#EVEN WITH AN ENTRÉE AND SHIT

[joffyworld]

HDUHEHE TAKIIII??????

[diluc33rpm]

astarion is so fucking funny as a character because conceptually he hits all the marks of a wet cat blorbo but in practice he's unbelievably hard to stand. i'll be on the bg3 companion guide and have to start CRYING from trying to find the shit under his section that gains approval. loses -15 points for gently suggesting we not massacre an orphanage in cold blood with the d&d equivalent of a nuclear warhead

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 8 Folk Horror

Warning: Inhuman x human relationship (both parties are sentient and can consent), mild anti-military work mentioned (helping soldiers abandon their post), too many ovens for a kitchen...

The idea behind König is based on @ghouljams Fae AU.

You moved out to the woods for inspiration, health, and to escape a piece of shit ex who refuses to admit that they fucked up by cheating on you. Two of those three goals are being met, but your ex is insistent, throwing around their parent’s money to constantly find ways around the blocks you put up. The only upside, you muse while sipping on your morning cup and watching the rain fall in the woods, is that your ex is “nature averse”. As if technology hasn’t advanced far enough to find work arounds even in the densely packed woods.

As a combination of more protection from your ex and honoring your grandfather, you signed up for a soldier housing project. Should a mission occur within a certain distance of your house, the soldiers can use your home as a safe house. Most of the time, you just acted as a host and sent the soldiers on their way when it’s time for them to leave. Sometimes, however, you make your grandfather proud by helping the soldiers that didn’t have an option leave the military.

With all this, you also got a boyfriend. He’s a soldier, and you hold his leash to his delight. Usually, when you house other soldiers, he stays elsewhere, but still close. Which makes his insistence that he be at the house during this housing confusing.

“Thank you again for housing my boys and I,” Captain Price repeats, tilting his boonie hat at you politely.

“As long as you guys aren’t going to be assholes, I see no reason not to house you,” you wave off with a smile, already heading into the kitchen to prep the rabbit your boyfriend hunted earlier. Braised rabbit with some bowtie pasta for the entrée, some roasted potatoes and broccoli for veg, and your gran’s special chocolate-strawberry bread pudding. A bit time consuming, but it will make more than enough food for the four men in your house, yourself, and your boyfriend when he returned from whatever the ‘wild hunt’ is.

“You need help in here, love?” Sergeant Gaz asks, peeking into your kitchen. You offer him a smile and shake your head.

“No, I’ve got it,” you assure him, pulling out the dead rabbits. You hear the Sergeant choke as you start to work off the skin and fur from the poor things. It always takes a bit more time than you want, but at the end, you still have completely cleaned rabbits, just needing to be broken down for cooking.

“Those clean?” a deep voice rumbles from behind you, causing you to nearly knick yourself with the knife. Looking over your shoulder, you see the masked man, almost the same size as your boyfriend and staring at the rabbits.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” you chirp, beaming as Lieutenant Ghost shifts. Just like your boyfriend, the man’s a bit awkward. But, unlike your boyfriend, he plows onward with what he was going to do or say.

“Y’ wan’ some help?” he offers, nodding at the meat still attached to the bones.

“Only if you can properly butcher them,” you reply.

“Was a butcher’s ‘prentice f’r while,” he huffs, walking into the kitchen and taking the knife from you, already moving the rabbit around to start cutting the joints. You hum in reply, before grabbing the vegetables. You work in silence with the Lieutenant, eventually getting the rabbits into the oven to braise. Shooing him out of the kitchen once the meat’s cooking, you move on to prep the potatoes and broccoli, as well as the strawberries and stale bread for the pudding. Your boyfriend had pointed out how much you bake and insisted you get an extra oven and a storable oven as well.

“Looks like I’m using all of them,” you chuckle to yourself.

“All o’ whit?” an accented voice asks, drawing your attention to the door once again. Sergeant Soap peers in curiously with Sergeant Gaz at his shoulder.

“The ovens,” you chirp, lifting up the mini oven up with a huff and dropping it on your available counterspace.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” the Scot yelps while Sergeant Gaz lets out a whistle.

“Didn’t know you had three of those,” he mumbles as you start to heat up the mini oven.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I rely heavily on baking with a lot of my cooking, so three ovens.” Sergeant Gaz chuckles as Sergeant Soap practically beams in delight. However, before you could make a joke that delights your boyfriend when he hears it, a loud noise outside draws your attention to the back yard.

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

Price knows about the Austrian merc that’s been on base with them a few times. The giant that shies away from anything social, often seen staring at people with eyes that seem to glow. Here and now, König towers over all of them, strange spines coming out of somewhere. His eyes are glowing, a bright blue that stares down at Price and Ghost, while an inhuman growl rumbles from him. His bare hands are dyed bloody brown-red with fucking claws.

“Oh, that’s what it was!” you chirp, the sweet thing that opened their home to Price and his boys.

“Fuck,” he hisses, looking back as Ghost shifts to block you from sight. He calls to you, “Go back inside! It’s not safe!”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, stepping out of the house and around Gaz and Soap’s grasping hands. You slip past Ghost and Price and stand in front of the beast that isn’t a man despite its shape. Then, you pat what was its wrist twice while scolding, “And shrink down, you goober. You’re scaring them.”

“Good,” König rumbles, but he still listens to you, shrinking down into the form they’re far more used to. You huff and roll your eyes, but rise up on your toes to slip under König’s hood to press what sounds like a kiss to what might be his face. Slipping back out, you smile up at him.

“I’m making braised rabbit and pasta for dinner,” you tell him, as if the 141 isn’t between you and the house, as if these armed men don’t have a hand on their guns. The behemoth perks up.

“The ones I brought you?” he asks, leaning over you.

“Yep!” you chirp, so fucking sweet. König purrs, sounding just as animalistic as he had earlier, before scooping you into his arms and stomping into the house, ignoring the 141. The Taskforce watch as the house darkens, twigs pressing out of the wood the house is built with. The woods around them is no longer serene, but foreboding, waiting for possible prey.

“Yeh think ‘ll behave?” Soap asks nervously.

“…If they ask,” Price finally offers upon hearing you scolding König for something, causing the Austrian to whine.

“Gun’s loaded and at ready,” Ghost intones, not even taking a chance.

[sainzfilm]

🌟🌅 serendipity - charles leclerc 🌅🌟

summary: a year ago, meeting a stranger at the eiffel tower on christmas eve and spending the night together sounded something out of a film. would the two of you find each other again the next year despite not knowing each other’s name?

taglist: @svechyaho @squderia @idkiwantchocolatee @koufaxx @melonunicornbby @myescapefromthislife @leclerclvr @slut-era @pachiibatt @clcspeonies @estevries @sidcrosbyspuck @barzysreputation @uhhevie @verclercswiftie @mick2mercedes @mehrmonga

check out my winter wonderland celebration!

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Turning to the Monégasque seated beside you on the field in front of the Eiffel tower, “You know you’re not bad company.”

“Of course I’m not,” Charles grinned, taking a bite of his croissant, “This is a unique way to spend Christmas eve with a complete stranger.”

“Hm, strangers?” You raised an eyebrow, sipping your coffee, “I wouldn’t share some pastries with a stranger.”

Charles shrugged with a teasing smile, turning his attention back to the sight before him, “We don’t know each other’s names though.”

“And it’s better for it to stay that way,” You replied nonchalantly, setting your cup down on the field, “No strings at all.”

Exhaling the night breeze, Charles took a quick glance at you, a bittersweet feeling in his heart, “If we find each other again, you must tell me your name.”

“Okay, deal,” You nodded, reaching your hand out with a small smile, “Who knows if we actually would?”

Charles smiled, shaking your hand and feeling his heart pick up its pace, “All I can do is hope.”

