#he’s a fancy waistcoat kinda guy

[epicfroggz]

just a william i sketched on the plane!

[yonch]

it's been 15 years and you can see better than ever

(design notes under the cut) (there are spoilers)

ok this got really long. here you go

sif:

ditched the cloak. it was collecting dust in their closet until recently, but they realized they don't need to cling to their grief so much anymore. someone else will need it more soon.

ditched the eyepatch. the prosthetic eye is a labor of love designed by isa, as is literally everything else they're wearing.

they cut their bangs finally and started braiding their hair back so it wouldn't obscure their vision as much anymore.

they like darker/tighter clothing and prefer function over form but unfortunately their gay ass boyfriend keeps treating them like a dress up doll so they're stuck wearing waistcoats and a fancy cloak. (they don't mind. it's designed to look like loop.) they keep flowers in their many pockets to give to people.

they're a woodworker in their free time. they don't usually talk about being any sort of savior so he just becomes sif the guy who's really good at carving birthday presents for people and also tags along with isa to charity parties and fundraisers

41 year old 5'1" they/he absolutely zero intention of Changing. bonded to isabeau. they adopted a kid who leo or i might post about some other time i think. her name is estelle.

isa: i'm not taking credit for the design that's by my friend @fembard /@leoweooo. i'll include his design notes

isa dresses mostly for comfort, he doesn't like wearing stuff that might get stained or ruined when he's dyeing clothes or chasing stelle around in the mud or something, all his fashion sense goes into his handiwork

he Changed a few more times over the 15yrs, eventually settled. picked up she/her pronouns again on the side but was never really able to ditch the name isabeau and he kinda ran out of names anyways...

kept the long hair, kept a few inches in height, very happy to fulfill the role of male (space) wife

can't ditch the kimono jacket it's the piece de resistance. odile influence and Wisening Of Age means its made with a little more knowledge of ka buan technique but still very clearly an Isa Design. the fabric is imported silk sif!!!!!!

39 year old Tall with a capital T he/she "i swear i'm not a weeaboo i'm just really into ka buan fashion" vaugardian indie clothing designer in your area help support this man in his attempts to use his family members as living advertisements for his brand

mira: with design input from @jastertown thank you my friend

i took a lot of inspiration for the sparkly, sheer fabric on her dress from euphrasie. she's not head housemaiden yet because she doesn't feel like she's ready but everybody knows it'll be her

speaking of inspiration. she's been taking a lot of fashion cues from a certain lady in dormont that she thought was kind of scary, but it turns out she's very nice? they're besties now.

she got rid of the earrings for a little bit but then she realized she just liked how they look on her. so now they go ding ding! it's for her and nobody else, and that's how she likes it.

moved her ornaments to her skirt because they ding ding more often there. her necklace also jingles with merriment.

38 year old she/her advanced cisgender+ legend who's realizing that people are trying to get her to be the pope but all she really wants to do is write yaoibait fiction that looks like it came straight off of ao3

odile:

my glorious hag. she started shrinking about 3 years ago. all those years of bending over books has finally caught up to her. her hips are fuuuuuucked. but she has a sick cane that sif carved for her so everything's okay

she was already pretty comfortable and settled in her sense of style when she was nearing 50 so i don't think she would change much. darker clothing maybe. ditched the high-waisted pants for some looser slacks.

she's started writing a familytale of her own. the only person she's told about it is bonbon, who caught her up way past their bedtime, and scribbled all over one of the pages. she'll pass it on to sif when the time's right, after she's written down everything she can remember about their family.

64 year old she/her wasian researcher recovering from hernia surgery who's getting really into things like "political activism" and "body craft law reformation in ka bue" and "making sure people aren't sourcing their hrt from back alleys"

bonnie:

prefers to go by boniface these days. it's cooler. more mature. please stop calling me bonbon that's a nickname from when i was 10 guys c'mon guys ugh fine frin you can still call me bonbon but not around my girlfriends ok (nobody calls them boniface except for odile)

speaking of which they have 3 butch lesbian girlfriends. this got established as a joke but i think they have it in them. they're still young!!!!!!! they should be at the club!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

they traveled for a while with everybody but eventually settled down back in bambouche to start a little family owned restaurant with nille featuring dishes from all over the globe. people travel from all over to get a taste of boniface's good eats... bambouche is bustling. (they have a few recipes that are sourced from the country. they meet people every once in a while who find something achingly familiar about it, and they usually direct those people to jouvente to get in contact with frin.)

26 year old they/them "i dont know how tall i am but i'm taller than za" chef cooker whose restaurant keeps lighting on fire because this time i swear nille i can figure out how to do cooking craft i swear i wont explode the kitchen this time please i promise

loop:

ok. this is where lozy gets to just talk about what he thinks happens post game. i think they stick around for way longer than they really should and follow the crew around on their travels (mostly invisibly) because they're sooo fucking scared of change they're sooo scared and they're so scared of their wish fucking up beyond belief. they're kind of incapable of aging or dying in this body and theyre like permanently 26 which is what spurs them to finally move on.

i think they go back to their timeline eventually after making a Brand New Wish to "go back to their real family." alas the universe leads and we can only follow. and it turns out loop has actually made a real family in stardust's world also. this is my justification for why they can pop in between sasasap and isat worlds without much repercussion. i think they're always permanently loop shaped in isat but i imagine they can probably go back to their original body in their home timeline... might design that later. who knows. i'm fucked like that

i just think they deserve a chance for their own happy ending you know. isat's a game about how it's never too late to communicate and how you shouldn't punish yourself forever and ever. and i think theyve punished themself enough you know.

ok tank you for reading if you read this far. it's really big and long so i would understand if you didn't. but i hope you liked it. thoughts appreciated. here's a little something for the people who read all the way through.

[invidiia]

This is kinda late but I headcanon that Lippmann had an amazing taste in fashion… and because he’s an actor, he has all sorts of clothing in his wardrobe that he would gladly lend out to you; his subordinate whom looked up to him as a mentor

Trench coats, suits, fancy looking tops- Lippmann has them all, and he always manages to pick out an outfit that looks STUNNING on you. Sometimes you don’t even know that a particular style of clothing suited you.

If he wasn’t your superior, you’d definitely have thought him to be your fashion guru. He always knows what you look best in, afterall

(help not me suddenly thinking about this when I walked past a clothing shop that sold such stylish clothes 😭 😭 😭 my fashion taste is good but I don’t have many clothes that suit me)

EEEEEE ABSOLUTELY OMG HE WOULD BE AMAAAAAAAZING

i imagine being his subordinate in the mafia, just like

"Okay Mr. Lippmann, I'm going out to kill this guy."

"Not dressed like THAT you aren't!!!"

"Is this better?" in a trench coat, waistcoat, fancy ass shoes, fancy ass pants.. everything

"YES BITCH, SLAY"

in all seriousness, i would absolutely consult lippmann for fashion advice, i actually have a couple outfits inspired by him jjfjfjfjf

staring at the trench coat in my closet and wondering how to style it for tmr actually...

[legolasghosty]

awww Willex soulmate au sounds so cute! I love that type of soulmate au it's adorable and the possibilities are lovely

Hello Anon, thanks for the ask!! Geez this fic... I worked on it some more the other day on a plane after answering the last couple of asks about it, and like... This doc is nearly 7k and THEY STILL HAVEN'T ACTUALLY MET!!! Every time I think they're getting close, they just go do something else random or some new character pops up.

(You can find the first couple of posts of me talking about this fic Here and Here if you're interested!)

But geez these two just refuse to meet. I swear I will finish this fic if it kills me! But it just might...

But I agree, it's such a fun idea and there's so many possibilities! And we have several sets of soulmates around to indicate what different people do with the bond! Like it's mentioned somewhere that Julie and Luke use theirs mostly to swap song lyrics and stuff like that when they're not together. Alex mentions his parents mostly ignoring theirs, and I feel like mostly they are annoyed at each other over it, like when his dad gets ink on his hands from an exploding pen and his mom gets mad cause she was in the middle of cooking and it scared the living daylights out of her. Alex and Willie use it as basically a replacement for texting/calling, since they haven't met yet.

It's such a cute au and I want to finish it so bad. Alex and Willie just won't cooperate.

Here's a little snippet of the new stuff I wrote the other day!

“Excellent work indeed,” a voice cut in from the door. All four of them whirled around to see Caleb Covington standing there, leaning against the doorway. “Hey, sorry,” Alex stammered, quickly rising to his feet. “Thank you.” Caleb waved a hand as if to dismiss his words. “I can see why my son likes your music so much,” he continued. “I wonder if I could tempt you all out to enjoy the party and mingle a bit. The buffet and bar would of course be available to you as well.” Julie glanced around at all of them. Reggie nodded and Luke shrugged. Alex gave her a half smile, saying Why not? with his eyes. Julie grinned and turned back to Caleb. “Sure, we’d love to,” she told him. “Wonderful,” Caleb said. That slightly scary smile was back. “Oh, and I have the payment for your services right here,” he added, pulling a check out of his fancy, purple waistcoat. “Thank you, we’ll be out in a few minutes,” Julie promised, taking the paper and closing the door behind Caleb as he left. “Is it just me, or is that guy kinda scary?” Luke commented once he was gone.

Thanks for the ask, I hope you enjoyed!

[izzy-b-hands]

"Fuck you," Jack snarls. "I can do this fancy bullshit too!"

He strips off his clothes and reaches for Stede. "Take 'em off and hand and 'em over!"

"I..." Stede frowns, his eyes scanning Jack up and down. "No."

"Seriously?!"

"He has other clothes," Ed notes. "Surely Jack could-"

"Oh surely, surely, surely," Stede mocks as he whips around and heads into their quarters. "Surely I'll lend my finest silks to that...that..."

"Hey."

"Fucking christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Stede shrieks as he whirls about to find Jack directly behind him in the doorway to the auxiliary wardrobe.

"Well," Jack sighs. "One thing is, this piercing got awful cockeyed on me, no idea how-"

Stede peers down. "Ug-oh. I didn't know you could pierce that spot."

"Yeah, me neither! But when you already got a hole there from a knife, you may as well fill it."

"I don't know what to say to that," Stede admits.

"Then kiss me."

"What?!"

"Just saying," Jack replies. "You could. Blackie won't care."

"I think he might!"

Jack rolls his eyes. "You been staring at my dick ever since I ripped my clothes off five minutes ago. I can read those signs."

"I can't tell if you're this stupid, or if this is a joke," Stede scoffs, and thrusts the nearest pair of midnight blue silk trousers at him. "Here. It'll look nice with your eyes."

Jack takes them slowly. "Uh. You know, out there. I'm just not used to sharing him with anyone else, really. Your fancy stuff is...nice."

"How kind of you," Stede remarks dryly as he browses the racks. He may as well finish the damned outfit now and make sure it looks good.

And Jack too, he supposes.

"I mean it," Jack mutters. "Fuckin'...told Blackie I'd try with you, but you don't make it easy."

"Oh so one compliment erases everything else you've said and done today?" Stede snaps and tosses a beige linen shirt to Jack, only to rush over and exchange it for an ivory one instead.

"I gotta say, I'm confused," Jack says as he looks over the shirt. "Are you mad at me or not?"

"Yes!" Stede hisses. "But no, because Ed likes you and I like Ed so I will deal with you if I must and-oh god, this is how Izzy feels."

"Oof," Jack winces and slips the shirt on. "That's a rough one. You can't tell me you don't need some rum for that."

"I...maybe," Stede sighs. "You can put the trousers on too."

"You sure?"

Jack looks genuinely hesitant.

It makes a storm well up in Stede's chest. He shouldn't like Jack. He doesn't.

He doesn't, but this Jack is...bearable. This Jack is incredibly careful slipping on the trousers, like he'll break them.

"Don't worry about shoes," Jack mumbles. "I think bare feet complete the look for me."

"You should have decent shoes," Stede mutters as he fusses with waistcoats. "Sand is hot during the day."

"Yeah, but if you walk on it enough, you toughen your soles to it," Jack says. "I'd wager your soles aren't all that tough to much of anything, are they?"

Stede whips around and shoves the silver waistcoat with blue beading and threading details into Jack's hands. "They...I... I'm working on it!"

"Admirable," Jack says. "For a man of your age."

"If Ed didn't like you..." Stede grumbles.

"Yeah, same to you," Jack sighs. "Little bit, at least. Can we be decent, or try to be, for his sake?"

Stede lets out his own heavy sigh as he returns to Jack with a jacket and accessories. "I could agree to that. To trying."

Jack turns obediently as Stede helps him into the matching midnight blue jacket, with silver threading to look like ocean waves in the night all along it.

He doesn't say a word while Stede fusses over his hair, braiding it ornately back with blue ribbons.

He turns back around and a hand gently touches the braid. "Damn. This ain't my thing but...when you do it up like this, I get it, kinda. You pretty up Ed like this too?"

"I have," Stede replies. "At his request. And would again, should he ask."

"Lucky guy," Jack says, oddly sadly to Stede's ear. "One last thing before we go back out-"

He leans into Stede, lips nearly touching. "One kiss. Just one. Put everything you hate about me into it. Make it mean. I'll do the same. Might keep us both cool out there in front of everyone."

Stede considers it.

And closes the distance, hard.

It's a violent, messy thing, barely a kiss and more of a strangely sweet bite.

Jack laughs hard as they part. "You smashed my fuckin' nose!"

He did. Jack's nose isn't out of shape or anything, but it is bleeding.

"Here," Stede hands him a handkerchief from a shelf. "Don't worry about it staining."

"Why? Because you can always buy more fancy shit like this?"

"No," Stede replies coldly as he pushes Jack out of the wardrobe, towards the door of his and Ed's quarters. "Because Ed taught me cold water takes out most bloodstains, even in nicer fabrics like these!"

Jack has no reply to that, as Stede finishes shoving him out of the door, and back towards the deck.

[bookshelfpassageway]

Reasonable people trying to come up with good outfits for characters: Okay so I’m gonna look at references for inspiration, and do research on the era, and put together something fashionable and appropriate to this character because I’m good at deliberate and diverse clothing choices

Me, a mess: uhhhhhhhhhh a shirt i guess? coat? w a ist co a t?

[butterflydragon14]

Overanalysing the colours in RDR2 part 1

These are more just like headcanons when I’m playing and I think abt it tbh but here we go:

I couldn’t help but notice that rdr2 sort of had a colour scheme? Other than for aesthetic reasons. Lemme elaborate

One of the themes being good people vs those ultimately rotten, the game kind of hints at it through clothing, horses etc and I began to see that once I started replaying it.

If you play with Arthur’s canon outfit, he has a blue shirt, blue being a colour of purity, calmness. The same can be said for Hosea, who often sports a blue or yellow vest (yellow also being a colour associated with goodness and happiness- if you play high honour the screen is also tinted yellow during visions etc). So subconsciously im already going ah ha these are the good guys. Charles, John, Lenny, Sadie and Tilly can also be seen wearing blues and/or yellows at various points in the game, while it is something we rarely see with the antagonists/Pinkertons, if ever.

On the other hand, the “bad guys” ie Micah, dutch, always wear red/black. Micahs shirt is red, and he wears a black jacket on top of that at the end of Ch.2. Dutch as well (as I’m sure we’re all aware,, hoooo that vest) is characterised by the red/black aesthetic. Red/black being death, blood, evil. Especially with Dutch, I think there’s a lot to be said abt his vest. Between chapters 2-4 where we can see his vest (and I know this isn’t always the case, but most of the time) he is wearing a black and red waistcoat, with the red being at the back, not visible to many especially if he wears his jacket on top. However by the end of Ch. 4 and the bank robbery, he starts wearing a vest with the colours the other way around. This could symbolise how he was trying to conceal his true nature from everyone, and generally succeeding, while by the end of the game it becomes more obvious both to us as the players and to Arthur as Dutch becomes more and more unhinged. (Ok the next one really is a stretch so bear with me) You can kinda see this with Arthur too. If you wear one of the fancier vests you’re given when you start the game, inadvertently trying to imitate Dutch with the fancy dress which we can assume Arthur wouldn’t normally wear, you’ll notice that the vest is also red, but this time at the front- this could be because Arthur is much more open about his contempt of himself and openly acknowledges that he’s not a good person (at least according to him) thus the red on his vest is at the front and much easier to see. And as you play more low honour (how dutch would probably play if he was under the same honour system), becoming more like Dutch, it can be easy to see how Dutch’s influence indoctrinated Arthur into the outlaw life by way of him trying to imitate a father figure which he worshipped.

Horses as well, hoooo boi get ready for me overanalysing it even more. I have a few things to say here as well.

