#conman alert

[jeep-momma]

🚗🔧 Learn From My Mistakes – Don’t Get Ripped Off! 🔧🚗 I’ve been there – missing the red flags 🚨 and learning some tough lessons the hard way. A few years back I put together a video to help YOU avoid the same pitfalls. [Top 5 Tips] to Avoid Mechanic Scams, so you can stay in control, protect your wallet

[vetchtibbles]

my absolutely deranged take on wooden overcoats is that rudyard funn and grunkle stan of gravity falls are the same type of person somehow

[softblesses]

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.

[acepalindrome]

Emmrich gets scammed (again,) and once Johanna stops laughing at him about it, she decides she wants to help him get his revenge. Come on, Volkarin. I know you’re planning to send some spirits over to terrorize that idiot for selling you a fake magic book, but listen. You know who could do a much better job of it? Me. Just take me over to his house, set me on a windowsill and let me work.

And while Emmrich is reluctant to trust Johanna, she has been less nasty and spiteful since she started teaching Manfred magic behind Emmrich’s back (honestly, did the two of them think he hadn’t figured out where Manfred had learned the Stinking Cloud spell from?) It’s almost…fun to trade barbs with her these days, since they both have stopped aiming so much below the belt for the most part. It feels like the old days.

So, why not? No one excels at revenge like Johanna.

Johanna does have to convince Emmrich to take off most of his bangles before their stealth mission can commence, just so his jingling doesn’t immediately alert their victim to the mischief afoot.

And so Emmrich sneaks out in the dead of night with Johanna concealed in a perfectly innocent bag that definitely doesn’t contain a talking skull, locates the conman who so cruelly tricked him, and sets Johanna on a discreet windowsill.

About ten minutes of Johanna making the most horrific noises and threats later, the man runs out of the house screaming. A thoroughly successful venture!

Johanna got some fresh air and enrichment, Emmrich got to right a wrong, and they both got to have a little misadventure that feels like something they would have gotten into as students! It’s…kind of nice! They aren’t quite ready to mend things between them, but maybe, someday…

Also the conman is utterly traumatized but don’t worry about him, that part isn’t important.

[cosurmqne]

01 — a short life of trouble

[ RDR2 X fem reader , 2334 words ] — next ✶

rhodes was a quiet town at the best of times. as much as the pompous sherrif, mr leigh gray, liked to juice up his line of work, the most action this collection of run-down buildings saw was the same petty feud between two families that was seemingly everlasting. an alleyway punch up after a night of drinking, perhaps even a few shots on the outskirts of town; this was all that was worth talking about amongst its residents, whatever distracted them from their lungs filling with red dust kicked up by horses and the sun drying up their almost forgotten patch of land in the valley of lemoyne.

when dutch van der linde first rode into the town, he felt at home, a welcome sight for the conman. it was a clean slate, filled with nooks and crannies that he could infiltrate and manipulate at his will. the townsfolk were stupid, the law even more so; it was a perfect combination to have some fun. it was no surprise to the rest of his gang that in no time at all, he was already sitting pretty on the porch of the sheriffs office, hand rested on the shoulder of sheriff gray himself. and lets not forget, with a gleaming deputy badge pinned firmly on his chest.

his main confidants, arthur morgan and hosea matthews, agreed that there was an opportunity for control here, to take what they needed and disappear before anyone in rhodes knew what had hit them, or that they were to blame. they were, after all, outlaws. on the run from forces beyond their capabilities. it only took a matter of days for the rest of their gang to settle in and set themselves up once again in a temporary camp to call home, finding a location south of the town in a secluded grassy plain. it was close to town, but still hidden unless you knew the right tracks to follow.

placing himself firmly amongst the law had led to dutch walking freely around town, a feeling he had not been able to experience in months, perhaps even years. still in a state of high alert (one that never seemed to leave), he allowed himself to look less frequently over his shoulder, not analyse every face he saw or mentally count how many weapons the men around him may have on them at any given moment. occupational hazards had ingrained this behaviour into him since a young age, but at least he could leave the confines of his camp more confident than he had in a long while.

arthur and himself rode down the now familiar dirt road towards the sunbaked town, passing dry fields and even nodding at passers by. dutch chuckled slightly, “we are living it up now son! look at me, look at us!”

arthur let himself crack a smile, “yup, i don’t know how you manage to squeeze your way into situations like these but …. thank goodness. everyone at camp seems settled in, happy even.”

dutch turned to the outlaw riding next to him, “what did i tell you arthur. i have a plan. it’s working. these fools are just the beginning.” he raised his hand to gesture to rhodes, now larger on the horizon and full of morning activity. people entering the train station to the right, some riding through to perhaps visit some of the general stores throughout. the local saloon would even start filling up with its regular drunks soon enough , even this early in the day.

