#brick wall inside wine cellar

[whxtedreams]

The Cellar

A Jackson!Joel x Reader drabble

Summary: You’re not the only person that has their eye on Tommy’s personal stash of alcohol.  

Word Count: 1k

Tags: Mentions of alcohol, Joel being cocky, what is personal space? Joel doesn’t know that’s for sure

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Deep underground and hidden within the depths of the town of Jackson, lies the wine cellar.

Although it was most likely built to be a hidden and secret room long before the outbreak, the wine cellar now serves as a place for Tommy’s stockpile for the Tipsy Bison.

More importantly, the alcohol he keeps for himself.

Access to the wine cellar can only be gained through a hidden entrance, known by few. The wine cellar's location is a jealously kept secret within the town, whispered about in hushed tones.

You, however, know exactly how to get inside Tommy’s not-so-well-kept secret.

You had noticed Tommy carefully closing the secret hatch behind the bar, concealing it with the rug one afternoon. The door was unlocked so you walked in and pretended not to see him magically appear behind the bar.

Now that you think about it, he had seemed unusually persistent about keeping that rug there no matter how many drinks were spilled on it

You diverted Tommy's attention by showing him your latest find - a unique and interesting collection of coasters you had picked up during your most recent looting trip. The distraction was effective as his focus shifted away from you and onto the coasters.

Under the cover of the night, the glow of the moon illuminated the streets. Tommy finally closed the Tipsy Bison for the night. As he locked up and bid his goodbyes, you seized the opportunity to slip out from under the pool table.

Now was your chance.

With quick steps, you made your way to the bar.

Excitement washed over you as you finally moved the damp, sticky rug aside, revealing the hidden hatch beneath. To your delight, you found that it was unlocked.

You pause for a moment as the hatch groans in protest, its hinges loudly creaking under the movement. A quick glance backward confirms that the bar is still empty, with no sign of Tommy. You sigh, realizing you were alone, save for the shadowy presence of the cellar below.

As you descend into the dimly lit underground room, the flickering glow from lanterns reveal endless stacks of shelves. The stale air hung heavy around you, creating an eerie stillness. The cold, rough brick walls contrasts the bright glow of the lanterns, casting dancing shadows across the walls.

You navigate through the maze of canned food and tightly stacked barrels, steadily moving deeper into the cellar. As you progress, the dancing shadows from the lanterns above reced, gradually giving way to the encroaching darkness.

But you aren’t here because of the stockpile of food. No, you are here for Tommy’s alcohol.

The sharp thump against a nearby barrel made you pivot on your heels, heart rate increasing with each passing second. The meager light cast by the distant lanterns prevent you from seeing more than a few feet into the darkened corner of the room and you assume it was just a rat.

You hope.

As you continue through the labyrinth of shelves, your eyes lock onto a door at the end of the row. It stands in a corner, partially concealed in the darkness and beckons you closer.

The hinges on the door creak as you push it open, revealing a tiny room with a simple table and a single shelf adorned with an array of alcoholic bottles. A small string light sways almost hypnotically as it casts a warm glow over the cramped room.

“If you don’t want Tommy to know someone is drinking his stash, I recommend finding a similar bottle and switching the labels with a cheaper one.” A voice says from behind you.

Startled, you spin around to face the unexpected voice.

Joel casually leans against the door frame with a bottle of wine in one hand and an amused smirk on his face. The soft glow of the light swaying back and forth creates a mesmerizing, ever-changing display of shadows across his face.

Taking a step closer, Joel pushes himself away from the door frame and leans inward, now close enough that you can feel the brush of his breath against your skin. In that moment of proximity, it feels as though the walls of the small room are closing in on you. He leans over you, shifting his weight to switch the bottle on the shelf behind you.

Joel’s smirk deepens when you don’t say anything, a soft chuckle fills the room and you swear you feel it rumble in his chest from how close he is.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell Tommy you’re down here,” He says before he leans closer to you and whispers in your ear, “if you promise me you won’t tell him I was here either.”

His breath, warm and soft, ghosts against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The brief contact is electrifying, leaving you wide-eyed.

In that moment, words fail you, your voice catching in your throat. Instead, you quickly nod your head.

The words, "Good girl," roll off Joel's tongue in a deep, velvety tone, his voice a low whisper in your ear. As he takes a step back, a smirk spreads across his face - a cocky, confident expression that seems to say he knows exactly the effect he has on you.

With a smooth, confident movement, Joel uncorks the bottle and picks up a glass from the table next to you and fills it with the contents of the bottle. His fingers touch yours momentarily as he hands you the glass, his touch sending a shiver down your spine and making your hands tremble. His gaze is focused on your eyes, seemingly enjoying the effect he's having on you as you stand there, hands shaking ever so slightly.

With a casual tone, Joel says, "Same time next week then." He walks backwards out of the room, his gaze never leaving you as he gives a small wave and a wink, then turns away to leave.

You watch silently as he disappears into the shadows, your breath caught in your lungs until he's no longer visible. Only then do you exhale, the air rushing out of your lungs as you take a shaky breath. The silence that follows is deafening, the only sound being the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“Fuck me,” you say, meaning all terms of the phrase.

Your focus shifts back to the shelves, all taste and desire lost and replaced with something else. 

Or rather, someone else.

[glitterdeerswritingblog]

To those who wanted that sneak peak at my progress on my HiredAssassin! Sophie × InsuranceFraudPrince!Fitz, here it is:

The Moonlark crouched behind the edge of the sandstone wall, making sure no one was coming before slipping down the dark corridor.

She referred back to the set of instructions that had been delivered to her via raven the night before—the lines concerning her disguise and entrance earlier that morning crossed off like a checklist—squinting to make out the loopy lettering in the moonlight that filtered in through the barred windows. Another 20 steps, and on her left… There.

As she reached for the handle, she heard footsteps and hastily retreated around the corner before walking around the bend as if she worked here and certainly wasn't infiltrating the palace to assassinate a member of the royal family.

The man—if someone of his age should be called a man—came into view: light brown hair, the color of cinnamon, skin a shade of honeyed bronze, eyes sparklingly teal, broad shoulders inside of a white tunic with a purple and blue embroidered jerkin, his long legs covered in purple pants of silk, and his look completed with a pair of blue studded dress shoes.

The Moonlark swore internally. Of course she ran into Prince Fitzroy Vacker. Her very target.

"My lord," she said in a bashful tone, bowing into a curtsey. "Out to stargaze?"

"Evening, miss," he responded in his royally crisp accent. "I'm simply out to smell the roses."

The Moonlark's brain stalled. How had he just accidentally spoken the code phrase? She stared at him as she replied, "I hope the scent is worth the thorns."

Prince Fitzroy gave her a small smile. "Right this way." He pulled open the door the Moonlark almost entered, letting her in before shutting the door and leading her down the steps of the narrow staircase. At the bottom, he opened another door, this one heavy and oaken, with thick metal hinges and a metal knocker.

He and the Moonlark enter the room, and Fitzroy shuts and locks it behind them. The Moonlark realized it was a wine cellar. The barred window took up the size of the back wall, and the Moonlark could see barrels of alcohol and liquor lined against the sand brick walls.

"Sorry about all of the formalities. I am aware that the pass code was not the greatest, but it was a line from this truly awful book I had been reading and I figured it'd be a funny little thing before I die."

"So, to clarify," the Moonlark said, "You hired me."

"Yes," Prince Fitzroy said.

"To kill you."

"That is correct."

"Okay," she said. "Do you just need someone to talk to?"

"Nope, I'm all good. I don’t really mind, I just need to be dead."

"No offense, but it feels wrong to kill you."

"Because I want you to?"

"Look," she said. "I've been around the marketplace for a while. There's always someone looking to have someone else killed, even royalty. I've seen plenty of hits for your dad, or even a few for your mom out of jealousy, but never have I seen a hit for any of their children. In fact, everyone has always seemed to adore you guys. So I figured when I saw the hit for you—the people's prince and the royals' declared heir—that you were secretly a tyrant. So I came figuring you were going to end up being a dickhead as royals usually are, except… you aren't. You know all of the guards and staffs' names, you ask them how they are and actually listen, you help them out when they need it by having them take breaks and checking if they've eaten or drank, you clean up after yourself so that others don't have to, and you overall treat them like they're human. They all truly love and respect you, even the ones who don't like anyone like grumpy Sir Faxon."

The prince was blushing. "I try my best to make sure they're all safe and happy."

"That's my point. They don't want you dead. No one does. So I'm trying to figure out why you do."

"You know, for an assassin, you seem to care a lot about other people."

"Well, killing someone is undoable. I make sure that my client truly wants the target dead, and not out of a slight or pride. I always give them options for less irreversible revenge. Currently, I want to make sure it isn't out of despondency."

The prince sighed. "I'm not despondent. I will miss my family and my people, but it is for their good." He didn't meet her eyes as he said, "My father is a good king. For the most part, he is fit to rule Eternalia. However, he does have lapses in judgement. Recently, he butted heads with the royal family of Lumenaria. The easiest way to fix the conflict is for my father to apologize and admit he was wrong, but instead he decided my sister should marry one of their brood. Biana has only just turned 19 and I don't want her shoved into a political marriage to fix what she didn't break. When I die, my will gives her all of my money and my life insurance goes to my mother so that Biana can get out and have a normal, happy life."

The Moonlark stared at him until he looked back up to her. "So you mean to tell me you hired an assassin to kill you for insurance fraud in order to protect your sister?"

"Essentially," the prince breathed.

"Well then, why don't we just fake your death?"

Prince Fitzroy blinked at her. "What?"

"Let's fake your death. Honestly I've never killed anyone—"

"I knew it," the prince interjected.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not an actual assassin. I took the job for the cash because I figured you were a dick. But you have a good heart from what I can tell, and you're trying to sacrifice yourself even though I can practically smell the fear because you're determined to save your sister. I can get behind that. Faking your death means your sister gets away safe and gets your money, and you don't have to die. And bonus, I still get my money at a reduced price, seeing as I don’t have to actually kill you."

"Well, I like not dying," the prince said. "But how does one fake their death?"

The Moonlark gave him a grin. "Now that I do have a lot of experience with. In order for this to work, you have to trust me."

"Okay. But can I bring my horse? I don't want to leave her alone."

"Absolutely." The Moonlark clapped the prince on the shoulder, though she did have to stand on her tiptoes to make the top of her head come to his nose. "Alright, Pretty Boy, if we wanna be out by sunrise, we have to start 20 minutes ago. You have your paper and ink?"

Prince Fitzroy nodded, and the Moonlark said, "Good. I need you to write your letters now. One of them should be a letter addressed to your family saying that you went for an evening stroll and not to worry if they wake up and you aren't at breakfast. To do this right, we're going to make it look like you were eaten by a bear. If that's all you want to say, then that's good enough, but if you want to tell your sister and mother so they aren't too upset, you can write them each notes to explain it, but do your best to use caution and use codes so that someone on the outside won't realize that you're lying to commit insurance fraud, or find out youre alive and try to drag you back."

