#wanted to get back to describing the visiting muse rooms

[cynthiaandsamus]

Rika's Room

Rika's room is full of earth tones and simple modern furniture design, somewhat bulky but sleek furniture providing more space than she needs for her well-organized collection of sharp clothing. Her walls are decorated with various awards for pokemon tournaments as well as pictures of days hanging out with the other Elite Four Members, attending Poppy's arts and crafts class, going out to eat with Larry, shopping with Geeta, Christmas with Poppy and Geeta,even some crayon drawings made by Poppy of the group that made Hassel cry, even some pictures of more notable challengers like the day Nemona beat her.

Her various suits are neatly hung in her black and brown wardrobe with a long drawer for her various gloves and glasses. By contrast her bed is barely able to be seen underneath the absolute avalanche of pillows covering it, life-size Clodsire pillows, pillows with Wooper patterns, pillows shaped like Clodsire's footprint, if it's soft and looks like Clodsire, Rika probably owns at least one of them. She cuddles with them every night before going to skeep and by the time she wakes up half of them are kicked off onto the floor and she has to assemble the mountain again when she makes her bed.

[rinneroraito]

is it really the alcohoL?

L was going through the surveillance tapes for the nth time tonight, taking notes, labeling peculiarities in every frame.

“Let’s entertain the possibility that Light Yagami is Kira again,”  he thinks to himself as he types away on his keyboard. “He hasn’t done anything suspicious in the whole week that he had been under surveillance, only keeping up with his studies and engaging with his mother and sister. Assuming he’s only keeping up with his facade as a model student, son and brother, it could either be that he’s really good at it, or he’s entirely innocent.” 

The clacking of the keyboard fills the room as he scans the rest of the footage on multiple monitors, pausing on the scene where Light was having potato chips while studying.

“Light, you-”

A faint smell of lemon accompanied by the unmistakable sharpness of antiseptic fills the air. Flavored alcohol. L feels someone behind him and the scent of alcoholic citrus becomes more apparent.

“Miss Uehara, I can smell the alcohol from here,” L says, not looking up at you, a little displeased that you’ve managed to derail his train of thought.

“I’m off duty at the moment, aren’t I? Don’t worry, I’ll be alright in the morning, I have a regimen for this.” you reply, putting an arm on the back of the chair he was sitting on and leaning towards the back of his head. He is surprised by the contact but continues with his work as he tries to get his thoughts back in order, noting them down on his computer. They were important observations and your presence will not be a distraction for these findings to not be written down.

“You want some?”

L looks to his right side to see you offer him the can of alcohol and he silently huffs at the proposal, knowing the brand wouldn’t even be sweet enough for him to try anyways.

“No thank you, I’d like to keep a clear head while working.”

“Why are you even here, Miss Uehara?” He muses to himself. “If you’re not here tonight to help further this investigation, what business do you have? It does not make any sense for you to be here when you’re off-duty, the office hq is not the place to relax in.”

“I figured. You’re such a workaholic, Detective. Such a workaholic.”

“Your speech isn’t slurring yet so I assume you’re just buzzed. Were you pressured by the events as of late? I didn’t expect you to be the type to drink alcohol, actually.”

L replies, still mulling over the reason behind your visit as he continued to note down his observations, the clacking melody of the keyboard being the only thing making an audible sound in the electric silence of the dim office.

“Oh, you didn’t, did you? Well, it has been stressful, but I can manage. This helps.” You bring the can to your mouth, taking a long swig from it, exhaling after. “And I guess, in some way, you’re helping me, too.”

L was very much aware of the effects of alcohol and how it lowers down a person’s inhibitions significantly. The way you were approaching him right now was more daring than usual. Did you come here just to chat him up while he was working? But why? Is it the alcohol? Has the alcohol affected your judgment so much that you’ve become quite inconsiderate? You knew very well how he worked late into the night, you’ve sat through many playbacks of surveillance tapes with him yet now you’re here, and with the lack of a better phrase to describe it, wasting his time. “Would you please elaborate on that, Miss Uehara? Besides helping out with the actual Kira case and that small encouragement I gave you some time ago, I don’t suppose I’ve done anything of significant help towards you.”

You chuckled and he felt a bit of your weight on the back of his head as you leaned towards him. L shifts slightly at the contact but doesn't fuss about it, continuing with his task. He assumes that you were most likely going to leave soon anyways, your inebriation could only keep you awake for so long.

“Because you’re an inspiration to me and well, I like that you’re here, World’s Greatest Detective. It’s like, a biiiig deal to me that I get to work with you, you know?” You ramble.

“You speak rather highly of me, Miss Uehara, I’m touched, thank you.” He speaks in his usual monotone voice. There was genuine gratitude in it, but he also knew right from the start that you looked up to him quite a bit, hearing from Matsuda how you got so excited when he decided to ally with the NPA in catching Kira.

“Also, I think I actually like you, L...”

The keyboard’s clacking stops as he hears the words that escaped your mouth. Not only that, you dropped the usual honorific you called him by, likely influenced by the alcohol. 

“Like me?” His forehead knits as he rolls the thought in his head. This is new.  He knew you felt comfortable around him but… “It’s the alcohol.” L rationalizes.

He was still, and you continued to ramble on in your intoxication.

“I like the way you stare at things like you’re trying to dissect them before you, your piercing glare so intense that I feel like if you had lasers in your eyes I’d be bisected right in front of you.”

That description was pretty grim but… Why would you like that? Most people did not want him to stare at them as he seemed “eerie” and “creepy” when he did, but… You liked that?

“I like the way you daintily hold things with your thumb and forefinger, and it makes me wonder just how strong your digits are.”

More observations about his idiosyncrasies that most people just found strange. He’s never actually thought about how strong his fingers were, but now that you’ve pointed it out it made him look at his hands for a bit. And he realizes something. You were watching him really close, you were observing him. You had no aversion towards him.

He shifted slightly forwards, and you brought the arm that you had resting on the back of his chair around to rest on his shoulder. The contact surprises him again, but he stays still.

“I like the way you eat your sweets, it’s nice to see you enjoy them.”

You do?

“I like how I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or you’re just being blunt at times, and it sends the rest of the Task Force in a state of confusion whenever you say something.”

That, too?

You chuckle, pressing your cheek on the top of his head yet he was too lost trying to make sense of what you’re rambling about that he doesn’t move.

“I like your face, the seemingly permanent shadows under your eyes, your sharp jawlines and how long your neck is, your lanky frame…”

L’s eyes just stay wide as he listens to you. The surveillance footage seems to be in freeze frame as you keep talking. Is he just supposed to believe you? That you find him… attractive?

No, wait. Wait.

“I like how you’re so smart and you know that you’re the smartest guy in the room but you give everyone the benefit of the doubt because of the way you look.”

“Miss Uehara…”

It’s the alcohol.

“I don’t know, Detective, maybe I do like you or maybe it’s the alcohol.” Hair strands fall off your shoulders caressing the nape of his neck as you lower your face on the back of his head, his hair brushing against your cheeks.

He was so distracted by your words that he almost, almost forgot that you were drunk. “Your hair smells nice.” You say, and your breath bounces off of the nape of his neck. He bends forwards, away from the warmth of your breath as the proximity makes goosebumps on his skin.

“While I am flattered by your words, Miss Uehara, I have my reservations over accepting them due to your current state. Were the things you just said truthful and you’ve been harboring feelings for me for a while or were they just a product of the mock confidence induced by alcohol?”

He knew asking you right now would be futile because you were still intoxicated, but he just had to make things clear. You have only been working together in person for no more than 2 weeks, so to rationalize this behavior of yours, he’s decided to label it as some sort of callow infatuation.

It was just the alcohol… But, was it really?

He feels you shift your weight while your face was pressed on his head.

“If I remember all of this in the morning and start acting awkward around you, then you’ll know..”

I’ll ask her again when she’s sober.

“Would you kindly stand up so I can move away, please? I’ll have Watari assist you back to your room.” Getting you back into your room where you could sleep the alcohol off  was the most rational thing to do right now, and he needed to go back to work anyways. He feels the weight lift from the back of his head as you lean away, exhaling slowly.

“Can I sleep on the couch over there? I don’t..” You sway slightly on your feet.

He turns around and looks up at you, his wide eyes illuminated by the electric lighting of the monitors. He watches you closely, curiously, a faint tenderness that seemed to plead for the things you said earlier to be genuine.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight. I just want to know that there’s someone else within the 4 walls of the room I’m in.”

There it is. The reason you came to the office. You were seeking out a companion in your solitude. To pick him was something he had to find out the reason to later, something he had to clear up in the morning. 

“Very well. I’ll have a blanket brought up here for you.” He gets out of his seat and walks around his chair to your side.

“Thanks, Detective.” You step back so you could walk to where the couch was when the rest of the alcohol suddenly hits and you stumble backwards. L, who had been perceptive of the entire situation, was able to grab you by your shoulders before you could lose even more of your balance.

That was close.

“Easy. It seems like the rest of the alcohol you drank is starting to run its course, please hold on to me and I’ll walk you to the couch.”

His grip on your shoulders was firm and secure. You lean on to him and he brings one of his arms around your back as he walks you to the couch by the other end of the room. 

L looks at you as you drop yourself onto the sofa, making it seem more comfortable than it actually was.

Your voice comes out a little ragged as he watches you pull your feet up onto the couch.

“Hey, Detective..?” 

“Yes, Miss Uehara?”

“I still have the lollipop stick from that day we met.”

“You do?” 

That’s another revelation he wasn’t expecting, his brows furrowing in curiosity. But you had already fallen asleep.

You have left L with these alcohol-induced confessions, and he was pondering over them. He’s decided to file them into the back of his head for now, waiting until the morning to ask you about it when you’re awake and sober. 

“Good night, Miss Uehara.” He says to a sleeping you before he turns around to walk back to his monitors, resuming his role as the World’s Greatest Detective.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I’ve spent the past few days eating up all the Yves content I could find on your blog he’s just so perfect oh my god??? I don’t know how to put it but he sounds like the type who’d always have the best posture and the way he walks would feel feathery.

I did not see this question from the gazillion asks I read but if something similar has been asked before you can ignore this.

How would Yves be with an artist reader who mostly has time for him but completely becomes detached for hours or sometimes days while working on a drawing? Sorry if it’s too specific you can go with different scenarios too.

Also sorry if I randomly drop a fanart of him one of these days

oh man i would be honoured to receive a fanart of yves and hell yea i love yves thanks for reading thru the madness, yea hed like walk so fluidly n shit its like unreal

but anyways getting to da meat:

He would be happy if you have a lot of time to spare for him. Yves would never take a single second for granted and he will cherish every moment with you.

Through his observation and your own assurance, he is secure in the relationship. So he wouldn't mind you disappearing into your room for days on end to complete an art piece. He will let himself in to provide you your meals or do parallel work; he will bring his laptop over and do his own thing while you do yours.

There is an invisible timer that dictates when you should go to the bathroom, eat, rest, or sleep. If you're cooperative when he greets you with a kiss and reminds you to come to bed, eat dinner or to relieve yourself after an entire day of not visiting the toilet once, he will continue to use that method. He doesn't mind having to babysit you for ages, Yves actually likes it.