Hurriedly exiting the plane, you muttered apologies to the people you’ve accidentally bumped into. Taking a flight on Christmas eve was not a brilliant idea, but you would be lying if you said that a certain Monégasque wasn’t your reason as to why you’re currently in Paris again.

“So glad I packed light,” You mumbled, rushing out to the taxi bay and getting into one quickly, “A la Tour Eiffel très vite, s'il vous plait.” To the Eiffel tower quickly, please.

As the taxi driver drove, you looked out the window and nervously played with the strap of your backpack. Was it the correct decision to follow your gut feeling that he might be there?

“Ah, merde,” The driver groaned, shaking his head and looking at you in the rearview mirror, “Nous sommes entrés dans la circulation, mademoiselle.” Ah, fuck. We’ve gone into traffic, miss.

“Shit,” You mumbled, running a hand down your face and turning your attention to him, “Combien de temps pensez-vous que ce sera?” How long do you think this will be?

Clicking his tongue, he sighed, “Pas certain. C'est probablement le trafic de Noël.” Not sure. It’s probably Christmas traffic.

Quickly glancing at the clock, you impatiently tapped your foot. It’s an hour until Christmas – you’re definitely not going to make it from the way the cars are situated right now.

Leaning over the console from behind, you turned your attention to the driver, “Voici l'argent, j'y vais à pied. Joyeux noël!” Here’s the money, I’m getting there by foot. Merry Christmas!

Without another word, you grabbed your backpack and got out of the taxi, running to the Eiffel tower as fast as your feet could bring you.

“Oh, please be there,” You breathed out, spotting the landmark not far from where you were, “God, please.”

It took you a few more minutes before you leaned over your knees, breathing heavily on the sidewalk near the Eiffel tower. You looked down at your watch – 11:58 pm. Two minutes to spare, he probably would’ve left if he even came.

Walking over to the spot the two of you stayed at, you sighed and crossed your arms, staring at the Eiffel tower and hearing people greeting each other.

Frowning in confusion, you got a glimpse of a familiar brunette a few meters away from you. You immediately pushed past a bunch of people, profusely apologizing in case you’d ruin their night, before you reached out to tap him on the shoulder, “Excuse me?”

“Hm?” The guy turned around, raising an eyebrow, “Can I help you?”

“Oh, sorry,” You stuttered, smiling sheepishly and backing off, “You just…looked like someone I knew.”

You walked off before you could hear the stranger’s response, sitting down on the spot and pulling out a bag of Twizzlers and munching on them in sadness, “Merry fucking Christmas, Y/N. All alone.”

Feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pulled it out and answered it, putting it to your ear, “Hello?”

“Merry Christmas, my darling best friend!” Lily exclaimed, “How’s Paris? Have you found him?”

“Merry Christmas, lovely,” You laughed softly, continuously munching on your Twizzlers, “I just ran a few kilometers to the Eiffel tower. It was traffic, and no, he isn’t here. I’m sadly munching on my Twizzlers.”

“Since when have you become athletic for a man?” She laughed, laying in bed, “Hey, no negativity! Maybe he’ll come…or you could return later afternoon.”

“I just – he was really nice, you know?” You muttered, resting your chin on your knees, “I could just take a roundtrip back so we could spend the holidays together.”

Lily scoffed, shaking her head, “No no! Just stay put over there, if it’s destiny then it’s destiny.”

“Maybe it’s not destiny,” You rolled your eyes, drinking from your bottle of water, “What if it was a one time thing? Just the universe playing tricks on me.”

“Trust me, Y/N,” Lily replied softly, “I have a good feeling he could come. I’ll go ahead now, okay? A bit knackered.”

Sighing in response, you looked around and chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Okay then. I love you, Lils. I’ll see you soon.”

As you shoved your phone back inside your bag, you hummed to yourself and mentally preparing yourself for the best and worst. People were starting to clear out, going back to their homes for some sweet rest, which you were hoping you could have.

Checking your watch for the nth time tonight, you shrugged and picked your bag up, turning to look at the Eiffel tower with a small smile, you frowned as you felt someone tap you on the shoulder.

Turning around, you froze in your place from utter disbelief from the sight before you, “It’s…you.”

“It’s me,” Charles nodded, a small smile forming on his lips, “You…came.”

Laughing softly, you hugged yourself from the cold night breeze, “I did, and so did you.”

“I just wanted to see you again,” Charles shyly admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “A deal’s a deal.”

“So, what now…” You trailed off, swaying back and forth, “Mister?”

“I’m Charles. Charles Leclerc,” He smiled, holding his hand out, “And you are?”

Shaking his hand, you could feel your heart pick up its pace – the same feeling Charles got a year back, “Nice to meet you, Charles. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“This feels like some kind of fever dream,” Charles chuckled, putting his hands inside his pockets, “I never thought you’d come.”

“Not to be weird or anything but,” You bit your lip, uncontrollably smiling, “I do want to share pastries and coffee with you again. And probably a few more times.”

Charles felt his face turn red from what you had just admitted, he smiled to himself, “Isn’t it pretty to think…that all along there was some-”

“Invisible string?” You raised your eyebrows with a smile, “Tying you to me and vice-versa?”

“Something like that,” He shrugged, chuckling to himself and holding a hand out, “Café not as strangers but as Charles and Y/N?”

Nodding as you smiled at the man, who changed your life a year ago, standing in front of you, “That sounds wonderful.”

For people passing by, they couldn’t care any less about the two of you walking hand in hand to a café – the two of you looked like a normal couple, nothing special. But to the both of you? What you had could bloom into possible romance from a serendipitous night that you shared on Christmas eve in the past year.

[neon-junkie]

I've spoken about married Tech before, but let's just consider Tech in love.

I mean, his love language is... strange.

At first, he's distant. He analyses you and the situation from afar; and hell, you probably presume that he doesn't like you, given how blunt and aloof he is. However, he's simply piecing things together, determining if he's really fallen for you, and better yet, if you've fallen for him.

You will likely have to be the one to initiate things. Little comments here and there, brief flirting, giving him open windows for him to leap through. It'll take a few attempts, but Tech will soon put his foot in the door, and flash you a cheeky look with a raised brow that has your heart thumping in your chest.

He doesn't need to impress you. A man with such an exceptional mind has no need to flex, or at least, that's what he's telling himself. To everybody else, Tech won't shut up. Blahblahblah, my intelligence, my wit, my sarcasm, blahblahblah. Maker, Tech! We get it! You're the whole package!

From your perspective, he's only trying to show that he's mature enough for a courtship. You know he's cleaver, but oh! how helpful he is! Tech suddenly wants to fix all those little things that bother you, like how your datapad's battery falls flat within an hour, or how your caf maker doesn't automatically turn off at the right temperature.

He's a very hands-on guy. Acts of service are his way of flirting, but once committed, things take a turn.

Tech, when new to a relationship, can go a little overboard with physical touch. I mean, he has to be touching you at all moments. Hell, he'll probably follow you around with his hand on your shoulder, if you'll let him.

It's not that you're going anywhere, nor is he, but he needs that physical confirmation of "they're mine! Maker, they're actually mine! And it's not a fantasy, they really are dating me, and I need this physical touch as a form of confirmation that they're MINE."

Words of affirmation. Praise. Pet names. Shit, he's going all out. It's always My Darling this, and My Dearest that. "Oh, my love, you should know by now that giving me those pleading eyes will not falter from the fact that you broke our heated blanket."

You weren't expecting this, but on date nights, Tech likes to coordinate his outfit with you. A matching colour, fabric pattern, accessories - anything! Tech likes to dress up, especially if he's trying to one-you-up, something that he'll never achieve (by his words.)

Tech is the type to hold your hands across the table whilst you're waiting for your meal, gazing into your eyes whilst saying, "darling, I am delighted that you decided to treat yourself to an entrée and main tonight. Perhaps desert will be enjoyed back at your apartment?"