"Does it have to be that?" Fitz asked.

"Sorry, it's the best I can come up with that doesn't require a witness or removing part of your body for proof. Unless you want to write a note saying that it's all too much and you're committing suicide by jumping off the cliff."

"I'll get eaten by the bear," Prince Fitzroy said with a sigh.

"Alright. In that case, I'll be back in a moment."

The Moonlark navigated her way back to the hall and then to the laundry room. She grabbed two sets of clothing in black, including hoods. She also grabbed a laundered saddle bag and sprinted through the Kitchens, throwing in rations of food and a couple water canteens.

"Put these on," she said, throwing him one of the black outfits once she made it back to the wine cellar. The prince opened his mouth, and the Moonlark said, "I'm not going to watch, but I need the clothes you're wearing right now."

She stared at her feet, and after a few minutes, his old clothes were at her feet. "I am terribly sorry about this, and I really hope these weren't your favorite clothes," the Moonlark said.

"What are you—?" Prince Fitzroy started, but the Moonlark nonchalantly took the knife she'd grabbed and slashed through the clothes. For added effect, she cut a line on her arm and waved her bleeding arm around to stain the cloth.

"You just cut yourself open on our dinner knives," Fitzroy said, rushing over. "Are you alright?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Your Majesty. I stopped by the Infirmary on the way here and grabbed some medical supplies." Indeed she had, and she pulled out antiseptic fluid and a gauze roll. she quickly stitched it up, taping it on the cut, and said "All better."

"Please don't call me 'Your Majesty' or 'Prince Fitzroy.' It's always made me uncomfortable, and within a few hours I won't be a prince anymore."

"Are you going to change your name then?" the Moonlark asks.

He shrugged.

"You don't have to decide now if you want to," she said gently. "You have a whole new life to live. But in the meantime, we have to go set those letters where they need to be, you need to pack anything you can't live without or you want if you think it won't be noticeable, and then we have to place your clothes somewhere they'll be found but also not somewhere super unusual, and then we grab your horse and hit the road."

Together, they ran back through the darkened palace. They entered his bedchambers, and the Moonlark said, "Alright, I see you have a bag—great—so take your time packing. I know its a lot and that it probably hasn't hit you yet so just… hang in there. Meanwhile, I'm going to get dressed into my own black monstrosity, and I'll be right back."

Fitzroy nodded, and the Moonlark went into his bathroom. When she came back to the main room, Fitzroy was staring at a drawing of himself with his parents, his brother, and his sister. He folded and tucked it into his breast pocket, the tears on his cheeks reflecting the moonlight. He heard her step closer and jumped, quickly wiping at his face.

"All set?" the Moonlark asked him cautiously. He nodded, and she impulsively grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting it drop.

"Letter time," Fitzroy said, his voice slightly hoarse.

They walked across the hall to another bedchamber, and when they opened the door, a young woman was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a darker brown, and her skin was lighter by a few shades, but she had the same teal eyes as her brother. "I could hear you two next door," Princess Biana said.

"Hey," her brother said, his voice croaky.

"So, what's happening?" The princess asked, looking at the Moonlark. "And who are you?"

The Moonlark bowed. "Princess. Your brother here hired me as an assassin to execute him."

Princess Biana glared at her brother. "You did what?"

Fitzroy looked sheepish. "She's not killing me anymore, she talked me out of it."

The Moonlark explained how she'd arrived that morning and followed the instructions he'd sent to her before meeting him tonight to discuss plans. Biana listened intently as she relayed their earlier conversation and their plans to fake Fitzroy's death.

"So," Princess Biana said, "You tried to look out for me once again by almost getting yourself killed? Most assassins wouldn't have bat an eyelash. You're very lucky you picked a woman, and a smart one at that."

"I've already had this discussion," Fitzroy sighed. "But when you get out of this place, send Alvar's raven. He'll find me, and then I'll find you."

"Of course,' the princess said. "Are you guys prepared to leave? Dawn is coming quickly, the sun will be up within the hour."

"We're all set," Fitzroy said. He hugged his sister. "Be safe, I love you."

"Love you too," she said. "I'll be fine, you two take care of each other. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"Don't find the clothes," the Moonlark said. "If you do, it'll look suspicious and put some light on you, especially since the will is in your favor. But when you find out he's 'dead,' be genuine and don't overdo it."

The princess nodded solemnly. She gave Fitzroy one last hug and pulled the Moonlark in, whispering "Take care of him," giving her a kiss on the cheek before taking her letter from the prince and shooing them out.

"Where should we put the other letter?" the Moonlark asked.

"My dad's placement at the table," Fitzroy said immediately.

They went back to the dining room, and the prince took a deep breath before putting it down.

"What's next?"

"I think we head toward the stables. We don't have much time."

Fitzroy nodded. "Right this way," he said.

They walked out a secret entrance on the side of the palace and ended up by the forest. Sophie took out his bloody, ripped clothing and tossed them on the ground five feet off the path. She reopened her bandage and squeezed out as much blood as she could, dripping it around the area.

Fitz looked at the pile of clothing, and the Moonlark saw something inside of him break. She caught his arm and eased him sitting onto the path a few feet further away as he breathed sharp breaths.

The Moonlark wrapped her arm around the prince as he took gasping, panicky breaths. Eventually they slowed and evened out, and the Moonlark said, "Do you feel… better now?"

The prince nodded. "Yeah. I just… yeah, sorry."

"Don't be. I know the feeling. I get if you have some second thoughts, but—."

"Not at all," the prince said. "It's just…"

"Surreal," the Moonlark supplied. "A lot to take in."

"Yeah." The prince stood and pulled her up. "I'm ready."

"Alright. To the stables."

The word "stables" seemed an understatement. It was a large building of wood with a tiled floor and roof. The sides had plenty of spaces for the horses to put their heads out during the day, though the porticos were covered in a satiny curtain. There was an abundance of hay, straw, and grass for the horses as well as treats of crab apples. The water troughs were large enough that the Moonlark could bathe in them no problem. There were all sorts of horse equipment as well as some gardening and hunting tools.

"Mind if I take a bow and a quiver for the road?"

She gave him a wide grin. "Neat."

"Sure," Fitzroy said. "Grab a shield while you're at it as a souvenir."

She plucked one off the wall and studied it. "Good timing, too. I used my old one for target practice and hit my last shot too hard. Broke the shield and snapped the bowstring in one go." She put the shield on her arm and slung the bow and quiver around her. "Which horse is yours?"

"Verdi," the prince said.

The Moonlark and the prince stopped outside the horse's enclosure, and she let out a whistle. "She's a beaut," the Moonlark breathed, studying the majestic creature. She was white with cream patches all over her powerful body, her eyes the color of honey.

"I've had her since I started learning to ride when I was fourteen." the prince said. He opened the latch to her gate, and she sauntered out, stopping in front of them. "Where exactly are we going?" he asked.

"I'm assuming you don't have family outside the kingdom, and you need to lay low for a bit, so I'll take you to where I call home, and when you get into the routine of normal life and get on your feet, you can go wherever you want. Sound like a plan?"

"Yep," the prince said.

"Alright, give me one moment," the Moonlark said. She undid her hair from the bun she had it in, pulling it back in a high pony instead. "That's better. I was getting a headache from that bun. You ready, Fitz?"

The prince nodded at her. "After you."

The Moonlark clambered up, quickly followed by Fitzroy.

He leaned forward. "Actually, I like that. Do you mind… calling me Fitz from now on?"

"No problem," she said to him.

"And… if it's not prying?" he asked, leaving the question open.

"What's my name?" The Moonlark supplied. "I'm taking you to my house, with my parents and my siblings, so you may as well know. But trust me, if you ever slip to someone and tell them who I am, I will hunt you down and murder you." She took a breath, turned around on Verdi, and stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you Fitz, I'm Sophie."

"Nice to meet you too, Sophie," Fitz said with a grin, shaking her hand.

[celinecapulet]

my dream today is that, i was riding the rented jeep for a family trip and i was feelling melancholic leaning on the window of it with my head resting in my arms and i was smoking the peach flavored cigarette so goddamn fast then there was an adventure car beside our jeep and kind of racing on the sloped highway and they(the family) looked so serious but i couldn't careless because i was feeling it, and my thought was that someone from that car was looking at me. and later on at night time we arrived at the same destinatiom as them and apparently would be staying in the same airbnb house. the interior of the house wasn't really my taste but i was mesmerized, kinda reminded me of a manor, there's also a way to a wine cellar where the stairs was made of bricks and the lights were like this wall oil lamps and i enjoyed.

then i met this guy who was my age who was also staying at that house, then we both went inside where his parents would stay, idk i was feeling really angsty and felt like they are too rich for my taste so we tried to sneak out to walk outside when it was 1am. idk if he was fucking gay or what because he is flirting with me but i didn't like it and he walks so fast so he probably must be closeted. honestly i liked his mom more because she reminded me of dita von teese

[yetanothersaint]

House by Paul Schellekens through immodome.

In 1975, architect Paul Schellekens designed this villa with fascinating contrasts in textures, rough materials, geometric and massive volumes, accent walls in brick, split-levels… - the Turnhout School at its best, and also optimised in terms of energy, with solar panels, geothermal heat pump, insulation, air conditioning, etc. The light-flooded hall provides an impressive entrance with exposed concrete ceiling, fixed carpet and natural stone. Inside, the split-levels flow nicely into one another: cosy sitting area with fireplace, living room with unique windows and phenomenal garden view, on level one the first office, super cosy dining room with fireplace and BBQ. Next door, the modern kitchen (Miele, Gaggenau) with pantry. The sun-drenched property with garden and tennis court is a unique place for playing children, peace and quiet, bon vivants and sports enthusiasts. To the right of the entrance hall: second office and master bedroom with en suite dressing room, bathroom and blissful view of the inner garden. Indoor swimming pool with large glass windows, terraces, wellness, sauna, fitness and third wood-burning fireplace. Magnificent spiral staircase to the first floor with 4 spacious bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. Stock and wine cellar. Garage for 3 cars. Stunning modernism on a unique estate - for true gourmets.

[jonbenetrunsolved]

A killer's footsteps. The house's floor plan.

A KILLER'S FOOTSTEPS? ON THE NIGHT OF JULY 2, 1997, THE DETECTIVES SPENT HOURS inside the Ramsey house running through different scenarios of what might have happened on Dec. 26.

From JonBenet's second-floor bedroom, it was less than four full paces to the top of the carpeted spiral staircase that led down to the ground floor. The 13 steps of the staircase could have been maneuvered in the dark by someone who knew them. A visitor--or an intruder--would need a light, the detectives reasoned, even if they did not have to control a struggling child. A flashlight found on the kitchen counter on Dec. 26, which was normally kept nearby, could have been used either as a light or as a weapon--in the kitchen or in another room.

