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stardustdiiving · 6 months

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How evil is arlecchino and what is she cooking

As of 4.2, I’m really curious what they’re planning with Arlecchino as a character, especially as a villain/antagonist/morally dubious character, and how far/which direction they may go with that

Intuitively my impression is we’ll see her do something way more “villainous” than she presents herself as being for majority of Fontaine’s AQ in front of us right—(which isn’t a surprise given that, you know, Arlecchino nor the House of Hearth have never been presented as 110% ethical LOL) but I find myself not being in complete agreement with most analysis or speculation threads I see about Arlecchino’s morality and the like, level of sinister people seem to ascribe to her.

Idk how to put it, especially in regards to her children I do agree they are not a wholesome found family, that Arlecchino is not above pulling strings or using them for her own ulterior motives, but I kind of hesitate on the idea she only cares about the Hearth children as a means to the end/things she can control and there’s nothing else going on with her characterization wise there. I’m not saying that impression seems remotely unreasonable or unfounded, but just that it feels there’s something intentionally missing in how we are supposed to conceptualize her as a person

My main reasoning for this hunch is the fact they have not elaborated on Arlecchino and the previous Knave—who Arlecchino is stated to have taken over the position from by force. The extra tidbits I think about are that 1) Arlecchino was previously an orphan in the Hearth 2) the previous Knave is described as way, way crueler to the children of than Heart than Arlecchino was from when she took control of the House

Often, people’s major indicators that the House of the Hearth is kind of super fucked up are the NPCs we meet in world quests who are part of it and clearly suffering. But one thing I haven’t ever seen people mention w this that i think is a very interesting detail is, in The Very Special Fortune Slip Inazuma worldquest, where we stop this House of Hearth guy (Efim Snezhevich) from manufacturing tension between Watasumi/the Shogunate to restart the war with his other Hearth subordinates, at the end of the quest we get this dialogue that reveals he had been acting under the previous Knave’s directives:

It’s also mentioned he’s employing this plan in an attempt to “rebuild the prestige of the Knave” following Signora’s death, iirc? Now, see, the dialogue itself says that this is “assuming our captive is telling the truth” so who knows what’s really going on, but I find this a really odd/interesting thing to highlight. I’m a bit fuzzy on other world quests with Hearth members, and am not saying none of them were acting and subsequently being treated poorly by our Arlecchino, but like, this gives me a lot of questions especially when paired with implications this previous Knave seemed to be way worse

Like, what drove Arlecchino to take over? How unexpected and controversial was this within the House? Assuming the above information is all true it definitely says something this guy went rogue and acted on what the previous Knave would want and didn’t think our Arlecchino would greenlight it, which does feel consistent with the previous Knave being described as basically worse & crueler than our Arlecchino. It also makes me question how much house of hearth things we’ve seen outside the main story are the work of our Arlecchino or if there’s a bigger divide of loyalty. Heck, I could be wrong but it doesn’t even seem like we know if the previous Knave is dead or not

This isn’t me saying Arlecchino couldn’t possibly be treating hearth children worse than she wants us to know, especially ones who aren’t her “favorites” the way the fontaine trio seem to be, but I really don’t feel sure about making a solid conclusion of her exact level of malice the way ppl r generally understanding it rn when it feels there’s going to be more about her. Just the idea of she, as a Hearth child, clashed with the previous leader who was known for being cruel, overtook their position and took on less harsh methods of leading that made at least some members with more power/possible closer proximity to the previous Knave go rogue and try to commit atrocities in the previous Knave’s name…I feel this leaves a lot of room to suggest there’s more going on with how Arlecchino is as a person

I don’t mind if she’s just very evil and deceptive bc if she totally had me fall for thinking she was less evil than she actually was that’s fun tbh. But I feel people suggest that’s all her character could be with no degree of like, “sympatheticness” or deep grey morality and that if her character did go there it would be automatically poor writing and genshin walking back on making a truly evil woman when IDK. I feel you can claim at this point they have left it open ended and it’s never been completely confirmed she’s pure evil. Also sometimes I just get a hunch and feel cautiously confident in Genshin executing certain characters well. Not all characters, just certain ones. Especially given Fontaine’s character writing being very good and a character like Lyney feeling very solid to me when any development with Arlecchino would likely involve him and his siblings as well, I honestly feel open to the idea of Arlecchino being satisfyingly written to be both villainous/morally dubious but “sympathetic/likable as a person” in ways outside of just her ruthlessness if that makes sense

If I’m wrong/they drop the ball with it more than I anticipate I’ll eat my hat but I am pretty excited about her character and which way they decide to go with it. I will say the only potential impression I have of where they’ll go with her has been wondering if it will go in a “cycles of abuse” direction—I’d be surprised if they ever elaborated on Arlecchino’s character especially in how she feels about things and her also growing up as an exploited child of the hearth wasn’t relevant

#arlecchino #see my track record with said hunch with when I feel I should let genshin cook has been #for months truthing my vision of xiao’s speififc brand of internalized dehumanization induced suicidal ideation #and how genshin will one day he will get another quest of sorts thst develops his character towards #the idea he’s allowed to live and enjoy people’s company and this will likely #also come with following through on yaksha lore and when they do this they will do him SO well and it will be peak genshin quest #all of this Months before the existence of perilous trails was even rumored #and then I was soo stubborn xiao would show up in 2023 lantern rite w more character introspection to follow up PT #and also from the first fontsine teaser I was in the trenches for furina bc I felt so confident #the main storyline would handle her very well & if genshin went anywhere near the direction of her #not being a ‘true archon’ & ppl were Wrong if they thought genshin woudlnt take her seriously #and HAHA. WWOOWOOWOWOEOEOOEOEE #I have also been sent into hysteria multiple times bc genshin keeps canonizing my exact ideas of my favorite character dynamics #and often exceeding my expectations that I thought were jsut wishful thinking #yes I predicted exactly how xiao would interact w Venti & zhongli on screen yes I predicted #the exact nature of hat radish friendship no I was wiped out on the floor #by nahida enrolling wanderer in college & calling him hat guy & zhongli saving xiao’s life #& xiao having hardcore social anxiety from zhongven flirting with each other st the dinner table #this sounds so conceited. see I often don’t know What genshin is cooking but k feel sure in knowing when soemthing is going to be #a shitshow or mediocre or when we need to let them cook. even if it takes 6+ months #TRUST ME <— guy who has been waiting on genshin to cook for several characters for multiple years and is still sure I will get my food #am I crazy. yes. am I also often right when I have hunches on when genshin is going to suck and when it’s going to be good esp character #writing wise. often yes #one day I will annihilate genshined impact with my bare hands #genshin #fern.txt #fandomferns

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call-me-the-candyman · 6 months

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In the woodless mound, the grave keeper works his nightly shift. He is a rather friendly sort, but he must always be careful not to tilt his head too far to the side.

#ms paint #art #pumpkin #wooden man #trench coat #boots #shorts #graveyard #gravestone #grassy hills #weird moon #night sky #starry night #jack o lantern #pumpkin man #spooptober #october #autumn

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desdesastre · 18 days

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i also wanna fuck [redacted] and i wish it happens again and (drops to the floor) (lets out a little scream)

#trenches time #i cant see shit this is my diary now #mystuff #theres a FUCKING LANTERN FUCKING FLASHING ME #hatsune miku save me

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deadsetobsessions · 4 months

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Green Lantern hovered in the doorway of the med bay. He’d been summoned, but he had no idea what for.

“You know, spooky, some of us have lives to get back to. Not everyone can exist off of just work and blood or whatever,” Hal poked fun at Batman, who rubbed at his jaw tiredly. Hal blinked, stamping down the guilt that arose at Batsy’s uncharacteristic show of any emotion other than stone cold rationality or exasperation or anger. At least they’ve moved past grunts. That just lends credence to Hal’s theory of Batman being an immortal, like Vandal Savage. Batman could totally pass for a caveman, he’s got the grunts down, for sure.

“Still not a vampire. We found the Ghost King. The one the GIW was trying to hide in their records.”

“Well, shit.” Hal’s expression flattened, remembering the unsanctioned government branch that violated the Meta Rights act to a degree where even Amanda Waller had washed her hands of them. Bats had found evidence that they were experimenting on a child when a “source” had hacked into the base and begged them to find the child. Phantom, the hacker had claimed, who had managed to destroy the portal to the Infinite Realms

Batman had tried to boot the guy out of the system, until the hacker told them Phantom was the King of the Infinite Realms.

That got Constantine terrified, which urged Batman into a full hunting mode to track down the king. Mostly in part because Constantine said something along the lines of, “If the King dies, the Infinite Realms will wage war and decimate us. And considering they’re the realm of the dead, we’d lose so badly, even the demons won’t help us out for our bloody souls.”

Granted, he didn’t have that terrible British accent Hal attached to his voice every time the Green Lantern thought about the sad trench coat wizard, but the point still stood.

“He’s not fully conscious due to… his injuries, but the moments where he was, he reacted best to the color green.”

Hal did not want to know what kind of creepy stalker things Batman did to get that knowledge.

“Oh, great. You called me because I’m green,” he said to Batman as he floated into the med bay. “I can be green. I’m amazing at being green.”

Even with the sarcastic tone, Hal made sure to up his lantern aura, glowing a bright neon green. It wouldn’t do to help start a war if he wasn’t green enough.

Hal looked at the Ghost King, and yeah, he could see why Bats was so off his stoic face game today. Because the Ghost King looked like a teenager, and Bats is a bleeding heart and everyone knows it.

Hal waved away Batman, “Go back to Gotham and drink your true blood or whatever. You look like you’ve seen the sun too much.”

Translation: go home, you look tired.

Batman nodded, in thanks, and left to sleep (probably. Hal has never caught the man doing something so… plebeian). Hal is left playing babysitter. To an inter dimensional being that could- probably more like “would,” considering the live dissection he went through at the hands of humans- destroy their entire planet and/or universe. Another Tuesday for the Justice League.

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp #bruce wayne #hal jordan #green lantern #being as neon green as a ghost #justice league #jla #Hal Jordan’s love language is making shitty jokes and childish insults #Danny Phantom is not having a great time #danny fenton #ghost king danny #Batman is a good batdad #Hal Jordan is the funcle #The GIW #tucker foley #who is a bamf hacker #he hacks on a pda do you know how hard that is

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pupcuck · 2 months

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RIGOR MORTIS !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. las plagas!reader, he kills you, technically snuff ig but wasn’t intended oops, gore, canon-typical violence, reader is infected and out of it so she can’t really consent, dub-con, non-con, p in v, choking/asphyxiation, strangulation

note. god im plagued by writers block and it’s killing me it’s like walking on shattered glass rn. umm please ignore any mistakes, not very fond on this but haven’t posted in a bit :3 um it’s quite short. rbs are always appreciated :3 instead of asking for a part 2 please just tell me something nice.. feedback is really appreciated <3 comms are open! info in my pinned :3

Leon seeks refuge in what looks to have once been a humble abode. Now only a shack wearing a shroud of all things dead and rotten remains. Foetid water has soaked him to the bone, it seeps into the thick leather of his combat boots, leaves his socks soggy. He really hates that. Leon can handle cerebrospinal fluid leaving a sticky film on the toe of his boots, the blood caked beneath his fingernails is something he considers normal, but wet socks are a total inconvenience, it’s a shortcut to trench foot.

The hollow skulls of small critters occupy the corners, the cobwebs have cobwebs, the air is stagnant and stinking. Not of rot, but of sickness. A gaping wound crawling with infection, bacteria settling in the crevices of his mind, squirming like fat, juicy maggots—

Crack!

It’s a man, he was a man, now he’s a boneless lump of flesh, his spinal cord snapped under the weight of Leon’s boot. His yellowed teeth glisten under the golden warmth of a single lantern. Leon’s defence is choreographed at this point, a swift kick to intercept an impending strike, then his boot makes mincemeat of their brains.

When he takes a step back to review his current affair, it’s not so bad, certainly not Raccoon City. Leon would take a million murderous Spanish grandparents over a single zombie. Zombies are plain nasty, not a single limb intact, oozing pustules that peel back to reveal purpling flesh infested by larvae. They’re fuckin’ ugly. Slow and bloated and ugly. A sight no human being should see.

On the wall, there’s a shattered, grimy mirror. Leon sees the ghost of a boy staring back at him. Unwashed hair hanging limp, cheekbones carved out, his skin alabaster like the blocky lettering stitched into his uniform. R.P.D. it reads, muddied by blood and guts and chunks of vomit. All the good shit. He hasn’t grown into his body yet, the steel of his gun is cool on his temple and he’s young and these are all important things to know. In his arms is something small and lightweight, a bloodied little girl, leading him to a pyrrhic victory.

The floorboards groan under the weight of a pair of feet that don’t belong to him, the threat isn’t imminent. You don’t charge at him, no, it’s shambling he can only describe as zombie-like, dragging your bare feet like it hurts to lift them off the ground. Like you’re waterlogged and ready to pop.

You were pretty, he’s sure, a real looker. You’re pretty now, just not in your entirety. Strings of reddish muscle keep the fatty flesh of your right tit hanging on for dear life. Like an Amazonian woman. There’s no rot, no sign of decay, simply an act of self-mutilation.

