away from the edge and spurring him headlong off of it. “I know you’re scared, and – and confused–”

Confused? Jon thinks, seething.

He’s not sure if even scared is an apt descriptor anymore. There are so many shades of terror, a domain to suit nearly any niche combination of fears – and yet, there is nothing new under the roving Eye. The borders between the Fears have always been blurry, but over time it has become less a gradient and more a muddy smear, as if an overenthusiastic artist scrubbed a careless hand across their pallet. Every endless loop, every specialized domain, every lived experience – the routine has played out long enough to become flat and stale, and Jon has found that one can become habituated to almost anything once it becomes mundane. That process can be tectonically slow, to be sure, but time isn’t as much of a limitation as it once was.

As for confused… well, the Eye forces certainty on him regardless of his feelings on the matter. There are very few things he cannot Know. These days, even the Spiral and the Stranger would have difficulty misleading him.

“I am not a fool,” he snaps. “I know well enough what this dream is likely to mean–”

“–I know when I’m being handled–”

“–I know what it truly is–”

“–I know it’s just phantom–”

“–toying with me–”

“You know, you know, you know,” Martin says. “How? How can you be so sure?”

“I know this place and what you want, but I have no proof to give you. I have nothing that cannot be waved away as a bad dream.”

“Have you asked the Eye?”

Jon’s first impulse is to deny it. He promised not to Know things where Martin is concerned, and he never stopped respecting that boundary, right up until–

Until the end, Jon reminds himself. This isn’t Martin. And this… impostor’s next words prove it.

“You could Know, couldn’t you? You could just… Look?”

“I know he’s gone–”

“–I had plenty of time to mourn him – to reconcile myself to the fact that he was dead–”

“–I should be dead, really – I should be dead – hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding a death that you feel should have been yours–”

“–didn’t know which of us was the lucky one–” Jon’s voice fractures. “Still don’t, really.”

“Can you look at me, please? Just… see me, just for a minute?”

“What do you want?” Jon mumbles, studiously averting his eyes. “To talk to a person who is not a person–? A person – who you should be fleeing?”

It wouldn’t be the first time that a monster asked him to See it, to set it free. But Jon very much doubts this is a monster at all. Just a memory. A convincing one, but a memory all the same.

“I am here, and I give you my words,” he says, shifting to angle his body away. The choreographed disengagement is apparently lost on the specter, which follows the movement, shuffling to keep itself planted directly in front of Jon. “They are all I have, and all you want, and perhaps when I am free of them I will be allowed to sleep.”

“Normally I’d be ecstatic to hear you say you want to sleep, but this isn’t exactly an ideal spot for a nap. Not that the cots in the archives are comfortable either, but it’s definitely better than curling up in…” Martin hesitates, then drags a finger through the powdered debris carpeting the ground and holds it up. “I’m going to regret asking, but what is this stuff, anyway?”

“The remains of –”

“–a ruined world – the nightmare landscape of a twisted world–”

“–the things we left behind – that’s all it is, and we can’t escape the ruins of our own future.”

“Ugh,” Martin says, wrinkling his nose and hastily wiping his hand off on his jumper.

“…the final days of humanity were unpleasant and visceral,” the Archive continues, eager as ever to expound on the nightmare.

“…you could see a storm coming for miles, coming straight at you all across the horizon, looking near as anything like the end of the world – it promised to blot out everything–”

“–pulling us ever closer to a world of fire and loss, a place of burning and agony when we remade the world in the image of–”

“–the sick voyeur that lurks in this place–”

“Okay!” Martin interjects. “I get the picture–”

“–we’d all been touched and warped by proximity – but none of us had any special knowledge – he wanted a grand inferno, a ritual of apocalyptic burning – would create – one who could usher in this new world–”

“–catastrophic change. A change in our world that will wipe out what it means to be us, and leave something else in its place – will warp the world so much it kills us all – strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien and cold–”

The disapproval in Martin’s sigh is piercing enough for Jon’s words to catch in his throat, a surge of self-consciousness bringing heat to his cheeks. Martin takes advantage of the lull to break in with another appeal.

“I need you to listen to me now–”

“…I – I – I knew that I had meddled with something I should have left alone–”

“–had destroyed the place utterly. And yet – remained bound to it, tied to it in some vital way – I have known anguish and destruction – but the memory of that night still makes me shudder. The sadness and the grief we felt at what we knew we had lost – the misery and pain he has brought upon himself–”

“Please, Jon, can you just–”

“–the music calls a name that through the tears of half-grasped memories seems almost and eternally familiar – can you trust your eyes to tell you quite what it might be that dogs your steps – you tire of the chase of course, the fire and all-relentless pace of – reaching for a name, identity, and face that has long since worn through all reserves of hard, enduring vigor in you–”

“That’s enough!”

It’s loud, and sharp, and forceful enough that it stops Jon in his tracks just the same as the first time Martin established an embargo on the Archive’s apocalyptic narration. For a split second, Jon expects to be struck–

Which is ridiculous. Ghosts don’t have substance. Any attempt at physical contact would give away the ruse.

It’s not something Jon should have expected from the real Martin, either. They had talked about that. At excruciating length. Jon remembers it vividly…

Things had been… tense – more so than usual – ever since leaving Callum Brodie’s domain. Expected, but nonetheless disconcerting. On the one hand, Jon longed to break the silence. On the other, he dreaded what that might entail. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: confronting what had just happened, or avoiding it altogether.

The reality of the situation remained the same regardless of whether they chose to acknowledge it. All the world’s children had been condemned to hell, and the only thing Jon could think to do was… abandon them to their fate. A fate that he brought about.

‘I want you to use your power!’ It had landed more like an accusation than a demand. Luckily, Martin did not seem to notice Jon’s wince. ‘I want you to help them – I want you to make things better!’

In retrospect, Jon should have just said ‘I can’t’ and left it at that.

What he said instead, sullen and venomous, was: ‘There is no better anymore.’

It was true, and no amount of wishful thinking, remorse, or self-destruction would have changed that. But he should have known better than to be so bluntly pessimistic. Martin’s response was predictable enough.

‘You keep saying that, and I hate it!’

Jon should have apologized. He should have explained himself better. He should have let himself be vulnerable for once, because the alternative was–

‘I keep saying it because it keeps being true – you know that!’

It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how it sounded: dismissive, callous, indifferent to the terrified screams of children – loud enough to his ears, louder still in his head.

‘What I know is that leaving children here is – it’s inexcusable! It’s monstrous!’

Jon should have agreed then. He should have shown some sympathy. But in the moment – floundering in a flood of fear that he could scarcely distinguish from his own, self-loathing inundating him that he could be dwelling on his own childhood trauma right then, when his nightmare was in the past; when he wasn’t even the one who got taken, just the bystander who watched it happen; when these children’s nightmares were happening in the present, ongoing, with no end in sight; when they wouldn’t be here now if the monster had just taken him–

‘Martin,’ he said, teetering on the edge of begging. ‘Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it!’

Martin knew as well as Jon did that there was only one thing he could do. The only thing left to him in his monstrous existence.

He gave a statement.

And then, more monstrous still, he walked away, leaving each and every one of those children to suffer their worst nightmares without a morsel of comfort or consolation.

They had been walking ever since, the silence between them palpable and festering. Eventually, Jon couldn’t take it anymore.

‘You’re being awfully quiet,’ he blurted out. It was only after he’d spoken that he registered how hoarse his voice was. How it took what was meant to be neutral and transformed it into something gruff and jarring.

Martin didn’t answer.

Understandable. Jon didn’t much want his own company right then, either. So he resolved to keep his mouth shut. To give Martin the space he clearly needed.

Then he heard something that sounded worryingly like a sniffle. He stopped and turned on his heel to see Martin stood in place several paces behind him, his head lowered and his arms clutching his stomach protectively.

‘Martin?’ Jon rapidly closed the distance between them in a few long strides. ‘What’s wrong? Are you – are you hurt? Are you feeling ill?’

With Martin’s chin dipped to his chest and his hair hanging down to shroud his eyes, Jon couldn’t get a read on him. His instinct was to reach out, but at the first sign of movement, Martin recoiled – minutely, but still indisputably a flinch.

Right, Jon thought. Martin probably didn’t want that from him just then. Again, understandable.

So Jon lowered his arms. They felt oddly heavy, hanging limp and useless at his sides, so he crossed them in front of himself instead, unconsciously mirroring Martin’s slumping, round-shouldered stance.

‘Sorry,’ Jon mumbled inanely. It seemed unnecessary to specify for what. Everything, really. None of which was remotely remedied by yet another apology.

‘No.’ Martin’s head snapped up, finally granting Jon a glimpse of his face. Of his eyes, glistening with tears. ‘You shouldn’t… I should be apologizing to you.’

‘What?’

‘I hurt you.’ Martin’s voice warbled, one hand going up to cover his mouth. His other arm stayed firmly pressed against his middle, his fingers clutching at his side. ‘I… I hit you.’

Jon was momentarily flummoxed, unable to track Martin’s thought process, until he recalled how they left off before.

Thank you for not hitting me this time, Jon had sniped. It was a stupid thing for him to say – sulky, melodramatic, unnecessarily vindictive. A slap in the face, really, considering how Martin was still supporting him in spite of… everything. Everything he’d done; everything he was–

And everything he wasn’t. Everything he couldn’t do.

‘I… I’m so sorry, Jon, I–’ Martin’s breath hiccupped. ‘God, sorry doesn’t even come close to–’

‘It’s… fine,’ Jon said wearily. ‘I’m not angry. I’m not even upset–’

‘You should be!’

‘Well, I’m not.’ Jon scuffed one foot against the ground. ‘It’s not a big deal. Honestly, I shouldn’t have said anything at all. If anything, I owe you an apology.’

‘What?’ Martin yelped.

‘It was… petty of me, to bring it up like that. You didn’t deserve that.’

‘Jon,’ Martin said tremulously, ‘what are you talking about?’

‘I was just… on edge, and lashing out in the heat of the moment.’ A self-deprecating smile flickered and died on Jon’s lips. ‘Old habits, I suppose.’

‘Wh– I’m the one who hit you!’

‘Not that hard.’

Never too hard. Never enough to hurt. Just enough to snap him out of it.

Martin gaped at him, looking – disproportionately, in Jon’s opinion – horrified. ‘Jon!’

‘What? It wasn’t. Not like you threw a punch.’

‘That doesn’t matter! I still hurt you!’ Martin began to pace, back and forth, scraping his hand through his hair. His fingers kept catching on the tangled curls in a way that looked painful. ‘And now you’re excusing it, and – and – and trying to comfort me for what I did–’

‘Martin, it–’ Jon watched as Martin ruthlessly yanked his fingers through another knot. He must have misinterpreted Jon’s sympathetic wince, because it only seemed to make him more distraught. ‘I promise, it really, truly wasn’t as bad as you’re – as I made it out to be.’

‘I’ve also heard you say that about – about getting eaten by worms, or – or – or kidnapped by–’

They were veering dangerously close to a conversational minefield. Instinctually, Jon balked.