Continuing with the scenario, the detectives saw that once they were down the staircase, there were several likely directions to the basement--none of them allowing for quickness or ease of movement. A logical direction for the killer--or for a terrified JonBenet who was running away--would be down another short flight of stairs toward what the Ramseys called the lower hall or butler's kitchen. There a door to the left allowed a quick escape into the narrow side yard on the home's north side--but no access to the garage or basement.

Or, coming from the spiral staircase, someone might head straight for the door that led directly to the brick patio at the southwest corner of the ground floor and then to freedom down the back alley.

But to reach the basement from the spiral stairs, where the ransom note was discovered, a perpetrator or a fleeing JonBenet would be forced into a more circuitous route. Once down the stairs to the lower hall, the detectives realized, the perpetrator could only reach the basement stairs by crossing that room, climbing yet another short flight of stairs, then turning to the right to reach the door to the basement. The problem was that the door swung out into that narrow hallway. It became an obstacle that would force you to sidestep or squeeze around it to get to the staircase to the basement. This was a highly unlikely path for anyone who knew the house, and a stranger wouldn't have known the door was there.

The second route to the basement from the spiral staircase would first lead toward the patio doors, right by where the flashlight was kept, then veer left, through a 25-foot-long kitchen, where a fleeing JonBenet or an intruder would pass an island counter and three high chairs.

At the end of the kitchen was a short hallway, into which they would have to make a left turn, and there, immediately to the right, was the door to the basement. Opening that door, however, the detectives discovered that they were in total darkness. There was no light switch on either wall at the top of the stairs or immediately outside the basement door. Any stranger would grope in vain for a light. Eventually you might discover it set high on the wall behind your back, opposite the door.

Once in the basement, a stranger would find no fewer than four closets, two storage rooms and a hobby room. The wine cellar, where the Ramseys typically kept construction materials, was at the end of one basement corridor--past the boiler room, and behind a door. The investigators considered the possibility that JonBenet fled from her bedroom to this remote hideaway in the middle of the night to elude someone. If so, she would have run a straight path from the bottom of the basement stairs directly to the boiler room, winding up in front of the latched wine-cellar door. Only someone who knew the house intimately could make this journey quickly.

If JonBenet had been hit with the flashlight in or near the kitchen and ran to or was carried unconscious to the basement, the perpetrator would have followed the same route into the boiler room, winding up in front of the wine-cellar door.

The detectives felt that in every scenario, JonBenet spent the final moments of her life just outside the wine-cellar door, where the police had found wooden shards from a broken paintbrush used to tighten the noose. That was also where they found Patsy's paint tote. The tote contained the unused portion of the brush and additional paintbrushes similar to the one used in the murder. After JonBenet was killed, the police surmised, her body was taken inside the wine cellar.

[shabeeboothedrawingender]

Why would this shit go so hard.

Imagine this, the Markiplier Mansion is abandoned, the bricks falling out of the walls, holes in the floor, smashed in windows, cobwebs and trash everywhere, vines inside and out, graffiti, etc. Dark walks in and goes straight to the wine cellar. When he gets there, he sees a table in the middle of the cellar with a birthday cake on it, lighting up the pitch black darkness. He walks over to it and hears a song.

^ This song.

And as he hears it, he sees a not next to the cake, from Actor, saying "Happy Birthday, old friend."

And, he turns his head and sees Actor in the doorway, smiling distortedly.

Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, Dear Da--

@darkiplier-protection-squad

@damien-support-group

@wilford-and-dark-support-group

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This large 1936 Wichita, Kansas home looks like an ordinary country house, but the 6bd. 5ba. home has a few surprises. It’s listed for $1.795M.

Most outstandingly it has this gigantic slide. Have you ever seen anything like this on a regular house?

Inside, it has a nice large entrance hall. 

There’s a huge living room. I like the gray ceiling beams.

It has a nice formal dining room. 

And, there’s a rustic family room with a beautiful beamed ceiling, brick floor and brick wall that looks like an original fireplace.

The large kitchen is so spread out. One of the cabinets looks like a bar. The ceiling is unusual- it’s got decorative beams on beadboard. 

Looks like a movie/play room, by the dark colors. 

Very large main bd. has a seating area w/a fireplace.

And, this is a children’s room.

But what is this? It looks like they pushed the furniture aside, but what could it be with glass walls and small partitioned spaces? 

What is it, a grow house? I was thinking wine cellar, but the holes look small. 

Then, upstairs there’s this weird setup. 

A covered patio and a firepit surrounded by a brick patio.

Room for horses on a whopping 31.11 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/12807-W-21st-St-N-Wichita-KS-67235/334010724_zpid/

[copperbadge]

One of the nice things about the Shivadh romances is that even though I obviously care about them being reasonably well-written, they’re also very much written to satisfy the emotions, so I can kinda wander into whatever part of the book I want, write something self-indulgent, and wander off again. 

So if you wanted an update on what’s going on with the Wine Hole from Infinite Jes, there’s one coming up in Twelve Points...

Out in the bunker's main room, Noah was sitting at the conference table, working on something on a tablet. Michaelis was with him; Caleb wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to seeing the King Emeritus slouched in a chair, feet up on the conference table, glasses perched on his nose and a book in his lap.  

"Noah, we need your help," Caleb announced. Noah looked up. "We need to take a pretentious dramatic album cover type photo."

"Wine hole," Noah said.

"Beg pardon?" Buck asked. 

"Come on," Noah said, rising. "I'll show you the wine hole, I can take the photo for you." 

"If you die, don't come running to me," the King Emeritus said mildly, without looking up from his book. 

"Nobody's going to die, it's been reinforced," Noah assured them, as Caleb and Buck followed him curiously down a hallway. "The bunker used to be like an actual bunker, with food supplies and stuff. There's a wine cellar, we call it the wine hole because the first time we found it I kinda fell in," he added. "It's super atmospheric."  

There was a roughly shored-up gap in the hallway wall about halfway down, and inside was a small room full of support scaffolding, with a dimly lit gap in the floor where a series of steep steps led downwards. Caleb followed Noah down, then blinked when Noah flipped a breaker and the room was illuminated. 

"Whoa," Buck said, when he reached the bottom. 

The wine cellar was actually a cavern, a huge oval shape with an arching natural roof; empty wine racks had been grouped into a mass to one side, and bright bare bulbs hung from support scaffolding, thick electrical cords winding up and down temporary metal columns. Noah led them through it, picking up a lantern on the way, and slipped through a large gap in an elderly brick wall at the back of the cavern. 

"Here ya go," he said, holding up the lantern. 

Someone had carved something deep into the rock, at what would be eye level for someone slightly taller than Caleb. Two lines of text, and a rough oblong shape below them. Buck leaned in close. 

"What's it say?" he asked. "It's not in English." 

"It's Latin," Noah said. "Michaelis says it says We have conquered both above and below." 

"Latin? Like...from ancient Rome?" Buck asked. 

"Well, someone could've put it there any time before the forties, I guess," Noah said. "That's when the wall went in. But the archaeologists are pretty sure it's from at least 1800 years ago. Maybe older. That's when the Romans were here. And there's the dick." 

"The what," Caleb said. Noah pointed to the oblong shape, which on closer inspection had a specific bend to it, and two ovals beneath it. Buck sniggered. "Well, someone had a high opinion of himself." 

"Michaelis says I have to ace my Italian exam this year before he explains the Latin to me, but I'm pretty sure the literal translation says something a lot more obscene than 'conquered'," Noah said. 

"There," Caleb said, pointing to one of the words. "Futavimus. Fottere in Italian means -- ah, it's a rude word." 

"We've fucked 'em both above and below," Buck inferred. 

"Taking your picture with a Latin engraving automatically looks cool," Noah said with a grin. "And if anyone does read it..."

"I'm pretty sure we can't put the dick on Photogram," Caleb ventured. 

"No, but you can block it out. Here," Buck said, gesturing him forward. He held up his hands, and Caleb nodded; Buck guided him into place with a light grip on his shoulders, turning him so that he was in profile, his head blocking the carving. "Stay put," Buck said, and moved around behind him, passing his phone to Noah. 

"Oh, I see," Noah said, snapping photos. He moved the lantern around a few times, taking more.

"Come on, get the good shot," Buck said.

"Can't hurry art," Noah replied.

"I do that all the time," Buck replied. 

"Just hold still for the love of -- Caleb, hang on, don't move your body but turn your head," Noah said. Caleb twisted a little, looking at Noah. "Okay, right into the lens -- there. Pretentious, gorgeous, perfect." 

He hadn't realized how cool and dry the wine cellar was until they climbed the ladder back up into the warmer, humid air of the bunker, which had an almost plantlike smell to it compared to the cavern. 

At the conference table Buck and Caleb both leaned over Noah, studying the photos. In them, Caleb and Buck stood back-to-back, at one end of the inscription; Buck's head was next to Futavimus, and Caleb's neatly blocked out the obscene image below the rest of the inscription. Most of the shots looked dramatic and interesting, but Caleb couldn't deny the best one was the last, where Buck was still looking off to one side, but Caleb's face was turned to the camera, his eyes big and dark as he looked into the lens. 

"That's the one," Buck said. Caleb nodded. A hand came into view; Michaelis, still not looking at them, reaching out for the phone. Noah rolled his eyes and put it in his palm. The old king held the phone and studied the image, lips twitching upwards. 

"Caleb told me what Futavimus means," Noah said, tone reproachful. 

"It's always good to have two sources for your data," Michaelis told him. "I know Photogram has an obscenity filter, but I don't think it speaks Latin. Approved," he concluded, and passed the phone back to Buck. 

"You can't adopt them, they're too old," Noah said, as Buck dropped the image to Caleb, who opened Photogram and stitched it onto the audio file. 

"I can adopt anyone I please, I'm incredibly old," Michaelis replied calmly. 

[meili-sheep]

Kaeya: i havent been in the winery for a while Diluc, seems like you did some remodeling or redesigning

Diluc: yeah, ive been moving some stuff around-- actually ive been looking to move some stuff out of the cellar, mind giving me a hand?

Kaeya: sure why not

Kaeya:

Kaeya:

Kaeya:

Kaeya: why do i hear someone moaning "help me" and "get me out of here"?

Diluc: oh its just the rafters, they need some work which is why I'm moving out the wine

Kaeya:

Kaeya: why is there a new wall.

Diluc: vermin problem.

From inside the wall: (muffled) hey dont call me vermin!

Diluc: as i said. Vermin problem.

Kaeya, concerned: strange uh... sounding vermin ya got there

Venti, suddenly appearing: i jUST SAID--

--

Diluc casually having god in his cellar is so funny to me AHAHA

Also Venti definitely helps perpetuate the rumors that the Winery is haunted-- hes the one making the ghost sounds in the cellar after all AHAHAHAH

And not just any god. HIS GOD. Ya know, the one who has a massive church in town. The one who has a statue in spitting distance of the Winery.

