#Magnum Opus AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceruark · 7 months ago

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ensnared. (yandere! prince! sunday x gn! royalty! reader)

synopsis: prince sunday invites you to dance the entwine with him. if you evade capture, he’ll finally leave you alone. but if you get caught, you’re his forever. cw: general yandere themes - obsessive & possessive behavior, implied stalking words: 3,991 disclaimer/inspiration: the dance “The Entwine” is not my idea! it's from the novel Entwined by Heather Dixon, an all-time favorite of mine :)

“The Entwine, also known as the Gentleman’s Catch, is an amusing and challenging redowa suitable for accomplished partners. [...] Similar to a trois-temps waltz, it is danced in open position with a long sash. The lady and gentleman each take ends of the sash, which their hands must not leave. In a series of quick steps (see below) the gentleman either twists the sash around the lady’s wrists, pinning them (also known as the Catch), or the lady eludes capture within three minutes’ time. STEPS. Twist (35), Needle’s Eye (35), Dip and Turn (36), Lady’s Feint (36), Bridge Arc (36), Under-Arm Swoop (37), Thread (37), Beading the Sash (38), the Catch (38).”

Excerpt from Entwined by Heather Dixon

It has been a year since the queen died.

You stand in the grand ballroom of your palace for the first time since your mother's death. It seems dimmer without her, lacking the light her laughter brought to it. Every shift of skirts has you looking for her, only to be disappointed when you catch yourself seeking out a ghost.

She ruled alone for nearly fifteen years. After your father died in battle when you were young, many other kingdoms tried to swoop in after she became widowed. They vied for her hand in marriage so they could expand their territory and get their hands on the lucrative gemstones that are excavated from your land's caverns. But the queen was unshakable, and she refused to remarry, continuing to keep her kingdom safe and opulent all on her own.

And she died last winter, an incurable sickness settling in her lungs seemingly overnight and stealing her final breath within the week.

You hardly had time to mourn her. With no one sitting on the throne, your mother's advisory court scrambled to find you a suitor so that you could marry and be crowned as soon as possible. There hadn't been a rush to find you one, but with the queen's sudden death, they need to get you on the throne before someone else came along to seize it.

Tonight, Welt— formerly your mother's personal advisor— had declared while you prepared for the ball. Tonight, we will find you a suitor. You will be coronated by summer.

You sigh as your gaze sweeps over the ballroom. Truthfully, you have no interest in any of the attendants. Most of them don't have anything noteworthy about their personalities, and those that do are individuals you've mentally decided are best kept at arm's length. You’re certain that more than half your selection pool were invited out of courtesy; none of them possess enough influence or value for your mother's advisory court to approve of a marriage between the two of you.

Except for one.

Penacony's beloved prince has been pursuing you for as long as you could remember. It started off innocent, a mere childhood crush. Long before you were adolescents, he would pluck flowers from the centerpiece vases on ballroom tables and hand them to you, ever the gentleman. You can still remember the sound of whichever court member was assigned to look after you cooing at the sight, endeared as you accepted the flower from his hands and spent the rest of the night at his side, discussing all the important matters that plagued the minds of young royalty.

And then, things changed.

As you two grew older, something about him shifted— you couldn't quite explain it. It made your skin crawl, the way his gaze trailed you throughout the ballroom, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long when he kissed your hand in greeting, the way anyone you shared mutual romantic interest with started avoiding you like the plague the second he heard of your budding relationship. There was something off about him— about his infatuation with you— and you distanced yourself from him as much as possible over the years.

Your mother's advisory court had been furious; they believed your eventual marriage to Sunday was set in stone given how taken you were with each other as children, and they planned for a prosperous future backed by Penacony's enormous and infinite wealth. They took your refusal to interact with him as rebellion and scoffed at your explanations, but luckily, you weren't alone in your suspicions. Your mother and Welt were also unsettled by the way he looked at you at formal gatherings, and your mother swiftly shut down her court's insistences on you trying to make amends with Penacony's prince.

We have no need for marriages of convenience. My child's happiness and safety will be valued above all else, she told them, and it was the end of the discussion.

Welt has upheld her and your wishes following her death, but the rest of the court are more willing to challenge him than they'd been to challenge the queen. Multiple court members have pestered you about marrying Sunday, stating that he would readily agree; you would get on the throne quickly, and the kingdom would prosper with his empire’s assets. Though they drop the topic the second you snap at them, you can tell they're still scheming, pulling at whatever strings they can to bring the prince back into your favor and push you into his arms.

And the undeniable proof of that stands across the room, piercing you with his golden eyes. Of course he's among the guests the court selected for you to choose your partner from. What else could you expect from them?

You sigh and swipe a glass of wine off a nearby table. It's going to be an incredibly long night.

