#the vain canes

[frankiensteinsmonster]

🥰Cripple tip🥰

When someone asks you an inappropriate and/or uncomfortable question about your disability,

You're allowed to give them an inappropriate and/or uncomfortable amount of information!

Hope this helps <3 remember to sparkle on!

[worm-on-a-disability]

[image ID: four string-less worms placed on a black walking can with stickers, a foam handle, and a strap with sloths on it. The cane also has a small three by three pop it stim toy in the colors of the polysexual flag; green, blue, and pink.]

The worms on cane

[afieldinengland]

.

[son-of-a-groke]

got a man zesty and shit

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

[daze4all]

Freedom is A Pipe Dream:

Yandere!Neuvillette x Witness!Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley

For they Were Justice Series on A03

The Prequel escape attempt people were waiting for!

Freedom is a Pipe Dream: Posted Here. Reader is caught escaping by Neuvillette & Wriothesly in the pipe system of Meropide but a fight breaks out between them & the treasure hoarders to get her.

Tied Up In Court: Posted. Reader is captured and dragged to court to be judged by Yandere Neuvillette x Yandere Wriothesley

Courting Affection: Posted. A cycle of punishment and care start again & they realize what they want is to be with you not just uphold the law. Neuvillette & Wriothesly realize they have feelings beyond being protective of reader as a witness and their attempts to cuddle and court reader in a drabble post.

Witnesss! Reader x Yandere!Neuvillette x Yandere!Wriothesley

Warning: Trapped btw 2 sexy men~, Fight scenes, violence, character death of treasure hunters.

I put where the violence started & ended to skip fight scenes & synopsis of the action below to preview.

Also warnings for these Yandere character’s kinks:

Wrio: Praise kink, judge kink, reckless rough fight sexual, teasing, shameless, skirting forbidden boundaries, feral dog, possessive. Protective. shame/praise play.

Nuevo: considerate, Aftercare, controlled, gentle, careful, purposeful slow, praise kink, power kink, master, touch starved strict, likes warmth, cuddlely, draconic instincts, protective. Possessive

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

The ominous drip drip of the pipe system echoes with your sloshing steps, as you make your escape attempt from Fontaine. 

A stream of water banged off the pipes in the long corridor from 

Neuvillette’s hydro blast that you dodged. 

A follow-up surge of water surrounds you in a vertical helical stream at Neuvillette’s skill. 

 Wriothesley surged forward to punch the ground to freeze the ice around your feet. 

You are knocked off balance, lose your footing, and start to stumble backward.   

Only to feel warm pressure on your back as a hand keeps you upright and from falling into the cold water. 

“Thought you could get away? ” Wriothesley growled in your ear as you squirmed in vain. Trapped between his chest and the cold wall.  

Your back was pressed against the pipe wall and your front to his searing hot body. 

“Why are you here?” Your face flashed with surprise, hurt, and realization. In the first place, he had told you about the pipe system as a Fontaine secret to get into and out of place during a scheduled tea time and check-up session. 

“Sorry sweetie I couldn’t keep our little secret. It’s the law” he crooned sounding genuinely upset. He twirled his signature handcuffs in the air with a flourish. Then his hands slide to the pulse point of your wrist as he squeezed it before cuffing them quickly. 

“You’re under arrest for breaking our hearts honey that won't do~” Wriothesley’s eyes were dark and feral heavy with the hunt and adrenaline rush. Then grabbing you by the shoulder and spins you so that your front is pressed up against the pipe wall. 

Wriothesley dragged you back into his arm in a backward embrace by the connected chain to his signature black and red cuffs on your hands. 

“You aren’t getting out so easily from these as I have the only key~” teased Wrio with a toothy smile. As he dangled said key that in vi try to snap up with your teeth. 

"ah ah no biting." Wriothesley coaxed too distracted by your shivering form to notice another presence approaching them. 

You froze at the sound of a louder splashing sound and the heavy thud of boots of more approaching people. 

Guards? or the Judge?. You thought worriedly

----Fight Starts----Warning Violence!

“Don’t worry I got her, she won’t get away again so easily” Wriothesley called back to the judge. Who you had heard approaching steadily his heeled boots and cane clicking echoing ominously across the metal pipes wall. 

Instead, however, it is the treasure hoarders. “We’ve been waiting for an opportunity, like this to get our cargo back” chucked the leader a man with a pickaxe. Like the ones who had captured you begin with. A potioner, a pickaxe man, a hammer man, a shovel man and more. 

“Small fry, it’s just one probably the guard catching a criminal.” They squinted in the low light only seeing two shadowy figures. 

 The potion flinger started the assault by throwing a cryo potion that froze your leg and the chain of the handcuffs to the wall. However, you were mostly shielded by Wrio whose leg were frozen in place.

You cowered and shivered as the wet and cold triggered a flashback of pain of the cold and wet cells where vile potions forced down your throat. 

Wriothesley hugged you as he asserted "No need to fear" as he blocked you from the encroaching Treasure hoarders who had surrounded you both. 

“Good she already knows how to behave,” said the shovel Treasure hunter ominously pleased at the sight of you hacking at the cold and memories 

 “Stay back. I have bone to pick with you lot.” Wriothesley growled eyeing them with dark glint in his eye gearing up for battle and fine turning his mechanized glove on to max. 

“How lucky, More test subjects~ “cackled the group of treasure hunters as they advanced upon your half frozen form. Not noticing who you were attached to at first. 

More shadows approached as the of Treasure hoarders sloshed forward in the shallow water of the pipe system. 

Only to doused and blown back by a heavy stream of water. 

“Witnesses are under the protection of Fontaine laws. You won’t lay a finger on them ” Steely announced Neuvillette. In the dark, his heeled boots and cane clicked authoritatively in the narrow pipe space.

“Shall we have judgment? “ Neuvillette pronounced eyes and tailcoat glowing with the sheen of his hydro power. Neuvillette’s water blast pushed the treasure hunters back and they were frozen place by a follow-up of icy punches from Wriothesley. 

“Let’s do some scrap disposal shall we” answered Wriothesley flexing his mechanized cryo arm with a feral smile. The freeze effect wore off and he surged forward to clock the closest shovel treasure hunter in the face. 

“W-wait-“ you cried in vain as your voice was swallowed by the conflict. You were still connected to the handcuffs and chains to Wriothesley Who had forgotten that fact in his feral blood lust at seeing you get hurt. 

The scene filled up with cryo broken bodies turning the water red. 

“Shit it, the ludex and the Mad dog of Meripode” cursed the tresure hoarder leader. He had not relized who had not recognized them at first becuase of the low lighting in the pipe system. 

“Retre-“ The potion thrower choked out his last words.

As he was frozen and crushed into crunching icy fragments by the combo of a hydro blast and cryo punches hitting him. 

The sound of clanking chains pulled you this way and that as you ducked bodies that Wriothesley punched. You were forced to follow movements while sheltered under his arm. Even tripping up some of treasure hunters with the taut chain between you two. 

The heavy breaths of your hyperventilating and shivering body seemed to alert Wriothesley. He paused to pull back and seeing your face, his hand loosened the chain connecting you two by your hand cuffs. 

“Get our girl for minute will you. I need to teach these treasure hunters a lesson about stealing” Wrio ordered as he passed the chain to Neuvillette. 

“Do as you wish “ Neuvillette icily replied. His eyes fixed on you as he took you in his arms and smoothly wrapped part of the chain around his free arm. His shoulder sunk in relief as he tucked you under his arm, barely giving the treasure hoarders any notice. 

You clung to his warmth reluctantly but instinctually feeling safer with them than the treasure hunters.

He held you tightly his side as he lifted his other hand to blast the Treasure hoarders with his hydro cannon that come to close.

“Wait...you I recoginze you... your that test subject.. it's all your fault!” laughed the leader of the treasure hunter in his terror. Identifying you as the weakest link he reached out to grab you only to be punched by Wriothesley's icy glove. 

He fells to the ground dropping his pickaxe “ugh!” 

"Alow me to intervene" said Neuvillette as he smoothly stepped on the hand of the leader, who had tried to reach out for his fallen pickaxe with a crunch. 

“ You Bastards, Get them boys !” roared the pickaxe leaders holding his ruined hand. Utterly humiliated and struggling to get up from the icy water. The sound of more footsteps announced another wave of treasure hunters as backup. 

"Getting a bit chilly ain't it boys?" Wriothesley grabbed the pickaxe treasure hunter by his shirt color to throw him back into the potioner and the shovel wielding one. Before surging forward to beat down the new crowd of treasure hunters with volley of cryo infused punches.

"Let the mighty be humbled!" cried Neuvillette as he smoothly provided backup with his hydro pump and ultimate. One hand around you and the other raised as the intruders were frozen and pulverized. 

Although obscured somewhat by Neuvillette and Wriothesley backs you hear the screams of agony and the wet thudding of fist hitting flesh and breaking ice that left you flinching and cowering under Neuvillette's coat. 

Your mind flashback to red-stained floors, syringes, and wounds. The pipe walls closed in like the bars of a cage you could hardly stand in. 

Could that have been you?

