#everything hidden beyond the mist

[opal-owl-flight]

For the Future.

Got a new cloud brush that I wanted to test out! Then it became a whole writing spree abt 3's dreams WJEJK. Just A Squid will continue soon.

More deets abt 3s dreams under the cut!

Maybe its bc I was sitting in a conference room earlier today. But I basically asked them about their dreams while there... why they keep doing what theyre doing.

In my minds eye I saw them flying a kite.

“(I want to protect the world. Keep it safe.

…Let it stay safe so the children can continue to do what Im doing now.)”

…but what about you?

“Four wants to become an engineer, and Laika wants to try out the music scene. Me?

My time for that has long gone.”

:(

A soft chuckle. With a hint of yearning, quickly hidden with a gentle smile.

“(Dont feel sad. Ive found purpose in what I do. Im doing it so everyone else can follow their dreams.

Its also a job.

Its okay that I dont have to love it all the time.)"

…if you had the choice to live a different life, would you?

“(…I dont know if I can answer that yet.

If I didnt live the way I have, where would everyone else be?)"

You can still have fun, you know.

“(You see this? This is fun! Watch!)”

and they twirl that fancy kite theyre flying.

“(I made it myself.)"

...the twirling stops, and their eyes kind of mist over. They look down, into the threads they were manipulating.

“(Listen.

I do have a dream. Its to live in a world without war.

…Im doing everything I can to make that come true.)”

and once youve achieved that peace, what then?

The kite twirls again, making a figure 8 over and over. 3 shrugs, eyes following the figure.

“(Maybe Ill fly more kites.)"

------------

3 doesnt have...dreams beyond their captain duties/related to war and if one asks them enough, theyll find out that what 3 does in peaceful times are what they once did in childhood

Clutching onto what little they were allowed to experience; flying kites, singing songs, making art, remembering stories

Its something that hurts so damn much to see,3 clinging on their nostalgic memories and yearning for more of those moments.

They dream for peace, for rest. the reason they clutched on those memories was bc it was the few times they experienced that kind of peace

[me-gusta]

Amthyst in our Veins

Zaun was always drenched in shadows. The flickering green chem-lights gave the streets an eerie glow, as if the city itself was alive—breathing, pulsing with the fumes of industry and chaos. Somewhere in those darkened alleys, Jinx wandered. But this time, it wasn’t for mayhem or explosions. It was for something else, something unfamiliar that tugged at the edges of her mind.

Ekko.

It had been years since they last spoke—years since they had run side by side as kids, laughing in the forgotten ruins of Zaun’s underbelly. The boy who could manipulate time and the girl who always seemed to be running out of it. Their paths had diverged so violently, but somehow, they always crossed again. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just Zaun.

Jinx found herself wandering toward Sump Level 13, an abandoned section of the city where the Chem-Barons had long since lost interest. It was a place where the broken remnants of Zaun’s past collected, untouched and forgotten. Just like the two of them, she thought. Broken, but not forgotten.

Ekko leaned against a crumbling wall, his mind racing. He’d heard Jinx was back, causing her usual chaos across the city. She was always trouble, but this time, it felt different. The girl he once knew, the one who laughed without a care, was buried beneath layers of destruction and madness. But every now and then, in the quiet moments, Ekko could still see her—the real Jinx.

He didn’t know why he was here. Maybe part of him still thought he could reach her. Maybe part of him didn’t want to let go of the past. His heart always beat faster at the thought of her—like the chaos she thrived in had infected him, too.

He checked the Z-Drive at his waist, ensuring it was ready. Time was always his greatest weapon, but against Jinx, it felt like a crutch—something to lean on when he couldn’t handle her unpredictability. She never played by the rules.

Just as he was about to give up, a familiar voice echoed through the dark.

“Hey, time-boy. Miss me?”

He spun around, his heart skipping a beat as he saw her standing there, framed by the glowing green mist of Zaun’s underbelly. Jinx—all wild blue hair and that infuriating, charming grin that never left her face.

“Jinx,” he muttered, trying to sound calm. But the truth was, seeing her again after all this time stirred something deep inside him.

“C’mon, Ekko, you can’t really be surprised.” She walked toward him, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving his. “You knew I’d find you. You always know where I’ll be.” She giggled softly, like it was all just a game.

He clenched his fists, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t want to keep doing this. Whatever this is. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

Jinx tilted her head, her playful grin softening for a brief moment. “Oh, but it does, doesn’t it? You’re the hero. I’m the bad girl. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“It’s not fun, Jinx. People are getting hurt. You’re getting hurt.”

Her smile wavered, just for a second. That brief flicker of vulnerability that Ekko could always sense, hidden beneath layers of madness. She stopped just a few steps away from him, close enough for him to see the spark in her eyes, the one that always drew him in.

“And you care about that?” she whispered, her voice suddenly quieter. “You still care?”

Ekko swallowed, his throat dry. He’d spent years trying to convince himself that she was beyond saving, that the girl he cared about was gone, lost to the chaos. But every time he saw her, he felt it again—that pull. The way his heart raced when she was near, how her presence seemed to make everything else fall away.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice softer than before. “I still care.”

Jinx’s eyes widened slightly, the mask of playful insanity slipping for just a moment. She stepped closer, her gaze locked on his. “You’re so stupid, Ekko. Always trying to save people. Even me.”

“I don’t need to save you, Jinx. I just want you to stop running.” He took a step toward her, closing the space between them. “You can stay. We can figure this out. Together.”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, it looked like she might actually consider it. But then she laughed again—soft and bitter. “You’re too late for that, Firefly.”

“Maybe,” Ekko admitted. “But maybe not.”

He reached out, gently brushing a lock of blue hair behind her ear. Jinx froze, her sharp eyes staring up at him, wide and uncertain. For once, she didn’t pull away. The silence between them was thick with tension—something old, something neither of them had been willing to face for years.

Jinx blinked, her lips parting as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she just looked at him—really looked at him—like she was seeing him for the first time since they were kids.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Ekko’s chest tightened, and for a moment, the world around them—the chaos, the smoke, the broken city—disappeared. All that was left was her. Jinx.

“Because I always have,” he said, the words coming out easier than he expected. “And I always will.”

For the first time in years, Jinx didn’t laugh. She didn’t taunt him, or mock him, or run away. Instead, she just stood there, her gaze softening, her walls beginning to crumble.

Slowly, cautiously, Ekko leaned in. His hand slid up to cup her cheek, and she didn’t stop him. Their breaths mingled in the cold air, and for a second, time seemed to stand still—his world and hers finally colliding.

Then, before he could think twice, he kissed her.

It was soft at first, hesitant. Like testing the waters of something that had been simmering for years, something they‘d both been too afraid to face. But then, Jinx responded, her lips moving against his with a sudden urgency, like she was trying to hold onto the moment for as long as possible.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting together. Jinx’s hands trembled slightly as they clutched at his jacket, and for the first time, she didn’t try to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I don’t know how to stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Ekko’s thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a tear. “You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll figure it out.”

Jinx closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. For once, she didn’t fight him, didn’t run. She just stayed. And for the first time in a long, long time, Ekko believed that maybe—just maybe—there was still hope for them both.

[letters-unsending]

No. 45

////

Hero meets Villain in a dream.

////

“How’d you get in here?”

“Through the door?” Hero gestured behind him and then paused. A corridor stretched out past his fingers, meandering into darkness.

“You’re in my mind.” Villain waved down at Hero’s feet. “Treading your dirty footprints all over my thoughts.”

“In your mind? Certainly not.” Hero looked around. The hall had widened into a room with slate-gray walls and oval windows that seemed to slip downward every time he blinked. One window was on the floor. The glass encased a squirming, oily blackness.

“You need to get out.” As Villain stomped over the floor-window, the tiles shuddered, spilling into mounds of white sand. The roof yawned open to a soft, purple twilight. “I was trying to spell you out of my head and I’ve made a mess of everything. You’re sleeping right now, aren’t you? Your soul has a habit of wandering.”

“I do remember going to bed before this.” Hero glanced down. His feet were bare and the wind slipped past his ankles and the wide hem of his pajama pants. Frantically, he reached for his face. Chilled metal met his fingers—his mask was still on.

“Your soul will hide what wants to be hidden. You don’t have to worry about that.” Villain groaned and stomped again, but the scene remained the same. The white sand dissolved into a silvery sea. Though a breezed curled across the beach, the water was still, an infinite mirror reflecting the bruise-blue horizon, and Hero considered it, wondering what would happen if he disturbed its surface. “You’ll go once you wake up anyways.”

“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” He stepped forward. The sand was too soft and whispered against his heel like silk.

“You shouldn’t remember that.” Villain whirled around.

“I don’t,” Hero murmured, walking toward the water, “it’s just a feeling, you know.”

Villain sighed and followed him. Together, they marched, but the sea never grew closer. “You tried this the last time as well,” Villain explained, “and you never make it far.”

“So, I’ve been in your mind before.” Hero turned, following the shoreline instead. Waves crashed and gulls called faintly, though nothing moved, and the sky was bare. “Why haven’t you attacked me? I’m sure you can expel me from your mind. You feel powerful.”

“The soul will not do what it does not wish to.”

“You want me here?”

“The company is nice. I haven’t seen anybody in a while.” The sand grew sharp underfoot, furling into blades of grass, and pines sprouted up between thick, gauzes of mist. Fog hung on the air and perspired over Hero’s skin.

“You being here, it shouldn’t be possible.” Villain gestured toward the haze and the barest silhouettes of mountains beyond. “Of course, there is always the chance that you could be a figment of my mind, but I have little skill with conjuring sentient things. I can only hope that it’s you and that I’m not alone.”

“You’re trapped.”

“Astute observation.” Rain fell softly as Villain stopped, canting his head toward the sky. “It usually takes you far longer to realize that.”

“How many times have I been here?” Hero stared past Villain, at the pines, whose limbs ruffled like great, dark feathers. From their gnarled roots, the trees twisted upwards. Their crowns pierced the fog.

“You forget.” Villain held his face with his hands. The trees braided, expanded, and domed over where they stood, till everything was emerald and reeked of mulched earth and spruce. “It doesn’t matter. Everything I tell you, you always forget, but you always come back. You never remember me and I’m tired of meeting you, for the first time, every time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you remembered me.” The green turned black, into roiling nothingness. “We knew each other in the waking world, but it seems you’ve forgotten me there as well.”

Hero strode through the abyss and wrenched Villain’s hands from his face. He had a nose, cheeks, lips, jaw; he had everything that should compose a face and yet Hero couldn’t arrange it, couldn’t piece it together. His eyes were the only thing that didn’t swim and when Hero looked into them, he tumbled forward, onto the cold tile of the grey room.

He staggered to his feet. The windows were gone, but a door replaced them. It was simple, white, and had a shining brass handle, but Hero never reached for it.

Turning back, he called out a name.

“[Villain]?”

[itstimetotheorize]

The Nowhere and the Waking world

For years we have tried to make sense of the world surrounding the Little Nightmares franchise, and after years of waiting, we finally have the one thing we never knew we could have...Answers. Thanks to the release of The Sounds of Nightmares podcast, some much needed information was finally brought to light, while many more things were finally confirmed. This world was everything we had theorized it would be, and so much more, and after years of waiting, we have a name for this nightmarish world...."The Nowhere".... and just as we have always theorized, this world was no little nightmare...it was always real.

The Nowhere itself is separate from the human world(a.k.a the waking world), but it is a world which one can travel to none the less...through dreams. After a person enters a dream state, their minds can reach the space between the two worlds, "The Threshold", a dark and endless abyss where one will float through a dark mist. The dark mist obscures one's vision until it dissipates enough to allow a person to see what is beyond the darkness, the gateway to Nowhere. Once a human crosses this gateway, they are judged by a giant red pulsing eye entity(more on this in a moment) and its many eyes circling around it, all sparkling with a hypnotic, enchanting light, their light dripping down into the abyss just as we saw it drip down into Monster Six's music box in Little Nightmares 2.

The eye entity's eyes look on as every child is presented to them within the Threshold, and if they like what they see in the tormented child, the all seeing eye will equally be pleased enough to open up and permit the human child entry to the Nowhere. Once the human child is permitted entry into Nowhere, their physical body will disappear from the waking/human world to complete the journey, leaving the child trapped among the monstrous Residents, or even becoming part of the Nowhere itself should they open themselves up to it.

However, this gateway and the Nowhere itself, are not all as they may seem. The gateway alone is guarded by the Ferryman, a Resident of the Nowhere we have known about since the very first game, primarily from the Little nightmares issues #1 and #2 comics, whose main duty is to find human children whose tormented lives have left them vulnerable enough to his manipulation, and desperate enough to find any escape from their current lives in the human world. Once a child has been selected, the Ferryman will guide them through the threshold and through the gateway, to Nowhere. The Ferryman's existence is primarily to not only guide children to Nowhere, but to also convince the children to give into the Nowhere and remain there, through any means necessary, usually by convincing them there is something only the Nowhere can provide, such as freedom from something specific, including all illnesses within their body or being liberated from whatever it is the child feels tormented by, such as other people, their own fears, loneliness etc.

While Children are primarily targeted and given permission to cross over into Nowhere, adults can also be granted permission, though through a more meticulous process. The Ferryman proclaims in chp. 6 of The Sounds of Nightmares, about there being another way to enter the Threshold to find the Nowhere, as for what this other way is? Well, more on this in another theory. As for obtaining permission to cross over into Nowhere, the Ferryman states an adult like Otto must pay a "toll in torments'", and considering it is the tormented children who are of the highest priority to claim for the Nowhere, I and many other theorists have theorized adults like Otto...must commit to the Ferryman's duty of sacrificing a large sum of children, as a way to please the very being which rules over the entire Nowhere...the eye entity, the giant pulsing red eye said to be the size of a moon, which can be met once a visitor crosses the gateway hidden within the Threshold.

The eye entity itself has been theorized to have existed since the very beginning, the most obvious sign of its constant presence being of course, the eye symbol with rays of its hypnotic light surrounding it, a symbol depicted on every game and the franchise as a whole.

Thanks to the podcast, we have finally gained some understanding as to just what the all seeing eye is, it is not just an all powerful entity which rules over the Nowhere, the eye entity/all seeing eye....IS the Nowhere, and this alone was something I and many other theorists gradually realized was always revealed... as far back as the first games DLC. In the Little Nightmares DLC: The Residence, the Runaway Kid came across various things within the lady's vast library, including a giant astrolabe depicting the all seeing eye's various eyes, looking down on the ancient instrument used to locate positions in time and space, an instrument which always revealed the all seeing eye's capability in finding the worlds beyond the threshold, primarily the human world the children originated from. In terms of the eye entity being the Nowhere itself, well....what more could we have had to confirm this than the globe in the Lady's library depicting the world and its entirety as one giant eye, the very one Noone met in chp. 6.

The eye entity has always been depicted maintaining a constant watch over everyone and everything, and while some parts of it could be encountered in the form of a fleshy mass, such as the flesh walls within the Tower and the Mall of chp. 3 of The Sounds of Nightmares, it had yet to be fully seen in the game, and now we know why...it was always hidden in a space far beyond any normal person's reach, the Threshold . The eye entity itself remains hidden within the darkness of the Threshold, along with its many eyes, eyes which can easily be mistaken for twinkling lights and constellations while in the Threshold, eyes which were also foreshadowed all throughout the world, both in the game and on the very merchandise we purchased.

Based on what we have gathered, each eye can be an entirely new location, the very Spiral we will get to journey in Little Nightmares 3, and just as we have always theorized, each eye can take on the shape of an entirely new structure, such as the Mall in chp 3 of TSON. We have always theorized structures such as the tower and the Maw were extensions of the eye entity itself, and though they act on their own, we always theorized they were all connected, like a building with different floors as Noone put it in chp. 5. But out of everything which makes up the Nowhere/eye entity, we have always theorized the most crucial piece in its ongoing survival...is humans.

Though there is still so much to learn about the Nowhere/eye entity, what we can be certain of is the place it currently resides, the Threshold, and though this endless dark abyss has thus far ensured the eye entity/Nowhere's safety, this abyss is still as empty and endless as Noone said it was, meaning there is nothing for the Nowhere to survive on, and much like any living being, in order to continue living and thriving...the Nowhere itself must feed.

We have always theorized the children were crucial for the eye entity/Nowhere's survival. However, although The Nowhere may prefer to consume the children for their youth and purity, it is not limited to just them, teens such as those in chp. 4 of TSON, as well as adults like Otto, can also be accepted, meaning one thing... all of humanity is more than suitable for the eye entity/Nowhere, its just a matter of how they are prepared.

