#ladies code headers

[lovereist]

— but as always, i was late and as always u couldnt wait   ݈݇-

[dottyistired]

i'm not seeing any posts about it here yet, but they solved the silas birchtree riddle on reddit and there's some pretty juicy lore! first, entering "paranoid" backwards nets this conspiracy board:

then, from the black letters in the corners of some of the pages people pieced together the code "connect the dots", backwards again, gets a whopping 12 page chapter about the ciphertology cult! it's...something.

so in summary, bill puppeted a guy's corpse, became a cult leader, seemingly married over a hundred people, mass-possessed his followers, tried to get them to build his portal. his lone dissenter was a spinster who made anti-bill chick tracts and started a fire. a waco-style shootout ensued, killing silas' already-rotting corpse a second time in a disturbingly detailed manner. at some point he made some of his followers drink the kool-aid too.

entering the lady's name, emmaline butternubbins, into the computer finally gets you the reward for solving all the riddles: hd wallpapers of various graphics from the book of bill. but frankly this is more interesting and fucked up to me.

(alt text under cut, wip)

[Image 1: A cluttered conspiracy board centered on Bill Cipher. Red string and pins connect various newspaper clippings, photos, drawings and pamphlets.]

[Image 2: A history-book style chapter page. Header "LESSER KNOWN AMERICAN CULTS."

"Have you ever heard of Orchard Lake, Kansas? Chances are you haven't. It was erased from every map, book, and historical record, and the US Government's official position on it is "stop calling us or we'll send a drone to your house." (I learned this the hard way.) But if you drive to the exact latitude and longitude of you'll see bullet casings, faded billboards, and bow ties strewn across the desert sands.

That's because Orchard Lake had another name before it was wiped off the record: BillVille.

CHAPTER 3: BillVille

The First Cult In History That Was Right

FIG A: A tumbillweced

As a historian of esoteric religions, I thought I'd discovered the strangest sects America had yct to offer (see "Chapter 3: Kevin's Gate") but that all changed when I found the following items tucked away in an old trunk in an estate sale on the out- skirts of Bootstrap, Missouri."]

[sugugasm]

SLUT CERTIFIED — eren yaeger

꒱ ➛ SYNOPSIS : ❝ i mean…i can teach you, if you want. ❞

˚◞♡ who ?? : eren yaeger x black fem! reader

— ˚◞♡ before you read : minors DO NOT interact, a lil friends to lovers action goin on, this story is written with a black-coded fem! reader, switch! eren, submissive! reader, bimbo??? reader, college au, mentions of a bitchy sorority, tattoed reader, tattooed eren, i present eren the shy gangsta, loss of virginity, body worship, mentions of unresolved feelings, included kinks such as [ choking/ corruption/ breeding/ size kink/ overstim ] positions such as [ missionary/ mating press/ doggystyle/ cowgirl ] eren gives reader head ofc, reader do be squirtin a lil :o, reader and eren are both horrible at communicating their feelings bye.

— ˚◞♡ author’s note : me when i see the header photo on pinterest and get inspired. oh em gee this is my first fic that isn’t a oneshot hello ??? very excited to share this with you guysss. i’ve wanted to write a mini story like this for a while now but i hadn’t been able to get in the funk— BUT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE MADE ITTTTT !!!! the first chapter is in the works and should be posted later this month. [ hopefully ]

CHAPTER INDEX

I: THE HUMAN BODY IS A TEMPLE.

II : TESTING THE WATERS.

III : FLIPPING THE SCRIPT.

IV : WAIT, YOU FUCKED WHO?

V : THE NOT-SO AWKWARD ‘I LOVE YOU’ MOMENT.

©️ SATORUBI 2023 please do not copy, or repost as your own <33

[romanarose]

Please, Mr. Miller?

Header by and the fic dedicated to @sweetlummie . Thank you for supporting this series

Dividers by @anitalenia

DBF!Joel x Reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

First installment is Yes, Mr. Miller? but all parts can be found on my masterlist <3

Summery: Getting ready for the labor day cookout, you reminisce on Labor day last year when things with Joel began. Ft. your dad surprises you

Warnings: Virginity loss, dirty talk, PIV sex, age gap (legal, reader is over 21 so stfu y'all), size kink, bleeding from sex (I know theres been discourse over the whole bleeding your first time, but I bled soooo. It's a normal thing to happen, don't be embarrassed.) Joel is a bit of a pain slut what can I say, reader scratching Joel enough to make him bleed,

Immersivity: Reader is fem, afab, dresses v hyperfem and cutsie, reader is shorter than Joel and coded that Joel is larger, can carry you.

A/N: My last instalment for this series, the dbf holiday fucks series as I call it, caused a whole hoopla. I didn't do memorial day nor forth of july as planned. I wasn't even going to do any more but then I thought of everyone who supported me and of course my dear Lum, and decided to write one more installment. This will wrap up the series with a happy end for our dear horny bastards <3

Everything needed to be perfect. Joel was coming over for the yearly labor day cookout your dad did to celebrate the end of the summer, and oh what a summer it was!! Joel had made this time after gradating college special, spending time taking you out of town so you could both not worry about getting caught. You even had another threesome with him and Tommy, a time that was extra special now that you belonged to Joel officially.

This wouldn't be your anniversary technically. Labor Day always falls on Monday, but your anniversary was the same date of course. You spent the "anniversary" of the first time Joel and you had sex getting fucked into oblivion at Joel's house. Today was still special, because you and him would always remember Labor Day for this.

As you apply your simple make-up, pink eyeshadow and pink blush and pink lipstick to match the dress you brought over to your dads, you think back on that day.

You had been giving Joel 'fuck me' eyes for months. Ever since him and your dad became friends the last year or so, you can't deny how much you wanted him. The barrier, however, was obvious. He was your dads best friend, and then there was the fact you were a virgin.

Still, your record wasn't exactly lily white. You'd fucked around a bit here and there with boys and girls but that was the problem. They were all just like you, inexperienced. Most were boring, most only focused on what they wanted. You need a grown ass man to teach you, to guide you, to make you cum the way your vibrator could.

Joel was that man. So, you spent months sending signals...

Signals that ended up with you pushed up against your bedroom door that fateful Monday while your dad fell asleep on the couch, his body crowding you with his breath hot against your face.

"You think you are awfully cute, don't you little lady?"

You can't help smile at that. Yes, yes you do think you're cute, thank you.

"You just think you can prance around here in these little skirts and lowcut tops and get me hard like a fucking teenager not have any consiquences?"

Despite his words and harsh tone, when Joel's hand went to your hip his grip was light, letting you know you weren't being trapped.

You look up at him. "I know what I'm about, Mr. Miller."

A small smile appears on his face, and he grind his hips against your stomach, making you feel him growing erection. "You feel what you do to me?" He waits until you nod. "I think it's only right you help me take care of it, don't you? Or do I have to fuck my fist in the shower thinking of your face again?"

"No, Mr. Miller, I think I should help you, but... you have to help me with something..." You trail off, uncertain how he'll take the news.

"And what is that?"

"I'm a virgin..."

With this piece of information, Joel's face softens and he gives you a little more space. He seems like a new person, resting his head on your forehead and you see him cringing a bit.

"Shit darl'n, "m sorry. I was come'n in strong for no fucking reasons"

But you don't want him to feel bad for assuming you weren't a virgin, most people aren't by your age... "No, no don't be sorry! I... I liked it." Joel opens his eyes to look at you, your faces so close together. "i like you being dominate."

That smile again... that damn smile and you knew you were in trouble.

"You want this? You can say no, any time..."

"I do. I really fucking do."

With that, Joel kissed you... and oh what a kiss it was. Joel devoured you like this betrayal of his friendship was sending him to death row and you were his request for a last meal. He kissed you like he was willing to sacrifice it all just for your lips, that committing this sin was worth it just to be the first between your legs. He kissed you like you were his already. Joel never stopped kissing you like that, not even a year into the affair.

He took his time with you, just like you knew he would. This, this is why you trusted Joel Miller with this part of yourself. Your vibrator was at your apartment, but Joel made you cum on his lips, humping the mattress with his arms locked around your shaking legs. Then, he opened you up on his fingers, the thick digits easily maneuvering in and out of your drenched pussy before curling them up and dragging another orgasm out of you.

When Joel finally lined himself up between your legs, your pretty dress still on and the skirt flared out at the bed sheets, he tucked his face to your neck, kissing and nipping softly to not leave and marks. "Are you sure you want this, darl'n? We can stop. I promise."

But you didn't want to stop. No part of you wanted to stop.

