#gard station
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Jean-François Zevaco, Fire Station, Agadir, Morocco, 1954-1963 VS El Lissitzky, Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge, 1919
#architecture#plan#morocco#fire station#triangle#circle#Jean-François Zevaco#agadir#el lissitzky#propaganda#poster#suprematism#suprematist#Russian avant-garde#Vkhutemas#October Revolution#Russian Civil War
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#Björk#Play Dead#The Young Americans#Experimental Music#Icelandic Music#Björk Fan#Björk Forever#Björk Addict#Björk Obsessed#Nellee Hooper#David Arnold#Alternative Music#90s Music#Indie Music#Art Pop#Avant-Garde#Dream Pop#Eclectic Music#Music In Films#Soundtrack#Music Composition#Emotional Music#Artistic Expression#Art Inspiration#Creativity#Innovative Artists#wclassicradio#Radio Station#Buenos Aires#Argentina
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At many train stations I see, digital ad boards are more flashy and brighter than the schedule boards and I think whoever is responsible for this should be publicly shamed.
advertisement should be illegal. this is based in the 3rd pillar of my belief system: leave me the fuck alone
#today's example is Garde de l'est Paris#but also the station where i live is just unbearable#the ads are so bright it almost hurts looking at them#we urgently need laws about how visible ads can be#because as for now it's just much too much
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Astro observation ( part 1)
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🔹For entertainment purposes only, enjoy🔹
♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️
✨ Uranus in the first house individuals may reject authority or traditions that feels restrictive to them.others may seem them as trendsetters or avant -garde in their approach to life.
✨ Venus in the 10th house of natal chart peoples are so workaholic that they prioritise their career, success over personal relationships or self care.
✨ your spouse's name asteroid could fall in your natal 7th house. ( Not necessarily, but it can be).
✨ mercury in the 5th house can indicate a communicative and involved parenting style. This individuals may encourage their children's intellectual development, creativity, and curiosity, fostering a supportive environment that values self expression and learning.
✨ Scorpio mars individuals have a strong sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards their loved ones. They can be fiercely protective of those they care about and may go to great lengths to defend and support them.
✨ regulus in 7th house of Composite chart - your relationship with your person may bring some fame/ recognition.
✨ Astrocartography mc lines - indicates which place may have a significant impact on your career or public life.
✨ Astrocartography Dc lines - you may meet your spouse/ long term partner there.
✨ Saturn in the 4th house individuals are very traditional 🙂
✨ solar return Jupiter/ mercury in 3rd house/ 10th house may indicate favorable year for cracking competitive exams.
✨ Earth dominate individuals may admire partners who take their commitments seriously whether it's in personal relationships ,career or other areas of life.
✨ juno in 1st house of groom persona chart means your spouse may influence how you present yourself to others or how you are perceived in social settings. they could bring out certain qualities in you or play a significant role in shaping your public image.
✨ South node lines in your Astrocartography chart indicates where you lived in your past lives.
✨ Briede conjunct Devine asteroid in synastry - divine/ fated relationship.
✨ Union asteroid in your groom / briede pc can indicate where you will meet your potential life partner/ spouse :
♾️ Union in Aries - dynamic / stimulating environments suggest adventurous activities, sports events, or places that involved risk taking and exploration. Gyms, fitness classes, martial art studios, organizing events , can meet through social gatherings / casual meet ups where people gather for fun or socializing. , Business conferences/ academic competitions.
♾️ Union in Taurus -
Fine dining restaurants , art galleries/ elegant social events. Settings related to finance, banking, investments , or business networking events., Exhibitions , concerts, musical performance, through mutual friends, wellness workshops.
♾️ Union in gemini -
Intellectual or educational events, workshops, seminars, book clubs , social gatherings , parties , online platforms, social media, dating apps, local festivals , neighborhood gatherings , during travel, airport, train station, writing workshop, media production, related to communication and journalism.
♾️ Union in cancer -
Family gatherings , reunions, hospitals , caregiving facilities, charity events , volunteering activities, through mutual friends, at historical sites, museums, art galleries, cultural events, small town festivals, near Lake, river, beaches, cafe , restaurant.
♾️ Union in leo -
Theatres , music venues, art galleries, or during performances and artistic events, parties , weddings, festivals , or grand gathering, acting class, outdoor festival, sports event , amusement park, related to child's education, youth organization, casinos, comedy clubs , gaming centre etc.
♾️ Union in Virgo -
Office , workplaces, professional conferences, networking events, volunteer activities, community service projects, charitable organisations, gyms, fitness classes health food store, wellness center, university, school , educational seminars, pet adoption events, parks , botanical garden.
♾️ Union in Libra -
Social getherings, parties, networking events, through mutual friends, concerts, cultural events, museums, theatre performance, settings related to law, mediation or during discussions that involve finding mutual agreements or resolutions., Teamwork, collaboration, relationship focused workshop,fashion shows, design exhibition, cocktail party, formal gatherings, courtroom, law office.
♾️ Union in scorpio -
Psychotherapy session, support groups, detective work, reasearch fields or in setting that require deep analysis and understanding., Spiritual retreats, metaphysical shops, astrology or tarot classes, tantra workshop, relationship councilling, setting related to investment, joint ventures, estate planning, holistic health centres , transformational workshop, place focused on healing practices.
♾️ Union in Sagittarius -
Travel, airport, train station, in foreign countries, or while participating in adventures such as hiking, backpacking, or exploring new cultures, University, libraries, seminars, religious gatherings, philosophy group, outdoor activities, sports events, camping trips, cultural festival, international events, language exchange program, law, publishing house, that promotes justice.
♾️ Union in Capricorn -
Office, corporate events, buisness conference, while pursuing ambitious projects, leadership roles, ceremony, cultural events, context related to banking, investments, Financial setting, teaching activities , prestigious club , organization, or during events where recognition and achievements are celebrated., Formal dinner etc.
♾️ Union in Aquarius -
Activism, volunteer work, community organization, seminars, conferences, discussion groups, online platforms, social media, tech startups, through mutual friends, social circles, online communities, music festival, Charity work.
♾️ Union in Pisces -
May meet in spiritual retreats, meditation centre, yoga studio, art galleries, theatre, music concert, poetry reading,film screening , volunteer work, charitable organisations, near Lake , beaches , hospital, clinic, wellness center, music festival, dance class, spiritual chants or ceremonies, book clubs focused on fiction on fantasy genres.
✨ Saturn in 1st house people often have RBF / Serious demeanor 👺
✨ Moon opposite/ square Saturn in solar return chart indicates emotional heaviness, feeling of loneliness or responsibilities weighing heavily on the emotions 😭.
✨ Jupiter/ Venus in 2nd house of Groom/ Briede pc indicates rich spouse.
✨ South node conjunct karma in synastry might suggest past life conflicts, power struggles or intense experiences that need healing or resolution in the current lifetime.
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My other posts :
🔮 your future spouse's career.
🔮 your past life.
🔮 marriage placement in synastry and composite.
And many more on my page-
See you soon ~
- Piko ✨
#astro community#astro notes#astro observations#astrology#astro placements#composite#composite chart#synastry aspects#synastry#synastry observations#asteroid#love and deepspace#future spouse#future husband#future#juno persona chart#juno astrology#briede persona chart#groom persona chart#ask blog
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Claire was the Cold Prep.
The Ice Chips episode will be the when he talks to her again because she is the last chip of getting stuck in the freezer he has left over to deal with. They are always connected to cold and fridges. He reconnected with her in the freezer aisle at the grocery store.
They made out in the garde manger which is the cold prep station in kitchens.
And of course they broke up by the walk in fridge.
Claire was a Cold Reading for Carmy. A rehearsal. A practice girlfriend before the real thing. Molly and Jeremy did not even do a chemistry read before they were on set running lines together, and that was not due to poor planning. It was very intentional just like Claire's entire character. Her lack of development, he costuming, their interactions, are all tied up with being a cold prep. Their entire relationship was written as practice for Carmy wanting to be with Syd, which is why he mirrors everything about Sydney into that relationship.
Fak is going to tell Claire that Carmy told him he’s still in love with her to try and get them to fix things. She will probably try to reconcile and tell Carmy that Fak told her he does love her, but I think Carmy is going to tell her he never told him that and that he’s not actually in love with her and can't be with her.
*Season 3 Spoiler Skip this paragraph* That is what is going to cause the fight that we heard, because Fak/Claire will accuse Carmy of lying about it and Carmy will insist he didn’t lie about saying he loved her.
Technically Carmy didn’t say he was in love with her. Fak asked Carmy how much he love Claire and he said he loved her a lot. Carmy does love Claire. But he’s not in love with her.
He loves Claire same way he loves Fak or Tina or even Mikey. He loves her as an old friend and someone in his life he cares about and doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, which why he tried to gently reject her with a fake number but couldn't say no to her face.
He asked Tina how much she loved Mikey and she said a lot. Which is the same thing he told Fak about Claire, because he doesn't love her romantically.
Carmy tried to be in love with her. But he never told her I love you and he was bothered when she said it to him in the voicemail because he realized love and being in love are two very different things.
Claire loves Carmy romantically but he doesn't love her in that way.
In his panic attack he figured out the difference between the two. He loves Mikey and his family and even his mom and Claire. But he’s not in love with them. Sydney was a completely separate type of love and peace for him because he doesn’t just love her, he is in love with her.
Claire was there Christmas after Donna crashed her car. He saw that she saw the mess behind his life. He didn’t want to stay there so he left to New York. She has always been tied to horrible memories for him and it's not her fault, but he can't separate the two.