‘Can we just–’ Jon cut himself off as soon as he registered his sharp tone. Being tetchy wouldn’t help anything. ‘I mean this in the nicest possible way, but can we please just… drop it and move on?’

‘No, we really can’t,’ Martin said, his eyes wide and beseeching. He finally stopped abusing his scalp, lowering his hand to his side. ‘You… you know you didn’t deserve that, right?’

He took one careful step forward – hesitantly, as if he expected Jon to back away – and then reached out, just as slowly. In the few seconds it took for Jon to recognize the intent – to process the fact that Martin would want to be anywhere near him right then, let alone touch him – Martin started to pull back, presumably interpreting the delay as reluctance. Before he could retract the offer entirely, Jon hurriedly grabbed his hands, grateful – albeit guiltily so – that Martin could still find it in himself to care.

‘Jon, I…’ Martin stared down at their linked hands with a perplexing sense of wonder. ‘I need you to understand that you don’t deserve to be hurt.’

His gaze wandered to Jon’s neck, lingering there – and suddenly, it was too much for Jon.

‘Honestly, Martin, a gentle slap to the face isn’t exactly the same caliber as a knife to the throat.’

‘That’s not the–!’ Martin’s throat bobbed, as if he was swallowing back tears. ‘I don’t want you to ever have to look at something I did and compare it to what’s been done to you. To minimize it, to – to say it doesn’t matter because it’s not as bad as literal torture. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to be treated gently. You deserve to expect better from someone who loves you. I never want you to have to be afraid of me–’

Jon couldn’t help it – he laughed. The idea that, of the two of them, Martin was the one to fear…

‘Sorry, I’m not making fun, I just…’ Jon took a breath, schooling himself before he continued. ‘You haven’t traumatized me, and frankly, it’s absurd to think otherwise. All of those other things – they were meant to hurt, to scar, and – I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. You’re not like that.’

‘Apparently I am,’ Martin said feebly.

Jon caught a fleeting glimpse of a thought just then – bitter memories of a mother so caught up in the mantra of ‘like father, like son’ that she never stopped to consider that he might take after her–

‘No,’ Jon said firmly. ‘That’s not you. I know you wouldn’t… do something like that, if things were normal. I mean’ – he allowed himself a nervous chuckle – ‘if anything qualifies as extenuating circumstances, it’s the apocalypse–’

‘Stop making excuses for me!’ Martin erupted. ‘Hitting you never should have crossed my mind, let alone actually following through on it – multiple times, and not even as a last resort–!’

‘It’s probably the quickest, most straightforward way to snap me out of it,’ Jon protested – a bit too frantically to pass as matter-of-fact. ‘It’s effective.’

Martin stared at the ground. ‘But you didn’t like it, did you?’

‘It didn’t hurt.’

‘But it didn’t make you feel good, either.’

Before he could think better of it, Jon muttered: ‘Most things don’t, these days.’

It was exactly the sort of insensitive, unwelcome cynicism that caused their earlier row, and Jon steeled himself for the inevitable backlash. But it didn’t come.

‘Yeah,’ Martin said faintly. ‘And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t be adding more bad things to the pile.’

‘It’s the end of the world, Martin. You didn’t sign up for this–’

‘Neither did you–’

‘And it’s understandable,’ Jon carried on, ‘that you might sometimes do, or – or say things that you wouldn’t, if things weren’t so…’ He trailed off. There was no apt descriptor for what the world had become. No word that could fully capture the enormity of the nightmare he had unleashed. ‘I don’t hold it against you.’

‘I’m still sorry. And I’m not asking you to forgive me.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything to forgive–’

‘Funny. You didn’t take it well when I said the same thing, when you kept apologizing for how you used to treat me.’

‘That’s not the same thing. You didn’t do anything to elicit my treatment of you back then. Your only crime was getting assigned to the Archives – against your will, at that, because Elias – Jonah – was scheming. I hadn’t been traipsing through an apocalyptic wasteland; I didn’t have to snap you out of some sort of – sadistic voyeur trance. It was just me being a prick, and you being too quick to forgive.’

Martin breathed a surprised laugh. ‘Is that really what you think?’

Jon tilted his head, which only seemed to add to Martin’s amusement.

‘Jon, I’m so good at holding a grudge I could’ve put it on my CV. Would’ve been the only true thing on there, if I had.’

‘W-well,’ Jon stammered, taken aback. ‘You… you’ve always been too quick to forgive me.’

‘If anything, this entire conversation has proven that it’s reciprocal.’

Jon found himself unable to muster a response to that.

‘Look, it’s no secret that neither of us has stellar self-esteem. You’re a terrible judge of what you deserve, and you obviously think the same of me. So if we’re both so bad at being kind to ourselves, maybe we should just… do our best to take care of each other?’ Martin squeezed Jon’s hands. ‘I treated you less kindly than you deserve – don’t argue – and I want to do better. I’m going to do better.’

‘Me too,’ Jon said – and then, upon seeing Martin open his mouth to retort: ‘Don’t argue.’

Martin smiled and rolled his eyes in a ‘point taken’ sort of way.

‘Okay, then let’s… let’s do what we should have done in the first place.’ Martin’s thumbs started to knead the back of Jon’s hands, moving in repetitious little circles. It was a habitual gesture, and Jon had long suspected that the soothing effect was mutual. ‘Sometimes, you get lost in a statement, and I don’t know what to do. It… scares me – and not for the reasons you think. I start to worry that you won’t come back, and I’ll have to survive this all on my own–’

Jon suddenly felt cold all over. ‘Martin–’

‘I know you’d never leave me alone here,’ Martin reassured. ‘Not on purpose. I’m just afraid that one of these times, you’ll get lost – or, you’ll lose yourself and not be able to find your way back to me. I start thinking about what it was like before – mourning you, thinking I’d lost you for good – and I just… I panic. But I can’t keep taking a shortcut that I know hurts you, s-so…’ He worried his lip for a few seconds before meeting Jon’s eyes. ‘How can I help?’

“–okay?” Jon opens his eyes to see the thing that sounds like Martin staring back at him. The thing that looks like Martin, with the same concerned furrow between its brows and the same earnest eyes and even the same hands, one suspended uncertainly in the air between them. “Are you… are you back with me now?”

Right now, Jon doesn’t want to be anywhere – not in a memory, not in the present, not in his own skin. His thoughts are too heavy for him to hold his head up, so he leans forward instead, resting his forehead against his bony knees.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted, I just…” The ghost sighs. “I know it seems like this is all there is. Like nothing will ever change. But it did. You changed it. You found a way to turn the world back. You just… don’t remember right now.”

“…we all – we all knew he was a liar–”

“And,” Martin plows on, “I know it feels right, being here. I know it feels like nothing can touch you here – like if nothing can reach you, nothing can hurt you, and you’ll be safe.”

“There is a place, deep in the heart of fear,” Jon says, letting his eyes drift shut as the statement sweeps him away, “where you trap yourself and claim that it is safety – you sit in your meager comfort and belief of security with nothing to do, nothing to distract your mind from the agonies that lie just beyond your window. And those diversions you do find will offer no relief – but simply numb the mind into mournful nostalgia for a time when the world you inhabited seemed to make sense…”

“Y-yeah.” Jon raises his head to see one corner of Martin’s mouth tick up into a smile – weak and weary, soft and sad, but nonetheless fond and achingly familiar. “Feels like even the fear is gentle here, doesn’t it?”

“…but the place knows this comfort to be a lie,” Jon says acidly, “and laces upon it instead the awful fear of losing what you have – of it being stripped away by the chaos that waits for you beyond the walls.”

“Exactly.” This time, Martin’s sigh is one of relief rather than disappointment, but it knocks Jon off-kilter just the same. He curls in on himself more tightly, shrinking himself as small as possible, and wishes fruitlessly that he could make himself disappear entirely. He settles for hiking his shoulders up to his ears, half-hiding behind his knees, and steadfastly ignoring the way Martin keeps trying to catch his eye. “It’s – it’s a lie. The Lonely lies. You’re the one who told me that, remember?”

What does it matter if it’s a lie? It’s not like there’s anything promising waiting for him outside of this place.

There never was.

It was a mistake to leave the cabin, Jon knows now. The comfort it promised was an illusion, true, but was it any worse than what awaited them outside its walls? It would have destroyed them eventually, but might they have at least had more time together? Would it have been worth it? Months, weeks, days, even an hour – wouldn’t it have been worth it?

“It is afraid of what it has become and where it might be going–”

“–I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but – but now–”

“–there seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm. It was the first good decision I had made, and there isn’t a day goes by I don’t curse myself for–”

“–surviving encounters which had killed far braver souls–”

“–to make it through all fourteen–”

“–throwing open any door I had not yet seen behind–”

“–trying to convince ourselves we had any hope of outrunning the storm. We did not–”

“Look at me, Jon.”

“…I couldn’t see this man. Obviously I couldn’t. I couldn’t see him or hear him or speak to him. Because… there was nobody there–”

“Can you just – shut the Archive off for a minute? Talk to me, like earlier?”

Jon’s attention seizes on that last word – earlier. The Archive hasn’t relinquished its stranglehold on his voice since the first moment it fully claimed its place – a much longer reign than earlier implies. Once, he might have followed up on that incongruity. As he is now, it’s easy to cast it aside.

“…a slow movement of your jaw, your lips, forming your mouth into words–”

“–a way of taking your thoughts, the very makeup of yourself, and giving them to another. Putting your thoughts in the mind of someone else – corruption between your mind and that of the listener–”

“–it barely even sounded human as it – as it spoke in a strange monotone–”

“–didn’t whisper but every word was quiet, as though it was a real effort to get them out – but was definitely words, the same words over and over–”

Yet another loud sigh interrupts the monologue. Jon resists the urge to look up, to determine whether the specter’s scowl is as convincing an impersonation as the rest of its act.

“–simple – s-simple vibrations that vanish almost as soon as they are created, though if they find a host, then they can lodge there, proliferate, and maybe spread further–”

“Hey…” There’s an indignant, accusatory note to the word, and this time Jon does chance a glimpse, his curiosity getting the better of him. Martin is still sat in the same place – at a barely acceptable distance, almost too close for comfort – but he’s leaning forward now, his chin resting on one fist, the other hand cupping his elbow. “That jumper looks familiar.”

It’s such an abrupt, bizarre non sequitur that Jon’s response – whatever dismissal the Archive had at the ready – fizzles out. There must be some human left in him yet, because he immediately succumbs to the awkward impulse to look down and double-check what he’s wearing the moment his attention is drawn to it.

“In fact… I think I have one just like that, right down to that little snag on the sleeve. Got it caught on the corner of a filing cabinet drawer the first week I was working in the basement–” Jon glances back up to see Martin’s hand go to his chest in a show of faux outrage. “Jon, did you nick it from me when I wasn’t looking?”

Jon readies a denial, but admittedly he does – did – have a habit of stealing clothes. It’s just… he was never good at picking out comfortable clothes for himself. It’s not his fault that Georgie had such excellent taste in product for her podcast merch, or that Martin has – had – a serendipitous affinity for precisely the types of materials that Jon can tolerate touching his skin for long periods of time.