“now,” dutch continued, “you break off to the left here and go visit our dear friend trelawny. last i heard he’s living amongst thieves in old trailers on the outskirts of town, see what kind of information he’s kicked up these past couple of weeks. meanwhile, i’ll go catch up with our great protector.” he placed an exaggerated hand on the deputy badge his chest, chuckling once again, “this sheriff’s perhaps a greater fool than even uncle.”

arthur laughed then let out a sigh, “fine, but next time you deal with trelawny. who knows what scheme he’s going to wrap me into.” with a kick to his horse, he rode away from dutch, leaving him to continue riding deeper into town.

hitching his loyal arabian in front of of the sheriffs office, he entered the building oozing the charisma and confidence that any man would dream to have. within ten minutes, he left holding official papers and a smug look on his face. mr gray had so graciously given him a tip off about some illegal moonshiners east of rhodes, the only instruction? to eradicate the men; any means necessary, just get the job done.

this translated to only mean two things to dutch; free booze and easy money.

eager to return to camp and start planning this ‘offical raid’ with a few extra men, he jumped back onto his horse and slowly started to make his way back home. shoving the papers into the saddle bag on his left, he allowed himself to light a cigar and let out a low sigh while he held it loosely between his calloused fingers. delicious and familiar smoke filling his lung, with an oblivious town in front of him. things were looking damn good …

just as he passed the bloody faced butcher hacking at a deer, he heard the first gunshot.

instantly alert, his still-lit cigar hit the dirt road and both hands were like stone by his sides, each ready to uncap the holsters beneath them at a moments notice. he scanned the area, turning his head every which way, already looking towards the hiding places he had mentally noted weeks earlier in which someone could potentially hide. just as he was straining to hear any sort of noise, he heard yet another gunshot within seconds.

habits had made him duck closer to his saddle, his horse becoming skiddish as dutch looked around once again. the townspeople were on high alert also, most crouched or back indoors after a few shouts. seconds passed before dutch realised that the shots were coming from out of town entirely, the echoes ringing out from where he guessed was the thicker forest that stood in the distance. these past months had made him assume every gun was pointed towards him, each loud noise, bullet or not, had made him instantly ready to fight and assuming the worst.

sitting straighter and tightening the grip around his reins to calm his horse, he figured the folk around him had concluded the same, most standing up and even waving their hands with a dismissive gesture. he had come to realise that in this town, if the shooting wasn’t at your front door, it wasn’t your problem ….

‘righteous people, truly ….’ he jokingly thought to himself.

another shot ran out from the trees, causing the remaining birds in the area to fly over the canopy. flinching less than before, dutch started his horse into a gallop once again, leaving rhodes to deal with their own backyard business. whoever it was, dutch figured he would rather it be their problem than his. moving closer towards the tree line on the dirt track to camp, he did let himself wonder what all the ruckus was about…. then it hit him …. that sinking feeling that usually rested at the bottom of his chest.

arthur …..

quickening his horse, dutch cut off the path and ran towards the forest. ‘trelawny….. that damn fool.’ he thought, his mind racing towards conclusion that he hoped weren't true. ��who knows what kind of business he put those two up too. those gunshots could have been from anybody … but ….’

breaking through the tree line, he scanned the area on horseback, looking on the ground for tracks, broken branches, blood strains, anything. moving closer to where he guessed the shots were coming from, he got down from his horse and continued on foot. each step he took was barely audible despite the dry leaf litter below, his right hand once again hovering steady above the shining revolver on his hip… he could smell gunpowder in the air, this must be the place.

“arthur? son are you here?” he let himself say aloud in shouted whisper, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. the area was thick with stumps, boulders, tree trunks and bushes, all bending and layering into a green and brown mess. it was eerily quiet, most animals being scared into running with all the noise, despite a few birds chirping as they bravely returned to their nests so soon.

eyes, ears and mind alert, ducth finally saw something, a body laying face down a few feet in front of him. he let himself rush over and sighed as he realised it belonged to a stranger. not just a stranger he realised, but an o’driscoll! ‘yes’ he thought, ‘green vest, rusty gun… missing teeth… good riddance.’

looking up he saw another body laying in a flower bed to the right. both men were huge in stature, undoubtably lacking brains, but still a force not taken on without guts and skill. looking down at the o’driscoll closest to him once again, he noticed that he had a gunshot wound, right in the middle of his forehead…. impressive. walking over to the other, he had the same. a clean and fatal shot. perhaps this was arthurs handy-work?

he stood and continued deeper into the forest, calling for arthur once again. he passed yet another dead o’driscoll, taking the satisfaction of stepping right over his body and observing yet another perfect headshot. three gunshots, three wounds, three dead o’driscolls. mystery solved.

right?

“arthur, where the hell are you boy?” he called once again. perhaps trelawney and himself were long gone, away from the scene and disappeared before the real trouble of the law or more o’driscolls showed up. or maybe they were never here at all?

dutch stood straighter and felt himself relax. whatever happened here seemed to be over, and his two men were nowhere to be seen. just as he figured he may as well leave this be and head on his way, he heard the snap of a branch behind him. turning around in an instant, hand already holding the loaded revolver in his hand, he froze as he came face to face with the barrel of a rusted repeater.