He's raunchy. His main aim of flirting is to leave your cheeks burning brighter than the sun, and to top it all off, he'll whisper even more alluring secrets against the skin of your neck whilst he peppers it in kisses.

Maybe it's time to tell him to tone it down? You are in public, after all.

And when the night is over, Tech will curl up to you. He likes to chat before bed; this is usually the prime time to discuss anything that's been bothering you, and vice versa, until one of you ends up replying through snores. Tech is also very adamant that you're the blanket hogger, when really, it's him.

The honeymoon phase never seems to end with Tech. It will level out, but it'll never 'end,' because Tech is someone who puts his entire self into a relationship, and how could you fall out of love with a man like that?

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for threatening to have my friend's boyfriend removed when he crashed our outing?

This happened a few years ago now but I still feel really mixed about it and want a general consensus. Important context is that my friend (Jen) and her boyfriend (Dan) are both from Mormon families, they're getting out of it together slowly but it does heavily influence how they acted + how the situation was treated. Also, Dan was homeschooled and doesn't have a lot of experience in social situations or with friendships in general because he's super sheltered. We were all 19 when this went down.

So two years ago Jen was very abruptly told she was being sent out of state to a Mormon college in two weeks. I decided to go hang out with her for the weekend with my partner who is also her friend. The first day we hung out with both Jen and Dan. Then the day after we (me, my partner and Jen) wanted to have dinner together alone to say goodbye.

She had been hanging out with Dan before coming to dinner and asked him for a ride to the restaurant. He drops her off, we hang out and have a great time for about half an hour until she gets a text and tells us that Dan showed up to crash our dinner. My partner and I were pretty unnerved by this as we had only met this guy twice before. Jen tries to go explain to Dan why he needs to leave but he insists on sitting at a table I guess to just watch us the rest of the night.

At this point I'm feeling extremely creeped out and protective of Jen so I pull Dan aside and state plainly that him showing up like this is rude and freaking everyone out, and I calmly told him to leave. He doesn't acknowledge anything I say and asks if I hate him. I tell him I don't but I want to say goodbye to Jen properly, alone. He says that he'll sit further away from us and goes back to the tables before I can argue with him.

We try to continue ignoring him for a little while but I hit my boiling point and go to where he's sitting and tell him he needs to leave or I'll ask the staff to remove him. He finally leaves but starts having a breakdown over text with Jen. Apparently he wandered off and she left to go find him. Long story short, he has a breakdown and we all end up leaving before even ordering entrées to go find him.

HIS PARENTS called Jen to shame her for not inviting him and told her that she should have known this would happen, all of this is her fault. I didn't know that would happen, I assumed any reasonable person would think Dan was in the wrong, but I think I should have realized that their mormon families are not reasonable. Jen ended up taking a lot of shit from both her parents and his. I think this also ended up straining our relationship because she loves Dan and I hurt his feelings. She had a hard time really believing this wasn't her fault and that she shouldn't take all the responsibility for his actions like their families told her.

When I spell it out I feel like the plain fact is I did nothing wrong, but because of the emotional context I am really doubting myself. I knew that Dan was hyper-sensitive and has invited himself to events before then felt neglected when he was rejected. I knew that he might react this way so it feels partially like my fault for ruining the dinner. I don't know what I could have done instead to keep everything from escalating like this but I probably should have thought of something else instead of acting rash.

AITA for threatening my friend's boyfriend without regard for the heat she might take for it afterwards?

What are these acronyms?

[empressofmankind]

BEGGARS SHAN'T BE CHOOSERS - Part I

[Crocodile x F!OC]

SFW

(A/N) Better known as the 'Impel Down' fic, I kept mentioning the past two weeks. This is Part One. Of five? Of ten? I've given up. The total draft was > 12k. So, I split it in 3x 4k. And then, I noticed today the 'first part' had grown to >7k. So, I've split it again. I have a clear end in mind, but how long it'll take me to get there...

Originally, this fic was meant to focus around Buggy, but then a 2.53m unit of absolute bullshit got in the way. Shivs and her world class plans, good gods. Post-Alabaste, the mens are stuck in Impel Down. Shivs is dead set on springing the clown from prison. However, she'll first need to figure out where they're keeping him. On account of his devil fruit powers, she suspects level 6. And she has an excellent alibi to demand visitation to level 6. For once, the legal quagmire of technically still being married to Crocodile is going to work for her. Right? RIGHT??

In this first part, we'll join Shivs and Benji (and Mani!) as they get ready to, and make their way for, Impel Down. That's it, that's all that happens, and it took me near 4k. I am so long-winded. It's a terminal condition, I know.

Tag(s): Considering this is the entré, there isn't actually much to tag for? There's fluff and humour. There's a 10-year-old running around saying the absolute funniest shit as things go straight over her head. We got Mani the scaly golden retriever Bananawani along? Oh, and one (1) good marine.

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Beggars Shan't Be Choosers - Part I

“They're stupid clothes,” Benji said, her brow wrinkling with petulant annoyance. She was wearing a crispy white dress shirt, a green-on-ochre striped vest and grey slacks. She'd refused a dress of any sort. Her flame orange hair was neatly brushed and her small face wasn't covered in grease paint for once.

“I think you look handsome,” Shivs said as she pinned her own red hair up with a two-pronged kanzashi fashioned with golden lotuses whose inlaid blue diamonds had not seen the light of day in years.

“I look stupid.”

“Look. I am not comfortable in my clothes either,” Shivs said and indicated the mid-thigh sheath dress of black lace on dark grey broadcloth she wore. She'd decided on sheer stockings to go with it, but no gloves. 

“You look pretty in them.”

Shivs turned back to the mirror to finish pinning her hair and adjusting her bangs to fall neatly from under the strings of her eyepatch. “That is the idea, yes.”

Benji put her hands in her pockets, kicking her foot, making squeaky noises against the deck boards. “What am I supposed to look like? I don't want to be pretty.”

“You are supposed to look like the most capable and well-behaved child to ever grace the Blue.” Shivs pinched her cheek, gilt bangles jangling. “And you do when you don't stand with your hands wearing out your pockets like that.”

Benji took her hands out of her pockets. They idled a moment, undecided, but then she clasped them behind her back. “Your neck looks naked.” 

Shivs laughed at that because the bateau neckline of the dress could certainly use something. “Yours too.”

She plucked one of Buggy's patterned neck scarves from a drawer and tied it around her daughter's neck, tucking the ends into the vest. “There.”

“You should wear a pretty necklace,” Benji said, though her eyes were on the scarf. She seemed to like that, at least.

Shivs didn't have all that many necklaces conventionally considered ‘nice’. Going through the few she had in her thoughts, she picked up her modest jewellery box. Then paused as her gaze lingered on the bottom drawer of her vanity. Maybe she should… She pulled the drawer open and reached among clothes she rarely wore, patting around until she found the old music box.

Its silver had blackened with age and negligence, but even so, its delicate engravings of waves and tall ships were fine. If she polished it now, the oxidation remaining in the fine creases would help pick out its details better than ever before. She didn’t, of course. And she didn’t open the lid either. She couldn’t remember if it was wound up, and didn’t want to hear its melody if it was.

Instead, she held it with both hands and turned its engraved body as if removing a lid from a jar. With a click, the top section came off. Within the tiny compartment revealed lay a small, gold hoop with a bent hinge. She’d long since let the earlobe puncture it used to occupy close. Taking a thin string from her jewellery box, she suspended it from that instead.

“Like so?” Shivs asked, drawing Benji’s attention as she fastened it around her neck.

“Don’t you have anything sparklier, like your hair thing?”

