#the setting she's in came from a dream and now its become a whole thing

[citrinafyre]

this is my oc ivory she is an angel :) (bottom is her true form)

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love. 

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway. 

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try. 

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door. 

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich. 

And right in the center of this mess is a figure. 

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes. 

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel. 

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips. 

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder. 

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

Wind chimes. 

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger. 

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection. 

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity. 

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind. 

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade. 

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years. 

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day. 

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude. 

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night. 

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy. 

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It’s written on your face.” 

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?” 

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi. 

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.” 

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“I warned you, filthy rat.” 

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all. 

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back. 

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.” 

She folds her long arms over her chest. 

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…” 

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi. 

“Then, do you recognize this person?” 

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight. 

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms. 

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-” 

“No!��� Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…” 

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.” 

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years. 

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.” 

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner. 

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep. 

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit. 

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-” 

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food. 

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray. 

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?” 

A sneer itches at his lips. 

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?” 

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.” 

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?” 

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.” 

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further. 

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…” 

A soft fog drapes over his expression. 

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-” 

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing. 

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing. 

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach. 

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him. 

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you. 

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips. 

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane. 

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?” 

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge. 

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!” 

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight. 

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of. 

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony. 

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.” 

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room. 

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway. 

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?” 

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless. 

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues. 

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!” 

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.” 

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.” 

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?” 

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue. 

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts. 

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such. 

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.” 

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her. 

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands. 

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!” 

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends. 

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!” 

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…” 

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?” 

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so. 

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots. 

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?” 

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.” 

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present. 

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…” 

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once. 

“Y/N…” 

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life. 

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits. 

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors. 

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield. 

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac. 

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?” 

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered. 

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail. 

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway. 

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets. 

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you. 

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches. 

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream. 

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal. 

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…” 

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air. 

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread. 

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers. 

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers. 

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water. 

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…” 

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…” 

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?” 

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh. 

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms. 

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…” 

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact. 

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…” 

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness. 

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?” 

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side. 

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.” 

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?” 

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you. 

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances. 

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.” 

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade. 

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone. 

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.” 

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?” 

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back. 

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder. 

“Is that so?” She further challenges. 

“’The fuck else would it mean?” 

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles. 

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand. 

“Search the grounds.” 

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump. 

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested. 

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars. 

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt. 

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace? 

“Oh… Hello there, little one…” 

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless. 

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?” 

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move. 

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast. 

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well. 

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee. 

“Violet…” 

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight. 

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!” 

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced. 

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics. 

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.” 

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?” 

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path. 

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side. 

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness. 

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence. 

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.” 

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair. 

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack. 

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.” 

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two! 

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.” 

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers! 

Vi’s voice perfuses next. 

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-” 

“Shut up!” 

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts. 

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise. 

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you. 

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been. 

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies. 

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes. 

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue. 

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation. 

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either. 

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued. 

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance. 

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-” 

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions. 

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.” 

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest. 

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.” 

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.” 

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle. 

“You…” 

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up. 

“Tastes like candy, I bet.” 

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching. 

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words. 

“Violet…” 

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all. 

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.” 

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck. 

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances. 

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action. 

“Sleep…” 

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe. 

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such. 

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.” 

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.” 

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty. 

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.” 

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of. 

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?” 

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[f1angelz]

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆 — charles leclerc x f!reader

summary: the F1 off season has begun and Charles has gone off to New York along with his fellow drivers to enjoy their break. Little did he know, he would encounter a familiar face.

content warnings: slight angst? (during flashbacks)

this fic is inspired by chase atlantic’s song, paradise. go give it a listen while reading!

── .✦

Flashing lights, big signs, and the night life— the city that never sleeps.

It’s the off season, which meant that drivers finally get to unwind and reset before the new season begun.

Charles, along with several other drivers, decided to come back to New York to enjoy its amenities once again like they did a few years back.

He was a bit hesitant at first, knowing that he had to leave his dog Leo, but his brother Arthur offered to take care of him for the mean time.

And now Charles is in his shared hotel room with Pierre, both resting as they waited for the night to come. Lando was going to DJ at some club tonight, and obviously they wanted to come and support him.

Night quickly came and Pierre woke up from his nap. Upon checking his phone, it was already 9 pm. He leaves bed and looks at Charles who has also fallen asleep. “Mate, it’s already 9. We have to get there at 10.” He gives Charles a small nudge on the shoulder, before going to the bathroom to change his clothes.

Charles groans, “Do we really have to go?”

“Do you want Lando to kick your ass?” Pierre shouts from the bathroom, his mouth filled with toothpaste.

Pierre exits the bathroom in his changed clothes, which meant it was Charles’ turn to go.

Danny and Lando were waiting for both of them, since they rented a limo for all their destinations in New York. Eventually, they were now complete and left for the club.

They arrived after around an hour later and line was already crazy long, but they were able to skip the wait since they were with Lando, who was the main act for the night.

The loud beats and dancing lazers welcomed them— Charles squinted, unable to adjust his eyesight immediately. The four of them made their way through the crowd, but Lando parted ways and went to the stage side, since his set was next.

The rest on the other hand, snaked their way out of the crowd and finally found the bar to get their ‘pre-game’ drinks.

Charles hasn’t gone clubbing in a hot minute, probably because ever since Leo came into his life it’s all that he’s been busy about aside from racing.

But it’s good to unwind your gears for a moment, right? It’s the main reason why they went on this boys trip.

All three of them suddenly turned their attention when Lando’s name was introduced by hypeman, making the crowd go wild.

Lando’s set began and the three of them made their way to the dance floor, but a security member was quick to pull them away from the crowd and towards the DJ’s booth.

To say the least, three of them were shocked. But Lando gave them a smug smirk, “See, told you that I’d make this night fun.” and he did.

The crowd grew larger and by the minute, alcohol was slowly taking its effect. Not a single thought was going into Charles’ head, it was like his body had a mind of its own. The adrenaline was rushing to his whole body, his view of the crowd hyping him up even more.

But not until he saw a familiar figure among the crowd.

That hair, those eyes, and those lips.

Charles practically froze, processing what he saw. Did he see things right? Or was it the alcohol?

—

“I swear, one day I’ll be working in New York pursuing my dreams of becoming an author.” Y/N proclaims, biting on her croissant as she watched the sun slowly rise.

“And when that happens, your face will be all over those fancy LED screens in Times Square.” Charles presses a kiss on her forehead.

“You’ll be there for me, right?” She looks up at him, waiting for an answer.

“You know I will, chérie.”

—

Pierre looked over to Charles, realizing that he stopped dancing and had a frozen look on his face. He nudged his shoulder, “Comment ça va?”

Charles jolted, snapping out of his flashback. “Yeah.”

He wished that it was the alcohol.

The rest of the night was a blur, and Charles woke up that afternoon with the worst hangover possible. He slowly peeled his eyes open and the light pooled his eyes, causing him to groan.

Pierre turns to his direction, “Afternoon to you, mate.”

Charles sits up slowly, “What time is it?”

“It’s 3 PM.” Pierre answers.

He groans and buries his face in his hands, taking a deep break before standing up slowly. Unable to keep his balance, he holds onto the wall for support.

“How’d we get home?” Charles asked, watching his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom.

“We called an Uber. You were so wasted last night, mate. You were drinking uncontrollably and talking about this girl. We didn’t understand who you were talking about, but you mentioned a name.” Pierre said while he filled up a glass with water, then handing it to Charles.

Charles, who was sipping from his glass, almost spat it out. “A name?”

“Yeah, I don’t remember what it was.”

Charles sighed.

He had an idea whose name he probably mentioned.

Charles shrugged and entered the bathroom to take a shower, getting rid of the remnants of the alcoholic scent that stuck to his skin.

Trying to puzzle the pieces of last night’s incident, something urged him to leave and find what would make his mind at ease.

Charles quickly changes his clothes and grabs his phone, coat, and wallet.

“I’m going out, mate. I’ll be back in a few hours. Maybe before dinner.”

Before Pierre could say anything, Charles was already out the door.

As soon as he left the hotel, he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know how where he was going to look for this peace he needed.

But one thing is for sure— it was bugging him, like a broken record.

So he walked around Times Square for a few minutes to see where his feet would lead him, looking at the different flashing billboards.

One billboard caught his eye.

He stopped his footsteps and saw the same girl from last night.

The same girl.

—

“Y/N, I’m sorry please. Forgive me.” Charles begged, clinging onto her arm. “Don’t leave me, please.”

“You always say sorry, Charles. But you never really are.” Y/N forcibly tries to pull him away from her arm, carrying her suitcase towards the door.

“Chèrie, please, I’ll do better.”

“God knows that I’ve been patient, and all you’ve done is hurt me over and over again. Charles, I’m so, so tired. Let me go.” She clicks open the door knob of Charles’ apartment, taking a step outside.

Charles cried, still trying to get a hold of her.

“Please.. Please, Y/N.” He sobbed.

“Goodbye, Charles.” She walked away and closed the door, leaving him devastated.

—

It was her, Y/N, on the billboard— advertising her book signing event for her New York Times best selling book which happened to be on the same day.

Charles quickly took a picture of the address and called for a cab, telling the driver the destination.

He didn’t know what to feel, or what to do.

But he needed to see her, even just a glimpse.

Charles arrived at the event and fell in line, despite it reaching almost the end of the block.

He checked his phone for the time, 4:15 PM. The signing starts at 4:30.

He waited for a while, nervous about their possible encounter.

A sudden commotion was heard from near the entrance, a limousine pulled up to the front and body guards were surrounding the vehicle.

A man opened the door and revealed a woman, dressed in heels and a pair of beige slacks along with a white button down polo.

It really was her.

Charles really couldn’t believe his eyes. The girl who once aspired to become a best-selling author, was now already one. All of their memories together in the past all flashed before him.

And she walks down,

I noticed that she does it for real now

Y/N waved at her fans and greeted some of them, walking along the barricaded line and taking some pictures.

He was nervous, was she even going to recognize him?

When she got to where Charles was, they immediately locked eyes.

She remembered who he was— and like Charles, all her memories came flashing back.

“Charl—“ Before she could even finish his name, a fan pulled her to take a picture. But she looked back at Charles once more, confirming if it really was him.

And she talks loud,

She’s telling me what I wanna hear now

Is it real now?

How do I know for sure?

Needless to say, Charles was speechless— and Y/N was too.

── .✦

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The thing about her musings on her youth in this album is not just about the spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately couldn’t give her what she thought they both wanted (family, but also in general sense the happiness you get when you’re young and your whole lives are ahead of you).

There’s SO much about her youth in general here, and how the demons of the past have raised and broken her. How each of these experiences have chipped away at her youth. This whole album is give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.

It’s all the things she’s talking about had are part of the same big trauma of the loss of that youth and innocence. It’s snakegate and how Kim K and her lackeys deliberately set out to destroy Taylor’s reputation for sport, which ripped out Taylor’s last few grasps of that young adulthood freedom without her consent. It’s mulling the price she’s paid for spending her entire youth in the spotlight and becoming a commodity instead of a person. It’s looking at a friend’s child and wishing she could protect them from the world the way she wishes she could have been had she known. It’s putting your trust in your first love who ripped the rug out from under you and your faith along with it. It’s spending your time pining for your younger days in the haze of unspeakable loss. It’s carving off parts of yourself as you grow up to make yourself palatable to your peers and your partners and as a result not knowing what parts of you are left. It’s revisiting a love from your past when you still had it all, and after the initial frenzy realizing its hollow. And yes, it’s pouring your heart and soul into a relationship you think is forever and with each passing year the light in the window flickering dimmer and dimmer, only to realize the light wasn’t coming from your home after all, and you may lose your chance to find it again before it’s too late and the dreams you so desperately cling to vanish for good.

And that’s what the end message I think ends up being in So High School: she’s reclaiming the land as it were. All these things that were taken from her and that she gave up are up for a redo. And it’s not rewriting the past, it’s coming to the realization that all those parts are still within her but so is the good. That the freedom she gave up when she released her first album is still found in the backseat of a boy’s car all these years later. That she’s older and wiser and battleworn but that doesn’t mean she can’t find that joy and lightness. “I feel so high school when I look at you” is kind of a loaded statement from someone who didn’t really get to go to high school (both actually and metaphorically). “Bittersweet sixteen suddenly” (love that wordplay btw) because again— she’s been through so much that the feelings of new love that make her giddy like a girl are tinged because she’s been here before and also never been here before because she was never that kid.

(There’s also a whole tangent there comparing Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince to So High School and how fraught the first is vs the lightness of this one.)

That’s why this isn’t just a breakup album. It’s why she dredges up 2016 and Jake and Aaron’s son and childhood and high school and any other number of things. Because she has spent her entire youth and adulthood grappling with the issues that came to roost in TTPD, and while this whole experience underscores that you can never know what’s going on with someone (least of all Taylor, a stranger to us all), I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that she has stressed how much healthier and whole she is now. That is why this whole album is a bloodletting, but it’s not just about a broken relationship. It’s about a whole belief system that has stolen girlhood from her and she’s determined to piece back together in the aftermath of the autopsy.

[noihavenosanitythanksforasking]

ableism in mha

okay so i was scrolling and i came across this post and it helped me reorganize a lot of thoughts ive been thinking sense i first started mha. ive always been not a fan of izuku getting ofa in the first place as it felt to me as it almost completely erased any meaning of his backstory. it felt like such a plot armor/mary sue moment but in the end i got over it, assuming that most likely he would loose it at one point (i was right but we'll get to that later).

after he enters UA its almost as if his entire past is just like- not important?? i have plenty of hcs about his suppressed trauma and if you read into a lot of the situations he goes thru in the manga i can see it but is not blatantly said/expressed that he struggles with a complex from how he was treated as a child.

in the end mha becomes a manga mostly focused on some sort of version of not judging a person by their cover. The fact that a technically "villainous" quirk does not make someone a bad person.

now ofc this is totally true. no one should be overlooked or declined rights or decency because of the quirk they have. this lesson is a valid one.

the analogy i have made up in my head is this.

people who are born with "hero-like" or "useful" quirks, for example: bakugou, todoroki, hawks etc are beautiful people

(for the context of this metaphor ignore the fact that beauty is complex and is in the eye of the beholder just roll with me)

and then you have the people with "useless" or average quirks that are just average people

and then you have people like toga or shinsou with quirks that are seen as inherently dangerous. quirks that are unable to be used for good. those are the ugly people.

now obviously we shouldnt discriminate people just because society says they are ugly. there is no doubt in that and it is a tragedy that it happened and still happens.

however

20% of the population cannot even fall onto this scale. the quirkless. aka the disabled. they are not even seen as being worth a label on the scale because they are so disgusting and strange that no one wants to remember yhey exist.

i wouldnt be as upset by the lack of talk about quirkless people if izuku wasnt quirkless, if the first arc of mha wasnt izuku struggling with the fact that no one in the world cares about him but his mom and that not even her believes he can achieve anything because of his disability.

the whole set up was izuku wanted to be a hero DESPITE his disability. even though truly he thought it was impossible. he didnt work out, he didnt try and do anything to become a hero because he believed everyone was right. that what society had been telling him his whole life was true and he couldnt be a hero. but he wanted to despite that. that was the hook of mha. at least for me.

a bullied lonely boy with a disability achieves his dream despite society. despite being told at every turn that he couldnt do it. he said he can and he does.

but thats not what happened at all.

instead some pillar of all that is heroic drops down from the sky and magically cures his disability. and suddenly hes just a normal kid.

and suddenly we forget all about midoriya izuku and how hard it is to be quirkless. how much quirkless people struggle. how many of them must commit suicide because of yhe seeming completely normalized harassment of them in everyday life.

and i dont want to blame izuku for this because in the end hes a kid with trauma who just wants to fit in. its frankly quite obvious that he whole heartedly agrees with bakugou and everyone else from his past that yeah quirkless people are useless.

the way he treated Melissa in the movie broke my heart. he belittled her like it was second nature and while he obviously had no malicious feelings toward her because of her quirklessness he sees her as a second class citizen. hes surprised that she is able to achieve things despite her disability. that she manages to be happy in a world where she isnt "normal".

and again in the long run i dont truly blame izuku for feeling this way. like everyone he is a product of his environment.

again, however:

i do blame horikoshi

do we need to be nicer to people with villainous quirks: yes ofc

but your manga isnt about that. your manga is about someone whose seen as even less than that. you can address both issues.

having bakugou break down about izuku becoming quirkless was good but that was pretty much all we got.

and what happenes when izuku looses ofa?? he gives up on being a hero.

how the hell does that make sense

everyone in japan knows this boys name. he is considered a top hero. and he just drops off the face the hero scene?

hatsume exists??? izukus face has been in her boobs TWICE for gods sake. yaoyorozu can make things out of thin and are they had to wait 8 years.

izuku is too smart to not think of that.

it would take hatsume 3 days max.

and ignoring that whole point again hori is pushing the idea that bakugou and everyone from aldera were CORRECT. that yeah u were right to think the quirkless of useless cause like they cant do anything :3c

izuku has had NO growth this whole manga. all hes learned is how to hit things how to kick things and awww kacchan sad :(((.

nothing about believing in himself. nothing about how he can be a hero despite the odds. nothing even about the power of friendship helping him to overcome.

im just like wtf hori.