So we all know Dutch rides “The Count” the magnificent, Pearl white horse in the game, and that kind of implies to me that he is trying to be viewed as a knight, a saviour, since they are often associated with riding white horses- whether that is how he views himself or how he wishes others to perceive him is up for debate. Hoseas Silver Dollar on the other hand is,,, well, silver. Silver being a mix between white and black, good and bad, kind of showing us that his past was perhaps morally reprehensible, but that he has since made amends and become a better person, while not denying the existence of a harrowing past, as he admits in the game. However Micah’s horse Baylock is essentially all black, black hinting Death, ashes, destruction, all of which are things Micah delights in causing all throughout the game.

Anyways,,, yeah I don’t know does anyone kinda see where I’m coming from?

[bitchfitch]

So many of these I want to send but i shall restrain myself to One (and since i love all your characters i'm going to let you choose who you're doing this for LMAO) ❤️‍🔥

the hardest part was figuring out who would be the funniest to do this with, but eventually I settled on the capitalism boys.

Walking home alone was rarely the best idea in this city, walking home alone at night through the creepy park because youre a little drunk and can't be fucked to go the long way around? Genuinely a terrible idea.

That thought did cross Adi's mind, he did think this was a horrible idea, but his shoe choice for the night had been less than stellar and his phone died an hour ago and it was starting to get a whole lot colder than his short dress/ cute pull over combo could really handle. So, Yes this was a bad decision, but it was necessary due to all the Other bad decisions he's made in the last six or so hours.

Walking the well maintained paths had actually been quite relaxing, it gave him time to sober up a little, and to enjoy the quiet, clear night. Right up until he heard sobbing and smelled smoke.

Now, A smart man would ignore that. A smart man Wouldn't walk towards that particular sensory experience like the victim in a particularly shitty police procedural episode (god he was even in the 'whore who had it coming' uniform from those shows, what was He Thinking), but smart men also didn't get in these situations.

"Hey?" Adi called, carefully stepping off the concrete sidewalk and onto one of the packed dirt paths that lead out to the small campsites that filled this portion of the park, "Is someone there?"

"Wha-" The man who had been crouched next to it shot up, stumbling before catching himself, "Hey, hi, uhm- nothing to see here?" he tried to brush it off, putting on a painfully fake smile that was almost completely hidden by his unkept mustache and beard. His tail wa sticker between his legs, his ears pinned back and even in the low light Adi could see that his face was streaked with tears.

"Hi. Are you like, sure about that?" Adi pointed to the fire and the half empty box beside it, "'Cause I don't think burning stuff is like, Allowed around here? Just normal camp fires last time I checked?"

"Well... I won't tell if you don't?" He shrugged, laughing nervously as he stepped in front of the box. He was wearing a nice pair of trousers, shiny shoes, and a fancy waistcoat over a plain colored dress shirt, definitely didn't look the type to be doing something like this.

"Yeah, whatcha burning?" He narrowed his eyes, "I won't tell on you but I kinda need to know if I should like, run or something."

"Oh, no it's nothing... nothing too devious, funny story about it really, but I'd hate to keep you up so..." he trailed off, not so subtly asking that Adi leave him and his burning be.

"Spill it then, I'm freezing, and you have a fire," Adi stepped up beside it, plopping down on one of the logs beside the fire pit. Adi hadn't even realized exactly how cold he was before the warmth of the fire chased it away.

The strange man looked between him and the path, shifting his weight from foot to foot before settling down on the log accross from Adi.

"You first? I mean, I was here first and you just showed up, so I think that's fair, Right?" for such a weird guy, he did have a cute, doofy little smile.

"Yeah, fair enough. I'm Adi, I was out enjoying myself, realized my friends phone was dead and I didn't want to go home with anyone if I couldn't text them where I was, so I started heading home before I could get drunk enough to ignore that intuition. Decided to walk there because It's way too expensive to call a ride right now and then I met a weird crying guy in the woods," he didn't quite trust the guy enough to say it was his phone that was dead, and not his friends, but it was a decent enough lie in his opinion.

"I'm Eadwulf, uh... Well, My fiance cheated on me, and I thought he was on a 'buisness trip'" his nose scrunched up at the words, "Turns out hes off on some beach banging a man half our age. And I found out because said man thought it would be cute to interrupt the video call we were having. Turns out he didn't know John was engaged to me and was just as furious to learn it as I was when I found out John was Married to him," he scrubbed his hands over his face as he finished his story,

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," Adi didn't know what else to say, "I'm guessing that his?" he points to the box,

"Yeah- fuck I can't believe I'm doing this-" he looks at the burning junk Adi couldn't even begin to identify anymore, "He's a shit head who's never stepping foot in my home again but this is a step to far isn't it?"

"No, no, Absolutely not. In fact, it's no where near too far, it's not even far Enough," Adi stood from his log, "You want to go a bit further? Because I know Just the thing,"

"Going to tell me first?"

"We're just going to take a picture. Make it look like you got over that piece of shit Real quick." he sat his purse beside Eadwulf and straddled his lap facing him, "Hold still,"

"Rodger that," Eadwulf had gone stiff under him as soon as he's sat down, so really he didn't need to ask.

Adi pulled the small pack of make up wipes he kept in his purse and carefully wiped the tear tracks from Eadwulf's face. He reached around him to let his hair out of the messy half bun Eadwulf had it in so Adi could run his fingers through his hair, tousling it up in a deliberately messy way. Adi sat back to admire his work, it was good but Eadwulf needed more, this was far too tasteful, he decided. Adi undid the first few buttons on Eadwulf's shirt, and got him to take off his waistcoat entirely with a little bit of persuasion.

He sat back again, this time to pull his lipstick out, quickly reappling it before smudging it with his finger just enough to be obvious but not enough to look fake. He considered wiping the excess on his finger off onto the collar of Eadwulf's shirt but the wine red would definitely leave a stain the poor guy didn't deserve, so instead he just wiped it on his own thigh.

"Can I borrow your phone? Just need to take the picture and then we'll be done," Adi didn't miss the way Eadwulf jumped out of a daze when he spoke. He wasn't stupid, even if he did prefer to act like he was, he knew what kind of effect he must be having on him right now, but that was a necessary sacrifice if it meant getting back at this random strangers shitty ex.

Eadwulf was quick about it, fumbling his phone out of his pocket and opening his camera app and switching to the front camera with only a little difficulty before handing it over.

Adi took it, held it at selfie distance, pursing his lips as he picked out the best pose for them in his head.

"We can't do anything about those red eyes so just-" Adi paused and guided Eadwulf to lean his head against his shoulder, making sure his eyes would be hidden behind his head and neck, "Yeah just like that, Hands on my hips and try and look like you're having a whole lot more fun with me than you ever did with him," Adi instructed before taking his own pose.

He leaned forward, arching his back and fisting his free hand in Eadwulf's shirt. It took him a moment to find the exact right combination of smug, sloshed, and horny to accomplish what he needed it to.

He took the picture, and then decided that it wasn't good enough, snapping a few more before leaning back again and saying "Sorry, just gotta, Real quick" and pressing a messy kiss right below Eadwulf's ear to leave a very obvious lipstick mark, "Perfect,"

Eadwulf's jaw had dropped, probably so he could protest what had just happened, but Adi got back into place and the photo taken at just the right moment to make it look like he was gasping.

"All done!" Adi was actually a little proud of his work as he got off Eadwulf's lap and sat beside him instead, "Look, It's perfect right? Just send that to him and I guarantee he'll be soooo jealous,"

"Y-yeah," Eadwulf had to swallow hard, "Definitely," he fussed around in his messaging app for a moment while Adi went ahead and grabbed his purse to get another make-up wipe for Eadwulf.

"Glad to be of help," Adi knew he must look like the cat who got the canary, but he couldn't help it, that was just too much fun. Messing with a kinda cute guy while also getting a jab in in someone else's relationship drama? Truly a fantastic end to the night.

"So... Uhm, you said you were walking home, uhm, would you maybe like a ride there? My cars not far and I feel I owe you especially since I'm going to be asking one more favor,"

"Yeah, and what's that?" Adi briefly wondered if he had truly lost his mind for even considering getting in a car with a strange arsonist he met out in the woods, but hey, he's made a Lot of bad decisions tonight and they've all been pretty fun so far. So, what was one more bad decision to cap it all off?

"Can I get your number? I mean- I'll drive you home either way- Or to somewhere else I- I promise I'm not trying to be weird," He babbled out.

"Sure, but if you're willing to drive me anywhere, your place might be a bit more fun," What was two more bad decisions to cap it all off anyways?

[wtfjd95]

Together As One; Part 3

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Part One | Masterlist | Part Two

A/N: SURPRISE UPDATE!!!! 

Sorry if it seems so crap towards the end. I was trying to get it as close to a decent end as possible for this part but with work consuming my time now that the lockdown in England is easing, I have less time to write and writers block is slowly appearing once more. I’m not too sure if i’ll have a part 4 & if I do, it probably won’t be for a long while.

I hope you all enjoy this either way. 

2 months. 2 long months you had been unconscious and Wanda was terrified. She’d spent several months looking for you, never giving up hope that she’d see you again and once she had, she vowed that she’d never leave your side only to have you blackout on the ride back with yet to wake. So here she sat by your bedside, day in and day out as she waited for you to wake.

“Someone should talk to her,” Steve said. He, Natasha & Clint stood outside your hospital room.

Through the small glass window of the door, the three could see the dried tear tracks on Wanda’s face. The young woman had barely left your side, only leaving at the start to shower and change her clothes before she returned to your side, your hand clasped tightly in both of hers, pressing a kiss there every so often as she hummed a quiet tune. Whether it was to keep herself calm or hoping to rouse you from your slumber, no one knew.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Someone should.” Both men turned to face Natasha, who just sighed and ran a hand over her face.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Natasha grunted moving towards the door. “Men,” she mumbled as she walked in. 

“Hey, any news?”

“None since yesterday.” Wanda answered, her voice huskier than normal from lack of use.

“Wanda, why don’t you go and get changed?” Natasha suggested, looking over the well-worn sweatpants and hoodie the younger woman wore. “Or maybe check in on Silver? I’m sure he misses you.”

“I’m not leaving Y/N alone,” Wanda mumbled against the skin of your hand. “I promised her I’m not leaving her side again once I found her and I won’t break that promise.” ‘Not now, not ever.’ She thought to herself.

“Wanda, I’ll stay and watch over her while you go and clean up.” The Russian suggested. “I promise to call you if anything changes.”

Looking up at your peaceful face, Wanda exhaled shakily, green eyes shining with tears before laying your hand back at your side and standing from her seat, knowing there was no chance in fighting the redhead. Quietly, she shuffled towards the head of the bed and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“I will be back soon, my love.” She uttered lovingly. “I promise you.” She pressed one final kiss to your lips before turning to Natasha. “You call me if she wakes up.”

“I promise.” Natasha vowed, looking at you before moving back to Wanda with a firm nod.

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

Stepping out of the elevator and onto her- your shared floor of the compound, Wanda was greeted by a soft meow and the light patter of feet. 

“Hello, Silver.” She smiled, moving forward and picking the small animal up. “I’m sorry for leaving you with the team for a while,” the kitten revelled in the affection that Wanda gave him, purring softly as she ran her hand over his head. 

Once she’d felt that she gave the cat enough attention, she allowed him to settle on her shoulder as she made her way toward the bedroom.

Entering your room, Wanda sighed. She hasn’t been inside since your disappearance, opting to sleep in her old room or even on the couch at times when she was too in her thoughts. 

The thought of sleeping alone in your shared bed was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Something she’d found out within the first week of you missing. She wasn’t able to sleep without you beside her for her nightmares returned full force with a few new ones featuring you. 

She cast a glance over the framed pictures that lined the top of your dresser, a small smile appearing on her face as she recalled the memories that came with them.

Various team photos played in a slideshow on a fancy digital frame that Tony gifted you a while back; another held a pic of you, Nat & Clint, you had Clint in a headlock while Nat just stood off to the side with her head in her hands.

The last picture, however, Wanda adored. It was at the engagement party that Tony had ‘offered’ to throw you. It had been a fairly fancy party, she might point out.

You had dressed in a pair of your nicest slacks, a button-up white shirt with a charcoal grey waistcoat while she wore a figure-hugging deep red dress. Her fingers delicately tangled in the baby hairs at the base of your neck while yours rested on her waist, foreheads pressed against one another as you swayed softly to the music. Neither of you cared about the world around you as you did.

With a shuddering breath, she set Silver on the bed and wiped the tears from her face, before stepping into the bathroom.

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

30 minutes later, Wanda was back at your bedside, freshly showered and changed with Silver curled up on her lap, a book levitating in red mist allowing her to run one hand along the kitten’s back, while the other held your hand, thumb running gentle circles on your knuckles. Besides the situation & beeping of the monitors attached to you, it was an almost peaceful silence.

“Y’know pets aren’t allowed in the medical wing, right?” Tony’s voice pulled Wanda from her thoughts, the young woman jumping slightly in response.

“He keeps me calm, you know that.” She told the billionaire, running a hand over Silver’s head, the kitten purring in content.

Tony was about to respond when the heart rate monitor you were connected to began to beep incessantly, Wanda’s grip on your hand tightening in fright. She listened to the rapidly increasing beep of your heart monitor with watery eyes. As Tony headed to the door calling for a doctor, when you suddenly shot up into a seated position, eyes snapping open and gasped for air.

“Y/N?” “Hey, kid?” Tony and Wanda chorused, trying to catch your attention.

Your eyes darted around the overly bright white room as your vision cleared, eventually landing on the two blurry figures at your bedside.

“Tony?” You wondered, lifting a hand to wipe at your face. “Wanda?” You blinked a few more times to make sure you weren’t seeing things.

“Detka? (baby?)” Wanda squeezed your hand cautiously, trying to get your attention.

“Wanda,” You mused. “Hi love. Is that my jumper?” She shrugged in response, tears falling from her eyes. “And who’s cat is that?”

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

An hour later, the doctor in charge of your care had filled you in on all you needed to know medically. Tony had left to inform the team and Wanda had stayed to inform you on what had happened while you were unconscious.

“And this is Silver,” she told you. The small siamese purred contentedly as he lay curled in your lap, your hand running along his back. “He was a gift from Tony. Not long after…” As she trailed off, you knew that she was referring to your initial disappearance.

“Silver, huh?” You pondered, a soft smile on your face as your fingers scratched Silver’s chin. “Does that have any reference toward a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired speedster we know?” You questioned trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. “I mean, I can definitely see the resemblance.”

The pair of you continued catching up until the door to your private room (courtesy of Tony) opened and Nat, Steve, Clint & Sam all filed in. Natasha being the first to approach, pressing a kiss to your head before each of the guys gave you a careful side hug. 

You were catching up with Steve when you spotted the bag slung over Clint’s shoulder.

“We pull you in from the school run there, Clint?” You joked, the archer scoffing in response. “What’s with the backpack?”

Clint just scoffed in return and threw the backpack into your lap. “Very funny,” He said. “I stopped off with Nat and we grabbed your backup bag you keep ready for this kinda situation.”

“Thanks you guys” you nodded as you reached for the bag, pulling out a fresh shirt.

You moved to stand from the bed, only for you to fall into Wanda when you collapsed. A surprised gasp coming from Wanda as you ended up in her lap.

“I mean you already knew I fell for you but it doesn’t hurt to tell you again” You smirked, arms snaking around her neck, hers around your waist. The both of you leaned in, lips barely touching when the sound of someone clearing their throat caused you to pull away.

“Almost forgot we had company” Wanda mumbled hiding her face in your neck, colour creeping up her own from embarrassment.

“Right, out you guys please.” You waved your arm at them. “I need to get dressed and would like some time alone with my fiance.”

“Oh that reminds me,” Wanda said, removing her hands from your waist and up to the back of her neck.

You watched as she pulled a chain from under the neckline of the jumper, a brief sparkle catching your eyes as the fluorescent lights overhead caused the gem on your ring to sparkle.

“I thought I lost it” You mumbled. “How?” Wanda just smiled as you held your hand out for her to place the ring back on your finger, where the both of you wanted it to stay.

“Let’s just say Fury has his ways” The young redhead told you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

[themirokai]

When Mystrade Met Rinch

Ok so @ambi-apocalypse got me to watch Person of Interest, and apparently I've now gotten @musicismagic-writes to watch it. And previously the ship that the three of us had in common was Mystrade. So this Mystrade to Rinch party gave me crossover thoughts, but those crossover thoughts would be a much more ambitious story than I'm actually ever going to write, so I figured I'd just post my plot bunny/outline here. If anyone wants to adopt this and actually write it into a story, have at it, but please let me know if you post it!

Most of it under the cut cause it's kinda long...

Finch and Reese are working a number and figure out that the dude is a freelance assassin. He’s clearly the perp but for some reason they’re not able to take him out, so they’re trying to figure out who his next target is.

