#i pushed myself to a near panic attack the other day upon realizing the painting i have is an authentic lithograph

[orcelito]

It's a little funny. I spend so much time compartmentalizing that I convince myself I'm totally fine, of course, all the time.

But when I was filling out the questionnaire before my therapy appointment yesterday, it was like

.... OK yea maybe I have some problems

Also this one 😂😂😂

[infinitebells]

Could you please write about William and his s/o starting in the worst possible way? they hate each other's guts and spend all the time bickering and arguing about everything and anything (even about freaking math theorems), until Will says something awful that actually hurts her and he might be a bastard but not that much of a bastard so he tries his best to apologize and they slowly grow closer and closer until they realise they are in love

enemies to lovers is my favorite thing ever

✧ you two cannot be in the same room for more than five minutes without being at each others throats

✧ albert and moran have actually had to pull the two of you out of the room and away from each other because you two just rile each other up to the max

✧ louis literally sighs when you guys start arguing about math because what the fuck it’s the same literally everywhere and he has had to leave the room before because he gets so annoyed

✧ the reason you’re even in the group in the first place is because you and moran grew up together, and he knows you can hold your own in a fight and are a good diversion tactic for nobles

✧ now because you’re the only female in the group, that automatically means if a mission requires having to flirt with a noble, you are the one to do that

✧ you’re quite honestly ashamed you have to do it in the first place, and when moran can see how uncomfortable you get during one of these missions, he’ll make an effort to pull you out fast so that you don’t have a panic attack

✧ william starts to notice this, and it isn’t an issue until moran pulls you out too fast, which infuses the noble with suspicion

✧ luckily the other boys were quick to dispose of him, and the cab ride back to the manor is deathly silent

✧ once you’re in the house, william goes absolutely ballistic on you, screaming louder than he ever has before

✧ albert is trying to calm him down while moran has to drag you out of the room, but before he can get you to move an inch william loses it

✧ “maybe if you weren’t such a whore for the colonel, the fucking mission wouldn’t have almost failed! but i’m glad to know your only priority includes getting fucked to the point where you’re brain-dead stupid by the only man in the house who would even be willing to put his dick anywhere near you,”

✧ the room goes obscenely silent

✧ albert is staring at you as your face completely drops, any angry emotion once painted across your features is replaced by an almost empty look

✧ fred has stopped watering the plants because he can’t believe the words that just left william’s mouth

✧ louis is five seconds away from dropping his cup of tea that’s shaking in his hand now

✧ moran’s eyes are wide with shock, too stunned to even begin to be angry at william

✧ you gently pull your arm out of moran’s hand before walking quietly out of the room and into your own room, closing the door with a silent click

✧ william’s shocked because usually you always have a comeback, a sarcastic remark or an insult ready to hurl back at him, so why didn’t you do that now?

✧ everyone breaks out of the trance as soon as the door shuts, and albert, louis, and fred have to hold moran back from completely pummeling william

✧ moran and you had never had that kind of relationship, if anything he was your best friend

✧ after the boys get moran to calm down, william is still standing still in his spot

✧ albert suggests going to apologize to you, and louis walks william out of the room and to your room

✧ when you don’t answer his knocks, he slowly cracks the door open, and upon hearing no response, opens it all the way to see an empty room and your window open

✧ the house erupts into chaos once again

✧ moran storms out, determined to find you, while albert goes after him because god knows what will happen

✧ louis offers to stay here in case you come back, and fred goes out on his own to look for you

✧ william has yet to say a word since yelling at you, and all he can think about was how wrong he felt after shouting like that at you

✧ fred’s the one who finds you, sitting alone in a bar all the way across town

✧ dried tear tracks decorate your face, and your hand shakes around your glass of whiskey

✧ neither of you say anything for a few minutes, until fred finally speaks up

✧ “sebastian and albert are out looking for you,”

✧ you’re quiet for another moment before responding

✧ “tell them to not bother. if i’m such a whore then clearly i’m not needed on the team,”

✧ your voice cracks at the team, and fred see how white your knuckles are for gripping your glass so damn tightly

✧ when he coaxes the glass out of your hand, he manages to convince you to come back to the manor with him, promising to keep william away from you

✧ he’ll lead you through the house, silently nodding to louis in a way of telling him you were okay, and they could talk more once you weren’t a flight risk

✧ louis goes out to bring moran and albert back, while fred gets you into bed and sits on a chair next to you to make sure you don’t leave again

✧ you haven’t said anything since the bar, so when the bedroom door opens and in walks william, you don’t speak up

✧ fred leaves to give you two some space, making sure to stand right outside of the door in case something happens

✧ william pulls the chair up next to your bed, staring at your curled up form and the way your eyes stay open and unmoving, focused on some invisible spot on the wall

✧ william’s quiet for a minute as he gathers his thoughts before finally speaking

✧ “i’m sorry for my words. i know you and colonel moran are close friends and nothing more, and i should have seen how uncomfortable the noble was making you. you aren’t a whore, and you certainly are a wonderful addition to the team. i hope you can forgive me for my rude and brash words, but for right now i’ll leave you alone,”

✧ he gets up, moving the chair back, and going to leave the room until your small hand wraps around his wrist, holding him in place

✧ he turns back to see you still staring at the floor, but fresh tears have replaced your old ones

✧ “thank you for the apology,”

✧ your voice is quiet, so quiet it can barely pass as a whisper, but he hears it all the same

✧ he nods before walking out, refusing to make eye contact with moran, who returned home and was standing just outside of your room

✧ once william’s gone, he’ll storm in and sit down on the chair next to your bed, rubbing your hand comfortingly

✧ you’re eternally appreciative of how kind he is after everything that happened, and he knows you are from the slight squeeze you give his hand

✧ he stays the entire night, making sure you won’t up and leave again

✧ the next few days, you’re much quieter than normal, and everyone can tell

✧ the air is tense, but no one says a word about what occured

✧ after the first week, william offers you a book he had in his library that he knew you liked, and it’s the one action that finally starts to set things back into place

✧ albert feels like he can finally relax after constantly watching you and william

✧ louis is relived because he can breathe again without feeling like someone was going to go ape shit again

✧ moran is his usual, laidback and snarky self

✧ the only thing that has changed is your and william’s relationship

✧ after the first week of tenseness, things only go up

✧ you both can stay in rooms with each other without constantly fighting, instead talking about a book you both have read or discussing next week’s mission plans

✧ you even manage to crack a smile around him, and vice versa

✧ everyone in the mansion is happy to see how you two start to get along, including moran because he hated how much you two fought

✧ after a month of being friendly with each other, you start to appreciate how beautiful he really was

✧ his soft blonde hair, ruby red eyes, and his smile that had you weak in the knees

✧ you both spent extended periods of time alone together, and he was starting to enjoy it too

✧ it was about a month and a half after the incident, the two of you were alone in his study standing next to each other and going over the plans for your next mission

✧ tonight you decided to tease him about how if he puts all of his time and effort into killing nobles, he’ll never get a girlfriend

✧ cue him looking up from the papers to meet your eyes, and you’re both aware of how your faces are inches away from each other

✧ neither of you can tear away from looking into each others eyes, and it’s quiet until william finally speaks

✧ “well i’d hope any girl i court would have extensive knowledge of these plans and how passionate i am about them. it helps if they’re even a part of it, say as a beautiful distraction,”