He would take pictures of your progress. When you start to think that your work looks horrendous, Yves will show you the photos of your earlier stages. Praising you for how far you've come, telling you that he personally thinks it's beautiful. But he is in no way a pure 'yes man', it depends on your goals. If you want to create photorealistic paintings or drawings, he will provide the best constructive criticism on how to improve your proportions. You can simply describe what you want to create, Yves could be your muse if you want him to. He is willing to stay in a singular, muscle-straining pose for hours if you ask him to. Or, he could gather reference materials for you. Yves does have a strong background in photography too. No concept is too absurd for him to capture or even sketch.

However, if you react negatively to his reminders, such as harshly shoving him away or screaming at him to leave you alone, Yves will be resorting to reality bending. Depending on how much you hurt him, he will either make you cry 'on your own' by manipulating you into thinking that your work is terrible no matter what you do. You can't accuse him of saying derogatory remarks, because he wasn't even in the room. You shooed him out earlier.

He messes with the lighting to make your artwork 'ugly' in your eyes. Yves toggles with the humidifier or dehumidifier to make it harder to work with your art medium. The temperature in Yves's studio either seems to be sweltering or freezing. But the thermostat says otherwise. Either way, you can't create in these atrocious conditions. So you give up and retire for the day.

Everything will be back to normal tomorrow, but if you pay closer attention, you will start to feel upset over your artwork every three hours. Specifically, 12pm, 3pm, 6pm, and inevitably give up by 10pm. You would only have the urge to continue after enjoying breakfast with him past 7am. Strange, don't you think?

During your breaks, you would automatically seek Yves out for lunch, tea time, and dinner. He will not visit if you express your extreme displeasure with his presence while you work, Yves gives you the 'freedom' to choose to meet him in his office. He is always there if you need him.

Regardless, in the end, you will never fail to appreciate your own work no matter how tough the journey was. Yves ensures that you know your creation is valuable. He is supportive of your passion and is willing to finance any and all of your essential (and nonessential) materials. You could even ask him for advice, unlocking a previous chapter of his life where he used to paint under a pseudonym, for the wealthy, the enthusiastic, and the eccentric. Best to keep your mind open and not undermine him in anything, or else you might miss out on fascinating Yves lore. He wouldn't bring these up on his own if you never asked. It's always a good thing to learn from someone much older than you are.

Your jaw would be on the floor if you knew that his old canvases were now retailing for billions of dollars at auctions. But he deems it unnecessary for you to learn of that, all you need to know is Yves can draw human hands wonderfully and accurately in any pose, in under five minutes with no reference.

[isa-ghost]

Hi! I was wondering if you have any tips for outlining your story?

I’m trying to work on one, but it doesn’t really want to cooperate with me when I try to outline.

Do you have any tips for what works for you?

I would say don't force it, most importantly. You won't be satisfied and it won't come out great if your heart and mind just aren't in it. Get your inspiration and creative muse going first.

I genuinely don't know how the fuck I got my plot as fleshed out as it is, I got hella lucky it kept going. It was very fuck it we ball.

I will say, I often reread what I already had planned before letting my little brain movie continue.

I can picture things in my head really clearly, so basically my brain gave me a movie of the first 5 chapters and I just let it "yes and" itself until it just kept going. Or I got specific scenes that popped into my head and then wrote from where I left off and pushed things in a direction that could make the scene true in a way that made sense and flowed well.

From there, I knew I needed to resolve conflicts I'd established ("how does Phil get EK out of his body?"), come back to certain plot points I'd planted the seeds of ("so how is Phil doing while the group is planning his rescue?"), or cover "well what's going on with x during this time?" type stuff ("how is Missa taking care of the kids on his own while this is all going on?"). So over time, I'd make sure to either devote a whole chapter or just a scene to cover the thing, whatever length felt right.

As soon as I get a rough idea of what major points I want to cover, the rest comes organically as I'm writing. For example, in Chapter 3, I did not plot the Pissa date thoroughly. My plan said "fluffy distraction date, but hes hallucinating," and eventually "Phil hallucinates an enderman which exposes he's not doing well so he confesses everything to Missa bc he can't bring himself to lie to him." I didn't plan them visiting an event venue, going on a picnic, taking pictures, anything casual they talked about before that point. I let it come out in the moment and allowed the pieces to just fall into place because over-planning something can sometimes choke the life out of it.

Though that could just be what works for me because I'm taking over a decade of roleplaying skills and fitting them to a fic. A lot of the scenes I write come out the same way I'd start a roleplay. You can see it most in the start of a chapter, because both require setting the scene before puppeting the character(s) within it.

And obligatory mention that the process isn't always linear, flowing perfectly, etc. Shit takes time and the first draft is not gonna be your last, even if only a single detail changes later. Don't expect perfection the first time, you'll limit yourself and you won't be satisfied later. It could straight up kill your motivation to write the thing at all. I've deleted whole paragraphs of text in chapter 4 because even though they were written beautifully, it wasn't what I wanted or didn't match my plan.

So basically:

Ride as long as you can on the initial idea. Milk as much Where Does This Go / What Happens Next from it as possible

Play to your strengths when writing. If you're good at describing setting or atmosphere, go nuts. If you're good at writing dialogue, weaponize that. Whatever you're best at writing, lean into that and it'll make your story shine.

Keep the things you need to conclude satisfyingly in mind. Figure out how you want to resolve the conflict(s) you've started, then steer the plot in that direction however you see fit. If you establish certain things, decide if you Need or Want to actually write it out rather than imply it happening/being done/whatever.

Make sure the events that connect two plot points together flow well and make sense, but leave room for improvising because things that unfold organically are important in order to avoid having a plot feel too "mechanical" so to speak. Not to mention things that miraculously fall into place and just fit in perfectly are super rewarding and motivating.

Don't be precious with your ideas. If something doesn't fit, suck it up and delete it (you can always copy/paste it elsewhere to keep it in case it works later on, or you're just so damn proud of what you wrote that you don't want to banish it to the void). Chances are when you rewrite the scene or steer it in a more logical direction, you'll write something you like even more. If you don't, sometimes sacrifices must be made and you can refine the new thing until it's to your liking as many times as you want. OR you can commit to the new thing you wrote, but make sure to make all the changes to your plot and such necessary to have that thing make sense and flow well with the rest of what you're writing.

And very important: If you're writing for something that has a Canon, make sure what you're doing makes sense for the character. Don't have a "he would not fucking say that" / "he does not have the emotional intelligence for that" (HUGE ONE. Modern fandom has a massive problem with bitching about characters not communicating, but if the character would not spill their guts to someone, don't fuckin do it!! Miscommunication sucks, but lack of communication is a device that often benefits plot and creates conflict necessary for an interesting story!!) / etc moment. Dig into the character's brain and understand how they work, take what you know about how they are in situations and in general and apply that. Binge read character analysis for help, your best resources are your fellow fandom mates who are insane about their little guys. Consult them if you can't find any analyses, they'll write you a whole essay often times. Characterization is extremely important and many readers just straight up won't read your thing if you're butchering their special guy. For example, Phil is deeply allergic to sharing his burdens and hates the idea of putting his friends in danger. Obviously I'm not gonna have him venting to anyone who'll listen that he's being possessed by a god they don't even know of and that he needs their help. Even when you're writing an AU, that will rarely ever make the character's canon way of being irrelevant, you just have to think about how those traits would look in your universe/specific situation. There's still even more nuance to this I won't cover, but just keep in mind that writing a character accurately matters!

[fleet-admiral-hiba]

Andd I got another one,

Alrighty so I’m just gonna get straight to the point.

The reader goes out to mondstadt with one of the higher up (ish) harbingers because one, the harbinger had some business to attend to and two, the reader just wanted to tag along as they don’t really leave the palace often.

They wander off for a minute and bump into, one of the knights of favonious? The knight is confused and asks us where our parents are, we glance around now realizing the harbinger isn’t in our sight.

The knight is trying to calm us down n stuff until said harbinger finds us and tells the knight they are our legal guardian,

The knight doesn’t believe them because yk, the fatui.

Though the knight is proven wrong when we go up and hide into the coat of the harbinger, as we are more at ease now.

wow that was a long one, have fun with this.

-Simon

Dude I swear,every time I see you in my askbox my heart does a funny thing. Your request are gold✨

DON'T JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER

The Harbingers were having a meeting, and this time, given that Pierro was going to Mondstadt for diplomatic reasons, they petitioned to have you go with him.

True, last time you tried to do that they grounded you for a month, and they felt incredibly guilty. You usually never left the premise of the Cathedral, and although you tried not to, they could see how sad you were.

Also, after the scolding they gave you, their heart broke when they saw what that had done to you. You took that too seriously, and they couldn't imagine to see their little ball of sunshine so beaten down.

He mused about the request: he wasn't going to do anything dangerous, and it would cheer you up to visit another land.

He agreed, and he personally made his way to your room to tell you. He found you looking out of the window, admiring the snow gently floating down.

Kneeling down in front of you, he took a moment to admire you, their beautiful and bright little fox.

"Dearheart, I know we've been harsh with your punishment and that you've been feeling under the weather for the past few months. I'm going to Mondstadt soon, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me?" he hoped you would forgive them for their error, but in the meantime the crushing hugs he received was enough confirmation.

" Alright then, pack your bags. We leave tomorrow morning" and with a forehead kiss he left.

.

.

.

Mondstadt was vibrant with its colours, the people were friendly and everything was wonderful.

For the first time ever you saw your uncle without a heavy winter coat and it made for a dashing sight. Of course you took a picture.

And it was while taking pictures that you lost sight again of him.

Looking around, you started to look around, scared. It happened once and it wasn't going to happen again.

Even though you were scared you made your way to that tall building you saw: maybe you could find someone to ask about your missing uncle.

Meanwhile, a wandering knight was doing his round around town when he saw you, looking a little lost.

"Need any help?" you nodded, finally an adult who could help you.

You described what your uncle was looking like, and together you made your way through the city. Reaching the hotel, you recognized that white hair. " Uncle P!" you shouted while trying to bolt towards him. He turned around, recognizing your voice.

He was less than pleased to see you being yanked back by the knight. What could have being doing a kid like you with the Fatui?

It took less than a minute for you to pinch a nerve in his hand, and you immediately run to Pierro, hiding in his lighter coat.

The knight was surprised: it couldn't be. " I suggest you stop judging people by what they appear to be. I am but a diplomat here, and my little one is here to keep me company, isn't that right love?" You poked your head out and nodded.

"So if you would excuse us" he said while taking you in his arm and making his way inside the hotel. He was much more reserved than that usually, but he needed to prove his point.

The knight stood there dumbfounded, but left the scene. Later, when he reported it to his superior, he too told him not to mess with the kid.

The Fatui never have forgiven them for disturbing their little angel.

And they were diplomats. Relations were more important than any kind of mission against them.

.

.

.

The Kraft book Grampa Papanella gave you was coming along nicely, and with the new photos of Pierro inside it was even better.

He was proud of you, and he showed it with his hugs.

His little one, deadly in your cuteness

[shirohige-pirates]

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Tag List: @clumsyraccoon

Chapter 25: Family

Marco returned after a series of apologetic texts explaining that his brothers weren’t letting him leave until he answered some of their questions. Once he walked in the door he set a suitcase and backpack down, took off his shoes and scooped you up into his arms, hugging you close and breathing deep before saying anything.

“Welcome home,” you say quietly, giving him a few soft kisses before he finally set you back down.

“Home, eh?”

“For the foreseeable.” You grin. “You want some tea? From your texts it sounded like your brothers were interrogating you.”