“dont. move.”

a woman was standing before him. her hair was matted, eyes wide, skin covered in who knows what but hands steady as a rock, eyebrows furrowed in fierce concentration. she was wearing a blouse, ripped and stained dark with what dutch assumed to be blood, her skirt torn and thinning. the boot she wore seemed three sized too big, a second gun on her side attached with nothing but a thin rope tied around her waist.

dutch slowly raised his palms in line with his shoulders, gun pointed upwards, “miss? i-” he started.

“don’t. who the hell are you.” she spoke stern but her voice sounded exhausted. she hid the shakiness well.

“i’m ….” he trailed off, “miss, did you kill those men back there?”

she stood unmoving. “so what if i did. those are bad men.… now answer my question.”

“oh i know,” he ignored her still, moving his right hand to touch his chest and daring to take a small step forward. “i’m glad they're laying face down in the dirt where they belong.” he paused. “thats some fine shooting you must have had.”

she looked him up and down with a quick glance, eyebrows furrowed, “what are you playing at…”

dutch dared once again to take a step forward, eyes glued to the woman with an unwavering confidence, despite the gun pointed right at his chest. “you asked who i am? my name is dutch van der line. i’m somewhat of a… outlaw around here. cast off and trying to survive….. i sense that you can relate to that.”

the woman seemed to slip out of her fierce gaze for a split second, her arms lowering slightly then snapping back into position, even taking a cowering step backwards as the stranger in front of her continued forward.

“i’m sure you're tired miss, hungry?” dutch continued. “when was the last time you laid to rest without keeping one eye open…” he moved closer still, his steps more frequent. “trust me, i’ve been there. i can help. we can help you.”

the woman stared, she didn’t know what to say, what to do, what to respond. and dutch knew it. he had her just how he wanted.

he was close enough now to raise his hand and place it on the barrel of her gun, slowly lowering it and moving in. he spoke low, calm and considerate. “miss… if you come with me, i can give you all these things. we have a camp, not too far from here. we already have a common enemy it seems,” he gestured behind him to the dead o’driscolls, even smiling slightly as he turned back, “it doesn't matter who you are, what you’ve done, just … trust me.”

the woman was staring unblinkingly at dutch, but he could tell that she had no choice, she seemed so exhausted, guessed she had nowhere to go. how long had see been alone for? was the dried blood that painted her clothes her own, or some other dead fool? “please miss, whats you’re name.”

“y/n.” she responded weakly, finally letting her arms drop by her sides. it seemed despite her unmoving position, she was struggling to hold up the heavy gun, her arms and strength exhausted. she allowed herself to let her guard down, her legs making her sway, shoulders slumped. it was all too much.

ducth let himself touch her shoulder, holding her small frame in his skilled hands as he let out a high whistle, calling his horse towards them.

“come on y/n. you’re safe now.”

[da-janela-lateral]

MP100 manga liveblog: V. 01

Hello! As some of you may have seen before, I'm on a mission to read all of my MP100 mangas before the ones I've bought arrive — which are volumes 13, 14 and the REIGEN spin-off. During this process, I'll leave here my reactions and opinions to each individual manga. Let's start, then!

Volume 1 most be the one I have read the most, because I keep saying I'm going to read the whole manga and forget to proceed with it. There is not much I can add except for my usual notes.

Everybody is so blunt its hilarious. It's not even only characters of whom this behavior is more expected, such as Reigen: Mob keeps saying things to people's faces.

Reigen is such a huge conman. The manga makes it even more obvious, which scenes such as him keeping guessing what was the "problem" with the client who visited adult sites.

Reigen you were rude as hell on the start I'm sorry.

Tsubomi is much more of a mysterious, unapproachable perfect girl than her anime version, which paints her as more friendly and extroverted individual.

Mob knowing that Reigen is a fraud, even if indirectly, is more clear. He questions Reigen's motives with calling and keeping him on Spirits and Such several times.

Other thing which was made more clear to me is in which sense Mob made a promise to the Telepathy Club. He not only appeared to be convinced to join, but also was about to take the papers to the Student Council. Of course his posterior choice to join the Body Improvement Club made Tome get pissed off...

I love getting to see the other clubs on the Student Council's blacklist. What do you mean Leg Shaving Club. "Flirting with the Chicks" Club? Cussing Club?? Tsubomi Fanclub??? How did they allow these to get created on the first place???????

The comedic timing is impeccable. "How did you guess it?" when the LOL Cult member made her 46477277th guess of what made Mob upset. And she was just. : \

The art is so expressive. This is a huge advantage to me.

Mob your repression is very much interesting to me. The flashbacks don't make time periods clear but he didn't seem to react in a socially acceptable way even before he started repressing his emotions.

The fact that Mob only showed his powers in public during his first school years, yet most people don't react to them as if they were a worldbreaking thing, REALLY caught my attention. This is just my worldbuilding fanatic mind in alert.

Mezato have I ever mentioned that I'm fascinated by you.

The hypnosis forcing the LOL Cult members to laugh in any occasion and making them lose the milk challenge is way more explicit.

Hey what do you mean Dimple's hypnosis with the LOL Cult is low quality.

I'm actually making lots of notes about the info the manga gives about how spirits and ESP work! But this is a separate project.

The omakes are very fun to read! I believe they'll fulfill my need for extra characterization by this time.