As you sip at the bitter liquid and eye the blonde prince from Belobog, a familiar voice sounds behind you. "Something troubles you, Your Highness."

You turn around, relaxing at the sight of your faithful personal advisor. Veritas gazes down at you, face as neutral as ever.

"Someone," you respond, a frown tugging at your lips. "It appears the court is still refusing to let go of their little delusion."

He glances over your shoulder and hums noncommittally. "It appears so."

You swirl the red wine around in your glass, continuing your sweep of the guests. Certainly, Belobog's prince seemed like your best option right now. Albeit easily flustered, he was sweet and courageous— you would be able to fall for him given the time.

"Gepard Landau?" Veritas asks, his gaze having followed yours to the man standing beside his sister and her wife.

You look up, meeting his doubtful gaze. "Do you see any better options?"

He takes another glance around the room, then grimaces. You bring your hand to your mouth, covering your sudden laugh.

"Though he may be the most respectable of your options, there is not much Belobog can offer you." He tilts his head, still staring out at the crowd. "I suggest you reconsider."

You flash him a tight, sarcastic smile. "If that is the standard you suggest I go by, then my options are narrowed down to Aventurine and Sunday."

You get along fine with the blonde lord hailing from IPC territory, and he possesses charm like no other. He's gotten you more flustered than any other suitor has, but you know it's all fake. Something lurks beneath his picture-perfect exterior, and he keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to guess what his true intentions are. Someone like that can't be good news for you.

Veritas sighs. "I suppose Landau will have to do, then."

A flurry of movement and fabric draws your gaze to the dance floor. You light up as you watch two figures dance in the center of the crowd, one ducking and dodging out of reach while the other tries with fervor to capture them in their arms.

They've finally brought out the silk sashes used to dance the Entwine.

Your Entwine record is exemplary. When dancing as the gentleman, there were only a handful of people you hadn't been able to catch— Aventurine being one of them. Though your record dancing as gentleman is flawed, your skill when dancing as lady is unmatched and known far and wide.

In all your years, you have never been caught during a dance.

"Wonderful," you say, adrenaline rushing through your veins. You could already feel the exhilaration that came with successful capture and evasion. You turn to your advisor, eyes glistening beneath the lights. "Veritas, would you be so kind as to humor me with a dance?"

You think it's the light playing tricks on your eyes when he flushes red. Before he can respond, though, Welt strides up to the two of you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Perhaps you could get to know your potential suitors better through the Entwine, no?" The man you've come to think of as a father figure smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes creasing as he does. "You enjoy it so much, hopefully it can be used to bring you closer to someone— both literally and figuratively speaking."

Your smile matches his. "I think that's a great idea."

"Perfect." Welt turns toward the dance floor. "Allow me to announce—"

He stops dead in his tracks, freezing just in time to prevent himself from walking into someone. He backs up, and your blood runs cold at the sight left behind.

Sunday stands before you, pristine as ever, with a silver sash draped over his arm.

Welt finds his voice before you do. "Prince Oak," he greets, dipping his head into a bow. "A pleasure to see you again. We are very grateful for your attendance."

Sunday looks at him. The fond expression he had fixed on you smooths out into his perfect half-smile. He nods at Welt in acknowledgement. "Imperial Advisor Yang." He turns to your left, appearing less enthused to greet Veritas. "Imperial Advisor Ratio."

His eyes land on you again, and a chill runs down your spine. You force a polite smile onto your face, bowing your head slightly. "Prince Oak. An honor to see you again."

He sounds breathless when he responds. "The honor is all mine."

When his gaze starts to grow heavy on your shoulders, Welt clears his throat. He eyes the fabric hanging off of Sunday's arm. "I suppose you are here with... intent, yes?"

"Correct," Sunday says. He glances down at the silk, reaching up to pinch a part of it between his fingers.

He meets your eyes again, his face imperceptible. It's more terrifying than his openly longing and lingering gaze.

"I wish to dance the Entwine with you," he says, voice diplomatic and devoid of emotion. "If you are willing."

You clench your hands behind your back. "Will you be dancing gentleman or lady?"

"Gentleman." He pauses, voice lowering a bit. "I wish to try and catch you."

You smother a scowl before it can crawl its way onto your face. Of course he would want to dance as gentleman. How typical.

But there's something to his demeanor that tells you there's more to it than he's letting on. It's sitting on the tip of his tongue: his real intent behind asking you to dance with him.

"For what reason do you wish to dance with me?" In a quieter, harsher tone, you add, "Be honest with me, or I will refuse outright."

His fingers run over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles that snag them. He tilts his head to the side, and the desire that swims in his eyes leaves you shaking.

"If I catch you," he says slowly, "you will give me your hand in marriage."

Bile burns at the back of your throat, your anxiety clawing its way up and trying to escape. It's a bold declaration, especially when directed at someone who has never been caught before. Your faith in your skill is resolute, but the sheer desperation on his face is enough to make you hesitate.