Mycroft is in New York for a meeting at the UN. Greg, his husband, has decided to tag along and make a holiday of it.

Reese figures out that Assassin is surveilling this tall British dude with fancy suits and an umbrella. Reese suggests that Finch should talk to him about vests in order to get close to him. Finch informs Reese that the gentleman is wearing a waistcoat, not a vest. “When the garment is the third part of a three-piece suit it is referred to as a waistcoat.”

“See?” Reese says, “you can talk to him about fancy clothes stuff and then casually work your way around to why he’s being stalked by an assassin.”

After some digital digging…

“Ah, there he is,” Finch says. “His name is Mycroft Holmes. Looks like he’s a bureaucrat in the Department for Transportation.”

“That doesn’t add up, Finch. What’s a small time transportation guy doing at the UN? And he looks like his clothing budget rivals yours.”

“Maybe civil servants are better compensated across the pond? Or maybe he has inherited wealth?”

“Can’t you find out?”

“No. He’s remarkably off the grid.”

Reese realizes that Mycroft has a badass security detail. So what’s a well-dressed mid-level bureaucrat doing at the UN protected by a security detail? And why would the Machine give them the number of an assassin who’s trying to kill him if that security detail was up to the challenge? Something something, they figure out that the Assassin or whoever hired him has bribed/infiltrated/compromised/whatever the security detail.

Reese goes in. POW POW fight scene. Reese incapacitates like 3 dudes who were protecting Mycroft. So that leaves Mycroft and Greg.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Mycroft says, making eye contact with Reese, “there are 4 things this could be about. None of them require my husband’s involvement. You will let him go at once -“

“Sod off, Mycroft, I’m not leaving you!”

“But,” Mycroft continues, ignoring Greg, “if you harm a single hair on his head,” here he draws the sword from his umbrella, “I will open you from chin to groin.”

“Mr. Holmes I promise you I will - is that a sword?”

“A sharp one. And I assure you that I am quite good with it.”

“Did you pull it out of an umbrella?”

Mycroft barely restrains his eye roll. “Do keep up.” He turns to Greg. “Gregory, kindly go and phone Anthea and give her code gamma orange 6.”

Reese convinces Mycroft that his security was compromised by Assassin. Reese is happy to let Greg go but wants to protect both of them and cautions them against making any phone calls that could tip Assassin off.

Mycroft digests all this and then tells Reese that he wants to talk to the person in Reese’s ear. Finch agrees and they get on the phone.

“Everyone in your government is too frightened of me - appropriately - to try anything like this,” Mycroft starts off. “Your associate is former CIA but has left that employment and now has a wealthy benefactor. Your operation is quite small and so it stands to reason that the wealthy benefactor is also the person calling the shots. Who are you?”

“I’m someone with accurate information and a desire to use it to prevent harm, Mr. Holmes.”

They talk. Game recognizes game. Mycroft knows that the Americans wanted the Machine after 9/11 and has now deduced that they have it and Finch has access to it. Mycroft decides he can trust Finch and Reese and lets Reese take them to a safe house while they wait for Anthea to assemble and send a clean security detail. Reese asks if they’re sure Anthea hasn’t been compromised. Greg laughs a lot.

On the way to the safe house…

“So about that umbrella,” Reese says, looking at Mycroft in the rear view mirror. Mycroft raises an eyebrow in response. “Can anyone buy one or is it an MI6 thing?”

“If Gregory and I make it out of this situation unharmed, I would be happy to contact the purveyor on your behalf, Mr. Reese. Though I will say that this sort of weapon doesn’t seem your style.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be for me,” Reese says with a smile. He touches his ear. “I know what I’m getting you for Christmas, Finch.”

“Mr. Reese-“

“It’s a weapon that isn’t a gun and doesn’t need to be walked!”

“Actually, it’s also a gun,” Mycroft says.

“Shh, he doesn’t like guns.”

“Walked?” Greg asks.

“Already got him a dog. But sometimes the dog is with me.”

They get to the safe house but Greg and Reese are both restless. Making sure Mycroft is safe is good, but actually stopping Assassin would be better. Greg wants to use himself as bait to lure out Assassin, then have Reese get him. Mycroft Does Not Approve. Finch trusts Reese’s judgment. Reese calls in Carter for backup. Carter and Greg hit it off immediately. Mycroft recognizes Carter as a consummate professional who has - in his opinion - a more appropriate level of risk tolerance than Greg or Reese. He, still grudgingly, gives his approval for the Greg as Bait plan.

The plan works! Assassin is captured. Reese says he can take Assassin to a Mexican prison. Mycroft has other plans that involve an inescapable prison on an island. Anthea’s team arrives and takes custody of Assassin for transport to Sherrinford.

Finch and Mycroft have a conversation. Finch is concerned that someone with Mycroft’s position and resources knows about them and the Machine and his access to it (however limited). Finch is worried that Mycroft is going to want a version of the Machine for London. Mycroft assures Finch that while he respects what Finch has accomplished, the Machine is not his style and he prefers getting his intelligence the old fashioned way. He also has no intention of compromising Finch and Reese, but he would like to be able to call them up from time to time. Finch agrees as long as he can call Mycroft when needed. Greg tells Carter that if she ever wants to move to London, he’s got a spot for her at the Met.

They part ways amicably… until next time.

[justletmeplayminecraft]

Shsjsj Halloween prompt 38 with architechs? They’d probably get into some scooby doo shenanigans except ghosts are real

38. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

okay so i might’ve... gone off a little bit. this is more mystery incorporated shenanigans than normal scooby. mumbo-centric, the architechs go to a haunted house that may, in fact, be haunted. mumbo pays the price.

featuring: could a visit to a haunted house go any worse, mumbo is very interesting to local ghost population, unfortunately for him, real life au, mumbo's surprisingly resourceful considering, sometimes you just need two ghost girls to tell u to get moving, angst/comfort, horror vibes, happy ending

warnings: violence, knife violence, possession, referenced murder of children and adults, graphic injuries, blood, mumbo gets a lil messed up, but nobody dies who isn’t already dead

"Why did I let you two drag me into this?" Grian is checking the time on his phone whilst Iskall holds Mumbo's hand like he's about to run off. Which, Mumbo would, actually. Given half a chance he'd be catching the first bus out of here. Iskall raises his free hand in a shrug, smirking at Mumbo's question.

"We hardly dragged you, if I remember, you agreed willingly." Iskall leans closer as he teases him, poking Mumbo's cheek with the cool finger of his prosthetic. 

Mumbo sighs, batting the finger away, "I agreed so you'd both stop asking! I didn't think we'd actually do it." Grian slips his phone into his pocket, rocking onto his heels. The look on his face is smug.

"Mumbo, you should know us better than that by now." 

Iskall hums high in agreement, "Don't tell us you're scared." 

"Lil scaredy Mumbo~." Mumbo brushes them away with a shake of his head. He can't believe he's friends with the two of them, he really can't. 

"It's a haunted house, I'm supposed to be afraid!" He points out. "Additionally, I think it's kinda bad taste to have a haunted house set in an actual haunted manor. Surely that's disrespectful." Grian pulls Mumbo's other hand free, him and Iskall holding one each. Stepping backwards as they move up the line, Mumbo frowns when his foot gets caught in the roots overwhelming mossy, cracked stone planters. He glances down the line, unsure how he didn't notice them bordering this section of the queue before.

"Mumbo, you do know there's no such thing as ghosts, right? You are aware of this fact?" Iskall's voice, despite its taunting nature, has a hint of seriousness to it. Mumbo's attempt at a word disintegrates into several noises instead. Of course, that only encourages Iskall to laugh, throwing his head back at the force of it. Grian slides up to Mumbo's shoulder, bumping into it.

"It's okay, Mumbo, we'll protect you from the spooky ghosts!" Grian sing-songs 'spooky' for extra effect. That effect is making Mumbo want to hit him. Unfortunately, he can't, because they're both still holding his hands. Mumbo stares into the cold fluorescent lights instead, ignoring them. Grian laughs, Iskall quick to join him.

Mumbo will give it to the organisers, they know how to set a scene. Outside of the bustling noise and lights of the queue, the grounds are as black as the night sky overhead. The overgrown lawn brushes the stone foundation they're waiting on; blades of grass occasionally tickling his ankle as he shuffles from foot to foot. His shoes are still muddy from when they were queuing on the lawn further back. He's glad they got off that section. If he had to listen to Grian and Iskall guess what shape the topiaries used to be for much longer he would've gone insane. Another scream from within the house makes him jump, gripping Iskall's hand tighter out of instinct. Iskall throws him a smirk, and blessedly doesn't comment. Small miracles. 

"We're nearly at the entrance!" Grian whispers, voice high with excitement. His fingers trace the stone wall of the house as they move. They lift when he reaches the wooden trim of a boarded up window, paint flaking under Grian's touch. He cringes, flicking the dried paint off his skin. Mumbo smiles to himself and pretends not to look. 

"After what, an hour and a half?" Iskall asks, his voice as tired as Mumbo's feet feel. Grian checks his phone with a hum.

"More like an hour and a quarter." The bright screen lights his face with an eerie glow until he shuts it off. Iskall sighs, the dramatic nature overtaken by a piercing scream that sounds like it's on the other side of the wall next to them. The three of them freeze up, before they shake their heads with gentle laughter, normal conversation resuming.

"Have we got any signal yet?" Iskall asks. 

"Nope!" Grian pops the word. At Iskall's groan, he laughs. "It's not my fault you're so addicted to social media."

"Not everybody can be so dedicated to our jobs," Iskall replies. Mumbo finds himself distracted by something out in the darkness of the lawn. It looks like two children, running in circles after each other. Their dresses look wholly impractical for the chill in the air. And too fancy for the muddy grass. Who would bring their children to a haunted house anyway? Staff members, maybe? Irresponsible parents?

His foot catches on a crack in the concrete, stumbling forward instead of a step. Iskall steadies him with the grip on his hand and Grian is quick to grab his shoulders. The two of them haul him upright again. Grian's smile is more amused than Iskall's concerned frown.

"You alright, dude?" He asks, checking Mumbo over carefully. Mumbo shakes his head, trying to dispel Iskall's worry.

"No, I'm fine. Foot got caught. I was watching the kids out on the-" Where he's pointing is empty. There are no white flashes of fabric where the children were, only the dark murkiness of night. "Oh. Well, they were there." Grian stares out into the lawn, skeptical.

"You sure you weren't seeing things, Mumbo?" Grian's voice is disbelieving, an edge of teasing slipping in.

"No, I- I swear they were right there. Two girls." He blinks, unsure where the two must have gone. He wasn't looking away for that long, but children are pretty fast.

"Maybe you saw some ghosts," Iskall joins the teasing. Mumbo huffs at them both, crossing his arms now Iskall has finally released his hand. 

"You two are the worst," he decides. 

"Spooky!" Grian sings, pulling himself onto Mumbo's shoulder as they step forward again. He feels a heavy relief as they finally round the corner and the dark porch comes into view. It looks like it's been restored, the paint on the wood shiny compared to the rest of the house. Although looking towards the roof of the porch, those metal spikes should've been left out. Someone could hurt themselves on those. Thankfully, the window above is boarded up.

"Finally," Iskall sighs, his shoulders slumping as the ticket checker comes into view. "Grian, you got them ready?" Grian hums, unzipping his coat pocket and pulling out the printed tickets. 

"Right here!" He holds them up proudly. Mumbo twists around to see the ticket man. The clothes look pretty authentic. A neat waistcoat, a chain coming from the pocket, well-fitting slacks. A couple passes their tickets over, smiling as he takes them. Then the man takes out a straight-up pocket watch. They're… Really going for this, aren't they? Mumbo sticks his own hands in his jean pockets. He prefers modern comforts. 

There are only a few more people ahead of them now. Mumbo shifts from foot to foot, his toe catching on the red carpet leading inside. He sighs. He's doomed to trip over everything tonight, isn't he? He looks up to find Grian looking at him, excitement in his expression. He tries to smile back, moving up to a drawn line on the carpet. There's nobody else in front of them now. Oh, they're actually doing this.

Upon a wave from the staff member, the trio heads up to the rope barrier. Past the entrance, the hallway splits into two, wooden signs marking each way. Yet, Mumbo can't help but be drawn to the bored-looking staff member as he holds his hand out. His eyes are a pale blue, almost white. Mumbo shudders when those eyes stare directly at him. He's quick to look away. This place is getting to him. Grian enthusiastically passes over their tickets, oblivious to the exchange beside him. 

"Three adults," he says. The man nods, looking over each ticket and checking the time on his pocket watch. He punches a hole through the corner of each one before handing them back. 

"Keep your tickets on you in case they need to be checked." Grian nods, giving Mumbo and Iskall their own ticket. Mumbo slips it into his pocket without checking. He printed them out earlier today at Grian's pestering. "And you'll need to leave your bag in the cloakroom, sir." The staff member gestures at the brown rucksack on Iskall's back. Iskall puts a hand on the strap, the bag containing their personal belongings. "It's a secure locker system, you only have to give them to the staff member there and you'll receive a wristband." They gesture down the second corridor, away from the queue and the noise.

"I can take it," Mumbo suggests. He could use a breather before they head into the attraction. Usually, he'd find his friends' excitement contagious, but right now it's only leaving him more unsettled. Iskall loosens the strap, sliding it off his back.

"You sure you won't get lost the moment we aren't holding your hands?" Iskall teases as he hands the bag to him. Mumbo rolls his eyes, slinging it over one of his shoulders. 

"Surprisingly, I don't think I'll get lost simply going up a corridor." Grian steps forward, unbuttoning his red coat to reveal the just as red jumper underneath.

"Can you take my coat too?" Mumbo lays it over one of his arms, watching Grian grin. "Thanks, Mumbo, love you." Mumbo shakes his head, already taking a step towards the separate corridor and past the now-open rope barrier. 

"I'll meet up with you guys in a minute," he tells them, precious cargo in hand. Grian and Iskall smile, Iskall offering a wave as they go ahead to join up with the queue.

"We won't go in without you!" Grian calls. Mumbo huffs a laugh.

"I'd prefer it if you did!" He calls in return. He watches until the two vanish behind the wall, their giggles merging into the crowd. The couple behind them are already joining the queue. Mumbo sighs, turning and checking the neat wooden sign before heading up the corridor. He's definitely going the right way. 

Metal sconces light the wall, a dim light against dark, ornate wallpaper. He doesn't realise how quiet it's grown until he can hear the wooden floor creak beneath the carpet. He cringes at the sound, pleased when he reaches another rope, blocking off the corridor and directing him into a smaller room. He looks around at the wooden bookshelves, a cushioned seat in the corner. Another staff member (he hopes) leans on a doorway inside, reading a hardcover book. Mumbo hesitates before he approaches.

"Hey, uh, are you taking the bags? For the cloakroom?" Dark eyes look up to him. It's a woman this time, hair tied back into a neat ponytail. She's also wearing a waistcoat, Mumbo assumes it must be their uniform.

"That would be me," the woman tells him, placing her book on the side table. Mumbo passes over the bag and coat, shrugging off his own to add to them. She disappears into the back room. Mumbo tries to peer in, but it's so dark he can't see anything. How can she tell where she's going? She comes back, presenting him with a wristband, an intricate pattern on both sides of the plastic. Mumbo takes it, frowning as he twirls it in his hand. 

"Doesn't it have a number on it?" He asks, a little curious about what kind of system they're using here. The woman shrugs her shoulder.

"Doesn't need one," she tells him. She reaches over to pick up her book again, flicking it open. "Have a nice stay." Mumbo's mouth remains open for a few seconds too long before he realises he's been dismissed. At least this will make an interesting story to tell the other two. He steps back into the corridor, focusing on slipping the wristband on. Then he looks up and stops. The rope barrier is gone. For a moment he's unsure if he imagined it, but he's certain that there was a barrier here. And a sign. Glancing into the room, the staff member is gone too. Okay, right. He can figure this out.

He looks down both sides of the hallway, trying to guess what direction he came from. They're identical, carpeted floor and metal sconces leading off into darkness. Even the panelling on the wall below the patterned wallpaper offers no clues. With a sigh, he sticks his hands into his pockets, resting over his phone. Listening, the manor is quiet. He can't hear the occasional screaming, although there's some creaking overhead. Helpful. Well, it was just a straight walk to the entrance, wasn't it? He can follow the corridor and come back if he notices something unfamiliar.

His steps are more cautious as he starts down the hall. He's never going to hear the end of it if he actually gets lost. Certainly not down a straight corridor. He'd like to keep his dignity tonight, please. Whatever is left of it. Except, he's fairly certain the hall wasn't this long. Nor did he notice this musty smell until now. He touches a finger to his nose, scrunching it up. It smells like wet paper. Or… something like that, at least. 