✧ both of you know he’s talking about you, and your breath hitches in your chest

✧ he’s slowly leaning down, and you know how terribly fucked you are when you meet him halfway, your lips just barely meeting for a kiss

✧ he pushes against you harder, one hand coming to rest on your waist to keep you close to him

✧ and when he pulls away blushing lightly, you both realize just how in love you actually are

✧ “i know we’ve had our fair share of cruel words, me especially, but i can’t stop myself from loving you,”

✧ his voice is soft, silently pleading for reciprocated feelings

✧ “then don’t, i’d hate for my love to go wasted,”

✧ and then he’s kissing you again, and again, and again, until neither of you can think of anything else besides loving each other

[maribvgs]

Okay but this has been in my head since forever and I can't seem to be able to write it well enough. Adrien realizing he might be bi because he's developed feelings for a boy(Luka) and so he goes to Luka who is also bi(most likely tbh) and asks for advice! It doesn't have to end in a romantic way, I just rlly need to see my sons helping each other😭 I really liked your other works so ye keep it up💕✨

TYSMMM ur support and love means the world my dude also i liked writing this!

some background knowledge: reveal has happened so mari and adrien know eachother! they don’t date bc mari is dating kagami

-🐞-🐞-🐞-

He didn’t really know when it had begun. Maybe it was when he offered Adrien a spot in Kitty Section. Maybe it was when he grabbed Adrien and dragged him to safety during that one day of crazy trumpet lady attack and the Aspik mess. Maybe it was the way when he gave Ladybug back the snake miraculous who then gave it to Luka, the way he smiled at Adrien. And Chat Noir.

Yeah, it was always a smile, or a touch that sent the model into a conflicted mess of thoughts. He couldn’t like boys, right? Adrien only had liked girls before. And this definitely wasn’t a crush. No. Nah. Nope.

Later that evening during patrol, Ladybug noticed Chat’s frown. “Deep in thought?” She plopped down, swinging her legs over the rooftop to kick them. The black-clad superhero accepted a seat next to her.

“What did you feel like when you had a crush? On me, I guess.” Often they didn’t talk about their civilian lives while under the mask, nor did they rarely speak of Chat’s crush on Ladybug and Marinette’s on Adrien.

“Oh geez. I guess I looked forward to seeing you– more than I would’ve if you were Alya or any one of my other friends –the idea of romance always had me think of you. I’d think about whenever we touched, like accidentally brushing fingers etcetera. I also put all of your gifts slash anything you gave me in a special box. Oh geez, you’re going to think i’m even weirder now,” She grumbled after rambling.

“I... I think I have a crush.” Chat hesitated. Ladybug immediately turned to him, interested. “Oh? Who? Please don’t say me because my heat belongs to another,” She joked. It was a ongoing gag, pretending to confess their love for each other.

Chat just shook his head laughing a little bit. “I... Its a guy,” He admits, blushing pink around the edges of the mask. “I’ve never liked guys before so maybe it’s a fluke? Am I gay???” He panicked slightly. Adrien always like to be in control of whatever he could; the inability to eat what he wanted, go where he wanted, do what he wanted, caused him to panic over anything that he knew he could control, yet was unable to.

“You could be bi,” She said, gesturing to herself as if to say ‘like me!’

“I dunno...” she bit his lip and looked out at the city that was laid out before them.

“Maybe you could talk to Luka about it. He’s bi! And He gives the best advice. Plus, I never doubted that I liked girls, I don’t know how much of a help I would be to you.” Ladybug had suggested his crush. Of course. His life was a badly written romcom. But she was right, and logically the only person he would be comfortable in talking to about his possible bisexual awakening would be Luka. Ignoring the fact that the blue-haired boy was in fact, the reason for this crisis.

“You’ve been a big help m’lady,” Chat said. It held the truth, those words. He leaned over and kissed her cheek as a thanks, before standing. “Guess I’ve got a blue haired emo to track down.”

“I’m right here!” She joked.

“Aha! You admit you’re emo!”

“Wait- no! That was sixth grade! Chat come back! Damn weeb cat!”

Laughter filled the streets of Paris, as Chat Noir vaulted away from a gleefully yelling Ladybug.

—————

Adrien landed near the Couffaine’s, and detransformed behind a dumpster. That was seemingly becoming common for this tomcat. Figures.

Luka of course, was sitting out on the deck of the boat, playing his guitar gently. He didn’t look up as Adrien approached.

“H-Hey Luka,” he coughed. Maybe this was a bad idea. He felt his face turn as bright as Nathaniel’s hair. The poor boy wanted to hide in shame now.

Luka strummed a chord and looked up, giving his friend a classic cool Luka smile. “H-Hey Adrien,” he stuttered back. Adrien flopped besides him on the couch dramatically. “You wound me!”

“Oh do I now?” Luka grinned, setting down his guitar, turning to the blonde. “What’s up?”

Adrien cringed inwardly. He was kind of hoping Luka wouldn’t ask, and was very much regretting coming in the first place now... Besides the fact he was here, next to Luka.

“Just uh... questioning stuff,” He grumbled. Luka pulled Adrien’s head onto his lap. Crap, crap, crap.

“Like what?” It was a rhetorical question of course– Marinette texted him that Adrien would come over to talk. Given Luka’s sixth sense, he guessed it was about sexuality. He pointedly ignored the oh-so-obvious (and cute) blush of Adrien’s. The boy on his lap just whined.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Luka offered. He knew when he was struggling with his sexuality, it took him weeks to even admit he liked a boy. Even if his sister was a lesbian.

“No, it’s fine...” Adrien chewed his lip and looked up into those gorgeous blue eyes. Stop thinking like that! Focus on what you need to say!! “I think I have a crush,” he admits. Never before had Adrien felt like he was on a rollercoaster, without you know, actually being on one. “On a boy.” He adds.

Luka smiled and looked away. “What do you need help with then? Getting the lucky guy?” He teased. A small stab of hurt– like when he’d crushed on Marinette who chose Kagami in the end –nagged him. But Luka always pushed that away. If he let jealousy take control of him, he’d never forgive himself for hurting any of his friends. His friends deserved happiness. Adrien deserves happiness. Whoever that lay with was fine with him. It had to be.

“This was stupid, never mind,” Adrien said hurriedly, sitting up and looking about ready to book it.

“It’s not stupid. Hey, if you don’t want to talk, i can do all the talking.” Luka hastily dropped Adrien’s hand that he had grabbed to prevent the blonde from fleeing the boat. In reply, Adrien nodded and shuffled back to the couch to sit back down.

“I’m guessing you need to come to terms with this.”

“Yeah... It’s just. Weird for me, you know? I’ve only ever liked girls before.”

“Yeah. It was for me too. It took a while to accept myself for liking a boy and to even linger to learn and know that liking anyone regardless of gender was a thing. I can proudly say I’m bisexual now, although it took me quite some time to figure it out on my own.” A subtle dusty rose painted the blue haired teen’s checks. “You did good, coming to ask someone.”

“You’re just saying that because I came to you,” Adrien half heartedly teased.

“True, I’m touched you chose to talk to me. But choosing to talk at all is a big step in accepting yourself, or figuring stuff out. You’re not alone.” Giving that signature billion-dollar Luka smile, Adrien’s heart flutters.

“Thanks. I don’t know what to do,” he admits. He feels coy and sly and wrong for talking about his crush... To his crush.

“Ask him out maybe. Take it slow and learn how to navigate a relationship with a guy, just like whoever you date, you still have to navigate your dynamic with them.” Adrien nods. Luka is so... Wise. Or something.