Noticing your discomfort, Neuvillette’s gloved hand raised to soothe and caress your hair “Don’t look dear they, are beneath your notice”

In short time, the treasure hunters had been cleared leaving only a broken bloody pulp of bodies on the floor.

 Bloody shards of ice and red water from the bodies decorate the horrific scene out of the zombie apocalypse the work of the two men. 

What now will they do to you?

-----Violence Ends------

You cower at the sight, with a pale face and you trembling form seems to upset Neuvillette. so he called back the hunting dog of the fortress. 

“Ahem that is enough, Wriothesly she is shivering, and we best get to court before she catches cold down here”

“Well at least now no trial is needed wouldn’t you say?” causally said Wriothesly his fangs flashing as he smiled.

Blood flecks on his face as he meets his serpentine eyes and a solemn expression. Like a dog proud to have caught the prey with his jaws. 

“Well at least that means our witness can stay with us forever now” pronounced Neuvillette sedately his eye sweeping the scene as he raised his cane and struck the surface of the water in the pipe that began to ripple and rise. 

Without another glance, he cleans up the crime scene commanding the water to rise and wash away the corpses.

Now lost to the seas where he makes sure the corpses sink deep and out of sight. Perhaps in primordial sea, if they were Fontainian so trace would be left behind. 

The only signs Neuvillette had seen anything was when he wrinkled nose with distaste at the blood flecked on Wriothesly's face and shirt color. “Clean yourself up will you? You cannot appear in court like that.” 

So said Neuvillette pulling out a hankerchief from his pocket and wiping Wriothesly's face who seemed to lean into it for praise. 

“Sure, sure, but first we have to judge our little runaway right?” Wriothesly said leaning close to sniff her as if that would give away any injuries.

 You shrunk back scared. ‘If anything, any bruises or mark which would have been from them’ you thought dryly. 

“Not a scratch, I made sure of that.” Neuvillette assessed. His gaze fleeting from you in embarrassment after noticing now that your wet clothes were stcking to your form.

“Good job watching her ” Praised Wriothesly as the tips of Neuvillette ears turned slightly red. 

Your eyes were wide and mouth a bit agape still shell shocked at the decimation of the treasure hunters and that after they were flirting. Wriothesly’s arm slung around back so you were all pulled way to close to each other. 

Neuvillette wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood from the treasure hunter still on before sending brief blasts hydro to clean way the worst of blood. 

The blood was gone but now you could see his muscle though the shirt. 

“Yea and now I’m cold, so I’m getting change of clothes” Stated Wriothesly, His gaze wanderng to you also soaked appreciating the view which made you blush despite the absurdity and the situation. 

Still a bit shell shocked you choked as you couldn’t help thinking the dynamic between ludex and the warden of the meripode was weird.

 You had never seen then interact that much before and certainly not so calmly in this circumstance. They were acting as if it was just another day at court and as scary as it was to think perhaps it was for them. 

 “I believe it best to release the chains and cuffs unless we want to conduct court here.” Coughed Neuvillette as he went back to business his eyes concerned at your shivering wet and now dirty form. 

“You’d do well not to escape again seeing what we do to criminals” Neuvillette stated calmly. blithely ignoring the crimes and chaos of the last few moments as if washed away by the waters. 

Meeting your eyes with Neuvillette's serpentine purple ones and Wriothesly’s feral black ones you nod terrified. 

“I take that as Yes” Wrio whooped as he crushed you in a backward hug and lifted you up in a princess carry to keep you from going anywhere. Also, it kept you from falling into the cold water as your legs were still shaking in exhaustion and terror from the fight you witnessed. 

“Good girl, come along court will be in session shortly” Neuvillette as he yanked the chain forward for her to follow. Wriothesly close behind as you were trapped in his arms in a princess carry to make sure you couldn’t escape.

Not this time. 

============

Extra Escape attempt context:

So, you bust out trying to take the tunnel and pipe system you remembered once discussing with the duke during one of the attempts to recover your memories.

Also to keep in mind:

Are you under delusions of grandeur and seeing illusions deprived of the medication that you used from your time with the treasure hunters?

Are you stumbling around lost searching for a fix and perceiving friends trying to protect you as enemies due to the relapse symptoms?

This is up to the reader to interpret.

Aka a convenient outie for reasons, for actions, or for those who find the violence too rough.

…Action scenes are hard. God the transitions in this oneshot…. To summarize:

1. Wriothesley catches you pins you to the pipe walls & handcuffs you to him have some spiciness~

2.  The treasure hoarders surround you and freeze you both.

3. Neuvellite comes in saves you guys .

4. You are handcuffed with Wriothesley so you are pulled into the fight.

5. Then Wrio Hands you  to Neuvilette to be kept safe so he can get up clos eto punch out his opponents while  Neuvo blasts them from afar

6. You are bit shocked, cold, and wet and cannot stand after watching Wrio & Neuv wash & freeze away the Treasure hoarders.

7. After the fight you are a princess carried by Wriothesley to the courthouse so you can be judged.

[queenofspades6]

Greatest Investment - Kaz Brekker x reader

Thawing Hearts

Part 2 of Greatest Investment

Summary: You escaped the Crow Club, and Kaz Brekker sent all his men to find you. Unfortunately, Pekka Rollins entered the game.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, and rape.

A/N: Finally it’s here! I am sorry for the wait! I re-re-wrote it a lot before I was really satisfied with it. Fucking imposter syndrome! Between that and Tumblr that didn’t want me to post, and was considering my blog was new, everything was against it ahaha! I hope you’ll love it nonetheless! Enjoy! (I promise Part 3 Will be out sooner!)

———

Part 1

———

Coldness.

This is what you felt when you woke up.

Damn, where were you?

You suddenly remembered last evening’s events. Escaping the Crow Club, and trying to erase the picture of Kaz’s gloved hand on Inej’s shoulder. You had slept in the odd manor on an ancient and dirty mattress found during a heist with the Crows. It had not been near anything comfortable, but it had been enough.

It had been so hard to close your eyes. Pictures of Kaz and Inej haunting your dreams. How could it ever be the same? Once, Kaz had asked you to stay with him, you had stayed, and for what? What should you do now? You would have no problem finding contracts to earn money, shelter and food for days, but the Crows had gave you something invaluable… They had given you purpose.

You sighed. What now? You stood up from the mattress. You had slept without a blanket, and the night had been one of the coldest you had experienced. At least now, you had plenty of time to explore this sinister manor. And maybe find something interesting or valuable? You had nothing better to do after all. No purpose anymore.

———

”Has Y/N returned?“ Kaz asked Jesper eagerly, trying not to look too interested.

Kaz had been awake all night, leaning against his seat next to his desk. He had tried desperately to occupy his mind.

In vain.

Knowing you were alone out there made his blood running colder. You were capable of defending yourself and killing if necessary, he was aware of that, but his mind didn’t let him breath. The only thing he knew was that you were not here. Not anymore.

”No sign of her.” Jesper announced, his face full of genuine concern.

“She’ll come back, boss. Women always do. They need someone to warm their bed, after all.“ A dreg joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere of the room.

Kaz stared at the man with a killing look.

”Out.” He pronounced with the most restrain he had.

”Boss?”

“I said out! I don’t want to see you in my office again!” Kaz screamed in anger, almost throwing his cane at the man.

The Dreg didn’t wait, and escaped as fast as possible. Nobody wanted to anger Dirtyhand. Especially now, after his greatest assassin had fled somewhere.

Jesper gave Kaz a questioning glance.

“What was that all about?”

Kaz didn’t answer, but just rolled his eyes in response.

“Tell ten more men in whom you trust with your life to look for Y/N. I want discretion. Pekka doesn’t need to know.”

”Kaz.”

”No, Jesper, I don’t want to hear it.“ He replied, gesturing his Crow that he was dismissed.

“I’ll tell you nonetheless. Y/N will come back when she is ready. She won’t appreciate you sending Dregs to find her.“

“I don’t care.”

Jesper laughed, and put his hands on Kaz’s desk, ignoring the death glance of Dirtyhand.

”You do care! You’re here sending our men looking for an assassin that doesn’t want to be found! If you didn’t care, you would have moved on.“

“Nonsense.”

”You can’t let her go, admit it, Kaz.”

“Shut up, Jesper.”

Jesper had never seen his Boss so angry, but he couldn’t stop.

”You can’t let her go, and that drives you mad!”

“That’s enough!”

“Oh no, I still haven‘t tell you all my mind. Y/N is my friend-”

“Of course, I can’t let her go, she’s my greatest investment!“

“Fuck you and your investment, Kaz! That’s all lies. Y/N is my friend, she deserves more than being your tool. And you know the worst in that? You believe the lies you’re feeding yourself. She’s always been more. If not, why bribing each shop in Ketterdam for her, why tending to her wounds for days and months why you let others die?”

“I take great care in my investments.“

”Oh really? Then why make her waffles and tea every morning before the sun goes up?“

Kaz didn’t reply, but Jesper swore he had seen his lips move, and his eyes flinched in surprise. How could Jesper know of that, Kaz asked himself, one fist clenched, and the other gloved hand tightening his grip on the wooden desk.

”Out, Jesper.”

“You see, Kaz, the problem with you is that you don’t allow yourself to feel, and you expect others to do the same.”

Still no reply.