Giving up on this direction, he turns and goes the other way. From the outside, the manor didn't even look this big. This time, he takes more note of the closed doors lining the hall. The wooden frames match the doors, with a carved arch above each one. He pauses to look at the sculpted wood. A shield sits on top of twisted ribbon, although whatever was on the shield has been scratched off to reveal pale wood beneath. He walks to the next door only to find the same thing. Somebody didn't like the family coat of arms, then. It's the same down the entire corridor - the wood broken and splintered away. 

He nearly jumps when he finds himself back in the entrance hall. The front door is shut. Mumbo didn't think this shut until later? Maybe they hit capacity. He tilts his head in the direction of the queue, surprised when he hears silence. Surely Grian and Iskall would be waiting for him somewhere, right? That same ticket person with the spooky eyes is at the door. Mumbo steels himself before approaching him.

"Um, sir?" He gets no response from the man. He stares at the door as if Mumbo hadn't spoken. Mumbo closes the distance, coming up behind him. "Excuse me?" He reaches out to tap his shoulder, wondering if he's wearing headphones Mumbo hasn't spotted. 

Mumbo's fingers go straight through his shoulder.

There's a brief, still second where nothing moves. Mumbo stares at his hand in shock, hanging inside the now transparent arm. His mouth opens, brain desperately trying to catch up with this new situation. The rest of his body kicks in, pulling him away, clutching his hand like he's been burnt. His fingers are freezing, colder than they were after being stood in that queue. In a panic, he glances upwards, searching for a projector of some kind. 

"It has to be," he murmurs. His gentle voice feels so loud in the entrance. Like laughter in a graveyard. He didn't see the floor up above the first time he entered, or the huge black chandelier that seems to be waving in an absent breeze. There's no tell-tale flicker of a projector. Oh jeez. He turns back to the door.

Those eyes are right in front of him.

A shout gets caught in his throat, body tumbling over and into the wall behind him in his attempt to fling himself away. His fingers press into the carpet beneath him, legs shuffling backwards until his back is straight against the wall. The man is still walking towards him and Mumbo genuinely thinks his heart couldn't beat harder if it tried.

"Sir, I am so sorry, I'm a little lost right now and- oh goodness I put my hand through your shoulder, what is happening-?" Whether the man hears him or not is impossible to tell, but Mumbo has a sinking feeling nothing good is going to happen if he touches him. He's only getting closer and Mumbo is running out of options here.

A few things happen in quick succession.

First, the man reaches his hand out towards Mumbo, lips pulling into an unnaturally wide smile on a face that has only seemed disinterested until now. Second, Mumbo throws himself to the side, landing on his hands on the carpet beside him and trying to scramble to his feet. Third, the room plunges into darkness.

Mumbo falls straight into the wall, nails scratching the wood to pull himself up. He can't make out anything. He feels around him blindly, finding an empty space and taking quick, clumsy steps into it. He blinks hard. Once, twice. The world is still dark. Except, as he raises his arm to feel in front of him again, except for that wristband. 

He presses against the wall, checking from side to side as if he could see any threat coming for him. Convincing himself he's at least somewhat safe, he examines the wristband. The strange pattern in the plastic is glowing. It's literally glowing. He traces along the indent first, but can't spot any hidden LEDs. Then he tries to take the band off. The band does not come off.

"Oh, this is ridiculous." He can't even fit his nails underneath the plastic. This has to be a joke, right? Some kind of big misunderstanding? He fumbles in his pocket until he's pulling out his phone, even more relieved now that he didn't leave it in his coat. The screen lights up, making his hands silver in its glow. It's nearly midnight. He groans in frustration when he remembers that, of course, there's no signal. Not even for emergency calls. He's an idiot. Unlocking the screen, he goes to the one thing his phone can be useful for.

He hovers over the button before switching on the flashlight, chest tight until he confirms there's no man (ghost, was that a ghost? It can't be-) waiting for him. He swings the light around him nervously, trying to figure out where he is. He doesn't even remember entering a door, but it seems like he's in a living room of some kind. There's a stone fireplace in the wall, comfortable chairs and a large love seat. Lingering on the fireplace, he's distracted from the stonework by the charred wood and ash gathered at the bottom. There's still a hint of amber in the embers, letting off so little light it's barely noticeable. Was it on recently? He doesn't feel it in the air, his arms having broken into goosebumps under his dress shirt. 

The other people waiting for the attraction can't have moved too far, and Grian and Iskall should be with them. He takes a deep breath, calming his thoughts and steadying himself. Yeah. He just needs to find everyone else. They should have lights, and people, and hopefully staff members he doesn't put his hand through. Perfect. 

He creeps to the doorway, careful to shine his phone through it first. The hallway looks identical. Though, when he looks closer, it's in better condition to the other side. Towards the ceiling, where wallpaper was ripped to show the broken plasterboard beneath, it's immaculate. He catches the shine of wood over the door. The coat of arms is intact. He takes in the dragon on the shield. It's pretty cool, he wonders why it was broken in the other hall. 

Only when he's sure the hallway is safe does he continue down it. He guesses how far away the queue must be. Worst case, they've taken them somewhere safe and out of the way. Hopefully Grian and Iskall have raised the alarm for him. He's keeping an eye out for any staff members or… anyone, actually. He'd just like to see another person in the darkness.

He cringes as a creak pierces the air, lifting his foot quickly. He hates old houses. He hates them so much. As he hovers his phone over it, though, the carpet even looks fluffy. That's absurd. He shakes it off and attempts to tread lighter, the little it helps. His creaking steps and soft breaths are the only things he can hear. He'd think as he got closer to the others, he might hear them but there's nothing so far. It's unnerving. As if he isn't unnerved enough. 

He stops so quickly he nearly loses his footing at a flash of white down the hallway. He holds the light over the open doorway. It wasn't the right height to be that man. Perhaps another person? He steps forward, attempting to peek into the room.

He calls a nervous, "Hello?" Then realises he sounds like every white person in a horror movie. He stills when a face peers around the door. It's one of the children from earlier. This close, the girl is unnaturally pale, with almost a glow to her. Mumbo relaxes a little anyway, relieved to see a kind of familiar face. He crouches down to her height. "Hey, do you know where anyone is? Your parents maybe? I'm a little lost." She edges out from behind the door, neat white dress following her. It's lacy around the top, a line towards the bottom marking out wavy fabric around her feet. Which, he notices, don't have any shoes on.

When she speaks, it's with a gentle echo, like a song, "You can see me?" Mumbo frowns, watching her small hand push away some of the tight waves that have fallen from her braid.

"Yes? Why wouldn't I-" He's cut off when the girl's mouth drops open. She steps away from him, taking a deep breath. Mumbo's not sure what he's done wrong when she screams. He has to raise his hands to his ears, flinching at the high sound. Despite his phone's light pointing away, he can still see her clearly. Especially as she turns and runs. Straight… straight through a wall. Mumbo would very much like off this ride now. He pushes himself upright on his knees and freezes. He can feel something staring at him. She wasn't reacting to him, was she? Brandishing his phone in front of him, he spins, dragging his feet down the corridor. 

The man is walking slowly towards him. One foot after the other. Purposeful. Mumbo shivers, can't look into those eyes.

"What do you want?" He demands. "I'm honestly very confused right now, and I'd really like some answers." He walks backwards, keeping distance between them both. 

"It's been a long time since we've had a guest like you." Mumbo swears that voice wasn't so deep before. It's almost static around the edges, hurting Mumbo's ears. "You'll make a wonderful addition to the house." Mumbo pulls himself up taller, straightening his back.

"That's- that's a really nice offer but I'm really, very happy with my current job! I'm sorry but I'm not on the market right now!" There's no break in pace. Only the return of that smile, looking too big, too tight. Like the face it's on isn't made for it. 

"I think your spirit would be perfect to mould." The words make Mumbo's chest seize in terror. He doesn't need to understand the full implication behind them to realise that's not good. 

"Okay. Don't really want that. If you could just- I don't know, let me leave? Find my friends?" That is not the face of someone who's going to let him leave. His back knocks into a wall. He glances around him, panic consuming any rational thought. He's breathing too fast but it feels like he isn't breathing at all. There, next to him. Wooden stairs, twisting up into darkness. He looks at the approaching man and the hall he's backed into. There's nowhere else to go.

He leaps the first two stairs, one of his hands catching himself on the wood to push himself up. The light around him swings wildly as he struggles to keep his phone steady. Using his hand and feet, he scarpers to the landing, falling back onto carpet edged with small metal grippers, shaped like studded semi-circles. He drags himself up using the wall, swaying on his feet and taking deep breaths.

The man doesn't suddenly appear behind him, but Mumbo isn't taking any chances. He searches the immediate area and finds only one direction available. He hopes the others are nearby and runs down the hallway, hoping to put as much distance between him and that man as possible. There are no lights on up here either, but as he gets around, he realises that the windows aren't boarded up. Instead, a full moon shines bright silver light into the manor. Mumbo checks the time on his phone as turns off the torch. He needs to save battery.

It's nearly midnight. His lip twists. Did he read it wrong before? He must have. He was panicking. It makes sense. He's still got plenty of charge too, which is a relief. However, his hope that the change in height would give him service is quickly dashed. Obviously, he can't have too many good things. 

He comes to a stop upon reaching a branch in the hallway. There are two directions he could go. Neither has an obvious sign stating, 'This way!' It would've been nice. So he picks the left for no other reason than maze logic. Always follow the left wall. It also seems more lit up, which is vastly preferable to the darkness in other parts of the manor. It smells less of dust up here, too. He can smell something distantly flowery. Maybe the garden is in better condition than the front lawn? 

Since he's on the top floor, he takes the opportunity to look into some of the rooms. Mostly bedrooms, he notices. A lot of the beds are pristinely made, sheets looking like they've been washed recently. In one room there's a half-full glass on a nightstand. In another, a cup of tea sends twisted patterns of steam into the freezing air. Mumbo enters that room, curious if anybody's nearby. There are more signs of life on this floor. He's taking in the four-poster bed with fabric tied to the posts when he hears distant singing.

He turns towards the sound automatically, hands falling heavy by his sides. Singing, that must mean a person. He leaves the room, following the sound. The haunting notes fill his head in the silence through the manor. Each step brings him closer to the source, losing sight of the space around him. He vaguely notices his fingers slipping from his phone, and pushes the device into his pocket instead. His fingers fall limp once he does.

The room he enters is another bedroom. The bed is the largest he's seen so far, but besides the singing, all he takes in is the scent of lavender. Taking over his senses, soothing his thoughts into a quiet hum. Both the song and the lavender are coming from a woman, sitting in front of her vanity as she brushes long, dark hair. Mumbo takes small steps towards her before stopping, waiting in place. He remains there, watching, letting her song fill his head until there are no thoughts of his own left.

The click of her hairbrush on the vanity marks the end of the song. The woman stands, every movement poised, as she walks towards the silent Mumbo. His eyes are partially closed, head falling forward with his shoulders. She reaches under his chin, ice-cold fingers tilting his face towards her. Their eyes meet, dark brown into light, glassy blue.

"Oh, you poor thing." Her words have a similar song-like quality, dripping with sadness. "You must be so lost." Mumbo's eyes grow heavier as her other hand cups the back of his head, holding him still in front of her. "Rest, now. Rest and I'll make it all better." His eyes slip shut, mind falling completely silent.

When they open again, he's in front of a circular window. He steps towards it automatically. He wants to see his garden before he goes to bed. It looks so pretty in the nighttime. The moon shines cold light onto his face, the glow of the glass enchanting.

Nothing prepares him for the shove. His spine shouts in pain as the world shifts beneath him. Gravity changes and he raises thin arms to protect himself, his feet unable to find the ground. Glass shatters against his weight in a cacophony of noise and he's falling- the porch rushing to meet him, no longer decorative black spikes he can't bear to look at growing closer as he shuts his eyes-

Mumbo gasps as his eyes shoot open. He's leaning out of the shattered window, gusts of wind streaking through his hair, pinning his shirt to his body. The moon in front of him is bright, catching on the splintered glass in the window frame. Every breath feels heavy in his lungs, his entire body shivering in the chill of the air. Outside, the lawn is… Different. The grass is immaculate, flowerbeds blossoming in a way that still tugs at some part of his mind he's not convinced is his own. The once-broken planters along the pathway are shining in the glow of the moon, not a crack to be found. He can only glance at the spikes on the porch, pain stabbing through his chest and arms at the sight. And the queue, where's the queue?

He attempts to stumble away, hissing as he lifts his hands and finds thick lines of blood. How did he not feel that before? He looks at the glass shards where his hands were just resting. In fact, how didn't he feel the tugging pressure on either side of his shirt, or see the pale faces watching him-?

He screams. The girls let go of his shirt as he backs into the wall, pressing his bleeding palms flat against the panelling. They watch, making no move towards him. Simply watching. Mumbo's strength finally gives up and he sinks down the wall until he hits the ground. Burying his face into his knees, he takes a few seconds to just breathe. The girls are still watching him when he looks back up, twin faces expressionless.

"What do you want from me?" He asks, voice cracking in spite of his best efforts. The girls look at each other, expressions becoming almost… Remorseful? 

"We want to help you," one says. She's taller, hair tied into a ponytail by a simple ribbon. 

"You shouldn't be here," the other tells him. The one from before, with the untidy braid. "He's trapped you here." Mumbo presses his clenched fists against his face, making a soft whine that sounds pathetic to his own ears. 

"Who is he? What is going on? I'm just-" He runs out of words to say. The shorter girl looks down the hallway. They exchange another look and the taller holds a hand out, encouraging him up. 

"We should go to our room."

"You get affected by her." Mumbo looks at the empty window in front of him. The glass shards taunt him, memories that aren't quite his own mingled with stinging palms. He pushes himself onto his feet. What other option does he have? He's lost, he's freezing, he's scared. When this day started, he didn't think he'd be taking comfort in two ghost girls. But here he is. 

"Okay. Okay, I'll follow you." The taller girl takes Mumbo's hand. Her touch is like cold velvet against his already freezing skin. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he lets the pair lead him. Away from the broken window and the lingering scent of lavender. Further into the house with more direction than he's had since he arrived. The shorter girl skips ahead, peeking around doors and corners before gesturing them on. 

They come to a stop in a bedroom. It's pretty. That's the best way he can think to describe this room. The curtains are drawn, frills down to the floor. A dollhouse sits in the corner of the room beside the bed, dolls still, as if caught in time. And two twin beds. They're unmade yet a pristinely bright white. Besides dark spots on the edges of the pillows where the covers are drawn back, marking each bed. A glistening red, matching the deep cuts on his hands-

"Is that blood?" He hisses, freezing in place. The taller girl turns to look at him, tilting her head.

"This is our bedroom," she says it as if that should answer all of his questions. It does not. Not at all.

"But- Why is there blood?" He gestures at the stained sheets. His hand is released as both girls enter the room. The shorter girl picks up a discarded teddy from the floor.

"This is where we died," the taller tells him, jumping up and sitting on the bed. Her dress falls delicately around her, blending in with the covers. The shorter girl pushes herself up, sitting so they both face him. Mumbo stares. He hates to admit it, but he just stares. He understood, logically, they had to be dead. He saw one of them run through a wall. But hearing them say it, so simply? How is he supposed to react to that? 

"Died- right-" He hides his face, trying to keep himself calm. "You're ghosts. Of course. That-" Something else clicks, "Blood. There's blood. You two-"

"Murdered," the shorter one says.

"By him. Our father," the taller adds. Mumbo looks at them both closely. They look so small. 

"You- that's so much blood." The taller girl looks at the patch, she reaches out, scraping her finger against the stain. "You don't look like it." 

"We choose not to." Mumbo blinks and suddenly the girls have blood streaming from their necks and staining their dresses, the skin torn almost all the way through-

He blinks again and it's gone, along with his breath. There are just two girls with skin nearly as pale and flawless as their white dresses. He raises a hand to his mouth, unsure if he wants to be sick or cry. They're just- they're so young.

"It's okay," the shorter girl tells him. She's crossed her legs, her teddy sat in the middle. "We were sleeping. We didn't feel it." Mumbo can barely look at them without seeing the red. 

"Oh- oh, I feel sick." There's nowhere in the room for him to sit, so he settles for the floor. His legs shake as he lowers himself, finally dropping with a thud. The girls look down at him, always watching. It's as if he's something fascinating to them. Those bright eyes examine his every movement.

"Our father is the one who trapped you here," the taller girl tells him. "We're all trapped here. Our family, and the people he's got since." 

"The people he's got since?" Mumbo questions, the implication of that hitting him like a truck. "Like me?" They both nod.