“Okay... Uh Luka do you want to go on a date?” He says it in a rush, that it sounds more upon the lines of “Uh lukadoyouwanttogooutonadate”.

“Just like that! Now go ask the boy.” Adrien stared confusedly.

“Ohmygod. I’m supposed to be the dense one.”

The way Luka’s eyes widen and his face lights up red, in shock is priceless. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Is... Is that a yes?” Adrien fidgets nervously. Oh god, I just made the biggest mistake of my life.

“Yeah.” The other breathes out quietly.

“Adrien. I cannot believe how dense I am.”

“Yeah me neither.” A snicker.

“Hey!”

—————————

send me an ask with a character/ship + angst/fluff OR a character/ship + a prompt!

[kenimichrow]

The Landless King (Arvaelon Narkerym) 1: The Day of Memories

 Spring in the Southern Continent, City of Flosee

That day was a day of memories. 

It started with good memories. It was a new city in a new continent. A new country with a new culture. I had already been there a few days after arriving from Masserine, where I had left my magic teacher to settle into his retirement. Having rested a little, I could now go out and explore.

The city was filled with sights to behold. I met a merchant with wondrous wares from all parts of the Sessite Confederacy. Each item was extraordinary and unique, and he explained each one’s origins in detail as he tried to convince me to purchase it. Alas, traveling is not the most profitable of pastimes, and so I had to turn him down. He seemed to think I was haggling and brought the price down, but in the end I could neither afford the luxury nor the weight.

Soon after that I wandered into the palace district. I gazed upon huge majestic buildings with foreign architecture that I couldn't even begin to understand and admired their lavish beauty. You’d think that I would have had my fill of such displays of overly obnoxious amounts of wealth from my decades in Kessan, but there is a reason they cost so much. They were dazzling with a hypnotic strangeness unique to the Sessite Confederacy’s culture. I’m sure I made more than one palace guard anxious as I stared at them from the street, so I did not linger at any one palace for long.

Flosee, however, is not only beauty and wonder. That day, I met a poor soul who tried to pick my pocket. I chose not to pursue him as he ran into the market crowd after I foiled his attempt, but his presence reminded me of the dark underbelly of the city that I had been ignoring. 

He wasn’t the only poor soul in the city. 

I pretended not to see them, but slaves littered the city. It made my own slave mark tingle beneath my leather bracer as memories of ancient pain tried to surface. I pushed it down, intent on enjoying my day, but my momentary pity for the thief rekindled the same thoughts for those shackled in the market. 

My mood soured, but I told myself I could do nothing for them. It wasn’t as if I had sparked the Revolution of Sladora myself. I had simply played my part. There were other far wiser men who had given me the opportunities to free myself. I had been the soldier, not the commander, and so I wouldn’t know how to light the match of similar flames here. And even if I could, would I do it wherever I saw slaves? Travel the world, setting every city on fire who dared to collar their fellow man? 

I saw my long lifespan stretch before me, and a weariness began to weigh down on my soul. The Revolution of Sladora had been a hard and trying time, and I selfishly didn’t want to repeat it just to change the entire world. I just wanted to live in it, content that I myself was free and that I had my homeland of Sladora to return to. 

Perhaps Tuenoril was right, and I was a coward without conviction. Our whole family was now dead, countless years of their life cut short, and what had I done to stop it? Counseled caution? Spoke of endurance and waiting for an opportune moment? As I waited, our sister had wasted away in the same bed where her nightmares were made real. Would the slaves in the market waste away too under their suffering as they waited for an opportunity that might never come to them?

I had no answer, and so I pushed it to the back of my mind and made my way to find lunch. I had seen a particularly interesting food stall earlier that day and had promised myself I would try it.The excitement of trying something new temporarily replaced my melancholy, but the fates were not so kind as to let that last.

Art by Haver

Before I could reach my anticipated destination, I saw a flash of steel from the corner of my eye. My instincts from the war made me turn to face it, but the blade I saw was not meant for me. Too quick to stop, a dagger entered the throat of a nearby guardsman. The unlucky man fell to the ground as he quickly bled out, and his compatriots swiftly descended on his assassin.

The sudden violence was unnerving, and I was quickly swept up in the panicking crowd as they fled the scene of the attack. I managed to find an alcove to escape the stampede, but by then I had been carried far from where it had all happened. When I tried to return and offer help, I was shooed away by a wary guard who was barring people from re-entering the market. 

I decided to find a tavern instead to fill my belly and clear my sense of unease. It was only later that I would realize that the guard’s death might have been a warning from Kirith, if her divine spark still lived. 

“Flee! Like the flood of people from the market. Before the coming violence.” Her gentle voice might say. But alas, I viewed it then as only a random skirmish in the vast expanse of the cityscape. 

My unease dissipated as the shadows grew long. As I made my way back to the inn I was staying at, I heard a gasp in a nearby alley way along with fleeing footsteps. When I moved to inquire, I found a woman staggering towards me as she clutched her side. Blood dripped onto the pavement and gushed between her fingers. Even in the dim light I could tell it was the wrong color. I could smell rot, and the flesh exposed by the tear near the wound was clearly festering in a way that old injuries fester when ignored. But old wounds didn’t bleed like that. 

I offered her support, and she fell into my arms. I instructed her to apply as much pressure as possible to her side, though I was careful not to touch it myself as I held her up. Then I scanned our surroundings for the nearest guard. My search was fruitless in an eerie way. There were no guards nearby. I wracked my memory and could not remember seeing any guards for a while. The unease from that afternoon began to grow anew, but my immediate concern was the woman. 

We made our way into the city towards where I assumed would be a guard station. As we walked, the woman leaned on me more and more until I was practically carrying her. 

Then I heard them. Warning bells ringing throughout the city.

Memories of the night the Sladoran Revolution caught flame flooded my mind. The cold sweat brought on by panic. Standing above my dead master as the mansion came alive at the sound of the city bells. Fleeing into the night to discover the city in a riot as other slaves who had also successfully assassinated their masters attempted to save those who had failed. My heart rate spiked, but I forced myself back to the present. 

There was no battle in the streets right now, but the bells were ringing, so there might soon be. I turned to the woman in my arms, intent on moving her to my back to speed up our progress, only to find her eyes unfocused and her breath stopped. Reverently, but with haste, I laid her in the streets. I said a silent prayer to a God who had long before my birth been no longer able to hear it, and turned away.

My knowledge of Flosee was limited, and with a different culture, I had no way of knowing the city’s plans to protect the citizenry in the case of an attack. As such I made a guess - the most protected part of the city would be either the palace district or the city center. I decided the city center was the better bet, as they would have to make it past the palace district to get there, and began to make my way there. 

Before I could reach it, however, sounds of battle began to surround me. As I tried to avoid the sources of the noise, I caught glimpses of ogres, trolls, hill giants, and even goblins fighting alongside men of all different races covered in red-painted armor. It was an unsettling sight of cooperation as they murdered the people of Flosee, but oddly quixotic in a gruesome way. 

I did not stop to admire it, though. I fled deeper into the city. I quickly became lost in the maze of a foreign metropolis, but I noticed I wasn’t alone. Others fleeing the battle were also gathering, almost as if they were being corralled toward one another. This became more obvious when, at one plaza, red-painted attackers emerged from all directions. Most of the civilians fled, but two armed combatants and myself were cut off. 

