#into the middle of a conversation like a dead mouse

[daisychainsandbowties]

You're a once in a lifetime kind of person.

#these messages are so nice and i’ve been thinking this past week #i have this habit of telling my friends i love them randomly. and now with grief & everything #i always screenshotted those moments. and no matter how dumb i felt just dropping a variation on ‘i love you so much and i’m glad you exist’ #into the middle of a conversation like a dead mouse #let me tell you i treasure those moments i made my friend feel loved #& it was one of the last conversations we had so like. you’ll never regret reminding people that you love them #it will always matter that i said those things and it’s some small comfort that it was among the last things i got to say to them #so yeah idk just tell your friends you love them sometimes and take screenshots and know that the love is always worth giving no matter what #anon #🫂💖🫂💖

[cabinofimagines]

Chapter IV; convincing

So it took a while, but at some point I realised I wanted to finish writing at least arc one before posting the rest so oops.

Word Count: 1.2k

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-Asnyox

You both re-entered the clearing, followed closely by an overly excited Mrs. O’Leary. 

"No problem, I've got worse enemies than overweight satyrs." You overheard Percy saying. Nico was the first of you two to speak up, letting your presence be known to the demigod and tree nymph. 

"Good job, Percy. Judging from the trail of goat pellets, I'd say you shook him up pretty well." You could see clearly that Percy was nervous as he tried to smile. You were aware that Nico had made it pretty clear to Percy what his plan was, and if you were in this kid’s shoes you would have been nervous too. Luckily, you were just an idiot tagging along in the plan.

"Welcome back. Did you come by just to see Juniper? And who is your friend?" Nico blushed and you wondered whether it was about the friend thing, or about Juniper.

"This is (Y/n), and um, no. That was an accident. I kind of . . . dropped into the middle of their conversation." Blushing out of embarrassment then, you inwardly cheered. He also did not deny the friend comment you happily noted.

"He scared us to death!" Juniper said. "Right out of the shadows. But, Nico, you are the son of Hades and all. Are you sure you haven't heard anything about Grover?" Nico shifted his weight. Ah, she must have been crying worried over her lover. You had caught some of the stories around camp, however you did not know any of these people personally, so you tended to mind your own business. 

"Juniper, like I tried to tell you . . . even if Grover died, he would reincarnate into something else in nature. I can't sense things like that, only mortal souls." "But if you do hear anything?" she pleaded, putting her hand on his arm. "Anything at all?" Nico's cheeks got even brighter red. "Uh, you bet. I'll keep my ears open." 

"We'll find him, Juniper," Percy promised. "Grover's alive, I'm sure. There must be a simple reason why he hasn't contacted us." She nodded glumly. "I hate not being able to leave the forest. He could be anywhere, and I'm stuck here waiting. Oh, if that silly goat has gotten himself hurt—" Mrs. O'Leary bounded back over and took an interest in Juniper's dress. Juniper yelped. "Oh, no you don't! I know about dogs and trees. I'm gone!" She went poof into green mist. You gaped at her disappearance, never having gotten close to a tree nymph before. 

Mrs. O'Leary looked disappointed, but she lumbered off to find another target, leaving Nico, Percy and me alone. Nico tapped his sword on the ground. A tiny mound of animal bones erupted from the dirt. They knit themselves together into a skeletal field mouse and scampered off. You were impressed by his control, but truly you felt as if this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. 

"I was sorry to hear about Beckendorf." Nico said and you downcast your gaze, having heard the news quiet recently. This was one of the first people from camp that you knew who died, and the news had taken a toll on camp. 

"How did you—" Percy started, and you were reminded that he was there with Beckendorf on the ship. "I talked to his ghost." So the rumours about Nico’s powers were true – he could actually converse with the dead. "Oh . . . right." "Did he say anything?" 

"He doesn't blame you. He figured you'd be beating yourself up, and he said you shouldn't." "Is he going to try for rebirth?" Nico shook his head. 

"He's staying in Elysium. Said he's waiting for someone. Not sure what he meant, but he seems okay with death." You weren’t sure how to feel about these developments, but before you could give it much thought Percy started talking again.

"I had a vision you were on Mount Tarn," he told Nico. "Was that—" 

"Real," Nico said. "I didn't mean to be spying on the Titans, but I was in the neighbourhood." "Doing what?" 

Nico tugged at his sword belt. "Following a lead on . . . you know, my family." Percy nodded. You side eyed your friend, wanting the ask for an elaboration. However, you had felt him close the moment Percy started asking questions to him. You had heard a whisper about a sister, but there was nothing you could go off from. Nico was a mystery to you and you wished you could unravel it. 

"So how did it go?" Percy asked. "Any luck?" 

"No," he murmured. "But I may have a new lead soon." 

"What's the lead?" 

Nico chewed his lip. "That's not important right now. You know why I'm here." You saw Percy’s face fall. You knew Nico wanted you to help convince Percy, but you had barely exchanged a word with the son of Poseidon before. What were you supposed to do? Tell him you would safe him from being stabbed? 

"Nico, I don't know," Percy said. "It seems pretty extreme." 

"You've got Typhon coming in, what . . . a week? Most of the other Titans are unleashed now and on Kronos's side. Maybe it's time to think extreme." Nico looked towards you as to urge you to help him. You stepped forward. 

“If I may, Percy, “ you looked the son of Poseidon in the eye, surprised by the distrust in them, “I’ve been at camp since April – if Nico hadn’t brought me here I would have been dead and I know that even with how hard I – we – camp has been working,” you heard sounds of fighting in the distance, “I fear we are hardly a match for the Titan army.” Nico nodded in agreement. 

“This comes down to you and Luke. And there's only one way you can beat Luke We can give you the same power," Nico urged. "You heard the Great Prophecy. Unless you want to have your soul reaped by a cursed blade . . ." You hadn’t heard the prophecy fully yourself – around camp it was deemed a kind off taboo to mention or talk about.

“You can't prevent a prophecy," Percy said. 

"But you can fight it." Nico had a strange, hungry light m his eyes. "You can become invincible." 

"Maybe we should wait. Try to fight without—" 

"No!" Nico snarled. "It has to be now!" You were startled at his outburst – but you did agree with him. 

"Urn, you sure you're okay?" Percy asked and you threw him a wary look. 

“Percy, look,” you started as you noticed Nico taking a deep breath, “It will be significantly harder, maybe even impossible to take this journey when the fighting starts. Maybe even too late- if you want to prevent any more losses, deaths on our side you must go now.”

“I'm sorry if I'm being too pushy,” Nico’s gaze was strict towards Percy, “but two years ago my sister gave her life to protect you. I want you to honour that. Do whatever it takes to stay alive and defeat Kronos”

"All right," Percy decided. "What do we do first?"

#request #requests #solangelo x reader #poly!solangelo #xreader #xyou #x reader #SFU #will solace x reader x nico di angelo #slowburn ig #cabinofimagines #admin asnyox #coi

[localcrustrat]

The Stars Lead Me to You

Captain Soap laid on the table bleeding out as Price stood above him.

"SOAP, SOAP NO," slowly his eyes glazed over and the man who expected to see his own life flash before his eyes, saw another; someone that looked like him but… Happier, younger. The world slowed and the man watched.

Soap walked over to… Ghost? But his mask also looked different, Capt Soap wandered over to the other men.

"Let's go get us a win yeah LT?" Ah Ghost was a Lieutenant. The world darkened again and John saw Soap and Ghost looking at a missile.

"I repeat Hassan has American missiles," next he saw the boys growing closer together he saw Soap making his way through Mexico. If John was alive his heart would be racing seeing the other him almost lose consciousness multiple times.

"Johnny," Johnny? "gimme a sitrep"

"Jumped down from the caged dog, in a gated alleyway," Soap checked the alley picking up some things before limping up a staircase and laying down to watch a couple shadows. John followed watching over Soap, the man laughed hearing the mercs talk, their fear of this Ghost reminded him of the rumors and fear that followed his Ghost. John watched Soap sneak around collecting chemicals, bottles, tape and rope, mouse traps, and broken fan blades. He saw Soap stumble upon a Shadow with a knife in his neck.

"Ghost you missin' a knife?" Soap pulled the knife out and inspected it.

"Several," came a slow reply.

"I think I found one."

"One of the dead shadows of my handy work," Soap looked surprised and slightly put out.

"You came through 'ere?"

"On my way to the church," John smiled, hearing Ghost speak. The Ghost he knew didn't speak much. John could see the connection between these two. He continued following Soap half listening to the two flirt and smiling at Ghost's dry humor and dad jokes. Time flew forward to the two rescuing another man Alejandro from a prison and escaping with Price's help.

"It's good to see Price again. Even if it's not my Price," John lamented sadly. John saw snippets of Ghost and Soap sharing small looks and hushed conversations, both too afraid to admit anything in the middle of a high stakes mission. But he saw things the two didn't. Like how they gravitate towards each other when they were in the same room, how Ghost would always keep an eye on their surroundings keeping Soap safe. What John didn't notice was the shadow following Ghost like he was following Soap. John followed Soap through the mission getting Alejandro and his men's base back and cheered the man on as he fought a tank and won. Then he saw Soap running for his life again in a building trying to stop a missile from hitting the pentagon. And finally the last moments where all if this was leading with Hassan Picking Soap up and slowly bringing him closer to the open window ready to throw him out until Ghost saved him with a bullet through Hassans head.

"Good shot L.T."

"You called it Sargent." John smiled and turned, seeing a flash of light to his right.

"Captain?" John knew that voice, it struck a cord through his heart.

"Ghost?" his eyes met the other man's and only realized after a minute that his face was uncovered.

"Just Simon now, no use for codenames when you're dead."

"Then call me John, Simon. No use for ranks either."

Simin looked over at the building Ghost was on then down at Soap.

"I'm glad we found each other in different lives, they deserve it," John nodded agreeing.

"You deserve to be happy too Simon," the man shrugged.

"You made me happy Captain, John. I was happy to serve with you," John walked over to the other man and slowly grabbed his hand.

"The stars lead me to you in one life, maybe they'll lead me to you in another hopefully without the interference of a war and a terrorist."

"But where's the fun in that, Sir? We'll need a little excitement in our lives." John smiled.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to truly know you," Simin shook his head.

"Like you said, we fell in love in one lifetime. Why not another?" He turned to the light.

"Lead me on one last mission Captain?" John nodded and gripped the man's hand.

"Always Simon, I'll find you again and when I do I won't let you go."

"I can't wait, Johnny."

John looked back one more time seeing a small wedding between other other Ghost and Soap before looking forward again and leading the other man to an unknown world where they would once again fall in love.

(Cross posted on AO3)

#call of duty #ghostsoap #ao3 #angst #Cw main character death #Og soap sees new soap

[hbcsource]