What am I trying to say? Well, We have always theorized obtaining children and making them suitable enough for the eye entity's consumption, was not something it could do on its own, it required the aid of its Residents, like the Ferryman. While the eye entity/Nowhere's hypnotic light is capable of enchanting and controlling the minds of anyone who falls victim to it, it cannot affect the minds of those who have yet to fully grasp the full severity of their miserable situation. In order to be affected by the eye entity's hypnotic light, humans must grow desperate enough to seek an escape from the cruel reality around them, and who else is better suited to set things in motion than the Residents, many of whom were once children themselves before the Nowhere/eye entity finally changed them, like the sewer man in chp. 5 of TSON. Crazy thing is, we had always theorized humans knew about the existence of the Nowhere/eye entity, about monstrous Residents like the Ferryman ...sad to say, we were far more accurate than we had hoped.

In chp, 5 of The Sounds of Nightmares, Otto states the Ferryman had been documented in various cultures around the world... for centuries. Theorists and I had always theorized that humans had known about the eye entity/the Nowhere and its Residents for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, we also theorized the humans who knew of the Nowhere and the Residents existence, had played them off as nothing more than stories, myths, all of which held a warning many were quick to cast aside. No matter the warning, many humans refused to accept the possibility of their lives actually falling into danger at the hands of the monstrous beings they had always been told about, but refused to acknowledge were actually real, leaving them incapable of taking better action to learn how to defend themselves against the looming horrors from the other side and prevent further tragedy. Those who were willing to accept the existence of the Nowhere and the Residents, were cast aside as lunatics, such as Otto's old professor, his former colleagues, the parapsychologists over the centuries who obsessed over the Ferryman and the existence of the Nowhere...even the humpback girl from the little nightmares issue #1 comic....all of them, were ridiculed for their knowledge.

We may not yet know the full extend of the stories humans build around the existence of the eye entity/Nowhere and the Residents like the Ferryman, but what is certain is a large part of the world has always been aware of these myths and stories for all those hundreds of years....question is.... how long has the Nowhere existed? For the longest time, the mystery of the eye entity's origins remained unknown, and in a way it still is. The eye entity itself appears to have originated from the dark abyss of the threshold, but we have yet to know how its existence came to be. I, and many other theorists, had theorized humanity itself could only trace the existence of the Nowhere and the Ferryman as far back as humanity had learned to take notice of their looming presence, and if what we theorized is true, then could this potentially mean the eye entity/Nowhere itself had always existed far longer than what was recorded in human history ?....honestly who's to say....

Thus far, this is the sum of what I and many other theorists have put together about the world of the Nowhere and the human/waking world. And yet...something doesn't make sense...Though the two worlds seem so very far apart, they are far closer together than they appeared to be. Otto stated the Ferryman alone was proof of the connection between the two worlds...but unlike the humans... it is the Ferryman who is ABLE to see and hear into the human/waking world, while also being UNABLE to physically cross over from the Threshold to the human world as the children are capable of doing when they journey to and from the Nowhere, but why? Well...Noone did say the Ferryman did not belong to the human world, meaning he has never been capable of physically crossing over to it...and yet...what if he was always trying to....

In chp. 6 of TSON the Ferryman reveals he could hear everything Otto was saying to him, from the Threshold. Now, what does this mean? It means throughout TSON, Otto and Noone were never alone in their sessions, the Ferryman was watching them, hearing every word, seeing every action without either Noone or Otto knowing he was there. Otto gradually realized the Ferryman was watching and listening, but wondered why he couldn't see or sense the Nowhere and the Ferryman for himself, then quickly realized there was a veil up, like a two way mirror, only it was all of humanity who was stuck on the side of the mirror where you can't see through the glass. The Ferryman was always aware of what was happening without ever being seen... then again...maybe his presence was always shown. Anytime the Ferryman was spoken of, anytime his words were repeated...something strange happened...the audio in chp. 2,3,5...it glitched, it became distorted, as if there was something else interfering with the recording... as if... someone else was trying to break through...was it the Ferryman?...maybe.... But if it truly was the Ferryman attempting to break through to the other side, which he eventually did...at least vocally anyway in chp.6, then why would he?

The Ferryman and the Nowhere/eye entity have gone on throughout the centuries, taking child after child, while remaining hidden within the darkness, looking on as all of humanity was unable to find them, their existence passed on as stories and myths, and nothing more....then again....what if this was not what they wanted... Where am I going with this? Well...parapsychologists of the human world state the stories of numerous cultures believed the Ferryman stops anyone from entering any unseen worlds, even Otto himself believed the Ferryman was determined to keep him out of the Nowhere...but if this was ever true, then....why would the Ferryman push Otto to pursue his research to find a way into Nowhere? (more here) Was the Ferryman just toying with Otto?... No, if he was, he wouldn't have given Otto the information he needed to figure out how to cross over...then again...maybe it was never about what the Ferryman wanted..maybe...it was always about what the Nowhere wanted.

In chp. 5 of The Sounds of Nightmares, Otto spoke of a weather phenomenon unique to the Counties, a swirling mist known to be followed by a downpour, a storm. But the way Otto described this "weather phenomenon", it was almost as if there really was never anything normal about it...because what if maybe...just maybe....it was never just some freak weather, so what was it?

The night the bizarre swirling mist set in, was the night Otto first used his apparatus on Noone in an attempt to see the Nowhere, and to the shock of the readers, as well as Otto himself... it worked. The night Otto tested his apparatus, was the night he caught his first glimpse of the eye entity/Nowhere within the Threshold... and all the while Otto noticed the eye entity staring back at him with its intense light growing ever more powerful, the swirling mists storm could in turn be heard outside... growing stronger and stronger.

And yet, the moment the apparatus exploded, unable to withstand the presence of the eye entity/Nowhere, something odd happens...the storm we all heard raging on outside, the very storm which grew stronger the more the apparatus worked in connecting the two worlds....dies down...but why?...maybe we always knew. While the bizarre interference within the audio of TSON could have been the Ferryman trying to break through to the other side, does this mean the bizarre swirling mist and storm within the Counties was in itself, never just some freak weather? But rather...a sign of something much bigger trying to break through?...something far more powerful than the Ferryman...something like...the Nowhere.

We have always theorized the eye entity/Nowhere was the one which commanded all the Residents of its world , as well as anyone like Noone who fell prey to its hypnotic light, meaning maybe...just maybe...it was never the Ferryman who wanted to cross over to the human world...it was the Nowhere itself... If it was, then what does this mean for the children of the game?...What does this mean for the home they all hope to return to?... I guess we'll just have to wait and see...but then again...we have always theorized The Sounds of Nightmares, was no ordinary story...it was the origin story to the start of something...catastrophic. The two worlds, the waking/human world and the world of the Nowhere, though seemingly separate from one another...may be far closer together than we might think...But hey! It's just a theory...a Little Nightmares theory.

[dmitriene]

— beyond scars.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«oh you're so pretty the stars would cry»

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«oh but darling»

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«i'm so lucky you are mine»

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌«and your so special can't you see»

summary: from time to time many people are haunted by uncertain thoughts, and in one of the early mornings this also affected Leon. content: re4 leon kennedy x gn reader tags: pure fluff, comfort, self doubt, established relationship, domestic leon, many kisses, hugs. author's note: i was in mood to write something super warm and had some inspiration from tiktok, so hope you'll like this! enjoy your reading) 🏙️

In the soft embrace of the early morning, you woke up from sleep, your feelings gradually awakened in a cocoon of warmth created by soft sheets that rocked your body, but today there was something else — a subtle absence that pulled your half awakened consciousness.

Your eyes fluttered open, a gentle haze clouding your vision as you reached out your hand, instinctively searching for the familiar presence of Leon's warm body that usually occupied the space next to you, the realization that he wasn't there plunged you into a realm of drowsiness and curiosity, a mixture of emotions that danced in your consciousness as thin tendrils of morning mist.

As you lay there snuggled in the soft cocoon of the blankets, the pale light of dawn filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a serene glow, the early morning light promising a new day, a new beginning, painting the room in muted pastels and creating a serene atmosphere that seemed to reflect serenity of early hours.

The morning stillness enveloped you in a soothing shroud, interrupted only by the soft rustling of the sheets and the faintest whisper of your own breath, and yet, as you began to stretch, a drop of curiosity broke through the veil of drowsiness, your gaze was drawn to the source of a subtle, warm glow, the subdued light that poured in from the slightly ajar bathroom door.

With quiet intrigue, you let your instincts guide you, shifting your weight and slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, the cool air of the room kissing your skin, creating a gentle contrast with the warmth hidden under the covers, blinking away the last remnants of sleep you found your feet, plush carpet under your legs became a silent companion.

As you made your way to the bathroom, the air was buzzing with anticipation, your heart following the soft rhythm of your footsteps, the light growing brighter as you got closer, a gentle invitation that promised secrets waiting to be revealed.

Pushing open the bathroom door, you met with a bright light that seemed to envelop everything it touched, in front of you stood a mirror framed by the soft curves of the bathroom decor, and here he was, Leon, his figure bathed in a soft glow penetrating through the frosted glass of the window.

His presence was as startling as it was serene, tousled wheat colored hair falling over his forehead in a heart stopping manner, and the worn sweatpants he wore spoke of effortless comfort that contrasted with the often chaotic world he traveled through, playing light and shadow accentuated his features, creating a delicate tapestry of contrasts depicting him as a dawn masterpiece.

He stood as the epitome of vulnerability, his fingers gliding over the lines of scars that marred his skin — a reminder of battles and trials passed, a quiet uncertainty flickered in his eyes, a hidden depth of emotion that called out to you like a beacon in a fog.

As you watched, a warmth blossomed within you, a pain of tenderness that made you close the distance, with each step the soft carpet absorbed the sound of your approach until you were behind him, close enough to catch the fleeting scent of his skin and feel the soft warmth emanating from his body.

Your fingers found the curve of his shoulder, and with a tenderness born of love your lips touched a mole that seemed to hold the secrets of the constellations, his body trembled under your touch, a subtle tremor that resonated between you, an unspoken but deep connection.

— «Leon» your voice was a whisper, a melody that danced on the edge of a still morning — «You're incredibly handsome, you know, so handsome that even the stars themselves would cry with envy»

He turned slightly to meet your gaze through the reflection in the mirror, surprise and something deeper shone in his eyes — «Do you really think so?»

Your response was immediate and unwavering as you walked around him and stood in front of him, meeting his eyes — «Absolutely, every scar, every line is a part of the story that makes you who you are, and for me — you're perfect, Leon»

In that tender moment, bathed in gentle morning light, your words seemed to cast a spell — a spell that touched his heart and drove away the shadows of uncertainty that clung to him, and when he looked at you, really looked at you, his lips curved into a fragile a smile, a flash of gratitude and newfound confidence.

With a smile that curved his lips, Leon's insecurities dissipated like morning mist, replaced by a glimmer of newfound confidence that echoed in his blue eyes as your words of approval hung in the air, a tangible bond stretched between you, pulling you together like magnets irresistibly drawn by the force of more than stronger than simple gravity.

His hand found its way to your cheek, his touch was gentle and slow, as if enjoying every moment, he leaned in and his lips met yours in a kiss that was trembling but full of unspoken emotions, it was a kiss that spoke a lot — about gratitude and deep affection that he felt for you.

When your lips parted he looked at you with his rich blue eyes, the vulnerability he had shown a few minutes ago now replaced by warmth reflected in your gaze, there was a certain innocence in his expression, a purity that made him look almost like a puppy looking for solace and confidence, but behind that innocence, there was a depth that spoke of the challenges he faced and the strength he found within himself.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, he wrapped his arms around you, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of security that felt like homecoming, his chest heaving up and down next to yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in your ears as he held you, his grip was firm but gentle, a silent promise that he would protect and cherish you.

With a tenderness that spoke of a love that was deeper than words could convey, you leaned in and your lips found the top of his soft hair, every kiss you left was a testament to your connection, a promise that you would be there for him no matter what, his hair was like silk under your lips, a tactile bond that held you both to the present moment.

As your lips touched his hair your fingers slid down his back, tracing the lines of scars that telled the story of the battles and sacrifices, your touch was reverent to him, silent recognition of his strength and resilience, the scars were part of him, part of his path and you accepted them all heart, just as you embraced every facet of the man he was.

He pressed his head against your shoulder, his arms clenched as if he never wanted to let go, and in those arms you could feel the weight of his emotions — the gratitude and trust he gave you, his scars were not a source of shame or insecurity — they were a symbol of his courage and a testament to his unwavering devotion to his duties.

— «Thank you» Leon whispered into your shoulder, his voice a soft caress that sent a shiver down your spine — «Thank you for seeing me, for understanding me»

You held him tighter, your own emotions swirling inside you like a light breeze rustling the leaves of a tree outside the window — «Leon, you don't have to thank me, i'm here because i want to, because i care deeply about you»

His head lifted from your shoulder, his eyes met yours with such sincerity that your heart skipped a beat — «I care about you too» he confessed and there were so many emotions in his voice that your chest ached from tenderness.

With a gentle smile, you looked into Leon's eyes and slightly rose on your toes, leaving a soft but long kiss on his forehead, a gesture of gratitude and confidence that conveyed everything that your words could not convey, his skin was warm on your lips, and you felt like the tension in his body weakens under your touch.

Taking his hand in yours, you intertwined your fingers, the bond between you bonding as your hands fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle finding their rightful place, his hand was strong and reassuring, a source of comfort that kept you in the present moment.

— «The morning is still early» you whispered and your voice was gentle, carrying warmth — «And it would be wonderful to go back to bed and let the world disappear a little longer, don't you think?»

He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions — gratitude, affection and a slight playful anticipation — «I couldn't agree more with that» he answered with a soft timbre that seemed to caress the air between you.

Hand in hand you turned away from the bathroom mirror, the soft light casting a warm light on your intertwined bodies, in a slow, synchronized motion you returned to the bed, the plush carpet under your feet a soft reminder that you are still firmly anchored to reality.

As you settled into the bed, the sheets wrapped their soft embrace around you and you pulled Leon close to you, guiding him into an embrace that felt like real comfort, his body pressed against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin, creating an intimate cocoon where the outside world couldn't reach.

With a sigh of contentment, he buried his head in your shoulder, his breath a gentle caress that sent a shiver down your spine, you wrapped your arms around him again, fingers tracing the soothing patterns on his back and holding him close, the scars under your touch were clear lines and you gently kissed the top of his head, silently promising to be there in every battle and triumph.

— «Thank you for always being here» he muttered, and there was a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity in his voice.

You leaned back slightly, fingers tilting his chin so that he met your gaze — «Leon, you're never alone in this, we face everything together, remember?»

A light, affectionate smile touched his lips, and he gently kissed you on the forehead — «I won't forget» he promised and his voice became a soft oath that enveloped you like a warm blanket.

As you settled back into warm embrace, the early morning sunlight continued to color the room in soft hues, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere that felt somewhat like a sanctuary, the outside world could wait, because at that moment it was just you and Leon — two souls intertwined in presence and warmth of each other

With the gentle rise and fall of your breath you allowed yourself to drift in harmony, wrapped in the serenity of the morning, wrapped in the arms of the one you loved, and as you closed your eyes, the start of a new day was greeted with the confidence that together you could face all that meet on your way.

[ taglist: @roseglazedlens, @sporeghost, @daydreamrot ] dm me if you want to be tagged in my works.

© dmitriene - my masterlist please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

[greyborn2]

A SUMMARY OF MAORMER*

*with occasional headcanon

Gosh, so this one took a while. What follows is a complete summary of maormeri lore as it currently stands. Mostly taken from ESO since, well, that's been are biggest source so far really. Everything written in blue is as near to fact as we can get. It is either directly stated or pretty clearly inferred from the pieces of lore we have. HOWEVER... well, I couldn't help myself. I'm a theorist. Everything not written in blue is more theorizing and worldbuilding on my part. As a general rule I've kept to a 'connect and fill in the dots' approach rather than wholesale making stuff up. So while a lot of this isn't canon, I'm doing my best to keep to its spirit. Also; this is a long ass post so feel free to just skip around to titled areas that interest you!!

HISTORY AND RELIGION

Altmeri and Maormeri history (and faith, on the sea elves’ part) understandably differ somewhat on the topic of king Orgnum. The Altmer hold that he was once a nobleman, and priest of Auriel, and a phenomenally powerful sorcerer who turned from his god. He, they go on to claim, would start a cult in reverence of himself, bankrolled by arcane relics he forged. The Aldmer eventually being forced to break a part of their homeland away, cast it into the sea, and weave powerful mist magicks around it to contain their enemies.