Anyway, Martin always liked when Jon wore his clothes. Moreover, this particular jumper isn’t even one that Jon stole.

“…borrowed,” Jon says primly. “I held onto it–”

“–already had that permission–”

“–I hadn’t thought much of it, but here it was – all those years later.”

“Hmm…” Martin squints. “Seems in pretty good shape, doesn’t it?”

Jon stares down at himself again, mystified and increasingly indignant about this pointless line of questioning.

“For something you’ve been dragging through an apocalyptic hellscape, I would’ve expected to see more wear and tear is all.”

“…the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretense–”

“–visions, hallucinations or dreams–”

“Well, let’s see…” The ghost starts counting off on its fingers, just the same as Martin used to do whenever he was gearing up for a spat. “You can’t predict the future, so this isn’t a vision. You told me you weren’t able to sleep after the change, so that rules out dreams. Which leaves hallucinations, and… do you really think the Lonely would let you hallucinate some nice, comfortable clothes to brood in? Why would it bother?”

There’s a smug, victorious grin on its face now – the same one Martin used to get when he made a valid point in one of their trivial, good-humored squabbles, one that he knew would leave Jon speechless or stammering, unable to formulate a rebuttal. It’s endearing – or it was, and it would be if this was Martin, but this isn’t Martin, and Jon has had enough of this charade.

“…it has been freeing, talking to you, but not enough to free me from my fate – it’s just a memory – a daydream – it won’t last forever–”

“–there’s nowhere I can go, a place I can hide that it doesn’t keep looking at me – those unseen eyes that hover everywhere and won’t let me rest–”

“Eyes!” Martin blurts out, jabbing an excited finger in Jon’s direction. “You’ve got two of them!”

Jon stares blankly at the fingertip pointing at his face. Martin’s cheeks instantly redden. He coughs lightly and slowly lowers his hand.

“You, uh… you’ve mentioned before that you sort of – sprouted a bunch more of them? During the apocalypse?” he says uncertainly. “Okay, ‘sprouted’ wasn’t the word you used, I just sort of imagined–” He shakes his head, as if to banish a mental image. “In my defense, you didn’t explain. You make a lot of ominous side comments, and it’s hard to tell when you’re being cryptic on accident and when you’re actually avoiding a sore subject, so–”

Apparently gaslighting isn’t just the Spiral’s specialty. Rapidly losing patience for the asinine twists and turns this conversation keeps taking, Jon brandishes his hands, putting the hateful array of Watchers on full display. Martin’s only response is to raise an eyebrow, which only serves to stoke Jon’s temper.

“And I tell them to look again at – our wretched eyes that bind us to this grotesque world in which we live – at the pain and suffering and misery that it brings with it–”

“–look into their eyes for just a second, and see the emptiness inside–”

“I’m looking.” Martin gives an indicative nod. “Are you?”

With a huff, Jon follows Martin’s line of sight, even though he already knows what he’ll see staring back at him: a horde of bottomless black hole pupils hemmed with toxic, incandescent green, far more numerous than the worm scars ever were–

“…and his eyes were missing,” he murmurs.

Reality collapses on top of him all at once: he cannot see. Or – he can, by a certain, limited definition of the word, but the scope of his vision has shrunken, now constricted to a narrow span directly in front of him. Compared to what he was – what he has been for ages, for far longer than he was human – he’s functionally blind.

That transition does not happen in real time; rather, it has already happened, and he’s only now become cognizant of it, in the blink of an eye (or two, or ten, or dozens–)

How did it happen? When did it happen? How could he not have noticed such a drastic change as it was happening?

“…but – but they stared at me,” Jon says weakly, flipping his hands to check his palms, as if they simply migrated somehow, then again to inspect the backs. “They saw me. Believe or dismiss anything else – but I swear to you–”

“–were there such a short time ago – vanished–”

He wrenches one sleeve up to the crook of his elbow, then the other, scrutinizing his exposed forearms and picking uncomprehendingly at the places where eyes should be. It feels as if the ground has caved beneath him, stealing away his breath along with his words as surely as any freefall.

He wonders if this is how Lee Rentoul felt when he woke up one morning to find yet another piece of him missing, inexplicably vanished overnight.

“…I felt a jolt of fear because I – I knew they went further, went deeper than would show on my skin–”

“They aren’t there anymore, Jon. The world isn’t ending anymore. You stopped it–”

Jon shakes his head fervently.

“It is too late. It has always been too late–”

“–the night outside showed no sign of ending–”

“–and as you lie in agonies and fading dreams of personhood, of knowing who you were and what that might have meant, you hear the bitter whisper of recriminating seekers who–”

Martin’s soothing demeanor slips as he throws his head back with a muttered, “Christ, you’re stubborn.”

“Close your eyes,” Jon says, and he does just that. All two of them, he thinks, and then shakes his head again to banish the reminder. “Ignore the sounds–”

“One minute you’re all, ‘I witnessed all laws and universal constants crumble beneath the weight of incomprehensible powers, who knows if anything is categorically impossible,’” Martin says, putting on the melodramatic, playfully mocking air he would summon whenever he determined that Jon was being too ominous. “And now you want to play the skeptic again.”

“…can you trust your eyes – and stake it all on one last hope, your bruised feet pounding to the edge – your intended line of best retreat – but no, for all the dreams of bounding, leaping off into the great unknown, you see the – sting that comes with such rejection of the truth – that there is no way off the merry-go-round–”

“Just stop and think for a second. What reason could the Lonely possibly have for giving you a single scrap of comfort?”

“–your face is not your face is not your face–”

“Jon,” Martin says sternly.

What little was left of Jon’s tested patience shatters. His head snaps up and a single, irate question trips off of his tongue: “What?!”

“There you are,” Martin says, a wry – affectionate, affecting – curve to his mouth now. “If I knew that annoying you would be enough to snap you out of it, I’d have doubled down on it sooner. Guess I should’ve known. You did tell me as much – me and Georgie.”

Georgie?

Jon hasn’t seen Georgie since… since he barged into her home to drag Melanie back into all of this against her will. And… that’s exactly what he did in the end, didn’t he? Dragged everyone into it. Georgie made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. She was right not to, and he couldn’t even grant her that.

He’s never gained the ability to See either of them, but there was a time when he would turn his mind to them, if only to Know whether or not they were still alive. He stopped checking ages ago. Though he tells himself that it’s to give them whatever small measure of privacy is still attainable in a world turned into the Beholding’s playground, the real reason is not nearly so altruistic.

The plain truth is that he knows he will outlive them. He has no desire to Know when or how they will meet – have met? – their ends. If he does not ask the question, hopefully the Eye will spare him the answer. It’s bound to cram the knowledge into his head at some point, of course, but he would rather ward it off as long as possible.

“…the reconciliation I’d hoped for never really came–”

“You told us that you had given up. That you sort of… wallowed in the Lonely for a bit – your words, not mine – but it wouldn’t have you. Then Helen riled you into storming the Panopticon. Well” – Martin seems to preen, the pink flush on his cheeks deepening in time with his slowly-spreading smile – “the way you told it, she was having a go at me and you took it upon yourself to defend my honor – which, I’m flattered, by the way, I don’t think I ever–”

“What – are – you – talking about?” Jon forces out through gritted teeth.

“Jon,” Martin says – and he edges closer, just a bit, before he remembers himself. It seems he’s making a valiant – if poor – attempt to hide his buzzing eagerness. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

“I…” Jon gulps. The dampened panic prowling the perimeter of his mind is creeping closer and closer, his heartbeat approaching a gallop. Something isn’t right, alarm bells screech in his head, louder and louder every second. Something is off, he can’t pinpoint what it is, and it has the Archive in him gnashing its teeth. “I asked what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you did. You did. Not the Archive, Jon. You.”

What.

“I–” Jon falters, his stomach swooping as if he just missed a step going down the stairs. “What? No. What–?”

“You were using your own voice earlier, too.”

There’s that word again. “Earlier…?”

“Couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes ago. Just before you sent me away?” Martin gives him an expectant look – as though they have a shared understanding of reality between them, as though Jon can possibly contextualize whatever irrational premises Martin is operating on. “I… don’t think you realized the implications at the time.”

“Th-that’s not…” Jon presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, leaning into the pressure. “No, that – that doesn’t make sense. When did – how – why now, when it – it’s been so long–”

Could he have done it all along? Has he just been letting it happen all this time, submitting to the monster and telling himself that he had no choice?

It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

“It hasn’t, though. Not really, or – not as long as you think, at least. A little over a week, actually – which is a long time to be stuck here,” Martin hastens to add, “I know, I don’t mean to minimize it, or–”

“I don’t understand.”

The tight sensation in Jon’s chest intensifies as he tries to regain solid footing on the shifting quicksand of the moment. Trying to follow Martin’s reasoning is like trying to make sense of a dream. It’s not like the nightmare logic of the Fears, though. More like attempting to navigate barely-lucid dream, aware enough to realize that events aren’t following an expected narrative, but not enough to pinpoint why – or to determine what the expected narrative even should be.

“Peter threw you into the Lonely, remember?” It’s not the condescending sort of placating; not the it-was-only-a-dream dismissal of a longsuffering guardian shooing a child back to bed, brimming with barely-suppressed irritation after so many consecutive nights of disturbed sleep. “He put you here because he thought it was his only chance to make me cooperate. And… I guess it likes to mirror whatever makes you feel the most… well, lonely. Makes sense it would go for the apocalypse. I’ve noticed it’s not keen on subtlety–”

“No, this is – why are you here? How are you here? You can’t be here. I – I lost you, I watched it happen and I – I couldn’t do anything to stop it, and I still can’t – can’t do anything. If I could have followed you, I would have. I’ve tried, but the Eye took that from me, same as everything else, and I don’t know if…” Jon trails off as a feeble breath shudders out of him. “I want to hope that there’s something… after, but I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Such things are beyond the Eye’s purview. But there are no cosmic forces of hope or love to balance out the Fears. Why would life after death – if such a thing exists at all – be any different? Ideally, there’s at least nothing worse waiting on the other side; realistically, the best he dares to hope for is for nothing at all to be waiting on the other side. Nearly any change – even oblivion – would be a welcome reprieve from the living hell currently raging on earth.

Sometimes, he wonders whether oblivion would actually be the kindest option. It’s always followed by a twinge of guilt – of course he would give anything to see Martin again, of course he would be overjoyed for his cynicism to be proven wrong – but sometimes…

Sometimes he feels threadbare. Like a ragdoll forced into motion, no life of his own left to animate him, no corner of his mind left intact, no personal identity left to salvage. He doesn’t want to think anymore, he doesn’t want to be anything, he doesn’t want to be seen or known or remembered–

He just wants to rest. It’s selfish – and unearned – but that doesn’t stop him wanting it.