Shivs brushed the kanzashi. Though the era of having such things aplenty was long behind her, she was loath to detract from the last one that remained to her with lesser gems. Besides, he’d notice.

“Sadly, no.”

“Oh?” Benji gave her the thumbs up. “Gold is pretty too, I guess!”

Part of the reason she’d picked it was that it was 24-carat gold. Just like the kanzashi.

“Can I do your makeup?”

“Only if you do not turn me into a clown,” Shivs said as she sat down at her vanity so the girl could reach her face. Benji grinned and set to work.

When Benji declared she was done, Shivs turned to the mirror and had to admit the little girl was now officially better at this than her. She’d gone for a dark burgundy smokey eye with a flawlessly thin line of gold right at the root of her eyelashes and a touch of white on the waterline. It made the hazel of her good eye pop like nobody’s business. She was pretty sure the dark red lipstick was Buggy’s favourite to use himself.

“I like it,” Shivs said and Benji beamed. “Now, I just need shoes.”

“I'll fetch some!” 

Benji was up and running out of the cabin before Shivs could protest. It was only a few minutes before the girl returned, clutching shoes in her arms. And not just any shoes, either. She held up gold-tinted, faux leather gladiator sandals with six-inch stiletto heels that would be a trick and a half to walk on. Where had she even found those?

“These will look awesome with your hair thing and necklace!”

She didn’t disagree as she put them on, but hoped the floors of Impel Down would be neatly packed concrete and nothing else. She hadn’t walked on heels like these in half a decade. Throwing a long bridge coat the rosy beige of dunes about her shoulders, she turned to the floor-length mirror.

Benji looked her up and down with the pinched expression of a critical, pint-sized costume designer grading their latest creation. “You look very pretty.”

Benji wasn’t wrong. She did look nice. Her mood sank, settling like an anchor in the pit of her stomach. She looked like his wife.

“Why is it OK to lie today?”

“It's not a lie.” Shivs shook the morose feeling and picked up her small black bag, its gilded chain rattling as she double checked its content. “More like, hm.”

“Make believe?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is,” Shivs said as she snapped the bag closed and hung it from her shoulder. “It will be easier to convince them to let us visit if we look the way they’d expect.”

“Why would they let us visit uncle Crocodile? Aren’t those visits for, like, if you’re his mom or sister or baby or something?” Benji’s small face was filled with healthy scepticism, hands in her pockets once again. “We should pretend he’s my dad.”

Shivs flinched and struggled to keep her smile from faltering. “Well, only if we have to.”

“They’d have to be pretty bad people to stop a kid from visiting their father.” Benji took her hand. “I hope uncle Crocodile knows where dad is.”

“I am sure he knows.” Shivs gave Benji’s hand a squeeze. She’d no idea how she’d find out where Buggy was if Crocodile didn’t know. She couldn’t exactly demand that information on legal grounds like she had done with him. “Is Mani ready, too?”

“Yes! I scrubbed her squeaky clean and even picked her teeth and scales. She’s eaten and done a big poop.” Shivs tried to let the girl’s bubbly chatter lift her spirits. “I borrowed one of Richie’s sparkly collars and she looks flashy in it!”

“Sparkly? That sounds amazing.”

“It is! She likes sparkly things.”

“Let’s fetch her then and go before we are too late.”

Benji glanced up at her as they left the cabin. “How can we be late for an appointment we didn’t make?”

“We can be late for the only ship going there today.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Benji had wanted to stand upon the prow as the government ship approached the Gate of Justice out of Enbies Lobby, because the skipper had said the Tarai current that would see them to Impel Down was chock full of sea kings. Shivs sat on a deck chair with a glass of wine, watching the girl run back and forth with binoculars she’d weedled from a matelot. On account of the seastone laminated hull, she doubted they would see any. However, there was no need to dunk on her chipper mood.

They were not the only visitors, more had trickled aboard to form a modest but motley company on the deck. She’d caught snippets of conversations as they walked by: a mother visiting her son; a brother, his sister. And she had a good guess what some of them were whispering about as they stole glances her way. She’d neglected to list any details regarding who they’d be visiting, but, in hindsight, she supposed the pony-sized bananawani lounging beside her gave it away. 

She’d tied Mani’s rhinestone-infested lilac leash to her chair leg, to discourage the reptile from wandering or - worse - deciding to take a swim. Not that she had any illusion as to its ability to pull the chair straight from under her if it wanted to go. But Mani was a creature of habit and minimal effort. A minor inconvenience such as this would be enough to keep her snoozing on the deck.

“Spotted any big ones?” Shivs said when Benji came towards her for a sip of lychee ramune.

“Not yet.” Benji plopped down beside Mani, putting her skinny arm around her scaly neck as she slurped lemonade. “Did you know bananawani hunt sea kings?”

“Really?” 

Shivs remembered the way the casino halls would darken as they swam by, their shadows passing beyond the glass as they glided towards the feeding platform. The unwitting sea king never stood a chance.

“They are their only known predator and totally hunt them,” Benji babbled happily while enjoying her drink. Mani’s eyes were still closed, but she’d shifted to lean into the little girl’s petting. “Do you think sea king tastes good?”

The water would run red but only for a short while, only until the currents whisked it away. Theoretically, the creature could make it out for the Rainbase oasis connected to the Sandora river.

“I bet Mani would prefer sea king chow,” Shivs said.

“I don't think they sell that at the pet stores.” Benji pouted as she hugged Mani. “She won’t be able to have a sea king snack until she’s big enough to hunt them herself.”

Hopefully, that would take a while yet. Bananawani could grow to colossal sizes, dwarfing mid-class tall ships. Shivs had no idea what they were supposed to do with a fully grown one. Or how to afford feeding the beast if there was no prey for her to hunt on her own. Rain Dinners’ bananawani never hunted alone.

Benji emptied her bottle with a big, noisy slurp, waking Mani. “Maybe we should have brought something?”

“A deck would have been nice,” Shivs said as she watched them. “We could have played slapjack.”

“No, I mean, for uncle Crocodile?” 

Shivs flinched.

“You always say that it is nice to bring something when you visit someone. Especially if you want something from them in turn?” Benji scrunched up her face, rubbing Mani’s thick scaly neck. “I have, like, half a bag of marshmallows, but I didn’t think to bring them.”

“I have something for him, don’t worry about it.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Impel Down was a fortress as ugly as it was unimaginative. It spilled onto the rapidly approaching horizon as a grey stain overtaking the limitless freedom of the open sea. And as they drew near on the Tarai current, its squat towers and crenellated battlements came into ever sharper focus until they dominated their entire surroundings. Curiously, there were no cannon embrasures, machicolations or any such defences one might expect from a proper bastion. 

A fleet of warships rested at anchor along the approach to the underwater prison. The modest passenger ship they were on was dwarfed by the marine dreadnoughts they passed as the current pulled them inexorably towards the prison’s colossal gatehouse.

Benji had returned to the prow for the approach, and Shivs joined her there.

“It’s so huge!” Benji stared wide-eyed at the thick walls as they sailed under the barbican and into the secured harbour proper beyond. Mani sat beside her, holding her own leash.

“The vast majority of the complex is actually underwater.” Shivs counted the cannons peeking down at them through the embrasures, out of habit more than anything. She wondered if they had a standing firing crew to man them.

“Are we going underwater?” Benji hopped from one leg unto the other. “The Calm Belts are supposed to be full of Sea Kings! Maybe there will be a window, and I can see one? Maybe there will be wild Bananawani too!”

“It is a prison, so I don’t think there will be windows,” Shivs said in an attempt to calm the girl’s excitement and avoid utter disappointment if that turned out to be true. “It does reach quite a ways below the water surface. A few kilometres, perhaps? Yes, I think so.”

“Wow.” Turning to Mani, Benji added: “Let's find a window, I bet there will be wild Bananawani! You can say ‘hi’!”

