Snow-that-is-in-colour-red - The Writer's Bastard

y'all ever notice how Hannibal can’t seem to look Will in the eye when he admits “for both of us?” Like, when he says “this is all I ever wanted for you, Will” he looks straight at Will, because this is something that Will already knew, he isn’t admitting anything. But this seems to be the first time that he admits to Will that he wants them to be together, to kill together and do other stuff together, he’s looking down away from Will as if he’s afraid of the reaction he’s going to get.

And then, after that “it’s beautiful,” you see, in those famous Lecter microexpressions, the relief that Will feels the same, and he looks at him with this sort of wonder, his mouth opens, like he can’t quite believe it.

And when Will hugs him, and pulls him close, his eyes close in disbelief that after so long, he’s finally able to do this, before he leans in close to nuzzle Will.

One Piece Academy Chapter 42: My Only Little Brother, part 2 (Quick translation)

source | part 1 | index

*plop*

Luffy: GOMU GOMU NO...

HANABI!!

Lackeys: Waahhh!

Luffy: I'm all fired up!

Zoro: Now this is my thing. Unlike an undercover investigation.

Usopp: Dammiiit!!

Lackeys: What are these middle schoolers??!

Usopp: Corao, get everyone other than me inside your soundproof barrier!

Cora: What??

Usopp: I have a good weapon to sweep 'em away.

Cora: Got it, Usopp! Silent...

Usopp: USOOOPP ~

Usopp: NOIISE~~~~!!!

*screeeech*

Lackeys: AAAH!! MY EAR!

Usopp: Checkmate! Corao, I'm done here!

Cora & co: ?

Usopp : THEY CAN'T HEAR ME..!!

Lackeys: Gwaah!

Doflamingo: The meeting is postponed.

Fufufufu..

Lackeys: Don't let Joker escape!

Trebol: Behehehe...

Luffy: Where are you going, Mingo..!!

Cora: I'll chase Doffy.

Law: Cora san!

Cora: Sorry, Law..

But I must bring Doffy back.

Luffy: Go, Corao, Traffy!

Zoro: Leave the small fries to us. Though they're not worth cutting..

Sanji: We'll follow you soon, won't take two minutes!

Usopp: The brave man Usopp won't let a single man pass through!

Cora: You all..

Thanks! We'll be back soon after talking with him!

-

Cora: Your connection with the dark is severed. Stop already.

I won't let you take the path of destruction. There must be another way you can live!

Let's go home with us!

Doffy:

The place where you two live... It's quite far from here.

Cora: You knew..?

Doffy: Fufufufu, Not a place in this town that I don't know about.

I was so disappointed, when I was betrayed by you.

Same goes for Law, I took you in like a younger brother.

I let you study, taught you every bit of combat skill.

Cora:...

Doffy: And once again, today. I was supposed to take those underworld folks right under my palm.

Trebol: Behehe, it was worth a shot, wasn't it~? Now you know what will happen-

Doffy: My loss.

"???!"

Trebol: Doffy....!!

Continues in Reblog ⬇️

tw // blood

    There is a quiet, fleeting, moment, when the blade sinks itself into his ribcage and just below his heart, where the world whites out at the edges. He feels his lungs rattle in his chest, feels the metallic taste of blood well up from the back of his throat. He feels Phil’s shaking hands, tremors running down the metal and into his spine and his throat and the lips he so lightly twists into a smile. 

    “Hey, Phil.” Wilbur says, feeling his father slip further down, head bowed in grief. “It’s cold.”

    Phil keens low and quiet into his chest, singed wings draping over Wilbur, trying their best to block out the cold he knows comes from somewhere within him. He appreciates the gesture nonetheless. 

    He hears fireworks in the distance, and sees blue and red through the feathers. L’manburg colors. He silently thanks his brother for the last reminder of his symphony, his unfinished verse. He wonders if his death will be a finishing bar, or perhaps a catalyst for a new measure. He wonders if Tommy knows that the mantle has been passed, and that he’s sorry for the weight that ties a noose around his younger brother’s neck. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he wants to plead, you’re not supposed to carry the weight of my failures on your shoulders. He hopes Tommy runs away, that he leaves this unfinished song and go write for himself a new one, a happier one. 

    “Are you proud of me?” Wilbur finds himself whispering, half hoping Phil doesn’t hear, and finding himself feeling too tired to care. He supposes death did that to a person. Leaves them tired and cold and strangely light. Phil’s hands don’t stop shaking, and red paints his palms and fingers and the hem of his cloak. Wilbur huffs a laugh at his father’s silence.

