#this idea just came to me while I was doing something entirely unrelated

[chaosoftheages]

OKAY HERE ME OUT:

A Purple gets amnesia fic, but not F&S style.

So basically

He doesn't trust King

He still thinks Orchid is alive

He's still trying to seek Navy's approval

He has literally no clue who the CG is

SO HE RUNS OFF TO FIND NAVY AND ORCHID...only to learnt that Navy split town nine years ago and Orchid died eight years earlier

So while he's wandering around, questioning what the fuck he's gonna do now, he gets kidnapped by these ppl tryna make a quick buck(or some random shit like that idk)

And if we remember the necklace King got Purple, I should note that it has King's number on the back of this necklace. The kidnappers see this and are like "....Brilliant."

So King gets a random call, forgetting his number is on the back of Purple's necklace, realizes they have Purple, and is like "...SHI-"

[annabelle--cane]

this is a difficult thing to have conversations about because it provokes really strong reactions in people for completely valid and understandable reasons, so please feel free to hit da bricks on this post whenever you want, but I do want to try and analyse the jonmartin slaps. we get three across 160, 169, and 172, and a line addressing it in 173, and then it never happens or comes up again. none of them come out of nowhere, and they mostly fly under the radar until 173 because they all broadly fit the "slapping someone out of a trance in an emergency" trope, but each of them slowly decreases in urgency.

the first time, the apocalypse starts up and martin comes back to find a passed out jon, can't wake him by making noise, and strikes him in a panic. this makes sense, this is a man who has entered a supernatural coma before and martin had no idea what was going on, so of course he'd jump to something desperate.

the second time, they're in a burning building, jude arrives while jon is still mid-statement, and when making noise doesn't work martin slaps him out of it. this makes sense, they were there for jude and if jon didn't come back to himself then she likely would have hurt them, though martin knew that her powers against them were limited.

the third time, jon is getting pulled into into a repeating statement instead of coming out on his own like usual, so martin speaks once or twice to try and get his attention, and then slaps him out of it. this... again, it makes sense, jon was getting trapped, but there was no immediate peril like before, martin just got freaked out and wanted to leave quickly. he seems to get that it was harsh because he apologizes for it, but they don't linger at all, martin just starts in on them having to leave immediately.

the last time it's mentioned is when they're on night street, during what is one of their most intense arguments. jon tries to talk about the suffering of the children there for longer than he needs to in order to make a point, martin cuts him off, and he pointedly says, "thank you for not hitting me this time." it never happens or is brought up again.

to our knowledge, jon doesn't say anything about the slapping until 173. he's not a guy who's known for speaking up when things upset him, he was amiably working with daisy within about a week of her trying to kill him, so it makes sense that he would just sit with this comparatively more minor thing. however, I do think it's relevant to note that, at this point in their relationship, martin will sometimes voice his feelings and boundaries (not listening to statements, not consenting to mind reading, worrying when jon expresses discomfort with his body), while jon doesn't. from the couple of times he does talk about his feelings this season, I think that tendency comes a few places: he has a hard time being aware of his emotions at all, he doesn't know how to evaluate his emotions' importance in comparison to others', he assumes his emotions are obvious and thus people already act with full knowledge of them, and the topic is just hard to make himself talk about. from what he says in 173, I think the slaps bothered him the entire time, but he made himself be fine with it until he was upset with martin for unrelated reasons and finally let it out.

as for martin's side, I do not think the slaps came from any kind of suppressed desire to hurt or wield power over jon. we've seen him when he's angry at jon, this isn't how he acts, he gets shouty and indignant but never violent. I'd even go as far as to say he doesn't do it in 173 because he's genuinely upset at jon and the situation they're in, and it would never occur to him to deliberately inflict pain on someone he cares about to assert control over them. the connecting line between all of them is fear from something that he wants jon to help him handle. the apocalypse starts, he is stuck inside one of his worst nightmares, and he's paranoid that the web took control of him. he's someone who is "always following, never leading" (170), and he gets tunnel vision when something scares him and his "leader" isn't there.

jon did need to be pulled out of all three of those situations, and words proved insufficient, and maybe a quick jolt of pain was the only thing that could have worked, but martin doesn't seem to consider what that would feel like from jon's pov. in my experience of relationships, if there's ever an unavoidable emergency where you do actually need to cross a line that you never would otherwise, you talk about it afterwards. you do a debrief where you say "I'm really sorry about that, I didn't see another way, I'll try and be better prepared next time." they do this for problems they have later on (177, 198), but martin doesn't do that here. jon's point-of-view just doesn't seem to occur to him. when jon expresses discomfort, he drops the tactic without a word; later, when he needs to anchor jon in the panopticon, he talks him through it before it can get too far. so, it's not about a lack of care for jon's feelings.

I think it comes down to a few things: a) his occasional tendency to treat people as a means to an ends and not think about their perspective. he's so glued to putting others first most of the time that when he stops, he can't find a middle ground and forgets that other people can have feelings about his actions. b) his problems with conceiving of himself as a person of any importance who is capable of doing anything, especially of doing harm. as a concept, "hurting jon" is the thing he would least like to do in the whole world, it is his nightmare scenario and literally the culminating moment of his tragedy. he finds it almost unthinkable, so the idea that he does it casually when he's scared doesn't cross his mind. one of his central worries at this point is that jon is now so powerful that he no longer needs martin, how could he hurt someone like that? he's not anywhere near a comparable level of importance, it's not like he has his own domain that he's not aware of because jon told him about it and he immediately rejected the information. he's powerless and could never bring himself to hurt the man he loves.

I just. think it's an interesting microcosm of some of the lows of their relationship. once the problem is discovered martin instantly takes the note and doesn't put it on jon to explain himself further or assuage his guilt, they are willing and able to adapt, but it still comes from some of their bedrock flaws. martin doesn't understand that he can hurt people, and jon has such an inflated understanding of his capacity to hurt people that it sabotages his self-worth and his ability to respond to pain and displeasure.

[yurinaa-world]

"𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈!"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Xiangli Yao, Jiyan, & Aalto x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You can't help but cover his eyes when you go in for a kiss

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓁𝒾 𝒴𝒶𝑜 "𝐻𝓊𝒶𝓍𝓊 𝒜𝒸𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓂𝓎'𝓈 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒾𝓅𝒶𝓁 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝑜𝓇"

Xiangli was always a gentle person, especially when it came to you, you were his everything; one and only. You adored him as well, yet embarrassingly, it’s weird when you kiss him, the idea of him opening his eyes while you kiss; they’re just open the entire, like what was he thinking! He tells you not to overthink it and he does like kissing you! But that doesn’t help. 

“Your face is red, are you sick? Are you injured?” Concerned about your well-being as always. He felt bad bringing you out to watch some of his experiments he’s been working on if you were any kind of ill.

 Yet that wasn’t the problem, you wanted to congratulate him by kissing him since most of the experiments worked out, like a bad memory that shows up before you go to bed, the random thought appeared in your head and just made the blood rush to your face.

“I’m fine.”

His honest eyes just look back at you with relief you’re alright. “Well, since we're done let's get something to eat, My treat.” 

“Xiangli.”

“Yes?” Covering his eyes with the palm of his hand, completely ridding his vision of you, just so you can lean in to give him a soft kiss, it felt like he was touching the softest of silks yet it was your lips, once your lips leave his; hand leaving his eyes so he could see you again. 

He was just left in awe, not sure what to do as blood rushed to his ears and cheeks. “You said it's your treat right, then come on.”

💫𝒥𝒾𝓎𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈"

“Jiyan, you’re back.” 

Sitting on top of the railing like the reckless lover of his you are, looking behind at him, a bright smile plastered on your lips making you look ravishing, hair swaying from the light cold wind, that sparkled in your eyes, as the moon shined on you. 

It was a sight that was more beautiful than the fantasies he had about this moment, nothing could beat the real thing.

“Things have calmed down greatly, and I came back for you.” 

Whenever he’s with you, he feels young, almost as if he wasn’t a general yet boy chasing after his crush, blushing brightly; heart pounding brightly just at the sight of you alone. Closing the distance and standing by your side. Your hand takes his, intertwining them before putting it on your chest, to keep it close to you.

“A pretty night, right?”

“Be careful, you might sip.” You can’t help but laugh a little at his worry for safety—completely avoiding your question, putting an arm around your shoulder; pushing you against your side against his chest. “You worry too much, Jiyan, I’m grateful you're back to me.” 

You’re so grateful that he was brought back to you without any pieces missing, he was strong but how strong can one man be while holding up an entire army with the opponents of unrelenting tact discords attacking every second without mercy? 

Pulling his arm off, letting go of his hand, and motioning him to lean down for you, like a knight to your every command he does so, gently placing your palm over his eyes, kissing him on his gentle lips—to him, it just felt better when you did cover his eyes, the face it was you made it better.

Even when you pulled away, he still wanted more “I may be selfish and greedy, but I to kiss your lips once more.”

💫𝒜𝒶𝓁𝓉𝑜 "𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈"

“Come on! One kiss, I'm gonna leave, why don’t you give me some love so I'll do my best today.”

“How desperate can you be, Aalto,” He’s got his hands clasped together, accompanied with his eyes sparkling at you as if he were a dog asking for more treats. “Just do your job!” Your fingers go to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Please.”

He’s always like this, wanting affection from you, even going as far as using his work as an excuse instead of being a normal person and just asking.

He’s always using his work as an excuse just to make you want to not to even an ounce of romantic gestures that make him yearn so badly for you.

His eyes sparkled so bright as if they were fireworks in the skies, moving in closer to enhance his chances with you. You cover his eyes with the palm of your hand, you kiss his lips, it was like a flash that he couldn’t even process when you took your hand.

“Go to work.”

“You gotta give me one more!”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[vxlvted]

!! MDNI !!

“Intimidating”

warnings: smut, anal (reader fucks him with a dildo), reader calls minho “good boy”, mentions of filming during sex, mentions of exhibitionism, i think that’s all

a/n: this is just something random. idk what i’m doing to be honest 😭 this is the first time i’ve ever actually posted something i’ve written so enjoy !

Lee Know was trembling, his back pressed against Y/N’s chest and his entire body a flushed, quivering mess. She had him completely at her mercy—one hand on his slick, oversensitive length while the other worked a toy in and out of him at an unrelenting pace.

His head lolled to the side, his lips parted as breathy moans spilled freely. He had cum three times already, each one leaving him more wrecked than the last. Every touch sent a mix of pleasure and pain coursing through him, making his thighs shake uncontrollably.

“N-no more,” He whined, his voice cracking as tears swelled at the corners of his eyes. His hands were clenched into fists, gripping the sheets beneath him to ground himself.

Y/N paused her movements as she leaned closer, her warm ghosting over his ear as she whispered, “C’mon baby.. just one more. You can do that for me, right?” Her tone both sweet and commanding.

Minho let out a broken whimper, his head falling back against her shoulder as he nodded weakly. “Y-yeah…” he mumbled, though his body was trembling from overstimulation.

Y/N pressed a soft kiss behind his ear and her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Good boy,” she praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her hand on his length started moving again, drawing out every ounce of sensitivity he had left.

Next to them sat Y/N’s phone, propped up against a pillow where they had left it. The movie they put on long forgotten. Y/N couldn’t help but think about how the camera was capturing everything perfectly through the reflection in the mirror that sat across from the bed. It wasn’t recording—at least not this time—but the idea of watching him come undone in her arms was intoxicating.

Her lips brushed low against his ear again, her tone low and teasing as she whispered, “What would people think if they saw you like this, hmm?”

Minho’s cheeks burned at her words, a shaky moan escaping him as he shivered and shook his head in denial. He was being louder than usual, unrestrained cries of pleasure filling the room. Everytime he had tried to cover his mouth, Y/N had gently pulled his hands away, insisting she wanted to hear everything.

“Oh-so dominant, intimidating, Lee Minho,” She continued, moving her hands faster. Minho let out a strangled cry, his hips jerking upwards as his head fell forward.

“Falling apart like this.” She added, her voice laced with amusement and pride.

Minho’s head shook weakly, his front teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an attempt to silence himself. But when she angled the toy just right, twisting the toy inside him just enough to brush against his prostate, he couldn’t hold back.

“Ah—Fuck!” He moaned loudly, his voice echoing in the room as his back arched. He could feel himself getting closer to his climax.

“I should record this and show it to everyone,” Y/N teased, her tone playful yet sultry. “Let them see how easily I can make you fall apart in front of me.”

Her words pushed him over the edge. A broken cry leaving his throat as his entire body shuddered. His fourth and final release came hard and fast, leaving him completely spent and trembling in her arms.

He slumped against her, gently placing a hand the wrist that was wrapped around his dick. Y/N gently eased the toy out of him, her touch now soft and soothing. She placed the toy beside them on the bed and pressed a kiss to his temple, her arms wrapping around him protectively as she whispered, “You’re so amazing. So perfect for me.”

He didn’t have the strength to respond, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. But the way he nuzzled back against her, his fingers still weakly grabbing her arms, told her everything he needed to know.

[tarochimochi]

Winner Gijinka redesign! I like to think they swap between the skirt and pants depending on the challenge.

Uh I don’t know why I thought their old design was ever okay to bestow on human eyes!

Cut below the entire design process (it’s gonna be long)

So I knew immediately after finishing my Loser design I wanted Winner to be the opposite of Loser. Which ment no warm colors, no vest sleeveless thing, no sunglasses, esc. I wanted them to be 80s inspired to match my Loser’s 70s Inspiration! I wanted them to parallel Loser by being so different but the same at the same time. So I wanted to do alot.