With a brand new confidence, Jesper carried on.

“But Y/N cares. I don’t know what she saw that made her flee, and I trust her judgement with my life, like all the Crows and Dregs, even you, but I can’t understand why she loves you, when it feels like torture.”

“What?“

“Fuck you Kaz Brekker, I am outta here!“ Jesper proclaimed, and left.

He had stood up for what he believed in.

Finally… and oddly, he felt good… and proud.

———

I can’t understand why she loves you, when it feels like torture.

”She loves me?” Kaz asked himself, removing his cloak with clumsiness.

The room felt too warm for him, and the fabric of his clothes burnt his skin. With trembling hands, he tried to remove his jacket. His gloved hands were preventing him from removing the fabric. He removed the gloves first as fast as possible, and sent them flying across the room. The feeling of burning skin, and sweaty hands didn’t leave him.

When he succeeded in removing his jacket, it fell at his feet, laying on the cold floor. Without a second thought, he unbuttoned his shirt, and sat finally on his chair. It was better, he thought, feeling the air on his skin, giving him goosebumps. He closed his eyes, and the first thing that came to his mind was your smile. And then he heard your laugh that echoed in all his office. He furrowed his brows, and put his hands on his ears. He wanted it to stop!

”Make it stop.“ He wanted to scream. He was the Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhand, Kaz fucking Brekker, and if he wanted something, it needed to be done!

But here, in the intimacy of his office, he was just Kaz Rietveld. The small boy he thought he had killed for good. That little boy that had believed there was goodness in this horrible world. The one that had believed of a life with his brother, the one that had dreamed of a home…

Kaz felt something flowing on his cheek, something liquid, and small. He touched his cheek and felt tears running on his left cheek. He stared at the door, hoping it was closed, and began to wipe his tears. One tear ran down his right cheek, he tried to wipe it, but another one escaped from his eye. He swore and finally let go after all these years.

Tears were running along his cheeks and chin.

He could restrain his feelings, pretend he didn’t care all he wanted, he knew it was a magician’s trick, just a risky gamble, a masquerade… because after all, even if he was wiping his tears with his hands, there were still proof that he felt, proof that he cared. Proof Kaz Rietveld was not dead, and would never be.

Kaz Brekker let out a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing, and understood something. That wasn’t because he restrained his feelings that he didn’t feel. He could suppress what he felt all he wanted, the ache on his heart and the tears on his warm skin were still here.

He remembered Jordie’s face, his cockiness, and stubbornness. He remembered how naive they both were, as children should be, and thought that naivety was a weakness, but feeling may not be.

You were an assassin, the most famous and competent one, and you were all he wasn’t, you felt things deeply, were too sensitive and allowed yourself to feel. Did that made you weak? His mind answered for him.

No.

He had found you many things, but never weak.

Never.

How could he when he believed you were the strongest person he knew.

He began to button up his shirt with a new calculated meticulousness.

Why had you fled?

Only one thing came to his mind. You had seen his hand on Inej’s shoulder, the gloved hand that had felt Inej’s contact burning, but had stayed there nonetheless. You had watched how close him and Inej were, and now, he didn’t know how he felt.

He had summoned Inej in his office to discuss her departure to … to retrieve her brother.

Kaz had asked her to stay, because he was afraid. Scared that all his Crows would leave him if Inej was not there.

He had asked her to stay, and cared for her.

Will you stay if Inej was not here? He had let his feelings control him, even if he had not noticed when he had asked Inej to stay. It had been selfish, because if it had been his brother, Jordie, he would have crawled to him, he would have ran even with his limp. Yet he had asked Inej to stay, and he understood why she said she couldn’t. Not when there were chances of her brother being alive, not when she could find him, even if there were the slightest chance. It was not a wish for her but a need.

Y/N had saw everything, and she may have thought that he and Inej had… feelings for each other? He didn’t know what Y/N thought or why she had ran like she never wanted to see him again, but he knew he couldn’t let her go like that. Not without a fight, and fighting was what he did best.

Even if Kaz had hated the sound of every word Jesper had spoke, deep down Jesper had been right. For once, thought Kaz, and almost smiled.

How could he deserve the woman he loved?

”Loved”? Do I love her? Did I really let myself fall for her? He asked himself. But he already knew the answer.

Why would he make waffles every day for her then, and why would he buy Butterfly’s Heaven for her? He knew she had heard of the place, and couldn’t wait to get there. Little did she knew, the place was already hers.

Kaz Brekker didn’t know if he was ready to let himself feel, and be with Y/N? Would he ever be ready? How could someone care for him, when he was struggling with physical touch and feelings?

He took another deep breath, took his gloves on the floor and put them on. He felt better, but thought of how Y/N’s skin would feel on his fingers, and how Y/N’s lips would taste on his. Would he ever let her kiss him? He did not know.

Kaz would lie if he said that he never thought of Y/N’s skin, how her body would look without clothes on, how she would touch herself at night, and the little noises she would make at last…

How much would he pay to hear her like that? This is what he would call an investment. To pay to know everything about her, her past, her body, who she loved and who she hated, who she was and who she wanted to be.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Kaz heard someone calling for him and knocking loudly on his office. He had been so caught on his daydream, that he had ignored the noises emanating from the Crow Club.

A Dreg with a concerned look entered the office, he was ready to break the news to Dirtyhand himself but, Jesper did it first.

“Kaz. It’s Y/N.“

He furrowed his brows in wonder, hoping the Dregs had found her, but guessing by Jesper’s expression, it was worst than that.

”She’s been kidnapped.”

An expression of horror crossed Kaz’s face, and then it was gone.

”Who?”

”Pekka Rollins.”

The Bastard of the Barrel nodded, acknowledging his opponent.

”Then he is a dead man.”

”Kaz, what are we going to do?”

“What we do best, Jesper. We fight for what belongs to us.”

————

Coldness welcomed you again. Not the same frigidity as this morning when you were alone, in an old mattress in the manor. When you thought of today, you hadn’t known you would end up tied closely to a chair, your left cheek on the freezing floor of a grim warehouse.

You could bear the coldness, the beating of what you had deduced were Pekka Rollins’men, but what you could not bear was the smell of blood. There was blood everywhere. Yours, and maybe somebody else’s. There was too much for it to only be yours.

Pekka’s men had taken a wicked pleasure in beating you, cutting the skin to draw blood. Pekka had let them, but had ordered to let you alive. Your blood had ran cold, when a man asked his boss if he could have you. He had began to let your shirt fall on your shoulders, and had caressed the space between your breasts.

”Not now. I want him to watch when you’ll take her.“ Pekka had replied ruthlessly.

The man had growled, had kissed your jaw, sucked the skin on your neck, and stroked your hair. You had wanted to vomit, but you had kept you chin high, and spit on the man when they had removed the tape over your mouth.

You hated how easy it had been for Pekka Rollins to kidnap you.

Pekka Rollins’ men had been watching the Crow Club closely, examining each move of the Crows with huge care. When he had seen you fleeing far from the Club and the Bastard of the Barrel, he had grinned and thanked the Gods for this opportunity. He had ordered his men to follow you right after. They had found you in the manor, and had waited for the morning to catch you. Pekka Rollins knew who you were and what you were capable of. He couldn’t take any risk, so he had made a special concoction. A sort of potion you threw in a room to paralyze and make the victim sleep. Pekka was aware that if you had been awake, he had practically no chance of catching you, that’s why he had planned it all along.

He threw the potion in your room, and when you realised what it was, you tried to run for the door, but it was closed. Your feet felt already numb, and you began to see things turning around you. Before you could say something, you fainted on the floor, one last thought for Kaz Brekker.

———

“I am glad you’re awake, Miss Y/N.”

Your eyes opened slowly, trying to adjust to the sudden light of the room. Pekka Rollins, a mischievous grin on his lips, was facing you. Gods knew how much you wanted to kill him.

You tried to speak, but you had tape burning the sensitive skin of your lips. You could feel the tightness of the ropes holding your hands and feet together closely.

“It’s not against you, Y/N. I don’t hold any grudge against you, in the contrary. But you see, dear assassin, you possess information of inestimable value, you are priceless.”

You began to move on your chair, trying to untie the ropes. If you could speak, you would have told Pekka to go fuck himself. How dare he?

”I know you’re one of Mister Kaz Brekker’s Crows. Too beautiful to be a crow, don’t you think?“ Pekka stroked a lock of hair that pearled on your face, and put it behind your ear. You felt his touch burning your skin.

”You see, Y/N, it’s not against you. I learnt that you were invaluable to the Bastard of the Barrel. I tried to recruit you multiple times, but you refused each time, remember?”

You groaned.

“I need to take care of Kaz Brekker first, and then I’ll see how you can be useful to the Dime Lions.”

”He’s here, Boss.“ A man left the shadow and appeared right behind Pekka.

“Good. Very good.”

You moved on the chair, trying to untie the ropes on your hands again. The chair fell on the floor, and you knew your face was even bloodier and bruised than before. At least, it helped untying the ropes.

“Want to speak, Y/N?”

Pekka removed the tape over your lips. It hurt so much.

”What do you want with him?” You questioned, tasting a metallic liquid between your lips.