THIS PANEL IS SO FUCKING GOOD I'M DYING:

THIS IS THE PEAK OF COMEDY MAYBE.

Unrelated translation notes (this is the Portuguese edition):

The translation felt a bit awkward at times. There are occasions in which I'm confused about if the strange word choices were intentional or a false cognate from an English version.

For example, on Dimple's internal dialogue about how Mob was ruining the ambient he had built for LOL, he says the phrase "Para se tornar deus... é necessário eliminar todos os que disturbem a ordem que eu criei." ("In order to become [a] god... it's necessary to eliminate all those who disturb the order that I created".

The verb "disturbar" is not incorrect, but it's not common either. Most people would prefer to use "perturbar" or even "transtornar" in this context. Even verbs with a different and more colloquial meaning like "romper", "interromper" or "bagunçar" could be used to make a slightly different phrase yet transmit the same message! Because Dimple doesn't talk in a particularly formal or overdramatic form in other dialogues, this choice struck me as weird, and may look like a direct translation from the English "to disturb". But well, it's being used in a correct form so...

(I'm not neglecting the fact Dimple is refered as Hanako on his true form reveal though)

[kudzuoath]

No one asked for this but I’m writing about Temperance/Odette

• Her given name is in fact Odette. When she joined the Dawning Star Temple, she took the name Temperance. It’s the name she prefers.

• abandoned at six in Baldur’s Gate by her mother. Born in Elturel and lived the first six years of her life there. Was in Baldur’s Gate because it was a stop on the way to Neverwinter where her mother was traveling in order to marry her second husband.

• Kell Corners — or “Kell of the Corner” found and tried to take care of her. Was human, a conman, and an alcoholic. Genuinely liked kids and tried to do right by them where he could but was also not above using them, especially to fund his addictions. Ran a sort of small time thieving ring and paid lip service the actual thieves guild.

• Through Kell, she met Eldrey, another tiefling living on the streets who was two years older and extremely charismatic. Eldrey very quickly became her best friend, and both girls eventually broke from Kell and started running their own cons.

•Until, at 13, she tried to rob a drow woman named Saraid who served in the Dawning Star Temple. Rather than alert the guards, she brought her back to the Temple and had her work there to pay off her debt. Whilst in the temple, she found solace for the first time in her life — and discovered a genuine talent for herbalism and alchemy. So much so, Saraid petitioned to take her on as an apprentice and she became a ward of the temple.

•whilst working there she met a half-drow her age named Sage who was skilled with herbalism and medicine, as well as a very, VERY tall tiefling boy named Shepherd, who worked in the kitchens twice a week and had a bafflingly loving and large family. They became a very close knit group.

• Eldrey and Temperance still remain friends through all of this, and even mange to stay close. Close enough that Eldrey is her first kiss and first relationship when Temperance is sixteen. Though this fractures fairly quickly as Eldrey makes no secret of how much she resents Temperance taking up with the people on the Temple and leaving her to run her cons alone. Accuses her of putting on airs and looking down on her despite this not being true. The resulting argument end with Eldrey completely vanishing from her life.

• until three years later, at nineteen, Eldrey returns and asks for Temperance’s help. She claims to have messed up bad and to need a place to hide. Convinces Temperance to let her stay in the temple in secret.

•only Eldrey is lying. And one night a week after being allowed to stay, she lets in more people, who then break into the inner sanctum of the temple — where an artifact known as Lathander’s Litany was kept. A phylactery containing a tiny piece of the soul from hundreds of years worth of his followers who earned the honor of immortalizing their power and knowledge within it. In times of strife, one could attune to it and be granted divine power akin to an aasimar (of the scourge variety).

• Temperance discovers this plot to steal it and charges in to try and stop Eldrey — thinking she can stop her oldest friend before she makes a terrible mistake. Only she’s discovered by the head of the Temple as well as Saraid. Chaos ensues. the phylactery breaks in Temperance’s hands and all those soul fragments wind up in the closest container they can find — her. Naturally this knocks her the fuck out.

• when she wakes up she’s already in a cell in Wyrms Rock and learns both Saraid and the head of the temple are dead. As well as several other clergy members. Discovered as she was in the inner sanctum she was blamed for the deaths and the missing artifact — something not helped by the event being very blurry in her mind and the myriad whispers of the extra souls in her head. Not to mention the grief and the fact that Sage comes to visit to scream at her for her betrayal.

�� Temperance spends eight years in prison. During which she discovers what happened to the Phylactery, and to her. It’s in prison she makes her Oath of Vengeance, which is upheld not by a god, but by the myriad souls from the phylactery. Something that allows her a modicum of temperance (lol) over the righteous fury she holds inside her.

• at the end of the eighth year, Temperance manages to break out of prison and seeks help from Shepherd. Who surprisingly believes her when she tells him she didn’t know what Eldrey was planning and does t know who killed Saraid and the head of the Temple. He helps her get out of the city, and suggests she go by a new name if she doesn’t want to get caught. He also gifts her with a pair of earrings enchanted to work like an amulet of non-detection.