"It used to be explorers," she speaks like she's telling a story, her words weaving pictures in Mumbo's mind, "most of them came and went. We'd watch them as they flashed their big boxes or tubes."

"But some of them could see us," the shorter one calls, face brightening in genuine excitement.

"Those were the ones he trapped. We'd listen to them scream and then they were trapped, like us." Mumbo's fingers unconsciously reach for his phone, holding it tight for comfort. Maybe he should write a message. Texts that won't send. Some sorries and 'I love you's. 

"Why are you telling me this?" He asks. "You're trapped here too." They turn to each other, smiling with slight nods.

"We decided to help," the taller one says.

"You were nice," the smaller continues. Mumbo holds his arm up, looking at the wristband. It continues glowing. He gives it a cursory push. Still no give. He’s so lost.

"How do you plan on doing that?" He asks. They turn to each other as their faces scrunch up. 

"We're not sure." 

"We've never done this before." Mumbo groans, sinking back until he's lying on the carpeted floor. His hand presses into his face until he grimaces at the sticky, congealing blood. 

"I'm going to die here," he murmurs. "I'm going to die here because apparently, I can see ghosts and my friends dragged me to a haunted house! I'm going to die!" He flashes his phone screen on, wishing for something. A message, a hint of signal and not the time, still showing it's right before midnight. Not that. The only one out of the three he gets. His hands sting more at the stretch of movement. 

"Are you finished?" He yelps when he lowers the phone and finds both girls standing over him. His arms are above his face as protection before he processes what's happening. He reveals a sliver of vision between his pale forearms. They're frowning.

"You're not going to escape by having a tantrum on the floor," the shorter tells him, her voice sharp as a teacher's. He's going to die and his last memories are going to be of dead children scolding him like he's one of them. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. 

"Come on. Let's go." Small hands tug at him as they attempt to pull him upright. It feels as effective as he is when he's stayed up too late, about to pass out standing up. "Do you want to be stuck here forever? Don't you have a family to go back to?" And Mumbo does. He has his family and-

"My friends. I came here with two friends." Grian and Iskall, what would they think? Would they even find a body, or would Mumbo have walked down that hallway and simply vanished? His mind rushes with questions that he doesn't want answers to. He doesn't want to see his friends search for him. He doesn't want to see them mourn. 

"Well, get up then. Let's go." The shorter girl claps for emphasis. This time, Mumbo does, using his arm as a pillar despite how it hurts. 

"I think," the taller declares, "we should try to get you outside. That's got to work, right?" Her questioning tone leaves Mumbo less than optimistic, but it's not as if he has any other options. 

"But that means going downstairs," the shorter girl whispers it like the words have weight. 

"Downstairs?" Mumbo echoes.

"That's where he is." The taller girl is already walking ahead, taking Mumbo's hand as she does. "But how else are we going to get outside?" 

"A window?" The shorter suggests. She takes Mumbo's other hand, the pair of them taking the lead with no option but to follow. They continue their discussion around him.

"No. The only open one is mother's and he can't go near it again. She's stronger than us, we nearly lost him before." Mumbo isn't sure how he feels about being discussed like this. They're leaning forwards as they walk, looking at each other. Yet they're leading him down the halls still. Walking blindly through the maze that had Mumbo so lost like it’s effortless. 

"The front door is shut too." The shorter has her face scrunched up, dark hair falling into it again. "We're not strong enough to open it." 

"The garden, then."

"That door was shut too." Their gentle bickering reminds him of Grian and Iskall. Silently, he accepts his fate. He's putting his life in the hands of two girls that have no idea what they're doing. Children. He is completely and utterly screwed. He's never going to hear Iskall and Grian bicker again. His hand twitches with the urge to wipe away what might be tears stinging his eyes. Little fingers hold on tighter.

The halls all blend together the longer they walk. They fall into a single file line, the taller girl leading. Only his footsteps make a sound - muted thuds through the house, less creaks now he has two people guiding him. Mumbo's in awe at the size of the manor. He allows that to occupy his mind for a little while. How would you even fill half of these rooms? They must have had servants for cleaning. In its day, this must've been an incredible place to grow up. Now, it's a prison. It's likely going to be his prison. The manor loses some grandeur at that thought. 

The taller releases his hand and leans forward, sticking her upper body straight through a wall. Mumbo blinks. He's never going to get used to that. She steps away, nodding at them both. 

"It's empty." The shorter girl nods in return, the pair sneaking around the partially closed door. Mumbo follows, ducking into a small, twisting, wooden staircase. The girls are skipping down the stairs, leaning on the central column to peer around. They glance at him occasionally, as if checking he's still there. Mumbo makes sure he's in their sight, feet struggling to fit on the stairs. This staircase wasn't made for somebody as tall as him.

Towards the bottom, he can pick up on a distinct noise slicing through the silence. The two girls have paused at the exit to the stairs, listening. It’s a harsh scrape, splintering underneath. Terror catches Mumbo's heart, the beat jumping in his ears. Is somebody destroying the house? What is that? 

"He's doing it again," the shorter comments, her face and voice grumpy. Mumbo is about to ask what he's doing, but the pair are already determinedly walking ahead. He'll defer to the experts.

"That's the only way to the entrance," the taller says, her gentle features pinched in thought. It's not directed at him. The words sink in anyway.

"We have to go past him?" He asks, continuing to follow despite his poor instincts trying to protect him. Their faces are set in grim determination.

"Yes." 

Mumbo has to fight to find words, "That's- that's a terrible idea! He wants to kill me." He presses his fist against his chest at the thought. One near death experience would be enough for one night. He's had several!

"He's already killed us," the shorter helpfully reminds him. Mumbo squeezes his eyes shut to calm down.

"We can figure it out," the taller replies. Honestly, Mumbo would just like to curl up in a corner and fade out of existence. That would be far preferable to this. But, he's already come this far, and they're both looking at him expectantly. 

"Planning," he suggests, "we could come up with a plan." They exchange looks.

"Planning's for adults," the taller decides. The shorter girl is already running ahead, scouting their path out. Mumbo makes a particularly undignified noise.

"I'm an adult!" He calls. His statement is ignored. The girls are storming ahead with a determination Mumbo wishes he had. Maybe there are some advantages to being dead. It's not like anyone can kill you again. Can they? 

The girls come to a stop in front of a corner. The taller puts her fingers on her lips. The harsh scraping is louder, vibrating through the walls. Mumbo can hear thuds, softened by the carpet. He clutches one of his hands tight to his chest. The gashes have nearly stopped bleeding. His entire palm is stained red - he's surprised he's not left marks on the house or the girls. Just another weird thing to keep track of.

The shorter girl pulls him closer, encouraging him to look around the corner. It's the same man as before, that's for certain. His appearance has changed, once tidy hair unkempt, waistcoat undone and torn. Mumbo flinches as a knife glints in the darkness. The man lunges forward, stabbing the blade into the wood above the door and prying at the carving, splintering wood around him. His focus is immovable as he drives the knife in further. Mumbo winces.

A tug on his shirt brings him to attention. The taller girl is pointing to something in the darkness. It hits Mumbo that he can barely see. He's been so reliant on the natural glow from the two girls, he forgot it's pitch black down here. He has no idea what she's pointing at or any idea how to articulate that. With one hand, he covers his eyes, shaking his head. When he looks again, the two girls are frowning, looking at each other. Finally, they nod. The shorter darts to the other side of the hall, vanishing into the wall. 

Mumbo watches in confusion until in the darkness of the hall, a doorway is lit up by her silhouette. Her cheeks are scrunching up her eyes as she grins. The taller girl turns to him, a question in her eyes. Mumbo nods, offering a thumbs up. She nods back, checking the position of her father. Then she points, mouthing a clear, 'Go.'

Mumbo takes the chance, transferring his weight to his toes. He waits for the sound of the knife hitting wood before running, feet light across the carpet until he reaches the doorway, falling into the room. Both girls are waiting for him. The shorter girl pokes her head out, returning with a big grin. Mumbo releases his breath, sinking onto the wall beside the doorframe. One stage closer. He allows himself a hint of relief, hope within reach. If they're patient, they should make it. He checks his phone. Still nearly midnight. They've got time.

The taller girl vanishes through one of the walls. Mumbo stays put, waiting for his next instruction. Sure, they'll have to figure out what to do next. But if he gets through this, Mumbo thinks he could do anything. 

He makes it to the next room, using the sound of the knife against wood and the glow of the girls to guide him. The man is close now. Mumbo breathes lightly, body tensed. The scraping stops. The three wait for it to start up again so they can decide their next move. 

Instead, the knife stabs through the wall with a loud yell, inches away from Mumbo's head.

Mumbo realises the shout was his own, throwing himself away from the wall and falling against a velvet chair. He manages to keep himself upright on shaky hands, twisting to face the door. The girls have twin looks of terror. Mumbo presses against the wall away from the door, a glowing silhouette blocking out the creeping darkness. 

"There you are." The man walks in. The knife is armed in his hand. "I knew I could smell something alive around here." To Mumbo's surprise, the taller girl gets in front of him, digging her hands into his hips. The man stops.

"Let him go!" She orders, stomping her foot. The shorter girl stands beside her, crossing her arms. They form a protective wall in front of Mumbo. His heart aches. The man, their supposed father, only scowls.

"Begone, brats." Mumbo feels the air shift. The girls look at each other in horror before they vanish, leaving the room empty. Nothing in-between Mumbo and the man and the knife.

"What did you do to them?!" He demands, his arms raised protectively. He tries to look around for the girls but he can't take his eyes off the man in front of him.

"I sent them away." The man steps forward. He taps the knife in his hand. The metal glints in his glow. Maybe, just maybe, the knife won't be able to hurt him. Please. "It'll take a while until they can manifest again."

"How can you-" Mumbo reaches for his hair but flinches as the strands irritate his hand. "You're sick. How can you do this to them? They're children!" The man continues forward. That knife is too close, way too close. He'd prefer it if it was on the other side of the house, in fact.

"They were going to leave me." Mumbo stumbles backwards as if the words sent off a shockwave. "Just like you're trying to." 

"They had every reason to!" Mumbo argues. He- he murdered them. He wants to do the same to Mumbo! "And I'm quite attached to my life as well!" 

"You signed your life away already." Mumbo jumps to the side away from the swing of the knife. "You've been carrying the contract in your pocket the entire time." Mumbo knows his confusion is showing on his face. All he has in his pockets is his phone. His phone and- 

"This?" Mumbo drags the ticket free of his pocket, brandishing the crumpled paper in front of the man like a weapon. It looks ordinary. One adult, entrance to the manor, on today's date. The hole is still punched in the corner. 

"It never said anything about leaving." Mumbo's heart drops at the words. Of course it didn't. That's- that's never written into websites or tickets. He wouldn't look for it because it's not like he ever expects this to happen. 

"Well-" he grabs both ends of the ticket, tearing it in two with a satisfying rip, "-I void that contract. I don't agree." Nothing happens. The man's face shifts to one of amusement before he barks out a grating laugh. Mumbo frowns, missing the joke.

"You think that will save you?" The man asks, slinking towards him again. "You think I can't take your soul by force? Where have you got to run?" Mumbo jumps back from a swing that nearly catches his side. He eyes up the doorway. The man is standing in his way but- A plan comes to his head. A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

He kicks, watching the amusement on the man's face as his foot goes straight through him. Mumbo uses the momentum to dive forwards, straight through the man's body. It feels like plunging into a frozen ocean, leaving him gasping for air. But he's out. He's in the hallway. His hand presses against the wall until he gets his feet under him, sprinting into the empty darkness. 

He holds his arm out, wishing the glow of the wristband was brighter to guide him. There's a roar behind him, sending Mumbo's body into violent shivers. He feels like he might cry. He forces one foot after another, hoping that the entrance is somewhere ahead of him. He doesn't know what it'll solve. Maybe it's a moral victory. 

His hopes are dashed when his hand hits a wall. The pain is overshadowed by crushing defeat, the panic threatening to choke him. He presses around but can't find where to go. This was supposed to be a straight hallway! High-pitched, scraping drags closer to him, the sound growing louder. Mumbo turns, frozen before the man. It can't end here. Please, he doesn't want to die.

"It'll be over soon," the man tells him, words like ice in Mumbo's lungs. The knife gleams as it raises above Mumbo's head. His scream comes out as a sob, raising his arms in a last, futile attempt at defence. 

The knife hits the wristband. 

Mumbo barely registers the fact he's not been hit as the plastic glows, growing brighter as it peels away from sweaty skin. Something silent in the air bursts. He hears a scream as he loses his footing to the force. Falling backwards, the man is gradually vanishing, expression twisted in pain. Mumbo's head cracks against the wall behind him. He slumps onto the carpet, thoughts swimming. He blinks once. Twice. The darkness of the hallway takes over his thoughts, sliding into silence.

-

"I think he's waking up!" Mumbo's head feels like concrete. Everything throbs in time to his heartbeat, the voices around him are so loud he can't focus on the words. There's something soft touching his cheek, reminiscent of an earlier touch, freezing cold-

He flinches away from it, head swirling in pain. Another touch steadies him. He realises there's something cool and damp against the back of his head. He raises his hand, trying to touch it but brushing against something else solid, warm. Cautiously, he forces his eyes open, wincing at the brightness that awaits him. There's shadows moving in his vision, one of them speaking.

"-bo? Hey, can you hear us?" Mumbo nods, whining at the pain that movement sends through his head. He rests his forehead on a closed fist, giving the fog in his brain time to dissipate. Everything is blissfully quiet around him, the only noise being distant footsteps and creaking floorboards. 

The night hits him at once. He startles up, swaying before he can even get his feet under him. Hands on his shoulders keep him from standing. 

"Woah, hey. You had a nasty fall. Careful." The voice sinks into Mumbo's mind. He finds himself looking into dark brown eyes, bright red at the edge of his vision. He leaps forward, throwing his arms around his friend.

"Grian." His voice breaks on the name. Those arms reach around him, patting his back robotically. 

"Mumbo?" Grian's voice is confused as he hugs back. "It's only been a few minutes, dude. You weren't out for that long." Mumbo's breath comes out as a wheeze.

"What time is it?" He asks, almost desperate. There's a pause, Grian's head lifting up.

"Like, ten minutes past midnight." There's Iskall. They're both here. Safe. He's safe. "Mumbo are you okay? Besides the head injury and- your hands. Like, dude?" Mumbo's breath comes out shaky with the tears he forces back.

"I'm- I'm okay. I think." He looks around the familiar hallway. The carpet is worn and dirty, the wallpaper peeling in places. Above the nearest doorway, the wooden coat of arms is broken. 

"What even happened, Mumbo?" Grian asks. He gets shuffled to the side as a young man kneels down, a medical kit in his hands. Mumbo shuts his eyes, trying to think. A lot. A lot happened. Oh goodness, a lot has happened. He doesn't even know where to start. 

So instead, he lies, "I- I tripped." 

"You tripped?" Grian sounds in disbelief. 

"When I joked about letting go of your hand, I didn't mean for it to be serious." The joking in Iskall's voice is shadowed by worry. That conversation feels like it happened hours ago. Mumbo holds his hands out for the first aider, allowing him to wipe the nearly closed up wounds. He winces at the sting of alcohol, sitting patiently and trying not to move. 

"Do we need a babysitter for you?" Grian joins in with the teasing. It sounds just as concerned. Mumbo tries to smile. He feels exhausted down to his very bones. He wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep. 

"I'm okay," he attempts to reassure them. "Honestly, I need to look where I'm going." It's so much easier than explaining what really happened.

"Maybe you were tripped by a ghost," Iskall jokes. It falls a bit flat, considering, but Mumbo finds himself laughing anyway. This is absurd. Did he just imagine all of that?

"There you go, all bandaged up." The first aider releases Mumbo's hand. Mumbo flexes them, feeling bandages shift around his palms. It's going to be a nightmare working with this. "No idea how you did it, mind. They look almost healed. Old wounds?" Mumbo hums, allowing the guy to take whatever answer he wants from it. "You should be fine to go home, anyway." Mumbo sags in relief before remembering the original reason for their visit.

"But what about you two?" He asks, "Don't you want to do the attraction?" 

"Dude, we can do the attraction another time. We're taking you home." Grian nods in agreement at Iskall's words. Mumbo sits back, gently poking the ice pack on his head. It's beginning to melt into his hair. He takes it off, offering it back to the first aider.

"Hey." Mumbo looks up at a familiar voice, jumping away from the woman who approaches. She's no longer wearing a waistcoat, instead, there's a dark hoodie. Her hair is still in a ponytail. "Got your bags." Her eyes meet Mumbo's. They glint with a knowing smile, lightening to an almost-white. He stares at her as Iskall takes their stuff. Then, she turns away, waving over her shoulder. Grian offers his hands out to Mumbo, helping him onto his feet. 