The Maormer claim and fervently believe, for their part, that what the other Mer worship as Auriel is simply a small fragment of the whole truth. Their faith sticks surprisingly close to that of the Redguards; that the time god is both beginning and ending. The serpent god Satakal who bites on and eats his own tail. A god not unlike a synthesis of the traditional Auriel and the Nordic Alduin. They say Satakal, coiling serpent of time, upon who's scales all reality rests, would fall in love with the Mother Sea; from their union all the beasts of the shores and seas came. And so in love with the Mother Sea and his children was Satakal that he would shed his godly scales, for this rotation of time, walk as an elf. King Orgnum. From there the Maormeri and Altmeri tellings converge. They speak of Orgnum attempting to speak the truth to the Aldmer, of how most rejected him, and how he and the Maormer were banished.

While Orgnum-as-Satakal is the primary god of the Maormer, much reverence is also paid to the Mother Sea as well.

Some tellings draw more parallels between the story of Satakal and Mother Sea to that of Anu and Padomay, with each related to the other respectively. By this account Orgnum, as the second incarnation of their telling of Anu, can be seen as a synthesis of Anuiel and Auriel into one.

Maormer see Orgnum as not just their king, but king by right of all the seas, of his love. By this reasoning all islands, from the tiniest rock to the summerset isles themselves, are his by right.

Legend claims that Orgnum made the Maormer his children, and the children of Mother Sea, by ''spilling the spirit of the sea'' into their blood, and it was this that transformed the Aldmer into the Maormer.

When Satakal assumed the skin of Orgnum, his visage as serpent god of time still shone through his mortal form. He began looking as an ancient Mer, and as this rotation of time slowly shortens so to does his mortal life, growing younger and younger by the centuries instead of older. In the current era, it is rumoured, that king Orgnum looks as an adolescent.

Though king Orgnum's full face is almost never seen, everything below the eyes being hidden by a long veil, those who have seen it say he possesses an otherworldly beauty. Some priests and priestesses to Satakal adopt this item of fashion.

Another mark of Orgnum’s divinity is his third arm. Legend says that one can reach toward the past, one the present, and one the future. Though little has been seen of his ability to manipulate time beyond minor miracles.

King Orgnum is able to adjust his form, taking on the shape of the largest sea serpent ever seen. This silver scaled beast is the terror of the Altmeri navy and has been seen swallowing entire ships whole. It is Orgnum’s duel nature of man and serpent that the common Maormer echoes by bonding with a sea serpent at birth.

PYANDONEA

Pyandonea is a floating island chain, kept above the sea by a vast 'bed' of roots beneath her, massive deposits of the naturally floating frog metal, and a small amount of lingering Aldmeri magicks.

Pyandonea, and her surrounding sea, is eternally shrouded in unrelenting mist. Without magical aid the mist is quite literally impossible to traverse. An unaided Maormer could no more leave the isles than a mainlander could enter it. Only with the aid of Sea Witches can passage to and from the isles be formed, as well as between island settlement and island settlement.

The landmass of Pyandonea is that of dizzyingly vast mountain archipelagos overflowing with verdant jungle rainforest, from which mist and waterfalls pour down constantly. The seas around her a maze of kelp which grabs, entangles, and drowns unwary sailors and ships alike, or smashes them against the rocks... though it is only with the aid of these grasping kelps holding onto the underlying root bed of Pyandonea that it stays in one place at all. Sea beasts and water spirits prowl water and land, only adding to the danger. She is a land designed to keep people in, and out, with no passage between; and it took the Maormer much skill to escape her and turn her defences to their advantage.

Maormer settlements are often built in or around the remains of huge emperor crabs, whale carcasses, or otherwise slain titans of the deep. Maormeri ships hunt them, drive them against the shores, and harvest what meat they can; but there is often enough leftover food to support a population for the years necessary to build up a new port or town, and so some of the crew stay behind. Further inland are overgrown Aldmeri ruins, some still inhabited as strange cities that look indistinguishable from the abandoned ones from outside, only within the vines cut away and replaced with signs of civilization. Orgnum himself holds court and rules (when he is not at sea, which he is for most the of year) in one such overgrown city of ruins.

Shades of blue and white are the most popular architectural colours, just as they are most popular in fashion. White marble walls with blue shingles, deep blue sunshades spread between the whitened ribs of old krakens, sky blue tents in bustling markets. It is seen as representative and in honour of the sea; of both her waves and her crashing foam.

Despite the jungles and humidity, Pyandonea is still quite unlike the forests of Topal or the Niben. Unlike both of those it is much further from the equator, almost down to the southern ice sheets, and thus even without snowfall it can be devastatingly cold. Unprepared travellers can find themselves soaked in the mist and losing an entire limb to frostbite... if they are lucky.

BIOLOGY

Maormer are split into, very broadly, two categories. The majority of Maormer are milky white in skin and eye colour, with predominantly white, black, or grey hair. Their ears end with fin-like ridges, and they are able of safely consume salt water - their tongues have an adaptation to safely filter out salt from water, an ability that even remains for a while even after death and removal. Contrary to popular belief, they do not have gills or any special ability to breathe underwater. Finally, almost all possess a mouth of sharp teeth, specialized in tearing meat and breaking shells. So called 'leviathan' Maormer are a minority, making up perhaps a tenth of the overall population. Theirs is a bloodline that has been altered by powerful magicks - sorcery combining their ancestors with beasts of the sea. While most leviathan Maormer are descended of sea snake-hybrids, having faintly white scaled skin, fangs, gills, and springy bones that flow through water at terrifying speed this is not the case of all leviathans. Some have chitinous shells, others semi-translucent jellyfish skin, some even bearing tentacles and bioluminescent patterns. There are as many shapes of leviathan as there are fish in the sea. All are larger than their kin, though, all more at home at sea than land, and all both feared and respected by their fellows. Any captain worth their salt has a coterie of leviathans in their crew.

Maormer are naturally resistant to lightning, though fire and heat can be potentially debilitating - drying their skin out far faster and leaving longer lasting damage than it does to mainlanders.

Maormer possess the uncanny ability to 'blend' into the background and go unseen until they move, or make a noise, oftentimes to the shock of those who forgot they were even there to begin with. While the ability seems chameleonic it doesn’t actually alter the colour or texture of their skin, indeed, even a Maormer in full armor has this power. This ability is most obvious in mist and fog, where they can achieve something even surpassing invisibility.

Maormer are naturally attuned to find their balance on moving ground, be that on the deck of a ship or on the shores of their floating island-homeland of Pyandonea. When forced onto stationary land almost all seem to fall into a strange, staggering, swagger, and many suffer from so-called 'land sickness'.

CULTURE

Maormer society is organized more as a fleet than a traditional nation. Orgnum presides over the entire kingdom as both god and king. Beneath him are the many Sealords, occasionally referred to as ‘Coastal Princes’, each commanding over a fleet and clan, with many holding seaports and territory on Pyandonea itself. These Sealords are the admirals of their people. Beneath them are countless captains of near endless degrees of power. Some are near-rivals to Sealords, commanding small fleets, and ports, all across Maormer territory. Most command a single ship and crew, however. All Maormer, from the lowest sailor to the highest Sealord give a tribute of their take to those above them. All wealth trickles toward their king.

Maormeri society is traditionally a strict meritocracy. When a Sealord dies, their most powerful captain takes the role. When a captain dies, their first mate assumes command and is expected to assign the most capable Maormer under their command to their former position. Nepotism is a grave offence, a betrayal of those that serve under them.

Maormer often take slaves, as well as plunder, in their raids. Those who require too much work to keep are often killed or abandoned, with the fit potentially remaining with their new crew and captors for the rest of their lives. In dire straits, slaves are sacrificed to power Maormeri sorceries. It is not entirely unheard of for a slave to eventually earn their freedom, either remaining with the crew as a true member, or being left on the mainland once more.

A Maormer ship is nearly entirely self-sufficient, and can remain at sea indefinitely barring repair work. The sea provides adequate food and water for a Maormeri crew, and captured supplies can support whatever slaves the ship has.

Every ship keeps one or more Sea Witch, incredibly powerful mages able to command weather to devastating effect. Most Sea Witches are then further accompanied by a throng of apprentices, called Stormcallers.

Maormer trade with both Khajiit and Redguards as often as they prey on them, though some travel further afield. Even far-off Skyrim is at least partially known to them.

Almost every Maormer owns a sea serpent. When a new Maormer is born, the serpent who hatched nearest to the event is assigned to them. The two care and protect each other, forming a deep symbiotic bond. Though few sea serpents are afforded the food needed to grow to ship-crushing sizes, those who do make terrifying mounts for their bonded Maormer. Rider and beast attack as one, the intelligence of their Maormer given to their mount's terrifying strength in pure harmony.

Those Maormer who, by some means, lose their serpent are often paired again with likewise orphaned serpents - if such an opportunity is possible.

After a raid, the take is surprisingly often most distributed fairly and evenly amongst the crew. A captain or Sealord who denies his people their fair share is seen as betraying their service, and rarely long for this world.

Those Maormer unable or unwilling to live a life at sea will most often instead find themselves working as shipwrights or any number of other occupations in Pyandonea's ports. They are a small, but vital, minority.

While all Maormeri ships and crews are combat-able, not all are pirates and raiders. Some work as merchants, trading goods between Pyandonea and the broader fleet. Others make way as diplomats between the Sealords. Many more are simply 'civilian' ships; little different from a mainlander village save for the fact that they are always at sea and farm kelp and fish in place of grain and livestock.

For those Maormer unable to breathe underwater, drowning is a terrible fear. Many legends are of drowning Maormer being saved at the last moment from this fate, and their armor and clothing is designed to adapt as best it can to water and save them from drowning. Fabrics and leathers (mostly from porpoises and ornaugs) are kept resilient to water retention and wet-weight, boots are either designed with mostly uncovered feet or such that they can easily be shed, and the only metal broadly used is frog metal, or orgnium, a metal strong as steel but bearing incredibly buoyancy.

Mainlanders are often seen as clumsy, stumbling, and ill-suited to life at sea. The phrase 'groundwalker' is thus used as both a clear statement of fact but, also, often an insult to the clumsy or foolish. The irony that Maormer are just as clumsy on land is utterly lost on them - or, more likely, they simply believe it more important that one be at home at sea.

Treason and mutiny are one and the same, and both are rare indeed. The offence and mistreatment a captain must provide their crew with is incredible before the bonds of loyalty (and often blood ties too) are broken.

Song and music are major parts of Maormeri culture. From the rhythm keeping slave chants, to the sailors’ shanties, and and even the popular tunes of a pungi in a seaside town, it is hard to go long in Maormeri company without someone striking up a song or tune.

Maormer are far, far, less obsessed with breeding, pedigree, and lineage than the Altmer, or indeed most elven culture. In their eyes, their blood is only a very small part of what makes them better than mainlanders. Theirs is a sense of cultural superiority more so than racial, and those who integrate are often treated little differently than born Maormer - save perhaps for the occasional joke at their expense as they fail to find their sea legs. The endless forms a leviathan Maormer can take have almost enforced this view of accepted diversity amongst them.

[tokuvivor]

Due to circumstances beyond the control of any others, @violetganache42 and I are splitting duty on this week’s highlights post (Competition Night edition). She did it for the shorts and episodes, I’m doing it for An Extremely Goofy Movie.

So without further ado, here we go.

“Polar Trappers”:

We bring ‘em back alive

@puffyducks: bro where is pabo

Donald hunting a penguin, which is now illegal to do so

Not the kid!

The baby penguin’s tear becoming a massive snowball

“Need 4 Speed”:

QUACK PACK (Again!)

Disney Ducks meet The Fast and the Furious

@spamtoon: huey you guys aren't in phineas and ferb

Daisy appearance!

The idea of Comet Guy Night

@ducklooney and puffy going off about humans being in the Duckverse

Us calling Donald and the authorities to kill Rocky the Rocket Throttle

From Negaduck ass car to Ratcatcher

@writebackatya: "This is like the Family Guy of the Duckverse"

Ludwig appearance!

puffy: "where's dick dastardly"

Puffy, Missy, and I using 90s slang

Daisy seeing the triplets in the race:

RIP ethnically stereotyped racers

WriteBackAtYa: "DuckTales 2017 needed a car race episode"

Violet: "Would Huey and Launchpad be commentators?"

WriteBackAtYa: "Yes Always"

Violet: "SOLD!"

Ludwig's toy kangaroo winning the race

@tealottie: erection joke

“The Missing Links of Moorshire!”:

Webby giving Scrooge semi-permanent hearing loss

Launchpad: "This lake will be used for the swimming portion of the competition."

Huey: T_T

Violet: "Cue theme song!"

Missy betraying Della with Daisy

Tony the Tiger?!

The entire coin toss scene 🤣

Us praising Glomgold

Missy commenting how Scrooge and Glomgold can't tuck their tails for golfing

The audio glitching like CRAZY

Fluttershy and Bubbles the Kelpies

Webby: "Talking animals wearing clothes?! :D"

@fantasticenthusiasttale: "Webby…"

Violet, internally:

"Bologna. Trampoline."

THE MUSIC USED FOR THE MONTAGE!

Louie yoinking money out of Glomgold's sweater pocket

Emo Dewey

"You people are no fun."

Webby: "Not everything has to be a life lesson."

Violet:

Violet pretending to be turned to stone by the Medusa Mist (as I like to call it)

Launchpad ending the episode with a life lesson… before trying to devour golf balls

“Dog Show”:

puffy: "you know who else is an orphan"

Dreamy: "Everyone in this shit is an orphan"

The dog show people being dogs

Goofy literally begging

Pixar ball

Mickey unleashing his inner dog

An Extremely Goofy Movie

Calling out all the characters from the previous movie as they show up

The fact that Pete is celebrating his own son leaving💀

How is Goofy single?

Goofy having major rizz (this point comes up quite a bit during the movie, and for good reason)

Max’s character development from A Goofy Movie being undone

Sad Goofy☹️

HDL mention!

Bradley Uppercrust III

@kaitosduckmania: “god this shit is so pretentious LMAO”

Will: “I want this review on the back of the DVD”

Max/Roxanne vs. Max/Bradley on Tumblr

Beret Girl!

Puffy: “you know who ELSE is called tank”

Violet: “MY MOM”

Puffy: “they’re snapping at us…MENACINGLY”

Bradley having the same VA as Johnny Bravo (also, The Man with the Yellow Hat)

Max’s horrified face when he sees that he and his dad are in the same class

Bobby wearing pink panties/briefs

Hidden Mickey

Goofy’s mispronunciation of the word “trigonometry”

Puffy: “the WHAT decimal system”

Sylvia being adorable

Goofy does a Donald-esque voice

Kai: “WHAT THE FUCK GOOFY YOU CAN MAKE THAT VOICE?”

Will: “Max’s whole character is that he doesn’t want to be like Goofy but like he is so much like his father that he doesn’t even know it”

More cheese pull (pizza in the last movie, nachos in this one)

BONGO MUSIC

PJ has rizz, too

Goofy and Sylvia dancing to Shake Your Groove Thing

Papa Dog

Us dumping on the inherent cult-like nature of fraternities, sororities, and the National Honor Society

The German judge low-balling everyone

Dreamy: “Is this the olympics all again”

Puffy: “this is MY olympics”

Max shooting down Goofy in the worst way possible

Goofy’s weed/acid trip dream (plus the Goofy holler!)

More Goofy sadness

Meta humor about almost everyone wearing gloves

Missy betraying Daisy with Sylvia

CHEATING!!!!!

PJ flying off

Dreamy: “He went to visit Della”

“Mud! My only weakness!”

Will mentioning that the scene with the X crashing down was removed from the broadcast version of the movie after 9/11 (which we completely understand, because holy shit)

Also, sort of a Hindenburg reference

Goofy graduating! (And then telling Max he was getting a job at the school)

Sylvia having the same VA as Emma Glamour

Spam floating the idea of Max vs. Gosalyn for the X Games

Disco end credits!

Also, that was a goofy movie. Extremely, even.

[lydiacallas]

Waves of Time and Space

Author's note : Hii, if u have seen this on AO3 ( by somehow and ty if you have come pass it ), this is just a repost from there to see if i should post more fanfics on AO3 or Tumblr, also i want to find f1 moots please please please... Anw enjoy please!

1/6/2024.

The sky was heavy with clouds, swirling in strange patterns above the small, secluded beach.

" This is… weird. " Max thinks, holding the usual red and navy blue cap that he wears on his head tight, not wanting it to fly away.

Max had found this place by accident one day — a forgotten stretch of sand, skillfully tucked away from the modern world by the hands of nature, hidden by cliffs and reachable only after a long, winding walk through a forest. He’d been coming here every day since 5 years ago, and he had bought a small house near here for some summer rest.