Your voice trembles slightly when you speak. "And if you fail?"

He hums, flicking his gaze off to the side. "If I fail, I will never ask for it again."

You latch onto the statement like a moth to a flame. All you have to do is avoid capture— something you've done time and again— to get him to leave you alone. You've never seen him dance the Entwine, or show any interest in it; undoubtedly, your skill will lead you to successful evasion.

This is your chance to get him off your back, for good.

Before you can respond, a firm hand comes down on your shoulder, pulling you backward.

"Your Highness," Veritas whispers into your ear, barely contained urgency lacing his words. "Please consider this carefully. Is this a risk you are willing to take?"

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. "I have never been caught," you mutter back.

His brows pinch together. "There is a first time for everything, and you cannot afford to let this one be that time."

You clench your jaw and cast Sunday a sidelong glance. He stares back at you, his posture perfect and features serene despite the way his eyes drink you in, ravenous. There is, as always, truth to what Veritas is saying; you've never seen Sunday dance the Entwine, but that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't know how, or that he isn't good at it. There's still a high chance you'll be able to evade him given your record, but the chance of him being able to successfully pull off the Catch, though small, is still a potential outcome that shouldn’t be overlooked.

After all, he wouldn't be asking you if the possibility was as slim as you believe it to be.

You bite your lip, hesitating. You look to Welt, pleading for direction. He locks eyes with you briefly, looking just as concerned as Veritas, before he steps forward and partially shields you from Sunday's view.

"Perhaps another time," he says, a polite grin finding its way onto his face. "We are just coming out of mourning, and though it is nice to be part of festivities again, perhaps dancing is still a bit too much for Our Highness right now— the late queen was very fond of the Entwine. Please understand."

Sunday's mask wavers, irritation seeping through the cracks at Welt's excuse. His sharp gaze cuts back to you, but you let your eyes drift back to the dance floor, refusing to meet it.

The tension is broken by the sound of clapping. You turn your head, frowning at the sight of a member of the advisory court approaching.

"Oh, how lovely!" She swoons, pressing a hand to her chest. Her face is flushed from the wine and she speaks loudly, drawing the ballroom's attention to the cluster of people around you. "Our Highness is going to dance the Entwine with Prince Oak!"

All eyes are on you. Your guests whisper to each other, their excitement tangible and filling the air with charged energy. A long time coming, they think to themselves, oblivious to the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. Sunday's affinity for you isn't a secret, especially not to the royal families who watched you two grow up at each other's side. To them, this dance is simply an age-old rumor finally coming into fruition, the first step toward solidifying your relationship with Sunday. And to the advisors scattered around the ballroom, watching you like hawks, it is their efforts finally paying off— the final nail in your coffin that will secure the future they envision for your kingdom.

Refusing him now, under countless pairs of hopeful eyes, would undoubtedly leave an ugly smear on your reputation and the integrity of your kingdom.

Your tongue sits dry and heavy in your mouth. You almost choke on it when Sunday's hand finds the small of your back, gently guiding you toward the dance floor. He practically preens under the attention and pressure. It makes you sick.

Another hand catches your elbow in a bruising grip, and you jolt back, only barely catching yourself to make it seem as though you tripped. You angle your body in a way that prevents the crowd from seeing Veritas's vice grip on your arm.

"My Highness has not agreed to anything yet," he bites out in a low whisper, venom dripping off his tongue.

Sunday's eyes snap to him. His scathing glare does nothing to deter your advisor, who glares back at him in response.

When he looks back to you, the deceptively serene look has returned. With the arm not holding the sash, he extends a hand out to you, tilting his head to the side in question. The guests closest to you all coo fondly.

There's a hint of a smirk on his face. "May I have this dance?"

You place a hand over Veritas's, gently prying his fingers from your arm. You can't bear to look at him right now. "It will be fine," you murmur. "I promise."

You run your hands along your sleeves, wiping off as much of the sweat as you can. You inhale shakily, trying to keep the ballroom tile beneath your feet from swimming.

You look up, a practiced, graceful smile tilting your lips upward. You delicately place your hand in his, suppressing a shudder when he brings it to his lips and presses it to them. The steadiness and strength in your voice surprises you when you say, "Of course, Prince Oak."

The ballroom erupts into a mixture of chatter and cheers. Court advisors pester the crowd surrounding the dance floor, ushering them back and trying to clear a pathway for the two of you. You swallow thickly as Sunday closes his hand around your trembling one.

You turn to Welt and gesture at his pocket with your free hand. "If you would be so kind, Advisor Welt."

He nods stiffly, reaching into his coat and producing a golden pocket watch. "Of course, Your Highness."