[petorahs]

I would love to hear your thoughts about Sunday. (Please rant about him)

free reign to rant about my favorite character.... omg. I hope you know what you've just unleashed

first of all look at him. he is like a cat.

now where to begin...

I know what kinds of characters I like so I knew immediately that I was in for it when I first saw Sunday, "the most handsome man on Penacony!" with Robin in tow, who was his sister. for reference, characters with siblings almost always end up having my heart. for example Ayato is my favorite character in genshin, Arlecchino following close second. my affection for Aventurine rose drastically the moment I learnt he had a sister. found family Stellaron hunters makes my heart melt. I will always love sibling dynamics, characters who put their families first.

then his interaction with Aventurine happened. his questions were so very clearly a projection, not an interrogation. "Do you love your family more than yourself?" he was so clearly grieving. this is where Sunday starts to set apart from Ayato in my head. Sunday was more emotional and fraying at the seams than we ever saw Ayato throughout the story. he was a grieving brother who barely hides it. and... "Do you wish to destroy this world?". this is where Sunday starts to clearly set apart from Aventurine. Sunday would rather remake the world than destroy it.

and then. 2.2 - In Our Time happened. this is where I knew that he would become my obsession for months and months and months to come. it's where we saw his kindness, his bleeding heart, his pessimism on full display. his love for humanity - but never for himself. his evangelical themes, his Maruki persona 5-esque plan, his own grand orchestra, he himself being orchestrated like a puppet on strings. his Luciferic fall from grace.

...and being caught instead😭

this was so poignant i almost cried. idk like everything clicked here. s*icidal characters being caught (not saved) but held is so important to me. the light in their eyes dimming and the framing of the scene reminded me of how Scaramouche fell. and like how Aventurine held Kakavasha's hands.

PLUSSS sibling characters growing apart the older they get. Robin and Sunday arent that close in the present, that much is clear. they even fought before this. BUT SHE STILL CAUGHT HIM I JUST-- 😭 LIKE FUCK BRO I DIDNT EVEN THINK PENACONY AS A WHOLE WAS GOOD AT THE TIME NOR WAS I EVEN PLAYING HSR AT ALL I ONLY STARTED DURING JUNE 2024 but this still got me. it ended me. it just had everything i ever loved every theme i found dear and personal

also my favorite writing choice they did for Penacony was continuously mentioning Robin and Sunday's "paradise of our dreams" and the "promise" they made and how diametrically opposed they are despite both pursuing that vow, but... we only properly learn what it is at the end 😭

i. just cried at this i think. its such a simple wish but things went so far than Trustful Boy and Guileless Girl could have ever thought.

so that's the journey. ultimately i just came to the conclusion that this guy is just too cute for his own good and he wants the best for people he's never ever selfish or mean 😭 he's as loving as Elysia hi3 i think and his 7 rest days philosophy is just so cute of him.

he truly truly TRULY advocates for resting rather than having to work 9-5's, he would tell you to eat the extra dessert and to sleep in a little. HOWEVER. he would not extend this same leniency to himself. that is the duality and complexity of Sunday. (like look at this)

HE DOESNT RELY ON GODS!!! faithful church boy that he is, he denounced both Xipe AND Ena while still honoring THEM and he makes such good philosophical points and its just crazy that the trailblazers didnt really want to listen to him bc he was cooking. and regardless, he takes his fall with grace. GRACE!! he WANTED to be proven wrong he's just so reasonable and i love his faith and devotion and care and and and

as a kid he dissed the teacher that said little Robin's singing was bad. and then he ate an eggtart out of spite. THE LITTLE BIRDIE HAD SUCH AN ATTITUDE!! and he has piercings in his wings and metal choir in his boss theme of course he's a little alt.

i adore this side of him:

he just. needs to know that he's deserving of all the love in the world he desires for everyone else. i hope he doesnt put himself on such punishingly high standards anymore. i hope he learns more from Aventurine and takes more chances. i hope he gets his :3 smile back on his model.

i am so ill for this man.

also i think this message i sent to my friend after I saw Sunday's animations explains how i feel at all times. I got nothing to hide. (I'm sorry women) (NSFW text warning)

[lilibethdrawsreylo]

For my fellow Cullen-enjoyers, here's his POV from the first chapter of the fic I'm working on.

Water in the shaving bowl had frozen solid overnight. Over his years away from Ferelden, Cullen had forgotten how treacherous the weather in the mountains could be, even in spring. He’d have to see that his soldiers had extra heating runes to go between them, be it that Cullen himself was waking up drenched in sweat most mornings. He hadn’t touched lyrium since he came to command the late Divine’s forces and had a few months still before its song would become all-consuming. He only heard it in his dreams for now, boiling slowly like a frog. Foregoing the armor for a leather doublet for the time being, Cullen yanked aside the waxed flap of his tent. The camp under Haven’s logged walls remained quiet save for distant calls of watchmen, but the village’s lakeside gates were already ajar, with tavern folk going to-and-fro in preparation for the day’s first meal. Unnoticed without the steel and his red cloak, the Commander walked past bubbling cauldrons of barley tended to by yawning kitchen boys. He was soon stepping through snow that hadn’t yet been trampled on nor melted by bonfires. Cullen lowered himself to one knee near the lake shore, cupped the pristine snow in his ungloved hands, and put his face into it. For a blissful moment, the memory of lyrium’s blue humm was banished from his mind. He rubbed his palms down his cheeks as droplets of water trickled along his wrists. Before him, the black expanse of ice was starting to turn gray; as the dawn finally broke, he saw her. Cullen had watched her in the war room and when demons were falling from the sky, but it was like he’d never seen her before, the fine halo of hair aglow with the sun, blooming like a snowdrop between a fir’s raised roots. The Herald of Andraste. He understood it now. How he ended up near her, Maker knew, although those were Cullen’s boots that left tracks in the icy crust. He came to his senses upon approaching the lone tree she was sitting by, at the shore’s very edge. She’d been crying, Cullen could clearly tell, and now sat perched on a protruding root with her knees to her chest, letting the cold bite her reddened face. She gasped as she noticed his intrusion, and Cullen sighed to himself. Trust him to act like an oaf. “Forgive me, Lady Trevelyan,” he said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” “That’s alright,” she replied after a moment’s pause. “I was about to go back.” The lady looked up at him expectantly, and Cullen guessed to offer her his hand. He shivered when they touched. Were her fingers that chilled, or did his skin run too hot? As their hands parted again, Cullen reached for the clasp of his cloak—the cloak that was still in his tent. He… couldn’t very well present her with his doublet, could he? He wouldn’t dare. As they set out toward Haven, the lady kept her jaw tight lest her teeth begin to chatter.  “I thought I’d keep it to myself,” she eventually spoke, “but being called ‘Lady Trevelyan’ is about as odd as ‘Herald.’ My mother’s Lady Trevelyan.” “Oh. Lady Evelyn, then?” Cullen suggested, but she shook her head, small as a snowdrop beneath the green-tinged heavens. “I’d much rather just be Evelyn.”

As always, I plan to write the whole thing before posting to AO3. This one is most likely going to be long, so I can't tell when that will be - but I'm excited to share small excerpts here. :D

[zapreportsblog]

↱ a love that ignites ↰

➘ summary : Nobara Kugisak and her boyfriend are the it couple everyone dreams to be

➘ nobara kugisak x fem reader version

➘ Nobara Kugisak x male reader, jjk x reader

Nobara Kugisaki walked through the crowded halls of Jujutsu High, her confident stride catching the attention of everyone around her. Her striking beauty and fierce demeanor made her an unforgettable presence. But it wasn't just her appearance that drew the gaze of the students; it was her relationship with the enigmatic and charming (m/n) that had everyone talking.

(m/n) was the kind of guy who turned heads wherever he went. With his unruly hair and easy smile, he exuded an aura of casual confidence that intrigued and charmed everyone who crossed his path. Together, Nobara and (m/n) formed a couple that seemed almost unreal – like characters from a fairytale.

Their relationship had blossomed from a deep friendship, a connection that felt as if it was fated to be. They had met during their first year at Jujutsu High and quickly became inseparable. Nobara's fiery determination perfectly complemented (m/n)'s laid-back attitude, creating a harmonious balance that seemed to defy the odds.

Word of their relationship had spread like wildfire throughout the school. Students whispered about their sweet moments in between classes, stolen glances exchanged across the room, and the way their laughter could light up even the gloomiest of days. Nobara and (m/n) had become the epitome of the "it" couple – the kind of couple others looked up to and secretly envied.

Their chemistry was undeniable. Whether it was during training sessions, where they pushed each other to become better jujutsu sorcerers, or during quieter moments when they shared their dreams and fears, their bond only grew stronger. It was as if they were two halves of a whole, each complementing the other's strengths and weaknesses effortlessly.

But, of course, being the center of attention came with its fair share of challenges. Rumors circulated about their relationship, and jealousy reared its ugly head from time to time. Yet, through it all, Nobara and (m/n) remained steadfast in their love, unbothered by the noise around them. Their connection was unbreakable – a force that seemed to defy the odds.

As they walked hand in hand through the school courtyard, the sun setting in the distance, Nobara couldn't help but steal a glance at (m/n) and smile. Their journey had been far from ordinary, but it was uniquely theirs. The world may have idealized them as the perfect couple, but their love was real, imperfect, and utterly beautiful.

The vibrant autumn leaves rustled overhead as Nobara and (m/n) found a quiet spot under the shade of a sprawling cherry blossom tree. The soft petals that had fallen earlier added a touch of enchantment to their surroundings, mirroring the magic that seemed to follow them wherever they went.

Nobara leaned against the tree, her gaze fixed on (m/n) as he spoke animatedly about his latest jujutsu training session. She watched as his eyes lit up with passion, his hands gesturing in the air as he recounted his experiences. Her heart swelled with admiration for his dedication and the way he pursued his dreams with unwavering determination.

As he paused, catching his breath and giving her an expectant look, Nobara chuckled softly. "You're really something, you know that? Your enthusiasm is contagious."

(m/n) grinned, his warm eyes meeting hers. "Well, someone's gotta keep things interesting, right?"

She nudged him playfully, her smile a mix of fondness and teasing. "Don't get too cocky now. I think I'm doing a pretty good job of that myself."

Their laughter danced in the air, the melody of a relationship that was built on shared moments, mutual respect, and a genuine sense of camaraderie. They could be themselves around each other, embracing their quirks and idiosyncrasies without reservation.

As the conversation shifted to their plans for the weekend, Nobara found herself lost in thought. How had she gotten so lucky? To have found someone who not only understood her ambitions and fears but also encouraged her to embrace them fully. (m/n) had a way of making her feel like she was capable of conquering anything that came her way.

The setting sun cast a warm glow over their faces, creating an ethereal aura that seemed to encapsulate the essence of their relationship. Nobara turned to (m/n), her eyes searching his as she spoke softly, her voice carrying a weight of sincerity.

"You know, I've always been a bit of a firecracker. But with you, I've found my anchor. You ground me, (m/n). You make me believe in myself in a way that I never thought possible."

(m/n)'s gaze held hers, his expression tender and unwavering. "And you do the same for me, Nobara. You're like a flame that burns bright and fiercely. You remind me to keep pushing forward, to embrace life's challenges head-on."

Their fingers intertwined, a silent affirmation of the unspoken promises they had made to each other. They were partners, allies in a world that often felt chaotic and uncertain. Together, they navigated the ups and downs, finding strength in each other's presence.

As the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, (m/n) gently brushed a strand of hair away from Nobara's face. "No matter what comes our way, we'll face it together. That's a promise."

Nobara smiled, her heart fluttering with a mix of emotions. "Promise, huh? You better keep that one."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a testament to the depth of their connection, a reminder that their love was a constant, unwavering force that would stand the test of time.

And as they sat beneath the cherry blossom tree, the world around them faded into the background. In that moment, it was just Nobara and (m/n), two souls bound by a love that ignited their hearts and illuminated their path forward.

[schnitzelsemmerl]

A RtC fic, but Ocean votes for herself. Or she doesn't.

Karnak's loud voice boomed through all purgatory, "Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg. Your vote?"

Ocean stepped forward, nervous. The tension in the room was so thick it coud've been cut with a knife. The room waited in anticipation. There was the light. She could walk through. Into the living realm. Everything would be forgotten...or atleast she hoped so. Mischa glared, as did Noel, who whispered "Don't you mess this up", his voice laced with venom. Constance looked down at the floor, her hands resting in her lap. Ocean could see a single, small tear roll down her flushed cheeks. Ricky was next to Constance's right, patting her on the back in supportive manner. And Jane- no, that... freaky monster, was staring at Ocean with her black doll eyes, clutching her headless doll. No emotion behind her- no, its eyes.

Stay strong, Ocean. You can't feel empathy for them now. This is your chance. Your new shot at life. You could accomplish everything you dreamed of. Like becoming the prime minister of Canada. Setting an example. Bettering the world. Be known.

"Your vote, Miss Rosenberg?"

But what if you didn't choose yourself? What would happen then? Who would get your vote? Now that Ocean thought about it... she had never really thought about that. Every story had a lesson.. why didn't she ever listen to the others' stories?

Constance, who was obviously known as the nicest girl in town. But she was so much more. Constance loved to bake. She loved flowers, too. Especially tulips. She dyed her hair a different color every month. Ocean hated that. But what she'd give to be alive one more time. To see Constance alive too. One last time.

Noel, who was pretty much her frenemy. Yet despite all that, she... liked him. Not in a romantic sense. Not even in a platonic sense. She liked the way he saw the world. The way he sang. The way he was passionate about things that brought him joy. The way his handwriting looked like it came straight out of a love letter. Ocean hated the way she could never get away from Noel. And he hated that fact even more. But deep down... she'd do everything to be alive and bicker with him about something minor, something that didn't even matter, again.

Mischa, who was forced to join the choir. She honestly couldn't stand the way he'd start fights. The way he brushed his hair to make it stand up like that. But she grew to like it, for some weird reason. Ocean admired Mischa's passion. His hardworking nature, how he wasn't afraid to stand up for himself. He also stood up for her, he punched a girl from Ocean's AP Calc class who called her a prude. Her. Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg. He didn't have to. But he did it. For some ominous reason. She had to pick him. He had a whole fiancée to live for.

Ricky. The most creative person Ocean ever had the pleasure of meeting. He listened. He was creative, kind, a "cool dude", who was "madwickedawesome", as Mischa would say. Ocean missed how Ricky would always draw cats on the sheet music when they were supposed to be rehearsing. She missed how he would wear funky-colored sweaters every day. At one point, he owned about 20 different ones. She'd give everything to read Ricky's stories about Zolar one more time, despite being grossed out before. It was still weird to her. But strangely, she missed that.

And...her. The unidentified girl.

Ocean couldn't pick herself. No.

"Miss Rosenberg." Karnak spoke, interrupting Ocean's thoughts. "Time is running out."

Why did she ever take everything for granted?

The ominous novelty machine began to count, "10."

She didn’t deserve to come back to life.

"9."

Who should she pick?

"8."

It had to be someone else. And she needed to make that decision NOW.

"7."

They had to tell her story too.

"6."

They had to tell the choir's stories. She didn’t care if she would ever be remembered. But she couldn't let the others be forgotten.

"5."

Ocean wishes, she would've known this before.

"4."

She wishes she had known that there is no way to control who lives, who dies, and who tells one's story.

"3," Karnak's voice began to quiet down. The machine began to rattle.

Think, Ocean! Pick someone...

"2," he spoke, the gears in his mechanical body turned and malfunctioned audibly. Ocean cringed at the sound of metal screeching.

But who?

"1," the magic machine uttered. Everything turned dark. Karnak was broken, beyond repair.

Ocean softly breathed, "Her. I vote... for her." She pointed at a confused Jane.

But her decision was made a split second too late.

[marcynomercy]

Fate written in blood

I wanted to write a fanfic of Calamity and Carnifex for a while so I took courage and did it, hope you enjoy reading.

Thank you @tragedybunny for beta-reading.

Summary: The blood has always been her way until the day that fate changed, After being kidnapped by mind flayers and the fall of the Nautiloid Calamity had a new opportunity for freedom and strangely her fate crossed with that of Astarion when the elf put that dagger around her neck. 

