#obviously the lion switch

[imminent-danger-came]

Uninterrupted Jade Emperor V Azure Lion show down, because one: I could and two: I can’t stop thinking about this scene.

[rubys-domain]

i'm a little upset because i spent all day grinding for primos and didn't get a single chong const on either of my accounts. i got a fourth lion fang and the bell of all things. literally why

[the-modern-typewriter]

Can you PLEASEEE write a Hero x Villain only one bed trope! Love ya

"Did you know that single people, on holiday, often pay more than couples because all of the hotel industry is built around the assumption of shared rooms and beds?"

The villain turned their attention from the double bed, the only bed in the room, and back to the hero. They blinked. Once, slow, deliberate.

The hero's met their gaze. "Down with amatonormativity?"

"You're sleeping on the floor."

"Oh, come on. It's not my fault! This is the only room they had."

"You're a hero. Be heroic and heroically take the floor."

"I'm not sure my being a good person extends that far," the hero said, eyeing said floor. "There's not even any carpet."

"Well, we can't share!"

"Only child, huh?"

"Don't fish for information about me."

The hero's lip twitched with a maddening and entirely too endearing amusement. "If you're worried about me attacking you in your sleep, I don't think my being on the floor is going to save you."

"I don't think - it's not that -" The villain felt colour rise up their face. They folded their arms. "It's not weird that I don't want to share a bed with you."

The hero's head tilted, studying them for a long moment, before they shrugged. "Fine. Bed's yours. I'll grab the chair."

The villain eyed the chair. It only looked fractionally more comfortable than the floor; less hard, but also significantly more cramped given the hero was hardly small.

"So, what," they demanded. "You'd be just fine sharing with me?"

"It's just a bed," the hero said. "I'm going to be unconscious, all things going well."

"What if we accidentally end up touching each other?"

"I already said you could have the bed."

"Well, now I feel bad!" the villain snapped. "I'm taking the chair. I don't need more reasons to encourage your sanctimonious attitude!"

With that, they strode into the small shared bathroom to change and firmly locked the door.

When they returned, the hero had already fetched a spare blanket from the cupboard. It was large-enough, if a little worn. They'd squished themselves onto the chair.

"I said I'm taking the chair," the villain said. "My god. Do you have to win at everything?"

"I know I got us into this mess."

The villain stopped short, not expecting the quiet words.

"I can take the chair," the hero said. "Not being sanctimonious. It's really just fine, okay? I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable or whatever."

The hero looked up at them, with an expression that the villain couldn't quite read. Whatever it was seemed earnest.

The villain swallowed.

They got into the bed, on the side furthest from the hero and the chair. They switched the lights off. They heard the hero shift and shuffle, trying to get comfortable. The villain could see the beautiful curve of their face illuminated in a small shaft of moonlight, the hunch of their shoulders, when they glanced over.

The villain glared at the dark ceiling for several long minutes.

"...Just get in the bed."

"What?"

"Get in. We can share."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me say it again. You look ridiculous. Like a lion trying to fit into a shoebox."

"If it fits, it sits."

"Well, you obviously don't fit!"

A brief silence passed, before the villain heard the hero move and felt the mattress dip. The hero kept to the far side of the bed, oh so respectfully, but the villain could still feel every inch of space between them. They folded their arms across their chest.

"Would it help to tell me what you're worried is going to happen?" the hero asked.

"No."

"Okay."

Another brief silence passed. "Is the thought of accidentally touching me really that hideous to you?" the hero asked.

Their voice was different in the darkness. Softer, somehow.

"Is the thought of accidentally touching me really that hideous to you?!"

"No?" the hero sounded bewildered. "I never said it was?"

The villain ground their teeth, even as their stomach gave a stupid little flip. "Just shut up and go to sleep."

"Goodnight."

The villain couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever wished them that. It caught them unexpectedly, in the gut and the throat. Winded. Fatal wound.

They glanced over at the hero again. They had their eyes closed, seeming perfectly at ease now that they were no longer scrunched up.

No. It wouldn't be hideous to touch them, not at all. It wouldn't be ghastly at all to roll across the expanse of mattress and wrap their arms around the hero's stupidly broad body, to nestle their face against the hero's shoulder, to hold the solidness of them.

Accident-smachident. The villain hated everything.

The hero fell asleep within ten minutes. The villain listened to the steady metronome of their breath, aching. Three hours later, the hero made a soft sleepy little sound and rolled, nuzzling their head against the villain's chest. A tangle of limbs.

The villain snagged their phone off the side table and held it up to take a selfie, making sure to look as unimpressed as possible. Just in case. For the morning. So the hero would know they didn't start it.

Then, and only then, did they finally melt and fall into the sweetest sleep they'd had in a long time.

Bonus:

[blackopals-world]

I liked your ´ I Found Home ´ Twisted Wonderland fic could I PLEASE request a part three where everyone else finds out about her son and her books! I have a feeling some of those boys would be a blushing mess. PLEASE I NEED MORE I CAN ´ T GET ENOUGH! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEAAASEEE!

I Found Home

Part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 4) (Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 8)

Implied relationship

Leona

"The Tracker"

It's usually very busy in the kingdom this time of year. Handling the harvest, taxes, keeping an eye out for droughts, and other things that pop up. These things are part of his responsibility as the official grand duke. His brother gave him a good chunk of territory after it was confiscated from a group of inept nobles. He stated that Leona more than deserved it after uncovering their faults.

Leona gained the freedom to rule how he desired with no input or control from his family or counsel. The people respected him and his knights swore loyalty to him.

Ruggie became an aid obviously and is still the only one to keep up with Leona. Despite Jack being strong enough to become a knight he became a botanist.

While Leona is not king, he still basically is one. The only time he's ever had to follow orders is when his brother begs him to attend functions in the capital, which Leona usually ignores.

Recently Cheka started staying at Leona's castle for the summer to learn how his uncle rules his region. Thus ends the lion's peaceful days.

Ruggie sometimes takes the cub to his old neighborhood to learn of its past. The slums no longer exist as Leona created a project to help those living there and created new jobs to support them. The idea wasn't his alone. It came about when Yuu proposed a plan to help Ruggie community. She knew a few examples from her own world to solve this problem and together they made a plan.

She was an incredible woman. Falena had insisted had she become his sister-in-law.

"Listen to me brother, you don't meet a girl like that every dynasty. You need to do something now or never."

Now did become never. Leona learned the hard way that lazing around doesn't stop the world around you from moving forward with or without you. Without Yuu.

Maybe she would have stayed if he asked. He doesn't know. He moved on.

Opportunity was a window and it was closed until someone opened a door. A gateway in this case. There was a way to see her again.

"I don't know how you do this. One moment you're a velcro baby and won't let me put you down the next you're gone." Yuu watched Grimm bolt for the sandbox.

Yuu had gotten the go ahead from Grmm's doctor and social worker to introduce him to the outside world. He was finally secure enough to interact with people his age.

He liked the sandbox which meant extra laundry to Yuu. She checked her bag for a change of clothes when she was stopped by someone.

"Excuse me? Miss I couldn't help but ask. Are you the author of the Lost Princess series?" The woman asked.

"Yes, actually I-" Yuu was cut off.

"It's so amazing to meet you! My children love your books and I love that new romance novel you put out. I heard you were working on a t.v show based on the kids books." She asked in excitement.

"Yes, a network reached out about it but I wanted it to suit my vision and a lot is going on with it. Besides that, I have a family and I can't be away from my son for long." Yuu explained.

"I see, I understand completely. My girls need to be watched like hawk. How old is yours?" The mother seemed to switch gears the moment kids were brought up. She was clearly an attentive mother as she occasionally looked over to where her daughters were on the swing.

"He's 4 now. Over there in the sandbox." Yuu said pointing towards the box except he wasn't there.

The other mother looked around questioning.

"I saw another kid other there a minute ago with a small boy. Do you know if he has a friend here?" She said with a thick edge to her voice.

"No, he doesn't know anyone but me. He hates strangers! Grimm?! Grimm?!" Yuu ran for the sandbox and yelled for her some.

The other mother called for her daughter's and told them to stay close as she called for Grimm as well.

In the back of her head Yuu knew what was going on. She had read stories about predators using kids to lure in other victims. Her son was kidnapped!

Leona stood at the door of a small house in a quaint neighborhood. The house had to be hers. The scent of desert roses and clove was everywhere. That was her favorite perfume.

He knocked a few times but there was no reply.

Cheka(who insisted on coming and Leona had no choice anyways) investigated everything around until a door slammed open in the neighbor's yard.

"Scram you little urchin! Stay out of my garden! She yelled at Cheka as he rooted around the flower bed.

"Who are you calling an urchin?" Leona growled as Cheka took cover behind his uncle.

"You let your son tear up people's yards? You are no better than that hussy that lives here. Are you dropping off another one of her noisy bastard kids? Keep him! I don't want another one running around here!" The old woman ranted.

Leona doesn't advocate punching old women's remaining teeth out but this woman was making him a believer. But he wasn't going to do that in front of Yuu's house in public.

"I don't know who you're calling a hussy but I'm looking for Yuu. Since you are already so nosy you must know right?" Leona asked as politely as he could muster.

"Like I'd tell a thug like you." The old woman said.

"That's fine. If you can't say anything useful you might as well not speak." He said casting a silence curse on the old bat.

The crone tried to flap her gums more but nothing came out as she tried to yell and rant some more.

"Cheka, it's time to practice tracking." Leona picked up a trail that did go too far. Yuu must be on a walk.

Cheka excitedly bounded off with Leona a few yards behind.

When they made it to a park Cheka sped off before Leona noticed.

The old woman said Yuu had a kid. Damn things did change. He should have expected it, kind of. He knew she liked kids and would volunteer to babysit Cheka all the time but knowing she started a family was unexpected.

Was he jealous...no. Why would he be? She didn't owe him loyalty especially when she believed they would never meet again. They weren't even together. So what if he never saw anyone after her and turned down every engagement? She owed him nothing. It was enough to spend what time they did have together.

