#the inspector's nephew

[flowerbloom-arts]

Some random doodles I made some time ago but haven't posted.

[writers-in-moominvalley]

Hrm...

[poirott]

Agatha Christie's 'Towards Zero' tv series: First Look

The BBC has released the first pictures of Towards Zero, based on the classic mystery by Agatha Christie.

England, 1936. After a scandalous celebrity divorce, Nevile Strange and his ex-wife Audrey make the unthinkable decision to spend a summer together at Gull's Point, their childhood home and the coastal estate of Nevile's aunt, Lady Tressilian.

With unfinished business between the former childhood sweethearts, plus the presence of Nevile's new wife Kay, tensions are running high. Add to this a long-suffering lady's companion, a mysterious gentleman's valet, an exiled cousin with a grudge, a venerable family lawyer, an inquisitive orphan and a French con man, and soon there will be murder. A troubled detective must rediscover his purpose to untangle a toxic web of jealousy, deceit and dysfunction. Can he solve the crime before another victim meets their death?

The new pictures give a first glimpse at Lady Tressilian (Anjelica Huston), Inspector Leach (Matthew Rhys) and British tennis star Nevile Strange (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) - seen in the pics with the two ladies in his life: ex-wife Audrey (Ella Lily Hyland) and new wife Kay (Mimi Keene). The series is also starring Clarke Peters as Mr. Treves, an old friend of Lady Tressilian, Anjana Vasan as Mary Aldin, another party guest caught up in this disastrous mess, Jack Farthing as suspect Thomas Royde, Jackie Clune (Motherland), Grace Doherty (Call the Midwife), Khalil Gharbia (Mary & George), and Adam Hugill (Sherwood).

Towards Zero is expected to premiere on the BBC over the 2024 holidays and arrive on BritBox in early 2025. It's been adapted for screen by BAFTA-nominated Rachel Bennette (NW) and directed by the Olivier Award-winning Sam Yates (Magpie).

Source: BBC, Agatha Christie Official Instagram - October 1 2024

[aquilacalvitium]

Rating classics I've read so far (because I'm bored and have been thinking about them)

An Inspector Calls: 4/10

UGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH I attended two different senior schools and as such had to read and study this book TWICE. Don't get me wrong, it's not bad. Not at all. I just got so sick of it! I didn't hate reading it, I wasn't lying my head on the desk wishing I could rip the pages out like I was when I had to read of Mice and Men. Don't be put off by my reaction, I do recommend it as an interesting and compelling who-dunnit type story. But I will never ever read this book again.

Frankenstein: 5/10

It was back in senior school (at least seven or eight years ago) so I don't remember much but it was the only book I was forced to read that I didn't actively hate (if I see a copy of of Mice and Men again I will scream) and started my interest in trying out some classics. Overall, not bad at all, happy I read it but wouldn't read again.

Treasure Island: 6/10

An underrated classic imo. Not half as action-packed as the incredible Disney movie Treasure Planet but still an enjoyable read. Not sure I'd pick it up again, but glad to have read regardless.

Jekyll and Hyde: 8/10

Genuinely really good and fun to read. Not too long so there isn't time for it to get slow and boring like most classics, and the characters are really intriguing and interesting to read about. One of the few classics I would actually pick up again!

The Magician's Nephew: 5/10

Enjoyable enough, certainly an odd story with rather bizarre events, but not really exciting enough to have stuck with me. Well, apart from the last few chapters anyway, which I won't spoil. Probably won't ever read again, I don't think my life or perspective have changed from reading it at all.

Black Beauty: 7/10

A very, very good read. It's simple and straight-forward with enough drama and action to be somewhat exciting, and has a satisfying and happy ending. May read again some day.

Currently working my way through-

Sherlock Holmes, A Study in Scarlet: 5/10

The first half of the novel held my attention like a fly stuck in honey. Very thrilling and intriguing! Unfortunately part two so far has taken such a departure from the story that I simply lost interest. I will continue some day, but I can foresee the next few chapters being quite a drag.

Dracula: 6/10

Very exciting! I was actually on the edge of my seat during some of it! It also has some truly disturbing and horrifying events which elicit no small reaction. Unfortunately it has the same issue as A Study in Scarlet, in that it suddenly took a massive departure from the established story and has become a drag to read. Once again, I will definitely return to it. I'm just praying the story picks up.

[jtownraindancer]

"You can trust us, Billy."

[hemulenish-hijinks]

The Inspector

An unorthodox reoccurring Hemulen originating from the comics and becoming a reoccurring character in most animated adaptations, rather than being characterized by his job or even as being rude, he is a goofy and well-meaning police inspector who is more interested in the care of his roses than policing the already often peaceful Moominvalley. Gender non-conforming in interests and characterized as either oblivious or downright kind, he may be the only policeman you'd want to get arrested by (he even cooks food for his prisoners!)

He is also one of the few major hemulens who has an on-screen romance with another character (the Mymble's daughter in the 90s series), though his queercoding and lack of interaction with her in the comics makes it very odd as an adaptation.

Henry

Being the Inspector's nephew, there really isn't much similarity between him and his uncle. A one-off major character in the comic The Inspector's Nephew and the animated adaptation of it in the 90s second series, Henry was called the black sheep of his family and indulged excessively in vices until an inspiring speech from his uncle's superintendent made him want to become a policeman, though he did so by hiring himself and becoming overzealous in emulating policemen from media.

In the animated adaptation, however, he's simply a recent hire who is desperately looking for a promotion to the rank of sargent by arresting as many people as he can much to the chagrin of his uncle.

[akirasarchives]

[00] Valuable Addition.

Summary: You wouldn’t say you’re in debt, but the dwindling money in your bank account is looking that way. Oh yeah, and a man in a suit won’t stop bothering you about playing a stupid child’s game.

— warnings: usual squid game behaviour, female reader

platonic squid game x reader, side romantic moments but it’s for the plot

[ 12TH, MONDAY, 08:47 ]

The subway station is busy. Businessmen, students and elderly passer-bys push past and shove into you as you stand clueless next to one of the big subway posters. Despite living in Seoul for so long, you barely know your way around and you’re at mercy to the beehive system. And it takes no prisoners.

You’ve been trying for the last 10 minutes to get the attention of anyone, but each person either ignores you or runs on to grab their train, but with each train passing your anxiety grows. It feels as if time has stopped around you as the vibrant chatter of people around you turns into mumbles and whispers as you attempt to understand the subway line. Even as you trace what you think is the blue line, it eventually turns into purple and now you’re on the other side of town!

With a heavy sigh, you turn to face the crowd once more. The crowd had thinned out in the last 10 minutes of your lone confusion and with a quick glance at your phone you see that it’s quickly approaching 9am.

It’s now or never.

“Excuse me, sir!” You tap the shoulder of the nearest well-dressed businessman. The man, seemingly in his 30s or early 40s turns and flashes you a charming smile. He dons a freshly pressed, steel grey suit made of soft, rich fabric. From a quick glance, you can tell the suit is made of expensive material as you spot tiny workings of the logo within the fabric itself. You feel as if you're staining the suit by touching it.

I just had to ask the good-looking one.

“May I help you?” He asks, using his free hand to smooth down his already wrinkle-free suit. His smile drops over time, yet he makes an effort to make it appear that it meets his eyes. Though, working in hospitality makes it easy to spot a false smile.

“I am sorry to bother you, but can you tell me which train takes me to Hannam-Dong?” You glance down at your phone. Foolishly, you forgot to check which train took you in the direction of the job interview you had scheduled today for a big company which would pretty much pay off the majority of your tuition fees in one wage. You practically burst into tears when the conductor told you that you purchased a ticket for the wrong line. The image of the money decreasing from your bank account due to a stupid purchase made you want to scream.

“Are there no ticket inspectors?” He hums, looking around. He looks around and almost comically turns in a circle before sighing. As if you couldn’t feel stupid enough for thinking you had to use a different line, the man in front of you had to make a theatrical out of it.

“I think it is this line.” He motions at the platform on the other side with the hand holding his expensive looking briefcase. You watch as it swings, seemingly empty.

“Thank you, sir!” You bow your head and smile, taking off before you finish the sentence. Soon enough you’re lost in the crowd again and hopefully not too late for the train.

[ 13TH, TUESDAY, 08:29 ]

Stupid nepotism. Yesterday, you arrived at the interview 10 minutes early despite the subway fiasco but you were informed that the role was filled that morning by an “experienced candidate who met the needs of the role”. Do you want to know who the candidate is? The CEOs nephew who just left high school and took a business class.

Now what? You’re at the same subway station waiting on the train to take you to your part-time cafe job 10 minutes away. Usually, you would walk it seeing as you don’t really like throwing away ₩1500 on a ticket that takes you 6 stops away but the torrential rain outside and your cheap umbrella were blocking you from walking 15 minutes.

The ticket crumbles in your hand as you fiddle with the flimsy paper. Maybe this was God’s sick way of telling you that you’re too ahead of yourself or that you’re destined to continue spending money that you don’t have. You trace over the price stamp, thinking over what you could’ve spent the money on.

Maybe a shitty cup of ramen?

“May I sit here?” A smooth voice breaks you from your trance. You glance up, straightening your posture. It’s the man from yesterday, gleaming down at you with the same formal smile. Again, it doesn’t reach his eyes yet you nod, shuffling to the right to allow him space on the bench.