But honestly, the fact that Claire saw what his life was like that night and the full extent of his family trauma around alcohol makes me even more angry that she took him to that party and the told him that “she knows” about him having to take care of sad drunk people.
She might have said she wants to understand, not fix people. But it seems to me like she thought she could fix Carmy’s shyness and trauma around parties and alcohol by forcing him to be around it, but really she was just bringing up all the past trauma he had and bad memories tied to her.
They both tried to use that relationship for bad reasons, he tried to teach himself how to be a boyfriend and she tried to teach him how to be "normal" because she wanted a boyfriend, but the type of guy she wanted is not who Carmy really is, which is why he was pretending to be Logan at that party and why she loved seeing him act like that, even when it's not him. Carmy wanted to see Syd in Claire, and Claire wanted to see "Logan" in Carmy.
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·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐓? ❞
wriothesley always wins his bets against you. for this round, the stakes are getting much higher. how long will it take for the captain of the gardes to admit their feelings to the duke? will this be the moment you’ll finally come out victorious, even though you have to pretend that your feelings toward him are in denial?
✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. wriothesley x gn!reader
✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. drabble ; 0.6k
✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. coworkers to lovers au ; fluff
✧ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚. no way, it's almost been a year since i wrote a drabble and for genshin too. wrote this during class today, so it looks pretty rushed lol. this man’s the death of me. he can choke slam me like he did with douchier dougier in his story quest. and no, i’m not sorry for saying that.
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A defeated sigh escapes your lips as your cards rain down from your fingers onto Wriothesley’s desk. “Unbelievable. A first-time TCG player beat me in all three rounds. So, what do you want your prize to be? A tea company from the surface?”
“Haha. Your suggestions are becoming more adventurous, captain.” Wriothesley kicks back on his chair with a great idea in mind from the smug smile on his face. “Meet me there at night. You’ll help me sneak in, and I’ll rob its entire collection.”
You narrow his eyes at his sarcasm, and he surrenders. “Alright. I'll settle with a tea cup set. The cups in my current one are broken and the teapot has some cracks, so it’ll be nice to have a new one.”
“Okay, I’ll place an order from the surface and ship it here.” You get up from your seat. “I must head back. The guards could be slacking off as we speak. Excuse me, your grace.”
“Ah, actually.” You hear the chair scrape the floor and turn to face him, who’s now leaning against the front of his desk. “Before you go, there’s something I need you to investigate.”
“Of course. what is it?” He stops you from coming back to your seat by his hand on your shoulder, making you flinch. His expression’s gone rather ominous, and it stays that way when he leans closer to your ear.
“How long will it take for the captain of the gardes to admit their feelings for the duke?”
You cough violently and push yourself out of his hold. Despite his claims of not being omnipotent, his eyes and ears are everywhere within and beyond the fortress. But why are you still surprised that he’ll find out your feelings toward him eventually?
“Don’t tell me you believe those rumors, your grace?” You boldly deny, but deep inside you already know he totally won’t buy your facade based on your immediate reaction. “I’m assuming that’s what you want me to investigate, so again, please excuse me—”
“You didn’t answer my question, captain.” His fingers glide to your shoulder, akin to caressing it, and the temperature in your cheeks suddenly skyrockets. “So, how long will it take for the captain of the gardes to—?”
“I heard you the first time, your grace,” you say dismissively, screaming at him in your head to let you go back to your station and never talk about this matter ever again. “With all due respect, what’s the meaning of this?”
“Come on. Don’t tell me you already forgot,” he laughs as he goes back to his seat, hands folded on top of his desk. “Wanna bet?”
“This again?” you huff, more worn out from his ludicrous habits since you were stationed at the fortress as its security team. However, this could be an opportunity for you to finally win against him. If he decides to play the game this way, then might as well follow along to ensure your own victory. “Fine, I’ll say never.”
“Oh? No faith in the duke’s capabilities to charm them?” He seems confident with the answer he has come up with. “I’ll say within the next hour or two.”
“Ha! Overestimating the captain’s willpower to not fall for his charms, I see,” you counter, showing off your determination to win. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Alright then, it’s settled.” He shakes hands with you to solidify the agreement. “Oh, and captain? No need for your suggestions for this one. I know what I want as my prize.”
“Oh? And what would that be, your grace?”
Wriothesley just chuckles and tells you the most unpredictable thing that you never imagine being your fate as a loser. “How about a date with the captain themselves?”
#✦ .fics#favoniuslibrary#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#wriothesley#wriothesley x reader#genshin impact wriothesley#genshin impact drabbles#genshin impact headcanons#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact scenarios#genshin impact fluff#wriothesley drabbles#wriothesley headcanons#wriothesley imagines#wriothesley scenarios#wriothesley fluff
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Tony Bramwell, on Yoko
- gradually, inch by inch she intruded into our lives
- It was hardly surprising that John felt some kind of electricity; but it was probably the air crackling with Yoko’s desperation
- If I were standing about with him, Yoko would come up to me and say something in her high little girl’s voice, perhaps hoping to get John to notice her [...]. John would walk off to talk to someone else, while she stared after him. In those days, Yoko was always staring after John.
- She wanted to possess John and she was the one who was exceptionally jealous. She could not cope with the fact that John could love three other guys.
- her piece de resistance, the much-reprised performance of “Cut Piece.” The scissors were wired for sound, so every cut had a horrific, almost animal sound, like a beast crunching into its human prey.
- did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. [...] Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania.
- Overnight, he no longer had a will of his own.
- ...an attempt to use Primal Scream Therapy under Arthur Janov by telephone, to free him from his heroin addiction...
- Sir Joe said he didn’t think the pictures were obscene, he had seen much worse, an opinion which confused John and Yoko. They wanted to be seen as avant-garde and enfants terribles.
- Yoko had no sense of humour at all and she loathed Phil as much as Phil hated her. Each of them was implacable and paranoid.
- I used to dread taking John and Yoko’s arty stuff into radio stations and asking them to play it. For me, it was a bad experience because it was unplayable and unlistenable. [...] The reaction was a bored, “Why are you bringing this crap to us?” At first I argued with radio producers about it, though not on a very artistic level. I even heard myself saying, “Because he pays my wages. That’s why!” It was so embarrassing.
- As far as Yoko was concerned, if you spout all this magical, healing, antiwar, be kind to everybody, all-seeing, all-caring, all-macrobiotic stuff, being pregnant on heroin would seem to be the last thing she would need. And how does all that stuff equate with shooting up smack? How does all that spiritual pontificating gel with the teaspoon and the needle, unless you’re a fraud?
- According to John, Yoko snorted [heroin], but I had no doubt that if she had used a needle, she would probably have said it was acupuncture.
- John used to like life. He used to like to get on a roll. Laugh, eat and drink. [...] proper breakfasts, an old-fashioned fry-up, pie and chips, fish and chips, fried chicken, a roast dinner on a Sunday, Chinese food, curry, spaghetti Bolognese. Everything. Then he met Yoko, grew his beard, and [...] from Irish navvy’s food, he went to heroin and macrobiotics. I think if Yoko had said it was spiritual to snort bean curd instead of eat it John would have done it.
- She and John used to whisper away in their corner, with a completely different, us-against-the-world perspective to everyone. I know they did, because filming quietly on the sidelines, I heard.
- Having discussed life and its ins and outs and meanings, and worked out that it all means nothing, John and Yoko didn’t want to, couldn’t possibly, give the edifice of the Beatles any credit, or indeed any respect.
- doubt set in because some critics and reviewers gave her favourable reviews in the press and on TV. You’d find yourself wondering if you were an intellectual failure, unable to spot the hidden value in Yoko’s art and music. [...] somehow it became important to judge Yoko as impartially as possible, mostly out of regard for John. The problem was we couldn’t accept that he could be so blinded.
- [Dan Richter] was a close confidant of [Yoko and Tony Cox]. He said he heard all their hopes and schemes to hook John, at first as a financial “angel,” then, with dawning excitement, as a lover.
- According to Dan, Tony Cox actively encouraged the affair between John and Yoko as a means of survival. He said that Cox would tell Yoko to “go get Lennon.” When John proved elusive, as he was at first, Cox told Yoko she wasn’t trying hard enough. For her part, when she saw how close she was to capturing their prey, Yoko told Dan that they’d soon be rich beyond their wildest dreams.
- Cox began to feel fragile, thinking he might get cut out. In all seriousness, he drew up an agreement that he insisted Yoko sign. This single-page document—which was drawn up and signed at Dan’s kitchen table—stated that when Yoko hooked John, they would split any cash she got from the endeavour.
#John attempting primal scream therapy by phone is everything#beatles books#john lennon#yoko ono#tony bramwell
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1930 Shell service station built by R.H. Burton and his son Ralph at Sprague and Peachtree Streets in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. From Art Deco, Avant Garde and Modernism, FB.
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The sinful implication of such ["yellow"] books had come from France, where, from the mid-nineteenth century, sensationalist literature had been not-so-chastely pressed between vivid yellow covers. Publishers adopted this as a useful marketing tool, and soon yellow-backed books could be bought cheaply at every railway station. As early as 1846 the American author Edgar Allan Poe was scornfully writing of the "eternal insignificance of yellow-backed pamphleteering. For others, the sunny covers were symbols of modernity and the aesthetic and decadent movements. Yellow books show up in two of Vincent Van Gogh's paintings from the 1880s... Traditionalists were less impressed. These yellow books gave off a strong whiff of transgression, and the avant-garde did little to calm their fears (for them the transgression was half the point.) In Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, published in 1890, it is down the moral rabbit hole of such a novel that the eponymous antihero disappears, never to return. Just as the narrator reaches his defining ethical crossroads, a friend gives him a yellow-bound book, which opens his eyes to "the sins of the world", corrupting and ultimately destroying him. Capitalizing on the association, the scandalous, avant-garde periodical The Yellow Book was launched in 1894. Holbrook Jackson, a contemporary journalist, wrote that it "was newness in excelsis; novelty naked and unashamed...yellow became the color of the hour."...The magazine's art director and illustrator, Aubrey Beardsley, had barred Wilde after an argument- he responded by calling the periodical "dull" and "not yellow at all."