•so she is Odette again. And she wants to find Eldrey. Her oath as much as demands it. For three years she searches — righting wrongs and putting down the wicked as she goes

•then she’s found by bounty hunters, and being dragged back to Baldur’s Gate. Only she has the good luck to be zapped aboard the nautiloid instead.

[antvnger]

Clark wasn't sure what had happened. One moment he was flying through metropolis then the next he wasn't. He recognized the city as San Francisco but something felt off.

That didn't last long though when he heard the sound of people in need of help. It looked like a bank was being robbed and people were being held up. With a determined look, Clark made his way into the bank to stop them.

"I understand money solves a lot of problems, but this is creating more for you than helping." Clark said before getting to work.

Scott flew in threw the bank door when he got the alert about the bank. These bank robbers never do it right. There’s other ways to do this, but that’s the conman in him talking.

He was about to grow to normal size, and make a quip before he helped the people in trouble, but someone else beat him to the punch. Literally and figuratively. Who’s popped up in his territory?

Scott was surprised to see a man in a tight blue suit and a cape. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Holy shit, it can’t be!” He heard a whimper from somewhere out of his vision, and he remembered why he was there. Oh yeah. The civilians. He grew to normal size while fricking Superman was dealing with the robbers. “It’s okay,” he assured the people. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll lead you out.”

[13eyond13]

hello! for the ask meme, could i ask beyond for 19 and 17?

BEYOND + EMBARRASSING POSSESSION:

Similarly to L, he owns a countdown alarm device hidden away in a storage locker that goes off whenever he hasn't been active in a long time to alert people that something unplanned has happened to him, and he set it up to text Roger an alert about him as well, but Roger didn't recognize the number it came from and deleted it as spam BEYOND + POSSESSION IN THE TRASH:

Very few of his possessions are meaningful to him, and most of them he acquires simply for their cheapness and convenience and then discards once he no longer needs them. He often leaves odd little trails of discarded disguises wherever he goes in public like wigs and thrift store sweaters tossed into the dumpsters behind fast food joints, because his erratic conman schedule requires him to be crafting and shedding several different personas a day

[headcanon ask]

[raytm]

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood and licks it up enthusiastically uwu @ caelus

With the devious glint in Sampo’s half-mast gaze he should have been quick to discern he was up to something, that guileful smile only amplifying his unease. As innocuous as his casual gait & friendly cadence were Caelus’ eyes were affixed to him, as if he were considering retreating until his urgent steps would see him backed into a corner.

Would that have been wise ? considering it isn’t until the fanning of his hot breath on the Trailblazer’s clavicle sends shudders up his spine that he’s finally alert enough to realize danger was encroaching on him & rapidly. He doesn’t have time to wedge a hand between the thief’s expert mouth & a slither of exposed skin until a lance of pain blazes along the path the shudder had taken. The sound that comes out of him is something between a plaintive cry & a whine. ❝  I may look good — ❞  he trails off, hoping that the withering glare he was mustering was at least somewhat effective, it wasn’t  ❝  but I am not a snack.❞ tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes only emphasizing the mortification that ushered in alongside a mischievous laving tongue. The futile attempt to dissuade his teasing with a furrowed brow & indignant glower are dispersed as his eyes widen, uncertain if he should be focusing his efforts on squirming his way out of the conman’s clutches. If the first reaction had been shameful then the tremulous breath he took as Sampo’s tongue grazed his skin was utterly horrifying, he could have withered away right there on the spot & it would have been a more preferable outcome. 

[forbelobog]

surely, he had been hallucinating.

a very vivid, painful, and downright insane hallucination. because that would be the only logical explanation for captain gepard landau waking up in one sampo koski's apartment with not a wound to speak of when ten hours ago, gepard could have sworn he took a surgically sharp ice shard to the chest while shielding the conman. that very same shard he very clearly remembers running him straight through. the pain had been so intense, so immediate, it felt so real, and then there was a great white light. like they always talk about, seeing your maker before you go. in the white light space and time, gepard even recalls thinking it wasn't such a bad way to go. sampo might not be happy with him but, oh well. they always seemed to be at odds, but that didn't mean the man deserved to die alone in the freeze from a fragmentum monster bigger than he's ever seen. gepard was a soldier. that was his job, to die in the line of duty. not sampo.

but the white light faded. gepard blinked focus back to his eyes, trying to hear around the ring in his ears. the monster was gone. maybe, just maybe, sampo was there instead. but it hadn't looked like sampo. but it sort of did? captain was bleeding out by then, choking on his own insides. the sampo-not-sampo said something to him in this very weird hallucination, gepard couldn't tell what it was. he couldn't really hear anything, just that damn ringing. everything had faded out, after that.

now, awake and alert, gepard sits up straight as if struck with electricity, clutching the sheet of the bed to his bare chest as if to try and cover his scarred torso from the other man in the room in some attempt at modesty.

"…this is clearly a dream," he decides after staring at that annoyingly attractive face, because that option made more sense than…whatever it had been he thought happened, "either that, or i'm dead. and this is a very weird afterlife joke i just don't get." if it wasn't either of those things, gepard would have to make sense of the power he had seen out in the freeze. the power that would have come from sampo. surely, he's recalling things wrong? does he even trust sampo to tell him what happened instead? a part of him says no, but they were alone out there. no one else could. // @lovesode

[windupnamazu]

absolutely smitten

ffxivwrite2023 #22: fulsome complimentary or flattering to an excessive degree.