You grab at his ass, your done up nails gripping his asscheeks. Your body felt on fire, burning for him and only for him. You knew this could never be a one time things, even before he deflowered you, you were his to keep, his to play with. "Please, Mr. Miller?" You begin to beg for him. "I need your cock, please, please, please? I need it so badly, it's all I want, I need you, only you!"

Joel groaned at the honorific, head dropping down at he began to slid into your tight hole, splitting you open. "Shiiiiiiit baby... s'fucking good... so fucking good."

Your grip on his ass tightened as the pain of being stretched peaked, nails digging in and scrapping him, making him bleed for you as you did for him.

When he's fully seated inside you, Joel plants a little kiss on your lips, humming a little in the back of his throat. "My sweet girl... saved herself just for me, huh?"

"Yes" You lie a little. For the bit. "Wanted you to be my first, Mr. Miller."

He groans, slowly pulling out almost all the way. "Love it when you call me that." then, he thrusts himself completely into you, pounding your pussy as the gentle uh, uh, uh's begin to fill the room in time the the pleasure he brings you.

"Shhhhh princess," Joel's nose nuzzles your cheek. "Gotta be quiet, remember? Can't have your daddy finding out you let his friend deflower his little girl, hm?"

You whimper at that, the secrecy, the naughty air adding to the sin happening in your old bedroom as he thrust again and again and again until you're unable to keep quiet anymore. The pleasure is too great, too strong as your orgasm approaches and he knows it. Gentle hand a contrast the the way he cock is rearranging your insides with pound ferver, Joel cups your face and puts his thumb to your lip.

No hesitation, you open your mouth and as soon as his thumb slides inside you lock your lips around him.

"Good girl... good- fuck- good fucking girl... just needed someth'n to keep your mouth busy, huh? Something to suck on? Yeah, I know baby, I know, it's a lot isn't it? It hurts a little, huh?" Joel looks down, watching the way his cock disappears into you, watching how it comes out covered in slick. He likes looking at you writhe under him, struggling to take it all... "Awwww big stretch.... That's it baby, suck on my thumb... harder, want yuh to practice for my cock, because i ain't done with yuh after tonight. You know that, don't you? You're mine, pretty girl. I'm your daddy now."

He can feel you tightening, your cunt beginning to pulse the same it did around his fingers.

"Bite down on my thumb when you cum baby, make it hurt."

You do as you're told, biting down to prevent from screaming as you cum on his cock, waves of pleasure rushing your body like the crash of the ocean on a rock. Not holding bad, you bit him to the bone and watch as his head rolls back as he cums, reveling in the pain as he floods your cunt with his spend. Again and again he fucks his cum inside your pussy, feeling it begin to leak out and down your ass crack before his softening cock finally still inside you.

There is a moment when Joel body falls on your, covering you with a blanket of just him pressed on your dress, that you think he's just going to get up and walk out. Maybe he's wake your dad up to say goodbye and then just not speak to you again now that he got what he wanted...

But he doesn't. Joel kisses you, saying he'll be right back before getting his pants on again and going to the bathroom. He returned to clean you up, calming your embarrassment when you see the blood on the sheets, and holding you until you fell asleep.

That was one year ago.

Today, you skip down the stairs at your dads,m pink dress fluttering around your knees, and hope happily outside to where you dad was grilling. A few people had trickled in, but were talking across the yard.

"Hi dad!" You start surveying the party goers, looking out over the yard. You don't see Joel yet, but Tommy is in the pool already which means Joel is probably stuck carrying in whatever they brought.

"Hi honey!" He greets you warmly. "That a new dress?"

You give a twirl. "Sure is!"

"Looks real nice, I always liked pink on you. I think Joel will like it too."

Your blood runs cold and you freeze. You don't even have it in you to act natural or confused, you just stare at him in shock. You wonder if he's about to start yelling, although that was rarely in his nature.

"I..."

Your dad smiles at you, adding cheese to a few burgers. "Relax, honey, it's fine. I saw your car at Joel's house back in May. Yuh ain't slick." He gives you a wink.

"Oh...." You say dumbly, unsure what else to say. "Are you... mad?"

"I was a little when I first saw it... but mostly because you guys didn't tell me. Then I thought about it and realized you guys were probably nervous. I figured as long as he's treat'n you right, I'm fine." He cocks an eyebrow. "And he's treating you right, ain't he? Just cause he's my friend don't mean I'm choosing his side."

Tears of relief well up in your eyes. "Yeah daddy, he does. He treats me real good."

"TOMMY!" Joel shouts walking up the driveway, carrying several bags and a cooler. "You couldn't help?!"

You and your dad laugh, and when you sniffle he leaves his grill to give you a hug. "Good. I'm glad. I just want you to be happy, and Joel's a good guy. I'm just glad it's not Tommy."

You laugh again at that, and once he's satisfied you're happy, he goes to putting the burgers on a plate.

"So... is it serious? I don't wanna be in your business, just wondering."

You watch Joel set up the snacks and beer he was specifically told not to bring, but because of who Joel is as a person he brought them anyway. He and Tommy help a kid out of the pool, and when Joel looks up he sees you staring at him from over the deck.

He grins at you and waves. You wave back. "Yeah dad. It's very serious."

You run down the steps to tell him you dont have to sneak around anymore.

If you want more joel with fem reader since this series is done and I'm largly leaving pedro characrters, check out @sweetlummie 's work! lots of v fem cute reader, including great plus size!!

Thank you all for your love on this series!!!! the first part went over 1k notes which is huge for me!!!!

I love you all dearly.

althought im not writng pedro characters as much if you are an enjoyer of my writing, check out my tag list! i got rid of it for a while but am bringing it back

thank you!!!

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 5 (Something's Gotta Give)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N, brief mention of past injury, spanish translation at end (courtesy of @queerponcho, thank you beloved)

wc: 3.4k

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: immovable object? the unstoppable force would like a word.

__________

As far as peace offerings go, it’s not the worst.

At least, that’s what you’ve told yourself as you stand outside your neighbor’s apartment, your fist failing to close the distance and knock. In one hand you hold a plate of pastries you’d bought earlier. Hopefully it’s enough.

Before you can raise your hand again, the door whips open. 

Leah Mendoza, ever the force to be reckoned with, stands with arms akimbo and eyebrow raised. “Quit shuffling your feet and come inside, nena.”

You oblige wordlessly. Crossing the threshold, you immediately feel the warmth of her apartment embrace you. Not that she’s escaped the chill that plagues your building; Leah is an artist, and every flat surface serves as either canvas or easel. Most spaces are covered in surreal portraits and near-magical icons, her handiwork displayed as a gorgeously chaotic gallery. Sunlight streams through gauzy curtains to feed sprawling plants and attempts to warm the richly colored rug beneath your feet.

You leave your shoes at the door and hold out the platter, smiling sheepishly. “Hope you still have a sweet tooth.”

“It's been so long, I'm surprised you remember.” Despite her playfully icy tone, Leah’s expression warms as she peeks at the pan de mallorca you hand over.

“...But I suppose going five blocks out of your way for breakfast makes up for it.” She nudges you with her hip before escorting  you to the kitchen.

“Look what the cat dragged in, Caro,” Leah calls out to the seating area as she pours two mugs of coffee. You see your other friend’s smiling eyes light up at the sight of you.

“Ohhh, it’s been ages!” she squeals as she rushes to your side, tackling you with an enthusiastic hug.

Caroline Ngo, the youngest of your trio, has always brought a much-needed energy to your time together. When she and her parents moved in, you and Leah decided to adopt her into your early morning ritual of coffee and gossip. As her rosy cheeks beam up at you, you’re (a bit selfishly) grateful that she’s delayed her college applications by a year. You’re not ready to part with your other baby bird just yet.

Still, you pry yourself from her grasp. “Something tells me you had an early start on the coffee.”

“Maybe,” she drawls as she saunters away. Leah passes you a steaming mug, prepared just the way you like it.

The three of you sit, sipping and smiling as the room grows brighter with the sunrise. Leah regales you with the results of her latest art show; Caroline badgers you for updates about Mauricio, dimpled cheeks flushed as she speaks. For a few moments, everything feels like it used to.

Leah finishes her pastry and turns to you. “So, ‘Ms. Songbird’. How are you?”

You shrug, dismissive. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

“No, I don’t know. You haven't been around for us to see your ‘usual’.” Leah's voice is measured, but she’s clearly frustrated. “Can you tell me the last time we've heard more than a ‘good morning’ from you? Or were together for longer than an elevator ride to our floor?”

You chuckle nervously. “Goodness, maybe… August? September?”

“June.” She sips her coffee before setting it down. “Are things really so busy at work that you can't spare a moment for us anymore?”