Now, some might call him a pervert, but Leon’s a self-proclaimed iconoclast. And you, swaying from side to side in your torn linen nightdress, the skeletal pendant of Los Iluminados around your neck like a disfigured cross, draped in a veil of white that’s close enough to holy - it’s worth ruining. Santa Maria di Plagas or whatever.

He realises a few shattered bones have you walking funny, circles you easily and heads into the room you exited. The bed sheets are rumpled in unrest, he sits, there’s a hairline fracture between the two of you. The lantern light bares all, the white of your dress becomes gossamer-thin, he makes out your shape beneath the blood-soaked cloth that moulds to the shape of your torso, the smooth dip of your waist, a soft sinkage where the fabric clings to your belly button.

Leon has seen far worse. Can you blame a guy for getting hard at the sight of a real girl? In his line of work, he’s neck deep in pounds of flesh that spew pus and gore from each virus-clogged abscess. The layer of dirt on your skin does not deter him, that tit hanging by a tissuey thread, swinging back and forth like your necklace is child’s play to him. ‘Cause Leon’s a real man. The princely type.

(He’s anything but. One girl’s knight in shining armour is a monster under the bed for another. It’s not like you can complain, you’re quite the monster yourself.)

Hang in there Ashley. He’ll be there soon, but he’s got to do this. This is completely and utterly necessary. Hunnigan doesn’t need to know why he’ll be unreachable for a good thirty minutes or so. Less probably. ‘Cause your body is hot, clammy with fever, and that means your pussy is even hotter.

Something… Something… Plagas… Something… Lord Saddler…

Your mumbling is constant. Leon will have to do something about that. You gnash your teeth at him when you approach, held back only by the sluggishness that comes with, like, brainwashing cultish parasites.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no entiendo.” Leon loops a worn piece of rope around your neck. Ain’t that handy? Found it hung on your assumed-to-be father’s tool belt. Used for leading curly little lambs to the sacrificial altar. He strokes the underside of your chin, and you bare your teeth like a wild dog, albeit slowly. A late reaction. No fair, it’s like someone’s knocked you around already, who got here before him?

Getting his dick out at a time like this in a place like this, it’s not smart. Sneaky bugs could use his urethra as a water slide. A menacing minibeast might latch onto his balls pincher-first. However, needs are needs, and nothing gets in the way of Leon’s dick, not even a kidnapped First Daughter could stop the force of nature that is his boner.

With ease, he pushes you onto the ground. Not the bed. If you behave like an animal then he’ll have to fuck you like one. Plus, Leon’s not quite sure he trusts those sheets, at least the rusty nails on the floorboards are visible to the naked eye. Tetanus won’t be a nasty surprise, just a momentary lapse in judgement.

Your body contorts when he pulls the rope, back taking on a feline shape, spine bending inwards and your hips up. Puppetry is easier than it looks. The hem of your dress lifts to reveal your leaking chasm of a pussy. Better than nothing. Not like he’s eating it either way.

One hand on the rope, the other on his belt buckle, he lowers his jeans enough to pop his dick out. “Stay still, honey.” He instructs, but it’s like talking to a brick wall, or to a person who doesn’t understand a lick of English.

Leon chokes you with the rope. “I’ll only be a minute, sweetheart,” he coos, a tender kiss that he regrets merely seconds later placed on your shoulder.

He grips the base of his cock, the fat tip is red and leaky, precum bubbling like your foaming mouth. Leon’s too hard. His dick is totally upright, the soft curve pointing towards the ceiling, a thumb comes to press down on the tip, using it to guide himself into your pussy.

“Oh, there you go, honey, yeah, there you go.” His hold on the rope loosens, still firm enough to keep you in place, but now at least there’s oxygen flowing to your parasite-addled brain. “You feel that?”

Leon’s dick stretches you to the point of no return. He’s broken you in. Better off him than any of those grotesque old men. You’re a virgin surely, so it’s very considerate of him to fuck you before you die. No one should die a virgin, that’s cruel, it’s inhumane.

You thrash wildly, grunting each time his hips smack into the fat of your ass, he can’t tell if you’re enjoying it— You better be fuckin’ enjoying it. Know how risky this shit is? Fuck, what if you had a mutated cunt or something. Jagged teeth waiting to clamp down on a big fat dick and tear it straight off. He really needs to start thinking with his brain and not his cock. The thing just doesn’t shut up.

When he cums, the rope is tight around the column of your neck— It would be your hair, but he fears it might fall straight from your scalp in nasty, matted clamps. Your body rears like a wild Mustang, he gathers the rope and it wraps around his fingers until your back is flush to his chest and you grasp for something, anything— Eyes rolled so far back he can see the milky whites, and then he gives one last tug to make sure you’re stuck in that state. Mid-orgasm. Eyes in the back of your skull, back arched, pussy dripping with his load. Cute. He wishes rigor mortis set in right now so that you don’t fall slack into a heap of red and white when he lets go.

Leon leaves by barrelling out of a window like a true gentleman, the microscopic shards splinter your skin. He takes that pendant with him, tucks it in his back pocket, could be useful at some point in time.

It’s only when the blood in his veins runs black and viscous does Leon notice something is severely wrong. His blood flow slows to a halt, clots forming in every important artery. Mucousy black sludge leaks from his nose. An intense pain cuts through his senses with deadly precision, a surge of discomfort that has him kneeling over, hands on his knees in a clumsy attempt to steady himself.

His hands clasp around Ada’s neck— The rope. He pulls it tighter and tighter to get closer and closer. Her voice is distorted by the fog that clouds his brain, it creates a hazy barrier, mutes the world around him. A knife lodges in the meaty flesh of his thigh, he topples backwards when her knee makes contact with his groin.

“That bitch gave me crabs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He brushes her off. “I said, uh, Lord Saddler almighty.” Leon’s heard that enough times to repeat it back to her rather fluently. Nice save.

“Right,” Ada says, unconvinced.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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uvuyai · 6 months

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𝒀𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬 “𝑯𝑨𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑲𝑼𝑺𝑨𝑴𝑨” ft. Afab reader

⚠︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴅᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴀᴛ⚠︎

—𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑹𝑬 ! * Smut, nsfw, suggestive,

—𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑺 ! * Breading, Jealousy, slight cervix fucking, mating press, size difference, monster fucking???, unprotected sex, rough sex to passionate (??), dacryphilia, pinning, mdom → msub,

𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒊’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 !* yes yes, i know i haven't been doing the kinktober prompts but i promise(i don't keep em soo..), I'll try to have more post in by December. Most will probably be more Headcanons. And with the recent events.

You were lying on your back, the spiky grass blades prickling your back. Sweat beaded your body from head to toe. “He” was the one that did this to you, “he” ripped open your shirt revealing your chest. Placing hickies and marks here and there.

You were just walking the streets until you bumped into(or vice versa) someone and spilled your drink on to their shirt. You immediately apologized and volunteered to buy them a new shirt which they refused to. But you instead insisted. By night, you were walking down the sidewalk, the streets were barely crowded now.

You suddenly heard something in the darkness beside you. You were scared at first until you heard “him”, say equally spaced ’po's’. You looked into the darkness to see a familiar figure dressed in white. “He” had pale skin with a long white trench coat with a few rips at the bottom, being uneven. “He” had dark circles under his eyes. “He” had long black hair and a white straw hat on his head.

“He” was pretty muscular and had a large size at best.

You walked over to him and his pale skin soon flushed pink. You gave “him” a small wave and smile. “He” let out a squeaked “Po!” and grabbed your wrist, pulling you more into the darkness.

You ended up in a garden with beautiful flowers and tall hedges. It looks too much like a dream considering “he” is an urban legend that's now a follower of yours. But only appears at night which leads to you waking up late for work.

He grabbed your arm and walked you down a path with stone walls lining it. And a few feet of walking he stops. He turned to you and looked you deeply in the eye with his dead ones. You stared back at him. You wanted to avoid his gaze but it seem to hypnotize you at the slightest.

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you more into the hedges. It seemed to be getting more darker. A few lanterns was the only light source but most of them were dim. He stopped in his tracks once again and pulled you into a hug. He was touching all over you. From your thighs to your chest. He pressed your face into his chest with a low grumble erupting from it.

You felt his hard on poking your stomach which made your face feel hot.

You gulped and tried to look up at him but to no avail. Your head was still pressed into his chest. He grabbed your thighs and placed them around his waist, you tumbled backwards hitting the ground but he wrapped his arms you, mostly trying to soften the impact.

He unbuttoned his trench coat and threw it somewhere nearby. You gasped as he nearly ripped apart your blouse(which he did), he stared at your breast for a solid second be latching himself onto one of them. You let out gasps and moans. He rubbed his hard on over your soaking pussy, desperately trying to get inside you. You have done this before but it was mainly you who was overpowering him.

He tugged at your panties and looked at you, his pupils shaping themselves into hearts. You nodded and looked away. He ripped off your panties and threw them somewhere in the hedges. A string followed but got cut short since he threw them.

aligned himself with your pussy and rubbed himself against it, his moans and soft “Po” would absolutely turn you on. You couldn't say you didn't like them. He pushed himself into your heat, grunts and pants we heard. You moaned loudly and he rocked his hips back n forth into you. His cock was webbed in your juices.

Loud slapping could be heard throughout the hedges. If this place was available to other people, you could tell their faces would be full of disgust. He placed your legs more onto his shoulders, leaning forwards to reach deeper into your core. Nearly bumping into your cervix. Your eyes rolling behind your head and tongue lolling out of your mouth. He took that as a signal to kiss you. Your tongues dancing together.

Tears welded in your eyes and so were his eyes. He let go of the kiss, a string following through. Deep panting was apparent. His soft moans and little "Po.." was extremely hot considering he's a big guy and intimidating with his glares. It's rare to see him break into whimpers and moans.

His breathing came to a halt, his hips stuttering the slightest. He let out a strangled elongated "P-Po..!" As he came inside you without warning. You wouldn't get mad at him for not telling you right? You know he doesn't talk much but you'll let it slide.

Besides, it's his way of marking you on the inside just in case you don't like hickies placed onto you.

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ranticore · 2 months

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the sea is a terrible place (or: here's some scary natural phenomena found in the sea of Siren)

The false reflection, mostly encountered by deep-diving phocids. This phenomenon occurs when ultra dense high saline water gathers in underwater brine pools on the sea floor. It appears reflective, like a mirror. Down in the deep, the only way you can see at all is to take some form of luminescence with you, which obscures the pool and shows you nothing but another phocid below, holding a light source. It's common for pelagic people to be unfamiliar with their own facial markings and reflection. They mistake the reflection as another phocid, or a ghostly apparition, and reach out. But the salinity of the brine pool is such that even touching it can scald the skin, especially as all mammals on siren are adapted to low salt conditions and require far far less salt than unaltered humans.

The abyss, of course. Most of the sea of Siren is not as deep on average as the sea on Earth. But there are cracks and trenches in the sea floor that go down, and down, and down... they are poorly explored (though the first settlers did send drones down) and sites of myth and legend for swimmers. The abyss is not usually dangerous, since it's easy to just not go down there, but sometimes the cracks seem to inhale and exhale - natural flows of groundwater, or attempts to fill a vacuum caused by a different crack releasing gas. So swimming over certain cracks might result in you being dragged down unexpectedly into the anoxic zone near the sea floor in the region... or it might result in you being unexpectedly shot up. These events are incredibly rare and usually passed off as tall tales, some selkie who claims to have flown due to being propelled into the sky

The snowstorm... an event that occurs when the sediment is agitated enough to completely white out the water. If the particles are the right size, echolocation clicks bounce back immediately, making sight and echo useless. Phocids and selkies trapped in the snowstorm could lose situational awareness and forget which way is up very easily, and the instant bounce-back of echo clicks is deeply unpleasant, giving the illusion of being 1 inch from swimming straight into a solid wall.

Shriekers. This is an issue where ice caps, glaciers etc meet the water. The ice cracks and breaks, and to sensitive phocid and selkie ears it's an unbearable shriek that can render them disoriented and deaf at long range, and break eardrums at close range. Around the ice wall, there's an almost constant background noise of screaming.

The false sky. A phenomenon that occurs when a swimmer loses situational awareness, and ends up diving deeper and deeper thinking that they're about to come up for air. The reduced gravity of siren means that it's more difficult under the water to feel gravity, resulting in a more weightless sensation than on Earth. Occasionally, a natural biolumescence in deep water may produce an illusion of the sky viewed through the turbid water, making the disoriented swimmers even more certain that they are travelling up, when really they are diving. In Spiral mythos this is treated as a specific type of mania.

The wanderer.. it looks like a phocid swimming in the distance. You hail them, click at them, wave your lantern, but they don't respond. If you get closer, they'll flee. This is a really common story among nearly all pelagic people worldwide, and what they are seeing are the vanishingly rare aquatic zeta, those who did not adapt to becoming terrestrial and became extremely solitary, so they were not able to regain language due to not having complex cultures and societies anymore. They resemble smaller, hairy phocids and are considered a type of (for lack of a better word?) fairy or trickster spirit in Spiral culture, a false friend leading you astray.