“…doesn’t get to die for that – gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever – I am without him now – fading, weak, no reason to move – powerless to help–”

“–this is reality. I dream, sometimes, perhaps this is the illusion–”

“–I tried to listen, to nod, but his eyes were hollow, and I knew that he wasn’t really there. I could run, of course, but I won’t. Where would I run to? All the world’s a stage, and I can’t escape my monologue–”

“–it doesn’t matter. At that moment, seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again–”

“–over the course of several years, he stopped being able to move under his own power – it had been all he was for so long–”

“–I barely recognized myself – he looked at me with – helpless terror, as though I could do something to fix it – I have not fought since I – saw the true scale of the devastation–”

“But you did,” Martin insists. “You confronted the Eye.”

“I will admit that in my heart I nurtured such dreams of revenge–”

“–was planning to try and rescue those trapped in the wreckage, but maybe she was simply trying to join them–”

“–in the end it is what it is, and I’m just going to have to live with it–”

“–whatever fight was left in me at the beginning is gone – now it’s just a memory – I’ve forgotten the taste of determination–”

“And then you found it again,” Martin counters. “You… you’re so much stronger than you think, Jon.”

“Stronger than anything has any right to be,” Jon scoffs.

“That’s not the kind of strength I’m talking about.” Martin regards him with a wistful expression. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“And how is that? What is there to see? When you strip away the Eye, what’s left behind?” Jon demands. The bitter, scornful laugh that wrenches itself out of him borders on cruel-sounding. “Go on. Tell me what you actually see.”

“I see you.” Martin pauses, staring pensively at his hands as he gathers his thoughts. They remain tightly folded in his lap, one thumbnail digging repeatedly into the cuticle of the other. “I see… I see someone who has had to shoulder so much – more than anyone should ever be expected to carry – for so long, all alone. The things you’ve seen, everything you’ve been through – you could have let it make you cold, or heartless, but you didn’t. You… you’ve survived so much, lost everything, and still you found it in yourself to keep going–”

“I don’t have a choice!”

He had one chance to die. He chose wrong. Now he has to live with it whether he likes it or not.

“Maybe you didn’t have the option to die, but you had a choice whether to fight back, and you did. And you didn’t choose to be here now.”

“Stop saying that!” Jon twists his fingers in his hair. “None of this makes sense–”

“Why not? Talk me through it.”

“B-because – because that’s not how the world works anymore!” Jon says, his voice ragged with anguish. A few strands of hair snap away from his scalp as he tightens his grip. “The only currency this place has, the only thing with any coherence, or – or – or staying power is fear. Anything that promises comfort is a lie, a – a ruse. There’s no room left for kindness – there’s barely enough room left for the Fears. In the end there won’t be room left for anything at all, and the End can’t come soon enough.”

“I know–”

“No, you don’t know!” He never did. And given what it would have required for Martin to truly understand… Jon would never have wished that upon him. “You didn’t speak the words. You couldn’t See the extent of what I did–”

“What Jonah did–”

“I’m the one who opened the door! And if I had the power to end it all now – all of it, scorch the earth and leave it a barren rock – I would, and it would be a mercy.” There’s a dull pain building in the back of Jon’s throat. Swallowing hard, he releases his grasp on his hair so he can hide his face in his hands instead. “Miracles don’t happen. Not before, and certainly not now. There’s no better anymore. Just… this.”

“What about your voice?”

“What about it?” Jon says peevishly.

“Well, having it back – that’s an improvement, right?”

“For now, maybe. Until it’s gone again. And that’s how the Lonely operates, isn’t it?” Jon’s shoulders slump as all the fight rushes out of him, weary melancholy taking its place. “I never got to say goodbye before. Not in my own words. As me. So the Lonely conjures up a substitute, gives me a chance to pretend for a moment, because stale grief is nothing compared to dashed hopes. It’s one thing to dwell on loss. It’s quite another to find something you thought you’d lost, only to…”

“To lose it again,” Martin says. One hand drifts to his chest, clutching at his jumper just over his heart.

“I already lost you,” Jon corrects. “And even though I know this won’t give me closure, even though I know it’s just a setup, to – to reopen the wound, make me relive that moment, I still go along with it, because I… I miss you. I miss you just the same now as I did when I lost you, and it…” The broken little noise that slips out of him falls far short of a chuckle. “Well, even if time did heal all wounds, time doesn’t really work anymore, so.”

“I… I was lost, yeah. But I didn’t stay that way. You didn’t let me stay that way.” Martin keeps moving, leaning forward and tilting his head, chasing after eye contact in response to Jon’s every effort to avert his gaze. “I was afraid of the same thing, you know. I’d already lost you once. Already grieved for you. Letting you back in… it meant opening myself up to the possibility over going through it all over again. But not letting you back in would have meant abandoning you, and…” He smiles – the sort of half-wry, half-sheepish grin of someone preparing to tell a joke that might not land. “Better to have loved and lost, right?”

Jon’s brain briefly short-circuits before he splutters out, “Are you quoting Tennyson at me right now?”

“I guess it was too much to hope you’d misattribute it to Shakespeare,” Martin grouses. “Look, you’re an ex-theatre kid who hates poetry. Doesn’t leave me much to work with. Anyway, what’s wrong with Tennyson? Too sentimental? Too depressing? Or just too” – his voice takes on a disdainful tenor, but Jon can see the way he’s fighting a grin – “obviously enamored with Keats?”

“Too Victorian,” Jon says, surrendering to the fleeting humor of the moment. Once again, the involuntary noise that forces its way out of him hardly qualifies as a laugh. It nonetheless seems to encourage Martin, who brightens, sitting up straighter.

“You found me,” he says, “and now it’s my turn. We’ve found each other again and again and again, and I see no reason to stop now. Although… maybe after this we can stop losing each other in the first place.”

“We already have,” Jon murmurs, the glimmer of playfulness dissipating the moment he remembers the truth of the matter. “You’ve finally gone somewhere I can’t reach you.”

Martin presses his lips together as if he’s biting back a retort. He takes a measured breath before he speaks.

“That’s enough talking in circles,” he says. “You can Know anything–”

The brusque rejoinder is automatic: “Almost anything.”

“So ask me. Ask me whether I’m telling the truth.” Martin sighs at Jon’s answering silence. “I’m giving you permission, I’m asking you to, so–”

“Why?” Jon narrows his eyes in suspicion. What the Lonely could possibly hope to achieve by prolonging this convoluted ploy? “What’s there to be gained?”

“What’s there to lose?” Martin counters.

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing–

“Fine,” Jon snarls. “Fine!”

If the Lonely wants to play this game, the least Jon can do is make it hurt.

“Tell me,” he says, static crackling in his throat. “Tell me the truth.”

___

End Notes:

- jon’s just like “do you ever get so annoyed at the ghosts of your past that you momentarily forget you’re an archive”

- Archive-speak citations: 059/030/122; 138/150/152/150/031; 074; 075/007/051/007; 074; 074; 133/160/149; 134/099/139/135; 139/134; 037/139; 165; 084; 162; 162; 162/117/020/167/160/127/099; 085; 020/017/144/012; 017; 014/035/014; 032/011; 096/060; 135/122; 023; 023/168; 091; 168/029/165; 162; 165; 165; 077; 128/020/108/020/136/105; 140/107/083/096; 053; 001/126/057; 047; 047; 004; 047; 004; 001/044;

- Some of the dialogue in the flashback re: what happened in Callum Brodie’s domain (up to ‘tell me what you want me to do and I will do it’) is from 173. The “I can’t imagine making any choice that would mean losing you. It hurts to know that you [can]” line is from 199.

- Thank you so much for reading!

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #long post #tma spoilers

[gaming-universe]

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART FOUR-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar (Girl I’m using all your gifs they are absolutely amazing)

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE|

Another day, another sleepless night.

It was 5am, the sky a light deep blue, and the last of the Soviet soldiers were leaving town. They had searched almost every square inch of this small fishing village, searching for anyone that might be harboring the ones who broke into their base. You thanked whatever god there was that they seemed to forget about Viktor’s house, which was practically veiled by the night sky on a hill below the lighthouse.

You had been awake since one that morning, watching the Soviet soldiers busy about the town like flies on a wound. As dawn broke, you sighed heavily, closing your tired eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. Your head throbbed painfully from the lack of sleep, but between your nightmares, reoccuring memories and the ruckas of the soldiers, you doubted you would have slept much at all anyway.

The door to the house opened softly, followed by light footsteps as they moved behind you to stand on your left. You didn’t have to turn to see who it was, the familiar stench of cigar smoke almost made you choke. You could see Adler in your peripherals just fine, you rolled your eyes in mild annoyance. “Do you always have to wear those aviators?” You found yourself asking, as the man in question began to chuckle. You heard him sigh “No, I don’t always have to wear them”.

“Do you have to wear them at 5am in the morning?”

“I suppose not-”

“Good, because you look stupid”.

Adler laughed again, releasing a stream of smoke from his lips as he shook his head in amusement. But doing as you had somewhat suggested, Adler removed his aviators, and hooked them over one of the open buttons of his shirt. The two of you stood in silence, watching as the sky began to turn an early morning grey. Adler huffed more smoke “Did you sleep last night?” He questioned lowly, now leaning his back against the white wooden railing and turning his head towards you.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you merely shrugged. “I don’t sleep much, not anymore...” You replied smoothly, now wishing that you had never said anything to begin with. You focused your gaze forward again as Adler’s expression fell, he brought the cigar to his lips. You watched as the waves danced in the early morning sunlight, remembering what is was like to be at their mercy. Adler moved closer to your form, flinching slightly as he watched your hands clench into tight fists. You flexed your fingers with a small wince, a sense of pride washing over you as you examined your bruised knuckles.

“How is your jaw?”

“Fucking sore, but thanks for asking”.

You laughed. A soft, genuine laugh as you finally turned to meet Adler’s gaze. His blue hues stared down into your (eye/colour) eyes with a mixture of emotions. His lips parted slightly as he went to speak, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I know you hate me, for everything I have done to you. Nothing I do will ever make up for the amount of shit I have put you through, but you have no idea how hard it was for me to do what I had to do...” He began, his grip on his cigar tightening. “I didn’t want to kill you, I really didn’t. But Park convinced me that killing you was better than the other option-”.

“And what would the other option have been?” You interrupted, folding your arms over your chest. Adler’s jaw clenched, “Letting you go through life not knowing who you were”. You scoffed loudly, stepping away from the taller man before you as you shook your head in disbelief. “She really convinced you that killing me was better than that!? Sure, I might not have ever figured out who I was before, but what was it you said to me after Cuba? ‘The CIA re-invented me’. I could have started a new life, Adler, and you fucking took that away from me” You growled, your eyes narrowing dangerously as you practically seethed with anger.

You paused for a moment to breathe, brushing stray strands of hair from your face as the wind blew in. There was so much more you wanted to say to him, so much you wanted to curse him for.