 Their fate until now was written by others, but now they would write with their own hands in blood. 

Warnings: Violence, blood, game events, mentions of trauma, distress/comfort, mention of abuse. (That’s it for now)

Ship: Astarion and Calamity (Tav), Shadowheart and Carniex (Tav), mentions of other characters.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - The beginning of a bond

Freedom was just a dream, a dream she still cherished and strangely came true in a distorted way. It became reality in the form of a capsule being opened and the shock of her body on the floor.

 A pain in her head and the knowledge that there was a tadpole in her brain... nothing comes for free does it? 

 The first thing she did was look at the capsules looking for her twin brother, maybe he was kidnapped too? Unfortunately, she did not succeed.

 After the fall of the Nautiloid, Calamity awoke for the second time, by the gods she really thought it was her end but strangely fate had other plans as always. 

 She did not hesitate to look for her brother even after the fall, she looked body by body, wreckage by wreckage...nothing. But on the contrary she met the cleric  who had helped before, her sudden infusion of kindness had good results  and so her group began to increase.

 Shadowheart was the first to join her on this journey and then soon after came that strange familiar pale elf who left a beautiful first impression... a blade against her neck. Her response was a headbutt.

 After the misunderstanding was explained he apologized.

"Excuses accepted, if I were in your place I would have done the same." That was her answer. “My name is Calamity.”  She introduced herself.

"A somewhat ominous name for such a cute person, well I’m sure your parents meant well." The elf joked. "My name is Astarion."

 So Astarion joined them.

 He saw her circling the ship freely as he tried to find a way to escape, but he noticed that strangely she seemed to be looking for someone. At first he deduced that she was looking for Shadowheart, but soon fell off the idea seeing how she was still looking for that person; given the way she looked at the bodies with fear and then with relief mixed with disappointment. Calamity did that until they had nothing left to scour just a wounded mind flayer trapped by rubble, that thing tried to control them, but it was too weak so they managed to resist. They were angry, so much anger and hatred for a nasty creature like that... so worried about becoming one of them.

 They could not think about it, they had to forget at least for a moment and continue. 

 In a few hours the group recruited two more members, Gale of Waterdeep and the warrior githyanki Lae'zel who was already known to the girls. 

 Lae'zel was adamant and insisted on looking for the creche, Calamity on the other hand agreed with Shadowheart as to be wary and distrustful of githyanki so she tried to handle the situation as best she can.

"We already understand your point Lae'zel, but at the moment we do not have the resources for this. We need a place to set up camp, supplies and most importantly investigate this whole situation. There is something wrong and if we want to survive we need this information, so yes we will look for this creche and get its location meanwhile nothing prevents us from looking for answers, do you not agree?" One talent that Calamity cultivated and honed was persuasion and it fit her like a glove at that point.

 Astarion was surprised how she was a smooth talker and a good sense of survival, he decided if he wanted to survive he should focus on her.

"In fact we don’t have a defined leader here right? In that case I think our dear Calamity would be perfect for that role." Astarion wasted no time in ensuring his target the most important role, all for the sake of his well-being.

Calamity stared at him in disbelief.

"Me what?!" she protested in shock.

"Well he’s not wrong, you seem to have skills for it given the way you handled it well during our short period on the nautiloid and now after the crash." Shadowheart commented thoughtfully. "Actually for me it doesn’t matter who would actually be the leader, but that you were nominated I won’t be against it."

"I don’t see any problems either." Gale also agreed.

"Tsk, if you’re all for her leadership, I won’t question it... for now. Better prove yourself worthy of that role."

 Still stunned as everyone simply pushed her to the leadership, Calamity just sighed and nodded.

"Okay, okay... so let’s move on." She just took the lead and they moved on.

 Astarion smiled, pleased. The first part of his plan was a success now he just needed to conquer the rest of it which didn’t seem to be difficult for him. 

 Well, that’s what he thought.

 For the rest of the day he tried to approach her, but either Calamity ignored him or she just replied disinterested... How frustrating! 

 He took it out during the fight in front of the gates on those filthy goblins, it was good to kill something for a change, but then he saw that Calamity wasn’t just a pretty face. She beheaded the goblins as if they were nothing, her attacks were swift, agile and precise. It always focused on the vital, simple and practical points. This was no amateur skill, Astarion’s sharp eyes realized it was the skill of a professional, trained assassin. Calamity until now was a box of surprises for him, since they went from plunder this crypt to pacifying an argument between a tiefling and a human, knocking out the human with a punch to finding an improbable clue just because of a mistrust. He noticed the way her eyes ran around the place analyzing everything and that she was suspicious about something, then she tried to be a little too curious and quickly managed to sneak behind the stone shelves of one of the rooms by finding a chest with a suspicious letter addressed to Kagha.

But just as she proved to be very suspicious and cautious, she showed herself to have a terribly naive side! - dumb and stupid being more sincere. 

 Astarion was incredulous when she trusted the druid Nettie and being poisoned by her, but again Calamity saved herself with her lip and got the antidote along with some answers and her best bet was the druid Halsin... then another stupid decision, accept the poison Nettie gave.

"You know I’m starting to think you’re an idiot! You should have denied the poison!" Calamity stared with a serious look.

"I did it to spare us a possible confrontation unnecessarily and she would only let us go if I accepted and if the genius did not notice she locked us there with magic! And we gain a potent poison it can be useful in future battles." She seemed to have thought of everything.

"Well that doesn’t justify your stupid decision to trust her first!"

"Yes it was a stupid decision, but what could I do? I had to risk it and at least we had some productive result in this, never heard that the ends justify the means?" Her voice had a sarcastic tone and it irritated him.

"I can’t believe she poisoned you, tried to put you down like a dying dog without as much as a whisper of consent!" Gale was quicker in expressing his outrage.

"She gave up at the end." Calamity replied.

"Yes! But that doesn’t change the fact! How dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle?!"

"Are you all right, Gale?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. It’s just that, had it been me…Had it been… But you handled it, and you handled it well! As for myself, I could quite do with a tumbler full of Waterdeep Whiskey."

 He really showed concern so she smiled sweetly at him in response.

"Oh, so you’re the kind of guy who prefers whiskey? That’s good to know, but I think at the end of today no one here would deny a drink." The way she spoke almost sounded like flirting, at least to Astarion’s ears.

 The elf crossed his arms bored while they talked, it was decided that it would be better to find a place to camp and close the day.

  The camp was set up. It was a tiring day, Calamity lightly massaged her strained shoulder after taking off the leather shoulder pad. Waking up on a devastated beach, recruiting one by one her new companions for that group, being chosen as a leader, plundering a crypt where you had a weird skeleton that was now in your camp, killing some goblins, being poisoned by a druid... She went over the day in her mind as she counted every event on her fingers, a tired sigh escapes from her mouth before she lies in her sleeping bag. 

"Where are you brother?" she muttered covering her face with her hands.

 Maybe he wasn’t kidnapped... so what would she do? Her mind starts spinning, she tried to focus her thoughts. Come on she needed to think of a plan! Wait... when did her mind get so clear? Was it the tadpole? Since she woke up in the Nautiloid she did not feel that weight that excessive fear caused her, the tadpole suppressed it?

Of course the same was still with her, but he did not control her anymore. Calamity smiled taking advantage of this relief, no anxiety, fear or panic... just a brief moment of tranquility. She gave herself the luxury of enjoying two minutes and then began to worry again, they will surely come after her.

"I don’t want to go back, but I can’t leave him..." She swallowed the cry.

 She was free, but her brother wasn’t.

 This brief moment of relief was taken by anguish, she could only hope that he is not suffering because of her. If she comes back maybe they’ll never have a chance to be free, she looked at the group through the small crack in the fabric of her tent’s entrance, she also had to worry about them now.

 Her hands searched for blank book pages she had found, if she wanted to do that she needed to write it down! That’s how she started this diary, noting possible missions and progress and of course a way to vent alone. Calamity wrote everything, her advances of the day, the discoveries, hypotheses, theories, ideas for future plans and finally what she felt. 

"It’s weird, I’ve never felt so good after so long... am I wrong? All this seems like a distorted dream from which I hope not to wake up, still not sure if my brother was kidnapped or not since I did not find any trace of him. I don’t know if I feel relief or regret for not finding him, on the one hand I’m happy because if he wasn’t kidnapped it means he wasn’t infected but at the same time I feel anguish because it means he was alone... I miss him."

She wrote with her anguished heart so she soon closed the diary and left it aside when she realized that someone came to her tent.

"Gale made dinner and I came to warn you." It was Shadowheart.

"Thank you, I’m starving." she replies putting on her social mask again and coming out of the attempt. " We’re lucky to have someone with culinary skills with us." She smiled and walked to the campfire beside the cleric 

That first night together as a group was... quite a bit distant, Gale after dinner stood watching the fire and shared his pessimistic thoughts full of reality shock. " There’s nothing abstract about it" was what he said, Calamity understood his point but all he could offer were words. She then spoke to Astarion who expressed just as everyone else had how serious Gale was and later commented how new it was to him.

"The night normally means bustling streets, bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt and resting is… a little novel."

"I confess that all this is strange to me, it’s the first time I’m away from the city but we need to take a chance after all we have a lot to do tomorrow."

"You mentioned that you were from Baldur’s Gate and I couldn’t ignore your abilities." She just got serious staring at him. "No need to look at me like that, what I mean is that I noticed that you are someone capable. Well I’m no place to rest yet, today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through to process this, you rest I’ll keep watch."

"If you say so, I’ll sleep quietly knowing there’s someone watching."

"The pleasure is all mine. Sweet dreams."

 She walked away and Astarion kept  his eyes on her, a single measure of her abilities made her alert, he was no idiot and knew that if he angered her, it could be his end tonight. Although it left him more intrigued by the minute, thinking he might have met her earlier wouldn’t make sense, but he still had that impression rooted in his mind... where he saw those eyes before? Her eyes are unique, the left eye sapphire blue and the right eye red this combination is not seen every day around. 

 He saw her talking to the other half-elf and then she returned to the tent, this matter occupied him for the rest of the night along with his hunger.

Well that’s it! Thank you for reading the first chapter.

@spacebarbarianweird @spacesquidlings@thechaoticdruid

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 340: A Saturday at Melissa's. p15 (11:18 pm)

I was laying in Melissa’s lap, her hand idly stroking my hair as we were apparently waiting for someone to bring me a cup of milk. She wanted to settle my stomach before bed, and forgive me I was just so enthralled by this gorgeous young woman (and exhausted by my evening) that I didn’t complain at all. Yeah, it was emasculating, embarrassing, even infantilizing, the treatment I was receiving. Certainly it was not the actions and behavior a semi-successful, almost-middle-aged physician should be engaging in around his employees. This whole day - though for some reason I only seemed to  remember  bits and pieces of it, - was full of misbehavior. But,goddamnit, I’d had a tough couple months so I was, uh…allowing myself these indulgences. After my divorce, these young women were becoming my friends, my new, uh, social circle. Melissa was a simple girl, and I thought I should be able to enjoy the simple pleasures she could provide and the, um, benefits of my new friends. That’s, at least, what I was telling myself. In reality the memories of even just the last hour or so in Melissa’s bed made my skin crawl a bit. What had she just done with me?? I knew she was strong but…whoah. 

Since I’d woken she’d cleaned me up, dutifully, using some of the wet wipes she kept in her side table. She’d allowed me to gather some sheets around myself, in a modesty that she would call silly. Someone was on their way up and the last thing they needed to see was their boss naked, right? Melissa was still in her thin white robe, pulled tight over her young, bulging chest.

It was Shanette that came in, finally, with mug of milk in a strangely familiar pink mug. She shut the door behind herself, the latch clicking softly. In a set of pink pajamas, decorated with red hearts, she looked our way and smiled warmly. “Are you guys ready?” she asked, and began to step towards us. 

“Yes!!” Melissa sang, wriggling a bit in her seat against the headboard of her queen-sized bed. She adjusted me on her lap a bit, sitting me up a touch. I brought my hands down to the sheets, making sure I was still covered.

“I brought a nice warm cup of milk for youuuuu…!” Shanette cooed, in a little song herself that already began to indulge my deepest fantasies. Shanette, more than any of the others, embodied a maternal charm that struck some deep chords within  me. They were notes so many women around me were learning to play, but Shanette knew the tune well already, and with her now being more than six feet tall at this point and built nearly as bosomy as Melissa, it made her music hard to ignore. She was, just like Melissa, a dream girl to men of this new generation, who all seemed eager to relax, regress and let mommy take over. What she and her new boyfriend did together? I shudder to think. 

She handed the mug to me. It was warm, as if it had been heated for me and it read, “It’s Not Easy Being Queen” on its side…again something that jogged a memory. But I didn’t have too long to muse on Melissa’s Mom’s coffee mug collection before - one hand behind my head for support, the other under the mug - Melissa urged the milk towards my lips. Laying in her lap like I was, I was sort of in an awkward position to drink but she was here to help. 

Mmmmmm it smelled nice, the warm milk, and once more a sense of deja vu hit me. I felt the sudden, unconscious urge to take a nice big drink opening my mouth wide only to be stymied before I could even get a taste. 

“Little sips until it cools,” Melissa stopped me, hand taking hold of the mug from below. 

“Yes hun don’t burn yourself,” Shanette agreed, looking down at us from the bedside. She and Melissa shared a glance, and it was only when I nodded in understanding that Melissa slowly released her hold on the cup.

More carefully, now, I put lips to rim, tilted the mug up, and took a tentative sip. Mmmmm wow, it tasted great. Like, somehow, just what I needed. A familiar taste, an unusual brand maybe, something with a particular type of sweetness. Immediately I wanted more. I looked up at Melissa. “I-it’s not that hot…” I said.

“Shhh,” Melissa said, her hand once again under the mug to help guide it, “Just be careful.” She let me take a sip, a drink, and then under her and Shanette’s dutiful gaze I braved a small gulp. 

I spilled a bit. 

“Tsk tsk,” came Melissa’s little scold, as she used the hem of her robe to dab my lips and chin. I shrank a bit in embarrassment in her lap as she took the mug in hand again. 

“Do you want to help me feed it to him?” Melissa asked Shanette. 

“Of course!”

“I-I’m okay..” I immediately protested, though Shanette had already begun to climb onto the bed anyway. First with one knee, then the other.  

“Here why don’t we use this…” she suggested, reaching back and taking hold of the plastic straw in the old cup of milk on the nightstand leftover from last night. As she turned, twisting at the waist and causing her pajama top to bunch and tighten around her chest, I was able to appreciate the size of her big breasts. She turned back around, slid the straw into the mug of milk, and Melissa presented it to me again. I looked up at her. 

“That’s right, sweetie,” Melissa urged, “Suck.”

“Suck?” I asked. 

“Suck,” answered Shanette, crawling in closer to us and leaning in now, directing the straw to my lips. The little red hearts of her silken pajamas were right in front of my eyes, stretched tautly over twin swells. She was obviously braless, with the faintest hint of a nipple poking through the thin fabric. Cleavage of chocolate skin peeked out from her neckline, beckoning softly. Her buttons strained to contain her, gaps appearing between each of them with slivers of shadowed, deeper cleavage tempting me further. So much boob, but if I turned to my right I was faced with even more - Melissa’s enormous chest ballooned above me in her white robe. 

And so I sucked, mmmmm, the warm milk through the straw, enjoying its creamy sweetness that tasted like a memory. When had I grown to like milk so much? Something you’ve taught me, I guess. 

Suck, suck, suck. I pulled eagerly at my drink, cheeks collapsing around the straw in suction. With nowhere else to look my eyes drifted naturally from the chests of Shanette to Melissa and back again. Suck, suck, suck. 

“There you go, that’s a good boy for Auntie Shanette,” Melissa would coo, when my eyes went forward to the stretched red hearts.  

“…and for Melissa…” said Shanette, when I looked back and up. 

“…for all of us, for me,” continued Melissa, “for your big mommy-girlfriend.”

At that, my eyes went wide, my mouth parting from around the straw. Shanette giggled, chest jiggling, and reached in to caress my cheek. 

“Tell him, Missy,” she said. 

Melissa giggled herself. “That’s what I want to be,” Melissa purred, fingers lazily caressing my hair, my scalp, the back of my head, “your mommy girlfriend. Do you know what that means? 

“You do, don’t you?” Shanette queried. Yes, it was a common trope these days, one you read about frequently. Just a look at Urban Dictionary will tell you that a mommy-girlfriend is a woman that dates men who love being treated like an incapable child. These men are treated to home cooked meals, their clothes are bought or picked out for them, their rent is paid and food is served to them on a silver platter. When she gets home from work  she uses her seemingly  endless available time to listen to his problems and concerns and makes sure that her boy-man is taken care of. To me, it seemed that more and more women were desperate to find secure love and were happy providing this sort of affection to these immature men. Being fully supported and controlled by a woman can make a man feel safe, and in these weird times it’s probable that they’d never leave.