If only you knew.

“I'm sorry, ladies. Truly. But things have been picking up at the lounge, I've even had to get outside help–”

“Ah yes, the altar boy lawyer.” Leah shakes her head. “I thought you were done with him.”

“‘Done with him?’ Leah, he's my friend.”

“Oh, I recall. So good a friend that he lets you ice his bruises and clean his cuts.” She crosses her arms. “So good, he's even bringing new friends with the same scrapes to your door.”

“The other night was an emergency–”

“How long are you going to run around with that kind of crowd?” Her voice bites. “Believe me, I know my share of the nightlife. But every time you bring home some broken man, a load of trouble seems to follow.”

This is not where you saw the morning going. “I thought we were spending time together, not berating the company I keep.”

“Please don't be upset,” Caroline pleads, taking your hand from her seat on the floor. “We miss you. You haven’t been home in weeks,” she laments. “At least, not for more than a couple of hours.”

You shift in your seat but give her hand a light squeeze. “I've missed you, too.”

“Then do something about it.” Leah gets up, crossing the room to distract herself with more coffee but then doubles back to look you in the eyes.

“You know my gut is never wrong, nena. And I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't speak my mind.”

You brace yourself as she continues. “You can spend your nights hiding behind your Songbird persona and running the lounge, but don't be surprised if the cage you're building around yourself is locked from the inside.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen, leaving you and Caroline in silence.

Slowly, Caroline slides into Leah’s empty seat, her hand still on yours.

“... I always liked your stage name.”

You don’t say anything, instead letting your eyes trail through the patterns on the rug.

She scoots closer. “Leah’s just looking out for you. Like always.”

“I know, Caro.”

You feel her head rest on your shoulder. Tough love has always been Leah’s strong suit; as hard as you are on your boys, it’s bush league compared to your friend.

Caroline’s next words are low, whispered just loud enough for you to hear. “I know that man you were helping.”

You look down at her, dumbfounded. “Really? You know Jake?”

She sits up, eyes wide again. “Well, not technically. I never learned his name. But when he was leaving your apartment, I recognized his face.” Her small smile grows as she speaks. “There were days I’d stay out late after school, and I’d catch a ride from him sometimes. He’s really kind, not like some of the other cab drivers.”

Concern suddenly sweeps across her face. “Is he going to be alright?”

You think back to the morning he left your apartment: his bruises, your stitches, the blood that still stained his coat…

His hand on your hand, your face…

You don’t feel your fingers grazing the apple of your cheek until you hear Caroline giggle. Your hand drops to your lap as your face warms. “He’ll be fine. If he wised up and saw a real doctor, that is.” You shrug, reaching for your coffee.

“You care about him,” she teases.

“Oh, come off it,” you huff, nudging her leg with yours.

“And he obviously cares about you!” She squeals, lowering her voice when Leah turns her head toward the noise. “I saw him leave your apartment, but he stood there for ages, staring at your door.” Her grip on your hand grows unbearably tight. “What happened that night?”

You’ve been asking yourself the same question from the moment he left you standing in a bloodstained gown, your apartment colder without him. Since then, there hasn’t been a moment where you’ve been free from the memory of his face.

“I did him a favor. And… he may have done one for me, too.”

__________

Jake Lockley is man enough to admit when he’s been beaten.

In this case, he's absolutely won over. Head-over-heels, and at your mercy.

Maybe years from now, society adopts stricter rules for how soon you should call on a lady. Even today, some would advise against showing your hand too early. Some men wouldn’t want to seem too eager, too desperate.

But Jake Lockley is not a liar.

If “desperate” is the word for the incessant drumming in his chest each time you come to mind; if it’s what has him cutting corners and driving recklessly, ushering customers along at double the pace so his thoughts can return to you; if it’s why his palms sweat and nerves ache at the memory of your face that night, that morning… then Jake Lockley is desperate.

It’s hardly been a day and a half since he left your apartment, cold and injured. The suit stitched him back together in seconds; the only ache that remained was at the thought of you. You, who scooped him off the pavement and took pity on him. Who stained your hands with his blood to make it stop. You, who set his skin on fire with the smallest touch and had him convinced he would burn with or without it.

Screw the three day rule. He has to see you.

Hot under the collar, Jake now sits at the bar– your bar, long before normal business hours. Next to him is Matt, whose face hasn’t untwisted from the wry grin he’s had from the moment they met up.

“It’s like a jackhammer,” he chuckles into his glass, dodging Jake’s backhand swing.

“Can it, Murdock.” Jake’s hand returns to his own drink. Downing the rest, he raises his glass to the bartender. “Top me off, Mr. Manalo.”

Teddy obliges with shaking hands. He scoops up the bills Jake slides his way before dashing off. The two men had asked for privacy, and he’s determined to stay in their good graces.

Jake knocks back the new drink, swiping the excess from his lip as Matt’s laughter grows louder.

“You really need to calm down.”

“That’s what this was for,” Jake retorts, shaking his glass so the ice clinks against the edge. It’s doing him little good, though; from the moment he snuck in here that stormy night, he knew The Paper Moon as an extension of you. Even with the house lights up and nobody onstage, the lounge makes his heart race as quickly as if you were right beside him.

Matt claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, you’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah,” Jake snorts. Matt’s quiet for a suspicious amount of time. “What’s on your mind, Murdock?”

“What’s on yours?” Telltale concern creeps into his voice. “How are things up there lately?”

Jake smirks, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Oh, you know. Loud… and quiet, in all the wrong ways.”

“Seems quieter than before.”

“Yeah?” Jake cocks an eyebrow. His mind doesn’t feel quieter, not the way it should. Khonshu’s been on his ass more often, doubling down when his thoughts dare to drift to anything besides the mission at hand. The god throwing a tantrum has become one of the few guarantees that remain.

“I mean it,” Matt reassures him. “It’s like night and day from when you returned stateside.” 

Jake stirs the ice in his glass, tempted to hop the counter and refill it himself. It takes everything in him to repress the memory of “before,” to not think of the bloody business in El-Alamein. To forget when the occupancy of his mind dropped from three to two.

“Must be the good old American soil.” His sneer drops as he considers his next words. “... or the fool of a pro bono lawyer I managed to snag.”

“Maybe,” Matt says. “Or it could be the little bird that's caught your ear.”

Before Jake can respond, a pair of footsteps cross onto the stage behind them.

He turns to see you and Mauricio, backs to the house, talking in rushed succession as you survey the stage. You’re in a blouse and trousers, your movements easy and unrehearsed despite the growing exasperation in your voice. 

“Maurie, I don't care how Leo feels the lights bounces off his new mustache wax, unless he can't follow my cues he's staying stage left. And–”

“No days off for you, are there?”

When you turn you see Jake, hat in hand and standing a few steps from the bar, as if he’d walked toward you but stopped halfway up the aisle. You can’t place the look on his face, but you're nevertheless pinned under the gaze of his now-healed eyes shining up at you.

“JAKE!” Mauricio startles you when he shouts, leaping off the stage to clasp hands with the older man.

“Hermano,” Jake chuckles, pulling him into a quick hug before letting go. “¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” 

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" Mauricio leans in, examining the pale line running through Jake’s eyebrow with awe.     

“Ah, just a scratch.” Jake shrugs as he brushes past him to approach the stage and offers his hand as you step down. You accept, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your grasp.

“Leave the man alone, Maurie,” you chide, nodding your thanks and holding back a laugh. As much as Caroline fawns over you, Mauricio seems to do the same to Jake whenever their paths cross. It helps that he plays along.

As the three of you walk back to the bar, you notice Matt dial in to something and smile– far from his normal reaction. 

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you more than another drink, I have an appointment with Matthew this afternoon.” You cross over to your friend, whose smile only grows as you draw closer. But you brush it off, still focused on Jake.

“Actually,” he starts, his hand sliding into his pocket, “I was hoping to cut in on your consult time for a moment. That alright with you, doll?”

Matt clears his throat. “Mauricio, can you take me backstage? I should start unpacking this file.”

The drummer perks up. “Sure! But the band’s getting ready to play some poker… you feel like teaming up again? We can split the pot like usual.”

“Even better,” Matt grins. “Lead on.”

He gathers his portfolio and walking stick to follow. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you could see a moment of panic flicker across Jake’s face.

It’s replaced in a flash with his usual smirk. “Sure you want to risk your pocket change, Matty?”

“If all my clients paid like you do, I'd be out of a job.” He collects himself and follows Mauricio’s footsteps, turning to Jake and mouthing “jackhammer” with a hand to his chest when he’s behind you.