One of those trapped in the plaza was a grey skinned half-orc covered in hides and wielding a large sword. He was the only one of us who looked rather undisturbed by being surrounded, even seeming a little excited as he eyed their crimson armor. 

“These guys don’t seem to be too friendly, how about you guys?” 

When I called out to the two, he didn’t even look at me. I thus deemed him agreeable enough to hide behind as I summoned a disk of force to act as my shield.

The other potential ally, a mocha half-elf with the exotic features of the Sessite Confederacy, no doubt from the dilution of her Elven blood, had a similar idea. The leather clad lady graceful maneuvered to my side and brandished a dagger at the man who charged her. As she fended him off, she greeted me back in a furious shout. “They’re burning my city to the ground!” I took that as yes, she was indeed friendly to me. Probably.

Art by Haver

The half-orc began to mow down those who came at him like they were little more than dogs, so I decided to lend a hand to my kin. I made my way behind her attacker with my rapier in hand, and gracefully cut him down. Or rather, I tried. I managed to get a few good hits in, but then made a major error of judgement.

Casting magic in combat was new to me. Though over the last 35 or so years I had been taught by my teacher to fight with it, and had even learned to cast while wielding my rapier, I had not had many opportunities to put the skill to use in real combat. As such, I failed to put the proper distance between myself and my opponent before trying to cast a ray of freezing air at him. The spell shot over his shoulder as his blade sank into the flesh beneath my arm. I could feel the blood seep into my wool shirt beneath my armor, plastering the tattered cloth to the wound.

As a seasoned soldier, I pushed through the pain, but the battle dragged out as neither the lady nor myself could land a decisive blow. Eventually the half-orc, having decimated his half of the battle, moved to our side of the plaza to take out the remainder of the enemies. One by one they fell at his hand until finally, only one attacker still stood. His life ended thanks to a well placed dagger by the lady while he cowered from the half-orc’s raging visage. 

The half-orc smiled at the woman and patted her shoulder with a growly “good job”, while I clutched my side, ignored. He then kicked one of the corpses that surrounded us and asked, “Where are these weaklings from?” 

I could only shrug, but the half-elf mentioned some rumors of red-painted bandits she had heard before. She had no specifics, though. 

As we mulled over the mystery, I suddenly noticed that it hadn’t been three people fighting in the plaza, but four. A small halfling waddled through the fountain water that came up to his waist as blood streaked behind him. When he got to the edge, he clamored over the fountain wall and came to stand before the three of us. 

He was caramel in color with the robes and features of a native and a grim look on his face. “Who here is a citizen?” He demanded, but only the half-elf gave a reluctant “I am”. It seemed the half-orc was also a visitor unlucky enough to be in the city at the wrong time.

“Then you’re conscripted. You’ll be with me on this. I’m a member of the city guard.” The halfling mandated.

“I am?” The half-elf sneered scornfully, clearly not on board.

“We must defend the city.” He stated firmly, but the half-elf continued to express her reluctance. We didn’t have time for them to argue, here in the middle of a besieged city, and so I quickly stepped in.

“Have you seen any other guards of late? I don’t think only two, one conscripted, are going to be much good by themselves.” I interjected, and the halfling paused. 

“And who are you?” He asked. 

“You can just call me Arnny for now.” I replied in the interest of brevity. My full name could be a mouthful for those unfamiliar with the Elven tongue.

“Well, Arnny’s right, I stumbled upon some robed figures who seemed to have killed a guard. Have you seen anything like that?” The halfling asked as he looked at the group. 

“I haven’t seen any guards, but I have seen some dead people with some nasty wounds made by a robed figure in the… uh, in an alleyway.” The lady responded. 

“Like decaying nasty? On a fresh wound?” I asked, remembering the woman who had died in my arms earlier. 

“Yeah.” We began to muse over the connection between everything that had happened: the strange wounds, the robed figures, and the guards. It was clear by the timing that the robed figures had something to do with the red-painted attackers, but there wasn’t much any of us knew. Thus, before we said much, the half-elf stopped us. 

“I think this discussion would be better had somewhere safer.” She cautioned. 

“Then we should head to the guard station. Even if there are no guards there to help, it will at least have supplies.” The halfling suggested, and we all agreed, though the half-orc gave a token protest in favor of searching out more combat. The half-elf quickly assured him we’d probably find a fight on the way. After all, the city was under attack. 

Before we could decide which guard station to head to, however, a crowd of people came running through the plaza. Low and behold there was at least one guard other than the halfling left in the city. He was directing the group that raced by as they traveled through the war torn streets. He called out to us as they passed: 

“The walls have been breached! The city is lost! Head to the docks! We must escape the city!” With his brief warning delivered, he continued to herd the citizens to the south. We quickly decided to follow. 

What awaited us there was the bright, orange flames of all the city’s boats set afire. Massive ships all flying the same colors dotted the river. They clearly belonged to the red-painted soldiers who had taken the city. Behind us, those same enemies surrounded us, killing any who fought back. Eventually a lull in the battle appeared, and a leader among the attackers came forward. “Surrender or die.” He declared simply.

The half-orc who I had fought beside in the plaza immediately went to protest by readying his weapon until the half-elf put her hand on his arm to caution him. “There will be time for revenge another day.” 

“It will not be revenge for me.” He grunted back, still hesitant. 

“For me it will be.” She murmured with quiet fury. 

Something in those words, perhaps the fierce anger so lowly spoken, seemed to convince him “You promise me a good fight?” He asked.

“It will be.” She swore in a voice dripping with venom. With a grunt of agreement, he dropped his sword. Everyone in the crowd did as well. Surrender was the clearly logical choice. We were vastly outnumbered with no place to retreat. If even the battle-hungry half-orc could see it, how could the rest of us not? 

Logic did little for my heart as despair locked around it just as the cold metal of the shackles locked around my wrists. 

Almost a hundred and twenty years, and I was still as powerless as the night slavers invaded the small fishing village I was born in off the coast of Martovia. That night, the bells rang out as they had here, and my family fought as I had fought here. My father and eldest brother lay dead at our feet as my sister and I urged Tuenoril to surrender. Just as the woman had urged the half-orc. It was the clearly logical choice then too. But my mother never even saw Kessan, and my only remaining family despises even the sight of me. Was it logical if you died anyway? Was it logical if in return for your life you lost everyone you cared about?

I had hoped I would never have to make that choice again. I trained so I would never have to make that choice again. I thought I had become stronger since then. That I could at least defend myself if something like that ever happened again. 

I stared down at the shackles.

As the weight of my past and my present overtook me, all I could feel was a vast apathy resurging from a human lifetime ago. 

It must certainly be that the Elven gods are dead, and our fates cast off to crueler ones. 

[hoeiplier]

”The more you scream, the more in control I feel.”

anon let me pick the ship, so only true ogs remember when i shipped this. oh uh,,,this one’s pretty fucked bc i dont really get a chance to hurt yan, sorry.

TW // NON CON

TW // RAPE

TW // GENERAL BAD SHIT

–

Google crept into her bedroom late that night. His footsteps light against the staircase, guiding himself to her door, painted a soft vanilla color, red popping against the natural paint. His systems pausing as he looked around, scanning for any possible threat. Scanning for any rouge ego who shouldn’t be in Dark and Wilford’s home.

Well, any rouge ego other than him.

As the coast cleared, he smiled. Happy to put his newest primary objection into place. His cock already hardening thanks to his perviously installed drive, saved just for his special occasion.