HELENA BONHAM CARTER IN CONVERSATION WITH SIMON CALLOW | THE LONDON LIBRARY MAGAZINE | APRIL 2023 Helena Bonham Carter was joined by the writer and fellow actor Simon Callow at home this spring to discuss her new role: Library President. The two are longtime members and met filming the 1985 EM Forster adaptation A Room With a View. Bonham Carter was 19. It was the first of many Merchant Ivory productions for her, including Maurice and Howards End, before Hollywood called, with a role as the suicidal love interest in David Fincher's Fight Club. Work with her former husband, Tim Burton, came next, as well as a contribution to the Harry Potter franchise and more. Callow's acting career includes stage roles in Shakespeare, Beckett, pantomime and contemporary theatre and beloved British films such as Four Weddings and a Funeral. He is a biographer of Oscar Wilde and Orson Welles and a renowned Dickens expert. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity. HELENA BONHAM CARTER: Simon, it's very nice to see you here. Welcome to my Presidential home! I'm not having a clever day - do you find that, or are you always clever? SIMON CALLOW: Always. But I think I might be daunted by being the President of The London Library. Such a wonderful title, such a wonderful entity. HELENA: I love the title. The older I get, the more I like having conversations with dead people - for instance my dad, who made me a member when I was 21. For the Library to then ask me to be President... SIMON: Fantastic. HELENA : I used the Library a lot then, which was also when I first met you. I was sort of roaming and feeling lost, having a great time filming but feeling out of my depth everywhere. My peer group had gone to uni, and I was suddenly just on my own path and really unequipped to deal with it. I had a massive chip on my shoulder. So The London Library was my college. I felt legitimate, and I thought I could wander in and dress up like Virginia Woolf. SIMON: It's like going right back to the source, isn't it? There it all is, and there they were. HELENA: There they were! It's not only a conversation with my dead dad, but a conversation with EM Forster. If it was not for him, we wouldn't be here. SIMON: A Room With A View is my favourite film of all the films I've been in, and I'm still astonished by its freshness. HELENA: It still works. SIMON: It really does. It was my second film and I was incredibly relieved - I'd been in Amadeus and detested every second. When I got the script [for A Room With A View] Ismail [Merchant, the producer] said to me: "We want you to play the leading part!" So I thought, "This is great, he sees me as George. I'll go on a diet immediately." Then my agent discovered I was in fact playing the Reverend Beebe. And I thought, "No, outright no." I was terribly hurt. HELENA: And totally miscast. SIMON: Beebe's the fat old parson; I can't possibly play him. Finally I gave in to discover that suddenly I was with the aristocracy of British film and theatre: Maggie [Smith], Judi [Dench] and Fabia Drake, no less. And you. Who was completely new. HELENA: I was a foetus. SIMON: What I remember about you then was the incredible speed with which you spoke. HELENA: Oh, seriously? That's like my daughter. SIMON: You would change tack in the middle of a sentence and contradict yourself. HELENA: I don't think that's changed. I'm interested that I spoke at all. I remember myself as a mute, a total mouse, and so in awe of everyone. I was aware that you were a writer and talking about Mozart a lot, so I thought, "He's the Renaissance man that I have to become." Also, without being too indiscreet, you were one of the kinder adults. SIMON: Fabia was an absolute holy terror. What was great was to be working on a script drawn from such a wonderful novel. Ruth [Prawer Jhabvala, who adapted the original novel for the film] incomparably excelled at weaving the words from the novel into a real script, so that these were really people talking to each other. My favourite scene in any movie I've acted in is our scene at the piano. HELENA: It was the most important scene. You, as Mr Beebe, caught Lucy [Honeychurch, my character] playing in private. He's so tender and I love that. "If only you knew how to live as you play." SIMON: Beebe, certainly as written by Ruth - less so by Forster actually - is essentially benevolent. I remember the first read through, in London somewhere? HELENA: I was terrified. Maybe it was the first time I read with Maggie and Judi. SIMON: Maggie terrified me by saying, "Why are you calling him 'Beebe'? It has to be 'Bee-be'. Beebe sounds as if we're at the Beeb!" Were you always a great reader of novels? HELENA: Quite a good reader, though I was slow. I was taught at English A Level by Penelope Fitzgerald. SIMON: I knew and loved her. Was she a good teacher? HELENA: Extraordinary. Did you ever read Offshore? I love that. But I thought it would be good to look as if I read, because then every heroine in every book or film was a reader or writer. I wanted to be Judy Davis in My Brilliant Career. It was probably quite healthy, instead of fixating on a physique, which is what most people do these days because of Instagram. I wasn't very sexual for a long time. SIMON: You were wearing lots of clothes. HELENA: So many clothes. SIMON: One couldn't even begin to guess what the woman beneath would be. HELENA: No, there wasn't a body. SIMON: It was extraordinary, you were a sort of Oxfam shop on two legs. HELENA: I don't know where that came from. I think I had a real complex. Maybe because I was in such a male world. I went to Westminster [School], which was all boys, so before I even walked into period movies, I was dressed as a Victorian. It was always about pretending to be in the past. I over romanticised or felt I belonged in the past, actually. SIMON: The biggest relationships in my young life were with my grandmothers. I asked one to make me an 18th-century costume for a Christmas present. HELENA: Oh, I love that. So you dressed up as Mozart? SIMON: In effect. I loved the fabrics, the shimmer of it all. HELENA: On Maurice [1987] I did hair and makeup for all the men, which was rather a good way of dating people. It was Tinder then. In terms of influence, how important were your parents? SIMON: The only one of my family that read novels was my grandmother, though she never talked about them. A book can be just for you. You have a relationship with the characters and have somehow subsumed them into your psyche. HELENA: I always feel like you want to share the wonder. SIMON: Your family are very literary, aren't they? HELENA: Well, my grandmother Violet definitely was, on my dad's side. She was [Prime Minister H H] Asquith's daughter [and president of the Liberal Party from 1945-47]. My maternal grandmother was a special character, but found it difficult to read. I think she would have been diagnosed as dyslexic now, but she wrote beautifully. My mum, her whole life has never been without several books. My dad developed cortical blindness, which meant he couldn't see faces, but could read, so he read his way through the last 24 years of his life. We had half of The London Library in our home because they'd send him books. SIMON: Oh, fantastic. HELENA: Violet was formidable and wrote a lot of letters. I came back from filming with Woody Allen in a monastery in Taormina, and Dad was editing them. There was a postcard to her husband in 1940 saying: "Have just finished Morgan's latest Howards End." She knew Edward Morgan Forster. When I came to film Howards End with you, I read Violet's [unfinished] autobiography and thought, "Oh god, she was basically like the Helen Schlegel character, a sort of radical bohemian, a bluestocking..." And would have been the same age. So maybe she was a bit of a model for Helen. SIMON: Forster wasn't a recluse until later at King's College Cambridge, I think. HELENA: Did you ever get a sense of what he was like? SIMON: Everything in his life was the opposite of what he espoused: the passion, the connecting. This gives his work its force, because it didn't come easily to him. He had to struggle to make it happen. HELENA: He did have relationships though, didn't he? SIMON: Famously with a married policeman, Bob Buckingham. But also earlier, in Alexandria, and later, with a Bulgarian art collector, 45 years his junior. All very discreet. As a young gay man, I was impatient with him. Instead of thinking how extraordinary it was for its time, I just thought, "Come on, we've gone beyond all of this". It felt a bit spinsterly. Now I think it's passionate and unbelievably brave and exquisitely written. Then, I was more taken by DH Lawrence, which was all oceanic... My entire ambition was to be a writer. Do you write? HELENA: I've been asked to, and I've written the odd article. My attention span is troubling, but I do enjoy it when I apply myself. SIMON: I have to work very hard at it, and do terrifically long days. I can be at the laptop by seven. HELENA: In the morning? Jeez. OK, so you've got Morning Brain. SIMON: I've got a night brain, too. But no afternoon brain. HELENA: The afternoon is not really good for much. SIMON: Yes. I have difficulty in the theatre, rehearsing in the afternoon. HELENA: I have to have a snooze, no matter what. The snooze has been a pillar of my living. Do you ever write in books when you're reading them, or is that sacrilegious? SIMON: I do when I'm reviewing, but that's with proofs, so I can scrawl all over them. HELENA: I've got a thing about having a relationship with a book, so I will, unfortunately, write sentences in them. Also in the hope that somehow it's going to stick in the brain. SIMON: Let's talk about the Library - its location, for instance. St James's Square is enchanting. HELENA: Yes, and I do think that places work magic on us and influence what we think. It is very creative. Also, just silence. To go and sit with others with no danger of conversation, but you've got the company of other people concentrating. If you're going to seriously write, it could be very lonely. You have to go to battle with yourself, but it's alleviated at the Library because you're with other people who are going into battle with themselves. SIMON: Libraries generally have a very curious combination of this quietness and focus, coupled with a very sexy feeling. It's the silence. HELENA: I was going to raise that, but you start. SIMON: I wonder why that is exactly. It's just because everybody's in their own space and in their own world somehow, and you know that as you drift into that sort of semi hypnotic state, sex is going to be in there somewhere. HELENA: Yeah, it's always there. SIMON: So it's the subconscious. It's sort of milling around the Library. I think I said this before, it's like a book bordello. You just go up and take whatever you want to. HELENA: Have your pleasure. I like that. SIMON: The Library's postal service is also miraculous. And everyone's so sympathetic. Years ago, my dog acquired a passion for 17th-century literature; it turns out it was the fish glue used to bind the spines. One day I came home and there was a priceless volume in pieces all over the place. I offered to replace it somehow but the Librarian said: "I have dogs; I understand." HELENA: How do you use the Library? SIMON: Not for writing or reading. Just to borrow books. The collection of arcana is vast. Writing about Orson Welles, I needed to know what it was like to be a tourist in Morocco in 1930. The Library had six - six! - guides from the period. I don't know anywhere else I could have found that. I love clambering up the metal stairs and finding things that nobody's taken out for 100 years. HELENA: You think George Eliot is going to actually appear. SIMON: It still is enchanting to me to do that. HELENA: As a writer, do you have a ritual? SIMON: Procrastinate as long as possible. I was so relieved to discover that Ibsen could spend four hours rearranging his desk before starting to write. Unlike Dickens. HELENA: He just sat down? SIMON: He was always writing at least two things at once, sometimes more - he wrote the last of The Pickwick Papers and the first chapters of Nicholas Nickleby simultaneously. He worked it all out, I'm sure, on his long walks. HELENA: Have you seen his original manuscripts? SIMON: Almost illegible; you feel the heat of his creative energy. He talks about the characters dancing down the pen. HELENA: I love that - when somebody takes possession. SIMON: As with acting: when it's good, it's not you playing the character, it's the character playing you.

#helena bonham carter #simon callow #the london library #interviews #2023 #interviews: 2023 #the london library magazine 2023

[coldfanbou]

TIAM IS Side Stories: Midnight Snack (Twiceinamillion Interactive story)

So I'm working with @twice-inamillion to add some characterization to the others in the Interactive Story. These works will consist of short stories that give some background to the characters' relationships with one another. This one takes place during part 88

You wake up in the middle of the night with Mina holding you close to her chest. Needing to go to the bathroom, you slowly manage to get Mina’s grip to loosen and escape. You carefully make your way through the room; Mina had just redecorated and rearranged it to make room for her incoming children. Making sure to be as quiet as a mouse, you exit the room and head toward the bathroom. After doing your business, you decide you might as well make yourself a little snack with whatever leftovers there were from the party you all just had. While you were focused on making your snack, you jumped when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turn around, you just see Nayeon trying to hold back a laugh. 

In a whisper, you say, “Christ Nayeon, you scared me.” Nayeon is too busy trying to hold back her laugh to respond; one hand covers her mouth while the other waves you off. When she finally collects herself, she asks what you’re doing. The two of you continue your conversation in a whisper.

“I was making a snack until you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, but I thought you would have heard me walk up behind you.” Your conversation continues like this until Nayeon pauses for a moment. Her face gets serious, and she looks you dead in the eye. “Hey, about earlier, I appreciate your apology. It was definitely late, but I still appreciate that you remembered.”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong to get angry at you. I was under a lot of pressure, and it was wrong of me to be angry with you. You just wanted what’s best for us. So thank you.” 

“I was worried not just for you and Jihyo but also for the group as a whole. I don’t want something like the members getting pregnant tearing us apart.” Nayeon pauses for a moment. “…So you’re going to have three kids now. I’ll be honest I didn’t think you’d make it with Jihyo, but against all odds, you did it. Now you have twins with Mina on the way. You certainly have some pull with everyone, don’t you?” 

“It’s not like I mean to; that’s just how things worked out. I guess I’m lucky; at the same time, this just means I have to work even harder for all of them.” Nayeon is in deep thought hearing your words. 

“A-are you going to have or even want more children?” On the inside, you worry a little that Nayeon may know that Dahyun is pregnant. “I mean, having that many children is already a lot to handle.” Your worries go away at this point; Nayeon doesn’t suspect a thing. 

“I’m not sure, honestly; it’s going to be a lot to handle, but I don’t think I’d mind. I have a good support system; I mean, all of you have been such a great help. I couldn’t have been in this position without your help.” 

Nayeon, with a smile, lightly taps your shoulder with her fist, “Of course, you wouldn’t be; we wouldn’t have helped you if you didn’t make our Jihyo so happy. You’re a good man; if someone had to be the one to get Jihyo pregnant, I’m glad it was you.” 

You smile back at Nayeon, feeling happy, knowing she supports you. “Thanks, Nayeon; it means a lot to me knowing you have my back.” The thought hits you; it wasn’t that often you got to talk to Nayeon alone. You chuckle to yourself, “Hey Nayeon, do you realize how long it’s been since we talked to each other?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time. We’ve just been so busy; we haven’t really gotten that chance.”

You both stand there for a few minutes while preparing your snack. The silence is deafening as Nayeon leans back against the kitchen island, watching you. Nayeon’s voice is softer now; she may have been whispering, but you could tell something was different “Hey, h-how do you feel about… never mind.” 

You turn around, hearing her tone shift. “Is something wrong, Nayeon? You went quiet on me.” 

“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking about how everything has changed. It’s…just a lot to take in, I guess.” She takes a step forward to stand next to you and leans forward against the counter.

“I’m ready to lend an ear if you need it, Nayeon. We’ve been friends forever; you can tell me anything, and I won’t judge you for it.” Looking at her, it’s obvious that something is on her mind.

Nayeon turns her head to meet your gaze. “I know, but this isn’t important. It’s just my mind going places. I think I’ll be heading back to bed; it’s been nice talking to you one on one again.”

Seeing her disengage from the conversation, you don’t want to press Nayeon on this any further, so you drop it. “Yeah, it’s been a long time. Don’t be a stranger, Nayeon; I may be one of your managers now, but I’m still your friend.” Nayeon nodded and turned around, making sure to keep her face hidden, and left the room as you started to eat your snack. Nayeon started to wipe her now teary eyes that she kept hidden from you as she stood in the hallway. Once you’re finished, you make your way back to Mina’s room, passing the living room and seeing all the twice members sleeping. Sneaking back into bed, Mina wraps her arms around you immediately, asleep. With that, you nodded off in her arms.

[twotangledsisters]

The Great Tree - Fic Guide

We finished High Tide Dream today and originally I wasn't going to post a fic guide for The Great Tree, seeing as it's covering a mid-season special and isn't divided into neat arcs.

But I know depending on the person it can be nice having that little roadmap, so I put together a, admittedly very vague, fic guide of what's coming up for the next 22 days of updates!

And to make up for the vagueness, here's a quick sneak peek:

“It’s… Big,” Eugene said. “And dangerous,” Rapunzel whispered, taking a deep breath as her eyes wandered to the black rocks wondering into the giant tree. “Well, that’s never stopped any of us before.” “Until the day it does.” Eugene paused. “Am I hearing this right, Blondie, or do you sound hesitant?” Rapunzel looked at the tree. “Something about it just doesn’t sit right with me.” “Well, it’s a tree bigger than mountains sitting dead in the middle of a forest. I reckon I’d be worried if this were normal to you.” Rapunzel smiled and shook her head. “You’re right, as usual,” she kissed her boyfriend softly. Eugene in response wrapped one arm around her waist and the other reached to cup her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers before he gave her a gentle yet lingering kiss. “I love when you tell me I’m right.” Rapunzel giggled and gave him a quick extra kiss. “As long as you take me seriously when I tell you you’re wrong, too?” Eugene stood up straight, creating a distance between the two. “Why, of course,” then he leaned forward. “But for that, I’d have to be wrong.” And before Rapunzel could give him a response, he twirled her around, lifting her into the air and hugging her.

The mouse squeaked its thank you before running off into the forest. Caine smiled, sitting down and kissing Cassandra atop the head. “Getting acquainted with the neighbours?” “Jealous?” “How interesting could conversations with animals possibly be?” Cassandra grinned. “You can choose for me to ramble on about how actually interesting it is or a snarky remark?” “Snark.” “More interesting than you!” she laughed. Caine laughed with her before quieting her laughter with a kiss. “You’re nothing but trouble, you know that, right?” “I’m so much more than trouble.” Cassandra grinned. Caine nodded in agreement before taking Cassandra’s right hand in hers and slipping a bracelet onto it. “Why?” “For you. A gift.” Caine blushed. “Girlfriends do that sometimes, give gifts to each other, especially those like me who don’t always feel like they can express how strongly they love with words.”

