#(and ill have nobody after all of that. due to the being kept in a cage)

[skunkes]

the bad: i have been raised without much warmth from my parents in childhood, but also pressured to conform to familial authority, doubt myself always, and value familial connections above all else (<- failed at this, and feel guilt about it.)

but also in experiencing this i have been so isolated from the entire rest of the world and others, that it will be nearly impossible to create my own "family" -> find safety and comfort in anybody else once my family is Gone. despite dis i find it really difficult to break away from the familiar, disobey and disappoint, because, well, why are my wishes more important than anybody else's. why would I cause upset and distress in anybody, and exert so much effort into my doubt filled half decisions, for my meaningless little Wishes. being away would also mean less time with these people who I'll never see again once they're gone. being raised this way is definitely paying off for those who did so.

the good: yaaaay adjacent inspiration for writing talon lore

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 1

Summary: Reader gets caught hiding out in the avengers tower. In the end it turns out for the best.

TW: non-sexual nudity, illness, fainting, swearing

Words: 4.1K

A/n: Super long first chapter

маленький паук – Little Spider

It defiantly wasn’t part of your life plan to be living with your bother again in your adulthood.

You had spent an excellent few months on your own having finally moved out of May Parker’s apartment, it had been perfect. Well … as perfect as life could be for a parker.

Then … you guessed it … parker luck struck again. There was a huge fight, one you had been itching to join but your brother, peter parker, had it covered. And since nobody knew that you sometimes wore the spider-man suit when peter wasn’t able to, it would all be over if two Spider-Man’s ended up fighting some of the weird aliens that had invaded New York.

You see, you and your brother had more in common than most siblings did. Peter parker had been bitten by a radioactive spider on a school trip as was known to a few people. But, at the same time, you had been eighteen and chaperoning the field trip.

When peter had snuck off to the side you had gone after him. When he was bitten, so were you.

But for now, you had decided to try and stay away from the superhero lifestyle. But when the itch came, peter lent you his suit so you could scratch it.

You had helped him refine his web-fluid and had your own web shooters as well as one of his old suits just in case. May knew about you and peter after finding out a while ago. However, peter and you had kept everything about your existence from the avengers so you could live a semi-normal life. At least for now.

But the day the avengers were fighting off the aliens, New York had taken some heavy damage. You had been running a small illustration business out of your apartment in queens. Your apartment … which was now levelled in the fight was gone. Along with your business.

Since you had moved out young, May only had one spare bedroom in her apartment which peter was occupying. Leaving the Parker’s with one option.

As peter had a room in the avenger's tower, you could stay there or with aunt may. Peter being Peter didn’t want to ask tony if he could stay in the tower for the unforeseeable future without arousing questions. So, you had been secretly living in the tower for about three days now.

Peter brought you food and had bribed Jarvis to keep your existence a secret. You had his old suit if you wanted to leave the tower, you could swing away instead of walking through the building and getting caught.

It was a pretty solid plan and it had been working pretty well. Until the day you got sick.

Peters' bedroom in the tower was on the floor with the other avengers, meaning you had to be somewhat quiet so Natasha, clint or the others didn’t find you. But it had begun to get colder out, and Peters old suit didn’t have a heater. It had been made before tony had found out spiders, including peter and yourself, can't thermoregulate. And swinging around New York without a heater in the nippy winter air had left you with a pretty nasty cold.

Unlike peter your powers didn’t give you super healing. In fact, your powers differed from peters in more ways than one. For one thing you had small fangs which you could retract, they didn’t do much, but they were cool, and peter was mildly jealous. Another thing was you had taken on aspects of jumping spiders as you could jump higher due to your super strength and some weird spider quality peter lacked.

Like peter the bit had given your excellent eyesight, increased metabolism, a lack of thermoregulation, the weird sticky thing, the spider sense and super strength and the allergy to peppermint. But due to sharing the suit anytime you went out as “Spider-Man” you had to refrain from using your own unique powers, so you didn’t give anything away.

The thermoregulating thing may have finally come back to bite you now that you were in peters old suit. After taking one of his patrols for him so he could finish his assignment and you could get out of his room in the tower, the cold had made you sick. Heres the thing about having a high metabolism when you don’t have an increased healing factor. It went one of two ways. Either you had flash colds which were taken care of quickly and at a much faster rate than the average human, or if it was stronger than your immune system, it was quickly made into a bigger problem than it should have been due to your body processing things faster and speeding up its strength.

Anytime this had happened in the past, due to not being able to go to a regular hospital, you had thanked the gods for May choosing a career in nursing. Though she had been able to treat you superficially with regular medicine and not anything made for super soldiers or spiders as that was a Bruce banner specialty that was unique to the tower's med bay. So, you often just had to ride it out and if things got really bad, peter would try and smuggle you some of his medicine out of the tower for you.

So, this is where you ended up. Curled up in Peters bed in the tower, stifling rough sounding coughs into his pillow and making a mental note to wash his sheets soon. You were doing your best to remain quiet and not alert either of the super spies to your presence or any of the other avengers. You thanked Thor that only you and peter had super hearing which meant you could usually tell if someone was in the halls.

Feeling miserable you buried yourself further into the sheets and shivered, it was so cold but in reality, you probably had a high fever. Your lungs let out a wheezing noise whenever you exhaled, and you were beginning to think maybe your asthma was back. Unlike peter you had not been so lucky as to have had it cured by the bite.

Your asthma puffer was one of the few things that survived your apartment being destroyed. As you laid in bed feeling awful you thought back to that day.

You thanked the gods you had been out at the time. You had gone to a coffee shop downtown with your sketchbook, laptop and usual things you took out, including a range of art supplies and of course your emergency puffer which peter had managed to smuggle out which had doses that worked with your metabolism.

You were broken from your daydreams as another harsh coughing fit wracked your body. From what you could hear nobody was in the halls, but you did your best to keep quiet regardless. The wheezing that trailed after each breath was getting worse and your lungs were feeling tight.

You had been trying to use the puffer sparingly so it didn’t run out because you didn’t know if and or when peter could get you another. But as drawing breath grew harder you made the executive call to use it. You rolled over in the bed and threw an arm down to fish around for your red backpack. Finding it you fiddled with the zip before your fingers wrapped around the cool plastic of the device. Tony being tony had insisted it have a Spiderman case thinking it was peters which ended up being rather ironic as it was fitting for you too.

You tried fruitlessly one last time to draw breath before achieving nothing but a crackling wheeze. Screw it. You uncapped the red lid and held it to your lips, propping yourself up on an elbow in an attempt to sit u straight to take it.

You exhaled and inhaled repeating it once more before drawing in a lungful of the super-medicine. Almost straight away you began to feel better. Your fast metabolism speeding up the medicines process.

Feeling like you could breathe again you replaced the cap and put it on the nightstand before curling up in the sheets again feeling cold still but also slightly damp from the thin layer of sweat that had been forming all morning.

You were dressed in spider-man pjs which had a thin t-shirt and long pants. You had considered getting up to grab one of peters hoodies to get warm or another blanket but the idea of standing up made your head spin.

You nestled back into the sheets and let your eyes fall shut despite it being almost midday. The curtains were drawn and so it didn’t bother you too much. You began to drift off into a semi-peaceful sleep broken by harsh coughing fits which were becoming harder to stifle in your half asleep and fevered state.

Meanwhile the avengers had just finished their morning training session, one which Peter had joined for once. Peter being Peter had barely broken a sweat and as a result had opted to hang out on the communal floor while everyone went o freshen up.

Stark had designed the tower well. With Peter’s bedroom being on the same floor as Natasha’s who was rather protective of her younger spider counterpart as well as Wanda’s, Yelena’s, Kate’s and a few spares. The rest of the avengers were a floor above.

At first peter had been a bit miffed about being on a floor of just girls but he ended up liking it a lot. And he had a second bedroom in the master suite with tony and Pepper which he proffered anyway. The one on the avenger's floor was more for if Tony and Pepper were away, and he wanted to be around the others.

Natasha was headed for her room after waving goodbye to peter who had settled down to watch more star-wars, when she paused in the hallway.

Retracing her steps she found herself stood outside peters bedroom door. Frowning she pressed an ear to the door and froze. Someone was inside and coughing. Knowing it wasn’t peter, nat carefully twisted the door handle.

Peter being peter had prepared for almost anything. As soon as Natasha had set foot inside peters room Jarvis had alerted peter of her presence.

Meanwhile Natasha peered into the dimly lit room. The lump in the bed was wriggling around and coughing. Nat was on high alert by now. She realised this person was ill but how had they managed to get in without Jarvis knowing? And why were they in peters bed?

She crossed the threshold and walked over to the bed. Taking note of the backpack on the floor and puffer on the bedside table as well as your spider-man pjs which had been a gag gift from Peter last Christmas.

Nat stood and observed for a second. Looking down at your flushed face which was burning with fever and the harsh coughs that were wracking your weak form.

Nat watched helplessly for a second unsure of how to deal with a sick intruder.

She hesitated before extending a hand to your forehead and feeling a very high fever. She sucked a breath. Despite being an intruder she had some ideas as to why you may have been here. Your likeness to peter wasn’t hard to spot. Yet. She was unsure.

Peeling of the blankets to get a better look at you, as she did you made a small noise of discontent and curled into a shaking ball still fever addled and half asleep.

Before she could continue the door opened and peter looked in.

“Uhh M-Ms Romanoff…” Peter said looking guilty as he stepped in and closed the door again.

“Peter, do you know who this is?” Natasha asked getting straight to the point. Peter hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Y-yes.” He said looking at your sick form with a frown.

“Peter.” She said crossing her arms. “Care to share whats going on?” Nat said as she headed for Peter’s bathroom.

“Um… She … she’s,, my sister.” Peter said unsurely. Natasha returned after a second and nodded. Now holding the first aid kit from peters bathroom in her arms.

“Anything else i should know?” She asked walking over to the bed and sitting down to rifle through the first aid kit.

“Petey?” You mumbled hearing his voice.

Peter seemed to break out of his trance and came to your side. “I’m here Y/n.” He said.

“‘S cold.” You mumbled making peter frown.

“Actually, I think she has a fever.” Nat said as she found what she was looking for, pulling out a thermometer from the kit.

Nat gently placed the thermometer under your tongue and turned to look at peter.

“Pete, you’re not in trouble but i need some more information.” Natasha said.

“This is Y/n. She’s, my sister. Her apartment was levelled in the last attack and so she’s been staying here ever since. She’s not a threat I promise.” Peter said almost tripping over his words in order to explain.

Before Nat could respond the thermometer beeped and she removed it to look at the small screen, drawing another round of coughs from you. Natasha rubbed your back with one hand while frowning at the screen.

“Peter… she should be dead. This says 106. There’s more isn’t there.” Nat said with some urgency as she began peeling the rest of the blankets off you in an attempt to cool you down.

“Ahh … yes. She had powers. Like mine. She … she wears the suit sometimes.” Peter said standing nearby and watching with a worried expression.

“Ok. So, she has spider powers? High metabolism, super strength, etc.” Nat said and Peter nodded. “Why hasn’t her healing fixed this?” Nat said feeling your forehead again.

“She doesn’t have it. Her powers differ slightly.” Peter explained as Nat cursed softly in Russian.

“Her fever’s still rising.” Nat said making a decision. “We need to cool her down fast before she gets too hot for her own good. Jarvis?” Natasha said and peter looked panicked for a second worried about more people finding out about you.

“Ms Romanoff-“ he started.

“Pete, we need to cool her down stat. I need some help.” She said and peter nodded still looking nervous. “Jarvis call wanda to Peter’s bedroom.” Nat said and peter relaxed slightly. Wanda was ok. She would be good for the situation.

“What are you going to do?” Peter asked.

“She needs a bath and I doubt you want to do that.” She said with a small smirk and Peter flushed for a second.

“Defiantly not.” He said shaking his head.

“Is there someone we can call? Someone who she’d be ok with dressing her once we cool her down. She may be sick but i don’t want to invade her privacy.” Nat said as she scooped you up from the bed and into her lap while they waited for wanda to arrive. You cough harshly again and wheezed making nat frown and look to peter.

“Asthma.” He said.

“Runs in the family huh?” She joked reaching over for the puffer on the bedside table.

“Uh… about that.” Peter said looking guilty. “Mine was cured by the bite. I need the puffers for her.” He said looking sheepish. Expecting Nat to be mad she grinned.

“You’re a good brother.” She said as she uncapped the device and pressed it to your lips.

“Exhale.” She instructed and by some small miracle you complied. When you went to inhale, she administered the medicine and told you to hold.

Recapping the device, she rubbed a hand up and down your arm. “Good job sweetie.” She said and felt you relax into her arms some more as you let out a breath.

The two sat in silence for another second before the door opened again and wanda slipped inside.

She was freshly showered, her hair damp and she smelt like jasmine and honey. She was dressed in a simple faded black t-shirt and grey track pants.

“Whats-“ she began before pausing, her eyes caught on you laid in Natashas lap half asleep.

“Wanda,” Nat said. “Meet Y/n. Peter’s older sister.” She said.

“Okay…” Wanda said looking lost before her expression morphed to concern as you coughed. “Is she ok?” Wanda asked.

“No. That’s why you’re here. Long story short, peter smuggled her into the tower, and she has spider powers and her fever is really high. We need to cool her down.” Nat said and wanda swallowed and nodded. “Peter?” Nat said turning to the younger parker.

“Yes?” He said looking up from where he had been studying his shoes closely.

“You never answered my question. Is there someone we can call to come and get her dressed after wanda and i bathe her?” Nat asked and peter blushed again and nodded.

“I can call May. It’s her day off.” He said and Nat nodded.

“You do that. Wanda and I will look after Y/n. We promise not to go further than her outer clothes.” She said and scooped you up into her arms. She headed for Peter’s bathroom with wanda trailing behind. You remained limp in her arms snuggled into her chest in an unconscious need for companionship.

Once the two redheads had you in the bathroom wanda looked at nat. “Now what?” She asked and Natasha smirked.

“Now we take her clothes off.” She said and gently she lifted your arms from where you were laid on the floor in her lap and pulled the spider-man t-shirt off over your head. Wanda blushed slightly at the sight of your red sports bra despite having seen Nat and herself train in about the same if not less clothes.

“You wanna help?” Nat asked with a grin that only served to make Wanda’s blush deepen. You squirmed slighting in Nat’s lap but stopped when she gently rubbed your arm after you buried your warm face into her stomach.

Wanda rolled her eyes in an attempt to feign nonchalance despite being way past that point.

She lifted her hands, and the familiar red glow of magic surrounded her hands. Her magic lifted your hips so Nat could slide off your pants. Wanda blushed again at the sight of your Black Widow boxers. Natasha however grinned at them finding it both adorable and very cute.

After a beat Wanda met Nat’s eyes again. “Now what?”

“We get her in the bath. She needs to be cooled down Asap.” Nat said hoisting you into her arms again as you wriggled, turning and grumbling into her chest.

“Not gonna lie she’s pretty cute.” Nat said and Wanda avoided her eyes as she used her magic to fill the bath with tepid water.

Natasha gently lowered you into the tub ignoring your whining protests and running her hands through your hair which seemed to calm you down as you relaxed again.

“So … now we wait?” Wanda guessed and Natasha nodded.

“Yep. Unless you really want to steal May’s job of getting her dressed again.” Nat teased making Wanda splutter slightly. “Im kidding.” Nat said. “I know what hot women do to your brain.” She winked and wanda slouched slightly.

After a second you grumbled and blearily opened your eyes, squinting at the two women.

“Peter is so dead.” You mumbled before letting your eyes drift shut again. There was a pause before wanda and nat both started laughing.

You groaned. “Peter!” You yelled before coughing again making Wanda and Nat frown. But before they could do anything the door opened to show a beat red peter with his hands covering his eyes.

“Yes?” He said in a small voice.

“When I get out of here, you’re dead.” You mumbled with a foggy glare sent in his direction.

“Hey. Peter did the right thing.” Another voice said from behind Peter.

“May?” You called. “Oh, wtf is going on right now.” You mumbled.

“Whats going on kiddo is that, once again, you failed to ask for help which landed you here.” May said entering the bathroom with a change of clothes.

“Nice to see you Ms Parker.” Nat said and wanda echoed.

“Please. Call me May. And thank you for looking after her.” May said and you groaned.

“I hate all of you.” You said hiding your face in your hands.

“Uh huh. Sure, you do.” May teased.

“It was no problem. Ms- May.” Wanda said. “We’ll wait in peters bedroom while you… yeah.” Wanda said before making a hasty retreat. Nat laughed and followed her out.

May gave you a disappointed frown once she had shut the door and turned back to you with a sigh.

“Honey.” She said.

“I know… I know.” You said still feeling like death but slightly less so. “Did the black widow and scarlet witch just really see me in my underpants?” You asked.

“Yes, and I serves you right for hiding illness … again!” She said as she came over, rolling up her sleeves and helping you out, practically holding all your weight for you as your head spun.

May frowned and guided you over to the covered toilet seat to dress you again.

Gently she began to towel you off and change you into fresh clothes.

“I can do it myself.” You whined but May shot you a look and you knew better than to challenge the angry Parker and you and peter had called her as kids when she was upset at you for something.

“Now, once you’re dressed you are going to thank those two for their kindness and your coming home with me.” May said.

“But-“ you began.

“No buts.” She said and helped you up, now fully dressed.

She helped you over to the door opening it despite still holding you up. The two of you shuffled into the room where Peter, Nat and Wanda were sat on Peter’s bed talking in hushed voices.

“Pete. I love you but I can hear everything you’re saying dumbass.” You said rolling your eyes and May lightly hit your arm.

“Right.” He said rubbing his neck. “Super hearing.” He nodded.

“I’ll add it to the list.” Nat grinned and you groaned before May jabbed you in the side and looked at the two girls.

You coughed at her actions making her frown but quickly got it under control for the sake of your already fragile image.

“Thank you, Wanda and Natasha, for helping me.” You said still leaning heavily on May. Now you had been standing for a bit the room began to spin. Your face went a shade paler making Natasha frown and stand. It was a split second before you stumbled, almost bringing May down with you in the process. Luckily strong arms wrapped around you, and you looked up into Nat’s pale green and worried eyes.

“Y/n?” You finally registered she was talking to you. “Y/n?” She asked again a little louder.

You let out a soft groan and she huffed. “Right. Up we go.” She said hoisting you into your arms and making the room spin again as you buried your face in her arm.

You felt her gently set you down on the bed and feel your forehead.

Distantly you heard May saying something along the lines of taking you home and the sound of Natasha arguing they were better equipped to help with your powers and sickness. May relented and you went back to dozing.

“What happened?” Peter asked from where he was stood by the door.

“Probably got too dizzy from standing up. Her body’s already trying to fight off sickness.” Natasha said and Wanda nodded.

“Peter? Don’t you have a super high metabolism?” Wanda asked.

“Yeah?” He said looking lost as May seemed to catch on.

“Y/n when did you last eat?” May asked and you groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “Well, that answers that.” May said rolling her eyes.

“Peter, do you have any of those energy bars that steve uses?” Wanda asked and peter nodded and headed for his bedside drawer.

He fished around and pulled out one of them and passed it to nat. She unwrapped it and shoved it into your hands.

“Eat.” She said and you made a groan of protest. “It’ll help.” She said in a softer tone.

“Fine.” You said sitting up against the headboard and nibbling on it slowly.

“Better.” Nat said and you frowned.

“You know you’re cute when you’re mad.” Wanda said looking surprised by her own words and blushing at Natasha’s knowing gaze.

“Get some rest маленький паук” Nat said once you had finished eating, and she begun to shepherd everyone out of the room.