The flesh cloud. This is a mass of deceased scalefish, the hagfish-like animals which make up many of the fish shoals on Siren. If they enter an anoxic zone unexpectedly (if chased, pushed by currents, or just unlucky) they can die in large numbers, forming a tangled, decaying mass that drifts through the seas. These are heralds of rot and disease and the water around them is filthy and unclean, an infection risk for any swimmer with an open cut. Sometimes large nets are set up to catch and redirect them.

Sharp sand. Some substrate is made of silica and appears glittery, like fairy dust. When water mixes, these can form plumes which are hundreds of feet tall. They're not dangerous in and of themselves, but you had better make sure you close your eyes around it, no matter how pretty the dancing glitter might be. A common cause of corneal ulceration and abrasion.

Cherta's Tide. This is a big one. Tides are slow and rare most of the time, mixing the water and enabling life to flourish. But every so often, there are two different tides that come round, which can be predicted based on which moon is most prominent in the sky for the duration. Ishmael's Tide is a high water apocalyptic event, but there are many monitoring stations and contingencies to avoid it. Cherta's Tide (similar to a neap tide) is far more unpredictable and occurs irregularly, as the moon Cherta is smaller, darker, and harder to see. This tide is a low-water event. Vast stretches of the sea floor are laid bare and the underwater ridges suddenly become towering cliffs and barriers for people who can't fly. This can last for weeks at a time, and without the water of course most animal populations who can't hide in substrate take a huge hit. It can happen fast enough to strand a swimmer at the top of a ridge, nothing but air below all the way to what was once the sea floor, and they might be stranded, unreachable, and without food or water for a fatal period of time.

#i made these as a challenge to myself because i didn't want to rely on 'it's scary because monsters are there'#the sea ITSELF is scary #setting: siren #speculative biology

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manicrouge · 3 months

Text

Episode Three: Maroon

[𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || [𝙰𝚄: 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 23/01/23

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Tensions in the city raise as an unexpected event leaves Price with his hands tied.

[𝙲𝚠]: gore, murder, torture, gender norms of the time period (1910s), graphic descriptions of violence, blood.

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 9.8k

[𝙰/𝙽]: I wrote some of this while watching a minecraft lets play (for all my stampy cat fans)- such an enlightening experience rlly it was. This is my favourite part in the series so far and I hope you really enjoy it :)) Also I know I said this was going to be out three days ago but I got distracted playing overwatch pls forgive me (but this is also the longest part so far so you can really hate me now can you???

SERIES MASTERLIST

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

Every night, in the deepness of the sky and the swirling constellations nestled amongst the clouds, there was a maroon light from below. It was difficult to see in the haze of the clouds, the stars looking down merely being able to grasp what exactly it was as it appeared as though whatever it was wanted to be hidden.

In fact, it appeared as though, whatever it was hated the very fact they even had to bleed that colour.

It was necessary for survival in the dismal nights, the flickering lanterns in his hand as they traversed through the trenches in hopes that they would be fortunate enough to hear the settle of gunshots for long enough to get even a second of shut-eye.

He never slept though, instead, he busied himself with trekking up and down a fair distance of the trenches, wet squelches following after him as he paced backwards and forwards. It didn't matter if he didn't sleep; his mind was far too busy to even attempt to get some shut-eye- though he'd never admit it to the rest of the lads.

That night in particular left him foggy eyed and dizzy from the continuation of the gunshots from a distance. There was a man down that day (if he could even call him that), he'd been loyal to the brigade since he first stepped foot into it- he'd been all smiles when they had met, honoured to even be in the position to be led by the infamous Captain.

Though, his joy withered with his corpse as he laid in a thick pool of mud, his blood seeping into the ground as he looked at Price with strained eyes, choking out and begging for him to 'not let me go.'

And he didn’t.

He stayed they until he heard the rattle of his chest, saw the strained and tensed muscles of uncertainty melt away into the ground and finally, he saw the peace he deserved. It was just a shame that the only way he got peace was through his death and not through his freedom.

He stepped over the spot where the corpse had been, although he couldn't see any of the blood the boy had leaked onto the ground, the red light from the flame tangled with the sopping wet mud to create the illusion of the blood still being there- or maybe it was still there, he wasn't quite sure.

'Cap'n, that you?' a weary voice called.

He was familiar with the tight tone of the large man, and from the depths of the night he emerged from the void as though he was a fallen angel. Limping slightly, he approached him with weary eyes, the entirety of his body being engulfed by the red flame.

John knew he wasn't going to last much longer in the state he was in.

He'd heard him, the rare few times he did try to sleep. He heard how he screamed and cried, calling for help from someone who wasn't even there. There were countless times where he'd sat by his beside just to be there for him so he had someone there to assure him that he was safe- that he had him when no one else did.

War was taking a toll on all of them, but Blake had it the worst.

'Yeah, Blake,' he confirmed quietly, 'what you doin' up, y' need to get some sleep.'

'Can't, Cap'n,' he confessed quietly, toying with his calloused hands, 'every time I close my eyes I think about 'im.'

John's lips formed a thin like as he looked over his shoulder to the spot he had been stepping over during his patrol. It was a difficult sight to stomach and he found his calmness amidst the storm to be one of an offensive nature.

One of your men died and you acted as though he'd just slept... the fuck kind of leader are you supposed to be, hm?

'He wouldn't want y' to dwell on it,' he refuted, despite the very fact he could escape the sight of a seventeen year-old boy begging for his dad as he bled all over the place.

Looking down at his hand, he took note of the blood beneath his nails. In some twisted way, he felt just as responsible for his death as the enemy was.

'He was so young,' shuddered the man, 'had his whole life ahead of him he did.'

The reminder of all he had caused left his heart burning in his chest and he felt as though it was going to implode. He felt sick to his stomach, and in the blink of an eye, he was away from Blake, back on his knees beside the crying boy.

His hands were soaked with blood, covered in it as he pressed down on his stomach in a pointless fucking attempt to stop the bleeding. But there was just so much and he was conscious of the fact his veins were more than parched after a certain point.

And the poor lad writhed and screamed in pain, acting as a fussy child would while waiting for their bottle of warm milk. He likened it to that to try and deter from the seriousness of the situation, of course he did. It was the only way to keep his mind at ease as he stared the face of all youth in the eyes and it stared right back at him.

He'd never forget the sight of it. Haunting icy blue eyes, his face covered in muck and gunk as fat tears rolled down his face.

'P- Please, Cap'n, I- I don't wanna die,' he cried through a strangulated cry.

The poor boy was in agony and there was nothing he could do and he was being tortured by being back there again.

In the midst of his foggy mind, through the cries of guns and the boy on the ground, he'd thought of grabbing his own pistol and putting a bullet in his head just to soothe the suffering- but he was his man. He couldn't have done that.

He was just a kid.

'Y' not goin' to mate,' he calmly reassured, though his eyes kept drifting to the hole in his stomach. 'Just keep your eyes open f'r me, yeah?’

'I don't... wanna leave my dad,' he cried, 'mums gone- I'm all he has left,' he continued.

The old man was used to grief, that John was sure of. The death of his son would be coaxed by the training he suffered when his wife had left him too.

'And you'll see 'im, yeah?' John said firmly, his hands wet with his blood. 'You'll get out of 'ere an' go back home where you belong; you don't belong here,' he rambled.

The boy's lip jutted out as he opened his mouth to speak, only, a loud gunshot resonated off of the weak walls of the trench they were taking cover in. Blood covered his face, and when he looked up, he let out a trembling breath at the sight of a shadow holding a smoking gun.

He woke from his sleep in a fit of heaving breaths, a trembling hand raising to wipe his face.

His face was wet and for a short second, he thought he was back in the trenches. Only, when the smoke clears and he takes a few deep breaths, he realises he's back in his bedroom- back at home. Sitting up, his hand fists at his bedding as he settles into his firm mattress, burying his face in his hands as he exhales deeply. There's a mumbled curse or something that passes his lips as he's sitting with his head in his hands, though, he doesn't hear it over the thudding of his heart.

It takes a moment for him to settle completely, opting to lay back down all to freeze when he hears a thud downstairs followed by an angry call from Kate. It's difficult to hear what she said; it's muffled and brittle, yet, that is all he needs as he pushes himself up and off of the bed, rushing towards the door of his room.

─

In the early morning, she notes a knocking at the door.

With the kettle on the stove boiling and a cigarette in her mouth, she furrows her brows at the sound of the banging on the door. Her mind trails to the bodies upstairs, fast asleep.

Everyone is accounted for as far as she's concerned; she heard the heavy footsteps and the drunken giggles from Kyle as he staggered up the steps in the early hours of the morning and the hushes from John as Johnny ran his mouth. Simon was never a bother, too quiet for his own good is that man, despite such, she recalls his bedroom door at the end of the hall shutting with a gentle click.

Everyone is home, and John hasn't said anything about having any visitors.

The pounding against the door continues and she wraps an arm around her waist, letting out a curse as she disposes of her cigarette in an ashtray beside the stove. While standing, she debates whether or not she should answer the door or if she should just leave it. They'll clear eventually, and the only thing they're really achieving by banging on the door is angering her.

'I know you're in there!' calls a voice, the clink of the metal knocker sounding as she stood idly and allowed the man to beat the holy hell out of the door.

Any harder and she's convinced they're going to wake the entire street or- even worse- one of the boys.

A mumbled curse escapes her lips as she breathes grey smoke, moving out of the kitchen towards the entrance. She clenches her jaw as she finally makes it to the door, placing her hand down on the door handle.

Pulling down the handle, she's winded as the door bursts open.

In the matter of seconds, she goes from standing in front of the door to being pressed against the wall.

It takes a lot for her to be rendered speechless and while in the attackers arms, she finds all the words and curses in her mind clear in such a sudden fashion, it feels as though she has been hypnotised.

All air in her lungs is expelled as her back hits the wall, a hand meeting with her throat almost immediately. It tightens and through bleary eyes, she makes out the face of a man. His nose is crooked, teeth yellow and his breath reeks as he breathes against her face, pressing his forehead against hers.

Writhing in his hold, she whacks his chest with her hands in an attempt to push him off of her. As she struggles, she's greeted by a cooling metal digging into her temple.

'Where is he?' seethes the man through clenched teeth, spit bubbling in either corner of his mouth as he glares at her.

'G- Get your filthy fucking hands off me,' she gasps, pressing her hands against his chest.

He doesn't budge, his grip around her neck growing harsher.

'Where's Price?'

John?

Her blows to him grow weaker and weaker as she fights against the spots of darkness encapsulating her vision. She isn't going to go out like this, not in a million years. Though, she's rendered defenceless as he doesn't seem to plan on relenting any time soon.

Opening her mouth, she attempts to force out a response, stumbling over her words as she fights for air. Her eyes remain on the man's with her heartbeat ringing in her ears as she watches the anger in his eyes melt away.

There's a wet splat as his hold on her feigns, and then the sound of a gun ringing in her ears.

Brains spray out from the opposite side of his temple, the bullet appearing from the other side of his face. It's an eruption of blood and gore as the left side of his face is ripped to shreds from the shot. His hand on her neck falls completely, his blood coating her flushed face adding a morbid rosy aspect to her complexion.

His corpse rocks from side to side before dropping to the ground with a thud, Kate following after the man as she holds her hands against the burning ring around her neck and slides down the wall he was pressing her against, gasping for the air she lost.

From the right of her, there's footsteps rushing down the stairs. A gun hits the ground with a thud as Kyle appears beside her, grabbing the sides of her face. Lifting her head up, he gently takes her hands and pulls them away from her throat.

'Who the fuck was that?' she angrily rasps through breaths, looking at the man in front of her.

'What did he want?' Kyle asks, not bothering to turn his head away as more footsteps sound from upstairs.

Kate turns her head to the side, seeing John rushing down the steps just as Kyle did, eyeing the corpse on the ground. A fire is set alight in his eyes when his eyes fall on her for just a second more, she notes it as his Adams Apple bobs and his tongue trails the inside of his cheek.

Yet, even with his anger, she finds her own anger to prevail. She supposes he wants her to be honoured that she has the watchful eye of a man like that so upset about what has just happened, yet, she's more inclined to be upset that she ever dared to associate with him in that moment.

'He wanted you,' she states sharply, 'what have you done now, John?'

Moving past the pair, he shifts towards the body, blood pooling onto the ground. Narrowing his eyes, she watches as he eyes the body, rubbing his beard with his hands as he exhales thickly, turning to Kyle.

She watches as he leans down, grabbing the man by his shoulder. There's little reaction to the sight of his ripped flesh. Looking over his face, she keeps her eyes glued on John, watching as his brows raise, his hand slipping off of the man's shoulder as he fixes his posture and stands once more.

'You're fuckin' kiddin' me,' he says, 'this is one of Fisher's.'

Immediately, the pair of them are struck with confusion and it's difficult to miss the look of concern forming on Kyles face.

'One of Fisher's?' Kyle asks, 'the fuck have we done to them?'

'Nothing,' John responds briefly, looking at Kate.

Such a statement should put her worries to rest, yet, she can't help the way her lips curve downwards as she looks at John. The thought of the stolen guns sits in the back of her mind, lingering like smoke in the air and pushing through to cloud her eyes as she looks at him.

He sees it too, she knows he does.

