#cs insect

[foundfamilyhq]

Propaganda under readmore:

They're pollinators! And females are the only ones that bite. I'm not saying they're not majorly responsible for the spread of malaria and other diseases, but they at least deserve a second chance.

[infinite-hearts-333]

Bug and their bugs!!!

Pattin has a colorful collection of ‘babies’- mostly being three species (for now)

We have Pandora, the Goliath Birdeater, Skittles, the Giant Centipede, and a entire terrain’s worth of Rubber Ducky Isopods lovingly dubbed “The hive”

“I’d have them in the coloured photo for y’all, but unfortunately Pan and Skits are both predators… so not the best idea hehe,”

[sipulidae]

attack of neverhood's Nunu!

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO MISCELLANEOUS DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 💀 THANATOS: GOD OF DEATH, PERSONIFICATION OF PEACEFUL DEATH 🦋

A/N: Heeeeeey everyone! Here is {Wave 2.0.} of Miscellaneous Demigod Headcanons. Had the strength to write some more gods and their demigods for the Misc. Demigod Headcanons and I decided to start off with the most requested god and demigod with a bang! (No seriously, I've been getting so many requests to do Thanatos that I caved just so I could free my ask box). Hope you all enjoy it and thanks for reading! MISCELLANEOUS DEMIGOD H/CS MASTERLIST LINK: [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

Welcome to the impossible births club like the Athena kids. Thanatos is considered a virgin god. I think it’s not because of chastity or abstaining, but because Thanatos is the god and personification of Death itself; so his interaction with mortals always ends in their passing. Not to mention, being a lieutenant to Hades, he’s usually very busy.  How you are born is up to theory but there are a few, limited, possible ways: a.) Just like Psyche and Eros where the former didn’t know Eros looked like, you do have a mortal parent that Thanatos fell in love with, but Thanatos remained invisible mostly when his eyes fell upon your mortal parent, keeping most of his deathly potency away. However, the whisper of death clings to you and your mortal parent. A curse of death for life and love. b.) You did the whole rebirth thing where you died as a baby or child, and Thanatos took pity on you. He fed you ambrosia and his godly essence with you, before you were allowed to bring back to life when appealing to Hades and Persephone, who allowed you to go back to the world of the living; however, you are a servant and denizen of the Underworld. C.) you were conceived when Thanatos fell in love with a mortal and when they crossed into the Underworld, they were finally to be seen together. However, when Thanatos was chained and the Doors of Death were forced to be kept open, your ‘mortal’ parent left the underworld searching for your godly father to free him. However, your parent was delayed in reaching Thanatos because with life now flowing, you were allowed to form and thus, you were born into the world of the living.

Regardless, you are one of your kind and if ever there are other children of Thanatos, well you’re in the same boat or one of the following listed above.

You have also inherited something from your godly father more than just the normal appearances (i.e. his golden-honey eyes, darker than black hair, his teakwood colour skin), you’ve also inherited his dark wings. Now before you get too excited, these wings do not grow along you in life. Your wings grow alongside you with death.

When you were first born into the world and drew your first breaths, you did not come with fledgling wings sprouting from your back. Your fledging wings sprouted from your back when you experienced death for the first time. Your wings started to sprout and show like tiny buds when you ignorantly crushed ants beneath your feet when you were a child and it was like being stabbed with a needle with your wings breaking through. You cry and the pain only gets worse as your wings grow and grow when you witness and are basked directly from (non-violent) death; whether you experienced death first hand or even hearing your classmate’s relative dying from cancer.

The pain and growth increases depending on the life; from the least to the death of bugs & insects to the worst & most growth with human life. Your wings were inherited from your godly father, the personification of Death. It is only natural that your wings will only grow and be a physical reminder of death itself. Whether your wings, feathered or like a butterfly, are a hue of blue, black, or purple can only be told with time and your journey in life alongside death. The weight of your parentage is constant on your shoulders and back.

 Whether or not you know you are a child of Thanatos from the get-go, you are not exempt from being claimed when you reach Camp. It is a quiet claim but a deafening one. A downturned torch where its glow was dim. Smoke and mist rose around you, and the patch of grass that had once blooming flowers began to wilt and turn brown. If you haven’t had your wings yet or your wings aren’t as prominent, with his claim, your wings grow just slightly, the hue of your wing shining beautifully slightly yet eerie looking.

If you arrived at Camp Half Blood, and whether or not you decide to stay at Camp Half Blood, you are temporarily assigned to the Hypnos Cabin; as much as Thanatos was seen together with his brother Hypnos. While traditionally, you would be assigned to the Hermes cabin, unfortunately you slept like the dead; figuratively and literally which freaked a lot of people. Around the children of Hypnos you fit in a lot better and Clovis advocated your stay with the approval and insistence of his father.

Being the child of Death itself, allows you much of the powers of a child of Hades or something very similar. You can use necromancy, summoning skeletons to your aid in battle and whatnot, but you can’t control death; just because you are the child of Death, doesn’t mean you are exempt from the same laws and limitations as a child of Hades or any mortal at all. You may not be able to shadow-travel, but if you don’t, you can turn yourself invisible much like your godly father. It’s a skill that requires practice, just as much shadow-travel, and how long you can keep it up will depend on you.

Another power of being a child of Death, is you can see someone’s life-essence. Think of it as an aura that radiates how much life they have and what they are. Very useful in telling who is a monster in disguise or seeing someone who is possessing someone who shouldn’t be possessing. On the other hand, there is the inevitable sense of mortality when you see their aura and time dim.

You carry the linger of death you go and those who pass you by, will feel the cold shivering breeze around you. Only a few are not fazed by it, but you mustn’t lose your control,

Being a child of Thanatos is a heavy burden but you must live because what is life without death?

“So that’s how I was born” you finished saying, telling to your present company of how you came to be and how you were a child of Thanatos. The eyes on you were nerve-wracking and your wings fluttered and jittered in unison with your emotions. 

You winced and whispered “sorry” when the tip of your wings almost grazed someone, not that used to having your wings out. It also didn’t help when Thanatos claimed you, they also got bigger so there were things to get used to. You didn’t like having your wings out in public, even around other demigods. Your wings were a constant reminder of your heritage and you wanted to keep it a secret, the truth of the wings where they appear when you’re around death, growing alongside with every life taken. 

“That’s a pretty loaded backstory” blurted out Frank finally and Hazel immediately elbowed him as he winced at his words and pain.

You could help let out a nervous laughter as you responded with,“It sort of is, yeah. In all honesty, I didn’t believe it myself until Hypnos told me in my sleep. Even then, I don’t think I’ll ever wrap my mind around it completely. Not to mention, that there were other demigods like me and there’s a camp of all things.”

“Well, don’t worry about that! We’ll help you get settled in and help you if you have any questions!” said Hazel and you gave a sheepish smile. The daughter of Pluto had arrived with Frank when you all made landfall in Camp Halfblood, Nico expressly relieved that his sister was with him. 

You met Nico first who looked at you and was out of his depth. It wasn’t only after you absorbed the death of a monster, did Nico tell you that Hades had told him about your existence and told him to find you, and in accordance take you to Camp. Which camp he didn’t specify but after some debate, it was better to take you to Camp Halfblood because your presence at Camp Jupiter wouldn’t be taken too well.

“Well…I guess the first thing to do is get you settled in” said Nico, rubbing the back of his neck. “We talked it over with Chiron and Mr. D and they said instead of staying at the Hermes cabin, it was best for you to stay at Cabin 13 with me until we get confirmation from Thanatos about what kind of Cabin he wants.” 

‘It was safer for everyone if you stayed at the Hades cabin just in case’ was left unsaid.

“In all honesty, I really thought I wouldn’t be allowed to stay here since well…” you gestured to yourself with a nervous gulp as Nico scoffed. 

“If they allow a son of Hades to stay, they’ll have to allow you. Besides, you’re a demigod like the rest of us so you have a place at Camp just like the rest of us” said Nico. 

“That’s right! If anyone gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to let us know and we’ll be there right with you!” agreed Hazel as Frank nodded. 

You felt your chest warm up a bit as you all approached Cabin 13. Despite it’s dark exterior, you felt a certain pull to it as Nico and Hazel opened the door for you. 

“Once again, Welcome [first name, last name], child of Thanatos, servitor of the Underworld, to Cabin 13, the Hades Cabin.” 

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 7

edit: there is much better analysis in this follow-up post, although it does build on the stuff i wrote here

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

There were very few problems, the public killings having been good for the soldiers’ morale.

so where are the people like me in this world who would like pass out witnessing that. just too desensitized to care?

The Veretian herald was named Hendric and he had very strong arms, because banners were heavy.

Damen and Laurent were to ride alongside one another. Neither one of them had the better horse.

THEIR HORSES!! BACK TOGETHER DESPITE ALL ODDS!! because they’re definitely the same ones that fell in love during prince's gambit shut up

Damen was taller, but nothing could be done about that, Hendric had said with an impenetrable expression. Hendric, Damen was learning, had something in common with Laurent, in that it was never a simple matter to tell when he was joking.

give laurent a comedically large hammer and he’ll find a way

‘I hope the injured boy was returned to you safely.’ ‘Thank you, he returned with Paschal,’ said Laurent. For a salve? Damen opened his mouth to say, and didn’t.

throwback <3 but kings can’t have inside jokes :(

In the next moment, the horns rang out, triumphant and lonely at the same time, the pure sound absorbed by the sky and the wide open landscape around them.

“triumphant and lonely” nice detail

He remembered exactly how it had looked, and that was why he didn’t recognise it at first: the forest of broken spears was gone, and there were no gouged ruts in the earth, no men face down in the churned mud. Marlas was now a tumble of grass and wildflowers in the blowy, sweet summer weather, shifting back and forth in the gentle air. Here and there an insect droned, a drowsy sound. A dragonfly dipped and darted.

i like this :) we don’t get a lot of love for nature in this series, so i’ll take what i get. especially nice when nature represents healing and the passage of time.

Lining the hall were two dozen slaves.

oh this is going to be a headache. but it’s a headache worth having, because i’ve approached these annotations so far with integrity and fairness, and i refuse to treat this subject any differently. i don’t want to just ignore the things that are more difficult or less fun to unpack in order to get to the fun shipping stuff, i want to analyze them to the best of my ability and feel as comfortable as i possibly can moving forward.

so let’s set up some context:

1) damen has come a long way from his stance on slavery in book 1. he is actively refusing to partake in this expected custom, and finds the institution disturbing and triggering. he has developed a new appreciation for sex with truly consenting (not trained) partners, aka laurent, and can’t really go back. still, his reasons for refraining here are almost entirely based on his evolving sense of morality, not really relating to his relationship with laurent at all. for more on that moral evolution, see my analysis in chapter 4. further proof of this Really Mattering to damen is the fact that by not taking slaves, he is losing points with his own people. another great hint of his development as a king, making his own authoritative decisions rather than upholding tradition.

2) laurent does not like slavery. he does not think it is morally correct, and has made many jabs at damen throughout the series for disagreeing. he is disturbed by idea of people who have been groomed into relinquishing their own free will. if put in the situation of damen in book 1, laurent would not have been nearly as compliant or allowing—honestly, he probably would have tried to kill his master, and failing that, kill himself.