“Last night you asked me if I regretted it. If I regretted shooting you that day...” Adler spoke softly, almost painfully as his eyes suddenly became a darker shade of blue. “I regretted it, every single goddamned day afterward. And do you want to know why? Because a part of me hoped that you were alive. After you fell I...I hoped to god that you would resurface, that you would have survived that fall. But as the days went by, I realised you weren’t coming back, and that affected me, Y/n, it really did. When Woods and Mason found heard about what I did, they left, and you have no idea how pissed off Hudson was when he found out-”

“I would say just as pissed off as when he discovered that I was the Perseus Agent willing to defect and help the CIA take him down”.

Adler froze, his eyes widening significantly. For the first time in what you assumed was a long time, Adler was speechless. He stared at you completely dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to say. “I...w-what are you-”

“A few days before the whole incident at the airstrip, I sent an enrypted message to the CIA, telling them that I was willing to cooperate and answer any questions they might have had in regards to Perseus in exchange for asylum. I guess my message didn’t reach you in time-”

“But, if you were...” Adler trailed off, once again trying to make sense of things “Why didn’t you tell us? When we found you-”

“Things got a lot more complicated when Arash shot me, I think defecting was the last thing on my mind as I lay bleeding out in that car” You finished explaining, shivering slightly at the cool breeze. Adler hadn’t said a word since you finished your long explaination. He paced back and forth, running a hand along the back of his neck as he sighed heavily. You felt yourself tremble as his gaze focused on your form, he looked at you differently.

He looked at you the same way Mason had before Cuba, with pity, sadness, and empathy. “Y/n I...I’m so sorry, if I-” “Don’t apologise...” You interrupted, shrugging your shoulders awkwardly “I’m not mad about that. Actually, I am, but that isn’t the main issue”. Adler nodded, trying to regain his composure with a long draw of his cigar. You buried your hands beneath your arms, not wanting the man before you to notice their trembling. Clearing your throat, you averted your gaze back out to sea “Did you want to talk about last night, or did you want to wait for Woods and Mason?” You asked, trying to hide the slight shakiness of your voice.

You heard Adler sigh, “Y/n, I have to call Hudson. He needs to hear everything from us, and he will no doubt want to hear everything from you”.

Your blood turned to ice, a cold shiver running down your spine at his words. Call Hudson? You felt your stomach churn uneasily, you swallowed thickly and nervously. There was no way of telling how Hudson would react, how he would-

“Y/n...” Adler spoke softly, now standing before you with his eyes searching your distant expression for anything. Something that would give him an insight into what was going on in that head of yours. You turned to face him, looking up at him sadly. “You do what you need to do. But I just-”

“I know, I’ll take care of it. You can trust me-”

“Can I? Can I trust you?”

When Adler’s expression fell, you felt a strange sense of guilt consume you. You didn’t mean to be so hesitant toward him, you didn’t mean to be careful with who you trusted. But after everything that had been done to you...after everything that had happened...

You froze as Adler moved to step around you, your body becoming rigid as something warm was draped over your shoulders. It was then that you realised you had been shaking violently, and that Adler had given you his beloved brown leather jacket. You quickly spun around to face him, managing to catch the fleeting smile he gave you. Then you knew.

Adler understood. He understood where you were coming from. That you needed time to trust him again. “Like you said last night...” He began softly, giving you a barely there smile “no more lies, no more bullshit. Take things in your own time, but I want that jacket back, got it?”. With that being said, Adler turned slowly and made his way back inside, leaving you alone on the wooden terrace. When you were sure he was gone, you wrapped Adler’s jacket around your form tightly and collapsed to your knees, crying softly as strange, compassionate feelings overtook your worry, anxiety and guilt.

When you had calmed down, you leaned back against the wooden railing, letting your head rest against the wooden slats as you breathed deeply. You tried to ignore the scent of Adler’s jacket filling your nose, a mixture of old leather combined with cigar smoke and some kind of cologne.

As the sun began to peak through the grey clouds blanketing the islands, you decided that it was best for you to head inside. You still had the matters of last night to discuss, as well as the oh so joyous anticipation of waiting for Hudson to arrive.

After changing into more comfortable and warmer clothes, you begrudgingly gave Adler back his jacket, giving him a warm smile in thanks before disappearing into the living room. 

Woods and Mason were playing poker with Viktor, and losing horribly. “How the fuck did you manage to get another royal flush?” Woods complained, this his cards down atop the coffee table with an annoyed groan “I swear you’ve rigged the damn thing”. Viktor chuckled, gathering his winnings with a sly wink in your direction as you passed. “When you have played this game for as long as I have, you learn all the tricks of the trade” He responded, as Woods threw his hands out in exasperation.

You watched on from the far wall, grinning as Mason caught your gaze. He waved you over “Hey Y/n, did you want to join us?” He asked, to which you shook you head with an amused scoff. “No thanks, I would like to keep my money-” “Wuss...” Woods teased “I’ll play for you” “No, I’m good thank you, but I appreciate the offer”.

Woods groaned again as Mason laughed, while Viktor practically bled them both dry. Adler emerged from the kitchen, moving to stand by your side. “Adler, lend me some money, I need beat this old man at least once!” Woods exclaimed, gesturing towards Viktor with an extended hand. Adler shook his head “No, I’m not doing that” He replied, glaring at Woods’ obscene gesture thrown in his direction. You chuckled quietly, looking up at the man beside you with a small shrug. “How did you go?” You asked, not liking the way his gaze fell. He huffed “Hudson has a few things to take care of in Washington before he gets here, but he plans on arriving sometime tonight”.

“Well, I guess we can’t really do anything until we inform him of what is going on then?”.

“We can prepare what we are going to say? Combine our knowledge”.

You nodded hesitantly “I really don’t know much. But whatever those soldiers were doing up there is in relation to something called Operation Hyrda”. The entire living room fell silent, as all eyes now focused on you. “Operation Hydra? What the hell is that?” Mason asked, his eyes narrowing in confusion. You sighed “From what I’ve remembered, Operation Hydra is a failsafe for Operation Greenlight. Reading that name back in that bunker triggered something. All I know so far, is that Perseus and I are the only ones who know of the failsafe”.

“And because we brainwashed you, you can’t remember what this Operation Hyrda entails” Adler interrupted, his eyes remaining trained on your smaller form. You nodded as Adler cursed, cringing at his dangerous tone “I’m trying to remember, if that helps-”

“I know you are, we’ll figure it out” Adler spoke distantly, before once again disappearing back into the kitchen. You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose with a groan. If only you could remember something, even if it was small. Every little detail counted right? A gentle hand was placed on your shoulder, causing you to flinch as your eyes lifted to meet the warm expression of Mason. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about this...” He soothed “it’s not your fault you can’t remember”.

“I know, but knowing that I’m missing something important is just...” You paused, breathing deeply in through your nose and out through your mouth “I feel so fucking useless”.

“You might feel like that now, but it won’t always be like this...” Woods spoke solemnly from his position on the couch. “Sure, it might take you a while to remember things, but you will get there. Just don’t be so hard on yourself, alright?”. You nodded slowly, allowing his words to sink in. Though Woods did have a point, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden to the team.

As your lips parted to respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Your head tilted to the side in confusion, your gaze meeting Woods and Masons’ who wore similar expressions. Adler emerged from the kitchen, carefully moving past you and Mason towards the front of the door. You waited anxiously as two voices echoed down into the living room. As footsteps approached, your body became rigid as Adler moved past you to stand on the other side of the room, followed by a woman you knew all too well.

Her midnight hair was slightly longer, but her brown eyes widened upon landing on your form before her expression hardened. All you could do was glare at Park, as she stood in the doorway to the living room.

Tag List: @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat @staryozora @lovinggooppalacebanana @ktdragonborn @quietblogs-2-rd @cerezi @alluringartangels​

#russell adler x reader #russell adler #russell adler imagine #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #call of duty black ops cold war

[kiwikyuu]

━━━━━━━━ all the different shades of orange ; hinata shōyō

summary — whoever said that hinata shōyō is a ball of sunshine is a liar

word count — 3k

genre — imagine ; kinda enemies to lover, fluff

warning(s) — major spoilers about spring interhigh for those of you who haven't read the manga, insults thrown around, kinda out of character hinata, cursing, not edited

a/n — okay but have y'all seen e2l hinata shōyō besides kagehina lmao because i haven't and thought it'd be interesting to try out. also wow i have never put so much effort into a work like this one (hopefully it reaches a lot of people and you can all find some joy in reading!)

❝ WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING NEXT TIME, YOU ROTTEN BELL PEPPER. ❞

Hate was a strong word but the flaring anger in your heart and overwhelming urge to run into a wall whenever your eyes landed on that tangerine said otherwise. It wasn't that you went out of your way to dislike someone that has everyone wrapped around their finger. It just so happened that you had no tolerance for bullshit, and Hinata Shōyō pissed you off in every way possible.

It started on the first day of high school.

Walking beside Minari, a friend from middle school, the two of you were eager to leave the building. The idea of grabbing steamed buns had unraveled itself in your mind, and what better way to enjoy food than by sharing?

"Are you going to try out for any clubs?" Your elbow bumped against hers as you two walked the slowly emptying hallway. "I think I saw the girls soccer team holding tryouts soon."

Minari shrugged, but you could already see the thoughts pinging in her mind. "I might if I can."

See, the two of you had almost reached the staircase when it happened. Minari's long hair covered her view from time to time, so you were used to looking out for her while chastising the girl about the usefulness of a hairband. But what you didn't expect as you pulled the girl aside just as a gaggle of guys rushed by was the full strength of a short orange-haired boy catching you off guard and nearly sending you tumbling down the flight of stairs.

"I'm sorry! I - I didn't see you there!" He shouted, his hand coming out to latch instinctively onto your school uniform before you could be thrown back far. "And on the first day too... I'm so sorry! Please accept my apology."

You stared at the short boy standing before you looking positively green with anxiety and guilt. Minari was already calming him down with mentions of accepting his apology, but all you could focus on was the pounding beat of your heart and the tingling feeling in your legs from your near-fatal experience.

"Watch where you're fucking going next time, you rotten bell pepper," you muttered before pushing his fingers off your now wrinkled white shirt.

You had walked away first, Minari in tow, but not before catching the shine of his name tag, 'Hinata Shōyō,' and the wide-eyed stare on his face that sent shivers down your back.

From that day forward, every flash of orange around the school seemed to be followed by a glare on your end and a roll of eyes on his.

"You're in the way, pumpkin head." Your words cut through the chattering hallway and sliced at Hinata who in turn threw you a pointed look, something that all the First Year students knew by now was reserved for only you. "I'm trying to get to the library, but somebody's walking too slow. Aren't you supposed to be on the volleyball team?"

Hinata scoffed, but stepped aside to let you through. Dirty looks were all he had in his armory apparently as time after time after sending an insult or two his way, he held his tongue. You liked to think it was because he didn't have the proper brain cells to form a response, but sometimes you wondered if you were being too much.

Up ahead, Minari waved at you to hurry before all the seats at the library were taken. Shaking yourself of your thoughts, you walked over to her. Unbeknownst to you, while you shouldered your bag, your wallet tipped over and fell out at a certain somebody's feet.