”You see, Y/N, in the Barrel, power and revenge are the only things that matter, and your little friend believes he has them both. There can only be one King of the Barrel, and it won’t be this Bastard.“

”Kaz won’t come. He knows it’s a trap, you’re doomed.”

”Oh dear Y/N, yes, he knows it’s a trap, but for you, he’ll come.” Pekka murmured close to your face, while having his foot crushing your arm. You heard the bone break, and grimaced.

You swallowed a sob, and tried to breath.

”Kaz Brekker wants the world to know his limp is the weakness, but what is his real weakness? You think he has none, assassin, but what is the most precious thing he has in his possession? Gold? Jewellery? The Crow Club?“

You groaned louder, fighting the pain in your arm and declared:

“Fuck yourself, Pekka.“

He grinned, the kind of grin that says ‘I won’.

“You’re his greatest investment, Y/N, but I think there may be more behind that. If not why buy you Butterfly’s Heaven, this stupid place that had no strategic asset? I am convinced, Kaz Brekker will show, and if I am lucky, he cares more for you than he let on.“

What? Kaz bought you Butterfly’s Heaven? You felt a tear running on your cheek. How did he know you loved the place? It had only been a week since it had opened, and you had only told Wylan and Jesper. Jesper must have told him about your love for the butterflies’ sanctuary.

Damn, Kaz Brekker bought you the place. The only place in Ketterdam that could bring hope to people and children. You had dreamed of coming to this place since it had opened, and now, it’s yours. And Kaz Brekker swore he had no heart? This is what he calls heartless and ruthless? Buying a place that has no utility for him just for his assassin?

Another tear flowed.

“You didn’t know, did you?“

You swore you could hear the grin in Pekka Rollins’ words.

“Even better.” Pekka murmured to himself.

You heard footsteps, and saw Dime Lions gathering at Pekka Rollins’ side.

A Dime Lion told something to Pekka’s ear. You watched them carefully, examining their numbers and weapons.

”Here is the Bastard of the Barrel.“ Pekka announced, opening his arms to host Dirtyhand.

Someone put tape again over your lips, and you tried to bite him.

“This one bites!” A Dime Lion screamed.

The room was suddenly silent with footsteps. You watched the entrance of the warehouse, and saw a cane. A Crow Cane.

Kaz.

”Welcome Kaz Brekker!” Pekka declared, still smiling.

Kaz Brekker appeared on the doorway, all in black, a death glance in his eyes. He examined the room discreetly, and your eyes found his. His mouth gaped, and his eyes turned black. According to Kaz’s look, you were badly injured. Was this why you felt lighter?

Kaz took several steps towards Pekka, and stopped in the middle of the shed. His cane touched the floor in a loud thump making the wall tremble. Or was it your heart? Kaz Brekker was alone, but you swore you saw the Dime Lions shivering.

“Now, you’ll give me my assassin, or I’ll kill you all.”

His tone was murderous, cold and calculated. His eyes were set on you, and you felt suddenly envelopped by heat.

You smiled at Kaz Brekker, knowing undoubtly that he’ll kill them all.

———

Don’t forget to tell me what you thought about this chapter! It’s definitely gonna be a series, and every like, reblog and comment make me want to write more! Thank to you for reading this!

———

Taglist: @phoenix666stuff @coldheartedmar @myxticmoon @whos6claire @wonderland2425 @annisescapefromtheworld @fandomscompilation @angie-likes-to-read @notacluelessblonde00 @justsillylittlethings @noommoon69 @kiraflowersworld @sadpetalsstuff @littleshadow17 @kaz-mf-brekker @lotr350z @hermionesimp

———

If you liked this fanfic, you might like this one:

⬇️ ⬇️

[nicolovespancakes]

Thinking about the similarities between...

And

(This is the second post about him I've made in a week's span and I'm a bit concerned-)

But let's explain.

- Demon/Ghost Type

- Acts contrary to true motives (is in reality more selfish and vain than on the surface)

- Will kill most beings standing in the way of their goals.

- Loves being the center of attention.

- Alastor is absolutely a good voice claim for thy Toymaker.

- Both were once human.

- Red/Burgundy Hair.

- Views others as playthings.

- Enjoy controlling those around them. (Alastor and his souls, Jason and his chosen ones or toys.)

- Like childish interests like games or toys. (With VERY high stakes.)

- Multiple physical forms.

- Sharp nails.

- Hide in Shadows.

- Can summon minions of a sort. (Alastor = Summon Demons, Jason = Summon Toys)

- An object of physical weakness. (Alastor's Radio Cane/?, Jason's Music Box)

- Old time-y designs, inferring to dying in previous eras from present tense.

- Asexual/Aromatic.

- Green glowing when angered (Jason's eyes, Alastor's stitched smile)

- Have known rivals that counter in blue (Candy Pop, Vox)

- Dominant personalities, prefer to be in control of any social situations.

- Obvious traits of cruelty, sadism, murder, tampering, etc.

- Charismatic in nature.

- Seen as Monsters. (Accurate.)

____________________________________

Anyway, I just thought that was interesting. The thought came from me imagining Jason singing Alastor's parts in this. (Along with other pastas, like Candy Pop, Nathan The Nobody, Puppeteer, Sally, LJ, etc.):

https://youtube.com/watch?v=_lBnG5CLOmk&si=tZWcM6vILJw1i3Ex

I could definitely see Jason flattering people like this when it thrills him.

Oh, and this one! I think of it as an amber eyed Jason, and then the rough voice is his green eyed white hair form.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=wKfOA9sgfO8&si=I1nh1Ic8LAHqEcJz

- "I've got a game I wanna show you,

If I tell you my name, you'll have to play too.

I've been here for years, biding my time,

Waiting and primed until I could find you.

Just sign on the line and we can be friends,

I'll be here for you until your world ends.

Enjoy all your toys, I will supply-"

- "Come into my world, take a look at me.

I am the nightmare on the dark side of the moon.

I'm your first last resort so call me,

When you need a helping hand.

Play your cards wrong and I'll see you soon."

"And once your hunger has abated,

Don't forget your friend who waited."

============================

Anywho.

That's all.

[instarsandcrime]

Pride Is A Fickle Thing

Well...at least it's not just Lu/ci/fer this time?

@onetrickponi had some great prompts to offer and, since she said she might be writing them, I decided to change up a certain one a little so it turned out the same but also different! Can be read as Ra//dio//App//le or just platonic fluff! Enjoy! ❤️

Prompt: Lu/ci/fer heals A/la/stor, though it takes a great deal of expended effort on his part and it turns out both of them hate looking weak in front of other people.

---

"Hp'shhzzzt!" A sharp, staticky sneeze slipped through a crack in the shadows.

Alastor wheezed as he grabbed yet another handkerchief from his collection, attempting in vain to blow away the clinging itch that stuck to him for the entire meeting. But he couldn't help it. Every single twitch of the finger, every flick of the ear, every time he even bothered to move his holy wound its poison would snake through his ribs and up to his aching head. And when it did the reaction got worse. And when the reaction got worse he couldn't help but...c-couldn't...help but…but snehhh--

"Et'chhht! TSH'ZZZZHHEW! Nnghh..." The overlord muttered out a string of curses as another wave of pain shot through him, grasping a pillar before he could double over and collapse.

“Oof, ouch! That one sounded rough." An irritatingly cheery voice chirped from nowhere in particular.

"Oh do be qui-quieehhh...Heh! Heh’eshhh't! Het'chhhzzz't!" Pressing a well-used cloth up to reddened nostrils, Alastor hurriedly straightened himself, discreetly rubbing the swarm of feathers he felt as far back as it could go.

"Bless y-- er, no, wait. That's not appropriate for someone like you, is it?" And with a golden puff of smoke he finally appeared. The six winged thorn in his side. “Fuck off? Damn you? Curse you, maybe? Mmmn no, I think you’ve already got that handled.”

"Lucifer." Alastor's ear flicked in annoyance, "What can I do for you m-my unh-huhh-holy fellow? Off t-to find some...s-some...snff! Suhh-someone to pestehhhHET'ZSCHHHH! Ghhh..."

The fallen angel winced as shrill feedback pierced the air. "Lookin' a bit sneezy there, bud. I guess even the most powerful overlords catch colds. Just goes to show that somewhere deep, deep, deeeeep down, you still have a mortal soul."

The Radio Demon chuckled, smile splitting despite the feverish beads of sweat that rolled down his neck. "On the contrary! Why, I'm the guardian angel of the Hazbin Hotel! I'm sure Charlie would agree."

Lucifer twisted the cane in his palms. “Ohoh! That definitely sounds like my little girl!”

"Agreed! She is truly a marvel. Exiling all doubts with a cheerful smile!"

"And when the hotel gets big enough, who knows? Maybe she won’t even need you anymore! She can take your place all on her own-- without the tacky bellhop suit, of course."

"Hah! Radio never truly goes out of style. Unlike...u-unlike the...the..."

"Speechless already?"

"A trifuhhh…huh! T-trifling matter, My Liege. I'm simply allergihhh...allergic to...to your bullshhHHT’SHHHhhoo...Huh'zschhh!"