I think very clearly with the first ever winner draft (on the right) I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS DOING LOL. I really don’t like it now looking back and it really doesn’t feel like Winner to me. I think just to show how old this is, this was before I even made established age headcanons so I also had no idea how older I wanted Winner to be.

That age headcanon list will probably be shown at another time, I think I showed it once on instagram after somebody asked.

The one on the left I did right after I finished my Loser design and oh my god I also really hate it looking back. I had this idea that Winner’s hair could be the opposite of Loser’s hair where instead of being from like brown to blond and lighter blond it would be the opposite and oh it looked horrible to me.😭

I think also at this point Winner was still just black and not biracial

Now here are what I would call my “Stuck in design hell”. Characters I struggle with immensely when creating a design I think fits/I personally also like for them. It doesn’t mean I have no ideas, some of them I know exactly what I want to do with them but can’t figure out how to emulate it. I ended up abandoning Winner for awhile because they were giving me so many problems because I set so many restrictions for myself which weren’t exactly working.

So then we got this.. I tried to force myself to finalize their design on the spot… bad idea.. worse idea I could ever fathom. I don’t like any of these designs and plus the way I draw now has changed since I made these designs. I had an idea that Winner’s arm could also be translated as one of those super cool arm grabber toys from the 80s which I don’t know, maybe I’ll bring back?? Depends on how I feel about it after focusing on writing more Winner central stories and exploring Winner more as a character and talking to people who really like Winner.

I should also note the inspo for Winner in the fluffy coat and overalls came from the fact that when I was in the movie theater, I saw a kid wearing black overalls and periwinkle jacket and went “HOLY SHIT WINNER TPOT.”

Somewhat unrelated but in this design Winner also became Biracial because @/exitstudent was like “Oh Winner feels afro-Latino to me” so I changed my headcanon almost immediately. This is why I probably shouldn’t have put my race hc chart out so early because my opinions get swayed so easily PLUS I changed a few things around. (Nothing to major, Snowball and Spongey are Wasian now, Donut is Dutch, put Bomby back in Blasian, Gaty is Finnish)

I also had the idea that instead of Winner having highlights (because I highly doubt Winner would go out of their way to highlight their hair) their greying really early on due to stress and poor genetics probably. Another cool parallel to Loser about how Loser’s hair is something he essentially paid for Winner in a way earned theirs. Loser also bleaching pretty much all their hair would also be a cool symbolism for how he’s not the truest to himself while Winner’s still having almost all their natural hair color is symbolism for them being way more true to themself. But that’s for another day to explore.

I tried to interpret Winner’s shape as being kind of like fuzzy fleece on their jacket and I tried to make this work so bad but I really shouldn’t have. I was just all over the place with the colors too.

After design a bunch of the other characters and finding and discovering new ways i like drawing i quickly figured out why I was hating Winner so badly.

It was everything 😭

So after actually after researching 80s fashion instead of half assing it to make it obvious. I drew up these two concepts.

My first realization was “Wow that fleece is ugly as shit.” So I realized I had to stop trying making the fleece work, kudos to anyone who can. But away from the negatives, I really did love the big black Jacket and the legwarmers (I am a sucker for leg warmers so once I put them in them, it was over for me) Something about the headband also struck me because previously I out a strict “no head accessories rule” but honestly? It really just had to be not sunglasses so the headband stayed.

With some color rework and some help from my qpp (Shout out to her, she doesn’t use social media.) We were finally able to get the current design shown!

I guess if I learned anything from this, people should make gijinkas also based off people they know and see in day to day life. Some of my favorite gijinkas are based off people I know. Like Match being an Afro-Chilean Jew is because my friend who actually introduced me to BFDI was a huge match fan, and an Afro-Chilean Jew so I was inspired to make Match look almost identical to them. With Winner I pulled inspiration from alot of popular Black celebrities in the 80s and Chile again because of said friend 80s.

Thanks for reading this whole kuffuffle here’s some bonus doodles!

Yes Winner is going to crush Loser and Clock, stop them.

The last winclock one may or may not be a reference to something.

Now who’s next? Honestly just whoever people want a ref of next, I think I’m a little burnt out from doing now 59 characters and drafting more currently I think I need a break. Although I’m definitely gonna redesign Clock’s outfit, I’m really starting to dislike it. Until next time bye bye!!

[lavenderek]

Will you ever finish do you know? Or is it done?? No pressure either way! I just love it so much ❤️

odds aren't looking so good. sorry guys lmao

might as well tell you how it ends

i've lost my notes because my old laptop doesn't turn on anymore, but from what little i can remember, there was some kind of argent-adjacent group whose goal was to figure out how to prevent werewolves and other shifting creatures from happening in the first place. so they were doing tests on the ones they captured. essentially, magic eugenics. uh-oh, evil, spooky. these were the guys who tried to break in.

it's obvious sam was afraid of delilah. it was going to eventually become clear that this is because he caught a glimpse of her at his window the night a "ghost" came. but it would later turn out he saw her talking to the person who tried to get in through the window. she had nothing to do with that person. sam was mistaken on account of being a toddler. womp womp (does L on forehead)

delilah was a transparent red herring. she honestly was just a nomad passing through, and saw the attempted break-in while on a jog through the woods. she chased that person off, but in general she had no desire to get involved. she just wanted to prevent local packs from growing hostile to her. but english wasn't her first language. it was all a communication issue a-hyuck! she also didn't enjoy stiles, which was entirely unrelated.

stiles was going to get into Danger solving the mystery, going against derek's wishes. although he'd get away all right, this would damage their relationship. derek was like, you can't go out and do this detective bullshit, it's not just you anymore. he felt stiles was chasing the feeling of excitement from his youth, inconsiderate of the fact that he had children relying on him. and stiles was sincerely offended that derek was taking zero initiative to proactively protect his family. yk.

but they'd get over it and win somehow. i don't remember how. in the background of all this, scott and lydia would fall in love.

i wanted to finally end the series because the idea of a slice of life fic where these OC children were in like, middle school didn't interest me; and i wanted to end it with something interesting to make up for the boring, meandering nature of the fic in general. but three things happened:

first, i got a new job with an hour long commute one way, so i lost a significant amount of free time and energy; second, i entered an artistic block from which i never really recovered; and third, i realized a complete departure from the tone of the fic was actually a dumb idea because it's not remotely what the readers signed up for lmao. how does this realistic depiction of postpartum depression fit in with the joking depiction of a c-section at a vet's office? and besides, people will only read about a couple experiencing and then moving past marital problems so many times anyway.

but i held out hope. i was like, one day i'll be inspired to write again and i'll be able to address these problems, so i shouldn't give away spoilers. then as time passed, i was like, i shouldn't tell them about these lame plans and reveal that my fic only seemed good because the market was flooded.

anyway i figured i might as well finally explain myself. sorry for all this. and from the bottom of my ass, thank you so much for your support and kindness. my time in the fandom was sincerely some of the best years of my life. all of you are wonderful, wonderful.

in case you're curious, as teenagers: zdzisława refused to go by any other name in school, forcing teachers to learn polish phonetics; sam was on the autism spectrum and got into art; vern was prom king; and some chick at their school would manifest magic powers at midnight on her sixteenth birthday. hijinks similar to the movie teen witch happened, involving vern but completely peripheral to any of our other main characters.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for pulling my younger brother from his bedroom for "sleepovers" in the living room in the middle of the night?

I hate how clickbaity that is, but it really is the most succinct way I can try to paraphrase this. I have submitted here before for similar reasons, so this setup may or may not sound vaguely familiar, but this is pretty self-contained as a separate issue, I think. Quick preface- I am one of four siblings. Ages aren't particularly important for this, save for the fact that the oldest three are within a handful of years of each other, while our youngest is several years our junior. I was 11 when he was born, for reference. We'll call him C, and the two middle brothers A and B.

We somewhat recently (within the past few years) moved to a new house with a few more rooms, which shook up our previous sleeping arrangements. Now, instead of A, B, and C sharing the same room while I had my own for gender-related reasons, A gets his own space while B and C continue sharing a room. This means that my room no longer immediately across the hall from all three. A has a bit of a history of being loud in the middle of the night and getting mad when others ask, request, or tell him to be quiet, so this was a relief.

However, my new room is still just a few feet away from B and C, and now B is doing loud enough things to keep me awake- mainly playing video games and either not using headphones, constantly humming loudly along to the music playing, or saying something about the game. As a "bonus," he insists that C has to watch him play the entire time.

Even though this runs well into the early hours of the morning most nights.

And C still has early-morning school to worry about.

Previously, I'd just resigned myself to shutting up, jamming earplugs in my ears each night, and dealing with whatever weirdness is making one of my ears painfully itchy on a daily basis as a result. However, recently our parents started giving C flak for staying up late. They also made sure we knew they wanted B to stop keeping him up, but I'm not sure B actually knows or cares.

C and I did a bit of kvetching about unrelated topics today, this subject came up, C told me he doesn't enjoy being kept up that late either, and I had the idea that, should midnight come and go without B quieting down, I would interrupt whatever they're doing and "ask" C if he wanted to come sleep in the living room with me. I'm putting "ask" in quotations because I voiced this idea almost immediately, and C agreed this would be helpful just as quickly; me asking would serve solely as a way to have me interject into whatever B's doing and give C a quick way out.

At the same time, B can get touchy if he thinks C is brushing him off or I'm "butting in." I mean, C and I kinda will be doing both those things if we wind up needing to do this, but B seems intent on monopolizing as much of C's time and actions as he can get away with. I don't really think they need to fully stop interacting, but maybe B needs some time to himself instead of constantly wringing attention out of the baby of the family.

Then again, B is an adult. Like, legally. He'll be able to drink in a few months. He doesn't need to act like I'm interrupting his playtime with his favorite action figure whenever I remind him C isn't required to pay attention to him 24/7.

Idk. As far as sleeping arrangements in the living room would go, there's enough furniture to go around. I'm just not entirely sure if butting in would be an asshole move. Justified? Almost certainly, I think. An asshole move? That, I don't know. Whatever the case, I'm hoping these things work out quickly enough that we don't lose much more sleep. We're tired of finally managing to get to sleep at 3 AM.

What are these acronyms?

[mandowifey]

Headcanon request for either Albert Shaw or Arthur Harrow as a dad. But honestly, I would accept such a Headcanon for any villianeous character you write about. So surprise me.

This has been sitting in my head for awhile, so I'm excited to get to work on it.

I'm gonna do both these handsome fellas!

° ° °

Fatherhood

Albert Shaw & Arthur Harrow x Reader HCs

Warnings: Hints of Dubcon, definitely Noncon, implications of above mentions, crazy boys around kids, reader is not referred to by specific gender terms but is able to get pregnant.

♡ ♡ ♡

Arthur Harrow, first and foremost, wanted a child.

A child to him is a means of keeping you beside him. The bond would tie you two together forever. He likes the sense of control it brings him, especially over you. When you first met him, you were on the pill and mentioned never wanting kids of your own. But Arthur, as he does, convinces you otherwise. Perhaps even it was an 'accident'. He is certainly the kind of man who would swap your birth control with sugar pills. But he'd smile anyways and assure you it was fate.

While pregnant, you would be doted over. Every need met, whether it be from him or his followers. You would be given luxury and love and treasured like a little goddess. This is Arthur's child, after all, and that baby would be considered a herald. He would enjoy sitting with you, head on your stomach as you two talked. He would additionally make sure you ate well and took all the things you need for a healthy child. Arthur enjoys touching your belly while he reads or falls asleep. You have never looked more stunning.

When the child arrives, Arthur is in love immediately. While most wish for a boy, he always wanted a girl. Regardless, he was happy with whichever. He would sit beside you and help you cradle the crying newborn, imagining all the great things your baby would grow to accomplish. You, as the carrier, get to name the baby. Arthur would suggest names of course but leave the choice to you.

Fatherhood suits him. The man is extremely patient and controlled. He is great with teaching your child and helping them along. You've never heard him laugh so much before. There is considerable joy in his life now, and it shows. That baby would be raised with love and expectations. However, he is stern and unrelenting. The child never gets away with anything, and punishment is taken very seriously. It will learn that for actions, there are consequences.

I think Arthur would be a natural with parenting and fatherhood. He'd enjoy the molding of such a young life. He would eventually ask you for another, and maybe one more, once the first is a little older.

○ ○ ○

Albert Shaw has never wanted children. As a child, he was violently abused and mistreated. He can not mentally grasp the responsibility of a child (even if he can raise and train a dog, it's different).

That being said, in this instance, you are a victim/obsession that he's grown fond of and wants to keep. Pregnancy at its core appeals to him. The idea of his seed stuck inside of you, the fact that you are forced to grow and bear something that is equal parts his own excites him. He enjoys the thought of you being stuck with a piece of him inside of you and for life. But that is just about where it ends for him.

When you start showing signs of pregnancy, he'd simply watch. Maybe, depending on if he really enjoys you, he'll give you water and use his softer tone to reassure you that all was well. He does find it arousing that your skin clears and breasts swell - he'd be very interested in those. When your tummy grows, he'd touch it and talk to you about it, generally wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"How does it feel? Being stuck with a piece of me inside of you."

When it came time for birth, you were most likely alone. Stuck in the basement and forced to go through the entire process alone. In this instance, if you survived, he would return home surprised to see and hear a baby.

There is a long pause, and he is gripping and loosening his hands. You can't really tell what he's thinking. You would be filthy, tired, barely awake if not for that need to protect your newborn. He would come across the room and shake his head, scolding you about the mess you made. You are afraid when he sits beside you and looks at the child. Part of you wants to believe he cares, but you see no semblance of love in those eyes of his.