HOWEVER. vere does not do slavery. slavery had never been a relevant issue to laurent, at least until he was gifted a slave of his own and was made to deal with them in negotiations with patras. slavery is a thing other countries do, to laurent, and his current objective is make nice with a country that keeps slaves. therefore, he knows that his only real option is to keep the appearance of partaking in the custom, even if damen can get away with refusal. and i think we can safely assume that in laurent’s vere, there will be no slavery, even if he’s taking up the appearance of a slave owner now. additionally, i think we can also assume that there will be reform of the country’s pet system, which is an issue much more relevant to laurent’s lived experience.

if the stuff with laurent and slaves here was simply performative and un-indulgent, i wouldn’t need to be writing anything more here. but it is, as it is, one of the few things in the series that makes me feel very conflicted (see also: the garden scene in book 1). because while it’s true that laurent doesn’t actually use isander as a sex slave, and does have this kind of passive disdain for slavery, he does use isander in another way. he uses isander, a non-consenting brainwashed slave, as a way to make damen, who has never actually been a slave, jealous. this is an abuse of power that directly conflicts with laurent’s stated and assumed values regarding free will and individual personhood. we’ve seen things like this before, in arles, but laurent had known that damen was a prince and not a slave the entire time. but isander is a victim of this system—even if isander himself doesn’t know that, laurent damn well does. and laurent historically is someone who advocates for victims. so the fact that his morals here are being set aside in favor of a petty gesture against damen, is… disappointing. everything i said in chapter 3/4 about laurent’s mean girl era still stands: he knows he’s being shitty, and he’s doing it because he doesn’t want to be vulnerable and insecure. better to be a villain than a victim, etc. but laurent being a villain to damen, who laurent knows is perfectly capable of defending himself, is distinctly different from laurent parading out isander the slave just to hurt damen’s feelings.

it’s wrong for the obvious moral reasons, which laurent perfectly understands in the abstract. but it’s not a hill he’s going to die on here, and that’s not just because of the political advantage. this is 100% about personal shit with damen too. and sorry laurent, but slavery does not stop being wrong when it’s useful in creating drama with your ex. in fact, indulging in it for that reason specifically trivializes all of the legitimate problems with the practice. it makes laurent a hypocrite and it crosses a line, in terms of his mean girl schtick. i just want to make that clear—that there is very much a difference between laurent just being kinda cunty to damen in general, and specifically using a slave as tool in that cuntiness.

laurent is, and always has been, a morally complex and often hypocritical character. he has done things that have made me feel uncomfortable to read, like the way he treats damen in the garden scene. and that’s okay, and it doesn’t make him a bad character, or even a bad person. and to be fair, he isn’t doing any practical harm here—if he hadn’t chosen isander to kinda just vaguely flirt with in public and then leave alone in private, someone else probably would have done far worse. and that is an easy cop-out, and it’s not wrong. but still.

the problem isn’t with laurent's actions here, necessarily, but the principle. which is usually what laurent himself cares about the most, as he often values the ends above the means. politics aside, i think that laurent would readily admit post-mean girl era that the ends of making damen jealous did not, and should not, justify the means of using another human being who does not possess free will. maybe he even does that in the text, eventually, and i’ve forgotten.

(also, let’s not forget that isander may have been trained to not have his own feelings, but definitely still has them, because he’s a human being. and it probably makes him feel pretty bad to be chosen and then ignored by laurent. not that it should, because the entire thing is super fucked up, but it’s what he’s been groomed to believe. like, i did just want to throw that in somewhere, even though it’s obviously predicated on brainwashing and a lack of free will. it’s still what he’s feeling, and his feelings matter. just as much as damen’s or laurent’s.)

basically: laurent is failing to be honorable in his usage of isander, even if he’s not using isander as a sex slave as intended. his abstract values about the wrongness of slavery take a back seat to the political and interpersonal advantage of not only passively partaking in the custom, but actively using it to make damen jealous. even if laurent needs to pretend to take a slave to be politically accepted, he does not need to do All That. and honestly, with laurent’s ability to convince and command a crowd, i think we all know deep down that if he didn’t at least want to do this at least a little bit, just to piss damen off, he would find a way out of it. and that is a reality of laurent’s characterization here that i have to deal with, similar to his actions in the garden scene.

and then there’s the other thing that laurent's "performance" with isander has in common with the garden scene:

it’s hot. it’s wrong, and hypocritical, and could have been done in a way that would better suit my personal tastes, but yes, it’s hot. and on top of that, it’s also VERY funny. laurent’s performance, damen’s reactions, and isander’s obliviousness are all very, very funny. and i do want to be able to enjoy them for the petty gestures they are, and joke about them, without constantly having to throw in a “but also this is bad.” so doing this initial disclaimer feels like a happy medium to me, where i’m not ignoring the complexity of the situation entirely, but i’m also conceding that it’s not necessarily meant to be taken seriously, and it’s ultimately written for the reader to enjoy. like, don’t get me wrong, most of the slavery stuff in this series has NOT been written for the reader’s enjoyment—the values here are very clear, especially in damen’s arc—but there are still some indulgent moments. and it is fiction. and these characters aren’t perfect, nor did they create the culture of the kingdoms that they’re about to rule. and they do ultimately change the things that they, and we the reader, know are wrong.

but just like with the garden scene, i can’t quite get myself to write “so it’s totally fine to just have fun with the whole slavery thing” as a conclusion. and honestly, i feel pretty okay about that hesitancy. when i make jokes about this subject in this specific context (laurent and isander), i don’t want it to be forgotten that the subject itself (slavery) is still entirely serious. so instead, i’ll say:

this is fun because manipulative petty lamen mind games are fun. this is hot because manipulative petty lamen mind games are hot. this is somewhat intended as a backhanded insult and display of moral superiority—laurent showing damen how awful he and his culture appear to non-slave owners—but that moral superiority ultimately falls short due to laurent’s hypocritical use of a slave to make damen jealous. all of those separate pieces of analysis are true to the overall experience of reading and interpreting these scenes. it’s a mixed bag, we know it’s a mixed bag, laurent knows it’s a mixed bag, and damen knows it’s a mixed bag. the only relevant person who doesn’t know it’s a mixed bag is isander, because he’s a slave and isn’t allowed to think for himself, and that fucking sucks.

Isander was olive-skinned and lithe as a fawn, with dark hair and eyes: Akielon colouring. He shared that with Nikandros; with Damen.

yeah i’m sure that’s just a coincidence

Male, either in deference to Veretian customs, or to suit Laurent’s assumed preferences.

akielon slave owners, trying to assess laurent’s preferences:

(can you tell my heart still isn’t fully in the humor here…)

Nikandros would never offer royalty anything less than a slave’s First Night.

god, the first night thing is fucked up. in general, i love the lack of like… uh… traditionally conservative (read: christian) attitudes about sex in capri, so the few similarities especially give me the ick. i haven’t read or annotated the erasmus short story yet, but i know it’s going to piss me off too. basically, the closer we get to the handmaid’s tale, the more i want to read complicit characters dying horrifically on the page. nikandros and the other akielons are skirting by for now with the plausible deniability they have re: fully understanding how slaves are trained, but they’re on thin fucking ice.

also, lighter side question, what’s the recommended reading order for the short stories?

sweet grace of a palace slave

gag

‘I like that one,’ said Laurent.

>:(

‘Slaves are trained in the arts of pleasure, but they do not lie with another until their First Night,’ Kolnas said. ‘Here we use the same strict, classical training that is used in the royal palace. Skills are learned through instruction, and practised with indirect methods. The slave remains wholly untouched, kept pure for the first use of the Exalted.’

imagine if real-life cultural customs were built around grooming a certain group of people to be sexually submissive and modest as a thinly-veiled way to control their sexuality and ensure that they are attached to dominant societal figures from a young age without the education or free will to consider themselves actual human beings, so they can unquestioningly spend their entire lives as sex machines and domestic servants defined entirely by their responsibility to the family, and then they die and their headstone identifies them by their status as a possession of their dominant partner. wouldn’t that be fucked up

‘I never did learn how to command a bed slave,’ said Laurent. ‘Teach me.’

guys i wish i could find this hot or funny but now i’m just mad about disturbing stuff in real life that i can’t analyze out of existence. i’m taking a break and eating a chocolate strawberry greek yogurt popsicle and then i’ll try to refocus on the funny toxic gay people

‘They cannot speak Veretian, Your Highness,’ Kolnas explained. ‘In the Akielon language, using the plain form of address is appropriate. To command any act of service is to honour a slave. The more personal the service, the greater the honour.’ ‘Really? Come here,’ said Laurent.

laurent go sit in the corner.

Laurent extended the tip of his boot. ‘Kiss it,’ he said. His eyes were on Damen.

god this is so good. i hate it so much.

to be fair, there is no way to do this that would be more effective than laurent using a slave. because, y’know, damen was his “slave.” it wouldn’t hit the same with some random non-slave guy. laurent wants to fuck with damen’s head, and part of that is making him miss something he most certainly should not be missing. laurent is also fucking with my head, because this gesture is so conflictingly wrong and compelling, a word which in this case means "something i’m embarrassed/ashamed to say that i find hot."

‘Good boy,’ said Laurent, reaching down to pet Isander’s dark curls, while Isander’s eyes closed and he flushed over.

(easy joke to make, but we’re all probably thinking it) damen:

(also, this being the only “good boy” in the entire series is just diabolical. but i get why it is, because i think it might not be the only one—and if it isn’t the only one, that means the regent says it at some point, and that’s exactly why it’s never used in a lamen sex scene.)

Kolnas preened, pleased that his selection was appreciated. Damen could see that the fort’s household around them was also pleased, having gone to great lengths to make Laurent feel welcome. They had considered with intense thoughtfulness Veretian culture and Veretian practices.

i sense some slight snarkiness here—not even from damen, but from the narrative itself. there’s palpable irony in the “great lengths” and “thoughtfulness” of akielions considering veretian culture while presenting laurent with slaves, all while veretian culture doesn’t have slavery.

It was pointless. There were two dozen slaves here, while the number of times Laurent had had sex in his life could probably be counted on one hand. Laurent was just going to be dragging twenty-four young men back to his rooms to sit around doing nothing. They wouldn’t even be able to unlace Veretian clothing.

according to damen:

this is stupid.

laurent is, in all ways but physical, a loser virgin.

he’s going to set out board games for those sex slaves. he’s going to throw them a pizza party. he’s going to answer emails the entire time.

they don’t even know how to unlace laurent’s clothing like i do.

this is stupid.

‘Can he also serve me in the baths?’ said Laurent.

CUNT.

‘And at the feast for the bannermen this evening when they give their pledge, if that pleases you, Your Highness,’ said Kolnas. ‘It pleases me,’ said Laurent.

damen is about to throw up on the floor

Cloth wound around his waist and over his shoulder, the sort of ceremonial Akielon garb that you could unreel from a person by taking hold of one end and pulling while they rotated.

looney toons-ass imagery

He could feel their discomfort, their need to debase themselves; this sort of proximity to royalty permitted only the extreme submissiveness of slaves.

thank you damen for being the only normal person here. you've come a long way.

“discomfort, their need to debase themselves” is something book 1 damen would have found adorable and charming. he definitely wouldn’t have worded it like this, back then.

“this sort of proximity to royalty permitted only the extreme submissiveness of slaves” building on the damen vs. kingship theme, he thinks he can’t have real love or intimacy or vulnerability if he’s a king. he can’t truly be paired with an equal, because he needs to be exalted.

He had sent away the slaves.

damen you’re the only one i’m not at mad at in this chapter. actually i liked the funny banner guy, we’re chill too. and isander is just trying his best

Laurent, he knew, was rooming in the adjoining suite, separated from him by a single wall. Damen was in the King’s chambers, which any lord who built a fort installed, in the hope the King would stop there. But even the former lord of Marlas’s optimism had not stretched to the idea that the heads of two royal families would visit simultaneously. To preserve their arrangements of scrupulous equality, Laurent was in the Queen’s chambers, beyond that wall.

i’m getting so much whiplash from this chapter like yeah this is funny and cute but also is the slavery stuff just normal to people like i’m aware the series started from a specific subculture and kink and body of literary work, so i guess i’m the weird one and the outsider here for being so distracted??

Isander was probably tending him, gamely doing his best with the laces. He would have to unhook the lacings on the back of the neck of Laurent’s riding leathers before drawing them through their eyelets. Or Laurent had taken Isander into the baths, to be undressed by him there. Isander would be flushed with pride at being chosen for the task. Attend me. Damen felt his hands curl into fists.

i don’t think i need to point out in a note, every single time, that damen being jealous of isander is funny and his possessiveness of laurent is hot. but i will still highlight the passages where it happens.

He turned his mind to political matters.

good call buddy, you and i are going to get through this chapter together

Men and women reclined on couches

(said apprehensively, given the overall themes of this chapter) ...women?

Makedon leaned, selecting a slice of peeled orange. Pallas, the handsome officer-champion, reclined with the easy posture that spoke to his aristocratic blood. Straton had hitched his skirts up and drawn his legs onto the couch, crossing them at the ankles. Everyone whom rank or office entitled to be here was assembled, and with every northerner of standing gathered to give their pledge, the hall was packed full. The Veretians present were mostly vertical, standing awkwardly in small groups, one or two perched gingerly on the edge of a seat.

There was no trumpet flourish or herald’s announcement, as there would have been in Vere.

okay i didn’t realize there was a trumpet flourish in vere. that is very funny in retrospect. a trumpet is not the instrument i’d choose to announce laurent’s arrival. in arles especially, i personally think that a halloween sfx cd would have been much more appropriate

Laurent didn’t rise. He wasn’t required to. He just watched from his reclining couch, as the hall prostrated itself. He had cultivated an elegant sprawl, with his arm draped over his couch back, and his leg drawn up, revealing the arc of an exquisitely clad thigh. His fingers dangled. Silk rucked around his knee.

laurent lean #14. kings leaning.