“Tea sounds wonderful, yoi.” He admits, walking into the kitchen with you, and sitting on the breakfast bar. “Ace was the worst of the lot, and he was feeding the others.” He grins and sighs. “I had to promise to visit at least one Saturday a month just to reach my closet.”

“Well, you have your promise for October in the bag.” You point out with a smile. “Since that’s when the party is.”

“I am expecting to hear ‘that doesn’t count’, from someone.” He admits with a grin.

You hand him a cup of tea, stepping back and leaning against the counter top, taking a sip of your own cup. “Any other concessions?”

“They haven’t even met you yet, and I’ve been requested not to horde you all to myself.” He says with a grunt. “I pointed out that you had a say in that, that they couldn’t control, yoi. But also,” he begins taking another sip. “I warned that if they crashed too many dates you might get your fill of them.”

You laugh. “Well, that’s one way to solve that concern.”

“Have you alked to Ivan yet?” He questions, looking over at you before taking another sip.

You shake your head. “I’m going to Monday. Figure I can just let all three of them know at once and then use my work commitments to cut the whole thing short.” You explain with a smile. “I mean, no one’s going to say anything bad, they know better.”

“I feel like ‘willful child’ was something used to describe you.” Marco muses, affection in his voice.

You grin, setting down your cup of tea. “Repeatedly, I’m sure.” You lift yourself up onto the counter to sit and let out a heavy breath. “Less so, before I ran away.”

You pause for a moment, looking around the room before looking back at Marco. “I don’t know the name of the island I was born on, but I know it’s in the New World somewhere. My family were… broken. They were broken. Three brothers, a sister, my mom and dad, all just empty shells going through the motions of living.”

You press your lips together and put your face in your hands for a second, pulling your feet up onto the counter, practically hiding behind your knees.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Marco says softly, staying where he is.

“No, I do. I do,” you admit putting your hands down and doing your best to look at him. “Because it would be cruel to feel this way, and to be this close, and then not say anything." Sorrow, deep and powerful crosses your face, despite your efforts in trying to maintain some level of neutrality.

You knew how the world felt about-

“- My family were nobles.” You say flatly. “Disgraced nobles, as far as the story goes, living in squalor after being removed from the lists.” You look away a little, eyes unfocused on anything in the here and now. “But that life was all I knew. I was born after their fall. I knew nothing else but that house, and it was a little larger than this place. It was hardly squalor, hardly poverty. It was comfortable. Dry and warm when it was cold outside and dry and cool when it was hot outside.

“We had to make our own meals, and clean our own things, but even removed from the lists, there were concessions provided to us. There was a certain image and importance to maintain, as though disgraced nobles were still worthy of more than common folk.”

Licking your lips a little, a bitter sweet smile slips along your features. Your shoulders droop and you sigh. “I was, for a time, happy. Even surrounded in the misery of a family who did little more than lament all they had lost, I wanted for nothing. I ate, cleaned, and played outside. No one paid much mind to me, within the house or without. I had a couple friends in a neighboring town, people who didn’t know who I was, unlike the townsfolk near our home.”

“What worked in my favor was that I didn’t have any of the recessive traits most of the nobles on the island had.” You sigh, quiet for a long moment. Marco didn’t move, even to drink any of his tea, and sat silently until you were ready to continue. “Which eventually did not work in my favor.”

“Lets go sit on the couch.” Marco prompts, getting up from his spot and walking over to you with his arms open. “If you were worried about your lineage scaring me off, yoi, it won’t.”

After a few hitched breaths, you wipe your eyes, scattering the errant tears, before reaching out toward him in return. He lifts you up easily, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and your legs around his waist. There is comfort in the embrace, and the position, and it’s nice to just lean into him for a moment as he makes his way to the living room.

“Am I setting you down, or just sitting down?”

“Just sitting, please.” You reply quietly, moving your legs so you could comfortably lean against him while he sat back on the couch.

“You’re… really okay with it?” You question, voice still quiet. You know how the world views nobles. You know how nobles treat and view the world.

You wouldn’t be able to blame anyone for seeing you differently.

“I’ve seen who you are with my own eyes.” He assures you, holding you tight, nuzzling against the side of your face gently. “Blood’s never mattered to me.”

“… They were going to marry me back in.” You admit after a moment. Keeping your head on his shoulder you just sit there for a little longer. “Someone… someone thought I’d make good, healthy, heirs.”

Your fingers tighten, bunching up the fabric of his shirt. Even now the whole situation still turned your stomach.

“They sent a gift. Something considered priceless. I didn’t even know the concept of devil fruits before then.” The words become easier and easier to say, and so you just let them come out. “I didn’t want anything to do with it. I was barely old enough to understand it all. To understand that they were basically selling me to get their names returned to the lists.

“I ran off. I ran off a dozen times, dragged back each time, but I didn’t stop trying, and they could only do so much. Shackles are for commoners. You can’t beat a bride to be and risk injuries before the wedding. Can’t break my legs, you need me to walk, and so I ran.”

Marco’s arms seem to engulf you, as though he’s trying to consume the pain that comes from your words, or shield you from the anger bubbling up in him. You aren’t sure which. Maybe both. You just know the action is comforting. Protective. Kind.

“I gave it away, the fruit, to a kid on the street, but he was smart, or scared, and wouldn’t eat it. Thought it was poisoned. So I took a bite first.”  You’re quiet for a moment, letting the memory play in your mind again after so long. “It was sweet. Rich and full of honey. I know now that devil fruits usually taste awful, but this was delicious. He loved it so much he helped me leave the island.

“He couldn’t have been eight. I was barely twelve. We never used names, swore we’d never meet again. I think we both understood on some level, how dangerous it was. I stowed away, on some ship, and ended up here.”

“… You remember anything about the ship?” He prompts.

“It was huge…” you lean back so you can look at him. “It was one of the reasons we picked it. Figured I’d have less chance being caught on a really big ship.”

“Huge doesn’t narrow things down for me.” He says with a grin.

“… Oh right! You and your family sailed.. I guess this was about twenty years ago now.” You lean back, sitting on his thighs, thinking for a few long moments, trying to make sure you remembered the details correctly. “The front was white, rounder than other ships in the front. It had so many sails too, and I think it had blue down the sides, and, I don’t know, yellow or gold trim.”

“… Did it… look like a whale at all?” He questions hesitantly, eyes focused on you. “The front part, I mean.”

You tilt your head, and smile. “Yeah it did, kind of like a white version of a big blue whale.”

Marco purses his lips and furrows his brow, blush running across his face.

You’re confused for a moment before realization dawns. “You… know the ship?”

Marco nods.

“… Do I owe Shanks an apology?”

Marco’s face flinches a little, and he shakes his head slowly.

You can feel the blood drain from your face. Not out of fear, but the dread of true understanding.

“I… owe… you, an apology.” You say slowly, and catch just the briefest nod from Marco. You look away and cover your mouth with your hand, thinking about your date at Thatch’s restaurant. “I thought that sauce tasted familiar.”

“Thatch practically started an inquisition!” Marco teases, grip tightening on you when you try to leave his lap. “We had locks on the refrigerator and pantry for five years after we got here!” He’s laughing as he pulls you against him entirely, kissing and nipping where he can. The light actions are ticklish on purpose and you can’t help your own laughter.

“I barely ate anything!” You insist, half-heartedly trying to escape. Marco grabs you suddenly, and firmly. Holding your head and body in place, eyes focused on your lips for a second as your laughter dies down.

The first kiss is soft and persistent, his body on edge as though he’s waiting to see how you’ll react. The next kiss is deeper, more insistent and needy, tongue pushing into your mouth and bringing soft moans up to your throat.

“He thought we had rats at first.” Marco says, still holding your face, not letting you back away too far.

You nod a little, eyes shifting from his reddening lips to his eyes. “I thought he spaced them out for his own foot size, and it was easy to step over them.”

“Did you trip a few on purpose?” He questions, and you nod.

“He was using such good cheese.” You admit, laughter bubbling up in you again.

Marco tries to keep a straight face and fails, the two of you falling into giggling laughter again. It takes a couple minutes to calm down and you set your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it.” You murmur, fingers tangling into his.

“We left from that island, and stayed here.” Marco says. “That was the last trip we ever took.”

“Ivankov caught me.” You explain. “I thought I’d cleared the docks and was free and he picked me up like some stray cat.”

“I always wondered what secret she had.” Marco grins, changing his grip and capturing your hands behind your back, freeing up one of his. “Kept your secret all this time.”

“M-Marco,” you gasp, squirming a little as he pulls your collar aside, leaving kisses against your throat.

“Stowing away on a pirate ship is dangerous.” He says, voice low and heavy against your skin.

“You… you were Whitebeard pirates.” You state it and Marco pauses for a brief second before nipping at your ear.

“When’d you know, pretty bird?”

Your breath leaves you shakily. You aren’t worried about him hurting you, not now, maybe not even from the beginning, but the tone of his voice caresses your bones. From his tone alone you were at his mercy.

“A week, or so.” You admit. “The tattoo looked familiar, and then everything else just… added to it.”

“You weren’t scared?”

“Of you?” You can’t help the disbelief that slips into your voice.

“Most people are afraid of pirates, yoi. Even if they haven’t been pirates for years.”

“Most people think the marines actually protect them.” You retort, feeling Marco’s lips pull into a smile against your skin.

“I’m glad we never caught you.” He says quietly.

You laugh softly, sighing. “It would’ve been awkward to have been an honorary little sister or something and then end up here.”

“Little bit.” He agrees, letting go of your hands and pulling you into another kiss. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve lost either way, yoi.”

“Less bothered by the lost yesteryears, yeah?” You prompt, watching his cheeks turn red.

“Only a little.” There’s a pout in his tone, and another kiss follows it. “Gonna make up for all the lost time anyway.”

His hands tug at your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it off, breaking off the kiss for just long enough to let the article pass and get tossed aside. Leaning into the next kiss you tug at his shirt, and he leans forward, breaking the kiss and helping you pull it off.

No other conversation is had that night, nothing beyond quiet words of acquiescence and desire, peppered by the occasional sweet words of love and need. Tender kisses and desperate fingers trail over sweat speckled skin.

Pleasure is chased and caught, again and again, until limbs tremble simply from existing.

The clock chimes the name of a new day before dinner is consumed. The soft shuffle of sheets afterward, the brief moments of sleep, and the delicious scent of coffee to rally the morning.

And so began Monday.