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as Sunday guides you to the dance floor. A numbness settles over you, and you robotically nod and smile at the guests that you pass. Their eyes shine with an adoration that you could never possess for this supposed relationship— for him.

Sunday releases your hand when you two reach the center of the dance floor. His eyes are dark as he holds one end of the sash out to you. You take it into your hands and back away from him, toward the other end of the floor. Sunday does the same, and you both stop when the sash is pulled so taught that it tugs you a few steps forward.

The familiar fabric and set-up do little to comfort you.

The crowd shifts again, and Welt emerges from it, standing front and center before the dance floor. He holds the pocket watch up to his face, and your breath hitches with anticipation.

"Your three minutes begins..." His voice reverberates off the ballroom walls, resounding clearly over the jubilant tune the orchestra plays.

"Now."

Adrenaline shoots through you like lightning, and you fly into motion. Your vision sharpens, focused in on every movement Sunday makes as you analyze the arc of his arms and the force behind his tugs on the sash. With each under-arm swoop, you dip beneath his arms and twirl away from him with ease, the steps of the dance coming to you the way breathing does.

He's an adept dancer, you'll give him that. Perhaps if his partner was anyone else, he would have already caught them already, within the first minute of the dance. But you are untouchable on an average night, and on this one in particular, you push yourself past your limits, propelled forward by a fervor and desperation to evade his every attempt of entangling you in his arms.

Twist. Needle's Eye.

"Two minutes," Welt calls out.

Approaching another under-arm swoop, you glance at Sunday's face just in time to see displeasure flicker across it at Welt's announcement. As you glide away from him once more, unfurling the sash between you two, he gives it a sharp tug, causing you to stumble a bit and lose your footing. Your heart skips a beat, but you quickly recover, forcing your limbs to move faster and smoother and match the rapid tempo he has now set for the dance.

Sweat beads along your upper lip as you duck under Sunday's arms repeatedly. You're managing just fine, but you've never had to push yourself this hard before; keeping a close eye on his movements while making sure the sash doesn't get tangled around your wrists is a delicate balancing act, and you can feel yourself teetering back and forth, dangerously close to falling off.

He's a far more formidable partner than you could have ever imagined.

Dip and Turn. Lady's Feint.

"One minute."

Sunday furiously yanks on the sash mid-twirl, and you stagger forward. The sash wraps around your wrists once, twice— three times before you regain your footing and lean back, narrowly avoiding Sunday's sweeping arm that almost hooks around your own.

A chorus of gasps ripples through the crowd at your near capture. It worsens your fraying nerves.

You exhale with exertion, trembling on unsteady legs as Sunday raises the stakes yet again. The tempo he sets is merciless, and your body is jostled between the last of your will and the harsh tugs from the other end of the sash. You grit your teeth. The silk digs tighter into your flesh and sends pinpricks of pain up your arms with each snap of his wrists.

Bridge Arc. Under-Arm Swoop.

"Thirty seconds."

The speed at which you weave in and out of spins leaves you dizzy, nauseous. The ballroom melts into incomprehensible shapes and colors around you. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, a pitiful attempt to ground yourself so you won't trip up.

You do anyway; Sunday's movements are too fluid and swift to keep up with.

The sash binds around your wrists five more times, bringing you even closer to him— too close. You're not sure if it's skill, luck, or sheer force of will that allows you to continue to dodge his attempts at ensnaring you, but you know that you shouldn't be able to do it at this distance.

Frustration peeks through his graceful disposition. His golden eyes trail you, chasing after you as you elude his grasp once more.

Thread. Beading the Sash.

"Fifteen seconds."

You throw yourself into another dip, eyes locked onto the floor just beyond the arm obscuring your line of vision.

If you dodge this one, you'll be free.

Sunday lifts his arms suddenly and pulls, bringing the sash as far back as he can without letting go. Your arms twist in the air behind your back. A strangled gasp leaves you as you lose your footing. In a whirl of fabric, you stagger backward, away from the other side of his outstretched arm.

The Catch.

Your back slams into something solid, and before you can process what has happened, a firm arm snakes itself around your waist, pulling you flush against the body behind you. Your hands, still bound together, dig into your collarbone, suspended at an awkward angle from the sash held above you.

The crowd erupts into noise.

In front of you, a little girl pulls on her mother's sleeve and points in your direction. "Mommy, he caught Our Highness!"

Behind them, Veritas stares at you, petrified and speechless.

Snapping out of your stunned stupor feels like coming up for air after almost drowning. You suck in a shuddering breath and writhe, yanking your arms against the sash and leaning forward, futilely trying to escape. Sunday gathers the last of the fabric in his hands and gives it another sharp tug, keeping you in place against him.

He lowers his head, and his lips brush over your ear as he speaks. "Magnificent," he whispers. His voice rumbles with pleasure, almost to the point of purring. "You are truly a talented dancer."