PART 2

[aerynoakenshield]

[Thorin Oakenshield] - Until The End

♫ - Falling - Harry Styles

Middle Earth was a sight. There were so many different landscapes, so much flora and fauna surrounding you each moment. You discovered things in the wild areas that you otherwise may not have known existed if you kept to your own home, or at the very least never seen with your own eyes. The grounds of this world were made for exploration, but admittedly, in small doses. 

It had been a grueling trip to get to Rivendell, and still you had yet to arrive. Long nights paired with exhausting walks meant that tensions had run high in the company. Petty arguments that were over by sundown sprung between members of the party, even those who otherwise had no business being angry with each other. It was simply exhaustion taking over.

On Thorin's recommendation, which was more of an order, you had all stopped for the night in a cave, well out of the sight and smell of any orc packs that may be lurking above ground. Going against Gandalf's better judgement due to Thorin's inability to listen to the wizard, and anyone else for that matter, a fire had been started and food was on its way.

Taking some time away from the bustle of camp being set up, you sat away from everyone else and closed your eyes, entering a small state of meditation in order to try and relax. Despite your love for adventure and being very used to always being on the move, this journey thus far had even started to get to you. 

"You alright there, hey?" A familiar voice broke you out of your rest, and you turned to see Bofur, stood with a bowl of food in his hand. "Here, get this down ya."

"Thanks, Bofur. I'm alright."

Lies. Bofur knew it. You hadn't been fine for some time. When this journey had started, when you had all met at Bilbo's home, you were excited and spry. You couldn't wait for the adventure that lay outside the door. Now, it was different. Now, you were not even sure if you wanted to continue. 

"Aye, you'll excuse me if I don't believe ya, right?"

You chuckled, a look of defeat on your face. You had become close to Bofur on this trip, him and Balin had become almost father figures to you. They were always trying their best to keep your spirits high as you did for everyone else. Much to your dismay, Bofur could now read you like a open book.

"I will," you sighed, shaking your head and beginning to eat as the dwarf joined you with his own food. "Sometimes I fear you know me better than I know myself."

Bofur bumped arms with you and laughed. "Go on, tell me what's wrong."

You thought for a second, pondering whether or not to lie again or just talk to him. Realising that he was actually there to help you, and lying to him seemed futile, you began to talk. 

"Thorin."

Bofur nodded, not wanting to interrupt whatever flow you may get into, but acknowledging what you had said. He knew how tense things were between you and Thorin. 

"I just don't know why he hates me so much, Bofur. I have been nothing but kind to him and I get his temper and anger in return. I cannot help who I am, but I harbour no ill-will to any of you. I do want to see you all finally have a home."

Your voice had cracked at the end, a sign of high emotion from you. Bofur placed a hand on your knee, he had not been blind to Thorin and his attitude towards you.

 It had been like that from the start, and you knew it was because you were an Elf. As a child, you grew up surrounded by those of your own kind, but as you studied and read texts from other kingdoms, adventure had called to you. Gandalf came to you with the opportunity of helping the dwarves reclaim their homeland, and you were all too quick to join him. What you hadn't expected, was for the head of the company to seemingly want you to disappear. 

Nobody else had ill feelings towards you, and you got along with everyone; even Dwalin, who was grumpy most of the time, but after he had saved your life a few days back, it seemed as though his heart had opened up to you more. It was just Thorin.

Balin took you aside two nights back, after he saw you crying as you rode through the forest. That day, Thorin had shouted at you, telling you that 'an Elf does not belong on a trip to reclaim a home that they helped destroy.' For some reason, that stung you deep down. You were not there that day, nor was it your kin on that battlefield either. You were not to blame, and Balin had told you that. He brought you a drink and sat with you, explaining why Thorin acted the way he did and of his past. 

From that night until present moment, you had been kinder to the dwarf than ever before, and it still hadn't been enough. That's what had led to you sitting here with Bofur now, silent contemplation and comforting words filling the air. 

"Listen here," Bofur began, collecting your bowl from you and taking your hands in his own. "You are an asset to this company, believe me. I've never seen someone fight so well with sword and bow. You and Kili work like a charm with those arrows. You've saved our lives multiple times, you keep us cheery when you can. We appreciate ya, we really do. And deep down, I think Thorin does, too."

"He certainly has a funny way of showing it."

"Aye, he does," Bofur agreed. "He certainly does. But, I think you should just talk to him. As I came down, he was on his watch, so if you're lucky maybe you can take him his food and sort this out?"

You shuddered thinking about it. The last thing you needed tonight was to be barked at for merely existing from him. It had been a long day, but as you looked at Bofur before you, you nodded. 

"Alright, I'll do that."

Giving you a hug, Bofur placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Standing, you both made your way back to the party and you met Balin by the fire. 

"Can I take a bowl for Thorin, Balin?" you asked, voice low so only he could hear. The last thing you wanted was for anyone, namely Fili or Kili, to make any jokes or remarks right now. Balin's eyebrows raised, but he smiled kindly, handing you a bowl with the spoon.

"Here you go, thank you for taking it." Balin always had been kind to you. Before you could leave, he leaned in to your ear and whispered.

"And good luck." Balin pulled back with a friendly wink, and you could feel that he was trying to calm your nerves. You shook your head with a smile and left.

You had reached the outskirts of the camp and peered around the trees covering the entrance of the cave your company were in, wondering where the young dwarf was for his watch. Normally, he walked up and down, but this time you found him leaning on a rock, gazing out into the planes before him. 

You took a second to look at him, face aglow in the pale moonlight. He looked like a King. He looked beautiful. This wasn't a new thought for you, you had realised that when he turned up at Bilbo's door. There was something different about him to the others. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way his face was a perfect balanced of harsh and soft. Either way, the view before you was something to behold. 

"I know you're there, you know?" Thorin's deep voice pulled you from your thoughts, and his head turned, bright blue eyes meeting yours as you swiftly pulled your away. You couldn't hold eye contact at the best of times, let alone now. 

"My apologies, Thorin, I did not want to make you jump. I thought you might want some food, you need to eat."

Thorin continued to look at you, and if you were looking back you may have noticed his gaze had softened. Taking some steps aside, he made room for you to lean with him on the rock, inviting you over with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you, if you wish to join me, you can."

You couldn't process that for a second. He wants me to stay?  you thought. 

Taking a seat on the grass, you handed him the food and drew your weapon, resting your bow across the length of his sword. Thorin spoke before he had started to eat, looking at you with care. 

"Have you eaten something?" the dwarf asked, concern hinting in his voice.

"I have, thank you. Bofur brought me something not too long ago. I just wanted to make sure you had eaten, too."

Thorin nodded, and began eating his food. Silence fell around you, but it wasn't uncomfortable for the first time. It was soothing. You were in each others company and not fighting, which was a first. As you both sat, Thorin let his mind wander as his eyes roamed the fields.

In his heart, the dwarf knew he had been unfair to you, that his actions had been irredeemable, and overall he had been less than pleasant with you. Truly, he had no bad feeling toward you. It was quite the contrary. 

When Thorin had entered Bilbo's home, he saw his kin before him, but off to the side something else had caught his eye. The last thing he was expecting was an elf to be present, considering the longstanding history between your races. His eyes met yours, and Thorin couldn't deny the feeling he got. He couldn't deny to himself, he thought you were very pretty. A thought Thorin never assumed he would have towards an elf, having had nothing but disdain for them since the incident with King Thranduil. Still, his heart could not deny no matter how hard his brain may try. 

Through the meeting, his eyes darted to you often, finding himself unable to keep them from you. Somewhere inside, there was a small part of himself angry that he would allow such thoughts, especially because the whole reason they were there was partly down to elvish actions. 

Thorin never wanted to be harsh with you, and he never meant for it to go so far. But, in his mind he was battling those feelings that conflicted each other and it was weighing down upon him. He wanted to feel worthy of his ancestors, and perhaps he thought harboring any form of love or admiration for an elf was the worst thing he could do. 

Bringing himself back to the present, he placed his bowl aside, and took a small glance at you. In the night's low light, your features lit up and you appeared more ethereal than normal. In the day to day, you always had an air of grace about you, and you always seemed to glow with a natural beauty. But the moon enhanced that, and Thorin found it hard to tear his gaze away. 

"Look," the dwarf began, and you hummed but kept yourself still, unmoving. "You know I don't think of you harshly. I know my actions haven't made that clear, but I do mean it."

You sighed. "I don't know what I did to deserve that treatment, Thorin."

Mahal, he loved the way you said his name. Never had it been so soft. But now was not the time for those thoughts, as he replied to you as honest and open as he could.

"You did nothing, I was acting out of grudge. There are elves I have a right to hate, but I know you are not one of them. I let my worst side take charge with you, and I hope you can forgive that. I am sorry for how I have treated. You have shown nothing but kindness, you have saved lives in this company, and I have still treated you horrendously. If you couldn't see past that, I would understand. But, I just wanted to let you know."

Now, your eyes fell upon the dwarf, and he seemed sorrowful. It seemed so genuine, a very rare glimpse into the vulnerable and unguarded side of Thorin Oakenshield. 

"If I could not see past that, I would have been gone long ago."

Thorin's eyes met yours, and you had a kind glint in them. Your smiled, only half way, and glanced at your hands as you fiddled with your knife holster, idly playing with the loose leather pieces. You talked again, low and personal, making sure he knew every word was for him and hoping you could be as transparent as he just was. 

"I want to see you on that throne, you know? I do wish to see you all reclaim your home. I cannot imagine what such a thing must feel like, as I have always had a home. But, you had yours taken away, and I took this task before I had met any of you. I think your company are a wonderful set of people, I have become very fond of all of them."

Thorin smiled too, thinking of his party back in the cave. 

"And," you finished off, slightly hesitantly. "I think they have the best leader they could in you. You are the rightful king under the mountain, and I will not stop at anything until I know you sit where you should."

"You really think that?" Thorin sounded almost unsure. 

"I would not have said it if I meant otherwise."

For a moment, you both sat without talking, simply taking in the ambience around you. For the first time ever, there was no malice in the air when you were in each other's company. As your hands looped and twisted the leather still, a bigger hand took one of yours and rested in your lap. Shocked at the gesture, you looked over to Thorin, whose eyes were firmly ahead. Taking a step of your own, you shuffled into him closer, your legs and bodies touching. You could swear you felt him relax. 

"I must confess something," Thorin's voice broke the air. "I thought you were beautiful when I first saw you."

"Oh?" you replied, seemingly surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I could not take my eyes off you for that entire meeting. You have been in my thoughts ever since we left The Shire. It would seem I cannot get you out of my mind."

Your hand tightened around his, turning to entwine your fingers in with his own. It was then you noticed just how big his hands really were; they were almost twice the size of your own. Your other hand traced the rings he wore, your gentle touch sending a feeling through his whole body that he failed to describe.

"I have thought of you often, too. Even after all the fights, all of the arguments. I have thought about the dwarf that may be hidden under all of that, the kind Thorin that I am convinced is in there."

He let out a hearty chuckle, one that seemed less of humour and more of a tension relief. Finally, he was cleared of this weight on his shoulders. 

"Then perhaps you should find that out for yourself."

Before you had a chance to answer his playful remark, Thorin's hand lifted to hold your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. His hand came to rest on your jaw, and as he leaned in he stopped just before your lips, waiting for your permission to carry on. Without hesitation, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his. Knowing you were fine with it, Thorin pulled you closer and deepened the kiss, though still remaining soft. 

You both knew your guards being dropped like this was not good, but in the moment, neither of you cared. It was only a minute or so, and the company were safe. Pulling back, Thorin rested his forehead against your own as you regained your breath. Say what you will, he is an excellent kisser. 

"Thorin," you breathed out, not wanting to ruin the tender moment. 

"Are we friends now then?" he asked, a smug tone lacing his words as he smirked at you. 

"I think we are a little more than friends right now."

You had laughed and Thorin followed suit, and as you continued watch with him, his arm came to rest around your shoulders, occasionally playing with a loose strand of your hair. Your head leaned onto his shoulder. 

"What do you think the future holds, Thorin? After you reclaim Erebor, what then?"

You heard him sigh, and his gaze fell upon the sky as he rested his head against the rock. 

"I would think a focus on building back homes, creating a safe place for people to work and live among each other. Once word is sent to the other dwarves, perhaps then we can create the community that once was there. But in truth, I do not know."

Thorin was uncertain, mostly of the future just ahead, never mind the future that far in front. 

"But," he began, now looking down at you as your eyes met. "I do know that I would quite like you by my side through it all."

You said nothing in reply, choosing instead to lean into him and capture his lips in a gentle kiss. Thorin's hand wound itself into your hair as he deepened the kiss. Without thought, you pulled him closer and you both got lost in each other for those few moments. Right here, nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. It was you and him, in each other's embrace and for the first time in so long, at ease. 

You spent the rest of the night with each other on guard, allowing the company some decent rest, and from that day on you had vowed to always be there with Thorin Oakenshield until the very end. 

Thank you for reading! <3

[hotchswifey]

a little bit shy - rafael barba x reader smut

i wrote this like a year ago and never posted it???????? oml i kept thinking it was unfinished but like it’s 2700 words  😭 😭 😭 😭

 anyways i’m not rewriting it or even rereading it so!!! anyways, this is shitty but it’s mine so it’s fine

warnings: shy!reader, smut, vaginal fingering, reader is a virgin (par hand stuff she’s done with rafael), reader owns a bookstore/cafe, written with an age gap in mind (rafael is like ?? 40?? 45??? reader is like 23/24), rafael is a babe and i love him, your honour, also rafael is a brief man and nobody can convince me otherwise, also like the office spoilers ig??? but nothing major, daddy/papi kink, the reader may have a slight humiliation kink (it’s self-projection babes), also the translation is through google so sorry if it is incorrect!

(word count: 2740)

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You sat on the counter of your café, reading one of Stephen King’s books. You had closed up at 19:00 like you did every day (par Sundays where you closed up at 17:00); however, you had stayed behind in your store, deciding that you would leave when the rain cleared up - which, it hadn’t. You looked at the grandfather clock standing up against the wall - quarter past nine. The time had flown by as you were too engrossed in your book to notice the world outside and join the world written on the pages. You sighed as you jumped off the counter, folding the corner of (what was now) your personal copy of Doctor Sleep, realising that the weather would not get better anytime soon. Grabbing your hoodie (while cursing your past self for not bringing a coat to work), you turned off the lights, ensuring the ovens and such were also turned off. You grabbed your keys, preparing for the harsh weather, before stepping outside (albeit reluctantly). The rain hit your face harshly, the wind almost making breathing impossible, as you made your way quickly (or as quick as the wind would let your body move) down the sidewalk. You should have probably just called an Uber as you got to the corner of the street. But, then again, you had money to return to the shop. You halted on the corner, debating it but rejecting the idea. You were already soaking from being outside for a few minutes, so what were another... 20... to your apartment. It took you about ten seconds to go to Rafael’s apartment. You had only been dating for a couple months, but his place was, at most, ten minutes away from your shop, and you were freezing. You rushed down the sidewalk until you got to his building, standing underneath a roof; you quickly texted him with trembling fingers, asking if he could let you in, figuring he wouldn’t hear your voice on the intercom system due to the wind. The door buzzed open within seconds, which you were highly thankful for, and you made your way to the elevator, which you took to the top floor. Rafael answered the door after you knocked, still in his suit (confirming your suspicion that he had not stopped working even now; you were pretty surprised he was even home, as he was usually spending all his free time in his office). His eyes went wide immediately, taking in your wet form. “Hermosa, wha-” he cut himself off (something you didn’t know he was even capable of doing) as he opened the door wider for you to come in. “You’re soaking,” he said as he reached for the zipper of your hoodie. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” you quipped back as you slapped his hands away, grabbing the zipper to try to pull it down, but you couldn’t quite do it with your trembling hands (which were a dangerously dark red). Rafael grabbed it again, slapping your hands away this time, pulling the zipper down and peeling the fabric off your skin as it stuck to you. “What were you thinking?” he looked down at you sternly, causing you to roll your eyes. “Calm down, I’m fine-” “You’re going to get ill,” he interrupted, taking your phone from you and placing it on the coffee table face down (which seemed to be his way of telling you I’m taking this because you are almost vibrating from how cold you are, not because I’m going to look through your phone, Hermosa). “you need a shower.” “I’m fine!” you argued, and Rafael looked at you with a deadpan look. You stared at each other for about ten seconds before you gave in, mumbling quickly, “Fine.” He walked you towards the bathroom as if you didn’t know where it was and opened the door for you. A quick “thank you” later, and you were peeling off the rest of your clothes before figuring out how to turn on the shower. After about a minute (which felt like an eternity, considering you were feeling hypothermic), you grabbed a towel before heading back out to find Rafael putting your hoodie in a washing basket. “Rafael?” he turned around at that, his eyebrows furrowing - he was cute when he was overly concerned. You suddenly became aware that you were naked and blushed heavily, “How- how do you, um, turn the... shower on?” Once he showed you and left the room, you basked in the water, feeling your previously numb fingers returning to life. You were highly aware of how long you were in the shower, not wanting to waste water or heat or anything. As well as the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how you were only one wall away from Rafael - totally naked. You took his (very expensive looking) shampoo and soap, cleaning yourself and your hair, before turning off the shower and leaving. Only then did you realise that you had no clothes - unless you would put on cold, wet ones. You wrapped the same towel around yourself before sheepishly entering the bathroom. Rafael smiled at you from his seat on his couch, his work abandoned on the dining table, his suit jacket on the back of one of the chairs and his tie looser than when he had answered the door, and a glass of scotch in one hand and the tv playing Netflix. “I don’t- um, I- I don’t have any... clothes,” you stuttered, looking down at your feet and fiddling with the towel. “You can borrow one of my shirts,” he said, as if it was the most casual thing ever, like you two always did this. he got up, pausing (in what looked like) the office (which you had convinced him to watch after it came to your knowledge that he had never watched it), and began to pull out a shirt from his drawer in his bedroom, handing it to you, which you thanked him for, still blushing from your current predicament. He went to leave before you spoke again. “I- I don’t have any-” you stopped talking, blushing too much before you could say ‘panties’. “You don’t mind wearing mine, would you? Because, you see, I don’t have any panties,” You blushed at his bluntness but shook your head to say, “No, I don’t mind. When, in actuality, you did mind, but only because the thought made you feel hot. Like everything else had once you had made your way into his apartment. You were naked. And, now, you were going to wear Rafael’s clothes. He left for you to get dressed; you shut the door, making sure it was locked, before you dropped the towel, pulling on his briefs and shirt. His shirt was white, and as you looked in the mirror, you realised that, yes, he could definitely see your nipples through the shirt. You buttoned three buttons before turning around and checking how much of your ass it covered. Thankfully, it fell to your mid-thigh, and even more, it smelt like him. You exited the bedroom, turning to close the door behind you softly to not disturb Rafael’s Netflix. What you didn’t see, with your back turned, was Rafael staring at you (specifically, your ass) and licking his lips. As you turned back around, you saw him sit forward and place his free hand (the one without scotch in it) on his knee - unbeknownst to you, he was trying to hide his growing member. You smiled at him, which he returned, and joined him on the couch, sitting about a foot away. You were right when you thought he was watching the office. He was currently watching Jim fax Dwight messages from future Dwight. You brought your legs up to your chest, sitting back on the couch. I watched as Jan told Michael that the branch was closing. “Would you like a drink, cariño?” he asked, making his way (very quickly, you noticed) behind the couch, as you watched the TV. You looked up at him, smiling, asking him for some coffee. He kissed you on the forehead, causing you to giggle, and then started on your coffee. But you swore as he turned around that he was... hard? Your eyes widened, and your cheeks grew hot as your head flew forward to stare at the TV. A smile grew on your face, and you tried to hide it multiple times, but you just couldn’t; it was... cute. Rafael was unbelievably cute right now - plus, his ears were pink, which made him look... well, adorable. You made sure he couldn’t see your face as you smiled widely, but you realised you were failing when he said; “What’s happening?” “What?” you turned to him, still smiling. “In Scranton,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was, but you weren’t focused on the TV. You were focused on what was going on behind the kitchen counter he was standing behind. “Oh, right, there,” you said, although you were sure you sounded teasing, which you must have because Rafael’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean, ángel?” he asked, coming back to join you on the couch, handing you the coffee. He sat closer to you than you had previously sat next to him, not that you minded - you wanted to sit on his lap, not next to him, but you’d settle for this. “Nothing,” you smirked as you glanced at him - his trousers were still tight. Your eyes went wide momentarily, but it was enough for Rafael to notice. “What?” “What?” you sipped your coffee, covering your smile as you looked at him. he narrowed his eyes at you before putting his arm around you, bringing you into his chest. He put the coffee on the table for you, looking down at you as you turned your head completely to look him in the eye. “You’re hiding something.” “Am I, counsellor?” You moved your legs over him, and he pulled you onto his lap, causing you to yelp and him to chuckle, burying his face in your neck, nipping and kissing at your skin. Your cheeks began to burn again as your smile and teasing attitude disappeared, replaced with whimpers and gripping onto the hem of your (or, rather, his) shirt. You did notice, however, that you weren’t exactly on his lap but on his legs. Which meant he thought you hadn’t noticed his... situation. “What are you hiding, cariño?” he began to kiss further down, kissing at your collarbone. You reached down to palm at his slacks, the office still playing in the background. You heard his breath hitch, and his head flew up to look you in the eye. “What are you hiding, counsellor?” you grinned at him, blinking through your lashes. His ears burned, as well as his cheeks, and he looked pretty shocked, too. However, he quickly recovered. He smirked at you, gripping your wrist, causing you to pout. His lips found yours, and you whimpered into his mouth, causing him to smirk again. “I’m not hiding a thing, cariño,” he said against your mouth, moving your hand back down to his bulge. He hummed against your mouth as you squeezed him lightly. His hand gripped your thigh, the other resting on your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You whined into his lips, putting your hand, not playing with his bulge, on top of the one on your thigh. “Please, Rafael,” you whimpered. His hand on your thigh began to creep up your leg, coming up to the waistband of your briefs before slipping inside. That was new. Sure, you had done things with Raf before, but he was always very... slow. He just wanted to ensure you were completely comfortable with what was happening, but now? Seeing you in his shirt? His fingers teased your entrance momentarily before he gathered your slick and began rubbing at your clit with steady circles. Your hand immediately gripped his wrist, your fingers not even managing to close around his arm. Your back arched, your tits pressed against him, and pathetic whines fell from your lips. His lips were attacking your neck and collarbone, marking you. “Oh, god,” you whimpered out, his fingers beginning to speed up, his other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you against him. Your fingers, the ones not around his arm, gripped his waistcoat. His rubbing sent impulses up and down your body, your vocal cords working on their own accord and your limbs twitching. “Please, oh, god,” his fingers and mouth were the only things you could focus on, and the rest of the world fell away. You were becoming incoherent with your words, that much you were aware of, as you mumbled out, ‘please’s and ‘fuck’s. You were pretty amazed you had stayed coherent for that long, considering that you were usually a mumbling mess of a woman who couldn’t make eye contact or stop blushing when he touched any part of your skin. You brought his face up from your neck, wanting to kiss his scotch-flavoured lips. The passionate kiss did not stop you from whimpering against him or prevent you from moving his hand away from your clit and towards your entrance. "estás tan necesitado, ¿no es así, cariño?" his tone was teasing, though you had no idea what he was saying. You moaned as his fingers edged around your entrance, and you dropped your head into his neck to hide the growing blush, your eyes fluttering shut. Your hips bucked as best they could in the position you were in. You whined when he took his fingers away from you; however, after he had moved you onto his lap (and, therefore, on top of his hard-on), his fingers continued their previous actions. He sunk one finger into your heat, causing your hold on his vest to tighten and your other to clench as you lifted it, trying to decide what to do. Your legs fell wider as Rafael curled his fingers into your sweet spot (and, of course, he knew exactly where that was, despite only having done this a couple of times). “Please, Rafael,” your voice was heavily muffled by the fact that you were pressing your face against his neck. Still, he must have heard you because he added another finger into you, rubbing against your sweet spot with two fingers whilst his palm ground against your clit. “please, papi,” you mumbled out, causing Rafael to stutter in his pleasing ministrations and his cock to twitch. You immediately seized up, your eyes flying open against his neck. However, Rafael’s fingers continued without hesitation, his other hand moving to your ass and squeezing it, pulling you more towards him. He hummed against the side of your head. “Papi, cariño?” your cheeks flushed, the embarrassment of the situation catching up on you. Your hold on his vest tightened, and you were sure you were seconds away from tearing it. You whimpered against his skin, the humiliation only contributing to your impending orgasm. Rafael smirked down at you, loving how you looked, squirming and whimpering on his lap. he loved that you were shy. You were adorable when you were blushing and stumbling over your words whilst you looked everywhere but him. When you called him Papa? he almost groaned aloud. He could feel you pulsing around his fingers, your legs spasming and back arching. Taking his hand away from your ass (and slightly lifting one of his legs to not make you fall), he unbuttoned your shirt, kneading one of your breasts. Your whimpers turned into moans, gradually increasing in volume and frequency. “That’s it, Hermosa, cum on papi’s fingers."