Their footfalls fade and it’s just the two of you at the bar. You take a seat, drumming your fingers on the surface to soothe your nerves. Jake sits beside you.

“You look better.” You notice the scar Maurie was talking about: his former head wound is free of your haphazard stitches, instead healed into a light dash through his dark brow. “But I told you that would scar.”

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers past the spot. “I kinda like it. Gives me an edge,” he chuckles. Maybe Khonshu hadn’t healed his face the way he normally would as some sort of lesson. Joke’s on him.

“How did… I mean, you look really good, how did you recover so quickly?” Now that you’re closer, you realize there’s no sign he was hurt just two days ago. If not for his scar, you could pass that night off as some sort of dream.

“You told me to see a doctor, didn’t you? Looks like I’ve got the best one around.” 

You eye him, not sure what to think. “... yeah, alright.”

Your fingers drum the bar again. Maybe that night knocked all of Jake’s suave confidence from his head: when he’s not speaking (something you’re still not used to), he looks like a child about to lose his lunch. For all his urgency a few minutes ago, he’s taking his sweet time getting to the point.

Finally he sits up straight and takes something out of his pocket. “Here. For you, morena.”

A small black box slides toward you, stopping at your restless fingers. You raise an eyebrow quizzically, a familiar warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“A present? Didn’t take you for the ‘holly-jolly’ type.” You pick up the box, feeling its velvet casing and fighting back a smile.

“Nah, not really a Christmas guy myself. But I figured you could use a pick-me-up.” Jake crosses one arm along the bar, propping his chin in his other hand as he watches you open the box.

Inside, you see a delicate gold chain with a charm fastened to its middle: a small bird with its wings spread, intricate designs etched into its surface.

“Oh my…” You look back at Jake, who seems to have been holding his breath as you examine your gift. 

Your slowly unfolding smile is all the reward he could ask for, breathless laughter pushed from his chest with relief. “For the songbird,” he casually declares, relief mixing with pride at your reaction.

You take the necklace out and hold it to the light. “It’s beautiful,” you sigh. You undo the clasp and try to put it on yourself, but your fingers can’t seem to make it fasten.

“Allow me,” he says quickly, standing to move behind you and assist.

You feel his hands take over and drop your own in your lap. His knuckles brush the back of your neck and it takes everything in you not to shiver. The smell of smoke and spice dances on your senses, pulled away all too soon when he moves to stand in front of you.

“There,” he breathes, eyes going from the pendant draped below your collar to your eyes. “Looks perfect.”

Your fingers grasp the cool metal as you nod. “Looks perfect.” 

Silence falls again. You’ve come to hate the sound of nothing when you’re with him.

Jake’s the first to break it. He sits back down, his next words like a punch to the gut. “You know, now that I’m not driving Wesley around… I won’t have to take up space at your back table anymore.”

“Oh. No, I suppose not.” You toy with the charm around your neck. “So is this… goodbye?”

“That depends,” he says cautiously.  He turns to you, eyes swimming with the same unfamiliar mix of emotions from before. “Do you want it to be?”

Your fingers leave your neck as you meet his gaze. “Don't say you're going all soft on me, cabbie.”

“What if I was?” He leans forward, and for the first time you don't back away.

“Cards on the table: I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

That makes two of us. You bite your tongue to let him continue.

“Morena… would you ever want to get out of here? Just you and me, call it a truce or a… a date.” A smile plays on his lips before his brow creases. “I won't badger you after today, just… one way or another, put me out of my misery.”

The wings of the charm feel heavier with the weight of his confession. Hand to your heart, you feel the bird again, this time with Leah's warning running through your mind.

“I suppose a truce wouldn't hurt.”

When he smiles, wider than ever, you see the charming gap in his teeth. And you smile, too.  You both laugh, the heated stress in your nerves turning to effervescent relief.

You could spend an hour like this. But when you hear shouts of frustration and a bilingual litany of choice words echo from backstage, you know you have to go put out a different fire.

“I should make sure Matthew isn't in trouble,” you sigh, standing to straighten yourself.

“If I know Matt, he's the one causing the trouble.” Jake stands with you, desperate for this moment not to end but anxious for your next answer. “So when can we–”

“Sunday night,” you cut him off, starting to back away toward the stage. “I'll figure out how to slip away, but meet me under the sign at 9.”

You move to rush toward the stage at another outburst, but Jake's hand catches yours yet again.

“You can't keep doing that,” you groan, yet with a smile still on your lips as he tugs you back toward him.

“You're the boss,” he hums, pressing his lips to the back of your hand– the gesture all too routine, but you're ready to admit you've missed it.

He releases your hand and dons his cap, tipping it to you. You laugh again, a rich and easy sound he'd never tire of hearing. You bow slightly and dash backstage, with Jake's voice calling to you as you leave.

“See you Sunday, Songbird."

__________

“¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” - Not getting yourself into any problems, eh?

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" - Seems like you’re the one causing troubles, hey cabbie? Where did that scar come from?

note: in-universe Jake is Guatemalan and Mauricio is Cuban; as a non-spanish speaker, please let me know how i can improve in the future!

A/N: i've missed these two!! this chapter was a doozy but i'm so happy to have gotten back on track. i won't say PPP is on hiatus (we never had a promised release schedule) but after i take a wee break from writing, i'm set on finishing my Moon Knight Bingo prompts before 4/30 + starting on my OI fanzine entries (!!! exciting times). but if inspiration strikes before i finish, i certainly won't complain.

ty for reading!!

tag list: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mercurysjoy, @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[lumilasi]

So i have been scrolling trough your blog for a while now, enjoying the lore and the many beautiful characters and designs. And i keep coming back to your blogs header image, the striking green hair, beautiful lighting, it is amazing, i haven't been able to find the full image though! i would love to see it and hear more about the character! love the design!

Aww thanks! Glad you like them! Also sorry for late(?) response, timezones and all....

This is the full image in the header: (there are 2 versions, can't recall which one it is)

It was part of my Spooktober series last year. (Here's the OG post too)

Her name is Avane Faydream, or Ava Mantis; she's mostly known as Ava by her friends. Ava is a mixed heritage Mantis Fairy-Dreameater where she has abilities belonging to both beings. (Her Dreameater heritage is why she has black wings, typically her kin have green ones. Her eyes also come from her dreameater dad)

The image above is not her "canon" design though, apart from her hair, Here's her actual ref. (Some info below miiight be slightly outdated though, I tend to develop and change things overtime, but the designs at least are up-to-date)

She also has this outfit that was inspired by a really pretty Japanese modern dress I saw online once when researching for inspo for outfits to another character: (Her OG version was Japanese, now she doesn't really have direct connections to human world, but I'd say her mother, if placed on earth, would probably be from Asia somewhere, though not necessarily Japanese.)

Ava is kind of my main lady, because she has direct connections to all of my "main" characters, from working for the Goth Dad Jurou/Alistair as a tattoo artist, to being one of Azul Samaros/ Chester Knight's friends he sometimes ask for help from. (When Azul says he knows someone, he goes "I know a gal" rather than "I know a guy" quite often lol)

She has a boyfriend, a bi Grimmhound (with some Lycan heritage) named Roman Bosco, who used to work for a human mobster (or more like was forced to/the guy was also in love with him but in kind of a toxic way....) and he's one of those absolute sweetheart, romantic teddy bear guys. (His ref here if you wanna learn more about Roman)

(Roman has vitiligo btw)

Her dad Lawrence is sort of the 'antagonist' for my main story Night City Parlor, and she sort of tends to meddle in her dad's business to try and protect people from his influence. This includes Jurou, she actually went to work for him to secretly keep an eye on him, knowing her dad would be interested in someone as powerful as Jurou. (She also works together with her uncle, who ends up becoming Jurou's love interest lol)

She loves her dad dearly, but he's somewhat gone off the deep end after what happened to his wife/her mother; he's not coping with her condition well, burying himself in his dangerous and important work, which has started to erode his moral code. As a result, Ava feels the need to protect others from her dad's worse tendencies. (Ava has some of these personality traits from her dad, where she has the capability to be somewhat manipulative and occasionally struggles with empathy. Unlike her dad though, she is self-aware of this and actively works on not giving in on her worse impulses, and will let her friends/BF/Family call her out on it and listen)

I guess I can also list couple of fun facts:

Ava's design took me SO long to get into a place where I liked it. This is kind of typical for me with ladies for some reason, but once I did manage to create something I loved, she quickly became one of my favorite characters.