“How was your interview?” He asks casually as he sets his briefcase beside him. He turns his back to you as he traces the cool metal edges of the case, popping it open with ease.

You gape, “How did you know I was going to an interview?”

“Well, you were dressed well and now you are in an apron. I assume you don’t go everywhere in a formal blazer.” He cracks open the briefcase as he casually explains. He’s weirdly observant, but his comment on the apron makes you glance down. Each wrinkle and subtle stain becomes more noticeable, but reminds you of each gruelling hour you put into the place. Each penny earned.

You can’t help but get lost in thought, barely processing as thick blue and red folded paper is passed into your eye-line.

“I am assuming you’re a café worker… That can’t pay much, no?” He motions at the cafe’s coffee bean logo on your black shirt. You nod, still dumbfounded by the paper squares.

His stare is so intense it leaves you a bit flustered so you naturally let out a nervous laugh, swapping your attention to the time on your phone. 10 minutes until your train...

“Um, no, I suppose not.” You reply, albeit awkwardly. He hums, satisfied with your late and short answer. Oddly, this is not one of the weirder conversations you’ve had at the subway station.

He shifts so that he’s facing you, “Let’s play a game, you know Ddakji, right?”

You glance between the paper and his face. He looks so sincere, but you can’t read his eyes. They’re deep, black almost and oddly… mischevious for a middle aged man. Honestly it’s quite disturbing.

“Each round you win, you’ll get ₩100,000. How about that?” The expression on your face coaxed him to continue. Perhaps you looked just as perplexed as you feel.

“Who are—“

“If I win, you pay with your body.”

… Is this man fucking crazy? You want to just leave the station but at the same time you’re so intrigued by what the fuck this man wants. Surely he has better things to do? Was he carrying the ddakji with him yesterday too?

The way he sits still as if he’s a mannequin is also quite disturbing. It’s as if he’s giving you time to process the question but you’re not debating the game, you’re debating just running out in the pouring rain.

“Well?”

“Railway line through Cheongpa-Dong is now boarding. Please board.”

You stand quickly, jolting the businessman with your speed.

“My train is here. Bye.”

[ 13TH, TUESDAY, 22:09 ]

The whole day the scenario played through your head. You were so caught up in thought that you burned yourself with the steamer and spent 10 minutes in the office running your hand until cool water. Even then, your mind wandered back.

It’s just so odd. You’ve never seen him before but now twice you’ve spoken to him. Has he always been there and it’s just more obvious now? Does he offer everyone this game? Is he following you? Does he know where you work?

You barely knew the time. Each drink passed by in seconds and each customer morphed into each other. Every time a man entered the shop in a suit, your heart pumped ferociously.

You can’t tell if you’re terrified of him or excited for the interaction. Maybe he’s just a fucking weirdo who walks around with ddakji in hopes of getting to slap people.

Plus, you could do with the money. Even if you win just one round, it could pay for your phone bill or electric meter.

The walk home isn’t exactly easy either. It’s dark and each corner turned, you’re expecting to see him waiting under a streetlight for you holding those red and blue squares.

“If I win, you pay with your body.”

Unbothered, he extends the squares towards you. It feels as if you’re sucked out of your body as you stare at him. Time slows and no one else is there. Did he just ask you to sleep with him? What in the world could that mean? Is this man a trafficker and he has his eyes set on you? The questions flurry through your brain in a span of mere seconds, yet you still feel the cool air pass over your skin as the train rails in beside you. Your hair falls into your eyesight as you gape at him.

“Well?” He motions towards the cards.

What in the fucking world.

[ 16TH, FRIDAY, 22:35 ]

The pile of unread emails grows in your inbox. Failure to attend lectures, the price increasing of your off campus housing, monthly payments that leave you with just under ₩145,000 to survive for a month. It’s unbearable. You’ve gotten used to the growl in your stomach and the lightheadedness that comes with the fatigue of hunger. Missing night outs with your friends, walking long distances until your feet ached and slaving away at work for nasty people while your eyes threatened to close. It’s all becoming a bit much, especially as your final year in University comes to a close.

The burn on your hand doesn’t help either. It’s right between the juncture of your thumb and index finger on your right hand and it aches when any sort of warmth meets it. You can’t afford to throw away money on soothing gels at the moment, so you bear with the pain. It’s already been a few days, so hopefully it disappears soon. You hope anyway.

Walking home in the dark used to scare you but as needs be, you’ve gotten used to it. Work looms over your head as your feet trudge through fallen leaves and debris kicked up by bikes and feet. The walk from work to home isn’t too bad, the area can be sketchy at times but you’ve learned to keep your head straight, don’t make eye contact and keep a hand on the box cutter you keep in your right side coat pocket.

Luckily, you’ve come across most of the same people. An older man always passes by, seemingly walking home from work and always flashes you a smile. A few students usually run by too and the occasional office worker. Most times however, it’s quiet.

Unlike tonight.

Faint sounds of slapping, cheering and grunting bounce off the walls of the buildings surrounding the dark streets. You can’t tell where it’s coming from, who it’s coming from or why but you prefer to keep it that way, but as you grow closer to a dimly lit side street, the noises become louder.

You sigh, hand grasping the box cutter. Your thumb presses onto the button, holding it steady in case you need to use it.

Keep your head straight, [y/n]. This doesn’t involve you.

You can’t help but flicker your eyes to your left as you walk past. A man lies cowering on the ground as he grasps his face with his hands. He’s whimpering, blabbing something to the taller, well-dressed man that hovers above him.

Is that the man from the subway station?

You quicken your pace. Your feet fall over each other as you attempt to walk away as naturally as possible, but you accidentally kick up some rocks as you scatter past. The suited man turns, casting his eyes on you. The pit in your stomach grows as you continue walking with urgency, daring not to look anyway but forward.

I am so fucked!

[ 22ND, THURSDAY, 12:09 ]

“Long-time, no see.” A shadow casts over your figure, effectively blocking your view of your phone screen. You glance up at the man that is effectively disturbing one of the only peaceful moments you’ve had lately.

He’s dressed in a black variant of the steel grey suit you saw the past couple times of meeting him, but he still carried the same stupid suitcase. You sigh, swiping your music app closed and locking your phone with a click as you use a hand to cover your eyes.

Always with the same fake smile.

“I don’t want to play your game, sir.” You try to reject as kindly as possible, but you’re kind of freaked out that he found you once more. He looks slightly disheveled, as if he’s been toying with his hair or the heat today had worn him down. Weirdly, he looks more human, though little emotion lingers behind his eyes.

“That’s unfortunate. I brought it with me.” He lifts his suitcase higher into view. You frown, glancing around at other patrons. You take the time to unplug your earphones from your ears as he seems to ground his feet into the pavement before you.

He’s hard to get rid of.

“You bring it everywhere with you.” You reply, a bit more harsh than you’d want to but he seems amused by it. Suddenly, the image of him hovering over the cowering man flashes in your head.

Don’t piss him off.

You grasp your iced coffee, ignoring how the condensation soaks your hand. The subtle clinking of the ice works to calm you down as your heart begins to race at the thought of being in the position of the cowering man.

“How did you—“

“Bread or lottery?”

You blink.

“What?”

He shakes his hands, “Bread or lottery?”

“I don’t want to choose.” He seems to hold back something as he sighs.

“No matter what you choose, nothing will happen.” He assures you.

He is determined.

“I won’t have to ‘pay with my body’?” You reiterate what he said at the station. He cocks a brow, but nods nonetheless. It’s odd, it’s the most emotion he’s ever shown and it’s because you threw his words back at him.

You don’t quite fancy the idea of taking food off of him, despite its packaging being intact, so you motion for the lottery ticket silently. He hands you it quickly, fetching a spare penny from his blazer pocket. His hand lingers on your own as he passes you the coin, causing you to stare at him. His lips curl at the corners and you feel as if you just fell into a trap.

“Go ahead.” He almost sings, shuffling to stand over you.

The weight of the coin in your hand is replaced by a ton of bricks. Since when do scratch cards look so intimidating?

The lapels of the salesman’s blazer graze against your back as he stares at the blue sheet with you. You’re effectively caged against the bench that you're sitting at as he extends over your left shoulder and rests against the table.

A shaky exhale passes your lips as you stare at the sheet. The coin shakes in your hold as you begin to scratch, revealing a seven.

“Just three sevens, easy, right?” He chimes in, leaning closer to your face. The smell of his clean, fresh and most likely expensive fragrance wafts past your nose, reminding you just how close he is.

Each scratch feels like it’s taking a lifetime to reveal, but you eventually reach a second seven. You dare to glance to your left, marvelling at how close he is. You can see each fine detail across this enigma of a man’s face. In the short few seconds, you notice his asymmetrical eyes, the whisper of facial hair around his mouth and the dark excitement lingering within his eyes.

Eventually, you scratch away the last box.

“Congratulations, Miss.” The salesman hums, as he stands back straight. The hand he used to rest against the table slips up your arm to press firmly against your shoulder.

You’re astonished. I won? Seriously?

“No way.” You whisper, staring at the sheet. ₩500,000! It’s not the largest amount offered in the lottery but it’s a damn good amount for you. You can pay off a bit more of your loans and maybe afford a half-decent meal tonight.

You barely take notice as the suited man lifts his briefcase once more, and turns to look back at the park. The homeless people he once targeted are still filing through the bread he stomped on and destroyed, bar the one he left over for you. He grasps it in his hands, mulling over his options.