'Kate, I swear to you I have done nothin' to him,' he says firmly, kicking the corpse out of the way of the door, closing it. Fortunately, it's early enough for no one to really be out in the street, the sun barely making a mark on the horizon.

Her disbelief is adamant, unruly at his reassurance, and as he reaches his hand out to help her up off of the ground, she opts to place her hand into Kyle's as he pulls her up.

'We were supposed to meet them today to sort everythin' out; the witch is blessin' the horse today- I wouldn't dare to do something that would cause them to react like this.'

Her eyes linger on him.

'I swear to you I wouldn't,' John repeats, brushing his hand through his hair with a short breath.

Very little makes sense in her mind as she leans on Kyle for support and contemplates what exactly he's done to the men. It's easy for her to point her finger, for her to say that he's lying again; he lied about the guns easily enough and he's still lying to the rest of the boys.

Yet, she knows that she's guilty of lying to them too.

Kyle's hold on her shifts slightly as he turns his head towards the top of the stairs. She catches Simon standing idly, arms crossed as he narrows his eyes, looking down the steps. It's rare she ever sees him without his mask, so she takes a moment to soak in his appearance.

His hair is messy, resembling that of a rough night- she's surprised he wasn't the first one down the stairs considering the very fact that you only really have to walk into the room for him to wake from his sleep. His nose is crooked, a thick, white scar from the bottom of his chin to just beneath his eyes staring at her.

'Good shot,' he comments, walking down the steps, offering a short nod to Kyle as he moves to assess the state of the body on the ground, standing beside John.

The blood leaking from the dead mans head is soaking into the floorboards and she can't help but worry about how difficult the stain is going to be to get rid of.

'This is a declaration of war on their end,' he says, looking at John, 'somethin' happened for them to change their mind.'

'You know what could have happened?' Kyle asks, with a furrowed brow, 'couldn't be something small; he tried to kill Kate.'

'He was looking for John,' she answers, 'I got in the way of that.'

'Still put his hands ‘round your neck,' Simon jumps in, 'they're not here to be friends anymore, and we're not doin' that fuckin' deal with them,' he refuses, looking at John. 'I'll get rid of the body,' he says simply.

It's odd to see him takin the reigns from John- no one else would dare to do so. Part of her expects John to refute what has just been said; she knows he thinks he knows better (and sometimes he does, unfortunately), yet, he simply nods his head and retracts his hand off of the corpses shoulder.

'Kyle,' he begins, 'me n' you are gonna go search for some answers- I'll go find some of the coppa’s on patrol, you check 'round their usual areas, yeah?' he asks.

Kyle looks to her and she nods her head, gently pulling away from him, managing to stand on her own. In the matter of seconds, he's rushing upstairs to get changed, John beginning to follow suit. Only, she reaches out and grabs his forearm.

'If anyone else comes here and threatens my life or one of the boy's, I'm not keeping your dirty secret anymore,' she spits before letting go of him.

He doesn't stop to look at her, simply moving up the stairs.

─

You're observing art in a gallery, looking at the pretty features of a lady sitting on a bench. Her dress is long, red- something you'd like to wear if you went to a ball or a formal event. Keeping your hands in front of you, holding your purse, you keep your eyes straight ahead when a shadow is cast over the painting before you, the red of her dress shifting into a much deeper maroon.

'You get the job?' Phillip asks from beside you.

'With ease,' you answer, clearing your throat. 'I'll be the best barmaid he's ever had.'

A smirk meets your face at his silence as he shifts on the spot.

'You spoken to John Price yet?'

'Last night,' you confirm with a short nod, 'there was a man in the pub- he looked like he was sick or something,' you explain, 'never thought I'd see monstrous John Price so caring.'

Thinking back on the entire event that had taken place the night prior, how he held the man firmly, his reassurance of issues- all of it was there, he was able to fix everything that had caused him such panic in the blink of an eye. His care in that moment was captivating- how a man who can make others tremble can simply put the very same men at ease in a touch is bewildering.

'Don't let that fool you,' Graves demands, turning his back to you to eye another painting. You follow after him as he inhales, 'he's a cruel bastard when he wants to be.'

'I don't doubt it- had to have been to make a name for himself,' you utter. 'How's working with the police?'

'Walk in the park, doll,' he chuckles, 'they haven't seen proper order in years, looked as though they were going to shit themselves while I was giving my speech yesterday,' he chuckles, 'we'll find the guns in no time,' he says with a firm nod.

For the first time since he approached you, you turn to look at him with a weary eye.

His confidence could very well be the death of him; his ego is simply so large you're worried his head is going to blow from all the self righteousness swelling in his mind. It's a difficult battle to win and you truly don't think he has ever considered looking at things from a perspective that doesn't concern himself.

Pluck your eyes right out of your head, I would. Breathe on them and clean them like a pair of glasses... maybe then you could see how much of a prick you sound like right now.

Words swish around in your mind, swirling like whiskey in a sophisticated man's hand. You imagine the same thing to be happening in Graves' mind, only, his glass is held by a stumbling drunk, the liquor leaking from the edges of the glass as he runs his mouth.

'I know we will,' you say firmly, not daring to doubt yourself for a second. 'Mr. Churchill would have my head if we don't get these guns back.'

Graves chuckles, 'I wouldn't worry too much about it if it doesn't work out,' he states firmly, 'could always come to the States.'

A shiver runs down your spine and you hope he doesn't see how your face twists at his suggestion. To leave home all to go to a different country seems useless- especially if you do fail at the very thing you've been tasked to do.

'I suppose,' you mumble, not wanting to upset the man.

Instead of arguing with him, you settle to search for something other than the painting before you. Your eyes fall away from the art as you look over your shoulder at the clock.

Half-eleven.

'I have to go,' you say, 'my shift starts at twelve.'

'Don't let me keep ya, doll,' states the man sharply, turning to look at you. 'I've got my own business to attend to, anyway.'

Without bidding him farewell, you busy yourself with making your way towards the exit. His eyes don't leave you as you walk out; you can feel them practically burning into your soul. Your hold on your handbag tightens as your legs carry you closer to the exit and further away from Graves.

─

With the mission in mind and all the determination of a soldier walking into war, he walks through the civil streets of the city with his eyes narrowed in determination to find some form of answer for the issues that have arise this morning.

His heart aches as he thinks back to the weariness in Kate's eyes; she never deserved the fury of that stranger- neither did any of them because none of them really know what has happened to warrant such a violent response from them.

As he's walking, he notes the watchful eyes of a police officer. It's strange really; he doesn't recognise him upon a glance and he knows most of the force because, at the end of the day, to keep himself safe from the careful eyes of the law he needs to know who is on his side and who isn't.

Yet, he notes the small patch on the sleeves of his coat- one all of the officers who belong to the Housestead Police Station.

The ones who work for him- well, the ones who work for John.

His demeaning looks leaves a nausea in his mouth, however, and as he turns to look over his shoulder at the man again, he's caught off guard by the sound of a frail old voice.

'Mr. Garrick,' the voice calls.

Pausing in his tracks, he turns his attention towards a balding old man and a smile immediately meets his face as he approaches him. He walks with his cane, a little wobble in his step as he steps off of the curb to see him.

'Connor,' he acknowledges, 'you okay?'

'Could y' do me a favour?' asks the elderly man, lifting his head to look at him.

There's an urge to refuse him, to tell him that he's too busy to help him, only, he folds as he nods his head. 'Of course,' he says gently, 'what do you need?'

'I went out with a lady last night,' he begins briefly, 'she's the reason I need the cane this morning,' he adds with a short laugh. Kyle laughs a long with him. ’We went to see one of those motion pictures and I left my wallet in there- could y' go an' fetch it for me? We sat in the front row of the cinema on the right,' he requests.

Looking over his shoulder, he looks down the curve of the street where he knows the cinema is located with pursed lips.

'I'd go myself, but I've got t' go the chemist too an─'

'I'll fetch it for you,' he reassures firmly, 'bring it back to your house for you, yeah? It won't take me long to get,' he reassures.

'You're a life saver you are, Mr. Garrick,' grins the man.

'Don't worry about it,' he says, slowly backing away, 'I'll be right back, Sir,' he says, turning his back to the old man as he walks in the direction of the cinema.

Of course, this isn’t what he has been tasked with by Price, though, when he was looking at the man he knew well that he couldn't refuse his request; he might be a murderer, but he certainly isn't above respecting his elders.

As he's walking away, he takes note of the officer who keeps his eyes on him and he stares back this time with narrowed eyes. However, he keeps his mouth shut, not caring to start some form of altercation because, if he does so, then he's more than sure he will never find the answer to solve the mystery behind the man who he shot in the head.

It's a short walk to the cinema, the thought of the nosey police officer nestled firmly at the forefront of his mind as he pushes open the doors and walks in.

The entirety of the interior is bleeding red- maroon, and the man standing in the kiosk doesn't even bat an eye to his appearance; he knows better than to do that. Most people know to keep their eyes diverted elsewhere... that's if they want to keep them.

Pushing open the door to the theatre, he's surprised to see a movie playing on the screen with a very small audience watching it. Making his merry way up to the front of the cinema, he doesn't even bother to duck his head as his eyes scan over the dusty, grimy seats in the hopes of uncovering the wallet the man has misplaced. It's hardly something appealing, running his hands over the wilting fabric of the chairs but he does it anyway.

When he gets to the middle of the row, he grins as he sees the lip of a black leather wallet tucked away down the side of one of the chairs. Leaning down, he places his hand against the arm of the chair beside it.

But he stops.

Something heavy is rested on his shoulder.

Lifting his head up, he surprised to see a hand on his shoulder, turning his head around he catches sight of the same police officer he saw earlier staring down at him. There's a hard look on his fac as he looks Kyle in the eyes, and the man lets out a harsh breath as he snarls at him.

'What the fuck do you─'

A punch is delivered to his gut and he is dragged out of the stands, kicking his legs and wiggling in his hold. Such is pointless as another officer appears out of nowhere and grabs his other hand, and the pair of them dragged him down the aisle and pulled him out of the cinema.

─

It's as though all of the officers have disappeared off of the face of the Earth as he's walking through the streets. He feels as though he's been everywhere; he's even been to Alex's boat yard all to make sure the guns are still secure in the stables. Fortunately, no one has touched them, and as he was walking back towards the main part of the city, he contemplated the idea of going against Kate's word.

If the threat from Fisher's gang is legitimate, he'd much rather use the guns to make sure he stays where he is- if anything, he knows he'd be a fool for not taking advantage of the weaponry that would keep the threat away. It would be like fighting a war with only a knife, refusing the help of any professional artillery.

There's nothing else on his mind other than revenge as he marches through the streets, unable to shake off the thought of Kate. It's difficult to even begin to contemplate the state of her as she was leaning against Kyle, and he found his throat tightened at the very thought that he was possibly responsible for what happened.

There's no answers, and already he's blaming himself.

It's difficult not to do, he supposes.

Was difficult to do when one of his men died during the war, and it's difficult even when he's free from the trenches. Sometimes, however, he feels like he's still there- and in a way he is. Still wading through piss, blood, and shit, all in desperate search for some form of achievement. Only this time, it's metaphorical and strangely, he doesn't know whether or not he favours the current situation he's in or if he would rather be back in the trenches.

'Mr. Price,' a firm voice calls, breaking him free from his mind.

The officers tone is entirely in his nose, and as he looks up, he's greeted by a tall man, slender in stature. His hat is adjusted on his head upon hearing the man's call and he takes a brief look around before approaching him.

'George,' he says promptly, titling his head in the man's direction.

'Need to ask you a few questions,' he says.

Without a second thought, Price digs his hand into his pocket, handing the man a note. He takes it without question, nodding his head as he sighs, 'where were you last night?' he asks.

'The Hindsight; Blake had another episode,' he states, 'why, you think I've done something without letting you boys in on it?' he scoffs.

'Early hours this morning, a whore and her lovely customer found a man lying dead in a puddle of his own blood and piss, his face had been slashed and there was a razor blade next to his body,' he begins, shifting on his foot as he looks the man up and down.

Price begins to laugh, shaking his head as he pulls his hat off. 'Y' really think I'd be that fuckin' sloppy?'

George shakes his head.

'No, but one of your boys─'

'My men aren't fuckin' sloppy,' he snaps, 'now, you gonna keep beating around the bush or are you gonna open your fuckin' trap to tell me something of use?'

'Irving Fisher is dead.'

'What?' Price blurts out.

The officers face shifts and Price feels him dragging his eyes over him. Oddly, he feels his blood run cold as he thinks to the dead man on the floor of their home. While in the moment, he'd dreaded the subsequent consequences of Kyle saving Kate- even though it was necessary; had he not been there, then he would have been there to kill him.

'You don't have any idea of what happened to him?' the officer slowly speaks.

'No, I had a fuckin' deal planned with him- why would I ruin all that by killing him?' Price snaps, rubbing his beard as he looks over his shoulder, 'for fucks sake,' he grumbles, not giving the officer a chance to question him further as he rushes away from him back in the direction of the house.

─

There are two men standing in front of him as he stifles out a tight breath. His mouth is dry, his tongue resembling the texture of a coarse rock. Smacking his lips together, he lifts his head up, flakes of skin on his bottom lip prodding at his upper lip as he does so.