Hinata picked up your ratty wallet, noticing it on the floor, and went to call out to you before catching himself. What did he care? Still, unable to ignore it, he pocketed your belonging making note to give it back to you later. Right now, he had a game to worry about.

Somehow you had ended up at the Karasuno vs. Aoba Johsai game during the Interhigh Preliminaries. Minari had dragged you up to the stands as discreetly as possible after convincing you that she wasn't feeling up to study. Considering she had her eyes set on a certain 5'10 blueberry, you were foolish enough to think that she'd wanted to take you some place fun.

Now as the two of you stared down at the game happening eagerly, you let out a sigh upon noticing Hinata. As if your day couldn't have gotten worse after misplacing your wallet, you were displeased to find that he was looking right back up at you with the same wide-eyed stare he had when you two had first met.

Shivers ran down your back almost as if on cue, and you tore your gaze away from him fully ready to leave the gymnasium and trudge back home. But had you turned away, you would have missed the freakish oddball combination execute their quick attack.

"Holy shit," you breathed. "What the fuck was that?"

Minari smirked. "Tobio-kun is a great setter, isn't he? Or were you too focused on Mr. Bell Pepper to notice."

You shot her a frosty look, pushing down the stuttering emotion starting to rise in your chest that most definitely did not feel like anger. "As if."

The game continued for what seemed like days but turned out to be hours at most ending at a score of 1:2 in Aoba Johsai's favor.

Deafening silence overtook your ears. Minari was quick to leave the stands, mumbling something about consoling the fallen setter while your eyes searched for some semblance of sunshine in Hinata's sullen ones.

Spotting his sunken expression, you felt yourself regret the hatred that had sparked for him for just a moment. A fleeting moment that buried itself in your heart, planting a seedling of growing doubt.

"Minari, we have to catch the bus back!" You called out to your friend as you joined her on the gymnasium floor.

She glanced your way, halting the conversation she had began with her Tobio-kun. "Two minutes, and then we can go. Please?"

You nodded despite feeling discomfort crawling up your spine at being surrounded now by those you didn't know. You settled by the door, checking your phone mindlessly to pass the short time only looking up when an outstretched hand came into view.

"You dropped this earlier." Hinata's words were short, sharp, and you were suddenly glad you had never been on the end of his scathing remarks. "On your way to the library," he continued.

"Oh," was all your malfunctioning mind could come up with as he took your open hand in his, placing your wallet gently in your palm. The warmth of his skin seemed pressed into your own even after he had started to stalk away.

Clearing your throat, you spoke before you could stop yourself. "You did well today. I - uh," you paused. What were you even saying? "I watched from the stands."

He offered you a soft smile, one that you realized could light the world aflame, before walking back to his awaiting team.

You placed your hand over your drumming heart, sedating the flustered feeling he had left behind with you, chanting in your mind over and over again that Hinata Shōyō was a menace and you had no plan to ever like him let alone fall for him.

But no one ever plans to fall in love.

The Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club seemed to practice non-stop funnily enough, rather motivated by their loss from months ago instead of despaired. Minari had become a regular face during practice as she cheered the boys on in an attempt to woo Kageyama still, and by fault, so had you.

"Y/N, Tangerine's on his way over here." Minari nudged you, stealing your attention from the workbook open in your lap.

You shrugged, trying to focus on anything other than your slowly rising heartbeat. "Why? Did the coach bench him for his subpar plays?"

"No, actually Tangerine wanted to give you something but he's currently reconsidering."

You looked up immediately, eyes narrowing upon noticing Hinata standing in front of you with a small smirk. "You're looking really fucking smug for a guy who still needs to work on his skills. Kageyama says you lack basic technique."

Hinata rolled his eyes at you. "You're being rude."

"It's because I don't like you," you answered smoothly. "So get back to practice before you lose any more volleyball brain cells."

He let out a small laugh. Turning away, for a moment you thought he'd actually leave as simple as that, but just before he took another step, he tossed something your way. It fell on top of your workbook, smacking against the thin pages, causing a couple of the boys to look your way while Hinata jogged back to the net.

Minari leaned in closer to you. "He got you—" She cocked her head in confusion. "A wallet?"

It was a deep shade of orange that almost made you laugh out in irony. Detailed with card slots and a latch with snapping buttons, the wallet was definitely an improvement from the one you had right now.

"That's sweet... right?" Minari questioned, watching your expression as you opened the wallet to reveal a note — scratchy handwriting on a scrap of notebook paper.

'thought your wallet looked ratty old. not in a mean way of course!!!!

— your favorite, Pumpkin Head Shōyō

ps. my sister picked out the color :p'

"Stupid fucking carrot," you whispered under your breath, feeling your cheeks grow warm at his message. "I don't need a new wallet."

Minari scoffed at your words, turning to face you completely and taking your hands in hers with seriousness. "Be honest with me." You stared at her blankly. "Be honest, and tell me if you actually hate Hinata as much as you say you do. Why don't you just drop the act? You two obviously like each other enough to be friends, so why keep this all up? Isn't it tiring?"

Her words echoed through the hallways of your mind minutes, hours, and days after. Sitting at your desk in school, on your walk home, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, they were as loud as life itself.

You thumbed the straps of your bag while waiting for the bus. The sun was slowly dropping from the sky, setting on the horizon leaving you in a thoughtful orange haze.

You two obviously like each other enough to be friends, so why keep this all up? Isn't it tiring?

The weeks following were conflicting and chaotic. Exam season settled on Karasuno High School jolting the students and staff into a cloud of stress.

You spent your spare time at the library, eyes boring into material that just wouldn't stick while a certain rotten bell pepper took his seat next to you.

"I have to pass my finals or Sugawara senpai is going to nail me to a wall," Hinata explained, spreading his notebooks out on the desk and bumping his elbow against yours in the process. "You do well in your classes, right? Do you — " He looked abash. "D - Do you mind helping me?"

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Looking back now, you suppose that's where your odd friendship began.

Days on end, the two of you would stay behind to cycle through the material slowly building a tolerance of each other much to everyone's surprise.

"Do you still hate me?" The question came one night, the weekend before his exams.

Hinata looked at you from where he sat on the swings, kicking his feet at the sandy grounds. The two of you were at the park, cooling off after a long study session.

Your eyes fell to the can of convenience store coffee in your hands. The slight of the passing breeze drilled his question further in your mind.

"No, I don't think so," came your answer, words wobbly and unsure despite the thrum of your heart beating loudly against your chest and the warmth in your cheeks.

Silence filled the space between you two before Hinata finally spoke up again.

"Then do you like me?"

Your body felt lit aflame, mind jumping immediately to the way he made you feel things you hadn't much before. "As a friend," you decided after a moment of flustered emotions. "We're friends, I guess."

Hinata nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I like you." He took a deep breath. "As more than a friend, but if you feel that way then I'll wait for you. We have time."

His confession became lost among the flurry of thoughts and colliding emotions raging on inside you. Before you could say anything in response, Hinata got to his feet, shooting you that now familiar smile of his and offering you his hand.

The new year overwhelmed your senses like a storm of rain after a drought. Refreshed after the break, you returned to school with a new sense of purpose amplified by the motivation the new year always brings.

Hinata's confession had remained in your mind, pushed to the back by celebration but still bugging you every so often. The apricot haired boy had showed up, throwing ping pong balls (of all things) at your window to catch your attention over the break asking if you wanted to go grab something sweet with him. You promptly responded with a rejection, only to find yourself walking with him ten minutes later.

"How was your break?" Minari asked, bundled in a jacket, scarf, and hat. She joined you at your side, catching you on your walk from the bus stop to school.

You shrugged, pulling your puffy jacket closer to you. "It was okay. You?"

She smiled. "Hung out with Tobio-kun. We went for hot chocolate, and he taught me how to set." Her eyes seemed almost dazzling at the memory, and you laughed, pushing her lightly away.

"You and your Tobio-kun are positively gross," you said. "Absolutely—"

Your words were halted at the feeling of warm fabric settling around your neck and a known face popping up beside you with a proud smile.

"Stay warm. You can give it back to me later," Hinata said before jogging away to catch up with a pair of Second Year boys ahead.

Your hand came up to the green scarf around your neck, failing to form comprehensive sentences. Heart thundering, you ignored the funny looks others sent your way. Glancing at Minari, you caught her slipping giggles.

"What happened to Hinata Shōyō being a rotten bell pepper?"

"Shut up."

Lending you his scarf when days seemed too cold was just the beginning of it all. Days turned into weeks turned into months of Hinata pining after you and you—though obvious to everyone else—trying to decipher your feelings for him.

"Hey, I missed you," Hinata said to you lightly after you had agreed to drop something off for Kageyama on Minari's behalf. Quickly realizing the meaning of his words, however, Hinata corrected himself. "I mean—um, as in I m - missed you earlier. Like... like I didn't catch you today, you know?"

You tilted your head at him with endearment, a small smile playing across your lips at the sight of his blushing face. "Yeah, don't worry. I got it, sweet potato."

His flustered expression dropped. "You think I'm sweet?"

Your eyes widened, stuttering to form a response and correct yourself out of this situation you had suddenly been thrusted in. Luckily, Kageyama came to your rescue before you could embarrass yourself.

"Hinata, boke, stop flirting with Y/N!" The tall blueberry haired boy towered over Hinata with a menacing glare and a scoff. Kageyama turned to you with a blank look you took for an apologetic expression.

Shaking your head profusely, you put your hands up in surrender. "Ah, no worries, Kageyama. I—uh, I have something for you from Minari. She has classroom duties today, so she couldn't come herself."

Kageyama nodded, taking the wrapped bento box that Minari had prepared for him from your outstretched hands. He mumbled words of thanks before stalking off while muttering under his breath a colorful range of insults at Hinata who in turn sent him a funny face.

The Spring Interhigh was coming up, and you were sure the Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club was itching for redemption after what had happened last August. Deciding that you didn't want to interrupt their practice any further, you made move to leave only to stop at the feeling of a hand on your wrist.

Glancing back, you raised an eyebrow in surprise at Hinata's sudden action. "What are you—"

The tangerine boy had exchanged his lighthearted expression of just minutes ago with a look that you could only describe as properly motivated. "When we make it to Nationals, promise to give me a chance."

All around you, the gym seemed to fade until only Hinata was in your line of vision.

When we make it to Nationals, he had said, not if.

Unable to respond, you found yourself nodding because who were you to kid yourself at this point?

The Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club did, in fact, make it to Nationals, but unfortunately lost to Kamomedai High School in the quarter-final round while Hinata spent his time at the hospital.

Hooked up to an IV line and dressed in one of those flimsy hospital gowns, Hinata looked unusually weak laying down on the bed. The others had left not long after you had arrived though some took more convincing than others.

"Next time, you can keep your scarf to yourself," you said, cutting the silence short with a lighthearted remark.

Hinata smiled weakly at that, his hand coming to rest atop your folded ones on your lap. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

You shook your head. "Obviously, you can't take care of yourself." Slipping your hands from under his, you took the hand warmers out of your pockets and placed one in each of his hands. "Luckily, you got me."