"Look!" Leona snapped out of his revelry as Cheka brought a small boy over to him.

The boy was small, looked to be less then half the age of Cheka, and held a bright yellow plastic hand shovel.

"Oh no." Leona already had a bad feeling about this. "Cheka what do you think tracking means?"

Cheak puffed out his cheeks as he picked up his new friend from under under his arms like how a toddler picks up a cat.

"I followed the scent and I found him." The cub replied.

The boy had little awareness of what was happening thankfully. But Cheka had a point, the boy smelled like black clove, cinnamon and faintly of desert roses.

"Cheka you can't just take a kid from a playground, even if you are a kid yourself. Put him back before I get called a kidnapper." The instant 'kidnapper' left his mouth the latent survival instincts in the boy went off and he sprinted for the bush and disappeared.

"Shit." Leona muttered.

"Shit." Cheka echoed.

"Not you! Find him before his mom-"

"Grimm! Grimm! Where are you!" Yuu's voice echoed across the park.

He's going to die. He's going to die and I'll all be this brat's fault.

He wasn't overreacting, he is under-reacting. Leona has seen this woman do a hundred-meter dash just to hit her friends upside the head. She once tried to fight a referee after getting a red card and it took Jack and Sebek to pry her off.

Leona managed to find Grimm as he climbed up a tree.

"I swear if you fall from there," Leona growled under his breath.

Cheka tried to follow him up but Leona yanked him back down by the back of his shirt.

"You stay here, go distract Yuu." Leona ordered

"Aye!" The cub mock saluted before bounding off again.

Yuu began to feel lightheaded as she searched every corner of the playground. She asked every parent and child if they had seen her son.

She pulled out her phone and began dialing for emergency services. Just before she pressed the call button she was ambushed from behind.

Two arms circled her stomach and squeezed. Yuu yelped and grabbed one of the hands. Prickly claws dug in firmly.

"Nanna!" A familiar voice called for her.

It was Cheka! Little Cheka wasn't so little anymore. Well, he was taller at least and was still very much a cub.

If Yuu wasn't so frantic she would have squeezed him to death tighter than Floyd but a mother's mind isn't so easily swayed. Grimm first, reunion second.

"That's the boy from earlier!" The other mom said "He took your son!"

HE WHAT?!

Before Cheka could run he was grabbed by the ear.

"Cheka Kingscholar!" Yuu yelled. "Sorry about all this trouble Amaranth. I'll handle the rest from here."

Amaranth laughed a bit leaving Yuu to parent.

Cheka yelped as he struggled to escape.

"Sorry Nanna! I just thought it was funny and I wanted to play with cousin!" Cheka squirmed "He's with uncle I swear!"

Yuu dragged the cub by the ear back to where Grimm was still in the tree.

Currently, Leona was trying to grab the boy while Grimm reflexively hissed and spat like a feral cat. Grimm only did that when he was really scared. One of the side effects of being locked in a basement with only a cat for company for who knows how long.

"I said I was going to hurt you, now stop trying to bite me!" Leona tried to grab him by the collar.

"Mama!" Grimm called out as he dodged Leona again and climbed higher.

"I'm trying to take you to her! Do you want to be left up here?" Leona managed to snag the boy this time by the waist and hauled Grimm up in a position that would keep them stable but not in biting range.

"Grimm no bitting! It's safe! He won't hurt you!" Yuu called out.

Leona worked his way down and as he made it to the lowest branch dropped the squirming toddler in Yuu's waiting arms.

Immediately the boy wiggled around to wrap his arms around his mother like a koala.

"I'd really like an explanation for what's going on but I'm tired and Grimm is overdue for a nap." Yuu sighed.

Leona agreed wholeheartedly.

"So you missed me, my prince?" Yuu laughed as she pulled the leftover leaves and twigs out of his hair.

'My prince' he remembered when she used to call him that when she wanted to tease him. The boys couldn't hear at least, they exhausted themselves and were currently napping.

"No one has called me prince in years. Most just say, Grand Duke." Leona sighed in relief as Yuu combed out his locks.

"Fancy~" Yuu sang before her tone shifted "You've changed, Leo."

"That's your fault. You changed me."

Yuu couldn't pretend he was lying. She wouldn't leave Leona alone back then.

She recognized that Leona was in pain and asked-begged him to get help. She taught him to recognize his feelings so he could explain what was wrong. It was hard for him to accept that help but in time he improved.

Yuu forced him to eat healthier and made excuses everytime she wanted him to do something more then sleep.

"These guys keep harassing me. I can't go alone." She'd say poking him in the ribs until he caved.

When they had bad days. They'd sleep cuddled up beside each other.

"You don't need to fix me." He'd complain but he didn't mean it.

"I'm not. I just don't want to see someone else go through what I did." She said.

Leona wasn't an idiot. He knew she was more fragile than she let on but it never mattered to him. She was the strongest person he knew. So he believed in her words and got his life together.

"Change is good. I've changed too." Yuu responded.

"I've noticed. So where's the dad? Not in the picture?"

"Never was. I found Grimm and took him home. He has his quirks but he's a good kid."

"I've noticed, his bites were just full of kindness." Leona said holding out his nicked hand.

Yuu rolled her eyes, he could heal himself with magic but was being dramatic.

"He was just scared. Besides his teeth aren't nearly as sharp as Cheka's." Yuu scoffed as she intertwined their hands.

While the adults got cozy the kids were up to trouble.

"So this book is about the king of beasts?" Cheka asked puzzled.

"It is about the lost princess and how she met the king of beasts. He wanted a war with the enemy kingdom and worked hard to win. The princess taught him that the war was dumb and he should be a good king instead." Grimm said flipping the pages.

"And then they get married and live happily ever after?" Cheaka asked.

"No! The princess has to go home and goes to the underwater city to get help from the sea folk. The princess can't get married." Grimm argued.

"I dunno, I think the princess is going to marry the beast." Cheka smirked.

"What do you mean?" The boy asked tilting his head.

"Ask your mom. We are going to be cousins soon. Shihihi" Cheka cackled using Ruggie's laugh.

"Mom?" Grimm scrunched his nose in thought before realizing "MAMAAAA!"

Grimm cried as he stumbled down the stairs.

Tag Lists:

@kamisatoaiko@professionalreblogs@kai200x@lianreine@loivre@jackalope08@code-roevember@growingupnrealizing@ryxmix@rainbowcake1212@blazestar0525@botswanasvetlana@shrimpyfishyy@imasimpsowhat06@nooneknows8976@utaubara@springdrop-701@ayachansan@otomyoli@savanaclaw1996@who-mst@cloudy51@siren-serenity@ehjane@glacticrose@bontensbabygirl@morokumi@rincommittedarsin@queen-shiba

[def-not-kaz-brekker]

controversial opinion but inej ghafa is literally terrifying and (obviously) such a queen.

like she literally held a stadwatch guard at knifepoint after creeping up on him and whispered (I don’t remember the exact quote) “I like it when men beg, but nows not the time” like??? Queen?????

And the end of the crooked kingdom where she cuts pekka rollins after threatening him, and switched alby’s toy lion with a crow?? Fucking terrifying?????

My love for inej knows no bounds and she is undeniably a powerful and scary woman

[pullhisteeth]

an account of how Wayne Munson got tired of your pining and took matters into his own hands (at christmas!)

-

every Christmas since he can remember, Wayne hangs mistletoe in the trailer. it sits on a hook over the space where the narrow hall meets the kitchen, and Eddie makes fun of him for it every year, because the last time a woman was in their trailer was when Eddie's mum was still in the picture, but it's a tradition that Wayne adopted from his own mother so he stands his ground.

at some point, you come crashing into Eddie's life, sweeping him off his feet and knocking him for six. he's completely blindsided by you, and Wayne finds it silently hilarious. he thinks it's funny that Eddie follows you around the trailer when you visit like he's tied to you with string; he thinks it's funny that from the moment you stepped into their home you made it your own; and he thinks it's especially funny how oblivious his nephew is.

Wayne can tell, from the very beginning, how that boy feels about you. he's never seen him so obliging, never seen him with eyes so wide. he hangs off every brash word that comes out of your mouth and gawks at you over the dinner table. when the two of you are mid-movie and Wayne comes sullenly home from a short night shift, he often finds you both asleep, splayed across each other like basking lions, taking up all the space on Wayne's couch.

Wayne can also tell that Eddie, oblivious as he is, is often searching for a reason to be close to you. he sits in the seat beside you at the table and nudges his chair closer than is comfortable. when you're over, Eddie's hands are seldom kept to himself, always pawing at your shoulders or waist or knee. it's friendly, Wayne knows this - never invasive or unwelcome. you're always comfortable and, god, if you're in their lives for the long-haul, Wayne's very happy to get used to your bright-eyed smile.

one Christmas, Wayne, bored of watching his nephew tire himself out in this mess of mutual pining, makes sure to buy an especially big sprig of mistletoe. it hangs low from the ceiling, and brushes the top of his hat when he walks under it sometimes. he hopes that, despite the two of you being wildly oblivious creatures, it's so low that neither of you could possibly miss it.

you come over on Christmas Eve and bring presents for both Eddie and Wayne. Wayne switches the radio to a Christmas station and you watch with bated breath as Eddie rips into his gift. he loves it, obviously, and tackles you into a bear hug as thanks. Wayne is equally as grateful but far less physical, instead giving you a very loving pat on your head as he walks past where you're sat cross-legged on the floor.

it has taken all night and a bottle of red wine between the three of you, but he thinks that finally you might take yourselves to Eddie's room for a while. you're pulling torn paper into a trash bag, insistent on tidying despite Wayne's constant reminder that you're a guest in this house, sit your ass down, and when you're done, bag tied neatly by the front door, he watches as Eddie reaches for your hand. you take it and follow him dutifully across the small room and towards the hall, where the mistletoe bumps the top of Eddie's head. he stops, looking upward.

Wayne sees the immediate eye-roll. Eddie knows all too well what this is, and he smirks, the beginnings of a playfully mocking laugh, before his face falters and his eyes snap to yours. you're looking at him all confused and innocent, brows turned down and forehead a little scrunched, lips pouted slightly.