[firstroseofspring]

i didn't want to leave a wall of text on that muse post by @marxistgnome but i love it so much and this is going to be so rushed but i could go on and on and on about b'elanna and storytelling and narratives. this got really long and so under the cut it goes

it all really ties into that post i once saw about this consistency with b'elanna episodes where they reveal more about her as a person through her interior life- her thoughts and dreams and visions... what she does when she's alone. and muse really gives us this close up look at the way she sees things and what she cares about through kelis - the stories she tells him and the way she interacts with him- because he gives this good intimate portait of the world as b'elanna sees it- as she's described it to him (almost makes you wonder what she was considering there- whether she thought she should tell someone their stories because they're stuck in another quadrant and might not make it home, or if she thought she wasn't going to get off that planet and might not make it back to voyager)

and of course he's crafting a play so there's room for his own creativity but b'elanna tells him their story really well and she cares about it and you can tell. she cares a lot.

we get another really good look at this in barge of the dead like famously- and it's so consistent in that episode too because she's on the barge and she recognizes kortar from the stories her mom told her as a child and he directly acknowledges that. he says she believes in grethor and in him and she believes because her mother told her the story after she nearly drowned in the sea of gatan. remember prophecy? she's recounting the whole heroic battle with the borg to the klingon generation ship that think baby miral is their savior and the whole scene is framed like (at least it felt this way to me) that for all she says about not being familiar with klingon culture in any respect, the way she interacts with storytelling especially reveals the depth of her understanding of it- shes telling the story and she's telling it really well according to klingon custom and the first thing the visiting klingons do after she tells it is compliment that ability. and its sooo much.

when her and harry are going back and forth at the end of muse and she just goes harry have you ever inspired somebody? when he asks why she even cares so much about the ending of kelis' play. there's just like this klingon belief about living a life that's worthy of being shared with others- like when in day of honor the hologram is evaluating whether she's spent her year honorably and asks her what she's done with her life that's worth celebrating and she can't answer and he tells her that she's giving him excuses. and the direct parallel that could be drawn about how she feels about that with the janeway vision in barge of the dead where she's being condemned and the whole reason is that she's done nothing worthy of glory- 'nothing worthy of song and story.' my goodness

even when she convinces janeway to let her go back to the barge- janeway says it's not real, that she won't let her risk her life for something that she only thinks she experienced- but b'elanna tells her it doesn't even matter if she thinks it was real- that it was real to her and she cares about what her mother thinks of her and she doesn't want her to die thinking badly of her.

we see this with worf, of course the angle we're given is honor and truth and duty- but how you're remembered and talked about is important, even from generation to generation- disgrace in his family is disgrace for him. when they accuse his father of being a traitor at khitomer, it's important to him that his father be remembered as he was - truthfully, honorably, as someone to remember well (even the titles and names they give themselves being little retellings of their lives and the members of their family- on memory alpha worf isn't just worf, he's worf, son of mogh, of the human family rozhenko, mate to k'ehleyr, father to alexander, husband of jadzia, bane of the house of duras, slayer of gowron etc etc.)

((sidenote but b'elanna never in her life introduces herself as b'elanna daughter of miral always as b'elanna torres but on the barge of the dead kortar calls her miral's daughter immediately. and if she's partially from this culture where naming and titles are so important in that respect and b'elanna thinks her mother is. not what she wants to be known by not what she wants to be identified as it's soo relevant to what she calls herself. roxann dawson said that b'elanna wanted to be 'human and perfect' like her father and so she's not ' b'elanna daughter of miral' anymore because she doesn't want miral to be a part of her story, how she's remembered. so it's belanna torres.))

anyway this same- dedication to truth we get from worf and his father's memory we see even with b'elanna in 'remember' where she gets those telepathic dreams/visions from the alien woman about what really happened with that group of people they oppressed. the crew discover that the dreams are starting to affect her health- and so they offer to suppress them, take them away and b'elanna just refuses. because how else will she know what happens to them? who's going to tell their story? and she shares that story once she has it with anybody who will listen because its worth telling.

i'm going a little crazy but klingons and writing and literature and song and stories and living memory its all so. it's ridiculously important culturally. and how that translates back to b'elanna is so fascinating

[morphemeta]

gakuto oshiro. cis man. he/him. bisexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that hirokazu 'kaz' amuro ? i think that the forty-six year old from okinawa, japan works as a city council member & owner of dracula's coffin club, but outside of that people describe them as shelves of leatherbound books, artworks hanging in gilded frames, expensive vintage wines in their rack and not a thing out of place; a dark room illuminated only by the flicker of candlelight; an old photo album, full of snaps from a disposable camera, hidden away in the back of a forgotten closet; crisp suits, expensive jewellery, an image so perfectly designed as to be uncanny; strong posture, total control of the room, a gaze sharp enough to dissuade any arguments . i hear they are manipulative & a control freak, but they are also known to be sentimental & artistic . consider giving them a visit at their home in the winterwood estates and get to know why they’re called the tormented.

IMPORTANT LINKS: will be added when they're ready!

TW: emotional neglect in childhood, disappearance/death of a loved one??

just to make my intentions with this character very clear before we get any further, this guy SUCKS. he's meant to be somewhat antagonistic and just all-round not that great a guy. sure, he probably has his redeeming features & he was a decent person at some point but :) time changes ppl, i guess! i feel like he's probably pretty amicable and decent on the surface but he's also very two-faced so it's like...Be Careful <3 also, i have no particular want to plot any active ships for this character. this isn't because of a lack of interest on his part, it's just because i don't necessarily want to write, or think it's appropriate to rp, what would definitely be a very toxic relationship! also he's definitely still in love with a person who's been missing for twenty years so there's also that. anyway, that's my little note done. read away! also! unlike most of my other muses (except ash), this is a new character i'm writing just for anchorage so please keep in mind a lot of stuff is generally subject to change. i'm going to try and work out the kinks as i go but this intro might not stay 100% totally accurate.

BASICS.

His full name is Hirokazu Amuro (安室洋一) but he started going by Kaz for short once he moved to the States in his late teens. It just kind of stuck. I imagine his nickname growing up would have been 'Hiro'.

Kaz was born in Okinawa City, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan and is of direct Okinawan descent. Kaz may describe himself as Japanese for simplicity's sake but he considers himself Okinawan first & Japanese second. (Okinawans/Ryukyuans are an unrecognised ethnic minority in Japan & are ethnically/culturally distinct from the mainland Japanese majority BUT that's all I'll say on the matter bc this is a topic on which I am not qualified to speak & that presumably requires far more nuance than should be squeezed into an rp intro hehe)

He speaks Japanese (standard & Okinawan dialects) and English fluently, and he knows a little Uchinaaguchi. I imagine he knows some other languages too, I just haven't settled on that. I think he's very interested in cultures and language.

As a council member, he dedicates a lot of his attention to the Arts sector, having taken it upon himself to oversee the relevant funding and the like. He's very invested in the arts and considers it a matter of great personal interest. Kaz is also a known patron/doner of the Hanging Arts Gallery and paid out of his own pocket to financially support certain productions of the Single Carrot Theatre, especially due to his history with the venue. This has given him a reputation for being philanthropic but it largely comes from a place of self-interest and satisfying his own wants and needs.

Similarly, he's donated money to publications such as the Anchorage Daily Diem under the guise of support but the reality is that he has built up a good rapport with news outlets so as to give him more control over how he's portrayed in the media. Money speaks. And money can make sure that you don't speak.

This is a recurring issue, for the record. He very much needs to be in control of things. He's not especially power-hungry, and is quite content to sit back and let things play out without him lifting a finger, but he likes to be the one putting pawns in their places to ensure things go his way. Obviously, his success here will vary but, again, this is just how he likes things to be.

All this to say, he's kind of a known eccentric, hence his ownership of the Coffin Club. What can I say? He likes spooky shit. On top of that, the way he presents himself in public is so particular and perfect and poised that it's a little uncanny. I think he probably comes off a little unsettling.

I imagine he might clash with his fellow council members at times because he prefers to speak directly and he's kind of condescending, especially if he disagrees with you on something. He holds grudges too and is the type to start playing Devil's Advocate just to rile someone up because he happens to dislike them. He also doesn't have much issue just insulting people SO UH....

He likes screwing with people. I really picture him as the type of guy to pour a glass of red wine over someone's head in order to humiliate and belittle them.

Insufferable rich man.

CHILDHOOD

Hirokazu was born, on 13th October 1978, as the second of two children, the only son, of a wealthy family. His father was in business, as his father had been before him, and his mother was a homemaker who had also come from a wealthy background. It was tolerant but largely loveless marriage, the couple having come together at the behest of their respective families (who had been primarily concerned with what the union might do for their collective reputations). It is hard to say that the Amuro children grew up surrounded by much warmth but they were comfortable.

The expectations placed on the two Amuro children were high, particularly for Hirokazu who had been deigned the obvious sucessor to his father's work. They were raised in a strict home where studying well to impress the parents was the be-all-and-end-all. They had strict curfews and were forbidden from the sort of hobbies their parents considered frivolous and a waste of time. If the children weren't working to improve themselves for future job prospects, they were wasting time.

Fortunately for Hirokazu, he was a clever and studious child and never struggled much in this regard. He was also a voracious reader and, to his good luck, this was considered an acceptable hobby. He was known to spend hours at the library down the road from his family home. It was just about the only source of entertainment to which he had easy access.

In his early teen years, he grew irritated with this constrictive lifestyle, of only doing and reading and even thinking this that had been approved of by his family. The first step in breaking free was a very, very small one indeed: he deliberately hunted out the pulpiest, schlockiest book he could find in the entire library, a beaten-up and dog-eared old copy of some horror anthology, and found himself hooked. The entire genre was such a far cry from the world in which he lived, full of freaks and weirdos and people who obeyed none of the rules. This led to him reading more and more horror, and then to him sneaking away to the local arthouse cinema where they'd show strange and splattery flicks imported all the way from places like Italy. Here, he learned that he didn't really want to follow in his father's footsteps. Business bored him but art fascinated him.

In his first year of high school, at the age of sixteen, Hirokazu took it upon himself to form and appoint himself leader of the school's new Horror Literature Club. The membership was small but the attendance was strong. (It should be of note that the small attendance was also what justified his position as leader, despite being a first year.) This was also Hirokazu's very first taste of leadership. He'd never been an outgoing child and was usually left alone by other children but he found that, suddenly, people listened when they believed he was important. This stint lasted until halfway through his second year of high school, at which point his father found out what he'd been doing and forced him to withdraw from the club altogether.

The new opening in his schedule would be filled with more studying. After all, he needed to get into a good uni if he wanted to maintain any respect in this family and his father wasn't just going to pay his children's way. If they couldn't earn their education on their own merits, they were no children of his. And, so, Hirokazu studied and studied until he secured himself a spot at a top university in Tokyo, studying Business (a decision made for him by his family). Because his sister had also gotten into a good women's university in the city a couple years prior, the family left the tropical climate of Okinawa behind and moved to Tokyo.

EARLY ADULT YEARS

Two years into his time at Uni, at the age of nineteen, he was offered the chance to take part in an exchange program that would send him to New York for a year. Eager, if not desperate, to get away from his parents, Hirokazu jumped at the opportunity. His father considered it a good chance for Hirokazu to branch out and network and so he approved it. Along with a good friend from Tokyo, Hirokazu made the move and immediately set to work on forging his own path, living his own for the very first time.

His actual education was of minor concern and Hirokazu immediately threw himself into the nightlife. He found himself at home in more alternative groups and more artistic spaces, even beginning to dabble in poetry himself. He surrounded himself bands and poets and artists, adopted the name Kaz and stayed out all night shoving fuck know what kind of substances into his body. He'd become a free sprit; the idea of rebellion had long since crossed his mind, so far had he come from those repressive beginnings.

And, then, he met them. They were just another member of Kaz's wider circle but, from the moment he laid eyes on them, he was infatuated. They would often break free from the rest of their circle in the wee hours of the morning to steal away private moments. At age twenty, Kaz had fallen in love for the first time and he fallen quite hard.

It was 1999 now and the two had been officially dating for quite some time. Kaz had made the decision to remain in New York and finish out his education there, having graduated that very year. He ignored his father's demands that he move back home and take up a position working alongside him. His partner mentioned wanting to up north somewhere for New Year's Eve, in the hopes of seeing the Northern Lights as the new millenium rolled in and, so, Kaz surprised them with a two week trip up to Anchorage.