It was peaceful. He could think, escape, and dream. Escape from the bustling life of the city, escape the stress that clouded him and his dad every time they argued, escape everything.

But today…something was different. Normally this part is very peaceful, not even a shower rain. But now, the air buzzed with an electric charge, and the sea churned as if stirred by an unseen force. His blond hair tousled by the wind and his blue eyes scanning the horizon, felt a pull, something beyond explanation. The storm that gathered in the sky above wasn't just weather; it was something more.

As the wind picked up and the sky darkened, a flash of lightning tore through the air, ripping the sky. The thunder sound ring his eardrums. He whence, and tries to look up where the lightning striked.

And there, through the mist and rain, he saw a figure — someone unfamiliar yet hauntingly captured his eyes - standing on the shore as if he had walked out of a time rift, somewhere not belong to here. His clothes were not from today, with the white ruffle blouse and trousers. His brown hair was damp with rain, his beautiful green eyes wide with the same confusion Max felt when their eyes met.

Max approached cautiously, and so did Charles, both unsure of what had just happened but drawn together by something neither could explain. As if fate just drawn their string together and made a knot.

They spoke, hesitantly at first, piecing together the impossible. Charles was the son of a businessman from 1924, nearly 100 years apart from Max's 2024. He had been taking a stroll along the same beach in his time when the storm hit his time, and somehow, the world had bent and twisted, pulling him into Max's present.

Every day after that, the two returned to the beach each day, hoping to understand the phenomenon, but more than that, simply to be together, out of curiosity. They talked about everything under the sun, sharing stories, dreams, and fears. Max introduced Charles to the wonders of the modern world, and laughed with all his heart when seeing Charles' eyes sparkling with pure amusement, while Charles shared tales of a simpler time. They're slowly but surely, enjoying the gift that fate has gifted them.

The connection between them grew quickly—an understanding, a shared curiosity, and soon, a deeper bond. It was as though time itself had orchestrated their meeting, weaving them together despite the century that should have separated them.

For three months, they met on that same beach, no longer concerned with how or why it had happened. They had found each other, and that was enough. Max fell in love with Charles, the way he smiled, the gentle way he spoke of a time long gone to the waves of time, and how his presence made the modern world seem less overwhelming. Charles, in turn, found himself drawn to Max’s energy, kindness, enthusiasm, and love for the world, even after all that he had been through, and the way he made the future — something Charles would never live to see — feel like a place he would belong.

As summer drew to a close, their love deepened. They knew that their time together was limited, but they cherished every moment. They know all good things must come to an end. They now miss each time their fingers lingered on each other's hair and skin, the brilliant blue they saw in each other's eyes, in the sky, and the waves that lapped at their feet every night, the hearty laughter they shared every day.

They smiled at each other as if forgetting that the time they had left together was very little.

And then, the time comes. On the last day of August, the storm returned. The wind howled, and the sky split open once more. They both knew what was happening.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Charles whispered, his heart breaks and his voice cracked through the tears as the storm surged around them. The sea roared around them, the usually gentle waves now crashing against the sandy shore like hungry beasts.

Max shakingly held him close, his desperate blue eyes filled with sorrow. “I’ll find you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Charles’s forehead. “In this life or the next.”

The reply had not yet left Charles's mouth, it was swept away by the storm in its turmoil, the raging waves rushing in, swept Charles away back to the past, leaving Max stood on the shore, devastated and alone.

The days that followed were filled with pain, but Max couldn’t let go. He began researching Charles, desperate to learn more about the man he had fallen in love with. Hours of drowning himself in vintage books, resources, and the internet. And what he found shattered him.

Charles had lived the rest of his life in his time. Was he feeling lonely, sad, happy, and fulfilling? Max never knows. But he know he had married a beautiful woman, perhaps a rich lady fitting his status, out of duty or expectation, and then he had gone to war. He had died a soldier, sacrificing himself for his country. His life had been brief and tragic, a life that was a century behind Max’s own.

His tears silently fall, drops of salty tears fall onto the old yellow hue pages of the book he's reading. It has just been a few months passed in this world, but for Charles Leclerc, for the love of his life, a whole lifetime had passed, with all the sadness, with all the loneliness, with all the tears and sleepless nights.

He wondered if, in those nights, Charles remembered the kiss they shared in the storm that separated them that night.

After some time researching, Max visited Charles’ grave, a small, forgotten site in a cemetery up the green hill near the old beach that hadn’t seen visitors in decades.

He walked through the deserted cemetery, his eyes darting around as if searching for something. And then, he found it. A stone tombstone with an elegant cross covered in moss, with engraved words that had faded over time. But he knew for sure what those words said - the name of the unfortunate boy he had fallen in love with.

Standing before the gravestone, Max knelt and whispered, his fingertips trembly running through the now faded name on the stone tombstone.

“I love you, Charles. I always will.”

"If possible, I wish I could find us. In another reality. Perhaps then, we can be together without any obstacles. Maybe then the world would look at us with gentler eyes."

[softichill]

The Sound of Nightmares unofficial transcript

(Sadly @queen0fm0nsterz wasn't able to work on this one, but is still important to credit bc I say so)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

-------------

[Click]

[Thunderstorm in the background]

OTTO: The guardian at the threshold. An archetype that parapsychologists have obsessed over for centuries. A mythic entity who’s appeared in the stories of innumerable cultures. No matter their description, his role is always the same: to confront anyone who dares cross into unseen worlds. 

OTTO: In our last session, he spoke to her, or– through her. Even when I listen to the tape I can’t be certain what I’m hearing. Still, I’ve repeated his words like a sickness ever since. It went like this. 

[Shifting]

OTTO: “Cross the sill. Sink in a twinkling. Cast aside the old sleep, to sleep again anew.”

[Otto puts the paper down]

OTTO: The Candleman, the Ferryman– indeed, the Guardian at the Threshold. An idolon on the inside, determined to [Hitting the table] Keep. Me. Out. 

[Tape rewinding]

[Intro plays]

[Click]

[Shifting, electric humming, Otto putting something together]

OTTO: Noone was right after all. [Slow beeping starts] I noticed something off, while reviewing the E.E.G, and reluctantly, sent her up to radiology. At first I doubted the validity of the results, but the technician assured- curtly- that Noone’s scan undeniably shows… a pea-sized tumor, on the right-sided amygdala. 

[clatter, humming continues]

OTTO: They maintain it’s benign, [click, more humming] despite the unusual ocular appearance. 

[repeated clicking, Otto keeps building]

OTTO: This calls everything into question. The mass’s location could impact fear response, emotional salience, and damningly, dreams. And yet… I cannot deny all the evidence to the contrary. 

[Lower click, Otto stops building]

OTTO: I’ve… pondered the ethics of informing Noone. She’s already so scared of her body that it would only send her spiraling. I can’t risk anything jeopardizing a revelation that might lead to Cici. 

[Shift]

OTTO: From here on, anyone listening will think me mad. But, the proof is in the pudding! Noone’s… vanishings; her transpersonal states; they’re undeniable evidence of a realm- beyond our senses. It’s always been on the periphery, but now I know… it’s accessible. And she possesses the means to enter that domain. 

[Papers rustling on the desk]

OTTO: My professor’s paper posits thus: “There are two requisites for entering the quiddity of consciousness. First, a gateway; places hidden amid our world. Second, a means to open these doors. And I assert that keys are primarily cut out of fear.”

[Otto places the paper down and lifts the device he was building. Humming becomes more clear, Otto sighs.]

OTTO: Either I lack his erudition, or his mania. My only hope lies in completing my labours. [Sigh, shifting on desk] I’ve not slept in weeks, [another sigh] and if I cannot dream as she does, I’ll never know how to enter- this… Nowhere. 

[Click, audio cuts]

[Audio starts]

[Thunder in the background]

OTTO: [in the background] An ugly autumn night, isn’t it Noone? Swirling mist, they called it on the broadcast. A weather phenomenon unique to the Counties- a downpour’s not far off. But- a gift, may brighten the mood. 

[Otto gets closer to the recorder]

OTTO: Here. 

[Otto slides something over to Noone]

NOONE: O-oh. It’s nearly the same. Red, too. 

OTTO: A chrysanthemum, like your parents left you all those weeks ago! An apology, a- a reminder that I remain as committed to you as I did then. 

NOONE: Pretty. 

OTTO: It’s a perennial, so it’ll blossom year after year, just like you!

[Shifting as they both sit down]

NOONE: I think, I’m ready now. To talk about… m-my Mum and Dad. 

OTTO: (surprised) Oh. And why now? What’s changed?

NOONE: Because… I feel like I’m beginning to forget. And maybe talking will help me remember. 

OTTO: Because you’ve been away so long, or you literally feel you’re losing your memory?

NOONE: Um… more like I’m losing a part of me. I can’t tell, am I the girl here, or- the one there?

OTTO: (slightly amused) They’re one in the same. Given all you’ve told me, they must be. It’s not you that’s different, but the physical space around that y-

NOONE: I said I want to talk about my mum and dad! When most kids have nightmares, or- whatever these are, they go to their parents to feel better. Here, I relive them again and again. And it’s all you want to talk about, because you think you can find Cici! Through me!

OTTO: Noone. The only way to find answers is to discover where you go when you sleep. Talking about your parents would be wasting the hours!

NOONE: Aren’t these sessions supposed to be about me?! 

OTTO: Always. 

NOONE: But I have no say. No control. Over how I feel, or- what I do, I don’t even belong to myself!

[Pause]

NOONE: I’ll do as you ask, but promise me. (Quiet) No wires hooked into my head. No machines. Not tonight. 

OTTO: No machines, promise. [Getting up] I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve got planned. 

[Audio cuts]

[Door opens]

OTTO: This bed was for shiftwork*. Now I sleep here more days than not. 

NOONE: Oh. Pretty. 

[Door closes] 

[Steps on carpet, recorder set down]

OTTO: I’d like to try a sort of role-reversal. [Creak] I’ll lie here, blindfolded, depriving my senses, to enter a self-induced hypnogogia, so I can focus on your words. You’ll recount your latest visit, and I want you to try as hard as you can, to project your dream into my head. 

NOONE: I don’t think it can work, but… I’ll try. 

[Creak, shifting as Otto lays down]

NOONE: That girl. In the photo there. That’s her, your daughter. 

OTTO: My sister. 

NOONE: O-Oh. You don’t look much alike. 

[Otto getting prepared]

OTTO: [Exhale] I’m- I-I’m settled. Blindfold on… Carry me away with you, Noone. 

NOONE, narrating: …I couldn’t see anything-

OTTO: S-Slow down. This is vital. Speak, as if you’re trying to pull me in. 

NOONE: …

NOONE, narrating: I floated through a darkness, with nothing at my feet. Then it all faded and, I was somewhere new. 

NOONE: An underground brick tunnel, with a stream of… thick sludge passing through a canal at its center. 

NOONE: I can still hear it. Jangling keys. [Dream ambience starts] Screaking metal. Do you hear, Otto?

OTTO: I… I can’t. But keep trying. 

NOONE: It came from… a kid in the distance, struggling to shut a ground-iron door. The last thing I heard before the slamming shut was… laughter. [Echoey laughter, faint slam] 

[Running water]

NOONE: Sludge poured in from the pipes that ran along the tunnel walls. I had no choice but to follow the stream and, so I did until I reached a section [Distant kids chatting] where I saw storm drains above. 

[Dripping water, kids sound more intense] 

NOONE: Looking up through one, I saw a boy’s dirty boots, and orange light shining, from a lantern on his waist. We locked eyes and he called out,

BOY, overlapping with NOONE: “Look! Critters already!”

[Children laughing]

NOONE: Lights then shone down from… every drain above. Other boys and girls wanting to peek at me. 

[Children laughing, Dream!Noone quietly starting to breathe hard]

NOONE: Very suddenly, [laughter dies down] they went quiet. [Kids start whispering] I didn’t know why, until… I heard it. A rumbling through the tunnels. 

[Kids whisper things like “It’s here!” “It’s finally here!”]

NOONE: They whispered together. “It’s here! Finally here!” 

[Whispering dies down, rumbling]

NOONE: Do you feel what I felt, Otto?

OTTO: They’d… been waiting. For you. 

NOONE: …Not exactly. Their joy, their bratty excitement… they’d- gathered for an event, and it had finally come. Like a holiday, that only arrives once per year. 

NOONE: Running from their celebration, I turned down a tunnel, [wet footsteps] going until, I came to a junction. Overwhelmed by how many options surrounded me, I closed my eyes. Listening. 

[Running water, squeaky metal detector sounds] 

NOONE: The sound… came from the path to my left. [Faint electronic buzzing] I waited, watching from a distance, as someone crossed [squeaking] by the dark tunnel mouth. 

NOONE: He carried… a strange gadget. And every now and again, its buzz, turned to some- beeping. Detecting secrets, in the waters. 

[Metal detector squeaking]

NOONE: I hardly noticed the rest of him. But, I got a look before he crossed out of view. He carried a heavy sack, over his shoulder. And things squirmed inside. But, he was gone as quick as he’d appeared!

[Metal detector gets quieter, Dream!Noone’s wet steps]

NOONE: The sludge was… rising quickly [Dream!Noone: Ugh!], up to my ankles, and- the stink became so awful, Otto! I-Imagine it, waste filling your nose. 

[Wet steps continue]

NOONE: Then, across from me, a small pipe became blocked, stopping the sewage. A grey mass poked through [Nome chittering], jammed in tight, wiggling to get loose. But… not until it fell into the sludge [plop], did I realize this… tiny… [chittering] thing… was alive! It picked itself up and- swayed about, curious of my company. 

[Wet steps combined with Nome sounds. Nome makes noises through the next paragraph]

NOONE: The head was… was shaped like- those cone mushrooms, that grow out in Haitfield**. I inched closer to the little mushroom fairy, and… it began mimicking me! As if we’d been old friends!

OTTO: (distant) A friendly presence… the first non-hostile being you’ve met that wasn’t another child. 

NOONE: Yes! He belonged there. In that world. Part of it rather than… a stranger, like me. 

NOONE: Is… is it working, Otto? Can you see its little mushroom head?

OTTO: I think so. Maybe. Keep going. 

NOONE: [mimicking a deep voice] Yes. Drift away, Otto. Drift away… 

[Wet steps, Nome noises]

NOONE: A crooked net lowered down from a drain grate above. While I ducked to cover, the mushroom fairy didn’t. I tried to point upward but, it simply copied my gesture! There was a girl [little girl giggling] giggling with- ugly delight, sticking her whole arm through the grate, hoping to capture the poor thing! So I grabbed a loose brick, [lifting brick] and threw it at her! [Dream!Noone: Hup!]

NOONE: Hitting her arm [girl wailing] she cried out, while I picked up the mushroom fairy, [running through sludge] and ran off.

[Dream!Noone panting, running]

NOONE: After we were well clear, I put the creature down. [Nome chatters] It immediately walked off! Then, looked back, suggesting I follow. 

NOONE: [walking] That little body clicked, jittery and… ungraceful. Somehow the thing seemed to know where it was taking me, stopping only once we came to a rusty door [metal creaking], leading to a maintenance room. 

NOONE: Entering though, I discovered something else entirely. [Squeaky door opening, Dream!Noone gasps and whispers “Wow”] Endless piles spread about the room, some of pure junk while… others housed gold jewelry! As long as it could be collected, there was a place for it here. [Dream!Noone walking through the room] Mesmerizing. 

[Walking]

NOONE: Only after examining a mound of keys [key jingling] did I understand, where this stuff came from. Everything in this room, had been dropped down from the world above over the years. [Nome noise(?)] The only thing out of place, was a child’s propeller cap. On a chair, tucked away, forgotten. [Nome chitter] I think that’s what the mushroom fairy wanted me to see. 

NOONE: [Nome perks up] As if on cue, I heard the man approaching; the little creature hid in a pile of mismatched mittens, and I jammed my way in too. [Running, fabric shuffling, metal door opens and electric buzz + squeaking starts] 

NOONE: I peered out, as he stepped through the door and began dumping out his… pockets. [Faint clattering of various things] Coins, rings, trinkets… [Clattering stops] Next, he took off his plastic suit, covered in- gunk. Beneath, was a bony body, his spine bent horribly. What I thought had been a sack carried over his shoulder… was the back of his head. Like a balloon full of water, throbbing and- swollen. 

NOONE: But I could tell he was not always that way. He’d changed. Somehow become one… with the sewers. 

OTTO: (more distant) I don’t understand. You believe this place transformed him?

NOONE: Aren’t you meant to be drifting into hypergocklia, or whatever? Seeing, smelling, hearing as I did?