Before him, emerging from the darkness is a man.

It's difficult to see him through his blurry eyes. Part of him feels inclined to ignore his presence entirely; he's more than sure he is the reason he's sitting in the chair in the first place, therefore, he owes him nothing.

Still, much to his dismay, as the man steps into the light, he notes the light stubble on his chin and his light brown hair. There's a grin on his face as he approaches him, bringing his hands together as he leans down in front of him.

'Good afternoon, sunshine! Happy you could join us!' calls the man.

It's difficult to pin any features as he's a blur. Narrowing his eyes, his head tips to the side as he lets out a small guttural groan. It's as though he's on some form of sick fair ground ride without any sign of stopping, his stomach tightens as nausea plagues him.

A hand reaches forwards out of the void before him, grabbing his face with a harsh grip, mushing his lips as his blunt nails dig into his skin. Another groan escapes him, slurred by the hand holding his face.

Blood smudges against the tips of the man's fingers as he lifts Kyle's head up, forcing him to look at him. Blood is gushing from the wound on his forehead as the man grins, pressing the pad of his thumb under his eye.

'No falling asleep on me now,' he continues in a gentle tone.

It's a mockery of all he has done in his life, to be forced to submit in the hands of a stranger. He'd never done so while in the trenches and he sure as shit is not going to do it now.

'Need you to answer some questions for me, junior.'

Kyle stares at him blankly as the man strokes his cheek with his thumb. Anyone else very well might see such to be an act of comfort, yet, he knows exactly what he's doing. Seeking comfort in the arms of an enemy is always sure to lead you into a trap.

An officer standing behind him shifts, and the man standing in front of him pulls away from him, grabbing whatever has been handed to him. Taking a step back, he allows Kyle to have a better look of what exactly he's been given.

In the man's hand is his hat.

He stands idly, using his bloody hand to pull back the hem of the hat, pushing up the razors sewed into the lining. A small scoff passes his lips as he nods his head, slamming the hat down onto a wooden beam above himself, the clink of the razors slicing right into his own heart.

'This your uniform, Garrick?' he asks, holding his hat out towards the man. Kyle clenches his teeth as he looks at the grinning man. 'Branded with the uniform of your Captain even after the war has ended, huh?' he chuckles, 'of course! Just a shame you're loyal to a filthy thief.'

His laughter booms in the small room as Kyle merely manages to hiss out short breaths.

'He have a gun on him?'

'No sir,' confirms one of the officers, 'only had a blade tucked away in his belt,' he adds.

His heartbeat is thumping in his ears, the dizziness worsening as the man standing before him looks back at him with the same fucking grin on his face. For a moment, he wobbles back and forward on his feet, tilting his head to the side, always making sure to keep Kyle in his line of vision.

It's as though he's scared he's going to jump out of the chair.

He's a man of facts, however. Tactical and knowing. If he gets up now, he will die; there is nothing he can do against the three men in the state he is in. Nothing.

'Thought you'd be smart enough to carry a gun on you,' says the man, taking a breath as he clenches his fist.

In one quick motion, his head is thrown back as his fist meets his face. His nose crunches upon impact, a tingling fuzziness sitting in the bridge of it as he lets out a choked cough, sucking at his teeth as a dull pain shoots through his neck. Immediately, blood starts pouring from his nostrils, pooling on his upper lips as he clenches his teeth, looking at the man with a furrowed brow.

Plucking a handkerchief from the front pocket of his blazer, he effortlessly wipes his bloody knuckles, lazily strolling to rest against the wall beside him. Pulling the handkerchief away, he holds his arm out and moves his hand into the small yellow, buzzing light in the room, looking over his knuckles.

'Mr. Garrick,' he begins frankly, 'or should I address you as Price considering the fact that you sold whatever soul you had to that man?'

'Fuck you,' Kyle seethes.

The man laughs.

'I want you to see this as my introduction to you- my name is Detective Graves,' he starts, almost singing his name, 'and you should be fuckin' honoured, kid! I picked you first; you're the best out of a bad bunch- or so I’ve heard.’

Resting his hands on his hips, Graves trails his tongue across his teeth, his shoulders falling as he takes a deep breath. 'And I want you to know somethin’ very important,' he sighs, 'the only thing that matters to me in this world is the truth, so I advise you tell me it,' he chuckles.

In the chair, Kyle shakes as pain floods his senses. His breaths are stifled, tight, and painful as he attempts to suck air through his mouth. His pattern falters as the man crouches down, causing him to inhale through his nose. The back of his throat stings, and in a crude fashion, the muscles in his neck tighten as he harshly inhales, a mixture of blood and mucous sitting in his mouth.

'What do you know about the robbery?' Graves lowly asks.

The tightness in his eyes falters, the foul mixture in his mouth leaving down his throat as he looks at the man with a furrowed brow. HIs forehead aches as the blood continues to weep, the blood on his skin almost sticky as the cold air of the damp room attempts to dry it.

'About the robbery?' he repeats.

Graves begins to laugh again, shaking his head as he readjusts his posture, pulling away from him. A sense of dread twists in his stomach as he attempts to think about what exactly he's talking about; as far as he's concerned, there is no such thing as a robbery. This is hardly the trouble of a rival either, rather, the trouble of a bothersome detective who is too big for his boots.

His arm is grabbed during his train of thought, and Graves has very little issue in pressing down harshly against the index and pointer finger on his right hand. His hot breath fans against his ear as his fingers crunch. Kyle's breaths hiss as he clenches his teeth, a small whimper escaping from his throat.

'I'm going to ask you again,' Graves lowly states, 'what do you know about the stolen guns?'

Moving backwards, he allows him to see his face.

'I swear to God,' begins the man, narrowing his eyes at Graves, 'I don't know what the fuck you're talking about- what fuckin' robbery?' he yells in the hopes it deters the man from harming him much further, while scheming for how exactly he plans to hurt him when he's out of this room.

Releasing his hand, he falls to the side, unable to catch himself. His pointed shoes have little grip against the stone ground, the room doesn't seem to want to sit still, and he's accepting that he may be better off on the ground as at least for a moment, he'll be away from him.

Unfortunately, Graves slips his hand under his waistcoat, pulling him back up with ease. 'After 10 years in this fuckin' field, I only have to sniff the air to know when you're lying, kid,' he states, 'you're his lapdog, ain't ya?'

His heart is thumping in his chest, sweat curling on his brow as he looks at the man. Perhaps he should be smart and keep his mouth shut, fold to what Graves is demanding of him. Subservience to anyone, however, is off the table no matter who it is. Only, the longer he focuses on his accent, the more his blood boils.

'Never bow to any man, ay?' John asked, looking to him while he was greasing his gun. The rag in his hand was branded with muck and congealed dirt from their time in the trenches- the smell was abhorrent. A mixture of the stench from corpses and weeping wounds proved to meld together to create a dastardly smell. 'Even if he's holdin' you at gunpoint.'

He could only liken smell to the smell of milk and rotting meat- yet, even then, it seemed too little.

'When you're in the field- as long as I'm still here, you take no shit from anyone; 'sepcially not the yanks; they like to think they know best, but they don't know shit about the war. We do.'

'That why you went for me, ey?' Kyle blurts, shifting to the side, forcing Graves to release his hold on him, 'real big fuckin' man, yeah? Didn't wanna go for the Cap'n cause you know you won't be able to hold him down?'

Graves seems almost startled at his sudden outburst, his pupils drowning in the sea of the surrounding white as he looks at him. Kyle begins to laugh, mustering up a mouthful of phlegm and blood as he does so. Bringing his lips together, he leans forward towards the man, bringing the mixture to the front of his mouth. It sprays outwards, a crude 'pfft' escaping his lips as it covers Graves.

'I'm tellin' y' I don't know fucking shit about a robbery,' he hisses.

Graves slowly brings his hand up, pulling it over his own face with a grimace of disgust lingering as Kyle's spit invades the small crevices of his hands.

'Oh, I know,' Graves says, 'Captains never been one for telling the truth, has he?'

'Has been one for somethin' else though,' Kyle retorts, ‘and he'll fuckin' kill you for this.'

'I'd like to see him try, Mr. Garrick,' Graves smirks, tugging down the sleeve of his navy blue blazer. 'There's nothin' of worth behind the blood in your eyes,' he states, 'you bleed the same blood as John Price,' he scoffs, moving away from him, back into the darkness of the room. 'I have enough authority here to make sure you and your scum of a family are at the bottom of the canal before this year ends.'

'You'll be there too,' Kyle answers.

'You could drop the act and just help me,' he shrugs, 'but you're making things difficult for yourself by doing this,' he sighs, 'I'm taking your word for it now, but next time, I'm speakin' to your fucking boss,' he huffs, before allowing the shadows to completely swallow him whole, leaving Kyle sat in his chair and heaving for air.

─

It's difficult to carry an empty keg you've found during your fruitful experience at the Hindsight. James seems to want to get rid of you; you're more than sure this is a mans job, yet, here you are, doing it for him. The weather outside is grim, the grey clouds in the sky overall adding to the dreariness of your entire mood.

As you continue to shuffle with the empty metal barrel, huffing and puffing while doing so, you stop in your tracks as you hear a pained hiss, followed by a thud and a grunt. Tilting your head to the side, you crane your head to peer out of the doorway and into the alleyway.

The keg slips out of your hands, landing with a deep thud, as you nearly stumble down the step upon catching sight of one of the men you had seen last night on the ground in the alleyway. Blood stains is white shirt and he's trembling as he attempts to push himself up. His face is covered in blood, some of the streams catching the light of the daytime.

Of course, you could leave him to struggle; if he dies, that's one less Blinder you have to worry about. Yet, when an opportunity is shining so brightly in your eyes- shining so brightly it masks the absence of the sun in the grey sky- you know you would be a fool to not take advantage of such.

As he begins to rise from the ground again, his legs give out and in the matter of seconds, he's back on the ground, wincing. Rushing up beside him, you fall to your knees, resting your hand against his shoulder. All he offers you is a groan, looking through a swollen eye at you.

'You're okay,' you gently say, looking over the damages.

From what you can see- past the blood and swelling- his nose is most definitely broken.

Mr. Price's fear makes sense in this moment as you observe the state of him.

'I'll help you up,' you say, 'do you think you can make it inside?'

'Don't have a... choice,' he responds with a hoarse croak. 'Probably sitting in piss right now, aren't I?' he asks, his tone clearing slightly. You offer him a sympathetic smile, a small laugh passing your lips as you hold his arm, slowly raising to the ground.

He follow suit, putting a lot of his weight onto you. If you weren't prepared for such, the pair of you very well would be lying in the rotten alleyway. He groans stiffly, stepping forward slightly, staggering as a baby deer would after birth. Only, he hasn't been reborn, rather, he has been beat within an inch of his life.

Only, you hazard a guess at the fact that your assumption may very well be incorrect; whatever anger he possessed prior to the attack has most definitely taken on a new form. No man's ego could survive such a hit.

Neither could his body, clearly.

It's an awkward combination of arms and legs as you fight to keep him up, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as the pair of you make it to the steps of the back side of the pub. Fortunately, he grabs the doorframe, letting go of you as he pulls himself into a stable position.

'Do me a favour,' he begins shortly, 'go an' get John for me, yeah?' he requests. 'He should be back home by now- it's the same road as the pub, door numbers six,' he explains.

Looking at him with a weary gaze, he keeps his head bowed as his arms shake.

'Are you sure you don't need me to help you?'

'You'll be helping me love,' he begins, 'fuck, by getting him for me,' he states.

'What if he's not home?'

'Get the one in the mask or the man with the mohawk- any of them, yeah?' he requests.

While you know he is the enemy, you can't help but fold to his request, nodding your head as you move past him, back into the alleyway. You take one last look at him before he disappears into the pub, leaving you to go and fetch the family of Blinders to his aid.

─

There's hardly anything containing the information he's received as he walks through the house- only the lack of people to tell. The chain of events that have lead to the passing of the man who was very much a pain in the ass has prompted him to sucking on the inside of his mouth, itching for a drop of nicotine to soothe the blow he's been dealt.

This means war.

He knows all too well that what the man did to Kate was some form of declaration; they believe he killed their leader, of course they're going to be pissed, really, he'd be the stupid one for thinking they would be okay with the death of Irving.

Walking into the room he says, 'Johnny, you bless the horse?'

'Aye Cap'n,' he affirms, 'went swimmingly, made a show out myself for the races next week I did,' he reassures with a bright grin.

John nods his head, settling his hand against his hip with a sigh. It's difficult to know how exactly he should tell them the truth of what he has uncovered, and he finds his tongue is moving before he even has a moment to contemplate the words tumbling out of his mouth.

'Fishers dead,' he says.

What words can't solve, a bullet can.

Simon lifts his head, narrowing his eyes as he looks at the man. Rubbing his hands together, John grabs a cigarette from the packet left on the table. Striking the match, he holds it up to the ciggy in his mouth with ease, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke.

'What?' Kate asks.

'He's dead,' he says, 'police went to a scene in the early hours after a woman stumbled across his body and alerted them,' he explains. 'He was shot dead, though, they're sayin' there was a razor blade found near his body.'