He'd sit in silence for a while, wincing if the baby cried. Eventually, when you got too tired to keep awake, he'd take the child out of your arms and leave the basement.

And you would never see the baby again.

[solsilverpine]

If you write autistic!Venom/autistic!Eddie I will love you forever!!

Hey Anon, I don’t know when I will get to writing this because I accidentally wrote a novel length fic for Star wars Rebels which is my main project rn, but here are some of my ideas I have jotted down to explore when I get a chance to write it!

[Edit: I actually wrote this reply before TLD came out and am writing a short fic for that so I will have a little something out soon but not this one]

I have a lot of ideas for them. There is exploring the big things like noise and fire that can hurt them both, as well as similar stimuli. Does venom associate being unnaturally warm in that way one can when exposed to synthetic heat (like a heater) with fire? Does light sensitivity ever push one of them, or both of them, into a state of panic? What ways can they find to make these things less scary? Do they explore music, cool sunglasses, lava lamps?

Then theirs the little ways they interact while Eddie is working. I like to think venom would hover and try to make sure Eddie is having food or water or coffee, but also bounce ideas or add a new perspective, trying to figure out what he needs before he needs it.

But also I’d love to explore the intimacy of their existence as them. They’ve both felt like outsiders, individuals who think or feel or react in a way that’s against the norm. This is probably the first time either of them haven’t had to mask, hide their thoughts, the first time they can just…exist with someone else. And exist with themselves.

And the quite moments of simply sitting, thinking about nothing. The deep existential conversations that offer insight into how each view the world. The hyper-focus google spirals at 3am, pausing movies so they can talk about their thought on it, on something seemingly unrelated or so they can google an actor. The moments of Eddie wanting to show venom things, foods, experiences. To share his joys and passions and heartbreaks. To explore the thrill and excitement and the feeling of ‘us’ and ‘good’ and ‘right’ that come with fighting bad guys.

Then there’s their romance, which I like to think is so much bigger then love or lust. Its bliss, its rapture, is the feeling of being know, being seen, being whole. Its the two of them breaking apart and coming back together so many time they don’t know where one of them starts and the other ends, because for them that boundary need not exist at times like this. It’s the invention of a new language spoken with teeth and tongues and just the right amount of pressure that the two of them create to say what they can’t put into words.

I think so often about how the entire reason the two of them have their fight in Let there be Carnage is because they both care about each other more then they care about them selves. They both want to protect people, but more then that they want to protect their other half, this person they love and care for and its so complicated at times, but really it’s very simple.

I have so many thoughts and ideas I could talk about them for ages. But I also know my head cannons are based around how I experience the world, which for me is often so intense that I struggle to make it small enough to put it into thoughts and words. They might not necessarily be relatable to anyone else.

Anyways I’m sorry this took me a while to get to and that it turned out a little long but I would definitely like to turn it into a proper fic when I get the time/spoons. 🖤🩶🤍

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 17

Give someone a brand new look

Okay, I've had the idea for this one for quite a while!! Thank you Kloktober for giving me the excuse to write it.

With that said, please enjoy Toki giving Skwisgaar a brutal makeover~

“Ams you dones yet?” Skwisgaar asked, starting to get tired.

“No ways.” He heard Toki say. “Ams just getting startsteds.”

“Toke, ‘aves been heres for hoursk or twenties minutes.” Skwisgaar lowered his shoulders. “What ams you even doings?”

“Just shut ups and lets me works!” Toki told him off, though judging from the tone of his voice, he wasn’t angry.

Resigned, Skwisgaar reclined his back against the chair and kept strumming his guitar aimlessly. He was pretty sure he had been here all morning already, or at least it felt like it.

He was minding his business at the breakfast table when Toki ran up to him, telling him he needed him for something. Not quite believing the urgency Toki claimed there was, Skwisgaar followed him nevertheless, moderately curious.

When they reached Toki’s room, Toki had finally confessed he wanted to give him ‘a brutals make overs’ but he couldn’t say it in front of the rest because they would get jealous and would want one too. 

Skwisgaar had raised his eyebrow. “Amsnt makeovers for peoples to look bettors? I don’t needs one.” He frowned, preemptively offended by whatever Toki was trying to imply. “Your musk stash howevers-”

“But it ams goings to be totallies brutal!” Toki insisted, closing the distance between them with one step. “Please?” He stared at Skwisgaar with sad puppy eyes, way too close for comfort. “It wills be funs, Skwisgaar!”

Skwisgaar really hated when Toki looked at him like that, like his entire livelihood depended on this particular whim of his. “Eugh…” Fortunately for Toki, when it came matters unrelated to music, Skwisgaar was very easy to convince. “Fines.” He said, hoping he wouldn’t regret this.

…And here he was, not even allowed to open his eyes because Toki insisted on it being a surprise. Not like he could see himself with a mirror anyway, but Toki was being really stubborn about it. On the bright side, it was helping Skwisgaar practice his playing with eyes closed. He never knew when being able to play Dethklok’s entire discography with his eyes closed would come in hand. 

“Aw!” He whined when Toki pulled on his hair violently and without warning. 

Instead of apologizing, Toki scolded him instead. “Oh, you big babies!” Just as abruptly, he tugged a handful of hair from the lower part of Skwisgaar’s head

“What on Odin’s name ams you doingks?!” Skwisgaar frowned, almost opening his eyes out of annoyance.

“Ams givings you a brans new hairstyles!” Toki said, like the question was fucking stupid. “No mores of dat borings middle parteds hairs. You ams going to be a new Skwisgaar’s from now on!”

“I don’t wants to be a news-” His sentence was cut short by another pull. “Aw!” He moaned in pain. “Toki!”

“Why don’ts you tries takings a nap?” Toki sounded exasperated by now.

“Why don’ts you tries being nicers to my goldens mane?” Skwisgaar shot back. Toki didn’t reply, though he was more careful from his movements afterwards. Grumbling, Skwisgaar settled against the chair and started counting guitars. He was past a billions krillions when one of the guitars grew gigantic and swallowed him whole.

“Skwisgaar…” Something tapped his cheek and he slowly blinked his way out of dozing off.

“Eugh?” He managed, with a hoarse voice.

Toki was smiling at him. “Ams done.” He said and gave him a hand mirror. 

Quite disoriented still, Skwisgaar looked at himself in it and almost didn’t recognize the person staring back. 

His hair was tied into messy space buns, though one was visibly higher than the other and his part was made into a crooked zigzag. His lips were teal, a smudge on the corner of his mouth, shining with silver highlights. His eyelids, on the other hand, were hot pink and sort of uneven. Glittery purple blush adorned his cheeks and when Skwisgaar turned his head, he spotted holographic star stickers on the sides of his face. 

“Eugh…” Was the only thing he managed to say.

“You ams a space metal princes now!” Toki explained proudly and shoved his bear plush into Skwisgaar’s free hand. “And Deaddy Bears ams your princess whats you gots to save by killing aliens with the powers of metal!” He smiled at him. “You likes it?”

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked like a lady. “Toki, dis ams…”

“Yes?” Toki nodded with expectation.

Skwisgaar grimaced, hoping his expression would be telling enough. “You knows…”

Clearly, Toki did not know because he kept waiting for him to say something. Skwisgaar noticed his fingers were stained with purple and teal, hands sparkly from the glitter. Next to him, the bed was full of make-up of a wide variety of colors: lipstick, eyeshadow, powder, mascara, lip gloss, stickers, etc. And also, a lot of drawings of the space guy he was supposed to be. Something about it tugged at his heartstrings, despite his better judgement. 

He sighed. “It ams pretties cool, I guess.”

Toki beamed at him, almost insufferably so. “Ams going to takes a picktures.” He said, grabbing the polaroid on his bed. “Says cheese!”

“Wait, Tok-”

The camera made a clicking sound and the photography came out of it soon after. A delighted Toki showed him the picture. “Amsnt it cools?” He asked.

Somehow, Toki had caught him in the split-second right before his expression twisted into concern and he tried futilely to reach for the camera. Instead, it almost seemed like a glamour shot of Skwisgaar’s new look. 

He raised his eyebrows with surprise. “Hey, dat amsnt so bads.”

Toki let out a chuckle, eyes glued to the photo. “Rights?”

Smiling fondly at him, Skwisgaar momentarily forgot what they were talking about. “Ja, it looks good.”

[wrongcaitlyn]

AHHHH I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE I SEND YOU TOO MANY ASKSMHFJGXJC BUT ANYWAYS- the greatest of luxuries takes place around 2018, right? Which is also coincidentally around the time tiktok got popular so just like hear me out-

Nico is a chronic tiktok user and definitely makes tiktok dances (he was supposed to use it for promotional purposes and it's not until Apollo asks him about it that he actually does)

Nico and Will are those tiktok friends, the kind that you see videos of and it just looks like they came straight out of a coming of age movie- same goes for whenever Leo is featured in Nico's tiktoks like they are so iconic

Apollo definitely gets tiktok for the shits and giggles, only to go accidentally viral constantly- like he could make one silly random tiktok of freaking alley cat he found and it'd get like 50 million likes 😭😭 (bros tiktok account consists of his children and their silly friends)

ANYWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY 🫶🫶🫶🫶

NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR TOO MANY ASKS I LITERALLY LIVE FOR THEM LIKE YES PLEASE ASK ME A MILLIION QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS AU THAT CONSUMES MY ENTIRE LIFELKSDF

and you are RIGHT OHMYGODSKLJF i keep thinking of a way to incorporate it bc rn they're in 2019, but i'm like, ahgsdf how do i bring in tiktok, do i make it a whole convo or just casually mention it orrrr

i do have quite a few tiktok headcanons in relation to them but i LOVE your ideas they're so real😭

these are the hc's that i had before reading this but tbh might have to go back to the drawing board on some of them becauseee i mean

(also i deleted tiktok a while back bc it was too addictive so tbh i have no idea what's going on over there anymore... nor was i there in the early daysSDLKF)

nico already strays away from social media quite a bit, and i think over the music industry changed, it's def encouraged for artists to like promote their music there and stuff. BUT. he has a bit of an addictive personality (relatable) and so when he eventually downloads it (because he would resist for a very long time) would get hooked. except he rarely posts, instead, he's that verified celeb account that you find in the most random comment sections and he spams all his friends with vids. he definitely gets a lot of pet videos i feel like, like the cute dogs and cats and he would send a vid of like yk YK WHAT VIDS IM TALKING ABOUT like two cats snuggling with each other or smth and send it to will with 'us' i just KNOW he would bc it's incredibly sappy but doesnt require too much descriptionsfkljs

he probably has 235829348 drafts and he mostly posts random stuff that's completely unrelated to his music. like i bet there would be a few people (when he occasionally says something related to his job) who didn't even know he released music despite definitely having heard it

i didn't really envision him doing tiktok dances eXCEPT maybe they all stay in his drafts. bc i dont think his vids would really be focused on *him* because he's not a huge fan of being on camera, so it'd more just be like those rants where you can only see his forehead or random studio vids oR TRAVEL VIDS WHILE ON TOUR. he would def do those. there's def some people who think he's a travel influencer and then find out he's a grammy award winning artist and are like ??? NICO?? FROM TIKTOK???

but he isn't called a "tiktok artist" despite some people knowing him from tiktok because he literally ALWAYS forgets to promote his own music in his vids. his fans are promoting it in the comment sections to try and get the people who think he's a travel influencer to listen to him😭

but his posting schedule is so very sporatic like he'll post ten vids in a day and then nothing for a month. it's fully based on vibes and is completely chaotic, just like everything else he does

will, like any other social media platform, has a private account. (nico also has a private spam) so will is that person who tags people in the comments like all the time (whereas nico sends it more often just bc he doesnt wanna risk being on the wrong account accidentally)

he appears a LOT on leo and lou ellen and cecil's tiktoks (and nico's) and every other week there's a huge internet search to find out who this guy is on a new famous person's tiktok account and then someone will be like "it's just will solace again HOW THE FUCK DOES HE ALWAYS FIND THESE PEOPLE"

like when he randomly shows up in taylor swift's getting ready for her nyu graduation post. like he's definitely there for a brief second in just like the reflection of a window or something and everyone goes CRAZY

before realizing it's this cryptid guy again who seems to be surrounded by every famous person to exist

he definitely posts a lot on his private account though and often it'll just be him rambling about something he's learned in class or him documenting every time he sees a cute animal in public

eventually he'll be dared to make a public account and he decides "haha that's funny okay sure it's not like anyone will find me"

WRONG. this guy is allergic to being not-famous. he will never be allowed to be a normal guy. his first video goes completely viral. he posts once in a blue moon, usually documenting his friends being crazy and every single time he does, it gets like a million views with people in his comments being "how does he know them???"

but you are DEFINITELY right about his account always seeming like it comes out of a coming of age story

and there are most definitely thousands of shippers in every single comment section with literally every friend. so he tries to have at least two other people in every single video so that people can't ship him with just one other person. but it's unavoidable. esp when he comes out as bi, people are just shipping him with ANYONE who shows up on his account

he also does those screaming lipsync vids to whenever a song by one of his favorite songs comes out he's a huge fanboy

OH and he gets to show off his vinyls there. he loves doing that. he's got so many and vinyl tiktok admires it.

also in every single video there's at least one comment that says "you look like apollo the singer"