“Excuse me!” He yells out, tossing the bread in the air and catching it. The small crowd of people scattered around the pile of bread and some passer-by’s stop.

You gape, staring at his back.

“You can thank this young lady here for the bread!” He tosses the bread into the pile of people with a sharp throw. You watch as the homeless crowd revenge against each other, shouting and yelling their demands for the food.

You stand from the table, slipping the winning sheet in your handbag and grasping your mostly melted coffee.

I should cash in and go home.

“Hey, did she win?” A gruff voice yells out. You freeze, staring at the businessman. Anyone with any sort of wit would say no, right?

“Of course.” He smiles, standing to the side so the crowd peeps a better view at you.

He’s just fed you to a pack of very hungry wolves.

You want to say something, but the sight of about 10 people suddenly rushing towards you causes the words to die in your throat. You clutch your bag strap and almost drop your coffee as you scramble over the bench you were sitting on.

However, a barrier is formed before you. The crowd stops, staring at the swinging briefcase that blocks their path to you.

“Hey! We deserve that money!”

“You deserve nothing.” The salesman spits back. The disheveled man looks astonished, glancing between you and your new bodyguard.

“You got your card and she got hers. Play fair, weren’t you taught that in school?”

The homeless man is visibly rattled, mumbling and spewing out insults.

“I am not the one who made that decision. You are the one who threw it away!” He shouts. Suddenly, he steps forward and swings his case out, causing the crowd to fall back. Some fall over themselves and create a domino for the ones at the front.

As he revels in the chaos he creates, he misses how you slip away into the crowd.

[ 25TH, SUNDAY, 10:57 ]

“Miss, I understand you are a student but I am also a landlord, I can only wait so long without payment.” Your landlady frowns as she stands outside your door. You scramble around, picking up the last remaining notes you earned from the lottery ticket.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Kwon! Please, take this ₩300,000 I have. I promise I will get you the rest on Friday! I get paid then!” You plead, passing the money into the woman’s hands. She’s quite frazzled, pulling back her hands as you grab them to slot the notes into. Usually, the money would come out of your bank account but you locked your card as you can’t afford for her to take the last of your money.

She splutters, backing up as the money falls to her feet. You scramble to pick up the notes.

“Miss, your rent is ₩900,000 a month. You missed out a part of last month too! Where did you get this money from?” She quizzes, watching as you recount your notes. She wasn’t wrong, you were short about ₩250,000 last month and you were damn lucky she let you off on it.

“I understand, please take this to cover some of the money I missed out on.” She takes the money, sighing as she flicks the notes between her fingers and passes you back ₩150,000. You try to refuse but she uses your previous tactic on yourself.

“Take this. Listen, my granddaughter is in a place like you so I understand, but you cannot keep living like this. What happened to your last job interview? You told me you would never be short on money again!”

Your gaze drops to the floor at this point. Again, you’re forced to remember how the opportunity was practically ripped from your hands before you had a chance to even try.

“He gave it to his nephew.” You reply.

Mrs. Kwon sighs, glancing at the other tenants' doors. None of the neighbours ever cause her as much trouble as you do, yet she finds it hard to evict you. Even now, you look like her granddaughter, defeated and at the mercy of the world.

“Just pay me what you can on Friday. I will give you until your graduation to sort this out, okay?” You nod, thanking her profusely.

Maybe I should play that game of ddakji…

[ 1ST, SATURDAY, 14:26 ]

“Are you crazy? Some man keeps asking you to play ddakji and you’re going to say yes?” Your coworker pales as he finishes mixing up some drinks. You nod, glancing back out at the glass doors. The café is quiet today despite the few regulars, so you find yourself able to fall into conversation with him quite easily.

“Ddakji?” Your other coworker, Junhee, pops her head out from the kitchen. You nod, expecting the same reaction from her but it never comes.

“I’m good at that. Try to hit it with the folded part down.” She smiles, popping back in.

“Hey! Why would you tell her to do that?” Yunho scolds, passing the drinks to the collection station. You can’t help but laugh as you round the corner to pass the cups to the customers. They are used to the usual bickering behind the counter so they pay no mind as the two talk back and forth. Most of your customers are students anyway, so they don’t care much as long as the drinks and food taste nice.

The fight continues into the night, even as Yunho is locking up and watching the shutters fall.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?” He offers, but both you and Junhee decline. Yunho is nice, almost a bit too nice so you don’t want to feel like you’re taking advantage of him.

“Me and [y/n] will walk home together. Thank you, though.” Junhee answers. Truthfully, she doesn’t live far from you but she is closer to the café than you are. You know she’s struggling a bit with rent too and you’ve both discussed the possibility of moving in together, but she is having trouble with her boyfriend so you don’t want to pry and become the main reason she leaves him. She hasn’t told you much but it is financial and she fears she may be pregnant.

As you fall into pace together, Junhee begins to wring her hands nervously. You know she’s holding out on telling you something as it’s the same thing she did before she told you what Myunggi did.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, glancing at her shorter fame. Despite her hair hanging over her eyes, you can see the worry spread across her face,

“Listen, [y/n], I played ddakji with the same man.” Junhee stops in her path. You pause. He had played with her?

“The businessman?” You ask, to which she eagerly nods.

You step closer, looking around nervously. “Did you pay with your body?”

“Yes. He slapped me.”

“He what?”

Junhee throws her head back, “I won every time, but the last round I missed. He slaps you if you fail to flip the ddakji!”

As concerned as you should be, it feels as if a lightbulb blinks above your head.

“So what you’re saying is that I just have to be good at ddakji?”

“What I’m saying is to be careful! He gave me this card too…” She fumbles in her bag, pulling out a cream card with a circle, square and triangle printed onto it. She flips it, displaying an address.

“He said to go there in 3 days. He didn’t really explain it much but he said there were still some spots open.”

[ 3RD, MONDAY, 23:07 ]

“I can’t believe my eyes.” He muses, “I almost think you’ve been looking for me.”

“And what if I was?” Defiantly, you meet his dark gaze. As long as Junhee was telling the truth and he was only going to slap you, it would be easy. It’s not like he’s going to knock your tooth out.

Hopefully.

“Give me the blue one.” You hold your right hand out, requesting the brightly coloured square. He fumbles with his suitcase as he attempts to not look as excited as he is.

He sets the red square face down onto the pavement. Yes, pavement. You caught the fucker as he was stalking down the back alleys near your house as he was probably on his way to find another player.

“You know, you’re one of the first to ask me to play.” He hums, watching as you steady your two feet. Truthfully, you never played ddakji but the guise of the game was nothing too hard to grasp. Plus, you practised a little in your house.

“Try to hit with the folded part down.”

Junhee’s word echo throughout your head as you fling the card down with a bit of force. As told, the red square flips round.

“You’re good. Here you go.” The businessman passes you ₩100,000., the first of the night.

[ 3RD, MONDAY, 23:18 ]

“Alright, last round. You have almost emptied me out.” He motions to his discarded case. The last ₩100,000 sits pretty, almost beaconing you to take it straight from its place. But, you must play fair right? Even the businessman thinks so as you remember back at the park when he fed you to the crowd and saved you at the same time.

“I’m starting to think you’re a lucky charm for me.” You laugh, taking the blue square from his hand. Since he showed up, you’ve started to notice a stronger cash flow and hopefully the card he’s bound to give you continues the lucky streak.

But, instead of laughing or seeming amused, he flashes you a sinister smirk. You stare as he fixes himself. He had long abandoned his blazer, instead opting to roll his sleeves up and really give the game his all seeing as you had won 5 rounds. You have to admit, his disheveled state wasn’t the worst sight to look at.

“I think I’m quite the opposite.” He replies, hands smoothing down his waistcoat. You try to shake off his reply as he’s most likely trying to throw you off your game.

Maybe I shouldn’t be playing ddakji in a dark alleyway with him. Alone. At 11pm.

Tearing your gaze away, you return to the form that has won you five rounds. Steady feet, steady arms and steady breathing aided you in your last rounds and it’s almost as if it’s become second nature to you.

The square leaves your hands in a flash and you don’t bother to look as you stand proudly. A large thwack jumps off of the brick walls surrounding you both as you stare at him with nothing but pride on your face.

But…

Why is he coming at me?

Within a flash, the man’s left arm swings into your peripheral and you squawk as you jump back, throwing your arms out to push him away. Your eyes clench closed as your heartbeat thumps so loudly, it sounds as if there’s drums in your ears.

“You dodged me. That’s not fair.” You stare incredulously. The speed at which he swung at you would’ve landed you on your ass in a second flat. Junhee never told you that. With a dumbfounded expression, you look to the ground.

I missed.

“You tried to punch me. What the fuck?” You scatter, grasping your bag from the ground. You don’t need that damn card, what the fuck was Junhee on about? Is she crazy? Why is she going to that place tomorrow?

“I told you. If you lose, you pay with your body.” He explains casually, as if he didn’t just try to send you to the e.r. “Plus, I was going to slap you.”

“You would’ve knocked my fucking tooth out!”

“It was your choice to play, now stand still for me.”

You step back as he steps forward. Like Hell you’re letting him lay his hands on you.

“I don’t like people who don’t play fair. Please don’t make me hate you after we had so much fun.” He stresses, caging you against the brick wall. Your eyes flicker around, attempting to find a way to slip out. But, he’s read your mind, kicking a nearby bin over on its side.