Wayne just observes from across the room. he thinks for a moment that the two of you have frozen in time, because he hasn't seen either of you blink in a while; you're both staring at one another, you naïve and Eddie entirely bewildered, still holding hands. and then your eyes move, looking slowly upwards at the leaves above your head, and back down to Eddie. you smile ever so slightly and lift up on your tiptoes to give him the lightest kiss. it's quick as a flash and as sweet as can be; Eddie's sure you taste just like syrup. it's so quick that it could, to anyone else, look like an entirely platonic gesture.

but as you lower yourself back to standing, Eddie follows you. his hands both fly up to your face where they hold you, gentle but firm, as he kisses you back.

Wayne has seen enough by now. smiling to himself, he quietly lifts himself off the arm of his armchair and slinks out the door for a smoke.

Eddie's brain has stopped working. the only thing firing across his synapses, the only thing he can see, the only thing he knows, is you. he realises in this moment, as his hands are on your gorgeous face and he's kissing you like air doesn't matter, that not only has he wanted to do this for years, he thinks he loves you.

you're kissing him back, too. you've not stiffened out of disgust, not pushed him off and told him to go fuck himself. you're kissing him back with all the same force.

regardless, he pulls back for air and to ask, "is this okay?", but you don't answer. you kiss him again, arms snaking around his waist, and he stumbles backwards towards his bedroom door.

Wayne decides to go to his local, the small bar up the road, to see some friends before Christmas Day and, perhaps, to give you guys some space to make up for lost time without interruption.

on Christmas morning, he wakes to find a fresh mug of coffee on the side. it's waiting for him with a note.

sorry i laughed. put it up every year, please. and Wayne - thank you. happy xmas. Ed

-

merry christmas and happy holidays guys. hope you have a nice time, whether you celebrate or not. enjoy this lil festive one - love u! <3

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 15

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 15: The Widow

Chapter Summary: Contemplation.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, food

Notes: Chapter title from “The Widow" by The Mars Volta. This is the peak of angst in this story, I promise. Pleaaaaaase be mindful of the trigger warnings above. Big big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading 🖤✨ OK THANKS FOR READING YALL LOVE U SORRY IF ITS A BUMMER.

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As far back as you can remember, you hated the dark. 

The uncertainty of what it contained would keep you up for hours in your childhood bedroom. 

Your mind ran rampant, imagining all kinds of insidious creatures lurking in the shadows. Beneath your bed, in the corners, behind your closet door, outside your window. Watching, waiting for you to fall asleep. 

At some point you started sleeping with the lights on. Your parents got you a nightlight in an attempt to curtail this behavior, but it wasn’t enough. There were still shadows. You were still cloaked in darkness with the monsters. All this did was begin a new ritual, where you waited until they went to bed before turning on the lights. 

One night, after you heard your parents’ bedroom door click shut, you scurried over to the light switch and flipped it up. The overhead light came to life, flooding the room in safety. Relief.  

By the time you crawled back into bed, your dad opened the door and peeked into the room. He looked between you and the overhead light, sighing, “Louella, we talked about this.” 

“Don’t turn the light off.” 

“Why not?”

Even then it felt silly. The answer stuck to the inside of your throat, hot and buzzing. Instead of letting it out, you burrowed beneath the covers and curled up into yourself. 

The floorboards creaked as your dad made his way across the room. He sat on the edge of your mattress and rubbed your back, comforting you. 

“Sweet pea,” he cooed, peeling back your Lion King comforter to expose your face, “It’s not good for you to sleep with the lights on all the time.” 

At this, you pouted at your blanket, fiddling with the frayed edges. 

“The dark is scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded. 

“What’s so scary about it?”

You shrugged. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, then glanced around the room, “I’ll let you in on a secret. Most everyone is afraid of the dark at some point or another. You know why?” 

Another shrug. 

“In the light, we have certainty. We can look over in that corner and see with our own eyes there’s no boogeyman there. It’s just a corner. Done deal. The dark… that’s trickier, isn’t it?” 

You nodded, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the monsters you believed would manifest in the black abyss and swallow you whole. 

“You’re safe here, though. I promise. It’s just you in here. There’s nothing hiding in the dark. The corner is just a corner. All that’s under your bed is dust. In your closet, it’s just clothes.” 

“Can you check?” 

He chuckled, but granted your request, lowering himself to the ground to peek under your bed, telling you, “Nothing under here,” then climbed to his feet and strode over to your closet, pulling the door wide open so you could see the proof yourself. 

“All clear,” he said as he closed it and returned to your bedside, “Does that help?”

You nodded, casting your gaze down to your lap. A lingering feeling of dread still sat heavy in your stomach. His gaze stayed trained on you, obviously unconvinced. 

Eventually you asked, “But what if we just don’t see it now? What if it sneaks?”

Your voice felt tiny, meek. 

His shoulders deflated with a sigh. He scooted closer and petted your hair, holding eye contact when he countered, “Your brain is trickier than the dark ever will be. It makes you see things that aren’t there. Unless you believe it’s safe, you’ll never be able to rest.” 

He was right, you suppose. 

Rest only really found you when you trusted the lights’ promise that nothing would hurt you when it vanished. Even when the light broke its promise. Even when your dad went to the ER and returned in a box.

You tried to believe that your family would live on without him. That he would still somehow keep you safe. 

But he didn’t. 

Neither did your mother. 

Your mother cut the power and made you fend for yourself.

You learned that the only way to ensure nothing would hurt you was to make sure the room was vacant before deadbolting the door. To lock the windows and draw the blinds. You sharpened your teeth into fangs. You developed night vision and grew claws, and you hid so well you thought nothing could find you. 

Sure, it was dark. 

But the abyss had only one occupant, you knew that as fact. 

Sure, your skin ached to feel the sunlight. 

But you were safe. 

You’re not sure when it happened, but sooner or later, you swore you could see shapes shifting in the pitch black. When you laid in bed at night, you could hear something in the walls. The faint, dry scratch of nails on plaster. 

It sneaks. 

The thing became clearer over time. Bloated, purpled skin. Limbs that popped and groaned when it crept around just beyond your reach. It carried the stench of rot, putrid and sulphuric. 

Deep down in your guts, you understood the horrible truth. 

It was you. 

A part of you, anyway. Something that lived and died inside you, stillborn into the darkness just to haunt you. 

Then there was Ethan. 

Brash and charming, he took a sledgehammer to your walls and yanked you from your hiding place. Sunshine poured into the dark, dank room, soaking you in brightness. 

At first you were terrified. 

It overwhelmed your senses. 

Your eyes, having long forgotten how to operate in the light, burned in reaction. You clamped them closed for fear of going blind. It felt so warm you thought you might melt. Ethan’s honeyed words seemed like loudspeakers compared to the quiet echo of your breathing. To the faint, hoarse whisper of your monster. 

It took some time to acclimate to this long-forgotten brightness. But once you did, it felt incredible. You couldn’t believe you hid from it for so long. 

Together, you understood that with light, comes shadows. He had a monster who crept after nightfall, too. Sometimes you’d wake to the soft caress of its nails on your cheek, to his sour, putrid breath gurgling in your ear, “I will be the death of you,” like a promise. 

You came to trust its keeper, though. You believed it wouldn’t tear you apart, like yours wouldn’t Ethan.  

That is the promise of love, after all, isn’t it? 

To cherish one’s light so much that you’ll endure their dark? To love even the most haunted, grotesque parts of someone? Even their monsters? Even their ghosts? 

To trust that you can rest your weary bones in the dark without it destroying you? 

You believed this for so long. Bright years filled with joy and laughter and love, where you felt alive and trusted him. In those years, you forgot a very important fact:

 It sneaks. 

The fireplace lets out a sharp POP, drawing your attention away from the pitch black window. 

A smoldering log at the bottom of the hearth collapses. The fire shifts, birthing fresh flames that breathe hot against your cheeks. 

You pull the quilt snug around your supine body and huddle deeper into the couch, into the warmth of your body heat. 

When you called your mother-in-law yesterday and explained what was happening, that you needed a place to stay for a few days while you figure out what to do, she graciously granted your request to use their cabin out in the Sierra Nevada foothills, but warned you the place was winterized and had no central heating. 

“I don’t know what condition it’s in, nobody’s been out there since August. There’s quite a bit of firewood by the fireplace and out by the woodshed, use as much as you need. Electricity is on, but no internet and cell service is shoddy. You’ll need to get the water going, too—you know, why don’t you give me or Adam a call once you’re out there, we can walk you through it.” 

“Is there a landline? I don’t have my phone.” 

“Sure is.” 

“Ok, I’ll call you when I get there.” 

“Stop and get some groceries in town, too, there’s that grocery store—”

“Yeah, I remember,” you interrupted, eyes darting to the departures board, “I have to go, my bus is gonna be here soon. Thank you so much, Sarah.”

You could feel it coming within one second of the quiet hesitation that followed. 

“Lou, I just want to make sure…” 

Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. 

“Are you ok, honey?”

Fuck. 

Your face crumbled. Emotion clogged your throat. Tingles worked up your chest, behind your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to suffocate the tears. 

“Yeah,” you managed to tell her, your voice wavering with bullshit, “I just, um… I just need a few days. To get myself together, you know.” 

“Alright. Well, will you call me when you get there?”

“Yep,” you sniffled, “Talk to you then, bye.” 

Before she could respond, you returned the receiver to its cradle, ending the call, then took a moment to gather yourself before picking your toppled-over suitcase up off the ground and finding your bus.

The ride to Fresno was long. You spent most of it staring out the window, not really looking at anything in particular, just lost in your noisy head. 

At the Fresno Bus Station, you talked to three different cab drivers before finding one who agreed to bring you all the way out here. 

He made a few attempts at small talk, asking how your day was going and if you were on vacation and so on, but quickly picked up on your not-so-chatty vibes and let the cab go quiet. 