    “You don’t have to answer that, I think I know what you’re gonna say anyway.” Wilbur says, swallowing back a lungful of blood and air, bringing a hand up to card through the man’s blond hair. Phil shudders. “I wouldn’t be proud of me either.”

    Phil lets out a broken sound at this, and somewhere in Wil’s bleeding chest, he feels a twinge of shame. 

    “Forget about me, Phil.” Wilbur says into the air, feeling sweat and blood and tears drip down his chin. It stains the tips of Phil’s hair. “It’ll be easier that way, I think.”

    Phil brings a hand up to clutch at Wilbur’s arm, head still burrowed in his fast reddening shirt, and Wilbur stifles a gasp at where the movement jars his wound. The elder’s breathing is shallow, he opens and closes his mouth, words caught in his throat, like he’s choking on them.

    “Don’t cry, Phil.” Wilbur hums, voice thready and thin in the ash filled air, “I don’t want that to be the last thing I hear.”

    Phil sobs, and his back shakes with the weight of his grief and his loss. It must be agonizing, Wilbur thinks, to mourn your son while he still speaks. Then again, that won’t last for much longer.

    Wilbur strokes his father’s head, though his fading strength only allows him to curl his fingers, helpless as it falls wayside to the ground. 

    “You’ll be fine, dad.” Wilbur whispers, “You did the right thing. You got rid of the big bad, like the hero in the stories you used to tell.”

    Phil wails harder, and Wilbur thinks that maybe being a hero isn’t as appealing when it causes good men to cry. 

    “I’m tired.” He sighs, feeling his eyes slip shut, “I’ve been awake too long.”

    Phil reaches out with trembling fingers, bloodstained palms cradling his cheek.

    “I l-love yo u.” He chokes, the words broken and jilted, like a song through a broken speaker. 

    Wilbur feels his smile slip a bit, and bites back a strangled laugh, because Phil doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to have to paint the floor red with his own son’s blood. Another tally on his faults, he thinks, another red name for his ledger of wrongdoings. Even on his dying breath, he hurts the people he loves. 

    “I love you too.” He says, instead, because he refuses to leave without letting his father know that he loves him. That whatever happens, whatever consequences he’s left blazing at his wake, Wilbur soot does not hate his father.  That this isn’t some sort of cruel punishment or last hurrah. He thinks that maybe he just wants to be held, and that sleep comes so much easier when he’s safe in the arms of his childhood hero and protector. “I love you so much.”

     The static in his head grow louder, and he feels his heart give a shudder, and a beat, and the dark encroaches quickly, and through the gauze he hears a broken scream. Then, nothing.

not to DSMP on main my mostly hermit-adjacent sideblog but seriously. techno’s red festival stream was the first stream I watched live, back when I didn’t even properly know what DSMP was yet (I was just there because I’d recently gotten into techno) and it’s still VERY memorable to me.

anyway instead of talking about literally any of the lore implications that had, a few of my favorite really stupid moments that made me laugh:

- the entire bit with techno, fundy, and the dunk tank. “hold on I need to take a break from drowning to get a glass of water” “WHYYYY”

- techno asking basically every other festival attendant “so, got any vital state secrets you want to talk about?”

- techno hearing wilbur complain about how he couldn’t find an important button, looking in his inventory to see like six wooden buttons he’d picked up somehow, and going “UHHH WHOOPS” (note: these were probably from the docks not The Button but)

- techno’s chat spamming “JFK” at every opportunity

- techno scrolling through the approximately twelve “subscribe to technoblade” death messages and laughing incredulously because even he didn’t know he could do that

- after techno gave his dramatic “the only universal language is violence” speech and ended with a dark little chuckle there was a moment of silence and then tommy, loudly, to break the tension: “SO PINK SUS”

yes the festival was dramatic and angsty but also. so many funny moments I remember felt like talking about those again because they were FUN.

Q: do you believe in horoscopes?

as much as the concept of Jesus being a fairly normal lad has its charms, im personally very intrigued by the idea of him being just… extremely weird. not even in a mystical sense, just…….staggeringly BIZZARRE. 

you go to the well to get some water, and here’s Miriam’s boy, staring at the sky, completely still. his expression is unreadable. you hazard a hello and ask how he’s doing, and he slowly, unblinkingly, lowers his gaze on you (he’s 8 and is missing his frontal teeth, not that this is making you any less uncomfortable) and says “I cannot speak of the state of my being, Nathan son of Saul, my brother, but rejoice for the water you shall take today will be as pure as the soul of the children of Heaven”

…you start sweating

okay fine I'll catch up with one piece

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye

“…believe me to be, my dear fellow, Very sincerely yours, Sherlock Holmes”

— The end of Holmes’ “suicide” note, The Final Problem