“I never agreed to you hurting me.” You retaliate, flinching as he brings his right hand to your left cheek. Your eyes clench once again, but the delicate touch of his hand makes you gasp.

What is he doing? Is he seriously caressing my cheek?

The dim light from the nearby street lamps cast a soft light across his features, softening his appearance. If you weren’t so goddamn scared for your life and it was a man 20 years younger, maybe you wouldn’t mind this.

This is a textbook murder. What the fuck have I done?

He sighs, his fingerprints tracing a light pattern across your cheek. Each touch tingles, reminding you of where he’s touched. It’s similar to how your ex boyfriends would hold and touch you. It’s wrong, so wrong.

How can I think of Haejo right now!?

But, that’s until he gets rougher. Soon, he’s manhandling your face, using his thumb and fingers to hold your face in place by your chin. You spew complaints, twisting your body and using your hands to attempt to push him away.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to not talk to strange men on the street?” He sneers, disliking how you’re gradually dislodging yourself from his grasp. You ignore him, focusing on punching, shoving and kicking. You’re so distracted you don’t notice how his hand drops from your chin until it hits you.

He hits you.

You’re yelping, falling and scraping against the brick wall as tears cloud your vision. You’re crumbling, falling into yourself as you cry fat tears. Your ears are ringing and your face feels hot to the touch.

I’m reporting this fucker to the police.

“Fuck you!” You shout, looking up at his figure. Suddenly, you are the man you saw a few weeks ago. He stands unwavering, almost enjoying your crouched form. You can barely see between your tears and clumped lashes and you’re almost one hundred percent sure your mascara has streaked across your eyes, but you don’t care. You’re so fucking angry and scared, you’re shaking as you look at him.

“You agreed to play.” He’s right, but so obnoxious about it. He crouches to meet your form, staring at you as if you’re nothing but a scrawny child or animal. You might as well be.

Suddenly, he flicks a card between his index and middle finger, dropping it into your lap. It clatters and lands on the dirty ground, but you recognise the shapes Junhee told you about.

“Go to the address tomorrow. You’ll be the most valuable addition yet.”

With that, he leaves.

masterlist

[everythingblackblack]

If Shinichi met Kuroba Kaito what would he think of him? Would he know of him from his mother (ignoring the cousins thing)? From Hakuba? Does he figure out he's Kid?

I think it depends a lot on the context, if there's no intervention from anyone, and we say that these two just meet on the street, Shinichi might think that Kaito is suspicious.

It's already been said that Shinichi has some kind of radar on KID, so it's likely that he senses it, but can't quite place it at first.

On the other hand, I feel that Kaito's internal dialogue would be "Damn, damn, he's here… I need to get out of here!", but of course, Shinichi wouldn't let him go that easily. __________________

It would definitely be fun if it was for his mother! I can see Shinichi arriving home, and then he sees a guy his age having tea with his mother in the garden, Yukiko makes the introductions: "This is Kaito Kuroba, he's basically my brother disciple, and he's also the son of my master, Toichi Kuroba, say hello to your uncle, Shinichi!" And on the other hand, Shinichi would start putting two and two together, Toichi Kuroba is a magician who passed away, master in the art of disguise, and he has a son his age, then he would shout… "You're Kaitou KID!" Then Yukiko would scold him because she doesn't want him to bother her guest. Kaito would joke that "I have a cute nephew now". _________________

Personally, I'm not a fan of Hakuba constantly pointing at Kaito as KID, so I don't think Hakuba would drag Shinichi around to get a second opinion on his prime suspect. Hakuba doesn't need it, and Kaito is his prey! He told him so himself! "Don't let anyone else catch you."

However, I think he would just enjoy the chaos happening around him, intervening slightly to divert Kudo's attention and annoy Kaito.

Hakuba will never confirm Shinichi's suspicions about Kaito, but he won't deny the obvious either. I imagine the following conversation:

"You've known him longer than I have, is he KID?"

Hakuba takes a sip from his cup of tea, falls silent, and ponders his answer.

"Inspector Nakamori said he suspected him once, but eventually withdrew the accusation because KID disguised himself as Aoko, certainly, using Kaito's face just to annoy Inspector Nakamori isn't that far-fetched."

Shinichi thinks about it and he's right, KID has disguised himself as Ran before to annoy him… Even himself!

There's something about the whole situation that doesn't sit right with him, but he decides to let it go for now.

I feel like Shinichi comes back to Hakuba later, saying things like "The guy is very suspicious" and Hakuba just thinks "I know" but doesn't say it and just asks "Well, do you have any evidence?", Shinichi replies "Just circumstantial", and Hakuba would say "That's not much use."

As Shinichi leaves, Kaito comes up behind him, but before he can say anything, Hakuba steps in front of him and says, "KID is my target, I won't share it, but in a heist I won't be so lenient."

"You're as creepy a detective as ever, but anyway, I don't care what you were talking about with that guy, Aoko wanted to treat you to dinner." Kaito feels very relieved even though he doesn't show it.

Kaito has animosity towards Hakuba, but Hakuba doesn't have those kinds of thoughts for him, so, I think if Shinichi were to intrude too much on his territory (outside of a heist), Hakuba would start investigating him, I imagine:

"You don't seem to come around Ekoda a lot?"

"I'm investigating a suspect."

"Now that you mention it, I think you're a bit suspicious."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me explain this another way. Don't you think it's suspicious that you disappeared for a whole year for a case and then had sporadic appearances here and there? The media says you were very focused on solving it, but it's strange… I don't think a case this complex would give you enough free time."

"The police can tell you, there's a whole file, and of course, I sometimes came to visit my friends and family."

"That's not what Hattori told me."

"I don't know where you're going with all this."

"I'm not interested in your secrets, but if you're intruding on my territory, I hope you're prepared for me to enter yours."

"Is that a threat?"

"A promise."

"All for a thief?"

"He's not just a thief, he's my secret to uncover, my puzzle to put together and I'm not going to share it, I won't stop your investigation, but I won't let you catch him either, I'm the only one who can catch him." __________ It wasn't intentional, but the writing has so many HakuKai vibes, I love Hakuba and he's so cool, I can't help but think of him as a mastermind who secretly loves chaos. I'm so sorry if this is so out of character, I got carried away.

[saintship]

Also, i forgot to write this on my request, but if u could, i would love it if the reader is a female, since i'm a girl :).

Summary: f!reader has a journal listing ‘imperfections’ and ‘perfections’, but one category is severely lacking. König & the 141 find this journal by accident. I edited the phone to a journal for the sake of the plot

A/N: I really hope you can find people in your life to confide in, body image is a beast

Cw: discussion of body image and esteem

König & 141 x f!reader - Perfections

Your view of your body was never straightforward, every day a different perspective, a different shift of blame. Some days ran smoother than others.

For the days that left you wishing to crawl out of your skin, it felt like your options were scarce.

You started writing.

The morning after New Year's; murmured goodbyes and pounding heads. You knew you'd be finding glitter in your hair for a week, but considered the night a success anyway. It was a silent victory to have celebrated as a host in the first place; it took confidence to house your closest friends and colleagues, let alone with alcohol involved.

Simon left first; he had woken before you and sent a sweet text before slipping out the door. Gaz and Johnny left together nearly clinging to each other for stability with quiet grumbles of their mysterious bruises. Konig rose heavily, his accent thicker with sleep when he hugged you goodbye and thanked you for the lovely night.

But John hadn't slept there; he'd stayed up past everyone along with you, helping you with the trash and streamers before sitting with you and just talking for hours. He told you about his family; his nieces and nephews that he missed so much, he told you how people like you are what allow him to bend and not break. But just before he left, he remarked he'd left his leather-bound notepad in the other room. He hadn't gotten to his feet before you were on your way to retrieve it for him, afraid that if you let him do another kind thing for you, you might start crying.

Carefully walking through the sleeping forms of your friends, you saw a faded journal on the desk that John had sat near for some of the party, retrieved it, and pulled a blanket over a shivering Simon before returning to the living room and seeing your Captain out the door.

It wasn’t until the first day back from your leave that you realized your mistake. You’d packed nearly everything to return to your on-base living space, but were tearing apart the apartment trying to find your journal. Images of an inspector or your landlord finding the pages where you’d laid your heart out flitted anxiously behind your eyes. That page. A neat T-chart you’d created on a whim, both to try a more organized method of expression, and to hide it all away on a physical copy. For yours eyes only.

One side, a list of attributes that kept you awake,

Stomach, thighs,

and also kept you in bed.

Voice -> too deep, cheeks,

A tangible admission.

The other half was meant to house what you did enjoy about yourself; the small things, the things you took solace in, the acts you did just because you knew it was the right thing to do. What you’re proud of.

But it only bore the marks of the times the ball of the pen had tapped the paper as you fidgeted. It was as empty as you felt when you tried to answer that question. ‘What do you like about yourself?’

Finally, beside the stand mixer, you saw a journal. But as you inspected it, it proved to not be yours. It was smaller, more pristine. Looking on the inside cover, your heart dropped.

J.P.

It had been days. He saw it. There was hardly any chance he hadn’t.

You sped on your way to the base, the horror and embarrassment feeling like fireworks being set off in your ribcage. You abandoned your luggage, first racing inside and impatiently tapping your FOB key to gain access to the office building and sprinting to his office, his rightful notepad in your hand.

Your heart pounded as you collected yourself enough to knock inconspicuously.

“It’s open.”