[riddle-on-the-milk-carton]

Bench trio headcanons???? In this economy??? More likely than you think??? But they’re mainly just cbenchtrio being gross feral kids (affectionate)

-Tommy and tubbo both have curly hair but Tubbos is a lot curlier which is why his is messy, Tommy’s is more wavy in its natural state but is just really, really tangled

-people have tried to get Tommy to brush out his hair and stuff but it just gets really tangled and full of debris, really fast

-when he was a kid wilbur used to cut it but he was REALLY BAD at cutting hair and had no experience so he’d just cut it so short it couldn’t get tangled

-Tommy and tubbo have given each other lice/bugs more than once, and if one gets sick the other would be all “cough on me”

-cran got (reluctantly) pulled into their illness-sharing-trio

-ctommy is transfem but kept her name and hasn’t transitioned yet, it’s a “I’m probably a girl but I got issues rn so idrc about that”

-to contrast cran has really fine/thin, straight hair

-as surprising as it is cranboo is the Least Showered out of all of them (cus enderman/water)

-cran also gets sick really easily and has a the immune system of a Victorian child

-tommy dosent cut his nails and bites them into points

-you’d think it’s for a lore reason but it’s really because tubbo can’t peel fruit anymore after the fireworks so he grew them out so he could peel them for him

-cranboo actually has really messy handwriting in print, Tubbos is neater but Tommy’s is really messy cursive cuz wilbur taught him

-they all share food, clothes, and while they technically have separate beds they’d rather all sleep in one together like the powerpuff girls

-they end up sleeping bad but all of them sleep worse alone so they like it anyways, Tommy talks and drools in his sleep and wakes up constantly, tubbo kicks and moves around a lot and ranboo has enderwalks and will put their freezing cold hands/feet on everyone else as well as taking up a lot of space in the bed

-tubbo and ranboo had a bunk bed but they both kept on falling off so they just pushed the mattresses together on the ground and use it as kitchen storage

-Tommy has ectopic canines (like meeeeeeee :3 shameless projection)

Phil got him braces as a kid but he kept on getting stuff stuck in them and popping them out by eating popcorn and candy and shit so eventually phil just gave up after #50 of getting them reapplied, so his teeth are less crooked but he still has his canines

-cran is noise sensitive because of autism, Tommy has no volume control because of autism, tubbo is both loud and scared of loud sounds due to trauma (and autism-)

-Tommy also can’t hear for the life of him bc explosión damage and has tinnitus

-SBI used to play-fight constantly and clingyduo does to but the first time cran saw they were all “STOP FIGHTING GUYS!!😰” and got scared they were real fighting

-alliumduo are both lab grown creations while Tubbo was Schlatts illegitimate love child he left in a box on the street, he wishes he was grown in a lab too

-cran sleeps in long johns for no reason other than it’s funny

-tubbo had blond straight hair as a kid but puberty made it more of a sandy-brown and curly

-cran has readers and bad eyes bc crying burns his eyes too so he’s legally blind

-tommy hate wearing shoes and will track mud in everywhere (he’s a shoes off autistic)

-the beeduo cabin is covered in wall graffiti, Michael has joined in

-Michael is nonverbal

-he also wears a helmet because he has horrendous balance and will hit his bogas toddler head on things

-most people aren’t neurotypical here but nobody is actually diagnosed or medicated

-Tommy chews gum all the time and really loudly, it started by wanting to be like wilbur but wil would never share his cigarettes so he would chew gum to copy him

-beeduo are one of the better parents on the server, but by our standards they wouldn’t be the best, they’re the equivalent of Teen Parents, and they really try their best and love and care for Michael but they aren’t the best influence regardless (they think Adult Swim is a good cartoon for kids to watch type)

-tubbo watched a lot of South Park by that metric as a kid which is why he has the Tweek fit on in his og skin

-they definitely have a lot to learn and are trying to learn as much as they can but will mess up and fumble a lot

-a lot of headcanons for the benchtrio era show them as all cute and cottagecore and while that’s all nice I’d love to see more of them as kind of gross teenagers, they’ve all grown up pretty heavily neglected (even with Phil in the picture) so I like to think they are like recently graduated barely-adults and are all kind of gross and messy and imperfect

-their house is also pretty messy, they have the previously state Bunk Bed as kitchen storage, the walls are destroyed and full of dents from roughhousing, they got drawings and knickknacks all over the walls and wild animals in the house, there’s a clothesline cutting across the rafters,

-foolish is devastated by how hard he worked on their home only to see it looking like a stoner cave minus the weed

-Tommy and wilbur are teen runaways and ran away in the Camar van (it was Wilbur’s old Loded Diper ass garage band van) Phil was a good parent they were just idiot teenagers

-when Phil joined he found them as now adults and they have a lot of awkwardness

-Tommy has hella athsma from inhaling Wilbur’s secondhand smoke while wilbur has borderline lung cancer

[vennilavee]

vii. fallen rose

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 2.6k

summary: you are a curious creature, trying to explore the depths below and the lands above. your curiosity may get you in trouble with a world that you do not understand.

warnings: none really

a/n: we're so back babeyyyy

The first winter of your time above sea is frigid and empty. The barren treeline looks the way that you feel. 

You’d only heard stories of the pearly snow that descended from bright skies. Your sisters had told you of the warmth that snow could bring. That winter could bring.

Instead, you feel a deep rooted chill with the change of the seasons.

You stay in the lake to keep warm while the self-proclaimed god-like man does not leave the shrine in the mountains. Can he feel your stare towards him, with all four of his eyes? Does he miss your warmth in his sheets, or does he prefer the iciness of his own stubbornness?

You are patiently waiting for a reason to enjoy the winter. You have yet to find one. 

All of your favorite fruits are rotten during the winter and nobody comes to visit you anymore, as it is difficult to trek through the mountains to get to the lake. You lay by your everlasting lemon tree in an attempt to soak up the pale moon, but now it has become too frigid to do so.

The smoke puffing out from the shrine just beyond your lake tempts you. But just like the man who inhabits it, you are stubborn.

And so you shiver.

The thought of returning back to the depths of the ocean does strike you on more than one occasion. Something holds you back from leaving into the abyss that has not called out your name in what feels like years. 

You have not come up from the floor of the lake in several days. Instead, you have been sulking, even the fish know to keep away from you because of your sullen attitude. The fairies have called for you from the trees, but you have ignored them in favor of solitude. 

You feel like a banished princess again, this time being told to leave by your lover instead of your father. Pretending like you’re not breaking into pieces at the revelation, you wonder how the great lord Sukuna’s heart would beat in your hands.

The shrine is always kept warm in the winters, with the wood fires prickling inside to stave away the cold. This winter is especially frigid, due to the unexpected high number of snowstorms and blizzards that have passed on this side of the mountain in recent weeks.

Even for Sukuna, it has proven to be somewhat difficult to travel through the snowy peaks and valleys that he resides in. It has been even more difficult to travel while making it a point to avoid the lake right behind the shrine altogether. Why should he care about the lake and any creature that inhabits it, anyway?

Despite the near painful iciness that coats the air in unwelcome shards, Sukuna still finds his way down the mountains and into the nearby villages. He has fees to collect, after all. 

The village in the far east of the valley has welcomed him with open albeit anxious arms. He is showered in precious gemstones, in gold, in paintings, in the finest silks and thin, freshly cut slices of cartilage and hearts, only for his thoughts to stray to you. He hopes violently that you fall ill from the cold and die there, in the center of his lake. Then he’ll finally get a taste of your delicate little mermaid heart from your still warm corpse.

Sukuna ignores the ire that stirs at the thought of your bloated corpse floating in the abyss near the shrine. Instead, he imagines your bright eyes, seemingly glowing in the dark. Blinking at him annoyingly, curiously- asking him why, why have you wronged me so?

He scoffs at sheer absurdity, that your visage could evoke such reluctance in him.

Even as he sits upon his throne to bask in the flames of the latest virginal sacrifice that the village has promised to him, he absently rubs his jaw with a calloused hand. Sukuna wonders idly where he should go next. After all, he’s grown quite comfortable in his shrine in the mountains.

He wonders if you would look at him in wonder or in disgust as he forced you to watch him eat the warm hearts of his subjects. Perhaps you would join him, instead.

You are told by the fairies that this winter has lasted longer than previous winters. The everlasting, enchanting, winter, they call it.

It doesn’t feel very enchanting to you. You rarely come out of the lake these days, burdened by misery and the perception that despite all of your freedom, you are unwanted. Undesired. Perhaps even unworthy of the freedom that you desperately chased. You have condemned yourself to this prison of your own making.

You wail in the frozen lake as the sounds echo harshly. The fairies look at you with sympathy. Or with pity, you are uncertain.

What is stopping you, anyway? What have you become- a shell of the nymph that you were when you first found this meadow.

Your sisters always said that you were destined for the land. It doesn’t feel that way as you lose track of the sun rising and setting in the distance. You have not come up for air in days, weeks, nearly months. Staring at the unwavering solitude in front of you feels hauntingly comforting.

The fairies have informed you that the nearby civilians in the valley are reporting an increase in the number of deaths. They suspect that the water supply has been poisoned. 

Your mother was right. You were venomous to the sea, and now you are venomous to the land.

The taste of flesh is rotten on his tongue and he cannot savor the richness of blood when knows that you have sunken to the bottom of the lake. In such a pitiful state, wrapped around yourself as if you were some frail human.

The fairies whisper. Mostly to Uraume, but Sukuna still knows.

No matter, it’s not his problem, he thinks idly. He sits on his throne, barely listening to the unlucky soul thrown in front of him. It’s no fault of his that you are weak-minded to your affections of him. You should not seek his approval or reciprocity, and he would tell you that if you had the gall to show your face in his throne room.

Everything tastes utterly decayed, like the soft, fleshy pulp of a peach that has sat in the sun for too long. These people bore him maddeningly, incessant droning fills his ears and echoes across the ruby red pillars of the throne room.

He doesn’t think about you, not once. Not how you most likely are freezing at the bottom of the lake, since you’re accustomed to warmer waters. Not how you haven’t  come up for air in weeks.

You haven’t enjoyed the snow, despite how enthused you were to see it before the turn of the season.

Sukuna sighs and twirls his fingers, cutting off the poor man mid sentence as his blood and guts explode all over the pristinely cleared floor. Uraume doesn’t even bat an eye.

“What was he referring to in his drivel, Uraume?” 

“Well, my lord, it seems that the water supply in the village has become… tainted. People are falling ill and dying within days.”

If the foolish, brutish man who lives in his balmy shrine with his devotees wants to see you, then he shall come fetch you himself rather than sending the message along with the fairies. How dare he use your friends so that he could continue to avoid you?

You would shake with fury, if you had the means to. Instead, you remain at the bottom of the lake, curled in on yourself.

Rays from the pale moonlight pierce the surface of the water. Usually, you would bask in its light, enjoying the way it feels on your tail. But not tonight. You turn your head the other way with closed eyes, refusing to look up and remaining in your pitiful bout of self-wallowing.

The water shifts around you in billowing waves, swirling against your tail but you pay it no mind. It pushes at you, as if to coax you to get up and come out of your bout of gloom. You woefully peel an eye open to stop the water from tickling your tail, only for the moonlight to be completely blocked out by a looming figure with menacing eyes.

Well. He tries to be menacing.

You look pathetic, laying in the darkness with sorrow rolling off of you in waves. No wonder the fairies have avoided you and the lake. It does not suit you. All of your favorite fruits that Uraume meticulously prepared and left at the corner of the lake have either rotted or been eaten by animals.

Ungrateful. Sukuna shakes his head and wraps his arms around you. Your grip is strong enough that you could fight him if you wanted to. If you had the energy to. Instead, he feels the warmth of your tail loosely around his legs as he swims up to the surface of the lake.

Your eyes are barely open, with no fight left in them. It’s hardly recognizable on you- how could you let yourself devolve into this state?

He ignores your shivering in his arms as he marches back into the shrine with heavy steps.

A warm glow caresses your face as your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the lack of darkness that you have become accustomed to over the course of many moons.

Two pairs of ruby red eyes stare back at you when you sit up in a comfortable, familiar bed. Your body feels stiff as you try to get up from Sukuna’s bed, and you nearly fall once your feet land on the floor. But he catches you before you can, chiding you for being foolish.

“You have been asleep for about seven hours and you have not used your legs in weeks,” he scoffs, “Your body is weak.”

You expect to see the same ire that shone clearly in his eyes like obsidian pools the last time you had spoken to him in this very room, but none of it is there. 

“Why have you brought me here?” you ask hoarsely. You try again to rise from the bed on shaky legs, but your entire body aches terribly. So you don’t fight him as he nestles you tightly under the covers. He shields you from the gaze of the moon with his broad back and his touch is gentle, fleeting as he heals your sore muscles.

“I believe you have a death wish and I cannot determine why. You are a danger to yourself-”

“Why do you care?” you interrupt petulantly. He raises an eyebrow but you glare at him regardless. You are behaving like an infant, pouting and raising your voice and he will not stand for it.

“I will not have you drown yourself to death on my land.”

“Oh, my apologies, my lord, perhaps it would be acceptable for me to go to the ocean to die instead.”

He would have beheaded anyone else if they spoke to him with the same sardonic acidity dripping from your tongue.

He pinches your thigh lightly, but enough for it to sting. You swat his hand away but he captures your wrist in his.

“You vex me,” Sukuna hisses his face only inches away from yours, “Your cavalier attitude, your self-pity, it disgusts me. Why have you chosen to live and die here? You are a nuisance, one that should cease to exist if you would allow me a taste of your bleeding heart!”

And still, none of the former vexation burns in his eyes.

“Then you should be the one to kill me! I would rather die by your hand than live in a cage that all the foolish men of this world, land and sea, have created!”

He drops your wrist from his grip, snaking his hand to your neck and pressing lightly. Your chest heaves, rising and falling, rising and falling in harmony with his breaths.

“I have only one weakness in this entire universe,” he says, ignoring the racing of your feathery heart against his touch, “I wish death upon you for this.”

Your eyebrows furrow, intent on arguing with him but Sukuna closes the space between easily, hastily capturing your tongue with his. There is no room to question him, or his place unless you will yourself to pull away and ignore the heat unfurling in your belly.