During this trip, the two grew very fond of the strange town and decided to take root there, having found themselves feeling otherwise lost in life after graduating. Thanks to Kaz's wealthy background, they were able to buy a home in Delilah's Gated Den without any trouble. Kaz took up a job handling the finances for the Single Carrot theatre, believing it to be the ideal way to pursue his love of the arts while still making good use of his business degree.

In 2004, when Kaz was twenty-five, their partner disappeared. Another statistic in Anchorage's endless list of missing people. The news hit Kaz like a ton of bricks, his reality seeming to chip and crack around him. He was forced to watch, helpless, as those in charge seemed to do nothing, not a finger lifted for any casuality in the town. Unable to let go of his missing loved one and determined to prove that they were still out there, Kaz left his position at the theatre behind after five years of work and moved into local government. He would work his way up the ranks and find the answers he was after.

ADULT YEARS

After years of hard work, such hard work that it had bordered on obsession, Kaz had become a member of the Anchorage City Council. He was on top and he had access to everything he needed. That was when he learned about the Miroir, and that was when he had learned about their miroir. The cracks that had formed all those years ago splintered beyond repair. Shattering. The vague hopes onto which he had clung for so long twisted and contorted into something like rage and resentment. The journey he had taken to get to this point had already changed him for the worse, the years spent following only one trail blinding him to anything that did not serve his own interests, but this would only push him over the edge.

Separately from this, somewhere along the line he took it upon himself to start a small business of his own: Dracula's Coffin Club. Of course, his love of horror was never forgotten and this little shop is a testament to that. He's often too busy to do any work in the shop itself but it's sort of a little passion project for him. He still likes to write poetry in his own time too but that's a very private business. (SORRY THIS IS SUCH A SHIFT IN TONE LMAOO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE ELSE TO PUT IT </3)

As for his family, they fell out with him during his Single Carrot years but, having caught wind of his successes in local government, they eventually changed their tune. Kaz was understandably not impressed with this but has tried to stay in their good books out of a desire to remain on his father's will. (His belief is that he deserves to be compensated for having this man as a father.) His sister has since taken his place as their father's successor, having proven herself a perfectly capable businesswoman, and has a family of her own whereas his mother has had some success in launching her own jewellery business. Kaz does not take any interest in their affairs.

[sanguine-salvation]

😮 !

[ Send 😮 and I'll introduce an NPC in My Muse's life! - ACCEPTING ]

He wasn't sure why he was alive right now. But questioning it seemed to be a worse idea.

István pulled another tray out of the oven, fresh and hot, the smell immediately overwhelming the room. But his eyes flickered to the back door, just as they always did. He left it open during the morning so that the tiny old kitchen wouldn't become insufferable, even in the dead of winter.

No one.

He hadn't always been afforded that very tiny comfort. In Gotham, leaving your door open was only ever an invitation for something terrible. Something to creep through it and gut you, or rob you, or shake you out for protection money that rarely ever granted what you paid for. István had learned this over the past 30 years he'd been here in his tiny bakery in a bad part of town. You played by Gotham's rules, or you died.

But about five years ago, something... changed.

No one had came through his door when he left it open for air. No one came to shake protection money out of him anymore. No one had robbed him— well, robbed his cash register or safe box— in years. And every few nights, he would see someone lurking outside on the neighbor's rooftop, a dark creeping silhouette against the noisy, light-drunk sky of Gotham at night.

He saw their eyes once, so bright and pale blue that they almost glowed in the scant light from the door. He saw them without the hood once, bright scars tearing through the scalp at the sides. He noticed that one, maybe two things would go missing from the kitchen or the display case when he wasn't looking. He knew who it was, because he had seen them once or twice when they were younger. Once a welcome customer who could buy out his whole case, now frightening creature described vividly in newspapers for far less generous acts.

He probably should have been dead long ago. That would make sense, right? The Angel of Death killed without rhyme or reason, few met them and lived to speak about it. But, here he was, pulling bread out of the oven even five years into that figure lurking around his bakery like a crow over a boneyard.

But that was it. He wondered if he was remembered, or if he was just useful, or if maybe it was just a ticking clock for him? He was supposed to be dead, right? With that at his door? But no! He wasn't sure what they wanted— except for baked goods— and maybe that should have scared him more than it did. It had the first couple of years. It was like waiting day in and day out for what would come next.

Yet now, it was understood silence. And maybe it'd stay that way for a while longer. He never spoke to them, and they never to him. They did not acknowledge each other. István always turning his head away on purpose, and a knife having yet to find his back. Maybe, one day, he'd get a final visit. Maybe one day they would talk to him and he would know why.

Oh it was dangerous, like feeding a bear and expecting nothing bad to happen. Maybe it was his growing age.

But for now? In Gotham? A price of a few lost cakes and breads was well worth having the Angel of Death remain only just haunting his doorway.

[seoulessrp]

SPAIN ITINERARY 📍dates: APRIL 10 - 24TH

Come back to this post to plot with other muses or when you can’t think of a starter during the trip! We’re trying to mix up this trip by giving you a variety to choose from. Please don’t feel too overwhelmed since none of this is mandatory. Our goal is to have you and your muse(s) enjoy every bit of this trip. Once again, these are only locations/ideas, and you’re more than welcome to adjust anything to your liking. 

All muses are booked at the Ushuaia Beach Hotel. This is a special hotel! It’s separated into two. One is called the Tower which is a more chill vibe where the other is called the Club, and – yeah, you guessed it, it’s more of a party life section. This time, you’re more than welcome to choose what kind of room you’d like your muse to stay in. There are lots to look through! There will be floors where only your muses will be able to access. Feel free to say that your floor is shared with locals or whatever staff that decides to come along. 

Check below for more info! And no worries, we’ll keep this post pinned to make it easier for you to navigate later! p.s. If you see a [ x ] listed below, then that means that it holds a reference picture as to what we’re trying to describe. Let us know if the links don’t work!

ART ENTHUSIASTS: 

Visit the Archaeological Museum on Plaza de la Catedral. Inside there are artefacts from Ibiza and Formentera covering 3.000 years of history.

Museu d’Art Contemporani d’Eivissa is an exhibit that includes the work of locals. Show some support! 

PLOT IDEAS:

Enjoy coffee or breakfast with a friend along the narrow street while heading to the museum. The street is said to be filled with food vendors, cafes, and souvenir shops. [ x ] 

Plans don’t go the way you want it to. Miscommunication had your muse waiting in the museum while the other waited at a cafe shop close by. Your muse is now annoyed that they spent most of their morning trying to locate their friend. 

Be kicked out? That’s embarrassing. Your muses were talking way too loud that they were escorted out. Yikes.

An employee recognizes your muses, and instead of giving them a difficult time, they decide to give them a tour, and gives them secret access to the roof of the museum(s). Said employee allows your muses some time to enjoy the view or they can arrange a dinner for them!

BEACH TIME:

Swing by Platja d’en Bossa! It is the longest beach in Ibiza, making it the perfect place to hunker down for the afternoon.

Platja de Ses Salines. Since you’re in the area, make sure to visit the beach. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed of: turquoise waters, white sand and dunes, surrounded by pine trees and lively chiringuitos (small bars serving drinks and tapas). [ x ] 

Es Vedrá. On the edge of Ibiza’s south coast, you’ll find one of the most emblematic spots on the island — the Es Vedrá rock. 

How about Port Area? Your muse would love this if they love fishing. They can hop onboard with the fishermen, and try to catch a few things themselves!

PLOT IDEAS:

Get on some jet skis or rent a paddleboat while at Platia d’en Bossa with a friend. There are also many beachside bars where you can stop for a snack and a drink. Come back after the sun sets and dance until dawn at Ushuaia or Space, two of the island’s largest nightclubs.

Are you up for a roadtrip? Because you can bounce around from beach to beach in under TWO hours. Crank the music, roll the windows down, and enjoy the scenery. 

Nightclub, anyone? Like we said, Platia d’en Bossa has two of the island’s largest nightclubs. Blend in with the locals, and enjoy your night off with your friend(s). Your muse deserves it!

Oops. Your muse drank too much, and now they’re causing a scene in public. Now your friend has to try and pick up your mess. Bigger twist: Both of your muses are plastered. That won’t be good for them later. 

SANTA EULÀRIA: a small resort in Ibiza! [ x ]

Golf? This resort has your back as it is the only golf course on the island. 

Go up to the Puig de Missa, at the southwest end of Santa Eulària. You can climb the stairs from Carrer de Sant Jaume (the most scenic route) or follow the trail from Santa Eulària’s promenade.

If you’re a seafood lover, don’t miss the chance of visiting the renowned restaurant El Bigotes.

PLOT IDEAS:

Your muse loves the resort so much that they book a couple of nights here! Grab your significant other or friends to enjoy the resort!

Locals spot you. Oops. It seems like a few cameras caught a glimpse of your muse with someone else, and well, now – it might be spreading like wildfire? 

Get food poisoning from one of the restaurants you’re in. Not a great way to spend your vacation, but hey, it happens!

Organize a road trip with some friends, and enjoy each other’s company!

WITH NATURE:

Hike Sa Talaia. If you’re a fan of hiking, you will love climbing up to Sa Talaia. At 475 metres, it’s the highest peak in Ibiza. The trail is 2.5km long, starting from the Sant Josep village. It takes around one hour to reach the top. Along the way, you’ll enjoy spectacular views of the island. Wear comfortable shoes. 

Cala Tarida. Another beach, you say? Yes, but it’s still worth coming here, especially if you like jumping in the water from the cliffs, as they’re not too high.

Love on Cala Comte. [ x ] They believe this is Ibiza’s most beautiful beach. Sheltered by rocky formations, the fine sand and the turquoise waters are something to behold here. Behind the rocks, you’ll find a series of bars where you can settle down with a cocktail. The beach is very close to San Antonio and quite popular during summer, as you can easily reach it by ferry or bus.

Feeling adventurous? Can Marça Caves is your spot! We’re warning you that it could be a little creepy or feel a little suffocating at times. [ x ]

PLOT IDEAS:

Up for romance? Take your significant other or someone you’re interested in to one of these places. Plan a dinner, pick a nice spot, and enjoy each other’s company. 

Your muses dare each other to jump from Cala Tarida, but they get into a playful argument (or real) about being scaredy cats, and not wanting to jump.

Plan to spend all day in Cala Comte with friends or your significant other, but be surrounded by fans who keep wanting to take pictures. Sounds exhausting!

Get lost while hiking at Sa Talaia! Your muses take the wrong turn, and instead of calling for help, they try to navigate their way back to the car.

Plan to go in a group tour to explore the caves –– but your group leaves without you before or during your journey. What to do now? Plan to still go in, and figure things out along the way or plan something else. 

OTHER:

Spas. Take some time off from sightseeing and relax in one of the dozen spas scattered across the island. 

Water activities! There is a watersports centre on pretty much every resort beach. Beyond swimming, you could rent jet-skis, go parasailing, stand-up paddling or kayaking. You'll also find several diving schools offering lessons for beginners. If all you ever wanted was to rent a yacht, you could also do that down at the port, in Ibiza Town. Sail on your own, if you're already familiar with it, or hire a boat (with its captain) to go anywhere you want.

Clubbing! If there’s one thing people love about Ibiza, it’s its club scene. There’s a party for everyone here!

When you get tired of swimming or partying, you can go ziplining with a group of people or a party of two! 

Did we mention eating? There are plenty of spots along the island! We recommend trying all of the seafood, but there are plenty to choose from!