“I, uh, yeah…” I agreed, shamefacedly. Was this me? Was this her?

They both saw the confusion on my face. “I want to teach you how to accept it,” Melissa offered gently, “Shanette’s here to help.”

“Wh-wh-??” I tried, failing to really comprehend what was going on.

“Shhhh, hun,” Shanette stopped me, moving the straw back to my lips, “Drink up.”

And so, with a bit more anxiety forming on my brow, I set back to sucking. More milk, more warm milk filled my mouth and fed me sweetly. The girls, for their part, cooed and clucked down at me dreamily, surrounding me with their softness and entrancing perfumes. I knew Melissa and Shanette had been roommates in the past. Was this something they’d done before? With other men? Was this some sort of weird, intimate game of theirs?

“You’re getting close to done now, aren’t you sweetie?” Melissa asked, as the mug had grown light. 

“I think he is,” answered Shanette. 

“I think it’s so sexy,” continued Melissa, with a crinkled nose and dimpled smile, “watching you drink breastmilk.”

I sputtered, I goggled, I looked up at Shanette.

“Shhh shhh shh…it’s not hers..!” Melissa laughed. My eyes got even wider and shot up to her with even greater fear.  “Or haha, omigod mine!”  

Jesus!!! Her assurance brought me some thin relief that nonetheless quickly vaporized. What the actual fuck! What…whose…had I been drinking?!?

“It’s Katarina’s,” Melissa explained, voice calm, “And don’t worry, you’ve had some before…”

?!!? Gah what?!?! 

“Don’t you remember?” Shanette giggled.

“N-n-no..!” I sputtered, “I honestly don’t!” But, wait…did I?

“You really liked it…”

“When did-?”

“Earlier tonight, sweetie,” Melissa continued patiently, “when you were a little out of sorts, you took a little taste.”

“From…?!?” Please don’t tell me that I…!

“...from a mug, this same one..!” Melissa laughed, “Don’t worry!”

“Lots of us did haha!” Shanette followed, “The girl makes enough to feed a whole family. We had to try it!”

”But, I have to say,” Melissa smiled, “you seemed the most eager, little man…”

“Oh my god…” What the?!!? What had come over me? Had I been drunk?? Why couldn’t I really recall-

“Maybe somebody took some video…”

“And Kat really liked seeing you drink it,” Shanette said, “All the other girls loved it too.” 

”Especially me!” Melissa sang, joggling me on her lap, up and down, “It gives me so many fun ideas…” She giggled, she wiggled her chest at me.

I realized, laying there, how much I had become the shrunken recipient for all of their heightened maternal impulses, for all of these mommy-urges women were apparently getting everywhere. Yes, yes, this was the trend in the world, the hot new thing, and apparently I was becoming a victim of fashion. What the fuck was I supposed to do? It was, in the end, ridiculous but…jesus…so fucking hot.

Shanette and Melissa urged me to drink more.

“It’ll make you big and strong.”

“Or small and skinny.”

“Haha omigod shorter…”

“…weaker…”

“…tiny…”

“…just like we want you!! <giggle!>”

Oh, lord. Yes, they were just joking but goddddd. Suck suck suck. They were joking they were joking they were just joking but my heart beat red in my face.

Finally, I was done. The girls, apparently, were satisfied. Shanette took the mug, turned again to put it on the nightstand.

Melissa stroked my bare chest. ”So,” she asked me, “Bedtime?”

Before I could answer, though, Shanette had leaned in to whisper something to Melissa. Her eyes widened a moment later, and they both looked down at me and giggled. 

What’s going on? “What’s going o-?”

Suddenly, I was forced silent as Melissa raised a finger to her lips and gave me a shushing motion from above, peering down at me in good humor. Good humor that made her eyes sparkle when she saw how easily she’d shushed me.

“Go brush your teeth,” she told me, already moving to help me sit up onto the mattress from her lap, “You can use the one in my bathroom.”

My eyes went wide again. “G-go brush my teeth? With y-your toothbrush?” I responded as I sat, repeating her instructions like a small child struggling with what he was told to do, simple as it was.

A brief laugh came from them then a bigger smile formed on Melissa’s face. “I would brush your teeth myself to make sure they’re cleaned properly,” she said, in her best house-frau voice, “but I’m holding back…for now.” She watched my face. Yes, I’m listening. “But you are to brush, floss and use mouthwash.”

“Ok, but…” I looked at Shanette, I looked down at myself, I looked across the room to where the bathroom lay. Then I looked back at Melissa. “I’m naked.”

The girls both giggled. 

“It’s okay, hun,” Shanette offered, “I’ll close my eyes.” Mischief wrinkling her dimpled cheeks, she lowered her long-lashed lids and put her hands over her eyes. 

“Now go. Scoot,” Melissa directed me, pulling back the sheets and exposing me as she pushed at my lower back from behind, “Go brush your teeth. It’s bedtime.”

Hopping off the mattress - god, my feet don’t even touch the floor - I jogged across the room towards Melissa’s en-suite bathroom, my half-thickened cock slapping awkwardly against my thighs. 

“No peeking!” I heard Melissa scold her friend from behind me, and the two dissolved into frisky giggles.

Once in the bathroom I immediately grabbed a bath towel and wrapped it around my waist, and soon I had found her toothbrush, some toothpaste, and I was scrubbing away. It didn’t, strangely, strike me as too odd that I was using someone else’s toothbrush. Normally: yuck, right? But maybe after all I’d been through, this was just a small irregularity. In fact…can I taste you on it? It…it felt nice, using her brush.

Anyway, maybe because I thought they were watching me (they told me not to close the door) I felt extra motivated to do a good job. Brush brush brush, brush brush brush. And then - floss, floss, floss. I never flossed, but tonight I did. And then - garglegarglegargle - mouthwash! Haha, done.

I stepped back out of the bathroom, confident in my newly cleaned oral cavity, and froze. They were both kneeling on the bed, facing me, side by side. Shanette’s top was unbuttoned, Melissa’s robe undone. They were posing, enormous chests presented. I was just in a towel, and fuck I was getting hard again. 

“Come here, baby,” Melissa cooed.

“We need to check…” said Shanette.

“… that you did a good job,” finished Melissa.

Slowly, I stepped towards them. They waited, each unmoving, and looked down at me when I found the mattress’ edge. It was like two impossibly built, statuesque genetic supergoddesses were gazing down from on high. 

“Say ahhh!” Melissa instructed, taking my chin in hand.

I opened. “Ahhhhh….” I said, as wide as I could.

She inspected me, looking carefully into my mouth. “Do you want to see, Shanette?” She turned my head gently towards her friend.

“Ahhhhhhhh…”

Shanette nodded, also pleased. “Good job, honey.”

“Yes, good job,” Melissa agreed, “Now, are you ready to get some sleep?”

“I’m…uh…yes, ready.” Is she going to be sleeping with us? 

Shanette's hand went to Melissa’s tit and she pressed her fingers into it, sinking them into soft flesh through the thin white robe. “Don’t worry hun, you’ll have her all to yourself,”  she said, as Melissa giggled, “Your pillow is going to be so soft and so warm. It’ll support you just right.”

“I-I-I, uh…” 

“It’ll help you nod off…”

“…and make sure you have sweet dreams all night,” Melissa continued. My eyes being clearly fixated on her left tit as it made even Shanette’s big hand look small only added to her amusement. But, she was now scootching backwards, and laying down in bed, onto her right side facing me, supporting her head with one hand. Her big breasts still bulged between the open flaps of her robe. “What kind of dreams do you want to have?”

“I bet he’s been having them already,” Shanette offered as she reached down to offer me her hand. I took it, and she helped me climb up into the tall bed. 

“Maybe…” Melissa mused, watching me get settled next to her, as Shanette helped me lay, on my back, aside her. She saw that I had my hands crossed, awkwardly, on my chest, my head on a pillow and dwarfed by the boobs that looked just to my left. . “Do you, sweetie?” she asked, “Do you dream about me?”

Yes of course I do. 

“Want to make those dreams come true?” Shanette said and then - getting a silent nod from Melissa - laid down on my other side, also facing me, also positioning her big soft breasts right next to my head. 

I looked to my left: Melissa. I looked to my right: Shanette. Each way, all I could see was cleavage, bulging boob. Creamy, tanned. Chocolate, milky. Floral, vanilla, coconut perfumes and oils filled the warm air around my face. 

Shanette also had her head supported by her hand, left elbow up on her pillow. “Does the little man need some boobie time?” she cooed. 

“Shanette’s going to help me make your dreams come true,” Melissa said to me, “Just tell us what you want…”

They inched in closer to me. 

Unable, now, to find the courage to do what they obviously wanted -  to just turn to one of them and lose myself between their tits - I laid on my back and stared up at the ceiling. The lights were gentle.

“You look so shy, so insecure, so vulnerable…” Melissa said. 

“I-I…I’m sorry…” I can’t help it. 

“Shhhhh…” Shanette hushed, “…we love it.”

“We’ll protect you,” Melissa whispered. 

“You’ll be safe between us,” Shanette assured, as she reached over, over my passively upturned face, and peeled Melissa’s robe open, away from her ballooning chest. I’d turned my face a bit to watch, and moaned in a shudder as a big, white left breast came to view. 

“oh my god…” I groaned. It was huge, far larger than my head, skin smooth and taut with a swelling brown nipple and areola the size of my palm. A basketball, maybe? Bigger?

Without a word, Melissa’s arm reached over me in turn, peeling Shanette’s silken top, decorated with hearts, away from her chest. Also huge, also swollen, also bulging towards me with burgeoned softness her breasts were deeper in complexion than Melissa’s but a shade paler than the rest of her skin. Her nipple stood already engorged, the bumps of montgomery glands dimpling her darker areola. 

“There, sweetie,” Melissa purred, as I stared into the chest of her big, tall, high school friend, “Do you feel better?’

I…ugh…I I I I turned to Melissa’s breast. 

“Oh Missy,” Shanette giggled, “he can’t even talk..!”

“Yeah, he gets this way,” Melissa replied, one finger reaching out to run itself from my forehead, down the bridge of my nose. She tapped its end, playfully.  “Boop! Don’t you honey?”

“I-…” I couldn’t say a word. 

“Boys really are helpless when there’s a pair of tits in their face, aren’t they Missy?”

“Or two pairs!” Melissa giggled, pressing her left press down with her shoulder, causing it to squeeze and bulge towards me.

“Have you ever been with two girls with breasts bigger than your head?” Shanette asked, “Hm, Dr. J?”

“I don’t think he has, Shanette.”

“No, hm?”

“How do you like it, sweetie?” Melissa asked, raising herself up a bit on her right elbow and turning her torso more towards me. This brought her massive left breast in to squash into my face and head, along my left side. 

Shanette followed suit, turning her shoulder down into me and mushing her right boob into my face. Instinctively, my body tensed and stiffened, my head sinking back down into the pillow behind me as far as it could. The twin masses of boob just followed, molding around my face, cheeks and ears until nearly all light was blotted out. I was surrounded by pillowy soft, perfumed flesh, firm and warm. Above me I heard the giggles.

 “Look, we can just sandwich you in between them,” Melissa said. 

“I can’t even see him anymore Missy,” laughed Shanette. 

“Oh no!” came another laugh, this time Melissa’s, “my boyfriend’s disappeared!”

“It looks that way, huh?”

“What’s this like, hm sweetie? Like you’re being attacked by two big marshmallow monsters?”

“Smothered between two pillows?”

“Smooshed under two big balloons full of jelly…or eaten by two big marshmallow monsters?”

“You said that one already, silly.”

“<giggle!> oh yeah!”

Around me I felt hips turn towards me too, as the two bountiful young women closed in closer. 

“Do you want me to take this towel off him?”

“Yes please,” answered Melissa. 

I felt the air now on me, and now a thigh over mine. 

“Ooooh Jay, isn’t this cozy?” Melissa asked, her voice coming to me through the flesh of her chest, “Do you feel safe and warm like this, your darling little head between our big breasts?”

“Just relax,” Shanette cooed, her voice also both muffled and amplified by her huge tit, “Feel our big, soft breasts against your face.”

“That’s right, sweetie, relax,” Melissa urged, as her big thigh now came over my left leg, trapping it, “Melt for us.”

The girls now giggled and cooed, squirming and squashing against me, in perfect unison. Their breasts mushed into my face, surrounding it, my mouth and jaw now opening and closing like a starveling guppy. All the air I breathed came from their skin. 

“There’s a certain type of guy, a guy who loves breasts,” I heard Shanette begin saying, musing, “Guys who want to wake up with them as their first sight. Who want to take their first meal from them, spend all day held to them, surrounded by them…”

“Oooo that sounds familiar..!” I heard Melissa laugh, pressing into me playfully, “But aren’t all guys that way?”

“Seems that way these days, huh?” Shanette agreed, “But this one here is yours.”

Above me I heard a deep moan from Melissa turn into a laugh.  “Omigod Shanette this is too much!”

“…And at night they want to fall asleep held to them, between them…” Shanette began to finish.

“…so small and tiny and weak…”

 “…Are you that type of guy, Dr J?” she finally asked. 

Was she…was she actually expecting me to answer? From down here, buried beneath boob? I was not just speechless but unable to speak. 

“You are, aren’t you sweetie?” Melissa laughed, the eager exhilaration in her voice plain as day, “You’re my little boob-monkey, huh?”

That’s what you want isn’t it? Me clinging to you like an infant chimp to its mother. I couldn’t do anything but agree. I didn’t dare argue, or god forbid lie. Under the gentle weight of their breasts I slowly tried to nod. 

“There you go…” Shanette purred, “…good boy. Isn’t it nice to admit how much you need them?”

“It is, right? And, isn’t it so much better when you just let people help you?” Melissa cooed, “Sometimes it’s nice to just lie there and let someone else take care of you. That’s all I want to do baby, take care of you and make you feel good.  Make it nice for you.”

Boob. Boob. Everywhere boob.

“Missy let’s let him out for a minute.”

“Okay…”

Slowly, I felt the squeezing press of their tits lifting off me. Shanette’s breast, smelling of coconut oil, pulled away smoothly. But, my skin felt stuck to Melissa’s, cheek-to-tit, whether by her perspiration or mine. The heat and our sweat must have stuck us together…or there's something else happening. My face followed her breast as my head was lifted off the pillow. 

“Oh my god look at that,” Shanette said.  

“Yeah and he’s not trying to pull away,” Melissa commented. “Are you sweetie? Ooo look at you…”

It was true: my face remained plastered, stuck to her breast by the cheek. What was this?

“You really like my breasts, don’t you?” she giggled, “Rubbing your cheek against me like that?” 

Do you think I’m doing this on purpose? Under my own strength?

“I bet it’s been so long since he’s gotten this kind of attention, Missy, and maybe he just doesn’t want to let you go!”

“Is that it, huh?” Melissa cooed down to me. Gently, she began to lower me back down again, the back of my head resting again on the pillow, cheek still stuck to her skin. “Maybe you’ve never had somebody do this for you before? Hm? Poor baby…I’m here for that now.”

The two girls clucked and purred down at me. I felt Shanette’s hand petting my hair. 

“I think it’s time, Missy,” she said. 

“Okay, yeah,” Melissa agreed, and then I felt Shanette’s gentle fingers holding my face and Melissa use her hand to peel her breast from my cheek. Shanette then guided me, turning me more towards Melissa. 

“That’s right Missy, put your nipple right there. That’s good,” Shanette instructed, as I watched and Melissa positioned herself more fully over me. I was face to face with her big nipple. “You just lie there, hun,” she told me, “we got this.”

“Mm hm, we got this,” Melissa echoed, and inched in closer. 

“Now, Missy,” Shanette said, “have him suck.”

Melissa gently worked it in until her nipple was between my lips. I’d opened my mouth already, instinctively, and my world became darker again as Melissa softly dropped to rest her huge breast onto my face. Her right hand no longer supported her head, and had slid underneath mine to cradle me to her. “Here we go, baby,” she whispered, as I closed my mouth around her.

“Just lay there and do as mommy says,” Shanette spoke. 

“Suck, baby, suck,” Melissa purred on cue, “suck suck…”

“There you go baby, that’s right…” Shanette purred. I felt her hand petting me gently, caressing my arm. “This is good practice for you two,” she said.

“Mmmm I like it..!” Melissa giggled, as I had begun, earnestly, to suckle her. Her nipple was big in my mouth.

“It’s called dry-nursing,” Shanette said, “Missy…make sure he has a good latch.”