"Come on, let's get Mr Accident Prone here home," Grian calls to Iskall, wrapping his arm around Mumbo's waist. Iskall laughs, turning and thanking the staff members for their help whilst Grian walks with Mumbo to the entrance. Mumbo tries not to tense as the hallway opens up, but he does. He only relaxes once he sees the open door and no sign of that man. Grian looks at him in concern, asking a soft, "You alright?" 

"I'm fine, sorry." Grian obviously isn't convinced, but they wait by the door for Iskall to catch up. He appears shortly after, rucksack on his back and their coats slung over his arm. He holds them out for Grian and Mumbo to take. Mumbo wraps himself up tightly, trying to stave off some of the lingering chill in his bones.

A weight leaves Mumbo's shoulders when they step outside. The queue is still chatting away and, for once, Mumbo doesn't care about the stares they get. He's far, far too tired. Grian leads him along with a warm hand in his, past the queue and under the bright lights. The grounds are in the same decay that Mumbo remembers from when they arrived. 

"Right," Grian turns to Mumbo, squeezing his hand, "what actually happened, then?" Mumbo pauses, looking at Grian and trying to tell if he's serious. 

"You're a terrible liar, Mumbo," Iskall informs him, backing Grian up. 

"And why were you freezing up at things? Like that girl and the entrance? Clearly something's up." 

"And you're clumsy but not that clumsy. Plus your hands! There was nothing sharp in the hall!" They're both so concerned, eyes watching Mumbo carefully. They probably think somebody picked a fight with him. They wouldn't be too far off. 

"You guys wouldn't believe me if I told you," Mumbo replies, at last. Grian groans at him, Iskall rolling his eyes. Mumbo takes a second to glance back at the manor, standing tall in the night.

For a split second, he sees the manor as it once was. Windows closed and uncovered, the one above the porch shattered as blood drips onto the porch railing below. The flowers are blooming, the paint shining. And on the lawn, he sees two young girls, running across the tidy grass. He thinks he can hear their laughter in the distance. Then it's gone, returned to the abandoned manor someone decided to set a haunted house up in. 

"There's no such thing as ghosts," he says, turning to Iskall as he parrots those earlier words. The two of them make loud noises, falling over each other in argument.

"What does that mean?!" Grian cries, waving his hands. "Come on, Mumbo!" Mumbo laughs tiredly, resolving to ignore their protests. Maybe he'll tell them another time. Tonight, he just wants to put this entire experience behind him. Curl up in a warm bed and sleep until he doesn't feel ready to fall over. 

He's not going anywhere haunted for a long time.

[georgesdamnton]

Robespierre art rated:

That coat and waistcoat combo? Terrible. I love it. Cravat thats all swishy and fancy? Love that too. His fashion is the worst and I hold that dear. Looks like him so points there for sure.

8/10 - because he looks sorta very uncomfortable like he doesn't know whether to smile or not. maybe that's just his face, but points lost regardless.

Hmm I really don't like whatevers on his head in this one. His facial expression is oddly threatening, which is only made worse by the fact that he looks like a oversized 6 year old.

3/10 - bad energy, but I like his lil handbag thingy

My favourite of his outfits. Really love that coat, would absolutely buy one for myself and maybe for a friend at Christmas. Very nice waistcoat too. Classic crossing of the legs from Robespierre, very noice. Based on the face, I wouldn't immediately say it was Robespierre though - sort of missed the mark there. Also I get the feeling he doesn't want to be there because of the suitcase behind him, like "Sorry am I keeping you? By all means-"

7/10 - not sure if the painter actually ever saw a dog irl or whether they saw an Anya Boz Room Guardian and thought 'hmm.. I bet they look like that'

Clearly uses the first one as a ref photo, but so do I so that's ok. Looks kinda depressed, but so do I so that's ok. The addition of glasses was an insanely good idea because I love them.

9/10 - because those glasses really are just so good and I'm all for a relatable Robespierre

What are doing lying on the table you dramatic little shit? Look at all the shit you've knocked on the ground! Does anyone look at all impressed? No. Get down from there you silly fuck. Also maybe help that fella with his hat, I don't think he can see anything..

4/10 - I like his outfit and Saint-Just looking like he's on the Office makes the whole piece infinitely better (actually I'm getting a lot of judgement from that whole corner, which is great)

absolutely not.

0/10 - because no.

The drama in this one is the best so far. Nice use of movement and shit. I'm getting emotion from this one, it's good stuff. My biggest emotion is my huge amount of sadness that Robespierre is unable to pull up his sockies.

10/10 - because Saint-Just is unapologetically looking at that guys dick

This is by Weerts, who also did my favourite Marat painting, but I'm not sure if I'm as big of a fan of this piece. Not really sure what's going on. He looks shocked and appalled by his own homoerotic thoughts...

??/10 - I really have no idea of what my opinion is on this one...

[starspatter]

WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments.  (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.)  I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right?  Don’t worry, it’s really simple.  One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh?  A ‘demon’?  But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear.  Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within.  She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then?  Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others.  It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time.  (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~)  For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes.  The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars.  With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for.  ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building.  His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table.  Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair.  That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi.  The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another...  Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself.  (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love.  But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this.  This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates.  I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be.  In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters.  For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it.  As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes.  Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright.  The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat.  The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao.  I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger.  “In all this time, why didn’t you come back?  You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child.  But he wasn’t a child.  Children were forgiven for their mistakes.  And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s the way this town works.  We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world.  Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia.  She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry.  It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze.  Over 10 years, huh.  But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering.  It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend).  *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories.  (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;()  What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all).  I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training.  I mean that in an intuitive sort of way.  Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else.  Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about.  Perhaps not.  Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this.  As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards.  It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly.  She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes.  She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze.  She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know.  This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL).  In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher.  So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again.  However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence.  As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*).  So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference.  (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now.  They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below.  The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought.  I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real.  The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this.  I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage.  I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic.  I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia.  The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend.  I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right.  I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun.  The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved.  This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted.  However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag.  One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead.  Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It.  Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch?  It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her.  Twice she nearly caught one.  Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands.  The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone. 

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol.  I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting).  I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination.  Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East.  She knew about the Light that came from Outside.  There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through.  She had always done well to avoid them.  The brightness was like poison to her skin.  But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely.  He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream.  She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was.  Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”.  In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn.  But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway.  She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread.  I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference.  (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

[axelsagewrites]

James Potter*Highly Doubtful

A/N: I'm sorry it was late, again. I've got the week off so I'm going to write back up posts so it hopefully won't happen again/for a while. Also, I made it longer than usual to make up for it being late.

Set in marauders and readers 5th year. (Age 15-16)

If your female the bold applies to you. If your male the italics apply to you. If your neither you can pick which applies to you.

(N/T/S/L/Y) = Name that sounds like yours

What is it they say? Opposites attract. Maybe that's why school socialite and Mr popular James Potter fancied (Y/N) (Y/L/N). they were shy, quiet, and stayed out of all social events.

They shared classes together but never a word. In fact, he wasn't sure he heard them say anything but "Present" when the teacher took the register.

Normally quiet or awkward kids got picked on, but it seemed like no one noticed (Y/N) enough to pick on them. James was glad and upset about that at the same time. Even his friends didn't notice them. Again, James was glad and upset about that since it meant Sirius wouldn't hit on them but it also meant he had even less of a reason to talk to them.

James sat in charms with his usual friend group and set up, Sirius next to him winking at girls and cracking jokes, Remus behind Sirius taking a few notes but mostly talking to, Peter who was behind him doodling on his parchment, and himself, his feet propped on the desk, laughing at some joke.

They always sat at the very back of class unless the teacher moved them. Flitwick was chill since he realized they all were still passing, and it was easier to have a mini chaos corner than spread them out to divide and conquer the class with jokes and pranks. He only ever reprimanded them if they laughed a bit loud.

The conversation fell into an inevitable lull as Sirius swapped notes, Remus picked up a book, and Peter tried to finish his doodle of their Animagus's that wasn't that bad. Who knew he could draw?

James' eyes scanned the classroom looking for something to hold his interest. His eyes fell on them again, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), lazily taking notes and looking as uninterested as most of the class. They were doing a theory lesson on water charms, so no one really cared.

The difference was that they weren't talking to anyone. Everyone else either was talking to a friend or were a nerd and were furiously taking notes.

He didn't even care if he got caught staring. Eventually, he did. Their eyes flickered over but James didn't look away, he smiled at them. They gave a tight-lipped smile back.

His attention was drawn back to his friends when he heard Remus hit Sirius in the back of the head with a book.

James put his small interaction with (Y/N) out of his head as best he could. However, at dinner, his plans failed as when all the students bustled in for dinner Sirius nudged him too hard resulting in him bumping into someone.

He glared at Sirius but turned to see who he'd knocked. (Y/N) stood beside him and he was shocked. He managed to force out a "Sorry," without sounding too weird.

They shrugged "Its okay,"

Before James could reply Sirius was dragging him to make sure they got their seats. James would admit he was shallow and was only really interested in (Y/N)'s looks but their voice was heavenly. But he couldn't even share his thought with his friends who had no idea who they were.

"Right so tonight theirs this party so Remus, no holy jumpers," Sirius sent his friend a pointed look.

Remus rolled his eyes but didn't reply.

"What party?" Peter asked before shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth.

At least he closed his mouth. Through half a mouth full of steak Sirius replied: "Apparently 7th years are having a party in the room of requirement and we are crashing."

"But we're 5th year. How do you plan on getting in? In fact, how did you even find out?" Remus asked.

Sirius grinned "That's for me to know and you to find out,"

James looked at Sirius before turning to his other friends "He overheard some 7th year talking about it and they said he could go so they didn't get ratted out,"

"You ruin all my fun!"

As usual Sirius and James fused over outfits. James didn't deny he liked to look good. Hair like this takes effort to look so effortless. Remus shoved on some random clothes only for Sirius to give him an outfit to change into. Peter on the other hand just asked James.

Sirius was in black ripped jeans, muggle band shirt, and leather jacket. Remus was forced into a non-holy black jumper, grey jeans, and silver chain necklace. Peter, as per James suggestion, was wearing a black shirt, white waistcoat, and black jeans. And finally James was wearing black jeans, sneakers, and a blue denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up.

They 5th years snuck out of the tower with ease and made their way into one of the secret passageways, Peter holding the marauder's map. "Are you sure I look okay? I've never worn a waistcoat to a party," Peter asked the group.

"You look fine wormtail," Remus rolled his eyes. "What is it with you lot and clothes?"

James smacked Remus's shoulder, "You look great. Just roll up your shirt sleeves and you'll be fine," He did as he was told.

"I still think you should've gone with the leather jacket but yeah you look fine," James glared at Sirius.

Eventually, they made it to the party and with disapproving looks from the 7th years got in without a snag.

You could tell the 7th years hated them as they walked through the party. Sirius turned to a group of girls looking at them, "Ladies," he said. They scoffed and walked away.

Remus rolled his eyes, "Wanna try to find the snacks?"

"Wanna try to find the drink?" James countered.

They all knew the 7th years would hate them but the good thing about 7th years was that most of them were of age to drink.

the marauders stuck together at the party, laughing over stupid jokes as they drank, probably too much, fire whiskey. As they were laughing James stopped suddenly. Amongst the crowd, he'd sawn (Y/N).

Impossible. He told himself. Theirs no way.

But alas the crowd moved again and he got another glimpse of them. He'd thought they were cute before but damn. He'd only ever saw them in school uniform but now they wore an ac/dc shirt tucked into a somewhat short leather skirt. A mostly unbuttoned flannel shirt with black skinny jeans that showed off his ass.

James couldn't help his stare. "Whatcha looking at?" Sirius shouted in his ear. He flinched and turned to his friend but before he could say anything Sirius saw (Y/N). "Damn! Go talk to them,"

His other friends turned to see what was going on. Remus squinted "Is that (Y/N)?"

"You know them?" James asked,

He shrugged "Seen them about. What are they doing here though?"

"Dunno," James replied.

Sirius downed his drink and slammed the cup down "Well let's go find out,"

James didn't have a chance to stop him before he got lost in the crowd. James rushed after him, their other friends following. Sirius was a man on a mission though and before he could stop him he threw an arm around (Y/N) shoulder.

They flinched and moved, shrugging Sirius's arm off. The 7th years they'd been talking to looked confused. "You know him?" They asked.

(Y/N) looked in between the marauders and their friends "Not really. What are you are doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" You could hear the alcohol in Sirius's breath. "You don't have friends," James smacked his friends head. "It's true!" Sirius defended himself.

(Y/N) scoffed at them "Get the fuck out of my party," They said before storming off.

A couple of the 7th years followed them. One of the others, a guy who looked like he should have graduated a couple years ago and was kinda terrifying turned to them, "Way to ruin (Y/N)'s birthday do."

The marauders screwed their eyes shut, ready for a punch. When nothing happened they opened their eyes to see the 7th year had left. One of the other students chimed in "Woah. 5th years really are pathetic,"

"(N/T/S/L/Y) is a 5th year too," Sirius defended himself. James felt his heart clench when Sirius didn't get their name right.

"(Y/N)," the 7th year corrected him, "Is one of us,"

The Marauders weren't kicked out per say but they could all tell Sirius was too drunk to be here. James was disappointed when he could see (Y/N) as they were leaving.

The next day the marauders were kinda hungover and not very happy. Remus because he realized his jumper had a stain on it, Peter because he heard some 7th-year girl make fun of him, Sirius because he didn't make out with anyone, and James because of (Y/N).

At breakfast, it was mostly silent. Sirius decided he didn't like it and kept trying to talk about last night. "You know I think that 7th-year girl liked me," no one replied so he continued "Plus they all totally dug my leather jacket. I'm pretty sure-"

"Will you shut up!?" James snapped. A few people around them looked over curiously "Can you all get your own life?" They looked away. James poked at his eggs.

"Calm down buddy. No need to be such an ass," Sirius said.

James slammed his fork down "Really? I was just taking lessons from you,"

Now even Remus and Peter were confused, "What's up Ja-"

"Last night. You just had to be so rude to everyone. Its one thing joking and annoying some random 7th years but did you really need to insult (Y/N)? And get their name wrong?"

Sirius looked confused "Why do you care? Do you like them or something?"

"You know what? Doesn't matter. I'm just hungover. It's fine."

The guys nodded but didn't believe him. "I'll apologize next time I see them," Sirius said. James nodded but said nothing and ate his eggs.

They had charms before break and as they walked in James realized (Y/N) wasn't in yet. Halfway into the period they walked in and took their seat silently. Flitwick waited till everyone was working to walk over to (Y/N) but James couldn't make out what was being said.

As they packed up near the end of the period James tapped Sirius' shoulder and nodded to the other side of the room. He sighed but nodded in response upon seeing (Y/N).

Since it was broken most people rushed out the class, even Flitwick, and the marauders waited outside the class for (Y/N) to walk out.

"Hey! (Y/N), wait up," Sirius said as they went to leave.

They turned to see the marauders, groaned and sped up. Sirius jogged to catch up, forcing them to do the same. "We-I" he corrected himself when Remus coughed "Wanted to apologize."

"Whatever look," they stopped and turned to them "Its whatever. You don't tell people I was there and I'll tell the 7th years to cancel the revenge-"

"What?"

"-Deal?"

The boys looked at each other and nodded "Deal," Sirius said.

"Happy birthday by the way," Remus said. They nodded and went to walk away.

Sirius cannot take a hint, "Why do you only hang with 7th years?"

They sighed and turned around "Because our year is filled with people like you lot," This time they walked away with no issue.

James couldn't help but feel crushed. You lot. They didn't like him. His friends noticed his moping and called him out at dinner "Right what's up?"

"Nothing." He shrugged.

"Is this about (Y/N)?" Peter asked "Because Sirius apologized and I don't remember the last time that happened,"

He sighed but said nothing. It took a few seconds but then Remus slammed his fork down "You like them!" he exclaimed. Luckily since Remus was so quiet only the Marauders heard.

"Omg, you're over Lily?!" Sirius seemed more excited than he should be.

"Will you shut up?" James groaned "They'll never like me,"

"Why?"

"Because I'm one of 'you lot'. They don't like our year," James slumped in his seat. His friends dropped it eventually but it hung in the air like cigarette smoke.

As the marauders were walking to the dorms after last class they heard a distant fizzing. They looked around as it seemingly got closer, "Duck!" Remus yelled as he spotted something.

A small ball of grey light came towards them at an alarming rate. They all managed to duck but James was too slow and it got him, knocking him all the way down.

Laughter erupted as James sat up. He looked over himself to see grey goup was covering him. "Ugh," He grimaced as he tried to shake it off but it only jiggled.