Kassia St. Clair, The Secret Lives of Color
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Totally not projecting my own present emotional instability here but
Oh look hurt/comfort
Shiny 🤩
Probably going to be doing one for each Shanks, Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk, and apparently Buggy too who seems to have become a mainstay now.
I'm having trouble continuing my current WIPs, usually if I can crank out a oneshot or two I can focus and get back to it.
Sanji first.
And aaawwaaaaay we go~
Late Night Chats
Trigger Warnings: death of loved one
SFW and cloyingly fluffy
Hurt/comfort with
OPLA!Sanji X Reader
♫♬ Six Days In June - The Fratellis ♫♬
And if I could paint you a picture now it would be nothing less than tragic
I would trade a lifetime for a moment now of magic
Sanji knew full well he was a hopeless romantic. He had always known it. While his desire to work in the kitchens at Baratie had always been the greatest source of bitterness between him and Zeff, the second greatest probably stemmed from the older chef berating him for flirting with customers, no matter how respectful he was about it. He really couldn't help it—women were the gods' greatest gift to creation, and they deserved to be treated as such.
The hiring of a new garde manger had been another source of hostility, however briefly; Zeff had said he would consider Sanji for the position, and then tore it right out from under him, like always. He even had the nerve to roll his eyes and say, "You'll get over it." The rest of the staff stayed out of it, and kept a fair distance during prep hours that day, as it wasn't uncommon for such a row between the head chef and Sanji to devolve into physical violence.
But when the kitchen doors came open and you entered at a minute past eight that morning, he had frozen—and rather unbecomingly so, with his mouth hanging open, holding a sauté pan in the air, primed and ready to sling it right at Zeff's head.
He barely registered Zeff's snort of laughter at his reaction, or the gruff old chef's taunting apology for "the idiot waiter's behavior." Sanji's heart had simply ceased when your eyes met his, however briefly, as you glanced between him and Zeff in clear alarm at the scene you had just walked in on.
For once, Zeff was right—Sanji was already over it.
You had your work cut out for you, starting your two week stage that particular day—there was a party of more than twenty world government snobs expected at one that afternoon, which meant cold apps and hors d'oeuvres needed to be in no short supply. Sanji kept his eye on you throughout the entire shift, any time he was in the kitchen. Your station was right next to the break table in the corner, and oh, he could have watched you work all day, your graceful and precise movements as you piped filling into two trays full of deviled eggs, the deft motion of your wrist in cutting the chives to perfectly even half-inch lengths, carefully adding a few to each with your tweezers, ever so delicately topping each egg with a few salmon roe and a turn of your pepper mill.
Sanji stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, and crossed the short distance to your station before you could call order up to retrieve the trays.
"Absolutely stunning," he commented with a small sigh.
You met his eyes briefly as you set to cleaning your station and checking your next order. "Just following the recipe."
"Well...." he chuckled lightly, leaning across the counter. "I wasn't only referring to the food, chef."
Your eyes locked with his a moment longer, before you rolled them and went back to work—but there was the slightest hint of a blush on your cheeks as he lifted the second tray, a hint of a smile curving your soft lips, and Sanji didn't fail to miss it.
Your stage was two weeks, before you would either be hired in fully or told to take a walk, but you melded so seamlessly with the rest of the staff that Sanji had no doubt you were on track to becoming a permanent fixture at Baratie—and god, he hoped he was right.
He was genuinely drawn to you—not only your talent in the busy kitchen, your ability to keep a level head and your spirits high under the high stress of the lunch and dinner rushes, but everything. The subtle and teasing way you returned his flirting. The late nights cooking with you, experimenting with new recipes after shift, or just chatting by the bar while you shared a drink and a smoke or two. Well before a week was out, he wanted to just grab you by the waist and kiss you like his life depended on it.
But he was nothing if not a gentleman, and for all the time he had been blessed to spend with you, there was still something distant about you. You skirted around any personal topics—your family, friends, your home before you came to Baratie, all of it was a mystery. Sanji didn't push it. He did prod at it occasionally out of sheer curiosity, how you had come to be so accomplished a chef at only a year younger than him, but he didn't push. He couldn't stomach the thought of pushing you away if he tried too hard to get you to open up.
Your eighth day at Baratie, just after the end of dinner rush, Sanji watched Chef Zeff hand you an envelope as you stood over the dish pit, your chef coat slung over your shoulder. He spoke to you quietly as you opened it and scanned over the letter inside. Something shifted in your eyes for a moment, so quickly that it was difficult to tell what it was.
Then you stuck the letter in your apron pocket and shook your head. Your mouth formed the words, "It's fine," as you went right back to scrubbing a plate.
Zeff gave you a nod, a light pat on the shoulder and a sigh as he passed.
And it was all Sanji could think about for the next hour as he squared away the dining area. He did so quickly, perhaps a bit less thoroughly than he should have, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that flicker in your eyes, a flicker of something. Whatever news had come to you in that envelope had been nothing good.
You were the last person left in the sprawling kitchen by the time Sanji returned, still making your way slowly through the stacks of dishes, a task that was normally split between a few of the kitchen and dining staff.
Yet you were still there, clearly taking your time, meticulously cleaning each dish that passed through your hands. Drying each one thoroughly before placing them lightly in their designated areas, your breathing slow and controlled, your eyes focused and yet somehow miles away at the same time.
Sanji plucked the ash tray from the break table and crossed the kitchen, lighting up a smoke and grabbing a dish towel before he reached you. You proved just how thoroughly you had spaced out when he set the ashtray down—you let out a small cry of alarm and dropped the plate you were holding.
Sanji managed to stoop down and catch it just before it could hit the floor and shatter. Your eyes locked with his for a moment, and there was that flicker again—pain, sadness, so much that it made his chest ache. Then, in the blink of an eye, you were back to washing dishes.
"Don't sneak up on me," you chided, elbowing him playfully as he leaned back against the counter, drying the plate. "You know how Zeff gets about anyone breaking dishes."
"That's entirely unfair, I wasn't even sneaking." He knew he had to be careful—had to play it safe, act like everything was normal. He couldn't outright ask you what was wrong without you either changing the subject or outright storming off. "Now, had I been sneaking..."
Ge set the plate down, and you were already rolling your eyes as he circled behind you, resting a hand lightly at your waist.
"I'd have come up behind you...maybe...put an arm around you..."
Your lips pursed, clearly fighting to keep a straight face as his hand slipped from your waist, across your stomach, his arm curled around you to pull you gently back against his chest. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, tilting his head to lean in close over your shoulder.
"Said something like, 'How about we leave these dishes for someone else and go have a drink or two, beautiful?'"
You tilted your head to meet his eyes, shaking your head a little. "I'm sure you would have," you said, giggling a little as you patted him on the cheek. Your lips lingered barely an inch from his, and for a few impossibly long seconds Sanji briefly forgot why he had approached you in the first place.
Then you reached over your shoulder and held a bowl out to him.
"Sooner we get done, sooner we can go have a couple," you said, smiling sweetly.
"Oh, fine," he sighed, taking the bowl. "But I'm going to sulk about it the whole time."
You giggled a little more when he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, shoving at him lightly. "I wouldn't expect anything less," you laughed as he resumed leaning back against the counter beside you.
He kept his eyes on you, wondering if you thought you were hiding it well. You were far too quiet, too tense as the laughter faded from your breath and you went back to work. Your shoulders were squared, your chest rising and falling under your apron in slow, even, carefully controlled breaths, your eyes growing distant again.
Distant, sad, almost hopeless, on the verge of breaking and desperately trying to hide it.
And Sanji couldn't stand another second of it.
He plung the towel over his shoulder and placed a hand lightly on your shoulder—and before he could do more than open his mouth, you spoke up, your voice low and quiet.
"I'm...going to have to leave for a few days."
"What?" His eyes widened, his cigarette falling from the corner of his mouth in alarm. He quickly stooped down to pick it back up. "Wh—why?" he blurted out.
You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the plate in your hands, not washing it anymore but just staring at it.
"I...I have to handle funeral and burial arrangements for my father." Your voice was still quiet, still so carefully controlled, and his heart sunk right into the pit of his stomach at the slight tremor in your hands. "He...didn't have any other family so I have to...I have to go home for a few days."
That was it. The letter Zeff had handed you. Your mouth forming the words "I'm fine," when he no doubt offered to let you take the rest of the evening off. Over an hour you had stood there washing dishes, alone with nothing but your own thoughts for company, one little push from falling apart.
Sanji took one last puff from his cigarette before putting it out, before gingerly pulling the plate from your hands and setting it aside, before taking a step closer and pulling you just as gingerly into his arms. He felt as well as heard your breath hitch and stutter the slightest bit.
"I'm...so sorry, sweetheart," he said quietly, lowering his forehead over the crown of your hair, cradling your head at his shoulder. You still kept your breathing mostly level, but kept your head down, your hands shaking the slightest bit as they gripped lightly at the front of his shirt. "Was...he ill?"