“Yeah, baby, seal on tight there,” Melissa cooed down to me, using her free left hand to reposition the weight of her breast at my face. I settled my mouth and lips around her more firmly, and continued to suck. I was keeping a slow rhythm, relaxed. My eyes just cleared the mass of her breast, and when I looked up I saw her watching me. I closed my eyes again.

“That looks good, Missy,” Shanette commended, “He’s a natural.”

“It feels nice,” Melissa agreed, gazing down at me. “I’ve been waiting for something like this, something to get us closer, start breaking down barriers.”

“That’s right, that’s good. Just relax, the two of you, bond together,” Shanette purred from behind me, “Dr. J, just let yourself drift off, think about Melissa, know how much she loves you.”

“Yes yes sweetie, I do love you, so much,” she cooed, “just keep sucking…”

<suck suck suck>

I felt Shanette’s lean in, her breasts now squashing into my shoulder as she brought her lips to my right ear. “You tried Katarina’s milk earlier,” she whispered, “You liked that?”

I groaned, purrling and mewling into Melissa’s tit.

‘“Think about it, as you suck here on Missy,” she continued, her voice big and close, making my toes curl, “wouldn’t it be nice…?”

I groaned again, my whole body shivering.

“That’s right, that’s right baby,” Melissa spoke, “Suck on me. Suck on me like a hungry baby that needs milk.”

oh god oh god oh god.

<suck suck suck>

“He’s doing so well, but he’s a little worked up,” Shanette now said to her friend, “A little tense.”

“Oh, sweetie, are you tense?” Melissa cooed, her voice sweet and heavy with honey as I dry-suckled her breast, “You poor thing.”

“I bet a nice orgasm would help him relax so much”, Shanette continued, indulgently, and then I felt her take hold of me. “He’s so hard.”

I stiffened, and my body jerked. There was actually some pain but the direct cause wasn’t her actions. Rather it was due to my exhausted reproductive system still trying to perform. It had never worked this much over such a short time period, and it was exhausted, tender, inside and out. I felt like, yes, I needed relief, release, but getting there might hurt.

“Oh, sweetie, shhh…” Melissa purred down to me, “Shanette…be gentle.”

You can tell, can’t you?

“He needs a mother’s touch,” Shanette cooed, and soon I sensed the scent of coconut oil, and things became slick around me, in her hand. Had Melissa helped out? Squeezed something onto me?

And now, rather than encircling me with her palm and fingers, Shanette pressed my erection against Melissa’s bare midthigh. Oh, yes, that feels nice. <suck suck suck>. She began to rub it gently and slowly against the soft, silky skin of Melissa’s tan, clean-shaven leg, the juice of oil lubricating and slippery.

“That’s nice, isn’t it?” Shanette’s hand was slick up and down my long length, Melissa’s muscular thigh warm and welcoming. I continued to suck, to suck, to suck, slowly, slowly, slowly and felt the pleasure seep into my bones. A mother’s touch. A mother’s touch. A mother’s touch.

“You feel so nice, up against my leg,” Melissa cooed, “And you’re doing such a good job sucking at my nipple.”

“Nice and slow, nice and slow,” Shanette purred, and I began to groan. I was sore, yes, but the climax was building already inside my swollen sac, making my belly tremble. “It’s okay, we’ll go at your pace…nice and gentle.”

And then Shanette began to humm, low and soothing behind me, as she pet me into Melissa’s leg .  A familiar melody began to form. And then she began to sing. Quietly, at first, but there was something about it, something with a palpable magic: 

“When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are

Anything your heart desires

Will come to you…”

“Omigod Shanette…” Melissa praised, seemingly at a loss for words. Her voice, yes, was gorgeous. Shockingly so, in fact. The timbre, the tone, the very essence of her voice was like a casual siren song, and it covered my waking thoughts like a warm blanket. Melissa’s singing voice - she’d sung to me on our first date, in her car - was nice, also, but Shanette’s, here? It struck deep, deep, deep and I felt it close around me and my mind like a gentle hand, embracing me but also opening me up for them. My cock was throbbing now, still being rubbed into Melissa’s thigh by our songstress. She continued softly and slowly with her lullaby: 

“If you wish it in your dreams oh my god if you knew what I wanted how big I want you

No request is too extreme <suck suck suck>

When you wish upon a star can it come true?

We’ll grow for you… wait what?

“Shanette that’s lovely,” Melissa gushed, as the magic of the lullaby faded and I continued to dry-nurse at her massive breast and - oh my god, on hearing that last line - I started finally to rut into Melissa’s leg, “I didn’t know you could sing.”

”I didn’t either…”

NNNNNggghhhhh….

I came, in an easy gush, onto Melissa’s leg, all my tension draining away as I nursed myself to sleep…

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

Thanks again to ResistanceIsFutile for helping me through another big one

My Patreon

[shanieveh]

BACK TO DECEMBER — reading club !

scaramouche x gn!reader

NAME—an achiever all their life, this new school was more laidback than previously but that did not mean you loved it more. as the memories of the past haunts you at your wake, all the supposed academical achievements you easily got were all the more useless, and the reading club becomes a comfort

KAMISATO AYAKA — the popular girl and president of the reading club. every guy has been in love with but also secretly has a crush the biggest crush on a girl, and will probably be kicked out once her strict rich parents heard about this, she gets high grades and often speaks of her brother abroad and his hot european bodyguard

KAVEH — a multitalented man who regularly breaks up with his boyfriend and roommate, alhaitham. he also gives you amazing love advice that he never follows and no matter what he tweets online he will be the first to knock at your door and comfort you on your off days.

XIAO — who will gladly beat up the person you are tweeting about so you can just shut up (affectionate) is also the campus emo boy but will soon be replaced by a certain transferee student. xiao doesn't care about doing well in school for he is a billionaire's son and most likely will be rich his whole life

YOIMIYA — silly girl who dreams of the cottage core lesbian aesthetic. also has a bunch of hit posts from her random rambles online and a favorite of the elementary students. she wishes to help you about your emotions, but she is too busy being an icon and a legend

VENTI — a poetic song writer who creates masterpieces that makes fun of all of his friend's sorrowful and miserable lives. often gets low scores on purpose to get the teacher fuming at him and often braids your hair and becomes a parlor when you cry over the past.

KAEYA — who acts like the biggest playboy but never in a relationship, he often creates thirst posts in tiktok but too shy to talk to anyone who actually develops feelings for him. he is also friends with so many people, all of which describes him as mysterious entity. he also probably knows your whole life story before you setting a foot in your new school

MONA — only went to the reading club when she realized how heavily financially supported it is by its rich sponsors. she makes tarot card readings online and does a manifestation subliminal affirmations every time an exam is near and even gave you rose quartz and believes you will be with your lost love because of it

BACK TO DECEMBER — masterpost || late night drinking buddies

SUMMARY: you were childhood bestfriends with scaramouche, and with many unanswered confessions and one sided goodbyes, you both meet again, but now he wears a cold glance even turning agressive when his eyes wander yours, and it all came down the day he became the top of your class, beating you and rejoicing in success. his smile was because of your pain. maybe you could turn back time where promises actually never broke, and love was a beautiful thing.

TAGLIST: @yukiipc @wanderchive @user11918163805279 @gekkow @moon-320 @meowmeowmau @mine-lu @sunaaa @lxkeeeee @faaariiii-world @lazy-sanns @sketcheeee @divinechicha @virette

[pyxisastronautica]

The City of Plastic

(TW: implied assault, drug use)

Even at night, Ellis shined brighter than any other city- a characteristic that had led to one of its many names, besides being the eighth city. It was the Shining Gem of Hades, the City of Wonder, or of Dreams, or of Stories. The unambiguous cultural capital of their civilization, where even the poor, supposedly, ate delicacies collected from across the rest of the city.

And perhaps they could, if they were interested in eating from the scraps of the city’s beloved celebrities- who they lived in the eternal shadow of, who they dreamed every day of becoming. That did literally happen sometimes. The high end restaurants would, for good press, donate their leftovers to soup kitchens that served the city’s slums- though the quality of that food varied from perfectly serviceable to utterly rotten.

Somewhere between the glittering spires and rat-infested moldering towers, Capulet and Montague, P.I.s, had managed to settle into a middling apartment. In the intervening months after Cocyte and Fortuna had been claimed by the revolution, their little office had gone from working as corporate spies playing the city’s major shipping companies and their associated crime rings against each other- a move that had nearly gotten them scrapped on several occasions and surely would eventually have if not for the fact that the political environment surrounding Phlegeth had changed beyond what a stalemate could salvage. 

No help had come to aid Phlegeth’s elite. With Taros still up in arms, and Plutopolis rapidly consolidating its strength, Acher had smelled blood in the water. The City of Rails had nearly gone off its tracks in rebellion as well as result of the collateral of the conflict, but the local government- as ornamental as any other in Hades- found within a handful of fresh and charismatic politicians that promised reform, even if it came at weakening of Phlegeth’s sway in Hades as a whole. That would have to be the price of keeping power within the city rather than allowing AcherEN to subsume it. After the bloody infighting that Juliet’s meddling in and manipulation of their affairs had caused, breaking the illusions of polity that the corporations had once held themselves to, it wasn’t hard to steer public opinion their way.

Juliet, for her part, saw the actions of her compatriots and her as merely hastening the inevitable. She had managed to dodge prison for her role in “making Phlegeth a true democracy”, though more likely it was a favor paid to her by the local police force who had gone overnight from being seen as a bad joke to being compared to the local mercenary corps…even if their ranks were bolstered by former members who had jumped from one sinking ship to one almost equally full of holes.

Sorting that mess out would be Echo’s nightmare, not hers. At least one thing that had not changed was that Phlegeth had remained a neutral party to the other cities despite it all, so what new force took root there was now anyone’s game.

Her group’s role had secured them attention from more than just CEOs that moonlit as mob bosses dealing in every dire trade, though. Romeo and her had become local celebrities in Phlegeth, their story reaching the itching ears of journalists in Ellis who were dying for a good scoop. And who was she to deny them it? All she’d need from them was an “in” to set up shop in Ellis- something that would surely lead to more exciting stories in the future.

For now though, Juliet’s current work in Ellis was ostensibly to be fairly low-stakes investigations into the various infidelities of celebrities, or occasionally the odd junior league actor who had gone missing. It had surprised her how frequently drugs were involved in both cases- in more cases than not, really. Ellis had a reputation for being a never-ending frat party with all the excitement and horror that had gone along with it, but the extent to which that was true was never clear to her before coming here. Though it was frowned upon (illegal, even) to do hard recreational drugs in public, it was an open secret even and especially among the police force and local hospitals that the average adult that had grown up here- regardless of income-  found some flavor of ambrosia to numb away the pure black vein of misery of living in a town where you literally lived or died by your reputation or lack thereof.

If anything, one might face more criticism for being caught doing drugs associated with being poor, or worse, to have died from them. After all, those stars who had been blessed with golden hands could buy new livers, new stomachs, and fresh blood, could have their hearts restarted as often as needed, but even those that couldn’t danced with death anyway. And when death took them permanently as partners, it was the latter that would be shamed, cast aside like so much trash after possibly having lost their physical as well as psychological freedom.

It went without saying, since as much was about as true for the rest of Hades, but all other crimes followed a similar pattern- the enforcement of laws could be a crushing weight upon the lower classes but little more than fines for the rich (be they collected literally or through bribes).

For that reason, it had been very little time at all before their office became popular by word-of-mouth less as a place for people seeking to solve the mysteries of their life and more for people desperate to enter a space free of judgment when a single consultation would cost less than the average therapist. It was work Juliet certainly enjoyed, despite the mess and occasional hostility that came from it. No matter what they chose to label users, no matter how denigrated they were, they were still humans in need. She could never deny those in need of a space of safety, of guidance, though she felt helpless to actually fix the root of the issues that plagued them. In a better world they would not live in a society that at once inundated the senses with fixations only to punish them for indulging in the same while providing no support for escape.

It tied back to another open secret of Ellis: that the lack of rehabilitation centers, the ubiquitous availability of whatever poison was desired, and hyper-strict prison system, was due to their good neighbor Asphos, the City of Medicine. On one hand, the proximity of Asphos and the wealth of Ellis meant that treatment for any injury or illness was generally easier to get and of better quality than anywhere else in Hades- but on the other, it meant that the pharmaceutical companies of Asphos had every incentive to keep nosy, gossipy Ellisians from biting the hand that treated them. With of course the added side benefit, as it was often suspected, of having a large population to use as guinea pigs.

But proof of these sins seemed to disappear into the aether- and anyone who tried to report them along with them. 

That was, at least, until the case of Dr. Mellia Belle, a pharmacologist with Ziphus Inc.- one of many unremarkable manufacturers of medicines, albeit an older and more respected brand than some of the newcomers around it. 

Mellia likewise was a respectable Asphodian, clean-cut and stern looking, despite being in her late thirties at most. The cool temper, Juliet had noted, was a common trait among people in her city, which prided itself on its intelligence and dignity, but in Mellia’s case especially it seemed as though it were a dam holding back a flood of stress and grief and something else- rage perhaps?

As Mellia had told it, she had come from a relatively large upper middle class family of four children, all daughters, though had always gotten along best with her youngest sister, Mila- or Milly, as most had known her. Milly was a bit of a troublemaker, though a vibrant soul- too vibrant for the austere environment of Asphos. To her parents’ chagrin, she left to find her fame in Ellis when she was twenty- hoping her parents might have given her tuition to an acting college, but adamant even when they refused. 

Natural talent and good looks got her relatively far regardless, as she picked up work doing modelling for ads and bit parts in small time plays, but it wasn’t until she was selected as the lead actress to the fantasy comedy Hydra and Hook, set in the mythical ancient civilization in the hypothesized lost cave system of Olim, that her star began to rise. She was, according to emails that Mellia had received, being considered for a number of roles in upcoming movies.

Two films later, and her career seemed promised to be a long and notable one. She had been in talks with a director of a famous franchise, and had been bubbling to Mellia that she’d been a shoe-in for the part, but was asked by him to attend a party hosted by a major producer in the industry, Peter Zoss. 

After which, she hadn’t heard from her sister for weeks. She had assumed production had started right away, and the life of an actress had been simply too hectic. It wasn’t altogether too unusual for Milly to be at least a bit mum during production, due to the NDAs she had to sign for her work, but the utter silence was unsettling.

Then, about five days back, news broke about her sister being found dead in her apartment, apparently from a drug overdose on a rather expensive psychedelic called Blissium, with a stash that’d been found in her dresser. Juliet had recalled seeing that headline herself, but hadn’t thought too much of it at the time- rumors of Ellis celebrities’ drug habits were ubiquitous and infamous, so it seemed as likely to her that Milly Belle had been a victim of the culture as much as anything shadier.

But Mellia insisted that for all her gregariousness and schmoozing, Milly had never been that way. Whenever she had visited her sister, there had been nothing more incriminating lying around than a couple of bottles of wine and a single bottle of vodka, and nothing in her complexion or on her skin suggesting the use of hard drugs. There was stone cold conviction in the woman’s eyes that there had to have been foul play, despite what the coroner’s report had said.

Juliet mimicked the sound of a sigh as internal fans quietly kicked up pushed air through her nose, though she smiled sympathetically, gaze falling warmly upon the dear pharmacist. On one hand, this would give her an excuse to dig around in the city’s rotten core for something, anything, that could be leveraged against it and Asphos, but on the other hand it was going to be so much work. Nonetheless she stood up and extended her hand, which was promptly and firmly shaken. Juliet’s other hand clasped over hers as she did.

“We’ve got a long road to hoe, Ms. Belle, and I’m going to need your cooperation for all of it.”

“Of course.”

Juliet pulled out a little pink notebook from her desk, tore out and stored the pages from her previous case, and started on a fresh page.

“First thing’s first. I’m afraid I’m going to need to see your sister’s body.”

“You’re familiar with forensic work?”

“Vaguely, but more importantly I have a…former colleague, who’s a physician. He should know what to look for, if anything’s obviously out of place. Is her body still in the coroner’s possession? I’ll need to have a look at the report either way, and I imagine I have enough social credit to manage that, but actually getting permission to investigate- with a third party no less- might be another matter.”

“She’s due to be turned over to the mortician my father hired tomorrow. I…I came here because I thought this might be the last chance we have to find the truth before it’s lost entirely.”

“Well you were right about that,” Juliet began immediately packing up her things when Amoy and Zulu stumbled in. “Ah, you two, good.” Juliet turned to Belle to gesture at the two bots who had looked like they were about to say something, but immediately straightened up on seeing they had a client.

“Ah, yes. Ms. Belle, this is Arden Zuma and Zhe Avery, our assistant detectives, officially, mostly handling calls and paperwork- but don’t be mistaken, they do quite a bit of the critical investigative legwork here in their own right.

“Speaking of:  both of you, I need you to pay a visit to…Who was the director again?”