Can you also imagine Venti and Diluc's conversation while Diluc's bricking Venti in?

Venti was just being overly dramatic, and Diluc just rolled his eyes, knowing Venit could stop him if he wanted.

OR OR they agree to do it together. Like Diluc want to start ghost rumors for the winery to keep people away, and Venti's like, oh shit, I can do that. And so he comes up with this ridiculous plan.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You notice a sudden change in Lord Barnes.

Note: This is just me being self-indulgent. I start a new job on Monday and yesterday, someone close to me passed. I’m trying to distract myself but I’m too stressed to work on an standing series. This will have at least one other part.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You scattered fresh herbs over the rushes carefully as you backed down the hall. The woven mats would absorb the scent and keep the floors tidy until the next sweep. When you reached the corner, you tied up the sachet and gathered up your bucket and broom. The corridors were already smelling fresher though the task had kept you well past the evening meal. 

Your usual chores you assigned to Marjorie. As the years piled on her crooked back, she wasn’t as suited to the more physical tasks. Sweeping would have been too hard on her and you didn’t mind the solitary of the work.

You turned past the kitchens and stopped. Your footsteps seemed to echo behind you. You looked back but saw nothing in the shadows. It was late and most of the castle was asleep already, the torches were snuffed but for a few and you could find you way through the dark easily in the familiar castle.

You went to the rear door of the castle on the lower green, just beside the stables, and dumped the dirt. You heard the horses snoring and nicking as the moon shone down on the wood roofs. You basked for a moment in the silver light and the brisk night air. The harvest season was coming to an end and it would soon be cold.

You dropped the bar as you went back inside and returned your broom and bucket to the cellar. Again you heard a step that did not quite align with your own as you came into the corridor. You spun slowly and glanced around. Some of the younger servants were known to sneak around after hours and there was the odd mouse that skittered over the stone. You saw nothing and went on, more than ready to retire to your straw mattress beside Elsa.

“You sent the old lady,” the voice had your heart in your throat and you stopped short to bow to your liege.

“My lord, I was occupied elsewhere. Harold approved the reassignment,” you said shakily. It was unlike him to traverse the lower floors.

“She spilled wine on my tunic,” Lord Barnes said, “and she can barely see her own crooked nose.”

“My lord, she is old, we did not want her to tax herself--”

“She is a servant. Like you. You have your work and she has hers,” he stepped forward out of the dark shadows though there was no lantern or torch to limn his features, “I bid you to bring my meals and tidy my chambers, no one else. There are far too many covetous servants.”

You were put off by his confrontation. You replaced his former chambermaid several years back but Lord Barnes hardly seemed to warm to the change. He never offered more than an obligatory courtesy and when he was present during your tasks, he rarely spoke at all. Your service had been one of complacency on both sides, so you wondered why he would come to the lower floors to search you out after dark.

“I will be there tomorrow, my lord,” you said, “I apologise for my negligence.”

“And every day thus,” he demanded as he got closer.

“Yes, my lord,” you lowered your chin, “as you wish.”

He stopped only an inch from you and you felt him staring down at you. You didn’t dare look back, that would be an affront to any noble. He let out a long breath and slowly backed away.

“Go, you must be worn out from your hard work,” he retreated, “and there is as much to do on the morrow.”

“My lord,” you bent again and listened to his footsteps fade.

When you dared to look up, he was gone. The man was always particular, even those of his own standing were not guaranteed an audience, even as they visited his estate. He stayed far from court since his injury and on those occasions he did travel to the capital, it was not for more than a fortnight. 

You did not take the encounter lightly. He had dismissed labour for less and you did not relish a job outside the castle, there wasn’t much to be had in the village. As dull as the work was, it provided you a place to sleep and comforts not known to many others of your breeding.

🏰

When you went to the lord’s chambers the next morning, he was away. His horse had been saddled for an early ride and you did not expect him until his evening meal. After your tasks, you kept busy until you were due with his supper. When you arrived with the tray, he was not there. You waited but he did not appear. You left the tray covered to keep the food warm and went to attend the last of your nightly duties.

You retired without seeing the lord once. The next day passed in kind, and the next, and the next. You wondered for a moment if it was due to his ire with you but quickly shrugged away the notion. Lord Barnes did not think so much of you and his absence was not so unusual. He was a reticent man even if he was willful.

The first you saw him again was with his supper. He sat at his large carved desk as you entered with the tray and you crossed to the round painted table. He raised a hand and tutted as he didn’t look up from the parchment before him.

“Bring it here,” he ordered.

You went to him and set down the tray on the left flank of his desk. You filled his goblet and he blindly reached over to take it. He gulped and kept his head down as he picked the chicken to pieces and chewed over the inky words.

You retraced your steps to the door, usually he ate alone, as he did most things. You only returned to clear his scraps.

“Do you not see the mess?” he asked without looking up. You turned and followed his sharp point to the shelves along the wall. “It is difficult to focus in the chaos.”

“My lord,” you nodded and went to the oaken shelves. You rearranged the crooked spines and tidied the stack of loose leaves. You took the cloth from your apron and wiped down the line of inkwells. You could hear him chewing quietly behind you as he shifted in his chair.

“And you will ready my bed for the night,” he demanded as you finished up, “pull back the covers, it’s been a tiresome day.”

He lifted the parchment and leaned back as he wiped his fingers on his breeches. You acquiesced with a “yes, my lord,” and went to his bedchamber. 

You folded down the heavy blankets and linen and fluffed the pillows. You took the brick from the foot of the bed and set it in the hearth. The fall slipped in through the windows and the chill of the castle was no longer so welcomed.

“I won’t need that,” Barnes said as he entered. He was so quiet, you jumped and stood straight. You spun and bowed your head.

“Will that be all, my lord?” you asked as he unbuttoned his overcoat with one hand.

“My footman has been stricken with an ague after we were caught in the rain,” he said evenly, “you can aid with my wardrobe.”

“My lord?”

“Here,” he pointed in front of him and pulled his jacket free of his left arm, “you will take these,” he handed you the garment as you neared, “to the laundries.”

You kept your eyes on the plain grey fabric as he shoved his boots aside and added his socks to your armful, then lifted his tunic as you peered at the floor. He pulled of the leather glove that hid his iron hand, the metal forged to the mirror of his real extremity. You resisted the yen to look higher up the artificial appendage.

You were unprepared to act as his footman and as he stripped away his layers it made you squirm. He rolled down his breeches and slung them over the rest of his clothes.

He stood in only in his undershorts and bent your head lower, “my lord.” You backed away and he caught your elbow. He stopped you and you hugged the pile of clothes with your other arm.

“Didn’t you miss me?” he asked.

The question struck you. You were unsure how to answer. You were used to the silent, brooding lord, not this pensive, prodding master.

“My lord?” you frowned.

“You didn’t?” he urged, “do you not enjoy your duties?”

“I am only… uncertain of what you mean, my lord. I apologise for my displeasing response but I do not know how to answer.”

You looked at his hand still on your elbow. He squeezed and slowly his palm glided up your sleeve. You shivered as he pushed his hand against your neck and his thumb tickled under your chin.

“I must confess I missed you,” he said, “I did stay away because I was upset at your absence and thought to punish you in kind but it seems, it hasn’t had the same effect.”

“What do-- my lord?” you kept your eyes down as his hand moved higher and he brushed along your lower lip.

“I know I shouldn’t let these… feelings persist but there are many lords who indulge without emotion. I assure you, I do not touch you in a meaningless manner.”

“My lord,” you took a step back and he stopped you again. This time his hand gripped your jaw. He pulled you flush to him.

“Look at me,” he hissed. Your lip trembled and you raised your eyes reluctantly, “you continue to deflect me; your lord.”

You stared at him, searched his deep blue eyes desperately, and shivered, “I only seek to fulfill my duties as your chambermaid.”

“And I offer you more. Offer you… privilege over duty,” he rasped, “I would not mistreat you.”

Your heart raced and you wiggled in his grasp. You peeked down at your armful, “I should get these to the laundries, as you bid, my lord.”

He was silent, just for a moment, then he let go of you and tore his clothes from your arm. “You would deny me?”

You stumbled back and watched him fearfully, “my lord, I only-- I am only a maid--”

“I have a dozen maids,” he growled, “I would have you as more. I would take care of you.”

He bore down on you again and you backed up until you were at the hearth, the mantle jutting out against your head. You turned your head as he loomed over you and his hot breath washed over you. His hand was again at your throat as his lips trailed along your cheek.

“A lord does not ask,” he sneered, “a servant obeys.”

“My lord--”

“Shhh,” he hushed as he turned your head and pressed his lips to yours. He parted, his nose rubbing against yours as his hand stretched over your neck, “I can be kind or I can be cruel. Thus far, I’ve spent most of my patience on you.”

You quivered as he kissed you again. You were too afraid to resist as his hand descended to your bodice and he squeezed. You gasped into his mouth and he smiled against you. He grasped your waist and pressed himself to you.

Your blood went cold as the panic rose up your spine. As he tugged at your skirts, you were blinded by fear. You reached up along the mantle as he dipped his head to kiss your neck. You couldn’t think through your shock, your body seemed to move off instinct.

You grasped the beaten metal vase and swung it down on Lord Barnes’ head. He grunted and stumbled back as he touched his head and tried to shake away the pain of the impact. You tossed the vase and it bounced over the stone as you scurried for the door. You tripped as you reached the receiving chamber and heard him behind you, his steps slowly gaining strength.

“You little bitch,” his tone turned to fire.

You struggled to get the heavy door open and raced into the hall. You lifted your skirts as you barreled ahead of him on the stone. Your thin soles slapped the mats and you hurdled down the stairs as you heard his pants coupled with your own. Down and down and down and down.

You led him through the mazed corridors and flitted out through the lower doors behind the stables. You fell into the dirt and quickly climbed back to your feet. You tore off across the yard as he swore into the air and his steps came to a halt.

“I will find you!” he shouted as you head for the wall, your only hope was the tree winding up the east corner, “You won’t get far!” You reached the trunk of the towering oak and your hands scraped against the bark as you hopped and latched onto the lowest branch. You heard him calling to others, “saddle my horse! Rise and ready my horse, boy!”

You reached the top of the wall, weak and worn and hooked your leg over the stone. You carefully scaled the uneven brickwork and the tangled vines. As your feet met the dirt, you turned and fled towards the tree line, darkened with the myths of vengeful wraiths and wicked witches, driven by the threat of a worse monster behind you, the voices and hooves an omen of his intent.

[monstersdownthepath]

A Collection of Daemon Harbingers

Made a handful of them since there’s a lot of yet-explored design space for “embodiments of unfair death.” Some already-existing Harbingers are unusually specific, so I don’t feel bad about making my own deities of extremely specific calamities!