You nodded shortly. "Dementia." Swallowed. "Early onset. Started around five years ago. I...we had a restaurant in Loguetown. Just a little bistro. Things...got bad a couple years ago. I couldn't keep up running a business and take care of him. He'd go down into the restaurant and try to cook, end up cutting himself or starting a fire. I had to close it and find something else. He...told me a while back that the head chef at Baratie was an old friend, so I..." Your voice cracked a little as you went on. "I had to leave him with a live-in nurse. When I left h—he didn't—he was so far gone he didn't even know who I—"
He pulled his arm a bit tighter around your waist as your sentence cut off in a small sob, his fingers curling in your hair near the nape of your neck. You had been dealing with all of this, alone, this entire week—for five years prior to that, trying to run an entire restaurant on your own and juggle it with taking care of your only family.
He was speechless—couldn't do anything for some time except lean back against the counter and hold you against him, stroke your hair and press a kiss to the top of your head while you clung to him and cried quietly.
He gladly would have held you all night, if that was what you needed—but you drew away after a few minutes, rubbing your palm into your eyes and turning to sit on the floor against the counter, glaring up at the ceiling.
"I never even really got to say bye," you said, giving a small scoff as you ran a hand back through your hair, your head falling back against the counter. Sanji took a seat beside you, and you exhaled a slow, shaking sigh as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Not in any way he'd know. He just looked right at me and asked who I was."
"I'm sure he knows now. And that he'd be proud." You leaned your temple into his shoulder, swallowing, your eyes drifting shut. It didn't matter if you believed it right now—he still wanted to make sure you heard it. "You're...kind, beautiful, talented. To be honest, I could hardly take my eyes off you your first day."
"I know." You laughed quietly at that, your voice still choked from your tears. "You weren't exactly discreet about it."
"Never said I was trying to be."
You glanced up at him at that, and nudged your elbow lightly at his ribs...but you smiled as you shook your head, and that was all that mattered to him. Making you smile, genuinely smile, not just putting it on to mask the pain.
You rolled your eyes a little and closed them again. "I planned on making a point of not getting close to anyone here." You sighed slowly. "You made that impossible, of course."
"You're welcome."
"Would you stop?" you said, both of you laughing a little. A little more of your tension seemed to slip away as he pulled you closer. You shifted so your knees were bent to the side, resting over his leg, your temple at his shoulder. "I wasn't sure if I'd stay here after...." You bit your lip. "If I'd go back home and try to re-open the restaurant. But..." You shook your head. "I like it here. It's like having a family. I never really had that since it was just me and my dad." You drew in a deep breath. "I...still have to go back for a few days and handle his arrangements, but...I want to stay here. There's really nothing for me there now, anyway."
There it was. Without saying it outright...you were staying because of him. Sanji could have floated right off in that moment on a cloud of pure elation. There was nothing official between the two of you yet, but he had grown quickly to adore you. To savor every moment of time you gave him, every second of your flirtatious banter and your late night talks after the kitchen closed, and that only increased with everything he learned about you. Even if you had decided to leave, he couldn't say for sure that he wouldn't have just followed you right out the door like a lost puppy.
Even a few days was too long.
He laid his forehead over the crown of your hair, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your temple.
"Let me come with you." He heard your breath catch in surprise, felt you freeze as he shook his head. "This isn't something you should have to do alone."
You were quiet, still as stone for several long seconds. He didn't regret the offer, wouldn't ever regret it. The worst you could do was say no, leave for a few days and come back.
You drew in a slow, deep breath after a moment.
"Are you sure Zeff would let you?" you said quietly.
Sanji laughed a little. "He's a cranky old bastard but he isn't heartless," he said, his thumb brushing against the nape of your neck in slow, small circles. "He'll probably tell me not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out and leave it at that."
Your little giggle made his heart soar.
"You...really don't have to," you said softly, but you couldn't hide the hope in your voice. And that alone was enough to make him sigh softly, hearing hope after seeing the lost, hopeless look in your eyes as you stood over the dish pit minutes earlier.
"I want to," he said gently. "Besides...." He dug into his pocket, pulling out his cigarettes, and held the pack out. "Why in hell..." You took one when he offered it, and he tapped one out as well before tossing the pack up onto the counter behind both of you. "...would I want to stay here waiting tables and arguing with our most esteemed chef..." He leaned in close enough to light both his and your smoke together, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke away out the corner of his mouth, "when I could be spending a few days doting on the single most beautiful woman in the world?"
You gave a small snort of laughter, shaking your head before meeting his eyes again. "You never switch off, do you?"
"Never," he affirmed, grinning.
Sanji leaned back into the counter, resting his arm across his knee, staring up toward the ceiling as a thought struck him—an idea, moreso, one that he couldn't resist acting on.
"What," he said slowly, glancing down at you as you pressed the cigarette to your lips, "would you say was your old man's best dish?"
"Risotto," you said instantly. You smiled a little, turning your head to blow a cloud of smoke away. "His mushroom risotto was our most popular item, he could have made it in his sleep. Shallots, chardonnay, portobello, white truffle, little pinch of nutmeg and thyme to bring out the earthiness, it was...."
"Perfect." He smiled when you glanced uo at him. "Let's make it."
"Wh—*now*?" Your brow furrowed as he shrugged a shoulder. "But—" You nodded back at the counter, up toward the sink behind you. "I have to—the dishes—"
"Will still be there in an hour," he finished for you, and you pursed your lips. "Come on..." he said, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, lowering his voice to a light, teasing tone. "Say yes."
"I..." You sighed after a moment, shaking your head. "You are impossible." He lifted his eyebrows, waiting, as you returned his smile. "Fine, yes."
"Perfect," he said once more. He plucked your cigarette from your hand and stood, dropping it as well as his own into the ash tray before offering you both of his hands. You took them and he pulled you to your feet, your fingers lacing together with his.
And, without any warning or hesitation, you pulled yourself up onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips lightly to his.
And, oh, he could have melted into a puddle right there in front of the sink.
Your lips were even softer than they looked, and Sanji knew in an instant that he was going to be hopelessly addicted to them. A slow sigh left him as he tilted his head slightly, returning the slow, sweet kiss, his hands leaving yours to wrap lightly around your waist and draw you in a little closer, a little deeper. Yours came to rest just as lightly at his abdomen for a moment, before you looped your arms around his neck and sank right into him.
He was smiling when your lips parted, his forehead resting against yours as you bit your bottom lip. He curled an arm around your back and lifted his other hand, brushing your hair behind your ear as his eyes remained glued to yours.
"So..." He brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Would you call me an idiot if I said I think I'm falling for you?"
You chuckled softly. "Being that we barely met a week ago...yes." And you smiled, leaning in closer. "But I guess then I'd have to call myself an idiot, too."
And you pressed your lips to his again.
#opla#sanji opla#sanji one piece#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#fluff#one piece fanfiction#opla fanfiction
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Paris Fire Brigade — The fire department of the city of Paris
The Paris Fire Brigade was created by Napoleon on 18 September 1811 after a devastating fire in Paris in 1810. The brigade remains the same firefighting service of Paris to this day.
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Illustrations created by Aaron Martinet between 1807 and 1814. Top: Imperial Guard, Engineer Sapper. Bottom: Imperial Guard, Officer of Engineer Sappers. These were the military positions which were transitioned into the fire department.
The deadly fire at the Austrian embassy ball in July 1810, during the festivities for his marriage to Marie Louise, reminded the Emperor of the importance of a well-functioning fire service in the capital.
Despite the courage and dedication of the gardes pompes [firefighters of the old organization], who are sometimes falsely accused of numerous shortcomings, the firefighting service revealed its weaknesses: delays, insufficient and unreliable equipment, poorly trained personnel and incompetent managers. The staff present at the embassy on the day of the tragedy were cleared of all suspicion by an investigation led by the Count of Montalivet. On the other hand, the leaders of the old organization were dismissed, and the corps des gardes pompes was abolished.
After this catastrophe, the Emperor reorganized this public service by creating the first military corps of firefighters, made up of the engineers from the Imperial Guard who were dedicated to defending the imperial chateaux against fire.
At the behest of Emperor Napoleon I, the creation of the Paris fire department [bataillon de sapeurs pompiers de Paris] by imperial decree on 18 September 1811 was an original and innovative step, marking the transition from a civil and municipal organization to a military body. The choice of such an atypical status for a public service echoes the creation, eleven years earlier, of the Paris Police Prefecture, an equally singular legal administrative body.
From its creation, this military corps was placed under the authority of the Paris Police Prefecture, who was responsible for the security of the capital. After a long process, this military status and subordination to a prefect became the logical consequence of the spirit of the decree of 12 messidor year 8.
When the battalion was formed in 1811, the Paris fire department took on a new mission: fighting fires, the importance and development of which they were still unaware of.
Four companies were then created to respond to fires. Relying on a typically military functional triptych (extensive training of men, systematic technological research and implementation of efficient operational procedures), the battalion quickly made its new environment its own, and by the end of the second half of the 19th century, had become a model for the organization of public fire-fighting services and a national, even international reference.
Several fire chiefs succeeded one another until 1814. At that date, command was entrusted to battalion commander Plazanet. He provided the battalion with an instruction manual, made it compulsory for sappers to be stationed in barracks, and introduced gymnastics to train efficient and daring rescuers.