Isander was prostrated, an inch from Laurent’s casually draped fingertips, his lithe body bare. He wore a brief garment like a Vaskian man’s cloth. His collar fit him like a second skin. Laurent sat relaxed, every line of his body arranged tastefully against the couch. Damen made himself stroll forward through the silence. Their twin couches were next to each other. ‘Brother,’ Laurent said, pleasantly.

no comment

The eyes of everyone in the hall were on him. He felt their gazes, their underfed curiosity. He heard the murmurs—it really is him, Damianos, alive and here—accompanied by the brazen looks, looking at him, looking at the gold cuff on his wrist, looking at Laurent in his Veretian clothes like an exotic ornament—so that is the Veretian Prince. And beneath that the speculation that was never spoken aloud.

at least one akielon politics rpf truther is losing their mind rn. we have gaylor, this world has gaymianos

Laurent was scrupulously correct in the face of it, his behaviour immaculate, even his use of the slave was an act of unimpeachable etiquette. In Akielos it pleased the host for a guest to make use of his hospitality. And it pleased the Akielon people for their royal family to take slaves, a sign of virility and power, and a cause of great pride.

narrows my eyes

Barieus stepped forward. ‘I want assurances that Vere does not hold undue influence over Akielos.’ Undue influence. ‘Speak plainly.’ ‘They say the Prince of Vere is your lover.’

found the gaymianos truther

‘Who we take to our bed is not your concern.’

well i mean if you’re using the royal “we” to represent the kingdom, then yeah… it kinda is?

‘Shall I tell them what really happened between us? They want to know,’ Laurent said. Laurent began to unlace the cuff of his sleeve, drawing the ties through the eyelets, then opening the fabric to expose the fine underside of his wrist—and then the unmistakable gold of the slave cuff.

Laurent leaned his wrist elegantly on the curved arm of the couch, the open sleeve reminiscent of a delicate open shirt collar, its laces trailing. ‘Do I have the question clear?’ said Laurent, speaking in Akielon. ‘You are asking if I lay with the man who killed my own brother?’ Laurent wore the slave cuff with utter disregard. He had no owner, the aristocratic arrogance of his posture said that. Laurent had always possessed an essential quality of the untouchable. He cultivated a faultless grace on the reclining couch, his chiselled profile and marble-chip eyes those of a statue. The idea that he would let anyone fuck him was impossible.

and damen is so into it. love love love the contrast with the description of slaves in this chapter. damen doesn’t want them, he wants laurent. he sees laurent as a complete and compelling person. there is honor in laurent’s performative submission—wearing the cuff—because damen respects laurent’s personhood. but he’s no longer able to see the submission of slaves as honorable, because he knows they’re fucking slaves who have been robbed of their personhood entirely.

Barieus said, ‘A man would have to be ice-cold to sleep with his brother’s killer.’ ‘Then you have your answer,’ said Laurent. There was a silence, in which Laurent’s gaze held that of Barieus. ‘Yes, Exalted.’ Barieus bowed his head, and unconsciously used the Akielon Exalted, rather than the Veretian titles Highness or Majesty.

a vine boom echoed through the court

‘Well, Barieus?’ said Damen. Barieus knelt two steps before the dais. ‘I will pledge. I see that the Prince of Vere stands with you. It’s right that we swear to you here, on the site of your greatest victory.’

“he is simply too cunty for us to deny his authority.”

Slaves brought the food. Squires served Damen, since he had made his preferences clear. It was an awkward arrangement that displeased everyone in the hall.

YES DAMEN!

Isander was utterly in love with his master. He strove continuously to do well, selecting each delicacy for Laurent to sample, bringing him only the best, in small, shallow dishes, refreshing the water bowl for Laurent to clean his fingers. He did it all with perfect form, discreetly attentive, and never drawing attention to himself. His eyelashes drew attention to themselves. Damen made himself look elsewhere.

but that’s not real love, and damen knows it. laurent knows it too. and damen did it way better in nesson-elroy

Laurent said, ‘Play The Fall of Inachtos,’ and a murmur of approval passed over the hall. Kolnas, the Keeper of Slaves, congratulated Laurent on his knowledge of Akielon epics. ‘It’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?’ said Laurent, transferring his gaze to Damen.

diabolical. need this energy for the lamen divorce playlists (they each have their own)

He had always liked the depiction of Akielons cutting down their enemies, as Nisos rode out to kill Inachtos, and take his walled city. He didn’t want to hear it now.

yayyy character development

It was Loyse and not Guion that Jord was approaching. She gave him a cursory look. ‘Yes?’ There was an awkward pause. ‘I just wanted to say . . . that I’m sorry for your loss. Your son was a good fighter.’ ‘Thank you, soldier.’ She gave him the token attention a lady might give to any servant, and turned back to her conversation with her husband.

loyse hiiiiiii loyse (said with appropriate sadness for her current state of grief)

Jord gazed at him for a long moment, then indicated Laurent with his chin. ‘I’m glad you two are friends,’ said Jord.

jord always knows exactly when to show up and make ill-timed commentary on damen and laurent's relationship

‘I thought when he found out about you, he’d swear revenge,’ said Jord. ‘He knew all along,’ said Damen. ‘It’s good that you could trust each other,’ said Jord. And then: ‘I think before you came, he didn’t really trust anyone.’ Damen said, ‘He didn’t.’

also isn’t it like SUPER awkward for jord to be around guion and loyse right now

Isander was bringing Laurent a sprig of grapes in a small dish. Laurent said something approving, and gestured for Isander to join him on the reclining couch. Isander glowed, shyly besotted. As Damen watched, Isander picked a single grape from the sprig, and lifted it to Laurent’s lips. Laurent leaned in. He twined a finger around a curl of Isander’s hair and allowed himself to be fed, grape by grape, a prince with a new favourite.

damen is about to start scratching the walls like a cat confronted with a closed door

He lifted the wine blindly. The cup was empty. Straton wasn’t the only Akielon departing with a slave; men and women throughout the hall were availing themselves. The wine, and the slaves enacting the battle were breaking down inhibitions. Akielon voices grew loud, emboldened by wine.

between the heavy drinking and sex practices, the akielon court actually sounds like my living hell. and we haven’t even gotten to the naked sports chapter yet

Laurent leaned in further to murmur something intimately into Isander’s ear, and then, as the recitation reached its climax, the clash of swords like the hammering in his chest, Damen saw Laurent tap Isander’s shoulder, and rise. I’d wager you never thought a prince could be jealous of a slave. At this moment I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. Torveld’s words. He said, ‘Excuse me.’

The entire court around him rose as he pushed up from his couch-throne.

“couch-throne”

Trying to follow Laurent out, he got tangled in ceremony, the hall a stifling press of bodies and noise, and, as a blond head disappeared towards the doorway, he was stopped by party after party blocking his path.

okay i’m so curious what he’s meaning to do when he catches up to laurent. yell at him? yell at isander? throw up?

He ought to have brought a slave of his own, then the crowd would have melted away, understanding: the King wished privacy.

i am begging the protagonists of this book to stop using human people as objects. again maybe that’s just a me problem, this isn’t my usual genre and the akielon slavery system clearly doesn’t align with my kink sensibilities, but COME ON

The corridor was empty when he strode out into it. His heart was pounding. He turned the first corner into a section of the passage, half expecting to catch Laurent’s retreating figure. Instead, he saw a stark, empty arch with all its Veretian lattice stripped away. Under the arch was Isander, standing with his fawn eyes, looking confused and abandoned. His confusion was such that for a moment he just stared at Damen with wide eyes before he seemed to understand what was happening, and folded to the floor, forehead to the stone. Damen said, ‘Where is he?’ Isander was well trained, even if nothing was happening as he had expected tonight; and even if, rather mortifyingly, he was being asked to report this fact to his King. ‘His Highness of Vere has gone for a ride.’

well at least if “going on a ride” is laurent code for “feeling morally and emotionally troubled,” that’s… less disappointing, i guess.

also, i do realize that this is the place where laurent’s brother was killed, currently taken over by the nation that orchestrated and benefitted from his death. so there’s probably a twisted vindication in learning exactly how fucked up their culture is (asking about the first night, etc), and getting whatever kind of enjoyment out of the whole situation he can (pissing off damen). but there still had to be a crash, and as soon as laurent was excused from his duties he dipped to deal with it alone.

‘At the stables a handler might know his destination. This slave can inquire.’

i caaaaaan’t stand the way they’re denied use of personal pronouns

Closer; the approach was difficult because it was sharp with memory. Here was the place where their left flank had fallen. Here was the place where he had ordered men to attack the lines that would not fall, the starburst banner that did not falter. Here was the place where he had killed the last of the Prince’s Guard, and come face to face with Auguste. He dismounted from his horse, looping its reins over the cracked stone column of an overgrown pillar. The landscape was old, and the pieces of stone were old; and he remembered this place, remembered the torn soil and the desperation of the fight. Clearing a last jut of stone, he saw the curve of a shoulder in the moonlight, the white of a loose shirt, his outer garments stripped, all wrists and exposed throat. Laurent was sitting on a stone outcrop. His jacket was discarded uncharacteristically. He was sitting on it.

this is a beautifully set scene.

A stone slid under his heel. Laurent turned. For a moment, Laurent looked at him wide-eyed, young, and then the look in his eyes changed, as though the universe had fulfilled an ineluctable promise. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘perfect.’

a moment of surprise and vulnerability, and then practiced cool again. onto Some More Bullshit, i guess

this isn’t the chapter to really tackle this, but i will eventually write a long essay about how laurent goes through his own mini character growth arc, completely off the page, during the lamen divorce era. it’s just that damen has custody of the reader, so we don’t get to see it—only hints, like this moment here. laurent must have had a lot on his mind, too, ever since their last heated conversation. i have some ideas about what that “a lot” might be, but again, i don’t think i’ve gotten quite enough from laurent yet to really start forming a conclusion.

Damen said, ‘I thought you might want—’ ‘Want?’ ‘A friend,’ said Damen. He used Jord’s word. His chest felt tight. ‘If you’d prefer me to leave, I will.’ ‘Why cavil?’ said Laurent. ‘Let’s fuck.’

ON YOUR BROTHER’S FIGURATIVE GRAVE WITH HIS MURDERER????

‘That isn’t what I meant.’ ‘It might not be what you meant, but it’s what you want.’ Laurent said, ‘You want to fuck me.’ Anyone else would have been drunk. Laurent was dangerously sober.

yeah, no, he’s definitely being going through Some Shit on his own. lots of self-loathing, especially due to the fact that he can’t hate damen as much as he knows he should. yearning, more self-loathing because of that yearning. companionship withdrawals, a return to isolation. a revived sense of grief for his brother, and nicaise, and damen (not damianos) and even his relationship with his uncle, who he hadn’t thought would be capable of trying to kill him. hating himself and blaming himself and regretting things he’s done to push people away. just an all-around bad time, but a necessary time of reflection that he needs to experience on his own. damen can’t just swoop in and fix laurent, laurent has to decide that he’s worth saving first. he’s not there yet, clearly, assuming that damen only wants him as a sexual object. whiiiiich was probably why he went so hard on the eroticism with isander easlier, it was an easy victory to get damen hot and bothered. a game he could win, among the many other games he knows he’s losing—especially the ones against himself.

i’ll put together something more coherent before the divorce era ends. tbh, i kinda think this scene should have been a separate chapter, because there is some pretty massive whiplash here. although maybe not, maybe the buildup of emotional and sexual tension was the point. yeah, it was. the slavery stuff just made it more frustrating to read. never mind.

‘You’ve been thinking about it since Ravenel. Since Nesson.’ He knew this mood. He should have expected it. He made himself say the words. ‘I came because I thought you might want to talk.’ ‘Not particularly.’

it almost sounds like laurent played himself, for the millionth time, by getting himself worked up with isander when he just really wanted damen

He said, ‘About your brother.’ ‘I never fucked my brother,’ said Laurent, with a strange edge to the words. ‘That is incest.’ They were standing in the place where his brother had died. With a disorientating sensation Damen realised they weren’t going to talk about that. They were going to talk about this.

"yes, honey..."