He heard Sirius say some spell but whatever it was didn't work as the water he shot at James didn't budge the slime.

James looked up to see a few of the 7th years from last night grinning. "(Y/N)," he muttered, looking over the mess he was in.

"Ow!" He looked up to see the 7th years rubbing their heads and an angry looking (Y/N).

They huffed and walked over to James. "Sorry 'bout that. You might need a hand getting it off." He nodded.

Somehow James ended up sat in front on (Y/N) in an empty classroom as they prepared something. "I thought I told them all not to do anything. Sorry I guess," they said.

"We deserved it," he admitted. "We shouldn't have ruined your birthday,"

"It wasn't ruined, just mildly dampened." They confessed, "This should take it off."

"What is it?" James asked as he looked at the liquid in the cauldron.

(Y/N) looked at it then at him, "You don't wanna know,"

It was awkward as (Y/N) helped James remove the slime. They had to dampen clothes with the liquid and scrape the slime off. "That's all of it," they said as (Y/N) got the last bit off his neck.

"You need to tell me how to make that one day," James said. They shrugged. James sighed "Why don't you like our year?"

(Y/N) looked away for a moment. "Dunno. I guess its cause they don't like me," they sighed, sitting on one of the desks. "I never really got on with people in general. Specifically my age."

"Then why do you hang out with 7th years,"

"They're my cousin's friends. Dunno what I'm going to do next year though. People don't really like me,"

"I like you," James said.

"You just met me," they shook their head "You'll realize soon enough,"

James sighed "You're not even giving it a chance. For all you know I might end up being your best friend,"

"Highly doubtful,"

"give it a chance. The guys and I go to Hogsmeade every Saturday. Come with this weekend." James offered, his heart beating faster than his first Quidditch match.

They sighed "I dunno,"

James looked around the room, trying to think of something "What about just me? Ease into it I guess,"

"You'll regret it," they said.

"Highly doubtful," he grinned, using their own words against them.

"You're persistent,"

James nodded "I've been told," he thought of Lily. "What do you say?"

"Eh...fine. I suppose what the worst that could happen."

"You could fall madly in love with me," James joked as they both got up to clear away what they'd been using.

"Highly doubtful,"

(Y/N) was wrong about one thing but right about the other. James didn't end up their best friend, surprisingly Sirius did. But they did end up falling for James.

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on DD Book 1 Chapter 5

• Content Warning: There are references to slut shaming while speaking about opera singers, and I speak about executions in the Hamid scene (I've not added grisly details or anything, but to me what I have included does sound a little macabre). I don't know if those warrant a warning, but I'd like to err on the side of caution and ensure that anyone comfortable with that knows this before they make the decision to proceed.

• Okay on with the QT!

• Why hello there, fancy hot looking Ottoman prince dude.

• Looks like not one but both of my MCs will be living the thot life.

• Apologies for the huge delay guys. There was a LOT to unpack this chapter, and it took me a while to actually explore, confirm my research and get a clear idea overall of how I wanted to approach this one. I'm hoping once TRR ends I can get these babies out earlier.

• You know what I realised? The Lady Grandma LIKES a sassy bitch. There are several times this chapter she's actually been more approving of my headstrong Marianne than she has been of my more mild-mannered Florence. See all of this:

She's mostly approving of this, however, when Henrietta is the recipient of this behaviour, but there are also points where she appreciates the MC's candor (if she chooses to show it) such as if the MC refers to the art of the fan as "ridiculous". If there is one thing that consistently gets on Dominique's nerves, it is occasions where the MC might speak of herself and her former background negatively, mostly out of annoyance because it shows she hasn't comfortably settled into her role yet, and Dominique needs the MC to do so if Edgewater is to stay within in the family and bloodline.

• Also I love the subtle streak of independence we get to see in Annabelle. She is someone who is doing what is expected of her, someone who tries to make the best of her circumstances the only way she knows how, but she is also refreshingly open about how stressful it is for her to go down this path, even in her free scenes. She is also playful and mischievous and doesn't take herself too seriously, which makes a lot of her scenes a joy to do.

• I also really really liked the option where you tell her she's the one you want to marry, and her reaction is both a disbelief that such a dream could come true alongside a receptiveness to the idea. It's soft and sweet and beautiful.

• So we start out with a crash course on the nobility we'll meet in London (Alfred Halloway, whose daughter Felicity is debuting this season, and the Barrymore family, who are related to the Halloways by marriage). Only this time, Annabelle wants to be a snarky little boss and fill the MC in on all the juicy gossip that Lady Grandmother won't give her.

• Lady Grandmother: Alfred Holloway is the viscount of Lochdale. His daughter, Felicity, will be coming from her estate at Bellington Hall to make her debut this season.

Miss Parsons: Alfred Holloway is an arrogant prig who looks like an Easter ham studded with cloves.

(For the record, this is what a clove-studded Easter ham seems to look like:

Holy shit Annabelle you savage af)

Lady Grandmother: Miss Holloway's family is also tied by marriage to the Earl of Barrymore...

Miss Parsons: Oh, avoid the Earl of Barrymore. His bed has more traffic than Drury Lane!

Annabelle here must be referring to the crowd that tends to flock around the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, which was popular as a source of entertainment for its plays and had a seating capacity of 3000 people.

• The free scene with Annabelle is important because it eases us gently into the main themes of her scene later on. The women get to speak about the whole concept of a "marriage market", and straight off the bat Annabelle lets us know how uncomfortable she is with having to go through a wedding to another man.

• She also speaks about what else - besides the fact that Harry was her closest friend - about his death affected her. Having been promised to Harry, Annabelle didn't have to go through the rigamarole of finding a husband. She had learned to settle with the idea of being married to someone who she knew and liked at least, if not loved. It's sad to us modern readers now that Annabelle would have to settle for less than passion or love, but back then I don't think she could have imagined a better deal. And now...and now she will have to settle for even less than what she had with Harry. This was a pretty neat way of easing us into the larger conversation she has with us in her diamond scene.

• A few days pass, and Briar is now helping us get ready for the trip to London. You have the option of encouraging her romance with Mr Woods, which...cmon. They cute 😊

•

Ooh so our House Colours are navy blue and gold! (considering that the Earl's default outfit itself is navy blue, I should have figured that would be a house colour). It's nice but MY NECK WHERE IS MY NECK.

Did You Know: that up until the middle of the 19th century, men's and women's riding habits were largely made by men in a distinctively masculine style. This is what Candice Hern's article "Regency Habits, Overview" on her website Regency World, says:

"Though the style and cut of riding habits changed with time and fashion, they continued to be tailored in a masculine style throughout the 17th and 18th centuries and into the early 19th century. In La Belle Assemblée in 1815, we read that: “Habits have, ever since they were first brought into fashion, been considered as decidedly calculated to give even the most delicate female a masculine appearance, and the wits of our grandmothers’ days were unmercifully severe on the waistcoat, cravat, and man’s hat which were then the indispensible appendages to a habit.”"

•

YOU'RE NOT COMING WTF DAD NO.

• WHO KNOWS WHAT THEY'LL DO TO YOU WHILE I'M GONE.

• I'm having a sinking feeling about leaving my old dad around in this house while Henrietta is still there, Grandma had better be his bodyguard (or maybe not. Cordonians seem to have weird ideas of what constitutes a successful bodyguard *COUGHCOUGH Mara and Bastien COUGHCOUGH*).

• Like most of the fandom I have a feeling the Earl will die sooner than we think. @i-dream-so-i-write once mentioned that it could well be towards the end of the book, and I think that's a fitting dramatic turn this book would take into the next. I'm going to miss the hell outta this guy though 😟

• Henrietta sent Mr Marlcaster and Miss Sutton ahead of time so they can screw things up for us, so we will need to butter them up like no tomorrow when we reach there, apparently.

• Hello Luke! It's been exactly one chapter!

• Kinda like the bonding the MC and Luke have with regards to the horse. Their first real conversation began with Clover, so it is fitting that their bonding continues over her at least for their initial interactions.

• Aww man, Henrietta wants Clover the horse to be sold and they give you a diamond option to keep her, name her and get extra scenes with her. Florence calls her Moonstone, Marianne calls her Pepper. Moonstone suits Florence's particular sense of whimsy, and I figured Marianne would want something short and snappy and it helped that Luke gave the horse some salt before the diamond option came up 😂

It's a fairly nice scene I guess, but it drives me batty because this book is already taking astronomical sums of money early on in the book, and people are already beginning to get frustrated. Even TRR, which is a pretty expensive book, took more than half the book before they pushed forward the option to buy the Derby horse. It just is beginning to feel like too much too soon at this point.

• Of all the free scenes this chapter, my favourite has to be the exchange among the four in the picnic en route London.

I found this particularly interesting because all of these people, so far, have been outside the rigors of the Season in some way or other. Briar is the most outside of this system of doing things: she has grown up completely out of it and will probably always struggle to understand the way things work within the gentry. Luke has spent years in that environment (that of the gentry) so he knows some of it, but he still is and will always be an outsider. Annabelle has grown up in this environment and is perhaps the closest to it, but has never had to take active part due to her association with Harry and the Edgewater Estate. And the MC straddles both these worlds. She is an heiress, part of this high society, but she was born in and more familiar with Briar's worldview. And I love how this scene captures all this in just a few bits of dialogue.

• Also Luke's sensible response to Annabelle's question and Briar being a teasing little imp is super cute, I will fight anyone who disagrees with me on this 😂😂😂

• So many gems nestled in Annabelle's scene guys I can't even. There's so much going on in this one. So much.

•

The main thing this scene does is to - without a doubt - establish Annabelle as a closeted lesbian. She's still at the stage where she's aware and finds it odd that she doesn't hold any affection for any man, that the idea itself of marriage frustrates her, and her growing confusion that she's now feeling for a woman all that she "should" be feeling for a man. There are points where she almost welcomes it, like the scene I mentioned earlier, but she still is clearly struggling.

The MC has three ways of responding to this - one where she misses the point completely and says "you haven't found the right man yet" (Marianne, unfortunately), another where she states that she "understands" (which is left open - either it is a gesture of support from an ally, or it is from someone who understands her dilemma to...well...some extent. Florence is the second. She is bi, so her "I understand" was basically "I've fallen for some men sure but I also have a hard time figuring out what my sexuality is"). My favourite is the response where the MC speaks of facing a similar dilemma in her life and is an excellent choice if your MC is also a lesbian. I couldn't use this one for Florence or Marianne because it didn't ring true for either of them, but I did see the screenshots on tumblr and it's quite poignant.

Did You Know: Lesbian/sapphic relationships and sex were not as much seen as illegal as invisible...and this was an attitude that a later monarch, Queen Victoria, would uphold as well, refusing to sign a legislation to criminalize it by insisting that "women do not do such things". Obviously as we all know, she couldn't be any more wrong. Today we know of famous lesbian women of the Regency as Anne Lister, owner of Shibden Hall, and the Ladies of Llangollen - two women from Ireland named Eleanor Butler and Sarah Ponsonby, who had a romantic relationship for over 50 years. Gail Eastwood, in an article titled "Queer in the Regency: a Slice of Once-Hidden LGBT History" says:

Defying their families, the two established an estate in Wales, called Plas Newydd, rather than enter into marriages with men they did not love. Though they incurred significant debt in order to have a staff, they survived on the generosity of friends until a fascinated Queen Charlotte convinced King George III to grant them a pension.

Plas Newydd became something of a haven for writers during the Regency era, especially since the couple living there could afford to keep it. 

Part of me wonders if elements of this story may be found in the Annabelle x MC route. Or like Anne Lister, who was well-endowed enough financially that she could refrain from marriage and have relationships with women. Maybe, or - given the limitations of having to chart out a storyline that will suit every LI - maybe not. Whatever it is, I'd be very interested in finding out how they'll handle the MC's romance with Annabelle.

• The second most interesting thing is Annabelle speaking about her poetry, and the restrictions her father has kept on her talent. She mentions him looking down on women's poetry as being "all bad rhymes and flowery sentiment", and that - in keeping with the times - he prefers Romantic Age poets such as Wordsworth, and that famous influence on Romanticism, Shakespeare. If we choose to ask her about showing us her poetry, she tells us her writing is "of a...delicate nature" (get it, girl! 😀) and if we choose to encourage her instead, the MC makes references to Mary Wollstonecraft, whose ideas of gender equality were considered radical for the times, and who is seen as one of the earliest feminist icons.

Did You Know: that in a time when female education was mainly geared to prepare women for their domestic roles, Mary Wollstonecraft advocated for women to receive an education that would help them survive beyond the home and the marriage market, stating that the one real barrier in the way of gender equality was the disparity in the education women received compared to men. She says, "this homage to women’s attractions has distorted their understanding to such an extent that almost all the civilized women of the present century are anxious only to inspire love, when they ought to have the nobler aim of getting respect for their abilities and virtues".

Her daughter, Mary Shelley, would write the famous novel Frankenstein in 1818, two years following the events of Desire and Decorum.

• Within this scene also lies a little tidbit that will hold some importance in Chapter 7: the MC tells Annabelle that her mother used to sing in the opera:

So this could be the root of some of the snarky remarks Henrietta makes about the MC's mother. She has close pretty darn close to calling her a "prostitute" on more than one occasion, and her comment after the MC sang along with Annabelle in chapter 3 about how it was "no wonder" that the MC could sing, given her mother's profession.

Did You Know: Opera singers had a very different reputation in the Regency era, not all of it very positive. Shana Galen, who is described as a Regency adventure author, speaks about how opera singers were viewed at the time: Of course, it was perfectly acceptable for a young lady to show her talents on the pianoforte or to sing in front of a small group of family and friends, but performing on the stage at Drury Lane or Covent Garden were frowned upon.

Female performers, especially, were shunned by society. One example of this sort of attitude was seen in the ridicule faced by a singer named Dorothea Jordan, who had an long-running affair with a Duke, bore him ten children, and who was the subject of a "satirical cartoon that showed her in her bedroom, gazing adoringly at a duchess’ coronet, which she hopes someday to wear by marrying her lover. A map on the wall purports to show the route from “Strolling Lane” (i.e. prostitution) through “Old Drury Common” all the way to “Derbyshire Peak.” A genealogical chart of the nobility lies on her dressing table, and her bed-hangings are crowned by a Phrygian cap, symbol of the French Revolution. The latter is intended to ridicule her pretensions to nobility; as a common woman, let alone an actress, she should know her place" ("Glimpse at Opera during Jane Austen's Lifetime" by Maggi Andersen, for the blog Historical Hearts).

• Luke's scene on the other hand is lighter in content but is important if you look at it from the viewpoint of establishing his role in the MC's life before they reach London. As a neutral friend, he is happy to serve her and considers her a vast improvement over Countess Henrietta. He tells her that she possesses what Henrietta lacks, understands something that Henrietta would never understand in several lifetimes: that looking down on people she believes as her 'inferiors' will leave her at a disadvantage eventually.

But if you hint at having feelings for Luke, the entire mood of the scene changes, and you see him feeling torn between his growing affections for her and his recognition that any relationship beyond the professional will end badly for them all.

• The thing with both Luke and Annabelle is that to not fall for them is to maintain the status quo. So even if there is an element of attraction, the MC not reciprocating does not tip the delicate balance that governs their lives at Edgewater over. But when she does...it gives rise both to moments of joy...and moments of fear.

• Ooh I love the animation for the train!!

I mean...just...look at this!

• The MC and Briar get to react in awe to their first sight of London before they get down from the carriage. We find out that we're pretty much stranded on the streets of London and no one has come to pick us up. Gee thanks, stepbro.

• Not gonna lie, but seeing Prince Hamid's shocked!face on his full-body shot made me giggle a little.

• He introduces himself as Imperial Prince Hamid, cousin to "his Imperial Majesty Mahmoud the Second, Caliph of Islam, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, and Custodian of the Two Mosques (the last especially was used in royal titles for many Islamic rulers, and refers to the Al-Haram Mosque (al-Masjid al-Ḥarām) of Mecca, and the Prophet's Mosque (Al-Masjid An-Nabawī) of Medina).

• In a sense he kinda reminds me of Kamilah: he is a fictional character positioned as being related to an actual historical figure, so they will give us plenty of background about the countries they were from (Egypt and Turkey [Istanbul in this case], respectively) but keep the actual historical figure at a distance. Making the fictional character a cousin and a person of an important position in that court is a smart choice to make: they're important enough to represent the royals of the times but distanced enough that it doesn't seem unnatural if they aren't that close and ergo can't tell you personal details about said historical figure.