Source: Brigade de sapeurs-pompiers de Paris — Le Bataillon
Picture source: Napoleon's Army: 1807-1814 as Depicted in the Prints of Aaron Martinet, By Guy C. Dempsey, Jr., (Section: Support Troops)
#firefighters#Napoleon#napoleon bonaparte#napoleonic era#napoleonic#first french empire#french empire#19th century#history#Paris#french revolution#Aaron martinet#france#french history#fire department#Napoleon’s reforms#napoleonic reforms#reforms#art#Napoleon's Army: 1807-1814 as Depicted in the Prints of Aaron Martinet#prints#Paris Fire Brigade#fire brigade#bataillon de sapeurs pompiers de Paris#Brigade de sapeurs-pompiers de Paris
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Our Game
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Wriothesley x f!Reader ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
MDNI
ִ ࣪𖤐 Word Count: 5.2k
ִ ࣪𖤐 CW: NSFW, Dom!Wriothesley, Thief!Reader, Mentions of Human Trafficking, Drugged Tea, Slight Bondage
ִ ࣪𖤐 No use of Y/N, Never use of Y/N
The game is lively tonight and you expect to enjoy it in full.
With effortless grace, you move in and out of the shadows around the Court of Fontaine, becoming a phantom of the night. The deserted streets are a ripe playground, businesses closed, doors and windows locked, and the guards drowsy and inattentive. It's a realm of exhilarating opportunity, just waiting for you to claim.
Your destination is the side door of the antique jewelry shop, known as the last source of pride for an elderly proprietor. Your knowledge of every shop in the city is impeccable, following a mistake where you learned that it's unwise to steal from a Fatui-owned establishment; it's akin to pilfering from the Tsaritsa herself.
With a few deft movements, you manipulate the lock, and the door swings open without a sound. The shop's interior is as silent as a tomb, its owners having long retired for the evening. You enter, your eyes alight with anticipation.
You navigate the shop's layout like a child in a candy store, your gaze drawn to the glass cases showcasing a myriad of jewels, each one casting a beguiling shimmer. With nimble fingers, you open the case and select a ring featuring a sizable ruby. You slip it onto your finger, admiring the deep red luster. The ring itself is far from delicate, clearly designed for a more masculine hand – someone like…
You quickly remove the ring, tossing it into your bag. No point dwelling on such thoughts; it's time to collect your treasures and make your exit. You work swiftly, carefully placing necklaces and bracelets into your waiting bag, ensuring the displays remain untouched.
The unmistakable sound of heavy boots approaching makes you freeze in place, listening to the resonant thud of leather shoes and the subtle jingle of chains and cuffs. It's time to depart. You wrap up your mission with meticulous precision, and as swiftly as you had arrived, you vanish into the night. Peering from the safety of an alley, you remain silent, unable to spot the approaching figure. Even worse, you're uncertain of the direction from which he's drawing near.
Taking on the rooftop is undoubtedly the better choice. Climbing up the copper gutter pipe, you gain a sweeping view of the city from the high vantage point. From here, you can easily traverse the rooftops, leaping across buildings and making swift progress. As the immediate danger lessens, you descend to the streets below.
Suddenly, that distinct sound returns, the one signaling his presence. How did he catch up to you so fast? It's time for plan B. You snatch a dark cloak from a nearby stall and quickly drape it over yourself, making a dash for the nearest stationed Garde.
"Oh! Garde! Monsieur!" you implore, rushing up to the uniformed soldier. The young man, evidently new to the force, turns his attention to you with an eager desire to assist.
"Madame? What's the problem?" he inquires, clearly willing to help.
"I was just at the tavern getting a drink, and I think a strange man is following me! Please, help me!" You plead, ensuring fear reflects in your eyes.
"Do not worry, ma'am. I will take care of this," he assures, stepping around you to face the direction of the approaching footsteps.
"Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur," you say, masking your sly grin as you slip away.
The guard stands firm, ready to protect the innocent young woman who has placed her trust in him, aligning with the oath to safeguard all citizens of Fontaine. His excitement is palpable.
A shadow emerges in the dimly lit street, advancing slowly. The young Garde stands at attention. "You there! I'd like a word with you!" he calls out.
The approaching figure steps into the light, revealing a large, menacing man. He possesses piercing blue eyes, is adorned with chains and has a pair of handcuffs hanging at his side. His coat is casually slung over his back, and a scar stretches from the base of his neck, disappearing under his clothing.
The young Garde recognizes the man and instantly locks up. "Y-Your Grace! My apologies! I mistook you for a suspect!"
"Suspect? What gave you that idea?" the man inquires, tilting his head gently.
"This young lady, she—" The Garde turns, only to find that you've vanished. "Where'd she go?"
"A woman?" he asks.
"Y-Yes, a woman. She claimed a man was following her," the Garde explains. The man, who moments ago wore a serious expression, breaks into a smirk and chuckles softly.
You've successfully ascended the tower, fully prepared to make your getaway into the cover of the night. Luckily, tonight's escape had proven effortless, and you hadn't even needed to trigger an alarm to elude the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. He must be accustomed to your flamboyant tricks by now. The two of you had been engaged in this thrilling game for so long that you constantly had to innovate new ways to lead him astray. However, you'd come to find that the simplest tricks were the most enjoyable, especially after the sheer madness you'd put him through as you slipped away.
As you make your way toward freedom, a hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pressing your back into the wall. He looms above you, an unamused expression on his face. The way his stunning eyes seem to gleam in the dim light sends a shiver down your spine.
"Hello, darling," you taunt.
"Give it up. I'm taking you in," he declares with unwavering determination.
"That's what you always say," you mutter, causing him to grit his teeth.
"The bag," he demands, extending his hand.
"You're no fun," you pout, pulling the strap over your head and placing it in his palm. Wriothesley keeps you cornered as he opens the satchel, only to find it empty—no jewels, necklaces, or even a few coins. "Trouble?" you ask with a smirk.
"Where are the jewels?" he asks bluntly.
"What jewels?" you play innocent. He grabs your arms, pressing you firmly against the wall.
"I'm not in the mood for this today," he growls.
"But I'm completely innocent, Your Grace," you say with wide, doe eyes. "Little old me? A thief? Isn't it wrong to accuse someone without any evidence?"
"Enough!" he snaps, pushing you closer, your chests almost touching. You can feel the way his heart races, how you make him nervous. It sends a thrill through you.
"Or was there a different reason you followed me tonight, Your Grace?" you inquire, leaning forward. Your lips are mere inches apart. He tries to hide the way his breath hitches, but your smirk widens. "Did you want me all to yourself? You could've just asked. I'd never refuse." You tease him with expert precision, knowing precisely what to say and do to provoke him. You close the distance even further, his eyes locked onto your lips. Your breaths mingled so closely that your lips could touch if either of you moved even slightly. And just when it seems like he can't take it any longer, you pull away. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Sometimes I forget you're a man of the law, dedicated to your work. Surely, you're far too busy for me to take up any more of your time."
"Shut up," he snaps, closing the gap between you in an instant. He captures your lips, instantly stealing your breath away. His kisses are demanding, his desire to take the lead palpable, and you willingly submit to his commanding presence. His teeth graze along your bottom lip, eliciting a breathy, barely audible moan from you. You press your thighs together, utterly captivated by the way this man has the power to make you unravel. His longing for you has always had the ability to make you tremble, particularly in moments like these, when the game between you two reaches its zenith, when he finally catches you, and both of your desires hit you without reserve.
His hand raises to the back of your neck, tilting your head up, giving him more of you. He's going mad. He has to be. There must be some kind of spell or pheromone that you've cast over him, that makes him need you desperately. Everytime you're before him like this, his morals fly out the window, and his lust becomes so thick he can't resist. He's well aware of the moral dilemma that plagues him. You're a true criminal, through and through, and he's fully cognizant of the wrongdoing of his actions. However, he never feels the exhilaration of the chase as intensely as he does when it's with you.
The tranquil sound of water churning brings you back to the present moment. Regrettably, it's time for you to make your exit. Your fingers slide over his vest pocket, and Wriothesley's brow furrows as you withdraw from the kiss.
"Gotta run," you murmur, slipping out of his grasp and collecting your discarded bag. Wriothesley's brows knit as you head toward the boat.
"Wait!" He attempts to step forward but is abruptly pulled back. He turns, only to discover that you've cuffed him to the service pipes. With a frustrated grunt, he struggles against the cuffs, and something falls out of his pocket. He gazes downward, finding a jewel necklace on the ground. Lifting his head to you again, you turn back to him with a playful smile.
"I had fun."
"Dammit!" He curses, his bracers materializing on his hand as he strikes through his own cuffs. Finally free, he makes a dash toward the boat. But the ferry has already set off, and he can only huff in frustration as you slip away.
Again.
Your fingers trace over the ledger, where rows upon rows of names denote inmates at the Fortress of Meropide. However, none of them match the one you're seeking. You can't help but wonder how many trivial offenses landed people in this imposing place.
Infiltrating the fortress itself was a relatively straightforward affair. They treat their prisoners well down here, making escape seem an improbable feat. Most inmates are cowed by the mere sight of the glass barrier that separates them from the relentless ocean outside. However, gaining entry was an entirely different challenge. Infiltrating the Duke's office, that's where things get tricky. Luckily, your familiarity with the office makes the entry a minor concern, especially when you have a duplicate key at your disposal.
"I'm assuming you didn't come for tea," a voice intones behind you. His hand closes the ledger's cover and rests atop it. Veins course through his arm and hand, and his knuckles are rough and calloused. You push away the inappropriate thoughts that threaten to surface.
"Should I even ask how you got in?" he continues, but you maintain your silence, choosing not to respond. Playing along with him today is the last thing on your mind.
"Who are you looking for?" he gets straight to the point.
"An...associate of mine went missing a few days ago. I was merely curious if he happened to be in your custody," you reply. He picks up the ledger and moves to the other side of his desk to set it down.
"Associate, huh? I thought you worked alone."
"I do," you confirm.
"His name?"
"As if I'd give you that. I'm not here to further incriminate him; I need to secure his swift release."