"Let me go," you rasp out. You're physically exhausted, and your racing, panicked heart prevents you from catching your breath.

Sunday hums again, bringing the hand holding the sash to brush your cheek gently. "Why would I do that?" He chuckles softly, and it's so genuine— not the slightest bit mocking— that it leaves you all the more unsettled. "I caught you."

He brings his arm down, settling it around your waist. His fingers brush over your bound hands, and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

"You're finally mine."

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optigami · 1 year ago

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emo marinette btw. if u even care </3

#this is my magnum opus #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous world #miraculous au #ml paris special #toxinelle #shadybug #ml paris spoilers #emo #emocore #2000s emo #my art

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 7 months ago

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Siffrin plays Disco Elysium AU: Featuring backseat gamer Loop.

#in stars and time #ISAT #Siffrin #Loop #disco elysium #digital art #When I first thought of a crossover I went from 1) 'ISAT Disco AU but Loop is all of the skills'#To: 2) 'Loop is in the mindspace alongside the skills #To my magnum opus: 3)'Loop is sitting next to Siffrin backseat gaming him the whole time.'#Loop beat Disco Elysium ages ago and repeated it to the point they know all the vision quests and dialogue variables.#Siffrin just started playing and Loop keeps ruining the fun by using their meta-game knowledge to try and help.#Also let's be real. Siffrin's stats are 100% completely focused into motorics and nothing else.#If we can't Savoir Faire ourselves of this situation - we will explode. Endurance? Call my insurance instead.#Thinking skills? None. Emotional intelligence and morale? A failed social interaction canonically feels like death to them.#I might have bumped Phys up but...Siffrin's Electrochem stat is like -10. And Pain Threshold is emotional durability too.#Unused part of this joke is that I set their signature skill to Drama.#Both these games made my brain melt so now I get to combine them! I have that power!#This joke made me laugh the entire 3 hours I sat down and drew it and that is what creation should be about.

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ohnoitsz1m · 5 months ago

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Some freehoun :]

My head hurts so fuckign bad

#its hard to draw furries kissing dont look at me #no reposting #half life 2 #half life fanart #half life furry au #half life #freehoun #barney calhoun #gordon freeman #the bg is literally just a screenshot of a hl2 ep2 map i took in gmod i didnt feel like painfing tonight #anyways pls dont let this flop i think this is my magnum opus as far as my hl art is concerned T_T

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boatboysrowout · 5 months ago

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please tell us more about the mall au, specifically etho and his pipe bomb, i need an entire thing of him running from the cops (i am your number one fan ignore that i only just found out about you that doesnt matter)

hey guys. wanna hear about white castle pipe bomb c plot?

this may come as a surprise to some, but etho is a natural at customer service. he’s always been a pretty chill guy- it takes a lot to faze him, probably a consequence of his proclivity towards explosives in his early years. that calm exterior translates well to working the front desk of a local electronics repair store (not that he had needed a summer job, really, but doc and beef both went home for the summer, and someone kept leaving him visa-friendly job applications in every nook and cranny of his dorm- he found one in his cereal a few weeks before finals, and even that one had nothing on the one he found folded up in his toothpaste).

that being said, being good at customer service doesn’t mean that he’s completely immune to the agonies of said customer service. being good at customer service just means that after the eighteenth laptop he has to factory reset while a teenaged boy swears up and down he had not in fact clicked on a link for sexy singles in his area, etho’s able to wait until the boy leaves before attempting to gouge out his other eye.

he’s searching for a screwdriver when his phone buzzes with a text, and after a longing look at his toolbox etho flips his sign to closed and heads over to the white castle. he makes a quick stop at the arcade tango mans to set a new high score on the pinball machine, effectively guaranteeing tango will be glued to the pinball machine until he regains the top leaderboard spot, and then continues on his way to the white castle, spirits high.

etho’s good mood abruptly vanishes after stepping into the white castle, as bdubs has apparently deemed etho’s delay in arrival unforgivable and is now withholding the free fries etho had been promised.

etho slumps himself over the front counter, not unlike a wet cat, and starts causing a scene, whining about his awful day full of idiot teens and potential self mutilation that can only be staved off with free food. bdubs staunchly ignores him and cleo threatens to pour hot oil on his head.

eventually actual paying customers come in and etho’s continued presence becomes a problem, so bdubs heaves a sigh and offers the fries to etho as long as he pays full price for them, to which etho, an extreme couponer, reacts appropriately.

etho’s eye narrows as he peels himself off of the front counter, demanding the fries free of charge. bdubs refuses. cleo smacks bdubs on the back of the head and tells him to just give etho the fries so he'll go away.

etho gives bdubs one last chance to give him the fries for free, and by the time bdubs physically removes him from the premises etho is already plotting his revenge and heading straight back to the art store to collect a favor.