Ava has a couple of friend groups; 1. the day-to-day one with her coworker and friend Claude, as well as their boss' adoptive son (and Claude's BF) Caelan. 2. Her "sneaky action" group which includes both the former and current right hand woman of her dad, Marci and Aimi. (Typically ones she goes to, when she wants to meddle into her dad's business, or alternatively do something more dangerous lol) 3. Her Girl Bestie, Taiga (A kitsune, works at a hair salon she often goes to, they do girls night hangouts)

Ava is Demiromantic/Demisexual, she basically had no interest in either until she met Roman and slowly developed feelings for him. (She was actually kind of worried her dominant personality would be off-putting to him given his history, but they had a honest talk about it and he basically didn't mind because she tries her best to be the best version of herself despite her mental hiccups)

Ava is NOT good with kids, she has no proper patience to deal with them, and tends to be awkward around children. That being said she tends to try and be a good role model to the ones she has around her in her day-to-day life (namely her boss Jurou's daughter, who's a huge fan of hers lol).

Ava has a lightning bolt tattoo (not shown on the images above, given they are timed before she got it) designed for her by Roman. She basically appeared suddenly in his life like a 'lightning from clear skies' and completely changed things for him, gave him a chance to built the kind of life he'd actually want to live, instead of being forced to work for a criminal.

This got kinda long, but that's what happens when you get asked about your characters I suppose lmao

[liamlawsonlesbian]

who are the lovely ladies in ur header? i know one of them is probably judi dench...?

thanks for asking, anon!! <33

yes, that’s Judi Dench on the right! Maggie Smith is on the left! It’s a still from A Room With A View (1985)

there are a few reasons it’s my header: (1) spiritually, I am always sitting in a field in Italy gossiping; (2) my ao3 pfp is Helena Bonham Carter in the same movie and I like the consistency; (3) A Room With A View is my culture as an anglophile Italian-American; (4) A Room With A View as my culture as a gay person who loves other people’s drama (based on a novel by a closeted author, v queer coded, movie made by toxic messy gay couple for the ages Merchant-Ivory); (5) @inejschumacher hilariously pointed out a bit ago that at a glance the ladies look a bit like Charles and George (and made me a very funny edit I should bring back) and that made my commitment to the header all the stronger

tldr; watch A Room With A View, movie of all time

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea

Chapter 20: An Explosive Conclusion

The storm raged, blizzard descending by the minute, but even that wasn't enough to cow Lady Dimitrescu. She mutated, and in a few wingbeats, she, Rose, and Donna had sailed from the ruined crags of her castle and onto the far side of the crater Chris's bomb had bitten from the earth, onto the cliffside overlooking the factory itself.

The great stone bridge leading to Heisenberg's factory was crumbling away, overgrown with yet more of Miranda's calcified tentacles, bursting upward to wind around and over the bridge as if to pull it down into the ravine below. Far down, a river raged, bursting its banks; the freezing spray whipped Rose's cheeks as she strode over the bridge, Donna at her back, Dimitrescu once again in her humanoid form.

Around them loped lycans. Moreau's lycans. It was uncanny to see them there, clambering over the tentacles and ancient stones with ease, snarls and weird howls and other vocalizations filling the wind as they signaled to one another, not attacking, but...guarding. Guarding her, guarding Donna and Dimitrescu.

Her control over them, through Moreau, was a flexing tension, an omnipresent pressure in her mind.

A web.

A network.

Branching, like the roots of some great fungal colony growing, stealthily, belowground. How the hell had she done it? Easily, she told herself. As easily as she'd taken control of Heisenberg when she was just a baby, stealing his power away from him at her whim. As easily as she'd slithered into that BSAA commando's head, had killed him almost without thinking, had invaded the Embryo creature's mind to read it like a bar code.

Her mouth tasted bitter. She shook her head, shook off the pressure. But it was always there, always growing. A matrix of paths in her mind, pathways of glistening black. Blood vessels, rivers. Chains.

This is who you were meant to be. Special child. Holy child. Don't you understand?

More lycans filled the ravine and the darkening landscape of the village, the sky growing more and more begloomed by the moment as night set in. Their torches glowed in the darkness, a sweep of guttering points of firelight filling the shadows.

The lycans' yelps and howls rose into the sky, fading as Rose and the others crossed the bridge, toward the factory looming beyond. Its myriad chimneys poured black smoke, underlit with a dull red glow that must have been a furnace going at full blast.

Rose surveyed the field of dead grass past the factory gates, filled with heaps of rust that must have once been pieces of Heisenberg's experiments, the junk of decades cast-off when they proved unusable for his grand ambitions of murder and freedom.

No sign of Ouroboros out there. Had they infiltrated the factory? But then why turn it on, if their aim was stealth?

Something was wrong, here. Very wrong. She should be cautious, approach this from a smarter angle.

She didn't want to approach this from a smarter angle. She wanted this to end. Now. Tonight. In blood and tears, if possible.

One of the lycans snarled, scrambling to the parapet beside her. Rose turned. "Stay back." She sensed Moreau's feeble attempts to gain control of them. "Stay back."

It rounded on her, fangs glistening. Rose stared up at the monster; it snapped, then, with a shudder through its whole body, it backed off. Head lowered, it climbed down the side of the bridge, joining the others thronging all down the cliffside.

Rose let out her breath, then glanced at Donna, just behind her. Her expression was impossible to gauge under her veil, but Rose felt her eyes on her, felt the weight of her regard.

Angie leaned in to whisper something to Donna, and Donna nodded, slowly, never taking her eyes from Rose.

I had to, Rose wanted to scream at her. Don't you get it? I had to. But Donna would never listen to that excuse. Donna had heard it before, and had only believed it then out of desperation. Now, it wouldn't cut it again.

Rose made herself look away from the pair, her throat tight, her eyes hot. No. She couldn't stop now. She couldn't look back now.

And if your mother's in there?

What then?

Mia Winters was a shadow. A memory of a memory. How many of those memories were of her, anyway? How many of the real Mia Winters, and not of Miranda? She'd been so young when Miranda had captured her mother, less than six months old. Miranda had impersonated Mia well, but in the end it was still her. By all rights, by all memory, Miranda was her mother, not Mia.

That will make this easy.

The main factory gates looked like something from one of the many cities Rose and Heisenberg had lived in over the years, fencing off a shipyard or scrap-heap. They were orange with rust, clanging in the icy wind, loops of razor wire strung over the top. Through them, the field was silent; nothing moved save that wind, save the ripple of the grass.

"Open it up," Rose told Dimitrescu.

The gates burst open with a slash of her talons. Rose stepped through; an alarm went off in the distance, a high wailing trill echoing from hidden speakers. She drew her sword, but there was nothing- no commands, no rattle of bullets. Huge pylon towers creaked in the oncoming blizzard. The rustle of grass sounded like whispers, a crowd of them surrounding her in the snow-mist.

Rose grit her teeth, her heartbeat ticking in her throat as she and the others stopped before the main entrance to the ramshackle old factory, big weathered barn doors held shut with a stout chain. This place didn't look like the sort to birth a corpse army, an endless stream of mechanical monstrosities. But, then again, neither did Heisenberg.

"Hey!" Rose shouted. "Ouroboros! You wanted me? Here I am!"

She lifted her hand, summoning a burst of mold that writhed from the grass like a nest of snakes. "Here we all are! You find my dad yet? You wanna come talk about it face to face?"

"Child," Dimitrescu muttered, her shoulders braced, her claws still unsheathed. Her eyes were narrowed as she surveyed the factory, chest rising and falling. Smelling something. "I do not think this is-"

"Come on!" Rose's voice rang off the factory doors. The mold roared higher, becoming a tentacled barrier circling her, round and round. "Are you in there, Mom? Come and get me! I'm here! I'm right here-"

A rumble sounded from within the doors; it cut off Rose, the noise increasing in strength as she stood, tense. A split appeared between the doors, darkness within; Rose braced, like Dimitrescu, waiting for gunfire, waiting to bring her mold up in a defensive wall and send it slashing outward, destroying everything and everyone it touched.

But there was nothing. No one. No one but two shadows standing in the cargo lift beyond.

Rose blinked.

Electricity arced and snapped, blue-white in the darkness.

Rose slashed out with her mold as shrapnel sliced toward her face; it pealed off the mold shield, going wide, embedding itself in the grass around her, where it smoked and sparked, still humming with power.

"What the fuck?" The voice echoed past the pulse of blood in her ears. "Dimitrescu? How the shit are you fuckin'-"

Rose choked, "Heisenberg?"

***

The mold fell.

He was there. He stood before her in the lift, his hands raised, shrapnel and old tools orbiting his upper body. He wore clothes identical to those she remembered from her childhood: trench coat streaked with grime and grease, hat, tanker boots, and all.