"Then it seems I can't help you," he states.
"You've never helped me," you correct, to which he chuckles.
"Touche."
"I brought you more of that blend you like," you say, gesturing toward the cabinet.
"Paid for with the proceeds from the jewels?" he questions, a hint of darkness in his tone. You smirk.
"I don't recall any jewels. It's simply a friendly gift, a favor for a favor," you reply, reveling in how his eyes narrow at your words.
"And what favor have I done for you?" he inquires, already knowing the answer. He's trying to ensnare you with your own words.
"I'll prepare a cup for you, dear. You seem weary," you offer, turning toward the cabinet. He's beside you in an instant, gripping your wrist.
"I wouldn't trust you to make anything for me," he snaps, making you smirk.
"Do you truly believe I'd do anything to harm you?" you ask in a feigned tone of surprise. You notice the tension in his jaw and your gaze drifts lower to the scar on his chest, which barely peeks above his clothing, triggering memories of that fateful day. "...Anymore?"
"Go sit down," he orders, and you pull away from his grasp.
"Yes, Your Grace," you say as you step over to the table. Outside the window, the vast expanse of the ocean unfolds, with creatures moving freely, seemingly unconcerned with the curse that hangs over the people of this nation.
You can't help but envy them, particularly after the arrival of that blonde-haired traveler, which marked the beginning of a downward spiral.
"I would like—"
"Three sugar cubes, I know," he interjects, causing a subtle smile to play on your lips.
"What time will the Iudex be arriving? I'd hate to be a bother," you inquire, knowing full well that you've committed his schedule to memory. He sighs, realizing there's no use concealing it from you.
"He won't be. Monsieur Neuvillette had a sudden trial, so he's rescheduled for next week," he admits, an air of candor coloring his response.
"What a shame. That blend is best served fresh," you murmur, your gaze drifting back to the water. A few moments later, he joins you at the table, the gentle clinking of teacups and saucers filling the air. You eagerly pick up your cup.
"I must admit I only ever have tea with you," you confess.
"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow as he settles into his seat. He observes you as you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip. Only then does he feel comfortable enough to indulge in his tea.
"It's true," you affirm, setting the cup down. "I always believe tea deserves to be enjoyed in good company."
"You don't have any other good company?" he inquires.
"None quite like you," you reply with a smile.
"Your clever quips won't get you out of here, you know."
"You think I'm clever?" You tease with a playful glint in your eyes.
"I don't intend to just let you walk out of here."
"You never have, not until I was properly sore and had trouble walking the next day," you taunt, taking another sip, causing him to gulp down his tea. His hands clench as you speak.
"Enough. This... arrangement we had is over. I'm taking you in. I'll inform Neuvillette of your transgressions, and you'll face justice," he declares, his tone stern.
"And then I'll find myself right back under your vigilant watch. Is that what you desire? To keep me close? Ensure that we'll never be apart again?" You tease. His jaw tightens. "I thought you relished our little game as much as I did."
"Game?! You're stealing from people!" His anger is palpable now.
You roll your eyes, reaching into your jacket and producing a document, which you slap onto the table. He leans back, perplexed. "And what is this?"
"The justification you seek. The part of you that yearns to believe I'm not entirely malevolent, this is your evidence."
"I don't understand."
"You will," you assure him. The grandfather clock in the corner begins to chime, marking the appointed time.
"It's time for me to go."
"What?" he blurts out.
You rise from the table with alacrity. "Thank you for the tea. I had a lovely time." You begin to walk away, and he suddenly springs to his feet. However, dizziness overtakes him, and he barely catches himself as the world blurs around him. Overwhelming drowsiness renders his legs wobbly, and he finds himself on his knees, struggling to resist it.
"When?" he manages to mumble.
"It was your teacup. You always use the same one," you giggle. He exhales in frustration. You draw closer.
"Don't worry. I'd never harm you. You're just going to have a short nap."
His hand grasps your wrist. "Don't go," he pleads, his desperation evident. It ignites a spark in your heart, prompting you to sink to your knees, cupping his cheeks.
"Well, when you ask so sweetly like that, how can I resist?" you murmur before pressing your lips to his. "Listen to Siegewinne, dear. You've been appearing quite exhausted lately. But I hope you'll feel better when you awaken. And on top of that," your gaze drifts toward the document, "you might see me in a different light the next time we meet."
After a lengthy and exasperating lecture from Siegewinne, Wriothesley finally returns to his office. It appears that you were telling the truth; it was merely a sleeping drug, and by the time he awoke, you had vanished. He didn't provide Siegewinne with many details about your encounter, nor did he delve into any in-depth discussion about you.
He sinks back into his chair, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead. You had been here, well within his grasp, and yet, once again, he found himself incapable of fulfilling the very duty he had sworn to uphold. It frustrates him to no end. Every time you make an appearance, it catches him off guard. However, when he saw you inspecting his office, for a brief moment, he had hoped you were there for him alone. Alas, that's never the case.
To make matters worse, you've infiltrated his dreams. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are, bare beneath him, your cheeks adorned with a charming flush. Your hands tenderly caress his face, and he takes you with a gentleness and passion that starkly contrasts the reality of your late-night rendezvous. Normally, he's rough with you, mirroring your intensity rather than expressing love.
The thought of you alone is enough to stir his desires, and he curses himself. You had drugged him not long ago, yet he's back to square one. Removing the washcloth, he stares at the ceiling, hoping his little problem will subside on its own. He replays the recent events in his mind, striving to rekindle his anger instead of his lust.
"You might see me in a different light the next time we meet."
What did you mean by that? How could he perceive you differently? His gaze drifts to the desk, where the document you left behind rests. He leans forward, scoops up the folded papers, and breaks the wax seal. As he peruses the contents, his heart sinks.
The elderly man who owns the jewelry shop was using it to launder money from human trafficking sales. You appraised numerous items and recorded their selling prices. You even managed to gather evidence of the boats at the marina being involved in the conspiracy. Photos, evidence—everything is meticulously compiled within these documents. This alone must have taken you weeks. A small note is clipped to the last page, the page itself revealing the location where the captors are holding their victims.
Without jewels, there are no sales. I have bought you time, Warden. Do not disappoint me.
He rises from his desk, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next.
The entirety of Fontaine's police force is mobilized for this operation, simultaneously raiding all the identified targets. Wriothesley, however, personally takes charge of the most significant arrest. With a sense of duty, he apprehends the elderly man, promptly handcuffs him, and pushes him toward the exit.
Outside, the ever-dramatic residents of Fontaine have congregated, forming a boisterous audience to witness this spectacle. The vigilant Gardes work diligently to keep the curious onlookers at bay as he escorts the man outside. His eyes inadvertently scan the crowd.
A sudden pause overcomes him as he catches sight of you. A sly smile graces your lips as you knowingly meet his gaze, and then, with your characteristic grace, you disappear into the crowd, leaving him with a sense of intrigue.
About a week later, following the court's verdict and the subsequent exile to the Fortress, you make a return. Leaning casually on his desk, you patiently await his arrival. As he trudges up the steps, his demeanor brightens in pleasant surprise at the unexpected sight of you. There's a trace of solemnity in your smile as your eyes meet his.
Setting his report down, he approaches you, his curiosity evident in his tone. "You've been gone for a while."
"I had some important matters to attend to," you explain. "The victims who were kidnapped are now under the care of the Spina di Rosula. Most of them are just awaiting reunions with their families. Convincing a few to testify during the trial was a bit challenging, but I'm relieved it's come to a favorable resolution. The Spina di Rosula has pledged to hunt down the buyers, and I've provided them with all the information I could gather."
"Why not have the Spina di Rosula collaborate with the Garde?" he inquires.
"You and I both know that would never happen."
"What now?" he asks.
"My job is done, and I've cut my few remaining ties. All that remains," you say, raising his cuffs, "is you, Your Grace." He takes the cuffs from you, studying them with furrowed brows. As you lift your hands toward him, he glances from the cuffs to your wrists.
With a resounding clack, the cuffs land on the desk. The gravity of this decision settles upon you, hiding within it the unspoken message he wishes to convey. Slowly, you lower your hands as he fixes his gaze on you, drawing dangerously near.
"You're making a mistake," you caution.
"I know," he responds before pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.
In a matter of seconds you both burst into his bedroom, lips locked, jackets falling to the floor. Your nimble fingers are quick on the buttons of his vest as he backs you towards the bed. He pulls your shirt upwards, his rough hands riding up your front. Once one hand finds your breast you moan into his mouth. His ice cold touch electrifies you. He rids you of your shirt and pushes you down onto the bed. His gray vest falls to the floor leaving him looking seductively disheveled in just his black button up.
The tip of your nail fits between your teeth as you devour him with your eyes. "You're going too slow," you whine, reaching a hand out. Your fingers trail over his shirt, feeling every curve of his muscles just beneath the fabric. It has you aching for him. He reaches up, tugging his tie free from his neck. You light up, obediently offering your other wrist to him too.
"If I didn't know any better I'd think you'd liked being my prisoner," he says, leaning closer as he ties the red fabric around your wrists.
"Don't threaten me with a good time," you tease, leaning in as well. His gaze falls to your lips before lifting your arms over your head and guiding you to lay on your back. From there he spreads your thighs, fitting himself between. Pressing your lips tight together, you resist the urge to beg. Even a small bit of friction would be heavenly, but it doesn't come. Instead he slowly strips your bottom half, taking his sweet time to admire your panties before just snapping them off your hips.
He sinks to his knees, lips caressing your inner thigh. Your hands find their way to your mouth trying to muffle your own weak whimpers as he trails towards your core. Where you want him the most.