As he drove on, palm trees were replaced by threadbare ash trees, soon joined by evergreens. The hills became steeper. Swathes of rock broke through the earth’s soft surface, more and more with each mile. 

You asked him to stop in the town closest to your in-laws’ cabin. He kept the meter running while you bought a meager supply of groceries, figuring you only needed a few days worth, if that. 

Then the yellow taxi cab then drove deep into the forest, turning off on a low-maintenance dirt road that made the car jostle and rumble. 

When you came around a curve, and the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN came into view, you instructed him to drop you off there. 

“Are you sure? I can take you down the driveway, no problem,” he insisted. 

You could have explained that the gravel driveway was in poor condition and you didn’t want him to break down or something. Imagine that. Drive a girl to the middle of a goddamn forest and wind up getting stuck out there. What a fucking nightmare. For both of you, really. 

“I’m sure,” you said, flashing him a weak smile as you handed him the remaining money from your wallet, “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he looked down at the bundle of cash, but he took it, giving you a nod of thanks. 

“Just, um…” you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged, looping plastic grocery bags around your wrists, “If anyone comes around asking if you saw me, could you maybe… maybe you could say no?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded again, studying you for a moment before turning to open his door, “Let me get your bag for you.” 

He pulled your shitty suitcase from the trunk and handed it to you. Before returning to the driver’s seat to begin his voyage home, he paused for a few seconds, then looked at you. 

“Excuse me for asking, ma’am, but are you… well, are you… safe? Do you need me to contact anyone?”

“No.” 

The word came out sharp and final. It felt harsh leaving your lips, so you added, “I mean, you don’t need to contact anyone. I am, uhhh… cool as a cucumber. Safe… as a lock. Thanks, though.” 

You tried your hardest to give him a reassuring smile. He didn’t look like he bought it, but got in his taxi and left. 

From here, you followed the driveway into a tunnel carved out from the trees. 

The air was crisp and clear and everything seemed quiet except for the sound of you huffing and puffing down the path, leaves crunching under your feet, plastic bags rustling, your suitcase flopping around behind you like a defiant animal on a leash, fighting against each step. 

Fucking exhausting. 

About halfway, you spotted a flat boulder peeking out from the earth a few strides into the forest. You dropped your suitcase, shaking the plastic bags from your wrists, and blundered through the trees towards it. Your rubber legs ached with relief when you sat down criss-cross applesauce on the cool stone. Catching your breath, you leaned back and tilted your face up towards the canopy. A breeze rattled through the pines and ashes and cooled your cheeks. 

You spent some time here, stretched out on the boulder, admiring the contrast of the dark, rheumatic branches stretched out towards the powder-blue sky. When your labored breathing calmed, the quiet sounds of the forest started to come into focus. Leaves rustling. Birds warbling. The whistle of wind.

It felt nice. 

Peaceful.

Eventually, you heaved yourself to your feet and resumed your journey. You walked and walked, legs and wrists and arms aching, body and mind sapped of energy, until the tree line opened up into a clearing. 

The cabin came into view, and a bone-deep sense of nostalgia struck you. 

You remembered the first time Ethan brought you here, the summer after you started dating. Everything seemed to pulse with life. The trees, glowing green with leaves. The roaring river in the background. Ethan. The future, in general. 

What’s the word for the kind of nostalgia that guts you? The kind that feels like a 30-pound weight in your stomach? The kind that shreds your heart to pieces in your chest? 

That’s exactly what you felt when you saw the cabin. 

It looked cold. Dead. 

The inside felt no different. Everything was dark. Cool, still air bit your cheeks. Canvas was draped over all the furniture. It smelled of dust and damp and better times. 

You dropped your belongings to the entryway floor, collapsing in a heap among them, then cried your eyes dry.

Once you gathered yourself, you found the phone to call Sarah. 

She walked you through the ins-and-outs of making the cabin habitable. How to turn the water back on and get the fireplace going. Gave you permission to use whatever you want or need… which, so far, is just some firewood, a quilt from the cedar linen closet, and this couch. 

You blink your bleary eyes a few times, before looking back to the window. The world outside has lightened. Frosted trees stand out in the rich, Neptunian veil of morning, every branch appearing lacy and crystalline, important and beautiful. 

Have I slept? Or did I sit here all night, staring into the abyss?

“Fuck it,” you sigh to yourself as you sit upright, “Might as well make some coffee.” 

Ding

The elevator doors slide open.

Dieter follows Parker onto the fifth floor hallway of your apartment building. 

As he walks down the familiar hallway like he has so many times before, a guttural, foreboding feeling builds in his veins. 

The sensation is unbelievably heavy, but hollow. Knight’s armor. A church bell. The barrel of a gun. 

It reminds Dieter of the first time he came here, when he sensed Ethan’s presence on the other side of that door. 

“Hopefully the landlord didn’t change the locks,” Parker says as he flips through his keychain, isolating one labeled LOU. The key slides in without protest. Parker pushes the door open and enters the apartment, Dieter hot on his heels.  

When Parker flips the light on, the state of your apartment makes Dieter’s stomach drop. 

Ransacked is the first word that comes to mind. 

Every drawer and cupboard in your kitchen sits ajar, their contents disorganized or spread across the countertop. The couch and chair cushions are all discombobulated. Dirt tracks dried into the white carpet trace the heavy flow of boots that moved in and out of the apartment. It looks like every surface of the place has been perverted. 

Dieter crouches down to set an overturned cubby upright, shoving a pile of your hats and scarves and gloves back into their rightful place, muttering, “Fucking pigs.”

A leopard print pattern catches his eye, and he plucks out a scarf, draping it around his neck before returning the container to its home. 

“Pigs is right,” Parker snorts, slamming closed cupboards and drawers, “This place is a fuckin’ stye. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”

Dieter rubs the soft fabric between his fingers and brings it to his nose, inhaling your scent. A freshly-baked smell that prods his tender heart. He stands and starts towards the kitchen, but freezes when he notices the door to Ethan’s room is open. His eyes flick from Parker, totally preoccupied with reassembling the kitchen, then back to the doorway. 

Curiosity gnaws at his insides. 

He approaches it, trying to act casual despite his pounding heart. At the threshold, he pauses to peak inside, not entirely surprised to see the room exactly as he pictured it. 

Well, mostly, anyway. 

No file cabinet or deep freezer, but open spaces where he thought they’d be. Taken as evidence, probably. Empty file folders are strewn across the desk. But the navy blue walls, the hardwood floor, the mirrors… all there. 

That horrible, palpable emptiness, like loss on loss on loss… that’s there, too. 

He glances over his shoulder at Parker, still distracted, then looks back into the room. When he steps through the doorway, a rush of adrenaline spikes his pulse. 

Why are you here?

Dieter cautiously wanders over to the desk and starts picking up the empty file folders, halting when he finds a sketchpad beneath one. 

He flips through the book of abstract black-ink illustrations. Some of them scribbles, some exquisite, some in-between. All of them saturated with emotion. Hopelessness. Guilt. Anger. Grief. Frustration. Every time he turns a page, a new sensation strikes him. Shame. Resentment. Suspicion. A whole dictionary of dark emotions. 

Scattered throughout, though, he finds a few that feel… not lighter, per se, but different. They feature negative space and soft curves. Clean lines and chaos. Love. 

They’re you. 

Of course they’re you, love. Of course you were his light in the darkness. A brightness carved out of soot and rot. 

A fond smile creeps across his lips. 

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Dieter looks to one of the mirrors and asks, “Can I take this with me? To give to her?” 

Yeah, sure. 

“Thanks,” he nods and tucks the book into his coat pocket, glancing over his shoulder before quietly inquiring, “Any chance you know where she is?”

Not here.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter thinks. He jumps a little when he hears the response crystal clear in his head. 

Well then why the fuck’re you here? You’re wasting time. 

“Me? What about you? Didn’t you move on from this place?”

After this, Ethan goes quiet. 

Dieter shrugs and looks away from the mirror to study the framed photos on the wall. Photos of Ethan with, who Dieter assumes are, his kids. None of them recent. The vast majority of the pictures feature you. 

You and Ethan kissing on your wedding day. The two of you posing somewhere with mountains in the background, drinking on a beach, dancing at a party. Each one depicts big, genuine smiles. The adoration you had for each other is evident. 

As the successor to your heart, maybe he should feel a twinge of jealousy, but he doesn’t. He actually finds it sweet. It fills him with warmth to know you spent a long while being well-loved. 

The wall of photos displays relics from Ethan’s youth, too. 

Graduation photos, family vacations, a bar mitzvah. Dieter picks up on something. A distinct before and after. He stops on a picture of Ethan as a child, hugging a younger boy—his brother, Benji—by a lake, and it starts to come together. Although he can’t quite pinpoint the defining line, it splits him in two and fractures into shards. 

An icy cold rush overtakes his body, like the word gave out from under him and he’s suddenly submerged in freezing water. He can’t breathe. He can’t scream. Feral, panicked energy pulses through his veins. His concrete limbs can’t move, paralyzed as he sinks, deeper, deeper, deeper…

Dieter returns to himself with a jolt, gasping for air. 

He takes a step back and slumps over, pressing his palms into his knees as he pants, “What the fuck, man? What the fuck?” 

You need to find her before it’s too late. 

Red bubbles up his chest.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he sits up, jaw clenched, fists balled, and steps into the through-line of the mirrors. They reflect off one another to form a long, curved tunnel that stretches out on either side of him. Dieter looks from one mirror, to the other, seeing his image captured within each infinite layer. 

“Fuck you, man,” he seethes, shaking his head, “You fucking did this, you know that? Fucking piece of shit. I’m fucking trying, ok?” 

The last sentence comes out hoarse and thick. Heat works up his throat and his vision blurs with tears. 

“Whoa—hey, Dieter,” Parker runs into the room, all wide-eyed and searching Dieter’s face, “What’s wrong?” 

A sob heaves his shoulders. He hangs his head, shaking it from side-to-side, “I’m trying, Parker.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling Dieter into a hug, reassuring him, “We’re gonna find her.” 

“What if we don’t?”