OTTO: I can’t seem… to let go. I want to, more than anything I-

NOONE: [Imitating Otto] Try! That’s what you always tell me. If I’m trying my hardest, you have to as well. 

NOONE, narrating: From the corner of my eye, I noticed the little cone sneaking away. The balloon-headed man was inches away, and in that moment, I thought of Jester. Of the Child with Gooey Hair. Of Rusty. I couldn’t do nothing, not again!

NOONE: Thankfully, [rumbling, clattering] that rumbling from earlier returned in that moment, stronger than before!

[Sewer Man notices and panics] 

NOONE: The shaking destroyed the man’s piles, startling him into… an odd anger, so… I stumbled out from hiding, [Running] and bolted for my mushroom fairy, [Nome] and out the door! [Metal creak, Sewer Man notices] 

NOONE: I ran and ran, and, [Dream!Noone running and panting] although the man, he wasn’t very fast, that didn’t matter. [Buzzing & squeaking] He had his gadget, and, that buzz followed wherever I went!

[Dream!Noone wading through water]

NOONE: Any sense of direction washed away with- the sludge that was now up to my knees! [Dream!Noone running & panting] Turning down tunnel after tunnel, I stopped, [ambience calms down, squeaking] hoping I’d lost him. 

NOONE: All at once, those lanterns shone from above [clicks]. The naughty kids had spotted us! [Kids start singing a teasing song] Wildly they sang, “Snatch a gift! Snatch a gift! Before they’re all sent adrift!” 

[Kids continue singing and start clapping along, ambience picks up]

NOONE: Their cheers grew and, [squeak, Dream!Noone gasps] and I saw why. [Electric buzzing] A bag-headed shadow appeared at the tunnel’s far end. Cutting me off. The man and his machine used the tunnels as if- as if the sewers had leaked into his thoughts!

[Dream!Noone breathing hard, splashing water]

NOONE: I tried to backtrack, but, must have taken a wrong turn, and found myself at a dead end. A wall of bricks! [Nome struggles] The mushroom fairy squirmed hard, begging to be freed! So… [plop] I let go, and the grey cone climbed up a pile of fallen rubble, and slipped through a crack, without hesitation, to abandon me! (Sad) Despite saving its life. 

[Water leaking]

NOONE: The crack the fairy squeezed through began spouting water from the other side. [Squeaking and buzzing start up again] I pulled at the bricks as the man stepped closer [Sewer Man gets closer, bricks shifting], one brick loose, then another. His gadget buzzed and buzzed, when I ripped a final brick loose, [Sewer Man sees Noone] leaving a hole large enough to creep through. 

[Sewer Man yells and hits the wall, buzzing and squeaking get farther away]

NOONE: He bated at the wall, grabbing at me, but, I was too far gone. His small, milky eye peeked through at me, until the walls rumbled, more fiercely than ever! The man backed away, overcome with horror. 

[Sewer Man yells, echoey kids’ cheers in the background] 

NOONE: The rumbling didn’t stop after that. And neither did the kids cheering from above. [Ambience rising] Whatever they had waited for… 

[All ambience stops]

NOONE: It was time. 

[Wind/thunder in the background, back in the office]

NOONE: Otto, you’re awake! [Otto startles]

OTTO: Yes, Noone. I’m trying, so hard, to see, to feel- to sense what you did, but I can’t. I don’t have the gift you have, and your gifts are not as commanding as I hoped they’d-

NOONE: (Upset/frustrated) I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat! I wish I could give you everything in my head, then I’d be rid of all of this. 

[pause]

NOONE: Shall I go on?

OTTO: Yes. 

NOONE, narrating: …It felt as if someone had picked up the sewer, shaking it with rage. Water crashed against the walls. I stumbled on and on, the tunnel growing wider and wider… A second smaller sound appeared; [distant nome chitters] clicks, and murmurs. Then, [nomes getting louder] out of the darkness ahead, they appeared, [many nomes running] scurrying so fast I couldn’t react! A hundred little mushroom fairies, rushing past me in a panic, escaping something close behind!

[Distant kids teasing]

NOONE: It wasn’t long before that something came. [Rushing water, kids cheering] speeding like [Dream!Noone gasps] a pack of horses tangled together, a tidal wave pounded through the sewer!

[Dream!Noone yelps, wave approaches] 

NOONE: The wave was feet away when, [Wave is extremely close, ambience pauses minus the kids cheering] I finally understood. For the kids above, this was a blast. They waited and waited, unable to experience the wave’s power themselves, and that made them love it all the more. Snatching things that run from its path was part of their awful celebration. 

[Waves crashes down on Dream!Noone]

NOONE: The violent wave hit, sweeping me away, carrying me back through the maze of tunnels. I swam up and up, doing my best to surface, and just as I did,

[Splash, music suddenly calms. Dream!Noone gasping for air]

NOONE: The waves paused. My body no longer needed to swim. And the Candleman appeared, floating… on some kind of… broken door. 

OTTO: (distant, serious) Go through your encounter diligently. He holds the answers I- we need. Make no mistake: he is your tormentor. 

NOONE: (darkly) ‘m not sure that’s true. 

NOONE, narrating: This time, I was able to speak in his presence. 

Overlapping with Dream!Noone: “Why do you bring me here? What do you want?!”

NOONE: He replied,

FERRYMAN, ov. with NOONE: “Cross the sill. Sink in a twinkling. Cast aside the old sleep, to sleep again anew.”

NOONE: I yelled back (dream!Noone) “Why?! Why should I?!!” Before I finished he said,

FERRYMAN: “Blight. Not within, but without. Here, all banes be set free.”

OTTO: More riddles. He doesn’t think I can solve them, but I will-

NOONE: I already did. I think… he means by giving myself to his world, I won’t be ill any longer. That’s why… when I’m there, no more headaches. No more parasites. No more tests. 

OTTO: That’s not true, it’s not!

NOONE: [interrupting] I would almost prefer him to take me. 

OTTO: [Standing up] Don’t say that!

NOONE: Away from here. From yo–

OTTO: It’s what he wants!

NOONE: Maybe–

OTTO: He wants you!

NOONE: (yelling) Maybe your Cici felt that way too! Relieved! 

OTTO: [Angry shock, deep breaths] 

[Walking, door opens] 

OTTO: (whispering) No… (mumbling) I was only a boy…

[Wind picks up slightly in the background]

[Door creaks, click, audio cuts]

[Click, tape rewinding, click]

[Audio starts, storm continues in the background]

[Papers shifting. Door opens]

OTTO: We’re done tonight. Get out. To your room, go. 

[Papers rustling]

NOONE: (accusatory) What’s this?

OTTO: Nosing through my desk, were you?

NOONE: My name’s on it. It’s my scan, yes?

OTTO: Smart girl. 

NOONE: Wh… what does it tell?

OTTO: That you’ve got a mass. Growing on your brain- a tumor. 

NOONE: I knew it. The cure. …How bad is-

OTTO: A mass in your brain is never good. 

[Faint thunder]

NOONE: (about to cry) You should have told me. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?

OTTO: It’s not my practice to tell before necessary. Now, get. To. Bed. 

NOONE: …Fine. [Sniff]

[Storm continues]

NOONE, narrating: But after the Candleman spoke, the wave carried me by the maintenance room again. The Bag-Headed man looked through a window, terrified. He was– opposite to those kids above. Living down there, he– he’d no reason to celebrate the wave. Instead… he cherished what they dropped down by accident. 

NOONE: You see… each wanted what the other had. But could never have themselves. 

NOONE: I’m taking two sweets tonight. [Ceramic chime, wrappers]

OTTO: Take as many as you want and leave. 

[Ceramic click, audio cuts] 

[Audio starts]

[The storm is louder now]

OTTO: [Sigh]... 

OTTO: Perhaps I was cruel to tell her. But as she sleeps, I’ve been pondering the entry requisites specified by my professor. I believe he was only partly right. One need only to look at the theater of agony that the Ferryman’s created to understand fear, is an essential requirement. [threatening ambience starts] And I know better than anyone, a little fear can compel us towards discovery. 

OTTO: As for the gateway’s location, perhaps it’s not a place hidden in our world, but in our minds. Is it not possible that her tumor is somehow this unknown gateway? An organ of transcendence. 

OTTO: The apparatus may be unfinished, but its [unintelligible]*** monitor is functional. If she’s to cross over, in a “twinkling”, what choice do I have? In her words, you must try. 

[Click, audio cuts]

[Audio starts. A machine is running and Otto is typing something.]

OTTO: She hardly stirred at all while I pathed the BCI. 

[Beep, Otto stops typing. Something whirrs]

OTTO: All seems stable. As soon as her dreaming begins, the monitor should translate neurosignals into visualizations. 

NOONE: (half-asleep) Otto…

OTTO: Shhh, shsh…

NOONE: [Mumbling, starting to become distressed] 

OTTO: Shhh. Return to that sleep of yours. 

[Audio cuts]

[Audio starts. Machine is still going, storm is outside]

OTTO: It’s past midnight. She fought as long as she could, but finally succumbed. This is it. Show me, Noone. Show me the other side. 

[Noone mumbles, monitor turns on]

OTTO: Here we are. The image… a… kaleidoscope of black…

[Noone winces]

OTTO: An unnatural abyss…

[Noone winces repeatedly]

OTTO:  Wait- a shape. It’s difficult to see… [Noone] like looking through a negative mist. 

[Noone continues making noises of distress. Otto spots something]

OTTO: There! A silhouette! Ovular, splitting across the center– 

[Static rises and Otto yells in pain. Ambience is loud] 

OTTO: [Strained] It– it glares like the sun– [choking] No! A pupil! Near white! Oh god, it’s– it’s watching me! It’s watching me!

[Noone nearly yells in her sleep] 

[Whoosh, Otto yells, machine shuts off. Audio is muddled for a moment.]

OTTO: (very muffled) [Breathing heavily] Noone? [Gasp] Noone!

[Crashing, audio cuts]

[Outro plays] 

--------------

*I'm not super sure of what he says here since the door drowns him out

**I don't know how this is spelled

***According to text-to-speech, google, and autocorrect, what he says here is not a real word and I have no idea what it could be. All I know is that it ends in -graph.

[the-storm-chaser]

The Storm Chaser - Lore

(Co-written by @reliving-elegy, with guidance from @facemeandperish)

Under read more as this is BEEFY

A child of two vastly different nations, Sky Hart was supposed to lead a simple life of following in her father’s footsteps….but alas, things are never that straightforward, are they?

Daughter to a renowned forgemaster, Yoshiro, and his wife, Celene, the intention was for Sky to be taken under his wing as an apprentice smith, and eventually inherit the family’s work.  Unlike the majority of her countrymen, Sky held no affinity to the world around her; unable to use its magicks.  This strange, inexplicable impairment concerned her inexperienced parents, prompting Yoshiro into action.

It isn’t precisely known how the man acquired the material, but after several weeks, the smith had forged an answer to the family’s conundrum: A crystalline blade (1), one that would act as a conduit in place of the girl’s missing natural ability. Of course, the child was too young to wield such a thing, so it was secreted away; hidden until she came of age.

As the years passed, Sky would accompany her family on various trips to the local towns and villages, watching her father sell his creations for reasonable coin. These outings sparked a desire to know the world beyond her reach, prompting Sky to oft inquire about life outside of the region.  Her mother offered limited insight to parts of the ‘outside’ world (2), hoping to satiate her ravenous curiosity, but she only inflamed the child’s wish to experience it herself.  

This quickly led to an irresistible wanderlust, wherein Sky would venture far off the well-tread roads in search of the unseen. She had come to favor a meadow just before the treeline deepened to forest; where the canopy was open to the clouds above and along the breeze drifted the sound of cicadas and birdsong . The constant beratement of good samaritans escorting their hapless daughter home cost her parents much of their patience, to which Sky was blissfully unaware. Each return promised a free ration of bread for their lengthy voyage, leading her to getting ‘lost’ quite frequently.

Some time after her 8th Name Day, Sky had once again come to the meadow, her chosen sanctuary. This day, however, the lush green grass she was so familiar with had browned, the flowers had shrivelled, and branches of trees creaked bare against a hot, dry summer wind. A foul black mist crept through the treeline, tainting everything it touched. The girl was quick to evade the corruption, though its presence oppressed her thoughts with a thick, palpable dread. 

Obscured behind the bleak haze, aside a once-proud beech tree- now withered and mottled- stood a tall shadowy figure, dressed in tattered black robes (3).  A  fleeting moment after Sky had seen it and before she could muster words for the shade, it wordlessly turned… 

Toward the village.

Then…

Smoke. Assailing every sense, the haze had quickly become a dreadful smog, accompanied by the distant, aggressive crackling of hungering flame. As adrenaline returned her senses to her, Sky instinctively shot herself in the direction of the forge, fueled by a fear never felt in her few years- for the safety of her family.

Minutes of tireless running felt like pained hours, a terrible pit in her stomach growing and gnawing at her thoughts until her home became visible on the horizon- embroiled in a chaotic, unrepentant blaze. In that instant, the pit swallowed her whole- and with it, all sense of reason or restraint.

She had to help.

Without thinking, the girl had tried to enter the smithy, hoping to reach her home as quickly as possible- a costly error.  As she opened the door, a rush of fresh air flooded within the building, swelling the flames uncontrollably and triggering a devastating explosion. Sky was blasted outward alongside heavy, fractured stone and molten shrapnel. Debris showered the immediate area, with one smoldering chunk of structural steel slamming upon the girl where she had collapsed. Her last moments were spent screaming in agony before her body succumbed to the pain and fell unconscious.

-

She awoke a few days later, severely burned and heavily bandaged in the village temple, Koshona.  The townspeople were unaware of the flame that had claimed the Hart household until a deafening explosion erupted from its direction. Those that rushed to help had found the girl beneath the rubble surrounding what was once their forge.  With such severe injuries demanding the highest care, and with no family left to accept the burden, the head priest of Koshona agreed to take responsibility for the girl’s treatment and recovery.  

Monks tended to an unmoving and bedridden Sky for weeks until she was in a state to leave her chambers. Thanks to their diligent care, the majority of the injuries had healed, save for a deep burn on her abdomen where the steel had scorched her flesh. That scar would remain tender and vulnerable, needing to be bound at all times and medicated regularly.

Once she had regained autonomy, the monks could focus on completing her upbringing, educating the girl in their ways. They taught basic reading, writing and arithmetic; as well as recanting the area’s history and the Temple’s relationship with the gods. Though she interpreted the teachings well enough, her want for knowledge had left her.

As she got older, she was introduced to Kendo by an ex-mercenary turned monk, Master Eiji. As well as instructing her in swordplay, Eiji would regale the girl of his life’s many adventures, introducing her to the whole of the world’s foreign perspectives and countless wonders. These stories rekindled her childhood wanderlust, piercing through the hopelessness that had become her reality.  Though loosely warned against doing so by Eiji, Sky had decided to become what he once was-  a traveling mercenary; free to follow their own path.

Over the course of several years, Sky’s talent with the blade blossomed.  While unfamiliar with the variable techniques introduced by magic- such as the fires Eiji controlled- she had become a skilled swordsman in her own right. In light of this development, the head priest deemed the time was right to reveal a secret long kept from Sky: After her home had been reduced to ash, a crystal blade of peerless make was found to have survived the flames; the last remaining treasure her father had left to give. Fate had guided Yoshiro’s greatest wish for his daughter into her hands.

At first, Sky struggled to comprehend the blade’s purpose. It was clear that this was her father’s handiwork, but the balance was unlike anything she had used before. She found it housed a smaller blade in the hilt, but she’d felt there was still something missing. 

Master Eiji, an adept of magic himself, felt a dormant power within the blade, though found himself unable to wake it. Sky, however, was unable to feel anything coming from the crystalline weapon. This summoned within her a deep, pained frustration; rising to a bitter anger. She hadn’t been able to sense a damned flicker of magic, even after all these years… to not be able to connect to the one family heirloom she had left tore at her.

Without a word, Sky took off, returning to the one place that she could just… be.  The meadow.

Countless questions plagued the girl as she tried to understand what her father could have been thinking, what she had been failing to see. The betrayed frustration and mounting grief would overwhelm her, letting tears flow freely down across her cheek, falling to her knees. Feeling betrayed by the world, she clutched the blade firmly between her hands, taking the moment to remember her parents’ words. Their kindnesses. Their hopes…

Tears flecked down upon the weapon.

A moment later… a spark.

Flickers of light began to emit from the blade, causing Sky to refocus. Running her hand ran over the crystal, she felt it thrum to life… moments later, the light swept through her hands and coursed through the girl’s body. Unknown sensation pulsed, startling her to motion. For the first time, she was feeling magic. Vibrant. Alive.