Her lean body laid in the soft plush of her comforter. Books and papers littering her bed. Headphones plugging her ears as she worked, still in her school uniform from the day. Deep in her studies, as any college student her age should.

Perfect for him to corrupt.

Just as he was ordered to.

Yan’s red eyes look up from the papers. Confusion and anger filling her as she reached over for her phone.

“Google? What the hell are you doing here?! Get out–”

He lunged. The bed creaking as her books and papers fell to the floor. His mechanical strength no mater for her own. Fists being grabbed by their wrists. Body sinking into the bed. His legs spread as he straddled her hips to lock her in place. The delicious fear in her soft eyes feeding into the sick sadistic side of the android. One he wasn’t sure he had until preforming his actions.

Yan screamed as Google’s hand pushed against her lips. Muffling her cries as the student kicked and shoved to no help.

“Shh, settle down. This is a simple procedure.” He groaned, “the more you scream, the more in control I feel…”

//

Her hands stayed tied against the headboard. Her own ropes from stalking her senpai now used against her. Rubbing the soft skin raw, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. Staring down her assaulter.

Google had made quick work of ripping her skirt and panties off. He was sure to pay attention to her cock and use as much lube as he was equip with. His cock throbbing, the head glowing a light blue, now circled her entrance.

“Google –” she cried. A heartbreaking sob from the once loving and carefree girl. Her voice hoarse from her pervious screams, ones Google had to mute his hearing processor to avoid damage to.

“Google, p-please! I…I never did anything to you!” Yan sobs. Shivering. Google’s sensors picking up on a full body panic attack forming in her core, heart rate off the charts.

“I wanna be Senpai’s first! I wanna be clean for him! I – don’t ruin me!”

“This is my primary objective.” Google replies. A cold answer to her pleading begs and cries. The mere fear and disgust in her tone making his drive become harder. His cock inching in just a bit. Keeping the girl on edge.

“I was ordered by your fathers to keep you in check. I was ordered to prove myself as a better love interest than your own lacking choices. Sex is merely a tool to prove this to you. Your fathers will be proud in your choice with a superior ego such as myself than with Anti or King.”

She stops.

Her binds still. Breathing still. Heart rate rising to near dangerous levels as her pulse erratically rose.

Her dads…her dads /ordered/ this.

Dark and Wilford, the two she’s always been true to, /ordered/ this for her.

They…they /wanted/ this hellish torture for her. This punishment for her to…to choose Google over the two loves she already had?

“I must finish my primary objective before their arrival in exactly 90 minutes. Dark had requested I take all the time allowed to use sex to prove I’m a better choice. Wilford had requested I use the upmost care and preparation for sex.”

She stares back. His sensors pick up on her psychological symptoms.

“Your psychological profile tells me you feel panic, anguish, and fear. Your body tells me you feel aroused…”

He leans down to tap at her hard cock. Throbbing into this touch. Her eyes dead, simply staring back. Completely broken. Completely empty. Completely hallow after such realization before her.

Dark and Wilford wanted this.

Her own parents wished this upon her.

This was all truly her fault.

“So I shall continue ahead.”

Google thrusts in slowly. His cock filling her as a deep gasp leaves her lips. Emotionless eyes and body moving with each slow thrust. Yan’s legs spread back around Google as he worked her own. A groan of his own escaping him as the tight heat of Yan’s core welcomed him in.

His secondary objective kicks in. One Wilford had added to help in the process.

“You really are beautiful, Yan…” Google soft praises, “I want you to myself. I want you all for me…”

A praise and loving objective. Once she was broken down to her empty core, he could trick and manipulate her into seeing him as her one love.

Rather dark way to fall in love, but what does Google know about silly humans and their emotions?

His cock rocks back into Yan’s entrance. Fucking deep into her as she takes it. Empty eyes watering up as Google begins to hold her close. His hips flush against her ass, exposed and dirtied just for him. Seeing her at her most raw as he worked her over.

His hand softly jerking her cock earned a soft sigh. The least she felt in her broken state. Cum rushing down her shaft as Google felt her hips and chest. Ripping her white school shirt open.

Her core was tight around his own shaft. The sound of skin against skin as he aimed for her sweet spot. The head of his cock rubbing up against it, her inner walls seeming to drag him back in. Each trust leaving the android hot and bothered, according to his sensors.

“I love you so much,” his tone took a genuine turn. All thanks to his programming, “you’re the only one for me, Yan. Please, be mine.”

///

It took months to finally turn Yan around.

Each week was spent in the same way. Google fucking into her. Teasing her cock in his hand. Holding her close as he fingered her open. Giving the upmost pleasure he could to win her love. Cleaning the cum around her thighs and lovingly holding her. Just as he was ordered to.

It took months for Yan to finally give in. Her psychological profile as hot of a mess as the cum that would drip out of her after every nightly visit.

Yet, she gave in like the good girl she was. Hanging on Google’s arm as Dark and Wilford welcomed him as her new boyfriend. Her dada commenting how much of a better choice he is than her last.

Google was proud he could serve his bosses in such a way.

He just hopes the undead, emotionally cold, unblinking red eyes fade away in time.

Especially as she cries in private to him, to say she’ll love him as long as he won’t hurt her old loves.

[aferryandanet]

The Legend of Kyro Chapter 1

(Critiques/advice/your thoughts are appreciated!)

The familiar sound of a ball bouncing off stone rang out from my room of imprisonment. A toothpick was pinched between my teeth. My teeth being unfamiliar with hygiene. I lay flat against the vaguely, barely taller than the ground, bed-shaped slab of stone, which dirt and mold sought to reclaim. My fingers gripped the red rubber as the bouncing seized; a new sound tugging at my interest. After sitting up, my body stayed still as the repetitious whisper of boots to stone echoed down the darkened corridor leading away from my room.

My limbs trembled as reason retreated from the bowels of my mind. The whisper grew to a shout which hit my ears with each sounding yell. Shoulders racing to my ears as my face cringed in horror. The shout stopped just ahead of my door. Keys were sifted through for a perceived hour until the loud series of clanks of unlocking sent shivers down my spine; my eyes glued to the stone beside the metallic door.

“Up,” the guard’s gruff and low voice demanded of me.

With one swift motion, I stood up as straight as possible. My arms stayed at my sides as the guard’s eyes scanned over my form. I couldn’t see them doing such, but I could practically feel his sight glazing over my being.

“Leave,” he ordered.

I obliged, leaving the room and beginning to walk the same steps I had once before. The hallways, while lined with full cells seemed to be lifeless, no one dared to leave their beds without being told to. After taking a right I was met with an immensely darker hall, closed rooms lined the right, while dusted with age, oil paintings filled the left. At the last closed room, the guard demanded my stop; I did so without hesitation.

The guard had opened the door and then shoved me into the room. Panic began setting in as I quickly realized what this was. Before I could run back out, the door was shut in my face. I began to bang on the door. My spirit grew weak with each passing second. I stepped back from the door. Looking around the room I could see a single wooden chair in the very middle, an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling just above the chair and a large flag stretched across the wall that the chair faced. With my face swollen, I slumped into the chair and awaited a new guard.

My patience was not rewarded as a large, but unknown amount of time passed until the door behind me finally clicked open. The guard stepped forward and began to strap my wrists to the chair’s arms. I looked up at his face, tears streaming down mine as I began to stutter out the only sentence I could, my voice quickly catching up with my fear.

“Not… Not rebel… Not Kyro… Not them, not them, not th-!” my voice was cut off by a strand of leather being fastened around my mouth.