“We will. Keep that faith, papi. We will.” 

Dieter buries his face in Parker’s bony shoulder, releasing the pent-up worry and guilt festering infectious in his chest for the past day. Parker pets his hair and rocks him back and forth, letting out a few of his own sniffles alongside Dieter’s. 

When their crying starts to peter out, Parker gives him one more squeeze and pulls back, asking, “You wanna get out of here? This place is a fucking mess, and we gotta catch that flight soon anyway.“

“Can I look in her room first?” 

Parker’s eyebrows knit together over bloodshot eyes, and he nods, patting his friend on the shoulder before stepping aside. 

Dieter approaches your bedroom cautiously. Paranoid thoughts circulate in his brain, all those what-ifs and delusions of tragedy. What if he finds you here, cold and lifeless? What if you’re dead somewhere while he pokes around your apartment, looking for clues? Is he doing enough? Could he do more? 

But when the door groans on its hinges as he pushes it open, and he sets foot inside your bedroom, the impending doom percolating in his veins drains from him almost instantly. Many of your things have been rifled through, like the rest of your apartment, but the place holds an air of serenity. 

It feels warm and safe. 

It feels like you. 

Flipping the light on, he closes the door behind him, then walks over to your bed and crawls under the covers, burying himself beneath them. 

The sheets still carry a faint whiff of sex and sleep from before the two of you embarked for LA. His lungs expand with a deep, wide breath. Eyes drifting closed, he thinks of you. How you’re feeling. Where you are. What you’re doing. 

He picks up the bite of a chilled breeze. The steady babble of a river. Warm hands. Burnt tongue. Coffee, bitter and black. 

The signal drops. 

Not much, but enough for him to know you’re not in immediate danger, which brings him some solace. 

Still under the blankets, he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings and rings until your voicemail picks up. 

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.” 

“Hey doll, it’s me. I’m at your apartment. It’s a fucking mess. Parker and I stopped by before going back to LA. He’s coming with me to help… well, to help find you. Anyway. I’m in your bed. It still smells like us. It was hard for me to fall asleep last night without you. Waking up without you is… it’s hell. I don’t know. I miss you, Lua. It’s been one fucking day and I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life. I love you. I’ll call you when I get back.” 

Despite your lack of sleep, you managed to make this morning a productive one. 

You removed the slip-cases from the furniture and dusted, then forced yourself to eat a halfway decent breakfast of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. After washing the dishes, you soaked in the tub for a while, staring up at the wood-paneled bathroom ceiling as you contemplated what to do with yourself, both in the short-term context and the long-term. 

While drying off, you noticed the bright, mid-day sun shining down into the valley, making everything glow golden. It looked inviting. 

You dug through your suitcase, sifting through the clothing you packed with a warmer climate in mind. Shorts. Dresses. Bikinis. The best you could do was a sweater and some pajama bottoms. 

Down by the riverbank, you found this creaky wooden porch swing and settled on which to sit and ponder. 

You smooth the tip of your finger along the dewy lip of the mug, breaking up a curl of steam with each lazy revolution around its circumference. 

Today is the shortest day of the year. 

The winter solstice. 

Every once in a while, wind rolls down off the snowy tips of the Sierra Nevadas and meets the warmth of the California sun. The creaky wooden bench sits square in the middle of these contradictory weather conditions. Hot and cold. Dry and damp. Constantly churning, waxing and waning from one state to another. 

A crisp gust of wind from upriver cuts through the sun-baked pocket of air where you’re seated. You huddle into your jacket and bring the steaming mug to your lips, hissing when the black coffee scorches your tongue. 

The thought of Dieter shoots through you like a bullet. 

You picture him beneath the covers of your bed, fully clothed in his furry winter jacket, wearing your scarf, eyes clenched shut, wishing you would come out of hiding because it’s safe now. 

It rattles you. 

An infinite number of memories and worries and hopes and what-ifs flood your mushy, sleep deprived brain. They all muddle together in an incomprehensible cluster fuck that sets your blood ablaze and makes your ears ring. Your body contracts, squeezing a sob from deep within your chest. 

Fuck. 

Every single ounce of you aches to see him. To smell him. To feel his arms wrapped around you and hear his voice murmuring honeyed affirmations in your ear, telling you he loves you and understands why you had to leave. 

You pray he understands that you didn’t want to. Of fucking course you didn’t want to. You had to. For his sake and for yours. 

During the FaceTime call with Parker, when you first saw the cops outside your building, then David Alterman, you could only see two paths forward: Dieter would choose you or his career. 

Would he have chosen you? Maybe, but it would have been foolish. 

He would have to support you through whatever punishment the state of New York has queued up against you—prison, probably—on top of dealing with the fallout. The public backlash, the halt of money flow, not to mention the loss of his career, which means more to him than public opinion or money. In his own words, acting is his fucking purpose in life. 

And for what? An incarcerated girlfriend? Even if you put the issue of your pending criminal charges aside, you still wouldn’t be worth that loss. 

It would be gradual, but eventually he would feel it. 

It sneaks. 

He would come to resent you, and you wouldn’t be able to fault him one bit. 

Would he have chosen his career? Maybe, but it would ruin you both. 

If he chose to break off your relationship in order to salvage his career, you would have to hear him say it. You would have to know, with certainty, that you take second place in his heart. Maybe this is a selfish notion, this desire to be his number one priority. If he didn’t choose his wife over his career, why the fuck would he choose you?

Not only that, but if he chose this path, he would have to shoulder the hardship of two broken hearts. You know he loves you. You do. Ending your relationship would devastate him. He would be plagued with guilt and shame and regret, all the same as if he chose you to begin with. 

It seemed cruel to force him to make this impossible choice. No matter what he did, it would be wrong, and he would carry the burden.

This is when you saw the third path branch out before you. 

The one where you could sneak out before the sun rises, dragging your monster by its tether behind you. Where you could lock yourself away in a boarded-up room and wait for her to take you. You, not him. 

You would rather absorb the blame, from him and everyone else, a million times over than curse him with the responsibility of this dissolution.  

This is a mercy kill. 

An act of love. 

It may not seem like it to anyone else, but really, it is. 

This thought brings you some solace. 

Another gust of wind blows shivers down your spine. You bring the mug to your lips to test the coffee’s temperature, finding it tepid, but drink it anyway. 

Dieter wasn’t sure what to expect when he came home. 

Worst case scenario, he imagined cops waiting to arrest him for bribing an elected official or tell him you turned up dead. Best case, he imagined opening the door to find you there. Problem solved. Happily ever after. He would kiss you breathless and never let you doubt your station in his life again. 

What was most likely, though—and what he found—was something in the wide gray area between his paranoia and hopeless romanticism. 

Lincoln was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through TikTok on his phone, while Darlene sat at the dining room table, typing away on her laptop. 

Although he tried to keep an open mind the whole way here, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Here he was, exhaustion burning his bones to dust, expecting some kind of a celebration, only to find out this was a checkpoint, not a finish line. 

Lincoln and Darlene both perk up at the sound of the door opening. They both rise from their respective places to greet Dieter and Parker. 

“Hey, welcome back!” Lincoln calls as he grabs Dieter’s suitcase, “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” he grunts, then nods to Parker, “This is Parker. Parker, this is my PA Lincoln and my publicist Darlene.” 

“Former publicist,” Darlene corrects, shaking Parker’s hand, “Nice to meet you.” 

Parker gives her a polite smile and a nod to her and Lincoln and tells them, “Thanks for your help.” 

“Want me to take your suitcase?” Lincoln asks Parker, dark blonde eye brows raised in expectation. 

“I’ve got it, love,” Parker waves him off with a dismissive hand, then turns to Dieter, “Where do you want me?” 

Before he can answer, Lincoln cuts in, “Here, I’ll show you to the open guest room.” 

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Parker’s mouth. He shrugs, “Lead the way, pretty boy.” 

Even in the dim illumination of the waning daylight, Dieter sees Lincoln’s cheeks flush pink. He grins and starts off down the hall. Before following, Parker looks at Dieter, raising a mischievous brow as he glances between him and Lincoln, mouthing, “Cute.” 

“Any updates?” Dieter asks Darlene as he slides off his crocs and starts towards the kitchen. 

“Well,” she sighs, crossing her arms, tilting her head to one side, “There has been progress.” 

The way she says it sounds like the beginning of bad news. He pauses his search for food and frowns at her. Static rises in his throat. 

“And?”

She walks to the dining room table to grab her notebook, flipping back a few pages as she approaches the kitchen island and leans against it. 

“So, I was able to trace her steps to a transit station in Fresno. I went up there yesterday and talked to security. Found out she took a cab from there, but the cab company won’t disclose where they dropped her. The driver reported that she seemed… off. Said she seemed scared and was very secretive, like she was in danger or something. He thought maybe she was running from a domestic abuse situation, and requested that the company not disclose her location.” 

Dieter gapes at this, unable to formulate words. She continues. 

“She talked a few other cab drivers before this one, so I talked to them. They told me she didn’t give them an address, just said it was about sixty miles away, up in the foothills. But that’s… that’s all I was able to get. The trail runs cold there.” 

“Can’t we throw some cash at the cabbie who drove her? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it, I don’t care—” 

“I tried,” she shook her head, throwing her hands up at her sides, “I told them to name their price, they said it wasn’t about money, it was about safety.” 

Heat spikes his blood, overwhelming him with nervous energy that sets him into motion, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his neck, clenching his jaw. 

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Do you know if she has any family or friends in that area? Maybe she mentioned something in passing—” 

“No, of course she didn’t,” he scoffs. 

Darlene doesn’t say anything. Her hazel eyes follow him from side-to-side. 

“I know her family is from Ohio, her friends are from New York. Anything else is a fucking mystery to me,” he shakes his head and stops pacing to holler, “PARKER, get in here!”

A few seconds later, he hears footfalls in the hallway, then Parker rounds the corner, blinking at him, “I know you didn’t just call for me like a fuckin’ dog.”

“Does Lua know anyone out by Fresno? In the mountains?” Darlene asks him. 