The air grew heavy around her as energy crackled in shining white flashes. The rising power was becoming too much for Sky to withstand, becoming wary of the power she felt slip out of her hands.  Behind the sparks, she’d failed to hear the cracking coming from the pommel until it was too late- a surge of electricity ran through her, then burst forth from the blade. From its tip, a bolt of lightning shattered the air before her, splitting the long-dead beech through.

She collapsed to the ground, clearly spent from what had transpired.  After a few minutes, as she recovered, Sky noticed the pommel had been damaged, a crystalline shard lying several feet from her.  As soon as she was able to stand, Sky retrieved the fragment, then hastily returned to the temple to explain what had happened.

To say that Master Eiji was impressed that she was able to utilise and break the damned thing would be a drastic understatement. In her wily, excited, shaken attempt to retell the event, Sky childishly emulates the noises she heard.

“ZIP?! ZRRR- SENNNNNNN- KO!”

The two burst out in laughter from the depiction of the ordeal, and uncertainty melted away in the comforting warmth of relief and grace. The moment played over between them, chuckling between different pronunciations of Sen-ko.

Sen-ko. A sound of promise. The anthem of hope’s return. A name to remember.

As the months went on, Sky honed her ability to wield and channel through the blade, discovering new abilities with each passing day. While it didn’t offer the connection to the world Yoshiro had intended, it allowed her to expend her own energies- to manifest her own will into the crystal, allowing her command of both the air around her and lightning within.

As they grew to understand both the sword’s capabilities and Sky’s potential, Master Eiji made a suggestion that the smith never intended: the swordsman commissioned the broken fragment to be made into a pendant, one that was given to her on her next name day. The intent was twofold: to serve as both a memento of her triumph, and to allow her access to the blade’s power in a pinch.

Several years later, Sky had proved herself a worthy swordsman. As she came of age, she was deemed ready to leave the safety of Koshona and explore the world that she had so desperately wanted to know. With a new set of armor and a fresh haircut, Sky bid the village she knew farewell.  

Now living the way of the wanderer, Sky leads her life on the open road, making her living from work as simple as running errands to slaying wild beasts that threaten towns and cities. Though not especially profitable, she maintains a discount when performing tasks for those in need. All she really asks is a place to sleep, a warm meal, and…

A loaf of bread for the road.

———————-

League-verse tweaks

The blade is made of vastayan crystal, gifted in friendship to Yoshiro for protecting a travelling vastayan from wolves. Sky has no way of knowing any of this as he never told her.

Celene would be Demacian

Instead of the hooded figure, Sky would have witnessed the Kindred, the pair admitting it was her parent’s time, but they were uninterested in the child

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Fifteen]

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea/---5K----SFW*

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You see the world beyond the veil, though something is lurking beneath...

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Slow Burn | Some Lore | Mentions of Blood* | Mentions of Death* | Sorry for the ending 😬 | There are surely typos but I caught a cold so go easy on me pls

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Fifteen: Cold Embrace

There was a moment in the night when the world painted grey lead, almost transformed into a ghostly realm, blurry lines between the mist floating above the sea and the infinite sky. Barely the sketch of a world.

It was when the veil between worlds thinned enough for the spirits to crawl into ours, and for you to enter theirs.

If you so wished, of course. And you longed for it every night, thinking about what you would wish to say to the woman who gave up on life as soon as she created a little one. Why didn't she take you with her?

Why the sea refused, again and again, and again, to claim you. Too starving of revenge and the blood of this forgotten town, and yet, only those closer to you kept dying.

The image flashed, as quick as lightning. Cold sand pressed against your back, small pebbles trying to incrust inside your skin, the rotten stench of death as the sharp edge of a rusty knife pierced the surface at barely centimeters away from your cheek.

“If the water won’t claim you,” a voice said, face covered with thin, soaked blonde hair. The woman took the handle of the weapon with her broken fingers, nails black and long as she pulled the knife off the sand to raise it above her head. You gasped at the sight of half-eaten grey skin, barnacles, and moss growing on the hard edges of the bone. "Blood will. And how much blood I'm going to draw…"

The knife sang against the air, falling with mastery toward your heart.

By the time you tiptoed your way back to the beacon room, the rain had died down to a breeze; freezing wind sneaking its way through the boarded window. Such opposite of the warm embrace of your now not-so-fake husband—that if his gentle kisses were proof concrete enough.

Though tearing yourself away from the warm embrace of the couch and the sweater Viktor thrown over you was almost a herculean task, but you didn’t wish for him to cover your duty, though by now your rest had been disturbed by the recurrent nightmare, better said, the recurrent memory.

Your weeks as the keeper had turned you nocturnal, another spirit keeping watch by the cliff—a chill running down your spine when you realized you weren't that different from the other ghosts roaming the coast, wailing at the foot of the cliff.

Except today, it seemed. Just as everything seemed different with him around.

Viktor was posted by the uncovered section of the glass, his cane leaned against the wall, a figure so still you thought you were still dreaming, that he had become a new prop of your foolishness at imagining that last night had been real.

A mask melting into the disgusting face of the bloated woman. Another knife was hidden inside the handle of his cane.

"Viktor?" Your voice broke the stillness of the early morning, the fuzzy edges of the world becoming solid once his golden gaze broke between the foggy morning like a victorious sun.

Your steps were annoyingly noisy against the creaky wooden floor of the beacon room, the cold, salty air filtering through the boards as the roaring of the sea dwindled to a simple, constant growl.

“You should’ve woken me,” you said, eyeing the disarray on the table; with open journals and yellowish pages scattered everywhere, tiny, and hurried calligraphy strangely familiar. “Keeping watch isn’t your job.”

His cane tapped against the floor when he turned toward you, a sheepish smile on his face. "It's been a while since I got to see this view." Long, sinewy fingers traced the length of the boards, as if the view he was referring to had been now carved into the wood instead of appearing in the wild. "Accompany me. We need to retrieve some tools from the house today.”

Why he had been by the window all night? If certainly the seascape was stunning during dawn, by night everything was just a world of mist and darkness.

"Did you see her?" you muttered once out of the lighthouse tower; fingers still freezing over the door bolt before pulling out the lock. Part of you hoped you didn't have to say who—not only because of the uncertainty, but also the dread of voicing it, such action pushing the memory of it not like a dream coated in guilt and frenzy, but a real affliction.

Viktor called your name, metal shrieking with accumulated rust once he pulled the gate open. "There's a legend," he trod with caution, words stumbling against each other once the house's façade started looming on the horizon. "About her."

“Well, what is it?”

He smiled at your interest, opening the door of the house that always remained unlocked while he beckoned you inside a spotless foyer. Almost eclipsing the scene, you saw upon your return to the city. If it weren’t…

Everything could be done with step following another, and another; as easy as that, as you’ve done all your life—as you got near your uncle’s funeral.

But then, the pull.

You stood like an alien on the threshold, noticing the elongated shadows seeming to devour any trace of sunlight that could enter through the open door. The silence was broken only by the waves down the beach.

“Miss, we ought not to talk about it here, unless we wish to summon them,” Viktor said, leaning closer to you to whisper such words that left goosebump flesh to crawl up your arms. “That’s what all ghost stories say, does it not?”

No, it wasn’t a pull. It was a gaze.

Old and unmerciful and unwavering, coming from the empty corner down the first floor’s hall. There where only the amorph shadow of the dissected mermaid had been once.

Was it her? Was hers the cave you discovered yesterday? Was she—

"Then, when do we talk about what's happening in here?" you whispered, hoping your front of bravery would be enough for the house to stop staring at you with the feeling of inferiority blooming out of your chest. "I’m tired of thinking I’m out of my mind. I don’t want to run anymore. Because ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Just like you pretended those muddy footsteps were a result of your vivid imagination. Barely daring to remember there here, where the horror had taken place—though you had to admit it hadn’t been the worst.

His eyes darkened, from sunny to burned honey. Viktor passed next to you, side-gazing the staircase up to the first set of stairs toward where his underground office was located. His fingers surrounded one of your wrists, pulling you away from the entrance and into the depths of the house.

His back and open coat brought you protection as he guided you toward the kitchen, covered from the gaze you were sure was still piercing his back.

“In open waters, where nobody else but ourselves can hear,” he whispered, pulling back in such a swift move you were almost convinced his words had been a delusion. “Alright. I'll bring the notebooks to my bedroom desk. Can you bring the books on the table down to my office?” He pointed toward the first-floor hallway. “I need to pack lightly for this excursion.” Viktor chuckled. “The boat isn’t that big, and now I’ll have company…”

Now was the cave, but before had been those damned footsteps, mocking outlines of a presence that shouldn't be there—and you weren't sure if you preferred it to be a simple joke from Viktor or an intruder from town.

Why had Viktor decided to make you company in the lighthouse? It went further than empathy, or even, the craving of being closer to each other when the whole world faded. But the starlight sphere hadn’t been built yet. And while shadows rested for their hauntings, you could wander freely.

You remembered the stagnant air filling your nose as you hoped your uncle to pass by after their break inside Viktor’s house, fearing the vivid memory would materialize into his ghost again.

Or whoever would be wearing his face this time.

 “I—I would prefer to go for the books on the second floor, so you won’t climb too many stairs,” you said, your face hot once you met Viktor’s attentive gaze, an eyebrow elegantly arched. “Not to be meddlesome, of course.”

Viktor nodded, a half-smirk pulling his lips. “If you say so." He hummed, taking some keys out of his pockets; between all the golden, the one to open the underground office was big and heavy, silver, and with a slight tint of green from rust. “I’ll see you by the office, then.”

His steps quickly disappeared, your curiosity peaking as you climbed the stairs, almost picturing the rainy night you had met him, so many weeks ago.

Perhaps you’d be more familiar with the house if this marriage were conventional—if this house were conventional, too, without charged silences and acute shadows looming around the corners.

Without muddy footsteps guiding the way toward Viktor’s room.

He didn’t have any servants employed on the daily, with dusty corners and spiderwebs growing from the small crevices between the wall lamps and the roof. Excepting the quiet cook who came once a week to deliver food, Viktor lived all alone.

Until you, perhaps.

You would never know how he could stand it, the endless, empty hallways, still corners as if waiting for something to break such consistency with a humanoid shadow suspended above the ground. Such a big house, so lonesome.

Many corners watching your every move, so many shadows lurking nearby. It was maddening, as if you were a prey expecting to be hunted at every turning corner.

And then, it was your shabby cabin, too small for five people and yet, just as solitary.

Cursed or not, the walls are always whispering, bleeding the time it has seeped into them when the wallpaper isn’t changed regularly. The dark spots of humidity, creaky floors, and shrieking doors.

This house was alive, just like a guardian for its secrets, and right now, you were an intruder.

Would there be a place where you weren’t one?

Viktor’s door was unlocked when you entered, the familiar, cold handle quickly turning. Inside, everything was untouched, as you would expect a hostel’s room to look. So… abandoned.

The morning sun painted the white walls light yellow, staining your vision that was now so used to the dim orangey hues from the oil lamps lined up along the hallway. His bed was kept, blankets tucked neatly under the pillows that you know smelled like him; old pages of books, coffee beans, and the marine breeze filtering through the window.

With careful strides, wishing not to disturb the quietness of the place that was cut only by your slow breaths.

There it was his desk, the pile of papers and notebooks with wrinkly edges covering the wooden surface. Absentminded, your fingers passed through the pages, observing ink stains seeping through the reverse of its surface, crossed-out words gone unreadable. Diagrams of different sea creatures signaling with arrows are parts you couldn't make sense of.

Except… these… some of these drawings were familiar, or illustrations you'd found in the tales' books your grandparents kept by the side of your cot. Mermaids—all kinds of creatures with human heads, arms, and torsos, yet infinite classes of lower half.

Click. You heard, the hairs in your nape raising once the door in front of his bedroom started creaking.

Wood wept as the darkness spilled into the hallway, acute shadows seeming to lurk closer. His notebooks crackled when you pressed them against your chest in a stupid attempt to soothe your frenetic heartbeat.

Curtains were drawn, windows boarded; the inside of the adjacent room looked like a dark maw. You wished to tear your gaze away from the void, but curiosity prickled your brain, wishing to guess which amorph figures you could peek from the shadows.

Which one was the cause of your horrors?

You got closer to the hallway—you didn’t have another way to walk toward the exit, taking steps backward steps in an attempt not to turn your back to the darkness.

From the poor illumination from the oil lamp next to the door, you observed the outlines of a four-poster bed, a thin veil covering the mattress to protect it from the dust that permeated the forgotten, locked-away room.

 It was then when your gaze flashed down, gaze focused on the large, solid mass of shadows sitting at the edge of the bed, half-body tucked inside the veil.

Your feet stumbled, almost tripping by the wrinkled edge of the carpet; knees converted into molten wax.

A trail of mud looked like drying blood inside the room, ending at the foot of the bed.

The sketch of a humanoid figure—the ghost bared its teeth in a lazy grin. Human teeth.

The air got stuck on its way out of your lips.

But no, you have pledged enough mercy that night at the cave, and you knew ghosts would be restless anyhow, as unmerciful as the heartbroken wails from the cliff.

You felt the heavy weight of the shell in the depths of your pocket, a somewhat comforting presence when your hands slid along the wallpaper wall, cold and rugged by time, to touch the level of the sconce.

Light filled the room like a yellowish afternoon, showing you a bedroom that was probably decorated by and for a young woman. With its tall closet and books collecting dust, discolored bedsheets covering what appeared to be a lounging couch posted by the window. A vanity whose mirror had been missed.

Covered with a soft-looking cotton blanket decorated with a knitted pattern of flowers laid the mattress, ruffles of lavender fabric covering the rest until it grazed slightly against the wooden floor. And yet despite all the details, no matter how hard your eyes tried to scan the surface, the bed remained empty.

Though a mark was half hidden beneath the ruffles, like a mocking gesture.

The outline of a footprint, still wet and muddy staining the fabric’s edge.

Newly made.

Swallowing a lump down your throat, which could be both panic and nausea, you held your breath while taking the door’s knob, cold and solid and grounding.

I won’t fear anymore. You thought, knuckles white from your forceful grasp. I won’t fear anymore.

Accommodating Viktor’s notebooks under your arm, you ran your finger to meet with the light’s flick, the movement more unconscious than you'd imagined as your finger simply ran down the button's surface to fill the room with shadows once again.

Instinct called you to look at the bed once again, which remained empty.

Yet still, while you closed the door with a slam, the hairs around your face moved by the breeze, accompanied by a distinctive human sigh.

It smelled like stagnant air, like the rotten stench of death.

When you tore your hand away from the knob, your fingers were stained with mud and traces of coagulated blood. An ominous mark, and an open challenge, perhaps.

It hadn’t been disgust. It wasn't a lack of bravery that made you dash down the stairs either, but the feeling that preceded closely behind after the sound dragged too long and with an impossible origin in this solitary hallway. Chills covered your skin with goosebumps, the heavy feeling of your nausea climbing up your empty stomach, the sick sensation of someone—something—watching you close.

Mid-way to the first landing, you started humming, a coping mechanism you developed since your uncles loved to tell you horror stories. To let your mind wander, filled with a long-forgotten song you tried to resurrect. Hum the same song in a loop until your brain tired itself out, forcing you to slumber.

This time, an echo answered your unconscious call for a duet once you stepped onto the ground floor, the sound floating along the wood, originating from under the door next to Viktor’s office.

“Viktor?” you muttered, though the voice wasn’t the same. It was a childish attempt to conceal the fear that this house enjoyed tied into your ankles and arms, like a puppet.

And right now, the house wanted you to play, prickling your curiosity enough to open the door. The locked door whose key remained inside the breast pocket of Viktor’s coat, the closed door that upon your intense gaze wasn’t locket at all, lock rusty and empty, yet not sealed.

Perhaps this one would also open unexpectedly if you hovered nearby long enough.

If you want to know, open this door, the house told you, making its walls loom closer, to trap you inside this moment when the sun hid behind a cloud, perhaps fearful of what your decision would be.

Open it. Open it. Open it.

You stood in front of it, torn between going down the known path, where Viktor’s door pooled light under the door, safe company, or following this one where the cold breeze came from. The door looked back at your indecision, impassive and old. All-knowing.

Open it. Open it. Open it. Don’t you want to know if you’re crazy? If you’re both crazy?

With your jaw clenched, you hugged Viktor’s notes closer to your chest, a sharp inhale as if you were about to dive underwater.

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

The iron was freezing to the touch; the slight creak between the floor and the door filtered cool air toward your legs, around your ankles like a lasso—which made you aware that this wasn’t a sealed room.

What was on the other side?

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

THUNK.

“Miss, what are you doing?” Viktor said when he saw you running down the steps of his office, hands pressed against the door as if a monster were trying to enter. “Are you alright?”