Shivs took her by the shoulder when she saw the other visitors disembark. “Come, let’s not be late.”

Benji glanced up at her as they walked to the gangplank. “For the visit we didn-?”

“Don’t say that,” Shivs interrupted her with a quelling look.

“Right.” Benji smiled again and took Mani’s leash. “Come on Mani. Can’t be late!”

They were funnelled through the gatehouse and into a courtyard patrolled by marine sentries. Here, too, cannons peered through embrasures on all sides. Evidently, the prison was more concerned about threats to its security rising from within than without.

“Visitors for level 1 and 2 inmates, that way,” a young marine officer said as he gestured to a colleague. “Level 3 and up, with me.” The few people that joined them as they went to the marine officer gave the juvenile Bananawani plodding beside them a wide breadth. 

The officer led them up steps and into an wholly uninviting lobby. With its worn plaster walls and dirty grey linoleum floor it did its very best to make you want to leave as soon as possible. No seats, no plants, no windows, no nothing. 

“Registration check.” The marine officer motioned them towards the looming concrete counter on the other side of the unpleasant space. “In an orderly manner, gentlefolk.”

Benji put her arm around Mani, leaning into the large reptile and putting her nose against its scales as she eyed their casually hostile surroundings.

“What’s his name?” The marine officer’s tone was amiable, conversational.

“Hers!” Benji said, holding on tighter to the Bananawani.

He tried to catch her gaze with a smile. “Big girls, both of you.”

“Her name is Mani.”

“Ah, ‘she who averts harm’,” he said, and Shivs appreciated his attempts to make Benji feel comfortable. “A wise choice for such a hardy animal.”

“She’s very sweet and tough,” Benji agreed as she snuggled Mani. “I love her.”

“I am sure she loves you very much too.”

“What is your name?” Benji asked. “Mine is Benji!”

“Nice to meet you, Benji,” the young marine said. “Mine is Toby.”

By then it was their turn, and Shivs approached the desk. It was higher than such things normally were, for she was not a particularly short woman and yet she need not bend down to meet the registrar’s gaze.

“State your name and purpose?” the woman said, hands poised to take down the information.

“Figarland Seonaid. Conjugal visit,” Then added when she saw her transcribe it as ‘Sheona’: “That is without the H, and spelled with N-A-I-D.”

The registrar gave a sign of neither interest nor recognition. “Visiting?”

“Crocodile Niall.”

The woman paused when she heard that name. And Shivs ignored the whispers she could not quite catch from those behind her in line.

“Niall. N-I-A-L-L. Not ‘Nile’.”

The registrar flipped through a thick binder, finger running down a table packed with dense handwriting. “No visitation registered.”

“Preposterous,” Shivs said, overacting an affronted tone. “A signed request for visitation has been approved weeks ago.” 

“There is no record of it, ma'am.”

Benji let go of Mani to fling her arms around Shivs’ waist instead, and gave the registrar and marine officer her most watery of wobbly baby looks. “Mommy, I want to see daddy!”

Shivs rubbed her shoulder, giving the registrar the pleading look of parents the world across trying to desperately manage a child on the brink of wailing. Benji's little sob into the fabric of her dress was very convincing. Mani paced around them, uncertain but riled by the sudden change of mood.

“Can't you put in an expedited request?” Shivs suggested, trying her damndest to sound sincere. “She'd been looking forward to it, and we get so few chances.”

“No registration, no visitation,” the woman said as Benji took in a breath to start a wail.

Toby shook his head. “Let me see what I can do,” he said as he produced a small, earpiece Den Den Mushi and put the sea snail against his ear. A few transmissions later, he turned to the registrar and held up his hand. “Two visitor badges, please.”

With due reluctance the registrar handed them over to him and he turned to Benji. “There you go, kiddo,” he said as he gave her one, and then Shivs as well. “Courtesy of the vice-admiral making the curator see reason.”

“You're the best!” Benji beamed. “Look, mom, I am number 17! What is yours?”

Shivs looked at the scuffed 13 on the badge. It reminded her of a poker table she used to deal at, and the memory settled in the pit of her stomach like a fetch of cannon balls. “Not as high as yours, sweetie.”

“Come, I will see you two down to the right level,” Toby said, and led them to the elevator room beyond the lobby. There were four, two on the left and two on the right. He took them to the far right one, the doors opening as they approached.

“Awesome!” Benji said as she rushed inside, Mani hot on her heels. For the elevator was made entirely of armoured glass and provided a grand view of the ocean sprawling all the way across the horizon. The afternoon sun kissed the waves, setting sparkles to the white-capped water. And Shivs felt it beckon in her bones. 

Benji gave him a hopeful look. “Are we going underwater?”

“We are,” Toby said as he put a key in the control panel and turned it.

When the doors slid closed, Shivs suppressed the sudden and overwhelming urge to get out, to leave and never look back. To stay at the surface, where they belonged. I have to, she told herself as she clenched her hands into fists around the chain of her handbag. Bugs is down there, and he hates the dark beneath the waves.

The elevator jolted to life and Shivs closed her eyes, ignoring the sound of the lapping waves against the glass as they submerged, focussing on Benji’s excited noises instead. When she opened them again, they were enveloped in blue. Sunlight still penetrated, sending curtains of light through the water. Less so with every foot they descended, as the blue grew deeper, darker.

“A Sea King!” Benji screamed, spooking Mani as she glued herself against the glass. In the far distance, blurred in the shifting hues of the blue, swam a long, serpentine creature, its body undulating as it made its way from somewhere to elsewhere. 

“It could be the Prince of the Deep,” Toby said as he came to stand beside her. “It has about the right shape. Colour too, perhaps.”

Benji glanced at him, her eyes large and eager. “Prince?”

“Yes, because he is a prince among his kind. The largest Sea King in this part of the Calm Belt,” Toby said. “Ten times larger than Coral Grove, our largest dreadnought.”

“Wow.” Benji pressed her face against the glass. “Mani could snack on that for years.”

“Wouldn’t it be tough for her to hunt such a large creature?” Toby said, not without humour.

Benji rolled her eyes. “Not right now, she’s a baby. But she’ll be big and strong one day! Bananawani hunt Sea Kings, did you know?” she said and babbled the poor marine’s ears off about the large reptiles for some minutes.

As the armoured glass elevator descended to deeper water, their surroundings became steadily darker. Shivs put her gaze on the glass floor and the pitch black abyss below. It was easier to face the darkness approaching than the light receding, the sparkle of the sun on the water surface dwindling as you sank. The sea has never been friendly to man.

Beside her, Benji had put her arm around Mani as she looked up. No more sea kings down here.

“The 6th level is also called ‘The Basement’,” Toby said, making the girl glance away from the ever more distant sunlight. “Do you know why?”

Ghosts in the attic and monsters in the basement, Shivs thought as she recalled the sailors’ idiom about grief with its haunting memories and stowed feelings.

Benji eyed him, holding on to Mani still. “Because it's dark and far down?”

Because nobody goes there if they can help it. Shivs stared at the watery dark beneath their feet. The sea floor might never come and she'd not be surprised.

“Nope!” Toby said, his smile bright in the dimming light. “Because it is where all the cool people stay.”

Benji’s mood lit up. “My unc- Dad, is super cool! He's actually made out of sand, like, for real.”

“Are you made out of sand?”

Shivs gaze snapped onto him like a hawk. He was looking at Benji, fondness soft on his youthful face. He couldn't be much older than 20 or 22.

“I don't think so?” Benji let go of Mani to brush at her clothes, then glanced at him. “Do you want to pet her?”

Toby smiled. “Absolutely.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Horny hell seat reservations - @tiredemomama @smut-goblin @ruledbyproblematique @momodwriter @littlemountainwolf @fanaticsnail @feral-artistry - except there's no horny. Croc isn't even in it either. I feel like a cheat.