"Impressive comeback. You should really--"

"'Hup’KZSSHHHT! HT'SHHH'OOooo...guhh…snff!" Worry bloomed on Lucifer’s face when his rival flashed a sliver of a wince. And as quick as it grew, Alastor rushed to crush the blossom with the wave of a hand. “Such compassion! I was wonderihh…wondering when the sin of pride would lower himself to such a weak emotion–”

“Let me see it.” 

“Pardon?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His patient opened his mouth, “Nope, wait, don’t answer that. Just let me see the wound.”

“Hah! How absurd! Me? Get hurt?” The Radio Demon’s voice crackled with laughter, an unseen audience following suit. “Has our poor king gone senile in his old age?”

“I–! You–!” Lucifer took a deep breath, wisps of smoke billowing from his nose. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

“Okay.”

Despite his eternal grin, Alastor’s feverish eyes blinked back confusion. “...O. Okay?”

“Okay.” The king deadpanned, hopping back a few steps. “You like making deals, right?”

“I do have other hobbies, you know.”

“Nice. I don’t care. Walk to me without sneezing once. I know you can hide the pain, but if you think holy poison will just go away, then you must either be the most stubborn man in the nine rings, or the biggest dumbass.” He paused. “Or both. If you lose, I heal you and you never have to think about Adam and his gaudy lute axe again. If you win, let’s just say that in a few more days, no one in Hell will hear another broadcast from The Radio Demon again.”

A suffocating silence fell over the two, with only the small ambience of old timey cigarette advertisements and Ella Fitzgerald to keep them company. Until finally obsidian claws drummed against the tip of a microphone.

 “...Fine.” Alastor said simply.

“Fine.” Lucifer spat back.

“A simple task, really.”

“Then stop stalling and do it, coward.” Satan flashed his pearly fangs.

A scarlet eye twitched. His opponent took a tentative step forward and the itch followed suit, fighting the urge to rub a knuckle against it.

“Having trouble there?”

“I can assure you I'm per…p-perfectly fihh-fide.” Another step. The growing tickle burned from the bridge to the tip.

“Fihhh-fidt as a fidd-fiddle.”

Almost halfway. Hold it in, hold it in.

“I'b dot as weak as y-yuhhh…you thidk…”

Through irritated tears, slit pupils studied him closely. “Uh-huh. Still don’t believe you.”

Temper beginning to flare as badly as his wound, the overlord opened his mouth to retort. But his voice was completely stolen as the itch teased the rim of his nostrils. It built and built until–

Oh, fuck it.

“Heh'SHHHHZT! Ihh-hih-Hp'SCHHH! ‘TSCHHHH'hhooo…nhhh…” The ground beneath him whirled and tilted like a merry-go-round and he was falling, falling, falling– only to be caught and dragged off the ride with unnervingly gentle hands.

“I've got you.” Lucifer muttered.

“What’s goi’g od? Why are you doi’g this?” The Radio Demon demanded as he was lifted, a body barely up to his chest not acknowledging his weight.

“Because lucky for you, I used to be a saint.” Wait…when did they get to his bathroom? When was he suddenly draped against the wall?

“You hate me." For some reason Alastor couldn’t control his shaking voice, losing the strength to fight. He sounded so disgustingly fragile. He hated it. He hated this. He hated. He. Hated.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, shut up and let me save you already!” Lucifer swore, clicking the locks in place with the snap of his fingers. Alastor flinched when freezing hands pressed against a soaked through dress shirt and– oh.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, no shit!” A pure light became a ripple. Then a swirl. Then a bubble. It filled every space imaginable, bathing the pair in its warm blanket. Faintly, Alastor tasted a hint of jambalaya on his tongue. And like a needle and thread to a spilled over poppet, The wound began to close.

Unfortunately, despite the subsiding agony, the holy light that caught his patient's eye did not agree with him. Wait. If angelic power hurt a demon, why was he being healed with–

“H-hhh!” Alastor’s breath hitched.

“Seriously? Now? I’m trying to work here.” Lucifer growled, almost fumbling the surgery when his concentration nearly broke. Through the haze, the overlord could glimpse familiar beads of sweat that trickled down the side of the fallen angel’s neck. 

“H-hhh…c-cad’t…h-hhhhelp it…” Between hiccuping breaths and stuttering speech, somewhere along the way a finger was pressed underneath his fluttering nostrils.

“I swear to my fucking Father.” Lucifer huffed out, blinking blearily as he continued his surgery one-handed. And before the wound closed, Alastor couldn’t help but dread at the way Lucifer’s eyelids drooped further and further, teetering between exhaustion and pain.

With two hands the healing process would have taken two minutes.

With one it took two hours. Or at least, the amount of hands was Lucifer’s excuse.

Alastor would have been more impressed if not for the fact that he was not impressed, because it was a ridiculous emotion to have for Lucifer of all beings. So instead, the next day, he chose to focus on what couldn’t heal right away.

“Het’schhzz!” Alastor pitched into his handkerchief, and Charlie quickly caught his breakfast plate before she could drop it.

“Bless you!” She breathed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Well. At least it wasn’t every five seconds.

“Thank you, my dear. Ironic as it may be.” Alastor chuckled, moving to pick up his utensils. He scanned the dining table to take in the morning rush. Angel Dust was gabbing away next to Husker, silently snatching food off his plate with his lower pair of arms. Vaggie was taking a sharpening stone to her spear between bites of food, softening when her princess veered the corner to give a quick peck on the lips. Sir Pentious was waving his spindly hands about, excitedly explaining the inner workings of his ‘flying machine’ to Niffty, who was absolutely more interested in the bug crawling on his top hat.

Overall a peaceful morning. Too peaceful. It unsettled him that there was one piece missing–

Ah. Out of the corner of his eye a small, white rat slowly crawled across the carpet. One with chubby, cherub cheeks. Fur mussed. Bags under its button eyes. A golden flush dotting his face, glowing like a firefly. And then suddenly everything clicked.

The lack of a wound or poison, but still feeling a fading tickle. The shared symptoms between them. Lucifer hadn’t just been exhausted that night. He hadn’t just healed him. Oh no, the bastard just had to take the holy poison for himself knowing that a half-holy body would survive. Though it was obvious he was equally– oh, what was that saying Rosie was kind enough to teach him– ‘going through it’. The fact that he would even risk inhaling a drop for someone he hated so much…

Hm.

Well, Alastor decided to himself, It would be remiss of him to not repay the favor. So with all the mercy of a heartless overlord, he kicked the stupid rat as far as it could go. With a startled squeak and a puff of smoke, the King of Hell tumbled across the floor. The dining room went silent for a moment, all eyes on the sudden appearance of Lucifer Morningstar lying on his back– disheveled, dazed, and stone still.

“Oh my gosh, dad!” Charlie yelped as her father pushed himself upright– moving stiffly, Alastor noted. “I didn’t see you come in…to…” As she helped him stand, her voice trailed off. “Are you okay?”

“I second that, fer the record.” Angel Dust waved a fork nonchalantly in the air, “Kingy’s always an early riser. What gives?”

“Worrywarts, aren’t they?” Lucifer jolted as Alastor popped up beside him with a screeching static, suddenly inches apart. His smirk widened as he tilted his head with a little, high pitched ‘hm!’ “I must say, I can’t help but feel the same. Your regal features look a bit. Oh, what’s the word?” He motions to his own face with a dramatic flourish. “Off-color.”

Lucifer’s glare broke when he put a hand up to his cheek. Then another, eyes growing wide as teacup saucers. It didn’t help when embarrassment overtook his feverish blush, brightening with the panic. “H-hah!” He chuckled nervously, summoning his top hat to tug the brim over his face. “W-wouldja look at that? Guess I fell asleep at the ol’ workshop again and I ran my power a little too– …t-too hot…” He sniffed sharply, rubbing at his nose.

“How uncouth.” Alastor circled the man like a ravenous beast. “Quite unlike yourself to be in such a state. Maybe you should be a little more honest. I can even give you a push.”

“Wh-whhhat are you–”

With a single poke of his cane Lucifer stumbled, grimacing in pain. And it only took one poke for that short-lived charade to fall apart.

“H-hehhh! No, ndo dabbit keeb idt togehh…together…”

“Your Majesty? Are you…?” Vaggie sat straighter, brow furrowed.

“Oof! That don’t look right.” Angel winced.

“Mhm.” Husk hummed into his mug of whisky.

“Oh my. The ultimate bad boy needs to be cleaned!” Niffty gasped.

“Poor thing.” Sir Pentious’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Dad?” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. Then jumped back with a squeak as the single touch sparked the powder keg.

“Hit’schh!” Lucifer bent at the waist, merciless fit wracking an already exhausted body. “It’schh! It’shieww! Hit’SCHIEW! Hnt’SHIEW! HET’SCHH! ‘TSHH! TCHH! Hit’SCHH’HIEW! H-hihhh…hih! Hih– HITSCHHHH’HIEW!”

The room went silent. Angel Dust whistled lowly.

“My goodness, bless you!” Alastor gaped, every movement an exaggerated performance.

“Y-you did thahhh– thadt od purpose you sohd of ahhh– hah-HATSCHHHHIEW!” The fallen king pitched forward again. When he finally surfaced he was staggering, holding his aching head. “S’rry…’bout thadt.”