• Did You Know: Sultan Mahmud II (the cousin Hamid mentions) was seen as quite a progressive ruler of his times. 1829 onwards, he tried to bring many, many reforms into the Ottoman empire, including (according to the Encyclopedia Britannica article on him) "adopting the cabinet system of government, provided for a census and a land survey, and inaugurated a postal service (1834), introducing compulsory primary education, opening a medical school, and sending students to Europe. In addition, the sultan’s right to confiscate the property of deceased officials was abolished, and European dress was introduced". It looks like some elements of this way of thought could be reflected in Hamid, from his talk of diplomacy in his diamond scene.

• Hamid not only positions himself as a bit of an outsider to England but also as a man who travels: talk of travelling and seeing the world is his ice-breaker when they get into the carriage. This will allow him not only to help familiarize the MC with London, and his home Constantinople, but also give her (and us) a view of what the world looks like at this point. For instance, if the MC speaks of even London is unfamiliar territory to her, he mentions the Blue Mosque, the construction of which was completed exactly 200 years prior to the events of the story.

• The other very essential point of this scene is to provide a bit of a parallel to Luke, but also as a counterpoint. Luke is disadvantaged both by his class and his race - ergo he has a very layered perspective. Hamid has privileges, but he is also aware of and in some ways used to the reception he gets in England, and has figured out how he wants to respond. Both Luke and Hamid find their ways to cope with their situation, and the MC is allowed - according to the ethnicity chosen for her - to relate to both.

Florence, for instance, relates heavily to this as someone is visibly a foreigner even though England is the only home she has ever known. Marianne does not fully understand this, but she can tell him like any decent human being would that she thinks it's wrong of people to treat him that way.

• Just prior to this the two manage to see the Tower of London, notorious for the imprisonment and execution of many, many people including royals and nobles. There is a short but rather poignant conversation on the "many people tortured and murdered over who had the right to sit on the throne" (among the people executed, you will find names like Anne Boleyn, Thomas More, Lady Jane Grey, Guy Fawkes and Walter Raliegh).

• Did You Know: For a long long time in England, executions were seen as a bit of a spectator sport. The more unusual the criminal, the bigger the crowd. The Capital Punishment UK blog speaks of the kind of atmosphere usually present around the time:

In many counties, executions were held on market days to enable the largest number of people to see them and school parties would be made to attend as a moral lesson, something which is certainly recorded as happening at Lancaster Castle.  Public houses and gin shops always did a very brisk trade on a hanging day.  

However, attitudes towards executions experienced a shift around the late 18th-early 19th century, and by 1864 Parliament established a Royal Commission on Capital Punishment, with a declaration that executions would take place inside the prisons rather than in public.

I'm not sure if this was intentional, but possibly the MC's and Hamid's reactions to the tower may be reflective of their times.

• Interestingly, Annabelle is shown to look jealous if you've been romancing her, and giving you a sly grin if you're just friends. I quite liked that little touch. Luke meanwhile is a little less open about how he feels at this point: whether you're romancing him or not, he is described as "watching you carefully" during your exchange with Hamid.

• So Mr Marlcaster got the letter from the Duchess to send a groom for picking the MC, but didn't...as per his mother's demands, surely. But AT LEAST you should have been a little prepared to answer me in case I dropped by anyway, dude? Instead of just standing there and staring at me like a scandalized goldfish.

• Looks like Edmund is still going to try screwing things up for us, and we'll need to find a way to get him on our side. After all, we get relationship points with both him and Theresa Sutton, and Lady Grandmother did tell us we could find a way to get them to be with us rather than against us.

• I'm looking forward to Chapter 5...but it's Chapter 6 I REALLY want to see. We're going to learn a bit more about the MC's mother's background!

General Thoughts:

• OMG so much was there to unpack this chapter!! A lot of it to do with Annabelle and Hamid, and Luke has taken a bit of a backseat this chapter but I'm hoping that's a taster of what's to come in his case.

• Look I love this story but IT COSTS SO MUCH. WTF. Keeping Clover was a nice option but it really added nothing to this chapter and could have easily been shifted elsewhere. I want this book to do well. I'm happy with how they're writing it, the effort they're putting into their research and into their characters so far...and I would hate for it to not be appreciated because they made it so hard for people to get into the book by making it this expensive so early.

• Florence is going for Annabelle and Luke (leaning more towards Annabelle at this point), and Marianne for Hamid and Sinclaire (I'm not sure yet but Hamid is a very very strong contender!!). Who would have thought I'd have my first polyam MCs in a book on Regency Era England!! Who woulda thunk!

• Annabelle particularly intrigues me at this point. She is clearly established as both inside and outside of this system, and vocally critical of it at least to the MC. She writes about her desires against the chargin of her father, and states that she doesn't want to merely settle into a 'safe' relationship like her mother, not unless she can know and trust that person (which is mostly why she agreed to the match with Harry even if she didn't love him). She is confused, and open and honest about her confusion. I really think the foundation of this character is immensely strong, but they really need to keep working on her and not just drop their efforts on her halfway. And I've seen that happen enough times with female LIs to be afraid.

• At this point, we now have three male LIs (one Master of Horse who is African-American, one family-approved eligible bachelor and one prince of the Ottoman Empire) and one female love interest. Is there space for one more confirmed female LI? I sure hope so but at the same time I don't want keep my hopes up.

However...IF the plan is to keep just one female LI, then they'd better do a pretty darn phenomenal job of her. If you're not going to give wlw players other options it's only fair to make sure the only option is given really, really good writing - consistently. They're doing a good job so far...but there's a long long way to go before I can fully trust PB to do justice to her.

• That's it for now! On to Chapter 6!

• Tagged: @boneandfur @liamraines @thespiritpanda @alanakusumastan @ernestsinclairs @private-investigator-nazario @bcdollplace @thedepthsremember @mcbangle @queenodysseia @novaelaras

If you'd like to be tagged on these QTs, do let me know! 😀

[raeliyah]

Exalted Secret Santa 2018

First, snippet -- with full descriptions, reference pictures, and links under the cut. Anon-asks should be enabled so feel free to ask me anything if you need more info!

If none of these guys strike your fancy, I also have the rest of my exalted characters, with reference images and descriptions, here:

https://refsheet.net/redkite7

Caleb “Wraithshot” Raith Dawn Caste Solar Exalt of the South, longrider lawman, Righteous Devil gunslinger, Badlands Gentleman with a heart of battered gold, giant flirt

Qismet ibn al-Nusar, The Veiled Eagle Night Caste Solar Exalt of the west, self-appointed judge and executioner of corrupt supernaturals, leader of the Brotherhood of the Righteous Death, terse and broody

Zaela Tokari, Queen of Adrelith, of the Meridian Isles Zenith Caste Solar Exalt of the East, friend of Dragon Kings, precious cinnamon roll, youngest daughter, too young to be queen, too young to be Exalted, mousy and self-effacing but will stand up to everything from Deathlords to Elder Lunars in defense of her friends (no art yet)

Caleb “Wraithshot” Raith

Dawn Caste Solar Exalt

Caleb’s Pinterest Inspiration Board

Caleb’s easy. Think of every western trope and smash them all together. He’s a cowboy bounty hunter; a self-proclaimed lawman in a land where there is no law, riding circuit on a handful of towns in the South he considers his and protecting them from whatever evils lurk in the desert.

Physical Description

Caleb stands at 5′11″ and is on the leaner side at ~185 lbs. He’s fit, like a brawler (been in significantly more than his fair share of bar fights) or a ranch hand - someone who works at hard physical labor most days.

Caleb looks like he’s in his early 30s

Being the son of Northern immigrants, Caleb’s complexion is mostly pale, a reddish-burned tan anywhere the sun would shine - arms to the elbows, back of the neck, face mostly.

He’s also freckly across his face, shoulders and upper back, mostly from sun.

His eyes are clear honey-colored brown, more gold towards the pupil from the influence of exaltation.

Hair is black at the roots, growing out into sun-streaked brownish blond. He usually keeps it cut pretty short but if it goes too long without a trim it gets curlier. He likes a clean-shaven face but given his lifestyle he’s pretty much always got a day or three of scruff.

Caleb… basically looks like Chris Pratt.

He’s always got a smile of some stripe - warm, mischievous, leering, insincerely-wide - something.

He’s also very mouthy, and usually has something to chew on, whether it’s a piece of straw, a match, a toothpick, a cigarette (50% chance of it actually being lit), a twig - something. He’s never met a lollipop or chewing gum but he would love them.

Scars, see reference image: He's got a fair few that have never healed all the way. Added to that a nose which was broken in some bar brawl and never healed straight.

Left arm, from wrist to elbow: long nearly parallel white lines.

The remnants of pressure cuts through his right eyebrow, right side of his lips, and the left side of his chin, leaving gaps in the scruff. 

A bullet-scar just above and to the left of his navel. 

The remains of various slashes and stabs decorate his ribs. Most of these fade to nothing quickly, but he’s in fights often enough there’s always something.

The upper portion of his back is a mess of scars look like they were left from him getting dragged quicklike backwards over rock (because he was). A stylized rattlesnake tattoo on his right shoulderblade is only half-seen through the scars. 

Caleb dresses in layers - shirt sleeves, a vest/waistcoat, and either a faded blue or red serape tossed over his shoulders or a brown longcoat. Pants are either canvas or faded denim, and boots are less cowboy-style and more combat- or motorcycle style with a heel for riding. He does wear spurs, but they’re blunted. He’s usually covered in trail dust and sweat, sometimes blood, despite efforts at cleanliness. Feel free to embellish the standard Cowboy gear with arabesque/middle eastern ornamentation, because it is Exalted…

He always carries two modified flame pieces (six-shooters… he’s got six-shooters) on his hips, and the belt’s buckle is large and obnoxious, mostly because he keeps a couple extra rounds of ammunition within it. He also has an artifact rifle (based on a Winchester M1873; lever action, but otherwise unspecified) named Medicine Man that is either slung across his back or is in a sheath on his horse’s saddle. He makes his own ammo for all his weapons. He is a student of Righteous Devil Style, having mastered up to the form charms, but his sifu disappeared and he’s not found another, nor is he skilled enough to pick it up without tutelage.

He does own chaps but whether or not he wears them on any given day depends on how hot it is and how much hard riding he’s anticipating. He has a hat he’s rather fond of, but it’s not anything truly special.

There may or may not be a bandana around his neck/on his person at any given moment, and he often wears a chip of blue crystal with an antelope petroglyph etched on it around his neck on a leather cord. It’s a token from his friend, a springs goddess named Rivela, and a reminder of a partner he lost.

He rides a buckskin warhorse named Dirt who he pretends not to be particularly attached to, but in fact he really really is. Dirt is his horse. Dirt adores him and is always trying to steal his hat. Dirt will also steal anyone else’s hat nearby, but he prefers Caleb’s.

Anima: Caleb’s anima banner is a hailstorm of bright burning metal, like large forge sparks, raining down on him and even appear to bounce off his skin and clothing. Golden smoke and flame rise from the ground at his feet wherever the sparks fall.

Full Description including Personality, History, Art, and links to Fic and Character Playlist Here.

Qismet ibn al-Nusar

Night Caste Solar Exalt Revenge-driven assassin, self-appointed judge jury and executioner of supernaturals who prey on innocents. Leader of a band of mortal assassins with the same motives.

Qismet's Pinterest Inspiration Board

Qismet's Character Playlist

Physical Description:

Qismet is shorter than average at 5'9" built lean and tough like an acrobat at around 150 lbs

he’s kinda touchy about his height

Qismet looks to be in his mid-to-late twenties.

He's darker complexioned, bronzed from a lot of time under the Western Sun

Examples: (Oded Fehr)(Cristian Codrin)(Avraham Aviv Alush)(Francisco Randez-also his face inspiration)

His hair is so dark brown it might as well be black, cut close but still has a bit of a wave to it.

Style example:(One)(Two)* Eyes are the same: so dark brown they might as well be black. Tend to go lighter, almost honey-colored, when he's channeling essence.

Qismet has fairly narrow features, a generous mouth with cupid's bow lips (see reference images) and a crooked nose, somewhat overlong. He would look great if he smiled but he hardly ever does. Eternal Brooding Face

Face Inspiration: Francisco Randez (One)(Two)(Three)(Four)

He has a thin blade scar vertically through his lips on the right side

Tattoos: One, on his right shoulder, the symbol of his assassin's order. Two, on his left bicep: a greenish kraken crossed out by two black swords (indicative of his vendetta against the Lintha).

Clothes and Accessories:

Qismet has two distinct "modes" -- his working guise, as The Veiled Eagle, equal parts vigilante super hero and feared villain, depending on who's looking, and his regular everyday self. The Veiled Eagle's identity is an open secret on his home island but if he's not in 'costume' the folk there know not to bother him as anything more than Qismet.

The Veiled Eagle:

As the Eagle, Qismet wears long open vests and tunics and leather armor (cuirass, pauldrons, greaves) in shades of charcoal to dove gray, with a hood and mask over his face, leaving only his eyes exposed, though the skin around them is usually darkened with greasepaint and charcoal. This outfit is patterned roughly after the Assassin's Creed styles. (Inspiration Images: (Mayan Armor)(Original AC Outfit)).

There is a single splash of blood red among the grays as a sash: normally wound around his waist or crossed from hip to shoulder.

Weaponry:

As the Eagle, Qismet also carries a lot of weapons. Most notable are his two artifact Moonsilver Bracers, the Eagle's Sheathed Talons. These artifacts are made of black siaka leather and covered with moonsilver filigreed plates making the shape of a mantling eagle. They extrude a long knife in combat and also serve as armor for his arms (they're basically Hidden Blades with Exalted flair).

He also wields the paired soul-steel short Daiklaves, Anguish and Agony (see reference image in refsheet.net gallery). He struck a deal with the spirits within when he took them from their former owner. They spend a night and a day of peace within a consecrated temple on the nights of moon dark every month, and in return he will never be chained by sorcery or necromancy until his Task is complete. If he fails to give them peace, they'll turn against him.

As Qismet:

When he's not 'working', Qismet tends towards sleeveless cross-front tunics and vests, loose-cut trousers and short fitted boots, thin-soled for good climbing. He still wears the red sash around his waist, knotted on one side, and always has the artifact bracers.

He tends towards cool, de-saturated colors (because they're cheap), but isn't picky: if it's free of obvious dirt and won't get in his way, he'll wear it. His lieutenant/lover Samira has been slowly stocking his wardrobe with nicer things since ostensibly he's an important figure in their region of the west and should occasionally look it. Really, have fun with clothing design.

He very occasionally wears a shark-tooth pendant, but he's not big on jewelry or adornment in general.

Anima:

A ghost-white and violet sea-eagle, whose head obscures Qismet’s face and whose movements echo the Solar’s. 

Further Reading:

The Eagle and the Marionettist

Infectious - Drabble, features several characters

Silver Sun Era - Storium Game

A History of the Brotherhood of the Righteous Death

Zaela Tokari, Solar Queen

Zenith Caste Solar Exalted - Mousy former-Princess given Divine Power - Too Precious for this world - Too young to be Queen and feels it 

Zaela’s Pinterest Board

Physical Description

Slim and willowy at 5′4″ish and 120lbs-ish - built like a dancer or musician

Medium-brown hair at the roots and lower layers, bleached gold by sun (and anima) light, with those instagram beach-style waves. Comes down to about her shoulderblades

Turquoise eyes, that fade to nearly white when she channels essence

Heart-shaped face with expressive eyes

Her complexion is tan with a bit of a copper tone to it

She exalted at 17 and still looks it

Zaela wears draping gowns in vaguely greek or ancient egyptian-esque fashion, in cool greens and blues and golds and white, accented with delicate jewelry wrought from gold and gems and flowers (natural or artificial). They are usually of light materials, silk,mist linen, and brushed cotton, suited for her jungle island kingdom. 

She usually wears her hair in multiple loose braids, or half-up and adorned with tropical flowers (or whatever’s in season, if she’s travelling far from her home Isle). Nothing in her appearance would mark her as anything other than the favored daughter of a well-off family, but she does on occasion wear the orichalcum, white, and green jade lotus crown of her kingdom. It’s a little too ostentatious for her tastes. 

Anima:

A flock of tropical birds, in jewel tones limned with gold, who spiral and swirl around her. 

Fun Fact:

The ghost of her former shardholder, Prismatic Lotus, used to reside in their royal family chapel, trapped there during the Usurpation. Lotus fled to safe harbor within Zaela when the chapel was attacked and Zaela exalted--she now carries the spirit of her ancestress with her. Lotus acts as mentor, guide, sometime-posessor and obnoxious First Age brat in turn. But mostly she is helpful. 

tagging @shiftingpath for secret santa organizational purposes -- thank you for all the work you put in to this every year; I very much appreciate it! and you!  I will probably be editing this to make sure all the links are working properly and everything’s formatted correctly so apologies in advance