(you see, somewhere between the fifth and eighth laptop etho had to factory reset, tango texted him that he managed to jailbreak the pinball machine to accept a quarter for unlimited plays, and etho abandoned his job immediately to take advantage of the incredible deal.

that was his intention, anyway. but what happened is this: etho had never really shaken off the hold explosives have over him. after he’d been put on a five different government watchlists by the time he was seventeen he’d taken a step back and started focusing more on computing and getting into college and other projects that were less likely to necessitate seizure by the canadian government. he’s clean. he left that life behind him.

however.

when the sound of an explosion comes from the cute little art shop as etho walks past, there’s not a second of hesitation before he swung the front doors open and entered the shop.

it hadn’t taken him long to locate the source of the explosion, following a trail of smoke down a half hidden flight of stairs to a door with a hastily scrawled sign on it reading 'SUPER TALL AND HANDSOME EMPLOYEES ONLY.’

etho opened the door, walking into what has to be the world’s most pathetic meth lab. in the corner there was a stack of cardboard boxes labeled NOT DRUGS/DEFINITELY LEGAL SUBSTANCES. beakers filled with unidentifiable substances were bubbling over onto the table. a laptop near etho’s foot displayed results for a google search of ‘how to tell if a cut needs stitches and also how long can you set yourself on fire without going to hospital.’

“THIS ISN’T WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.” a man who etho vaguely recognized from grian's beginning of summer introductions had shouted, throwing his body over the contents of the table in a desperate attempt to hide the beakers from view. a few shattered under his weight and etho heard him stifle a whimper. “everything here is perfectly normal and also legal.”

breaking bad played quietly from a tv somewhere in the background.

etho raised an eyebrow.)

in the end, they manage to work out a deal: etho would not call the cops or tell anyone about joel's secret little operation and in return, joel owed etho a favor.

and now etho will cash that favor in.

(“so let me get this straight. you’re pissed your friend wouldn’t give you chips for free and your first instinct is to go to a meth lab and steal my meth supplies to get back at him.”

“failed meth lab. and yup.”

“there’s something wrong with you.”

“at least i know how to make meth.”

“wait, you what.”)

they start small. prank calls, anonymous yelp reviews calling the really loud cashier short, launching fireworks through the drive-thru window. it doesn’t take long for them to get bored with that though, which leads to bdubs walking into the white castle one morning to discover a horse standing in the middle of the lobby.

the horse seems very at peace with the situation, wandering over to chew on bdub’s hair as he sputters and cleo ignores the situation entirely. bdubs is left with the task of removing the horse from the store, except the horse seems to be taller than the doorway and not particularly interested in leaving, so eventually bdubs is forced to give up. There’s just a horse in their lobby now.

it doesn’t take bdubs very long to become attached to the horse, much to the detriment of cleo. she’s running the white castle single handedly by the end of the second day, serving customers and manning the kitchen while bdubs whispers sweet nothings to the horse in the makeshift horse stall he made in the women’s restroom.

it’s pointless to try and reason with bdubs, so cleo makes her way over to the art store basement where joel and etho have set up their base of operations. ignoring the now functioning meth lab, she demands the horse be removed from the premises in exchange for a reasonable one free small fry per week.

reasonable to cleo, and least. both jeol and etho scoff at her offer and demand at least one large fry per day each, to which cleo laughs in their faces. she doesn’t bother making a counter offer, simply turning on her heel and walking out of the basement. she pauses for a moment at the front of the shop to make sure she hadn’t been followed before grabbing her lighter from her pocket, casually flicking it on and taking a step towards the tissue paper.

by the time joel and etho notice something is amiss the fire department has arrived, and they’re barely able to hide the evidence of their operation before firefighters are breaking down the door, carrying them out through the art shop, entirely engulfed in flames.

(“so in retrospect, ripping all the smoke detectors out of the ceiling probably wasn’t a great idea on your part.”

“how was i to know i was gonna get into a war with an arsonist, all i wanted to do was mind my own business and make meth!”

“fail at making meth.”

“shut up.”)

now relocated behind the counter at etho’s repair shop, joel and etho prepare their final attack.

the plan is simple: using supplies salvaged from the meth lab, etho will construct a smoke bomb and throw it through the white castle drive through window while joel takes advantage of the distraction and steals all the fries the white castle possesses.

making the smoke bomb is a piece of cake, and when joel isn't looking etho sneaks a few of his own more... volatile substances into his backpack. just in case.

joel enters the white castle and cleo immediately clocks him due to joel being the most suspicious person alive always, but she cannot be arsed to investigate. it’s been a long fucking week. joel knows what will happen if he messes with her.

bdubs, however, feels an impending sense of doom through his Etho Senses and rushes over to the drive-thru window and whips it open, immediately screaming at the sight of etho across the road winding up his arm with a smoke bomb in his hand.