‘You’re right,’ said Damen. ‘I’ve been thinking about it since Ravenel. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.’ ‘Why?’ said Laurent. ‘Was I that good?’ ‘No. You fucked like a virgin,’ said Damen,

deserved

‘half the time. The rest of the time—’ ‘Like I knew what to do?’ ‘Like you knew what you were used to.’ He saw the words impact. Laurent swayed, like he’d been dealt a blow. Laurent said, ‘I’m not certain I can take your particular brand of honesty just at the moment.’

oh well this is particularly horrifying with [redacted] context. also i think the quote “i’m not certain i can take your particular brand of honesty just at the moment” says A LOT about how laurent has always viewed damen, for better or for worse. laurent can count on damen to tell him what he needs to hear, not what he wants to hear. so it makes sense that he’s been avoiding damen lately, because laurent is going through his own crisis of personal reflection

Damen said, ‘I don’t prefer sophistication in bed, if you were wondering.’ ‘That’s right,’ said Laurent. ‘You like it simple.’ All the breath left his throat. He stood, stripped, unready for it. Will you use even that against me? he wanted to say, and didn’t. Laurent’s breathing was shallow too, holding his ground.

is “that” just laurent making fun of the way damen is earnest in bed? seems like an overreaction from damen if that's the case, so it’s probably something else i’m missing. maybe laurent is accusing damen of keeping the secret of his identity, even when they fucked, to make things simpler between them? that would support my previous theory that laurent is convinced that damen wouldn’t want him how he really is, as damen really is, with all the complications between them. or it’s a dig about auguste somehow, and i just can’t figure out how it connects.

‘He died well,’ Damen made himself say. ‘He fought better than any man I’ve known. It was a fair fight, and he felt no pain. The end was quick.’

like i said—what laurent needs to hear, not what he wants to hear. even if damen thinks that it’s going to make laurent hate him more, he still has the integrity to say it.

‘You sent your men out to look for me too?’ said Laurent, his mouth twisting. ‘No,’ said Damen, and pushed Laurent hard out of sight, into the shelter of one of the huge, crumbling blocks of stone. In the next second, the troop was on them, at least two hundred men, so that the air was thick with the passage of horses. Damen pressed Laurent firmly into the rock, and held him in place with his body. The riders didn’t slow, even on this uncertain ground in the dark, and any man in their path would be trampled, tumbled, kicked from hoof to hoof. Discovery was a real threat, the rock cool under his palms, the dark shuddering with the pounding of hooves and heavy lethal horseflesh. He could feel Laurent against him, the barely contained tension, adrenalin mixed with his dislike of the proximity, the urge in him to prise himself out and away, stifled by necessity.

throwback <3 i think this is very intentionally placed in this conversation, as a reminder that they are the same people they were in prince’s gambit

‘I know you’re not cold,’ said Damen. ‘You weren’t cold when you ordered me tied to the post. You weren’t cold when you pushed me down on your bed.’

more true things laurent does not want to hear right now! also i like the use of warmth, as the opposite of cold, to signify both vengeful rage and romantic/sexual passion. two sides of the same coin

‘A fair fight?’ said Laurent, turning back to him. ‘No fight’s ever fair. Someone’s always stronger.’

rewinding to their previous argument. aren’t they both tired? i’m tired.

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

I was talking with a friend and considering troll boobs once more, and I think I found an angle that i just straight up love.

Eusocial insects have second, social stomachs which they use to give excess food to the homies a la kirby and his helpers in Super Star. What if troll breasts served a similar purpose!

Trolls have always had a wierd little thing where we dont know why theyd be sexually dymorphic sense we seem to know that, at least with our established communal canon and all that, theyre all functionally identical on an actual sex level. With humans our modern conception of gender grew out of social norms for our sexes, so what do we even call assigned gender at hatching when it comes to trolls? in humans the gender is assigned based on sex, or just whimsy if the kid iss intersex because fuck this stupid planet. So whats up with trolls, why do some have boobs. If its just a random difference thing, like how some people have cleft chins, then why would people care so much as to have similar misogynistic tendencies on planets like Beforus as we see with Latula? That seems to suggest its something more influential than just 'some people have bigger noses' style stuff.

From a biologists point of view, using modern albeit flawed terminology, the 'female' (read: bearer, or queen) of the troll species is the mother grub, and the trolls are 'male,' (read: donor, drone) ironically if Drones are part of the troll species which i personally love as part of my canon, they would be workers, using ant and bee (and probably termite) terminology, not drones.

This is interesting because drones(real world term) are typically produced through unfertilized eggs which is DEFINITELY not the case for trolls. Though, considering how rare mothergrub turnover seems to be a Rare emergency event, the Matriorb seems to be an unfertilized egg which produces a new mothergrub, and everything else about trolls themselves, id just chalk that up to them being aliens, nothing on our planet will be a perfect analog to them, its convergent evolution, not relationary evolution.

Trolls seem to have this set up in what the real world terminology would consider castes. the greater troll species would have these castes

Queen Mothergrub (comes to be after virgin mothergrub does... Something???? accepts her first bucket perhaps?)

Virgin Mothergrub (Hatched through Matriorb, unfertilized parthenogenesis)*

Drones (unfertilized, lain by Queen mothergrub)

Trolls (fertilized through pails)

His Tyranny (who fucking knows, royal jelly but for drones???)

Through this model the greater troll species would, genetically, be very stable. each generation of mothergrub allows for the only chance of natural selection and all that shit, but the Troll caste would be able to go through tons of generations per generation, like a second, smaller evolution inside your evolution. The only restraint on troll evolution would be remaining genetically compatable with the mother grub, [ assuming im even correct about that being sex, maybe the mother grub is a host for trolls who are parasites, but thats for a post on Wierder trolls. ]

I propose that troll gender is based off of morphs. adding a caste in there for Trolls (c) and Trolls (b). Like major ants or warrior termites, aproximately half of all trolls, though the ratio is skewed towards B due to some caste shenanigans, are C, and the rest are B. Cs are assigned male at... probably pupation, and Bs female.

I propose that troll breasts are a form of social nutrient sharing glands, somewhere between the milk crop of a pigeon, the mammaries of a mammal, and of course, the social stomachs of ants and bees (and maybe termites). I propose that they evolved as a way to share nutrients, and evolved out in Troll(C)s perhaps as a form of evolutionary specialization, think honey pot ants.

This would give a reason for why trolls have gender rolls corresponding with having breasts, it explains why they have misogyny— It Allows For Hormonal Transgender (Transmorph?) Therapies, it explains WHY THEY HAVE BOOBS AT ALL. ALL WHILE FITTING THE THEME.

Misogyny in trolls having the same theming as in humans make sense too, because concepts of nurturing coresponding with having a built in mechanism for nutrient sharing is. just what we have!!! It would give an evolutionary reason for why jades are seemingly either all type B, or just MOSTLY. And that part specifically, Jades being primarily type B trolls, would allow for the all the childhood related idiosyncrasies we humans have around breasts to translate to trolls too! It would explain what exactly the fuck trans trolls are doing, and it would give greater understanding to intersex (intermorph??) trolls!!!!!!

This raises a lot of interesting questions about the notions of... well breastfeeding in troll society. I imagine it would be something mildly taboo, as most of alternian and beforan culture is heavily western and we fuckers are so fucking wierd about peoples bodily autonomy. But it could also be like a Homies thing. I imagine it would be kind of viewed as mildly animalistic or base, probably never said like that, but thats the quiet part im saying out loud.

If you guys have thoughts on eusocial troll breasts and their agabs (agaps?) being based on morphs let me know, i think this is my new canon for all my trolls.

[exhaustedpirate]

call disconnected

my first entry for CS Autumn/Spooky Bingo created by the lovely @hollyethecurious - the prompt was "ghost stories", i got a little carried away and made it into a bit of a crime solving thing! all my love and devotion goes to @belovedcreation for betaing!

rated T | 7849 words

also on AO3

summary: Sheriff Emma Swan gets a call about an accident in the woods, a man begging her for help. An hour later, Killian Jones is on his way to the hospital. Funny thing is, the call for help doesn't match the voice of the victim.

The call arrives just after 2 o’clock, which is lucky because there would be a whole other emergency if someone stopped Emma Swan from getting her grilled cheese. 

Ruby is supposed to be on phone duty but there is an anniversary dinner to plan and she doesn’t want to be responsible for Mulan having an underwhelming night due to her wife’s rushed planning. So Emma is covering the phones when it rings.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static greets her on the other side of the line, tensing her body unconsciously before a voice rings out. “Help, I-I fell-” It’s a strange panicked voice she’s never heard before, an accent not common to their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. She feels a tingle in her spine all the way to her hands. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir,” Emma takes a deep steadying breath. “Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” His guttural grunt of pain weighs on her chest and she feels like she’s having difficulty breathing. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she feels his panic in her veins. “I can barely hear you, sir,” Her knuckles are white as she tightens her hold on the phone, pressing it harder against her ear as if it will make it easier to hear. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River,” His breathing becomes panicked and she knows she should keep him calm, urging him to take shorter breaths but she’d feel like a hypocrite. “I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

The call cuts off and she is left with the sounds of her fast breathing. “Sir? Sir?” 

Emma tries to redial, grateful for the old technology to allow her to do so. An automated voice informs her the number is not in service and she frowns in confusion.

Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe some of the local teenagers were trying to send her on a wild goose chase so they can vandalise another section of their lovely neighbourhood. 

But the panic was real. The fear in that voice was real. The hairs on her arms are still raised as she remembers the voice, as she remembers all the alarms her body gave her.

Graham pokes his head into her office a second after. “Emma?” Her hand hurts from where she’s still holding onto the phone as if her life depends on it. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it is a prank.

The tight feeling on her chest tells her to go check it out nonetheless.

She drops the phone, with maybe too much strength, before she faces her deputy. “Are you up for a hike?”

---

It really is lucky that Graham practically lives in the woods. Emma was made for concrete roads and windows to keep the insects away. She wouldn’t last an hour alone in these woods.

The Toll Bridge crosses through the edge of the forest. The Misthaven Trail parallels the Shepherd River that flows under the bridge. It’s common to see vehicles on the side of the road - hikers leaving the last piece of civilization before venturing into the forest.

Emma parks the cruiser alongside a Chevrolet Chevelle and she’s almost sad to see it left to the whims of nature. But it probably belongs to their injured hiker. She places her hand on the hood of the car. She can still feel some warmth.

“This must be his.” She points the car out to Graham. “It’s probably been like an hour since he left. Call the hospital, ask them to get an ambulance here.”

Graham nods and grabs his phone. She lets his voice become background noise as she inspects the car. The door is unlocked, the hiker probably wasn’t expecting to be long. There’s a satchel in the back seat. She opens the door and looks inside. There’s an ID in the wallet and a buzzing in her ears when she looks at the picture on it. Killian Jones.

“They’re on their way,” Graham breaks through her inspection and everything becomes clearer. “I told them to keep their radio on.”

She nods. “We’re looking for Killian Jones,” Emma turns the ID towards him before tossing it inside the car. “Assuming he’s our hiker.”

Graham has his tracking face on as she closes the door. There’s something on the driver side floor that causes that tugging in her gut that guides her to flare up.

“It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained,” Graham points out from the other side of the car. “There are some recent footprints leading west. They’re probably his.”

“The Misthaven Trail,” Emma nods, any investigating paused in lieu of finding the injured hiker. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me.”

“Go get him, Fido.” Emma presses her lips together attempting to hide the smile at her terrible joke, but fails at the sight of his unimpressed look.

They follow the trail in familiar silence. Graham’s experience allows them to travel at a fast speed through the trees. They pay close attention to any sounds out of the ordinary - which is to say, anything that isn’t birds, animals or the rushing river below them.

“Emma.” 

Graham stops and she manages to stop before she runs into him. He gestures to the ground where a blanket is crumpled underneath a tree, still warm. 

“Still warm,” Emma confirms before dropping the blanket. “He must be close. Maybe he fell.”

“After all the warnings the Mayor released, there’s still people who forget to respect the forest.”

“I thought those had only been around for the past year,” Emma frowns, looking around. “I mean, you both gave me an hour-long lecture about it when I started.”

“Everyone in town knows to be cautious of these woods but there was a, uhm,” And it is the first time she’s ever seen Graham sound uncertain, his voice trembling with emotion. He clears his throat before he continues. “There was a death in these woods.”

She sees the way he looks guarded now, in pain. “Oh.”