[voidsteffy]

I feel like Neelam's role and Kabir's role in Dil Dhadakne Do are the perfectly aced ones on screen. Shefali Shah said that the writers felt Neelam was the weakest written role while Shefali herself felt it was the strongest and realest they could ever get to a character on paper.

First, let's talk about Neelam: she was 18 when she married and has known very little of a life outside of this so called arrangement called marriage. She can handle herself in social parties, throw a smile, wrap a snide remark in a saccharine tone as she gets her hands on the entrée or a glass of sparkling wine. She has learnt to meander in her words, let "her" money be a shield she wears as if it guised her unhappiness. She never had real friends. She doesn't mind because she isn't a real friend either. Kamal has this huge business in his name and it is only in his name after all. Because even if she co-owned many shares, he never could say out loud that all of this is because of her. No it is because of him. And then it all goes to the son. And then the navasa. Neelam knows how to be a mother in her own way, which isn't enough for her daughter. There has been an umbrella from under which Neelam has been watching her world fall apart around her and she cannot help but stuff herself with anything she thinks can mend her, protect her. Cake, glasses, champagne, prada, gucci, snarking at people, ordering people, being fake nice to horrible people when she makes it obvious she's being fake nice.

She is backward in her thoughts because they stem from her own helplessness. Ayesha can't possibly leave Manav because the society won't look kindly upon divorced women. Neelam has thought about it before hasn't she? She has thought about it till the point where her husband cheating on her doesn't even become about his infidelity, it becomes about her image in front of her social circle. If there is anything Neelam abhors, it is being looked down upon for something she hasn't done.

( exhibit: Kamal says he'll ask his brother to speak with Ayesha about the divorce problem and Neelam's first reaction is caustic on the lines of how everyone will know what a bad mother she is and how incapable she is at handling the situation. Nothing whatsoever about how it might pain Ayesha that it isn't her parents talking about it. Neelam and Kamal have long ago sped past familial considerations )



Now, Kabir. He's childish, on the face of it. He is the youngest one in a successful family. He is quirky. But he is also unsure. He has never been given the chance to even think freely about something he desires. He's shit at business and he didn't want to be good at it in the first place. He sees his sister do amazing in her business with her aptitude but it kills him that his parents can't see that/ignore that. Because it is a reminder that he is "praised" for a business sense he doesn't have only because he is the son and is expected to lead AyKa one day.

He can only sometimes speak aptly. He's good with jokes but he is not the one leading a polite conversation in an official meeting. He can lead a personal conversation where he can be expected to judge lesser and speak without a goal. ( "I'll pay you" like... honey you need to work on it, but we'll get there ha shona? ) He's kind and contrary to his peppy attitude, he's actually very good at hiding stuff because he has been a wallflower his whole life despite being thrust into the centre of every room he has entered. He's not an aggressive personality at heart, actually he's quite vulnerable and empathetic. But he is fiercely loyal. He takes all this anger and he turns it into care and attention and dad jokes he can crack.

He likes to know somebody, not to have knowledge on them he can use later (like his parents) but to gauge whether he will be hurt or whether this person is someone with a heart. He saw a heart in Noori and a longing in Rana, he became friends with them. You can see the difference in his gaze when he flirts with Manav's cousin and when he interacts with Fearless Farah. Kabir has got such a soft side that you can't help but appreciate him. Yes he doesn't feel stuck but he also doesn't hurt people with words until he can't help but, or is forced to. More than loving her, Kabir admires Farah.

*mic drop* *no literally the mic dropped out of my hands because I spoke so long my hand started sweating*

[pinejay]

touchdown in boston, finally back home. that was def one of my fav trips ever. paris was pleasantly multicultural but maybe that was just the olympics drawing ppl from all around the world. loved the culture of eating a shit ton of baked goods with chocolate. standard french entrée dishes were mid but street food at a bazaar was fantastic. weirdly intense advertising for cocacola everywhere. we got lucky with the weather and the nature was familiar, the public parks pretty solid. terribly unclear traffic right of way laws. it feels like the custom is for cars to wait for pedestrians even if they're waiting at a red "don't walk" light, just to bait ppl into walking into the street so a motorcycle can come along and mow them down. parisians are rly nice and extremely willing to help out lost americans arguing abt directions. i rate the public transit system a solid 8/10. way too expensive tho, the euro conversion and inflated price of everything is no joke. french women's fashion is also overrated. the sites and art museums were legitimately worth seeing even for 2 chinese ppl who don't give a shit abt european history. attending the olympics in person at the incredible venues absolutely elevated the trip to unforgettable status. only complaint is no public beach vb sand courts like in nyc.

[floredaqueen]

SFW 1, 2, 6 and NSFW 2, 3, 4, 6 for Gator and Chrys <3

This one was so fun to do 😭🩷

♡ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕪𝕤 ��� 𝔾𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣♡

𝕊𝔽𝕎

1. Who cooks?

A) Chrys! Chrysanthemum is the one who ALWAYS cooks! She kinda has too, but Gator can actually cook, much to her surprise. He's pretty decent at it, and sometimes she likes them. He makes things a lot more than he does. It had that home touch that reminds her of her father's shit cooking, lol.

2. Who's the messiest? The cleanest?

A) Gator is obviously the messiest. It pisses Chrys off to the craziest extent when he leaves shit around, expecting her to pick it up. She will literally throw everything he leaves anywhere at him. Clothes, shoes, food, silverware, ANYTHING. She's not one to fuck with, she likes her place spotless.

6. Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?

A) Sometimes, Gator forgets his fucking wallet, and therefore Chrys has to pay. He feels bad about it, kinda emasculated by it, but when he does bring his wallet, he's let's her get whatever she wants. Usually, she just gets an entrée and Gator is the one who orders all the food. Usually, he gets everything for himself, but when he finds out she's anorexic, he buys an extra entrée for her for later. He knows he can't force her to eat it all at once, or she'll throw it right back up, so he waits and will remind her that it's there.

ℕ𝕊𝔽𝕎

2. Who brings ideas? Who initiates?

A) Gator is always initiating the sex. Always. He can't get her to do it. Sex isn't a thing that Chrys finds to he a necessity. She definitely gets horny. She's actually the worst on those days, but she just can't bring herself to be like "I want to fuck you." So he always doesn't mind always doing it, but he is curious on why HE has to.

3. Any kinks they clash on?

A) She's sometimes freaks out when he gets too dominant. Like the hair pulling throws her off badly that she might just retaliate, and then they're both out of the mood. He has to remember to be a certain type of soft at first, or it'll scare her.

4. Oddest place they'd have sex?

A) His squad car.. and the VIP of a strip club lol

6. Favorite positions?

A) They're like an old married couple because even if they try all of them, they will always go back to missionary.. or mating press♡

ℍ𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕖

[jomiddlemarch]

All gas no brakes

“Go ahead and say I told you so,” Grace muttered, not under her breath per se, but not exactly over it. The snark engendered by the toggle between acute pain and acute embarrassment occupied its own undefinable level, like being in-between floors on an elevator. “Or whatever the equivalent laconic verbalization you’d prefer in its place. You can grunt it.”

“That gonna make you feel better, darlin’?” Joel said, instead of I-told-you-so. Or grunting. He used a regular voice, didn’t sound put out at all, even though it was plenty of extra work for him, what he was doing, drawing the well-water, heating it, and filling the basin, then carrying it all into the sitting room where she’d deposited herself like the proverbial sack of potatoes. 

“Maybe,” Grace said. She sounded more like a peevish teenager than Ellie did most of the time. Perimenopause was a bitch and she wasn’t even considering the lack of any Korean skincare products.