EVERY SINGLE ONE

leo's the most active on tiktok, as he is with every other social media

it's either him building something, him setting something on fire, him with his friends, him talking to the camera while walking down the street (you know the genre of tiktok)

he is very similar to will in the aspect of "HOW DOES HE KNOW THEM??" but he's been a bit more public than will so people will know him more

he doesn't go viral as often as will (despite posting 132532x as much) but when he DOES it goes VIRAL viral. like tens of millions of views. it still happens quite often and he has the highest follower count of the friendgroup

and he's also the most active in comment sections like he's in every comment section you can't escape him and he replies to like every single one on his vids, usually with very cryptic responses that leave you with more questions than you started with

he ALSO tags will and nico in a bunch of videos, but not in a private account. he doesn't have a private account. he just tags them (obviously, avoiding any romance-related / stuff that could out them, in which he would send it to them) in EVERYTHING

and that's also the highest chance you have of will (on his public account) commenting on a video bc he's mostly on his priv

he also (when him and jason eventually come out) makes a million couple tiktoks and does all the trends

most recurring character in his vids are piper (and shel) (and will and nico over the summer when they're not so far apart)

apollo runs the account for delphi records

i know i haven't shared much of this BUT most people 100% assume that it's run by some intern or something bc of how casual it is but it's actually just him

he loves comment sections and hyping up all of his artists

oh BTW leo and will and apollo do all the promotion for nico because of how much he forgets about it

it's very common for nico to be posting a random ass video and then the top comment is Delphi Records ✓ Check out Nico's latest single, ______!

he also EVENTUALLY gets a tiktok for himself

that is just entirely his kids

as he should

aside from leo, i think kayla and piper are most active on tiktok

piper knows all the inner fandom details from shel (who has an editing account 100% bc i have an editing account and im projecting onto her)

piper's vids are mostly with leo they're such an iconic duo

idk why but all i can think of when thinking about piper is that her feed is like momona tamada?? like that's the vibe we're going for here

and ofc she promotes charities and other important topics there too!!!

and if there's a wlw trend going around yk that piper and shel are going to be on that first thing, probably the top video under whatever audio it is

and KAYLA. GOD. KAYLA'S TIKTOK IS SOOO ICONIC i think she's second to leo with most followers

the lip sync videos for sure, also out of all of them i think she'd def do tiktok dances she'd slay them all

and then some of them are just trends or her in the archery range

somewhat similarly to will, she often gets comments that say "how does she know them??"

but like a good 30% of people watching the archery events of the olympics are there just because of her tiktokSDLFKJS

she also happens to go viral. all. the fucking. time. like i swear apollo's kids just HAVE to go viral all the time they can't escape it they're made for fame and it's likeee kayla does love it (will not so muchKSDF and austin has avoided this problem by just not downloading tiktok at all! except apollo's video of him performing has gone viral. oh well.)

so those are my hc's feel free to add on to these!!! i would love to hear what y'all think bc AHGSDFL writing about these characters' social media is one of my favvv things to do - thank you for the ask!!!! sorry for the lengthy rambleKSDJF

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

“...”

Paris, Seine, France – June 1848

There was a clock in this room. He could not tell where it was; all he knew was that its ticking reverberated through the entire room, echoing through the walls, the furniture, the ground, and pulsing through the air.

The clock hands were moving, gliding over the clock face with every second, every minute, every hour with a soft, deafening tick, tick, tick.

All while his time had frozen still.

He could not move; he could not think. His limbs were lead; his mind congealed.

He could not tell whether he was holding her hand or whether she was holding his. Was he anchoring her, or was she anchoring him? He only knew that their hands were clutched together, that she wasn’t answering him, that her chest was weakly moving up and down, and that the tick, tick, tick was engulfing everything, even eclipsing the havoc outside.

And that he did not know what to do.

She was bleeding out on a table, and he had no idea what to do.

A scream broke through the unrelenting ticking; it did not come from outside, but from within, beckoning him to do something do something do something…

But he was frozen still. They were in an empty café who-knew-where in Paris. There were no medical kits. There was no help. He didn’t know the way to anywhere. And his mind was blank besides the scream, the scream that was getting louder and louder, but there was nothing here that could help…

Except…

Except…

Cedric tightened his grip on Cloudia’s hand as the ice shattered around, reached for her pocket as the world came back.

The receiver.

Cloudia had never returned the receiver and had only retrieved Yvette’s transmitter, not Townsend’s. It must still be on his body – which was now being taken to Cecelia’s house.

Cedric held his breath as he let the screen flare to life and only exhaled when he saw the blinking stationary dot – and the blinking moving one.

Milton had said that the range of his transmitters and his receiver was not much, even with the supplementary stations Quentin had set up, and Cedric and Cloudia had separated from the others so long ago. Still, one dot was dancing over the screen, in a messy zigzag but clearly visible, clearly there. And showing them the way to safety, to help.

“Countess,” Cedric said and squeezed Cloudia’s hand, energy floating back into his body. “Please hang on. I will get you to help; I only need you to hang on.”

She stirred softly in response, and his heart ached at the sight. The pain deepened when Cedric let go of her hand, the loss of her touch sending a cold shock through his system even though their hands could not have been clasped together for that long. With newfound strength, Cedric shuffled hastily through the cabinets and drawers again, procuring some towels at least. He held one of them beneath the tap but an image of blood running, running, running into water blurred his vision momentarily when he reached for the handle. He pulled his hand back instead, turned to Cloudia, pressed the dry towel to her wound, and wrapped others around her. They made poor makeshift bandages, especially on a gaping wound, but it was better than nothing.

Cedric glanced at the receiver beside Cloudia. Townsend’s dot still hadn’t disappeared from the screen, but there was no time to waste; it was only a question of time until it did – just like it was a question of time until Cloudia…

Cedric shook his head free of the thought.

No, no, no.

With the receiver showing me the way, I would get Cloudia to safety.

Today was not the day she would die; not when I had any say in it.

Cedric gently lifted Cloudia into his arms. When her head rolled against his chest, he resisted the urge to drop a kiss on it and whisper into her hair that everything would be all right. He thought it instead, again and again and again, as he stepped outside, back into the riot-filled streets of Paris, even if he couldn’t touch the skull pendant necklace now and he knew that none of his thoughts could reach Cloudia. They were more for him, he supposed, the reassurances that he strung in his mind like pearls along a thread while he followed the way the receiver drew out for him. Still, part of him hoped that they did somehow reach Cloudia; and when she began to mumble softly, too softly for him to make out any words in the noise around and with his heart beating as rapidly as it did, Cedric considered it a sign that they had.

It was difficult to follow the blinking dot at times. The chaos was not ebbing away, only increasing, and it became harder and harder to navigate the streets. It did not help that Cedric did not know them and found himself now and then face-to-face with a dead end, or that there were people everywhere – fighting, running, building barricades. Every new road, every rounded corner offered a new challenge; it had been like that earlier too, only now Cedric could not let anyone get too close to Cloudia, lest someone grazed her, stumbled against her – made her injury worse than it already was.

He wished he could jump over the roofs again, but he did not dare to try.

But what was worse? Losing the signal and any way to find Cecelia’s house or a potentially minor worsening of Cloudia’s wound?

Cedric clenched his teeth together as he navigated the dense streets, dodged flying objects, and manoeuvred around people, all while holding tight to Cloudia and gripping the receiver so hard his knuckles came out white. Sweat was running into Cedric’s eyes. He had no hand free to wipe it away. The dot was skimming the edge of the screen, almost fading out of it. And there were so many people, so many dead ends, so many unfamiliar turns and streets. And so, so much blood seeping out of Cloudia.

“Hold on tight,” Cedric whispered to Cloudia and jumped. The breeze cooled his sweat slightly, and the higher he got, jumping from balcony to balcony, the more at ease he felt. The air was permeated with gunpowder, smoke, blood, and tears, even so high above; still, it felt fresher to him than below on the crowded street.

Cloudia groaned softly when Cedric reached the roof. “Are you okay, Countess?” he asked, his voice full of worry and his mind ready to scold himself for undertaking this reckless behaviour, but her mumbling response stopped the tirage because, this time, he could hear her: “I am,” she said. Tears welled in his eyes to hear her speak clearly, albeit weakly; it hadn’t been too long ago that Cedric had feared he might never hear her voice at all anymore.

“You’re so silly,” Cloudia murmured then.

Cedric chuckled. “I am, aren’t I?” He squeezed her gently before he moved along the roof and hopped to the next to catch up with the dot. It was quickly accomplished, and part of Cedric basked in the relief, but the rest of him urged him not to become careless now: Just because he had brought the dot of Townsend’s transmitter firmly into the screen again did not mean it would stay there.

And, indeed, when Cedric reached the river and saw the masses of people on and around the bridge, his heart dropped momentarily. He had to get on the other side to follow the transmitter, and he could not do it jumping from roof to roof.

“Hold tight, Countess,” Cedric said. This time, Cloudia grabbed his shirt. Her breathing was laboured, and her face was marked with pain, but her grip was still surprisingly strong.

“I’ll be careful; don’t worry,” he told her, though her action did not make him doubt his abilities at all; it only lit him up with hope and determination that everything would be fine – that she would be fine. Taking a deep breath, Cedric descended back to the streets. If someone had noticed them coming from the rooftops, no one cared enough in this turmoil to stare or enquire.

Holding Cloudia tightly, and she holding tightly to him, Cedric charged for the bridge. It was packed with people who were bound southward, either to try to escape the chaos north or let the fire expand. In the streets, one could be squished or trampled to death by the crowds; here, one could be pushed off the bridge, right into the Seine whose water horribly resembled the Thames’.

And there was it again; that image from earlier.

Drops, drops, drops of blood in the water.

Running longer and longer.

Colouring the river red and redder and…

Cedric pushed the image away, letting it dissolve in the stream of his memory. Forwards. He had to move forwards, not backwards. Towards the blinking dot on the screen, through the crowds of people, to the other side of this river.

It was a tight fit, with a few close calls when someone got too close to Cloudia, when Cedric ended up too close to the balustrade, but while he might not know how to treat a wound, how to save a life, he knew how to navigate places like this, situations like this. And he was so much more agile than he had been then.

Dodging people and objects; vision blurring because of the hectic movements all around; ears ringing because of the noise, the shouts, the shots, the screams and the cries. In the end, guards were trying to keep the people away and shepherd them back. Cedric swiftly evaded them too.

The bridge first led onto a small island in the Seine, and he had to take its second half to get to the other side of the river proper. The process for the second part was the same as the first. Cedric pushed through, and then he and Cloudia were fully across the bridge.

Euphoria rose in his chest. He would have jumped in joy if he hadn’t been carrying Cloudia. He would have raised a fist to the sky if his hands hadn’t been occupied. He would have, at least, let out one triumphant squeak if his euphoria hadn’t extinguished as quickly as it had risen.

Their dot was still blinking.

The second one was gone.

Cloudia mumbled a question that sounded vaguely like “what is wrong?” but the blood rushed into Cedric’s ears, and he could not be sure. He went, half-tumbled, to a side street that seemed refreshingly quiet. Leaned against a wall, took deep, gasping breaths.

The dot was gone.

It had been there only a moment ago. I knew it had been there only a moment ago. I had glanced at the screen right after passing the guards, and it had been there, blinking, beckoning – not at the edge of the screen even, but firmer in the middle.

And now it was gone. Vanished without a trace. What had happened?

Had something happened to Townsend? To the transmitter? To Milton’s towers? Was the receiver malfunctioning? Had Oscar and Barrington ventured to an area with no towers, with no signal? Had they boarded a carriage and rushed out of range?

But what did it matter what had happened to the signal. It was gone – and with it any chance of me finding Cecelia’s house and getting to the others.

Laughter sprung out of Cedric. It was not the joyous kind that came out whenever he was with Cloudia; it was darker, harsher – one that rattled both his body and his nerves. Cloudia tightened her grip on his shirt, dug her fingers into his flesh as strongly as she could; he paid it no mind as bitter, hysteric laughter took over him.

He felt so stupid.

He felt so useless.

He felt so lost.

Not much had changed then. It was still the same – I was still the same.

“What on earth happened?”

The question in plain, horrified English threw him out of his trance – and the voice made Cedric snap his head up.

Barrington Weaselton stared at them with wide, worried eyes. Cedric had never been so happy to see him.

“Oh, good Lord, Dia.” Barrington stepped to them, raised his hand to touch Cloudia’s face, maybe brush a lock of hair away, though he let it hover instead.

“She got shot,” Cedric pressed out. Hearing this fact out loud, saying this out loud, sent a punch to his stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

“How could you…” Barrington began but then shook his head. With this simple motion, he seemed to sharpen. His presence was always so loud already, but Cedric never quite understood how nebulous Barrington’s edges actually were until he laid down his usual coat for the one befitting a former knight and senior Aristocrat of Evil.

“Hand her to me, Kristopher,” Barrington demanded with the same force and authority as when he had spoken to Cedric at Phantomhive Manor a few months ago.

Cedric shook his head. “No.”

“Be reasonable. We have little time; Dia is bleeding out as we speak, and you can barely stand.”

“No.” Cedric held Cloudia tighter. “I can still carry her. I’ve carried her so far already, and I can get her to Cecelia’s house. Just show me where to go.”

Barrington mustered him. “If you falter once,” he said insistently, staring right into his eyes, “you will hand her over with no protest, do you understand me?”

Cedric tightened his grip and nodded his head. Barrington held the gaze for one moment longer before he turned, unsheathed his sword, and beckoned Cedric to follow.

The fighting hadn’t quite reached this part of the city yet. They had left the epicentre of it all when they had crossed the bridge, but bits and pieces of the chaos flared up here too before they vanished entirely when the buildings became grander and nicer.