-(Technically two snippets) both from Chapter 1 coming out tomorrow!

#tts fanfic #tts fanfiction #rta fanfic #rta fanfiction #fic guide #tangled the series fanfic #tangled the series fanfiction #two tangled sisters

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Random thoughts on a rewatch of Chains of Heart eps 1, 2, & 3

We started ep 1 with a fierce, confident Ken running, shooting, getting buff, and fighting well. And with Deedee a bit of a wet blanket. But by ep 8 I feel like Ken has become a bit of a mouse and Deedee is able to manhandle him. What happened?

I kind of feel uncomfortable that the baddie is the one with the facial disfigurement and sight disability. Haven't we gotten past this type of stereotype?

Din/Lue really did string up some random gangsters for trashing Ken's father's restaurant and then blew them up...and yet he had multiple opportunities to kill Ingpha and Nok and anyone else who hurts Ken and...just hasn't yet??? Whyyyyyyy?

I'm presuming that there's a translation error with Nok's demand that Din/Ken (and in future eps Din's family) "return his stuff" to him. I'm assuming the 'stuff' is actually the camera with incriminating evidence of Ingpha's crimes and not actually Nok's 'stuff' because this really doesn't make sense.

In ep 2, Payu tells Hin that he had someone follow Ken but that it wasn't Khun Tee (the guy who saved Ken from being choked on the bridge) but he also wouldn't say who it was. I don't remember this coming up again...so who did Payu get to follow Ken and do we ever find out? Is it Deedee maybe?

At the funeral, there are six men whom I have no clue about who they are, then Boon comes in (who I now know is with the police) saying pointedly that he will talk to Hin after the funeral (presumably about something important if all their reactions are to be interpreted right) - did he and did we ever see what that was about?

I think the man in the middle in the left pic is Dr Guy - so are the other two with him also doctors? The four in the right pic I have NO CLUE. I mean, I know their names from the text conversation but, like, WHO ARE THEY?! And why are they there?

I don't understand Nok's reaction to seeing Ken after the car crash in ep 3 nor his reaction to seeing Lue...does he not know who they are at this point? Why was he worried they were dead when he looked in the car? Was he not sent there to make Payu crash with Hin and Ken? Why did he not just kill them all there and then?

Right. So, Nok shoots his underlings because they got caught by the police but Ae tells Din's parents that they were hit by a truck. Then Ingpha tells Din's parents that the case will only be over once Nok dies...but Nok is working for Ingpha...so why would he say that? I mean, he must want the case to be over, so why not just hand Nok over and/or kill him and be done with it?

#chains of heart #yeah. so. this re-watch is answering a lot of questions #but there are still quite a few that are stumping me #maybe the last two eps will clear everything up #or not! #😂😂😂

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

Per usual, me & @coastercrushed are torturing each other with emotions /lovingly and the recent realization we've had are that the conversation between Diane and Bojack in the 'View from Halfway Down' is so so Mapplethorpe and Doe-core.

Mapplethorpe at the end of a trial, stranded and bleeding out, the generators have been powered and the hatch is closed, but the doors? Firmly closed, and his broken leg means he's in no state to try and run the killer. He's trapped, a mouse that's fallen into a pool, left treading water until the last of their energy fades and he slips beneath the surface.

His mind KNOWS his time is numbered, but his heart won't accept it, his mind won't process it. He's trying to pull himself out of the structures, looking for a break while the Killer is left fruitlessly sifting through the corners of the map for him. When he sees Doe, uninjured, in the middle of the reeds and tall grass, its like, some kind of mental fog is lifted. Her silhouette is distinctive and whatever mental restraint he had for his leg or the pain or hell, even alerting the killer, it's gone. Thrown away in the momentary wave of panicked relief that followed, she's salvation, he's FLYING out of his hiding spot, leg giving out under him with a crack in the process, but he powers through with a cry, pulling himself forward into the clearing in absolute tears.

" Doe! Doe, is that you? Doe, I need you."

She's turning and yup, it's her, she doesn't look at all startled or phased, or even hurt. Her lips turn up, maybe a little mournfully, but that's Doe, it's HER. " Mapplethorpe? "

" Doe! Thank god, Doe, you're gonna save me, right? You came back and you're going to save me right? We can patch this up and we're gonna get out of here and laugh at this back at the campfire," and now he's laughing through his tears, he's comforting himself, ready to kick his own backside for even believing for a second that hope was lost. Final boys never die, they make it to the sequel, obviously! But Doe, Doe just kind of takes a breath, shakes her head, looks down and to the distance rather than back at him.

" Mapleleaf, why did you stop hiding? I can't save you, I'm dead," then it hits, the entire events of the trial finally processing through

" You got mori'd "

" Right," Mape can't hold himself up anymore and he's dropping onto his good leg, mind working out loud" He was camping the hook and waited for us,"

A sad but affirmative nod "Yeah," " And then... I got hit." Mape's mind is still spinning, trying to process and find a way to deny the reality further, a new salvation or hair brained idea, but the fake Doe seems to predict it,

" It's too late, Maple, I'm sorry. What's done is done."

" No-- no.. It can't, I got--"

" There's nothing we can do, Maple, I'm not real, you've lost too much blood, this is the endgame, it's done,"

" So, what do I do now? " " Nothing. It doesn't matter, you'll be back at the campfire soon and won't even remember this happened."

" Well If it doesn't matter..." Mape attempts to sit down, to switch off of his good leg, and inch closer to the fake Doe but he doesn't have the strength for it, falling towards her feet, though thankfully it seems she steps closer, " Can I stay with you? Please? "

Then cut to this poor dead guy bleeding out with the figment of his girlfriend in the endgame, staring up at the starless void, discussing about the ongoing DND session they’ve been playing at the campfire and just waiting for the blood loss or the Entity to come get him

#CRYING AND SOBBING AND VOMITING AND THROWING MYSELF THROUGH A WINDOW #dying tw #tw death mention #☀️ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍. || mapplethorpe & doe || dyn.

[ed89]

here's a part of the byler scream au (and also one of my fav parts of the movie) !!!

Dustin was working after school, filling the shelves with DVDs as he talked with Will, a casual visitor to the store and Dustin's favourite part of his repetitive job.

"You know who I think it is?" Will said, lowering his voice to not bring any unwanted attention to them. "I think it’s Hopper. Why can’t they find him?"

"Because he’s probably dead!" Dustin blurted out loudly, trying to make a point. "His body will come popping up in the last reel or something. Eyes gouged out, fingers cut off, teeth knocked out! The police are always off track with this shit!"

He was holding the film Prom Night in his hand, shaking it in Will's face.

"If they watched Prom Night, they'd save time!"

Around them, a few customers glanced over at Dustin with concern.

"There’s a formula to it. A very simple formula! EVERYBODY'S A SUSPECT!"

The whole store looked at them with bewilderment and unease. Will was deeply embarrassed, waving and smiling painfully at the few cute guys that were glaring at him and Dustin, pretending that Will was not associated with the screaming boy in front of him.

Will grimaced, peering at Dustin with a scrunched expression. "Seriously, dude?"

"I’m telling you, Hopper’s a red herring," he explained sternly. "It’s Mike!"

Suddenly, Will looked puzzled. "Mike?"

Dustin knew Will wouldn't believe him. He scoffed, "I know you think he's perfect, but there's something off with him."

Will stammered with a blush. "I don't think he's… perfect, I just don't think he's capable of murder."

Dustin rolled his eyes, now finished packing the row of movies. He grabbed the trolley and began to turn around, but as he did, a figure appeared in front of him, scaring the daylight out of him. Before he could apologise to the customer, he realised that it was not a customer, but in fact Mike, who was towering over him with furrowed brows, fierce eyes and a wrathful glare that could make a grown man feel small.

Without a second to spare, Mike seized a fistful of Dustin's collar and clutched tightly, yanking him closer until Mike's piercing eyes were the only thing Dustin could see.

"How do we know you're not the killer?"

Will crept up from behind and rested his arms on Dustin's shoulders, but his forearm was forcefully pressed against his neck as if Will was trying to immobilise him. Dustin was frozen in place, genuinely frightened for his well-being in the middle of the video store.

"Hi, Mike," Dustin tried to say calmly, but his wide frightened eyes and breathless voice told another story. 

Mike ignored his salutation with a sneer, inching closer to Dustin's face.

"Maybe your movie freaked mind lost its grip with reality, you ever think of that?"

Dustin laughed nervously, shrugging it off as a joke.

"You're absolutely right, I'm the first to admit it. If this was a scary movie, I'd be the prime suspect!"

Mike cocked his head to the side and smiled darkly. "That's right."

The vibe of the conversation was off-putting. Dustin felt like a mouse in a trap, unable to move, caught between a metal bar snapped against his neck, and a beast that had backed him into a corner. He audibly gulped.

Will was now uncomfortably close to Dustin's ear. "What would be your motive?" 

Dustin whipped around, causing Will to back off.

"It's the millennium," he answered, looking back at Mike. "Motives are incidental."

The choking atmosphere dissolved slightly, allowing Dustin to finally breathe easy again. Mike chuckled with a sneering grin, patting his friend's cheek in a mocking fashion.

"The millennium? That's a good one, Dustin," he said with a smile, but his venomous tone completely contradicted the expression on his face. 

With a final glance at Dustin, Mike walked away.

Dustin turned around to face Will.

"Are you telling me that's not a killer?"

Will seemed unfazed. "I dunno, everyone's a suspect, aren't they?" He smiled, but it was more friendly than Mike's sinister grin.

#byler #byler scream au

[lisatelramor]

More Like a Nightmare 

Kaito’s breath came in shallow, rasping pants, lungs burning with exertion. It felt like he had been running for hours, but it couldn’t have been that long. All he was sure of was that he was being followed. Being watched. There were sirens all around, flashing lights, but somehow he’d still managed to avoid the police so far. Somehow he kept finding the right shadow, the broken door lock, the rusty dumpster to hide behind before they rounded the corner to arrest him.

He was up a fire escape now, arms and legs aching, a stitch in his side. The metal rails were rough and cold, and just a bit slippery from his sweat as he rested his forehead against them. Just a moment. Just a moment to breathe. He just needed to—

The creak of a door, right above the fire escape, and no alarm going off. Kaito froze, chest freezing even as it spasmed for air. Still. Still. They didn’t know he was there, he wasn’t in Kid’s white anymore, he wasn’t suspicious, just a random person on the fire escape and.

And looking down at him was Hakuba Saguru, expression unreadable.

Kaito rose shakily back to standing.

“You should stop,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kaito said, voice a bit deeper and slower than his natural tone, posture shifted to seem wider, heavier, not Kaito at all, just a man, a random man.

“You know exactly what I mean, Kid,” Hakuba said, soft as a silk glove before it tightened its grip. “You can negotiate. You must be doing this for a reason. I know you. You aren’t a bad person.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I, Kuroba-kun?”

Suddenly Hakuba was in front of him and Kaito tried to take a step back, but the railing was behind him, digging into the middle of his back as Hakuba’s eyes seemed to pin him in place.

“Why do you do it, Kuroba-kun?” Hakuba said, too close, so very close that the words were practically breathed into Kaito’s lungs and Hakuba’s sharp, golden-eyed stare stabbed firm. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of what happens after?”

Kaito opened his mouth to answer and Hakuba crumpled, eyes still open and accusing as his neck exploded into a fountain of blood. There was a horrible, rattly gurgle as he went down. The blood was warm. The railing was cold. Bits of viscera spattered Kaito’s face and chest and the hole in Hakuba’s neck could only be from a high-caliber bullet.

He had to be dead before he hit the ground, the clang of the metal fire escape steps as limbs struck at odd angles. But his eyes didn’t stop staring.

Your fault, they seemed to say. Your fault.

Kaito’s breath hitched. He had to move had to run had to—

A man with a silenced gun stood in a window of the opposite building, aim sure and steady. Kaito stared at him, unable to get his body to move. He saw the flash of the muzzle, the slight jerk of the gun and—

Kaito dragged breath into his lungs like it was the last breath he’s get before he drowned. Sheets tangled his feet as he staggered free of his blankets toward the trash bin by his desk. His stomach rebelled just as he reached it, emptying its meager contents between frantic, pained gasps for breath.

Kaito’s body was soaked with cold sweat. His hands were shaking in a way he couldn’t let them do as a magician. Swallowing around his nausea, he tried to focus on his hands in the dim pre-dawn twilight.

There wasn’t blood staining them. He didn’t have half-gloves on and they weren’t scraped from scrambling up rough surfaces. Just years of old scars, all faint and thin from razor nicks and dove claws and solder burns.

“Fuck,” Kaito rasped. It had felt so real. “Fuck.”

Of course, he thought as he buried his face in those scarred hands, he’d watch Hakuba die. They weren’t even friends, really. It was all a cat-and-mouse back and forth. Ongoing argument. Conversation at best where neither one would let the other win.

Kaito had dreams where Aoko died. Dreams where she opened her door to greet him and was shot through with a dozen bullets. Dreams where Nakamori-keibu had a gun to his head and a dark-suited shadow at his back forcing him to step off the roof. Dreams where Edogawa Conan became a broken mess of limbs on the pavement when a jump failed, and Kaito couldn’t catch his tiny body fast enough.

He saw Hakuba die over and over, more often than the others, and it was a cruel kind of irony to that because he shouldn’t be the one his subconscious was most worried for. And yet detectives were stubbornly nosey and Hakuba had stuck himself in Kid’s life, in Kaito’s and he was the closest to figuring it all out. He knew too much and too little and Kaito couldn’t trust him and wanted to trust him all in the same snarling tangle of messy feelings he didn’t have time or patience to pick apart.