“I doubt it,” Joel replied. He didn’t grin but there was a gleam in his eyes that meant the same thing. “Put your feet in here. It’ll feel almost too hot for a little while, then good. When it’s cold, I’ll get some more hot water and add some salt, then I got some of that salve for after—”

“It’s just blisters,” Grace said, hissing as she put her feet into the hot water that did feel almost too hot and then wonderful. “My own stupid fault, I shouldn’t have worn those boots, not with those socks. You’d’ve thought I’d learn by now.”

“You’ve learned plenty,” he said. “Ain’t you a doctor?”

“You wouldn’t think it,” Grace said, making a gesture towards her feet, obscured somewhat by the water. The worst of the blisters were hard to see at this angle, but she’d done a number on herself.

“Yeah, I would. You ignored feelin’ like shit and kept hikin’ for another four miles to get those drugs,” he said.

“We need them,” she said. 

“I know,” he said. “Coulda waited—”

“You don’t know that,” Grace retorted. There weren’t many other scavengers around it seemed, but all it would take was one canny enough to take the meds, and she’d be shit out of luck. She was already pressing said luck in her generous interpretation of expiration dates.

“All I’m sayin’ is, don’t beat yourself up for blistering your feet bloody ���cause you were gettin’ medical supplies,” Joel said. “Bad enough I won’t be able to give you a foot massage for at least two weeks.”

Grace closed her eyes in a mixture of defeat and dismay. Joel was good in bed but absolute magic when it came to a foot massage.

“This never would’ve happened Before,” she said. Joel sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, inviting her to snuggle without actually crowding her. She leaned in, careful not to move her feet very much and make the water slosh onto the floor. His flannel shirt smelled of woodsmoke, but underneath was just the scent of his skin. She wouldn’t have recognized it Before.

“I dunno,” he said.

“I was not a hiker Before. And I didn’t have time or money to go on lengthy European vacations traipsing around cobblestoned cities,” she said. “I wore clogs to the hospital. You don’t get blisters in fucking clogs. Not Danskos, anyway.”

“Fine, you wouldn’t’ve been a hiker. Still might’ve walked too long sometime in the wrong shoes,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You would’ve done that thing where people knock doors in an election maybe, if you felt like your patients were in danger, if they needed you—”

“Canvassing,” Grace said. It was a word from another world, one with bumper stickers and artfully constructed logos and seasonally flavored coffee drinks at Starbucks. They still had pumpkins now but they were the entrée, not the seasoning.

“Yeah. And maybe you’d wear the wrong sneakers for it, but you wouldn’t say anything, not ‘til you came home,” he said. Grace canted her neck in a way ill-advised for someone who’d left forty in the dust, and looked at Joel’s face, his dark eyes, the curve of his lips as he told her a story of a memory they’d never made and never would, except for this moment when they shared the imagination of it.

“You’d be waiting for me at home?” she said.

“Yeah, Gracie. We’d have found each other any which way,” he said. She didn’t really believe it but Joel did and that, like the hot water and the warmth of his shoulder against her cheek, was enough.

For @tessa-quayle and she knows why. Canvassing is so important but any kind of volunteering is critical in these last few days. Pedro Pascal did a phonebook last week. LFG!

[allycat75]

Oops, looks like your lazy, soullessness is beginning to show to the general public again, Boston Dumb Fuck.

Too bad they have more faith in your future projects than the rest of us.

And they didn't even mention your fake, arrogant, talentelss, entitled, insipid, childish, manipulative, racist, antimemtic, fatshaming wifey. That stink will never leave you, even when the "divorce" announcement comes out, you know that, right? Especially if one day you find a woman you actually like and wants to be with you too, because every article will be "Fuckface here was previously married to a talentless, toilet masterbating Nazi named Abba Bautista, for like 2 or 3 years or something according to the latest People Magazine timeline, and his family adored her. Good luck with this one, dipshit!"

You insisted on setting up unsuccessful stunts to prove your current brand is "married" to the beast, but only showcased how miserable you are when forced to be in her presence, possibly in an insane attempt to have it mean something to people when the break up article finally does come out (Spoiler Alert- no one gives a fuck, still and always, they just think you are now extremely creepy and will always forget her name because she is basic). All of these shenanigans, while you should have been focused on your actual job of acting, you capricious motherfucker!

I have an idea if you would like to revive your DOA career, while also needing to have the general public remember who that dullard Succubus is, since I assume that was one of the tenants of this God forsaken contract you carelessly signed. Now stay with me, BDF, this may get complicated because your handlers haven't programmed you to make a good decision in years so this may seem entirely foreign- Lay this shit bare! Let me explain:

By admitting this was a completely misguided PR move, it allows you to explain why you let your career go down the shitter. You were paired with someone who you don't like, and is in fact the opposite of what you would want (if that part of your brand was ever true 🤷‍♀️) and it ate away your soul, causing you to become a lazy actor in sub-par roles- essentially, a learned helplessness response. You may have tried getting out of it, but a contract is a contract and this little half tutonic twit offered entrée into the lucrative Portuguese market. (But, surprise, it turned out someone was sold a load of goods because she is not known in her own country either.)

And people hate each other all the time in your biz. Let I remind you the nicest guy in Hollywood- Tom Hanks- has beef with the kindest man in Hollywood- Henry Winkler- maybe putting the sweetest man in Hollywood-Ron Howard- in the middle, but I digress. My point is, if you can't get people talking about you two as a couple, having you be in a fake relationship and hating each other is a much more interesting and intriguing story.

She would get her attention, as much as she says she doesn't want it. She has yet to gain traction as your "wife", but they may be able to sell her as the failed situationship that made Chris Evans so unhappy, he self-sabotaged his career and reputation. Afterall, there is no such thing as bad publicity, right? Marriage is so boring, and the girl is already so fucking dull. This would at least give her an aire of mystery for a bit. She will, of course, waste the opportunity yet again, but it gives her a better foundation for her to fall from.

You could not only justify why you couldn't act your way out of a paper bag the last few years, but also why you physically looked like shit, how the GQ article, and even some of the SMA spread, was a cry for help, how your team kept you ringfenced in their highly controlled projects because you weren't playing the part of happy hubby well enough, and seemed to keep you emotionally and possible financially weak to more easily bend to their will. It could even explain why you needed ancillary help for your good boy image from Jinx, ASP (and that undeserved, bought and paid for Spirit of Service award), as well as the Audi deal giving you the illusion of class and gravitas.

No one would look at you askance if you fired your whole team (including that Scientologist stylist) for thinking any of this was a good idea and continuing it far beyond being deemed an unmitigated disaster at all levels and becoming toxic and unhealthy. I am sure a new, better team, would relish the chance to orchestrate your redemption and not use you as their patsy. Of course this can all be done much more diplomatically than I am laying it out here because I assume part of the fear in all of this is the wrath of the evil 3-letter-acronym luxury brand empire.

Also, take the opportunity to break ties with ASP and any other clout chasing "friends". It is an embarrament, represents everything wrong in our shit society and nothing good can come of it anymore. It should have died long ago.

This may also help promote the three movies you have coming out in 2025 by grading you on a curve. Instead of "what the fuck is he doing?", it can be more like "considering the trauma he experienced while filming I give him credit for at least getting up out of bed and saying his lines. Here's to better things in the future with his new team- they seem to believe in him. I hope he believes in himself, too."

To help with all of this, get into some form of real treatment, because ultimately, Boston Dumb Fuck, I worry about your coping and decision making skills. You were around 40 when you agreed to this, for whatever reason, and since then, you have been digging a hole so deep that I can barely hear or see you anymore. You have so much work to do on yourself just to get back to sea level, let alone climb the mountain of human integrity, character and authenticity.

I can wish that part of this redemption is a sincere apology, with an offer of real amends, to your former fans for the cruel attempts at scapegoating and gaslighting when they simply expressed what was the God's honest truth. Some may come back, many won't, but that isn't the point. You hurt people whether you intended to or not. Are you okay with that?