Simon slowly raises from where he's sitting. John watches with caution.

'Someone's tryin' to frame us for something we didn't do,' he says lowly, 'the police think it was us?'

'Yeah,' John answers, 'first thing he said to me was about Fisher.'

'It's the Adams',' Kate states sharply, 'they must have heard about the deal somehow- they got a hold of what you were going to do and because Fisher's on board they shot him dead.'

The three men share a look with one another. The look between himself and Simon is brief enough for him to know exactly what the man is planning- some form of revenge, he supposes, preferably involving blood.

'That makes sense,' John says, 'they've always been looking for a way into the business.'

Banging on the door appears and catches all three of the off guard. He's tempted to just ignore it, although, he catches the look that Kate gives him as the pounding continues.

So he relents and walks out of the room, heading out of the kitchen and through the living room all to see the door thumping as though it has its own heart beat. There's nothing from behind it- no voice conveying aggravation, nothing that alludes to there being a threat being stationed beyond the door.

Pulling the door open, he looks down slightly to see you staring up at him with wild eyes, trembling hands pressed against your side as you swallow hard your chest raising and falling quickly.

'Any reason why you'd trying to knock my door down, love?' he asks, a tight-lipped smirk on his face as he addresses you. Nodding your head, you take a moment to catch your breath. 'Spit it out, I don't have all day.'

'S- Something,' you heave, 'something happened to Kyle,' you explain, 'he got attacked- he's bleeding,' you say, and he watches as you hold your hands out to show him the blots of blood on your skin.

In your eyes, for a moment, he sees the haunting eyes of that boy in the trenches.

'Where is he?' he asks quickly.

'The Hindsight- I helped him in,' you explain.

Looking over his shoulder, he huffs. 'Kate, Simon, Johnny!' he calls, 'get to the Hindsight,' he shouts in an authoritative tone before stepping out of the house. Looking back at you, he steps out of the house and begins to move quickly down the street. You watch him for a moment before rushing after him.

Much to your surprise, when you walk into the pub, it's completely empty aside from Kyle who's sitting at one of the tables, his arms resting against the side of it as he hisses in pain. His eyes light up when he hears the door open and sees you and Mr. Price walking through the door.

You catch the latter beside you cursing under his breath as he looks at the state of the man sitting before the pair of you. There's a basin of water beside him, and his hands are wet and there are droplets of water on the table.

'Happy you could make it,' Kyle says through a stifled breath.

Price moves past you and as the doors open again, you're greeted by the sight of the Scot, the masked man, and the blonde-haired woman who you suppose goes by the name of ‘Kate'. She approaches you with a narrowed eye and there's something about her eyes on you that sends a chill down your spine.

'Family business,' she says, looking over to Kyle sitting at the table, 'you don't need to be here,' she adds.

'I trained as a nurse during the war, I could help,' you offer.

The woman rolls her eyes.

'You're not special,' she answers, 'as I said, family business, now out,' she demands, motioning towards the door on the other side of the bar.

In the short time you've spent with her, you realise there's little budging the woman so you nod your head, moving towards the door with your eyes trained on the trio surrounding the man sitting at the table. Pulling open the door, you go through and close it behind you, making sure they hear the click of the lock. You don't move, however, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the door waiting to hear the discussion.

─

Moving from beyond the bar with a stolen bottle of whiskey, he approaches Kyle, unscrewing the lid and giving it to him.

'Let me see him,' John demands while Kate busies herself with grabbing a rag from the basin of water, patting it against the bloody gash on his forehead.

She drops the rag back into the water as Kyle winces while taking a drink from the bottle. Setting it back onto the table, John rinses the blood and water back into the bowl grabbing the bottle and pouring some onto the rag.

Pressing it against the wound on his head, Kyle hisses.

'This the Adams'? Or Fishers men?' Johnny quickly asks, standing back to observe the bloody state of the man sitting in the chair.

Kyle winces, letting out a hiss, his back arching against the chair as John grabs his hand to look at the state of his bent fingers. He's trembling in pain as he does so, his eyes watering as he attempts to pull away from him, only, John doesn’t let go.

'Neither,' he chokes out, 'it was the detective,' he confirms.

Both Kate and Price share a look with one another.

'I thought you said he was here about the fuckin' commies,' Simon states, looking at Kate who huffs. 'Clearly they're fuckin' not- what did he ask you?'

Kyle's hand catches Prices wrist as he narrows his eyes while looking at him.

'He said he's been sent here about some robbery- something to do with some stolen guns,' he explains.

John pauses, his eyes faltering and falling away from Kyles.

Letting go of him, he drops the rag onto the table noting that Kate's eyes haven't left him since the confession. Turning away for a moment, he digs into his blazer for a cigar.

'He said he wants us to help him.'

Johnny barks out a vicious laugh.

'Yeah fuckin' right, as if we're gonna help a fuckin' coppa!'

'He knows about our war records, John,' Kyle says as Kate picks the rag back up, continuing to try and wipe the blood off of his face, 'knew you enough to know that you served as a Captain.'

Lighting the cigar, he places it between his lips and takes a long drag from it.

'We don't help coppa's,' Simon say, affirming Johnny's statement.

'I was thinkin' it over an' maybe we should,' Kyle says, 'we help the police, and they can help us against whatever Fisher is planning.'

'Gaz,' Price begins, 'Fisher is dead.'

The man's eyes widen as he looks to the other two for confirmation. Simon doesn't budge while Johnny nods his head.

'What?'

'Police found him dead this morning, someone's tryin' to frame us for the crime- reckon it's the Adams'.'

'Fuck,' breathes the man, 't- then we need there help now, don't we? Especially if we have both gangs on our backs.'

John doesn't say anything, instead, he busies himself with taking a drag from his cigar, turning away from the sight of the battered man entirely.

'Right?' Kyle repeats, yet, Price doesn't turn back to him. A mumbled curse escapes Kyle’s mouth as Kate presses her fingers along his nose. 'What the fuck is wrong with him?' he snaps, his eyes burning into the back of John's head.

'If I knew,' Kate cooly responds, 'I'd buy him a cure from the chemist.'

Rubbing his face, he exhales a mouthful of grey smoke and while standing and shielding himself away from the sight of the bleeding man, he attempts to chase off the thought of that boy in the trenches.Yet, all he manages to do is abandon one troubling thought for another.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old @iizx7y @phantomreadsandreblogs @talooolaaloolla @guiltgoreglory @corpsebasil @ferns-fics @racheldoyle

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slainesthrone · 3 months

Text

So trying to recreate the qsmp mos pack (Personal use ig, just sawa bunch of mods I've never seen before and when Oh Shit thats exciting, then just diecided "Fuck it gonna gather as many of the mods they're using)

I Do Not have any of knowledge of any of the dungeons that they have so I ask if you have any insight let me know.

Here's the full list I have of confirmed mods and possible mods;

server runs on 1.20.1 qsmp 2024 mods: 1.Regions Unexplored 2.Croptopia 3.Biomes o plenty 4.born in chaos 5.exotic birds 6.enmey expansion 7.chocobo mod 8.farmers delight + some other food mods (Possibly multiple) with delight in the name. 9.Candlelight(?) 10.Handcrafted 11.Alex's mobs 12.Alex's caves (I can confirm because of a TRAP DOOR in the egg bakery. I'm in the trenches) 13.supplementaries 14.Beachparty 15.create 16.journey maps (Idk some map mod) 17.aquaculture 2 18.cluttered 19.chimes 20.fairy lights 21.FramedBlocks 22.Chipped 23.paraglider 24.Another furniture mod 25.waystones 26.connected glass 27.Create deco 28.Candlelight dinner 29.MOA DECOR 30.Tanuki decor 31.Orcz 32.Modern life 33.Bakery 34.Friends&Foes 35.Meadow 36.Abyssal decor 37.Twigs 38.lootr 39.when dungeons arise(to be confirmed) 40.nether's delight 41.rats 42.Additional lanterns 43.Alex's delight 44.Additional Lights 45.AstikorCarts Redux 46.Athena 47.Awesome dungeon net..(work?) 48.BOZOID 49.Apothic Attributes 50.AppleSkin 51.Balm 52.Better Archeology 53.Better ping Display 54.BetterF3 55.Aquaculture Delight 56.Bookshelf 57.Bygone Nether 58.CC: Tweaked 59.Artifacts 60.Camera Mod 61.Cataclysm Mod 62.Catalogue 63.Citadel 64.Cloth config v10 API 65.Clumps 66.Comforts 67.Configured 68.Controlling 69.CorgiLib 70.CoroUtil 71.Corpse 72.CosmeticArmorReworked 73.Create : Encased 74.Create Confectionery 75.Create Slice & Dice 76.Create: Interiors 77.Create: Steam 'n' Rails 78.Create: Structures 79.CreativeCore 80.Creeper Overhaul 81.Cristel Lib 82.Cupboard Utilities 83.Curios API 84.Customizable Player M(???) 85.Delightful 86.Distant Horizons 87.Domestication Innovations 88.Duckling 89.Dynamic Lights 90.Elevator Mod 91.Embeddium 92.Emotecraft 93.Enderman Overhaul 94.EntityCulling 95.Nether's exoticism 96.YUNG's (x) Mods (bridges, better dessert temples,mineshafts only ones i can confrim, might be all but idk for sure) 97.Securitycraft 98.Vinery (Confirmed because of Tubbo's drinking binge at spawn yesterday) 99.Mr.Crayfish (Furniture confirmed, possibly more) 100.Naturalist 101.Tom's simple storage

If you know or noticed mods that haven't been listed, reply/reblog with them please.

Things are numbered for my archival reasons, as some mods come in multiple separate mods (such as YUNG's) the numbering will not show the true number of the mods on the server.

I also have not checked the needed mods that any of these mods may need so.

(Please note that there may be spelling/grammar mistakes in the names of this mods!)

#qsmp #THanks to everyone providing mods!#everytime I update this thing I live in fear I'll accidentally copy paste the purgatory theory draft that lives in the same notepad

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adorkastock · 5 months

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Hey, I appreciate this blog so damn much!!! do you have detective poses? Long trench coat, magnifying glass, mystery solving kinda thing?

Hey Anon! Glad it's helpful! I don't do clothing as a general thing so I can't really help with the coat but @null-entity has some coat stuff on DA as well as stuff tagged agent that might help. And in the coat tag on DA, @jademacalla has a few including some in a long coat.

As for what I've got that might be relevant pose wise, there's some senaking, a very small magnifying glass set, and this old lantern pack. Hope that gets you going! Happy drawing! ⭐

#ask adorkastock #detective

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heavencanbeaprisontoo · 28 days

Text

The Sun and The Moon

(Prologue: Meeting By the Sea) Alfie Solomons x Shelby!OC

Summary: In early November of 1917, you are over a year into your service to the Crown as a volunteer nurse. Following a hollow victory, you make your acquaintance with one Alfie Solomons. WC: 3.1K Warnings: Mentions of war, death, g-re, v-mit, foul language, angst, psychological distress, etc.

November. 7, 1917.

You know you need to hurry. It's almost nightfall; you won’t have much light left to write in. Yet you cannot help but linger at the sight of today’s victory. Before you, there is an ocean. It is a vast sea of gray, thick, and cold. Unfeeling and joyless. An ocean of standing water, crumbling buildings, and miles upon miles of mud. The buildings once housed people, but now they resemble the ruins of a bygone era. A necropolis.

Rolling clouds of dirt and gunpowder float just above the ground like phantoms. It’s the only piece of this that reminds you anything of home. Beckoning to the fog and soot that rolled in the early mornings when you would walk with your brothers to Charlie’s yard. Behind you, white tents flap in the wind, and cloth clings to metal rods that hold the structure in place. A field hospital. The only taste of civilization left for miles.

Rings meant to fasten the flaps down rattle like windchimes against the winds. A sudden updraft carries the stench of decay from the trenches up to where you stand. You press a cloth into a small bottle of peppermint oil. Quickly, you put that cloth on your nose. One of the first things you learned after joining the VADs was to keep your feet dry and to have plenty of peppermint oil on hand. It wards off the smell of rot, both in the living and the dead. The first time you smelled it, you vomited. Now, you barely gag. Still holding the cloth to your nose, you turn back to the field hospital.

Your name is Maeve Shelby, and you are twenty-four.

It’s warmer inside the tents. Uncomfortably so. The warmth is from all the bodies; most lay about in cots; the rest are your fellow VADs and doctors. Humidity mixed with stagnant sweat and all the bed pans that ever come clean enough to be rid of acrid remnants. To save yourself from having to sit in the midst of it all, you set aside a chair for yourself at the mouth of the field hospital. It is a plain, simple wooden chair with one leg shorter than the other three. Beside it is a stack of empty ammunition boxes. You have a small lantern weighing down an unfinished letter. With a sigh, you sit down and resume your writing from earlier that day:

Dearest Aunt Polly, Ada, and Finn ,

I know once my letter finds you that this will be well-known, but the Allies have finally claimed victory here in Ypres. The soldiers say we are nearly finished ousting the Germans from Passchendaele. Only a few remain. Too injured to retreat. It won’t be long before we can claim this as ours. Still, we have yet to celebrate. It’s strange. All these months we spent fighting, and this doesn’t feel like a victory. So many lives were lost. There are too many to even try to count.