“Finn Aristo- and hello, to both of you,” Belle said, giving a nod of her head to the two androids still standing awkwardly in the doorframe.

“We’ll see what we can do, but you are going to…brief us, before you leave, right?” “I’m afraid we’re on a terrible time crunch right now, and I don’t expect much from the good director, but I’d like to hear from as many people who were at that party who’d be willing to talk, and finding out who else was there might be a good start.”

They both nodded, but Amoy messaged to Juliet

A: Must’ve had a catering agency for the event, maybe some of the workers there will be more willing to talk than people with industry interests. J: Good. Let Tango know to expect data on the former residence of Ms. Mila Belle, as well as information on her former associates. A: We’re really going all hands on deck with this, huh? You must think this is going somewhere interesting, then. 

To which Juliet merely nodded- seemingly redundantly from Belle’s persepctive, in turn.

“Couldn’t hurt to get Romeo to join you, either. He’s good with those sorts,” Juliet concluded before focusing on Mellia again. 

“Going to have to make a call on the way, Ms. Belle. Hope you don’t mind having to listen in.”

“I’ll be fine.”

—

“Dr. Ray Ximenez speaking,” X-ray’s voice was deep and toneless, which unfortunately made him sound perpetually tired despite being exceedingly alert at all hours.

“Nice to hear from you, Ray,” Juliet said.

“And from you. Though- and I don’t know why this surprises me- I’m not sure how you got this number.”

“Mutual friend of hours. Gave me your hours too, so I figured you’d be off enough to contact without interrupting something critical.”

“I see. And can I help you, Juliet?”

“Very much so. Looking into the death of a client who died under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Apparently the cause of death was decided to be a drug overdose, but we would like a second opinion.”

“I’m not a licensed forensic pathologist, I’m an ER surgeon. They’re going to say no. You know that they’re going to say no, right?”

“We can deal with that later. Besides, I’ve got a hunch you’ll be interested in this regardless. Let me worry about the logistics- just know that I’ll be needing you to catch a ride to Ellis today. Meet at my office!”

“...Alright.”

There was about a minute of silence after X-ray had hung up, before Mellia asked, “So how’d you two meet?”

“Ray and I? Took a few courses together as pre-meds.” As infrequently as the two androids had been trained together, that was basically true.

“You went to medical school?”

“Not quite. Wanted to get into psychology, if you can believe it. Took a few psychiatry and neurology courses for it, though. Best to be aware of the physical ailments of the mind as much as the more delicate pathologies of maladaptive thought, though. And to be aware of physical symptoms of mental illnesses- the mind and body aren’t so distinct as people imagine, you know.”

“I suppose so. So…college sweethearts, then?”

Juliet laughed, shaking her head, “No, no. My dear Romeo was, if anything. Mutual fascination with behavior, you might say. But Ray? No, just friends, peers. Like siblings at times, if any comparison could be made.”

“It’s good to have family, even if family by choice instead of birth,” Mellia nodded, then sighed, “...I wish my parents weren’t being so…cold, about all of this. I know objectivism is the gold standard of Asphos, but they could at least stop pretending they never loved her. Acting like her death is just another almighty inconvenience like someone changing their schedule is just so…callous.” Mellia seemed to catch herself at this indiscretion, and followed it up with, “Sorry, I know it’s not relevant to the case, and you’re not actually a therapist who’s getting paid to listen to me yap, it’s just…”

“Not all psychologists are therapists, that’s true, but not all private eyes are just in it for the obols, either. I do this job to help people, be it to tear down corruption or just give people a bit of certainty, a bit of closure. And I want to help you, Mellia. Listening to you is also part of giving you closure. So I’m listening, alright?”

Mellia nodded, trying and failing to stop tears blurring her vision.

“It’s just. Even if she was, you know? Even if she was a user, even if Ellis got to her like it gets to everyone, why don’t they care? Why is the only emotion they’ve been expressing at all of this shame? That’s their daughter, just like I’m their daughter. If she really lost her way, it’s because they were too damn proud to acknowledge that she succeeded in her own way, even if it wasn’t their way. Because they wouldn’t love her, and for what? She may not have gotten a degree, but she put her soul into bringing the characters she played to life, into her art. That may not be curing cancer, but it’s still something. Something that made people happy. Doesn’t that count for anything?

“It…makes me feel like they only like me because I happened to fit into a respectable Asphodian career. Because it gives them status. That’s just as shallow as any Ellisian has ever been. At least here they don’t pretend as if they’re some enlightened species about it.” Mellia sucked in a deep, bitter breath. “I know telling them that won’t bring my sister back, though. I know this won’t either. I guess I just…I have to know, though. If something was wrong, really wrong, to the point she’d rather die or risk death than feel something, I have to know why.”

“And whether or not you could have done something about it…?”

“I guess so.”

“Even if she was killed, you’ll always be asking yourself whether or not you could have seen it coming before she did, or if you could have been there. From how you’ve described her relationship with you so far, I get the impression she understood you loved her unconditionally. What choices she did or didn’t make based on that information were hers, as painful as that might be. But if we’re right about her being murdered, then those choices were made in good faith that she’d be able to see you again, and it just didn’t turn out to be that way.”

“And if we’re wrong?”

“...It’s impossible to have perfect knowledge of another person’s mental state at any given time. We don’t always see the way a person’s mind and impulses torture them. Nor can we be there every time to intervene before a bad decision can be made. And without further information, we honestly can’t say that it was anything other than an accident. If she was a first time user without any assistance, well. That would be horribly reckless, but it wouldn’t be a decision being made out of pain, just a lack of information. No different than climbing a rickety old ladder at the edge of town- it might break, and it might result in permanent injury or death- but it might not. Most people, reasonably, don’t like rolling those dice, especially if nobody is there to help them. But for any number of reasons people can end up in a headspace where odds don’t seem as stacked against them as they are, or they just don’t care about themselves enough to stop until its too late.

“You’re right, though. Addiction doesn’t absolve poor decisions, but it doesn’t just inherently make someone’s life worth any less than they were born with. Too many people here suffer so much more than they have to because they aren’t seen as worthy of a second chance. Speaking of…I hope it will not trouble you too much to ask this, but as an Asphodian…do you…”

“Know that my city’s responsible for the pill mills and designer drugs?”

“Well, yes.”

“I mean. It’s taken as common knowledge, and certainly a lot of medicines do end up in Ellis- they’re distributed across Hades, after all, and the distance to Ellis is a short one- but I don’t have the clearance to know what goes on in the business end of things. Regardless, I’m involved in learning how to safely scale up the manufacturing process while testing is handled by another group, so I have to just kind of trust the data of the people running trials as much as the hospital and retailer boards responsible for distribution. And I mean, I do trust my colleagues, at least the ones I know personally, but…I don’t. Know everyone in every project, and certainly not what happens in other companies outside of the occasional seminar at an expo.

“All of that is to say, the ethics of my job kind of rely on plausible deniability- being able to trust that everyone else isn’t fudging the numbers both in research and in finance.”

“Do you?”

“I…I used to. When I started out, I definitely did. Of course you get a few famous cases of drugs having horrible side effects, and it highlights issues with the oversight process, or you read reports about overprescription of opioids and other strong painkillers, and you have to question the doctors’ judgement, and the party drugs- well they have to come from somewhere and we have the best infrastructure for producing them. The only place that could be making something like that in quantity is Lethe, who is more often blamed for that at least in Asphos, but Asphos has gotten its mercs into tense situations with Lethe corps in the past for trying to cut Asphos out of drug production of legitimate pharmaceuticals. To an Asphodian, it’s proof that we care about what we make the most, and won’t let our work be tarnished by shoddy production elsewhere, but really, when you think about it…”

“It means if a market for recreational drugs already exists, the ability to produce them already exists, and the willingness to escalate when control is threatened already exists…Well, that’s what would be called means, motive, and opportunity. If it were a person and not a company, that is.”

“Legally, what’s the difference?”

“Legally, the laws don’t mean anything at the organization level, if that organization is wealthy enough to keep its wheels greased.”

Juliet parked her car in front of the police department. It was nicer than Phlegeth’s, admittedly. More stately. Like it was barely used, if she wished to joke about it. She wasn’t prepared to leave her car just yet, though, since her passenger clearly was not either.

“...All of that stuff, though…It seems so distant when it happens to anyone else. Easy to pretend it doesn’t exist, make excuses for it, never look into it. Until it winds up on your doorstep. And I just can’t imagine Ziphus is responsible, or that I worked with someone who basically put my sister’s murder weapon into the hands of her killer, but I honestly don’t know that it isn’t true. That bothers me too. I know it’s selfish to only care enough to do something now, but if I can, I have to, right? I’ve been part of a machine that’s shattered lives.”

“It’s good to be aware of where apathy leads, without doubt, but it’s also important to note that people are made of flesh, not glass. Flesh and minds tear, bones break, but all of these can heal- if there is a will to heal, and the means provided to nourish that will. You cannot control the former thing, nor will it set all right even if you provide the latter, but it will create a chance for growth. For change, if nothing else. That’s still better than doing nothing, isn’t it?”

Mellia nodded and turned finally and looked at Juliet, trying once again to draw herself up, to pull herself together, but ultimately, finally failing. She sobbed, and Juliet held her, quietly waiting for the feelings to take their course.

After they did, Juliet drew back but kept a hand on Mellia’s shoulder.

“When we’re done here, I’m going to need you to do something for me, alright?”

Mellia nodded.

“When we’re done here, I need you to give me as much information as you have about her work history, and any friends or coworkers you have, which I will pass on to another associate of mine, Mx. Tati Torres. If the forensics look sketchy, we likely are going to have to start digging into how that happened and if this does lead us back to Asphos, I am going to need your expertise and credentials to get me into where I need to go. So just prepare yourself for that, if you can.”

Mellia Belle trembled, but nodded nonetheless. She could suddenly understand the exhaustion in Dr. Ximenez’s voice as she reckoned with the implications of her agreement. She pulled out a neckerchief her sister had worn on set to dry her eyes with. A bittersweet smile crossed her face at the signature on it. Even now, half-afraid of what she might find, she was proud of Milly.

—

Unsurprisingly, Juliet’s request to conduct her own medical examination of Mila Belle’s body was stonewalled, but she was granted a copy of the official report on her. Curiously, the coroner seemed particularly eager for her to leave, for he didn’t even allow her to speak with the forensic pathologists who had signed off on the report. 

That was no matter to Juliet, though. She had maintained good relations with all of her crewmates, which allowed her to call in favors with as many as she needed. And if the suspicion rumbling in her core was correct, she would need quite a few. For one, the mere presence of Yuma and her crew, for one thing, would be enough to draw the few unoccupied cops at the department late at night into tailing them, given that there was a general corporate interest in seeing that lot locked up if not killed, likely with a reward attached for either. Obviously, she needed X-ray’s sharp and clinical eyes for the examination, for another. But atop all of that, she needed the station’s security system to glitch- just for a bit. Sure, both she and X could evade visibility on the cameras, even in the dark, but a door that looked to be opening itself would still be suspicious. Better the screens were frozen altogether. And Quebec, sweetheart that they were, seemed excited for the chance for exactly such mischief.

Luckily, it didn’t take X-ray very long to determine the official report was bullshit. No addict in the world that wasn’t blatantly suicidal would have jammed a needle into their neck, and even if she was it should have been on the side of her dominant hand- much less that the puncture there wouldn’t already be covered with makeup, which would have been the mortician’s job. As if to distract from that fact, there was a second more plausible and visible injection on her arm, but it was slightly too wide, as if it had to have been drilled in after rigor mortis had set in.

If only the ones responsible for this sloppy patch job had also happened to leave a vial of Blissium that had been injected. No such luck, but no point in dwelling on that nor time to turn over the place in search of it.

At least Amoy, Zulu, and Romeo’s investigation had proven fruitful, to some extent. Mr. Aristo was, of course, not of much help- he’d been too busy regaling his fellow partygoers with industry stories, supposedly, and a few of them had been able to confirm as much (though they’d mentioned that Aristo had spent as much time hovering around the punch bowl, which he’d conveniently left ou). He did, however acquiesce to passing the buck onto the other actors and crew members involved in the film who’d been invited, who had been a little more agreeable, if only slightly. 

Many of them had claimed that Mila had ended up in conversation with Mr. Zoss, which a few actresses had tried, unsuccessfully to interrupt with their own conversation topics. It seemed Mr. Zoss had a reputation of being, at the very least, a womanizer, which they had thought to spare the relatively new starlet of, but nobody seemed inclined to speak more on the topic and a few had abruptly ended their conversations when pressed.

Further questioning of the caterers and bellhops yielded far more unsavory rumors, to that end, and had claimed Mr. Zoss had led Mila away somewhere.

Romeo, as he conveyed this, looked as though, against the capacities of his physicality, he was going to be ill. Though a flirt in his own right (Amoy claimed he’d made quite a bit of headway in talking to the director by chatting up his secretary), Romeo was in some ways a very tender soul; the mere suggestion of such profound disregard for a human being filled him with empathetic despair. It might have been strange if anyone outside of his division had seen him like this- not that Romeo was by any means an emotionless fellow, but he was light-hearted by default, and seemed to let any negative feelings slide off of him without lingering for very long. 

His divisionmates knew better, though. He might’ve breezily brushed off rejection, and even aloofly resist taking his flirtations farther kissing (even if only out of necessity here in Hades), but the man was easily and deeply moved by pathos. His visitations to Earth’s surface had often left him clutching small elements of the ruins left behind, and he’d scarcely been any better about extraterrestrial ruins he’d found either. In everything left behind was a piece of something that had been loved once, and as if by infection that love passed onto him. As did grief at what was lost.

As much as their romantic interactions had been little more than a shared experiment in endeavoring to mimic human relationships, that was a point of genuine affection Juliet held for Romeo. It pained her that in this moment she could not dwell on that feeling, as much as it pained her that the demand for professional distance forced her to refrain from sharing any deeper warmth or affection for Mellia. She found herself longing for a day to return when nothing was asked of her any longer, and she could simply allow herself to love for love’s sake, and to feel without restraint. 

Today was not that day, however, and neither would the following days be. All she could offer her Romeo for now was a brief hug and kiss on the cheek.

In the days that followed, Amoy and Zulu would, with Quebec’s help, root through copious amounts of surveillance and transaction data in search for a lead into where Zoss had sourced his poison, as well as where Mila had been when she’d disappeared. For what little had been preserved by this point of security footage, it largely seemed as if she’d been taken up to Zoss’s personal floor, only to be carried out weeks later by a security guard who dumped her off inside her apartment in the wee hours of the morning. 

The financial information had proven more promising, at least. Suspicious transactions for large amounts of an over-the-counter sleep aid could indeed be traced back to a subsidiary of Ziphus, Hypnaria, as well as boxes of medical supplies, including syringes.

Meanwhile, Tango’s investigations had yielded that, to the extent her neighbors knew her, Mila had indeed hosted several parties, but none of them had been exceptionally raucous affairs. Her coworkers during her smalltime acting career and casual friends she’d made at local bars likewise confirmed that though she was a social drinker, she’d never shown any interest in hard drugs, which records of her own bank account seemed to confirm.

All put together, in a more just city, a very promising case could have been opened up to take a swing at Zoss. But there were two problems with this: first, quite a lot of the evidence had been gathered extralegally, for what little law as not determined by the corporations mattered here, and secondly, this was not a just city. Zoss had paid off everyone he’d ever needed to to get away with this- and likely had been for years. Perhaps in a world where even the mere pretense of rule of law mattered, he’d had have faced an inkling of justice, but in this world it was going to take more creative means to take down this tyrant.

Luckily, just as Juliet had hoped, investigating Zoss’s finances had revealed he’d had his fingers in several pies, including the distribution network for several narcotics from several corporations- not just Ziphus. The astronomical avarice of a man who, dissatisfied with mere profiting off of films wildly successful across Hades, insisted as well as holding his little fiefdom hostage by profiting off of their despair as well, was truly something beyond Juliet’s reckoning. She’d seen shades of viciousness in Triskelonians before, but the confined conditions of life on a starship were generally thought to dissuade such utter moral decay (except, according to rumor, on Spiritburn). Quietly, it made something crystallize within her.

And it would start by pinning down the head of the snake.

For months now, if not the better part of since they’d arrived, X-ray had been hoping for Asphos to see some amount of comeuppance for the despicable system of debt laid out by the cybernetics and artificial organs companies of Asphos, given that he’d been forced to desperately salvage the lives of many a patient who’d had their body parts repossessed. If they were lucky, the repossession was done relatively painlessly and cleanly, but more than a few cases had been utter butcher work and a clear threat to any who’d fail to make their payments. He’d been petitioning Echo to consider taking an economic strike at them for months, in some fashion.