Just as his breath ghosts over your aching cunt he stops. Suddenly his hand wraps around the tie and shoves it upwards again. "Do not move them again, if you do you can forget about my earlier mistake. I'll take you in, right now, like this," he threatens in a husky voice, eyes boring into yours. You smirk, lifting your thigh to rub against his hip.
"Like this, Your Grace? How scandalous," you tease.
"Do you understand?" he demands.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?" He snaps.
"Yes, sir," you say, your voice growing weaker.
"Good girl," he praises, and you know you're soaked down there. Cheeks tinged red and heart racing as he sinks back down your body. He lifts your thighs over his shoulders before tugging you in one last time. Torturously slow he gives a chaste kiss to your clit. You resist the urge to pull your arms back down as a groan leaves your lips, your body involuntarily twitching. Wriothesley smirks at the display. It's as if he's trained your body to fall apart at just his touch, something he carries with pride.
His tongue dives between your folds, and you throw your head back with a sinful moan. The man below you is terrifyingly good with his tongue and fingers which makes his next move a damning one.
Two fingers easily slide into you, but he makes sure not to curve them into the place you like. Instead he watches the way you writhe, almost trying to force his fingers that way, the pleasure making you dizzy. Pathetic moans and whimpers pass your lips, music to his ears.
"Please… fuck— mh."
"What was that?" He mutters. "I couldn't hear you." His fingers slow to a cruel rub.
"I wanna cum. Please," you beg.
"Really?... I don't know if you deserve to," he says, his voice dropping a few octaves. The voice change drives you, making him smirk as he feels you tighten. "After all, you didn't tell me what you were up to. You worked outside the law, you could've gotten yourself hurt. Now, that… I just can't seem to forgive." He crooks one finger up slightly, sending you spiraling.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I won't do it again," you promise. He slowly rises to his feet, fingers still deep inside you. Wriothesley leans over your trembling frame. His hand caresses your cheek with a tender touch. The coolness of his fingers on your burning cheek is practically bliss.
"Now, how can I believe you? You've broken every other promise you've made to me," he says tauntingly. Fuck! You hate him. You know what he's trying to do, and he knows how desperate you are, enough to agree to any of his demands. He brings your diverting gaze back to his.
"No more secrets," you agree, making him sigh.
"Now, was that so hard?" He asks, pressing right there making your head go fuzzy. You gasp in surprise as his fingers pull you apart all over again, the familiar sensation pooling within you. Wriothesley presses his lips to yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth so he can still hear your gasping moans. "Cum, pretty girl." Your body shudders in the wake of your orgasm, and he doesn't relent, driving you oversensitive in a matter of moments. Your hands grab his wrist, stopping him as you still ride out the end of your orgasm. He smirks and pulls his fingers out. You feel the tie release your wrists.
He's gentle as he lifts your face, seeing the dazed, blissed out expression you wear. His lips peck around your cheeks, to your neck, to your collar, and them to your shoulders by the time your high fades.
"Back with me?" He asks lifting your chin, you nod and he slots his lips against yours while opening your legs again. He fits himself between them and pulls on his belt with one hand, something you don't mind helping him with. He chuckles as he feels you desperately pull his pants open. His aching cock springs free hard and hot in your palm as you stroke him. His forehead sinks to your shoulder as he shudders, slightly thrusting into your touch. "Shit."
"Hurry," you urge. Lifting himself up he positions himself so the head just barely brushes against you. You press your lips together.
Wriothesley reaches upwards, his hand sliding down your arm until he can fit his fingers between yours. Then he thrusts. His other hand grips your hip so tight you pray there will be a bruise. He stretches you open, forcing you to take his size, your eyes roll back into your head.
"Fuck!" You cry out as he bottoms out. He starts with slow shallow thrusts but his patience quickly wears thin. In no time he's snapping his hips forward, rocking the bed, shoving himself deeper inside you. It's predatory, the way he heaves, the way he takes, the way his fingers grip your hair and hold your head up to make you watch him fuck your brains out.
In practically no time at all you're cumming again, but he doesn't slow down, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you clench down on him. The continued force of his thrusts sends you right into a second orgasm and he follows suit. Your cunt milks him for all he's worth. Every drop belongs to you.
He belongs to you.
"Just fucking be mine already," he groans. His words break through your hazy mind in an instant.
"What?"
"Fuck," he mutters. "You're gonna make me say it outright, aren't you?" He leans over fingers brushing over your cheek. "Stay with me. Be with me."
Your heart feels as if it may beat out of your chest as he says it. His cold eyes are now strikingly warm and tender. But you don't know what to say.
Instead you reach up, hands pulling his face down to yours. He complies easily. You kiss him sweetly, whispering against his lips, "I'm yours."
Your confirmation makes his heart sing as he kisses you with more fervor, growing hard inside you once more. The first thrust catches you by surprise but you're loving it. This time there's nothing rough about the way he holds you. He treats you softly, like you'll break if he's any harder. He holds your body in tight to his, burying himself deep inside you, until you're seeing stars.
The clock chimes, marking the hour as Wriothesley opens his eyes. To his dismay the spot next to him is empty. He rubs his face, already stressed that you've disappeared like usual. Unfortunately, maybe he was foolish enough to hope for something more from you.
Sitting up he finally notices the weight on his finger. A ring, a gigantic red ruby within a thick band. The metal is dark and the design is intricate. Honestly, it truly seems like something he'd wear.
Peering over to your side one more time his eyes widen as he sees a folded up paper. With one hand he retrieves it and flips it open.
My secrets come at a cost, Your Grace. So, if you manage to catch me Thursday night, I might consider telling you one or two. Preferably over tea.
I'll be expecting you.
He laughs to himself, "So, the chase is still on, huh? Better make it interesting."
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the parent trap
the masterpost
“So,” Remus says slowly. “If your Dad is my Dad…”
“...and your Pa is my Papa…”
Remus stares at the seam of the wedding photo, made whole again after more than a decade. His Pa, Patton, familiar with his cowboy-handsome, weather-beaten face and his dimpled grin and his big, calloused hand resting over his new husband’s, even if Remus has never seen him look this smitten ever.
“And we’re both born on October 11… then, Roman. You and I are… like… brothers.”
And his Dad—Janus—smiling coyly, handsome in the way of magazine models, so completely a stranger to Remus with just this scrap of a photograph to serve as any way to know him, really know him. The way Roman knows him. The way Remus has been dying to know him all his life.
“Remus,” Roman breathes out, disbelieving. “We aren’t just brothers. We’re twins.”
Remus wonders, in a daze, if seeing the opposite life he could have had is as strange for Roman as it is for him… if they’d just been switched at birth, it’s the life Remus could have had, knowing his Dad instead of his Pa, but then…
But then it clicks.
“Roman,” he says, turning to grin at his brother—his brother! “I have a completely perfect, totally awesome idea!”
or: it's a parent trap AU for @tss-storytime with fanart by @tastic-in-its-finest!
warnings: pranks and practical jokes, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of underage drinking (in the context of a child trying a sip of wine), sibling rivalry and bonding, please let me know if i've missed any!
pairings: janus/patton, logan/virgil, brief patton/male oc
word count: 80k
notes: a few notes before we begin: first, thanks so much to morgan for their fanart for this fic!!! it's so cute, please like and reblog and do all that fun stuff!!! second, thanks to the folks over at the big bang for organizing this whole event—i know firsthand how complicated that can get, and you are so appreciated!!! this is technically a '90s au, but a '90s au in terms of the fashion and lack of social media/cell phones, not any of the homophobia. i hope you all enjoy!!!!
chapter one: prologue Across the world from each other, two very different families help two very similar boys pack their bags.
chapter two: welcome to camp walden! Welcome to what we like to think of as the most beautiful spot on God's green earth—Camp Walden.
chapter three: en garde The boys come to blows. (With practice épées, but in their minds, it’s equally as serious.)
chapter four: riposte The boys come to blows. (With words and stitching.)
chapter five: black card The boys come to blows. (With a temporary reversal of gravity, oodles of chocolate sauce, and finally, some semblance of adult interference.)
chapter six: isolation station The boys spend a great deal of their time considering coming to blows. Until suddenly, they don’t want to fight at all anymore.
chapter seven: operation augustus The realization of having an identical twin does quite a bit to spur some out-of-the-box levels of creativity.
chapter eight: let's get down to business! The boys begin to plot. Camp Walden trembles in fear.
chapter nine: to defeat… the family civil divisions of napa and london respectively! The boys plot. The world all over ought to be trembling in fear.
chapter ten: domine dirige nos Remus spends a great deal of time weighing the most British way to say hello. He’s going to have to repress throwing in a what’s all this then, guv’nor? the entire time.
chapter eleven: eureka! Roman spends a great deal of time weighing the most American way to say hello. He thinks he probably shouldn’t come right out of the gate with howdy, y’all!
chapter twelve: a wench in the works This absolutely was not in their multitude of blueprints!
chapter thirteen: riding is magic and friendship is power and love is everything to everyone Roman gets to meet his pony. He should, by all rights, be much more excited about it, but someone had to go and ruin it for him.
chapter fourteen: in which virgil attempts to hold a poker face (and fails miserably) Virgil curses being so observant.
chapter fifteen: all of my change spent on you Remus has a particularly fun run-in. Well. Fun for him.
chapter sixteen: so your sons have swapped places and are in foreign countries This particular subject was not covered in the parenting books.
chapter seventeen: hopped off the plane at lax with a dream of civil reconciliation with my ex-husband Remus plots. Grandfather aids and abets. Janus panics. Logan suffers them all.
chapter eighteen: small world and getting smaller Janus is officially the father of the two most troublesome twins in the galaxy.
chapter nineteen: you got me tripping, stumbling! sinking, fumbling! Patton makes a splash.
chapter twenty: the queen elizabeth the second the second The twins attempt to revive the past. The parents wish to change it.
chapter twenty-one: i said a boom chicka boom! Logan’s swept off his feet. As is Maddox, in an entirely different way.
chapter twenty-two: i said a boom GO TO YOUR ROOM The twins’ plots bear oh-so-satisfying fruit.
chapter twenty-three: where dreams have no end A hello, a goodbye.
chapter twenty-four: the concorde(ance) A goodbye, a hello.
chapter twenty-five: epilogue Two very similar boys help their two very different families assimilate into one.