PLOT IDEAS: 

Book a spa date with a significant other. Surround yourself with calm vibes. After all, you deserve it after having a rough few weeks. 

Good or bad plot for water activities! Have a near drowning experience or get a little tipsy while trying to parasail or kayaking. 

Rent out a yacht. Become the life of the party by renting a yacht, spread the word, and have your friends join! 

Try to sail a yacht? Is this a good or bad plot? You decide. Your muse decides that they’re experienced enough to drive one, pay extra even if you don’t have a license. Maybe you make it in one piece –– maybe you get stranded out in the sea because you have no idea what you’re doing. 

Have a fantastic night out while clubbing! Some locals recognize you, and they party with you and your friends. Maybe even try to sweet talk the DJ into giving you the chance to pick a few songs? 

Clubbing gone wrong? Perhaps you overdid yourself with the alcohol. Got into a bit of a heated argument with a friend or a local. Perhaps your muse overheard a local saying mean things about their friends. Break into an argument/fight. 

Enjoy the scenery while ziplining. Try to convince as many people to go with you, but not many show up except for a couple! Either have your muse be bitter or try to make the best out of a bad situation. 

The waiter wants to ruin your evening by interrupting your meal with a friend or significant other. Will your muse turn them down politely or snap?

We hope that gives you plenty to work with! Again, feel free to adjust a few things to your liking. We’ll see you in Spain! 

[earth-b0y]

Remember!

[Word Count: ~600]

[Cw: slight manipulation. Visible to anons and non-muses]

Min sits at a plain white desk, in the centre of a room with plain white walls and a plain white floor. Under the cold and bright LED lights, Min's tired face appears pallid, ghostly as he stares towards the surveillance camera near the ceiling. A red pinprick light glows, slowly blinking to the rhythm of his breath, as though alive and breathing along with him. Min remembers that means it's recording. He looks down, scraping a claw against the desk's surface, waiting.

The metal door of the observation room slides open, and as Min glances up, a hopeful shine enters his eyes as he sees a familiar face. "Sparkles?"

Dr Ellie L. smiles, or to more accurately describe it, bares her teeth, but Min doesn't mind. He knows it's a friendly gesture. "Hi, Min! How are you feeling today?" xe says cheerily, taking a seat across from Min and setting down xyr clipboard, along with a warm cup of coffee.

"I'm... um... I don't know. I'm okay," Min responds, looking away to pick at his fingers. "How come you're here? That's... different. It's usually other people."

"Well, those other guys thought it would be nice for you to see a familiar face this time around," their tone is light and friendly, and Min tries to focus on that, rather than their clinical lab coat or their pen scratching against the paper. "And I thought so, too! It must be a little scary, having people you don't know poke around in your business all the time."

Min nods, quick to agree. "Yeah... I don't like it." Then he frowns, and he fidgets with the fabric of his baggy grey sweatpants. "I don't like them, either. They make me scared and... uncomfortable."

Dr Lorenza nods sympathetically. "Yeah, I can imagine it's harder for you, since... well." She lets her meaning hang in the air; they both know what happened to Min. No words on specifics are needed, just a little nudge in the right direction to get the ball rolling. "Do you think the researchers here are treating you unfairly?"

"Not... really," Min murmurs, looking away. "They're not mean, but they... they just want to study me. They're not friends. I'm scared they'll get mad at me... like he did."

"Oh, no, no! At worst, someone might get a little grumpy with you, but you're safe here," Dr Lorenza says reassuringly. "No one is going to hurt you, I promise!"

Min nods, but his fear of all the other adults around him isn't fully assuaged, Dr Lorenza can tell. Then, Min looks up at him with big, pleading puppy-dog eyes. "Am I going to see you more often now?"

The psychoanalyst pauses to take a sip of its coffee. Everything is going well, so far. She sets the mug back down. "Maybe! I can't say for sure what the bosses want yet, but I'm glad to hear I'm not scary to you. If this works out, I can try to see if they'll let me visit you more often, alright?"

"Mhm! That would be good!" Min scoots his chair closer to the table, a grin spreading across his face.

"Awesome!" Dr Lorenza smiles back, and then he flips a page on his clipboard, skimming over the set of prepared questions. "There's a bunch of stuff they want me to ask you today; are you ready for that?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think so," Min replies. If it's with Sparkles, then it'll be okay. It's safe. And maybe, if he does a good job, she'll keep coming back.

[itslenagain]

Spilled T

PART 2 [ Previous ]

Danielle steps out onto the screened-in balcony. His cat follows, rubbing against the green deck chair lazily. Danielle loved late fall days in Back Bay. He could watch as college kids and commuters alike shuffled towards Copley station, scarves and hats pulled tightly over their faces. He shivers slightly as the air hits his now bare neck. He rubs a hand over his scalp and feels euphoric as the short hairs slip easily between his fingers. A swirl of smoke wafts off his cup of tea. He takes a deep breath in, and then out. The cool air nips at his tongue, a sign that he recognizes as the precursor to snow.

For a minute, everything in the world is as it should be.

~~~

Pedrina pulls her jacket tight around her body. Ember smiles at her, and takes their scarf off to wrap around their shivering wife. "We could always go visit your avó again," they wink. "I bet it's warmer in Belém do Pará."

"But it would rain the whole time," Pedrina protests. "Here, there will be snow!"

"Yeah, which is why we should go somewhere else," Ember laughs. Pedrina sticks her tongue out. "You're the only person raised here who seems to like snow. I can't stand the stuff."

"I just love it, okay! It's pretty!"

"It's cold, it's wet, and it's a nuisance!"

"So are you, but I don't complain," Pedrina puts an arm around her spouse's waist and pulls them closer, a devilish smile on her face. She plants a hot kiss on their icy cheek.

"...take me home and warm me up."

~~~

"Come on back," Ken says, and Danielle nervously follows him to his office.

The square room is small, but inviting. A comfortable green sofa sits adjacent to a well-used navy armchair. A desk lined with pictures of a smiling pit bull sits across. A transgender flag adorns the wall on one side, and a progress pride flag hangs from another. A sprawling pothos weaves its leaves and vines throughout the spaces on the bookshelf. Ken catches Danielle admiring it, and says, "that's ChloroPhyllis."

"She's beautiful," Danielle muses.

"For sure," Ken smiles. They gesture for Danielle to sit on the couch. "So, what brings you to therapy?"

Danielle shifts nervously.

"It's okay if you don't want to get into it now. We can start with some basic stuff if that's easier. Oh, and you can ask me questions too, and I'll answer if I feel comfortable." Ken lifts his legs up so that he is sitting cross-legged on the navy chair. "My name is Ken, and I use he/they pronouns. The words I generally use to describe myself are transmasc and genderqueer. I'm divorced, and my ex and I share a very cool, gender-funky kid. I also have a dog named Leslie."

"...is it okay to ask how long you've been out?"

"Sure! I came out when I was in my mid-twenties. I had known I didn't identify with my assigned gender at birth for some time, but it took a while to both understand what I was experiencing, and to feel comfortable sharing that with others."

"Do you ever regret it?" Danielle quickly puts a hand over his mouth. "No, sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."

"No, it's a fair question." Ken looks gently at Danielle. "There were times where I used to think, why does my life have to be this way? I felt like it would be easier if I weren't transgender. But, no, even when it's hard, I don't regret it." Danielle nods. "I saw on your intake form that you have recently discovered you are trans. Are you having some hard feelings about it?"

Danielle takes a deep breath. "It's just... I relate to feeling like it would be easier if I wasn't. Maybe my husb- well, my ex... maybe he wouldn't have left. And maybe I wouldn't feel so... I don't even know how to describe it. It's... heavy, but also light? Like. I feel like it's going to suffocate me but at the same time it's like finally taking a deep breath after you've been drowning."

"It's very normal to feel apprehensive about the changes coming into your life, while also feeling some level of joy or excitement. It's okay if you feel overwhelmed, especially in the beginning. Do you have anyone supportive in your life? Like family or friends?"

"Well, I haven't come out to many people yet, but I do have some friends who are really supportive. My friend Thiago has been out as a trans man since he was a kid, and my friend Ember is non-binary. Their wife Pedrina is also really cool."

"It sounds like you have a good support system in those friends."