“You demanded that I go,” you mumble into his lips, “You said there was no place for me here…”

“And yet, here you still are,” he replies, coaxing you into another searing kiss. But, to his chagrin, you do not allow him to.

“I can protect myself,” you say with your heart lurching in your throat, “I am not some weak human who requires their beloved deity for protection.”

“Am I your deity?” His tone is serious but his eyes soften.

“Am I yours?” you murmur, giving him not a breath to reply before surging your lips to his. You missed the feel of his body on yours, the heat of his hands and the sharpness of his muscles. The place where his heart should beat. The tenderness that lines the padding of his fingertips as his touch sears your skin, a punishment fit for damning yourself in the depths of the water.

“Gods have no deities,” he replies.

“Kings do.”

You have not left Sukuna’s bedchambers in several days, alternating between basking in the warmth of his bed and the warmth contained in his arms. You have also taken to perching on his windowsill to watch the snowfall in the early morning, dressed in his robes.

It seems he has returned to your good graces.

You remain silent, eyes drifting across the barren treeline, landing on his unlocked treasure chest and back. The chest that contains the still heart of the white haired man who threatened you in your lake in the previous season.

“I want to go outside.”

You do not wait for him to join you as you slip out of his robes and through the window of his bedroom to step into the frigid air. He does not make an attempt to stop you, knowing that it would be futile.

Your laugh is infectious, ringing in his ears as it lights up the shrine from the outside in. Despite the snow falling on your bare skin for some time, you continue to be in awe of it. You ignore the goosebumps rising on your arm in favor of twirling around in the snow.

The fairies were right. It is enchanting, and warm, next to the well-lit lamps that surround the outside of the shrine where you stand. The cold, bright sunshine does not feel bitter on your face, not the way the fairies told you it would be. Instead, you feel hope bloom in your chest.

The way a flower blooms in a field of decay.

Naivete rolls off of you in waves. Sukuna shakes his head at your mirth as he leans against the window. It would be so easy for him, for even one of those white-haired bastards, to take advantage of you. Cut you, bleed you dry, desecrate your soul until nothing is left but a bawling onyro haunting the forest, mistaking revenge for love.

He does not tell you how the water was poisoned for the last several weeks, when you were decaying at the bottom of the lake. He keeps that information tucked away, so as to not see your face fall and your shoulders slump. Perhaps your onryo form would be better than your crestfallen form.

Sukuna places a wool robe around your shoulders to keep your body heated in the icy air, quickly dispeling thoughts of your demonic eyes. 

Blood pools on the horizon, a promise of the days to come.

tags: @kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @threadbaresweater @aboveasphodel

[duffyyy911]

𝙰 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔: 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 2 - 𝙰 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗

Summary: The detective makes quick work of following up on the shimmer lead. After an encounter with an autoshop chem dealer, the detective makes their way back to their boss. As they meet up and relay the information, they begin to realize that they have a hard time actually connecting with their employer.

Content Warnings: Mild violence. Mentions of tobacco and alcohol. Mentions of (fictional) hard drugs.

Word Count: 9.2k

Author's Notes: Chapter two woo!!!! I loved writing this chapter, although it does feel a lot slower paced than my initial one. Which might be a good or bad sign? I felt like there needed to be more dialogue, especially cause the next chapter may be a bit shorter on it. Ty for reading!!!!

Proofread by: @madschiavelique @6selkie

Masterlist: Here

The levels up near the pump stations were deafening. The loud cranking and droning of engines churning away to push gargantuan fan blades spinning within the massive vents of the fissures were almost deafening. The rich, sickly stench of diesel and lurid carbon oxides funneling through exhaust ports and feeding into the air turned your stomach ill. It dirtied your lungs and stung your nose and eyes, a barrage of putrid senses hitting you all at once. The Promenade level of the underground was usually one of the more breathable areas, but over here? You practically had to wear a hazmat suit if you would linger for more than an hour. You had always heard stories of pump workers dying young. How years of prolonged exposure would develop cancers in their lungs, redness in their nose, and deep black marks under their eyes. You had walked past too many funerals of young families mourning fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives, all taken by the treachery of such labor. You always told yourself it was better for just a handful of unlucky few to die from diesel exposure than entire cultures in the sump being wiped out due to the Gray. It had to be this way, it was just how life underground struggled. Piltover used to house the pump stations above ground, in large warehouse buildings with real regulations and standards. Genuine pay and affordable insurance. But the council had shut them down years ago, declaring that they were too much of a drain on the city’s economy. How they barely kept afloat with such a low employee count, and how all it did was invite the unwanteds of the underground up into their glorious city to spread some vague idea of crime and injustice. And so the pump stations were moved underground, far away from the prying gaze of a council of billionaires who thought themselves kings. You knew it was all an excuse, however. It was just a way to keep the ugly things away from the eyes of the citizens of Piltover. Nobody could afford to have sympathy, not down here or up top.

You rounded the corner to Leftpoint Street. It was more like a backstreet than an actual extension to any of the main gangways in the fissures. You had climbed a few levels of the juttings in the earth, crossing tottering rope bridges and ramshackle overpasses that bridged the gap of the left fissure. The iron shack buildings of the underground reached up and across the ravine, clinging onto the edge of the rock like a bundle of baby raccoons would leech onto their mother's back. It was the only way to expand down here. If you couldn’t keep building out, you just built up. And Zaun never stopped building up. The hope above the city drove people to keep climbing, that maybe one day they’d be able to leave the hell they were born in. 

You ambled past a straight and narrow lane of aggregate sandcrete huts sandwiched together shoulder to shoulder in the narrow offshoot of the fissure. They were a linked chain of the most basic of structures, squarish with undetailed walls and large open passageways that were modified by each owner of the divisions. You passed by a cheap junkshop with its large gated door open to the stuffy draft, airing out wheelbarrows and trolleys full of interesting but mostly useless parts stripped from the down-and-out machines in the sump. Driveshafts, brass piping, and strips of aluminum plating jutted out from rusted barrels, advertising a sense of uselessness that the store brought. 

You looked back behind you, checking if Lyric was still trailing you. He skipped along behind you, absentmindedly humming one of the sailing tunes he learned from listening to you. He’d stop once in a while to pull the lid off a trashcan and root around the first layer of garbage in a childish hope he’d catch a good find before returning the lid and catching up to you. He was a good kid, really, just one that was molded for this kind of living. He always held a youthful hope of optimism that collided with the jaded realization of his destitute life. Yet he pushed ever on, following after you like he always did. Like you knew what you were doing or where the hell you even were headed. You looked back to the lane in front of you, watching your step carefully as you put one boot in front of the other as you kept your coat close to you and your hands glued into your pockets.

You look past the row of junk and down the aisle of the storefronts, spotting the barred windowed front of the liquor store you had mentioned to Lest. One of the more sketchier places, but you couldn’t blame them for keeping it safe in such a lawless state. And that meant before it was the garage to the Motorruners. You passed by a shining neon sign hanging to the cinder blocks by a closed metal garage door. You paused before it to read the words ‘Chopshop’ spelled out in cursive. You pause, staring at the neon absentmindedly as you struggled against the growing ill feeling in your stomach. The stench of the diesel was beginning to fight with your already existing hangover for who could make your brain hurt more, and you weren’t sure who was winning. Your mind lingered for a moment, drifting to a better thought and a distraction. The savory smell of sea salt, a low hush of water trailing up to the sands of a beach before being ripped back by the tide. The honking of seagulls trailing over your head, looking for a meal. You weren’t sure if you were just wishing you were somewhere else, or that the fumes were starting to make you hallucinate. But you just stared in silence at the glow of the neon, which was beginning to burn its image into your retinas. You were snapped out of the funk by the slapping of Lyric’s hobbled shoes against the pavement as he finally caught up with you after a short stint of digging through the junk barrels of the shop you passed before.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, looking up to you with wide eyes and a never fading subtle smile. He subconsciously tried to stick his hands in his pockets to mimic your posture, but he rapidly blinked and looked down as he remembered that his coat had no pockets anymore.

“Have you ever seen a seagull, Lyric?” You murmured out as your eyes stayed glued to the neon.

“No.” Lyric chirped back, returning his attention back to you standing above him. “Is it an animal?”

“Right.” You sighed. You forgot that not everyone in Zaun knows what certain things are above ground. Even in the slums on the surface, not many people would know what a Seagull was. They had been overly poached years ago and now refused to return to the harborside. Sometimes you could see them circle above the ocean in the distance beyond the river, even going off towards Piltover to settle. But never on your side. Never even getting close. “They’re a bird.” You exhaled heavily, then finally peeled your eyes from the neon and down to Lyric. “White with a little yellow beak and gray wings. They never shut up and like to steal your food.” You give Lyric an uneasy but cheeky smile.

“You’re going to tell me I’m like a seagull, aren’t you?” Lyric frowned with a pout.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, returning to the neon as the outline of its letters stuck to your sight no matter where you turned your eyes. “Maybe-” You paused. “Have you ever been to sea, Lyric?”

“Like on a boat? No, not really.” Lyric contemplated the question, then perked up as he remembered something. “I once built a raft! But it sank before it made it past the pipes.” His expression faded to disappointment with a stir in his eyes. He was referring to the massive drainage pipes that fed out to the river in the harbor. It was best that it sank, because it would have been about a twenty foot drop into the icy river waters for him.

“Not a boat, Lyric.” You chuckled. “A ship. You call it a ship.”

“What’s the difference? Boat, ship. It all floats.”

“A boat is something you just ride in. Like a dingy or your raft. A ship? A ship is a beautiful thing. You can only steer her, not command her. No paddling or kicking can move her. You’re the one being taken for the ride, not the other way around.”

“Why’s a ship gotta be a her? Why can’t the ship be a boy?”

“I dunno.” You shrugged. “The guy who invented ships was a freak, I guess.”

“Who invented the ship?”

“Hell if I know.” You laughed. “John Ship.”

“John Ship is a bad name.” Lyric muttered as he joined your intent staring into the shine of the neon.

“Listen, kid.” You turned away from the sign for a final time. You knelt down, putting your hand around on Lyric’s shoulder as his eyes drifted from looking up to the wall to meet yours. “I know I said you could help, but-” You freeze on your sentence. You watched the twinkle in his eye, the way he would look at you with wonder and aspiration with a smile on his lips. You didn’t want to stomp on the kid’s dreams, you really didn’t. But this wasn’t his life, it was yours. And it would be wrong for you to let him follow you like he did. “I need you to keep watch on the corner.” You pointed over his shoulder and down to the end of the street.

“What? I thought I was coming with you.”

“This is gang territory, kid.” You sighed. “I need someone to make sure I’m not about to be snuck up on, and that’s you.”

“Okay.” Lyric nodded. You weren’t sure if he accepted the job in earnest or if he knew you were making him stick this one out.

“But if anything happens, you run. Okay?” You stick a finger into his collarbone sternly. The last thing you needed was for him to dive in after you if things went south. “You run and you don’t look back. Go find someone to tell them what happened, but you don’t get caught.”

“Got it, boss.” Lyric nodded, giving you a quick salute as if you were his commanding officer. You turned him about and away from you, giving him a gentle push as he began walking down the street to the corner.

You slowly rose to your feet as you watched him shrink away in the distance, far enough to where he couldn’t hear you. You turned back to the wall, drawing your attention to the closed metal garage door next to the neon sign. You stuck your hand back in your pocket and pulled out the cigarette butt you had swiped. “Wickrams” You muttered under your breath, then returned it to your pocket. You rapped your knuckles against the thin metal of the door, shaking its loose segments as it wiggled. You could hear the sound of movement from beyond the wall, the scooting of a chair and the shuffling of loose fitting shoes against the floor. The garage door lifted up with a shrill shrug, rising far enough up and just above your head. You came face to face with the stranger on the other side. He had to be in his early twenties, young but not small. He was rather tall, actually, nearing six feet in height. He was lean, boney more like it, like a lanky twig as his thin arms clung to the chain hoists by the wall on the other side. He wore a blue jumpsuit, void of marking or insignia but with a few pockets on the chest. His blue eyes stared at you in confusion from behind a messy chin-length dirty blonde hair and thick lensed square framed glasses. 

“Who the hell are you?” He murmured as he clung to the chains, holding the door open.

“The person who’s here to collect the kickup.” You fibbed. It was the first thing you could think of besides the truth, he would have just shut the door if you told him you were an investigator.

“To who?”

“To Silco.” You warned him, keeping a blank and empty expression on your face but furrowed brows to show you weren’t the type for patience. You didn’t even know if the chopshop doled out protection money to the barrons, but it was the best lie you could come up with and you were prepared to roll with whatever answer he gave.

“Silco’s dead, buddy.” A twist overcame his face. You had to talk faster.

“His death…” You paused, staring into the space in front of you. “Was highly overexaggerated. He wants his money, and you’re all late on it.”

“I mean-” The man paused, mulling it over. He might actually believe you, there was a nervous twitch in his eye as he thought. “Look, Daz isn’t here, can you come back later for it?”

“Later?” You scoffed. “No, you’re going to give me the money right fucking now. Who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, man!” He almost squealed, gritting his teeth like a Capuchin monkey. You were starting to get to him, the benefits of your witt for bullshitting. “Fine. Just come in, I can’t keep this open all day.”

You stepped under the garage door, bending your head down as you passed under. The man slowly released his grip on the chain, letting the door rattle as it sank back down to the ground. The inside of the workshop was somewhere between a total mess and a scene like a tornado had just passed through. Dim blue safelights were strung up around the top corners of the square workshop in linked patterns, providing a low but visible light to the room. You paced about a bit, looking at the state of the shop. A disassembled engine lay scattered by the left wall, its pieces sitting across the floor. Scraped together gang insignia crafter out of sheet metal and junk scrap hung from the barren walls, like art pieces in a gallery. Below one of the larger ones, a huge object sat covered in a heavy tarp. In the center of the room was a tall square wood table, on it a multitude of things. A dusty motherboard laying next to a few hand tools, a stack of wide papers with sketches of blueprints. A steam gauge lay across the front of the table, half taken apart. A spool of metal chicken wire sat next to some cut up pieces of copper piping. The back door to the shop had a foggy window, looking out into a dark hallway that could have led anywhere. Across from the door, tucked into the corner of the room, a large console computing machine buzzed away with blinking lights and unflipped switches. Metal tool cabinets lined the right side of the wall next to a few thinner worktables.

“Why is it so dark in here?” You asked as you looked about.

“Gotta keep it dark, man. Too much light is bad for your eyes down here, you know that.” The man ambled from the chains and leaned against one of the worktables near the cabinets. “So…” He trailed nervously. “How much is it this time?”

“How much?” You hummed as you looked about. “Because of recent events, we’re going to go easy on all of you for the time being. Four hundred, I’d say.”

“Four hundred?” The man spluttered. “You call that easy?”

You turned back to the man, flaring your eyes in a menacing manner. “Do I need to remind you who exactly you’re paying for protection from?” You approached him with a heavy step, getting in his boney face.

“No!” He put his hands up. “No, man. Here.” He reached into the inside of his jumpsuit and brought out a wad of bills. He counted out four hundred, then passed it to you.

You took the money and slipped it under your jacket's lapel with the rest, not bothering to count it either. “Give me a cigarette.” You commanded him.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“Either I smoke a cigarette, or I smoke you.” You warned him. “Give. Me. A cig.”

The man sighed, then reached back into his jumpsuit and took out a packet of cigarettes. The box was red and white, labeled with the brand Wickrams. You found your mark. He took out one of the cigarettes, then passed it to you.

“Where’s Aquil?” You hummed, putting the cigarette in your mouth. The man paused, a pale flushing over his face as you motioned for him to give you a lighter.

“I’m Aquil.” He stated steadily, and reached back into his jumpsuit for a third and final time. As he did, you noticed the state of his wrist. Or the lack therefore of. It was a bit crooked, and darker in tone, but it didn’t look broken from the way he was passing you things. He passed you a thin flip lighter and you took a moment to light your cigarette, then you pocketed it.

“That’s a lie.” You chuckled snarkily. “I was told Aquil had a bum hand. Yours looks fine.”

“It got better.” Aquil stated with a low, uneasy hum, trying to break eyesight with you. He had an unsteady shake in his legs, a jitter on his fingers. Either he really believed you were one of Silco’s lackies. Or he knew you were there for him.

“Better?” You gave him a deep, sick smile. Like you were a kid playing with a bug and you were about to pull off all his limbs one by one. “Because of that shimmer you stole last night?”

“I-” He paused, looking around. His hand gripped the lip of the worktable with an incredible tenseness. His reddened eyes snapped to you, then the door, then back to you. Then, he took off. He was going straight for the door, and you didn’t waste time reaching forward and ripping him back by the scruff of his jumpsuit. You pulled him back and threw him to the sleek concrete floor in one motion. He fell before the table at the center of the room, ventilating with a wild tempo.

“What did you do with the rest? Or did you take all of it? You fuckin’ junkie.” You towered above Aquil as he scrambled on the floor. He sat up and reached his good hand up to the loose pieces of pipe next to the blueprints. You grabbed his hand at the wrist and twisted it, flipping him over and onto his stomach as you pressed it into his back. “Do you want two bummed wrists?” You threatened him.

“Come on, man!” Aquil screamed in pain breathily. “I knew you were an enforcer, I knew it!” He wriggled under your grip in a vain attempt to escape.

“Puh-lease.” You scoffed. “Enforcers don’t knock first, dumbass.” You reached up to the table before you, taking the spool of wire and unraveling some. You pinned both his hands behind his back, then twisted the stiff wire around them. It wasn’t great, but it would work for the time being, he seemed all too weak to actually do anything you couldn’t see coming. You sat him up, leaning him against the leg of the table as you pressed your boot into the flesh of his right thigh.

“You already took my money, what else do you want, man? That’s enough to cover it twice!” Aquil begged with labored breath, his glasses slowly slinking down his face before falling against the concrete with a tap. How the hell was this kid part of a gang, you asked yourself? He looked like he could barely run for more than a minute, half starved and frail.

“I want to know why.” You barked. “I get it. Easy mark, right?” You pressed your foot harder against Aquil’s leg, causing him to scream out in pain again. He really was as frail as he looked, you were expecting a way harder time with this.

“I didn’t even do it, man! I was just there, they made me tell them where to get some easy chems that weren’t being tracked. I was coerced, you have to believe me.”

“Coerced people don’t have the liberty to smoke in the middle of a crime.” You took your cigarette from your mouth and gave it a flick, watching the ash drift to the floor. “You were an accomplice. And that means there were others. Who.”

“I don’t know their names, they work for somebody else. I don’t know who that is either, please.”

“Okay.” You relent. Ruffing a dumb kid up was one thing, he deserved it for the stunt he pulled. But you weren’t about to torture the poor sod. You had limits, and they were about to be reached. “Better question is why.”

“The blueprints.” Aquil panted out, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain of your foot on his leg. “On the table, up there.” He scooted up further against the leg of the table, scooting it across the floor by an inch.

You took one of the pages from the pile, opening it up and bringing before the blue wall lights behind you. The designs were sketchy, and the handwriting was absolutely atrocious, but the intent was clear. It was a drawing of some kind of tank, wide and bulky. Kind of like a moonshine still. The plans detailed what was needed and how to assemble it, though you couldn’t read the bad handwriting as to what the pieces were. You went to put back the page, but noticed a strange object had been hiding behind the stack, one that you didn’t see when walking into the room. It was a vial, cylindrical in form and ended with two twist locks. The liquid in it was fizzy and yellow-ish green, glowing dimly in the low light. You picked it up, inspecting it carefully. You had no clue what it was, but you knew it was a chem of sorts. Was this what the machine was for? A refiner, maybe. To create something new.