Lord Heisenberg, Rose thought, somewhere through the shock. He stared at her, squinting from behind his new round shades, as if she might not be real, as if he might still attack.

He didn't. He blinked. He opened his mouth.

It took a second before any sound came out.

"Kid?" he said.

"Heisenberg-" Rose stepped forward, heart pounding. "Wait- how- what happened to you? You...you blew up...on the Osiris-"

Her pulse shocked down to her fingertips, mingled relief and dread radiating through her with every beat. She wanted to rush to him, to spring into his arms, but she forced herself to stop a few yards off. "I thought you...I thought-"

"Can't kill me so easy, kid. I see you got some new friends." Rose saw him look at Donna, heard the faint hiss of Donna's exhale. His eyes moved on, traveling up and up. He scoffed at Dimitrescu. "No accounting for taste-"

"I might say the same," Dimitrescu said, her voice smooth and cold as glacial ice. "Though we both know you always did like the broken ones, didn't you?"

Her eyes settled on the shadow behind Heisenberg in the lift, head lowered, hands in fists. For a moment she thought she was looking at her own shadow. The way she stood; the tilt of the head, the shape of the face.

Cold twisted into her heart.

"Hey, Rose," her mother said.

Rose's blood sloshed in her ears. The cold drove deeper. She understood, then, with a dark, radiant thrill. It was all gonna be okay. Heisenberg must have escaped, must have figured out Rose would go back to the village, too, had taken Mia as a hostage and come here to meet her, knowing she would want her vengeance.

"You got her, Heisenberg. Nice job." She was stepping forward, lifting her hands, her mold rising, twining up her sword's blade to dull its gleam beneath rippling darkness. Kill her, she urged herself. Mia stared back at her, not pleading, but resolute. Strangely satisfied. She screwed up your life. Don't you want this to end?

She did. It would. "Get ready to die," she snarled. "You-"

Heisenberg grabbed her by the shoulder, stopping her short. Rose gave a small gasp; she set her weight against him, but he dug his fingers in.

"Get out of my way," Rose told him.

"No chance, kid."

She stared at him. He stared back, gray-green eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His face was stony, his aura of power vibrating through his grip on her.

"You're not-" Rose looked at Mia. "She's not- she's not your prisoner?"

"Not this time."

"Have you gone mad?" Dimitrescu strode toward them, a sneer of pure, dripping disdain on her face. "Kill the mortal and let's be done with this ridiculous little reunion. There are battles to be fought, unless you've lost your memories along with your mind."

"No can do, Alcina." His fingers bit into Rose's shoulder. He still hadn't looked away from her. "Plans have changed. There's a new bully in town."

"What," Dimitrescu enunciated, "Is that. Supposed. To mean."

"You can't be protecting her," Rose whispered. "You- you can't-"

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Listen to me, kid-"

"I did," Rose said. "For years. And you lied then. You kept the truth from me then."

"And look how well you're handling it now."

She ground her teeth together. "I never really knew you, did I? What you were. What you were capable of."

He glanced up at the other Lords. "I could say the same for you, kid. I'm curious. What do you think I'm capable of?"

"Not this. Not betraying me. Not betraying-" She shook her head, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "She make you a better offer or something? Ouroboros promise you the world? Is that what you always really wanted?"

"No. Fuck, Rose, just shut your damn mouth for once and listen-"

"I'm done with listening to you." Mold snaked around his hand and wrist, constricting down with all the force Rose could muster. Bone crackled; he yelped, releasing her. She twisted free of his grip. Mia stood before her, hands lowered, eyes on hers. She didn't move as Rose advanced, as she lifted the sword, to bring it down, to shear her in two-

Agony ripped through her. Rose screamed; the shard of shrapnel burst from her shoulder, tearing open the deltoid like a rotten orange. Her hand opened, grip strengthless. The sword spun away as her arm flopped to her side, wound spewing blood and mold.

She whirled on Heisenberg. His glasses shone blue, reflecting his lightning.

"Sorry, kid," he said.

Rose could barely breathe. White flashed through her nerves, even as warmth in her shoulder told her the flesh there was knitting back together, her arm usable again. Sickening, awful. Dimitrescu let out a resonant laugh, tossing back her head.

"You're such a fool, Heisenberg," she said. "I knew, even years ago, your little fatherly charade would crumble through your fingers. You're incapable of anything more than greed and-"

A massive gear sailed through the air and clocked her on the side of the head, so hard it sheared away part of her scalp and skull. Dimitrescu let out a howl, her upper body snapping back; she actually staggered. The wound poured blood, and she slapped a hand to it as it began to knit slowly back together, one burning golden eye staring down at Heisenberg with incandescent fury.

"Whoops!" Heisenberg said.

"You disgusting mongrel," Dimitrescu hissed. "You'll pay for that when I drain the life from your ridiculous little body."

Heisenberg splayed a hand. "Good to see you haven't changed a bit, Alci," he said, his voice weary.

With a crackle, a hum, a massive metal hammer welded together from scrap slapped into his palm. Dimitrescu's roar filled the air; she lunged, and when Heisenberg stepped to meet her, it was with an impact like a freight train.

Rose was blasted back, electricity crackling around her. She rolled, skidded, came up spitting grass.

The sky roiled with the reverberation of blow after blow. Dimitrescu cleaved out with her claws, and Heisenberg ducked each strike, weaving in to clash aside her talons with the hammer; sprays of sparks burst into the mist, illuminating it from within.

"You can't win, Heisenberg," Dimitrescu cried. "I was always stronger than you."

"Hah!" Heisenberg's grin flashed pale blue in the light from his electricity. "Keep dreaming, Alcina, might as well have something nice in your fucked-up little parody of a life!"

He smashed her next blow away, whirling the hammer round his head, bringing it down against Dimitrescu's breastplate with the crack of metal against- well, Rose didn't know what the armor was made from, it couldn't be metal if Heisenberg wasn't using it to his advantage.

Dimitrescu actually stumbled, shockwave ripping the grass from around her feet. Rose saw her wince of pain and remembered what she'd said about being hungry, about not having enough blood.

Oh, god.

Her regenerative powers were failing her. Was Heisenberg capable of killing her now? Would he do it if he had the chance? He'd stopped short of killing her before when he had the advantage, but- but now?

Now, Rose wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He brought a hand into the air. The nearest pile of junk around the field disintegrated with a crackle, soaring into the air; the scrap shot forward, stabbing into everywhere on Dimitrescu that was unprotected. She slashed away some of the shrapnel, but there was more and more, swarming her like a hive of angry wasps. Cuts appeared on her face and throat, dripping black fluid.

"More, Alci?" Heisenberg began to laugh. "You still the strongest? You still the biggest baddest bloodsucking bitch in town?"

Rose's eyes darted, frantic, to Donna. She stood still as a shadow, Angie in her arms. Rose sensed again Donna's regard.

Will you do it? Order her to attack, too?

Then she looked to Mia. Her mother was pressed against the elevator doorway, rigid, staring from Dimitrescu to Heisenberg and back again as they fought, as they tore one another to pieces. Heisenberg let out a strangled "Agh!" as Dimitrescu's claws snagged his torso; she screamed as he bashed her with the hammer. The ground was slick with blood and mutagen.

Mia's eyes were wide, bright. They flicked to Rose.

A jolt went through her.

A tide of memories.

A field, shimmering with sunlight. A little girl in a black dress. A carved wooden goat. The spiraling wolfsong in the night. Old books, and buried secrets, and a people crying out for salvation, save us, save us, bring it all back. Love, unbearable. Grief, unending. Nothing else mattered. And at its heart, as ever, the dark pit, the answers waiting within-

-This is always who you were meant to be-

Rose shuddered back into reality. Her mouth tasted of mold. She lifted her shaking hands, but they were flesh and bone, not white crystal. She'd seen- no, that couldn't be possible-

"Stop," she said. Her voice was dry, a bare whisper. She faced Heisenberg and Dimitrescu, still hammering on one another, blow after blow.

"Stop!" she yelled.

They didn't hear her; maybe they didn't care. She broke into a run, tearing her way through the waist-high grass and toward them. The hum of Heisenberg's power coursed through her head, singing in the backs of her teeth; she set her jaw and pushed on. Mold unfurled from around her as she ran, as she shoved her way between them, flinging up her arms.

A black wave of mold erupted around her. "Stop it now," Rose cried, facing Heisenberg, then Dimitrescu, her arms outstretched. "You'll kill each other! Don't you get it? That's what she'd want- stop it right now!"

Heisenberg's hammer, already on the downswing, shuddered to a halt inches from her face. Rose stared up at him, breathing hard.