Tsuna/Hancock & Lunya. Post-Endwalker, Mount Rokkon. 586wc. ⮞ Live Lunya Lanya reaction.

They were rummaging through a storehouse halfway up the mountain in search of spoils to bring back to the Ruby Bazaar, scattered between dusty crates of scrolls and koban and other goods piled high over the years. Hancock scanned the room with tired but still-wide and aware eyes, taking in the places they hadn't yet checked for something of worth.

"I found another one," Tsuna announced as she popped up by his side with a book that he eagerly accepted from her. The records left behind in this place were invaluable for cataloguing what was trash and what was treasure.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, tucking the tome into the collar of his dogi. "Full glad am I you were willing to accept my humble invitation. I can't imagine sorting through these on my own, let alone getting here to begin with."

"Of course—how could we leave Kugane's most eligible ijin bachelor to be devoured by a ravenous yokai up this blasted mountain?" Tsuna placed a slender hand on the crook of his elbow. "Said invitation was quite convincing as well."

He grinned back at her. "Unfortunately for the lovely would-be expatriates of the city, their ticket out became ineligible sometime ago. I've heard word that Bukyo's untouchable flower—the illustrious lady of the golden courts, the mastermind of the Mizuhiki family—finally deigned him worthy of her time. And what a delight she is, that flower; her thorns are every bit as lovely as her petals. Her hair is like silk and her eyes the colour of the finest sake. And her prowess in battle! Her generosity! That tongue which barbs and soothes! I could wax poetic for a fortnight on her loveliness of form and personality."

Tsuna doubled over with laughter.

The jingling of little bells alerted Hancock to a new presence at his hip.

"Hancock," Lunya said sweetly, making a beckoning gesture for him to lean down. When he did, she yanked on his collar, pulling his face close to hers. With her other hand, she pinched his cheek and pulled. Ow ow ow. "Shut the fuck up."

"Oh, as if you and G'raha aren't just as bad," Tsuna teased between peals of absurdly un-Tsunalike giggles, which were truly a treat to hear.

"Uh, yeah, but we're married," Lunya jeered, playfully wrinkling her nose at Hancock as she released him. "I can't imagine our conniving conman here is ready to be that honest."

Hancock scoffed, rubbing his cheek as he stood upright and then smoothed out the wrinkles she left in his dogi. "Miss Lanya! I have the highest imaginable honor and pleasure of courting the unconquerable and impossibly gorgeous Mizuhiki no Tsuna-sama," he said, delighting in the flush blooming on said woman's impossibly gorgeous face. "I am sincerely paying her only the tribute as a woman of her strength, intellect, and beauty deserves."

With a crow of delight, Lunya headed for the door. "Carry on then, loverboy!" she guffawed back at them over her shoulder, grin wide and fond. "But if you have time to flirt, you have time to use your eyes and get back to looking, and I don't mean at Tsuna's chest!"

"Hancock," Tsuna said sternly, crossing her arms over said chest. "Eyes on the prize."

"That they are, light of my life, she who carries the sun across the sky into my awaiting arms that I may learn warmth and joy after a life in darkness. That they are."

"Kami help me," his lover muttered, but she was grinning.

[marydublinauthor]

We are venturing into the exciting and episodic world of Kindle Vella with a brand-new story set in the Shot in the Dark universe. The first episode of The Witch and the Conman will be dropping this Friday, September 8 and it is completely free to read!

GET NOTIFIED! Subscribe to our newsletter via our website to be alerted when the story drops! 🧚🏻‍♂️🎉📚

https://authorsdublinkendsley.com

If you’re new to Kindle Vella, liking, reading, and following a story are all completely free ways to enjoy our work and support us in the process! We can’t wait to share these characters with you — they’re sexy, snarky, and full of heart.

Synopsis:

A fairy and a conman make a unstoppable team — until now. Lee and Ben’s plans to steal a legendary amulet are thwarted by a cunning witch named Delilah, who is after the very same item. When their coveted prize turns out to be a counterfeit, Lee and Ben begrudgingly unite with Delilah to orchestrate a daring heist for the real artifact. Battling Ben's cautionary instincts about trusting witches, the magnetic connection between Lee and Delilah intensifies, driving them toward a thrilling edge where desire and danger collide in a game where the stakes have never been higher.

@kendsleyauthor

[fortifice]

     The day Gepard had stopped looking over his shoulder to ensure that Koski left his residence was the day Sampo started getting a little too curious about the other. Fingers plucking through pages of the journal that started their physical connection, ingesting thoughts no one ought to see, not even the conman but smiling as he looked over the scribbles that Sampo knew were meant to be of him, even if hardly discernible. Art might not be his strong suit  &&  the written frustrations certainly aren't the captain's means of waxing poetry, but these are part of the blond's charm. Which is saying a lot considering he'd once upon a time told his Nameless friends that Gepard lacked charm. 