He was sitting in his mess of paperwork, one hand flipping through a folder in front of him while the other cradled a pen between his middle and forefinger.

“Bright and early, huh? You even moved back in yet?”

His eyes wavered briefly from what laid in front of him.

“Uh—no. No, I wanted to.. you left this.” You set down his notepad, your heart in your throat.

“Right.. got a bit switched up that night, didn’t ya?”

He reached into a drawer, handing you what was yours.

“Thanks. Can’t keep my head screwed on without writin’ shit down.”

You nodded, but still felt a tightness in your abdomen as you spoke.

“Did you happen to.. open this?” You faintly held up the journal.

His eyes flickered to you, then to the wall, then to his desk, his hand fidgeting uncomfortably.

“You should get settled in.”

You knew to accept his tone; the conversation was over.

The walk back to your car felt heavy, like you’d just been scolded by the principal. He hadn’t even done anything to criticize you, and yet you couldn’t shake the tension that stiffened your hand as you grasped the journal at your side. You shoved the journal between the tightened straps of a duffel bag, shouldering that and carrying the rest of your things to your room. Normally you would have one headphone in as you unpacked, taking breaks to visit with the people you hadn’t seen in weeks before wandering back into your space and setting up for another year of your service. But you’d gotten there early; you didn’t feel like music, you didn’t feel like turning the light on, you didn’t feel like doing anything. You opened your journal.

Stomach, thighs,

He’d crossed it.

Voice -> too deep, cheeks,

Why?

What was next to it seemed to release every tensed muscle in your concerned expression, an airy feeling rising in your head.

Perfections

Eyes like stars, soft cheeks

-K

Cute smile, soothing voice

-J.M.

Gorgeous face, stunning top to bottom

-K.G.

Body of a protector, mind of a friend

-S.R.

Wits of steel, feats of a mad woman

-J.P.

There were more, scattered down the page and into the next, the first column forgotten in a crashing sea of praising anecdotes, messages, and love.

Even if you couldn’t see the parts of yourself that were beautiful and important, they were still there.

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 2

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 1264

Masterlist

The following morning you woke up early and got the tube to Scotland Yard, where you were introduced to Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and his team. ‘This is Charlie Moore, they’ve been transferred from our department in Manchester to assist us with the rise in murders that seem to be connected.’ He looks at you and urges you to introduce yourself. ‘Ah yes of course. I’m Charlie, as DI Lestrade just said. I’m originally from Sussex but moved to Manchester for university and work. I look forward to working with all of you here in London.’ You flash them a small smile and stand up a little straighter.

Anderson immediately approaches you, Donnovan following closely behind. ‘Nice to meet you Charlie. I hope you’ll help us solve more of our own cases.’ The woman laughs at the man’s comment. ‘That’s why I’m here, yes.’ You’re already annoyed, there really wasn’t much going on in their heads. It is also clear that their affair is very much still going on. ‘Just a warning, Sherlock Holmes likes to come to our crime scenes and interrupt or take the case for himself. I recommend you stay away from him, he’s a bit of a freak.’ You take a sip of your coffee. ‘I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.’ The urge to make a snarky comment or deduce them on the spot was strong, yet you know you have to be nice, for now. You’re quiet as they start talking to each other and eventually you turn to leave and sit at your desk. Since it’s your first day, most of it is spent making sure all the ICT works, having your work phone and laptop set up and ready for you. About halfway through, you see Sherlock barging into Lestrade’s office. Of course, John follows behind. There’s some hand waving and what looks like a passionate speech from Sherlock about a case. Strategically, you decide it’s time for another cup of coffee. You straighten your shirt but leave your suit jacket draped over your chair. When Sherlock and John leave the office after a good few minutes of the DI and sociopath arguing, the doctor notices you. ‘Hi Charlie, how’s it going?’ Scanning over his form, you notice he’ll be going on a date tonight. ‘I’m well, thanks. How’s the case getting along?’ Sherlock interjects himself and answers before his friend can. ‘It’s going well. From the evidence it is quite easy to dissect that the uncle is the one that killed his nephew. Probably something to do with the inheritance of a relative. He tried to make it look like an accident though.’ You nod. It had been clear to you that that was the case when you first saw the pictures of the crime scene. ‘Quite a boring case for you then, is it not?’ John looks at you confused while Sherlock takes the opportunity to go on a tangent about which cases are interesting and which aren’t. To be fair, it is quite amusing seeing him talk so passionately. ‘Yes quite. These sort of cases are soooooooo normal nowadays, it’s almost expected to be some sort of familial issue when there’s a singular murder that doesn’t seem to be related to anything.’ John looks uncomfortable. ‘I suppose it’s only normal for that to be the case, Sherlock. Looking at the statistics most murders involve a family member or friend, they’re rarely ever random.’ You comment. ‘I know.’ He groans. ‘Well, it was nice talking to you two, I have to get back to work though.’ You see Donnovan and Anderson look at you weirdly from the corner of your eye. ‘I’ll see you two later.’ John offers you an understanding smile while Sherlock just continues talking to the other man without saying goodbye to you. It’s what you had expected, you will have to slowly have him get accustomed to your presence in his life for him to properly acknowledge you, but you know that he has noticed you and finds you somewhat interesting. From your desk, you see John eventually drags Sherlock outside and into a cab. Probably so the detective finally goes and has some food.  Quickly you get back to work.

You decided it’d be best if you stayed for a bit of overtime so you could actually make a start at your job. Due to having to wait for clearance for some things and for all the computer systems to work, you hadn’t been able to do much early in the day. Around half past seven you decide it’s time to leave. Putting on your black trenchcoat, you walk out with your briefcase in hand. As you start walking to the tube station, you see a sleek black car pull up next to you. ‘Charlie Moore.’ The window at the front seat has been opened a little bit. ‘There’s someone that wishes to talk to you, would you please get into the car?’ You nod, turn on your heel and enter the car. While you had predicted for Mycroft to approach you, this was sooner than you had expected. It excites you, but you don’t show it. You’re driven to an empty shipyard, where you’re instructed to get out of the car. A few metres from the car, you see a man holding an umbrella at his side. ‘Good evening sir.’ You greet him as you approach. ‘Good evening.’ He holds out his hand for you to shake it, and you do. His grip is firm, but not too firm. ‘Charlie Moore. But you already knew that of course.’ A faint smile creeps onto his face. ‘Now, how can I help you?’ Your inquiry seems to surprise him a bit as you retract your hand from his. ‘I noticed you moved in below the famed Sherlock Holmes.’ The way the man pronounced famed sounded quite sarcastic. ‘I barely know him, I only moved in yesterday.’ His eyes meet yours. They have a light bluish hue to them. He holds your gaze for longer than you’d predicted. Good, I’ve got his attention. ‘Yet you can still help me.’ He pauses momentarily. ‘See, I’m an interested party,’ everything seems to be going according to plan, ‘that is willing to pay a considerable sum of money on a regular basis in exchange of information.’ Running your hand through your hair, you act as if you’re thinking about it carefully. ‘And why, if I may ask, are you so interested in mister Holmes?’ Your demeanour stays professional and calculated as the conversation continues. He’s already met John and the possibility of him seeing you in or around Baker street is quite significant, so you’re hoping he reveals his own identity. Things will be easier that way. ‘I may be more inclined to help you if I know who I’m dealing with.’ He looks to be thinking, but you know he’s already made up his mind. ‘I’m Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother.’ His voice holds some disdain. You arch an eyebrow, clearly he doesn’t tend to deal with emotions. ‘Alright, I’ll keep an eye on him, here’s my card.’ You grab one of the cards Jim had Seb make for you and your new persona. ‘How often do you suppose would be optimal for us to meet?’ He glances at his assistant. ‘I think biweekly will suffice.’ You nod and shake his hand. ‘I shall keep that in mind. Feel free to phone or text me about our next appointment.’  As you walk back to the car you only think one thing:

The game is on.

[aita-blorbos]

(🐻 <- so i can find it later)

AITA for not being there for my son?

(AU stuff. cw for some dated language, alcoholism, and covering up child murder)

So I (M90) slept with my (M, hopefully deceased) business partner back in the late 60s, which resulted in a surprise child, as he was one of those transsexuals. This happened twice before he and his wife adopted a little boy- but that's neither here nor there. His eldest, who I'll call Eggs (M 50-ish) grew up just knowing me as a family friend/uncle, and my own two kids were like a niece and nephew to him.

Neither me or his father told him or his siblings (including my own children) the truth. I don't know if he even knows today.

But Eggs ended up going to prison for manslaughter- along with three of his other friends- and while he was doing his time, five children went missing at the establishment his father and I owned. I was the one who found them. And of course- I didn't want the police or health inspectors on our asses- so I buried the bodies out somewhere upstate.

It was only until later I found out his father had done it. Not just five children, though. He had killed my own daughter back in the late 70s.

I left the company after that and purposefully avoided Eggs- he was the spitting image of his father, I couldn't fucking stand to look at him.

Eventually both his father and later, Eggs, blip off my radar completely. I found his father at some point, the fucking bastard, left him to rot away in his own filth- never found Eggs.

Until last night.

I had gone down to the local bar in town (I'd been going there for longer than I can remember.) and I see a tall looking fellow sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender. Now- I'm not the social type- so I sat far away- but it didn't take too long for me to realize that- well- that's my son. He looked like he was fucking rotting, but I could tell by the accent (his father was an immigrant from London)

He really reminded me of his father- we used to go to that bar and drink until we'd get cut off, so we'd go and drink at home- and it was just a sorry sight.