“What’s this, then?” You showed Aquil the vial, then pocketed it. You had to hang onto your only piece of evidence.

“Don’t touch that man, it’s dangerous.” Aquil pleaded, still struggling beneath your boot.

“Why? Is this why you took the shimmer? Your little gang trying to cut into the chem market?” You took the cigarette out of your mouth and stamped it out on the ground.

“Not us man, I swear!” Aquil sucked his teeth as you lifted your boot off his leg, probably expecting a kick to the mouth that never came. “It’s for some kind of project. I wasn’t told about it, just how to build a part of it.” He stammered out.

“Why?” You asked firmly.

“I don’t know! Just someone working for one of the barrons, I think! Two guys came to me with the plans. One of them came with me to take the shimmer, he’s the one who broke in, not me! I’m telling you!”

“Is that what’s under the tarp, then?” You nodded to the covered object. “Are you bringing this… Refiner to them?”

“Yeah, but it’s just a piece of the whole operation. I can’t say for certain, but I think they’re having other shops make the rest. The way the prints are, it looks like it connects to something way bigger.”

“Where are you taking it?”

“Some old factory in the sump, it used to make lightbulbs or something. I don’t know, man!” Aquil pleaded again. Your showmanship earlier had really rattled the kid, and you were starting to feel bad now. But you couldn’t let up, not yet. You needed to see where all of this was going. “The meeting is tonight, I gotta be there at midnight.”

“I know the place.” You fibbed. “You wanna know what you’re going to do now, Aquil?” You squatted before him.

“What?” He meeped out.

You grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks together until his lips came to a pucker. His frayed blue eyes looked at you beyond the muscle bulging up in his cheeks as you squeezed his face. “You’re going to continue doing what you were told to. And if you ever get the idea to tell anybody that I was here, or I know what’s going on. Or you get the dumb idea not to show up at the right time, or not show up at all? I’ll know. And I’ll be back.”

“Okay..” Aquil managed to say with a muffle, nodding his head slowly against the firmness of your hand.

“Atta boy.” You let his face go, giving him a congratulatory pat on his shoulder. “I’m going to leave you like this, you can get out on your own.” You walked back to the garage door. You considered taking one of the pages of prints, but you needed him to finish whatever he was working on. You needed to see where this was going. But more importantly, you needed to report back. You were starting to figure that this thing was far bigger than your employer's intention, but even if she didn’t want you following the trail, you’d still go on your own terms.

“What? No, man! Untie me!” Aquil called out to you as you began to tug the chains of the garage. The metal door lifted and raised up with a bit of force, returning the outside light back to the garage.

“Nah.” You laughed, then stepped out and let the chains go. The garage door fell to the ground with a heavy crash, shaking from the force. You rubbed your eyes with a heavy press against the back of your hands, adjusting to the shift in light as you returned to the land of the living. Well, near living. The underground was like a zombie, never decaying but not exactly breathing. You looked back up the street and saw Lyric standing on the corner, looking back and forth as a few people walked past him. You stuck your two index fingers in your mouth and gave a sharp whistle. You waved to Lyric as he spun about, and he took off down the road after you.

“Did you get him?” Lyric asked with a shortness in his breath, coming to a sliding stop before you. A redness flushed his face from the run, but the bright spark in his eyes never faded no matter what he did. To Lyric, your work was all about catching the bad guy and putting things right. Like the plot to a comic book or a radio opera. But the truth of it was that a lot of the time, it was a story about desperate people trying to get by and just wronging others in the way without malice. If this mystery was just about some junkie stealing shimmer to help his arm, it would have ended there. The money Aquil made was sufficing enough to pay back for the damage. But it wasn’t that, there was far more to this that not even the perpetrator of the crime knew. And you had a bad habit for jumping headfirst down rabbit holes that you didn’t belong crawling down.

“Yeah, kid. I got him.” You gave him an uneasy laugh. “These shops are so shoddy that I wonder how much they really pay in rent, it’s a mess in there.” Shit. The rent. You had forgotten all about it after being sucked into this mystery. Your landlord had given you a week, but you knew far too well it was more like a few days. “Come here, kid.” You asked Lyric, and he stepped forward close to you. “You know Mrs. Lowski, my landlord? She lives by the harbor, the house by that playground you like going to.”

“Yeah.” Lyric hummed in thought. “The lady with the missing teeth!”

“That’s rude, Lyric. Don’t say that in front of her.” You sighed. You reached under the lapel of your jacket and took out the envelope of money Lest had paid you. You took the envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of Lyric’s faded jeans, then patted it. “Take this to her, tell her that it’s for the next two month’s rent and that I’m sorry for being late.”

“Got it, boss!” Lyric almost jumped in excitement. His first real job that wasn’t running mail. If you were him, you’d probably be psyched too. “Then what?”

“Then meet me at the Grande Trevale back here on the Promenade level. You know, the big hotel that kind of looks like a crooked finger?”

“Yeah, I know! Old lady’s house, then the hotel. I’ll be back!” Lyric took off without warning, skipping down the street.

“Don’t call her that, Lyric!” You called out to him. “And bring my change back, I’ll know if you took any!” You added, but you weren’t sure if he even heard at the rate he bounded down the road.

The Grande Trevale was a monolith of a hotel that once reached high into the sky, a height that almost matched the peaks of Piltover. It was once a bustling and busy hotel for passerby’s travelling to the other side of the river, back in an age where people even dared to cross it. But in recent decades, it had gone into disrepair. Eventually, a wealthy chem barron by the name of Chross had a large quantity of mining charges rigged to the cavern ceiling below where the hotel stood. In one very complex and very loud string of plans and actions, the entirety of the abandoned hotel had been lowered, slowly but surely, down into the Promenade level of the underground. Once abandoned, the hotel was returned to its luxury by the chem barron and became a staple as one of the more lavish places in Zaun. It stood as tall as it ever had despite the drop, its top floor suites reaching so high that they stayed sticking out from the wide open sinkhole that had been created, and watched ever on over the slums of the uptop like a pretentious guard tower. Because of the rift in the earth, the hotel and its surrounding district had fresh access to the sunlight and rain, making it a prime spot for other money laundering operations for the chem barrons. Despite all this, it still retained an air of safety, collecting in the few that could afford the steep price of living in the district.

Your headache had finally subsided after you walked into the grandiose lobby of the Grande Trevale. You weren’t sure if it was the fresher air or your body was finally accepting that you hadn’t drank any water since yesterday. It had been five hours since you left to begin your investigation, and the midday sun had finally begun to set from over its peak above the rift in the earth and cast a blanket of calming bright rays to illuminate the district. Your boots trudged against the sleek criss cross tiles of the lobby, your head hanging low below the tall heights of the ceiling which hung crystal chandeliers down from thin chains. The lobby was a mix of bright whites and deep blacks, checkerboarded like a game of chess. You ambled past a wide and deep conversation pit sticking out front the side of the grand hall’s pathway, filled with an array of expensive leather sofas and antique low tables before a bougie fireplace that looked like it had never been lit once in the hotel’s history. The place was completely empty save for the few employees you saw wandering about. It was odd, like everyone just decided to stay home today. Your eyes glanced at the lobby desk to your right, a handful of its employees huddled around it as they listened to the intense accounting of a sports match that was being read off by the announcer. You shrugged as you continued walking through the hall, if they weren’t going to stop you and ask you what you were doing, you weren’t about to approach them either. The end of the tall lobby split off into a t-junction. One slender hall to your left leading to what looked like the inside of a lavishly decorated dining room, the right leading to a restaurant bar and another lounge room. You took the right, scraping the bottom of your dirty boots on the floor when the slick tile turned to carpet. You didn’t do well with rich people, or rich places. They usually demeaned you, so you made sure to demean them right back.

The bar lounge was narrow, pressed into the building as it looked out onto a large courtyard behind broad clear windows, freshly cleaned you reckoned by the lack of smudges. You spy a tender stocking up bottles of expensive liquor on shelves on the wall. He wore a black vest over a white buttoned shirt as he worked behind a curved wood bar pressed close to the wall. You approached the bar, pulling back a swivel stool tucked under its lip as you leaned in on the smooth varnish.

“Hey.” You called to the man, who was working in a hurry like he was going to be shot if he hadn’t put up all the bottles in under ten minutes. Knowing the owners of the hotel, he might just be. “Over here.” You called out again when he didn’t turn. He paused, then sighed, and put the bottles back into the crates he was pulling them out of at his feet on the green carpet.

“Do you need something?” He asked in an unamused tone. It was obvious he could tell you didn’t belong here, you didn’t exactly look like the type who could afford to rent a room in a nice place like this.

“Yeah, actually. I’m looking for someone.” You started off. “Have you seen a woman, about yay high with ears about yay higher.” You put up your hand flat and raised it far over your head to mimic the pure size of your employer's feline ears. “White like a blotchy dove, wears clothes that look like they’re from the turn of the century. Has a kind of ‘you’re an idiot’ look on her face?”

“Listen, buddy.” The bartender groaned. “There has only been one person to check in this entire week. So yeah, she’s out in the courtyard.” He turned about to go back to his work.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want something to drink?”

“Can you afford it?” He snickered under his breath.

“Why yes, I can.” You boasted.

“Fine.” He huffed as he was already bending down to reach for the bottles. He straightened back up, then reluctantly came back to the bar. “What can I get you?” He asked sarcastically.

“Whatever’s cheapest.” You shrugged, smirking.

“Of course.” The tender rolled his eyes, then reached under the bar sill and pulled out a tall wide topped glass. He filled it from one of the shining metal beer taps, then placed it before you as he put a coaster under it. “Try not to spill it on yourself.” He gave you a fake smile. “And that’ll be-”

“Put it on her tab.” You chuckled, then took the glass of beer and walked off towards a set of tall open double doors that lead out to the sunny courtyard.

The courtyard itself was gorgeous. Floored with a scene of crossing orange and red brick patterns, walled with the same tannish hue of the rest of the hotel. At the base of the surrounding wall, running around the entire perimeter, are beds of flowers and other fauna. White dogwood flowers, pinkish purple carpe myrtles, raspberry bushes and red barberis. At the center of the courtyard is a tall trickling fountain, a stack of man made rocks that would filter clear water down and trickle back into the wide pool filled with lilies and other water plants. To the right, beyond the fountain in the corner of the courtyard, a sun faded pergola made from twisted stiff wicker. It stood over a batch of metal chain linked porch tables with uncomfortable looking chairs, shaded from the harsh evening sun. You look up to the sky above you, feeling its warmth. You almost forgot that you were still underground, the way the rays fell down through the rift in the sky and to the courtyard and lit it up in broad daylight. You take a deep breath in, closing your eyes and holding it. You exhale slowly, then look back to the chairs beneath the pergola. You saw her sitting there, Lest. She hadn’t taken one of her big coats, the weather wasn’t right for it. Though she kept her headscarf on, which you found odd. A bit warm, but you couldn’t blame a woman for keeping a motif. You slowly walked up as she faced away from you, attentively keeping to a book held between her fingers in her right hand.

You raise your fingers to the back of her head, mimicking a gun. “Bang.” You mutter, letting your thumb fall. She did not turn from her book, still reading on in silence. “If I was a bad guy, you’d be dead.” You walked around the table and took a seat across from her, placing your drink down on the metal.

“Would I?” She hummed, her eyes reading back and forth down to the book in her lap. “You walk with such a heavy step, a deaf mouse could hear you enter a pantry.”

“Har.” You feign a laugh, looking at your drink, then at some things you just noticed were on the table as well. A small square polaroid camera fitted with a neck strap. Next to the camera was her box of tarot cards you had seen before on her coffee table, reflecting some of the sunlight with a sheen. A vanilla folder, the contents of which you wonder at. And finally a tall glass of some fizzy looking clear liquid which Lest would occasionally pick up and take a sip from before putting it back in its place. “Hello? Earth to you.” You looked at her as she read on, moving a bit in her peripheral to get her to notice. She sighed, then lowered the book and looked at you with an unamused stiffness in her expression.

“You’re drinking already?” She asked calmly, nodding to the beer you had just placed down. “It’s past noon.”

“Past noon’s the best time.” You gave her a fake smile. “Besides, it’s hot out down here without any wind. Just the sun on you, I can’t stand it.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re one to talk.” You looked at her own drink as she picked it up to take another sip.

“It’s tonic water.” She brought her attention back to her book in her hand, continuing reading pensively. “It’s good for you.”

“How?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Malaria or something.”

“Tonic water gives you malaria?!” You leaned in with a fake look of concern and all seriousness in your voice.

Her eyes flicked at you unamusedly from over the top of her book and she gave a sigh at your bad humor. You weren’t sure if she was pretending not to find it funny, or if she found your wit exhausting. In fact she was kind of acting like she didn’t want you there at all, though she was the one paying you for the job.

“I see you brought your cards.” You looked at the box of tarots, your hand reaching out to pull them closer as you thought about opening it. Better not, you weren’t really jazzed about being told off for it. “You wanna read my future, or something?”

“I don’t need to.” She licked her finger, then turned a page over at the corner. “I already know what the future has in store for you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“More of what you’re drinking. More snooping. And more sitting at home wondering where your life went wrong that you had to start doing this kind of work.”

“You’re a real comedian, aren’t you?” You scoff, scooting your chair in. “What’s your deal? Why are you talking to me like this?”

“Sorry.” Lest let up, peering at you from over the top of her book again. She did have a regretful look in her eye, a bit of a frown like she only just queued into the conversation fully. “I just had to send out a lot of letters to clients about rescheduling. A lot of them were not happy when they wrote back. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s alright.” You murmured in thought. You took a deep gulp of your drink and placed it back down on the table, then looked at the book in her hand. “What are you reading?” You asked innocently. The cover was black without a picture. Just the words ‘Red China Pig.’ in a bright scarlet for the title. You remember it vaguely, it was a hit classic written a few years ago about a Zaunite who worked hard enough to accumulate some wealth and make it into Piltover instead of funneling their career straight into the arms of the chem barrons. You hadn’t read it fully, but it was an interesting read.

“Oh, just some drivel.” Lest hummed as she turned another page. “A book about some nobody who did nothing but look up with resentment their whole life. And when they got to the top, all they could do was look down in disgust.” 

“What? Like there’s some kind of scaling in life?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well. Where do we rank?”

“Somewhere in the middle.” Lest shrugged, then dogeared the page and placed the book down on the table. Clearly you were getting somewhere with this kind of conversation.

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, we both make some kind of good money in the private sector. You run your business, I do what I do. It’s a living.”

“I thought my life went so wrong I had to start doing this?” You joke with a stupid smirk, recounting what she told you. There was a brief silence between the two of you, like both of you were too busy thinking to actually continue the conversation. Lest didn’t even go back to her book, the two of you just looked at each other for a while. Not like a game, but a mutual understanding. What either of you were understanding exactly, was beyond you.

“Hey, I’ve got to ask.” Lest finally spoke up, parting her lips with a slight rock in her flimsy chair.

“Shoot.”

“What’s the deal with the kid? The one that followed you. What’s his story?”

“Lyric?” You chuckled. “Ah, he’s harmless. He’s the same as most kids from the fissures. Junkie parents, no school, too much time.” Your smile faded as you thought about it. You did wish more for the kid, you really did. But you had to put one foot in front of you first before taking a step, and you couldn’t do much for him that he couldn’t already do for himself. You made sure he was as independent as he could be, and that he stayed away from home as much as he could.

“Here I thought you were the only child type.” Lest spoke up, catching the worry in your eye. You snap out of your thoughts, looking back at her sitting across from you.

“What?” You responded a bit breathily. “No, Lyric is not my brother. I’m an only child. I mean- As far as I know.” You had been told stories by your parents' old friends who stuck around in the city that your dad was a bit of a casanova back in his day, so you could have siblings somewhere out there. None of which you’d care to meet if they did exist. “What about you?”

“Five brothers, six sisters. Four of which I’ve never met, left home before I was even born. Big family, tiny house. It’s how it usually goes.” Lest recounted with a simper. “They all scattered a while ago, I never kept tabs on where they all ended up. Probably the same for me with them.”

“Damn.” You chuckled, leaning in against the table and folding your hand over the other in a closed fist. “Your parents took ‘be fruitful and multiply’ to heart, huh?”

“Like cells in mitosis.” Lest tittered back softly, then took a sip from her drink. She reached down into a patterned back at the foot of her chair and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking a short time in silence to take one out and light it with her iconic scratch lighter. “You want one?” She offered, breathing out the wisps of the first puff. You nodded and she tossed you the pack and lighter from across the table.

“You really like chain smoking, huh?” You commented as you lit yours and passed both back.

“Not usually, but odd times call for odd habits.” Lest shrugged. Another stent of silence fell between you two. It was like a game of red light green light and neither of you knew who was calling the colors. Both of you just smoked your cigarettes, sitting across from each other as the company of your thoughts returned. “So?” Lest spoke up to break the ice again.

“So what?”

“So? What’d you find?”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to get any repeat business from that guy.”

“Goddamnit, detective.” Lest let out a strained sighed, leaning her forehead into the corner of her hand as she rested her elbow against the surface of the table.

“Look.” You took another deep gulp of your drink. “This is starting to get way bigger than either of us really thought. I went to the garage, and it turns out that Aquil guy was accompanied by two other guys when they broke into your house. They stole your shimmer for some kind of…” You paused, trying to articulate what you could remember. “I don’t know. It’s this weird refinery machine. I think it made this, do you know what it is?” You took the vial of the weird yellow liquid out of your coat pocket and handed it across the table.

Lest took it, pinching the ends between her finger and thumb as she brought it up closer to the light peaking through the wicker of the pergola. “It’s Jitter. I think.” She muttered, squinting at the bubbles fizzing up in the liquid.

“The hell is Jitter?”

“It’s a chem.”

“Duh. What does it do?”

“It’s extremely potent. Has some kind of odd regenerative effect that can alter wounds or injuries, something to that effect. The downside is that it also erodes your brain.”

“Of course it does.” You slump down to the back of your chair in defeat. If your hunch was correct, this could be the beginning of some kind of large production of this chem. Which would be bad for the streets, and even more enabling to the barrons. This was beyond the scope of your job description. You weren’t about to fight chem gangs, you had told her that clearly. But you also wanted to see this through, at her request or your own. “How does it affect the brain?” You dared to ask.

“It damages the cerebral cortex, the hippocampus, and the parietal lobe. Basically, it makes you confused, scared, and violent. Insane.” Lest passed the vial back over to you reluctantly. She was probably unsure of what you’d do with the liquid, but the plan at the top of your mind was to chuck it into the nearest incinerator. Not yet, though. You might need it as a form of proof. If you were to follow the case, then the ending of it would mean you’d need to be able to show the enforcers something that could convince them to take action. You didn’t like them at all, not one bit. But they were the only force that could take on such an intricate drug trafficking operation.

“How do you know all of this?” You prodded. “About the brain, not drugs.”

“Reading, I guess.” Lest shrugged, flicking her eyes to the closed book still on the table.

“Right.” And here the silence returned once more. It always comes back, it seemed. Like a wall kept cropping up between the two of you and one of you had to be the one to work to tear it down. “So do you want me to keep at it? I’ve got another lead, somewhere in the sump tonight.”

“I think so.” Lest thought it over. “Not for my sake, the shimmer really only put a dent in my work. But I know somebody who might be interested in anything you come up with. It’s entirely up to you.”

“I think I’ll see this through.” You quietly nod in thought. You had to, your curiosity was demanding you worm your dumb ass down that rabbit hole and by God you were going to. “Hey, I was wondering.” You glanced back at Lest across from the table, who was beginning to pick her book up and return to her marked page. 