Before Charlie could run to catch him Alastor tutted, summoning his shadow to steady his rival, bending its lanky limb over his forehead. “My my, you sound awful! Simply dreadful! Overworked, perhaps? Or…oh, it couldn’t be! Is the King of Hell ill?”

“Oh shudt up Alasdtor– snff! I’b dot sigk! Idt’s jus’dt–”

“Allergies?” Husk deadpanned, expression completely unimpressed.

“Allergies!” Lucifer blurted, “Nodthin’ do worry your head over. So ihhh–...hih! hit’TSCHIU! HET’CHHHIEWW! Nghh, jus’dt ledt be–”

Charlie’s grip tightened, other hand reaching for a napkin. “Don’t run! Please?”

The King of Hell froze. He couldn’t help it. He was completely powerless when it came to his little girl. His flush started to hem the edges of silverware and dusted the windows, and he decided to look anywhere but at Charlie, distracting himself with a mucky nose blow into the makeshift tissue.

“I…I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I feel a bit dizzy, anyway.” He chuckled, trying to pretend like every word didn’t painfully scrape at his chest. But Charlie smiled brightly, and she guided him to a chair Vaggie had already pulled out for him. Stepping back to wave her hands. Go on!

Lucifer blinked back shock when the room watched, silent with bated breath. “Oh– snff! Oh, well. Um. It’s not an emergency but. But I may be thirsty–”

Zipping back and forth, Niffty slid a cup of water by his side.

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Lucifer smiled bashfully. 

The silenced thickened, group looking on expectantly. 

“...More?!”

“More.” Charlie nodded, crossing her arms. Awestruck, the hermit crumbled as his closest residents and friends fussed and fretted. All the while Alastor sat comfortably in his chair and sipped his tea, humming to the tune of a new morning.

The perfectly chaotic puzzle was complete. Just the way he liked it.

[frankiensteinsmonster]

I thought this outfit was so charming even though my hair tie popped while I was hanging out with a friend of mine that day (×_×#) we had a good time tho so I didn't care that much!

But also I looooove being covered head to toe akdjsjsjb Sensory Safety AND Fashion <3 what more could you want??? Cute + dark + nothing is touching my skin I even wore tights ! I love dressing myself I will never get over this I don't think

[strictpunishedhubby]

Wenn meine Frau mir befiehlt mich bis auf meine Unterwäsche auszuziehen, zwecks meiner bevorstehenden Züchtigung, bin ich nicht nur innerlich erregt. wie hier zu erkennen ist. Gleichzeitig schäme ich mich darüber so gewaltig nicht nur solch einen geblümten, altmodischen Damenschlüpfer tragen zu müssen, sondern auch noch zusätzlich immer bei Unfolgsamkeit von ihr verhauen zu werden, und das auf meinen nackten Po. Meist zuerst mit einem Kochlöffel und nach längerer Zeit, die ich in der Ecke ausharren muss, auch noch mit dem gräulichen Rohrstock. Ich bekomme einen ganz roten Kopf, stammle flehende Entschuldigungen, obwohl ich genau weiß, ich kann die schmerzhafte Prügel, die sie für mich vorgesehen und mir angekündigt hat nicht verhindern.

“ Wie ich aus Erfahrung weiß, wird Dein Pimmelmännchen gleich wieder schaff, wenn Du die ersten Rohrstockschläge auf Deinen nackten Po zu spüren bekommst! Wenn Du dann wie immer laut weinst und schreist, vergeblich darum bettelst keine weitere Haue mehr zu bekommen, wir Dir Deine Geilheit schon vergehen! Ich verspreche Dir das hiermit! Ziehe Deinen geblümten Damenlangbeinschlüpfer herunter, denn Du bekommst jetzt von mir, wie so oft, gründlich Deinen nackten Po versohlt!” 

Ich schaue betreten und angsterfüllt in das leicht grinsende, entschlossene Gesicht meiner strengen Frau, schlucke nehme sofort eine unterwürfige Haltung ein und beuge mich resignierend ihren Willen. Leicht zögerlich ziehe ich artig meinen Damenschlüpfer bis zu den Knien herunter, um wie befohlen meinen Po zwecks Züchtigung zu entblößen. Weiß ich doch zu genau was jetzt auf mich und meinem Hinterteil zukommt.   

.

When my wife orders me to strip down to my underwear for my impending chastisement, I am not only excited internally. as can be seen here. At the same time, I'm so ashamed of not only having to wear such flowery, old-fashioned women's panties, but also of having to be spanked by her every time I don't obey, on my bare bottom. Usually, first with a wooden spoon and after a long time that I have to wait in the corner, also with the dreadfully cane My head turns completely red and I stammer imploring apologies, even though I know full well that I can't prevent the painful beating that she has planned and announced for me.

“As I know from experience, your weenie will immediately flaccid again when you feel the first strokes of the cane on your bare bottom! If you cry and scream loudly as usual, begging in vain not to receive any more blows, your horniness will disappear! I promise you this! Pull down your floral women's long-legged panties, because you're now going to get your bare bottom thoroughly spanked by me, as I often do!”

I look embarrassed and fearful into the slightly grinning, determined face of my strict wife, swallow and immediately assume a submissive position and bend to her will. Slightly hesitant, I politely pull my women's panties down to my knees in order to expose my bottom for punishment as ordered. I know too well what's coming to me and my butt now.

[koogl001]

I have a request so......uh....here ya go *awkwardly delivers* Alastor finding out his s/o is a fallen angel. Like what if reader committed mass murder or smth up in heaven and got banished to hell???

(also if this is the second time you've seen this request I'm sorry. Tumblrs acting weird and wont tell me if my asks are going thru)

One-Shots and Headcanons Masterlist

Freedom, that’s all you ever wanted

Freedom to think, speak and do as you please

But there was no freedom in Heaven, there was only restrictions

You always felt trapped, like a bird in a cage, with wings that could take you anywhere in the world but unable to do so because of your imprisonment

God's Ten Commandments they called it, you called it giving up your freedom in order to live a life that was written out for you

There was only one thing you could do, and that was rebellion

You didn’t mind God sending you to Hell to repent, that was after all your goal

Now you were truly free to do as you pleased, with no one telling you what was right and what was wrong

When you first heard about the Happy Hotel, you just HAD to check it out

Not because you missed what you once had, no no no

It was because the idea seemed laughable to you

You knew there was no way for a sinner to ever atone, to save themselves from this burning inferno and escape to the safe haven called Heaven

And even if there was a way, you were more than sure that those who succeeded would regret their decision soon enough

That is how you met Alastor

He was a business partner with the owner of the Happy Hotel, the princess of Hell, Charlie Morningstar herself

He could tell you were different from the start, he just didn’t know how

And boy does he not like not knowing

He ordered his shadows to keep you under close surveillance, underestimating you dearly

You were a divine being and despite the fact you we no longer an inhabitant of Heaven, you still possessed your holy powers

The holy aura around you protected you burning Alastor’s shadow to a crisp in the process

You knew just what he was doing, and you weren’t gonna let him have the satisfaction of figuring you out

His frustration was just a cherry on top, making him more that perfect for you to play with

After all, you were now free to sin to your hearts content and he was your first target

But first, as a contribution to your new life and to spite the big man above, you decided to break all the Ten Commandments that tied you down and suffocated you for so long

You shall have no other God’s before me

You started building up your reputation in secret, gaining the title of the God of the Underworld for yourself

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven images

As a new God of Hell, you soon started gaining followers and as your first command for them as their new leader, you requested a statue, as big as a skyscraper of yourself which they ought to pray to in your name

Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain

As the self-proclaimed and later recognised God of the Underworld, you already had this one covered

Remember the Sabbath day and keep it Holy

It became your daily routine to go out on Saturdays and wreak as much havoc as you could, slaughtering anyone that stood in your path and leaving a blood bath behind you

Honor your father and mother

Come on, this one is too easy, no?

All you have to do is find your parents that are definitely in Hell if how they treated you was anything to go by, and just tell them to go fuck themselves right to their face

Thou shalt not kill

Say that to the little fucker that thought he could challenge you and take your tittle

Thou shalt not commit adultery

All it took was a single night getting hammered in the club, again too easy for your liking but hey, you were too petty and set in your goal so what is a girl to do

Thou shalt not steal

Making this one a challenge, instead of snatching up some clothes from a low security shop you decided to steal Alastor’s cane radio thingy, too bad it was in your possession for only a few hours before he “retrieved” it but making him mad but at the same time seeing him trying to restrict himself from killing you was entertaining enough

Thou shall not bear false witness

You should have seen Angel’s face when Vaggie charged at him

Hope it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you might have told her he told you about fantasizing about Charlie giving him a b job

You shall not covet

Now that one was going to be a tough one

You had everything you could ask for, mainly because if you wanted something, you took it

Deep in thought about how to go about this one you didn’t realise Alastor was closely observing each of your moves

When you started with your little quest, he suspected it to be some kind of revenge for ending up in Hell but the more Commandments you broke, the more he realised this had to be personal

But how could a sinner have a personal vendetta against God?