     Spending time in bed with the other also tips him off to his schedule. Digging around for intel somewhat null, the most threatening of them all falls apart for him in bed after all, he knows there's a certain amount of wiggle room he'll be subconsciously afforded each  &&  every chase. Though his reasons for slipping out into white blanket of the snow plains have little to do with causing real trouble. Well, according to the captain, Sampo only ever brings trouble  &&  he is wanting to steal but a moment of the other's time. Hah... Always right, huh ? 

     Silent strides, he bounds behind the familiar blue cape, Stalwart treading lonesome in the cold. If he were a Fragmentum creature, he's sure the other would've been more attuned to their alerting presence. Unfortunately, Sampo's covert skill set conceals him even in such an open space like this. A perfect opportunity to take a hold of his hand, but he tries his chances with the Landau's reflexes. Reaching up, leather gloves cover the captain's sight, Sampo's lips immediately finding the shell of Gepard's ear to avoid him retaliating with full force. Speaking softly, but keeping with his usual cadence.  ❝ Hey, Cap~  Say, you ever see a fool make a snow angel out here ?  ❞

Had he become so negligent as to grant the malefactor free reign over his home ? he did not feel so, perhaps he had become too lenient, his once cold, keen edges dull and pervaded with warmth. He did not mind it, for there was a fostered fondness that came from casting a final glance over the rise and fall of Sampo silhouetted beneath his sheets. The dawn patrol was far more daunting when he had to part from the other’s arms, perilously intimate. He would have basked for hours longer in the glow of that warmth if not for the wintry landscape imploring him to his duty bound fate. that journal, it had been the catalyst for all of this, his plunging descent into turmoil of all sorts. If someone had inquired of his candid opinion of Sampo not that long ago he would have called him a fraudulent conman, now, he did so still, but there was a trace of yearning laced within it, like he would rather hold his name like a lover than an adversary. This day was not so estranged from those before it, Gepard leaving as dawn unfurled, the soft, ambient glow of  it casting the snow scintillating. It was freshly fallen, crisp and deep,his boots sinking further in with each laborious stride along those sinuous, mercifully empty paths. There would still be hours until the handover and it was far too silent out on those isolated passages, even the heart of belobog was somnolent, yawning and languorous, in no hurry to greet the bracing cold morning. He should be concerned that he does not hear the other’s approach, furtive footfalls a patent reminder that he was not something to be played with, if it came to it what the Captain had in brute strength he honed in agility and guile. He is fortunate though, for every synapse of Gepard keened as those gloved hands obscure his vision, all but thrusting his elbow into the other’s ribs with shattering force, ceasing the action half way through, the bone of it grazing the other’s abdomen. he could have dodged it effortlessly, Gepard doesn’t doubt that. the brush of warm breath against his ear makes him jerk it away, turning on him, flustered, indignant, if not just a little vexed that he had gotten the better of him again. “ Announce yourself would you..” how he wishes he sounded more commanding rather than hopelessly exasperated, regarding his presence with less caution than he should, it was fortunate no one else was around to witness it lest the captain’s fortitude be questioned. “ And no I haven’t.. Were you intending for me to land you back in the snow so you could show me how it’s done?’ 

[denimbex1986]

'Netflix has just dropped an extended trailer for the hotly-anticipated Ripley TV series - leaving fans' jaws on the floor.

Andrew Scott stars as conman Tom Ripley in this adaptation of Patricia Highsmith's 1955 novel The Talented Mr Ripley, though many readers will perhaps be more familiar with the sumptuous Anthony Minghella film version from 2000 - starring Matt Damon, Jude Law, Gwneth Paltrow, Cate Blanchett and Philip Seymour Hoffman.

This new version - shot in stunning black and white - follow's the titular lead as he scams his way to a life of untold wealth in 1960s Italy. Hired by a wealthy chap to retrieve his wayward son, Dickie Greenleaf (played by Johnny Flynn), Tom swiftly finds himself captivated by his employer's lavish existence. In fact, he becomes so entranced that he devises a scheme to assume Dickie's identity.

In the new trailer, we see a fixated Tom disturbingly repeating Dickie's way of speaking in the mirror. Meanwhile, Dickie's better half Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning) senses there's something not quite right lurking behind Tom's perfect demeanour, so alerts both Dickie and the authorities, to no avail.

"Tom is one of those people who take advantage of people," Marge says in the clip. "He's taking advantage of Dickie." But while Dickie seems unfazed by Marge's concerns, Tom begins to grow increasingly irritable at her incessant suspicion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he tells Marge in another scene, as his body language conveys quite the opposite. But Marge's worries are corroborated once a certain Eliot Sumner discovers the conman's fake IDs and demands an explanation. With the Italian police also on his trail following Dickie's mysterious disappearance, Tom has to constantly watch his back.

The eight-episode series is written and directed by The Night Of's Steven Zaillian, who also penned the scripts of Martin Scorsese's Gangs of New York and The Irishman, as well as Steven Spielberg's Schindler's List.