His breaths slowed, no longer burning in his throat. Kaito’s hands still shook, but at a reasonable level. He was so tired.

Ever since the Nightmare mess went down, the dreams—nightmares really, who was he kidding?—had gone from once in a blue moon to more than once a week. Kaito had a terrible sleep record in the first place, but it felt like he was always running off fumes these days. He was going to slip up at this rate and he couldn’t afford to.

The fact that Kaito had a mind for detail, a great memory, and had run into several murders over the last few months meant that his nightmares had so freaking many things to pull from these days it wasn’t even funny. As a high school student, Kaito shouldn’t know near so much about how to determine the time of death on a corpse as he did.

Well. Not like he ever claimed to be normal.

With heavy limbs, Kaito crept out of bed to the bathroom, helping himself to a handful of water. He used another to wash away the sweat on his face and neck. It dribbled down his collarbone in cold rivulets. The face in the mirror looked too old for seventeen. Kaito was going to have to put on concealer tomorrow to hide the dark shadows under his eyes.

Feeling only a little better after cleaning up, he staggered back to his bedroom. Thank goodness his mother wasn’t here. Kaito wouldn’t know where to start explaining his recent sleeping habits.

There was no chance he was sleeping again so soon, not even with how tired he was, so Kaito picked up his phone. A message from Jii-san about a new smoke bomb he’d commissioned. An email from his mother filled with glamor photos of the Vegas night life and very little content o n how she was actually doing. He should call her soon. Instead of her number, though, he found his hand lingering over Hakuba’s cell number.

Hakuba warned him a few times when he didn’t need to. Hakuba also tried to catch him and expose his identity in public. Hakuba had backed off of chasing lately and Kaito didn’t know why.

His thumb brushed the call button and instead of canceling, he let it ring through. Kaito couldn’t quite say why his breath stuck in his chest as he listened to it ring. And ring.

The call picked up right before it could roll over to messages, a befuddled “Hello?” coming tinnily through the speaker.

Kaito hung up. His lungs ached as he took a deep breath. The phone in his hand vibrated as Hakuba tried to call back. Kaito canceled it. Brought up messages instead.

Sorry, he typed. Didn’t mean to call that number.

You’re forgiven, Hakuba responded less than thirty seconds later. Though I must suggest you get sleep if you are so tired as to mistakenly call my number. It is four twenty-seven in Japan.

Kaito snorted. No shit. Hakuba probably didn’t really believe it was a miscall either. Not tired, he lied.

Your sleeping habits are abysmal, Hakuba replied. Kaito could all but hear the dry tone of his voice. With that aborted call, at least he knew it really was Hakuba. And that Hakuba was alive. Since you are awake, care for a game?

Sure, Kaito said. Why not? Didn’t really matter what game. Kaito curled around his phone, probably killing his vision slowly, and let Hakuba text word games at him. Just like a friend would do.

For a little bit, the bright rectangle of his cell phone screen warded off the terrors of his mind.

#hakukaiweek22 #magic kaito #fanfiction #my writing #angsty

[meistoshi]

(mostly full) rundown of one piece verse things (which can be tweaked to fit Any pirate/seafaring verse).

grew up inland but helped his mama run a inn & heard a bunch of stories about pirates from travelers, some of which were pirates or former crew members themselves, because satoshi spent most of the time “helping” just making conversation with customers   ( they ended up buying more food & drink the longer they spoke to him so hanako counted it as helping ) ,  even if most of the “conversation” was 90% satoshi listening.

he has no idea who gold roger is.     what’s a one piece.     he missed the memo.     seriously, no one told him, everyone either assumed satoshi already knew or personally did not care about it.

satoshi doesn’t really have any “be the best like no one ever was” goals, he’s not chasing the one piece or trying to become pirate king, he’s literally just in it for the adventure of it all & to cause problems on purpose, & if he happens to make a name for himself then he’ll take that in stride same as everything else.     sends much of the coin he’s earned back to his mama by people that owe him favors.     he knows if they’ve kept the money for themselves.

he does alas have a body count by age 12, & he captains his first crew at 14   ( though technically not his crew as he didn’t choose them, they chose him   ( good ol’ pirate democracy ) ) .

only not dead 50 times over because a sea god took one look at him stepping foot on his first ship aged 10, barely 11, & decided this one is never going to die at sea.     & so he hasn’t.     not that anyone knows that’s why, they just think he’s stupid lucky   ( which he is ) ,  or a funky brand of devil fruit user   ( which he is not ) .     wounds that would kill him on land don’t pack the same punch at sea & regardless of how long he’s been under water he’s always been resuscitated within a minute.

has had a fistfight with nearly every creature that has tried attacking the ships he’s been on  ;     he hasn’t always won but he sure has punched a sea monster in whatever counts for its face.     it’s stunts like that that convinced his first few captains not to drop the 10-13yo off at the nearest port town or island.     kid worked hard & could do as much as any adult & there was never a pair of hands on deck that was considered excess but he was also, well, a child, but everyone figured that a kid that will dropkick a beast at the drop of a hat & survive is worth keeping around, so they did.

most of the crews he’s been a part of have fallen apart after about a year & far from where he first joined them, so the first time he returned home was 9 years after the fact.

he’s been slowly building a new crew under the name of the phoenix pirates, having permanently “borrowed” a ship from the marines   ( which he renamed fushichou )  ;     ship’s massive so everyone does a whole lot of heavy lifting around the place, satoshi included, & there’s rarely a moment’s rest.     part of his current attire was also permanently “borrowed” from the marines, during a raid sighting a blood-red coat & immediately deciding he needed to have it, even if he mostly wears it simply draped over his shoulders.     he nabbed a matching hat, citing as reasoning a saying he’d once heard about a true captain needing a good hat.

he has a mouse on him at all times, a ryukyu mouse that snuck on board the first ship satoshi was on by hiding in his bag, & by the time that satoshi found out they were already in the middle of the sea & he didn’t have the heart to get rid of the little rodent so he kept it.     by all accounts it should be dead by now, if only purely because mice aren’t supposed to live longer than maybe two years.     but no, satoshi fucked around with magic & found out & that mouse is still alive & kicking, & it has done wonders in helping with prison breaks & stealing maps if someone was being difficult about either the information or the price, along with being great for checking if the coast is clear in sneaky business.

the last time he was in homeland satoshi found a pup on his way back to his ship which he only later found out to be a jackal.     it’s a cute little thing even if it gets real rowdy real often.     it’s the best reflector of satoshi’s mood because his expression cannot be trusted 80% of the time, & usually people get what it means when he’s smiling but his jackal looks ready to maul them any second.

satoshi has an instinctively easy time using observational haki but first started actively trying to train armament, only fairly recently training both in tandem.

can hear the voice of all things.

he’s one of the few non-marine captains that’s gotten his crew across the calm belt, which is how the phoenix pirates got into the new world.     perks of stealing a ship from the marines :).

currently sailing the new world, mostly letting the unpredictable winds & currents guide their journey, dodging & weaving through the chaos that the worst generation have whipped up.     has not been keeping up with the news.

the crew of the fushichou  :

satoshi akiyoshi.     captain, helmsman.     bounty B139′000′000.

raiden chiba (pikachu).     first mate, martial artist.     bounty B125′000′000.

kazuyuki iso (lucario).     second mate, martial artist.     bounty B116′000′000.

yusei endo (kadabra).     cook.     devil fruit user, paramencia, branch of the telekinetic-type fruits.

rin enoshima (leafeon).     shipwright.

kairi yuto (dragonite).     navigator, doctor.     skypiean.

genji arai (gengar).     sniper.     devil fruit user, logia, branch of the shadow-type fruits.

katsuro nagai (farfetch’d).     swordsman.

fletcher sharpe (sirfetch’d).     swordsman.

momo tamura (ditto).     martial artist.     devil fruit user, paramencia, branch of the clone-type fruits.

rikuto godai (rapidash).     martial artist.

drogo wash (dracovish).     martial artist.     dunkleosteus fishman.

#because pirates be on the brain verse info be upon ye #ooc. pkmn is autistic culture. #v. pirate. #study.

[thelustybraavosimaid]

Spoilers!

A current timeline of Things Kira Vidal Can Do™️:

THREE MONTHS:

ROT

Eutau looked down at the baby in his arms, wishing he could offer more than just sympathy. He reached for the cotton compress on Kira's forehead, thinking to put some cool water on it—and it crumbled to dust at his touch.

...

Looking around in desperation, he found an apple he had saved for Belle. He snatched it up and held it to Kira's cheek. Within seconds, the apple's red skin turned brown, then black, and it crumbled away, dissolving into a putrid liquid that puddled on the floor. (III, To Nurture & Kill)

DEATH CALLING:

"What is it? Why are you—" His words froze on his tongue as something cold stroked his face. It is too cold outside for flies, he realized. His skin crawled, violated by the same chill he had felt on that summer afternoon months before when the thieves had waylaid him. "Whatever you are, whomever you were," he warned, "leave now." But the more Kira struggled and cried, the stronger the cold feeling became, as if something was trying to crawl under Eutau's skin. To his horror, Kira's eyes were becoming cloudy, and the black blotches on his face more pronounced. (The Mercenary's Promise: III, To Nurture & Kill)

SEVEN MONTHS:

REANIMATION:

"That mouse is dead." J'kara nudged it with the tip of her boot. "Did you move it?" They had found the creature's small body under the foot of the bed. Yet when J'kara went to remove it, she found it lying in the middle of the floor.

...

Suddenly, Kira smacked his hands on the floor. The dead mouse convulsed, its stiff limbs flailing. J'kara jerked back in surprise, smashing her shoulder against the wall. (The Mercenary's Promise: IV, To Nurture & Kill)

TWO YEARS:

SEEING THE DEAD:

Kira was growing into a sweet, intelligent little boy, but his skin remained strangely discolored, and he was often troubled by ugly episodes where he would break down into tears, wailing of unseen monsters and batting at the air as if tormented by invisible flies. (The Worm of Freedom: I, To Nurture & Kill)

--

"They told me they not the wind at all. They told me I call on Death. They told me..." His mouth twisted. "They told me how they died. But they didn't wanna die, so they, umm, they stayed and twyed to find a—" (The Worm of Freedom: III, To Nurture & Kill)

FIVE TO TEN YEARS:

DEATH CONVERSATIONALIST:

"How long have you known?"

"Since you were little. I was gathering herbs one day in the forest across the Silver River and I saw you bent down, talking to the remains of some poor forsaken child. I crouched behind a thicket and watched as you carried on a conversation with it. I could scarcely make out its words—but I heard it! You kept explaining to it how your uncle wouldn't allow you to be friends." (Revelations, The Deadbringer)

FIFTEEN YEARS:

FLESH MOULDING:

He reached for one of the jars and opened it, revealing pasty, flesh-colored fiberclay. Tenderly drawing her face close to him, he took the fiberclay and spread a portion of it on her face. Her skin wept with moisture at the pressure exerted upon it, and an inhuman gutteral noise came from her throat. Gently, he began easing his fingers into her face, his touch decomposing flesh and clay alike, the thick liquid trailing down his arms.

...

As her face began to take shape, he channeled more energy into her and watched as her body filled out, becoming supple, even curvy. A longing sigh escaped his lips. It had been far too long since he had flexed this much power over the dead, and even longer since he had molded flesh. (Corpse Hill, The Deadbringer)

SUMMONER:

He issued a silent command to the Risen of Corpse Hill.

I want his flesh, I want his life. I want him pinned down to the ground like a small, frightened animal. Take him. Make him yours. Kill him. (Corpse Hill, The Deadbringer)

--

"I raised the dead in that cemetery. I used them to kill Stone," he whispered, his eyes wide with horror.

"You did what you had to. You were left with no other option. Now rest."

Kira pushed on, the memories overflowing. "They tore him apart...with their teeth, their hands. They feasted on his flesh, his blood, and I felt every second of it as if it had been me doing it. And I reveled in it!" (Revelations, The Deadbringer)

--

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Kira appeared during the invasion at the battle of the Citadel. Somehow, he ended up in the middle of the fiercest fighting in the city. He lost control of his powers and summoned scores of Risen, killing and wounding many." (Interrogations, The Faceless God: Book Two, Part One: Spirits & Ash)

SELF-HEALER:

"But Kira had the last laugh. What really happened at Corpse Hill?"

"I already told you."

"Part of Kira's torso was missing, yet he lies now with fresh skin sealing the gaping hole in his side. No Deadbringer would be able to heal that amount of damage, especially unconscious." (Sleep, The Deadbringer)

DOLL MAKER:

He bent down and pressed his mouth against the rats' bloodied snouts, forcefully blowing air into each.

The sound of something brushing against wood drew his attention, and he found himself unable to hold back a satisfied smile. Tiny chests rising, tails twitching, the rats looked up at him through glass eyes.

They listened intently as their master gave them their instructions. (Time, The Deadbringer)

MEMORY INHABITER:

Kira looked up at the frightful sky and willed himself to grow taller, as far away as possible from the vile fog. But there were many, far too many, who could not climb so far up. So he pulled his roots out from the soil, just out of reach of the fog. The air above the ground was bitterly dry and cold, and he wondered if he would ever feel the comforting embrace of the soil again.

...

He called out to the many lives clinging to him, hoping that they would understand his words, and spoke in the tongue he knew best.

The Land is lost. She has closed her heart. Whisper to me the dreams of your life, for the end draws near.

From among the many people who had sought refuge there came a reply. Their call was sweet, but laced with deep sorrow.

Do not despair, for we have a secret—we have learned the ways of the dead.