There was only one way he figured; you weren’t a sinner at all

It would also explain why you looked more human-like, your strange powers, your aura and even why naturally you gravitated towards the hotel

Oh, how he would enjoy having the leverage over you, knowing your special little secret

You knew if word got out of you being who you really are, all of Hell would be out to get you

Don’t take me wrong, you’re more than strong but if the overlords, princes, rulers and such united, you wouldn’t stand a change

So, you had no other choice but to make a deal with the devil himself

He made you his personal maid, working you like a dog until you couldn’t even lift your hands anymore

The power he had over you was like a drug to him, and he just couldn’t get enough

But he hated how friendly and buddy-buddy the others were with you, ordering you to treat them as nothing but trash from now on and soon restricted you from even being in the same room as them

You were his and his alone, you didn’t need anyone else in your life

You were gifted a collar with Alastor’s name on it, after all who wouldn’t want to have an angel as their personal pet

How ironic, that you left heaven, finally escaping your cage with the hope freedom was what was awaiting you, only to fall into the chains of the deer demon, tying you down once again

[daddy-issues]

Waking up with my ankles in the air, spread wide apart. It takes a minute of squirming for me to realize I’m bound to a cold cement floor, chains clinking as I try in vain to move. The straps around my wrists and waist are a little too tight, and the cool, damp air makes it clear my pussy’s soaking wet. I still haven’t wrapped my head around what’s happening when footsteps startle me. I try to crane my head to see, and realize there seems to be some kind of tape around my head preventing not only from seeing but from even opening my eyes within my little blindfolded, narrowed world. I can hear you perfectly, though. You tell me you hope you like my new home. “Let’s get started on your training,” you say, as you slide the cane through my vulnerable folds and over the swell of my clit.

It won’t be long before I lose my grip on time, on reality.

[withlovelunette]

Matryoshka Doll & Wooden Soldiers (WIP title)

— A Nutcracker Retelling

Genre: Fairytale retelling, adult fiction, speculative fiction.

Setting: Wintery, early 19th century Germany, Russia & other culturally-inspired fantasy settings with a touch of steampunk.

Summary: Clara Stahlbaum is forced to prematurely shelf her ballet career after a severe injury. Feeling lost and alone, the former ballerina leaves the comfort of her home in the countryside to visit the city and help her godfather run his toy shop while she recovers from her mental strife. After encountering a peculiar stranger with wooden hands who speaks of a fairy that can undo all injuries and ailments, Clara is pulled into a plot of curses, tragedy and lost personhood.

Themes: Identity & self worth, loss of humanity, defying fate, vengeance and repressed emotions, hints of unhinged womanhood if you squint.

Introduction & Context

Matryoshka Doll & Wooden Soldiers is a retelling and slight reconstruction of the beloved story The Nutcracker & the Mouse King, taking partial inspiration from the ballet, but is otherwise mostly based on Hoffmann’s original 1816 novel! I’ve been deeply infatuated with this story ever since I watched the animated movie by GoodTimes Entertainment (please tell me someone else watched this as a kid) and the Barbie version when I was little. I’ve since read the original book and been wanting to reconstruct the story into something new! Everything in this post is very much a WIP and subject to change as I develop the story, as it’s still in its first draft!

Inspirations & Vibes

Tchaikovsky’s music and the ballet (naturally), powdered snow, sweet Turkish delight, hot steam from the locomotive swirling in the crisp winter air, scent of gingerbread and mulled wine with cinnamon, winter wonderlands and peppermint candy canes, pastel baroque & rococo aesthetics, white marble with specks of blood, loss of humanity and sense of self, tragic romance, whimsical inventions, old fashioned toy shops filled with wonder, out of tune music box and other antique trinkets, freshly baked Berliner buns, the gritty and dark hiding beneath the prim and proper, prickling fingers on thorns while picking berries.

Main Characters

Clara Stahlbaum (23) she/her

Burnt out gifted kid filled with longing and passions she can no longer pursue, a romantic posing as a cynic to protect her feelings, loves messing with little trinkets and antiques and is kinda a nerd.

Hans Peter (25) he/him

Stoic, intellectualises his feelings, detached yet slightly vain, charming until you realise he’s not aloof for allure’s sake he’s just kinda socially awkward, but hey maybe that’s charming to some.

Godfather Drosselmeyer (52) he/him

Eccentric, mischievous, a bit sketchy but people brush him off as just a quirky old man, secretive, knows a lot and yet literally no one in the city knows anything about him he just showed up one day.

I might make a deep dive post about these characters to go into their psychology and development if that’s something people would be interested in! Deconstructing a character’s psyche is one of my favourite aspects of writing and I’d love to be able to share it. Also I know this seems very heteronormative as a story but I promise there are queer themes brewing beneath the surface here I would die otherwise.

✦ If you’d like to be added to a tag list for future writing updates/excerpts, please let me know! 

Story Tag; #md&ws

[ibant-gleacame]

IBANT 五 CHARACTER ASSOCIATIONS

Thank you, everyone, for the tags on my main and all the kind words about Yein. I had so much fun with this tag game I decided to try making lists for other OCs too. Hell, I made a new blog for Ibant so I'd have a place to stick this post.

Don't judge me. Just appreciate my stuck-up bi disaster nerd.

» EMOTIONS/FEELINGS

vain driven proud regretful compassionate

» COLORS

emerald scarlet deep blue brown gold

» SCENTS

mahogany worn parchment new books hair oil fresh bread

» OBJECTS

cello walking cane folded spectacles an ornate quill cashmere scarf

» BODY LANGUAGE

derisive snorting glasses being nudged fingers drumming legs crossed (at the knees) back (too) straight

» AESTHETICS

a knight chess piece lying on its side fresh roses left upon a soldier's grave pillars of neatly stacked parchment dusty sunbeams across a polished cello round glasses sat upon an open book on the bed

No tags this time! I feel like I've tagged enough folks across two other blogs.

[bodhrancomedy]

Tocktick Chapter 1 An Intriguing Proposition

The Sturm Islands, 1880

The gas lamp flickered disconcertingly.

Emmett Askren, captain of The Iris, groaned and rubbed a large, brown hand across his face. The blinking light ignited shards of pain in his retinas, the ebb and pull of the chatter in the tavern threatening to wash him out to the sea of a meltdown.

Carefully, Emmett placed his hands on the table and closed his eyes, pulling all his concentration down through his arms in the half-forgotten method from his childhood. While the Sturm Islands were hardly the seat of Suliland decorum, certain traits were unacceptable anywhere.

Even as the thought passed through his head, guilt flooded him. Tapping unconsciously on the table, swaying just slightly in his seat, he offered up a silent apology to Kizzy. The idea of his daughter being ashamed of something they had no control over froze him to his core. But rules were rules and society was unforgiving – a tocktick child had time. An aeronaut with debts did not.

An aeronaut with debts and no ship had even less. Emmett scowled to himself and opened his eyes again, brushing a strand of greying hair behind his ears and then scratching his stubble. He should shave, he thought helplessly, to make himself seem more trustworthy to potential clients, but the idea of running a razor over his chin made his stomach turn more than the beer behind the counter.  

Five pounds… it was an impossible ask and the deadline was approaching at the speed of one of those new-fashioned locomotives which had driven him to this place. And that wasn’t even counting the coin he’d need to spend on the broken ship once he had it back. Emmett swallowed convulsively and glanced up at the clock on the wall, peering past the premature and garishly coloured banners proclaiming loyalties for the upcoming Throgmorton Aeronautical Contest.

Quarter past four.

Li was late, as usual. Later than usual, actually. His heart thudded faster, frissons of anxiety shooting up his spine as he tried to relax back into the chair – feeling every splinter of it – and wait.

Somehow, he doubted she was going to solve all his problems.

But it wasn’t going to stop her from trying.

His hands were still twitching as the tavern’s occupants suddenly increased in volume – one of the local cardsharps was trying, unsuccessfully, to start a game – so he shoved them into his pockets and tried to pretend he wasn’t about to become tonight’s entertainment if one more person bashed their mug into the table –

Paper crinkled against his fingers and he frowned in confusion. Looking around in vain for Li and her infamous cane, Emmett withdrew a folded sheet and realised he was holding Sixsmith’s last letter.

Something heavy settled in his gut and he swallowed. He didn’t remember putting it in his coat, but it’d been a long time of trying to break that habit. The letter stayed with him no matter how many times he told himself it should be stored with the others so it wouldn’t be lost, or stained, or torn. It was the logical thing to do, he thought, but somehow, every time, it was folded up and slipped back into his inner pockets.

Emmett wasn’t sentimental. At all.

With the gentleness of a historian examining a precious relic, Emmett opened the letter and scanned the first few lines.

Dear Emmett,

There might not be any correspondence for a bit. Things have happened here and I’m just not going to be able to write until it’s all over. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, and it’ll be a funny story when I’m done, but, for now, don’t expect to hear from me for a month or so…

It was dated 1876.

Someone smacked Emmett across the shin. He yelped and shot out of his chair, turning to face his attacker, pain-filled tears blurring his vision.

Captain Li Xiuying looked up at him, arms folded across her chest and her ornate, dolphin-tipped cane dangling from the crook of her cotton-clad elbow.

“Captain Askren,” she said sternly, “Your manners are appalling.”

“Sorry, Captain Li.”

“I said your name three times, Askren.”