Cedric asked his question earlier though, a mere two steps after they had left the quiet little side street.

“Where are Milton, Oscar, and Townsend?”

“We split up,” Barrington said matter-of-factly.

Cedric nearly stopped in his tracks, only his subconsciousness telling him that it might hurt Cloudia to stop so suddenly urged him forward. “You did what?”

“Oscar suggested that I turn around and try to get you. After all, you don’t know Paris and might get lost.” Barrington rammed the handle of his sword against the temple of a man who came too close to them and reeked of trouble. It was an eerily casual move, and it unnerved Cedric how it did not seem to faze Barrington at all. “I hate to admit it, but Oscar was correct in his assessment.” Barrington glanced at Cedric. “I cannot believe I am glad to have listened to him.”

“But how could you leave Milton with…”

Barrington silenced Cedric with one glare. “This is not the time to care for the Salisbury boy. Just be quiet and follow me. We must be quick.”

Cedric pressed his lips together. Cloudia murmured something he couldn’t make out. That she was making a noise let a little smile appear on Barrington’s face before he shoved some people away and led them down a few more streets until the sounds of fighting and rioting turned into mere background noise. The sudden change, the dissonance between this part of the city and the one they had left behind, was so stark that it left Cedric momentarily disoriented.

A few men and women in fine clothes traversed through the roads, and some polished carriages rattled through the streets here. People stared at Cedric, Barrington, and Cloudia, taking in their battered appearances, and turned to whisper amongst themselves. Barrington had sheathed his sword again, and when a man approached them clearly to try to send them away, Barrington merely placed a hand on the hilt, straightened his back, and stared at him. Without a word, the man turned around and quickly moved away.

Barrington then guided Cedric into the side streets, and they walked through its web until, finally, they arrived at the back entrance of the Williams family’s Paris townhouse. Cedric briefly looked at it but took nothing in; all his attention was on Cloudia and getting up the stairs without falling. How pathetic it would be to drop her now, mere metres before their destination.

Barrington knocked against the door – short, long, long, short –, and it immediately flew open at the last knock. Newman stepped before Cedric and tried to take Cloudia out of his arms. However, because Newman’s appearance had been so sudden, Cedric stiffened for a moment and didn’t let go. Only when Newman assured him that she would be fine, Cedric let go. He nearly tipped over when Newman lifted Cloudia out of his arms. The balance was off now; it was as if someone had ripped a limb from his body. He felt so hollow, and everything felt so strange and wrong that Cedric could only hover before the door. Barrington gently pushed him into the house.

The door closed behind them.

The lock was turned.

And exhaustion and pain crashed upon Cedric.

He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His knees nearly buckled; he staggered against the door.

I was here. I had made it to Cecelia’s house. We had made it to Cecelia’s house. Cloudia. Cloudia.

Cedric shot out his arm, caught the end of Barrington’s jacket before he could leave. Barrington turned around, and though Cedric had no energy to speak anymore and could only huff, his sight must have been ghastly enough for Barrington’s edges to soften again. “It’s been a long day,” he said softly. “Kam will take care of Dia – and you should get yourself cleaned up and get some rest.” He let his gaze wander over Cedric and grimaced. “Really, you should get yourself cleaned up before Cecelia comes here and lectures you on ruining Michael’s great-great-great grandfather’s Persian rug or something.”

“It’s his great-grandfather’s Persian rug, not his great-great-great-grandfather’s. Don’t you ever listen?” Cecelia said as she appeared by the back door. “And I would indeed lecture you about that, Not-Kristopher, if I wasn’t so astonished that the Bookstore Boy’s hunch has been right.” She folded her arms in front of her chest with a grim expression on her face. “He dropped a plate all of a sudden and began to prepare a room as if possessed. Didn’t even pick up the porcelain pieces, and it was part of Michael’s great-great-aunt’s good tea service too.”

“That’s good to hear. The part with Kamden and his preparations, not the part with the plate,” remarked Barrington and patted Cedric’s hand that still held on to his jacket. “Kam was even ready beforehand; there is no need to worry, Kristopher.”

“Regarding this…” Cecelia glanced at Cedric before she shifted her eyes back to Barrington. “As Cloudia was severely injured, there are some things that need to be discussed, Barrington…”

Cedric tore his hand free from Barrington’s jacket at her words and stormed away before he could hear another piece of their conversation.

Cedric didn’t clean himself up, not properly at least. Wandering unsteadily, aimlessly through the stately house, he did eventually find a bathroom. However, when Cedric had turned on the tap, his intestines had made a flip, and he had had to turn it right off again. He had rubbed his hands and face with a dry cloth, though it helped little to scrub out the blood. Cloudia’s blood. Cedric dropped his face in his hands.

It had barely been ten minutes since Newman had taken her from him, but he missed her already, missed her scent, her warmth, her weight against his body.

But she should be with Kamden now. It was better if she was with him than with me. He could patch her up after all.

I only got her shot.

I should have been there. I should have been there. Instead, I had lost my damn glasses and let her go after Yvette alone.

Cedric ripped his spectacles off his face, flung them away. They rattled against the ground or the wall or a cupboard, he did not care, just as he sunk to the cold bathroom tiles. He drew his legs in, hugged them to his body, and rested his forehead on his knees. He hadn’t dared to look into the mirror, knowing that it would be a frightful sight. His body was sore, every bit of it howling in agony and strain from all the fighting and all the running. He had lost his hair tie on the train, and his long hair must now be tangled and dirty. He reeked of sweat and blood, and his clothes were sticky with it.

And most of that blood was Cloudia’s.

Cedric’s heart tightened in his chest. She will be fine, she will be fine, he kept repeating in his mind and hugged his legs even tighter. Before he had turned on the tap, he had put the receiver into his pocket, and it was now poking him in the side, nudging him to remember its existence.

With a jolt that let him cry out in pain, Cedric lifted his head and fumbled the receiver, Milton’s receiver, out of his pocket.

Barrington had split up from Oscar, Milton, and Townsend earlier, but had they returned too by now?

Cedric turned on the receiver. He held it close to his face to read the screen as it lit up. The dot for the transmitter in Cloudia’s pocket did too. Milton and, or Quentin must have set up towers in this area as well.

Then, where was the second dot? The one for Townsend’s transmitter?

Awkwardly, Cedric got to his feet, pulling himself up on the washbasin. He cursed as he felt around for his damn glasses for a second time that day. He wished he could move around this house at least without them, only he had never been there, and he doubted anyone would want to function as his eyes and guide him around – and he himself did not want this either. Eventually, Cedric found his spectacles again and put them back on; they were still intact, and he wondered for a second how much of a beating they could take until they shattered before he pushed the thought aside and stepped out of the bathroom.

He wandered around a bit. Everything about this house’s interior screamed exquisite, from the floors and walls to the decorative pieces filling up the rooms and corridors. Cedric, with his bloody, torn clothes, must look painfully out of place here. He did not care for it, however; the only person who might care was Cecelia, and he was not looking for her.

He was looking for Oscar and Milton, and when he couldn’t find them anywhere, he sought out Barrington.

“Didn’t you say Oscar went ahead with Milton and Townsend?” Cedric asked when he found Barrington in a small sitting room.

“Didn’t I also say you should clean up, change, and get some rest?” replied Barrington and put down his sword; he had been sharpening it until now.

“Milton, Oscar, and Townsend are still not here yet,” Cedric continued, ignoring Barrington’s response.

Barrington frowned. “Are you sure? We weren’t far from here when he separated.”

“Didn’t you check if they were here?” Cedric asked, panic and anger flashing within him.

“I cannot say that Oscar and the Salisbury boy are my favourite people in the world. And with…” He glanced at Cedric. “… everything going on right now, they slipped my mind.” Barrington was silent for a moment. “You don’t believe Oscar ran off, do you? Discarded Townsend and Salisbury somewhere and escaped? Oscar practically begged to be on this mission, yes, but I doubt he did that so that he could flee and not live as a convict anymore.”

“Maybe. But what if…” Cedric ran a hand through his hair until it got stuck in a tangled knot.

The signal.

The second blinking dot had vanished after Cloudia and I had crossed the river – and not long before Barrington had stumbled across us. Could it have disappeared right after they had gone their separate ways?

“What… what if Oscar kidnapped Milton and Townsend?” asked Cedric, feeling sick at the possibility. “What if he wanted to come along so badly because he also wanted to get his hands on the Queen’s box?”

Barrington blinked at him. “What would Oscar even want with it? He doesn’t even have it; Dia does, or you do, don’t you?”

“The Countess has it, yes, but Oscar now has the person who managed to find and steal it and someone who could open it and…” Cedric stared at the object in his hand, the receiver that should not exist – yet. Cold washed over him. The Salisbury Trading Company was known for its state-of-the-art machinery and swift deliveries; it was not beyond the realm of possibilities that someone might figure out that their machines were beyond contemporary. Just like Townsend had. And even if Oscar hadn’t figured it out beforehand, Townsend might have told him in an effort to wager for his freedom. Point at the unconscious man in their midst, spill his secrets, hope that it would entice Oscar to reconsider his orders.

But Barrington was right. Why would Oscar do something like that? I doubted a man like Oscar would do anything for money alone; one could easily become rich with Milton’s works – just as easily as one could wreak great havoc with them. And what else was there besides fast ships, radar technology, and prototypes of protective gear?

What else was there that could bring danger and chaos?

And for what?

I didn’t think it would be havoc for havoc’s reason.

“It is troubling and worrisome that they haven’t arrived yet,” Barrington said slowly while keeping his eyes fixed on Cedric. “And I have the lowest opinion of Oscar Livingstone; out of all people in this building, I’ve known him the longest too. You could ask every stone in Great Britain, and each of them would know how much I despise that man, but why on earth would he kidnap the Salisbury boy and Townsend? Or try to get his hands on the Queen’s puzzle box? It makes very little sense to me, I’m afraid, Kristopher. Oscar was also carrying Salisbury like an egg; he is taking the word he gave Dia very seriously, and I doubt he ran off with him for whatever reason or dumped him in the Seine.”

Cedric lifted the receiver. “This is a machine Milton made; it’s used to track certain objects. One of them is now with the Countess, and the other one is with Townsend – should be with Townsend. I used the apparatus to track him; that’s why I managed to get as far as I did. However, after I crossed the bridge, Townsend’s signal suddenly vanished. That would have been not long after you split up from Oscar and the others.”

Barrington mustered the object with a raised eyebrow. “This is concerning timing, yes, but are you sure that this thing isn’t just malfunctioning? I knew a tinkerer-type person, and his inventions tended to explode or not function as they should all the time. One of them even blew up a building’s entire west wing. There wasn’t an explosion of this calibre in this area, as far as I know, though that doesn’t mean that this thing didn’t just break. It could have broken down differently. Quietly. Or maybe it’s not whatever you’re holding that’s broken; maybe it’s whatever that is with Townsend.” Slowly, Barrington stood up and walked up to Cedric. “It’s been a long day,” he said and put his hand on Cedric’s arm. “You’re tired and worried; I understand it. I’m worried sick for Dia too, but you won’t help anyone if you don’t go and get some rest and lose yourself in wild theories instead.”

Cedric ripped his arm free. “I’m not making up stuff because my nerves are frayed and I’m tired,” he bellowed. “Why aren’t you taking this seriously? If anything happens to Milton too, it’s your fault!” With that, Cedric turned around and stormed out of the sitting room. Barrington followed him. He tried to grab him, but Cedric’s anger at Barrington’s inaction gave him enough strength to push his tired body to dodge each of his attempts.

Barrington swore under his breath and mumbled that he couldn’t believe he was doing this as he chased Cedric to the back door. “Kristopher, you need to lie down and get some sleep,” he called after him. Cedric ignored him and simply kept on going. He rushed down the stairs, and…

It knocked at the door before he arrived there.

Short. Long. Long. Short.

It made Cedric halt, his surroundings growing still for a moment while everything within him was in turmoil; his heart was beating too quickly, all fibres of his muscles ached, and his mind was scrambled.

After a pause, the knocking began again, in the same sequence as before. This time, it shook Cedric awake, made him hasten forward, unlock the door and pull it open and…

Oscar Livingstone stood before him. His clothes were slightly more battered than they had been before, though he was still carefully cradling an unconscious Milton in his arms while somehow simultaneously dragging Townsend and a man Cedric had never seen before after him.

Cedric blinked at Oscar in bewilderment. Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Could you let me inside?” he asked right before Barrington arrived and pulled Cedric out of the way.

“He’s… he’s a bit out of it,” Barrington explained and hushed Oscar forward. “He’s very tired and… there’s been a situation with Dia.”

“What’s the purpose of dancing around this situation?” enquired Oscar as he stepped inside.

“She got shot in the abdomen,” replied Barrington and closed the door. The instant the lock clicked shut, Oscar kicked Townsend and the other man to the ground. They were both tied up and gagged and wiggled around in vain to get back up.

“Why not say that from the beginning?” Oscar said. “I suppose Sainteclare is looking after her as we speak.” Without even waiting until Barrington had affirmed or negated his words, Oscar continued calmly, “I will lay down the boy; bring those two somewhere secure for detainment.”

Without another word, Oscar vanished into the corridor, carrying Milton with him. It was quiet for a moment by the back door; for a second, the men on the ground even ceased groaning.

“He’s back,” Cedric said in astonishment, having re-found his voice at last.

“Yes, he’s back, and the Salisbury boy seemed perfectly fine,” replied Barrington with a sigh. “I will get Townsend and the other one to the basement. And, Kristopher, please get some rest, you hear me?”