“Viktor,” you breathed, feeling your legs shake from the strain and the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “Viktor, what is this?” you said, tumbling down the stairs and pushing the mermaid’s diagrams on top of the desk.

Viktor looked at you with wide eyes, some hairs prickling his forehead when he shook his head. “Pardon? Were you looking into my things?”

“Of course not,” your rebuttal was sharp and dry, humorless. “These are the notes you wanted to retrieve for the expedition. Why?”

He started by calling your name, but this wasn’t time to play with niceties. It wasn’t the first time you were haunted in this house—much less in this damned town; your old shell as a scared person had slowly been replaced by a harder, boldest one.

Viktor sighed, rubbing his right temple. “It’s… complicated,” he ventured. Words died in his mouth when he looked away in shame. "I don't think you'd believe me."

You extended your left hand, showing him the rest of the mud and blood starting to peel off. "If you believed me, why shouldn't I believe you?"

His eyes traveled toward your fingers extended toward him, his hand swiftly enveloping your stained digits with his own, dismissed the idea of caring about getting his hand dirty. You saw his expression shift; knitted eyebrows and a slightly clenched jaw, lips pressed on a line.

“Come with me,” Viktor said, standing from the desk and grabbing a valise that looked both full and heavy. “Let’s get out of this house.”

The afternoon was fading away when you helped Viktor push a fishing boat toward the shallow waters of the beach, almost not feeling the freezing weight of the water lapping at your ankles for the tall boots you decided to wear.

Your tummy was full of an extensive meal, arms burning from the effort of a whole day full of duties, feeling the rattling of the wooden boat scrapping the rocks in your bones.

“It’s ready,” Viktor grunted, ignoring the beads of sweat running down his forehead. “I’ll help you up first.” He extended his hand toward you, using it as leverage for you to step into the wobbling surface of the vessel. “There you go.” He used his upper body strength to sit against the edge of the boat, using your arms to rotate himself inside it, only putting down his legs over what would be his seat for the rest of the expedition.

The lighthouse waved you goodbye when you started paddling, wanting to keep the motor in case of emergency—besides, Viktor had said that the rain would come only after sundown.

"This is the fishing boat of Mr. Calis," you told him, passing your hands over the half-scrapped-down painting of its name Norina. It was, better put since Mr. Calis had died years ago.

“Yes. I bought it from his son when Mr. Calis moved with him to the city,” Viktor said. “It’s said to be the only fishing boat that didn’t suffer losses even during the fishing shortage years ago.”

You remembered, around ten years ago when your grandma told you that story while you promised you wouldn't repeat it.

It happened when she was still young, blessed with a reliable memory. Like all the other families from Piltover the Old, they must carry the familiar tradition of fishing as the only job people from this town could have—they were favored by the mermaids, or so the legends said.

And yet, all that terrible winter brought were merciless storms, destructive floods, and blobs of rotten fish washed ashore. All unconsumable, all unsellable.

It went for all winter, using the arrival of spring as an excuse to offer tribute to the sea, a custom you could still appreciate from the elders' survivors of the town leaving offerings at the foot of the cliff, washed away by the sea.

"People said he cut half the catch of each day and dumped it overboard in open waters," you hummed, just like your grandma did when she reached that part of the tale. "To feed the mermaids that helped him fill his nets."

“This town had always been tied to mermaids," Viktor said, enjoying the view of the lighthouse making itself smaller and smaller, a thin veil of fog starting to cover the sea as the sky turned dark blue. "Its designation as the largest, richest fishing zone all along this coast; it's downfall, and now even its remains are still tied to it."

“That’s why you’re interested in mermaids?”

"Yes," Viktor said, his body leaning backward and onwards with each forceful paddle, the tides growing impatient by the calling of the full moon that could barely peek down at you from between the thick clouds. "Many scientists still don't understand what phenomenon occurs in these waters. How there are so many flashing floodings, uneven patterns of raining seasons, and, well, this." Viktor signaled around you, the world becoming blurry and grey in the middle of the mist. "Look over there, where the sun dipped down."

With his cold hand, he guided your chin toward the west, where the continuous path of mist broke with a blue patch of sky.

“Is that…?” But it couldn’t be.

Viktor nodded. "The night sky. Nobody knows why only this part of the beach fills with fog and storms at night. There are dozens of papers theorizing about it, but alas, nothing is concrete yet."

“And do you think this is the product of mermaids?”

“There was a brutal hunting episode near this shore,” Viktor gestured to where the lighthouse was observing them like a gargantuan cyclops with its unwavering gaze, golden like its owner. “Folklore says that the fishermen killed mermaids once their revenues plummeted at the sudden shortage of fish—their pact with the mermaids already broken. But scientists say they killed large mammals instead, perhaps manatees. Such massacre would've created an unbalance in the ecosystem that still affects us today."

You paddled quicker once the night sky grazed you with its twinkling stars, a clean fabric of navy blue where the moon looked so big and full you could almost extend your hand and cup it, letting her tint you with its silver hues, to make you all moonlight. Perhaps that way you could float away from the dreary coast, always grisly and hopeless with its freezing rain that had seeped your bones with the same disillusion.

“Of course, that doesn’t explain the meteorological phenomena surrounding the town, either why there are people who refuse to leave it despite its conditions,” Viktor continued, stretching the sore muscles of his back once you broke over the unfoggy, calm open waters.

“Maybe they can’t,” you replied, your mind lost in the memories of your trip to the city.

Viktor gazed at you, seemingly thinking the same in the way he nodded, lips ajar as if trying to say something else.

“Perhaps they can’t,” he agreed, voice barely above a whisper. “His name was Gavin. Gavin Stell. He built the house—and many say, he haunts the house.”

You felt cold despite the layers of clothes you had wrapped yourself into, the marine breeze making you believe the ghost was still behind you, whispering things into your ear.

“A man covered in mud…”

Viktor nodded. "He died inside his house during the devastating first flooding. Thinking his house was high enough that nothing would happen to him, he boarded the windows and sealed the doors to prevent the water from entering; and yet, she still found him and claimed him and the house. They had been the highest tides ever recorded; around sixty feet tall and seventy feet in range—of course, many say folklore exaggerated them. There’s no way to know for sure.” Viktor took the anchor and let it sink overboard once you were all surrounded by inky waters. “His spirit is locked inside the house, wanting his revenge from the mermaids that made his most precious project go to waste.”

You bit your lip, tasting the copper stench of your blood. The words were too scary to let out. This is real. That night was real. “Then the woman on the beach is a mermaid, perhaps? The one he’s trying to take revenge on?”

 “No. Mermaids can’t be ghosts because they have no soul, no real body that remains after death.”

“But… the one in the museum—”

“It’s a fake. A wonder of mythical taxonomy, but it’s made up with human rests and other marine animals to match. It was discovered years after the flooding and after Gavin’s death. I suppose it was the last reason to abandon any hope to recover Piltover the Old’s once splendor.”

“That’s why you say you’re cursed?” you mumbled now that his attentive gaze was drawn away from yours, his fingers expertly aligning bottles to collect the bioluminescence algae and the water. “Because if so—and I know this may not help at all—but we’re all a bit cursed, too. But maybe together we can find a way to get out of the mist for good.” Shyly, you took the small tests he handed you, scribbling down what he instructed you to label them correctly and put them inside the box made of wood and leather.

Viktor tried to smile, observing the calm water that started to form foam with bioluminescent blue and green, ready to scoop part of it into his sterile bottle. "I've lost count of how many times I've tried, that I'm trying not to get my hopes high, Miss. The sea is unforgiven, and it seems that I still owe too much for her to let me go."

You stayed quiet for a moment after that, not knowing how to feel, or what to say. You felt it, too. The tug at the bottom of your heart that called to look out the window, even now, challenged your best senses to look directly down into the abyss. To watch and tell her, I’m here.

"Mermaids may have no soul, but where do you think all those people killed by the sea went?" Viktor's question surprised you, his profile bathed in moonlight while his eyes squinted in focus toward the coast that had been left behind. "Sometimes, I think that they're, perhaps, in the mist that surrounds the town at night."

That she had taken too much from you, to confront her; sinking into the green-blue waters and glaring into its unbounded limits.

I’m here. What more do you want from me? You thought, settling another sample of bioluminescence inside the chest and dipping your hand into the water to erase a blotch of ink from staining your sweater.

"But then, why do they haunt us?" you whispered, the ghost wearing your uncle's face appearing in your mind. Your eyes locked into the water to try erase such happening from your memory.

What more do you want to take to let me be free?

From the infinite black of the ocean's waters, you saw a glimpse of white move below the boat, pale and quick and giant like lightning.

The boat rippled, with Viktor almost lost balance while trying to catch his cane about to fall overboard.

“Vikt—" you started, looking at him with eyes wide with terror, your grasp on his shoulders forceful and your breathing so quick it was creating clouds of steam from the lower temperature creeping into the night. “There’s something under the boat…”

From under the boat, you saw the flash again, a large, massive eye peeking from under the ocean surface directly at you.

A scream bubbled up its way out your throat, drowned by the sudden movement of the water below swaying violently to the side, toppling the boat upside down.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! And what do YOU think is lurking beneath! 🤗💙🤍

[teodora156]

[angels/fallen angels AU]

Locations (Pt. 1):

Pandemonium: No one can explain the true nature of this place. Originally did not exist as a place of detention, it exists outside of time and space, enclosed in a funnel of infinity. The lands of Pandemonium are boundless and unexplored, mysterious and dangerous. Apart from unexplained phenomena, time flows here in a broken and chaotic manner, like planets in the universe. After the era of the First Kingdom, the entrance to Pandemonium was sealed by the Creator, and since then the fallen angels who landed there will remain here until the end of time. Moreover, the creator of all things does not bother to pay attention to this place, leaving rebellious creatures to be left to themselves.

– The Land of Eternal Shadows: Other fallen are afraid to set foot on these lands and stay here for a long time. They have a rumor that anyone who comes here becomes evil and malicious and tries to avoid them. The domain of the Lord of Darkness is very vast compared to the territory of the entire Pandemonium, although this is a controversial statement, given that no one has ever seen the beginning or end of this otherworldly world. The Land of Eternal Shadows got its name from the cave, in the very depths of which Eternal Shadows have been living since the very beginning of time — a phenomenon that, like a living organism, moves independently along the vaults of the cave and, as if dancing, forms bizarre shapes. They have been dancing here since time immemorial, since the beginning of beginnings, and everything else has appeared around them as they continue to expand, creating an endless realm of shadow. They have their own silent language, which over time the Lord of Darkness was able to understand. This underground cave itself is huge, its walls of natural stone, stretching far beyond the sight of the eye, expand further and further. Also, in this mist- and dust-covered kingdom, there are "servants" - invisible creatures hidden like the shadows of this place, present everywhere, watching what is happening and waiting for the opportunity to carry out their master's orders. The Lord of Darkness did a lot for these creatures, and in return they remained very loyal to him, repaying him by supporting his youth and beauty. Like Eternal Shadows, they have their own will and are able to consciously make decisions: as, for example, when they noticed the presence of the bright angel Harreth, who was completely alien to this place, and did not inform Tomelior about his appearance.

– The Island of Sorrow: Hidden from the rest of Pandemonium is an archipelago surrounded by smooth, ice-clear water. The inhabitants may assume that he appears and disappears from time to time, changing his location like a sleepy ghost. Not a single wind that could breathe life into this dead calm, not a single ray of sun that could warm this place. The frozen remains of the dead bodies of creatures that wanted to cross these dangerous waters in those prehistoric times, when the sea was still active and bubbling, are hidden in the depths of the sea, bound by ice. Now only regret and sadness emanate from her, the soul tormented inside her, going further and further into the very depths. These eternal, never-ending moans and torments of the silent drowned people reach the island, thus feeding the soil and air. The island itself has no water, no grass, no mountains – just a silent space, from every point of which there is a view of the cursed sea. Here, after falling from heavenly grace, by the will of fate, a lone fallen angel landed. Staying in the sleepy, lethargic state that this place dictates to him, tearing out at least some piece of happy memories from his consciousness, he is forever stuck in a swamp of sadness, sorrow and loneliness.

– Crimson Ridges: There is blood, violence and an incessant thirst for blood in these parts. There is no way for weak creatures who have wandered here to return – their life, if it were mortal, would immediately end, if it were immortal, it would become irreconcilably painful. They often walk along a narrow crevice - where they are easiest to track down, watching from a high point. And here there are many of them - huge and sharp mountain ranges, called crimson from the amount of blood spilled in them, cut into the very depths of the blackened clouds. The mountain line itself is long and massive, and contains many depressions. After centuries spent in captivity, other fallen angels have found their place here. A life spent in immeasurable despair has changed their inner nature, completely hardening the once kind heart. Their way of life has become like predatory eagles, and now they hide in inaccessible rocky ledges and wait for lost travelers who unexpectedly wandered here. Despite the primitiveness of their lives, they nevertheless perceive both representatives of their species equally and live in several colonies, outside and from the outside in which there is often a struggle for dominance. The largest clan is dominated by a matriarchy, headed by a fallen angel named Bellatrix – wild and unbridled, like the very nature of this place.

– Avernus ("Lower World"): If you cross the neutral lands bordering the Land of Eternal Shadows, you can stumble upon a whole network of underground passages that go further and further into the enchanting spiral of emptiness. Having fallen through there, it is difficult to get out – even for such holy spirits as angels with their powerful wings in view of the absolute darkness reigning below. Dampness and cold accompany this place with the constant tapping of drops on the rocky surface of the underground vaults, and the musty smell and dust muffle the charm so important for fallen angels who live here in pitch, impenetrable darkness. Due to the lack of at least any source of light, they have completely lost their eyesight and now trust only their heightened senses and those remnants of supernatural powers that remained with them after falling from Heaven. When they get together, they spend a long time communicating with each other through a series of clicks and chirps, creating a strange and otherworldly symphony. It seems that this remains the only reminder to them that they still exist in their cursed immortal life.

[pt.1], [pt.2], [pt.3], [pt.4], [pt.5].

[leftalpacavoid]

𓄃 Soaring Veil.

— Acronix's life is all about thrill, fighting, battling, scheming with his brother, he was a skilled warrior. An elemental master of time, But there is something quite of an aura that makes him drawn to You.

REQUESTED?: Yes.

—@ By: [Anonymous Ask]

Paired Character: Acronix, GN! Reader.

#TAGS: pure fluff, established relationship but leans on romantic or platonic, Acronix got some taste fr 🗣️🔥, Reader isn't a normal human being, we are high like on being ethereal for real. (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿) potential OOC I tried my best. {3.2K Words}

#Reminder: Reader's appearance is based off Yaoshi Aeon Of Abundance from Honkai Star Rail respectively, the reason why the description had a kind of a unspecified color is because it's for you to decide your own theme.

⪼ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ࿐ཽ༵☆

⚊𓂀⚊

Acronix approaches you with a mixture of awe every time he enters your presence. You, an unknown entity of immense size and ethereal beauty, radiate an otherworldly elegance that is both serene and formidable. Draped in a delicate veil and a flowing cloth dress, your form shimmers like moonlight caught on mist, pure and unblemished. Towering over everything, you sit at the very edge of an old, crumbling stone ledge that seems to float in a dimension all its own—one surrounded by misty, endless skies and soft light that shifts in the void, It’s a place beyond time and space, both tranquil and mysterious, a place where only you and Acronix seem to exist.

Your elegant halo glows faintly, illuminating the fine, white cloth of your dress that drapes down, almost seeming to melt into the mist below. Long antlers adorn your head, gracefully twisting upwards and casting shadows that dance around you. Despite your towering form, there is a gentleness in the way you hold yourself, a silent welcome in the slight tilt of your head and the soft glow that emanates from your hidden face. You cannot speak, bound by some silent rule of your existence, but Acronix seems to understand you nonetheless.

He steps forward, cautious but unafraid, dwarfed by your towering height but never intimidated. There’s a slight, respectful bow in his posture as he approaches, his hazel eyes filled with a curious admiration he’d never show anyone else. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if any sudden movement might disrupt the delicate balance of the quiet peace that hangs between you. When he reaches a spot near your hand, he pauses, glancing up at you with a small, confident smirk that betrays a hint of his usual arrogance. But his voice, when he speaks, is softer than usual, his tone touched by something uncharacteristically tender.

“Hello again,” he says, the faintest bit of wonder threading through his voice, like he’s still not quite used to the sight of you. “I see you’re as magnificent as ever.”