and that’s when things really start to go wrong.

because here’s the thing: etho’s been missing an eye for most of his life. he knows his depth perception is shit. but he’s so caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, and bdubs screaming isn’t exactly helping him focus, and listen the baseball scene in canada isn’t exactly thriving-

all of this is to say that etho activates the smoke bomb, winds up, and promptly chucks it five feet to the left of the drive through window. it bounces off the side of the building and rolls to a stop against the tire of the car that had been pulling up to order.

several things happen in very quick succession:

1. the smoke bomb begins pouring out smoke, completely obscuring etho from view and flooding into the white castle

2. bdubs attempts to continue screaming but immediately regrets it as copious amounts of smoke invade his lungs

3. the car which had previously been pulling up to the drive through attempts to exit the scene as quickly as possible, but due to the aforementioned copious amounts of smoke misjudges where the road turns and makes a hard left directly into the wall of the white castle

the very same wall where bdubs had leashed his horse mere minutes before, and the very same wall joel had been creeping along.

the horse and joel are immediately flattened, and upon seeing this bdubs’ impassioned screaming reaches pitches previously unknown to man, and all hell breaks loose.

cleo starts cackling and arms herself with a makeshift flamethrower thrown together with hairspray and a personalized lighter. bdubs attempts to leap out of the drive-thu window but his foot gets stuck and he falls out of the building, crumpling to the ground in a still screaming heap before scrambling back up through the drive-thru window and into the fray. joel manages to claw his way out of the rubble, finds himself face to face with cleo and her flamethrower, and has half a second to regret the his and hers shrek mugs that trapped him in this stupid country before he’s running for his life.

etho himself ends up sitting peacefully on the bench outside the white castle entrance, his mask helpfully filtering out most of the smoke. it’s lucky he grabbed some extra materials from joel’s lab really, he knew bdubs wouldn’t hand over the fries without a fight.

he’s in the middle of assembling a device that’ll definitely get him put on the american government’s watchlist and ignoring the screams coming from inside when two men rush past him into the white castle, shouting something about justice and burgers. etho waits for a second, and almost immediately they come rushing back out. he waves at their retreating figures, one of whom he’s pretty sure is the theater kid that tried to put on a one man show of macbeth during welcome week.

etho wraps the fuse around his pipe bomb and stands up, brushing the debris off of his pants and strolling into the fray.

he finds bdubs almost immediately, the man standing on the counter and clearly audible even over the fire alarms and incessant swearing from joel and cleo, who now both have improvised flamethrowers and are duking it out in the kids play area. despite the smoke bduds and etho lock eyes instantly, bdubs paling a few shades when he sees what etho has in his hand.

bdubs jumps off the counter and attempts to run to etho, but is cut off by an entirely engulfed in flames joel. it seems that bdubs did not learn a single lesson about the flammability of his hair product from his run in with grian at the beginning of the summer, because his hair bursts into flames after the slightest brush from joel, and this time cleo isn’t standing nearby with a fire extinguisher.

it should be noted that most of the white castle is entirely engulfed in flames at this point. etho’s at the center of it all, cradling his pipe bomb like a baby and searching furiously for his promised free french fries.

he’s stopped by cleo who meets his eyes, smiles wide, and lights the pipe bomb fuse.

etho and cleo stare at the wreckage of the white castle. look at each other. look back at the rubble.

the sirens in the distance are distinctly closer now, and both etho and cleo abruptly realize how much evidence is contained on their person.

“joel’s probably fine.” cleo says. “i saw him run into the walk in freezer after i burnt away the last of his clothes and hair.”

etho nods. “bdubs is too short to get crushed by rubble.”

cleo hums agreement. they stand side by side for a moment longer before cleo turns to etho.

“well, i won’t tell if you won’t.”

with that she turns on her heel and walks away. etho sticks around for a few more minutes, watching the flames die down and the last of the white castle crumble. he digs around in his pocket for a moment and pulls out a blackened handful of fries, yanking his mask down to shove them in his mouth as emergency services skid into the parking lot.

sticking around turns out to be a mistake, etho quickly realizes, as his white hair reflects the light from the police cars and catches the attention of every officer there. he takes off at a sprint, pulling his mask back up and booking it straight into moving traffic, dodging cars and leaving the yells of the police officers and the rubble behind him.

and that’s the last anyone sees of etho that summer.

(og link here!)