My work keeps me busy, but it is at night when my mind is most busy. Even with the fighting stopped, it has been difficult to find the dead and the wounded. I do not know where these men will be put once they’re found. We have hardly any beds left to offer. I have taken to sleeping in a chair by the entry to the main tent. Partly to free a bed for those that need it, partly to keep an eye out for any soldiers still trying to make it back.

For so long, all I’ve done is race from place to place. Now all I do is change bandages, sooth the restless, and listen for the wounded who remain stuck in the trenches. Those still well enough to fight are sent out to recover their comrades. It’s hard work. Idle bombs and lurking landmines are all still out there. Some men come back worse than they left.

I know that the boys aren’t out there, but still, I strain to listen for them. John, Arthur, and Tommy. In my dreams, I do hear them. Just as I know, you hear them in your dreams too, Polly. It makes me wake with such a fear in me that my feet carry me forward before I’m fully awake. I rush toward that ocean of muck and blood, and I stop only when my fingers pierce the earth; the feel of it under my fingernails brings back my senses for some reason.

I wonder if all the victories we’ve won felt like this. I wonder if, when all is said and done, any of this will amount to anything at all. Does anyone remember why we’re even here? Who will take our bodies home if none of us survive?

“God,” you say, taking your pen and scratching out the last line. Then, you scratch out the last paragraph. You cross out line after line. They don’t need to read this. This madness. It was good of Ada to back out of volunteering. Not just because of this lonely sea of mud and blood, but for little Finn, too. With you and the three eldest men gone, someone needed to take care of him. Mom has been dead for almost five years now. Father may as well be dead; he felt like a ghost when he was home anyway. Aunt Polly was holding up “the business,” from what you could gleam from Ada’s letters back to you.

In the year you’ve spent out on the fields, you have yet to receive a letter from your brothers. Not that you blame them. All of you are on the move. What you know of their state comes from Ada, or Polly. Arthur and Tommy are together, which somewhat soothes you. You think of John often. He’s in France with Danny and Jeremiah. I think you joined so that you could look after your brothers. It’s been years since you’ve seen them in person. Who knows what state they may be in? There are men behind you who will never be whole. Broken bodies, shattered minds, and more scar tissue than flesh. Are your brothers as you remember them? You hate to linger on the thought.

You fold your ruined letter three times and rip it in half. The give-and-take of it feels good somehow. It reminds you of something you read once about children being destructive to gain some form of control. You can’t control how long this war lasts, when you can come home, what home you return to, or what state you find your brothers in, but you can control this paper. So, you rip it again. And again. Each tear becomes more jagged and childish. You throw up your hands, and the bits of paper fly away in the cold November winds.

‘Snow from Birmingham to Belgium,’ you crack a small smile.

You once dreamed of journeying across Europe. It was a lovely fantasy filled with long train rides and French pastries. Winking at handsome strangers while hiding your smile behind a lacy white glove. Now, you feel like you’ve seen too much of it. When all this fighting is over, maybe you’ll take a holiday to Margate. Clean your memory with a long look at an ocean of water instead of this hellscape.

“Shelby!” Your head turns sharply to see Nurse Burgess charging towards you. Her round face was blotchy as always, her thin lips drawn down in a harsh frown. “Miss Shelby, you are needed in the back.”

Tucking your scented hanky back into your apron, you ask, “Is someone in throes?” Some men, in the throes of despair, couldn’t always tell the difference between a nurse and a German soldier.

Her meaty hand takes you by the upper arm and says, “No, I need you to keep an eye on someone.” Nurse Burgess drags you through the maze of malaise swiftly, despite the growing night. The nurses have navigated this place in near darkness many times now. You could probably make it from one end to the other, blindfolded. Tonight, the field hospital was quiet aside from the moaning. Nurse Burgess guides you deeper inside the field hospital with a hoarse, “It’s Captain Solomons; that bastard won’t lay still, and I haven’t the time to keep on him.”

You try to keep your voice low as soldiers in their cots roll over to follow you and Nurse Burgess’ mad dash. “Captain Solomons? I thought he was sedated, heavily!”

Nurse Burgess, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She hollers, “That man is a bloody bear. We keep trying to give him more, and he shoos us off. Now, he won’t stop trying to get out of his cot... with a blown-out leg!” Two soldiers sat on their cots with a barrel between them. They played cards under the glow of a flickering candle on their shared nightstand. As you passed, they snickered.

“I can’t imagine he would be able to move much; Doctor Gill said he nearly lost that leg,” you noted wearily. Burgess was nearly done with her escorting or you; the back of the tent was not far off. You stepped over a pool of what could have been rainwater, bile, or piss. There is no point in stopping to check.

At the back of the field hospital lay two specific sorts of patients. Those who could not move and those who absolutely should not move. Captain Solomons was in the former category. Days ago, he sustained a bullet to his shin that nearly shattered it. He had been under strict orders, and a heavy dose of sedatives, to stay right where he was. Each cot in this back section has its own privacy curtain. When you first joined, you thought it was for the nurses to sleep and change in. The other nurses had a good laugh about that. When she comes upon Captain Solomons’ curtain, Nurse Burgess lets you go. S yanks back the curtain, shielding the Captain from view, and lets out a deep grunt.

You peer around her shoulder and sigh. The captain sits on the thin cot with a sterile sheet pushed down to his legs. His back is raised from the metal headboard, and he has his body turned with his good foot nearly touching the ground. Still on the bed rests his wounded leg. It lays at a stiff, awkward angle. You know he must at least be aware of its precarious state. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out all of his features.

“Captain!”

He’s a big man, with broad shoulders and heavy muscle on his back and arms. You can see it pushing against his long-sleeved undershirt. What strikes you most about him is not his mass or his leg, but his grin. His cheeky, cheeky grin.

Captain Solomons keeps on that grin as he says, “Hm, it appears I have been caught, right?” His accent is thick. You know very little about Captain Solomons aside from the most basic of details. You know he’s from London, you know that he’s Jewish, and you know that he can be difficult. The Captain’s tone remains glib as he remarks, “And you brought a friend, ‘ello there.”

“You are to be resting, Captain Solomons!” Based on her tone, you can imagine Nurse Burgess is turning purple about now. Captain Solomons gives her a boyish shrug and stays upright in his cot. That alone makes Nurse Burgess turn to you and hiss and say, “Keep him here so he doesn’t rip his bloody stitches, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you hum. She leaves you there in the parted curtains with Captain Solomons. He regards you for a moment, then restarts his attempt at standing. You let out a sigh and hurry to him before he gains enough traction to hurt himself. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you try to ease him back into his crib. “Captain, you really must follow the doctor’s instructions.” You feel him push against your palms.

“Fuck the doctors; pardon my verbiage, but I’m about to go mad lying about this miserable lump you call a bed,” he says, putting his hands around your wrists. You are taken aback by how easily his hand wraps around your wrist. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to just shove you aside. “I need to take a walk.”

Politeness doesn’t seem to work on him, nor does roughness. While you weren’t tough like John or ruthless like Arthur, you were clever with people. You could get a sense of how someone’s mind ticked quickly. You hoped you could catch on about Captain Solomons too. “And when your stitches rip and you’ve lost your leg, what cot would you like me to move you to?”

He stops pushing against you. His chest is still heaving, and his hot breath fans your cheeks. You swallowed thickly; you really underestimated how close you were to him. This is a is a big, big man. One who had rumors of a violent temper that took very little to agitate.

“You have been injured and are lucky to be alive. And you still have all your parts, Captain. Why are you risking that just to go on a fucking walk?” He stares you down with a furrowed brow. For a moment, you worry you’ve poked the bear a bit too hard. “If you refuse to take the doctors seriously, what do you think the men who answer to you will do? They’ll all be trying to walk about despite their pain and end up injuring themselves for pride.”

Solomons puts you at ease when he sits back on the cot, releasing your wrists. “I can’t just lay about like this. I’ll lose the rest of my marbles waiting around for those doctors to get these stitches out. There’s not a single thing a man can do to occupy his mind in this place. It smells of piss, rot, and pus. If they would give me back my knife, right? I could cut out a little window in this tarp behind me and get a whiff of fresh air. But they won’t. Where’s the respect, hm?”

You cross your arms and ask, “So, you’re bored?”

He stiffens. Oh, you hit the nail right on the head with that one. You can’t exactly blame him. The longer you stand still, the faster all your fears catch up with you. All those ugly things you’ve seen and heard find you. That’s why the soldiers play cards and the nurses trade that single copy of ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘A Room with a View’ back and forth. Distraction. “If you can stay still where you are, I can try to get a book or a deck of cards. Would you like that?”

With a sweeping gesture to the darkness, he says, “Can’t exactly read a page or play a hand in the dark, now can we love?”

Shaking your head at his childish attempts at derailing your little plan, you take out a matchbox from your apron. With your last matchstick, you bring life to a lantern by his bed. You turn to face him, a warm orange light reflecting on your face. In the dim lighting offered by the lantern, you can see the Captain’s face. He’s young for a man of his rank. And handsome, you can admit as much in your own mind. His eyes are bright, and his features are deeply masculine. A hard jawline with a prominent brow and pouty lips. Most soldiers, regardless of rank, are required to be clean-shaven. This is not true for Captain Solomons. He has a well-maintained moustache and beard, cut close to his jawline. You heard from somewhere that Solomons was an exception due to his faith or his demeanor. Captain Solomons is looking up at you, too. His expression was all aglow. Bright gray eyes stare at your face. Confused almost as they regard you.

“Do we have a deal, Captain?”

He’s still staring at you, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. Finally, he says, “If you can get ‘Frankenstein,’ I’ll stay put. That’s a piece of fiction I can sit with for a good bit of time.”

You beam at him and take the chance to push his healthy leg under his blanket. Solomons grumbles, “Easy now, easy. I’m injured, remember?” He allows you to gently move him safely into his cot.

Finding the nurse who had taken possession of the book was no easy task, but she was quick to give it to you when you informed her a captain had asked for it. When you came back with the book, Solomons was still in bed. You thanked a God you no longer believed in and handed him the book. Just as you attempted to leave, Captain Solomons made an admission: “My eyes, yeah, they don’t pinch up the written word so easy these days. If there’s not a grisly scene out there for you to attend to, might you do me the service of reading this aloud for me?”

For a moment, you think about refusing. You never know when you’ll be called away. But then again, you’re the one who came up with the idea to get him a distraction anyway. Settling down at the edge of his bed, you take the book from his hand and begin to read. Captain Solomons leans back against the metal headboard, listening to you begin reading the preface. What you didn’t know was that this was the start of a near-nightly ritual. Captain Solomons would attempt to slink out of bed to go'stretch his leg(s)’ until you would rush over to distract him with another book or game of cards. He became a welcome distraction for you as well. A friend, almost. Perhaps more than that, if the way he kissed you one cold night in late November told you anything.

His lips were as soft as they looked.

Whether it was friendship or not, it lasted for about a month. Captain Solomons and his men were removed from the area for transport to the west. You and your fellow VADs would go north. He didn’t stop to say goodbye to you, which bothered you. The morning after he kissed you was the day you found out about the move. And he was already gone.

In one year and three days, the war would be over. You would return home to find that all your brothers had survived. But they weren’t quite themselves anymore, and neither were you.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinders x oc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x shelby!oc #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x reader

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miguelswifey04 · 10 months

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your noir headcanons are adorable!!! may i request some headcanons or drabbles in like sorta that movie tangled au

awwww thank you so much <3 this is so cute !! this will be my own spin it!!

“gosh darn it.” noir muttered himself as he walked through the forest. he was lost, and grumbling curses under breath. he hated being lost but also being on the run because he was proclaimed as some form of thief, but honestly he couldn’t care less.

he would end up in the middle of the forest as he stumbled upon the tower that had vines and plants wrapped around it. he was curious, so he climbed up the tower where you resided in. trapped. he didn’t know you even lived there…what kind of person would even live so high up in the middle of nowhere? so he thought he had been lucky to find things inside the tower, he was a bit skeptical as he searched for any presence of life.

you being the headstrong person that you are and very brave at that you snuck up to that tall man who seemed to be wearing all black and a trench coat?? you whammed him with pan, knocking him silly 😭

using your long blonde magical hair you tied him up on the chair..he was seeing stars to say the least and was still grumbling under his breath. you were curious of him. he piqued your interest but you were skeptical. “who even are you?” holding the pan under the chin to tilt him fo look at you

noir was surprised a beautiful person like you was living in a solitary place like a tower. “none of your concern princess.” he smirked at you looking silly but you recoiled a bit at him calling you “princess.”

“i’m not a princess.” you remarked. you were ready to hit him again with the pan, but he pleased you not too, “woah woah woah, calm down a bit. i don’t think i want to bit whacked with a pan again,” he lightly chuckled but gulped a bit feeling restrained.

you calmed a bit then an idea came to you. he was your one way ticket out of the tower, and you wanted to explore the outside world. “okay. let’s make a deal. i’ll let you go but you have to—TAKE ME WITH YOU!” you suggested, “if not, i’m not gonna let you go.”

noir agreed to take you to see the lanterns that appear every day on your birthday if you would return his satchel filled with stolen jewels, including the lost princess's shiny crown.

it was a bit of a journey nonetheless but noir started to grow fond of you over time. surely at first you really annoyed him with your childish nature but of course you technically “never grew up” because your evil godmother only had used you for your magical hair to keep her forever young.