#tssstorytimesubmission2023#my fic#my fanfic#sanders sides fanfic#sanders sides fanfiction#sanders sides#moceit#analogical#creativitwins#roman sanders#remus sanders#patton sanders#janus sanders#virgil sanders#logan sanders#remy sanders#emile picani
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Imagine If You Will...
(Spencer Agnew Drabble)
So... the Mountain mall wasn't the worst place to work, the crowds were anything but chaotic, but tucked away in the info booth you found yourself often able to focus on simple directions and parking validation, for the most part, that is of course until the Dew™ released a new flavor, and distributing samples became part of the job description.
Smosh Masterlist
A/N: Obvs no affiliation with mtn dew
Swinging your feet back and forth, you swiveled in aimless circles, the tepid weather outside mixed with the lack of any seasonal sales had left the mall all but empty. The heavy thud of a box sounded from the other side of the desk, as Samantha dropped the package off, In your months working under these specific fluorescents this box was the first of its kind. Yet the packaging was anything but non-descript; cold neon greens and the little mountain graphics coated not only the cardboard but the bright pink tape that bound it.
Reaching across the bench to pull it over, you sliced it open revealing another layer of wrapping, once again neon green, the tissue paper was nicely tied with a ribbon, yet seemed to be about to burst.
Finally reaching product after sifting through the copious amounts of padding you were somewhat confused by the abundance of cans, 'Is this... our yearly bonus?' your words were muttered somewhat in jest but were laced with confusion nonetheless. Tugging some sort of invoice from her back pocket, your colleague read out 'Sampling Product', her finger forming bunny rabbits over the phrase.
"So we're giving out samples now? I guess its somewhat informative...?" You mused still not truly convinced.
"It does mention it adds a fiver to our hourly rates for the next couple months.' she added with her eyebrows raised.
"Well then" you muttered hands on your hips, suddenly much more impassioned over the news "Better get to it then oh-" As you ferreted through the box you retrieved a few tees; the 'i' information symbol on the front and the Mountain Dew advertising on the back- honestly not too horrendous...if you ignore the familiar neon green of the fabric.
The next day, you'd donned the bright shirt and as you began to stack a little tower of cans, on the smallest of folding tables, you watched the stores slowly open up for the day ahead. The weather was once again mild inside and outside the shopping center, but the day dragged on. You would swear it took hours for the long hand of the clock to shift even slightly, and even worse by the time it hit ten you'd already received four separate complaints about your attire and the shelling of so called 'sugary garbage' ... Cause yes Dorris I chose for this mall to be owned by Mtn Dew, me the person at the info desk at nine AM on a Sunday...
Nevertheless, customer service frustrations aside, the day passed easily enough, a few samples were taken with mixed reactions, a couple four-packs bought, but otherwise it was business as usual.
"Excuse me-uh am I able to try some of this" The man on the other side of the desk was peering through his curls to look between you and the signage sheepishly. Trotting out from the behind information desk to the small folding table with a nod, you grabbed one of the tiny sample cups, filled it and handed it to him as he exchanged a quiet 'thank you'. Expecting the exchange to end there you turned to retreat to your station, only for him to speak up once more catching you in the act...
"So um-'Ultimate'...what flavor is that?" Sizing him up somewhat as you reached for a can you relented, curious of his reaction to the overzealous biography printed on the back of the can, "The description we get from the can is 'Chaos Berries grown on mountain alcoves, watered with traditional dew.'"
He looked back at you somewhat vacantly, seemingly lost in the avant-garde flavor description, so in an attempt to shock his system you countered with a giggle; "But to me it just tastes like lime." After your confession he found his words quite quickly in turn.
"I was just thinking the same thing - the lime thing- not the um- Chaos Berries" His tone was jovial but still immensely hesitant.
"Do you like it? In my experience that's all that really matters," Suddenly feeling it important that the conversation continues you found some words you weren't entirely sure fit together as you stuttered on; "I-Its like I always say; the real chaos berries are the friends we tasted along the way." Okay. So they definitely didn't all go together, at least not in the same analogy, and yet in place of his confused stare he was now looking at you with a warm smile. You thought it must have been the sweetest smile you'd ever received, his eyes were crinkled slightly on the edges in good natured amusement and overall it left nothing for you to do but return it as best you could.
"Well um thank you, I- should um-" He motioned to a random store as he waved goodbye briefly before starting off after a solid minute of silence between the pair of you. You waved to him briefly before retreating to your seat to find a small queue in front of your desk waiting for assistance. Quickly returning to work with a fresh warmth in your cheeks, you tried your best to focus on the task at hand for the hours to come.
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Deltarune CH3 & 4 (+5) Predictions (UPDATED)
Ch3:
* Two Rooks (Mike and Tenna, a duo who run the station/dark world)
* Bonus: Mike is the voice of the two, but Tenna is the brains behind the operation.
* Secret Boss: A cowboy from a canceled show. Potentially elements of missing green crayon?
* Bonus: Uses a pan (green soul weapon, in tradition w/ jevilKNIFE (red) and Big SHOT (yellow)) and maybe pans for gold? To make money and strike it rich since his cancelation likely ruined his life.
* Inverse of green's kindness, anger and hatred. (Jevil was hopeless ('undetermined') to continue and gave up. Spamton experienced and doles out injustice, scamming people for no good reason.)
* Somewhat hotland-esque? (If Ch1's DW was New Home (castles and traditional layout) and Ch2's was Core (Cybernetic/electric) it could be going in reverse order)
* Undyne is wrapped up in it (a la Berdly) with Toriel as the party member. Weird route could expand on brief part in UT where Undyne needs water due to metal armor in hotland.
Ch4:
* Dark world in Holiday House. Thus, two Bishops (can involve Alvin in some way as antagonistic?). As for main villain this chapter... unsure! Likely two new original ones.
* Power outage, whether by weather or by Kris, leads Kris & Susie to the dark world with Noelle.
* Despite wintry theme, will have elements of Waterfall. Likely due to an official or sombre atmosphere of the house thanks to Mayor Holiday (and absence of Dess?).
* Secret Boss: Ice-E, maybe related to the pizza box Dess burned in the sweepstakes?
* Bonus: Cyan soul, inverse of patience (anticipation/longing), as if waiting for this moment and obsessing over it with insanity. Incorporates toy knife as weapon, like an ice-pick?
* Bonus: Weird route likely involves Alvin or Mayor Holiday in some way? Details unclear.
Ch5:
* Dragon-Blazers Dark World. A 'dark world within a dark world,' even. Hence, rudimentary, simplistic art style paralleling classic JRPGs (reality becomes more avante-garde the further down you go until complete darkness).
* Skies Forever Blue was actually Dragon Blazers all along! Reveals two 'knights,' the MC from Dragon Blazers likely being the antagonist for the chapter (sees party as 'enemies/invaders of the kingdom'), and Kris (though maybe not said deliberately or at the start).
* Bonus: Revelation of existence of multiple knights/beings who can create dark worlds? Two light knights maybe being Alvis and Dess, and two dark knights being Dragon Blazers MC and Kris' Soul. (Dragon Blazers MC is the other dark knight because they too are a player surrogate character, albeit for their own game. Can add some interesting meta-commentary?).
* Wintery elements paralleling Snowdin, likely leading to the Glacial Palace mentioned in the Spamton Sweepstakes.
* Secret Boss: Dess/Dragon Blazers Princess. Represents inverse integrity - deception, deceit. Likely regarding their true identity? Due to being princess and blue soul, incorporates dancing?
* Bonus: Likely sealed within Glacial Palace, being the chapters' final area (as with all secret bosses). Thus, glitch usage and potential deep-darkness delving?
* Weird route may expose Kris as the Knight, and represent a turning point for the story as a whole with Susie and Kris.
Complete Chess Theory:
Light world -
* King: Asgore
* Queen: Toriel
* Rook: Undyne, Alphys
* Bishop: Mayor Holiday, Rudy?
* Knight: Alvin, Dess
* Pawn: Susie, Berdly, Noelle, Monster Kid, Jockington, Temmie, Snowy, Catti
* Player: Chara (Us, the player, the puppet master of those from the realm of the 'real')
Dark world -
* King: Spade King
* Queen: Q5U4EX7YY2E9N (Queen)
* Rook: Mike n' Tenna
* Bishop: Two new characters, most likely
* Knight: DB Protag, Kris' Soul
* Pawn: Ralsei, The 7 Vessels
* Player: W.D.Gaster (The puppet master of the origin of the dark world and its denizens)
#kris deltarune#deltarune#undertale#deltarune theory#kris dreemurr#susie deltarune#noelle holiday#noelle deltarune#ralsei deltarune#ralsei#chess theory#crack theory#theory#fan theory#hot take#deltarune chapter 3#deltarune chapter 4#toby fox newsletter#toby fox#utdr newsletter#utdr#ut dr#newsletter#ut#dr#december holiday#december#dess holiday#dess
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