Cedric didn’t get any rest. Instead, he followed Oscar to a drawing room and watched him lay down Milton on a sofa. He took off his jacket and shoes, struggled with the weird utility belt before he managed to open it. He put every item away neatly, searched the room for a blanket, and draped it over Milton. Cedric was mesmerised by the scene in front of him. Oscar did everything with such gentleness, such care that he could not fathom that this was the same man who had sent him and Cloudia to the Witch’s Castle.

“Should I treat him like a ragdoll?” asked Oscar abruptly, startling Cedric.

“No, of course not,” Cedric was quick to say. “I’m just… surprised.”

Oscar looked at him for a moment. “I gave my word that I would keep him safe,” he said at last.

“I didn’t know your word had any weight.”

“I will quickly get washed,” said Oscar, ignoring Cedric’s words. “Do not wake him.”

Oscar left the room. Cedric fell into the armchair next to the sofa, stared at Milton lying on it, watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, and searched with his eyes for any additional injury on his body but discovered none.

I should be more relieved than I was to see him well. To have him here, a living, breathing proof that I had been wrong. Oscar had never kidnapped him at all; Oscar had never been a danger to him at all.

But still.

But still…

“Milton has been unconscious for quite a long time,” remarked Cedric when Oscar returned.

Oscar gently lifted Milton’s left hand and felt his pulse. “His heartbeat is steady, and he has no major external injuries, nor any internal ones from what I can tell. He must simply be exhausted; he will be fine,” Oscar stated and put down Milton’s hand as carefully as if he believed Milton to be a porcelain doll. And lying there looking perfectly serene with his gold-blond hair fanned out over the cream pillow and his skin as pale as ever, Milton did look like one.

Sleeping Beauty, Cedric thought in spite of himself and immediately pushed the thought away.

“Why should I take any of your words at face value?” Cedric challenged Oscar.

“You can come here and check his pulse yourself,” retorted Oscar and fussed with Milton’s blanket. “He’s alive and well. You engaged in a long chase through a city under siege. He must have crashed from sheer exhaustion. You look like you are on the verge of it too, Underwood.”

“Milton wasn’t that tired beforehand,” Cedric protested. “Yes, sure, we ran through the woods, the train, and Paris in short succession, getting chased and chasing, and I cannot remember if he got any rest before our five-hour-long ride to Creil. At any rate, Milton was holding himself together surprisingly well. Though his nerves had begun to fray when we arrived in Paris…”

Oscar turned to look at him, and Cedric sighed. “Yes, okay, okay, it’s a miracle that he didn’t crash earlier. Nonetheless, I think it’s concerning that he hasn’t woken up yet, even if only for a brief moment.” He narrowed his eyes at Oscar. “It doesn’t help that he was with you.”

“As I said, I gave my word to keep him safe,” Oscar replied dryly. A moment later, Barrington burst into the room. “Oscar,” he exclaimed, “who is that other man, and why were you so…”

Oscar glared at him with an intensity Cedric had not seen before, and he had been on the receiving side of Oscar’s death glares multiple times before. Barrington stopped talking instantaneously.

“Weaselton, I believed that you would have at least the decency to speak quietly when someone is asleep,” Oscar said in a lowered voice, but he could have just as well been yelling. “I suppose I have been too lenient with you.”

“Oh, you are…” Barrington began just as loud as before. Oscar glared at him, and Barrington continued quieter: “…not someone who should lecture others on decency, Yard Ripper.”

“Nevertheless, I seem to be more knowledgeable about common etiquette than you, so I am indeed qualified to lecture you,” Oscar replied. “And now please say what you want to say. I want you to leave before you wake him.”

Barrington glowered at Oscar before he cleared his throat. “Who is that other man you brought with you, and why were you so late, Oscar?” asked Barrington, keeping his voice low.

“He is most likely one of Townsend’s comrades,” Oscar answered. “After we split up, that man suddenly attacked me and tried to free Townsend. It was a hassle to capture him while making sure that Townsend didn’t run away, and that the boy would not get hurt. The operation took a while; that’s why I was late. I suppose Townsend must have had his base of operations close by, and that’s why I could and did run into one of his men.”

“See, Kristopher?” said Barrington and patted his hand. “A perfectly logical explanation for why Oscar was tardy. Now, you can sleep peacefully. Please do; please rest peacefully, you look horrendous.”

Cedric scowled at him, and Oscar tilted his head but did not say a word.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Kristopher,” Barrington said. “You had a delirious fit earlier. You look like you’ve been run over by a train or a squirrel that barely survived an encounter with a speedy carriage. I’m sorry but ‘horrendous’ is a mild descriptor in this case.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” replied Cedric intently. “Not before I know the Countess is well.”

Barrington groaned. “You stubborn idiot, can’t you understand…”

Milton stirred a little at Barrington’s raised voice. Immediately, Oscar patted his arm to ease him back to sleep. He then delivered a glare so fatal at Barrington that he fled the room without protesting before Oscar had even followed it with a “Leave” that was hissed with such force that a shudder ran through Cedric’s body despite its ill-treated state.

Thereafter, Oscar slightly adjusted Milton’s blanket and then sat down on the ground, leaning against the ottoman opposite the sofa Milton was lying on. He pulled out a piece of wood and a small knife out of his pocket. For a while, Oscar and Cedric sat in silence, with the only sounds permeating the room being metal on wood, Milton’s soft breathing, and the faint ticking of a grandfather clock. Cedric tensed at the latter sound.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

The grandfather clock’s ticking mixed with the ticking of the café’s clock, pulsing within my head in canon.

Cold sweat broke out over my body. My breathing was uneven. My heart beating too quickly.

Tick, tick, tick… tick, tock, tick, tock…

So much could happen from one second to the next.

I didn’t know how Cloudia was doing.

I had stumbled across her room while searching for Milton and Oscar. Newman had been staying sentinel and taking and bringing objects from and to the room. I hadn’t asked. I couldn’t ask. I had simply turned on my heel and resumed my search.

Tick, tick, tick… tick, tock, tick, tock…

My clothes were so heavy on me, her blood on them pulling me down.

It was… it was so hard to breathe…

“You should rest, by the way,” Oscar said. His words came out of nowhere; he did not even look up when he said them. Still, they made Cedric flinch and pushed him back to the here and now. It took him a moment longer to realise that Oscar had said those words with an oddly soft edge to them. His tone made Cedric’s ears ring as Oscar continued with the same softness, “There is no reason for you to sit in this room. Your presence here helps no one. You can just go and find a room to sleep in.”

“I’m here because I can’t leave you alone with Milton,” replied Cedric, irritation rising within him.

“And why is that so?” Oscar finally took his eyes off his handiwork and fixed them on Cedric. “He is soundly asleep, and I have no reason to harm him. If I had any intention to do anything to the boy, I would have done it already, after I had told Weaselton to find you and the Lady. Why would and should I try anything now? In a house with so many people around when I had the perfect opportunity to do him harm earlier?” He tilted his head slightly, and the look in his pale blue eyes made Cedric squirm. “But you know that already, don’t you?” said Oscar softly. Cedric stiffened. “You are not here because you want to guard him.”

Cedric pressed his lips together, set not to reply, but the barrier slipped quickly. He had no energy to keep it up, and something about Oscar’s tone pulled at Cedric’s words, dragging them to the surface. “He is a very fidgety person,” Cedric said, at last, the words breaking out of him. “He’s always fumbling on his sleeves or pulling on them. I sometimes wonder if he’s constantly afraid of something with how he seems like he cannot find any rest.” He glanced at Milton’s still form, and his stomach churned at the sight. “Seeing him now, it feels so wrong because he’s just too calm. But, at the same time, it fits so well because Milton is also a very calm person and has an oddly soothing presence. How does that make any sense? I have no idea but that’s just how it is.”

Grunting, Cedric lifted himself out of the armchair and pushed himself to the sofa, made himself take Milton’s hand – the injured left one, not the right one as he didn’t like being touched there, and Cedric didn’t want to upset him even if he was currently fast sleep. Cedric checked Milton’s pulse. It beat steadily beneath his fingers, made his own heart follow its tune and stabilise and calm itself too from the sheer relief that Oscar hadn’t lied. “I suppose,” Cedric added quietly. “I want him to wake up because I just want to talk to him. But I won’t shake him awake for that, don’t worry.”

Oscar mustered him with an unreadable, blank expression on his face. “Now that you’ve reassured yourself that he is here and well,” he said, “you should go and rest yourself. He will wake up later than sooner, and you need to get yourself together before she wakes up.”

***

Everything afterwards passed as a blur. Putting Milton’s hand down, tucking him in properly. Leaving the drawing room. Wandering through the house like a ghost. Up and down, left and right. Moving without being able to feel my body; moving as if something or someone else was steering me. Like a wind-up doll one sets down to wander free and aimlessly.

Alfred found me eventually. I closed my eyes as he guided me gently to an empty room. He left quickly, apologising that he could not even fetch me some tea. But I was not upset. I knew that he was needed.

He smelled of her blood after all.

I opened my eyes again when I lay down on the bed. It was large and lush, and I felt out of place and small on top of it. I must be ruining the bedding, but the thought and worry did not take hold in my mind.

My mind was blank, and my heart was aching.

Somewhere in this house, Cloudia was lying and wrestling for her life.

Kamden could stitch up the wound, but he could not make it heal. He could wash away the blood, but he could not return it.

She was a fighter, but she had lost so, so much blood. And human life was so, so fragile.

A rattle startled me. It took me a moment to realise that I had instinctively reached for my chain of lockets. I pulled it out of my pocket, let it dangle in front of my face like a mobile. I hadn’t even told Cloudia about them yet, about the lockets that I had been carrying with me for nearly a hundred years.

Five lockets on a chain for five lives lost.

A friend, a child, a stranger, a partner, a…

I clasped the charm in the middle, held it against my chest. My eyes fluttered closed. I could feel her fingers on my head, could feel them running through my hair. I waited for her to speak, waited for her soothing voice to lull me to sleep.

But this time, Cesca had no fairy tale to offer, and I plunged into dark, dreamless sleep all alone.

***

London, England, United Kingdom – March 1846

The last tendrils of the sun had followed Cloudia on the way back home, and when she arrived at the Phantomhive townhouse, the sun had set, and the streetlamps had taken its place to illuminate the world. They were brought to life one by one by lamplighters and shone dimly but steadily, ready to keep the shadows at bay. By the time Cloudia passed through the townhouse’s gates, her street was lined by lights. And like the streetlamps, Cloudia felt set alight too.

She had been frustrated for weeks, and while she did not get any answers to her questions, a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders today, and she felt so light and alive. Thus, though she had walked for so long and so much, Cloudia felt oddly energetic all the way to the townhouse. Her exhaustion only caught up with her when she stepped over the doorsill and into the building. Her legs nearly buckled; her muscles cried out in tense agony. Because of her disguise, Cloudia had discreetly entered through a side door, and there was no Newman to help her. She stabilised herself on a small side table and then slowly and awkwardly made her way to the library as it was the closest room with places to sit and rest.

Cloudia immediately threw herself on a plush chaise longue as soon as she spotted it. She pressed her face into a soft pillow and groaned into it. Her body might have given up the instant she had crossed the threshold into the house, but she was still alight inside.

Today hadn’t gone as planned. I had been caught, arrested; I hadn’t been able to say anything I had intended to say, paralysed as I had been.

But all had gone well anyway.

I hadn’t scared Milton away; he had offered to meet me alone. We hadn’t talked much, but he had invited me to write to him.

I hadn’t been given anything to organise my thoughts or pinpoint the oddness I felt but a chance. And I nearly burst in eagerness to write to him now, as pathetic as it may sound, but my body, my aching, knackered body, gave me a firm “no” and a broad hint to get myself to bed.

If only I could get up this chaise longue.

“I haven’t seen you all day.”

Oscar’s voice sent a jolt through Cloudia’s body; she was sure that she had jumped in a lying position a few centimetres upwards too. With great effort, she rolled to her side and squinted. At the other side of this section, a small lamp had been lit, and Oscar was sitting by it, immersed in a book. He was so far away; still, Cloudia could discern from how he was handling the book that it was Paradise Lost again. Oscar had been in a particularly melancholic mood in the last few months and had been reading the poem with great intensity and frequency. Cloudia couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him reading anything else.

“It’s a childhood favourite,” Oscar had answered her a few years back, though Cloudia had never asked, only wondered about his love for that poem. “It brings me comfort to re-read it, even if I know it by heart.”

“A strange thing to say when you didn’t even look up to speak,” remarked Cloudia.

“That does not make my words any less true,” Oscar retorted. He flipped through a few more pages before he finally raised his head and fixed his eyes on her. They shone in the dim light like two pale dewdrops. “Did you do anything you wish to tell me?”

“No, but…” Cloudia considered him for a moment. She did not quite know if this was her exhaustion speaking or if she had been briefly possessed when she said, “You were married once, weren’t you, Oscar?”

Oscar straightened up in his seat. “Yes, I was. I am.”

“How did you figure out that you liked Trudy like that?”

The library was dead quiet for a few minutes before Oscar spoke at last. “I advise you to take all your questions to Williams, or one of your aunts and cousins.”

“I don’t want to talk to them about this,” Cloudia told him. “I’ve heard enough from Cecelia regarding this topic, and I would say that none of it was useful; it was mostly exasperating. I don’t feel comfortable speaking to my aunts about this, and I have talked to my cousins about this before – or, rather, I have listened to them converse about this. I also went to Kamden already. Nothing has helped me yet. I think I need more opinions on this because this is such an annoying state to exist in, and I suppose you’re better than nothing. After all, you have experienced love yourself.” As soon as the last sentence left her mouth, Cloudia wanted to take it back, take the entire conversation back and pretend she had never raised the topic, but then Oscar replied before she could.