The leather was buckled in the back and the guard held my head so all I could see was the dimly lit flag. I froze, knowing what was coming… Until I was violently pushed onto my side.

The wall of my room was blasted open. The guard fell to his knees and was struggling to get up. My ears rang and my head ached; I desperately tried to pull my wrists out of the straps, but it was pointless. He pulled my chair back up and then stumbled. With my chair upwards I pushed the chair forward and fell onto my feet. I turned the chair’s back towards one of the walls and rammed the chair into it. Upon hearing it crack I ran forwards and back, slamming it into the wall once more. The chair split in half and I could move my arms again. I unfastened the wrist bands and unbuckled the band around my mouth.

Breathing heavily now, I grabbed the guard’s keys and pistol. The clear tank on the side read empty. With it being empty, the flintlock was essentially an accessory. I sneaked towards the door and began to unlock it when an arm was thrown around my neck. My body was thrust back into the middle of the room and I began to elbow my attacker in the ribs. Their grip loosened and I slipped away from them. It was another guard, his baton at the ready. I charged towards him, ready to tackle him to the ground.

With another explosion, the floor cracked and then gave way. We fell through and my body hit the ground. My vision blurred as my consciousness began to go. The last thing I saw was the guard I had tackled being shot in the chest.

…

I awoke sometime later, my body being dragged along. My hair felt wet; my vision still blurred. I was being pulled along by the legs; who was doing the pulling, I did not know. They eventually set me down and sat just in front of me. The light of a new dawn began to set on my face. I brought together enough energy to sit up and rub my head. Once I touched the back of my head though, I immediately retracted my hand and cringed. Looking at my hand I saw that it was slicked red.

I sat up and began to slowly slide away from the person just in front of me. I gripped my flintlock, hoping to at least have some security. I pressed my hand against a twig and it cracked under my weight. The person stood up and spun around swiftly. The barrel of a rifle now pointed at my chest. I raised my hands in a surrendering position, knowing that I was outmatched.

“You’re out of that hole now, you can speak,” they lowered the barrel.

Questions began to flood all of my senses, my mind struggling to put all of the pieces laid out in front of me together.

“Where… Am I? Who… are you?” I slowly found the words that had been locked away from me for so long.

“Outside... that,” they gestured to someplace behind me, “As for who I am, you’ll learn soon enough. Come on.”

They offered a hand to me; I grabbed it and they pulled me up onto my feet. My entire body felt sore, but it had begun to get better. Nonetheless, I had trouble walking. After the flooding thoughts began to subside, I could take in my surroundings.

We were in what looked like the outskirts of a forest. A bubbling brook ran past us. Brown leafed trees reached out towards us. A mountain watched the ants below it, its very top obscured by mist. We were walking down a dirt path nature had sought to reclaim.

My supposed rescuer I had assumed to be female. Her short, jet black hair bounced as she walked. She had on a blue buttoned vest and a white shirt underneath. She also wore black trousers. Her rifle was closely held at her side. She stopped at every sound, looking around and then with a sigh, began to walk forwards again. I had no idea where we were going, but what other choice did I have?

After what seemed like hours, we arrived at a small clearing. A roaring fire originally sat at the middle, but now its withering embers and charred remains were all that could tell its story. A furnished tent had been set up to the left. My rescuer checked the tent and then the fire and then the tent once more. She sat on a stump near the fire, tapping the grip of her rifle.

“What… is it?” I tilted my head to the side, concerned how the camp could possibly upset her.

“We’re the only ones here, there was supposed to be others but… Do you hear that?” She looked over her shoulder and into the surrounding forest.

It was faint, but it was there. I had much preferred the occasional rustling by wildlife than the distant, soft sound of conversation. It was far but it was there.

“Hold here, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she got up and began to walk out of the camp towards whoever was talking.

“Wait-!” I began to say, but she had already entered the tree line.

I sighed and sat by the fire, pondering the circumstances I had somehow gotten myself into. It was grueling, but the Center was routine. Sure I was glad to leave, but can I trust her over the people that fed me every day?

I got up and walked into the tent. A table was placed at the very middle, with chairs surrounding it. A map of the area around the Center was laid across the table. A closed, small wooden crate was near the back of the tent. The chairs weren’t pushed in and books littered the floor. Upon picking one up, I had made it out to be a journal. I stepped out of the tent, flipping through it.

My mind had drifted ever so slightly from my current situation and I hadn’t noticed at first when she finally came back. My book was snatched away from me and my head flicked upwards at the robber.

“Not for your eyes,” the heat of her stare seemed to burn holes through my eyes.

“None of that makes sense… The Sheng have been here for centuries…” I desperately tried to fit the pieces I was fed and the pieces I just found together.

“Not interested in giving a history lesson right now. Come on, S-Soldiers are moving to our position. If you want to make it out alive, I suggest getting out of here.”

“Wait. You never told me who you are.”

She paused, biting her lip and looking from side to side before answering.

“My name’s Ia. Now come on. Please?” Ia had asked, her eyebrows raised and her face softened.

I obliged and we ran out of the small camp; she kept the journal.

[milehighcity-rp]

“My great mistake, the fault for which I can’t forgive myself, is that one day I ceased my obstinate pursuit of my own individuality.”

Name: Anais Lockwood

FC: Oona Chaplin

Age / Birthday: 29 / 1 November 1987

Job: Independent Artist / Art Instructor

Apartment: 104

Personality traits:

+ Intelligent, Introspective, Visionary, Cultured

- Melancholic, Aimless, Enigmatic, Mercurial

tw: suicide mention, toxic relationships, mental health

Charmed isn’t exactly the word that could be used to describe Anais Lockwood’s’ early life, but privileged certainly fits the bill. Being born into a well-to-do family meant that the old adage of “You can be anything you want to when you grow up” was reality rather than a well-meant lie told in order to keep  that light of hope in a child’s eyes. Her parents may have made it clear that they expected her to be responsible after she found her start in life, but they were more than willing to pay her way through a private Catholic school and a well-known Jesuit college. What she lacked in scholarships was supplemented with mommy and daddy’s money, though she somehow managed to remain studious and responsible. Her aspirations were worldly – - she wanted to travel, to sculpt, to pain, to cloak herself in hedonism and emerge an enlightened being. The closest she ever got, unfortunately, was a year spent studying abroad between the UK, Italy and France.

School had been unremarkable, for the most part. Her talents were exceptional enough for teachers and professors to push her toward pursuing a degree in fine arts with a minor in business. Beyond owning her own studio and spending her time painting on rooftops or balconies, Anais had very little direction for her future. She was content, it seemed, to move with the natural ebb and flow of the universe. It was in this way that she met Jasper Howl.

In order to acquire extra cash and some extra credit, she acted as a nude model for an illustration class. Jasper was no artist – - actually, he ended up being the professor’s assistant entirely by mistake - – but that didn’t stop him from trying to befriend Anais. Though unwilling to give up any semblance of independence at first, she eventually came around and began to see him regularly. This carried on after she acquired her bachelor’s degree, and provided a certain level of motivation for her decision to drop out of grad school mid-semester. By that time, she and Jasper were living  in a nice apartment with their cat; he paid the rent, she chipped in when she could and her family was kind enough to furnish the living space. For the most part, they were happy – - Anais could pursue sculpting and painting while Jasper followed his own passions. Everything was ideal, until it wasn’t.