He was only there for a few more minutes until this curly haired boy (he used to work for me) came and had to practically walk him out.

I told my sister about it- she really dug into me about it- insisting I was the asshole- that I had already abandoned one of my sons, but to ignore the other was fucked up of me.

So, TL;DR, i had a son with a man, kept it a secret, and refused to speak to him after i found out his father was a murderer- only to run into him decades later drinking himself into a stupor. My sister thinks I'm the asshole, but I don't think I am.

EDIT: I feel like it's important to mention that Eggs and the boy are married. They get on fine with the community. Plus, I doubt he would've been coherent enough to actually register if I told him anything or not.

[flowerbloom-arts]

Hemulgust day 24

He's trying to get that promotion! And being really bothersome about it!

[hoodedboy79]

Papers Please: Inspector

Based off of Ending 2: Where your family all dies.

=============

Everyone and everything was gone.

His job.

His apartment.

His friends.

His family.

Everything was gone, took away from him.

When did everything start going wrong? When did God turn their back on him? When did his country turn it's back on him?

Was it when he took pity on those sex workers and let them through even though they didn't have the correct documents?

Was it when that Kolechian man thrusted a bomb at him?

Was it when he didn't report the Ezic immediately?

Or was it when he let Sergiu die?

The man wasn't sure.

As he stared down at his hands, twirling the band around his finger that symbolised the commitment he made to the woman he loved many years ago, the man pondered to himself about what he did wrong. His mind endlessly racing over all the events, and mistakes, that transpired over the last few months during his role as the 'Inspector'.

He wishes he never took the job.

Now he was jobless, shackled and confined to a cell. His crime? Not keeping his family alive.

His son had been the first one to go. His malnourished body couldn't handle any more cold, hungry nights. The medicine did little to help the usually sickly boy and eventually they didn't even have that, the price had become too high.

Grovelling to Calensk followed, hoping the man could spare some of the medicine that he usually smuggled for his wife. He helped as much as he could at the time but in the end, it was pointless.

And Calensk was also gone now. He didn't know where and it was probably better that way. He prayed that Calensk and his wife were safe anyway, hopefully out of Arstotzka.

Then his mother in law went, the heartbreak of her grandson's death taking her fairly quick. Dying 'peacefully' in her sleep, tears of grief still stained on her cheeks.

His wife was inconsolable. Regret weighed heavily on his chest, not only for not being able to provide for his family enough to keep their son alive but for not being able to be there for his grieving wife.

And then she was gone too.

His uncle didn't last too long after her either, succumbing to the illness he contracted from one of the neighbours.

He was a failure as a husband, a father, a nephew, a son-in-law, an Inspector and even as an uncle.

His niece, who was put into his care after his sister was imprisoned, relied on him fully. His family's death along with her mother's absence left the poor girl traumatised and clinging to her uncle with everything she had, crying softly into his coat the night he returned to find his wife no longer with them. The small child tried her best to comfort her uncle but everything about that night was fuzzy, a memory the man would prefer to push down for the rest of his days.

Now with him also imprisoned, the fate of his niece remained unknown to him. The guards and ministers sat tight lipped as the man demanded to know what would become of the girl.

He was fully alone.

Even his friend, that youthful, lovestruck boy Sergiu that promised to protect him while he did his job, was gone. Blown up by a terrorist, the day after he finally got to meet the woman he loved in person too, gleefully recalling to the older man about how Elisa wished to name their first child after him, because she believed the Inspector to be a good man. Sergiu's excitement for his future and the family he was ready to build with Elisa cruelfully stripped away because the Inspector was too slow.

How many lives has he ruined over these few months?

He shudders at the thought.

He can still remember the cold tone that announced his newfound unemployment, his mind can't seem to remember the face that was speaking though, nor the faces of the guards who promptly seized him. The bruises on his arm from their iron-clad grip the only reminder they were ever there.

"Your entire family is gone."

"The Ministry Of Labor focuses on Arstotzka's future growth."

"Workers are expected to support large, healthy families."

"Your position will be filled with someone more appropriate."

"Glory to Arstotzka."

=============

Just a fairly short thing I wrote while in college, isn't the greatest but I love Papers Please and wanted to write something for it 🤷🏻‍♂️

[prettybillycore]

shot through the heart || ch.2 || billy hargrove x shelby!reader

Pairing(s): Shelby!Reader x Billy Hargrove, Minor Thomas Shelby x Grace Burgess

Universe: Peaky Blinders + Stranger Things

Summary: You, one of the younger members of the Shelby clan, are just trying to find your place in the world when suddenly you are shot. Instead of dying, you are flashed-forward in time to 1984 where you meet people who will change your life forever. Will you ever be able to return home? What caused you to time-travel in the first place?

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing

A/N: I can’t wait to see what you all think of the end of this chapter!!!

Read Below the Cut or on AO3

You were in the church lighting candles with Aunt Polly the first time you met Inspector Campbell. “A gentleman would take off his hat… and put out his pipe,” she said. She didn’t look up from her task of lighting her candles. 

You, however, did. You blew out the candle you were holding and looked over your shoulder at Inspector Campbell. “I see you only dare to come here when you know my brothers are away at the fair.”

“Ah yes, your brothers. With their guns and their razors? Is it them you're lighting candles for?” He asked. 

“We’re lighting candles for the boys from The Garrison who lost their lives in France,” Aunt Pol said, “There's a list there. Look.”

“I hear you didn’t make it to France, Inspector Campbell,” you taunted. Aunt Polly grinned. 

The inspector looked at you with a displeased expression. “You’ve heard of me,” he said, taking a step closer, “I think it’s unfair that I’ve not heard of you. I’ve only heard of Polly Gray and her nephews.”

You looked at Aunt Pol and then back at Inspector Campbell in shock, “I’m deeply offended. I’m only the most important member of the Shelby clan.”

Aunt Pol blew out the flame in her hand and smiled at the back of your head. She then wrapped her arms around your shoulders. “It’s definitely this one you should be on the lookout for. She’s smart as a whip and twice as devilish as my nephews some days.” You knew she was only kidding, but it still felt nice to be recognized as an essential member of the family. You sometimes felt overlooked, and Inspector Campbell having absolutely no idea who you were didn’t help that image you had of yourself. 

You looked at Inspector Campbell with a plastic grin. “My name’s Y/n. Y/n Shelby. I’m one of the siblings– between Finn and John.”

The inspector nodded and looked away from you and your aunt. He focused his attention ahead on the front of the church. He pushed open the gates and walked through them without another word to either of you. “Is it the Holy Grail you’re looking for?” Aunt Pol asked. 

“As a matter of fact, it is the Holy Grail I’m looking for,” the Inspector replied. His eyes were fixated on Aunt Polly. He began to walk toward the two of you. Pol put herself between you and the Inspector. “Something precious. Something stolen.” The Inspector took one of his hands and shoved Polly up against the wall. “Perhaps you know what I’m talking about.” His gaze was stern and low. 

Aunt Pol was always quick on her feet and thought of a plan to get herself out of that situation almost instantly. Aunt Pol leaned in and kissed the Inspector unexpectedly, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He pulled away from her and shot her a disgusted look. “Sorry, I misunderstood your intention when you pushed me against the wall.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter. Inspector Campbell used a piece of cloth to wipe his mouth before moving to let a team of coppers into the building. You weren’t raised in the Christian faith, but you still felt like them invading this holy space was vile and wrong. “Turn the place upside down,” Campbell spat. He then turned his attention back to you and your aunt. “Arthur Shelby said you people would help us.”

“How are we supposed to help if you won’t actually tell us anything about why you’re really here?” you asked.

Polly smiled at you again. “The girl has a point. If we don’t know what you’ve lost, how can we help you find it?” 

The Inspector ignored you both. “But I have found out subsequently that I was speaking to the wrong man. Next time, I want to talk to the boss.” The Inspector turned to leave. “Lickey Tea Rooms. Friday, ten o’clock. And when I say “the boss,” I mean Thomas.”

You watched Aunt Pol’s face closely. Her expression dimmed slightly as the Inspector left. “What could they possibly be searching for that’s so important? They are turning our poor city upside down, looking for it.”

Polly shook her head, “I don’t know, Y/n,” you were smart. You didn’t believe her when she said that. You were like her and Tommy in that way– you could always tell when someone was lying to you. However, for the time being, you decided to let it rest. “We’ll have to have a family meeting when the boys get back to town. Tommy won’t be pleased with the state of the city.”

You nodded. “That’s for sure. He won’t be happy when he sees the state of the local pubs and such. This copper is even more bad news than I thought he would be.”

| < ♥️ > |

“The coppers told everyone Arthur had agreed to it when he was arrested. They said the Peaky Blinders had cleared out to the fair to let them do it,” Aunt Pol said. Her tone was somewhere between scolding and informative.   

“I never said nothing to that copper about smashing up bloody houses,” Arthur fired back.

“All right. Which pubs did they do?” Tommy asked.