“I am certain you can find someone else who is better equipped at this than me,” Oscar said and played with the edge of a book page. “My experience was, is, hardly considered normal.”

“Well, I don’t feel particularly normal about this either. So?”

He drew his fingers along the sides of his book but kept his eyes on Cloudia as he said quietly, “Because it was always only Trudy. I’ve never been in love with anyone before I met her, and I will never be again.”

Cloudia blinked at him. “What do you mean?” she asked and sat up quietly, settling herself properly into the chaise longue while she listened to Oscar.

“My mother gave her heart to my father, and it ate her from within,” Oscar continued haltingly. “I doubted I would ever experience anything like that myself, and I did not care that I would never. Growing up, I rarely had anything to do with children my age, but I would overhear conversations now and then. I never understood their infatuations, how they filled them with so much pain, and how people still couldn’t live without them.

“When I joined the army, I was surrounded by people my age and much older. I was often invited to go along with them to town, though I would always decline. I couldn’t grasp why they needed to be with people in this manner…” Oscar cleared his throat. “I certainly had no desire or understanding for it beyond the basics. I had never been drawn to anyone like that as they were.” He paused for a moment, and when he resumed to speak, his voice was soft and quiet even if his words only came out hesitantly. And while his gaze was directed at Cloudia, he was seeing someone else. “I was twenty-one years old when I first met Trudy, and it took a few more years until things changed. If I had never encountered her, I would have never got married, I would have never had any children. Meeting her was an anomaly that could never be repeated, a chance so small it was almost an impossibility. I loved her first, and I loved her last, and I will continue to love her even if she is not there anymore because she is the only one I can feel this way towards.”

Oscar gazed down at the book in his lap. “What I felt for her was so foreign that I could not tell from the start what it was. I told you before that her friend had to help me out. My experience was not like anyone else’s I knew, not like anyone else’s he knew either, but he could still identify it and make me realise that this was what it was. Just because my experience might have been… strange, it was not less correct than anyone else’s. There was one for me; there are many possibilities for others.

“Love, as I have come to understand, has existed since forever, and though its conceptualisation was transformed numerously with the changing times and societal evolution, it remained unexplainable and unbound at its core.” Oscar paused. “And I’ve done a lot of research back then, to understand.”

And then, before Cloudia could let his words sink in and say anything in response, Oscar abruptly closed his book and continued, “But I also know that one can be drawn to someone else for other reasons beyond physical and romantic ones, beyond familial and friendly ones too. I would investigate the source properly before acting upon anything thoughtlessly.”

“Well, that was my plan,” Cloudia said. She was too tired to consider what he said properly, though his words had made her head spin with thoughts that would have to be sorted out tomorrow. “I’ve been agonising about this matter for a few weeks now, and, thankfully, Milton is fine with me tal…” She clasped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t meant to say his name, not with Cecelia’s threat still so present in her mind, and it made her heart race that she had.

Oscar looked up again, peered at her through his shining, unreadable blue eyes. “Milton, huh?”

[applepies-and-starlight]

Was Ishmael always your favorite from day one, or did Canto 5 swing things in her direction?

So, she wasn't like, my favorite favorite day 1, but I did have a higher opinion of her compared to the rest of the cast (barring Ryoshu and Sinclair as food name oomf was making propaganda about them like a madman), her initial demeanor also gained her extra points because I generally gravitate towards characters that Actually Respect The MC/PC i won't say no to unhinged characters can we at least pretend to be civil during work hours and not treat me like a dog? It makes me sad :(

And then Canto V dropped.

Normally, this wouldn't be. That Big of a deal, if it was in literally any other position I'd just go "oh cool, so that's what happened" and moved on.

Problem: there was probably at least 20 different sleeper agents in my brain. And all of them involved Azur Lane

(Context for confused LCB moots: Azur Lane is Arknights' weirder, hornier cousin set somewhere in a WW2-adjacent period where all of your units are warships given human form known as Shipgirls (official term: KAN-SEN) and you fight against a robotic menace known as the Sirens)

(Editing Apple: putting this under cut because... oh lird. It's long.)

I had this like, entire ramble I wanted to go off on but at some point I didn't know where to take it lmao, but the basic idea is the following:

I got into Azur Lane last year because of spite and (eldritch-ish) pirates (Hello Royal Fortune!)

Got dragged into lore rabbit hole

Got convinced to read eldritch apocalypse fanfiction of Azur Lane (Whispers of Saturn)

Loved the fanfic a lot, started making Pirate shipgirl ocs based off the fic's concept (eldritch creachurr)

First iteration of Whaleship Essex created; whale-like mermaid-siren figure who has albinism and is a little Too trigger happy with whale murder

Made her look like Ishmael LCB because haha funny reference

Devs went fuckshit crazy with the anniversary event; Marco Polo was raining the wrath of God (who, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, was a false god), the god in question was fucking up the world with a weird white membrane (which, now that I think about it, kinda acted like pallidification), the french were getting back together, everything is great

I try to add the false god(s) into the lore timeline of my Azur Lane shit, cue updates happening to Whaleship Essex where she's the only survivor of her group and knows that someone else also survived but blames them for not being able to Do Something about it

New Pirate event happens

Devs stole 2 of my OCs and made them canon (hi, Hind; hi, Galley) and they also happen to be close to Whaleship Essex while they were my OCs

I work around what the Devs have given me and decide that they're in a state of kinda died-but-not-really (long story)

(Note that I came up with all this oc stuff around like. November or something.)

Overall my hype for The Sea™ and eldritch horrors have reached an all time high

Canto V releases; I learn about it while trying to make a Limbus AU for Murder Drones

I decide to check it out because. Water.

Doomed sailor yuri

"Holy fucking shit did I just predict Canto V with my OC that's completely unrelated in every way except for the fact that she looks A Lot like Ishmael???? What?????"

Present time; I have been stuck in the Limbus hole ever since (and apparently my brain has delusionally stuck itself onto our favorite ginger sailor so uh. hi fellow ishmael irls!)

Sooooo... yeah

Basically we wouldn't be here if the stars didn't align at Halloween 2022 and Manjuu + Yostar gave the AL fans someone who isn't a pirate

[e-jewel]

"Bishop to G7" and "A Sermon for Everyone Else"

My submissions for the @fallenlondonficswap secret swap for @superoffbatter

So, funny story. Originally I was struggling a little bit to figure out what to write because Mr. Veils, Fingerkings, Fiacre's, and the Church in the Wild all fall outside my area of expertise when it comes to this game. I was familiar with them, just not quite familiar enough to be confident in writing about any of them. So I did some research and some brainstorming, and eventually came up with something I thought was pretty fun. Aaand I got about halfway through writing that story when this month's ES came out. And Fiacre's was in it. And I was immediately struck with inspiration for something entirely unrelated to my first idea to write about the Bishop. But I also didn't want to completely abandon my other story. So I ended up writing both! Here they are, hopefully at least one'll be to your liking

Bishop to G7

Word Count: 1890

Spoilers: Bag a Legend, Railway

Summary: On his weekly train ride to Burrow-Infra-Mump, the Bishop of Saint Fiacre's receives advice from an unexpected source

The Bishop of Saint Fiacre’s gazed drearily out the window as the train sped along to his destination. It was not that he wasn’t looking forward to giving his weekly sermon at the newly established Church in the Wild, in fact he quite enjoyed the variety that the difference in doctrine added to his otherwise familiar routine. Rather, it was the location of this new chapel that he found somewhat… drab. The “Hinterlands” as Londoners had taken to calling them were composed entirely of barren wastelands followed by small villages of esoteric outcasts followed by more wasteland. While the Bishop was himself a city man, and had been nearly as long as the Bazaar had been dragging them down to the Neath, he did at least feel some kinship with the outsider civilizations scattered across the Hinterlands. He himself had had millenia to work on and refine his identity, and yet still he faced hardships almost on the daily in London on account of what he was. So, perhaps visiting one of those enclaves wouldn’t be so bad, except, The Bishop wasn’t visiting an enclave. Or a town, or a village, or anything of the sort. No, for some reason when faced with the two parts of the Hinterland, rather than found their new Church in the “civilization” half, they chose to found it in the “barren wasteland” half. A baffling decision if you were to ask The Bishop, but then again they knew the Director well and knew that they could often be a baffling person, and not always in a bad way. For example, the recent outcome of the ordeal with The Youthful Naturalist and his studies had initially shocked him, but upon reflection the outcome that was reached certainly has the potential to be wondrous. If the Naturalist and Director continue to play their cards right, that is. 

The Bishop’s thought process was interrupted as the train horn blared loudly and the vehicle rolled to a stop. Soon after he heard the conductor shouting 

“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Station VIII, where Masters and Mysteries await! If you’re getting off here I hope you have a lovely rest of your day, and for everyone else we’ll be departing for Burrow-Infra-Mump here in just 15 minutes!”

The Bishop sighed and laid his head down on the table in front of him. Just one more stop, he thought to himself. One more stop and he can finally actually do the thing that makes this whole trip worth it. Perhaps rehearsing his sermon one more time would pass the remaining few hours till he arrived at Burrow. But, just as the Bishop was retrieving his notes from his coat, a large burly figure obscured in a flowing and silky robe appeared outside his booth.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

The Bishop immediately recognized that it was a Master. Specifically, the fine material the robe was made of would suggest this was the greatly feared Mr. Veils. And it was… asking to sit with him? Intrigued, The Bishop maintained his cool and responded with a simple

“No. It’s all yours.”

The hulking figure made its way into the seat across from the Bishop, lowering itself slowly onto the bench so as not to snap it in half with the force of its weight. Then, for a long while, the two sat in silence. The Bishop calmly reviewed his notes, trying to ignore the imposing presence of his seatmate, while Veils only stared directly ahead of itself, watching the Bishop intently. Eventually though, after the train was over halfway to Burrow, the silence was broken by Veils’ shrill voice. 

“You are giving a sermon today, Yes?” 

The Bishop looked up, startled, as he’d just nearly managed to succeed in forgetting Veils was there. But still he did not show this fright to Veils yet, he was not a fool after all.

“Yes I am. Why? Will you be attending?”

Veils let out what the Bishop could only assume was a laugh, but really more resembled a scream. He frowned, uncertain why Veils found his simple question so uproarious. The Bishop was not one to assume that anyone’s relative interest in attending Church, be they human or otherwise, and Veils was no exception to that. So the Bishop simply sat stoic and impatient, waiting for Veils to finish with its laughing fit and answer his question. Eventually, Veils recovered from whatever it found so humorous and replied

“No no my dear Bishop. I’m terribly sorry but I am rather busy and have no time to engage in such petty mortal things as religion, truly it is commendable that you yourself make time to do so. But that is precisely why I’ve sought you out. As I said, as skilled as I am in the art of persuasion, religion is not my forte, but it is yours. And today, there will be a number of… people of importance in attendance at your sermon, so I’ve simply come to ask what it is you’ll be speaking about.”

The Bishop’s eyes narrowed. This was clearly Veils the Intriguer, as some had taken to calling it, and was not someone to be dealt with lightly. Where other times Veils might tear you to shreds physically, when it got like this it was known to rend you in a psychological and political manner, moving the chessboard’s pieces with skill and ruthlessness not seen in some of the greatest agents of the Game. Luckily though, The Bishop did not seem to be the target of its current hunt, rather it was these “people of importance” that would be attending his sermon that Veils was after. Knowing this, and hearing the question implied by the end of Veils’ statement of “and what will they be hearing?”, the Bishop responded by saying

“It is funny you should ask that, as I myself have been struggling with finding the answer. I am not used to preaching with this doctrine, or to these people. It is beginning to feel like I’m trying to navigate through a maze without my eyes. Since you bring it up, and you seem to know the people who will be there, would you perhaps be able to assist me with some guidance?”

This was largely true. Despite having worked with it for some time now the Bishop was less familiar with the ideals and practices of the Church in the Wild and did often struggle to create sermons that felt as impactful as his usual ones. That being said though, on this particular week he had had a sermon planned which he was rather proud of and felt would truly connect with the congregation, but considering the circumstances he figured he could simply use that one next week and for now he should attempt to play to the desires of great power sitting before him. That great power was currently chuckling, pleased that the Bishop was so quick to play into its hand.

“Well my good sir, I am in fact intimately familiar with your guests this week, yes, so I suppose I could make a few speculations as to what they’d want to hear, if that would be to your pleasure.”

The BIshop turned his notes around and removed a pen from his pocket before looking to Veils, imploring it to continue. Veils grinned with a disgustingly human grin and said.

“There is a concept of which the two of us are intimately aware, dear Bishop: the many sides of a singular coin. In any given individual, countless personas and continuities can be found, coming together to form a singular ‘person’. I wonder then, if you wouldn’t be particularly well suited to bring that perspective to the Burrow Church? If I understand correctly it is quite relevant to the doctrine, to teach that a person needn’t be so rigid as to align oneself with a particular faith and cast out all others and, indeed, that same logic can be applied to a great multitude of things? That is to say, if you ask me, I’d wager a lesson in fluidity and flexibility could prove most fortuitous for you and the members of your congregation.” 