After two years of living together, Anais began to notice a rift developing between herself and Jasper. Her first assumption was that his job had become more stressful and their lives would continue as normal after he found his footing, but that wasn’t the case. Things grew worse and worse; Jasper spent more time at the office, he expressed little interest in Anais, and he had a million excuses for his negligence. Soon enough, the fighting started; what was a small argument once every couple of weeks became screaming fits nearly every day, with pottery broken and canvases torn in the process. Their life shattered, fragmented and disconnected until neither Anais or Jasper were barely recognizable to one another.

It wasn’t a surprise that he had found someone new, but Anais was the last to find out. The woman – - that other woman Anais so desperately wanted to believe was a figment of her own imagination - – was someone from work, someone young and blonde and rough around the edges; someone more like Jasper, someone who understood him more than Anais ever could. The arguments became more personal, attacks on one another that were made without provocation or concern for the other’s well being. They had become bickering roommates rather than a couple, which became more and more painful as Anais began to find that woman’s clothing or possessions lying around the apartment.

Shades of grey had been cast over the once-vibrant swath of her life. Without realizing it, Anais had begun slipping into a melancholic state. Before she could stop herself, she found her gaze passing over the Golden Gate Bridge with one question at the fraying edges of her mind’s tapestry: What if? What if she ran away? What  if she jumped?

It wasn’t a serious thought until she spent a weekend out of town and returned to find Jasper’s girlfriend shamelessly sprawled in the bed he and Anais once shared. Worse than that, the door to their apartment had been left open and her cat – - one of her only sources of comfort and companionship in that domestic prison - – had escaped. Posters were drawn up and rewards offered, but nothing came of it. Finally, Anais took a stack to the bridge and began taping them to the railing one by one.

Though it originally began as an intrusive thought, Anais did end up planting her feet firmly at the bottom rung of the crimson railing. With a mere few feet between herself and the drop that would lead to the dark waters of the San Francisco Bay, Anais released the papers and watched as they were carried off in the wind. Her gaze followed the course of fluttering pages before she found some resignation, eyes closed while she savored the smell of exhaust from passing cars, the oxidation of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the salt of the bay in which she expected to meet her end. It  was at this point that a photographer stopped, taken by what they assumed to be a moment of serenity. Unbeknownst to Anais, a photographer took a few snapshots before coming to the realization of what she intended to do. It was a stroke of genius that led him to calling the police before approaching, and one that he would later brag had likely saved Anais’ life.In reality, Anais had been startled by the sound of his voice after he decided to approach. Her footing was compromised, one foot slipped sideways while the other slid through the empty spaces between the spokes. Although she fell backward to safety, Anais experienced a kind of terror that she had never known – - an eye-opening, consuming fear of what would have happened if her trajectory had been altered. In the moments of panic afterward, she was pulled backward by the photographer and was rendered inconsolable until police arrived. The story she stuck to was that she had no intention of jumping, but had wanted a better view of the bay from her position. Though frowned upon, she did manage to escape with a harsh warming and a stern lecture about the dangers of the bridge and it’s macabre reputation. For some time, only she and the photographer who had spotted her knew the truth.

The incident didn’t give Anais the new lease on life that she expected, but it motivated her to pack her belongings and send them to her mother and father’s home while she disappeared for three weeks to seek mental health treatment at Bayside Marin. When she emerged once more, she found that one of the photographs of her near-miss had been entered into various contests and had won quite a bit of money. Perhaps it was guilt that motivated the photographer, but a stipend of the money was given to Anais – - it was, effectively, the main thing that protected him from a terrible lawsuit. His only other saving grace was the fact that Anais wanted to leave San Francisco as quickly as possible. A dark cloud hung over her parents, and seemed to dissipate when she mentioned wanting to take a step toward a different future.

Denver wasn’t her first choice, but the idea of Colarado grew on her after a while. Her parents suggested that she move to Aspen to live in one of their homes, but she was adamant that she wanted an apartment of her own and the ability to start her own business. In reality, she simply didn’t want to risk running into family friends or becoming some sort of hermit in the mountains. Perhaps that was why she chose a studio apartment in a complex that she happened upon online. Queen Apartments had the amenities she wanted, and there was space available quickly. Since most of her things were already packed up, she had no reason to keep herself from moving with a generous gift from her parents – - six months of her rent would be paid as long as she kept in touch and settled into therapy. So that was exactly what she did.

Six months passed faster than she imagined they would. In that time, the photograph of her near-jump gained more notoriety, even a meager spot on Time Magazine’s 100 photos of 2016. Without her name attached to the photograph, she felt comfortable enough with the level of anonymity; there were no interviewers knocking on her door and the correspondence she had with the photographer was brief. Her life may have began when it nearly ended, but Anais’ desire is to put her experience behind her and rediscover herself through art and whatever opportunity may place itself in her path.

[carp3n0c73m]

Frozen in Memory: People, Activities, Objects - Chapter 4

I walked past him and followed the landing around to the right, stepping down a series of nine stairs of bare concrete which matched the brick walls, both sporting a coat of thick white paint, covered in the quiet grime of years. There came another roar, less intense than the first, but more sustained and subsiding into a drawn out, menacing growl. The hair on my arms stood up, doing their evolutionary best to make me look big and threatening; this failed miserably, not the least reason being that my arms were covered by my sweatshirt and as such were not visible. There was a haze the stairwell that limited my vision, so I moved slowly until I found myself at the bottom of the stairs. Before me was a very small landing with not quite enough headroom to put one's arms above one's head. There were exposed water pipes running along the top of the ceiling and the space was cramped, almost claustrophobic. And what was waiting for me there literally tossed me into the lions den. 

The lion: known from childhood as the king of the jungle, the largest and most majestic of all wildcats, the very picture of courage and fierceness and valor. What they don't tell you in school about lions is that even though they are much bigger than your house cat, they still smell like a litter box and rancid meat, but that could have been because they were in an enclosed space. The lions were smaller than those that I remember having seen in the zoo as a child, but they were still big enough quicken my breath and inspire my testicles to retreat ever so slightly into the depths of me. Please do not misunderstand my meaning when I say small - each was almost 6 feet long and would have stood about 4 feet at the shoulder. There were seven lions, all male, with huge cascading manes and large, powerful muscles, but at the moment they were not being put to predatory use as the cats had heaped themselves into the middle of the landing. I had never seen a pile of lions before and it was indeed an impressive and intimidating sight. The stairwell and landing smelled of pheromones and musky cat musk and danger, but not imminently so as they were all groggy and lounging. 

At the very bottom of the stairs, just to the right side of the lion pile was the reason for the roaring. He stood all of three and half feet tall, in a classic black suit that had been tailored to his diminutive stature. The black bowler hat and mustache were from another time and he looked exactly like he did in his films (when he was alive), only smaller; he was the spitting image of Charlie Chaplin, has Chaplin been born a little person. He looked up at me with an extremely frustrated frown, not the least bit startled. 

"Antonio?" I asked. I don't know why I said it, that name just flew out of my mouth; it just seemed right. 

He looked at me with an incredulous glance, exhaled loudly, rolled his eyes expressively, and then dismissed me entirely. Charlie Chaplin was wielding a golf club that was too large for him to hold properly. The metal of the club glinted in the full incandescent light and I saw that it was actually a putter. And he was using it in a most peculiar fashion, sort of as a weapon, but his movements were all wrong; if he was trying to defend himself, he was terrible at it. I watched his process unfold in fascination. 