A flash catches the corner of her eye. With a hand to cover her eyes from the sun, she turns towards it. The sunlight has caught on a metal flask within throwing distance from the blanket, she assumes. Close to it is a pile of rocks. A strange pile, each rock deliberately placed on top of the other. It must have been a while since it’s been built there according to the moss growing on them.

Emma turns towards her deputy to point that to him but sees him a few steps away looking at the ground. “Drag marks,” he points out as if he could feel her eyes on him. “He must have fallen down-”

“Help!” A weak yell cuts him off and they whip their heads to the right. 

“And ended up down by the river,” Emma finishes for him in a quiet voice, her heart beating faster at the sound of pain, as she stands next to the deputy.

Using caution, Emma follows Graham’s lead as he gets them to the river bank following the sounds of pain. Halfway down, they locate the hiker and for the first time, Graham’s confidence falters and so do his steps. A man is slumped on the side of the river, covered in dirt and blood. She can see tendrils of red flowing down the river.

“Don’t move,” Graham orders, recovering quickly, as he stands next to the victim who seems to slump at their arrival, the fight leaving his body in his relief. “We’re here to help.”

Emma kneels on one side of him and is instantly on alert at the sight of the gash in his head and the bone protruding from his leg. She looks up at Graham and he seems to read her thoughts.

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” Graham says, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Keep him still and awake.”

She nods before he returns to the trail to guide the others to where they are. Emma places her hand on the man’s shoulder, careful to avoid hurting him further. His big blue eyes turn to her, pain and fear side by side with hope and creating a tug in her gut.

She clears her throat. “Are you Killian Jones?”

“Aye, I fell, broke my leg,” he explains in a hoarse voice. She frowns at the sound, a whole other type of tingle running up her spine. “The ground caved under me.”

There’s static in her radio before Graham’s voice rings out. “ETA is three minutes, is he conscious?”

“Yeah, conscious and lucid,” Emma answers through the radio. “Broken leg and head injury.”

“I thought I was going to die here,” Killian groans as she puts away the device. “How did you find me?”

“The Misthaven Trail is long and you weren’t exactly specific.” Emma breathes out a chuckle, her nerves slightly calmed at knowing help is coming. “But we found where you fell down. We would have been here faster but service in this area is crap. I don’t know how you called us in the first place.” She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous.

Killian’s eyebrows furrow together, confusion taking over the pain. “I called you?”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s how we knew to come find you.” She answers as if it’s obvious, even as a pull in her gut tries to tell her otherwise.

“I left my phone in the car,” he explains and she feels that tingle up her spine once more. “I didn’t call anyone.”

Careful footsteps and cautious voices approach them and she lets the paramedics do their job as they put Killian Jones in the stretcher and cover his wounds. Their eyes remain locked until the last possible moment before Emma follows behind the stretcher being led by Graham. 

A light flashes in her eyes once more and she looks up at it, the pile of rocks still standing proudly in the forest, a bird perched on the top stone, its deep blue wings fluttering. The hairs at the back of her neck stand in attention and she tries to make sense of what happened. 

They found the hiker exactly where he told her he’d be. His leg was broken, just like the call said - she wouldn’t soon forget the sight of the bone piercing his flesh. The voice was different, Emma noticed it right away, but there were no signs of other hikers in the area.

But if the call wasn’t made by Killian Jones, then who called them for help?

---

Loud laughter rings out from the open kitchen window. An unconscious smile stretches Emma’s lips as she looks out at the dark heads illuminated by the fire pit she borrowed from Graham. Despite being disappointed at the cancelled camping trip, Henry seemed to have forgotten all about it when she reminded him of the comforts of home camping and the awesome backyard that came with their house. 

After the day they had, Emma just couldn’t think of Henry in the woods.

“Emma?” 

Speaking of, her deputy’s voice from the phone in her ear brings her back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry.” She turns her back to the window, leaning on the counter. “I got distracted.”

“I was saying that Mr. Jones should be going into his MRI scan right now and after that, they are preparing him for surgery on his leg. The doctors said that despite the trauma his body has been through, he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Emma breathes out in relief. Against her best interests, she hadn’t been able to put this strange rescue away from her mind. There was just something about the call, his voice, his eyes, that just didn’t seem right.

She feels Graham’s patient silence on the other side and she nods to herself to gather up courage. “Doesn’t all of this seem strange to you? The whole situation.”

“Emma-”

“He didn’t call the station, Graham, it was someone else, I swear,” she interrupts, her hackles raised. “He didn’t have a phone on him either, this is all just-”

“Weird,” Graham interrupts this time and he sighs. “I should have told you earlier, but I know Killian Jones, we a- were friends.”

“What?”

“He used to live here until last year. His brother, he-” Emma waits in suspense as Graham takes a deep steadying breath. “He died while on a hike in that trail a year ago, I assume Killian went there to pay his respects. I didn’t even know he was in town until we found him.”

“Y-You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it was him and then, when we found him, I knew I had to stay focused. I needed to do my job.”

“Right,” Emma scratches her forehead, her brain full of conflicting thoughts. This was a lot to consider. “So who called the station? A ghost?” She asks her question sarcastically to disguise how the possibility doesn’t sound too ridiculous to her.

“All I know is that we had a long day, Emma,” Graham evades, his tone placating and calm. “We should get our rest and look at this whole thing again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”

“You’re right,” she exhales. “Goodnight, Graham. Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma ends the call and throws the phone at the dinner table. She’s going to push those doubts away even if she needs to force them away. She’s got some happy campers to focus on. Emma pulls the popcorn from the microwave and picks up the platter she made with the components for s’mores before pushing the back door open carefully.

“Does anyone know any ghost stories?” Ava Zimmer is almost vibrating in her seat as she grabs a handful of chips Emma brought earlier. Camping is not synonymous with healthy food.

“Ghosts? Aren’t we too old for that?” Nicholas Zimmer, on the other hand, is trying to hide his fear with bravado.

“Come on, Nick, it’s almost Halloween.” Henry knocks shoulders with his friend’s and she can hear the grin in his voice. “And that means ghost stories. Besides, they’re not real.”

“Yeah,” Ava agrees. “It’s just spooky and Halloween is the time for spooky.”

“Just not too spooky,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the way Nicholas startles at the sound of her voice - no need to embarrass the boy. “Otherwise you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Have you heard the story of the Misthaven Ghost?” Henry leans close to his friends on the bench with a grin.

Emma is glad for her steady grip on the platter or there would be no s’mores tonight. “Misthaven Ghost? Where did you hear that sort of story?” She tries to keep her voice cool but even she can hear the edge in it - was she the last one to hear about this? -, focusing instead on placing the food down on the small camping table she opened.

“Mr. Booth is having us write a ghost story for class and he gave us that one as an example,” Henry answers and he must misinterpret her questioning as innocent curiosity but she’s not going to correct him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, please join us!” Nicholas grabs her thankfully empty hands to pull her to sit between him and his twin after Henry stands up to stand on the other side of the fire.

“You’re such a scaredy cat.” Ava teases, looking at him around Emma.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Kids.” Emma warns, holding their arms to keep them from hitting each other.

“Listen up! For I am about to tell you the story of the Misthaven Ghost,” Henry calls from the other side of the fire before popping another popcorn in his mouth. Emma finds herself smiling at her kid’s dramatics. “It was a cold night in October, the 30th of October to be exact. An innocent man is walking the Misthaven Trail, determined to beat all odds and finish the hike. He is alone, nothing but his thoughts and the animals around him,” Nicholas plasters himself to Emma’s side. “He carries only a phone that won’t work this far into the woods and his bravery. He hears a presence to his right, to his left, all around, feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand in attention and a voice whispers in the wind,” Ava holds her right arm now as Henry lowers his voice. “‘Get out of the woods’, it says, ‘get out’, but the hiker is too fearless to heed their warning. Suddenly, a boom lights the sky and the ground gives out from under him, and then he’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t ask for help,” Emma feels the shiver running up her spine and, distantly, she thinks maybe Henry should focus on this storytelling ability he has. “He is floating on the river then, his body weak and leaving him, his last thought on the family he leaves behind, a last goodbye sent to the stars he loved so much.”

Henry finishes with a fluttering gesture towards the night sky. Ava and Nicholas on either side of her are gripping her arm, not willing to break the silence. 

“He had a family?” Emma asks and even her quiet tone manages to startle the twins. 

“Were you scared, Ava?” Nicholas asks as he looks at his sister, a victorious grin winning over his fear.

Ava huffs and crosses her arms. “No, you’re the scared one.”

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Henry asks, a bright smile on his face and a proud stance to his shoulders.

“Mr. Booth told you this story?” Emma tries again.

“Yeah,” Henry grabs another handful of popcorn, now that his story is done, eating one at a time. “He wanted us to have an example of what to write but he was probably also showing off.” 

The kids laugh, everyone in town knowing of August’s designs of being a published author and his constant promises of finishing his novel soon. But there was still something niggling at Emma’s brain.

“Did he make up the story himself? Or did he hear it from someone?”

“He says he made it up inspired by a real event,” Henry shrugs. “I told Mrs. Nolan about it and she said that, about a year ago, someone did die in those woods and that’s when the Mayor put out the announcement.” He grabs the marshmallow sticks and passes them along to his friends who are still visibly spooked. “Apparently there had been lots of reports of injuries and lost hikers on that trail before that.”

“So it took someone dying for them to actually do something about it? Figures.” Emma scoffs and Henry shrugs, unaware of the turmoil in his mother’s brain.

“Okay, can we tell less spooky stories now?” Nicholas asks, begs almost, bringing Emma back to the present. The fact that Ava doesn’t tease her brother is telling.

“Why don’t I grab my laptop and put on a movie for you?” Emma suggests, standing up from the bench.

“Nightmare before Christmas?” Nicholas turns pleading eyes towards his friends.

Ava nods and then seems to remember herself. “Only if we watch ‘Monster House’ after.” 

Her twin seems to think about it before nodding resolutely. “Deal! Is that okay, Henry?”

Henry smiles, seemingly just happy to have a fun night with his friends. “As long as it’s Halloween themed, I’m in.”

Emma grins, despite everything. “Double feature it is,” she chuckles. “I’ll set it up.”

‘This is Halloween’ drifts through the open kitchen window as the kids settle down making s’mores in the yard while Emma sits at the kitchen table. She finds Killian Jones’ social media easily enough - she wouldn’t have become one of the best bail bondsperson in the business without being able to find someone’s internet footprint with only a name and a date of birth. It might be slightly illegal to have taken a picture of the man’s ID but what is she gonna do? Arrest herself?

Maybe Emma needed to take a long look within herself if she was negotiating committing illegal acts to herself… After she got to the bottom of this mystery.

Killian Jones is even more handsome than she had previously thought. Considering the only times she’d been able to actually look at him were either a small grainy ID photo or him caked in dirt and blood, it wasn’t a high bar. 

Seeing him on the deck of a small boat, a colourful shirt open to show his chest underneath, his eyes crinkled in laughter as he holds out a beer bottle in cheers to the person behind the camera is a welcome alternative. She has to force herself to scroll past the picture. 

She notices belatedly that the last post - the Hawaiian shirt distraction - is from a year ago, September to be exact. In the middle of all the thirsty comments, she finds something interesting. ‘Don’t shut me out, Killian, I’m here for you’, was posted by one bookworm33 and it would have looked weird if it didn’t speak of desperation and worry.

Emma continues to scroll down and doesn’t have to swipe too long before she pauses at a picture of Killian Jones and a man that shares the same eyes and facial features. Her gut tugs at her and she taps on the picture once, a tag covering the man’s eyes. Bejewelled40 - whose real name is Liam Jones - aside from being a Taylor Swift fan, is also Killian Jones’ brother.

There are pictures of them in boats, hiking, and visiting foreign countries, even some that include Graham. His posts also end a year ago and the ‘remembering’ on the top of his profile is an easy explanation. Clicking on the first photo - different angles to the September boat trip, focusing more on Liam Jones than his brother - she finds another comment hidden between thirsty comments and boat enthusiasts. ‘I miss you’, written simply and it’s the lack of emojis that catch Emma’s attention. Bookworm33 was clearly important to the siblings. 

It doesn’t take her long to get a better picture of the situation. Belle French, the brother’s friend, has been a librarian at Storybrooke High for the past 4 years after a troublesome divorce made her move cities. Pictures and references to the Jones brothers start a few months after that, before there’s a significant lack of Killian Jones in her pictures a year later. 