“Shoot.”

You paused, hesitating to ask the question, but finally seeing it through. “Do you want to get some dinner sometime?”

“What? Like a date?” She smiled as she peeled her eyes back away from the page. A smile, not in a nice way but one that almost demeaned you. You didn’t like it, you felt an embarrassment inside of you like you were an idiot to even bring it up. What a stupid question. Of course not.

“If you wanna call it that.” You shrugged, stiffening up in your back as you tried not to show the fact that you regretted asking at all.

“You’re not really my type, detective.” She glanced back to the words of her book, her eyes scanning the page.

“I wasn’t aware I had to be a type of anything.”

“We’re all types of something.”

“How do you figure?”

“Rich, poor. Bold, temperamental. Smart, dumb. Someone’s gotta be something.” She hummed without looking your way.

“What if I follow this lead?” You wanted to crush your own fingers with your glass of beer for even trying to bargain about it. But your smart mouth just kept talking, like it was a game. You were just embarrassing yourself, and you didn’t even know how to stop.

“Then you’d just be a fool, detective. My fool.”

“Is that a genuine offer?” You leaned in against the table.

Lest looked up from her book again, barely containing a roll of her amber eyes. “Just follow the lead. I’ll think about it.” 

You leaned back, letting out a silent breath you didn’t even know you had been holding. What kind of game were you even playing? The hell came over you? You didn’t even think about saying those things, they just flew out of your smart mouth. You were lucky enough not to be laughed at. Yet she said she’d consider it. And you supposed that was enough to not make you daydream about drowning yourself for such a stupid stunt.

“Hey, you can’t be back here!” You heard the bartender call out through the open doors across the courtyard. You already knew who he was talking to, and the receiver was now bounding across the yard, taking a moment to hop up onto the ledge of the fountain and jump off. The both of you put out your cigarettes under the table in unison, like some kind of weird coordinated decision.

“Mission accomplished.” Lyric huffed out, coming to a stop before the table. He dug through his pants pocket and brought out the leftover of the cash that remained after paying your rent. “I didn’t take any, I swear.” He innocently announced.

You took the bills from his open hand, leaving one behind just for him. “Go get some lunch, kid.” You gave him a nod, expecting him to run off in an instant.

“Inna minute.” He muttered, disregarding you as his attention was all but ripped away. “What’s that?” He pointed to the camera sitting on the table before Lest. And out of all people, it was Lyric that she put away her book fully for. She placed it down in her bag, then sat up and took the camera off the table, giving him a warm inviting smile.

“It’s a camera, poppet. See?” She pressed a button on the side of the squarish frame, and the flash bulb shot out on the top. “Do you want to hold it?”

Lyric nodded and he was carefully passed the camera. He took a moment to look through the lens, moving it about in your face and then to Lest like an inverted telescope. “Can I take a picture with it?” He innocently asked.

“Just one.” Lest allowed him with a hush in her voice.

Lyric walked over to the edge of the fountain and spun around to face the both of you sitting at the table. He raised the camera to his eye and held it steady. There was a short pause, as he was trying to figure out how to take the picture.

“It’s the button-” You try to tell him.

“Let him do it on his own.” Lest whispered to you without turning away from the casual pose she was striking. There wasn’t a tenseness in her words, or any sense of telling you off. She wanted him to figure it out. The reward of catharsis was always the sweetest.

“Found it!” Lyric called back after a careful inspection of the device. He brought the camera back to his eye and held it steady. In an instant the flash went off and the little motor at the bottom began to hum and it spat out the photo. He took it from the bottom, walking back over to the table. “It’s all dark.” He frowned, looking at the featureless photograph.

“It takes time, you’ll see.” Lest hummed as Lyric passed her back the camera and let him hold onto the photo. You couldn’t actually remember ever seeing a photo of Lyric. Or yourself. Were there any photos of you? Was that the first one? Ever? Surely not, you doubted.

“Give me a sip.” Lyric turned to you, pointing at your beer expectantly.

“Sure.” You feigned, watching Lest give you the most judgemental side eye from your peripheral. You picked up the glass, brought it to your lips, and drank the entirety of its contents in one go. “Here.” You passed him the empty glass, the only thing left was a thin film of foam stuck to the glass. “Go crazy.”

“No fair.” Lyric huffed with disappointment. 

“One day, kid.” You took his hat off, scuffling up his soft black hair between your fingers. You put his cap back and stood up from your seat, letting Lyric take it. “I’ll be back once I’ll have another lead tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. We’ll see.”

“Where are you going?” Lyric looked up to you, hoping to follow after you again.

“Just a lead, kid. Stay here and watch the boss, that’s your job.”

“Got it.” Lyric gave you another half-salute as you began to walk away from the table, without so much as saying goodbye to your benefactor.

“Does that make me the boss?” Lest called out to you with a confused look, watching you walk back towards the bar.

“We’re all a type of something in life.” You called back.

𝖭𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋

Taglist: @madschiavelique @6selkie @roku907

[tummyisyummy]

Name: Levi Foudre

Height: 5’9

Birthday: December 29

Age:17

Magic: lightning magic

Occupation: Magic knight

Squad: Silver eagles

Birth place: Clover kingdom Noble realm

Background:

Levi was born to Dahila Foudre and Ciel Foudre. Tragically his father died before he was born due to an illness that sadly he couldn’t overcome. His mother was a strong magic knight who retired once Levi was a toddler due to a horrible injury she suffered on the job. He watched his mother struggle to take care of him (she didn’t want to just hand him off to the maids. She wants to have an actual relationship with her child). Seeing how hard his mother tried to be there in his life , he vowed at a young age to get strong he can protect her just like how she did.

Personality:

Though Levi is somewhat aloof and doesn’t seem like an approachable person (mostly due to his resting b face 🚶🏾‍♂️), surprisingly when talking to him it turns out he is a polite and respectful person.(Of course his mother taught him well !!) Now what’s even more surprising is how he acts when you’re a close to him. He is more playful and open with you (not with his feelings of course 😑) even seen as a little bit mischievous. Don’t let his face fool you !! 🤭

Relationships:

Family:

Dahlia Foudre

His mom (^·^) He LOVE LOVE LOVES his mom and would do anything for her! He wants to be the amazing magic knight that she was. He would do anything for her but... Sometimes he needs to relax a little. Not everyone is after her 🫤

Ciel foudre

His late father.. He's only seen pictures of him and his mom tells him stories but sometimes he still wonders...

Friends (^^)

Mathew Fernandez

He likes messing Mathew. Mathew is always looking gloomy and is very shy, sooo Levi always finds a way to talk to him everytime they meet. He even takes him on adventures (it could be just finding hangout spots or even exploring ancient dungeons) just to get him out there. Though To the normal eye it just seems like Levi does this to get under Mathews skin but, Levi knows exactly what he's doing. He knows mathew is struggling mentally and He hopes these adventures/interactions will help Mathew understand that He is cared for and wants him to get out of his shell. He ALSO notices Mathew doesn't have friends so why can't he be the first¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 😊

Oscar Albain(not my of belongs to Whackdreamer🤠)

Childhood friends :D When Levi was little, Oscar was introduced to him due to a playdate arrangement. (Their parents were close) Though it seemed like Levi was the only one having fun because he KEPT DESTROYING THAT POOR BOY'S TOYS 😭!! Thankfully Oscar has the patience of a saint and manages to tolerate that destructive child. Levi views him as an older brother and even trained with him whenever his mother was busy(she was in pain) Though Levi is currently on his own little adventures, he still manages to keep in touch with Oscar(still messes with him tho😊).

Clara Blanchet(blan-shay)

He became acquainted with her on a mission. She seems like a strong girl (and very pretty too) ( She also had a big battle axe 👁) He likes to hang out with her and go taste test different bakeries while they're supposed to be working. She's so open with him which is surprising to him because nobody outside of family/family friends are that willing to tell him their problems. He doesn't know why but He wants to be around her... He doesn't want to admit but he definitely has feelings for that girl.

Others:

Winged lady

All he knows is that she used to help his mom take care of him. She used to fly him on her back while his mom tried to stabilize herself. She was nice though... He wonders will he ever see her again so he can properly thank her.

Ziya

Ziya has some strong magic. Like it's MONSTROUSLY STRONG 👁 Besides that though he seems really nice. Levi doesn't agree with him being in the Golden Dawn due to knowing how the members act. (He wants him in a safer squad he also just doesn't like the golden Dawn in general ESPECIALLY the captain) Sometimes he worries if he's holding up alright but Ziya reassures him that he's alright 😌

Nozel Silva

He is conflicted on how to feel about him. On one hand he respects him. He is hardworking and always get the job done. (He also has cool magic ((^^)) but on the other hand, he is mean and very arrogant . Not really the best person to be around but he's cool so He doesn't really care. He does wonder how long he stays up every night...

Fuegoleon Vermilion

Levi and mathew have had some joint missions and because of that he also met his captain. Now while Levi does like him (he seems alot nicer than his captain..) the only problem is that he talks WAY to much. If Levi has to sit through another dramatic yap session he might just explode...

Trivia (^o^)／

The star on his chest is a reference to his original universe ^_^ In his original universe he is a fallen star prince!!

Like most of my ocs he was just converted to the BC verse

He hates William. He doesn't have a reason for it but it's just something about him that feels off... (Lmao he a D1 hater)

His favorite songs are Pachalbel's Canon in D minor and Serenade for Strings in E Major (^·^)

He always bugs Nozel to train him

Loves sweets. If he could only eat bakery goods he would.

Was a ballerina for a little bit. Don’t ask him above it

Does know how to play cello, violin, and piano. He plays the piano pretty aggressively for some weird reason

Was a destructive child but very quiet

Totally has a crush on Clara. He tries so hard to hide it but it's very obvious to everyone around him.

Mathew is his favorite friend 😊

His design was inspired by clorinde and wriothesley from Genshin Impact

His sword was too lol

[necroromantics]

You have opened a whole new perspective for me with the Nina & Kate ship. The idea, the execution!!!!!! PLEASE I am in need of more

MAN Ok Im very glad this is getting attention cuz bro…. The potential…

MORE NINAKATE HEADCANONS 🔥 (Ill write more proper pieces in the future, for now yall are getting rambles)

- Nina invites Kate to raves and parties, but she refuses to go due to her migraines, sensitivity to light, and cuz shes a feral killer proxy misanthrope…

- Nina sometimes ends up drinking or smoking too much and comes home sick and a mess. Kate just softly scolds her, gives her stupid drunk gf a kiss, and takes her to bed

- She wakes up changed into pajamas, not a clue what happened, Kates already gone doing god knows what. But man its so much nicer for her knowing shes being taken care of

- Kate started off being very against the idea of make up, dressing up, nails done, etc. Until one night after Nina had spent hours begging Kate to let her do her makeup. Nina leaned in so close, so close. Kate didn’t get why her heart was beating so fast, or why she kept eyeing the girls lips. She thought she was getting sick again or something

- After that, she was more open to the idea. Especially since its an excuse to have Nina touch her. And she hasn’t been touched as if she was anything but a monster in so long

- Nina is soft, happy, a loving lover. She absolutely showers Kate with affection and is horribly devoted. She has a journal she doodles and writes in. 90% of that journal is about Kate

- Kate skates, both board and roller skating. Roller derby was a huge interest of hers, but circumstances never really let her fully pursue it. So some nights Nina will take her to a desolate skatepark and Kate will teach Nina to skate

- Once she gets the hang of it, rollerskating dates are frequent. One time, when she was still learning, Nina slipped and busted her ass. Kate laughed so hard water came out of her nose, before she ran to Ninas side to check on her

- Nina was fine of course, but god was she unresponsive. All she could think about was that strong, rough laugh. She started doing everything she could to make Kate laugh, even bought herself a “how to be funny” book

- I headcanon Nina to have BPD. Kate is very good at being her FP, and handles her episodes well. It took Nina awhile to learn how to manage her own episodes as well, especially after she relied so heavily on certain behaviours to get attention from Jeff

- But Kate helped her learn how to calm herself down, how to control her emotions and overthinking. And everyone noticed the improvement in her mental health. Having a person who cared, tried, understood

- And Kate is very protective. She was with Charlie, and she is with Nina. Absolutely no one gets to hurt her, talk bad about her, torment her. Toby went too far with a joke once and accidentally made Nina cry. Tim had to hold Kate back from breaking his jaw

- Theyre each others safe person, a place in the terrible, chaotic world they live in where they can find peace

- They have their own history, secrets, inside jokes. Nobody expected the two to get together, especially not a girl like Kate falling in love. But Nina saw that humanity in her and brought it out in ways nobody had even bothered to try, and Kates patience for her sunshine is infinite

- Surprisingly, works out very well

[iggyartsblog]

A small vent about marble hornets and creepypasta becoming a recent trend

Tw for description of psychosis, gore description

Read if you wish, if not just enjoy the gifs

Marble hornets is on its 15th year anniversary this year and because of this it's resurfaced and there's a wave of new age fans that enjoy the web show and have delved deeper into creepypasta lore as well as the slenderverse. On a normal person level I have no issues with this. I don't believe In gatekeeping analogue horror from back in my time from today's generation, especially something as good as marble hornets.

My issue is this (Trauma dump incoming) : from the age of 7 I was suffering deep psychosis as a result of using creepypasta and marble hornets as a way of coping with trauma and the stress I was under with neglect and having to look after my sick parent and having no healthy friendship in school. Yes, I was one of those kids who wished with all their hearts that the slenderman would come and take them away and make their problems disappear. The problem was I wanted it too much so my brain just made it happen. I was suffering from really bad derealisation as well as auditory and visual hallucinations of the characters. They would talk and interact with me, just not in the way I wanted them too. I remember so vividly washing up after dinner one night and seeing laughing jack break through the door and stab me in the stomach. I remember watching as my stomach and intestine dropped out of my body as he picked them up and swallowed them by the handful while still managing to maniacally laugh in my face. I screamed until my dad came in and told me jokingly to shut up, clearly not seeing my distress.

These hallucinations impacted my social life too. It was clear to me that there was a handful of them that were not out to get me and wouldn't hurt me if I played along with them. The most normal thing I had to do was just not ignore them. I hallucinated ticci toby a lot, especially in public. I had learned that if I didn't talk back to him he would get agitated and I would have nightmares of the slenderman murdering me so I would always talk back. This made going out with friends difficult because I had to respond to him no matter what. This lead to a lot of bullying from my friends and not many people wanting to talk to me.

For years, until I was 12, I kept slipping through the narrative I was either schizophrenic or actually one of the followers of the slenderman (I used to call myself a proxy, now the word makes me feel physically ill). This belief is probably what made the hallucinations last as long as they did. I wasn't aware at the time how deep in psychosis I was as I refused to talk to my parents about it in detail as my mum used to threaten to take me to a mental hospital as a small child when I used my imagination and said I could see a butterfly, for example, that wasn't really there. My sister knew and so did her friend but I'm sure they both thought it was some game.

So, I'm speaking in the past tense. This is behind me, right? Well, it was for a good few years. I was able to do this via limiting myself all access to anything creepypasta related or marble hornets related which was very hard because it was like my safety blanket for so many years. I tried to not put myself in rooms alone without music or something playing in the background so I can concentrate on that and not give anything the chance to harm me. When I did hallucinate I would take videos to prove to myself nobody was there and in time I was able to ignore them completely and the eventually went away. This took about a year or so of discipline and I think it only worked because it was psychosis and not schizophrenia.

However, the reason I'm talking about this now is it's all come back to me. I'm hallucinating again, I'm being hurt again and I'm unable to sleep properly because of the nightmares that plague me due to it. The reason is very clear to me. Media consumption has caused me to relapse. My girlfriend is obsessed with marble hornets and won't stop showing me stuff about it, which is totally fine because she shows me things she likes out of love. However, when I open Tumblr after it's full of marble hornets and creepypasta. It's the same story for other social media. I'm totally okay with people enjoying the fandom and I'm okay with seeing it from time to time but I do feel so bombarded with it all that's it's triggered me into psychosis yet again. And the way people enjoy this media isn't making me feel any more comfortable online either. You cannot imagine what it's like seeing IRLs of monsters that's harmed you physically and mentally roleplaying and twinkifying the character like the character hasn't killed people or tortured people in their source. I can't stand people simping over Tim from marble hornets after I've repeatedly been assaulted and tormented by a figment of my imagination with the exact same face. Having Jeff the killers bloody and broken face sting like a fresh wound in salt over my eyes when I fall asleep seems like a complete contrast to the hot fuckboy version that people put in their pfps and dirty talk on character ai. I'm not saying you can't be thirsty for a man with no eyelids, my point is it's really strange from my point of view.

Now that you've listened to my rant I just want to make it absolutely clear that if you enjoy marble hornets or creepypasta or the slenderverse you have all the right to keep loving that media. I don't want to put people off or make it seem like I'm trying to gatekeep. I do just want to share a very brief overview of my experience with this media and how it's affected me in hopes it might prevent someone else from going through something similar. This is also a reminder for all horror fans to take a break once in a while to cleanse yourself of all violence and fear for a while and look at some positive media to rest your brain once in a while.

I doubt anyone would be interested in hearing more about my experience with psychosis but if you are ill gladly talk more about it. I'm going to do everything I can to overcome this unwanted sequel and I will over come out weather social media and the people around me let me or not. I've done this before and I'll do it again.

[decimal86]

Failtopia Headcanons 2

Title says it all. Gonna say now that this list is a mix of serious and non-serious ideas, plus a few ideas for post-S2. Shared a lot of these with one of my mutuals, but I figured I'd share more with all of y'all. Enjoy!

While all fitting for warriors of some kind, there are a few minor specific differences in Erica, Orion, and Bob's starter gear. (Ex. Orion's armor is more well-kept and matching, since he was part of the royal guard. Meanwhile, Erica's is more worn down and mismatched since she at this point doesn't know how to maintain it and likely bought it on a budget from how much of a spur-of-the-moment decision it was.)

Bo's weird floating hands are more akin to an incorporeal extra pair to grab otherwise untouchable objects and interact with other undeads. Essentially, that one D&D ability, Mage Hand.

Due to being part fish, Shrimp is more heat sensitive than the rest of the cast. Neksdor would hypothetically be tough but doable, while Karkaton or the Powdered Peaks would be almost impossible if traversing alone. Luckily, she's not :D

Orion takes Slapo out trick-or-treating with whatever costumes she wants, so long as they're appropriate. One year, she was a brick. After S2, Chat and Petunyawn go, too with C!Failboat accompanying the latter.

Erica spent weeks after Bo's transformation into a vampire trying to raise her defense so her partner wouldn't have to stress over piercing her flesh while kissing and accidentally turning her into an undead.

Mar has an alcohol tolerance higher than any other living thing, being a demon, and thus has never been intoxicated. Still, he does his best to cure whatever hangovers may the others have with only the finest recipes he knows; if there's one thing he was passionate about since the start of his redemption arc, it's food.

Erica and C!Failboat remain close friends as, despite their less than ideal relationship in S1, Fail was Erica's first true friend after her string of terrible parties, and similarly, Erica was one of the first people that made him consider as more than a character—a real person, with struggles and emotions—that made him try taking his job seriously.

Deko now lives a quiet life in an off-the-map village somewhere in the Fey Realm. He works as a scout, finally able to live out his wish to help protect a community without fighting gods or being stuck in an overly tight demon suit. He also makes sketches and edgy poetry in his free time.

Chi celebrated her 21st birthday with a bowl of whiskey-flavored ice cream but, surprisingly, never felt any ill effects besides slight dizziness and a sugar crash.