"What are you doing, child?" Dimitrescu said.

Rose lowered her arms. "Making things right."

She glanced at her mother, still standing in the elevator.

"Something's wrong with her, isn't it?" Rose asked Heisenberg.

"Yeah." He inclined his head, expression unreadable beneath both his glasses and the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. Shouldering his massive hammer, he drew a short breath. "Should have heard me out, kid-"

"And you shouldn't have done a lot of things, either, so shut up." The mold fell into a slurry around her boots. "It's Miranda. Isn't it. She never really died. She's been waiting this whole time. Waiting for us."

"Waiting for you," Mia whispered.

She cut her eyes over to her mother. "Why?"

"I don't know. Just that...you're important. More than just her child. More than just little Eva." Heisenberg gave a violent shudder at the sound of the name, glove leather creaking as he gripped his hammer tighter. Mia's voice fell, low and grim as the echo from the bottom of a well. "The ceremony isn't over yet."

Rose glanced up at Heisenberg, then back to Mia, Dimitrescu, Donna, who had crept closer and now stood just outside the circle of flattened grass from the fight. Dimitrescu breathed hard; the cuts on her face were healing, but slowly, and under her poise Rose could tell she was flagging.

"You must have had a plan," Rose said quickly, facing Heisenberg. "You...you wouldn't have brought her here if-"

"Yeah, kid, I did, before you and the peanut gallery tromped in here and fucked it up."

"Well, excuse me," Rose muttered. "Will this plan of yours work?"

"Of course it will."

"Good. We-"

"Rosemary! R...Rosemary!"

Donna stepped aside as a shuddering, shambling shape emerged from the gloom, wheezing with every labored step. Moreau. He'd recovered some kind of clothes with which he'd swathed his heavily-mutated body, and from his limping gait, the pain in his eyes, Rose guessed it had taken a hell of a lot of effort to run here.

"Rosemary, it's...it's bad, it's really bad..." he managed, between breaths.

"What is it?"

"I...ohhh, oh, no, oh, no-" Moreau wailed.

He collapsed, all at once, green bile spewing from between his teeth; Dimitrescu scoffed, turning away with arms crossed, but Rose stepped in, bending to grab one clammy arm, keep him from going down all the way.

His goggle eyes slid to face her. There was suspicion, there, and fear. Little wonder. Worst, though, was a kind of sick reverence, an uncontrollable devotion. A fanatic's obsession with a cruel god, cowed by its power, chained to it by terror.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked, trying to make her voice gentle. She wasn't fooling anyone, not even Moreau.

"To the...southeast..." He pointed back the way he'd come. "I saw them. Big flying machines. I tried to hide, but...they saw me...they saw me and now they're coming!"

He pitched over and retched again, acid splattering the grass. Rose let him go and stepped back, heart pounding. She heard it, then, over the sound and overwhelming stomach acid-and-rotten fish reek of Moreau's illness, over her own pulse in her ears.

Chopper blades.

Close, and getting closer.

Searchlights burst over the rise, plunging down to sweep the field. The black shapes of helicopters filled the sky; Heisenberg lifted his hands, debris heaving itself into the air as he prepared to send it toward the Ouroboros helicopters, dash them from the air.

He never got the chance.

With a splitting, screeching detonation, a burst of flame rocketed from the lead chopper. It streaked through the dark sky, aimed straight toward the heart of the factory.

No- Rose thought, but there was nothing she could do.

An instant of silence-

Then, in a great, blazing fantail of yellow-white flames, the factory exploded. Another rocket followed the first, and another, hammering the factory, turning it in seconds to a pulsing core of molten metal and raging fire.

With a crumbling roar, one of the great smokestacks disintegrated, sloughing sideways into the heart of the flames, consumed in an instant.

"No!" Heisenberg roared. "My factory!"

A rocket cratered the field, mere yards from Heisenberg; he stood his ground, facing down the choppers.

"You'll pay for that!" he bellowed, scrap orbiting him faster, faster. A second rocket exploded, showering him with dirt and charred grass. He advanced with each word, broad shoulders lowered, hair lifted by the force of his power- "I'll tear you apart- feed you to the lycans- bring you back, do it again, and again, and again, until you get the fuckin' message-"

"Heisenberg, no." Rose plunged toward him, grabbing him by the arm before the next rocket blasted him into spare parts. "They'll kill you-"

"Hah! Let them try!"

"And they will," Rose pressed. "Until we're all dead. Is that what you want?"

"Get off me, kid."

"No!" she screamed, slamming her fist into his beefy deltoid. He faced her, then, staring down with eyes lit orange and gold by the flames. "I am not watching you die."

"Rosie-" he said.

"Don't you freaking dare Rosie me. It's your turn to listen now." She wound her fist into his coat, hanging on. Making him hear her. "I came here to save you. To save you. Get that? Now come with me before I kill you myself."

Still he strained against her. Still she felt his resistance, his rage, just below the surface, as ever. She felt all of it- the loss of his factory, a limb severed, something else of his torn away and destroyed. The churn of his power, ready to explode forth in its unstoppable magnetic warp, lay waste to the mortals that had invaded his one-time territory.

Mold twined from her hand, into him, into him. His pupils dilated, hard and fast, and it was easier this time, easier even than Moreau.

You listen to me, now.

Rose reached inside his head and took control.

Make him-

She yanked him, hard. They stumbled back together, collapsing behind a pile of metal scrap in a tangle of limbs. Seconds later the grass where they'd stood burst in a spray of flames and char, a hit that would have reduced them both to ash.

Above, the choppers circled round, banking away, out of even Heisenberg's range. The factory burned before them, a raging inferno fed on chemicals and gasoline and God knew what else, so hot Rose felt her hair begin to crisp.

Despite the heat she and Heisenberg stared at one another, numb and rigid, unable to move from their ungainly tangle on the ground.

"Fuck, Rose," he breathed. He climbed to his feet, ash raining from his coat. Around them the dry grass blazed with dozens of small fires. "What the hell was that?"

"I-" she began, following him up. Her control over him was gone again, retracted almost as soon as she'd reached into his mind and forced him to move his ass. "I saved your life-"

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it." He advanced on her, and despite everything, despite her relief at his being alive, despite all their years together, she backed off. The look in his eyes was a terrible thing. "What have you done? What the fuck have you done?"

Rose had no answer, no excuse.

The searchlights swung on, choppers now circling the village. A crackle came from the speakers mounted on the fence; the sound echoed from the village, too, transmitted over the entire archaic PA system, at last tearing Rose's focus away from Heisenberg.

"People of the village." The voice was cool, masculine, English, sending a chill through Rose. "Such as you are. You may know us, or you may not. The important matter is this. We are Ouroboros, and your valley houses something we want. The organization we represent is not a cruel one, nor wasteful. We recognize the plethora of scientific marvels contained within this single mountain valley, and don't want to destroy it like the recent, regrettable loss of House Heisenberg's ancestral factory. But if another such loss becomes necessary..."

The weighty pause rang out, crackling with static.

"Bring us the corpse of Ethan Winters, and the body of Mia Winters, dead or otherwise," the voice went on, "by sunrise, or we will be forced to take action. And this time, believe me. There will be no resurrections."

The speakers went silent. The roar of the flames grew higher, hotter; smaller explosions went off in the factory depths, rumbling under Rose's feet. She stared into the inferno, then turned to face the Four Lords before her.

Dimitrescu, bloodied and shaking with starvation. Moreau, staring up at her with that mixture of adulation and fear. Donna, silent and still; even Angie was unmoving. And, by her side once again, Heisenberg.

Rose found her sword in the grass. She picked it up and slid it home in its sheath on her back. Mia watched her, arms crossed, hugging herself. Rose watched her, too. Her mouth tasted bitter, ash and blood and mold.

"They're not gonna take it," she said.

She tore her gaze away from her mother's and searched the Lords' faces, one by one. "And we're not gonna give them anything. Not Ethan. Not my mother. Any protests?"

"None here," Heisenberg said. "Besides. Never did like lying down and taking it like a bitch." He winked at Mia. "Where's the fun in that?"

Mia gave him a dry smile.

"Is there a place we can go from here?" Rose asked, trying to pretend she hadn't seen that. Shit was weird. "Hide out?"

"I won't run and hide," Dimitrescu said. "Not again. Not from pathetic mortals and man-things such as those."

"We need to regroup. No point in fighting when you're dead on your feet," Rose told her. Dimitrescu drew her lips back from her teeth in a sneer, but didn't challenge her.

Rose's gut twisted. You were made for this, a voice whispered, deep, deep in her mind. Special child.

"I know a place," Donna said, softly.