His face lit up. "Oh, do I now?"

Warmth spread through your body as you looked away from his hopeful gaze. "Well, you did make it to Nationals."

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #hinata headcanons #hinata imagine #hinata shoyo x you #hinata shoyo x y/n #hinata x reader #hinata x you #hinata x y/n #hinata shoyo headcanons #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata shoyo x reader

[skellebonez]

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 7

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link!

Summary: We return to the world outside the Calabash and someone regrets their life choices.

Warnings: Mild accidental self inflicted violence, after effects of the smoke from the last chapter.

Author’s note: A bit shorter than I intended since I was unhappy with how the additions to this chapter flowed and I rewrote them entirely, there are no spoilers for the special (I had removed or edited them into something unrelated) but there will be some allusions to it in the coming chapters.

Chapter 7: Real Feeling Illusion

Mei let out a yell of surprise as she felt cold metal settle into her hands, something that should be familiar but felt brand new despite that.

Her eyes snapped open to green, green and more green, every shade surrounding her as she stared into the gazes of her ancestors. The same judgemental gazes that she had already faced once before.

"Wh-what?"

The only thing that answered her were the glowers and whispers of the dragons above her, sneering, chastising, questioning.

“This has already happened... I’ve already done this...”

----------

"Monkey King!?"

Red Son gasped, eyes opening to a sight he wished to never see again.

"Come to take me? Find me?"

His breathing quickened, shaking his head as he took a step back.

"I will not let that simian abomination triumph again!"

This couldn't be happening again, it had to be a trick of the Calabash. Red Son had to believe it was as he watched his father scream over the screens showing MK and his friends coming closer and heard the whispers of the White Bone Spirit on the wind.

----------

"Hey, kid? You paying attention?"

The voice calling him made MK's blood run cold as his eyes snapped open, a far too familiar derelict dojo greeting his vision. And one very familiar, amused, dark furred monkey.

"No..." MK breathed quietly, holding his staff tighter. "No no, this isn't possible. It can't do this can it?"

"What's wrong?" Macaque asked, spinning a training staff in his hand with an easy friendly smile, practiced he now knew. Practiced to trick him, trap him, get what he wants out of him. It went softer, faker, kinder, and it hurt. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

----------

The air within the Bull Family's current abode was tense, Wukong's words weighing it down heavily. No one dared do more than breathe until the Demon Bull King or Princess Iron Fan reacted first.

While Iron Fan's face had fallen into disbelief and some form of concern, DBK's face was nearly unreadable. Eyes closed, arms crossed, the most emotion showing was the faintest furrowing of his brow.

"Darling?" PIF said softly, running her hand down his face in a soft display of affection that felt odd to watch for the group on the ground.

"I will assist you," DBK offered suddenly, turning to his wife with a soft rumble. "What wi-"

"I am helping," she answered instantaneously, features hardening as she turned back toward Wukong and the rest of the group.

"I should have assumed as much," DBK chuckled out, smiling softly for a split second before his features hardened once again. "I know my son, if you cannot find him then he is either hiding himself and his-" he growled deeply, spitting out the next word like poison. "-friends on purpose, which I doubt he could do for long with you searching of all people, or someone has made the mistake of angering the wrong family."

"Unfortunately we have no reason to assume it is anything but the later now," Wukong said, tone noticeably more relaxed but still more even and businesslike than normal. "This is what we know so far..."

Pigsy breathed out a sigh of relief, albeit the smallest possible any living being could manage, as Wukong began to explain to Red Son's parents in great detail exactly what they had done and what they had learned so far. There was something... off about it, however.

DBK was too calm. Almost... solemnly so. Now, normally he wouldn't be surprised if Iron Fan had been around to keep him calm, but she was hardly doing anything but sitting on his shoulder and talking to him in a hushed voice. Pigsy didn't know him all that well but every single time he had interacted with him, and from some stories from Wukong's younger days, he had always had a temper that put Red Son's fiery one to shame.

"Pigsy?" Tang said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder for a moment before frowning and squeezing it gently. "What's on your mind?"

"Somethin' ain't right here," he said with a shake of his head. "Somethin' really ain't right. Wukong can tell too, look at his tail. It's all puffed up on the back. Those two are hiding somethin' from us.” He turned to Sandy, who silently nodded in agreement.

Tang hummed softly, his grip on the pig demon’s shoulder tightening past gentle reassurance to a grounding firmness. “I trust your judgement, Pigsy. Let’s hope we can trust Wukong’s too, ok?”

Pigsy nodded himself, reaching up to grasp the scholar’s hand in a firm grip as they watched on from the sidelines still, waiting for anything to happen now. They didn’t have to wait too much longer before a gust of wind rushed past them and lifted PIF of her husband’s shoulder, setting her on the ground to the side of the two men.

“I will see what I can do with the equipment Red Son has left behind,” she said firmly, standing tall and looking all the more like a leader to an army than anything else at the moment. “While the Bull Clones will not likely be of any help, he left enough that should at least prove somewhat useful for a more delicate mission.” She frowned for a moment, looking up at her husband. “And... tell them. It might help.”

DBK startled, looking down at his wife with wide eyes. Now that was a look Pigsy had never seen on his face before. “Are you sure?”

“You and I both know that is the sole reason we need to find our son,” she said, frown deepening for just a moment before she wiped all expression from her face and allowed the wind to carry her off deeper into their hideout.

Now everyone was just confused, looking at the hulking demon lord as he scowled and ran a hand down his face. He turned to look at the group, taking them all in before focusing on Wukong again with a growl deep in his throat. “I had hoped we could convince him to return of his own accord and you would not find out about this,” he said with a deeper growl, scowling down at the Monkey King before sighing and seeming to relax ever so slightly. “But now... it has been so long I am doubting that is even possible now.”

“What are you talking about?” Wukong asked with a raised brow, fur bristling more noticeable as he tensed. “We knew you had been trying to get him to come back to your side.”

“Do you know why he left?” DBK continued, scowling even deeper than before. “Did you ever wonder why he chose to go to you?”

“...No,” Wukong admitted after a while, dropping his arms down to his sides. “I wanted to say that yeah we did, and no that doesn’t matter, but he’s never exactly been open about what made him come to Flower Fruit Mountain that day. Why?” He narrowed his gaze, watching the larger demon closely. “Wait... wait, you don’t mean-”

“Oh yes,” DBK said flatly, the sound of his teeth gritting together reverberating through the room and making everyone wince. “Ever since the Lunar New Year festival, Wukong. And it backfired spectacularly.”

----------

“Let!” Thunk. “Me!” Thunk, a cough. “OUT!” Thunk. “AGH!” Crack. “FUCK!”

Jin let out a screech of pain as he felt something in his hand give way, a knuckle or maybe a full finger bone. It didn’t matter either way, in only a few seconds it had fixed itself just as painfully as it had broken and left him with a fully intact hand for the third time.

“You’re one sick fox lady, you know that?” He yelled into the air, scowling even more as he changed tactics to attempting to kick himself out of containment. Trapped in what appeared to be the same little room he had left Yin in when he last saw him.

He may have the appearance of the Monkey King at the moment, and it may have given him access to some of his powers because of that, but physically he knew he was still Jin. The Gold Horned Demon. Not Sun Wukong, The Handsome Monkey King and The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. The Calabash itself knew this, could only go so far in the illusion, and not having breakable bones was apparently outside of the abilities of his and his brother’s device. Though he knew he was not actually being hurt, physically, everything that happened here was an illusion.

A very real feeling illusion. Unlike... unlike what could be happening to Yin...

At the thoughts of his brother in possible peril, Jin sighed, stopping his assault on the door to sit down on the makeshift cot they had been relegated to. He felt his tail (still a new and odd sensation to know he had one that moved of its own accord) drop down beside him, looking as deflated as he felt.

What if Princess Jade Face was hurting Yin? What if she had already hurt him? Was she using the new smoke on him as well or the sleeping smoke? His mind rushed through thought after thought of what she could do to hurt his brother while he wasn’t there to protect him... not that he had been doing a good job of it in the first place, all this being his fault in the first place.

He coughed again, throat aching from the after effects on whatever the new smoke was. His eyes burned and his head swam in lightheaded weightlessness. He wondered if it was supposed to hurt like this or if it was the combination of smokes, wondered if the trio trapped alongside him was feeling this or none or even worse. He wondered if they were safe.

“Safe?” He asked himself with a scowl. “Don’t tell me you’re actually giving a damn about those three outside of surviving yourself, me.”

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to wonder what that meant. The only people he worried about were his brother first and then himself. And he would get the hell out of here, broken hands or legs or not.

#stuff is going to really pick up next chapter and some actual answers will be revealed #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #fanfiction #mk #Qi Xiaotian #mei #Long Xiaojiao #jin #monkey king #sun wukong #pigsy #dbk #pif #dbk and pif #secrets

[cream-and-tea]

hello hello hello may i hear about Pallas' weird fucked up brand of immortality???? i love all forms of that and would love to know more

*me, realizing i’m going to have to talk about pallas at length in any way shape or form* oh god here we go.

so! the “pallas can’t die” thing! it’s a pretty Big plot point in Lay Me Down, so Big that exactly how they did it and the reasons behind that features heavily in the final-act-holy-shit-what-the-actual-fuck-pallas-reveal/plot twist(tm) that i’m legally bound not to talk about and thus cannot share here. the main thing you need to know about it before i get into specifics is that it is very much something they did TO themselves after [REDACTED] in possibly one of the stupidest decision’s ever in Ghost Story Canon (think getting a really awful impulse tattoo except instead of a tattoo it’s making yourself Immune To Death) (also this got pretty long so i put the rest under a cut) (enjoy)

But with that dealt with, the rules of how their specific brand of immortality works are actually pretty simple: they just. can’t die (except for under very VERY specific circumstances but thats more spoilers). it doesn’t matter how badly they get injured or how oppressive a situation is, they are simply incapable of having it kill them. the caveat there is that even though they can’t die they can be HURT, and very very badly at that. because surprise! this specific brand of girl-help-i-can’t-die comes completely without ANY sort of healing factor!! so pallas can technically live through practically anything under the sun, but they will NOT come out of it unscathed or even in one piece (yes this is exactly as horrifying as it sounds). this is obviously not a good combination when it comes to the kind of person pallas is, and more specifically the kind of self-destruction they engage in where they view any pain or harm caused to themself as meaningless as long as they Are Useful and Have A Purpose (thanks a lot magic library indoctrination).

annnnnnd before i get depressed about this character again have some Funky Fresh Pallas Immortality Based Facts that i have accumulated over the course of my planning/drafting!!!:

for spoiler reasons not dying also comes with Body Horror upgrades which include: spitting up teeth that are not yours! Extra Organs! pale-ass vampire skin! the occasional blood-vomiting fit!

a less gross thing is that they get Cool Spooky Eyes that have no pupils and are constantly shifting between straight-up-shrimp-colours that agnes’s eyes interpret as different shades of gray

the not-being-able-to-die thing is established in possibly one of my favourite scenes i’ve ever written wherein pallas barges into agnes’s room bleeding from at least 17 different life-threatening injuries, heals said injuries incredibly slowly and painfully in front of her, passes out dead on the floor getting blood all over her carpet, and THEN responds to her panicking over how they could have died and how she was terrified with essentially “oh i don’t do that ❤️“ and straight-up REFUSES to explain any further. bastard behaviour at its finest.

seriously though thank you SO much for this question, i could ramble about these characters and plot for days so it’s nice to get the chance to share some stuff about them!! literally buzzing with happiness rn lol

#only problem with this ask is that now i’m thinking about pallas again and want to do something violent #why do i do this to myself #wip: ghost story #pallas #someday someone will ask me about the pallas and agnes dynamic and i will have to launch myself into the sun #with the sheer FORCE of my vibrations #Top Ten Friendship Dynamics That Make Your Brain Bleed Just Talking About Them #creme gets an ask

[marinaaniseed]

Ribbons and leaves

Song: Ribbons and leaves from the album Happiness in magazine by Graham Coxon.