This article has been in the works for some time (apparently since early 2020, if the articles surrounding it in my drafts are any indication), but it wasn’t until someone directed me to Petty Gods: Revised and Expanded Edition that I got the steam and inspiration to actually complete this, since my own original four didn’t really feel like enough to justify posting it. There was a lot of material in there to work with, some of which I’ve taken inspiration from to shape into Daemon Harbingers. I took steps to avoid making direct copies or ports, but if you read Petty Gods and then immediately read this article, it’ll be very easy to point out the connections and inspirations.

Reminder that each Daemon Harbinger Boon grants a spell-like ability usable twice per day!

TW for the following: Living burial, drowning, parasites, unsanitary themes, and themes of self-harm.

Fortunato, the Buried Vintner

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Entombment, Isolation, and Wine A man once whimsical, betrayed by another he considered to be his friend and left to wither behind a stone wall until he could no longer draw a single breath. His once fanciful clothing is stained with dirt and blood, his every movement accompanied by the sound of dragging chains and bones straining to the point of snapping. He never speaks, for any time he tries he simply gasps for breath. His mind is so far gone that he does not realize that he’s already gotten his revenge, the man who took his life already sealed within one of the many tomb-towns Fortunato has erected in his wake. 

He serves both Charon and Trelmarixian, but bows to no one else and allies with no other Harbingers, seeing himself as above them through some remnant of his past life as a noble. He prefers to work alone, and he has a penchant for sealing living victims within vast magical constructions so that their souls become trapped within, aging like a fine wine he deeply savors. He has shared this soul wine with an exclusive list of less than six other creatures (two of which are the Horsemen he serves), and many other Harbingers would do quite literally anything for a taste, but thus far attempts to raid the Buried Vintner’s cellars have almost always ended with the thief-to-be entombed.

Domains: Death, Earth, Evil, Nobility Subdomains: Murder, Daemon, Aristocracy, Hubris Favored Weapons: Spiked chain Symbol: A stack of bricks with a single one in the center missing, through which fearful eyes peer. Sacred Animals: Grave worms. Sacred Colors: Red, white

Obedience: Dig a hole in the soil, at least deep enough for you to fit a finger inside, and fill it to the edge with wine. Hold your breath as long as possible as it drains away. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to Escape Artist and Sense Motive checks.

Boon 1: Tears to Wine Boon 2: Acid Pit Boon 3: Enlarged Wall of Stone

-----

Giselei, the Broken Stride

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Drowning, Loneliness, and Tragic Slips This sagging, corpselike creature sodden with ice cold water was once a simple courier, but a single terrifying accident changed her forever. She was in the middle of a delivery when a meager sprinkling of rain turned into a torrential downpour she could barely see through, and didn’t notice a loose cobblestone beneath her feet until it shot out from under her. Striking her spine on further sharpened stones that had been loosed by the rain, Giselei couldn’t call for help, and could barely move as the water became higher and higher around her, a process that took many painful, fearful hours. Twisted in death by the rage at her helplessness and how such an inconsequential fall could end her, she rejected the judgement of the Boneyard and now longs to inflict the same helpless horror on as many innocents as she can.

She primarily serves Charon in his Drowning Court, but her work ethic for the Horseman of Death pales in comparison to the plans she concocts in the lair of Zyphus. The words of the Grim Harvestman about the unfairness of the world and how little the gods must care for their flocks rang true in the ears of the drowned maiden, fueling her growing hatred for all that is fair and good in the world and until it burned away the innocent woman she used to be. 

Domains: Evil, Travel, Water, Weather Subdomains: Isolation*, Daemon, Flowing, Monsoon Favored Weapons: Light Hammer Symbol: A rain-slicked, shattered cobblestone. Sacred Animals: None Sacred Colors: Black, blue *Followers of Giselei can use the Isolation Subdomain to alter the Evil and Water Domains.

Obedience: Drown a living creature after crippling one or more of its limbs. Once it is dead, spend the remainder of the hour mocking the corpse, explaining what it could have done to avert this fate. Benefit: Gain a +4 bonus on saving throws against drowning or asphyxiation, and to saves against spells with the Cold descriptor.

Boon 1: Ice Slick Boon 2: Crushing Despair Boon 3: Extended Suffocation

-----

Maiakaarn, the Shattered Sadist

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Petrification, Agony, and Polymorphing Crumbling, cracking, and bleeding, this agonized figure was an adventurer slain by a powerful curse that turned her to stone. Slowly. From the inside. The agony of her death and the terrible circumstances around it transformed her into a patron of death by petrification, polymorphing, or otherwise dying in a form besides your own, a fate she inflicts gleefully upon victims captured from other planes. Not content with decorating her lair with simple statues of her former victims, Maiakaarn inflicts numerous torments upon them: some, she allows to retain their minds even in their new state, so that time’s passage becomes its own torture. Some she breaks to pieces, assembling them into ghoulish amalgams that she animates for her amusement. Some, she magically reshapes before restoring them to flesh for a brief and horrifying time, often just long enough for them to beg to be returned to stone. Often, she combines these torments.

Maiakaarn serves Charon and Zyphus, though only really on paper. In practice, she doesn’t directly serve any of the Horsemen; it is only Charon and, on occasion, Szuriel who come to her to consult her and her collection of petrified casters. Maiakaarn collects mages who specialize in Transmutation and Necromancy magic to learn ever more depraved ways to twist and warp her enemies, and in exchange for their “services” she grants them control over their own stone bodies as a form of immortality she can rescind with a thought. Ironically, Maiakaarn despises the Medusa and their ilk, for a sadistic member of their species was responsible for her death in the first place, and she inflicts an especially ghoulish fate on ones she manages to capture: Trapping them as statues aware of their status as they’re slowly lowered into the River Styx and painfully eroded away body, mind, and soul.

Domains: Destruction, Evil, Earth, Magic Subdomains: Torture, Daemon, Petrification, Arcane Favored Weapons: Warhammer Symbol: A stony, cracked hand clenched into a tight fist. Blood leaks from the cracks. Sacred Animals: Basilisks Sacred Colors: Gray, red

Obedience: Over the course of an hour, carve into a stone the names of all you’d love to watch suffer. At the end of the hour, smash this stone to pieces with a warhammer. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to saves against Transmutation and Necromancy spells and effects.

Boon 1: Soften Earth and Stone Boon 2: Calcific Touch Boon 3: Flesh to Stone

-----

Voda, the Unseen Bite

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Parasites, Infectious Vectors, and Contamination In life, Voda was a powerful Hound Archon Inquisitor, proud and loyal to Heaven and its forces. However, the bite of a single flea changed that forever, an infection filling his body with a leprous and vile disease that resisted all forms of treatment and saw him exiled from Heaven to keep it from spreading through the ranks of the angels. His quest to cure it drove him to madness as his body broke to pieces and, feeling as though he were abandoned by the Gods, his final act was to spite every one of them before swearing fealty to Zyphus, whose hatred of the world’s unfairness matched his own, and to the Horseman of Plague, the only creature to ever bring him relief.

... But in truth, agents of Apollyon slew, misdirected, or otherwise thwarted all attempts from outside parties to cure Voda’s infection and, on the rare occasions some relief managed to sneak through, another subtle bite from a fluttering insect reintroduced the custom-tailored infection. These facts are hidden from Voda, who still believes that it was a single bite which sealed his fate and nothing could alleviate it, and now seeks to inflict the same terrible end on other innocents. Appearing as a monstrously large and diseased dog, stomach bloated with swarming parasites, Voda prides himself on inflicting others with their diseases as subtly as possible; the painless bite of an insect, the prick of a needle, or a single drop of infected blood across a meal, and stealthily works to make every death as maddeningly unfair and damning as his own.

Domains: Animal, Death, Evil, Trickery Subdomains: Fur, Insect, Plague, Daemon Favored Weapons: Blowgun Symbol: A dog’s skull covered in maggots or worms Sacred Animals: Dogs Sacred Colors: Green

Obedience: Take steps to cause sickness in at least one creature in as subtle a way as you can manage, such as pricking them with a filth-slicked needle, mixing contamination into their food, or releasing infected parasites near them. Benefit: Once within the next 24 hours, you may touch another creature and immediately expose them to Filth Fever (Fortitude DC 12 negates, as the normal disease). This infection is subtle; no form of detection senses this ability nor the disease itself until its onset period passes and symptoms manifest. This is a disease effect. Using this ability does not count towards fulfilling your Obedience.

Boon 1: Virulent Miasma Boon 2: Plague Carrier Boon 3: Greater Contagion

----- 

Oulmulthil, the Worm of Sieges

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Corner-Cutting, Shoddy Construction, and Collapse Often appearing as the dwarven foreman it was in life, the true body of Oulmulthil is a gargantuan maggot who at first appears to be covered in long, slimy hair. However, this ‘hair’ is made up of thousands upon thousands of worms that creep out from its flesh and burrow into the surrounding area, rapidly spreading and multiplying like a hideous fungus to weaken the world around it before dissolving and leaving no trace of their presence but the destruction they’ve caused. Oulmulthil embodies death through the collapse of bridges, sudden cave-ins in buildings and mines, and even one’s own home falling in on them. It is primarily served by engineers and construction workers who use unfit materials and ignore safe practices for the sake of speed or greed, and its will manifests via the sudden appearance of worms, termites, and mold settling into a building’s walls. From a simple wooden house to an entire kingdom, Oulmulthil can cause anything to fall in time.

The Worm of Sieges serves Charon, Szuriel, and Zyphus in various campaigns, but rarely directly. Instead, the great beast often simply plants its bulk in some advantageous, difficult-to-reach position as its minions and thralls--creatures infested by its worms--spread corruption outwards from the ‘nest.’ When not on such missions, Oulmulthil is content to coil within the throne room of Zyphus like a loyal pet, though many (including perhaps Zyphus himself) believe it to be waiting for a weakness in the Grim Harvestman’s defenses to exploit and claim the god’s power for itself.

Domains: Artifice, Destruction, Earth, Evil Subdomains: Catastrophe, Caves, Corruption, Daemon Favored Weapons: Heavy pick Symbol: A cluster of worms emerging from a wooden object. Sacred Animals: Worms, termites Sacred Colors: White, gold

Obedience: Spend one hour slightly weakening structures other people frequent, such as by prying out nails, sawing at pillars, releasing termites, or exposing metal to oxidizing agents. If a structure you have sabotaged collapses within 7 days of your last Obedience, you count as having performed your Obedience for the next 1d4 weeks. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to Disable Device and Knowledge (Engineering) checks.

Boon 1: Warp Wood Boon 2: Rusting Grasp Boon 3: Delayed Transmute Rock to Mud

-----

Viqmarque, the Frayed Knot

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Sabotage, Cut Ropes, and Damaged Gear So thin that one could reasonably mistake him for a coiled rope himself when at rest, Viqmarque was once an industrial saboteur, sneaking into workrooms and factories and rigging their equipment and products to break down at the worst of times. He gained a special, unhealthy form of joy from any act of sabotage that involved the weakening or severing of ropes, loving little more than the SNAP of them breaking beneath a weight they should have bore, to say nothing of the chaos following the collapse. Fittingly enough, he met his end in the gallows when he was finally caught red-handed, his soul so twisted and stained that he proudly confessed... and even offered to weave the noose himself, an act that almost immediately catapulted him into the ranks of the Harbingers.