Distantly, as if it were someone else’s, he felt his body pulled. At the same time, the tree’s memories collapsed, and Kira fell into darkness. (The Gods' Spears, The Deadbringer)

RISEN MAKER:

The monster had risen—a tall beast that was at once obscene and powerful. His hair writhed about him like venomous snakes. Looking up at the sky, he threw his arms into the air and then smiled with such greed and raw lust that Kristoff felt sick. But Kristoff soon forgot his disgust, for the bodies of all those who had fallen began to rise. (Shattered Walls, The Deadbringer)

MAD RISEN:

“Too many are dead, and too many are nursing bite wounds. Do you understand what I am saying to you? You had my men—my men—attack as if they were mindless beasts!” (Honey and Spice, The Deadbringer)

--

"The third thing I must tell you will be the hardest for you to hear. Your Risen infect the living that they bite, spreading a susto that drives the victims mad.”

...

“Eutau would not have known of this, for Shonnell was careful to keep it hidden. My own Risen do not do this, and neither do Lyse’s or Amonos’s. It’s a trait you must have inherited from Shonnell, for his Risen also spread a susto. What is different is that the susto his Risen spread simply left the victims listless to the point that they ceased to care about their own lives, eventually wasting away. From the little I have seen so far, your Risen appear to spread a more violent madness. I do not yet know how to explain the difference.” (The Temple, The Faceless God: Book Two, Part One: Spirits and Ash)

INDOMITABLE RISEN:

“There is one more thing you should know about your Risen,” said Eutau, sighing heavily, running his hand behind his neck. “Lafont claims that they were difficult to kill, that piercing their hearts and severing their heads did not work. Apparently, knocking you unconscious is what stopped them.” (The Temple, The Faceless God: Book Two, Part One: Spirits and Ash)

#this is one of my favourite book series of all time #so mostly I'm posting this for me to keep track #his Risen needed a special spot because holy shit #the ellderet series #kira vidal

[soul-music-is-life]

PLL: OS thoughts on episode 7 (SPOILERS)

Spoilers below cut, cuz I’m not a monster who wants to spoil shit.

I assumed this would be the episode where Elodie’s secret came out. Here we go…gearing up to hate Elodie, which is going to hurt my heart because I love Lea Salonga.

Hmm, so…this funhouse mirror scene is like…a reverse-uno Alison where Elodie is coming on to Angela. In PLL it was Emily being interested in Alison and Alison going along with it only to hold it against her, whereas Elodie led Angela right into it because FEELINGS. *sigh* I get that Elodie was freaking out about hiding her sexuality, but…c’mon. What she did was shitty, but I don’t hate her near as much as the other moms…yet. Maybe it’s Lea bias. Maybe I just hate it when LGBTQ characters are villains. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think Elodie planned that. She just freaked out. The other girls intentionally planned to hurt Angela. Doesn’t make it right. But I’m analyzing this...and Elodie was probably the least bitchy to Angela given what the other girls did to her. The others physically and mentally abused her on purpose.

Bro, the way Corey is icing Faran out like it’s her fault. Girl, bye. She is the worst mother. Marjorie ties with her. Woman, this child did not make you get in that car and start driving. Fuck this bitch. She deserves the Davie treatment.

Noa out here spilling the tea on Sheriff Beasley. MY GIRL!!! She is definitely my favorite. *standing ovation*

I like the sensitive spot that Faran has for Kelly. She may be hot and cold with the girl, but she does care.

Calling it now. Mouse was kidnapped on Halloween night at the carnival.

*almost kidnapped. Close enough.

Ash is the best. Love him. Supportive, kind, empathetic. On that note, I know something about Ash that is not common knowledge yet. HOWEVER, it changes absolutely nothing. He is perfect.

Why are all the teachers at this school so creepy? Only adult figure I like is the nurse. And I’m still kind of pissed that she didn’t refer Imogen to a Doctor when Imogen was freaking out and talking about an abortion. I get why this is so problematic and controversial, but she was 15 years old and raped. So...the least she deserved was a conversation with someone who had a PhD

I don’t know anything about ballet, so someone tell me how Faran is doing.

Get creepy Wes off my screen THIS instant! And of course he likes movies with rape in them. I hate him.

That fake out pen scene with Tabby is probably the corniest thing I have seen on this show thus far. So I will give it a pass.

This Steve/Mouse shit is getting to be too much. I am really unnerved by it. This full-ass adult freaks my adult ass out.

I can’t tell if Tabby’s mom is actually trying to help Imogen or not. I do not trust her.

Imogen lost her fake child. I am not supposed to be laughing at this. And the fact that the baby’s name is a fucking nod to Hannibal…dead.

I understand Tabby facing her demons. I do. But honey…going into the middle of the woods when a psycho is out there?!

Why is this Sheriff not dead yet? You are slacking, Masked Creeper. Get on that.

How is Corey going to straight up pretend she wasn’t an absolute See You Next Tuesday that morning? Good on Faran for giving her the metaphorical finger.

I wanted to leap through the screen and punch Steve for grabbing Mouse like that.

Ohhhh, Mouse’s dad is gonna be the one who tried to snatch her!!! I just feel it!

I don’t know how I feel about Chip/Imogen

Noa is a badass. That girl was about to take on a whole football team.

Shawn is back on my shitlist. Fucking testosterone hyena hiveminded bitch.

That house of mirrors scene was as intense as Noa’s apartment scene. Poor Mouse.

Bruh…what Elodie did to that man trying to start a family was MESSED UP. I figured it was her dad, but Elodie fucking ran off with the child when she was a surrogate?!

Oh shit. Ohohohoh…hold up. MOUSE USING BURNERS. What in the actual -A?

Ahh, I feel bad that Mouse’s family is breaking up. But understandable.

THAT ENDING!!!!!!! Epic. Do not RIP, Tyler.

So I feel like I have to speak on something. One thing that really annoys me: I feel like Elodie has had way less screen time than the other mothers and that bothers me for some reason. It’s not because I like Lea. It’s because I’m annoyed that the only LGBTQ couple doesn’t get the same treatment as the other moms. And what we see is always toxic. There was not one loving scene with Elodie and Mouse and I don’t like that. I understand that the other mothers are toxic, but we’ve also seen scenes of them with their children that were really sweet (Davie/Imogen and Tabby and her mother as well). Faran’s mom can choke. But her dad is wonderful. I guess I could probably say the same thing for Noa/Marjorie that I can for Elodie/Mouse. Both of them have been nothing but poison. I’m uncomfortable with that.

Last thoughts: what I thought was going to be spoiled in this episode (fucking asshole people on reddit) was not spoiled, so I’ll go into that particular thing I know when it happens.

I can’t wait until next week!! I was pretty dead on about my theories (I swear these are things that I did not know going into this show), so I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Anyway, ranking the Liars for fun:

1) Noa. Call me a sucker for a girl with a tough outer-shell, but is loyal AF and vulnerable inside.

2) This is tough, because Imogen and Mouse are tied for me. Imogen, because she is so fleshed out, but Mouse’s storyline constantly has me on the edge of my seat and I’ve enjoyed seeing her develop from meek to “don’t fuck with me.” So on that alone, I think I have to give this slot to Mouse.

3) Imogen. One of the most fleshed out characters and fantastically acted. Can I make her 2.5 instead of 3? It was a tough choice for me. I do love Imogen and I’m engulfed in her story…and Bailee is absolutely crushing it. But the storylines for Noa and Mouse have been more gripping…and frankly, terrifying.

4) Faran. It actually kind of pains me to put her this low because I love her and her storyline has been so amazing. Her one-liners are fabulous and her growth and the fact that she’s shedding herself of her mother’s shadow is such an incredible arc. I just seem to be grabbed more by the others right now. *subject to change.

5) I like Tabby. I do. I see a lot of hate for her on reddit. But I do like her. I think she’s going to be key to solving the entire mystery (her and Imogen), but the others have held my attention more often than not and I find myself so engulfed in what is happening to them that sometimes I forget about Tabby (ie: Noa in her apartment running from the Masked Creeper, Imogen and her grief during the Ouija board scene…fuck that cut me deep and I am traumatized, and Mouse with Steve the creep and in the house of mirrors. I just don’t have that kind of connection with Tabby yet. There has been no ‘it’ moment…except when she punched Tyler, which was awesome).

#Pretty Little Liars Original Sin #Pretty Little Liars Original Sin spoilers #PLL: OS spoilers #PLL: OS

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

4.4.24 Thursday

10:23 am

I still have windblow... I'm out of budget soon... I'm planning to apply tomorrow... Whew! Though I wanted to be with Pilot Garret... My ideal is to be with Pilot Garret... I'm self-pitying already...

On Mark I will feel HURT if you are just here and a Mickey Mouse for so long and laughing at my back... It HURTS...

Nana is sick now, having flu... I bought her bioflu meds and cleared my credits again...

Thanks Jp & Ely for being a true friend...

Or probably next week around Mon. To Wed. I need to prepare again.... I always need to review for subject verb agreement test though basics but it is not usually used on conversation...In conversing using English medium I always do 69 coz I have my way to deliver it, the way my "Speech and Power" teacher taught me... It is "English Conversation"... Now you get it why I'm so proud of 69!

10:40 am

But on the case of Pilot Garret,hmm.... How will I do 69 with him??? Probably just on the face , give him full of kisses...But basically a RIDER!

My dream guy these days...

12:11 noon

I still have windblow... It is really unfair in my part since 2007... They damaged my entire my life...

17 years, I feel frustrated being just here... They stopped my growth... I wanna leave Cavite and they are just pulling me down for nothing...

What did I do wrong?? Did I harm them???

12:15 noon

It is not really my ideal thing to be a call center agent but a particular group damaged my entire LIFE since 2007!

They wanted me unfairly DEAD!!!

I'm 44 already,in reality the only company who can accept my age is "Call Center or Being an Artist"... But being an artist on TV is a chance and a lot of work and needs an organization.

They always damage my career in call center that I can't speak English and I have a bad accent and I don't understand Filipino's mind!!!

Where is Mitchang? Did she give me a "simple battery"?

I hate it I had yaya's! I lost my position!!!

I lost my position for 17 years, that supposed to be I'm back from the past years... Then they stopped me on growing...

12:47 noon

I still have windblow...

I wanna travel...I wanna buy Starbucks everyday... What about my future??? My good positioning in life. I didn't harm them...They always stole my good life away from me...

12:54 noon

If only Pilot Garret can read this, my heart's content... Good act is a symbol of being a child of God! I mean I was a middle-class, my upbringing... I was'nt able to go back... Seeing you there accidentally, you captured my heart....

Life is a big choice and big decision. I've been waiting for it for so long and Life here is a big lie... A liar God who just wanted to check out if someone will take me then he will take me back coz it is his just big Fake Ego!

This is a Tagalog Song of Gary Valenciano, one of the artist here in the Philippines. It is about if God is still sleeping and if God is hearing you. But here in the Philippines God is a Lie! 17 years you think I should trust my God here...

It is also about you as as person can make choices for yourself and future road...

Will Pilot Garret will take me as his flesh??? Or will he allow me to take one of his ribs???

2:36 pm

He is 10 years younger... So, what??? I can always be a Barbie in time... One child with him... If he will allow me to take one of his ribs? But I don't wanna be ugly...

Oh! But he doesn't want to have a child... He wants to be happy forever... Shit! He got a gf but not thinking of having a child...

4:28 pm

I still have windblow... I feel bitterish... I wanna leave Cavite...

8:03 pm

He was so pretty 10 months ago and still pretty until now...

Tell me more Pilot Garret about that 20/20 road...

8:29 pm

I have lower abdominal cramps and I feel like vomiting....I was doing my jack-knife coz I hate gaining too much most specially I'm single and bitter and I feel fat, old and ugly...

I have my full menstruation today... I feel bitter coz I wanna get pregnant coz I'm 44 already, hoping to have Pilot Garret...

I have windblow... It is so happy to have a baby if I want the face and if the man is willing to take me into him or give his one rib to me... I hate being ugly...

8:48 pm

I feel bitter here... I feel HURT here in the Philippines... I feel super HURT! I feel super HURT underneath me... 17 years ... I feel super HURT... Unfair!!!

#Youtube

[pinersale]

Does fez die in euphoria

#DOES FEZ DIE IN EUPHORIA FULL#

I believe he has a shot about being around for Season 3.” “If there's somebody who could take a bullet in the show, it's Ashtray," Walton said of his character. In an interview with Variety, actor Javon Walton revealed that he wants Ashtray fans to keep hope alive. When paused, fans point out, one of the flashes is clearly the now-notorious shot of Ashtray with a gun's laser sight aimed at his body. In a scene from episode 1, “Fez's” episode, viewers are given flashes of both Fez and Ashtray in shots that are barely seconds long, shown on-screen while Rue's voiceover explains Fez's childhood head injury. Keep up with us at Hidden Remote for all of our Euphoria coverage.A fan theory circulating Twitter makes the claim that Ash's death was actually foreshadowed in the second season's premiere episode. It’s so unfortunate and we’re so sad it had to be one of them! Now we’re just crossing our fingers that Fezco makes it out alive come season 3. Going into the Euphoria season 2 finale, many fans had a feeling either Fez or Ashtray would die. We then hear him get shot and killed, with his body making a horrifying thud on the floor. Soon after, we see the red light of a laser from one of the other officers appear on Ash’s body, moving up to his head. In a shocking move, he gets up and shoots one of the SWAT officers, killing him. It’s so devastating! During the middle of the shoot-out, Ash opens the door and pretends to be dead. Sadly, Ashtray does die in the Euphoria season 2 finale. Does Ashtray die in the Euphoria season 2 finale? We’ll be on the lookout for any interview quotes and/or theories that hint at Fez’s fate. By the end of the season 2 finale, we don’t see Fez die. He gets shot in the hip area, meaning it’s very likely he’ll be okay. It’s a close call, but it looks like he’s going to survive.