'Every shot looks like a beautiful charcoal sketch'

Fans were quick to comment on the thrilling new trailer. Here's just a selection of what some of you had to say:

@honomyanlem9849: "The cinematography looks insane!"

@MariaVosa: "You had me at Andrew Scott. But Andrew Scott as Tom Ripley!?! Countdown to April 4 starts immediately!"

@FrankieWasHeShaking: "Genuinely one of the best and most intriguing Netflix Original trailers I’ve ever seen. Incredible."

@KathySolorzano: "As much as I Loved Matt Damon as Tom Ripley, I think I shall love Andrew Scott even more. Looking forward to this ..."

@RickHaydnHorst: "I knew Andrew Scott was incredible the first time I saw him on Sherlock. I’ve wanted to see him more, and finally, he’s getting the roles he deserves."

@amandasaunders2503: "Having Andrew in this had me sold but then to see the cinematography? Every shot looks like a beautiful charcoal sketch!"

@shirley1989: "Easily one of the best trailers I have ever seen, love it!"

@dlweiss: "I already know that Andrew Scott can bring the creepiness, so my one big hope is that his performance is also allowed to show how charming and convincingly harmless Tom is capable of appearing. That dichotomy is at the heart of what makes him such a unique monster."

@marc8750: "Finally something worth resubscribing (for). They (Netflix) don’t make good miniseries like they used to."

*Ripley comes to Netflix on April 4.'

[widowshill]

Questions for multimuses: Which of your muses loves winter the most? Which one loves summer the most? (& It's time for a heist! Tell us what role each of your muses has in this operation (name as many as you'd like). if you feel so inspired?) Please & thank you!

QUESTIONS FOR MULTIMUSES.

thank you very much for this question :DD

loves winter: elizabeth. this one, to me, is quite easy ––  elizabeth embodies a very wintery spirit no matter the season, but she has a particular fondness for the blistering maine winters at collinwood, and the most used to the cold (having lived there longer than anyone). she loves ice skating: she was excellent at it in her day, and taught carolyn personally. mugs of hot cocoa, elaborate hand-cut pine decorations (courtesy of matthew, or willie) and poinsettias and holly (courtesy of herself from the greenhouse), evenings warming up from the annual collins family snowball fight in front of the fireplace. summer: roger. this isn't so obvious vibes-wise because man always looks like he walked out of a vintage sears catalog with the turtleneck / suit / trenchcoat combo. but, unlike his sister, he's far more sensitive to the vicious seaside winds, as well as chill of the house itself in the wintertime. he loves a warm summertime walk along the beach in the seabreeze, or along the docks of the bay, or skipping rocks off the cliffside. likewise, a pleasure drive with the top down in the convertible, or a jaunt out in the boat. he is rarely happier than he is with a fun little umbrella in his drink and book of Romantic poety in his hand. true at collinwood and especially abroad in england in the summer.

as for the heist! i decided to include everyone even the muses i forget exist on this blog sometimes... lol.

the mastermind: liz. goes without saying. she has the most working braincells at any given time which make her the best choice for organizing/hiring the team/managing funds ... and a way of Authority and fabricating Truth that puts her in an ideal spot to be a heist leader. also, her unique relationship with law enforcement where they greatly respect her / are friendly with her, and yet immediately know if anything shady is going on it's at her house.

the conman: nathan. excellent smooth talker with a great knack for manipulating people, when he's put on the scent of that cold hard cash. he can be either (seemingly) harmlessly charming and flirtatious, or the more ruthless and backstabbing sort, whichever the situation at hand calls for. not bad with a crossbow if things go south!

the hacker: josette. every good heist team needs a ghost to disable locks, bug security cameras, spook guards, etc ! considering this role also usually entails keeping an eye on the rest of the team and keeping them safe / alerting them to danger, my good ghost buddy is particularly suited for that.

the muscle: gore. longest kill streak and the most ruthless with practical weaponry, not the least afraid to get his hands bloody ( they might have more trouble keeping him restrained / not attracting too much attention than anything else ) also just generally the most physically imposing – bulk, scary looking.

the inside man: vicki. no one will ever suspect the harmless little innocent governess :) i don't think she'd really be that good in the active part of a heist because she's a little too Goody Too Shoes for that ( and usually terrible unsubtle) but she is good at uncovering secrets, getting the lay of the place, reading her employers, things of that nature.

the fixer: eleanor. again, not terribly useful in the active, crime-committing part of the heist, but she Knows a Guy and she can absolutely acquire that thing that you need, and will see it done so that you can go out and commit the ultimate crime.

the distraction: lena. my little OH actress that could totally play the ultimate noir femme fatale ( or any other type of part ) depending on what the situation called for. there's definitely something going on there with her and liz but no one is stupid enough to say anything.

the driver: roger. does elizabeth trust her younger brother to take on an important role in a heist? not really. would he insist being a part of it if he knew about it? yes. what she knows he can do and likes to do is drive expensive cars much too fast (and making him stay with the car helps ensure he's not underfoot or interfering in her plans in other ways) i also rag on him for his repeated accidents a lot but generally speaking he's not a bad driver, especially considering the amount of alcohol usually in his system. just triple check the brakes :)