The Frayed Knot serves in Szuriel’s campaigns not as a warrior, but as an infiltrator. While ropes are his specialty, his touch rots cloth, leather, and fibers of all sorts easily, his sabotage all but impossible to spot until it’s too late and things rapidly start to break, misfire, or otherwise become useless. This isn’t even getting into the havoc he can wreak on ships, whose rigging he takes a special joy in tampering with, assuring countless innocent sailors suffer injury and death as hand- or footholds give way beneath them. In his spare time, he enjoys finding mountaineers or other climbers and severing their lifelines, basking in the sound of them falling screaming to their deaths.

Domains: Artifice, Evil, Luck, Trickery Subdomains: Trap, Daemon, Curse, Ambush Favored Weapons: Dagger Symbol: A rope being cut in half by a bladed instrument Sacred Animals: Rats and moths Sacred Colors: Brown, black

Obedience: Ritualistically coil at least 10ft of rope around your arm. Then, using a dagger, cut the rope away from your arm in such a way that the dagger cuts into your skin enough to draw blood in an act that deals 1d4 damage to you. Discard each piece of the bloodstained rope in a separate direction. Benefit: You gain a +2 profane bonus on damage rolls against objects and Constructs. 

Boon 1: Eroding Ray Boon 2: Rune of Ruin Boon 3: Artificer’s Curse

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Krake Skriff, the Scab-Picker

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Itching, Scars, and Infected Wounds Also known as Old Scratch, this itching fiend was once a mortal in service to Apollyon, breeding new strains of skin disease. He had invented dozens of new plagues to unleash upon hapless souls, from infections that caused eruptive blisters to form across their entire bodies, to parasites that caused wounds that never closed, to infections that caused one’s skin to peel off and animate as sickening, smothering sheets. He met his end at his own hand, unleashing a new infection with himself at its epicenter to spite a group of heroes that had come to stop him, taking them down with him as they all spiraled into madness via his newest magnum opus: a disease which caused an itch so maddening that even tearing clumps of themselves away with their own hands didn’t bring relief.

He serves Apollyon even now, but creates bioweapons for Szuriel’s crusades as well. Old Scratch is easy to see as a pathetic figure, meekly hunched over or even laying prone on the floor in his tattered clothing, whimpering as he ceaselessly rakes at his own bleeding wounds... but he is anything but pitiable, his pathetic persona an act. Touching even a single drop of his blood opens one to an endless variety of infections, and being struck by his filth-crusted talons is a death sentence for any creature vulnerable to disease.

Domains: Healing, Evil, Madness, Strength Subdomains: Medicine, Plague, Daemon, Insanity Favored Weapons: Spiked gauntlet Symbol: Five bloody parallel lines, representing five raking fingers.  Sacred Animals: Fleas, bedbugs, mosquitos Sacred Colors: Purple, green, red

Obedience: Ritualistically gouge yourself with your nails/claws and drag downwards, dealing 1 damage to yourself and leaving lengthy, bleeding scars along your chest, shoulder or shoulderblades, neck, or face. Then, spend the remainder of the hour scratching yourself along your body as you pray to Old Scratch. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to Heal checks and to saving throws against disease. The scars caused by your Obedience may be used as an unholy symbol so long as they are prominently displayed.

Boon 1: Pox Pustules Boon 2: Touch of Slime Boon 3: Bouncing Slough

------

Molvulia, the Curdled Princess

Neutral Evil Daemon Harbinger of Pest Insects, Mold, and Food Poisoning Among the most loathsome of daemons to behold, Molvulia looks like an elegant princess from afar, but up close is revealed to be an amalgamation of rotting matter crawling with insects and cloaked in mold. The Curdled Princess was once a mortal adventurer who would sabotage the food of her peers and blame it on unseen enemies or foul luck, watching with glee as they all began to starve and turn on one another. Only when they were weak with hunger would she strike, ending them and making off with their collected loot, off to start the cycle anew with a new group lured in by her wealth and false tales. Her death via food poisoning is, perhaps, the greatest of all ironies, though now she has gone from a pest to a menace. Her daemonic influence is felt through mold on breads, beetles and flies upon cheeses, and unexpected moisture infiltrating preserves and meats, slowly starving adventurers and travelers relying on such preserved rations and driving them to extreme lengths to feed themselves.

Molvulia serves each of the Four Horsemen in equal measure, though she is far more enamored with the Lysogenic Prince and the domain of Famine. Whether she is truly smitten with him or merely covets his position among the Four is something only guessed at, but all who work with her hold her at arms length nonetheless, wary of betrayal. When not tasked with specific missions by her superiors, the Curdled Princess will hold disgusting “banquets” of spoiled food, forcing imprisoned souls to consume it lest they starve, and sometimes she will take human guise to seek out guilds in the Material Plane and indulge in old habits.

Domains: Death, Evil, Water, Trickery Subdomains: Corruption, Daemon, Decay*, Thievery Favored Weapons: Rapier Symbol: Mold overtaking a piece of bread, cheese, or cured meat. Sacred Animals: Weevils and rats Sacred Colors: Brown, black *Followers of Molvulia may use the Decay Subdomain to modify the Water or Death Domains.

Obedience: Work to contaminate and spoil food, such as by introducing vermin to a storeroom, leaking moisture into dried rations, or smearing food with poison or filth. Benefit: You may consume and draw sustenance from spoiled, rotted, or otherwise befouled food with no consequence. Once within the next 24 hours, you may cast Putrefy Food and Drink as a spell-like ability.

Boon 1: Feast of Ashes Boon 2: Blight Boon 3: Swarm Skin

[sinnabee]

ur attractive :D

*guiding you down to the basement* ohoho, you’re such a flatterer…say, would you like to take a peek in my wine cellar? it’s very fancy

:3c (<- definitely not waiting to build a brick wall once you’ve gone inside)

[fuckthisshitimin]

Advent Calendar, day 19: 1PM (Whispers’ Domain)

read on ao3

A long, long stretch, she whines as she elongates her arms, hearing her back cracking, feeling the bones getting back in place. Crack, crack, crack. They drove the last four hours without stopping, and her legs are begging her to go and run. Run fast, and far.

Run in the garden, they beg of her, meet the flowers, find the snakes, climb the trees.

“How long did your family just sit on this house again?”

It’s bright red bricks, two chimneys she can see, but there were more on the pictures Raine showed her. Two storeys plus the attic and a basement. A clearing in the woods, no one around, a cherry tree, an orchard. It’s an old building, all the windows on the first floor are broken, and the garden is a happy mess. Vines are clutching at the walls, growing and eating, and Eda likes it already.

“Two generations and a half, so something like a century?”

No one has lived here in ages, it’s obvious from the way the House stands. Rooted in the ground and towering over them with pride. It looks like a wild animal, disheveled and strong. It’s perfect.

“My mother still hasn’t got over the fact we’re moving here. She said she would never set a foot here herself.”

The ghost of a smile, looking at the House, Raine’s lips are chapped from the cold, and Eda opens the truck. Five boxes, two suitcases, grocery bags. What they have left. And most of it is hers. Other bags on the backseat, still bearing the form of King’s relentless weight during the travel. He’s long gone now, he went running, marking his territory. Lucky him, Eda thinks when she picks up the first box. It’s the one with candles, a camping gas stove, what they need for a first night here, if the electricity doesn’t turn on. “I can live without having your mother over for dinner.”

“She likes you, you know. And I know you don’t hate her.”

Their tone is lighter, and they come by her to pick another box, drawing a set of keys from their pocket. “She calls me Sweetie and touches my hair.”

They laugh, making the way towards the front door. The paint is peeling off from the wood, it’s a dark green that reminds of the firs around. She can find a similar shade to paint it later, she notes in her mind, very conscious she’ll forget all about that in a minute, and the door squeals on its hinges, opening with a painful moan.

“You don’t mind it when I do that.”

The insides of the House smell like must, and cold humidity. The wooden floor, covered by a carpet that must have once been clean, creaks under their feet. They’ll have to get rid of that. First thing to do, put down the boxes, open the windows. It’s a good excuse to look around the ground floor, too.

She leaves her box near the entrance, walking deeper into the building. Her voice echoes “Well I’m not in a relationship with your mother, and I don’t intend to be.”

A full-length window in the living room leads to a winter garden they can make use of, and in the kitchen, it is an old opening, a window larger than it is tall, curtainless, basking the room in a cold white December light. You can see the dust flying in the air, caught in the pale sunrays, trapped into the room until Eda opens, letting the country air in. They brought a vacuum, but if the electricity is unworking like Raine’s family predicted, they’ll have to do with a broom at first. Such a big house. So much to do.

“Where are we sleeping tonight?”

She shouts, but Raine’s voice answers from the cellar, closer than she thought. She didn’t see them walking through the kitchen. “It’s cold on the first floor, so either in my great grandfather’s office or the attic.”

“What you got here? Fancy old wine?”

“Don’t drink that.”

“I didn’t say I would. Oh, 1901. That has to be worth something.”

“Yes, the worst hangover you ever had. It’s the middle of the day, don’t you want to make coffee?”

She snickers, giving them the bottle back. She’ll still mention it when they eat, later. A bit of alcohol is always welcome to bear cold nights. A gush of air through the window makes her shiver, and she closes her eyes. The outside is calling, again, and her legs are burning. It’s like the house is breathing, when the air brushes the walls, mingles with the abandoned spiderwebs, caresses the white drapes over the furniture. When she opens her eyes again, the room seems brighter. Maybe she just got accustomed to the light. “Just say you want a coffee already.”

They grimace, and she takes a look at the kitchen supplies. “It’s gas, right? This should work without electricity.”

“Except I don’t know if we have any gas bottles, and if we do I…”

They grimace, again, and she puts a hand on their shoulder. “Sure. We won’t use old hazardous gas bottles.”

They nod. “Thank you,” they whisper, and for a second, she thinks the wind carries the scent of burnt flesh into the House, but it’s gone before she can name it.

Raine brings the other boxes in as she settles to make coffee. They found the water supply, and if the pipes are a bit old, it works. She was just surprised to find this many dead spiders stuck in the faucet spout. Clean, old, pretty coffee cups, and she claps her hands, to be sure they hear her, wherever they are. “Coffee’s ready!”

“Bring it to the attic! You haven’t seen it yet!”

She groans but still packs her cigarettes, gathers the cups and pot before following the sound of their voice. It takes all her might, to not run up the stairs, she knows she’d spill coffee. But her legs are aching now, and the window is open. It has a small balcony. Barely enough to fit a chair, and Raine is there, gesturing for her to come.