#DOES FEZ DIE IN EUPHORIA FULL#

Does Fezco die in the Euphoria season 2 finale?Īs the shoot-out between the SWAT Team and Ashtray is in full force, Fezco gets shot. It’s definitely one of the craziest scenes in Euphoria history. Despite Fezco’s pleas to leave the house, Ashtray takes all of their guns and locks himself in the bathroom, preparing for a shoot-out. Soon after Custer is killed, the SWAT Team breaks in. This happens all while Custer is still recording the audio on his phone. Ashtray notices the bad vibes in the air, and instead of waiting to find out what’s going on, he stabs Custer in the neck, killing him. In the season 2 finale, tensions continue to rise as Faye blames Mouse’s death on Laurie (Martha Kelly) and Custer tries to steer the conversation back to Fezco. That is, until Faye (Chloe Cherry) gives him a subtle hint at what’s going on. He’s framing and ratting out Fezco, but Fez doesn’t know it. When Custer shows up, he starts talking about Mouse’s death, and it’s revealed to the audience that Custer is recording their conversation for the police. It’s a super intense scene, as we’re all rooting for Fez and Lexi to be together but we know that Fez is involved in some dangerous stuff. In episode 7, Custer (Tyler Chase) shows up at Fezco and Ashtray’s as Fez is getting ready to go to Lexi’s (Maude Apatow) play. Would Cal (Eric Dane) show up again? Would Fezco (Angus Cloud) and Ashtray (Javon “Wanna” Walton) get arrested? And would Rue (Zendaya) and Jules (Hunter Schafer) talk things out and reconcile? Well, we fortunately got all of these answers and more, but there’s also one heartbreaking death that went down that we won’t be getting over anytime soon. Going into the season 2 finale, fans needed so many questions answered. Spoilers for the Euphoria season 2 finale ahead. We’re getting into major spoiler territory for Euphoria season 2 right now, so if you aren’t caught up, don’t read on! The finale tonight opened up right where we left off. Episode 7 ended on a “to be continued,” which definitely kept us on the edge of our seats. There were multiple plot points to wrap up in episode 8 tonight, and of course there were more than a few curveballs thrown at us. By Natalie Zamora 6 months ago Follow TweetĪlright, everyone! The Euphoria season 2 finale is officially out and fans are still trying to process what went down.

#Does fez die in euphoria

[wincestisasincest]

Waves on the Shore - Chapter 10: Hands of Time

Viktor x Fem!Reader slow burn enemies to lovers

x posted on ao3 // WOTS masterlist

Summary: Jayce and Viktor questioning you about your weapon (made with farm-fresh Hextech) is the only thing keeping you from going to jail for science crimes. You and Viktor are literally at each others throats lmao. Also you’re from Bilgewater because pirates are fucking rad

Notes: THIS IS SO LATE RIP TO ME. If you are unaware, I spent the week without my usual meds and having 10000 allergic reactions every time I breathed so that is why. On that note, though, tHANK YOU to everyone who told me to stop being stupid and take care of myself and stuff y'all are too nice. ALSO this one may have a lot of typos but I didn't want to delay it any further so. I will still try to update this Friday now that I am not actively dying.

Some things that you may or may not care about:

- The song that is referenced is "Leave Her, Johnny" and it is a real pirate song!!!! I've linked it if you want to listen and see what it sounds like (spoiler alert it fucking slaps)

- Also, the Demacian steel is something I made up but I based it off of damascus steel from real life it's not relevant to the story but isn't it fucking cool?

Anyway, thanks for your patience and enjoy this week's episode of Supernatural

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags: @edenstarkk, @modernamilf, @dedicated2viktor, @doctorho, @yeehawbvby, @arcaneparx, @the-lake-is-calling

Mentions of: Suicide (Jayce's attempt), dismemberment, corpses, imperialism (booooooo), kidnapping

Triggers: Panic attack, self-harm (kinda? like it's not deliberate but they end up being fine with the pain and not stopping), dead animals, animal dissection (it's the mouse), language

This was the best chance that you had.

Caitlyn told you that the market was the place to connect with the staff of Piltover’s wealthy houses. In the early afternoon, before dinner but after lunch, they would descend upon the stalls with cultivated lists of what they needed at the house, exchanging gossip with each other as they shopped.

Only upon arrival did you realize how hard it would be to actually enter one of these conversations.

They zipped the square like bees in a hive, a blur of different earth-toned lapel dresses and baskets of goods, heads absentmindedly following the chatter as their feet automatically took them to their next destination. There were signs, but no one was looking at them. There was no question about it, these people had a rhythm, and hell if they were going to let some outsider like you disrupt it.

It wasn’t all them – you considered yourself an outsider too. Even if there was camaraderie to be had, you knew that you weren’t “working class.” You’d only gotten your first real job a few days ago, and before that, you didn’t work so much as barely scrape by through leeching off of other people. These maids and nannies and butlers, however little hey were paid, still made their own living. Your living never really felt like your own.

But, this was the best chance that you had to, maybe, make it your own someday.

You’d given up on trying to fool the wealthy of Piltover. Your first week on income and you’d already had to be told that water was free and tried to haggle something that wasn’t supposed to be haggled. That, combined with the fact that you were a bad liar around rich people because you enjoyed upsetting them, meant that they would figure you out in seconds. So, you had to take the alternative route of getting one of the house staff to put in a good word for you.

You blinked forcefully. Fretting about the time bomb of winter break in the background was just another waste of time. You fell into sloppy step with everyone else, like an instrument on the off beats, hoping to god that you would naturally fall into some small talk while you were buying what you needed.

One of the stalls caught your eye. A middle aged woman with withered, skinny fingers and a thousand-yard stare attended the counter. A patchwork of vibrant fabric swaths curtained off the area behind her.

“Hi,” you said plainly, hands folded in front of you, “I need a needle and thread.”

Now that you were staying long-term, you decided to invest in clothes that actually fit, even if it meant you’d have to fit them yourself.

The woman pressed her palms into the wood table, looking you up and down, making no effort to hide her judgement.

“We don’t sell that here, sweetheart,” she grunted, “it’s just fabric.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said dumbly, “uh… thanks.”

Great start. This might take a while, you thought, turning on your heel.

“Wait, wait,” she reached her hand out, eyelids slack like it physically pained her to look at you, “we might have something.”

She crouched behind the counter, abandoning you to linger by the stall in modest banality while the rest of the world moved on without you. Snippets of conversations that you weren’t a part of flitted past your ear like butterflies.

And then you heard it.

Everything else was muffled as the honed notes of a tune you could recognize even if you were deaf passed behind you like a ghost. The person humming it kept moving, clearly not here for you.

You turned your head and saw the back of a woman, with white frizzy hair, black heels, and a black overcoat, be absorbed into the crowd.

“Excuse me,” you said when the lady reemerged from behind the counter, not making eye contact as you drifted back into the channel of moving servants.

The melody circled around your head like twine on a spinning wheel. It was “Leave Her, Johnny” – relatively foreign to anyone in the Bilge who made a halfway honest living. It was traditionally sung on the last day of a voyage, with the lyrics playfully reworded to make fun of the captain or quartermaster of the ship. It was a song for vessels where disrespect towards authority was the norm. It was a song for pirates.

You ducked under bags of produce and split conversations in half as you dug through the crowd, eyes trained on what you were pretty sure was the back of her coat and ears attuned to her fond humming. The square was too congested to run in, but you kept a quick pace and deliberate step. Her coat was growing smaller and her humming quieter.

Further into the market, you were suffocated by the noise. It felt like you were attached to the handle of a music box, getting nauseous as the melody kept going around and around and around, supplemented by talking and clacks of dark colored heels just like the ones the woman wore. But you clung to that humming like a life raft.

You were a little kid that had lost their parents, bobbing their head around in circles, looking for people who were definitely somewhere, just not here. You got on your tip toes and looked over the field of heads for a wisp of white hair. Nothing.

The music in your ears curdled and the humming vanished. She was gone.

You started to hyperventilate as thick coats whizzed past you like freight trains. They all looked the same from down here. You were sinking, getting swallowed by a wave of discordant talking and clacking, and now, your own heartbeat. Panic shot up from your stomach.

You were finally losing it, you figured. What if you had imagined it all? What if that woman wasn’t even real? Alarms fired from all the synapses in your brain, some telling you to get started, some telling you that you were already out of time, and some telling you that you were in trouble.

You inhaled, gathering up all your might to plow through the wall of people and release yourself into the other side of the market. You gulped at the air, a classic fish out of water.

Bending over, hands on your knees, you focused on the cracks in the street, weaving through the cobblestones like a stream. When you blinked, you could feel your pulse through your eyelids.

A panic attack. Or an anxiety attack. You didn’t know the difference, and you weren’t sure what you were panicked or anxious about. Everything in Piltover, everything in your life, felt so big that you couldn’t even begin to assign specific emotions to things yet. It was all under the umbrella of cautious awe; trying to look for your future felt like staring up at a skyscraper.

The melody floated through your numb skull as you regained whatever the hell you’d lost in there. Maybe sanity, maybe reason, or maybe hope. But you didn’t have an infinite supply, and soon, you were going to run out.

*****

Viktor watched you flinch again as the final holt of blue lightning exploded from the mini portal circuit with a pathetic, but kind of cute, pop. You screwed your eyes shut until the sound had completely dissipated, and just a little longer, for good measure.

You tentatively opened one eye, confirming that everything was okay, and then exhaled as you opened the second one. You blinked, your eyelashes fluttering like white flags.

“Damn it all,” you groaned, plopping into the chair you’d burst up from a moment ago.

You prodded the charred mess with your finger, soaking in the dissatisfaction. Viktor could see the smoke curl in the air even from where he was sitting – you must’ve completely fired the circuit.

Viktor hated to admit that it brought him a little… not joy, but reassurance. He was reminded that you could, in fact, fail at things like everyone else. Jayce had the same thought, exchanging a look with Viktor from the other side of the lab as if asking who should interrupt your sulking first.

Jayce took the initiative, crossing his arms casually.

“Y’know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you mess up,” he said with a half-smile. A stranger would’ve mistaken it for pleasure, but Viktor know that Jayce wasn’t cruel enough for that. There was no malice here, he was just trying to lighten the mood with humor.

“The cannon,” you mumbled, eyes laser-focused on the clutter in front of you.

“Ah… not really your fault,” he countered.

You dragged your hands down your face.

“Don’t worry, I can fix this thing, and I’ll figure out how to…”

And the words were lost on Viktor as he put his energy into analyzing you. Your brows froze into a permanent, impatient furrow, occasionally twitching with the fretful ups and downs in your voice. You weren’t looking at them anymore, but at your own hands as they offered weak gestures to compliment your speaking. Oh, Viktor thought, this actually bothered you.

Failure bothered him too, so he wasn’t going to get on your case about it, but your reaction was… unexpected. Not unlike that time you’d covered your jail cell in equations. You were making a weak effort to stay composed as you addressed them, but the non-verbal cues gave you away.

“Sounds good,” Jayce’s comment snapped Viktor out of his thoughts, “any idea what happened?”

“You sighed, picking up some pieces that the explosion had scattered across the table and dropping them into a pile.

“Yeah,” you said curtly, “just gonna take a little while to correct. What about those, uh… Ionians?”

Viktor returned his focus to the open mouse, raking through its exposed systems for any lead on its death. He remembered dissecting animals in one of the biology classes at the Academy, and he hated it as much then as he did now.

Even though they were already dead, the poor animals looked so tortured spread out on that table, formaldehyde fuming from their guts. It was paradoxical, how one could be reminded that this was a living being with just as much complexity as a human, and then told to break that being down until it no longer resembled anything with a conscience.

The skin underneath the mouse’s fur was stretched and thin, tearing in places that Viktor hadn’t even touched yet. He kept the conversation between you and Jayce in the background like radio to distract himself.

“What about ‘em?” Jayce crossed the room to you.

“Did you say they like… needed help?”

Viktor clicked his tongue quietly. The mouse’s intestines still had bits of cheese in it, which should’ve been impossible with everything else Viktor had uncovered.

“They do, but we don’t wanna rush things here,” Jayce said.

“Well, sure, but couldn’t you send them some aid in the meantime?”

“No can do.”

“Why not?”

“Noxus. We would alienate them.”

Viktor checked his notes again, running down the list. Flaky skin, lost hair, bloated belly, and, most importantly, tissue breakdown.

“And you’re not alienating them by helping the refugees?”

“Not at all. Even Noxians don’t like casualties of civilians – if no one is left then there’s not really anyone to have power over.”

“That’s disgusting,” you said flatly, “I hope the Ionians win.”

“That’s Noxus,” Jayce shrugged, “though, I’ll admit, I thought you’d be a bit more on board with this whole thing.”

No, Viktor mentally corrected him, Jayce thought that he knew you well enough to make predictions. Jayce thought that you were his friend.

“Why’s that?” you perched your chin on your hand.

“Prioritizes lives saved over everything else. Sounds like your brand.”

“I’ve got a brand now?” you masterfully deflected the question.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you can draw me a logo or something.”

Jayce chuckled. Shit, you were actually kind of his friend.

“You’ve seen my work?” Jayce said cheekily, and Viktor could practically hear the smug eyebrow raise.

“Uh, yeah. Every time I pass by your desk it looks like an art museum.”

Viktor noticed Jayce’s art too, when he first looked through his notes. It wasn’t a hidden talent, but it wasn’t something that he advertised about himself either.

“What can I say? I’m a creative at heart.”

“I’ll try to keep up then.”

“Psh, you keep up fine. I’ve seen your sketches – way better than most engineering students.”

“I use a ruler to get the lines straight.”

“Oh. Well then yeah, maybe stick to other stuff.”

You snorted.

Viktor was caught in a deluge of déjà vu listening to your banter. Jayce sounded just like he did when Viktor first started working with him. For some reason, he felt angry.

Exhaling with frustration, he set his eyes on his work and jerked his train of thought back onto the rails.

The mouse’s death was impossible because it had died of starvation in less than 12 hours, with a partially full stomach.

Viktor brushed the errant, ripped out pages filled with his observations of the plants and opened his notebook to a clean piece of paper.

“Pardon me,” a new voice, slick but reserved, like honey seeping down the back of the throat, entered into the room.