“so princess tell me about yourself?” he had a shit eating grin on his face and you hated it at first but you grew to actually love his smile or whenever he’d smirk at you. you couldn’t deny the fact he was actually pretty handsome but you ignored that fact.

noir found you stunning and he was attracted by your beauty and radiant aura that you always seemed to radiate. you were his brightest star in his most darkest hours.

you both shared your experiences and stories that made that bond that you both didn’t know y’all had, stronger.

he would causally hold on to your hair in his arms so you wouldn’t trip. if you were tired of carrying your own hair since it was LENGTHY he would have no problem holding it for you!!

you tired? he would carry you in his arms bridal carry style. idk but he likes to carry you whenever you were feeling tired OR would scoop you up just to tease you. he liked the way you got annoyed at him and he loved that feeling.

…

a/n: this was fun to write ✍🏽

tags: @kairiscorner

#spiderman noir #peter parker #spider noir x you #spider noir #spider noir x reader #spider noir x y/n #spider man noir #spiderman noir fluff #spiderman into the verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #headcanon #itsv #itsv headcanons #tangled #alternate universe #scenarios

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gardens-light · 2 years

Text

Honey I'm Home

After escaping his imprisonment from the Waking World. Morpheus returns to his kingdom, only to find it in ruins and his creatures gone. Vowing to rebuild of what was once lost, and turn his realm back into his own image. But before his kingdom can return to it's former glory, he must reclaim his queen first...

Content: Fluff/Smut. Fingering. Female reader receiving oral.

Grief struck his heart as Morpheus stood at the gates of his realm. His once beautiful world, now reduced to nothing but rubble and ash.

"What happened here? Who did this?"

"My Lord... you are 'The Dreaming'" Lucienne kindly spoke. "The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were... the world started to decay and crumble."

"And the residence? The palace staff?"

Lucienne bit her lip before continuing, "I'm... afraid most of them are gone..."

"Gone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Some were worried and went looking for you. Others believed... that perhaps you've... gone weary of your duties-"

"So they believed I've abandoned them? Do my subject's truly think that little of me?" Morpheus lowered his head. As he made his way back to what was left of his palace.

Standing in the crumbled remains of his thrown room. Watery eyes wondering at the broken stained glass pieces, rocks and rubble from the decayed arches above.

"I kept a journal for a while. Just a chronical of what had happened in your absence." Lucienne weakly smiled, as she stood proper with her hands behind her back. "But..." her smile soon faded, "after a while the words... faded. And soon enough, every book within our library became just empty volumes of blank pages."

"What felt like less than a day, I suddenly found the whole library gone. I... never found it again..."

Morpheus heard the hurt and pain in her voice, "and yet... you remained? While others fled. A royal librarian in an abandoned kingdom."

Lucienne weakly smiled, "I never said I felt abandoned, sir. I knew you'll return."

He lowered his head, not knowing weather to be thankful, or apologetic towards Lucienne. An ache throbbed in his heart, as tears built up behind his dark eyes. "And what about my wife, Lucienne?" it was a question he didn't want to ask, but it held the answer he was dying to know.

"I don't feel her presence here."

"Do not fret, my lord. My lady is still here. Just... not in the palace-"

His eyes flashed up at her, gleaming with hope. "Then where?"

Lucienne couldn't help but pull a slightly shocked expression. "My lady is within her gardens. She's staid there since you've left. It's... the only place that didn't fall to ruin. And a small handful of the residence took shelter there-."

"Take me there, Lucienne! She needs to know that I've returned!"

"Of course. At once, my Lord..."

Morpheus was indeed different upon his return, Lucienne could sense that clearly. She couldn't help but attempt to hide her smirk, when she saw him fussing over his own appearance, within her peripheral vision. From tidying up his hair, to adjusting his black trench coat. Brushing off the small specks of dust, upon his dress shirt.

Towards the inner wall of the city. Hidden behind vines and leaf's was a gentle yellow glow. Brushing them aside, Morpheus' heart fluttered. Before him was small stone steps, each lit with delicate iron lanterns which housed a singular firefly. As the lanterns rested close to the flower beds, beside the steps. Entering further into the garden, smooth sandstone beneath his feet, replaced the gravelled path. The path gracefully wind down the hills of luscious green grass, beautiful flowers adorned the surroundings with colours.

Although the sky was grey and murky, birds still happily chirped. Approaching the shallow stream of clear blue water, with rocks creating small ponds for the coy fish. Morpheus stepped forward onto the wooden arched bridge which crossed the river.

"My Lord! Wait!" Lucienne warned, as she quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Lucienne?!-"

A low rumble vibrated through the air, and shook the ground. A section of the ground broke away from the hills, on the other side of the bridge. Leaf's, trees and flowers broke away, as something rose. The pair was soon greeted by emerald green eyes of a dragon like creature. It's scales the same colour and texture as the nearby trees, small branches, moss and shrubs, camouflaged the guardian.

"Redwood, the Forest Guardian" Morpheus gleamed. But his smile faded, when the forest dragon growled at his second attempt to cross the bridge. "What's the matter with you? Do you not recognize your own king? I created you, Redwood."

Lucienne's hand slowly moved from his arm to his shoulder, gently pulling the king a little further away from the dragon. "Sir... he guards and protects, not only the gardens but the queen too. No matter whom approaches... Redwood wont allow anyone to pass, without her permission."

"Why?"

The librarian bit her lip and lowered her head, "b-because... Nightmares and demons tried to claim the queen, my Lord."

Morpheus' hands curled into tight fists, "claim?"

Lucienne hesitated before nodding slowly, "yes... my Lord-"

"Was any... did any of them?-"

"No, my Lord. She was never harmed or disrespected. All thanks to Redwood's devotion to loyalty and duty. But I'm afraid... regardless if friend or foe, familiar face or not. Nobody passes unless, my Lady, says so. After all, these gardens are her domain, I suppose."

To Lucienne's surprise, Morpheus knelt down against the sandstone path. Looking at Redwood with a hopeful gaze, "Redwood, Forest Guardian. Please tell Y/N, the Queen of Dreams, that her king has returned. Send this message, so I can be granted save passage-"

"It's ok, Redwood."

Morpheus' heart fluttered as you stood at the end of the bridge. Your gentle reassurance settling the guardian, "you've must of known it was only our king. Calm down, my guardian. Rest and not worry."

The dragon nestled back against the nearby hills, adjusting it's position and resting it's head upon the large rocks, near the river. It's eyes still locked on the Lord of Dreams.

"You've returned, my Lord. Just as Lucienne always knew." You shared the librarian's smile, before gazing at Morpheus whom still knelt against the ground.

"My wife. My light. My dream. Please allow me to enter your domain and embrace you." His voice was soft and almost pleading like.

You pulled a puzzled expression. Confused as to why he asked for permission, when he never done so. And not quite sure on how to answer, "um... yes?... You may cross."

You've never seen him move so fast, nor hold you so tightly. Morpheus wrapped his arms around you, feeling your body and breathing in your scented perfume.

"I apologize a thousand times, and a thousand times again for leaving you so long!"

"No need for apologies, my Lord" you formally spoke, still with a suttle hint of confusion within your tone. "I am aware of your imprisonment. I'm glad you've returned safely-"

"I've missed you, Y/N."

You froze. Throughout your arranged marriage, Morpheus has never called you by your name. Sure he greeted you with "darling", "my love" but mainly you both always dressed each other as, 'my lord' and 'my lady.' But he's never shown this much affection towards you. Something inside him has truly changed.

"You can leave, Lucienne. I wish to be alone with my wife." The librarian simply bowed and started to walk back up the sandstone path.

Morpheus guided you by the hand, leading you towards the nearby gazebo. The circular construction held by five thin pillars, holding up the arches that supported the dome roof. With a wave of his hand, the vines which crawled over the white gazebo, grew over the arches and openings. Creating a small place of privacy.

You stood with your hands behind your back. Sighing deeply, attempting to keep things proper. "And I have missed you, my Lord. Apologizes I could not uphold the rest of your kingdom. But Lucienne has been a great value to you and your people.-"

"Enough with the formalities, my darling. Indeed Lucienne has done well to upkeep whatever she can. But I'm just thrilled you're still here and alright. Did you... ever feel like I abandoned you?"

You could hear the sincerity within his voice. A genuine question which held worry within his heart.

"Sometimes..." you lowly admitted. "Despite how much Lucienne spoke of you returning... at times..."

"You didn't believe it?..."

"No... well not all the time. There were also moments where I felt... lost and alone. Sometimes I also thought you've may... have left me for another-"

"Never!-"

"Oh!"

Morpheus gently pushed you onto the seat behind you. He leaned into you, placing his hands on the back of the bench. "Nobody could compare to you. You've been more devoted and loyal to me, than you should have been."

"My Lord?-"

"No, Y/N. Please don't say anything, for we both know it's true. Our marriage has been nothing less, of a business deal between our parents. Only in order to reunite both kingdoms. And we've been treating this whole thing as such. A business deal."

Your bottom lips curled a little, "perhaps that's... indeed true. But you haven't been awful towards me. If that's what you feel guilty about-"

"I feel guilty of many things. And taking you for granted was one of them! But no more, my love. For I will earn your affection and love, instead of demanding it."

You blinked multiple times in confusion. "Earn it? My Lord, I have already grown to love you-"

"Then let's show it. Express it"

Your eyes widened as he got onto his knees, kneeling at the hem of your dress. Slowly removing his trench coat, as he reached for your dress. Realization begun to sink into you.

"Here?" You questioned, "b-but there's residents here! My Lord! People will talk if they hear, let alone see-"

"Hear and see what? That a king submits to his queen in her domain? That I will happily please you in your place of rule, like you've pleased me in mine?"

Your cheeks reddened as he lifted up the skirt of your dress, gently placing the gathered fabric at your knees. His hands moving from the skirts hem and onto your thighs, massaging your muscles while he leaned closer. Placing his lips softly against your skin, leaving delicate kisses.

A slow but deep breath left your parted lips, feeling the warmth building in your core. Your soft spot clenching around nothing, as Morpheus' kisses slowly edged nearer to your close. Only stopping when you placed a hand upon his head, fingers intertwining into his messy black locks.

"Do you want me to stop? Say it and I will." His voice spoke with a heartful promise.

You bit your bottom lip, "no Morpheus. I don't want you to stop. But I do want you to continue, only if you truly wish it. You owe me nothing, my love. Weather this marriage started off the way we wanted, or not."

His dark eyes softly gazed up at you, never have they ever shined with such love and passion. "Being imprisoned gave me time to reflect on past behaviours. Showing me the error of my ways. Reminding me of the times I denied you love, but only to demand such from you. Treating you as a second class citizen, rather than my equal."

Morpheus gently grabbed your left hand, brushing a thumb over the black diamond ring, which rested nicely upon your wedded finger. Placing a gentle kiss upon your knuckles before continuing, "but I've should of told you how much I adore you. How your loyalty and faith in me has left me speechless. How your beauty cannot be compared to anything, or to anyone. You are my light and my dream, Y/N. Please allow me to be the king. The husband you should of had, and more!"

A cheeky smile spread across your lips, your fingers tightening within his hair, gently tugging upon his scalp. "Then claim your queen, Lord of Dreams."

There was no hesitation. No holding back.

His hand reached for between your legs, grabbing the lacey fabric of your undergarments, and ripping them apart. His lips kissing and sucking onto your clit in such hunger, you never felt. The fire within your core erupting and bursting into ambers, as his sliver tongue plunged into your already wet centre.

Morpheus' hands reached up and cradled your bare ass. Squeezing your buttocks and thrusting you closer with gentle thrusts. Muffled moans and gasps of pleasure escaped him, as your fingers ran through his hair. Pulling him closer towards you, as he thrusted your centre closer to his mouth.

Muffled moans and gasps of pleasure left him, while you bit hard onto your bottom lips. Attempting to hold back your low whimpers, as you rested your head against the pillar.

His tongue withdraw from your wet pussy, and teased it along your clit, while two fingers thrusted deep into your centre. Your insides clamping tightly around his hand, as his peace quickened. Ripping a small moan from you that he's been begging to hear

"Allow me to please you, my love! I will not hold back regardless who sees!"

You placed your hand towards your mouth, muffling the moans which left you. But it was only for a moment, before Morpheus grabbed your wrist and placed your hand back atop his head. Encouraging your fingers to run through his strains again, and gently tug at his scalp.

"Don't deny what I give you, my darling! Moan! Scream! Shout your pleasures till you can't no more. Cry till you have no voice! Cum so you cannot walk! Your king has returned, my sweet! And I promise to take such good care of you. That our time apart will feel like a distant memory!."

Tag List

@thecrazytealady

@aurorarevenclaw1927

#sandman x reader #sandman netflix #netflix the sandman #sandman x you #sandman x y/n #x fem reader #x reader #fanfic #gardens light #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus sandman #dream of the endless

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