Rolling a cigarette, a sip of coffee. The view. It’s vast, immense. It’s unsettling. You can see the top of the trees from here, a green sea ready to swallow her, to take her in and welcome her, she holds on to the railing. Lights her cigarette. She sees the smoke going to the skies, and she remembers where is up and where is down. It didn’t look this high from the ground.

“Eda?”

A hand on her waist, she’s held and she hums. Her head is light. For a second. Just a second. She wanted to jump. She feels dizzy, or maybe it’s just the thought that makes her nauseous. “Lovebird?”

She blinks. “Sorry, you were saying?”

A kiss on her nose. She didn’t see it coming. “I was asking if… if this was okay.”

She feels a smile tearing her face, and she leans in to kiss their lips. Chapped and soft and theirs, bitter with coffee and sweet with intentions. “Darling, this is so much more than anything I ever wanted.”

She could live in a trashcan with them, she thinks, there is nowhere else she’d rather be than where they are.

Except maybe in the sea of trees.

She holds her cup tighter, takes a puff from her cigarette. Her skin is itching, and she thinks of the spiders. She shouldn’t have, for now she’s cursed with the sensation of their legs on her bag, on her arms, her legs. It’s itching everywhere and she shakes herself. “What is it?”

“Ghost sensations.”

If she thinks too much about it, she can feel flames licking her cheeks, twirling around her ankles like whips, if she closes her eyes she can feel Raine’s lips on her ear and their hand in her hand, if she focuses enough, she can picture the brush of the firs’ needles on her shoulders, she could be running, no, flying there.

“Is this our first supernatural encounter?”

She chuckles. Holds on to the certainty of Raine’s arm around her. To her cigarette. Anchors. Familiarity in this strange new place, so far from anything else she knows. She can’t see the edge of the forest. It’s nice. The wind howls in the corridors, gushes in the chimneys, makes the stairs creak and a door slam.

Maybe the House is welcoming them in its own way.

They’re Her first visitors in a century, maybe. A perfect hideout. Nobody could find them here. Not even Raine’s mother. She knows the House exists, but has never been there, and Raine took all the documents that could lead to it.

When they are settled in, they will probably have to burn the car, just in case. Or keep it here, just in case. Leave it parked here without its plate, leave it here to rot and feed it to the garden and become a hive for wasps or vines or snakes or birds.

“I think my sister is our first supernatural encounter.”

They snicker, before putting a hand on their mouth. “Aw, come on. She’s not here, you can make fun of her witchcraft nonsense now.”

“If it makes her feel good…”

Eda shrugs, and something purrs. Beneath her feet. She can feel a rumbling, a vibration, something profound and grave. “Plus if the House is actually haunted, we can call her.”

She gives them a side-eye, and they turn away from her, looking through the window. When she imitates them, the rumbling is back, it’s pushing her, she feels like she can fly. “We don’t have a landline. And we’re not opening one.”

“I know, I know. We’ll send her a crow. I actually found books about raising birds in the library. Quite a lot of them.”

“If we send her a crow telling her to meet us in the middle of nowhere, in a house that isn’t on any map, she’ll think I’m sending her a message from Hell asking her to join me.”

“She’s as curious as you are. She’d come just to see.”

“You really are taking Whispers as your new name, then?”

When she feels the void calling her again, she crushes her cigarette, moving back inside. Far from the window. She really needs to go out, she thinks. To go out and run with King. Where is King? She hasn’t seen him since they got here. Her pulse, it’s not that it fastens, no, it’s just louder in her ears than it was a few seconds ago. It echoes inside her.

“I love that name. Raine Whispers. I think it suits me, I’m soft like that.”

She laughs and it’s a wave in her whole body, shaking her shoulders just once in a heavy motion. “You are. Then we can call here Whispers’ Residence.”

They pout, looking outside again. Their eyes are greener than ever. She wonders if they feel it too. The Calling. “Or… House of Whispers? Don’t you want to give it your name, too?”

“I’m not sure yet. I liked being a Clawthorne.”

They look back at her, frowning. “I know.” And it’s in their eyes, now, the green ocean. The safe place where she can drown in peace. There’s a river nearby too. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you, Raine Whispers. You have done nothing wrong, ever. I could be Eda Shouts. It’d be the House of Shouts and Whispers.”

“My mother would never come.” She snorts a laugh, and they attempt a smile. “My mother will never come, right?”

Eda nods. “I’m sorry, too.” She steps further into the house, farther from the window. The darkness of the attic is a soft blanket on her back. The other windows are still covered with curtains, shutters blocking the light. They’ll have to open them too, while the sun is still out. Let the air in before they sleep here. Make a fire. A small one, no, not setting this house on fire.

“Don’t be. This… this is ours now. Our own little world.”

As easily as their voice chased the claws around her chest, the banging of her heart is back. King, she has to check on King. She has to go outside and run. “Yeah… Whispers’ Domain.”

They look at her. Sharp. “I love that.”

“I have to find King.”

She runs down the stairs, three flights, and she’s out the porch. The air welcomes her. Her throat is burning from running in the winter, there is this taste of blood there, like a sickness as she crosses the garden, running. She hears snakes rattling away, and the blood is fast in her head, the oxygen makes her dizzy and she shouldn’t be able to run this fast this long but it’s almost easy. The ache is her legs is going, and she follows the whisper in the air, the faint scent of home, her guts, the ache, the too high grass and when she’s among the trees, King looks at her.

His eyes, looking at the edge of the forest from inside, reflect the light of the day, it’s like they’re gleaming. There is a foul smell and she covers her mouth instinctively. Caught in King’s teeth, dripping with mud and blood and worms, something the size of a rabbit. Whatever it is, it has been dead for more than just a few hours. “King! Let go, it’s disgusting! Urgh, King! Drop it.”

He doesn’t obey, running away with his catch, and she runs after him. She’s as fast as the hound, there is a devil in her legs making them jump higher, and when she can get a grip on his collar, hold his fur, she’s over him like a bird of prey, and he lets go of his. She kicks it away, leaving it for the worms and the soil to eat. King’s tongue on her cheek makes her grimace and she looks back.

The wind howls in the trees, and it sounds like Raine. Or is it rain falling from the sky, nourishing the soil, wetting her cheeks? Or is she crying? Is it a wolf she hears or a cry from her lover? Is she talking or moaning?

The forest surrounds her, soft moss in her hand and vertiginous, hypnotizing green everywhere. A calming breeze through her dress and the taste of blood in her throat. The murmur of the leaves.

She can’t see the House.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 2) Into the Underground

Chu Zihang makes me have a surprisedpikachu.jpg here.

ITT: The MC can have ally chats and date both genders soooo...

The elevator descended to the bottom floor. The door opened to pitch black.

Chu Zihang flicked on the flashlight. The beam of light illuminated the dusty statue of the Virgin Mary. Although pigment has faded due to age, the Virgin Mary statue is still flushed with a magnificent red and gold, which indicates that the paints they used were mixed with real gold powder.  

This is the second basement level of the Takamagahara. The building actually had a second underground floor and one of the four elevators was a freight elevator that could reach this floor.

"This house looks pretty old!" Lu Mingfei exclaimed, "This style is not like a Japanese house." 

"Before World War II, this was a Catholic church. After the Meiji Restoration, many priests came to Japan to preach, and there were many Catholics at that time. This was once a stronghold of the faithful in Tokyo, where dozens of priests lived and held regular services and masses." Chu said, "When Tokyo was bombed in World War II, the bas-reliefs and arches were destroyed, leaving only the main structure intact. The store manager saw its location and rented it, spending a lot of money to renovate it into a nightclub. The stage was originally where the organ was housed, and the card seating area was originally the choir stalls. This floor was a confessional and reading room, and was used as a bombing shelter during World War II. To this day it is a government-planned shelter, although the store manager is using it as a storage room." 

You’re riding on Caesars back, your legs straddling his waist and propped up by his arms. Even though there was no danger yet, you were still slightly inebriated by your night’s show and he insisted on carrying you until you sobered up. Practical reasons aside, he made it clear that he wanted you to stay close to him. You were essential to the mission. You surmised also that his own personal code of honor and justice pushed him to go the extra mile.

Everywhere the flashlight swept was grey with dust. The four walls were painted with chalk. The floor was just smoothed with cement. The walls still had traces of smoke and fire and, in the corners, were stacked organ parts, enamel-decorated pulpits, and two or three human-high crosses with aged ochre vestments hanging from them. You can vaguely feel the prosperity of this Catholic Church back then. You imagine the clergy shuttling to and fro, the sound of voices reciting the Bible. No one could have imagined that, a hundred years later, this place would become a nightclub of sound and fury of male strippers.

Chu Zihang found a cellar well in the corner of the hall. It was covered by an old-fashioned cast iron well cover. The rusty cover was probably hundreds of years old, and the German markings of the cast iron company were indistinct. Chu Zihang and Caesar worked together to move the well cover, and the sound of water gurgled in the darkness. 

"The sewer entrance is actually inside the building!" Lu Mingfei whispered in surprise, “So Hydra won’t even notice us going in and out of the Takamagahara!”

"It's indeed a very coincidental thing." Chu Zihang said, "I also did not expect the entrance to the sewer would be hidden in Takamagahara. I found the sewer map of Shinjuku district from the Internet. It doesn’t look very big. There are only a dozen sewer entrances and exits. Most of them are housed in a sewage treatment station. Only this cellar well is the exception. It should have been sealed long ago, but because it was connected to the shelter, it happened to provide an escape route, so it was preserved. I should say we got lucky, we found the shelter at the same time we touched the back entrance of Genji Heavy Industries."

Lucky, huh? You raise your eyes again to the statue of the Virgin Mary and the words of Z in your dream echoed. He was doing this for a reason. Was it revenge for Black Swan Bay? If so, why wait 20 years? He told you frankly that you wouldn’t be able to understand until the very end. But your skin was starting to crawl.

“MC! Come on.” Caesar was waiting for you at the entrance. He once again lifted you up on his back and carefully you descended into the pipe.

They went down the iron staircase into the sewer, the flashlight illuminating the mossy brick wall. The structure of this section of the sewer was very old, completely different from the modern Iron Dome shrine, with a semicircular cross section. A water channel was in the middle and narrow paths for walking were on both sides. The ceiling is draped with some kind of aquatic plant, dark green and hair-thin, and if you are not careful, they will brush your face like cold hands in the dark. There was a foot-long black shadow slowly creeping across the corner, and when Chu Zihang shone his torch over it, it suddenly accelerated and disappeared into the dark green plants, emitting a woofing sound similar to a dog's bark. Lu Mingfei was so scared that he leaned back, Caesar held him up in time, otherwise he would have been planted in the gutter. 

“Stop being so jumpy!” He hissed.

"It's a mud salamander, a kind of salamander, native to North America." Chu Zihang locked the thing's exposed long tail with the beam of the flashlight. "It eats the eggs of aquatic animals, which prevents them from overpopulating the sewers. They put them in the sewers as scavengers." 

"Holy shit! Scared the hell out of me! There are actually such dumb things in the sewers!"