The mini Charlie Chaplin would set himself up right next to one of the lions with his feet a shoulder width apart and do his best to adjust the golf club as if he were going to putt out. Then he would haul back and hit the lion on its hindquarters as hard as he could with the putter and the lion would jerk in surprise and loudly roar, turning its head to bare its teeth at him and express its displeasure at being struck. As this happened, the small man would, almost with an air of surprise, jump back, drop his putter, and retreat two or three steps into the corner of the landing and cower there, wringing his hands anxiously and blinking repeatedly.  He would wait a little bit for the lion to settle down, and then would venture out of the corner, pick up his club, and begin again. I watched this play out several times. 

Occasionally, he would climb up to the top of the pride, with the cats making all sorts of annoyed sounds at being trod upon, and try and see to the other side of the landing. Sometimes, as he was backing up he would trip over his slightly oversized shoes, stumble, and step on one of the lions' tails, which would bring with it more roars and growling, but for some reason, the lions never jumped up and devoured him whole. He used their heads as footholds while climbing and while they didn’t care for his ascent, they made no more aggressive moves than voicing their discomfort and baring their frightening teeth. There was something at work here that I was not seeing. 

Regardless of what was happening, I felt that my path lay on the other side of the felines, so I tried to catch the little man's eye in order to ask him if it was safe for me to pass or if he could help me. Every time I made eye contact with him and started to speak, he would exhale loudly in frustration, get even more flustered, shake his head, and make exasperated sounds, gesticulating frantically at the lions, but he never spoke. This, oddly, made a certain sense to me as Charlie Chaplin was not a star of the talkies and didn’t speak in his films, at least not as far as I knew and I had certainly never heard his voice.  Perhaps he simply was too preoccupied to concern himself with me, but either way he went right on hitting the lions and retreating and then hitting the lions and then retreating. 

Every time he made it to the top of the lions, he would point at something out of sight on the other side of the landing. I became very curious, not only because I knew I had to somehow get down the next set of steps, but I wanted to know what he kept peering at on the other side. I considered retracing my steps up towards Aristotle, but somehow I knew that he would not be there any longer and that much like Willy Wonka's fantastical factory, I couldn't get out backwards; I had to go forwards to go back. As these thoughts were bouncing around in my head, a whistle ripped through the stairwell, arresting my attention and drawing my focus to the top of the mountain of lions. Charlie Chaplin was once again at the summit of the Caterhorn and he was observing me with an impatient mien. Once he was sure he had my attention, he inhaled as if to speak, then he winked. Just once. And he gestured for me to join him. 

I hesitated, appalled by the thought of going anywhere near the lions let alone climbing on them, but Antonio Mr. Chaplin was insistently pointing to the other side of the landing and making hurry-up motions with his arms and I had seen him ascend and descend many times without being attacked. In light of all I had seen thus far it was apparent that a different set of rules applied and that just maybe climbing on top of a bunch of lions might not be the craziest thing that I would do all day.

I steeled my resolve and stepped from the last tread of the stair on which I had been standing. I hesitantly reached out and grasped the flank of one of the lions to aid me in gaining purchase while, as gently as I could, I placed my foot on the back of another one. The lion on which I was about to stand began twitching its tail in agitation. As soon as I shifted my weight fully onto the cats, they started growling; I could feel their bodies vibrating beneath my touch like a powerful idling engine. I froze. I felt my fight or flight instinct kick in as a response to the obvious danger. My hands became clammy and I was sweating, unable to process what I was doing. I felt myself starting to freeze, but rather than be trapped where I was and unable to move from fright and panic, I pushed all of the air out of my lungs and inhaled deeply (not through my nose due to the ambient odor, but even so I could quasi taste the lions on that breath) and decided to stop thinking and not look down, as it were; I focused on the goal of making it to the top and put it out of my mind that I could be attacked at any moment. I pulled with my arms and pushed with my feet, always keeping three points of contact like my father had taught me while bouldering when I was a kid, and slowly I progressed amidst a serenade of deafening roars and angry growls.

While a mound of seven lions may not sound like a tall order, both literally or figuratively, it took me a full sixty seconds or so to finally reach the top, tentative as my progress was. When I arrived, my host wasted no time to allow me to catch my breath and stop my limbs from shaking from the adrenaline dump I had just experienced. He grabbed my shoulder and pointed to the opposite side of the landing beneath us. There at the top of the last stairwell (which was only five or so stairs for I could see the bottom from my new vantage point), near the corner was a small tin cup set into the landing, which I now saw for the first time had been overlaid with what looked like worn out, bargain basement Astroturf of the type we have all of us seen at sad, slowly dying miniature golf establishments whose glory days lay behind them by several decades. A little red flag poked up from the center of the cup, the silhouette of a lion in black upon the wee carmine field. Even stranger was the six or so inches of a lion’s tail that lay upon the ground, protruding from the hole.

I stared at it for a moment, putting two and two together, and realized that Little Charlie Chaplin was attempting to putt, but was being foiled by the lions. He had built a putting green to practice his skills or for the sake of amusement, or mayhap he was damned here as was Sisyphus to his endless task to always try, but never to accomplish and experience the triumph of sinking his ball into the hole, of achieving the summit with his infernally heavy stone. I turned and looked at him only to find that he had already retreated back down below and had started running again on his Mobius strip.  As I watched from above, something didn’t quite fit properly and it took a moment for the other shoe to drop.  I looked from curious little man to the flag in the hole with its feline emblem, and finally to the tail lazily twitching from the hole itself. And then it made sense, in the most nonsensical of ways, in the manner that Alice understood how to move forward, though without the understanding of why.

CHARLIE CHAPLIN was PUTTING LIONS.

There was no ball trapped under the hill, the dwarf’s attempts to sink his shot frustrated by felines; the lions were the ball! He was putting lions! With that realization, I looked back to him only to find him staring right at me.  He briefly tipped his hat and then went right back to what he was doing, my existence completely forgotten.  I took some small comfort in remembering Camus’ argument that one must imagine Sisyphus happy, but then my thoughts were interrupted by a loud SMACK! and an even louder roar of pain and surprise. The pile trembled beneath me and I felt it time to move on. There was only a small space between the topmost lion and the ceiling, but I wriggled my arms and shoulders through it and dragged myself to the other side, whereupon I promptly lost my balance and came tumbling down the side of the cat heap.  I picked myself up and started to descend the last of the stairs when I heard a new sound that stopped me.

It was purring.

I turned around to see which of the lions it was coming from, but none of them looked particularly content.  I stepped closer to the pile and traced the sound as best I could, only to find that it was coming from the tin cup in the hole. I approached it and saw that there was no bottom in the cup, just a black void from which protruded the tail.  In a moment of boldness, I poked at the tail, which promptly disappeared into the void with a flick, but the purring intensified. I don’t know what possessed me to do so as I never would have thought to have done it in real life (and I assuming that this was no longer real life and hoping that consequences here were different than in my quotidian norm): I reached my hand into the hole.

They were in there just as I suspected and my fingers closed around them and I pulled them out into the light: three playing cards, which I placed into my pocket with the rest.  I stood up and turned to take one last glimpse of something which I was certain I would never seen again. I contemplated taking a photo with my phone, but somehow it didn’t seem right.

“In this place, let ghosts be ghosts, let love be love…”

The words emerged from the back my mind, from another theatre in the past, inscribed, spoken, and lived.  I sighed, turned back to the stairs, and descended the steps, looking forward to no longer breathing cat ammonia.