Not for lack of wanting, Echo had held off while trying to establish a solid base in Plutopolis. Now, at last, with power in the First consolidated, there was a good reason to do so: securing Lethe’s alliance. While Lethe had a loyal customer in Asphos and could be strong-armed by Asphos’s bleeding-edge cyborg soldiers, the First city would have little sway. But with Echo’s ingenuity and Plutopolis now having a de facto planned economy, the opportunity arose for their base to steadily work towards outcompeting Asphos. Even if taking the Seventh by force was out of the question, enough pressure could be applied externally to keep it out of action, especially if its neighbors lost enthusiasm for defending it.

It was in this regard that Mellia Belle’s assistance had become invaluable. Within the span of a month, she had taken up the work of espionage on her own company, and scouting out news from elsewhere in the industry to direct Echo’s drones towards. This data, along with data of the precursor chemicals Ziphus and others were using, would allow Cosmo Corp to copy and iterate upon their competitors main products, including those used to help with rehabilitation, which had been previously drastically overpriced

In an instant, Asphos’s economy could be drown in a flooded market, and it had no sure idea as to how bad the problem was, as no individual company wanted to admit to weakness in their cyber or information security. Ziphus, for its part, had nearly caught its mole, but a warning from a Lethian-born coworker had allowed her narrowly to slip away to Plutopolis.

Failing that, Peter Zoss himself had finally decided to get involved.

His invitation came in the form of a letter to Juliet, delivered by one of his mooks in civilian clothing. The message was clear enough, as was the time. She was to meet Zoss in his suite at 8 p.m. sharp, or he would arrive at her apartment the next day at the same time. She gave the lackey an unbothered smile and assured him that she’d be there on the dot. Alone, even, at his insistence.

From behind the door to his suite, Peter finishes a phone call- one of an endless stream of them that have been pouring in all day. He can’t understand how those beneath him could say he didn’t earn his money- he partied until he dropped, sure, took months long vacation whenever he liked, sure, but he also spent all his other waking moments taking phone calls or answering emails or listening to pitches to approve of or ignore. His privileges, his riches, were earned, to his thinking. Money flowed, was made, by his direction and discretion alone. And it was so, so much money. All of Hades ate up the entertainment that his studio produced. 

So surely he deserved every little treat he tasted, didn’t he?

He opened his door as soon as he’d heard the knock. His security guard- Fred or something? One his more reliable guys- was standing behind his guest. She was taller than he’d imagined, but beautifully built. Wearing that same classic neon detective get up she’d been in when she was in the Phlegeth’s papers. She could have been a movie star. Maybe he could still make her one. But probably not. No matter. He gave a dismissing nod to the guard, who turned around and walked off.

Juliet, for her part, was unimpressed with what she was greeted with- a man that was to her reckoning like a bag of moldering gray wool tied with golden ribbon- but the small smile on her face was a permanent fixture. The two exchanged greetings, and Juliet hung her hat and coat up as she entered, tucking her gloves into the pocket of the coat. 

Such a strange room she’d found herself in, opulent to the point of kitsch. Hadean manors were somewhat unlike those of antiquity, she thought. Real estate existed at an all time premium, given there was no room for cities to sprawl, and it meant that large estates often had to serve multiple functions. It was clear that Zoss owned the whole building- the upper three floors were entirely his own with areas clearly used to host his massive industry parties, with many suites available for guests to stay overnight for particularly long events- but the middle of the building was mostly offices, and the lowest half contained a sort of museum that anyone could buy a ticket to showing off copies of the studio’s most famous films’ props and displays.

Like a medieval lord’s castle, fortress and township all at once, but less practical for defense. And here at the top was the lord himself, alone but certain in his solitude. He gestured to a hardwood table upon which sat dinner for two: steak and potatoes au gratin, seasoned vegetables besides it, spiced wine in fine glasses. 

“I’m afraid I can’t eat this.”

“Vegan?”

“Something like that. I also eat earlier than this, normally.”

“Should’ve saved some room. You should try the wine, at least.”

Juliet sat down, examining the wine in her hand. “I also don’t drink. I do like the smell of wine, though.”

“I suppose we can’t skip straight to dessert, then?”

“I have to watch my figure. We can skip straight to the point, though.”

“The point is that you haven’t been settling into this city well, I don’t think. In Phlegeth, you were a high-profile P.I. Why come here, where your job is digging through other people’s dirty laundry?”

“I didn’t start off at the top in Phlegeth, though. I got a lucky break, and followed it to its natural conclusion.”

“Most people would take that chance to grow their business where it is from that point though, rather than uproot.”

“Let’s just say that being in the limelight is bad for my business. Too many people know you, too many clam up when you have anything to ask them. Sure, there were blurbs about my agency when I first came to town, but news is ephemeral here. The next day it was replaced by a scandal over some anti-leather activist I think. A few weeks later and I was as good as yesteryear’s news.”

“Smart. Quite unlucky, then that one of your clients ended up being a criminal of such notoriety.”

“Now now, Dr. Belle hasn’t been convicted, and nothing she did was a crime against Ellis.”

“We are rather protective of our neighbor, though. The healthcare of my employees rather relies on the cooperation of Asphos, as it is with the rest of Hades. To compromise its security compromises our own, so naturally we don’t take well to threats against it such as Plutopolitan spies.” Voss took a moment to eat his dinner quietly for a while, letting the silence linger for a while before putting down his glass to look back at her. 

“An accusation, Mr. Voss?”

“A fact. The police departments of both of our cities have been watching the movements of your agency since after the second data breach on Zephis. They are suspicious, to say the least.”

“Suspicious enough to extradite me to Asphos? I imagine you’d have sent me over promptly if there were.”

“No, no. You’ve been a very slippery lady. But that luck of yours is running thin, and when it falls through it is going to destroy you and your associates.”

“You don’t know that I’ve done anything beyond the scope of my profession’s duties to begin with. You are being very hasty with your threats.”

“I’ve been sluggish, if anything. You’ve put everyone here in a horrific predicament. The sovereignty of all the northern cities stands at risk because of it.”

“And what if you’re wrong, and I’m innocent?”

“Well, that would be unfortunate. I’m sure our justice system would acquit you in that case, but your reputation…Well, I don’t envy you, Ms. Capulet. Or is it Mrs.?”

“The latter. I happened to want to keep my maiden name.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

“Just makes this a bit awkward, in my opinion.” Juliet raised an eyebrow, and Zoss continued, “I can keep the trail cold. I have connections enough for that, as you must’ve found out in your snooping around. You have a face made for cinema- your husband too, if I’m being honest. Make the switch and you’ll have more obols and more glory than you’d have ever earned in five lifetimes of digging through trash for love letters or surely whatever that sketchy twig in the First is offering you. All I require is the liquidation of your detective agency…and a favor.”

Juliet’s brow furrowed, and she seemed to look past him for a moment, eyes flicking here and there in deep thought.

“What kind of a favor are we talking about here?”

“Just a night or two up here, with me. Think of it as the entry fee to the best career of your life.”

“I quite liked the one I had, if I’m being honest. I don’t suppose you’d settle for me being a snoop on your behalf instead?” 

“Oh my dear, I do not trust you nearly enough for that.” Juliet’s gaze narrowed with apprehension. She stood up.

“I wouldn’t go too far, Juliet. If you leave this room it will be the end of your agency either way. I’m offering you a chance- an extremely generous chance, really- to bury this in the past and start over again. Think about your husband. Your coworkers. Rotting in jail, gods know what happening to them. Your job was never a safe one and you knew that. Make this easy on yourself and just bite the bullet.”

Juliet’s eyes closed and her lip trembled a bit before she bit down on it. Already, Zoss was moving to her side when she drew air in deeply through her nose and slowly released it. When he had reached arm’s length, she held out a hand towards him.

“Deal. But at least let me get some lead up, would you? I might not be hungry, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to be warmed up.”

Zoss took her hand and kissed it. “Fair enough. What did you have in mind?”

“A dance, I think. A slow dance to your room.”

“...Not as tactile as I imagined, but I think that’s manageable. Hold on a moment.” He pulled out his phone and began playing something generically mood appropriate over the surround sound system in his apartment. 

Confident in his steps, he led her over to his room, occasionally spinning her or dipping her as though she were a doll. When they reached his bed, his veneer of gentlemanliness- the little there had ever been- began to wear off as he pushed her onto his bed. Nonetheless, as he reached for Juliet’s belt, she reached and touched the side of his face once, her smile looking pained, forced, as she ran the hand down to caress his neck…

And inject copious amounts of a prototype psychedelic into his veins.

When Juliet pulled her hand back, he saw for a moment the needle punched cleanly through the skin of her palm, yet no blood came out. A cyborg? But nothing about her had felt inorganic. How was this not caught by the metal detectors on the first floor- or the entrance to his private floors? His head spun with confusion, and at a world turning rapidly into watercolors. Before he knew what was happening he’d been flipped flat on his back with tremendous speed and force, gasping for breath. For some reason he couldn’t be sure of, he felt as though he had to breath manually now, as though if he had to trust his own body to do it he’d have blacked out.

“You…stupid bitch…what have you…done?” He reached out for his phone, only to see it being pocketed by Juliet, whose fluid motions backwards seem to hang in the air for a moment like they were stop motion.

“Me? What have I done? Oh, nothing much. Just gave you a little taste of the things your friends have been in the works cooking up. So strange- this formula wasn’t leaked at all supposedly, so really only Asphos could have done it. To say otherwise means they never actually caught their mole or even successfully drove it out. That’d look strange, right? Why make all this ado about security breaches unless they wanted someone to pin the blame on?”

“Evidence…There’s evidence everywhere…From the-”

“The moment I walked in? Are you sure? Did you actually tell anyone, or did you keep this one a secret from everyone like you keep all your little secrets?” Juliet pulled the phone out again, bypassing the security on it with ease as she opened up an app on his phone that showed him security footage from all the cameras in the building. “No, I know. You thought you’d catch me walking in. But you’re such a busy man, I’m sure making sure I came in through the front door slipped your mind. Someone else’s job, right?”

“The guard…”

“Ah, yes, the guard. Did you know Frank Boz wasn’t actually due to be into work today? For someone so social I’m actually kind of shocked that didn’t scan to you- they all just kind of bleed together in your head, don’t they? All the help, the underlings. Just one massive invisible blob that you stand upon to make yourself feel tall.

“But you’re still confused I see. You might not remember a name or a guard rotation, but you’d never forget a face, right?” Zoss was silent, feeble and enervated. He had to move, to stand up. To kill her. Everything was slipping away rapidly, he had to try. He managed to pull himself upright and lumber towards her, but was pushed down just as easily as before.

“Since I think this will mean something to you, I’d like you to see something beautiful before you die.”

It was a strange thing to say, but not as strange as what happened next, which he tried desperately to attribute to the drugs: Juliet’s deep brown eyes turned a shocking bright magenta, and the skin on her face loosened, shivering off of her like a jewel wasp trying to climb out of its husk. Gently reaching at some unseen seam, she pulled down the soft robotic skin and revealed the candy cyan blue metal beneath, rows of plates all over her face pulling themselves back and sealing themselves tightly into shape. Leaving the skin loose as it fell around her neck, she approached him, tilting his bleary gaze upwards.

“Do you see it? That nightmare your grandparents warned your family of? The dusk of all the decay you’ve stacked on top of itself year by year by year?” There was no anger in her voice, no genuine malice, just genuine excitement. “It’s glorious, isn’t it? Had I more time, I’d show you my whole self, truly. Not out of vanity, mind. It’s just that your horror is dazzling to me, soothing to look at even, given that men like you are the bane of mankind.” She pulled the skin back over her head, taking a moment to look in the mirror over his dresser to fix her hair.

As she did this, Peter Zoss made one last desperate effort to reach her, but this time, for the last time, he was granted one last split second of clarity from the pain of having his head smashed against his nightstand- just enough and at the right angle to be an accident. Two fingers, featurelessly smooth, checked that his pulse was gone before donning her coat, hat, and gloves once more. 

Such a shame she’d need to cloak herself on the way out, but she suspected it would be some time before Ellis agreed that his death would be a thing to celebrate.

—

In their apartment, Juliet leaned against Romeo as they sat on the couch, his arm wrapped tightly over her shoulder. He’d been like that since she’d come back that day, clinging to her more than usual, not like he’d done so long ago after the little incident she’d caused on the Triskelion. She let him be, knowing his nerves would settle in time. And truthfully, she didn’t mind his fretting much this time either. The two of them had always been, before all else, scholars of the behavior of organic sapients (especially the human kind), but in moments like these it became clear that it wasn’t just a dance. They may have both been very good actors- truly they would’ve done well on the big screen, probably- but they were also true friends at the end of the day.

And perhaps some part of the millenia-long act had even become truth. Perhaps she needed him just as much as anyone had needed her. Perhaps she needed, and if only for a moment could indulge in that which had always been kept behind a glass case for observation. She squeezed Romeo in return, nuzzling against him while the news blared on the television.

New clinics- sponsored by Cosmo Corp.- would be opening up in Ellis itself, with discord having been sewn between it and Asphos of late. Of course, there wasn’t any solid evidence that could convict any particular Asphodian of having been responsible for Zoss’s death, and even if there were Ziphus and its ilk would not go down without a fight, but public opinion was rapidly shifting away from a favorable interpretation.

Amoy and Zulu sat at their dining table arguing over a novel while Tango across from them was drawing from memory a scene of an Ellisian neighborhood in bright, surreal pastels. Scooting back, the latter tilts their head and then announces, “Well, just about done here, huh?”

“Your art?” Juliet asked, “Hold on, let me see.”

In subject matter there was nothing particularly special about it, just some children playing in the street. But Romeo held it up with a beaming smile. 

“You capture the liveliness of this place so well, beautiful Tango.”

“I appreciate that,” the scarlet-eyed android replied, “but I actually meant: We’re done in this city now, right? Where do we go from here?”

“Only time can tell where we’ll be needed,” Juliet replied, “Probably in Styga before long to smooth things out among our compatriots, but I don’t think we need to rush ourselves out of here just yet. I do rather like the atmosphere of this city, don’t you?”

“It’s depressingly glitzy and its art is so polished of its rough edges that it lacks substance,” Tango derided, but continued, “...but I can’t deny that it’s fascinating how Ellis manages to crystallize Hadean culture. And in true human spirit, real art survives here as well. Imagine the papers that could be written on the matter…Well, that will be, if we ever make it out.”

“Now Tango, love, we will not be calling that an ‘if’,” Romeo chided.

“I do agree with them about wishing we had more time to write though,” Amoy chimed in.

Zulu nodded in agreement with their twin, and added, “Contemporary language and culture evolve more rapidly here than in any other city we’ve visited so far.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Romeo opened it this time, and tried (and failed) to hide his surprise as he did.

“Mellia, dearest…What…What are you doing here? Are you quite alright?”

“Relax, Mr. Montague. You might say I’ve been…exonerated, in the public eye at least. Enough that I’m safe to return here, if maybe not to Asphos. My parents still aren’t speaking to me though, and that’s probably just as well, but I don’t mind and that’s not why I’m here anyway.”

“Oh?” Juliet asked, “What brings you around, then?”

“...I was hoping you could help me look for an apartment nearby. I’m going to start work at the rehab clinic on 27th street.” 

“That’s wonderful, Mellia. Are you looking forward to it?”

“I’m looking forward to making sure people get the chance to dry out safely, yeah. I mean. My sister may not have actually been an addict to my knowledge, but her reputation shouldn’t have been pulled into the mud even after death for it even if she was. And given that I was part of a company that is responsible for this crisis to begin with, I feel like…I need a second chance too, in a way. I don’t expect it to be easy, but I want to…I don’t know. To make my own choices about my own life. To do the good I choose to do. Does that make any sense?”

“It does to me,” Juliet nodded, “We’re a little crowded here, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to stay here if you need to. We wouldn’t mind having some extra company, and you do in fact also make a pretty good spy.”

“You make a pretty good psychologist too. I know you’ve already got a full time business, but if you ever want to volunteer at the clinic…”

Juliet seemed touched at the offer, but then shook her head, “I never did finish my degree, you know. I’d like to get proper accreditation before seeing people. But that…is something I’ve been wanting for some time, truthfully, and maybe I’ll start working towards that.”

“All I know is that if you can help them as much as you helped me during those months, this would be a much different city. A better one.”

“It will be, either way. Times are changing, you know.”

“I suppose it is,” Mellia nodded, before tilting her head, looking past Juliet and at a long rectangular oil painting mounted on the wall.

Juliet turned to look at where Mellia’s focus was, then back to her.

“Oh, that? It’s one of Tati’s pieces. Come in, take a look if you like. You wouldn’t mind that right, Tati?”

Tango nodded, “Only if you can stand me preening a little besides it.”

The image was a picture of a cityscape, maybe not unlike Ellis, but above it stretched an expanse of tiny lights, giving a feeling of dizzying vastness. Another city on the ceiling perhaps? It was strange to Mellia to think about. 