The Bishop finished jotting down what Veils had said and then sat there, stunned. That was all… remarkably good. He did know what it was like to wear many faces and still be one person, and that was very relevant to the beliefs of the Church in the Wild. He had expected some thinly veiled (no pun intended) political scheme that he’d have to bend over backward trying to work into a sermon, but he found himself quite liking what Veils had suggested.

Just then, the train slowed to a stop and the conductor could be heard once again.

“Ladies and Gentleman we’ve now arrived at Burrow-Infra-Mump! All those seeking saintly salvation, this is your time to get off! Everyone else, our next stop is Moulin and we’ll be leaving in 15 minutes. That's all for now; enjoy your day folks!”

The Bishop’s head snapped towards the window, surprised to see the large hill that the Burrow Church resided on directly outside it. Were they really there already? He could have sworn there was at least an hour left in their trip when Veils started their conversation. Unfortunately, before the Bishop could further ponder this apparent time skip, Veils spoke once more

“This is your stop, yes? I do hope your sermon goes well, and that you take my advice into consideration. While I won’t be attending nor getting off here, I have business further down the line, I am… truly glad that I could help you in your time of need.”

Its last sentence was punctuated with that same inhumanely human smile it had before, and for a moment the Bishop flinched ever so slightly, expecting an attack, but none came. The Bishop then gave his own small smile to Veils in return as a farewell, before quickly gathering his notes and making his way off the train. As he began his long walk up the hill towards the Church, he wondered if what he was about to do was really a good idea. Often the goals of the Masters were not aligned with the goals of the denizens of the Neath, and Veils in particular had a reputation of something of a sadist. On the other hand, by that same reasoning it likely wouldn’t be wise for the Bishop to directly contradict its desires lest he find that bloodlust taken out on him instead of its original target. And anyways, the more he thought on it the more he genuinely came to quite like the topic Veils had suggested he use. Something about it just… spoke to his very soul.

Meanwhile, as the train pulled away from the bottom of the hill, one of its passengers sat wearing a horrific smile which was growing ever wider. It wondered who would actually be in the Church with the Bishop; if there would actually be anyone of note or if it would be the same dirty nomads of the hinterland it always was? It didn’t trouble itself with that thought too much though, as really it couldn’t matter less. It had done what it came to do. The Bishop was now in place, and as Burrow-Infra-Mump became nothing but a speck on the horizon Mr. Veils whispered to itself “Checkmate.”

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

A Sermon for Everyone Else

Word Count: 668

Spoilers: Death and Tax Evasion

Summary: After the death of the Scabby Layrat at the Hands of the Oft-Offed Revenuer, the Bishop of Saint Fiacre's delivers a sermon at the rodent's funeral

“Hello, everyone. I would like to thank you all for gathering here today for someone whom many of you likely wouldn’t usually gather for. But this is a day to question that fact. A day to ask ourselves, why do we not mourn our fallen rat brethren just as we mourn our fallen man? Why has it taken the death of this poor Layrat, who wished nothing more than for us to accept him the very same way our loving God would and then died for that wish, for us to see the truth that we were blinded to? The fact is, my friends, we live in a time that is not the age of man. It is a time far different, stranger, and more diverse than the ones depicted in any holy text we read. And for too long now we have clung to these texts as tight as we could, making only the most undeniable of adjustments and remaining willfully ignorant of all else. But no more I say. No more do we choose to exclude the intelligent and compassionate beings around us from holding the same holy love that we do. No more do we insist that people are the only true children of God which all others should serve. We need to accept that these new beings are just as loved by God as we are, and I truly hope that this sermon can begin to make that change. As stated, it is a tragedy that it was not until an innocent had died that I came to help fight this issue, but it is a tragedy I will not allow again. Truthfully, on the very same day this rodent’s shining eyes sparkled for the last time, I was approached by the Archbishop of St. Algernon’s. He pleaded with me to request a synod, to begin the process of recognising the rats in the Bible and in the Church. Regrettably, he approached me whilst I was giving a sermon, and I became afraid. I was afraid of what associating with rats would do to my reputation, afraid that my congregation would no longer listen to me, and so I said no. That is something that will now haunt me to my grave. Knowing that a simple yes likely would have saved this young life from being extinguished in so awful a way, well, it is a sin that I can only pray has been forgiven by his now immortal soul, and it is something I will never stop trying to make up for. Starting with this: my sermon for everyone else. This is not a sermon for you who attend my church every Sunday, who attend balls on Saturdays and palaces on Fridays, this is a sermon for the drunkard, for the Rubbery Man, for the Rattus Faber, for the Cousin, for the Master, for the Drownie, and for all others who are intelligent, kind, and curious to know the word of God but have been told for some reason in the past that they cannot. My new friends,  Wish to assure you this: you will not suffer the fate of the Layrat. From this point on, should you ever approach the door of a church, any church at all, you will be welcomed in with open arms. We will sing with our hymns, say with you our prayers, and love with you our God. Perhaps this is merely me assuaging my own guilt, but our faith decrees that everything happens according to God's plan. Thus, I can only assume that this loss was itself an answer to the Layrat’s prayers for unity, a sacrifice he has made for the future of all those like him and all those not like him and all those not like anyone at all. And we cannot let that sacrifice be in vain. So, we will now commence the burial of the good Saint Rodere, the Patron Saint of Everyone Else. May he smile down on us indefinitely.”

[fuckmemurderman]

Hey, freaks (affectionate), it's only 2 weeks to Halloween and I thought I'd rustle up a collection of Halloween movies you wouldn't normally consider in your lineup (yes, I consider all of these to be Halloween movies) and I highly recommend them. Again, as always, do NOT interact with this post or talk to/follow me if you are under 18.

The Halloween Tree (1993) - my absolute favorite movie fully serious. It's an animated movie about a group of kids meeting on Halloween night to go trick-or-treating but one of them is missing. They get caught up in a magical adventure through time and space learning about different cultures and their influence on modern Halloween while they look for their friend with the help of an ancient sorcerer whose intentions are not entirely clear. Based on a Ray Bradbury book of the same name (I think the movie is 1000x better though).

Van Helsing (2004) - the Hugh Jackman horror action masterpiece. If you don't know anything about it, it's about an alternate version of the character Van Helsing who works for the Vatican hunting monsters from classic Gothic literature. He is called on a mission to kill Dracula which has mysterious significance to his own past that he cannot remember. It's campy, it's fun, and it has an absolutely killer soundtrack. Lots of great practical effects and the CGI is stylized so it's aged pretty well in the 20 years since its release.

The Crow (1994) - now is an especially good time to watch this incredible movie because honestly fuck that remake and everyone who thought it would be a good idea. If you don't know this one, it's a revenge story about a musician who was murdered with his fiancee the night before their wedding by a gang of thugs. He is resurrected a year later with superhuman abilities, giving him the opportunity to kill everyone involved with the murder. It's at its core a beautiful story about love and protecting the innocent and it gets so much deeper than a simple "eye for an eye" type plot. It's based on a comic but it isn't a direct adaptation. (Side note: the cat does NOT die or get hurt!)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) - the movie that came before the tv show and is just as good. Basic story is a high school cheerleader finds out she is the chosen one destined to hunt vampires and other evils and she is not about it at first. Think Clueless meets The Lost Boys. It's funny, it's got good drama, the villain is compelling - it's a lot of fun.

Urban Legend (1998) - an underrated slasher using common urban legends to murder a bunch of college kids. It's every bit as good as Scream in similar ways but it was overshadowed by more popular films at the time. It has really good twists and the mystery of who the killer is makes it a really engaging watch. (Side note: the dog DOES die but you can easily avoid seeing it)

House on Haunted Hill (1999) - a remake that is better than the original imo. A wealthy roller coaster designer invites a group of seemingly unrelated people to a party in a former insane asylum for an overnight challenge: whoever can stay the whole night in the supposedly haunted building wins a large sum of cash. The problem is that the building is extremely haunted and they are all in danger. They are also all linked to the building in some way and the ghosts are very angry with them in particular.

Butterfly Kisses (2015) - one of the best found footage movies I've ever seen no exaggeration. It's about an amateur filmmaker who inexplicably discovered an unfinished project of some missing film students in his house. The students were researching a local urban legend of a supernatural being called Peeping Tom who, if you manage to see him, will get closer to you each time you blink until he is able to touch you and then he kills you. It's extremely well done and manages to do what The Blair Witch Project did without having any more similarities than the film students getting into something bigger than they thought.

ParaNorman (2012) - brilliant stop motion animation telling the story of a bullied kid with the ability to talk to the dead as he is needed to break a curse dating back to the witch hunts. It's a little goofy in parts but it's really a heartbreaking tragedy in the meat of it and as a former bullied kid it really hit home for me in a way most movies don't. Definitely watch in a good headspace.

Rec (2007) - found footage following a local news crew recording a fluff segment that turns into a fast paced fight for survival against a rage virus type infection spreading through an apartment building. It's got a basic zombie survival setup but it is so well done and so scary it really stands apart from most of its peers (and if you know me you know I am SO sick of zombie movies I could puke. This is an exception). Lots of jarring violence and overwhelming panic it's a wild ride the instant it gets going.

The Frighteners (1996) - kind of a forgotten gem of a supernatural murder mystery. A disgraced psychic investigator who everyone thinks is a fraud but he can actually see ghosts finds himself caught up in a series of unexplained deaths that seem to be caused by the Grim Reaper. I can't really say much more about it without spoilers but it's really really good and has some excellent twists.

Cry_Wolf (2005) - a meta slasher that takes itself a little more seriously. It uses the concept of a Mafia/Werewolf lying game and applies it to a prep school whodunnit. A foreign transfer student with a history of troublemaking falls in with a group of popular kids at his new school and they decide to prank their fellow students by creating a fake serial killer in a chain email just to scare everyone. They end up getting scared themselves when the killer they imagined seems to have come to life and is targeting them. I was OBSESSED with this movie as a teenager and it still is a decent watch now.

This is just general movies I like to watch around Halloween. If you're looking for specific types of movies (werewolf, shark, psychological, etc.) hit up my inbox and I'll get you a list of my favorites!

[insomaniacat]

Asking you all of them from 1 to 20 ^^

OMG GLADLY

1. whos your favourite character

Kim Dokja 🫶 (fragment behavior)

2. what was your favourite arc?

Revolutionary arc my beloved

3. do you have a favourite quote?

Out of context would probably be "Even if there is an insurmountable wall between me and them, even if it isn't heard by the person beyond that wall, I can write something on the wall and at the very lease, the wall will change" from Jang Hayoung

In context would be when Jung Heewon said "I don't know anything about the future. However, I do know this. You said that you want to save this world? It's the same for me, too... That man is the world I wish to save" (that gave me goosebumps when I read that lol)

4. do you have any characters you wished interacted more?

Jung Heewon and Han Sooyoung! Han Sooyoung's relationship was basically the opposite of Yoo Sangah's with Jung Heewon. They developed quite a bit of beef with each other during the 3 year time skip while Kim Dokja was away, and it was really interesting seeing it get resolved due the Proof of the Stars scenario

5. if you could ask the authors any question, what would you ask them?

Probably if there's any experiences they've had that's contributed to orv's development

6. whats a headcanon you have that you absolutely believe is canon?

Han Sooyoung would've either a) gotten multiple degrees or b) attended lectures in various unrelated fields understand a topic before writing if the epilogues hadn't happened

7. conversely, whats a headcanon that youre just pulling out of your ass but you love anyway?

Not a very wild heacannon but Kim Dokja would've gotten into watching esports when he was a teenager but maybe after like two weeks of looking around at the major streamers he would've dropped it entirely because none of them looked like how he imagined Yoo Joonghyuk to look like

But he keeps up with esports news in a very casual way (probably the random news article here and there 💀)

8. whats your least favourite arc?

Peaceland arc 💀 I like all the arcs in orv but I felt like it dragged a lot. To be fair, I think a bunch of orv arcs drag on a bit, but Peaceland was so early on that it made me stop reading for a long time during my first read of orv

9. any popular thing in the fandom you love?

Not really a popular thing but more like a popular idea - that you can only take out as much meaning in a story as you are willing to. You can glean as little as you want from a piece of media or give it more meaning than what the author may have originally intended

10. any popular thing in the fandom you cant stand?

Not really

11. any character you wish we saw more of?

Lee Seolhwa or Jang Hayoung! They have so much relevance in twsa but not too much in orv, so I’m curious about them!

12. are you more of a reader, writer or protagonist?

I’m more of a reader. This kind of ties back to my kinship to Kim Dokja, because he lived to see the next chapter update of his favorite novel, which is something I did, too

13. if you could meet any character, which would you pick and what would you say?

Yoo Sangah. I’d just like to have a normal conversation with her tbh.

14. favourite theme in orv?

The broad theme has gotta be love. It’s been said before but you step into orv thinking its an isekai powercreep fantasy and it is quite literally Han Sooyoung with a metal chair LMAO

15. any characters you didnt love at first but grew to adore?

Jung Heewon. It's less of 'didn't like' and more 'neutral' at first. It was only during my reread that I came to appreciate her a lot more :)

16. what part in orv made you realise it was gonna be a favourite?

Honestly, everything going on in the Demon World.

17. any controversial takes?

Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung would've been fleshed out better if they had a relationship that foiled Kim Dokja's and Yoo Joonghyuk's (Life and Death companions, but where kdj and yjh lean more towards the 'death' part and jhw and lhs lean more towards the 'life' part) instead of romance

18. who would you choose as your sponser?

Probably Prisoner of the Golden Headband. I'd like to see more about his powers

19. whats your favourite duo?

Han Sooyoung + Kim Dokja

20. be honest - are you making it to the epilogue?

Absolutely not lol