He reaches out, resting a hand on one of your enormous fingers, feeling the faint warmth that radiates from your form. Despite your size, he’s never felt more connected to someone than he does to you, this mysterious, silent being who watches him with such gentle understanding. There’s something deeply comforting in your presence, something he can’t quite put into words, as if you understand him in a way that no one else ever has, or ever could.

You look down at him, a subtle inclination of your head acknowledging his words. The veil over your face stirs slightly, as though responding to his touch, the faintest shimmer of light rippling through it, like stars twinkling in the depths of a night sky. Even though he can’t see your eyes, he feels them on him, an invisible gaze that somehow sees through every wall he’s ever put up. He knows that you see him fully, down to every hidden insecurity and weakness, yet there’s only acceptance in your presence.

Unable to speak, you raise a delicate hand, its surface radiant and smooth, and you gently brush your fingers against him, a feather-light touch that envelopes him in a warmth unlike anything he’s ever felt. Your movements are careful, as though you’re afraid of overwhelming him, but there’s a kindness in your touch, a soft reassurance that speaks volumes more than words ever could. You tilt your head again, your halo glowing slightly brighter, as if to show him that you’ve missed him just as much as he has missed you.

Acronix leans into your touch, uncharacteristically still, as if savoring this silent moment with a rare humility. He reaches up, letting his own small hand press against your fingertip. For a brief second, it almost feels as if he’s bridging the vast, unknowable space that lies between your worlds, that his presence, his simple, mortal touch, is enough to reach you. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at you, a vulnerability he’s never shown to anyone else, as if in this timeless space, it’s safe to let down his guard.

“What is it like…up there?” he asks quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. It’s a question he knows you can’t answer, but something in him aches to know. He wonders what it’s like to live in a realm so far removed from his own, to see the world through the eyes of someone so ancient, so unfathomable. And somehow, in his own way, he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you could someday tell him.

Your fingers trace a gentle line down his arm, communicating a soft understanding. There’s a comfort in the way you touch him, a promise that even if words can’t explain it, you’re here, in this moment, with him. Acronix seems to understand; he nods, as if your silent response is more than enough, a reassurance that he’s not alone in the strange, vast existence he finds himself caught in.

In this endless, timeless place, Acronix finds himself lingering, letting the silence stretch between you as he watches the subtle glow of your halo and the faint, calming shimmer of your veil. He rests his head against your fingers, his small form leaning into the comforting warmth of your presence. For once, he’s not fighting, not scheming—just a man sitting at the edge of infinity, lost in the quiet, unspoken bond that lies between him and the unknown being he cherishes most.

And though you cannot speak, he hears your silence as clearly as if you had whispered to him. It’s a silence that tells him everything: that you understand him, that you care for him, that you, in all your timeless, towering form, hold him closer than any other soul in this strange, unchanging world. And for Acronix, there’s no greater comfort.

©leftalpacavoid 2024.

[leiflitter]

one of them is comforting or taking care of the other, i come begging for some cattonquick tenderness ❤️

Minor YAH1 spoilers for those who haven't read it~

TW for burns >_>

"Oliver, it hurts, I can't... The fucking itching, it..."

Oliver awoke so quickly it felt like he'd missed his alarm on an exam day. It was a jolt, an electric shock that had him sitting bolt upright in bed. Felix wasn't beside him, not properly; he was sat at the end of the bed, balled up, moving incessantly. His feet built to a rapid tattoo upon the floor, before he let out a whiny, wet sob.

"M'here, I'm awake- Felix, Felix, here, I'm here." He kicked his way out of the duvet, scrambling across the bed to get his arms around Felix's heaving shoulders. Nights were bad, and Oliver couldn't remember if Felix had taken the painkillers that were meant to help, but probably not. They'd had a new bottle of pills dropped off by the nurse practitioner, so in turn... Felix leaned into him, but couldn't keep it up. He writhed, a snake trying to shed an old skin. "I'll help, just... Did you take your pills, Felix?"

"Nnnn... No, they're meant to be in the bathroom but the bottle was empty, and I... I was tired, Ollie, so tired and now it itches so much." Felix writhed against him, curling closer then wriggling away. He couldn't sit still, and he kept raising a hand to the bandages across the right side of his face before snatching his hand away. He wasn’t allowed to scratch, not while the skin was healing. Besides, they'd been told repeatedly that scratching would not help. If Felix gave in, then it'd just get worse.

"New bottle's on the side in the kitchen. Come on. Walk and talk, alright?"

The hallway wasn't wide enough for two side by side, but that was secondary. Oliver tucked himself as close by Felix's side as possible, going slowly. Getting dressed had been a trial- Felix had to keep stopping to fight his way through another surge of itching, and at times Oliver had to hold his hands down. He was beyond insults, at least, because Oliver knew Felix wanted to yell at him for it, but he couldn't form proper words. He'd had to lace Felix's shoes for him, and he kept checking his pocket to make sure he had the housekeys. Getting locked out would be an ordeal, especially as they had about half an hour until Felix would hopefully be insensible. The pills had been another hurdle; Felix had almost dribbled water down his front in his misery, which would have meant a change of clothes. Another delay, one that might have driven him to breaking point.

Oliver had learned via trial and error that the best way to help Felix through the bad nights was distraction. Everything felt worse when there was nothing else to focus on; he needed to bump Felix out of this path and into another. Have that cartoonish moment where he pulled a big lever and the train switched rail.

The night was cold, but that should help too. More sensation for Felix to focus on, and Oliver held him tightly as he closed the door and turned them left. His road- their road- was a dead-end, leading to a pedestrian entrance to Angel and Greyhound meadow. It had been part of the reason Oliver had bought it; it was close to Addison's walk, albeit across the river, and it felt comforting knowing he was a stone's throw away from where it all began. The gate was closed, of course, but it meant they could walk in a little loop at the end of the road and not risk getting run over.

"Did you make a decision about the ice sculptures? For the wedding?"

Their breath misted in front of them, and Felix was still gaspy and wobbling, but he looked down at Oliver and nodded.

"Thought... Well, seemed a shame not to have some, especially... Specially as I emailed- well, Lu emailed- that fun fellow off that Netflix show where they..." He grimaced, the expression half-hidden by heavy white bandages, and Oliver gave him a reassuring squeeze. There's no rush. "He did that... It was a dwagon, I think, and it looked really cool- no pun intended- so maybe the minotaw... Fuck, am I..."

"It's cute, Felix. So you want an ice minotaur at our wedding? Not, I dunno, a big heart or cupid or..."

"It was that or a scale model of Oxford, but apparently that would be too expensive even for me."

By the time Felix couldn't feel his face, Oliver was icy. He didn't mind, though, not when Felix collapsed on the bed as soon as they got close enough to it. He tugged Felix's shoes off, leaving them- for once- where they fell. His own followed; their coats were crumpled in the hall. He sat down on the bed beside Felix, twisting to look at him with a soft sigh of relief, before leaning down to kiss his unbandaged cheek.

"I love you, Felix."

"Luhyuh... Owwie."

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Here's Azul's brother

🐙 🐙

Lucien Ashengrotto

Lucien: Light Elegant

Voice Actors

Eric Vale (English)

Nobunaga Shimazaki (Japanese)

Twisted From: Ursula's sister, Morgana

House: Octavinelle

Personality Traits: Sophisticated, strategic, and charismatic. Lucien combines a quiet intensity with sharp intellect and refined manners. While Azul is ambitious and somewhat cutthroat, Lucien is more subtle, excelling in diplomacy and negotiation. He’s friendly and persuasive, but people often sense a hidden strength in his gaze.

Unique Magic: “Veil of the Abyss”

Lucien can summon an elegant, ethereal mist that clouds his surroundings, obscuring visibility and disorienting his opponents. However, Lucien and anyone he chooses can see through the mist clearly. Additionally, those within the mist feel a sense of calm and slight drowsiness, lowering their guard and making them more suggestible, which is useful for negotiation or escaping combat.

Defense Use: Lucien can use the mist as a barrier to block sight or sound, making it difficult for attackers to target him directly.

Negotiation Enhancement: In a non-combat setting, Lucien can summon a subtle, shimmering aura that enhances his natural charm, making people more inclined to agree with his proposals or feel at ease in his presence.

Weaknesses:

Bright Light: The mist is dispelled in strong light or powerful magic that illuminates the area.

Mental Strain: Lucien needs focus to maintain the veil, and it can exhaust him quickly if sustained, especially in heated situations.

Appearance and Outfit

Physical Appearance: Lucien has wavy silver hair with dark tips, suggesting his deep-sea heritage, and piercing dark-blue eyes that seem to draw people in. His expression is often calm but with a hint of mystery, as if he’s always two steps ahead in any conversation.

Uniform Modifications: He wears the Octavinelle uniform but with some personal modifications:

Jacket: A fitted, high-collared jacket with silver and deep-blue accents, designed with a subtle wave or scaled pattern on the lapels.

Jewelry: He wears several elegant silver rings with opalescent stones and a delicate chain with a pendant shaped like an ocean pearl.

Fan Accessory: Lucien carries a fan—a deep blue and silver fan adorned with small, ocean-like pearls and a faint shimmer of scales.

Personality: Lucien is patient, calculating, and suave, choosing to observe before acting. Unlike Azul, who can be overtly ambitious and somewhat aggressive in his business tactics, Lucien is refined and plays the “long game,” often opting for manipulation through suggestion and charm rather than direct deals. He is often underestimated because of his calm demeanor, but his wit and strategy are razor-sharp.

Backstory-

Lucien Ashengrotto was only a baby when he was spirited away from the ocean depths and thrust into a world entirely foreign to him—a dark, sprawling metropolis dominated by power struggles, crime syndicates, and an unforgiving social landscape. Born with the legacy of the Ashengrotto family but without the privilege of a stable home, he was soon adopted, albeit unofficially, by a powerful Yazuka clan. The head of the clan took a liking to the quiet baby with piercing blue eyes, seeing in Lucien a potential future heir, a pawn to be molded into someone who could help strengthen the clan’s influence in both business and underworld dealings.

Growing up, Lucien was not coddled or sheltered; instead, he was thrust into the harsh realities of the clan’s world, taught from a young age to survive through wit and deception. His “family” was ruthless, and the only affection he knew was transactional—a pat on the head for a job well done or a rare smile when he displayed cunning beyond his years. He learned quickly that power was everything, and that trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. The clan trained him in the art of negotiation, diplomacy, and persuasion. While others in the clan honed physical skills, Lucien was refined into a different type of weapon. His adoptive family prized his intellect and patience, recognizing his talent for outmaneuvering opponents without the need for violence. By his teenage years, he was already conducting minor negotiations for the clan, leveraging information, and striking deals with an elegance that belied his age. The clan’s patriarch affectionately dubbed him “The Silver Tongue,” a nod to both his charm and his capacity to manipulate situations to his advantage.

But Lucien's life wasn’t without its struggles. While he excelled in the clan’s political dealings, his peers often regarded him with suspicion, resenting the favoritism shown to him. Many saw him as an outsider, a foreign element in their world of honor-bound traditions and fierce loyalty. Lucien was alone in many ways, walking a fine line between acceptance and alienation. He’d come to understand that his adoptive family valued him not as a son, but as an asset.

Amidst this upbringing, Lucien developed a quiet but intense ambition to free himself from this life and reclaim control over his destiny. Though he respected the clan and even held a degree of loyalty toward its patriarch, he yearned for something beyond their shadow. Behind his calm exterior lay a fierce determination to build his own path—one where he could wield power and influence on his terms, without being a pawn in anyone else's game.

By the time he reached the age of a teenager, Lucien had become a master of his craft, a formidable presence in both the clan’s negotiations and the wider underworld. However, he was careful to keep his ambitions hidden, knowing that any perceived disloyalty would cost him everything. With every deal he struck, Lucien inched closer to his goal, his mind always a step ahead, crafting a web of connections and alliances that would someday help him break free from the chains of the life imposed upon him. In the heart of the bustling metropolis, Lucien honed a reputation as both a skilled negotiator and a shadowy strategist, someone who could command respect without the need for brute force. To those who didn’t know him, he was calm, polite, even charming. But to those within the clan—and to his enemies—Lucien Ashengrotto was a force to be reckoned with, a calculating mind who knew that true power wasn’t in the fists but in the unseen threads of influence that bound the city together. And so, with every step, Lucien walked the delicate line between loyalty to the family that raised him and the silent desire for autonomy that burned within. Hidden behind polite smiles and smooth words, he was a tempest waiting to be unleashed, biding his time until he could finally carve out his own place in a world that had never truly belonged to him.

His world is based on: Lookism

🐙 🐙

Here's Lucien Ashengrotto, don't worry, he still has Morgana's crazy side, but it's more concealed due to his training with Yazuka.

He's voiced by Eric Vale and I love him already.

[amberedcorpse]

@malefikant wants compensation from Felix.

 „What makes you think you have the right?“ It was the same hum-soft voice, soothing and perhaps a little too gentle, unbefitting a man that had caught another red-handed going through his belongings. His things. Carelessly scattering them about and leaving them strewn across the ground, like they were of no worth. Not only that. He took. Took without asking if he could, without permission and even with paying the price for this indecency did not learn his lesson because he simply got back up again after ingesting a substance he should not have. The truth was — if listened closely — one would be able to tell that instead of offering too much sentiment, his voice was instead lacking. Lacking something crucial. Underlined by another tone, a hinting at a seething that bubbled just so beneath the frozen surface and was not brought to the light through sheer will of his. Hindering the showing true colors of angered emotion, the demonstrating that his overall softness displayed was merely that — a display. Etiquette. Good manners more than a soft spot within the heart. Alexander cast a scrutinizing gaze, cold and piercing, as though he could see right through and past what laid under the skin of the man before him. Silence filled the room after the closing of the door behind him, only to then be filled by the characteristic clicking of iron heels on solid floor with every slow step he took. A good while he had just stood there and had watched, had remained unnoticed (or worse: ignored), which had caused the smile on his face to grow wider. Hardly noticeable but it was, stretched-thin and painted in false greeting, odd and strange in the way his eyes did not offer warmth but cold. A looming, warning chill that always grew in intensity when something was wrong. This was not a smile. It was a sneer. There was something peculiar about the way the witch moved as he approached. The way in which he behaved and gave himself, with a glacial pride stitched to his spine. The way in which he carried himself did not quite fit, was slightly off from how he usually was. There was something dangerously off about the air that usually engulfed him (something about him seeming hardened, sharpened). Whatever it was that he was missing, that took away from that light elegance he carried himself with and instead filled it with more masculinity, something about him spelled trouble.             „I did not give you permission. I demand compensation.“

His shadow perked up and raised its head up the wall, watching without a proper gaze, consuming everything in its purview with a subtle but far-reaching darkness. Its tropical warmth collided with the nipping chill of the witch’s magic, drawing a clear circle of mist and condensation around the body. 

Permission, he says. 

The god smiled, rows of sharp teeth hidden between layers of spatial and spiritual distance. Yet it made its own amusement felt, like a needling sense of unease filtering the air, the certainty that something lurked at the corner of one’s eye. There was something funny about this witch, beyond the fact they didn’t belong in the bounds of this world, or that over their shoulders it smelled traces of a long fated doom. They could have easily cast Felix out of the way, harmed him in some way– or even killed him. But they had frustrated the shadow’s  every attempt at baiting them into violence up to that point. It was clear to them they searched for something, were lured by some malformed curiosity, a thread tangled with its own puppet’s strings. The very nature of that curiosity, however, strangely eluded it. 

Felix felt all of his muscles pulled taut, and he knew to brace himself for what was to come. Both arms gathered round the other's things and pulled them out in a single, reckless sweep. Though many of the baubles survived the careless fall, others cracked or outright shattered around his shoes. Pools of strange potions spread across the tiled floor, thick and ill-smelling, like oils that had long expired. He blinked a few times, like a cat frightened by its own negligence, and looked at his hands which had gone back under his control. There was a reason his god had acted through him, worn his skin like throwaway gloves, and he found it in Alex’s subzero stare. 

For a moment, he attempted to take a step back, but was stalled by the will of his precious shade, who turned him to face the other instead. Glass crackled under the soles of his boots as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, all while the instinct to scurry away was also being suppressed for him. Trapped in an infinite and divine snare, he quickly took to worrying the inside of his cheek, wondering what other horrible tricks Mischief had up its sleeves.

“Compensation? But I don’t have anything. You could take the clothes off his back.” 

Rage flashed across his face, and the subtle, annoyed twitch that had lifted his lip now turned to a snarl. He made a low, feline sound to something invisible over his shoulder and fretted with the thought of having to wander out naked again, until his face was harshly moved back to position. Faint pressure marks on his cheeks left the impression of an invisible hand, its claws nearly jabbing the flesh there, until everything faded as quickly as it had appeared. 

“What am I supposed to give you?”