An article in the local newsletter, an announcement in the paper and a remembrance post on Facebook spells out the rest of the story. The Jones Brothers move to Storybrooke 5 years ago and join the community, Liam as the Sheriff and Killian as the Harbormaster; Belle and Liam start their romance and become engaged two years ago. A year ago, Belle’s father passes away and she travels back home and Liam is found dead on the Misthaven Trail three days later. Killian Jones isn’t seen in Storybrooke for a whole year after the funeral until Emma finds him almost dead by the river bank.

A message notification puts an end to her research. ‘Jones is out of surgery and we should be able to visit him tomorrow’, Graham texts and she looks at the clock. Emma sighs. Two hours researching and she still has so many questions.

‘Take the day off tomorrow, Humbert, I’ll follow up with Jones’, she messages back. ‘Don’t argue with me, I’m your boss, you deserve some rest’, she sends right after, expecting the argument.

‘Alright, Sheriff, I leave it to your capable hands.’ The reminder causes her to massage her temples. She has Liam Jones’ job; could this whole situation feel more like a horror movie?

Going back to Liam Jones’ instagram, Emma finds a picture of him with Graham in a nature setting. With a squint and a zoom, she recognises the setting. She swipes to find a video with Graham’s voice from behind the camera and Liam Jones struggling but determined to take his next step.

“We’re currently on mile 5 of the Misthaven Trail,” Graham explains, a very faint hint of tiredness in his tone as he sweeps the camera over their surroundings and Emma can’t help the eerie feeling at the setting sun behind the trees. “As you can see, this area is beautiful and peaceful, a great place to be at one with yourself and your thoughts.” There’s a scoff from the right and Graham laughs, turning the camera to his friend. “Liam here is having some trouble.” He earns himself a glare from his companion. “There've been a lot of accidents in this area so this is your friendly reminder to be careful where you step and to respect the forest.”

“You’ve lectured every single lost or injured hiker we pulled out of these woods. Friendly, my arse.” Emma sucks in a breath at the sound of Liam Jones’ voice. Graham’s responding laughter and voice seems to sound from underwater as he defends himself. 

Please, help me, plea-

It’s the same voice. She feels the tingle in her spine and the raised hairs on her arms she had before. How could it be possible?

Sounds of yelps outside have her jumping from her seat, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Subsequent cheering reminds her of her whereabouts. It’s the kids reacting to the anthropomorphic house finally meeting its demise on the small screen. Emma grips onto the kitchen counter, taking deep steadying breaths. 

She needs to have a chat with Killian Jones.

---

It’s rainy and gloomy the next day when Emma arrives at the hospital. 

Maybe the weather’s a sign. It’s not like she was ever a superstitious person but it’s hard to remain sceptical after the day she’s had. The nurse tells her he’s in room 13. Of course.

In the corridor, she sees a familiar figure. 

“I thought I told you to take the day off, Humbert.” 

Emma almost grins when he startles. Almost. She simply crosses her arms as she stares him down. Graham looks away, as if he just got caught in the proverbial cookie jar, it’s a cute look.

“I am taking my day off, Emma,” Graham defends and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t ask him anything that could be related to the case. I just-”

“Wanted to see how your friend was,” she finishes for him.

Graham stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and nods. “I just needed to make sure he was okay.”

“Because Liam would have wanted you to do the same.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. This might have been the first time she’s shocked her deputy in the year they’ve worked together.

“H-how…?”

“I did some research last night.” She uncrosses her arms to stuff her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I found Killian Jones’ social media, which led me to Liam’s, to Belle’s and then to yours. You were his deputy.”

“The four of us bonded over being away from home.” He shrugs, trying to hide the heartache over the loss. “After Liam passed, it all fell apart.”

“I’d never seen Killian Jones in Storybrooke before today, or Belle French.”

“Killian left after the funeral, said something about a family member in Boston even though I’m sure they didn’t have any family in the States. He rejected all my calls, I had no way to find him.” Graham sighs, scratching his forehead. “Belle isolated herself the first few months. After that she would go from home to work and back. She’s been trying to go out more, determined to live her life the way Liam would have wanted her to. It’s still a slow process but at least she’s trying.”

“And here you are in the middle of everything trying to be there for everyone.”

“I didn’t lose a brother or a fiance, Emma, I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and she recognises the look on his face.

“Right, if you want me to be ‘bad cop’, I will,” she threatens.

“Seriously, Emma, I’m fine, it’s been a year and-”

“Graham,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “Go see Dr. Hopper or I’m suspending you.”

He groans and yet, it feels like a victory. “Yes, boss.” He mockingly salutes and yet it still shows his respect.

“Go home and enjoy the rest of the day off while I go and talk to Mr. Jones.” Emma pats his arm and he nods. 

“I told him to tell you everything he could remember,” Graham informs her. “I know you can do your job but he can be very stubborn so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles amusedly and watches as he walks past her. “Hey, Graham?” He stops in the corridor and she can’t hold back her curiosity. “Liam was the sheriff before me,” Graham shifts in his feet, uncomfortable. “Did you apply for the job? I’d think you’d be a shoe-in to be the next Sheriff as opposed to an outsider.”

“Nah,” He shrugs and she can actually see the weight on his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have felt right.” His lips curl up in a small smile, a grieving smile. “Besides, you are a great boss.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but her smile is wide. “Get some rest and go see Dr. Hopper.” 

“Yes, boss,” he repeats before he leaves the hospital wing all together.

With a deep steadying breath, Emma knocks at the door of room 13.

“Come in.”

She nods to herself before opening the door. “Mr. Jones, I’m-”

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” Killian Jones nods at her. “Graham told me you were coming. Didn’t expect you here so fast though.”

“As it happens, you’re my only open case.”

She stands a few feet from his bed, arms crossed as she finally takes a look at the man they saved the day before, now no-longer covered in blood and dirt. There is a bandage on his forehead all the way down to the temple, his face, neck and hands - the only things visible - filled with small scratches, and his leg is in a thick cast. He looks tired but okay.

He looks handsome too and she’s trying not to remember his boat pictures. It helps that the hospital gown and robe cover his chest and what she knows is underneath. She’s really trying. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to the chair next to his bed, where she assumes Graham had been seated minutes prior. “We’re probably in for a long chat.”

She should refuse, keep him at a distance. She sits down but not before pulling the chair back a few inches. Emma catches an amused smile on his lips and she wonders what else Graham told him about her. She clears her throat focusing on being professional.

“Alright, Mr. Jones-”

“Please, call me Killian.” 

Emma nods, trying to look away from the soft smile he directed at her. “Killian.” His smile grows. Professional, Emma. “Do you remember what happened before we found you?”

“Aye,” It’s his turn to clear his throat at the wavering tone of his voice. “The ground slid out from under me and I fell, hit my head and broke my leg.”

His tone was distant, factual, and it sounded wrong in his voice. “What were you doing in that part of the woods?”

“I-uh, I went there to drink.”

“We didn’t find any evidence of alcoholic beverages and your blood alcohol levels were very low.” She raises her eyebrow at his half-truth. “Let me tell you a little secret.” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I-”

“Have a thing with lies.” There is a small smile on his lips at Emma’s surprised expression. “Graham told me about that.”

“Right.” It takes her a second to recover from the surprise. “If you know, why don’t we avoid lying or, in this case, omitting part of the story and you tell me the truth.”

“Commanding, I like it.” He smirks weakly and at the roll of her eyes, he nods in preparation, his expression turning serious. “I was there to mourn my brother, Liam.” 

“Why not go to the cemetery? I’m sure you’ve heard how dangerous that part of the woods is.”

“That’s where he died,” His voice is low and she can only just hear it over the beeping of the machines. “Graham and the others found his body wrapped around on a rock in the river the next morning. He’d bled out during the night.” 

“So he got injured the day before? How did no one notice he was gone for so long?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound accusing but from the guilty self-punishing look in Killian’s face, that’s how he would describe it.

“A few weeks before he passed, I went through a break-up,” he sighs, settling carefully on the pillows at his back and Emma does the same on the cushioned chair. “I had fallen in love with a married woman.” She tries to contain her surprise and apprehension but it’s like he can see everything she tries to hide. “I know, I got an earful from my brother when we started dating. But she promised that she was going to divorce her husband as soon as she could find a good lawyer so she could guarantee a joint custody deal.”

“She has a child?”

He nods and his frown is enough for her to understand his conflict. “We kept it a secret. We didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise her relationship with her son. Liam kept telling me how reckless I was being, how naive, but I kept shutting him down. I was in love.” He shrugs. “After a while he stopped trying and I was happy.”

“Her husband found out.” It wasn’t a question.

“I got greedy, selfish,” Killian’s tone turns hard, self-loathing. “We went to a cafe in town and she was nervous but I was happy, I was out in public with the love of my life.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “Her husband walked in with her son right behind him and I considered it luck that the cafe was almost empty. The boy came up to us first, asking his mom why she was there and who I was. I didn’t know what to say and her husband was looking at me like he wanted to kill me.” Killian sighs. “She asked me to leave and that she would talk to me later.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well.”

He actually laughs, a sharp, terrible sound. “I had gotten myself into a state when she finally met me. We yelled at each other, she accused me of pushing, I accused her of playing with my feelings. When she finally told me that she almost lost her son because of me, I shut up. She told me she was going to go back to her husband, that he was willing to take her back after the stupid mistake she made and then she left.” He finishes with a sigh and Emma leans back on her chair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t take it well.”

“Who would?” 

His chuckle brings her eyes back to his and despite the pain behind them, there’s an amused glint in the blue eyes that definitely do not get captured well in pictures. “For the next few weeks, I started drinking. A lot. I didn’t want to see Liam’s disappointment or self-righteousness so I distanced myself. That day, he barged into my house, took one look at the half-empty bottle in my hand and went off on me.” He shifts in his bed, hissing when his leg moves wrong. “I can see now that he was scared but at that moment I was angry. We argued and I told him that I never wanted to see him again and he left my house.”

“Is that why no one filed a missing persons report?”

He nods and his eyes water. “I drank the whole night after he left and the next day, I woke up to someone banging on my door. It was Belle.” His breath shudders. “She had been trying to call him all morning. Liam had told her that he would be coming to my place so she thought he’d stayed the night, when he didn’t text her or call her the next morning, she started to get worried. That fear, the feeling that someone had gone wrong to someone you love, was the sharpest cure for a hangover I ever had.” They both shared a mirthless chuckle. “We called Graham right away and when he didn’t know where Liam was, it became a town wide search.” He takes a deep breath. “Graham found his car parked at Toll Bridge and searched through Misthaven Trail.”

“He fell.” Emma wrings her fingers as she watches the emotions in Killian’s face.

“He left his phone in the car so when he fell into the river, he couldn’t call for help.” He sniffs, staring at the wall in front of him. “So imagine my surprise when you and Graham showed up to my rescue despite the fact that I also left my phone in my car and no one knew I was even in town.” Killian turns to her, his eyes still full of pain but a curious small smile gracing his lips.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous move and leans back on the chair. “It’s like I told you yesterday, we received a call that helped us find you.”

“Right,” he frowns. “And as I just said, I left my phone in the car, so it’s impossible.” 

She sighs. “I’m aware of that and, trust me, I’ve spent the whole night trying to figure it out and the only explanation I have is impossible.”

“Try me.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth a few times while Killian looks on patiently. “All our calls are recorded,” she says instead, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Before I came here, I went by the station to download the recording, so I’m just gonna play it for you.” Killian raises an eyebrow while Emma brings up the file.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static rings out from the speaker and she tenses up all over again. “Help, I-I fell-” Killian gasps and she gives in to his silent request and hands him the phone. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir. Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” Killian’s eyes shine with tears at his brother’s voice, at his sounds of pain and Emma feels her chest tighten. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she is dreading the end of the call. “I can barely hear you, sir.” His knuckles turn white from where he is gripping the phone and a tear falls down his cheek. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River. I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

Killian takes a shuddering breath when the recording ends and the phone drops on the bed. She should grab the phone and give him space. She should ask him questions about it. And yet, Emma finds herself grabbing his trembling hand with hers, her whole skin tingling at the touch. He grips her hand back tighter, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“H-How-,” he whispers in a broken tone. “That’s my brother’s voice but-but how is it possible?”

Killian looks at her, pleading for an answer, for an explanation. But she can’t give him one. Emma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” Her thumb moves unconsciously over his knuckles. “But if it wasn’t for this call, we wouldn’t have found you.”