Emmett grimaced and then gestured to his right ear. Even after twenty-five years, he couldn’t look his old employer in the eye. “The blast. It…”

“Pity. It could have knocked some sense into you. Now sit down and close your mouth. You look like a cooked carp.”

“Captain Li did you –“

“Manners, Askren? You cannot blame that one on your ear.”

Emmett shut his mouth, feeling his cheeks burning, and offered his hand to Li. She took it, her mottled grip vice-like on his fingers, and let him guide her into the other chair.

Perched on the edge like a queen, Li patted the table and said, “I have to say, I am relieved to see you looking so healthy, Askren. Skinny, but not, well. Still got everything. When I heard the news, I expected…”

Grimacing, Emmett righted his chair and sat down, spreading his fingers wide. “We were lucky. Well, lucky enough. Superficial –“ he saw Li raise her eyebrows and he amended – “light burns only. No one killed. Just destroyed The Iris.”

“But your ear?”

“The shockwave. It’s… it’s going to get better, I’m sure. It’ll be fine. Li, tell me –”

Li arched an eyebrow at that, but asked, “Miss Keziah Nunn?”

She always insisted on that epithet. Emmett privately suspected it was to scare the kid into some semblance of obedience: no one could put more ice into a full name than a former tutor. It sent shivers up his spine and he wasn’t even the one in trouble.

“She’s alright. Wasn’t home. Only time I’ve ever been glad of her…”

“Criminal tendencies?”

“Explorations.”

Sighing, Li flapped her hand dismissively and said, “Not that I want to question yours – or even Sixsmith’s, I suppose – parenting…”

“Speaking of Six,” Emmett interrupted, heart thumping, “Did you go to Erdenbay? Did you find anything? See anything?”

Li sat with her arms folded and puffed out her cheeks in lieu of an answer.

“What does that mean? You did go, didn’t you?”

“Of course I went, Askren. I asked around – even dug out an old lumograph –“

“You’ve got lumographs of him?”

“I’ve known him longer than you have, Askren. And, strangely enough, they were invented back in the days of yore.” Li exhaled heavily. “Are you sure there was a message? That you’re not…?”

Her look laid a knife against the pit of his stomach. Even Emmett could interpret that one.

“I’m not mad.”

Li’s mouth twisted.

“I’m not. Look!”

The paper rattled in his hands as he slid it across the table. Obligingly, Li took her tiny eyeglasses – the lenses alone costing more than the entirety of Emmett’s current capital – and bent over the paper. She didn’t move.

“E-R-D-E-N-B-A-Y. Four. Eleven. The fourth of November. He was trying to send me a code!”

Li buried her face in her hands.

The knife in his stomach punctured his gut. Rocking back and forth, abruptly, painfully aware of the growing clamour of the tavern, Emmett jabbed a finger at the letter. “Don’t you see? Something was happening. He was –“ the words stuck in his throat because he’d never known them to be true – “he was scared, Li. Scared enough that he wanted me to meet him and he couldn’t say it straight. I flew out – diverted a big shipment and –”

“And he never showed.”

“No, but –“

“Why are you still here, Askren? Why didn’t you leave with every other intelligent aeronaut last year? The changeover, the riots, the permits that cost more than you make in a run, why did you not leave?”

Emmett’s jaw worked, but he couldn’t think of a response that didn’t make him sound stupid. The gaslight was flickering faster now, each flash as bright as lightning. Someone was tuning up an instrument. “I…”

“You knew it was happening, Askren,” Li said. The lines at the edges of her eyes were sharp. “I remember you voicing concerns at the time.”

Emmett nodded.

“Why didn’t you leave then? You knew there was going to be a disaster at some point, and these islands are not a good place for a child.” Her voice dropped to being barely audible. “Especially a child like yours.”

Emmett bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with my daughter. What are you trying to get at, Captain? I’m sorry, call me stupid, but you’re not making any sense.”

“How much are you short by?”

“Five pounds, Shades, Li, please just answer me.”

“I have a suggestion, Askren. You will not like it, but listen to me before you get angry.”

“Not until you tell me,” Emmett spat the words around his teeth, panic rising in his throat to thicken his accent, “what the fuck –“

“Sixsmith is dead.”

Her words hit him like a hammer. His lungs splinted under the assault, leaving a black void in his chest. Emmett opened his mouth several times, unable to draw a breath; not quite able to articulate the swirling tempest of terror, rage, and sorrow slamming into his stomach.

So, it was a small, stupid sound that escaped him. “No.”

Li leant forwards and, in an unusual display of sympathy, rested her hand on his. Emmett flinched, her touch burning his skin. “I called on an old friend in Ester –“ that meant nothing because Li counted every person she’d ever met a friend – “who has a ghastly habit of collecting obits.”

It shouldn’t have been possible for his blood to get colder, but Emmett felt ice slip into his veins as Li withdrew a folded sheet from a voluminous pocket of her dress.

“Obituaries of unclaimed bodies.” Li sighed and began to read, “Recovered thirty-first of August. 1876. Taiyeku male. Pale and of between sixty and seventy years of age. Shorter than average, medium build, short grey hair… beaten to death –“

“No!”

“And why not? Grey eyes? Sixty to seventy years of age? Pale? Grey hair –”

“Short hair. He never wore it short.”

“He could have cut it.”

“He wouldn’t. That was part of his – his particular sept. Remember? Even when he got soaked in that mud-oil-stuff in Wulder?” The laugh was an octave higher than he thought was possible, fingers drumming uncontrollably on the table. “Look, there must be – dozens of Taiyeks in Ester. It’s near a port for fuck’s sake!

“Look at the last line, Askren. Three scars on his left hip and brown birthmark below the collarbone. That’s him.”

Nausea rose in Emmett’s throat and he had to swallow, shaking his head. The musician in the corner drew her bow across the strings like some sick celestial underscore to his horror. Eyes burning, he shot to his feet, covering his mouth with his hand. The thud of the chair hitting the ground was gunshot loud, smashing through what little self-control he had left. Steadily, a drumbeat against the rising – rising everything – he began to slam a hand into the back of his neck.

“Askren?”

Too much. Everything. Too much.                              

Barely aware of the stares and the exclamations, Emmett fled.

The alleyway wasn’t much better. It was dark and dank, reeking of piss and refuse, but that was moderately better than the swirling barrage of humans outside it. At least the setting sun would help with his aching eyes and it wasn’t snowing.

Struggling to slow his breathing, Emmett leant up against the slick stone walls and pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth. Marketplace chatter was still spiking against his temples and – feeling like a small child – he clamped his hands over his ears. The noise dampened, falling to a manageable ache in his good ear, completely gone in his left.

Dead.

The word looped over and over in his brain as he tried to calm himself.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“No,” he muttered. Sixsmith wasn’t dead. There had been a mistake or maybe something worse. Maybe it was some kind of trick. Maybe Sixsmith had – had faked his death. Yes, that sounded right. That sounded like something he would do. Or sounded like something Emmett could imagine him doing. Li hadn’t seen the body, right? So it wasn’t official.

Yes. Of course, the man wasn’t dead. The banging in his chest was abating as he seized this new certainty with both hands. He was just – just taking his sweet time getting here. Probably having issues with getting a permit. He’d heard they’d shut down production after the poor little Harvester kid had tried to shank Phineas Gorge on his quarterly annual inspections of his sky factories. Being a Taiyek would only double the difficulty, as unfair as that was.

Abruptly, Emmett’s stomach dropped as another memory forced its way through the throng. The oh-so-small – ha – matter of the arrears.

Dazedly, head still ringing and squinting against the low light, Emmett made his way out of the alleyway and towards Clinker’s Hill. As he began the climb, nervously ignoring the persistent calls of the Long Market which lined the rubble-strewn path, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing up at the silver specks, glittering and grumbling against the ruby-red storm clouds, several miles out into the ocean, suspended on the coasts of the blighted Harvest Isle.

He’d seen the Sky-Harvesters almost every day for five years and he still shivered at the sight. There were six of them, all tethered deep into the ocean, and sometimes he had nightmares if he watched them for too long. Each airship was a behemoth of a machine: the smallest half a mile wide, all engineless, all crammed with more than a hundred workers right in the heart of a never-ending arcane storm. The original workers – certainly all of them dead despite the Islands’ capture being less than thirty years prior – had been the families of the soldiers who had kept attacking the Suliland troops after the surrender, caged on a barren lump of rock. The life expectancy of a Harvester back then had been four years. Now it was barely nine.

So the Empire had needed new workers to reap its volatile lifeblood from the tempests. You never applied for the job. Gorge’s East Empyrean Enterprises had a steady supply of those who escaped the noose. It was the employer of thieves, turncoats…

… and debtors.

Emmett stopped at the crown of the hill, panting hard. He leant against a low brick wall, emblazoned with fresh graffiti foretelling a Miss Devitt as Throgmorton champion of 1880, and tried to get his breath back. Putting The Iris down as collateral had been stupid, he thought, but the alternative – himself or Kizzy – was unthinkable. He’d rather lose his home than his freedom.

Well, he’d rather not lose either, but it was an impossible situation. Today’s earnings (four shillings and ninepence) would barely cover food, let alone a ship, and Kizzy’s wage – while welcome – was a pittance compared to it.