Part of Piranhyawn being a terrible boyfriend comes simply from his species not requiring two individuals to mate, with both he and his daughter being a product of budding. (Note: not a justification, only an explanation)

Lanc was forced to learn how to play piano from their royal background—however, they dropped it and now play the accordion in their off time. Chi, of course, loves it.

C!Failboat actually does own some other clothes besides the cat onesie: a single white anchor-patterned button-up with jeans and tennis shoes, plus a full-on captain's uniform for some reason. He only wears it when the cat suit's in the wash.

While they haven't met yet, I'm certain Slapo and Purple Shep would get along perfectly.

I'm not sure if post-game can even be considered canon anymore, but the Deltarune fan song Megalo Clamour plays in Spamtang's head when he fights. Like the canon character's theme, but slightly more put-together and malicious.

Erica's actually more skilled with a spear than a sword, but only learns how to use it after the finale due to getting more free time to perfect her fighting style.

Chi has an excellent singing voice. Nobody knows why, not even Chi herself.

And that's all for now! Might do a part 3, but thank you for reading.

[kerubimcrepin]

Live-read: Dofus Heroes - Kerubim Tome 1 (part 1)

You can find this comic's physical version on Ankama's site, webtoon version on Allskreen, and Free Scans on various file-hosting websites that shall not be named.

Quick disclaimer: While I will be including french screenshots here, because it is a language that uses the latin alphabet, and everyone has that on their keyboards, all ready to type up in DeepL and Google translators — what I will actually be reading is a new fan translation in my native language, which does not use latin alphabet.

Time to quickly switch between two tabs because nobody has translated this comic into English. Yaay...

This comic has, as my fellow crepinjurgenology studies colleague @dullard put it, "thin god Ecaflip jumpscare"

Ecaflip looks a lot like Ush here, and I think it's way too malevolent. Part of the fun of him to me, is that he is an Evil Fucking Cat that looks like a cute cat. It makes his despicable actions more funny & interesting.

...Anyway, this comic came out during the run of the show, in 2013, and its sheer existence, — including its negative portrayal of ecaflip, its inclusion of blood and Kerubim's 20 mental illnesses, — is a direct confirmation of the show being an unreliable narrator story. (Though, we've been knew.)

This comic's most important function for this blog is that it will provide us with a well-needed glimpse at what Kerubim's adventures are like when he isn't retelling them to a 7-year-old child whose respect and approval he desperately craves.

The second Kerubim is fatally wounded, he gives up. Yet, Ecaflip saves him, without using one of his nine lives, just as he did in the Wheel of Destiny article.

I suppose it's one of his trump cards, isn't it?

But I am more interested in how at peace Kerubim is with death... It does make sense for Kerubim to hide some rather morbid feelings about his life behind his cheery facade, doesn't it?

It must be tiring. Losing your family, being a god's plaything, losing your brother, feeling like you have to constantly play the role of the cool womanizing warrior, and never unpacking your emotions about any of it. Death would feel like a relief from such weight.

Which makes Ecaflip's grip on his life feel more malicious.

I know, chances are, this comic, as well as most of the show, were made well before Kerubim's demigod status was thought of as a plot-point.

But even in terms of him being a demigod... I think that death would seem relaxing, despite its temporary nature, wouldn't it?

One of the main things of this whole comic is that Kerubim gets amnesia.

Harry Du Bois-ass character. Not only is he mentally ill, divorced, and has 20 layers of sad backstory, but also he got amnesia. God bless.

Yeah, this comic is more realistic and gritty than the show, but the cartoon shenanigans are still real. Thank god.

There's a reason why I think that a big part of Kerubim's character is his experiences with loneliness and isolation, and the way it makes him crave being loved and cared for, as well as how it makes him act out to get attention and popularity.

It's telling that while completely amnesiac, he identifies immediately with a small kitten, whom he immediately assumes is a "he" and "an orphan", and wants to take care of it.

It may seem like an innocuous moment at first, but "he is all alone" will become a reoccurring motif for Kerubim's mental state and subconscious in this comic, and it is the comic where we get the Orphan Kerubim reveal.

I already discussed the fact that I think Kerubim kept and adopted Joris due to Atcham-related guilt earlier on the blog, but I will take this moment to voice 2 other reasons:

Kerubim identifies with orphans and children easily. He would never leave Joris alone after looking at him and thinking "You're all alone. Like I was."

The idea of having a child would be very pleasant to someone as lonely as him. He struggles a lot with wanting to act in a way that will make people like him, and children are, by nature, inclined to like their parents even if they're complete losers.

Btw, if you follow my main, @joris-jurgen , you probably know that I headcanon Kerubim as having comorbid HPD and BPD. Because it fits. And because personality disorders are usually the result of insane levels of childhood trauma. And... my experience running this blog has so far not swayed me from this opinion in any way. This little paragraph was your Armchair Fictional Psychology Corner. This man can fit a lot of sadness and wanting to be loved in him.

Ecaflips confirmed to, just like real cats, have very good night vision.

...Aaand now I'm thinking about cute scenarios of Kerubim, Atcham, and Joris travelling at night, or navigating their home in the darkness.

(Because Joris doesn't have human eyes, as we've seen from the movie. And considering the way Grougaloragran's eyes reflect light in the Oropo ova, chances are, dragon eyes glow in the dark, the same way cats do. Which brings me to the point that, Joris's dragon-ish eyes would probably glow in the dark. Like a cat. Yeah, I am very sane, and should not be sedated in any way, readers.)

Crocosec has always wanted to have a butcher's shop and feed people with delicious food...

Ah, I don't know why, but my silly little detail-noticing from the first eps, where I pointed out that he has a meat shop, paying off? It makes me feel fuzzy. It's nice to know that the person who wrote this comic cared enough, and that it's something that was put in here with intent.

Anyway, I am about to be very normal about the next few pages.

*jumpscaring you by including a screenshot from the high-quality scanlation I am reading. Because this moment would be too blurry if I didn't.

He isn't even playing with any other kids... This is going to kill me, and not in a fun way.

The translation I am reading interprets the last line as "I would return to..." but it seems a bit wrong to me, especially considering my own research on language sentence-comparing sites.

What Kerubim pretty much says here, is that, he'd like to become a huppermage, and use magic to bring back his parents, sisters, and brothers.

While one could interpret that as Kerubim being lonely while being raised in an orphanage all his life without a family, I have a couple of counterpoints:

He calls the kitten "orphaned" specifically, which implies that there were parents, and that they aren't there anymore.

If it were just a family he wanted, he wouldn't be as specific as to say "sisters and brothers," besides just "parents," which leads me to assume that Kerubim means specific people he used to know (before they died).

3. Atcham is a Crepin too, as was revealed in the Dofus Movie. Logically speaking, if they were both given to the temple after being born, (and as we know, Atcham was at the temple, because Bashi knew him, according to Wheel of Destiny #8) they probably wouldn't have surnames, especially the same one.

4. Kerubim's unfunny joke about being the last in his family.

5. Wakfu: One More Gate's shopkeep being an ancestor of the Crepin family implies that Crepins are a real family that existed, and that, perhaps, Kerubim's affinity for selling stuff has to do with his early upbringing, before he was orphaned.

6. In the Dofus manga, Atcham says that a sword he owned, which was stolen from him, has been "passed in his family for generations", which yet again, points to them having a family to begin with.

All of this to say... What I think happened was far more devastating.

He had sisters and brothers, and two parents — it doesn't matter if the Crepin family was an adoptive one, or if it was made up of their biological mother, her husband, and half-siblings. Because they're all dead, and that's just... horrible.

A whole family, at the very least 6 people (if we assume that by "sisters and brothers", he means just two sisters and two brothers), wiped out.

...Oh, and one last thing.

7. I think that, as an adult, Kerubim did put some research into dark magic, with a hope of bringing his family back.

Just as he said he would.

....Though, as always, that might just be me reading too much into things. ╮(￣ ▽ ￣)╭

These aren't the tears of an orphan who wishes he had a family. These are tears of grief of a child who used to have one.

And Ecaflip, his biological father and God, is taunting him about it.

...I would speak on my deeplore conspiracy theory that perhaps Ecaflip himself is to blame for whatever happened to Kerubim and Atcham's family, — to get Kerubim, or both of them, isolated, and under his thumb, — but perhaps it's just me being actually clinically insane.

[emetkoto]

I haven't played bg3 so I'd love to hear how astarion's views of koto change throughout the story pls <3 like is he immediately attracted or what. and what about koto's feelings and how they change. gimmie the deets.

Honestly, Astarion sums up his part pretty well in his confession dialogue!

and then hilariously another tidbit from his final romance scene literally right before he tells you he loves you and you have sex on his grave (ignore old k'oto i havent gotten there on new k'oto yet and also the different outfits these are from two different play sessions)

basically tldr. astarion didnt really care for k'oto at all at first, it was all just manipulation in order to get him to trust him so he would keep him around and protect him since he was terrified of his master finding him (he's a vampire spawn and the only reason he has his free will up until we kill his master is because of the mind flayer parasites all the characters have, he only got away when the mind flayers kidnapped him and has been paranoid about being found since, rightfully so since we come across a monster hunter sent after him early on) so it was all just. seduction and charming! he was really kinda annoyed by k'otos whole 'good guy' thing, like 'ohhhh wow youre a hero. what good are you. nobody ever helped me or saved me. where were you when i needed you.' (obviously completely unfair, k'oto is only 28 and he was turned 200 years ago) and kind of a little bit afraid of him? sure he's shorter than him but he's also way stronger physically and has fangs and claws and strange beastly habits that really just kinda put him off for a while bc yknow. fangs hurt him once. sure this guy seems harmless but he knows better than to trust!!!

except he doesnt. because k'oto was completely unexpected in every way. he's kind and funny and genuine in a way astarion had completely forgotten was possible. he loved him so completely and so honestly the whole time. even when he told him sweet lies and was just so obviously using him he just. kept loving him!!! (k'oto voice) its not real now but someday it might be, and ill still be here when it is. when hes ready to love me back. <--------shit like That!!! the icing on the cake was coming to realize that he and k'oto had. a LOT more in common than he wouldve ever thought. particularly when it came to matters of sex and how they had trouble viewing their bodies as their own due to their circumstances and how it all made it difficult for them to say 'no' to things out of fear/obligation…the very last thing he ever expected from this dumbass catboy was to see himself 100-something years younger in him…..he just. was exactly what astarion needed…uegh!!!

k'oto was pretty much head over heels from the beginning despite the red flags. he was far from home and work where nobody would even think to offer him money for his time and would just spend it with him because they genuinely wanted to for nothing more in exchange than just their own time and company so even if he was being blatantly manipulated it was still the realest shit he'd experienced in years from probably the most attractive guy he'd ever met upto that point so it was a recipe for some good ol fashion love at first sight…or i guess. love at first knifepoint.

maybe a bit of confusion at first bc he'd never been in love before so there was probs a brief period of 'am i in love or is this just lust' until after he slept with him the first time and it didn't go away and in fact only got stronger and he was like 'ok yeah im in love actually!!!!'

sorry this is completely incoherent i love them so fucking much it makes me sick to my stomach and also im so very tired

[blocdinthewater]

♛ → THE CROWNLANDS & STORMLANDS present AENOGAIA QOHERYS, the LADY of ROSBY / COURT SEER TO JAEHAERYS II TARGARYEN. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-FOUR year old FEMALE who was PECULIAR & WILFUL before they saw the first of the flames, is now RUTHLESS & VINDICTIVE after seeing the last. they’re often associated with strange symbols traced into dust, the feeling of being watched in a dark place and high pitched, echoing screams from far away. ( thea sofie loch næss )

BIO:

( tw: animal death, death of a child )

From a very young age, Aenogaia was aware that she was cursed.

Not in that very capacity. Early on, she would have called it bad luck. Her favorite cat passing far before its time. A close friend succumbing to a long illness. It wasn't until she'd reached her fifth nameday, that the bad luck spread from targeting those around her, to targeting her. Cuts and bruises, more so than the children she ran with, played with. The peculiar way she carried herself with, that she knew things instinctively that others did not, that she had flashes of visions, abilities, did not leave many of the same age to play with, and yet she found friends. Those who were not afraid of a little strangeness, who emphasized, even.

It was one of those precious few that would be the first Gaia would see die. Bloody and hopeless. Gaia stood over a boy who had just laughed and challenged her, and who now bled from a wound in his head onto the very rock he'd smashed it against. A slip on slick ground, softened by rain. And then- Gaia hadn't known a person that small could bleed so much. It seeped into the earth, satiating something nobody could see. The young Lady Qoherys' hands had been stained red from trying to stop the bleeding. It was useless. Aenogaia stared, tears sticky on her cheeks when the last breath shuddered from her friend's chest.

Finding new friends was difficult after that. After returning to the courtyard in Dragonstone blood smeared, trying to get someone to listen long enough to tell them where her friend was lying lifelessly. Even those still alive, who had been fond of her before, kept their distance.

Instances just like this one continued as she got older. And as she developed and learned of her family's history, she put a name to that bad luck.

Curse. Cursed by brick, curse by stone. Cursed by never ending greed and ambition. Cursed by melted metal and cursed by screams of pain long faded in mud and rain and sunshine.

Harrenhal had dug its claws deeply into her family's bones, wormed its way into their very being to where there was no way to distinguish where they ended and the curse began. There was no end to an immortal curse. Only to their very mortal lives. Over a century of being rid of the place, and yet it held on. Perhaps it was because of her mother's desire to return, to make it the great seat of the House Qoherys once more. No longer dragon riders, but of Valyrian decent nonetheless. Important. Made of fire and blood. Perhaps it was in her sisters's insistence to ignore that anything was wrong. Curses were proud things, Gaia thought. If they did not get the respect they were due, they acted out. Left devastation in their path until they could no longer be dismissed.

The suffering never ceased, never stopped for even a moment to allow her to breathe.

Aenogaia would seek an end to it. Threw herself into her ability to see things few others did. Dove head first into rituals many objected to. Sacrifices, counter curses, obsession, morbid fascination.

She would find a way to end that curse.

No matter what it would take.

No matter what it would cost.

[free-for-all-fics]

Captain Louis Renault Prompt feat. you as Rick’s sister! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 💄❤️💋

You’re Rick’s much younger sister. While he’s in his mid-to-late 30’s, you’re only in your early or mid-20’s. You may or may not have been an accident. When you still lived in New York City, you used to be an avid reader of The Boston Globe’s “Women’s Pages”, which featured Polly Webster’s column, “War Time Wife”, packed with tips for weathering the hardships of the war years— including how to generate income from home-based businesses. World War II is an important expansion period for women in business as it brings many women into the workforce, filling jobs so men can go off and fight. That same patriotic fervor also inspires many women to consider starting businesses of their own. But neither of you can return to America, and you both left Paris during the Occupation. The reason is a little vague. Yours and Rick's past is shrouded in mystery, so much so that many people have tried to speculate and uncover the truth of the circumstances surrounding your rather sudden and abrupt departure, but all have failed. For all that is revealed, nobody knows exactly why or when both of you left America, nor why neither of you can return.

However, Major Heinrich Strasser and the Nazis know what you did and why you left. Rick was once an anti-fascist Arms Dealer who supported the Abyssinian regime in its war against Italy, and later the leftist coalition in the Spanish Civil War, with the side he backed losing miserably on each occasion. This and various personal failures led to him being exiled, whether by choice or circumstance. As for what you did to get exiled alongside your brother? That’s a secret you thought only you and Rick knew, but apparently the Nazis know too. They’ve compiled dossiers on the both of you and tell you not to worry, they won’t broadcast either of them. When you and Rick read them, your main concern is: Are your eyes really that color?

Unbeknownst to anyone except Rick and Sam, you were born sickly and that chronic sickness has been with you all throughout your life. It was always your brother who had to watch over you to make sure you didn't run too far away or overexert yourself when playing outside. Rick always kept a close eye on you to make sure you didn't get hurt. If you did get sick or hurt, he took care of you and made sure you had everything you needed, including the right medicine. You’ve often been in poor health. By the age of fifteen, you’d already contracted an attack of mumps, chickenpox, and measles. You recovered from all of those maladies, but were bedridden for most of your life and didn’t get out much due to your weakened immune system. The depressing atmosphere at home in New York City made you even more miserable while you were convalescing.

You were once misdiagnosed as having a terminal illness and, believing you were dying, you wanted to see outside of New York while you still had the chance. Your brother took you on a trip to the seaside, hoping the waters and fresh air could act as a sort of cure to improve your health. Your health was improved only a little, but you found comfort in quietly resting and occasionally taking short walks in the garden or on the beach. This improvement was temporary, and your sufferings once again grew sharper, which confined you to your bed again. After more doctors examined you and it was discovered you were misdiagnosed, you and Rick were so relieved.

It’s not easily noticeable to an untrained eye and you can hold yourself together most days, since you found coping mechanisms that worked for you back then and still work for you now. You’re much stronger now as an adult than you were as a child or teenager, but you still have your good days and bad days. On good days, you almost feel normal and are much more active and energetic. Any pain or discomfort you usually feel is manageable, almost numbed down to practically nothing. On bad days, you often feel like your body hates you and is trying to kill you from the inside. You’re usually confined to bedrest until the worst of it passes, which annoys you because you get bored easily. There’s only so many books you can read before your brain goes numb and your eyes become bleary with drowsiness.

You follow a strict regimen where you take multiple medications everyday and sometimes use a cane on days where you're too weak to walk or hold yourself up while standing, but you made a point to disguise this cane as a fashionable statement piece to hide its true purpose. Although your chronic illness isn’t fatal, Rick still hates that you're hurting and suffering. The medication you have to take and strict routine you live by daily seems like a lot for you to carry mentally, emotionally, and physically just so you can remain somewhat functioning, but you’ve gotten used to it by now.

Captain Louis Renault is an officer appointed by Vichy as Prefect of Police in Casablanca. He’s a handsome, middle-aged Frenchman, debonair and gay, but withal a shrewd and alert official. You still remember part of your conversation from back when you and he first met. He made quite the first impression and it’s impossible to forget. That’s putting it nicely.

“I was told you were the most beautiful woman ever to come to Casablanca. That was a gross understatement.”

“And you, Captain Renault, are wasting your flattery.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I believe my flattery to be well-spent. I may be twice your age, my dear, but I can assure you with full confidence that I'm well-endowed.”

The double meaning when he called himself well-endowed was not lost on you. You were many things, but naive wasn’t one of them. You only rolled your eyes and shrugged off his compliments and attempts at flirtation. The nerve and audacity of this man! He was lucky Rick wasn’t around to hear and that you didn’t care enough to relay to him what was said. You wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but you do know they have some sort of agreement or understanding. You know Rick has paid Renault with bribes by letting him win at roulette and, in return, the corrupt official has turned a blind eye and has permitted your establishment to remain open. Another reason is that, although exit visas have been sold here, neither you nor Rick have ever sold one. He and Rick have gone through women faster than cigarettes, and the both of them seem perfectly happy to drink or screw themselves to death without a care for what goes on outside Casablanca.

“How extravagant you are, throwing away women like that. Someday they may be scarce. Now I think I shall pay a call on Yvonne, maybe get her on the rebound.”

When questioned by Renault about his and your backstory, Rick keeps to himself and gives only vague answers concerning yours and his pasts. He doesn’t go into detail. He especially doesn’t tell him anything about your past or your illness. He respects your privacy as much as his own. Your secrets are none of Renault’s business, but if you want to tell him about it, you’ll tell him yourself. To cover for you, he says he came to Casablanca for his health rather than yours.

“I have often speculated on why you don’t return to America. Did you abscond with the church funds? Did you run off with a senator's wife? I like to think you killed a man. It's the romantic in me.”

“It was a combination of all three.”

“And what in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?”

“My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.”

“Waters? What waters? We're in the desert.”