“The Guns, the Chains, the Marquis. All the ones that pay you to protect them. Only one they didn’t touch was the garrison. Make sure people think we were in on it. He’s smart, this copper,” Aunt Pol explained downly. “So go on. Drink your beer, get out. You’d better show people you are still the cocks of the walk.” Everyone began to stand up from the meeting. Tommy started saying something, but you weren’t paying him much attention. You were caught up in your own thoughts about what the copper could possibly want from your town, from your family that he would go to such great lengths to make your reputation go downhill. You were following Arthur and John out when you noticed Aunt Polly close the doors behind you. Usually you wouldn’t think much of this, but something in your gut told you Aunt Pol and Tommy in a room alone together right now was not good. You knew they would kill you if they caught you, but you couldn’t help yourself. After Arthur and John had long forgotten about you, you put your ear up to the door. Some of the men working gave you a funny look, but they dared not question you. You might be young, but you were still a Shelby. “So we both know what they were looking for,” Aunt Pol started. “You don’t read the papers.”

“Racing papers.”

“So let me tell you the odds. I reckon it’s three to one; there’ll be a revolution.” 

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“That copper’s betting on it,” you could make out the disapproval in Aunt Pol’s voice even through the door. “He’s not going to let it rest till he gets those guns back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Guns? What guns are they talking about?

“Did he talk to you, Pol?”

“Me and Y/n. In the church.”

“What did he know of our darling, Y/n?”

You smiled at the name. “Nothing.”

“Did he try to find our Ada?”

“She was sleeping,” Pol explained. 

“Where was she sleeping, Pol?” Tommy asked. You could feel your forehead and hands becoming sweaty. How does he already know something’s up with Ada’s love life? You decided then and there that it was best to back away from the door slowly. The wood of the floor creaked ever so slightly, and you held your breath, but the conversation in the room beyond the doors continued. 

| < ♥️ > |

Life was pretty quiet for a few days. You were quite saddened by the death of Tommy’s new horse, but your brothers did their best to cheer you up. They knew that you got attached to animals rather quickly, and this horse had been no exception. Tommy promised he would figure out a way to make it up to you since he knew you were so looking forward to riding his horse. One way he knew how to cheer you up was by letting Grace have her way with music at the garrison. Saturday night came around, and Tommy invited you to join him and your brothers. The patrons of the Garrison were singing loudly while you sat with your brothers. You smiled brightly as Grace came in to serve you all. “Did you want whiskey as well?” she asked.

“No. Just beer,” Tommy replied. You eyed him carefully. That was very out of character for him at this point in his life. Tommy pretty much always wanted Whiskey.   

“Why no whiskey, Tommy? Are you expecting trouble?” Arthur asked.

Tommy didn’t answer his brother. His attention turned to John, who spoke with a snicker in his voice. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, what the hell made you let them sing? They sound like they’re strangling cats out there.”

You stopped paying attention for a minute, getting lost in the sounds of the bar around you. That is until Arthur mentioned your dad. “Fast women and slow horses… will ruin your life.” For a moment, Tommy almost smiled. It was a pleasant thing to see your brothers happy again, but that was quickly ruined by someone pulling up outside. “Coppers?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Tommy answered.

“Is there any man here named Shelby?” A male voice you didn’t recognize called out. His words were followed by silence and then a gunshot. 

You covered your ears and gasped. Tommy shushed you quietly, briefly pulling you into his side. “Sal’right, Y/n.”

“I said, is there any man here named Shelby?” The voice repeated itself in a slightly more irritated tone.

“Stay here, Y/n,” Tommy whispered. He, Arthur, and John got up from the table you all had been sitting at and made their way out of the room. They shut the door behind them, but that didn’t stop you from trying to listen in to everything going on. “Harry, get these men a drink. Everyone else, go home!”  

You heard the noises of the pub clearing out and Grace pouring drinks. Then, you heard Grace set something down on a table, followed by Tommy’s voice: “You go home.”

“But Mr. Fenton said–”

“I said, go home.” You could hear Grace walking away. 

The man’s voice from early cut through the air like a knife, “I’ve never approved of women in pubs, but when they look like that…”

It made you sick to your stomach. He was gross; you could just feel it in your bones. “You said you wanted men called Shelby. You’ve got three of them,” Tommy said.

“I’d never heard of you. Then I did hear of you. Some little Diddicoy razor gang. I thought to myself, ‘So, what?’ But then you fuck me over. So now you have my undivided attention,” he paused, “By the way, which one am I talking to? Who’s the boss?”

“Well, I’m the oldest,” Arthur stated.

The man scoffed. “Clearly.”

“Are you laughing at my brother?” John asked. You knew that tone of voice. It was the tone he used when he was about ready to fight someone. You gulped and prayed that Tommy stepping in would help the situation and not hurt it. 

“Right, he’s the oldest; you’re the thickest. I’m told the boss is called Tommy, and I’m guessing that’s you, ‘cause you’re looking me up and down like I’m a fucking tart,” He spat. 

“I want to know what you want,” Tommy said.

“There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park. A horse called Monaghan Boy. He won by a length twice and then finished last with 3,000 pounds bet on him,” another voice replied. You didn’t recognize this voice either. It sounded softer and kinder than the other new voice in the room. 

“Which one am I talking to? Which one of you is the boss?” Tommy cooly questioned. He was playing with them. Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t feel like that was a smart move, but it was very much something Tommy liked to do. 

You couldn’t help yourself at this point in the conversation; you had to see what was going on out there. You carefully crept over to the door, turned the handle as quietly as you could, and cracked it. “I am Mr. Kimber’s adviser and accountant,” The softer voice, the man seated closer to you, said. 

“And I’m the fucking boss. Okay, right, end of parley. You fixed a race without my permission,” the man you had come to know as Billy Kimber shouted. He was standing now. “You fucking Gypsy scum–”

Without thinking, you swung the door open. “Fixed race or not, how dare you speak to my brothers that way.”

“Y/n–” Tommy tried to silence you. It didn’t work. Kimber’s goons had their guns pointed in your direction, but you tried not to let it bother you. You were a Shelby, after all. This was not the first time a gun had been pulled on you.

 “Now who the fuck is this?” Kimber asked. The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes trailed up and down your body, making your skin grow cold. “What did I just say about women in pubs?”

“She’s no one, Mr. Kimber,” Tommy said smoothly. “If we could get back to what we were discussing–” He was trying to remain calm, but you could tell just by the sound of his voice that he was deeply angry with you for stepping out of hiding. 

“Clearly, she’s someone if she’s been spying on our business talk.” He didn’t take his eyes off of you. He moved brashly, reaching out toward you without a second thought. His hand made contact with your bicep. His fingertips were clammy and slick with sweat. He yanked you from your position in the doorway. “Who do you think you are, whore? Speaking to me like that? I am Billy Kimber; I run the races!”

“I don’t care that you run the races. You said you wanted a man named Shelby; well, you’ve got three of them and one woman. You could be King bloody George for all I care. No one disrespects my brothers and gets away with it,” you fired back. There was rage behind your eyes. Unlike the first time you uttered the phrase ‘my brothers,’ Kimber seemed to understand now that you were in some way a Shelby. 

“You know, I thought you were quite pretty like that barmaid from earlier before you opened your big fucking mouth,” Kimber replied through gritted teeth. “It makes sense, though, of course, you’re a Shelby too. Anyone with that much courage and stupidity must be related to Tommy.” This is where things took a turn that you weren’t expecting. Kimber released his grip on your arm and, with all his might, shoved you to the floor. “I refuse to be spoken down to by a woman, especially a Shelby one at that. You filthy bitch.” You tried to catch yourself, but the skin on your hand ended up snagging on a rough piece of the wooden floor. It began to bleed as you lay on your side. Kimber kicked you in the stomach as he said those last three words. He turned his attention back to Tommy. That was when Tommy had enough. “Your whore sister is on my last nerve, and you fixed one of my races, so I’m going to have you shot against a post.”

Kimber turned to leave, but Tommy called after him. You saw Tommy toss something to him, but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. “Look at it,” your brother said. “That is my name in it. It’s from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees, Mr. Kimber, am I right?” Tommy knew he had Kimber hooked as he walked back toward the conversation. “The Lees are attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can’t control them. You need help.”

“Perhaps we should listen to what Mr. Shelby has to say before we make our decisions,” Kimber’s accountant said.  

“Right. The Lees are doing a lot of talking at the fairs. They have a lot of kin. They’re saying the race tracks are easy meat because the police are busy with strikes. Now, we have connections. We know how they operate. You have muscle. Together, we can beat them. Divided, maybe not,” Tommy explained. 

“Mr. Kimber, perhaps we should take some time for reflection, possibly make arrangements for a second meeting,” The accountant continued. 

“Before you knocked my little sister to the ground, I was prepared to say I admired you, Mr. Kimber. You started with nothing and built a legitimate business. It would almost be an honor to work with you, Mr. Kimber,” Tommy finished. You nearly laughed. If your hand didn’t hurt so bad, you might have. 

“Nobody works with me. People work for me,”  Kimber tossed. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and threw it on the floor. It landed a few inches from your face. “Pick it up, pikey.”

You saw John’s feet move, but Tommy hushed him. “Sit… Sit down.”

You made eye contact with Tommy as he picked up the coin. The look on his face was a mixture of worry and anger. You weren’t sure if the anger was directed at you or at Billy Kimber. “It’s for your ceiling.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kimber,” Tommy said politely as Kimber actually left this time.

“We will be at Cheltenham,” was the last thing the accountant said before he made his leave. 

“As will I,” Tommy replied. As soon as the coast was clear, Tommy sprung into action. He made his way around the table and wordlessly helped you up off the floor. 

“Jesus, Y/n. Are you alright?” John asked. 