Rose nodded. "Good. Then let's move." She stepped forward, the flames roaring at her back, the hellish, spark-filled wind off the burning factory whipping her hair in a pale storm around her face. "Once we're there, we figure out what the hell we're gonna do about Miranda-"

She lifted her head, facing the village below, swept with spotlights, its skies thrumming with the  incongruous throb of rotors.

Their village.

My village.

"Then," she went on, "we figure out a way to murder those Ouroboros bastards."

[ecle-c-tic]

blog header with the aesthetic of red roses and love letters for anon

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I hope you like it anon! Don't hesitate to reach out if you need hex codes to match things or if you want me to switch the writing/font. I assumed you're the mr. darcy anon so I used that!

I had some trouble putting these two ideas together nicely but I'm pleased with the outcome and I hope you like it! :)

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return of the king ecle-c-tic celebration 🎉 (now closed)

hehe you’re being tagged bc of this post:

@lady-ofmischief @whatmarisays @thislookinyoureyes @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @trinikins

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Hey, Miss Manners

Dear Miss Manners:

I applied for a job through a temp agency in a foreign, non-English-speaking country. I received a reply with the header “Hey Ian,” and the person also used English words completely without reason. So I responded that I do not like to be approached with that kind of language (“Hey”). He got in a hissy fit and called me rude and disrespectful. Later he sent me another email, this time with the header “Hi Ian.” I find it very rude and very unprofessional to be spoken to in that kind of language. I am not his drinking buddy. I worked for 20 years in 4- and 5-star hotels, and I would never even dream of greeting a guest with “Hey.” Any thoughts? Am I just too old?

Gentle Reader:

Maybe just too cantankerous?

Miss Manners does not care for false chumminess any more than you do.

But neither does she condone the rudeness of delivering unsolicited criticism — never mind the foolishness of doing so to a prospective employer.

Presumably, you are in no danger of getting that particular job.

But she worries about your plan to work in a foreign country when you are intolerant of differences in language usage.

That foreigner may well have thought that Americans liked to be addressed as he did.

It has become so commonplace that many of them must.

Dear Miss Manners: I am a woman member of a mostly male international wine society, and I enjoy tweaking the men’s noses. I can’t and won’t deny it. I’d very much like to buy some 18-button gloves, with the option to turn back the glove part. It would be delightful to turn to my table partner and ask him, in all sweet innocence, to help me unbutton the hand part of the glove. The problem is, I am having trouble finding the appropriate online search terms to use. It keeps giving me black gloves, but I want white kid. Might you have any advice on how to research vendors of such? P.S. I also like to whip out my pince-nez from my grandmother’s evening bag to read the table menu. Gentle Reader: You might find unused 18-button white kid gloves at flea markets. Fragile as they are, they were often stockpiled by ladies who might not have gotten around to using all of them. But they would be of little use in tweaking others if those others include some who know the manners to go with the gloves and could catch you in error. Above-the-elbow gloves (“button” refers to the length, as there are actual buttons only at the hand) are properly worn on occasions when the dress code is white tie, and such occasions hardly exist nowadays. And while you are right that the hand part is tucked back to leave the fingers bare when eating or drinking, no lady would ask a gentleman to fool with her clothing. As for the pince-nez, you have Miss Manners’ blessing, if you think having your nose pinched is worth it. Can’t you find a lorgnette?

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[jayhorsestar]

to ‘noel, re malpraxis at fire-squad level, lacking FEMA, the E.U. 2022, at RO ‘juneau kronstadt, fairy tale. JMB cleaning service ladies do task on parkway lot, sometimes things get lost or forgotten, and sometimes those three ladies ask for taking home things that look ‘stolen, lacking proper paper-trail. well civil code tells of the 100 EUR assumed deposit of luggage lost or forgotten at cab’s fare, upon reaching its destination. also the civil code assumes 100 EUR on clothing found onto a corpse unidentified yet found at a railway station on a bench. as JMB security, when cleaning services ladies be revealing fur coat chinchilla, that definitely above a merely 100 EUR a civil code on RO territory may provision as deemed normal, habitual. so they would not be able take at home a deserted fur coat, i should say even on a Shop Manager approval, nonetheless. JMB policy is deposit such lost smartphones over a six months long period, where Banking procedures may reveal 40 days continuous filming storage archives over the CCTV data trail. so if a gipsy kiddo five old present himself daily asking PAX for sweets and pocket cash, Shop Manager could escalate to Greek Owner at Athens and child be even deported into Athens at orphanage, becoming then a Greek married to a Greek orthodox woman and never ever attending shop floor during weekends, as such Italy and Greece are closed on over weekends, Mediterranean Sea derivatives. those approaches should be read under FEMA onto the USA. [A] this 2022 fire-squad ‘Barsa (sheep) land was called over a 911 112 Bomb search at Auchan Coresi park during month of July, same the Prosecutors and Judges legal vacation (failsafe resources only). was the Gendarmerie unit called in for the drill? nope. yet upon the amendments of 2013 over law 333 security services, by 2018 Gendarmerie units can be called as-well when 911 112 number used. Gendarmerie units work under certain secrecy credentials, so it be harder to see a similar email answer from a COLONEL at Gendarmerie level, such as the Fire-squad COLONEL office proven reply. both are Internal affairs Govt budget, none Army (MApN), FEMA practices reveal onto RO lands that exercises and DRILLs executed under mix commands may still remain lacking the Gendarmerie units which indeed as 2018 can be called in at 911 112. Auchan chain oversees Russia and perhaps Ukraine too, so it be coloring a MAP similarly to 2017 G4S Security services, later on Brinks onto RO. so my heart, Gendarmerie was never called in for such Bomb search DRILL this July 2022. [B] Selgros Ltd DRILL a week ago on Nov 7th, again four fire-squad engines, the Prosecutor (another ministry the Public ministry budget), a Sprinter Benz van for extra firemen personnel, couple ambulances. and the home grown team fast response force of privately managed firemen at Selgros srl (also present at Carrefour and wearing uniform overthere, being permanently employed not volunteered based extra cash at payslip salary Labor duties). my heart is Auchan also employs permanent squad on private shares yet Labor agreements, not invoicing third parties - see BGS Ltd three divisions at 2012 Bucharest, one ambulances plus donors, one calamity volunteers only, one security services and fast fleet task force w/ cash carry attributes, alike D.O. security 2005). [C] Jumbo DRILL executed couple days later on, also couple ambulances (town hall), the Prosecutor, the three fire-squad engines, assuming there Staircase lieutenant, pumps sergeant, tank of foam and water, namely (parkway lot included). this one was 10am orientated, not 2pm like Selgros, nor 4pm like Auchan, nor 2am like Prodlacta Inc MILK at 2020 where among the 15 vehicles the fire-squad showed, one was counter-terror jeep Isuzu. yet lacking Prosecutor and even lacking Town-Hall ambulances. [D] Prodlacta Inc MILK DRILL ammonia cloud was only a fire-squad single header lead by COLONEL himself, and none Prosecutors (no PAX), and no Town-Hall ambulances either (no PAX), only employees. and foreign affairs Moldova commis present living in_situ, btw, those 90 days no VISA, biometric passports same language spoken derivatives (sort of when California adopted Spanish as mother tongue too - and Moldova dropped RO as mother tongue 2018). again no Gendarmerie units called over the 911 112 and yet one could since 2017-2018. NO SRI INTEL either despite being a joint-venture persona, and foreign personnel on site. those operate a Nissan Terrano 2 counter-terror vehicle, dark olive mat color. so not an Isuzu pickup red color. [E] upon the fire DRILL, the malpraxis eval has led to JMB locking down all POS Gendarmerie silent alerts and remaining only private shares RSS Romanian Security Systems Inc attn, for fast response over HOLD UP procedures, and blue tie was reckoned over security in-house personnel thus PAX of same E.U. area just like Debenhams and BGS netiquette of Bucharest Baneasa 2012, ten years ago. JUMBO needed 10 years to reach into BGS netiquette. BGS was invoicing third party, JUMBO is homely growing its fellas. perhaps counter terror Gendarmerie vehicle is eventually a Black armored van of some brand, perhaps Renault. which of the above 2022 DRILLs revealed Colonel talking afterwards to barristers of Jumbo or Olympos, or Selgros or Auchan or Prodlacta. none such thing, and Gendarmerie units were cut off permanently, just like SRI protecting the USA embassy next to Intercontinental Hotel, were eventually replaced by BGS security humvies and later on moved out to Jollie-Ville Baneasa. where perhaps only USMC involved lately, no longer need of RO affairs whatsoever. m

[ladiescoded]

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