Something about the sobriety in it stopped Viktor’s pen just short of reaching the paper. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but he did anyway.

“What’s up?” Jayce asked, the intonation of his question just a little too high for it to be natural.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Mel folded her hands, casting a long shadow into the hallway.

*****

You rubbed your arms and switched the weight between your legs in front of the door, trying to retain some warmth. Viktor didn’t knock.

“It’s cold, hurry up,” you snapped, more aggressively than you intended.

He just contemplated the brass knocker and rested his hands on his cane, silent.

“We need a plan,” he determined.

“Couldn’t have talked about this on the way… here…” you faltered, instantly mesmerized by the cloud of your own breath that appeared in front of you, “Woah. I didn’t know that you could…”

You slowed down your words and just started exhaling plumes of frozen air, toying with new combinations.

“Why… if we breath out carbon dioxide then how can we see it in the air…?” you said, watching each word dissolve into the cold.

Viktor glanced at you from the side. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you caught him off guard. He put his free hand in his jacket pocket and faced you.

“It’s not just carbon dioxide – there’s also moisture from your mouth and lungs. That’s what you’re seeing,” he explained, unusually even-tempered.

“Cool,” you hadn’t looked at him once the entire time, but you could feel his eyes on you, “so… what were you saying?”

“We’re not going in there until we’ve decided on what we’re going to say,” he said, returning to his normal, grumpy baritone, “and it’s not my fault that you didn’t bring a jacket.”

“I’m sorry, I was a little distracted,” you gestured to the door with one hand, letting the other run through your hair, “I mean, fuck, what a thing to drop on a Wednesday morning.”

“Then you can only imagine how Alex will feel.”

You crouched down, seating yourself on the stoop of the house. Elbows on your knees, you stared into the empty street. It was already relatively far from the city, as is expected for a safehouse, and the added cold weather that would keep people from going outside even in the middle of the day effectively rendered this distant edge of Piltover a ghost town.

Viktor was right, You can’t just go in there, guns blazing, and expect things to not end with you clawing each other’s eyes out while Alex processed some new trauma in the background.

“I- you should be the one to say it,” you said to the open, “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it, uh… kindly.”

“I will not be any better.”

“Yes, you will. Trust me,” you started to idly watch your breath dance through the air again, “I can, uh… hold the tissues.”

“He may require physical comfort. If so, he will not want it from the person who tells him.”

“What do you mean ‘physical comfort?’ I can like, hold his hand or something,” you looked over your shoulder. Viktor was trying to be neutral, but his lips were closed too tightly, and you clocked pent up frustration in a second.

“Can you at least try to take this seriously?” he pinched his nose. Apparently you had said the wrong thing again.

“Wha- I am!” you threw your hands in the air, “Gods, I’m not trying to piss you off right now, y’know? I just… well, I warned you, I’m not good at this stuff.”

You looked forward again before he could say something foul to your face. Instead, you saw his scuffed leather shoes in your peripheral vision as he stood on the other side of the stoop, watching the street with you.

“No kidding,” he said thoughtfully, “and… apologies. Our strategy will have to change, though.”

“Oh, great.”

“I will take care of the… physical comfort, if needed, and any additional support, but you will be the one to tell him.”

“We should’ve brought Jayce, he’s good at hugging,” you paused, realizing how weird that sounded, “at least, according to Caitlyn.”

“I’m no expert, but with children, it is usually the thought that counts for this sort of thing.”

“Uh… it’s not a thought, it’s a hug?”

“It is a physical gesture to let them know that they are not alone. Just being there means a lot.”

“Right- not an expert, a philosopher,” you bit your lip, catching yourself in an automatic insult where one wasn’t warranted, “Sorry, that was rude. You’re probably right. Are you sure you want me to break it to him, though?”

He thought for a wonderfully quiet moment.

“Practice on me,” he said finally.

“What?”

“Practice what you’re going to say on me first,” he impatiently waved you up with his hand, “Go on, stand up, it’s cold out here.”

You grabbed the railing and lazily hauled yourself to your feet, almost falling back down when you made eye contact with him.

Angry eyes were fine – they bounced off of you like a fly to a window. But non-angry eyes you could only take in passing glances or shared looks. Those round ambers, relaxed in discernment, went straight to your soul and it felt like getting shot in the chest. Your eyes dropped to your feet.

“No, no, make eye contact,” he insisted.

You inhaled softly, lifting your head and feeling the shock in your arteries again. But you stayed, your spine straight, forcing yourself to look past the pupils and get lost in the lovely golden color.

“And don’t look so constipated,” he winged, “it’ll just make him feel worse.”

“Listen-“

“I- trust me,” he paused, perfectly candid, “please. I am not trying to make you uncomfortable here. Do you believe me?”

“…yes,” you squinted at him suspiciously.

“And do you know why you believe me?” he waited for you to shake your head, “Because I looked you in the eye.”

Damnit, that was good.

“Alright, alright, point taken,” you grounded yourself to the floor.

He permitted your gaze to drift upwards for a second as you mentally prepared your little speech to Alex. When you came back down, you were ready this time, trapping his irises in your sights. They shined like rusted coins in the foggy sunlight.

“Alex, we’ve gotten word from one of the people looking for information in Bilgewater about your family. We don’t know anything about your siblings, or your father, but they found out what happened to your mother. She’s in gang custody.”

Time blurred, and Viktor’s observant eyes were replaced with Alex’s, completely nonplussed.

“Uh… I don’t have a mom,” he said.

“What?” your composure, that you’d spent all that time preparing, dropped in an instant.

“I have a dad and a pop,” he explained, “no mom, though.”

You looked at Viktor, who just shrugged.

Alex’s room was small, but it was all his. A twin sized bed, a desk, a chair, a bookshelf, and a dresser were all cozily pushed against one of the walls, with just enough space to walk through and not feel squished. Viktor sat by his side on the bed, while you straddled the desk chair.

The safehouse was run by an old married couple – who also happened to be retired Enforcers – that had already gone through kids of their own, so they were uniquely prepared to meet a 10 year old’s needs. The cover story was that he was their grand nephew staying in Piltover over the winter, which you liked, because it meant that he could still enjoy a social life, even if it was highly supervised.

You weren’t his guardian, so it really was none of your business, but you made a point to inspect his living conditions early on and you were not disappointed.

Now, though, the smallness of the room was stifling. Like there was a much bigger world waiting just outside, and you didn’t have access to it. You were missing the bigger picture here, like you were characters in a play that someone else had written.

“Well, then- who the hell did Mel’s informants find?!”

Viktor had begun skimming through a piece of paper while you were busy being frustrated. You didn’t know what it said, but it looked like Mel’s elegant handwriting.

“Female, late 20s to early 30s, five and a half feet tall…” Viktor blinked, breaking his monotone to mouth the next phrase quietly, like he needed to confirm what he was reading, “left hand replaced with a hook.”

“Oh,” you tsked, “well, the hook is helpful, but that doesn’t narrow it down too much in Bilgewater of all places.”

“Alex,” Viktor set the notes in his lap for the moment and addressed the boy, “your sister had her left hand replaced with a hook, did she not?”

“My sister’s not a grownup.”

“But she did have her hand replaced?”

“Yeah… so what?”

“Just a theory I have – would you be able to provide me with a detailed description of your sister? As well as your other family members?”

“The Enforcers already did that,” he kicked his legs restlessly.

“Yes, but this is for my own purposes,”

You furrowed your brows at him. What fucking purposes? It was strange, certainly, but what piece of information did he think the Enforcers would’ve missed out on that was essential to his own investigation?

Either he didn’t even think to explain it to you or didn’t care to hear your opinion, because he calmly waited for Alex’s answer.

“I would be willing to, eh, grant a favor if you help me,” he offered when the kid didn’t say anything.

“Anything?” Alex drew the word out, sounding a little too excited.

“Within reason and provided that the Enforcers have no objections.”

Alex cartoonishly pretended to think it over, putting his hand to his chin and humming to himself.

“Help me do my house chores after I tell you,” he said curtly, “take it or leave it.”

“Sold,” Viktor answer, just as curtly.

You sighed and gave up on trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. You were familiar with the concept of exchange – in fact, it reminded you of how you made your living in Bilgewater – but it was odd to see Viktor in that position. He fit it well.

“You may leave, if you wish.”

Alex didn’t answer, and you turned to check on them. Oh, shit, Viktor was talking to you.

“Uh, you sure?”

“You can also stay if you are interested. But I can handle things by myself from here,” he hand a hand in his pocket, freezing with resignation when he didn’t find what he was looking for, “Could you hand me a pencil?”

“Sure, yeah… paper too?” your hands ghosted over the different coloring utensils and blank sheets of parchment. There were open books here or there that Alex seemed to be copying the drawings from, adding his own spins on them.

“Please.”

“And, uh, I think I will go,” you added as you retrieved the items, turning around to pass them to the bed, “I’ve got that thing to fix. I’ll let Jayce know.”

“I will likely not be back tonight, so one of you must dispose of the remaining formaldehyde.”

You nodded, accidentally making eye contact for what felt like the millionth time today when he took the pencil from your hands. It replaced whatever curiosity you had left with the restlessness in your legs that finally compelled you out of the room.

“See ya, Alex,” you said from the door.

Back in the street, the cold was a punishing reminder of how stupid you were for not bringing a jacket. Thankfully, your conscience was preoccupied with an even bigger act of idiocy – gods you had put up with all that shit from Viktor because you thought that it was to Alex’s benefit, only for it to mean nothing.

You weren’t sure if he would use it against you, but he had seen it, and there was nothing good to overshadow that. You felt like the victim of some cruel joke, getting tricked into everything that you swore you’d never become – first, a Piltover lapdog, and now, a little bitch. You had to stop letting up so easily.

They paid for your services, not your personhood, and you could not forget that. And yet, you were oddly grateful to Viktor for sparing you from, perhaps, a worse fate.

Hell, he didn’t even have to come with you in the first place, but he did. When you asked, he had no questions, issues, or complaints, he just said he’d need a minute to clean up his work and get his coat. He’d taken the extra time to show you how to do this without permanently traumatizing the kid, even though that wasn’t part of the arrangement. And now, he was staying to help do the dishes and letting you get off with nothing, even though coming here was your idea.

You probably owed him something for that.

*****

Yes, Jayce was getting to see many sides of you today.

First, he’d witnessed a mistake, something he’d forgotten you were capable of doing. Then, he’d seen you ask Viktor of all people for help, and apparently be persuasive enough for his partner to instantly agree. And now, you’d come back and he was getting to study you as you silently lost your mind over a pile of Viktor’s terrible handwriting.

You’d explained the situation to him as briefly as possible when you returned, and then promptly made a beeline for Viktor’s notes as though you’d completely forgotten about all the stuff that you needed to finish. Jayce wasn’t going to stop you. If anything, he was curious.

But, over the afternoon, your irritability had grown, only getting worse the more you tried to tamp it back down and focus. You were a whole orchestra of ticked off – sighing, clicking your tongue, scratching your scalp, stamping your foot – and as it finally neared the end of the day Jayce was pushed to ask the question he’d been simmering on since you started.

“Heimerdinger tells me you can’t read,” he said from the other table, making you flinch but getting you stop the slightly grating drumming of your fingers, “so I don’t know what you’re trying to find in there.”

You relaxed into the seat of the chair, giving your poor eyes a break and cracking your knuckles.

“Word travels fast, huh?” you stretched your neck.

“Here? Yeah.”

“I was… well, y’know, Viktor is stuck there, so I was looking through his stuff to see if I could,” your shoulders drooped, “help or something? I don’t think he likes to be behind. But, for the life of me, I cannot figure out where he left off.”

“What’ve you got so far? Maybe I can help,” he said good naturedly. And he meant it, even if you both had better things to do at the moment.

“Something about the aging and de-aging of Vitamin C in organic material. I dunno, chemistry has a lot of words, I was never great at it,” you pursed your lips, “but you don’t need to help, I’ve wasted enough time today.”

“Uh… what?” Jayce raised an eyebrow, stopping his own task – carefully layering different kinds of Demacian steel over the circuits surrounding the transistor.

Jayce was quite pleased that his early interest in forging was making a return in his career. He remembered leaning about Demacian steel back when he was a kid, reading under the covers at 2 am when he thought his mom was asleep. It was made through a special process, where the blacksmith would weld pre-existing steel and iron in a forge with little to no oxygen. As a result, the metal absorbed carbon from the hot charcoals that created crystalline-like nanotubes in structure, which gave it flexibility and sturdiness suitable for Demacia’s finest blades.

And, apparently, it was exactly what they needed to fortify the transistor’s design.

“Well, y’know, I already broke the test circuit this morning…” you crossed your arms, “…with an explosion.”

“Oh, that?” he chuckled lightly, “That’s been bugging you a bit, hasn’t it?”

“Well, no one likes not doing the thing they’re supposed to.”

“Of course, but,” Jayce set down his tweezers, “you know that we’re not like, pissed at you or anything.”

You blinked, as if you just remembered he was there.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sure you’ve got a bunch of ‘em,” you shrugged, “it’s just an inconvenience.”

“Actually, that’s the only one we have,” Jayce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “so, we do still need to fix it. But, more importantly, Viktor and I make all kinds of mistakes while we’re doing this stuff, so, y’know, you’re allowed to do that too.”

“Oh,” your eyes shifted, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“I mean, you’ve seen us screw up before. Big time,” the corners of his mouth twinkled fondly, “What, you think we’re that hypocritical about it?”

“No,” deliberation pulled at the end of the word, “I think I’m just getting used to the whole, like, ‘job’ thing.”

“I don’t believe that you’ve never had a job before.”

“Well, I sorta have. I did gig work, y’know, like, short term stuff. Where you get in, fix the thing, get paid, and then leave. Mistakes, uh, don’t go well there, because if you inconvenience your employer you might get paid less. Hell, I fyou mess up really bad you get your ass beat.”

“People would beat you up?” Jayce raised an eyebrow.