“I was misinformed.”

Rick’s idealistic younger self fought alongside those resisting fascism, but the expansion of Axis authority and being suddenly abandoned by the love of his life made him cynical and apathetic. He doesn't take sides with the Vichy authorities, the Nazis, or the Resistance. Rick is now a jaded and weary man who projects a selfish facade, but you know deep down he's still a romantic and a sentimentalist with noble goals. You obviously weren’t there during his romance with Ilsa, uninterested in being a third wheel. You only met her briefly a handful of times, but she seemed like a lovely young lady. You got along just fine and were very close in age, so maybe you could’ve been friends if you had the chance to get to know her better.

But you remember waiting for Rick and Sam on the train, having already boarded and taken your seat to get out of the heavy rain. You were very concerned that the wet, the cold, and the wind would make you very sick if you stood outside for too long. Rick insisted on waiting for Ilsa but, when the last call was announced, only he and Sam joined you. Sam told you later in secret that Ilsa checked out of her hotel, but gave Rick a note that came for him just after he left. You didn’t see what Ilsa wrote, and Rick wouldn’t tell you what the letter said even if you asked. But he didn’t have to. As a woman yourself, you just knew that your brother must’ve been in love with her and her sudden and abrupt abandonment of him must’ve hurt. Much more than he let on.

Ever since establishing Rick's Café Américain, an expensive and chic nightclub and gambling den, its air of sophistication and intrigue has attracted varied clientele including Vichy French and Nazi German officials, refugees desperate to reach the still neutral United States and those who prey on them. Your saloon is infamous for its rogue types and criminals. You like Casablanca well enough and make a decent living, but it’s dangerous as hell and you still dream of leaving. You know you don’t want to live out the rest of your life and die in Casablanca, but you don’t know where you’d go yet or how you’d get there. You still need to figure that out.

You work as a singer or waitress sometimes, but the regulars and staff all know you’re practically the co-owner and second boss. You may be an unmarried young woman, but they know not to underestimate you or get on your bad side. You get along just splendidly with the staff, especially Sam, who’ll happily wheel over his salmon-colored piano and play your favorite songs for you upon request, and sometimes sing duets with you. Like Rick, you won’t tolerate certain people in your place. You rip up German checks and sign new checks. You have access to the safe in the small, dark room just off the office like your brother does. After all, you’re his right hand and it’s your money too. He’s just made two specific rules when it comes to you:

Rule #1: Don’t date the customers.

Rule #2: Don’t bring your boyfriends here.

He’ll book you a hotel room for that sort of thing, but he strictly prohibits mixing business with pleasure. You’ve always respected his rules, but your past lovers sometimes haven’t. They’d try to gain entry to surprise you at work and Abdul, a large, burly man who stood guard at the door, always stopped them from getting any further when Rick shook his head at them. Your romances were hardly anything serious, often frivolous fancies that fizzled out quickly. You haven’t been very lucky in love and often feel like you’ve been dating boys when what you really want and need is a man.

Rick isn’t faring much better and still exhibits the usual signs of a man that’s suffered a broken heart, and it must be because of her. Why else would he tell Sam never to play “As Time Goes By” or drown his sorrows in alcohol? Why else would he keep up a cold and selfish facade, suddenly refusing to stick his neck out for anybody? He doesn’t drink with customers, he plays solitary chess by either playing against himself or playing an opponent through written correspondence only, etc. He’s told you that his professed neutrality allows him to skirt trouble with every competing faction in Casablanca. On the rare occasion he does take an honest stand, he does so in a low-key way that offers him plausible deniability. While you know that may be true, you also know that, while that’s all very logical, it’s not the only reason.

After a few months, you begin to suspect another reason Captain Renault comes to Rick’s is to see you. His timing can’t be a coincidence. He only seems to come into the saloon whenever you’re performing on stage or otherwise working, as if he loves listening to you sing or wants to spend most of his time with you personally. Renault often sits at a table on the café terrace, watching the evening's performance. You don’t need nor want his money, but still he tries using Emil, Carl, or Sacha to pass you little handwritten notes, all of which you immediately tear up in front of him, making a show of how you’re not going to bother to read them. This does nothing to discourage or dissuade him from pursuing you romantically and sexually, however. He loves a challenge, and he loves you, even if you don’t believe him yet.

He flirts with you and lays on that Frenchman charm of his every chance he gets, but he doesn’t lay it on too thick. Can’t make it too obvious since Rick is always around here somewhere. Whenever he finds you drinking and/or smoking alone, he’ll invite himself to join you and sit next to or across from you. He fills two empty glasses, helping you and himself to a fine glass of brandy, champagne, or French wine. He then flicks open his lighter, giving you and himself a light. You each take a drag of your respective cigarettes. “Well, darling. I’m very pleased with you. Now you’re beginning to live like a Frenchwoman. Oh, Emil. Please, a bottle of your best champagne, and put it on my bill.”

“Very well, sir.”

“No, Captain, please.“

“No. Please, my darling, it is a little game we play. They put it on the bill, I tear the bill up. It is very convenient. But I’ll pay my tab this time because, my dear, I love you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“All right, all right. For you, I’ll shut up, because, my dear, I love you.”

You look at him bitterly before changing the subject, never taking your eyes off him. “That was some going-over your men gave my place this afternoon. We just barely got cleaned up in time to open.”

“Well, I told Strasser he wouldn’t find the letters here. But I told my men to be especially destructive. You know how that impresses Germans?”

You only roll your eyes at his antics. You may be pretty, but you’re not a pretty little fool. You know what kind of man Renault is and hate him with your entire being…or do you? You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and have been so bold as to call him a rascal, a scamp, a rake, an indomitable playboy and more to his face, your voice always laced with venom. You’ve got a fiery personality that sets his heart ablaze. That and your lively spirit are just more qualities he loves about you. You’re a little spitfire, and he’s not going to be the one to extinguish or stamp out the light which shines ever so brightly in your eyes. God help whoever would dare to do such a thing. That hypothetical person would quite possibly find themself at the end of his pistol. He’d never arrest you, but he has teased you by threatening to handcuff you if you continued to be so naughty and resist his advances. He’d call it “resisting arrest”.

Renault is a hedonist and has embraced the corruption and vice that comes with his police uniform. Young Bulgarian newlyweds, the Brandels, try to buy passage to Lisbon from him, but he wants either a very large sum of money or sex with the wife. Renault is willing to take the money, if they do happen to have it, and apparently has always kept his word. But still, you’re disgusted that he’d extort desperate and vulnerable women like that. There is a silence. Annina is very disturbed as she talks to Rick. He quickly goes off, leaving her alone at the table. She remains seated, too demoralized to move. But in the end, Rick helps them to raise the money by cheating to let them win at roulette so they can afford to pay Renault for an exit visa, rather than the young wife having to use an alternative method of payment. Rick has done a beautiful thing, which further shows you that he isn’t as heartless as he claims to be. Renault, seeing that Jan has won, gets up from his table to follow Rick. He playfully prods at Rick’s cynical facade, showing that he doesn’t really buy his friend’s gruff demeanor.

“As I suspected, you’re a rank sentimentalist.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Why do you interfere with my little romances?”

“Put it down as a gesture to love.”

“Well, I’ll forgive you this time. But I’ll be in tomorrow night with a breathtaking blonde, and it’ll make me very happy if she loses.”

Whenever you have an especially bad episode that leaves you bedridden for days at a time, you get to see Rick’s caring disposition as his mask melts away and he becomes Richard, the brother you remember from before the war. He often summons physicians to him every morning and three or four other times during the day, questioning them minutely as to your condition. You’ll want for nothing and won’t miss any medication times while under his watch.

There’s a little platform that’s been built into the saloon as a makeshift stage but, whenever you’re out, the stage remains empty. Musical entertainment is one of the main attractions that pulls customers into the saloon and, while the crowd greatly enjoys Sam’s singing and piano playing, the more days that pass without you making an appearance, the more the crowd misses your voice and guitar playing. In your absence, music still plays and business still does well, but there’s a noticeable dip. The place isn’t as full as it usually is when you’re around, so Rick hires Corinna to fill in for you until you can return. Her presence helps, but it’s not quite the same without you.

One night, you’re so sick and tired of being sick and tired all the damn time that you have way too much to drink in a vain attempt to either numb the physical pain your body is suffering through or to numb your brain from having thoughts of Louis— Renault! Captain Renault! You’ve never called him Louis and it annoys you how much you suddenly want to hear the way his name sounds when it comes from your lips. You sit at the bar, drinking brandy and conversing with Sacha. You glance out of the corner of your eye to covertly watch Renault from afar as he’s sitting at a table, conversing and drinking with his superiors. You turn to look at Sacha and extend your empty glass to him, ordering him to give you another.

Rick interrupts and tells Sacha you’ve had enough. You try to order Sacha to ignore your brother and to fill it up. Sacha loves you, and you pay him just as Rick does, but Rick is older than you and currently sober. His word trumps yours in this situation. You wheel on Rick with drunken fury, telling him you’re sick and tired—, but Rick takes you by the arm, telling you you’re going home because you've had a little too much to drink. You try to fight back. Who does Rick think he is? Your father? How dare he order you around! Renault watches the scene unfold with a worried brow and follows both of you outside as Rick puts your coat over your shoulders, which you object vehemently to.

Renault offers to take you home, claiming it’d be faster than trying to get a taxi at this hour. He has no more commitments for tonight, so he could watch over you until Rick finishes up business here. Rick very much doesn’t want to leave you alone with Louis, but, for whatever reason, he has no other option. Renault helps you into his car, buckling you in. Rick is left standing on the curb, his face completely deadpan as he smokes. He tells Louis in no uncertain terms to call him as soon as he gets in the door so he knows you’re safe, and warns him not to do anything funny. He expects him to get you into bed, but not get you into bed. He doesn’t need to elaborate. He knows Louis knows exactly what he means. He nods and gets in the car, leaving Rick to watch as it pulls away. He has to wait for Ilsa so he can’t come home tonight, but you’ll be fine. Louis wouldn’t do anything to you. You’ll be fine.

You wake up the next morning and immediately regret it. Your head and body are already suffering the consequences of your chronic illness combined with your aggressive hangover. You’ve learned the hard way why doctors always tell you never to mix alcohol with your pills. You don’t remember much of last night or getting home, so you scream when Renault knocks lightly on the door and comes in. You thought he was Rick! Where is Rick? He pours you a glass of water and hands you your medications for both your hangover and your illness before he sits on a chair across from you, keeping a respectable distance. So he knows. Great. You went to such lengths to hide it but circumstances drove Rick to break his promise to himself and to you. He had to finally tell Louis about your illness when the latter called him on the phone after getting you home. You have no one to blame but yourself, really. You made the foolish decision to drink too much and- wait. Hold on. Why do you feel so cold? A quick glance under your covers sends a cold sweat through your body. You’re naked. Why are you naked!? Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“Please tell me, we didn't...”

“Did we ever. Oh, my dear, it was extraordinary! The heat, the gymnastics. I mean, you had moves that made even me blush,” Renault teases you with a suggestive smirk.

“Oh, no. This is bad. Whatever happened last night, don't tell me. I'd rather not know.”

“What, that we didn't go to bed together?” He takes a drink of brandy. He’s helped himself to Rick’s private stock. It was a long night of watching over you and he barely got any sleep, so he needs it. Hopefully his friend won’t mind too much.

“We didn't?” You look at him dumbfounded. Did you hear him correctly? Are you still sleeping and just having a very weird fever dream? Who is this man and what has he done with Captain Renault?

“Nope, I turned you down cold,” Renault confirms, popping the P.

“You, the man who's been trying to get me into his bed since day one, had a chance to sleep with me, and you didn’t...? Why-why am I naked?”

“What, you mean you don't remember the part where you passed out, woke up again, shouted at me, ‘It's too hot in that neon hellhole,’ I believe it was, then tore your clothes off and proceeded to pass out again, forcing me to carry you to your room and tuck you into bed?”

“I do that. Sometimes. When I'm upset. And you would be, too, if you were a woman and in my position! As if the physical pain I live with day in and day out isn’t enough, you just had to keep coming to Rick’s and worm your way into my heart and my thoughts! What a fool I am to fall for a man like you!”

You’d never even consider a romance or sexual relationship with him unless he changed his ways. He’s going to have to prove to you that he can change and, if you do this, you’ll have to be discreet about it. You’ve always respected Rick’s rules but then, of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, Captain Renault walked into yours.

You and Louis, as he’s insisted you call him by his first name in private now that you’re dating, have to get creative to keep your love affair a secret from Rick and the rest of your friends and associates. You can’t just use postal acronyms or Morse code! Those would be far too obvious and Rick would be able to decipher them immediately. The little messages he passes to you when you’re at work become red herrings to throw people off the scent. You really keep in contact by passing messages in lipstick tubes, film canisters, lockets, or rings with hidden compartments. When you first go out to the market to buy new makeup, the merchant pretends to offer you rare and one of a kind lipstick colors he claims have been made “especially for you”. The lipstick names are actually code so that you’ll know they’re from Louis. Inside each special lipstick tube is a small compartment underneath the actual lipstick color that holds encrypted messages to you. The first one simply reads, "Do you recognize my handwriting, my dear?"

It’s your cute little way of sending messages with a kiss, and you get free lipstick out of it too. Whenever Louis sees you wearing one of his shades, his blood boils with desire and he has to resist the urge to kiss you in public. If he could, he’d grab you and kiss you so many times and with so much passion that your lipstick would smear or get wiped off. Your and Louis’ relationship is nowhere near perfect and you’ve had your fair share of disagreements and frustrations, usually due to your significant age difference and the stressful situations that inevitably come with living in Casablanca during time of war. Often you’ve rolled your eyes at each other and, during one of your little lovers’ quarrels, Louis even once said to you, "War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter."

You and Louis face many difficulties, indeed, but you overcome them. You made a mutual decision early on in your relationship to do so. Despite your differences, you both feel like you’re desperately in love with each other. On rare, opportune times when you have the chance to get away in between Rick’s daily checkups on you, you pack some stuff to take with you and sneak out. Louis meets you at a secret halfway point, parking his car far away enough so he can drive you to his place without either of you being seen. He can’t drive or walk you home, but it’s worth it to have these romantic date nights, which often include dinner and sex. Neither of you really want to have sex in Rick’s place. Not only would it be far too risky with the chances of getting caught in the act much higher than either of you are comfortable with, but the very thought of it is an instant mood killer.

Your brother finds one of your secret messages, but nobody has been able to crack the code since it’s one you and Louis created yourselves. Only you and he know it. Rick and Sam ask you about it, but you feign ignorance. Just like Louis and Rick, you’re a talented liar. You know exactly what this particular message means, you know what they all mean. They’re so romantic and sometimes even racy. You’ve kept them private for a reason, too embarrassed to explain what it says or why you understand it.

One night, a middleman passes Louis’ secret message onto you by handing you a film canister. You hear something rattling inside when you shake it. That’s weird. Usually the film canisters contain slips of paper that don’t make much noise, if any. What’s making that sound? When you open it, there’s no film and there’s no note. But there is a ring. Words cannot even begin to describe the great deal of ambivalence that’s overwhelming you in this moment. You feel like your heart is in your throat. It’s beating too fast. Your mouth goes dry and you struggle to swallow or breathe.

You feel like your body is on autopilot as you walk all the way to Louis’ office to confront him. You’re struggling to keep it together. What’s the meaning of this? Your hands are shaking as you hold the film canister up for him to see, the ring still safely inside. Louis takes both of your hands in his own, kissing them. You clutch the canister in your fist as he holds your hands and has you sit down. He helps you breathe as he waits for you to overcome your shock. You’ve never been proposed to before, so you can’t tell if what you’re feeling mentally and emotionally is exacerbating your illness, or if this is just what it’s supposed to feel like when the person you love proposes to you. His hands are so warm. You try to focus on that and the warmth of his brown eyes to keep yourself grounded. Louis already knows that you know very well what him giving you a ring means, so he doesn’t feel the need to respond to your line of questioning. He’s right, you do know what it means. But your brain is still struggling to catch up to your body.

"What... What are you thinking? There's no possible way... No one would allow it!" You’re an adult woman, you know you don’t need Rick’s or anyone else’s permission to marry. The choice is yours and yours alone, but having to make such a life-altering decision where there’s no going back fills you with apprehension. But maybe that’s what you want. No going back. You know what it is to work now, to have a full day, to be tired in a good way. You don’t want to return to your pre-war existence. You want to move forward.

"I know I shouldn't ask this of you, but I can't keep it in any longer. When the war is over, the world won't be the same place as it was when it started. And I'll make something of myself, I promise.”

"I know you will! But, Louis,—”

"Until I met you, I never really knew what love was supposed to be. If we can't be happy here, we must leave for a place that will accept our love.“

“But, Louis, is there such a place? Think... I can't bear to see you hurt."

“If our love has no home, let us spend our lives searching together! Bet on me. And if Ricky casts you off, it won't be forever. He’ll come around. And until he does, I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness. If I can’t have you, I don’t want anyone. So I beg of you again... My darling, marry me! I promise I will make you happy."

"You...just won't give up, will you? Of all the crazy...stubborn...foolish men..."

"My dear, answer me, please!"

"Louis, I love you. Take me away. Take me to a place where we can be happy.”

[celestesparlour]

elaborating further onto this old post; argbur is an assassin that never really wanted to be one, but he fears he's already far too gone as his hands are filthy, tainted with blood and sin that he just can't wash away.

incelbur is pampered and sheltered in a way that he is more so considered like king's prized jewel slash treasure than an actual prince, with how he is always kept safely within the palaces, where his needs are tended to — so he doesn't feel the exact need to go outside that often, when he can just ask a servant to fetch him something he wants; he never went to the royal academies, why does he need to when he can just be homeschooled by the best, after all?

simpbur is the older twin, and experienced a lot more than he already had at a young age. because the king was more worried about incelbur— and seemed to care more for him, especially ever since the last assassination attempt having scarred incelbur. simpbur was never meant to be a heir, a prince— rather than a weapon that just mimicks every part of his brother's life and appearance, and follows him in his shadow to be a means to secure his safety

nobody knows that simpbur exists apart from the ones that live in the palace and even then, the retainers do not talk about him as much, so when argbur began to work there to get closer to his target— he had no idea that incelbur had a sibling

simpbur initially crushed on argbur just because he knew incelbur liked him. so to simpbur, it just made sense that his body double would like him that much too. he only started to take genuine romantic interest in argbur when argbur recognizes him as his own person

then it quickly turns into obsession as simpbur wants to be the one that has something their sibling doesn't for once; it feels greatly unfair that incelbur can have argbur, but not him

incelbur's attitudes towards women largely stem from his mother having left, and being the main gossip of the common folk; also has a complicated relationship with who he calls, his "evil stepmother"— pogbur, whose greatly misunderstood by everyone in the palace; they believe her mental illness to be a result of demonic possession, and the king although claims to love her— still tells both his sons to stay away from her, as she has a great evil within her.

pogbur genuinely thinks her mental illness is of the devil, due to everyone telling her that it is. so because of that, she kinda uses it as a way to intimidate others into doing things for her— for help with things like haircare, better bed sheets, a chance to go outside maybe? she knows that if she doesn't use fear to make them abide, they wouldn't do it for her

both the twins feel awkward with pogbur around since it feels like with pogbur in her room most of the time— its like living with a stranger that they have been warned over and over again is bad. they, like many other people, were told to see their father as "good" because "their father had the heart in him to take her in as his wife despite everything"

though i would say their relationship with pogbur greatly improves overtime as they develop to become better people ^—^ and as they do, i can see them getting less distant from the king and start to see lmanbur, one of their knights, as a more better, positive father figure