#finally my magnum opus has been released #anyway i think that's it for 3rd life unless someone sends asks about specific characters #i think i could be compelled to write about impulse's terrible horrible no good very bad summer #but im onto mall au now #ethoslab #joel smallishbeans #zombiecleo #bdoubleo100 #3rd life #third life mcdonald’s burger king au #boat boys #cat.txt #also everyone say thank you lew for inspiring this and editing it #ily

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mozzygan · 1 month ago

Link

Chapters: 1/10

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tags: Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Time Travel, Identity Reveal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, lovesqaure

Summary—

Little lady with a rose All alone without her kitty Because “us against the world” Became a solo job lately

When an akuma battle goes wrong, Marinette is left to fight Monarch alone, and Adrien is stranded in time.

Written for @rosekasa for being a beautiful human. Love you Alizeh!!

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shapelytimber · 4 months ago

Text

Look, social media aus are very dumb but fun to do fklxkdk Illya would make short videos (mostly) about fashion, and Napoleon would be very unsubtle about being a Spy

I am formally apologizing to the uncle fandom for tiktoker Illya Kuryakin, I have no regrets (also @quijicroix is part responsible, being my evil advisor)

Here are the posts in details, and the profile pics :)

[COMMISSIONS]

No process this time, just me yapping for way to long about every choice and refs that went into this dumb au below vvv

Illya is younger than Napoleon (I usualy headcanon him at around 25 and Napoleon 35ish), so I think their use of social media would be quite different : hence Illya on Tiktok and Napoleon on Instagram. Also it's not the 60s so Illya can be like 10% less reppressed :)) but as a debuff Napoleon now has the technology to call him a nerd

Illya's page started as a cover for some affair, but he ended up kinda enjoying doing it in his free time. It's like a hobby for him, a way to experiment with fashion ! It's what made him want to pursue fashion design as a career after his curent spy job. And also I think he gets more and more nervous the more followers he gets, because as a spy having a chance to get recognise in the street is really bad dkdldlos Napoleon teases him endlessly that he became a tiktoker (as he should)-

Did I, at one point in the project, had to scrap the thirst trap idea to keep the fashion nerd vibes ? Yes I did, but just know he uses the "twink" tag :)

• The first post is a ref to the discotheque affair, not the best episode and a great miss for not including a disco Illya outfit, so I made him one to match the other :D

• The second is to the Hot number, but he gets to wear the thrush pattern !

• The third one is what made me do all of this ! Because, if you're not french, you might not know about one of my favorite yearly twitter threads : Met Gala outfits as INSEE graphs by Clara Dealberto ! Don't care about the met gala, but this is very funny :) and such a Illya Kuryakin thing to do kdkdkd

• fourth one isn't fashion related, it's a ref to popart and the "he has Dostoïevski eyes" line that made us laught a lot

• A little Fiddlesticks for the dog post, because it's a banger episode. Plus a nod to he dog expert from it, with whom Illya had palpable sexual tension fkfkfkl I like to think they kept contact ;) (shoutout to this fic (Intensity by AconitumNapellus) who absolutely get the vision, 10/10 guy to "cheat" on your boyfriend with)

• and the final one is a make over because of course it is

As for Napoleon, being older and less invested in this, an instagram made sense. But crutialy, I get such strong modern oss117 vibes from Napoleon (the way he shoots his gun, the goofy faces, the awkward stance everytime he enters a place, the inexplicable in universe rizz...) dkfkldls modern oss117 was a parody of both 60s james bond and older oss117 movies, but I'm now convinced they also whatched some uncle while doing these, it's just so obvious- anyway all this to say, in the second movie oss117 has to pose as a photographer and gets way too invested in his cover (it's his thing don't question it), and at the end of the movie we get to see all the photography he took during his mission..... Let me tell you how hard it was to resist him having an instagram full of blurry women on the street (canon 60s napoleon would have done it I'm sorry)- but what I kept was the pretty "badly" shot pics of random things, tho you sometimes get the odd decent pic taken by Illya. And he gets to be in a duck floatie as a treat and nod to oss <3

• Pinned post is because it became frustrating for him having to respond to people asking him if it was his real name or if he was a far right french man simping for Bonaparte

• first post is not a ref, but if my very sexy flat car was burning in the desert I would take a pic (ft Illya despairing) kdkdkd

• Duck floatie is a oss117 ref

• selfie with a beautiful woman (ft his finger), no ref I just love drawing women

• also Fiddlesticks for the cute Napoleon fox !! And to kinda link the two profiles :)

• and finaly Spy with my face ! He tried taking a picture of his date (I'll let you decide who it was), but oops front facing camera kdkdkdk

Can you tell I had a lot of fun doing this ? I love this show way to much omfg

PS : if you've never seen the recent oss117 movies, you should they funny ! But oh god some jokes are terrible- the first one is the best, minus one gay joke frankly not great. They nail the gay joke in the second one but oh god... They do not always win the 'is our character a piece of shit or is the movie problematic' gamble so be aware of that. And the 3rd one is shit don't bother

PPS : I don't use Tiktok, I tried my best to emulate the feeling of it but be aware I have no idea what I'm doing dkkdld

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