“Well, not me,” you put your hands to your chest, “because I didn’t make mistakes. But other people, yeah.”

“That’s… kinda brutal.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “but I guess I understand why people were so defensive of their stuff. Because, like, if I didn’t fix the beer tap then the bartender can’t work, and then we both won’t be eating at night,” you paused, “not to say that there aren’t assholes who do it just because they can. But it depends.”

“Ah, well,” Jayce said genially, “mistakes are part of the process here. So, as long as that mistake isn’t fatal, you don’t need to worry about getting paid.”

“Every mistake used to be fatal,” you reflected, gruff but not malicious, “or, at least, that’s how it felt. Like you’re hanging on by a thread.”

“It’s good that you’re still here, then.”

He smiled kindly at you, but you just looked lost. Not scared, not worried, just lost, like you were trying to piece everything together and weren’t sure where to start. You stared straight through Jayce and into oblivion.

“I guess I am,” you said, “but I’m lucky.”

Your eyes dropped in a quiet memorial to those who weren’t. Jayce bent his head, trying to keep your focus from underneath your contemplation.

“We’re all lucky,” he said, “doesn’t mean that we don’t deserve to have good things happen sometimes.”

“I don’t think it’s really about deserve,” your pupils twitched back up, “cause, like, everyone deserves a decent living. But that hasn’t happened, so we’re not even close to deserve yet. It’s about…” you brushed your thumb over Viktor’s writing, “it’s about winning this stupid fucking rat race. Like, asking yourself how much you’re willing to lose for a shot at rising above what you were born with. And people like the kind in Bilgewater, who don’t have much to begin with – they aren’t exactly dying to stick their necks out.”

“Yeah,” Jayce found himself nodding somberly, “I mean, survival was never an issue for me, but I get it. Trying to build something for yourself is always a game of risk. And it shouldn’t be.”

You arched an eyebrow, filled with the same reticent curiosity that Viktor had when he stopped Jayce from ending his own life. As if you were asking: “Really? With all this privilege, you’re upset because you lost a game that you knew you shouldn’t have been playing?”

And he would answer that, if he can’t make things better with his privilege, then was it really worth anything in the first place?

Obviously, he couldn’t say any of that to you. No one knew about his almost-suicide except for Viktor, and he would like to keep it that way. It wasn’t his proudest moment, even if he could justify his sadness. His pride was wounded, his dream was shattered, and he was an emotional wreck. Any way that he tried to process it in his head would have his failure come out on the other end, screaming at him that he was a waste of all his “gifts.” Altruistic, smart, wealthier than most, and all he did with it was get kicked out of school for not being careful enough.

But now, he was living proof that he wasn’t a waste. And, even if he didn’t like that it happened that way, his mistake lead to the best decision in his life.

“That’s where I’m having trouble,” you said finally, resting your chin in your hands, “because staying here, well, it wasn’t risky. It was so easy, and I feel like I’ve gone around, like, the rules of life or something. It’s just a bitch to tall take in.”

A switch flipped in Jayce. He got up from his chair and slid into the one across from you, putting his hands on the table to demand your full attention.

“Pen,” he said earnestly, “the rules are fucking bullshit. And I say this as someone who has spent my whole life benefitting from them and screwing with them – nothing has to be this way.

“I know that,” you rolled your eyes with dubious coyness, “like, obviously getting your hand cut off because you were fishing in a part of the bay that pirates owned isn’t the state of nature. But, y’know, they don’t care, and when they catch you, you’ll still get your hand cut off.”

“Not in your case, though,” Jayce patiently withdrew his hand, speaking in short sentences to encourage your rambling.

“Exactly! Like, whether I stayed or I left, I would still get to keep my hand, so to speak. Any consequences were personal preference but none of them were really bad. It was just… a choice. And I feel like this entire time I’ve been waiting for someone to cut that hand off.”

“I mean… that was kinda the point. We wanted to make it easy.”

“Yeah,” you snorted grimly, “and, I do appreciate that, even if I still don’t entirely understand it.”

“I mean, we had the resources to do, so we did,” he shrugged, “and you’re proof of concept for our whole ‘making lives easier’ thing.”

“Seems like you made Viktor’s life harder,” you grinned dryly.

Jayce bit his cheek. Of course you didn’t know what Viktor had said, you weren’t there, he told himself, but still he was caught off guard. He’d have to correct you.

“He was your biggest advocate, actually,” Jayce said.

“Uh…” your chuckled awkwardly, “are you sure about that?”

“Not that I didn’t also want you to hang around,” Jayce added, “but I was ready to let you leave when you made it clear that you wanted to. But Viktor, he was determined. He took care of most of it – the stipend, the Enforcers, hell, he even spoke to Heimerdinger about it.”

“I- wow,” you faltered, thoughtfully picking on your thumb’s cuticle, “I didn’t know that.”

“You left quite the impression.”

“Yeah,” you tilted your head to the side, looking out the window, “I guess I did.”

The darkness outside came alive with the moonlight, dropping gentle hues of blue across your face. The wind viciously rapped against the glass, but the brass handle never even shuddered. Jayce felt safe, in a way, like he could wait out the entire winter in here as you sorted through your thoughts.

You were on the verge of some big revelation, he could feel it. Barely breathing but mind racing as you tried to convert everything you’d learned today into something practical. Jayce was excited for it, even – you could realize the importance of their mission, you could see how much you could do if you really put your mind to it.

A warning tap of your fingers queued him back in as your mouth parted.

“What were we talking about again?” you quirked one side of your mouth goofily. Perhaps not today, Jayce thought.

“Ah, y’know what, I don’t really remember either,” Jayce sighed, trying to play off his disappointment, “I think it’s time to call it a day.”

He’d long since broken from the trance of his work and the exhaustion was starting to hit him.

“I’ll be here a little longer,” you said, standing up and wiping your hands on your pants, “Viktor asked me to clean up the formaldehyde if he didn’t come back.”

Jayce considered helping you, but you were deadest on doing something to make up the time that Viktor had lost. If this was that moment, then it could be all yours.

“Right,” he stood, grabbing his coat, “don’t forget to lock it when you leave.”

“I won’t,” you said over your shoulder as you organized the notes near the edge of the table.

Jayce rolled his shoulders through the sleeves of the coat and opened the door, taking one last look at you milling about the lab, completely unbothered. He felt like he was missing something.

“Good night, Penny.”

You didn’t look at him.

“Good night, Jayce.”

*****

It was colder by the time Viktor left Alex’s house, but somehow, with the heat lamps warmly leading the way back to town, the street actually had some life in it.

Viktor didn’t know what to expect anymore. He thought that he had some grasp on his own work, but every turn just gave him more questions and told him that his previous answers were wrong to start with. He wasn’t a detective, he was a scientist, and while he thought that those two professions weren’t that different once, he was beginning to reconsider.

Either this kid was miraculously connected to everything, or this conspiracy was bigger than anyone realized.

If that woman actually was Alex’s sister, the implications were disastrous on every level. Whether or not the pirates did it on purpose, they were aware of what they had done. Then, it would only be a matter of time until they figured out how to control the portal’s biology-altering effects, if they hadn’t already.

And what if they had? What did that mean for everyone else involved? Were Alex’s family also hidden in plain sight, and Mel’s informants were simply unable to identify them? Or, even worse, they’d already died but were so beyond recognition that no one thought to mention it.

What about Myrna? Alex claimed that he’d seen her associating with the gang before – had something awful happened to her? So awful that Iron Leg was compelled to attack the moment that he caught wind of it? And why was his first move to attack Piltover, of all places?

Footsteps began to ripple on the pavement as he returned to the more populated parts of town. People were still sparse, but the occasional shop owner leaving for the day or family being shown out the door after dinner would pass by.

So, Viktor concluded, he could not go insane at this very moment. Bad for publicity.

He craned his neck to see over the tops of the buildings, finding the window of Heimerdinger’s office – the highest window the Academy had – lording over the city like an eye. Heimerdinger would be losing his mind if he knew what Viktor was uncovering.

Viktor looked a few stories lower, landing on the floor that the lab was. You and Jayce had, no doubt, gone home for the evening, but even then, you’d spent the entire afternoon without him. You’d be the best of pals by now.

Viktor exhaled, shoving his free hand in his pocket.

He was being overdramatic. He knew that Jayce wasn’t that type of person, and he knew that if you wanted to spite him, then you would be more direct about it. But that made it all worse, because, once again and without even trying, you were exceeding him in what was supposed to be his thing.

He kept telling himself that it would be okay – you weren’t competitors. But the resentful nausea quelling in his stomach didn’t believe him. Maybe you had been trying, he thought. Why else would you beg him to come see Alex with you only to leave the minute that you got the chance? You clearly didn’t like being around him, with how nervous you got. Did you know that he would agree to stay?

And he’d fallen for it so readily, because he couldn’t bring himself to refuse something so… honest. If you needed him so badly that you overcame your own ego to ask him, then it must’ve been important. At least, that’s what he thought.

You were so confounding, but his recent state of mind was starting to make him wonder if he was the crazier one here. At what point did his speculations about you become his fault?

“Oh!” a kind voice collided with his shoulder, knocking him off balance as he breathed in sharply.

An older woman, with white hair in a neat low bun and sea green eyes. A thick black overcoat draped over her blue lapel dress.

“Apologies, dear! My eyes aren’t quite what they used to be,” she smiled.

“Quite alright,” Viktor forced a forgiving smile of his own, “I was distracted, myself.”

“Well, then, I hope we both make it home without another incident.”

She carried on forward, falling into a content hum. Viktor watched her go over his shoulder, and he could’ve sworn that he’d heard you humming that same song earlier this morning. Small world.

Damnit, he was thinking about you again.

He shook his head testily and continued on his way. Enough about you, he thought, he was going to put at least one thought to rest tonight, and maybe, finally, get something done here. He had to find his notes again, and maybe revisit one of his plants.

He had to go back to the lab.

*****

You were not mentally well.

You weren’t too proud to admit that to yourself. But, alone in the lab, no patrol officers stalking the halls and no Jayce to make you think twice, it didn’t matter anymore. You could let loose, and no one would see it. You could yourself to fucking snap. You realized now that this had been a long time coming.

It started after Jayce had left, when you picked up a cup of cleaning fluid so violently that you crushed it between your fingers. It gushed over the sides and creeped down your knuckles, ponderous as a waterfall, over the open cuts and scrapes that you always had. It burned, but you didn’t move, didn’t stop it, just let the pain sear through you nerve endings. Finally, a feeling that you could fucking process.

Because you couldn’t process everything else, gods, you really couldn’t.

You should’ve figured it out when you’d fucked up the cannon, you thought, as you dumbly through the cup in the trash, missing it by a few feet. You moved like you were drunk. Your limbs weren’t your own anymore, your own fucking life wasn’t even your own anymore. It didn’t belong to anyone else, but it certainly didn’t belong to you either, you thought as you slapped the cleaning fluid off your hand with a paper towel.

Breathing got harder, but you didn’t care. You liked it, almost, because it meant that you were doing something.

Or maybe you should’ve realized it when you met Alex, you continued as you half sat half fell on the floor. You’d ruined his entire fucking life and you weren’t even trying to. Before you’d even agreed to stay, your normal survival, the thing that you had always lived on, were fucking over other people. It was all your fault, because this was where you were now and you couldn’t deal with that shit.

The wind was too fucking loud, it sounded like one of the gods themselves was whistling in your ear as they watched you shrivel up and die.

That woman this morning, gods, you’d lost her, if she was even fucking real. You didn’t even know why you wanted to find her so bad, maybe you just wanted a single fucking scrap of what you’d left behind, but she vanished. Maybe you wanted the reassurance of knowing that you and Alex were not the only pieces of Bilgewater in Piltover, so that way, if he fucking died because of you and then you finally lost your mind, you could find solace in someone else.

You were restless and weak at the same time. You wanted to throw something, so you unsheathed your knife and gracelessly chucked it across the room so hard that something in the hilt broke. Then, you held your own arms so hard that your nails dug into your skin and the tips of your fingers were warm with blood.

Oh, and Viktor. Viktor Viktor Viktor. Advocating for you? Was he fucking insane? Wasn’t he supposed to know what this kind of thing was like? Did it even fucking matter what you said to him when he was just going to advocate for you in the end? Did your hatred mean anything?

You made a mistake today.

You made a mistake and there were no personal consequences, because personal consequences didn’t fucking exist anymore. You were on a new level, a big player who made big decisions, and yet it felt like you’d fucking lost everything.

Your mistake postponed the fate of those Ionians. Decided whether they would stay or leave. Whether they would live or die. Did they even want to come here? Did you want to send them here? What if they ended up like you? Washed away by the fucking weight of everything, separated from all that they knew, getting to decide whether they would stay and defend their country or leave it behind? Would it even be saving lives if they ended up like you? Because you were fucking dying here.

You smelled the formaldehyde that you hadn’t cleaned up yet. Formaldehyde. Corrosive to carbon steel in liquid form. Corrosive to Demacian steel.

You were going to end it. You moved like a robot, shaking the bottle of formaldehyde and standing above the half-finished circuit. It would melt the steel, fuck the wires, and seep into all the cracks that it wouldn’t. You didn’t know how you would justify it. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to think about it anymore, didn’t want to fucking choose for other people when you couldn’t keep your own head above water.

You wanted it to fucking die. Maybe then you could breathe again.

“Wha- you’re still- what the hell are you doing?” a Czech voice said in the doorway.

You turned. Viktor.

Fuck.

~ End Notes ~

i'm not sorry for the cliffhanger die mad abt it

End credits song (don't worry it is NOT as depressing as it sounds i promise): "I Think I'm Going To Kill Myself" by Elton John

(btw I'm thinking about throwing together a playlist with all of the songs i'm putting here and maybe others??? keep an eye out)

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor x you #enemies to lovers #slow burn #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #jayce talis #mel medarda #mel #caitlyn #jayce #waves on the shore #caitlyn kiramann #Spotify