"I am lucky," Danielle says. "I think this would be so much harder without them."

~~~

Danielle sits at the table with Ember, a fistful of bills in his hand. Thiago steps onto the stage, dressed in his bedazzled white suit. The crowd cheers.

"Boa noite, Boteco!" he shouts. The crowd shouts back. "I am your host, Paulo Queerelho, welcome to Drag Night!" The crowd cheers again. "We have some great performers lined up for you! Let's kick this show off right!" Vibrant music plays from the speakers as Thiago begins to dance, lip syncing the words to a sultry Portuguese ballad. He unbuttons the front of his suit jacket, and Ember whoops. Dollar bills begin to pile along the edge of the stage. He bows, and the crowd cheers.

"Obrigado, thank you!" He accepts a beer handed up to him. "Our first act is making his big drag debut tonight!" Ember and Danielle stand and cheer loudly. "For the first time, please clap your hands and cheeks for Ben Kissing-her!" Pedrina steps out onto the stage, dressed in a green military uniform with her hair tied up on top of her head. Ember whistles loudly. G-Flip's "Be Your Man" plays as she raises a Nerf Crossbow and fires a dart at a target. She grabs buckets from the side of the stage and makes a show of balancing them while walking along the edge of the stage.

"Is she doing what I think she's doing?!" Danielle looks at Ember, who erupts in laughter.

"I'm not what you planned," Pedrina mouths, pulling down a sheet to reveal a picture of Li Shang from Mulan. The bottom of the picture is emblazoned with "bisexual panic" in big purple letters. "...but I'll be your man!" Dollar bills and whoops from the crowd fly through the air as the music changes to a familiar tune.

As the show continues, Danielle watches as the performers each take their turns. Queens in hand-sewn costumes. Kings miming elaborate stories. The wigs, the makeup, the props. It's not the first drag show Danielle has attended, but somehow, he feels the energy in the room differently. He finds himself focusing on the laughter coming from the performers. He watches them as they leave the stage. The way they smile, the way they interact with the crowd and with other performers. He wonders how many of them are trans.

Thiago returns to the stage. "Wow, these folks can dance!" He says, gesturing to the performers. "Even the americanos!" A queen in a hot pink jumpsuit playfully flips him off, and he laughs. "Come on, this is Boston! We all make fun of Yankees here, no?" The crowd boos. "All right, all right," he chuckles. "Seriously though, how beautiful is this night? All of these people here in this weird little Brazilian bar, all from different places, who speak different languages, from all different walks of life... but here we are, celebrating together. This is what is most special to me. Queer joy is beautiful. Trans joy is beautiful. Drag is beautiful." People in the crowd shout in agreement. "I love this community. Thank you for all the love."

Danielle lets the crowd's joy flow through him. It's warm and electric.

For the first time in a very long time, he feels like he belongs.

[realityhelixcreates]

By Talos, This can't be Happening, pt 10: Applewatch

Our pair leaves Bruma, and wanders west.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions @whocares-idont @juspeczyk

?~?~?~?~?

“This is ridiculous!” Helix snarled. She was seated on a bench next to Swag, in what served as the prison interrogation area, surrounded by heavily armed and armored guards. They'd been dragged in as soon as the old womans house had been checked, revealing an unfortunately freshly dead man. The poor lady had been so distraught she hadn't even been coherent; currently, everyone was waiting on her to calm down enough to describe what she'd seen.

“Stay seated.” a guard commanded.

There had been a discussion, upon bringing them in, as to whether Helixs' hands should be fully bound so she couldn't cast. She had not been amused at all, and was still riled.

“Literally just passing by!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Completely clean! Not a speck on clothes or weapons! No evidence whatsoever!”

“And you are a mage.” Another guard countered. She growled in frustration, an angry sound Swag rarely heard from her.

“We told you about the other guy.” he said, irritated.

“You've been here less than a week, and already you have brought a dangerous monster right up to the city gates, been imprisoned for disorderly conduct, investigated for theft of imperial goods, and involved in two other deaths!” the head guard, one Carius Runellius, exclaimed. “I'm getting tired of looking at you!”

“Tangentially.” Swag clicked out each syllable like a bullet in its chamber. “And we could get outta your sight real fast, if you weren't holding us for no reason.”

“Sir.” One of the interrogators poked his head in from an adjacent room. “Erline has calmed down a bit. She says it was Raynil Dralas in her house, not these two.”

“The vampire hunter?” Carius scoffed.

“Vampires?” Swag asked. He glanced over at Helix. “Vampires???”

Her tightly pressed lips and deep breath in and out through the nose were answer enough.

Vampires. There were vampires too. This world sucked.

Pun fucking intended.

The old woman, Erline, tried to shove into the room.

“Yes, it was Dralas, not these young people! I saw him! Standing there, with his bloody sword!”

She dropped her face into her hands.

“It's terrible! Oh, it's terrible! But it wasn't them, it was that elf!”

“Dralas...does that mean...Bradon was a vampire?” Carius mused.

“What?” Erline exclaimed. “Of course not! How could you even say that?”

“Now that I think of it...He never came out during the day, did he?” a second guard mentioned.

“He was a street cleaner!” the old woman shot back. “Of course he worked at night! Have you all gone mad?”

“Keep calm, ma'am.” the interrogator said.

“But he wasn't a vampire! That's crazy! You all knew him!” she cried, as the interrogator led her away.

Carius let out a sound between a sigh and a groan.

“Worst week since my promotion.” he griped.

“Are we free to go?” Helix asked.

“Yes.” he said, exasperation deep in his voice, then he leaned in close to Swag. “Bit of advice. Get out of here before you are implicated in anything else.”

So there was the ultimatum. Fine.

“Yeah, I hear ya.” Swag murmured back. He stood and offered Helix his hand. “Ready to go, babe?”

“Beyond.” she said harshly, taking the proffered hand, and swanning through the gathered guardsmen like a miffed princess.

“We got enough supplies to skip town?” he asked.

“Are we being run out?”

“Straight up.”

“Then yes.”

They left the city behind right then and there, heading west. Swag's gaze on a swivel in search of enemies.

“So, you've gotta visit every city in this whole country?” he asked.

“Every city that has a guild, yeah. Not all of them do, but there's like...eight? I think? Big ones, if I read the map in the Bruma guild right. Already got that recommendation, and I know at least she'll be punctual about sending my name in. She wants her name to be seen by the archmage as much as possible, so any reason to send him something, she's gonna take.”

“Blacksmith back there suggested I go to a town called Chorrol for some armor. Is that one of them?”

“Yeah, it's further west. If we follow this road, we'll eventually get there. When we do, we should probably get ourselves an actual map.”

“And maybe another weapon.” he suggested. “We've only got my dagger, and you could probably use that hatchet if you had to, but maybe...” He stopped in the road, squinting into the forest. “I mean, there's a whole lotta trees out there. There's gotta be a stick or something I can swing. I still know how.”

“We'll keep an eye out.”

The road was sparsely populated, but not empty; occasional travelers, pairs and trios wandered by on their way to Bruma, carts and horses. Helix left the road to avoid these, her childhood fear of horses, and his inability to ride one effectively cutting off that mode of travel.

Though Helix had sold or traded most of her plants, she was right back to collecting them, clipping bundles of lavender, spiky thistle heads, assorted fungus-with the gloves he'd taken from the waystation she was able to gather a wider variety-and spikes of silvery mugwort.

Soon she would be festooned with them once again, like a walking shrubbery, and he had to tug her back onto the road before she traipsed off further into the forest several times. It was like her own personal compulsion.

Early evening brought them across a quiet farmstead, disturbingly empty. A small, prominent graveyard stood out front. Though Swag could just guess where the occupants had gone, the garden still stood, wilting without care, and a few stringy-looking chickens scurried about. The farmhouse looked like it had simply been abandoned, everything tidy, and only a little dusty.

“Sooo, this is creepy, right? I'm not the only one who thinks this is creepy.” he asked.

“It is, but...it's also not as uncommon as you might think. These hardscrabble farmsteads were pretty common all across the landscape back home. Sometimes, some catastrophe destroys a family, or their ability to keep up the farm, and it leaves an open space. A few weeks, months, someone else will move in and try again. It's part of the lifestyle.”

“We aren't staying. We're staying?”

“There is no one here. The farm isn't being cared for, you can tell from the state of the plants. The family wasn't killed by animals or monsters, or there wouldn't have been anything to bury, and likely not by bandits either, or they wouldn't have been buried at all. We'll stay for the night, and move on in the morning. Not long enough to piss off any lingering spirits.”

“Did you really have to mention that last part?”

“Don't worry about it. Will you harvest those potatoes? I'm going to take care of something else.”

“Sure. Uh...which ones are the potatoes?”

She looked about to say something sarcastic, but he just shrugged, hands up.

“Gotham City, New Jersey. My whole life.”

She nodded, then stalked into the yard.

“Check it out.” she said, grabbing a wicked looking trident implement. Pointing out exactly which plants she was talking about, she thrust the tines of the giant fork into the soil at the base of one of the plants, and lifted a whole bundle of little potatoes out of the dirt.

“Well goddamn. So that's how it works. Okay yeah, I can do that. You want me to do all'a these?”

“Please. Anything we don't use tonight can come with us.” she pointed to another row of plants. “Radishes. If you want them, grab the leaf bundle at the base and pull real hard. And I want at least one of those cabbages. Grab in both hands and twist like you're ripping someone's head off.”

“Damn, farming is brutal.”

“You're not wrong. Well's right over there; make sure everything gets nice and clean.”

She disappeared around the house while he stabbed at the ground with the garden fork. It was hard work, but of course it was, it was fucking farming. Looking at his big pile of potatoes, long white radishes, and pretty green cabbage made him inordinately proud though. Salt of the earth, he was. A survivor. Accomplished. T'aint much, but it's honest work.

Helix returned back from around the farmhouse, three plucked and cleaned chickens dangling from her hand.

His stomach wobbled. Okay nevermind. His country girl was always gonna be a little tougher. Looked like the hatchet had already come in handy.

Two of the chickens were hung over a low, smokey fire, in a tent-like structure, and the third went into the cooking pot inside the farmhouse, along with some potatoes, cabbage, and a few other things Helix found in the pantry.

She began making a new batch of bread, one that wouldn't be ruined by a leaking bottle, and Swag picked over the small collection of books he'd discovered near the fireplace. Most of them had evocative, pulp novel names, like; The Death Blow of Abernanit, The Horrors of Castle Xyr, and The Lusty Argonian Maid. But Azura and the Box caught his attention.

He pulled the book and snagged a chair. Helix stayed near the fire as well, clipping and cleaning her nails. She kept hers short since she did so much with her hands, though she usually also kept them painted. She'd been flaking the lacquer off as they walked however, and now her nails and lips were bare, and he could see the naked color beneath.

She was, like him, an artificially colorful creature, and yet, without it all, the firelight still painted her with hues unseen by any other than himself. In the flickering light, the slates of her eyes became nearly black, the light scattering off white hairs stood out against the chocolate brown like shining silver filaments. The rose of her skin bloomed into gold and amber, and it was challenging to concentrate on the storyline of the book, apparently told from a Dwemer's point of view.

Markarth, the Dwemer city. What did that mean? He'd probably better learn.

“What's going to happen to the club?” Helix asked abruptly.

“Hm? Oh, don't worry, it'll be fine. There's contingencies. There was always the possibility that I'd drop off the map sometime, so I automated a lot of things. The second night I didn't enter the right code, an email will have been sent out to all the employees, and Nina and Deirdre too. They'll take care of things. Might launch an investigation too, not that it'll get them anywhere in this case. Um...what about Maddy?”

Helix's daughter was an amazingly self-sufficient kid, but even she would have limits. Swag liked her well enough, though she wasn't his, and had never tried to be. She knew who her father was, even if no one else did, and she didn't need any others.

“With her father. That's part of what we agreed on. Three days gone, she lets Narci know, and she goes to him. Her father and I set it up, so he'll know something has happened. But he also knows Narci will take care of the home, so he's unlikely to show up. She might go visit some of her 'big brothers' and 'uncles' too. Word of our disappearance has probably already traveled. Is U.S. gonna be okay?”

Swag snorted.

“No. He's probably glued himself to the girls, terrified he'll be next to disappear. It's all right, they can handle him. They always could. He'll be fine eventually.”

“Everything back home is gonna be okay.”

“Yup.”

They had to believe it. They had to believe that everyone involved would do what they were supposed to; that Narci wouldn't panic, that Madeline-reaching her preteen years-wouldn't rebel, that Unswag wouldn't regress. They had to trust in the systems they put into place, legacies they had set up for when they were gone.

They had to believe, as they lived out this domestic scene in a dead families house, that their own homes weren't burning down.

The chicken soup was delicious, filled with spices and Helix's mysterious plants, and the book contained an interesting idea. While it was dangerous and inadvisable to do so, the gods could be fooled. That was something to tuck away for later.

Since there was fire, and a well, and the proper basins for it, they washed their clothes again, and Swag took some time to take care of their leather items. Years of Italian shoes and quality gloves had taught him the ins and outs, though Helix's gifted girdle was very dry and cracked, which was probably why it had been left behind in the first place. It would need to be replaced eventually. In Chorrol, they could sell the parts of their treasure that wasn't already money, and take care of their less immediate needs.