Summary: Bucky finds you after 80 years.

Pairing: Female reader x Bucky Barnes

Length: 1,984 words

Warnings: Some old fashioned attitudes to sex and sexuality, traumatic events in Bucky’s past (including at the hands of HYDRA) and I guess spoilers if you’ve not seen the Captain America films. This one might hurt.

A/N: This was written for @lancsnerd‘s #Lancsnerd1kchallenge. So happy for you, you deserve every follower! I’ve combined it with a songshot, so for clarity, stuff in bold are the lyrics, stuff that’s underlined is my prompt, anything sans formatting is just me. I made myself cry while writing this, so be warned again, this one might hurt. See here for what this is all about.

***

In an old house, in an old street, Bucky finds you. You’re old too, of course, exactly as he should be.

Sitting in front of the TV, your son lets Bucky in. James, he said his name was. A good name, Bucky thinks, even if he hates it when people call him that.

Bucky’s surprised by the lack of surprise when he appears on your doorstep, like somehow your son was expecting him. He supposes that you told James about him, after the world found out that Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier were one and the same.

Tea is brought through on a tray, and James excuses himself, leaving the two of you to talk.

“Took you long enough to find me,” you tell him, turning the TV off and turning to look at him. Time and circumstances have weathered him a little, but essentially he’s still the same man you said goodbye to, back in the 1940s.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles, because he is. But he’s glad you’re still alive, that he’s found you before it’s too late.

“You’re here now. Better late than never,” you observe. “Got your old cap and tobacco tin, you can finally have them back.”

He’d forgotten about those. It hurts his heart to hear how you kept those things, that you never forgot him, even though he was forced to forget you. It seems you never quite moved on, despite the photos that line the walls.

“I see you have a beautiful family,” Bucky says, looking around the room. He can’t see your husband in any, just two children at various ages, and eventually grandchildren and even great-grandchildren too.

“So do you,” you say softly.

“No, I never settled down,” Bucky notes. But if he had, he would’ve liked it to have been you.

“James, who you met, is named after his father. He and his sister were born eight months after I last saw you,” you state, not sure what else to say.

You can pinpoint the exact moment that it finally dawns on Bucky. His eyes go wide, skin goes deathly pale, and he opens and shuts his mouth several times, failing to make any noises.

“I have a son? And a daughter? Do they know? Did James know?” he eventually stutters.

“They’ve always known, I never hid from them who their father was,” you tell Bucky. “James has my late husband’s surname, but he always knew you were his father.”

“That’s why he wasn’t surprised to see me,” Bucky surmises, kicking himself for not finding you sooner.

“Correct. When I found out, I wrote to you. My letters went unanswered and I got in contact with your sister, trying to find out what was wrong. How we prayed for you to come on home. Eventually, we got the news that you’d fallen to your death,” you explain.

Bucky shudders at the memory. In a lot of ways, it would’ve been better if he had died that day, instead of enduring what HYDRA put him through.

“My soldier, my dead prince. You can understand the predicament I was in. An unwed mother to be. Marriage was the solution for me and for my husband. He was a queer fella, a friend, needed a wife so that the navy didn’t find out what he really liked. A practical solution for all,” you note. “He died in Europe, too, but at least I got to play the part of the honourable widow, with two young children, instead of the stigma of having two bastards.”

That explained why your husband was missing from all of the photos.

“And you never remarried?” Bucky asks. He imagines how he feels right now is comparable to the shock Steve must’ve felt when he realised that Bucky was still alive.

“Never,” you note. “I married for practical reasons, the only way I’d do it again was for love, and the man I love was gone.”

It doesn’t escape Bucky’s notice that you said love, not loved. He moves to sit next to you, taking your hands in his. So small and delicate in comparison.

“I love you,” he says, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry you lived all of this without me. I’m sorry you never knew that I was still alive.”

“It’s ok, you’re here now,” you tell him, handing him a tissue from the box on the table. “You’re here now, it’s not too late. Everyone will be so excited to meet you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, doll. I’m the thing that monsters have nightmares about. Or I was,” Bucky says, gnawing on his lip. “I don’t want to intrude into your lives or cause any bother.”

There’s a soft knock on the door, and James enters, a tiny sleeping baby in his arms.

You give him a smile and a nod to let him know that it’s ok, that Bucky knows.

“So, uh, dad,” James starts softly with a smile, so like Bucky’s own that he can see that this is definitely his son. Tears start rolling down Bucky’s face, moistening his facial hair. He never thought anyone would call him dad, and now here is this man, who looks old enough to be his father, calling him dad.

“Since you never got to hold any of us when we were small, I wondered if you wanted to hold Samantha? She’s my first granddaughter. We brought her round to see mum today,” James says, stepping towards them with the baby.

It’s all too much. Bucky’s heart shatters at the thought of all that he’s missed. His own son is here, in the twilight of his life, and Bucky’s missed it all. He sobs softly and you put your arm around him. James sits down on the other side of him, holding the still sleeping baby.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, voice breaking. “Are you sure you trust me? You know what I’ve done.”

“Of course I trust you, you’re my dad,” James observes, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Even when we found out about the Winter Soldier, about you, mum never believed it was really you doing those things.”

“The man I knew wouldn’t, couldn’t do those things,” you tell Bucky. “They took the gentlest man in the world and turned him into a machine. I’m glad they couldn’t erase all of you.”

One day, maybe, he’ll sit down and tell you, tell James, everything that happened, everything he can remember. It’ll take time, because there’s so much he needs to know, so much he wants to catch up on and understand.

Carefully, James places the baby in Bucky’s arms. Her hair is so dark and chocolatey, just like his. She stirs slowly, but doesn’t cry, blinking open big eyes. They’re the same shade as yours. Even so many generations down the line, parts of you and parts of Bucky are still evident. Samantha tries to focus on Bucky and her mouth forms a small smile. Bucky smiles back, trying not to cry again.

It’s been so long since he held a baby, probably not since his sister.

“Did you ever meet my sister?” Bucky asks James.

“Aunt Beccy was the only real family we had,” James answers. “Albert’s family, mum’s husband’s family, lost touch with us after he died. Moved away to Hawaii. We didn’t have any cousins, so Beccy treated us like her own. I’m sorry she died without knowing you were alive.”

“It’s ok, it’s better that she didn’t know what I did,” Bucky insists.

A tiny hand grips his vibranium thumb. Something so beautiful, tiny, and innocent, unwittingly grasping a weapon.

No, that’s wrong. He’s not a weapon anymore, he’s not the Asset.

Bucky’s so lost, staring at his smiling great-granddaughter that he doesn’t notice more people have joined them.

A small boy, probably just around school age, stops in front of you.

“Happy birthday, grandnan,” he says cheerfully to you, holding out a handmade card covered in glitter and stickers.

“Thank you, Tristan,” you tell him with a smile. “Is this why I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen until you were done?”

The boy nods, hair flopping forwards. While your hair is white now, the colour Bucky remembers lives on with this small boy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” Bucky mumbles, cheeks heating up. “I completely forgot it was your birthday.”

“I’d prefer to forget it,” you reassure him. “But apparently, when you get to our kind of age, every birthday is a big one. Does that mean I’m older than you now?”

“You’ll always be my baby girl,” he says. “Looks can be deceiving, but you can’t change facts.”

“Do you know who this is?” you ask Tristan, gesturing towards Bucky.

He looks between you, James, and Bucky, trying to make the connection.

“Granddad's dad?” he ventures.

“Yeah, that’s right honey bun. Granddad's dad,” you explain.

“Why isn’t he old like you and granddad?” he asks, and Bucky’s glad when he hears you laugh, even though James tries to tell him that’s not a polite question.

“You remember at school when you learned about Captain America? Something similar happened,” you answer, to Bucky’s relief. That’s not a story he wants to tell a small child.

“You were frozen?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, because that’s not exactly a lie.

“Why is your arm made of metal?”

James tries to shush him again, but Bucky understands. The kid is curious. He would’ve been exactly the same at that age.

“I lost it in an accident,” Bucky says. “I can take it off if it’s scaring you.”

“You can take off your arm? That’s so cool, I wanna see!”

“Sorry about that,” a man with a moustache says, trying to steer the kid away. “He doesn’t quite understand that some questions are impolite.”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky reassures him. “I’d have a lot of questions if I was him.”

The kid could be standing on his balls and he’d still be over the moon.

“This is my son Michael and his wife Jessica,” James tells Bucky. “You already know, but this is my dad, James.”

“Bucky,” he says instinctively.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky’s grandson and wife say in unison.

“Thank you for letting me hold your daughter,” he says, handing Samantha back to her wary mother.

Your hand strokes Bucky’s hair. It’s even softer than you remember it being. A shiver runs up his spine as he recalls that last night you spent together, how you’d stroked his hair then.

As soon as there’s space, Tristan clambers into Bucky’s lap, determined to monopolise the attention of this strange man with a metal arm.

“Metal granddad,” Tristan tells him, making Bucky laugh.

“Sure, you can call me that. Or you can call me Bucky,” he says, not really sure what the kid should call him. He’s still getting his head around James calling him dad.

Tristan tries to hug him in his tiny arms, face buried into Bucky’s chest.

“I love you, metal granddad,” he says.

“I love you too,” Bucky replies. It’s been decades since he’s heard those words said to him.

But now he sits surrounded by a small portion of his family, a family he never knew he had. Bucky’s overwhelmed by all these faces, so happy to see him at last. Now that he’s taken this first small step, he can’t wait to meet the others.

Even when he didn’t know who he was, he was loved.

“Mum never stopped loving you, none of us did,” James mumbles next to him, as if he can hear Bucky’s thoughts.

“I can see that,” he says with a smile, still cuddling Tristan.

“I guess you didn’t either,” James continues, “because you finally found us.”

If the monsters could see him now, they wouldn’t have nightmares about him. It’s a thought that makes Bucky very glad indeed.

#366songshots #Lancsnerd1kchallenge #Winter Soldier #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #Female reader