You nodded. “Aside from a cut on my hand, I think I’m fine.”

Tommy quickly grabbed your hand and began looking over the injury. “John, go to the back of the bar and grab Harry’s first aid kit. I’ll patch up Y/n’s hand,” Tommy’s voice was even and low, but you could still feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I was just keeping our promise, Tommy,” you replied in a hushed tone. You did so almost so you wouldn’t spook a wild animal. 

It was years ago now, but you still remember it like it was yesterday—the day the boys were all drafted for the war. You were young then, barely 11 or 12, when the drafting officer came. You didn’t understand why they were taking all your brothers away from you, but it was breaking your heart. Your brothers were packing their things, and the officer was waiting in the doorway for them. “You can’t take all three,” you cried, “I won’t let you.”

The officer had a little bit of a heart and could see how much yours was breaking. “It’s not my choice, love. Your brothers have to fight for the king. Those are the rules. If I could, I would leave your family alone, trust me.” You didn’t know if he was saying that because he felt sorry for you or if it was because you were the Shelby clan. It didn’t really matter to you. John, Tommy, and Arthur were all being taken away from you for an unknown amount of time. You heard your brothers coming toward the doorway, and you used your body to block the way. 

You could see the sadness in Tommy’s eyes as he looked at you, “Y/n, we have to go.”

“But you can’t! What am I going to do without you here?”

“Aunt Pol is going to take great care of you; you always loved visiting her house,” Arthur chimed in. Tears began streaming down your face. You couldn’t hold them back any longer. 

“Now you’ve done it, Arthur, she’s cryin’,” John harped. 

“How was I supposed to know that’d make her cry?” He fired back.

“Hush it, the both of you,” Tommy said. He looked at his brothers briefly before focusing his attention on you. “We have to go, Y/n. We have to go fight for our country, but I promise you. We will come back. We will be a family again, but I need you to be strong for me, alright?” You nodded. “Thank you for standing up for us, but now it’s time for us to go.”

“I promise that I’ll keep standing up for you anytime you need it,” you said. You still had tears rolling down your face, but you stuck your pinkie out in front of you. 

Tommy knew what it meant without you saying anything, and he tossed you a soft smile as he gave you his pinkie. “And I will always look out for you.” Your fingers crossed, and you felt slightly better about the situation ahead. You still didn’t want your brothers to go, but at least they were promising to come back. 

Aunt Pol emerged from the depths of the house, followed by Ada. They both looked at you with sad expressions. “C’mon, Y/n, let the boys go,” Aunt Pol said. You looked up; you still weren’t ready for them to leave. 

“I don’t want them to go,” you said. 

Aunt Pol let out a long sigh and scooped you up from the doorway. You tried to worm your way out of her arms, but it was no use. She wasn’t going to let you go until the boys were long gone. 

“So you picked a fight with the Lees on purpose,” Arthur scolded, pulling you from your thoughts. “Tommy, we can’t mess with Billy fucking Kimber. Look what he did to our bloody sister.”

“Get yourself a decent haircut, man. We’re going to the races,” Tommy replied, taking a swig of the drink that Grace had originally poured for him. “And Y/n?”

“Yeah Tommy?”

“Next time we see Billy Kimber, you let me do all the talking, yeah?”

You smiled softly. “Not a chance in the world.”

-TO BE CONTINUED-

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TAGS: @tatumrileyslover @rubybinxx @haleypearce

[skruttet]

hiii seeing as you're a local moomin archivist, do you happen to have a count of which episodes from season 4 have direct adapted plot elements from the comics? i'm currently trying to sort them myself between original and adapted storylines, but unfortunately i'm not well-versed in the comics, and figured maybe you'd know a thing or two? (apologies if this is a bother you have full right to ignore this lol hdbfbgfkslc)

Well I've been more focused on the later Lars strips lately, so the ones D&Q have published (which will be the ones the writers used) aren't too fresh in my brain anymore 😅 Here's what I can think off the top of my head:

Ringmaster Brisk - Moomin and the Circus (mostly just the setting and animal rights theme, though)

Moomins and the Railway - Moomin and the Railway

Inspector Stinky - before the season came out, I assumed this one was loosely inspired by The Inspector's Nephew, and it maybe is?? they both involve a ne'er-do-well joining the force and using that power a little too willy-nilly to punish innocent creatures

Midsummer Meddling honestly reminds me of Spring in Moomin Valley, but that's not a D&Q published strip. It's still possible Sophia Jansson or someone on the production team brought it up buuut the similarity is probably just a coincidence

Moominmamma the Artist - Artists in Moominvalley

Song of the Groke - Moomin and the Vampire

Moominpappa and Aunt Jane - Moomin and Family Life (aunt jane's name & being sent the swear-words)

[writers-in-moominvalley]

The Length Of Almost Every Episode In The Moomin Comic Strip

The Moomin comic strip written and drawn by Tove Jansson, then written by Lars and drawn by Tove Jansson, then written and drawn by Lars Jansson, had a total of 73 distinct stories under its banner after a lifetime of 21 years, but how long are those individual stories, by strip number? If you want to find out, this post is for you!

Unfortunately unlike some Moomin fans I don't have every single story (especially the later ones) in my grubby little paws so I can't tell you the length of those, but if you happen to be one of those fans who do have those comics in their grubby little paws, please be a dear and tell me for how many strips those stories took to tell their truly wonderful stories of borderline illegal shenaniganary committed by the main characters, underbaked political commentary and benevolent racism (uhm. Just talking about Lars' writing choices there).

TOVE JANSSON/JANSSON COMICS

1. Moomin and the Brigands: 91

2. Moomin and Family Life: 68

3. Moomins on the Riviera: 85

4. Moomin's Desert Island: 74

5. Moomin Winter Follies: 82

6. Moominmamma's Maid: 82

7. Moomin Builds a House: 60

8. Moomin Begins a New Life: 62

9. Moomin Falls in Love: 51

10. Moomin Valley Turns Jungle: 65

11. Moomin and the Martians: 68

12. Moomin and the Sea: 101

13. Club Life in Moomin Valley: 61

14. Moomin Goes Wild West: 63

15. Snorkmaiden Goes Rococo: 52

16. The Conscientious Moomins: 81

17. Moomin and the Comet: 81

18. Moomin and the Golden Tail: 109

19. Moomin Winter: 97

20. Moomin Under Sail: 102

21. Fuddler's Courtship: 102

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Longest comic: Moomin and the Golden Tail (109 strips)

Shortest comic: Moomin Falls in Love (51 strips)

Total strip number: 1556 strips

Average length: ≈72 strips

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LARS JANSSON COMICS (published by Drawn & Quarterly)

1. Moomin's Lamp: 76

2. Moomin and the Railway: 79

3. Moominpappa and the Spies: 79

4. Moomin and the Circus: 80

5. Moomin the Colonist: 81

6. Moomin and the Scouts: 82

7. Moomin and the Farm: 80

8. Moomin and the Goldfields: 76

9. Moomin Family Robinson: 82

10. Artists in Moominvalley: 93

11. Sniff's Holiday Camp: 75

12. The Inspector's Nephew: 77

13. Damsel in Distress: 75

14. Fuddler and Married Life: 94

15. Sniff's Sports Shop: 75

16. Mymble's Diamond: 64

17. Moomin and the Vampire: 71

18. Moomin and the TV: 67

19. The Underdeveloped Moomins:95

20. Moomin and Aunt Jane: 96

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Longest comic: Moomin and Aunt Jane (96 strips)

Shortest comic: Mymble's Diamond (64 strips)

Total strip number: 1597 strips

Average length: ≈79 strips

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LARS JANSSON COMICS (NOT published by Drawn & Quarterly)

1. Moomin and the National Park: 76

2. Moomin and the Good Old Days: 80

3. Moomin's Pet: 94

4. Moomin the Private Eye: 89

5. Spring in Moomin Valley: 84

6. Moomin Rescues a Princess: 77

7. Moomin and Agent 008 ½: 95

8. Moomin Lives Dangerously: 89

9. Moomins in Torrellorca: 92

10. Snorkmaiden Crashes Society: 95

11. Moomins in Ancient Greece: 81

12. Sniff Goes Good: 84

13. Moomin the Journalist: 83

14. Moomin and the Orphans: 111

15. Sir Moomin: (Not Available Yet/NAY)

16. Horsey Moomin: (NAY)

17. Moomin and the Mermaid: (NAY)

18. Emancipated Moomins: 88

19. Moomin and the Radicals: (NAY)

20. Moomin Christmas: 85

21. Moomin in Ancient Egypt: (NAY)

22. Sniff Falls in Love: (NAY)

23. Moomin Engagement: 80

24. Moomin and the Flying Dutchman: (NAY)

25. Snorkmaiden the Seer: 94

26. Moomin and the Beach: (NAY)

27. Moomin Gets Rich: (NAY)

28. Moomin and the Guru: (NAY)

29. Moominpappa and Old Age: (NAY)

30. Moomins in Battle: 91

31. Moomin in Neander Valley: (NAY)

32. Moomin and the Ten Piggy Banks: (NAY)

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Longest comic: Moomin and the Orphans (111 strips)

Shortest comic: Moomin and the National Park (76 strips)

Total strip number: 1668 strips (excluding missing comics)

Average length: ≈88 strips

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TOTAL total strip number: 4821 strips (excluding missing strips)

Overall average length: ≈80 strips