To her surprise, Killian starts to laugh even as tears fall down his face, a disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe this.” He covers his face with his free hand and Emma squeezes his hand, silently asking for clarification. He sighs and looks at her, his eyes bluer than they’d been before. “I ran away after the funeral, they had barely finished covering the casket and I was crossing the town line. I knew Belle needed me to stay, Graham too, we should have mourned together, helped each other during this but I-I-”

“You blamed yourself.”

He exhales a laugh. “Aye, stupidly tried to find answers at the bottom of a bottle once again. I just kept replaying our last argument, kept seeing him bleeding out in the river and I knew I couldn’t grieve when I knew it was my fault.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Killian raises his hand, stilling the words she still wasn’t sure she would say. “After a night where I was almost inducted into this woman’s witchy cult,” and she really wishes she had the chance to ask about that, “I looked for help. Found a therapist, grieved. A week ago, I told him about the anniversary of Liam’s death coming up and he suggested I visit his grave, talk to him, ask for forgiveness.” He sighs. “I was on my way to the cemetery when I found myself on the Toll Bridge. I thought it was a sign when I found the marker Graham made to honour Liam. I sat there and talked to him, I didn’t realise how much anger I still felt towards him dying, abandoning me.” He laughed sarcastically. “Ridiculous, I know. I threw my flask and I felt the ground slide from under me and I thought ‘there it is, your revenge, Liam, you’re finally punishing your killer’.”

“And then we showed up.”

“And I thought that maybe you had appeared for a reason and now hearing that?” He looks at her embarrassed, shaking his head. “I sound like a crazy person but-”

“I thought I was crazy,” Emma interrupts him with a reassuring smile. “Common sense would have you think the call was a prank. But from the moment I got the call, my instincts told me something wasn’t right, that there was more to the story.”

“I’m really glad you decided to go with your instinct, then,” he smiles softly. “If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“But you did.” She squeezes his hand and they both seem to remember that their hands are still clasped together. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. “And if we are to believe in ghost stories, your brother is adamant that you get a second chance.” 

They lock eyes, share a soft smile and she figures professionalism has been thrown out the window from the moment she took his hand. He nods and his smile widens. She kinda wishes they could hold hands forever.  

Wait, what?

“You may be right.” His voice is soft and it feels like he’s trying to look inside her, searching. “He’d probably beat up the side of the head that it took me this long to get my head out of my own arse.”

Emma chuckles and his smile widens. “I don’t think he expected you to break your leg and your head to get the message across.”

“Well,” his lips curve into a side smirk and she’s not ready for it, “I’m guessing that the service in the afterlife is a little spotty.” She laughs, surprised at his joke, and he laughs with her. Nope, she was not ready. “My brother always gave me good advice, maybe I should follow this last one too and take that second chance he gave me.”

“Oh?”

Her heart hammers against her chest at the way he looks at her. He opens his mouth to answer when the room door bursts open.

“Killian Jones!”

Emma jumps from her seat, refusing to acknowledge how empty her hand feels now that it’s no longer holding his, to make space for the shorter brunette storming up to Killian’s bed. 

Belle French.

“I haven’t heard from you in a whole year and then I have Graham calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital?!”

But Killian only smiles, clearly happy to see his would-be sister-in-law despite the guilt beginning to take root in his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Belle.” And it’s clear that the simple sentence breaks something in the librarian’s being. With two quick strides, she embraces him tightly. “Careful, love, I’m an invalid now,” he complains, even as his arms hold her closer, willing to ignore any pain it might be causing him. 

“You’re in a world of trouble, Killian.”

His smile only widens and he turns to look at Emma, likely amused at the overwhelmed look on her face. Belle seems to realise that there’s someone else in the room - not that Emma blames her - and turns to her.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I-”

“No need to apologise,” Emma raises her hand to stop the apology. “I just needed to take Mr. Jones’ testimony.” He raises an eyebrow at her use of his last name, clearly unimpressed by her choice to be professional. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” she introduces herself before holding out her hand.

“Belle French.” Belle takes her hand, still somewhat surprised as she looks between Killian and her. “Is he in some kind of trouble then?” Her expression seems ready for a fight and Killian’s smile seems to grow.

“No, no,” Emma is quick to appease. “I just needed the full story, that’s all.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I actually should go write up the report.” She takes a few steps back towards the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss French. Get better soon, Mr. Jones.”

She starts to walk out the door. “Emma,” Killian calls and she really should not have turned around so fast. “Maybe we can grab a coffee when I get discharged? You can tell me all about safety measures when hiking.”

Emma tries to ignore Belle’s curious expression. “I think Graham might be the better man for the job.”

“He’s been trying for years, it never stuck,” He grins and there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

She bites her lip and focuses on the hopeful look in his eyes. The last time she trusted someone, that she gave someone a chance, she ended up in prison. She should say no. 

Maybe she can justify this leap on supernatural activity too?

“It’s a date.”

The way his grin lights up a whole room does feel otherworldly. 

Just as the door closes behind her, she hears Belle’s stupefied voice.

“Killian Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Emma laughs. Maybe not all ghost stories have to have bad endings.

[ladyfauxhawk]

I saw your comment somewhere about names for pillbugs/woodlice in different parts of the world, and i just wanted to share some of the other great names for them in the UK (though i really want to look up other countries variations now) but some regions call them Chucky pigs, cheesy logs, and in most of scotland they're known as slaters. Here is a post about it:

https://www.icge.co.uk/?p=woodlice

But yes I find the variation in this word so cool! I always thought the US (presumably not everywhere in US?) "Pillbug" such a cute name and wished I'd grown up with a word more exciting than "woodlouse", objectively the worst one.

Sorry to invade your inbox, I'm just excited to share!

If my asks box looked like this every day I'd be delighted! Thank you for sharing.

This map of names is amazing and shows how much humans love giving animals and insects nicknames. Some favorites: monkey pea, granny-grey, Billy baker, leather jacket, AND THE WHOLE CHEESE CATEGORY!

When I was in college, I took a class from Professor Tom Shippey, a philologist who was a protege of JRR Tolkien. The class was on Tolkien and CS Lewis and the Inklings, but we spent a lot of time playing with words and their origins. This sort of map would have l delighted Tolkien, I think. Now I wonder if Hobbits would call them cheesy logs 😂

Thank you for finding the good bits in my ramblings and sharing. 💖

[squad-724]

ALL THAT'S STAR WARS MASTERLIST

Hi hello on my Star Wars blog. You can call me Moss or Kosh, and I'm here to deliver all the weird aus I make for this fandom

'*' means I am not proud of the drawing and it's old :>

(+snippet) means there's an additional piece of fanfic to match the artwork

THE BAD BATCH

Hybrid Bad Batch: Clone Force 99 are hybrids of Jango DNA and another sentient species. Trandoshan Hunter, Chiss Tech, Zygerrian Crosshair, Lasat Wrecker, and Diathim Omega -all that's chibi <3 | a peaceful nap | and a Bookmark -original (old) designs* -baby batch sleeping pile* -Baby batch squad photo -Baby Wrecker in Lula onesie -Wrecker's a show off (cadets)* -The Batch all grown up -nap in the sunlight -Crosshair got put in the air jail for scratching pilot seats -S1ep1 screenshot redraw -mission going wrong page 1 -Zygerrian mission going awful -Wrecker's bo-rifle -A nap after Wrecker got blown up -Hunter's chest scars -Crosshair vs the red dot -Tech and his pillow Wrecker -Tech helps Hunter with his molt -Snowy day with Omega and Hunter -Hunter protective over Omega -Crosshair's murder mittens and Wrecker's murder mittens

Mermaid AU: Four mers raised by a fisherman called 99, Lionfish Hunter, octopus Tech, Whale shark Wrecker, eel Crosshair. There are also the betta twins Fives and Echo, and manta ray Omega, but these three the batch meets after being captured by Admiral Rampart Ref Sheets: Tech | Omega | Hunter | Crosshair | Wrecker | Domino Twins and CHIBI BOOKMARK -How does Tech's underside look? -Baby Wrecker and 99 and part 2 (+snippet) -Doctor Nala Se and Omega -Kiddos Tech, Hunter and Crosshair -Wrecker meets Tech -Teens resting and 99 fishing on a warm afternoon -Hunter teaching Omega to swim in open waters -Crosshair in trouble + Mayday finding him -Hemlock and subject 9902 -An unrelated food pic and Hemlock eating it

Centaur Wild West AU: (i'll add explanation later) -Ref sheet for the Batchers -Wrecker vs Zygerrian hunters -Wrecker nad Lula napping

The Bad Batch x Detroit: Become Human: Android Force 99 is a team of four specialized androids that hunt down deviants -Ref photo -Wrecker saves Echo from humans -WR-993 protects TH-992 from bullets -Crosshair CS-994 kills his brother Tech the deviant TH-992 -Crosshair and Tech getting out of the Cyberlife building

Tantiss Batch: Hemlock once visited Kamino before the war, finding himself curious about four defective clones slated for decommissioning, all young and easy to mold. He took them as his side project, transporting the batch to his lab on Tantiss, where he raised them -Kiddos Wrecker and Tech -Wrecker and Tech, their brothers the night after rescue (+ snippet)

Fairy Batch: Fairies are born from normal insect eggs infused with a special elixir, their wings match whatever egg they hatched from Fairies that are born on the same day treat each other like brothers Each fairy picks a job in their community, hunters gathering food, defenders fighting birds and other dangers, and engineers creating new tools and other stuff -Ref sheet for the Batchers -Eepy batchers -Phee finds a surprise in a lab

Coraline AU: Omega and her family arrive at their new house, where she meets her other Brothers with buttons for eyes -Omega and other Tech (+ snippet)

LULA in all the AUs

CLONE WARS

Dragon Jedi AU (Fantasy medieval setting) The United Kingdoms of the Republic own all the dragons on their territory. When the Confederacy of independent Kingdoms began a war against the Republic, the Kingdom of Mandalore provided their soldiers; the princes of the house of Mereel being the leaders. Every battalion was given a dragon to fight alongside them, and during the time spent together the soldiers realised that the creatures were as smart as humans and kept against their will Which one can you pet? ANAKIN Ref sheet | and Fox | in harness | OBI-WAN Ref sheet+ Ahsoka | and Cody | PLO Ref sheet | and Wolfee | AAYLA Ref sheet | and Bly | KIT Ref sheet | and Monnk | MACE Ref sheet | and Ponds | QUINLAN Ref sheet | and Fox | QUI GON Ref sheet | MAUL, ASAJJ, and MOTHER TALZIN Ref sheet other dragons

Mecha AU: Kaminoas created an army of droids for the Republic. 10-15 meters tall, perfect in combat, and have suspiciously advanced AI. It is located in tubes filled with thick, red liquid, which, if not cracked or destroyed, can be transported into a new metal body. Some of the mechas are modified so that the Jedi can pilot them from the inside, with the commander and the general working together. -Rex and Cody* -Anakin and Rex -Blank trooper design

Non-connected Rexwalker drawings

Medically mandated comforting pressure Rexwalker week 2023 Vampire AU Vaderkin exchange: Massive Mer Ani and Rex

[anarchistfrogposting]

Do you have any facts specifically about anarchist frogs?

All frogs are anarchist cs I said so

This is a species of frog that lives in mangrove forests! They lay clusters of eggs on leaves, and when they hatch they jump out of their eggs and land in the water below!

The tadpoles are literally doing diving parkour as soon as they’re born

There are lots of insects that try and eat these eggs, so their fathers have to sit by the eggs and kick the insects away. They’re semitranslucent, partially for camouflage and partially so that predators can’t see them when they try and go for the eggs.

They also look cool as fuck.

[prep4tomoro]

Survival Clothing What to Wear:

It would be great to know where we will be and what the temperature will be like when the SHTF. But that ain't a gonna happen and you can't carry everything for every little situation. Here are some things to consider as a general rule for the unexpected and the planned outing:

Wool vs Cotton: Wool is best for cold weather while cotton is best for warmer weather. Wool is a powerful insulator. In fact, it's the second-best natural insulator next to goose down. It also repels water and wicks moisture. The lanolin, with its antibacterial, antimicrobial and water repellant properties, can irritate skin and can't be removed simply through washing. It's more durable and more wrinkle-resistant than cotton and it hardly retains odors and stains. Cotton, on the other hand, is a warm-weather fabric. Like wool, cotton has moisture-wicking properties. But the difference between wool vs. cotton is that cotton is a light, breathable fabric that helps you stay cool in the summer. It also provides excellent protection against the ultraviolet rays of the sun. It's hypoallergenic, easy to care for, and affordable.