Parker frowns as he thinks about this, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Distant relatives, old friends,” Darlene glances at Dieter, “Exes, anything like that?”

Dieter glares at her, nostrils flaring, to which she defends, “We have to cast a wide net, I’m just asking.” 

Parker shakes his head again, “No. 

“What about Ethan’s family?” 

His face stays fixed in a searching expression. No glint of recognition. 

Dieter’s shoulders slump. 

Parker looks at him, brows knit together with concern, and adds, “But honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted, I might not be remembering right now.” 

They sit there for a moment, dull and disenchanted, until Darlene sighs, “Well, should we order some takeout?”

By late afternoon, the sun starts to sink down into the ragged black tree line of the far away mountains. 

Rays of light catch the atmosphere just right, casting a shimmering golden hue onto the cabin. One of these beautiful glowing beams streams through the window and manages to hit you square in the eyeballs. 

Grimacing, you flip your book belly-down onto the end table and push yourself up into a sitting position. A yawn expands your lungs. You stretch your arms above your head, then let them fall limp at your sides. 

Charred logs glow inside the fireplace. No flames. You rise to your feet and trudge over to it, swinging the grate open to slide a few more logs on the fire. They sizzle and pop as they catch heat and light ablaze. 

You look around the cozy, rustic living room, glancing at the clock on the wall, then out the window. 

Earlier today, while poking around the cabin for something interesting to take your mind off… Well, everything, you stumbled upon a small stash of homemade wine. A glass–maybe a bottle–sounds nice right now. Maybe you could make some food, too. Probably should. 

You pad across the dark lacquered floorboards to the cellar door, and push it open. Wrinkling your nose at the mildew scent, you flip the lightswitch on and tip-toe down the stairs, then across the room to the wine rack. One-by-one, you pull out the corked green glass bottles and take note of their year. A few are labeled Plum 2017. Two Strawberry 2018s. Half a dozen Red 2018s. 

One of the bottles reads White 2017. A fond smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You slip the bottle under your arm before jogging up the stairs to the main level, where you sift through Sarah’s record collection. A Frank Sinatra album catches your eye, so you put it on, then pour a glass of wine and survey your limited options for supper. 

A part of you wants to say fuck it, skip the meal. Just let your empty stomach soak up the wine. Let the tiny tendrils of alcohol branch out into your bloodstream and work its numbing magic. Maybe it’ll dim the acute pain simmering beneath your sternum. 

Then you spot the lemon on the counter, sitting beside a bulb of garlic and a blue mesh bag of onions. 

There’s pasta and olive oil in the cabinet. Parmesan in the fridge. You could make something nice with that. Maybe watch the sunset. 

I could do it tonight.

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the first time you saw him. Shifty and slightly arrogant, all blown-out pupils and twitches. Basically a red flag wearing a human suit. You thought he was handsome, though. And his booming laughter brought a real smile to your face for the first time in weeks. 

It felt familiar. 

It felt like sunshine kissing your skin after a long bout of darkness. 

Shaking the picture from your head, you start rummaging through the cupboards for a pot and saucepan. You fill the pot with water, toss in some salt. 

When you pull the chef’s knife from the butcher block, you pause to examine the blade in the golden hour light. 

I could slice my pulse open. 

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the second time you met him. Kaleidoscope skin and chartreuse aura. Acid stripped away the cocaine ego to expose his bare bones. And they were beautiful. 

Something happened that night. A tethering. A melding. Some ethereal otherworldly connection that intertwined your souls. 

Even though he was essentially a stranger, you couldn’t shake the sense that he had always been and always would be a part of you. 

Swallowing around the emotion welling up in your throat, you shake your head. Too messy. 

The thought of your own blood makes you queasy. If some has to find you like that? 

Fuck.  

Your stomach twists into nausea. 

You set down the knife and find a cutting board, then resume your dinner preparation, singing along to the music, concentrating on the mechanical motion of the blade tearing through the onion, meeting resistance with each aromatic layer. 

The goddamn knife is dull anyway. 

After mincing the garlic, you nudge your little piles of chopped-up produce into the gleaming pool of melted butter in the saucepan. Steam rises with a gentle sizzle, moisture meeting fat. 

Inside the pot, tiny ripe bubbles line the underwater walls, waiting to burst. 

Turn up the heat. 

Stir the saucepan. 

Sip your wine. 

You tap your fingers on the countertop, following the beat of the brass band, and quietly sing along with Ol’ Blue Eyes, “No one would care, no one would cry. If I should live, if I should live or die. What now, my love? Now there is nothing. Only my last, my last goodbye.” 

You picture Dieter at the beach, holding your hand as the two of you waded through the tide. The best day of your life. 

You picture him in his boxers, watering his plants. You picture his warm brown eyes flicking between you and a sketchpad. Him taking the first bite of a gooey brownie and groaning with delight. Laying behind you in the bathtub, arms wrapped around your waist underwater, planting a soft kiss on your cheek bone. Waking up in the morning, his wild dark curls all bent the shape of his pillow indent, a wistful, sleepy smirk on his lips. Laughing. Smiling. Telling you he loves you. Meaning it. 

A deep ache of shame spreads across your chest. Your stomach churns. Tears burn behind your eyes, then spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks. 

How fucking stupid are you to think the darkness wouldn’t come and swallow everything whole, Dieter included? 

What, because you’re in love, the two of you should be spared? 

Has that ever stopped her before? 

I should fucking know better. 

A far-off, high frequency noise starts in your ear and it cuts audio for a second. Everything around you seems far away. Not real. You feel spectral, like you’re dreaming or a ghost or in a tv show or something. 

Entirely fiction. 

Sniffling, you wipe your damp with the sleeve of your sweater. 

You grab the wine glass off the counter and swallow its contents, then refill it, splashing a little vino into the saucepan before setting the bottle aside. 

A roar swells as the ingredients get to know each other. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, pungent scent, then notice steam billowing off the water in your pot. The still surface has erupted into a consistent boil. You throw about half of a pound of fettuccine into the pot. More than enough, but who the fuck makes only one serving of pasta? 

While the fettuccine cooks, you pour some cream into the saucepan, then whisk and whisk and whisk, pausing periodically to stir the pasta. Once the sauce thickens,  you whisk in pre-grated parmesan a pinch at a time. You fish a strand of fettuccine out of the boiling water and confirm its al dente status, then transfer a few spoonfuls of pasta water into the sauce before pouring the pot over a colander in the sink. 

It calms you, this process. The step-by-step. Seeing the fruits of your labor unfold in real time. Each checkbox marked calms your ragged nerves more than the last. 

Before you know it, you’re curled up in an adirondack chair on the deck, quilt draped over your shoulders, twisting fettuccine around your fork as you watch the sun sink down into the mountains, turning the sky into this beautiful vivid watercolor. It’s fucking gorgeous, you’ll give it that. 

Am I really going to go through with this? 

That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? To end this? To ascend into that glowing iridescent tunnel? To cross the threshold and finally return to the sea of love?

It’s funny, you think, how your whole life you were afraid of dying because you didn’t know what came after. 

But after seeing it, you know you had it completely backwards. 

Death is a piece of cake. You weren’t scared once when it happened. It’s like the light turned on in your room and you knew there was nothing hiding in wait. Nothing sneaking. 

Life, though? 

Life is scrambling through the darkness of uncertainty, trying to find a beacon. When you make contact with them, you cling to flames, hoping they’ll burn forever to keep you safe and warm. They won’t. They always burn out. 

By the time you finish your pasta, the wine has fully assimilated into your bloodstream, drowning all the excess noise in your head. You polish off the bottle while watching the sun sink down into the Sierra Nevadas. Dusk absorbs the light. The atmosphere shifts from midnight blue to inky black, enveloping you in darkness. It doesn’t even bother you. 

Head swimming with wine, you lay out on the cold deck and stare up at the nighttime sky, littered with dazzling pinprick stars. 

They remind you of all the times you stargazed with your father, and the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Ethan hung on the ceiling of the first bedroom you shared with him. 

They remind you of how incredibly vast the darkness is. 

How the hopeful glimmer of a star can appear so bright and so close, but really be lightyears away, in another galaxy, another life. 

Maybe the next one. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[sharenadraculea]

Primarchs at the festival (tent-edition)

The primarchs have arrived at the festival after their roadtrip and are setting up their tents (Disclaimer, I have zero experience with festivals):

Lion: He just doesn‘t have one. He would be totally fine sleeping in the mud for days. Rob drags him into his tent. It‘s acceptable. Fulgrim: His tent is just… a mansion. How did he build this? Don‘t ask. He is covered in glitter before even entering the bus. The mansion is very sparkly too. Has a huge stash of drugs with him. Perty: Rogal builds a fortress, so he build a bigger one. In the end Magnus‘ whole harem sleeps there. Very proud of himself. Jagh: He had a proper Chogorian Jurt with him. Including a primarch-sized doublebed. Then Magnus‘ fireball happend and he had to switch over to sleeping in Pertys fortress. Leman: First slept in the mud, got cold, snuck into Jaghs jurt. He was supposed to sleep on the floor. He didn‘t. His cold feet are the reason for the fireball. Also ends up in Pertys fortress. Rogal: He builds a proper fortress, with noisecancelling walls. Sleeps there alone. It‘a very nice. Konrad: Straight up refuses to leave the trunk. He sleeps there for the whole festival. Didn‘t even think about bringing his own tent. Sang: He also sleeps in Robs tent. Helps with decorating. Has a great time, brought all his artsupplies. Ferrus: Obviously he sleeps in Fukgrims Mansion. It‘s very nice, he won‘t complain. Angron: surprisingly he builds a decent tent from basically nothing. Not the greatest one around but he has slept in worse places. Really enjoys the music. Rob: Back on Macragge he was in the scouts. He obviously knows how to build a great tent. He forgot nothing, has preplanned for every possible situation. Continous to work through the whole festival. Morty: Well, he planned to sleep in his own tiny tent but Vulkan asks him if they should be tentmates. He bluescreens. Then agrees. Magnus: his tent is attrocious, so Jagh „forces“ him to sleep in his jurt. Then Leman sneaks into their bed, his cold feet annoy Magnus and he casts fireball. Perty is there to safe him. Sleeps in his fortress. Horus: He theoretically has his own tent but never sleeps there. Get‘s at least five people pregnant. Lorgar: Get‘s used as Angrons teddybear. It‘s very nice. Wonders if that‘s heresy. Vulkan: He brought a old tent he has from campingtrips back on Nocturne. It‘s a little small. He and Morty barely fit into the tent. Has a whole forge next to it. Corvus: They found a nice tree and sleep now there. Befriend some crows and ravens. Become fully nocturnal. Alpharius Omegon: They step of the bus and aren‘t seen again until they are halfway back to the palace. Where were they? No idea. Did they have a good time? Absolutly.