"Each city's sewers are an ecosystem, where there is sufficient water but basically no sunlight. Those species that can adapt to the darkness will quickly reproduce and eventually form a stable biosphere." Chu Zihang walked ahead with a flashlight, "The sewer ecosystem of each city is different, related to the city's rainfall, temperature and the acidity of the groundwater. The most important thing to be careful of here is the small things like blood worms, they may lay eggs on you. The big things are mostly not dangerous, even the water snakes are also not venomous." 

"Anywhere you go, the sewers are not built all at once. The sewers you see now are the sewers of Shinjuku district a hundred years ago. Tokyo had a massive renovation of the sewer system ten years ago, connecting all the old sewer systems, and the excess groundwater enters the Iron Dome Shrine through the various sewers, and is purified and discharged into the sea from the mains. If we keep walking, we’ll eventually enter the main channel." Chu Zihang glanced at the map in his hand, "About 600 meters further we will pass under the Shinjuku subway station, where there will be giant water turbines, through the turbine holes we will enter the Iron Dome Shrine." 

"Brother were you born in the sewers, so you know so much about them?" 

"I googled it."

"But you can't read Japanese." 

"I have Google Translate, and I learned a few sentences of Japanese through Google Translate." Chu Zihang switched to Japanese and said, "Thank you for your patronage. I look forward to seeing you again. Would you like some more wine? Cry if you are sad. And that's about it." 

“You’re so smart.” You say, “Maybe someday I’ll be as smart as you.”

“You’re very intelligent in your own way, MC. Mostly by way of survival. In Chizuru, you didn’t hesitate to wait until nightfall, find your own clothing, make your way to the Internet Cafe and fend off attackers. You recognized the danger of the gangsters long before we did. And in the end, if I hadn’t distracted you, you probably would not have been injured. Those are the major examples. I could go on longer with the smaller examples. When I think of them I’m glad you’re our friend and not our enemy.”

“Aw…” You say, resting your head between Caesar’s shoulder and neck. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Caesar snorted. “Speaking of flirting, I’m very surprised not even the hottest men of Tokyo could earn your favor tonight. You really didn’t see anything in any of them?”

“They each tried to sell themselves to me very well. But I wasn’t interested in what they had to offer. It’s not that they didn’t have anything.”

“If you had no choice and had to pick one… which one would you choose?”

“That’s a weird question. I’m wondering why it matters. Have you bet on a favorite to win?”

“No. I just don’t think it’s good to walk alone in the world. I was honestly hoping that you and Mingfei Lu would get along a bit better but…”

“It wouldn’t be good for someone like me to court an ordinary human. Playing like this for a show is… alright.”

“You loved someone back in your old place… what was he like?”

“She.”

Caesar’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh!”

Mingfei’s head swiveled in your direction. “You like girls!” He slaps his forehead. “It all makes so much sense now!”

“I didn’t know I did until I was asked that question about lost love. It’s a bit sadder now because if I had understood my feelings then, I would have told her.” You shift your gaze back to Mingfei. “Can I ask you something? Are both your parents Chinese?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like someone I used to know. I think he may still be alive. I liked him too.” 

“Then you swing both ways?” Lu Mingfei seemed to be having a mini-crisis. How was he supposed to protect your innocence from everyone in existence? It was funny to see him frantically holding back his bangs, concerned about that rather than being worried about breaking into the headquarters of the most powerful organization in Japan.

Caesar’s eyes shifted in your direction. “If you need help searching for survivors, you have the full support of the Student Union.”

“Thanks… If anyone could survive, it would be him.”

“That would be nice if you could meet again. Pick up where you left off maybe?” Mingfei rested his arms behind his head.

You stare at him in silence and give a sigh, your chest rising against Caesar’s back.

“Don’t mind him. It’s going to hit him in like an hour.” Caesar grumbles.

You bury your head in his shoulder, giggling.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

You used to bully/mess with me in elementary school and it turned out it was because you had a major crush on me AU for jurdan? I hope its not too "basic" for them

note: In spirit of being cooped up inside my house, I present to you a lockdown fic. 😂 this is totally not what you asked for but hope you'll like it anyway!

Full Masterlist

Quarantine Times

These days, there was little Cardan hated more than online classes.

It was hard enough to focus on the professor's words when there was no one to keep him in line without the added temptation of staring at Jude's screen while she paid attention, her brows drawn together in concentration as her lips pressed in a thin line. He had the face memorised now from how often he stared at her during class or in the cafeteria while she talked to her friends or in the library where she'd read for hours, lost in her own world.

Even at the ass crack of dawn, she looked beautiful. Her face had that concentrated look when she focused on something. Her auburn hair were braided neatly to the side of her head, her dark, half asleep eyes staring at the screen with an intensity as though she was willing the whole screen to explode into pieces. She bit her lip, tucking a strand of her hair back—

"Zoom classes are for studying, not so you can stare at your crush," Dain said, looking up from his phone.

Cardan gave him a hard look but it did nothing to wipe the shit-eating grin from his elder brother's face. He said through gritted teeth and barely restrained temper, "Jude isn't my crush."

His brother looked amused. "Do I look like a fool to you, brother?"

He did. He very much did look like a fool with that smarmy grin and the knowing look Dain sent him. Cardan told him as much but it only made Dain grin wider than before. He patted his little brother on the shoulder. "It's okay to admit you like her, brother. She's smart and pretty, even you can admit that, rivals and all."

But they weren't rivals anymore. They had been once—all through middle school—but there was no fight or bitter feelings on his side, at least. Not since Cardan went and gods-damned crushed on his enemy somewhere between all the unresolved arguements and hurled insults and attempted sabotages and the many, many pranks. She snuck up on his heart that way. He didn't notice she had coiled herself around his head so deep until she was all he thought about. As far as he was concerned, the rivalry between them was resolved.

"But you aren't," Cardan said, pouting at the idea of his brother liking Jude. "Leave me alone, Dain."

Dain grinned again, cooing at him. "Aw, look at you being jealous, brother. Don't—" his words were cut off by the pillow Cardan threw at his brother's face. The other got him in the stomach but he was still laughing, zoom meeting forgotten as he ran around the room, trying to dodge and weave around the pillows and cushions Cardan aimed at him, making a mess of the room in the process.

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," Dain surrendered, running out of the room.

Cardan once again focused on the screen, watching her write whatever it was. His own video was turned off right now and as if his thoughts had directed their teacher's attention towards the fact, the man said, "Cardan Greenbriar, open your video. And keep it open." Cardan watched Jude look up at the screen when she heard his name. Her brown eyes looked prettier when they stared through him (even though she wasn't looking at him but at her screen, it sure did feel like it) and the tense shoulders were drooped now, Jude looking more relaxed than ever.

He didn't realize what she was frowning at until he noticed he had turned screen sharing on instead of video.

Which meant everyone could see the wallpaper in his phone, a photo of Jude at a recent bonfire party where he'd apologized for years worth of pranks and she refused to believe him, convinced that it was some trick. Colour rose to her cheeks and his own ears pounded with warmth as he fumbled with the features on his phone, turning screen sharing off. The damage was done, Jude was looking at her screen with colour rising on her cheeks before she left the meeting.

Nicasia was hiding her smile behind her hand, Locke looked pissed off and Taryn had a surprised, lost look on her face.

Cheeks burning with embarassment, he ignored the looks his friends gave him as he stared straight ahead. Most looked positively scandalised, as if they'd just seen the earth turn upside down or something. He didn't know how he endured through the class but he buried his face in the pillows, groaning loudly in shame.

His phone buzzed, an unknown number flashing across his screen. "Hello?"

"You have me as your wallpaper," Jude said, her voice amused. There would be no mincing words then.

Trying to save face one last time, Cardan reasoned, "Yeah, uh, it was more for the sake of the scenery in the background." He realized his mistake when he saw that the scenery he was talking about was a brick wall that Jude leaned against, laughing as she held a can of beer in her hand while the other rested on her thigh.

Jude said in a teasing tone, "Ah, yes, the background. Beautiful."

He had never known Jude to act like this—this bold and confident and teasing. She always shied away from the simplest of flirting. Perhaps she was more comfortable over the phone? He couldn't fathom another reason why she'd be so willing to talk to him now. He was mortified still.

"I can change it though, I'm about to—I mean, if that makes you uncomfortable. Not that I care what you think," then cursed himself for falling into old habits of insults when he got flustered. "I mean I do care what you think—because you're my friend, of course. Like, we're not friends yet, I know, I know. But I'd like to be. I don't want to make assumptions on who we are. I mean, we hated each other but I don't hate you now. I like you. Like, gods, I don't like you but—"

"Cardan, breathe," her calm voice instructed from the other side. Jude said, "Is that the only reason I'm your wallpaper, Cardan? The background?"

There was no way she believed his lame ass excuse about his background. Jude was too smart for all that, and she had an ability of spotting all his tells from childhood. He instead changed topics in favour of outright lying, "Darling Jude, I've never known you for being bold."

She huffed. "You callin' me a wuss?"

Now that his mortification had somewhat subsided, he heard the slur in her voice. "Jude, are you drunk? At nine in the morning?"

"I saw the wallpaper and panicked. Vivi said I needed alcohol, we broke into Madoc's wine cellar." Laughter escaped her lips.

"Jude, darling," Cardan said, deciding to shoot his shot now, hoping Jude was not the kind of drunk who would forget everything when she was sober again. "Fine. I have you on my wallpaper because I like looking at you. You—You're cute and I, kind of, sort of like you. Like, for a while." If she remembered this later, he'd finally have confessed. If she didn't, then it was his own bad luck. He just had to say it once.

There was a long pause on the other side, followed by a shushing sound. "Don't tell Cardan but I kind of, sort of like him too."

Cardan couldn't stop his answering smile if he tried. "I won't, promise."

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

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[hometoursandotherstuff]

This home in Waynesboro, Virginia was built in 1835 and the once-lovely home looks rough on the outside. Someone painted the brick and it’s chipping off, but other than that, the interior is just about perfect, so it’s a bargain at $250,000. 

Most of the inside is pristine, and look at the floors. Almost everything is original.

The center hall only needs a little wall patching.

The built-in and fireplace are perfect, and you can see the pantry.

Beautiful room. Look at the details.

Gorgeous ceiling, doors, and they left the gorgeous chandelier.

Great porch.

The kitchen has not been modernized- it’s great.

Wow, look at this office.

Vintage bath. 

Upstairs, the hall and bedrooms are just about perfect.

Huge upgraded bath.

The previous owners had this porch enclosed- I would probably open it again.

Cute outbuilding on the property- look at how unusual the chimney is.

Oooh, a wine cellar.

This has potential.

Beautiful property - over 2 acres. I think the red barn on the left is included, too. Love this house.

https://theoldhouselife.com/2021/12/11/wow-dont-judge-a-book-by-its-cover-over-two-acres-in-virginia-circa-1835-250000/