Survival Clothing Principles:

Your body helps regulate body temperature. Clothing should work WITH your body. Exercise can help keep you warm in the winter and hydration (water intake) will help keep you cool in the summer.

Bulky or tight clothing is bad for survival. Synthetic [lighter/thinner] "fabrics" may be better options.

What you have with you when SHTF will be your survival clothes. Keep your "survival" clothing near you at all times (in a bug-out bag that is WITH YOU).

Dress for the function, not the fashion/form; the proper clothing for the situation.

Dress to blend in with the environment (gray man).

Related Resources: Choosing the Correct BugOut Clothes Clothing for Survival and BugOut Situations The Survival Clothing - Must-Haves for Any Situation Stretch Shoes/Boots With Ice Know How to Make Primitive Footwear Making Wilderness/Survival Snowshoes Winterizing Toes and Fingers Primitive Needle and Thread Clothes When You Are Living Off Grid Clothing to Protect from Sun and Insects Insect Protection:    [Link 1]    [Link 2] Clothing Repair Kit (and What to Do if You Don't Sew) Learn to Make Your Own Clothes From Scratch How to Dry Wet Clothes in the Wilderness Emergency Insulation Materials to Stay Warm or Cool

[11-Cs Basic Emergency Kit] [14-Point Emergency Preps Checklist] [Immediate Steps to Take When Disaster Strikes] [Learn to be More Self-Sufficient] [The Ultimate Preparation] [P4T Main Menu]

This blog is partially funded by Affiliate Program Links and Private Donations. Thank you for your support.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

hey I totally get if you don't wanna say more on the worms you work with (since going into your research too specificly def can dox you) but I just wanted to say I am working on my master's in molecular biology and while I work with archaea and not worms for my thesis, in my lab there's also people working on symbiosis in nematodes, so also worms over here and I don't know where I am going with this, but yeah, WORMS ARE NEAT, I love learning about them!

my friend I have been beating my chest about how I'm going to go The Heart Killers fanmeet in NYC to fistfight joong and/or get tackled to death by a khaotung mommy stan so yeah revealing what *I* work on will absolutely be enough for anyone even mildly interested to dox me but since you do love worms I can't help but share one of my favorite papers that I read when I first came to the field a few years ago:

TGF-β ligand cross-subfamily interactions in the response of Caenorhabditis elegans to a bacterial pathogen

(for anyone not at an academic institute please use sci-hub!)

This is work by Cathy Savage-Dunn, a pretty big name in the field of worm genetics (incidentally also facing cuts to her lab's funding with eventual closure under the new US administration) who started off with body size regulation in worms two decades ago, studying how TGFB pathways regulated body size and fat accumulation in worms. Anyone, familiar with immunology will be immediately able to guess what happens next -> TGFB pathways also activate innate immune pathways in humans (and as the CS lab showed in worms! many exciting studies on bacterial ligand activated pathways in worms in her recent works) As primarily an evolutionary biologist, the neatest part about nematodes to me is the way in which conservation of protein families will diverge when it comes to functionality in totally surprising ways from insects (/and mice or humans). I think it's a really good reminder to sequencing minded folks that gene clustering based on sequence similarities is not the sole driver/metric of evolution (though such a large portion lol).

Biology is much too complicated for that though, it really forced me to rethink what the conservation of proteins meant in terms of preserving its functionality and how we would even start tracking evolution in terms of that: surface interactions of these (albeit complex!) molecules, 3D structure and steric hindrance etc (-many people do in fact study exactly this! yay!) I know so little about archaea other than that they're cool little guys and for my first intro to them was unfortunately by a researcher I despise LMAO. Best of luck completing your masters ❤️

[ronanceautistic]

Autistic Robin headcanons?

Autistic Robin my beloved.

I think she’s quite sensitive to sudden, loud noises but isn’t as sensitive to like, a lot of noise. She’s in band, she goes to all the games n shit, she’s used to a lot of noise. But something like fireworks, or thunder, or gunshots make her nervous.

I think texture is a big issue for Robin, she cuts the labels out of her clothes, she definitely has very hyper-specific things she refuses to touch because of the texture, like velvet or something. I also think maybe that’s why she keeps her hair short.

Her special interest is language. Her language tapes are definitely a huge comfort for her because they’re repetitive and they feel safe. I think learning new languages in general comes so naturally to her because of how engrossed she gets. It doesn’t feel like a task when she gets to learn about the grammar of this language, and the culture surrounding it etc.

I think before she got into languages, like as a little kid, she really liked insects and frogs and anything to do with nature. I think she was the type of kid that would absolutely play in the mud but at the same time, as soon as she gets home she’s having a shower.

I think while she struggles to communicate she is actually good at reading tone (i know she says she doesn’t, but she literally reads nancy like a book for the whole of s4). But because she isn’t great at knowing how to respond, or the right thing to say, social cues make her nervous. She’s very sarcastic herself, but struggles to read other people’s sarcasm and it’s very much a situation of no one knows when Robin is joking and Robin doesn’t know when others are joking.

I think a lot of situations could bring on a meltdown for her, but she’s very good at knowing her limit and doesn’t really feel pressured to keep herself in a situation she’s uncomfortable in, like a party. Like, Nancy will keep going until she explodes (Halloween party throwback), whereas Robin will acknowledge “okay, soon I won’t be able to do this anymore”. She doesn’t like parties, she will probably never go to one because the only time she did she quickly realised it was a terrible idea.

When it comes to meltdowns, she definitely prefers being alone, putting on headphones and listening to her tapes, stimming in a dark room, deep breathing. She is good at calming herself down, I think. But in terms of Ronance it makes them clash a little, because Nancy needs someone with her, and assumes Robin would, too. But she quickly realises it makes things a lot worse and more stressful for Robin.

Also, this is ADHD rather an Autism, but I think she is quite inattentive if it isn’t something she is interested in. While she is very smart, I think she still gets Cs on the subjects she has no interest in because she can’t focus on the class. I think she’s really good at music, french, english, and biology. But she also struggles with math, and history. I am obsessed with the idea that math-whiz Nancy helps Robin and Robin helps Nancy with French.

I also think she’s probably a picky eater, who is willing to try anything but also rarely likes anything new she tries. But at the same time, the foods and combinations she does like is so bizarre to anyone else but her.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 11

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

A prudent ruler would want a seasoned diplomat overseeing this fraught standoff, not Laurent, who had arrived like a wasp at an outdoor feast, annoying everybody.

‘Your Highness. We were expecting you two weeks ago. But we were glad to hear that you enjoyed the inns of Nesson,’ said Lord Touars. ‘Perhaps we can find you something equally entertaining to do here.’

you cannot out-bitch laurent of vere. but good luck trying

The golden prince was at his best when viewed from sixty paces, out of spitting range of his nature.

‘Is my slave making you nervous?’ said Laurent. ‘I can understand that. It takes a man to handle him.’

this is a minor political ploy on laurent’s part—he’s not necessarily defending damen out of the good of his heart. he’s trying to take these people out of their comfort zone, within their own stronghold. also, lmao

‘Councillor Guion,’ said Laurent.

BOOOOOOO TOMATO TOMATO

Laurent had said to him calmly, ‘You knew my uncle wanted to provoke conflict at the border. How else did you think he was going to do it?’ At the end of those exchanges, there had been nothing left to do but get on his horse and ride to Ravenel, spending the ride with his gaze fixed on the back of a yellow head that was infuriatingly not to blame for these attacks, no matter how much he wanted to think so.

damen is gradually easing out of his whole “everything that goes wrong is laurent’s fault” spiral. and he’s not happy about it

‘I don’t blame insects for buzzing when someone kicks their hive over,’ said Laurent. ‘I find myself curious about who it is that wants to see me stung.’

He tried not to think that the future of his country now came down to Laurent, talking.

Damen had been receiving grins and slaps on the back all day. Laurent was the recipient meanwhile of newly appreciative looks. Laurent had risen yet another notch in the esteem of the men, now that they understood that whatever they had previously assumed of his habits in bed, the Prince clearly galloped his barbarian slave under a tight rein. Damen ignored it. It was not the time for trivial matters.

‘Jord sent you?’ said Paschal. ‘He has a sense of irony.’

context: damen, the akielion, has been sent to help victims of the akielion attack

‘The raids are constant. And it was only six years ago that Akielons drove these men out of their homes, out of their fields. They have seen friends, family killed, children taken as slaves.’

HUH??? that doesn’t sound like a fucking pact to me!!

Damen looked at Laurent, and tried to imagine facing him over battle lines. He had been caught up in the energy of—creating something. Laurent’s determination, the ability he had to beat odds had infected him. But this wasn’t a chase through a town, or a game of cards. This was Vere’s most powerful lords unfurling their banners for war.

a kingdom or this? (this. choose this. and then you can have both. but you have to choose this first)

‘Tell him—his coward’s attack on Akielos killed less than we did.’ Proudly. Anger was not useful. It came over him in a wave, and so for a long time he didn’t speak, just stared at the dying man, flatly.

damen’s internal sense of right and wrong making him doubt his own nation…

‘Kastor,’ said Naos, ‘the false king. Damianos—should have been our leader. He was the prince-killer. He understood what Veretians are. Liars. Deceivers. He would never have—climbed into their—beds as Kastor has done.’

just wait until chapter 19

[csvent-2]

It's shocking how some people can be in CS given it appears they're illiterate.

Owner of this one species I'm in puts out a prompt, two people misread it, complain they don't get the points.

I put out an ad to swap designs and state, in caps, NO INSECT OR FOOD DESIGNS. Yep, five seconds later there's a fucking spider design in my DMs.

🌸

[warfared]

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓.

name: Mikhail Antonovich Konstantinov

name meaning:

- Mikhail: Russian origin meaning “who is like god”.

- Antonovich: Russian origin meaning “son of Anton”

- Konstantinov: Russian origin meaning “son of Konstantin”

alias/es:

Primarily goes by Mishka (“little bear”). Also accepts the diminutive Misha, but prefers Mishka.

ethnicity: Slavic

one picture / icon you like best of your character:

three four h/cs you never told anyone:

1. Mishka struggles with some pretty severe intrusive thoughts. He only ever acted on them once as a child, when he shoved one of his friends off of the roof of a church they had climbed — the horror set in immediately the sight of a limp body and crunching bones. He’s carried to guilt of that ever since.

2. Mishka’s parents are alive, but they’re very estranged. Neither of his parents gave much of a shit about him growing up, being incredibly detached and absent. They wouldn’t recognize him now, though. He still struggles with attachment and relationship issues as a result of his upbringing.

3. Mishka, despite being a member of Konni, doesn’t actually believe 100% in Ultranationalist values, though he is aligned with them. He’s there for the sense of purpose and only really nods along with his comrades, which is just as bad as agreeing with them.

4. Mishka was discharged from the military due to psychological issues.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

1. Mishka’s a big bookworm and loves to read. You can usually find him tucked away with a book somewhere. He reads mostly Russian literature but usually sneaks in a German novel somewhere — he’s fluent.

2. If given the opportunity, Mishka can and will cook. He’s pretty good at it. King of self-sufficiency.

3. It’s something he’s not really open about, but Mishka is into insect pinning. He’s a novice at it and usually just finds common bugs to pin down for practice. He’d really like to pin a luna moth.

people your character likes / loves:

1. Merrick: (@nezemny) Mishka would gladly say that Merrick is his best friend within Shadow Company — which is a bit of a travesty, since he betrays Shadow Co. (and Merrick) via Rogue Arsenal. More than likely in love with him.

2. Nolan: (@nezemny) Nolan is Mishka’s commander and superior officer, keeping him in check during their time undercover in Shadow Company. There’s definitely something else going on, on a more personal level, not like either of them will tell. It’s complicated.

3. Makarov: Mishka’s boss and commander. Mishka holds a large amount of respect for him and admires Makarov, and would follow the man to the ends of the earth if asked. Mishka’s beliefs may not align with Konni, but he will always obey Makarov.

two things your character regrets:

1. As said above, Mishka’s greatest regret is killing one of his friends. It’s part of why he joined the military — to redeem himself in his own eyes.

2. Mishka has weird feelings towards his religious upbringing. He was the one who sought out the church and regrets ever doing so. It just made his life worse, if anything.

one phobia your character has:

1. Mishka is claustrophobic. He hates being in tight spaces and it freaks him out to the point of hyperventilating.

tagged by stolen from: @nezemny

tagging: you. if you’re reading this steal it.