[size-two-shrimp]

ULTRAKRILL

Sisyphish (Lion's Mane Jellyfish) and Minnows (White Ribbon Eel) Prime

Glubriel (Caribbean Reef Squid)

SubmarV1ne (Longfin Mako Shark (+ Sailfish)) and SubmarV2ne (Great White Shark (+ Sailfish)) (also inspired by the little articulated snake toys)

Rambling about why I chose the beasts that I did under the cut.

Originally I was gonna use yellow tangs for Sisyphus but then I was looking at his design and was not sure how I would deal with his face while going with a fish for the tail. And then I remembered that jellies' tentacles kinda look like the way his hair does in the concept art, and while I was looking for yellow jellies I saw a lion's mane and went. Yes, that one. Very happy with the way it looks it was a lot of fun to draw.

Minos was originally gonna be a deep sea giant isopod, but after I remembered that jellyfish existed I considered going with a sea snake, couldn't find ANY naturally white snakes, thought about an albino moray, then found out about white ribbon eels (which are related to morays, very cool). He's technically the only fish unless you count the V models jkgjkhgf

Gabriel was originally gonna be a paradise/mustard gas betta but I ended up deciding that if I ever drew/wrote about them all I would be so annoyed about there being just. One freshwater fish in the ocean with saltwater creatures just,, bothered me so much that man would be In Pain. So I decided to look for color changing sea creatures, most cephalopods obviously, and one of the first ones that came up was the Caribbean reef squid. I checked to see if they could be red and they sure could so I decided that worked.

Also, his crown(?) is meant to look like gorgonian coral.

V1 was originally going to be a shortfin mako because they're slightly faster, but the silhouette was so similar that I was STRUGGLING to find differences. Longfin wasn't much better though. Regardless, mako shark because they're known for being the fastest shark and among the fastest fish.

V2 is a great white because strong scary y'know y'know. I considered dunkleosteus for the same reasons, but switched to a shark because V1 was also gonna be one and I wanted them to mostly match.

V1 and V2 both have two sailfin sails because 1. big fin to mimic their wings, 2. fast fish. Very cool.

Also the doodles on them are meant to show that the sails can fold back for speed and open to stop quick. The other one is to show that they can swap the tails out for legs if they wanted to.

[ambrosiagourmet]

thistle for ask meme!

Thistle :0

First impression

No joke I was convinced early on that Laios & the party were making like a huuuuge leap in assuming that Thistle was the Lunatic Magician TM like guys you can't just go accusing every random person you find in a living painting of being the manager. Alas... he was, in fact, the manager.

Impression now

He's so jester coded👍

I think Thistle is very interesting and a great foil to Marcille, which I looove. They are both magic elf(-ish) advisors, they both get caught up in wanting to help the people around them live longer, they both become dungeon lords in pursuit of that... I think Thistle's story as it is works well for the narrative and I don't necessarily think he was underutilized exactly, but it is a little hard not to want A Bit More sometimes. Even if I do think it would be hard to add that more in without sacrificing some of the pacing overall :')

Favorite moment

I was initially going to say the ending for them, because I do love it, but you know what? I've got a more interesting answer. My favorite Thistle scene is.... this:

This fundamentally changes the trajectory of the story. In trying to find someone to stop the Winged Lion, Thistle launches Marcille into becoming the next lord of the dungeon. The next victim of the Lion. If Thistle hadn't resurrected Marcille, then the plot would have played out totally differently. She wouldn't have been able to finish unsealing the book. Laios would have been on his own when the canaries came. Would they have just cleaned everything up more easily? Would it instead have become something worse? Would Laios somehow have unsealed the book and become the lore of the dungeon right away?

I dunno. But this action reshaped Marcille's life, and Laios', and so many other people's. And it was done out of a desire to keep fighting. To not give in.

Augh idk. It's good. Their connection is good.

Idea for a story

Thistle & Chimera Laios.

But not just a "Laios gets eaten by the dragon instead," I think it would be cool to explore an AU where for some handwavy magic reason, Laios gets his soul bound up w/ the dragon during Falin's resurrection, and he gets poofed into a dragon form.

There's a note somewhere that says that chimeras start popping up the more the lord of the dungeon starts to lose their hold on things, but having met Laios before might help Thistle eventually realize that something is Off about the dragon. From there... well maybe he starts to ask questions and gives Laios more freedom to actually answer, and things could continue from there as Laios gets enough humanity back to start to understand what's happening, and also Thistle takes more time to question the Lion's plans rather than just continue to act. They'd be stuck together, probably with Laios still under Thistle's control, but maybe as they figure out more of the truth, they'd actually work together? Need to rely on each other? I'd like to see how each of them would deal with that situation...

PLUS then on the flip side I think switching Falin into the group part way through the story (rather than at the start) could be really interesting. So the adventures on that side would be fun too.

Unpopular opinion

umm idk. Is Thistle widely regarded as a Marcille foil? Because if not then why. They are so inchresting. funky little mages.

Favorite relationship

Hmmm okay so like obviously Thistle & Marcille, but also as seen in my story idea I want to explore more of Thistle & Laios bc their interactions were fun, soo... I'll just say the Dungeon Lord quartet as a whole. I like when people draw art of them all together. Let them bond through shared trauma. And also all of them have tried to kill at least one other person there at some point. It's great. They should go on brunch dates.

Favorite headcanon

This post about Thistle's goal to eat a meal with Delgal fundamentally rewired my brain

[hellcifrogs]

The reason the leaf was founded was so that children could grow up in peace, safe from war

If this had worked out, what do you think the Konoha 13 would do for a living? Sai would still be an artist

We all love the idea if Sasuke being good with animals so I'm saying a wild life specialist who lives in safari clothes, he can just walk up to lions and other dangerous animals and give them scritches

This is adorable and the idea of Sasuke working with animals instead of becoming a cop like most of his family is *chefs kiss*

Imagine Sasuke starts by helping Kiba part time at Hana's vet clinic and falls in love with the job!!

Sakura could totally be a teacher, I can see it, I would love to see it!

Naruto would be an artist! He takes a liking to painting at first and experimenting with all sorts of colors and materials, then meets Sai and they could study together~ both having very different styles.

Kiba's a vet, so Shino could study insects, like his dad, he starts out by helping him in the village's research lab or something like that and just feels comfortable following his steps :)

Imagine Hinata would be raised by her dad to be a model or actress from a very young age, but she doesn't enjoy it and still wants to find something for herself.

And then Neji could work with pharmacy? Chemistry? Vaccines? He's like a young genius big nerd and takes Hinata to help, while she figures out what she wants to do with her life.

Ino obviously still works at the flower shop, BUT Gaara moves to work with her because life in Konoha is much better than his family life and gardening is great therapy!

I can't imagine Shikamaru really doing anything so he can become sort of a guide to his clan's deer forest, if Shino needs some data he takes him there, or if Neji is studying some healing property from the deer antlers he goes with him... Like that.

Since the Akimichi are one of the main/noble clans I wanna say Chouji still becomes a ninja, but only when he's older. I believe a few clans or some members would still be kept as fighters to protect the village or take smaller jobs as bodyguards and stuff.

Hear me out... Lee as a mail man! Which is the equivalent of a marathon runner! Imagine his attitude at making sure everyone got their letters and messages on time!

I think Tenten would switch places with Gaara and get herself some internship in Suna working with Kankuro and puppets~

[aerkame]

Hi! Let me first say that I've been following your blog for a few months, and I LOVE your finfolk au! I'm super excited to see what you have planned out for your fic!

I really love what art you created for finfolk!Julie's mortal disguise. She's soooo pretty! Will there be a possibility of seeing the disguises for the other neighbors at some point? (No rush or obligation, obviously. Just wondering)

Tysm for the kind words! I'm glad you've stuck around despite me not posting recently. Thankfully I finished the semester with a good GPA and grades. Not so thankfully though, my next semester starts next week...but that's what I get for choosing to do a summer semester x-x

-

As for the disguises, I'm so glad you like Julie's. Of course, she can look like anyone, but that one is her favorite (so pink!). In fact, ALL of them have disguises really, shapeshifting is kind of in their nature.

Here are some fun doodles of potential disguises. The only one I will tell you about is the guy with a hat marked with F.F, that's Frank. The others could be anyone though...Good luck guessing who is who! Hint: Not all of them share similar looks to their original form. The bird and wolf are NOT Poppy and Barnaby :)

The others have disguises as well, many of them actually, including Home of course, although Home isn't as creative with his. He's always switching between a lion, a griffin, and a manticore. (He really likes big cats.) Frank rarely uses one though, shapeshifting is still a bit of a challenge to him. But, when Frank does shift, he prefers a version of his old self, a librarian, a detective, or a police officer. He can be surprisingly commanding as the police when he needs to be. So surprising some of the neighbors couldn't even tell it was Frank.

[leonaxtreyobsessionsideblog]

so who’s the top and who’s the bottom? 😅

CW: talk of sex.

submissive and dominant aren’t used in a bdsm sense here more of a who’s leading the interaction way.

too start i think both of them lean more switch but i’ll go on to explain more of where they fall on the spectrum of top/bottom sub/dom.