He could scrub himself with soap now! Wash his hair! Collapse into the bed-finally a real bed-smelling softly of olive oil and bay leaves, press his face against her skin, also scented with sweet laurel. Wallow in these small comforts.

Helix wound around him, soft and warm, nibbled at his throat, and he shivered. He really wanted to follow this course of action, but...

This was a dead persons bed.

He wasn't superstitious. None of his 'kind' were. They knew the undead existed. They'd seen them. They were them. Helix had adopted one, in order to keep them all safe. Haunting was a clear and present possibility.

Also, it just seemed kinda...rude.

Instead, he cuddled close, rubbing his fingers into her scalp until she relaxed into his embrace and dozed off.

?~?~?~?~?

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 21 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

"Fuck," Dane swears under his breath as he examines the window... bare shoulders hunched and muscles tensed with anger. 

I'd struggled, briefly, with whether to tell him about Rhiannon's surprise visit at all but in the end it wasn't really a choice... a stranger breaking into our home in the middle of the night and threatening me with a knife was something he needed to know about. 

Not to mention, she'd stolen my book... even if it was her book, really. 

To my surprise, he hadn't immediately shifted back to his Wolf and chased her down, instead doing a simple inspection of the house and surrounding area in human form before returning to our room. 

"You're sure you're alright?" he asks, coming to stand before me where I sit on the end of the bed, his tone and expression softening a little.

"You want me to go after her?" 

"I'm sure she's long gone by now," I say, hugging myself and frowning unhappily.

"But thank you for making that a question." 

He smooths his hands over my shoulders and raises his brows at me.

"Why? Did you think I'd turn rabid the second I heard what happened?" 

"Kinda," I admit. 

"Believe it or not, wolves get tired, too. I'll do my best to track her if you ask me to but honestly I doubt I'd have much success. I'd rather my energy for tomorrow's problems." 

I blink.

"If there wasn't a skin-changer on the loose, I'd ask who you are and what you've done with Dane." 

"Not funny," he admonishes but smiles as he sits at my side and rubs the back of my neck.

"Being an Alpha isn't all about power and playing action hero. It's about having the wisdom to know which actions are appropriate and when."

"You're doing a good job, then," I say, humor fading as I meet his eyes.

"She didn't hurt me and I don't think she intended to but she's still dangerous. She's still a... whatever Halloran called it. A Wolf-slayer." 

"You're worried about me?" he asks and I frown at him.

"Of course. You're not the only one who gets to worry and you're not invincible, you know." 

"I do," he says, his expression softening a little more.

"I'm sorry about the book. I know what it means to you. What did she say, anyway?" 

Sighing, I rub my hands over my face.

"She didn't say anything and I don't think she could." 

Briefly, I describe the strange encounter.

By the time I finish, I'm leaning against Dane's side with his arm around me, propped against the pillows and beginning to feel a little sleepy now that the adrenaline has worn off. 

"So, she's mute," Dane muses when I finish.

"That's interesting." 

"Yeah and what's also interesting is why didn't Halloran mention that?" 

"I think the more interesting question is why she seemed so afraid when you mentioned him." 

"Well, he is after her. She probably doesn't want to get sent back to the Shadowlands." 

"Hmm," he grunts.

"That's Halloran's story, anyway. Conveniently, Rhiannon can't tell hers." 

I hesitate a moment, then tell him the rest of what I'd learned earlier in the day. 

He listens without interrupting and his expression darkens as I speak. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," I conclude.

"I didn't want to distract you and it seemed like it could wait." 

"I'm not mad," he says, rubbing the side of my arm.

"I'm just... thinking."

He sighs.

"It feels like we're missing something... some piece of the puzzle we haven't found yet. I don't like that feeling." 

"Yeah," I agree, remembering how strangely confused and desperate to communicate Rhiannon had seemed.

"Neither do I." 

Unsurprisingly, neither Dane nor I find it easy to fall asleep and stay awake talking about the case, skin-changers, Halloran and Rhiannon, Wolves and Fae and whatever else comes to mind until dawn.

Finally, I fall asleep with my head on his chest as he strokes my hair and tells me a story about a case he once worked in Seattle, where the drug lord he was after turned out to be the prime suspect's grandmother. 

He'd just reached the part where they'd caught her, trying to flee across the border to Canada in a minivan full of drugs hidden in balls of yarn, when I finally drift off. 

I awaken sometime later, roused from a dream in which Rhiannon chases me with a knitting needle while Halloran tries to tell me something with gestures I don't understand.

Early morning sunlight streams through the window and I groan and rub my eyes but resolve to get up and start the day.

Dane is still asleep, snoring softly with his head tilted back and I do my best to extricate myself from his arms without waking him. 

Somehow, I succeed, get dressed and head for the kitchen, in dire need of something hot and caffeinated. 

The beep of the coffee maker startles me and I realize I'd zoned out, staring at nothing, almost asleep on my feet. 

Shaking my head, I pour myself a cup, add my usual 'dash' of cream 'an amount Dane says the American Heart Association would find concerning' and go to sit at the table with my phone to read the morning news. 

I skim the usual depressing national stuff, fall victim to a few pieces of clickbait and then... once the caffeine starts to kick in... switch over to the local sources. 

A headline glares at me.

I read it, take a sip of coffee and read it again.

Dimly, I'm aware that some part of my brain has sounded an alarm but I can't quite pinpoint the cause.

I read the headline one more time and then it sinks in and I'm on my feet and calling for Dane. 

Body Found in Spring Lakes Reservoir Identified as Local Small Business Owner, Stephanie Wong.

[redgentleengie]

The Narrator + 🗺️ - My Muse will describe their favorite Vacation Destination, A location they really want to visit on vacation, or a found Vacation Memory

Narration Meme

"Summer of '53- I was twelve at the time- my dad drove us to the beach for our annual vacation week, as was tradition, and would be for the rest of our childhood. He and Mom had a surprise planned for us: a new tent! We were gonna sleep on the beach. That was exciting to me and my brothers, having wanted to do something of the sort the year prior."

"We arrived at the spot we stayed at most every year and got things set up. Easy work, staking a tent in sand. We did what we could to keep the sand out of the tent, with a towel at the front to wipe your feet off 'n' such, but as you might expect we only had modest success. Made for a great umbrella to shade yourself while you dry off, reapply sunscreen, and have lunch, I'll say. Mm, those turkey sandwiches always tasted best after a romp in the waves. Might be part of the reason I enjoy physical exercise as much as I do."

"Anyway, back to the story. That night, when the sun set, we had s'mores and stargazed. Dad showed us the constellations, and shared the myths related to them... in terms appropriate for young kids, of course. Then we all got in the tent, snuggled in our sleeping bags, and went to bed."

"Well. The weather forecast had called for clear skies allllll night (there hadn't been a cloud in the sky all day, so it made sense to us), but in came a storm out of nowhere and started pouring on us. We had the top open to enjoy the night air, so being woken by the noise and the wet in the middle of the night was not a great time. Ruth, Michael, and Joseph helped Mom get our bags inside the house we were staying at, while I helped Dad bring the tent down."

*So then, there we all are. Standing in the living room, covered in sand and dripping wet from the scramble, and laughing at how ridiculous we look. Then we took a nice, hot shower and went to bed. Still telling that story at reunions to this day."

[feralmoonlight]

Oops today has turned into me musing endlessly on the spooky season Vampire Sun and Werewolf Moon (Same body, more like different mindset enough for Sun during the day to give Moon his own personality in the back of his mind, but it’s one single mind/consciousness and not two individuals) SO I’m just going to wordvomit the various blurbs ive been throwing at people today down here, enjoy. TO RECAP Good afternoon I am here to throw a horribly indulgent and stupid AU into the void of vampire!Sun and werewolf!Moon as a messed up 2 for 1 deal because this universe is painfully lacking on vampires afflicted with lycanthropy and in this essay I will-

You hadn’t wanted to move to a new town. This move was not by choice. But since you were still living with your family, when the decision came down hard with no room for arguments, and the roof over your head was in danger, what other choice did you really have? It wasn’t like your job was one of a kind, boring minimum wage that you could throw a stone in the new city and find something just as good. All of your best friends were online so that at least wasn’t a problem… One upside to this new location was the town itself at least? It was Old with a capital OH. The kind that made you imagine history was walking beside you on the streets as you explored. Details you never saw in today’s modern building decorated every facade, houses that were older than any of the residents reigned in their own unique glory. Some so opulent you couldn’t imagine moving in them, and some so run down it was a wonder they were still standing. You’d admit it was pretty cool, if you weren’t still fighting your ire at having your old life uprooted from under you. From up on the veranda of one of those more fancy looking houses, the occupant leaned against the railing, openly watching you with wide eyes as you meandered down the street. It was weird. Really weird. Weirder still when his hand shot into the air in an enthusiastic wave, way too much energy for such a hot fall afternoon. You offered a timid wave back. Interesting neighbors…

Unrelated, non robo au where sunny is this sweet daycare worker dude that is also a part time florist(MAYBE? possibly scrapped?) but he's also a full time werewolf and moon doesn't like company. Because spooktober

TLDR Vampire Sunny hires you on a whim to maybe do some casual yardwork for him cause the sun is icky and also maybe as a snack when he gets bored ish? But you manage to charm him enough the first time or two that he only takes a sip and is like. Mm Yes Good, I’ll keep this one around for a bit.

Unrelated I've decided that for the vampire/werewolf thing, I'm not going to really 'describe' human Sun, cause it feels weird. A seemingly ever grinning face, tall, large hands with long fingers, almost unnervingly thing but somehow way stronger than the lean frame should be capable of, an eccentric ruffly wardrobe that leans towards rich deep reds and vibrant golds... yes. But details about hairstyle, skintone, anything like that ain't gonna happen More ramblings under the cut~

I don’t know the source of this image, friend linked it to me off pintrest but it’s so spot on I love it so I cry. Also, sun is absolutely going to tie a little ribbon around your neck with a little sun/moon charm. Both a 'this is mine' and a 'leave it alone' billboard to others in the area Friend also linked me this Lunar Clock Thing

He has you doing all this work to make his yard look usable and welcoming and stuff but he only ever looks at it. Doesn't enjoy it. And no one seems to ever visit even though he's super friendly, what gives? You'd think such an old neighborhood everyone would know each other but no one seems to really talk about Sunny much Like at all. No one knows Jack about this guy Yet without fail, every time you pass by, there he is, stepping outside to wave hello and tempt you over for a chat[2:43 PM]Eventually finds out you do schooling at home and offers you his tutelage. Apparently this dude is also stupidly smart about a lot of things??

More excuses to make you visit, to have you linger. Sit closer. Definitely not lean against you with a slow deep breath, definitely not smelling you for some creepy reason. Not that you pick up on it. But he is a little less warm than you expected. The closeness is enough to set your cheeks on fire and he pulls back immediately, excusing himself to put on some tea(and get a soda for you. He started keeping those around just for you, you realized)

Always rushes you away before dark though. Says the streets are dangerous.

Very dangerous

Were!moon is basically a feral beast under the full moon but as it waned to nothing he has a cold clarity to him. Suns happy self sombers and while it's still the same mind, it's a different personality that takes over at night that pushes him to give into his more instinctual urges of all kinds

Sunset is a toss up on if he's safe or bordering into dangerous based on time of the month. You could probably survive when the night is dark with only some minor nibbling but after the halfway point your life is on the line. He will kill. For now. Time may change this

Oh, don't be fooled, this is already the case, and the reason (second reason) he didn't turn you into a one time snack. The fact you're absolutely delicious is definitely a first, an exquisite treat to be savored slowly, but it's after the second or third visit that the reason he was excited to see you come by after that wasn't purely because he had the hungies. The times you come in to sit down and spend time with him, at ease around him,  laughing with him even... It's something he hasn't gotten to enjoy in years, if not a couple decades. The inner voice of Moon in his mind that tells him to protect himself, remember how humans hunted him, would still hunt him if they knew, the danger of it all... it's something to be wary of, but you... You don't shy away(much) when he rests a hand on your shoulder(without his influence), you come to him willingly, stay longer than is necessary, and what should have been just a simple effort to keep things tidy in his yard has, of your own doing turned into making it nicer.  You've brought new flowers, he's seen you scrub old moss from some of the little statue figures that hide around the bushes, you even asked him about paint to touch up parts of the fence that had begun to rust to keep it in good condition(something you were meaning to do one of these nights, but just hadn't bothered the motivation). It's a friendship, true and true, even if you're unaware that you're befriending an actual monster that isn't out of the woods of ruining your friendship yet. He would truly be upset with himself it if happened.

Again.

Aaaand I think that’s all I really have at the moment for this, but take it and enjoy <3