“What do you call it?”

“The Future.”

[murfpersonalblog]

“Nosferatu” Symbolism & Ending Explained - Book & Hearth

This is a fantastic video analysis by an IRL psychologist, occultist, and Romanian, so watch the whole thing! I wanted to highlight a few bits she discussed that I liked most, following my review of Nosferatu, and how much I liked the handling of mental illness and its depiction in a Gothic/Victorian setting.

Sex & Death 

One thing that I love about the vampire legend is how the meaning shifts with the times and the specific individual who created that piece of artwork. In Bram Stoker's original Dracula, The Vampire represented the fear of sexual promiscuity in a time of increasing bloodborne STDs, as well as the fear of predatory Eastern foreigners coming to ravage good Christian women. In Francis Ford Coppola's remake of Bram Stoker's Dracula, the vampire's meaning shifted a bit, to represent sexual temptation within a monogamous relationship. ...But in Robert Egger's Nosferatu, the vampire represents Death itself. Nosferatu's pull on Ellen reveals Ellen's pull towards death, as she becomes deeper and deeper entrenched into her Melancholia. (8:06 - 8:52)

Melancholia, Depression & Hysteria

Now, “melancholia” is just an old-timey word for Depression. it's the predecessor of depression from the Victorian era. In the beginning of the movie, it's hinted that Ellen has a history of melancholia, and Thomas dismisses her dreams of dread and urges her not to speak of these things out loud--which is pretty consistent with the reaction to Ellen's worsening mental health issues.

As the movie deepens, the reaction is to further constrict her emotions with corsets and bondage and to dope her up. It really shows how mental health issues were treated for women in the Victorian era: Keep it bottled up, or else Society is going to tire of you, and they might give you a lobotomy, they might drug you with opiates, they might bleed you, they might call you hysterical, they might lock you up in an insane asylum, they might give you a Hysterical Paroxysm (which was a doctor administered orgasm)--

--because you see, crazy women were seen as “hysterical,” from the Greek word hyster which meant womb--

--because “hysteria” was seen as being caused by a “wandering womb;” your womb wandering around in your belly. Hysteria is the predecessor of modern-day Histrionic Personality Disorder, which is a disorder characterized by excessive attention-seeking and interestingly: pseudo-seizures, which are seizures that are not caused by epileptic brain waves.... So it completely tracks that Ellen has both hysteria and seizures. (8:52 - 10:09)

...Later in the movie Ellen flatout says: “He [Orlock] is my Melancholy, and now he's discovered our marriage and come back.” Once, she was happy as a newlywed, but when her depression found out she was happy, he got jealous and he came back to end her happiness. We see how Thomas has to compete with Ellen's melancholia, her depression tells her that he's not good enough for her, that he gave up their nuptials for gold--which has a seed of truth, but also shows how depression can distort things and convince us that the people who love us don't actually love us. (10:22 - 10:48) 

...Life sometimes pushes people into the arms of depression. In the final scene, Ellen dresses up as a bride and she willingly prepares to meet Death... Depression is almost like a marriage to Death; and I wondered if the consummation of their marriage was a metaphor for suicide--giving into the melancholia, sacrificing herself to save the others from her depression. (11:00 - 11:22)

Shadow Self, and the Evil Within Us

Nosferatu is Ellen's [Jungian] Shadow.... We see when he's coming for her the shadow of Nosferatu's hand extending across the city, and Ellen asks the crucial question: "Does evil come from within us, or from beyond?” ...At another point in the movie somebody says: “We must discover evil within ourselves to defeat it;” which is essentially what Shadow Work is: uncovering these parts of ourselves that we've buried and deciding to look at them in the face. (13:12 - 14:09) 

....Nosferatu also takes place during Christmas, which is the darkest time of the year, but also the time of year when when Christ is born. And Nosferatu is the shadow of the Christ--the Antichrist. So, Nosferatu represents two things at once: both the demon within and also the demon externalized. (14:53 - 15:11)

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer In The Dark: A...Gratitude...Carol?

Hi, I know I just posted a whole long-ass write-up on stories and scores I adapted from other media for this verse yesterday, but this is an idea I almost literally just came up with, and it's delightful seasonal nonsense, so I figured that it deserved its own post. XD What happened is this: during a boring moment at work last week, I found myself thinking about my old "Scenes From A Multiverse Christmas Carol" fic (featuring Edna Strickland from BTTF: The Game as Scrooge; Victor, Alice, and all the various OC children I've given them over the years as the Cratchits; and young Emmett Brown (also from BTTF: The Game) and Bonejangles and Barkis Bittern (in the "shadow puppet" form from the "Remains of the Day" sequence) from Corpse Bride as the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet To Come respectively). Specifically, I found myself thinking, "If I was writing that fic today, I'd probably make Smiler the Ghost of Christmas Present -- they totally fit the brief for that spirit! Almost aggressively cheerful, has a magic liquid they can use on people to make them happier, has some secret darkness hidden away under the clothes...

"...Actually, thinking about it, I could turn the whole Valicer trio into the Ghosts of Christmas, couldn't I? Alice suits Past because her whole plotline in A:MR revolves around her rummaging through her past and using those memories to make herself a better person in the present (via Bumby-murder, granted), and Victor suits Yet To Come because he's very closely tied to death thanks to, you know, marrying a corpse in his movie. Plus he's pale enough for the role...it could totally work!

"...oh shit now I want to do a Christmas Carol parody with the Valicer In The Dark version of the trio and Lord Rowan."

Aaaand cue me pretty much losing the rest of the day to coming up with ways on how to make that work. XD Now, the traditional plotline of the Scrooge character being visited by three actual ghosts looking to help them change their ways wouldn't work in the world of Duskwall and the Shattered Isles, simply because, in that universe, ghosts are pretty much always very bad news. If a ghost ends up in your room while you're sleeping, it's pretty much guaranteed it's there to possess you and suck away your life essence, not help you become a better person. Not to mention, I wasn't about to kill off my trio to do this, even if I made it a one-off non-canon story. So my initial thought was that the whole thing would have to be a weird dream Lord Rowan had for some reason, with the three in the right roles doing their supernatural thing while he fought them at every turn. And then end it with him waking up the next morning and tracking down the Three Pillars to accuse them of breaking into his house again, only for them to be like "...we have no idea what you're talking about, are you feeling okay?" Which was -- all right, but wasn't really gelling with me --

And then -- I came up with something MUCH FUNNIER.

Allow me to set the scene for you -- the story would open on the eve of Gratitude (a Duskwallian holiday all about giving thanks to the Immortal Emperor for ascending to the throne and saving the Shattered Isles during the cataclysm way back in the day; it's a bit more "Thanksgiving" than "Christmas" but it's the closest analogue we've got in the main rulebook), with Lord Rowan throwing a party for all his family and friends and whatnot. Things are going pretty well for old Nathaniel --

Up until he's informed that there's a disturbance in the kitchens. And when he goes to investigate, he finds himself blinded by a shockingly bright light. Scrambling around, he manages to seize hold of an arm (or is it a leg? Or a head?) --

And finds himself holding a flour-covered Alice Liddell. Turns out that she and her compatriots broke into the house to steal any scraps and leftovers from his fancy party that they could find to distribute to the residents of Six Towers. The "disturbance" was her accidentally upending a bag of flour onto herself, and the flash was her using Smiler's "Flasher" device to try and cover a getaway. Lord Rowan is naturally pissed off and demands to know where the others are, but she says they split up a while back and she's not sure. So he drags her off to try and find them, complaining all the while about how hard they make his life and how dare they steal his food to give to those "leeches" outside. Alice is annoyed by all this and essentially goes "What the hell happened in your past to make you such a jerk?"

And cue them running first into Lord Rowan's father, Elder Gregorious Rowan, City Council member and high-ranking leader in the Church of the Ecstasy of the Flesh, and then into his older brother Graham, a decorated and important leviathan hunter with a wife and three children. Both of whom end up talking about Nathaniel's past and how they'd hoped he'd live up to his potential better. Alice is like "ah, second son syndrome." XD Lord Rowan is like "oh screw you" and continues his search --

And happens upon his study -- which has light coming out from under the door. And when he throws open said door, he finds Smiler sitting his chair at his desk, wrapped in stolen Gratitude decorations (including a wreath of moss and greens upon their head) and eating some food they got at the party (not even stolen, the waiters just gave them some canapes). Lord Rowan is even more annoyed now (while even Alice is like "Smiler, you took a snack break?" -- Smiler protests they were going to share) and starts going on about how they're ruining his Gratitude --

And Smiler responds with "oh, we're ruining your Gratitude? What about all your tenants whose Gratitudes you've ruined?" and drags him out onto a nearby balcony to show him Six Towers and have a little rant about how the people down there have almost nothing thanks to him, but they still do their best to be thankful and share the spirit of the holiday with each other. "And you can't even spare the scraps from your kitchen to help them? Tell me, if things had gone according to plan, would you have even known we were here? Or would you have not even noticed the missing food?" Lord Rowan protests he's not running a charity and if people want meals they can go to the Arms of the Weeping Lady, but Smiler shoots back that the soup kitchen can't do everything and that regular people have to help increase happiness too. Lord Rowan dismisses that as "Advocate nonsense" and heads back inside, intending to raise the alarm and call the Bluecoats on them. Alice and Smiler are like "oh come on, can you not be a dick for one day, we don't even want to ruin your party, we just want the stuff you'd throw away anyway," but Lord Rowan says he's had enough of their shenanigans. Alice threatens to hurt him, but Lord Rowan is like "oh, you wouldn't dare, not in my own house. You lot shan't summon the specter of death upon me!"

And then he turns around and finds himself face-to-hood with a tall figure in a black cloak with one skinny pale hand reaching out of it. He naturally screams like a little girl at this --

Causing the figure to recoil and trip over its own cloak, falling down and revealing it's Victor. (Or "Vincent," as Lord Rowan initially calls him -- Victor is like "Lord Everglot made the same mistake -- why can you rich people never remember my name?!") Turns out he's wearing the cloak because his usual coat is in the wash and he needed something to protect against the chill ("We told him it was too big," Alice says, prompting Victor to retort "I'm not used to things being TOO BIG on me"). Lord Rowan recovers quickly from nearly having had a heart attack and sarcastically asks Victor if he has anything to say about his lack of care about the "peasants" and their "pathetic Gratitude celebrations" -- turns out Victor does, saying that if he doesn't care how he's regarded in the present, perhaps he could care about how he's regarded in the future? After all, he's not leaving a particularly nice legacy behind him at the moment -- the people in Six Towers hate the Rowan name, associating it with fear and want and misery. "When you die, do you think anyone would come to your marker in the great mausoleum by the crematory and mourn? Or do you think there will be celebrating in the streets?" Lord Rowan is a little shaken by that thought, but manages to dismiss it, pointing out he'll be dead and his soul burnt away, so what does it matter? Victor starts to bring up the idea of his descendants suffering for his sins instead --

And then stops, because, uh-oh. There's a ghost in the house. And it seems to be right in the middle of the ballroom -- aka in the middle of Lord Rowan's party. The four rush there, to find the guests being terrorized by someone Lord Rowan recognizes as the ghost of one Ebenezer Marley -- an old school friend of his who became a solicitor and helped him occasionally with matters of property law. Apparently the dude was murdered recently, and decided to take out his spectral rage on the celebrants. Marley spots Lord Rowan and rushes to take him over --

Only to be caught by Victor, who just so happens to have his ghost-hunting kit on him. After a brief struggle, he, Alice, and Smiler manage to wrangle the ghost into a spirit bottle and save the party. The guests are all very impressed, going "bravo" and "thank you for helping us" --

And Lord Rowan realizes that turning them over to the Bluecoats now would make him look extremely bad. So, very reluctantly, he summons his butler and asks him to take them to the kitchen so they can collect the food they wanted before escorting them off the property. The Three Pillars are thrilled, but he makes it very clear to them that this is not him being nice -- this is payment for services rendered. And that he wants the decorations Smiler stole back, thank you. Smiler obligingly drapes it all on Lord Rowan instead, and the trio head off happily to collect their spoils. Lord Rowan watches them go, quietly steaming about them winning --

And then another one of his rich acquaintances (which I am so tempted to make Barnaby from Oxventure Presents: Blades In The Dark) drapes an arm around him and goes, "Oh, relax, Nate, it's Gratitude! You can go back to trying to kill them the next day!" Lord Rowan starts to protest that he hasn't been trying to kill them --

And then he stops. Thinks. And then smiles and goes, "why, you're absolutely right." Cue him returning to the party in much better spirits, thinking about how there must be someone willing to, ah, "take care of" the Three Pillars --

Aaand end of story. XD Yeah, a traditional Christmas Carol this ain't. But hey, at least this allows me to establish Lord Rowan's more murderous tendencies towards the trio in future stories! Hell, it might be good to follow this story with the Taskmaster-based one, since part of the joke in that one is Alex deliberately misinterpreting Lord Rowan's request to "take care of" the three, and the show is known for its "New Year's Treat" one-off episodes...

[azarexplosivo]

Going to make a whole thesis about the song “Black friday” cause it’s my favorite song from bf and I NEED to be a little nerdy about it. “Oh tete but there is a genius thing explaining it”- ITS FROM MY PERSPECTIVE OKAY

“Is this what I lived for?

To be choked in a toy store?

While staring into hell…”

This first line can be “funny” and tragic, because we see a young girl with so much potential getting KILLED in a TOY STORE because of a DOLL. It’s tragic how her life has been undervalued, she can feel her death coming and it seems so close she can STARE to her destiny.

“Theres something’s that’s beautiful

Being awake for my funeral

You can close the casket now.”

But then it catches me, SHE SEEMS FINE WITH IT, so fine that the imagination of her own funeral it’s a beautiful thing to her. Closing the casket it’s accepting this is the end.

“The plans for my father's hopeless seed

Born into moral poverty

Still, I wasn't the angel heaven sent

To break through my cliché boundaries”

Okay so first we have a “Not your seed reference” that it’s interesting because of the fact that Bill came to save his daughter, Lex’s Father abandoned her.

She saying “moral poverty” it’s a strong choice, not just the money, but the morals. It shows how the relationships between the fosters happened.

And she wanted to be different from her dad and mom, she wanted to break what it us set up to her: a shitty life with a shitty mother in a shitty trailer. She seems disappointed, because she didn’t break it.

“'Cause Friday is black for me

The dreamer has dreamed her dream

When Friday is black

There's no turning back

'Cause Friday is black for me”

Friday being black can be a metaphor for the end, THIS Friday it’s black because it’s MY END.

She dreamed of becoming a actress, but no, that’s her end, that’s how she dies.

And she can’t go back, because, again, THATS HER END OUCHIIIIEE.

“Is there some lesson to learn

Should I never have wanted?

I never even got started

Or were the decks always just this stacked”

Then.

She gets angrier, because she realizes what makes her such a connectable character:

She’s a teen, with dreams, loves, and a hole life to go on. How can she think of something good about this hole situation when she didn’t even TASTED life yet.

And she sees, into unfair because HOW I was SET UP, any rich kid would have an idea how to continue.

“I mean, it's really a godsend

Clear my plans for the weekend

But there's nothing to subtract

I don't want your half-baked sympathy

When did it save those in need?

Still, I thought that angels did exist

But now I hope they plan to end it quick”

In this internal monologue, she’s trying to make things make sense, so she makes fun about the godsend, about her plans for the weekend…it’s just sad.

The she turns to US, THE PUBLIC. Saying she don’t need our pity, because pity doesn’t save life’s. AND ITS SUCH A GOOD WAY TO CRITIQUE A SERIOUS MATTER LIKE THIS..I’m in love with the writing sorry.

Then. She comebacks to her fantasies about angels, but now she just hopes her end is near.

“Only my ashes will see the sea.”

She gave up about California, about her bf, she gave up about everything at this point. Now the sea will be the receptionist of what lasted of her.

“At first I didn't know what she was to me

At first I didn't know why I cared

Or why I wanted

To hold her and rock her to sleep”

And now she encounters the only thing the really kept her going. Hannah was a salvation to lex, lex wanted to be a better person because Hannah existed. She took care of her, she rocked her to sleep, she was the mother and the sister all at once.

“Did I need her more than she needed me?”

The answer? Yes. She needed Hannah to have something to inspire her to continue. In dysfunctional households, the majority of the kids fear ending up like theirs responsible, but don’t have a reason (a formal reason I say) to change, lex encounters hannah as a motivation to grow up to be better.

“Maybe I’m wrong

She can go on her own

But I’m leaving”

And then, she gives up.

She says goodbye to her last hope, and embraces death.

UNTIL OUT MAN GENERAL JOHN MACNAMARA APPEARS AM RIGHTTT

just love this song sorry.