Leona leans more power bottom. i really like the idea lion beastmen have penile spines like real lions and believe that would make him topping bit more difficult like having to take extra care so he doesn’t hurt his partner especially if that partner is a human which Trey is. Leona’s lazy ass probably isn’t willing to exert extra energy regularly when he could just bottom! honestly he’s almost a pillow prince. he clearly like’s leading and doesn’t like obeying others (he doesn’t even have a vice housewarden because they’d challenge him) so he’d obviously be more dominant. though he’s not against occasionally being put in his place especially if it means getting to see less goody sides of his goody-two-shoes boyfriend.

Trey is a service top he finds it much more pleasurable to him to do acts to his partner then acts done on him so bottoming isn’t his thing also considering his minor gender hangs up (referencing him saying “dancing can be embarrassing for guys” in jp wish upon a star) he’d probably take a while to get to the point he’s comfortable with bottoming due to it have associations with femininity but once he worked that through he’d be fine doing it every once in a while if his partner wants. wether he’s dominant or submissive completely depends on who he’s with and on this blog he’s with Leona so he’s subbing.

[servantofthefates]

Why Every Beginner Should Read with the Rider-Waite

1) Countless resources are available to you.

From Eden Gray’s classic to Liz Dean’s and Brigit Esselmont’s recent takes, the best books on tarot teach the Rider-Waite system. You may still use these books to learn another deck, but many of the elements will not match. You may have to ignore some paragraphs that will not apply to your deck, and likewise, not all the symbolism in your deck can be explained by these books.

2) The images are transparent and easily embraced.

The card meanings in the Rider-Waite can be learned simply by looking at the pictures. The Fool card is about a new journey. So in the Rider-Waite, you have a young man who, through his clothing and stance, has obviously just begun. It only takes common sense to understand. That is how easy it is to learn. Artistically modern decks are beautiful. But sometimes, the simpler, the better.

3) And yet the amount of symbolism is unmatched.

The reason there is a lion in the Two of Cups is because giving your heart to somebody takes enormous bravery. The reason The Moon is frowning is because it feels confused and disturbed, as you most likely do too when you draw this card in the Present position. In other decks, the lion is usually forgotten, and The Moon has no discernible facial expression. When a symbol is discarded, depth and meaning are deducted.

4) It carries with it heritage and credibility.

Anyone can create their own deck these days. But it matters to me that the deck I am using to give people life-changing advice and predictions is made by someone who dedicated his life to studying the occult. To me, that gives my practice more weight and validity. And it is not just me. In my country, when you bring out a non-Rider-Waite deck during a reading, the client either complains right away or looks uncomfortable throughout the session.

So my advice would be to learn with the Rider-Waite, and treat it as a textbook, so to speak. Then once you find yourself almost fluent in the language of tarot, feel free to switch to whatever deck your heart is drawn to. But so you do not miss any symbolism on the way, begin with the classic anyway.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Ride the Cyclone Kids and Sleepovers

okay, so i’m gonna do a few headcanons for sleepovers at specific people’s houses (Penny excluded), then general headcanons!

Constance’s house!

Second best place to have sleepovers at

Her parents are SO NICE

Dinner is always THE BEST there

Constance’s little brother sometimes hangs out with them for a bit

You can’t tell me Constance doesn’t own ALL the Just Dance games

So they usually end up having a very fierce dance battle during sleepovers

Constance always gives her bed to someone else, what a sweetheart

They somehow end up binge watching Barbie movies while over at her house

Mischa’s house!

Best place to have a sleepover at because they can do whatever the hell they want in his basement

There’s so much room for activities!

When they go to sleep, they’re usually sprawled out All Over the floor since there’s a lot of space

I feel like Mischa’s basement is the perfect location for playing Twister

Noel’s house!

They can’t be as wild at his house to keep from disturbing his mom, but it’s still really fun over there!

His mom likes seeing Noel hanging out with other kids :)

Catch Ocean out here CONSTANTLY sucking up to Ms. Gruber

Ocean’s house!

Worst place for sleepovers

First of all, it smells like weed and incense, which is just AWFUL

Second of all, her parents are just…really weird

They make everyone Really Uncomfortable

I feel like Ocean’s house has an awesome backyard, though, so they’ll usually hang out outside

Or in her room

She’s always so embarrassed of her house, poor girl

She hides it, though

Ricky’s house!

He definitely owns a Switch, so they’ll usually play games like Mario Kart

Which turns the whole sleepover into a literal WAR (Ocean will pick Rainbow Road Every Single Time)

When over at his house, it’s basically assured that SOMEONE is gonna wake up with a cat on their face

General sleepover shenanigans!

Okay, so, pajamas? (yes, it’s important I provide reference photos, you gotta get the VIBE)

Noel’s got, like, these (fake) silk pajamas, and it’s So Extra

Penny’s in this simple but super cute night gown

Constance has frog pajamas fight me

Meanwhile, Ricky has cat pajamas

Ocean has these weird upcycles pajamas

Mischa is just in some shorts and a muscle shirt

Penny got the Whole Choir animal slippers, and they’re all Legally Required to wear them

Penny has sheep (because of her last name), Ricky has cats (obviously), Noel has rabbits, Mischa has sharks (that look like they’re eating his feet), Constance has hedgehogs, and Ocean has penguins

They all fight over what movie to watch

“Citizen Kane!” “ew, no! we should watch Rear Window!” “i just wanna watch The Lion King 2…” “can we PLEASE watch Encanto” “SAW V!!!!!!!”

Sleepover games? Sleepover games

They do that game where you make the worst concoction of different food/drinks possible and have other people consume it (Ocean almost dies Every Time because you can’t tell me homegirl doesn’t have the weakest stomach ever)

THEY PLAY GARTIC PHONE

Here’s some examples of what they would do from when I played with my own friends

In order of who drew what: Constance, Ocean, Ricky, Penny

In order of who drew what: Ocean, Constance, Noel, Ricky, Penny, Mischa

Noel: Ocean, Kiss, Marry, Kill: Penny, Constance, and Mischa >:)

Ocean: I’m acearo

Noel: Shit my bad

Noel: Ocean, Have As A Lab Partner For A Whole Semester, Be Stuck Inside An Elevator With For Seven Hours, Get Trained By At A Fast Food Restaurant: Penny, Constance, and Mischa >:)

Ocean ALWAYS helps clean up while at someone else’s house (just because she wants the praise from their parents and HAS to be the favorite friend)

Noel: What the fuck are you doing

Ocean, doing the dishes: My part

OR

Mrs. Potts: Ricky, sweetie, why is your ginger friend vacuuming the carpet? How did she even know where the vacuum was??

Ricky, signing: She does that, just let it run its course

Mischa initiates pillow fights

Penny and Ricky would convince the others to make blanket forts with them

Mischa and Noel both like to style/braid the girls’ hair

When it finally falls silent, and they all seem like they’re finally about to go to sleep for the night, one of them will laugh for No Reason and cause all the others to start howling with laughter

If there’s no room on a couch when everyone else is already sitting, Penny will just be like “guess I have to lay on all of you”

And then she lays on all of them

One time while at Constance’s house, SOMEONE yelled for the Alexa to play Roman Holiday and utter MAYHEM broke out after that

Noel and Penny were SINGING

Ricky was jamming out, living his best life

Ocean was DESPERATELY trying to get the Alexa to stop

Constance was like “guys! guys, shh! people are gonna hear you!” (cause hc that the Blackwoods live above the cafe)

Mischa arrived back from the bathroom and was Very Confused

Noel and Penny were using random utensils as microphones and kept trying to get the others to join them (“come on, Mischa!” “this is a spatula”)

Penny, holding a ladle out to Constance: sing it, Constance!

Constance, leaning into the ladle like it’s an actual microphone: i don’t know Roman Holiday

Meanwhile, Ocean was DYING

Ocean, sobbing: Alexa, stop playing Roman Holiday!

Alexa didn’t hear her

Alexa wished for her death

[library-seraph]

Higher that the Stars primarch names

Realizing I never posted these on tumblr

The Lion- The Lioness (obvious, been trying to thing of a way to replace the Lionel Johnson joke with a Virginia/virgin joke for Virginia wolf but I can't quite get it to click)

Fulgrim- Electra (switching the "fulgur" pun to electric. not an electra complex joke i SWEAR)

Perterabo- Petra (Phonetic similarity, feminine form of Peter and is therefore based on the Greek for rock)

Jaghatai Khan- Alakhai Khan (named after one of Genghis Khan's daughters)

Leman- Ylva Russ (literally just a Swedish name meaning she-wolf)

Rogal Dorn - Rhiannon Dorn (Means great queen, is a welsh name when Dorn is derived from fist in a bunch of Celtic languages)

Konrad Curze- Megara Curze (named after one of the Furies. I kind of prefer the mouthfeel of Alecto as a name but if I named a character in this Alecto I think it would cause some sort of minor reality breaking paradox)

Sanguinius- Sanguinia (Quickly feminizing the fake Latin)

Ferrus Manus- Ferra Manus (^ ditto)

Angron- Angharad (Started as Phonetic similarity, but I think the fact that Angharad means "much loved one" adds a nice nasty kick of irony)

Roboute Guilliman- Augusta Guilliman (Augusta is a Roman title for empresses, this one is hard because the guy who named Roboute Guilliman has admitted he has 0 idea what the name's supposed to mean)

Mortarion- No change, I made it so the Overlords don't do gendered names

Magnus the Red- Magdalene the Red (Phonetic similarity I got super attached to)

Horus Lupercal- Ishtar Lupercal (Ancient Bablylonian goddess of love and war, which I think gets across the vibes of this au's imperium well)

Lorgar Aurelian- Sophia Aurelian (Named after the Gnostic emanation of knowledge, who is deeply connected to gnostic conceptions of original sin and redemption)

Vulkan- Vesta (Going from the Roman god of smithies to the Roman Goddess of the hearth)

Corvus Corax- Corvida Corax (Corvidae, modified a tiny bit to make it less obviously just a genus name)

Alpharius Omegon- Alpharia Omege (Same feminizing of fake Latin. Omege is pronounced like O-may-gay)