But you you seem to be a coward and have settled into this anxious existence so I doubt any of the above will come to fruition. Maybe this was all a cash grab so you can build your pot pottery shed in the woods and disappear for good. God knows, this business is a cesspool and has nothing to do with creativity so no one would really blame you. Just a shame you are okay going out as a creepy, privleged, hypocritical, insincere joke.

But hey, Boston Dumb Fuck, prove me wrong. I triple dog dare you!

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

3. "Try not to shit yourself Gary. It's just an open door."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "What could it be about?" He frets to himself, not taking your advice. "I probably talked too loud. In the Whirling. About some theories I had. Whatever it is, I'm done with it."

"I won't do it again." He looks around nervously. "If there's anything I can do to assist you -- or the Union -- just ask, okay? I'll try to help if I can."

+5 XP

HALF LIGHT [Easy: Success] - This scared him proper. He's positively *melting* from fear. Has to prop himself up with a lot of anger to keep it together.

KIM KITSURAGI - "The weather vane has turned," the lieutenant remarks with a smirk. "He cannot be un-turned."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - He clearly liked his squirming. He may even have changed his mind about the whole door-opening operation.

+1 Reputation

4. "Thank you for your cooperation." [Leave.]

We're going to look for Morell's traps while we keep exploring the coastal area.

🎵 Disco Elysium

No boat in the boat house today.

Snow's really starting to pick up.

OVERSIZED SUPERSTAR SUNGLASSES

+1 Savoir Faire: Dazzling reflexes -1 Visual Calculus: The mirror lies

Is your own stardom too dazzling for your eyes? Can't bear to look at your own fabulous reflection in the mirror? Then these classic oversized sunglasses are for you.

TRAP: BOATHOUSES - There's a trap in the reeds at your feet. Looks like the same one you saw Morell set before -- same mesh, same wiring.

Look around.

Reach for the trap.

[Leave.]

TRAP: BOATHOUSES - Behind you, the ruins of a residential building loom over the reeds. They whisper amongst themselves confidentially. Snowflakes cling to their shivering stems.

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - When this district was booming, the reeds were kept at bay. Nothing obscured the freshly painted façades, nowhere for drunks and adventurous teenagers to hide. Now only the wind blows...

2. Reach for the trap.

TRAP: BOATHOUSES - Locusts are crawling around in the trap, confused but uneaten. You see no carnivorous *reed-phasmid* gorging on them.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Big surprise." The lieutenant grins mirthlessly. "Anyway -- one down, three to go."

"Damn, I was hoping it would be in the *first* one."

"No need to grin. I'm not *expecting* to find anything. I'm helping some citizens and getting some fresh air."

"It'll be in the next one. *Surely*."

Say nothing, just put the trap down.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Surely," he repeats and looks at the sea, then at you putting the trap back on the ground. "Anyway, the air is nice and fresh here..."

2. [Leave.]

The boathouse is shoddily constructed. A strong breeze might blow it over.

Ancient paint is peeling off the roof of this shaded bench, covered in rust.

The sign says: "Entrée interdite".

An old ticket-taker booth. No longer in operation.

People paid money to park here? No one would pay now...

The door is not only barred shut -- it is inaccessible.

FALN "PIPO" PIPO

+2 Logic: Ultimate peak focus -1 Perception: Eyes on the road

The small wire framing inside this futuristic-looking FALN pipo-hat gives it the aerodynamic shape of a swoop-skiers helmet, but none of its protective qualities. Covers the wearer's ears and eyebrows to bring down the drag coefficient.

🎵 Martinaise, Terminal B (muted)

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - A scattering of bullet holes is spread across the cracked wall, reaching from one corner to the other.

"Look, Kim. Even more bullet holes. Something's definitely gone down here."

[Visual Calculus - Heroic 15] Why this many bullet holes?

Walk away. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Hmm, correct." The lieutenant examines the wall closely. "The density of the bullet holes is unusual, even in a general *average bullet hole frequency in Martinaise* sense. Grim affairs."

"Meaning, this is *a lot* of bullet holes." He brushes the wall with his hand. "Looks like fully-automatic rifle fire. Something you don't see these days..."

"Why not?"

Say nothing, just nod.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant also nods. It is quite a scene -- the two of you standing next to the broken wall of an abandoned building... nodding. Nodding along.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Medium: Success] - Two officers of the law against the world. Nodding in unison. It is your source of power. The bond of camaraderie between you... is palpable...

Nod even more.

Shake your head.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is nodding so hard it looks like his head is about to snap off his neck.

Don't stop nodding.

Stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant matches your nodding pace. He's a true professional at this.

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] - The nodding's reaching critical mass! You can't take this much longer, captain!

Keep nodding, goddamn it! Stay the course!

Stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - A small bead of sweat runs down the side of the lieutenant's face as he maintains his nodding...

Just one more nod.

Stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - As the lieutenant takes out a handkerchief and softly taps the sweat off his temple... a faint crack echoes through the coast...

ENDURANCE - Abort! Abort! No... shit, it's too late!

-1 Health

"OH SHIT FUCK HELL!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Busted the neck, did you?" He cranes his neck left and right, stretching. "Glad I stopped when I did... my neck was really starting to hurt. Don't worry, it'll mend... now, we should get going."

Hold on...

2. [Visual Calculus - Heroic 15] Why this many bullet holes?

+1 Bullet holes on the plaza. +1 Bullet holes in the back yard. +1 Know about the revolution. +1 Know about Feld Electrical.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Heroic: Success] - A row of ghostly shades stand facing the wall. There are many of them, a dozen at least, their heads lowered and eyes blindfolded. It's quiet. No sound, no movement.

Ten metres away -- other shades are lined up in an orderly manner, automatic rifles primed. A gust of wind blows by -- the coats of the firing squad flap slowly in the breeze. A single person stands on the side.

The morning sun rises beyond the horizon, radiating the first light of the day. The order was carried out at dawn.

A long time has passed since the moment of this fusillading. Rain and brine have since washed all the blood away. Not a trace remains.

What *is* this...

VISUAL CALCULUS - The abundance of bullet holes leads to two options: either an inordinate amount of executions were performed here, or they did not use a *conscience round* -- where only one soldier has the loaded rifle. Looks like this was a mass execution with everyone fully armed.

+5 XP

Look at the people against the wall.

Look at the line of soldiers.

Look at the person standing on the side.

"Kim, who was who in this execution?"

Good bye. [Leave.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - A host of men, probably in everyday clothes -- ragged from the conflict and covered in dust. They were not sitting (a common practice for executions in some nations), as demonstrated by the height level of the bullet holes.

They stand, facing the wall... It's impossible to discern any details about their personality or background.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Ordinary people -- familiar, each and every one of them.

Who were they?

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Comrades. The forsaken, the wretched, who tried to rise against the horrors of the world.

2. Look at the line of soldiers.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Seven men in combat uniforms and dark coats, holding automatic rifles aimed at the people. Soldiers from some side... but from which one?

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - Men of duty. Dark duty.

Who were they?

AUTHORITY - Murderers. Twisted by orders. Young boys forced into killing.

3. Look at the person standing on the side.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The commandant -- the one who gives the order. Machine gun fire crackling through the air, the lights of the muzzle flashes dancing on his face...

4. "Kim, who was who in this execution?"

KIM KITSURAGI - At first the lieutenant doesn't say a word... he just stares at the wall. "I don't know," he says finally. "I don't know who died here, lined up beside that horrible wall. It could have been any of the parties involved in the Revolution."

"Perhaps the ones executed here were the loyalist-conservatives -- killed by the communists at the start of the civil war. Or it could have been the communists, put to death during the last stretch of the conflict by the Coalition forces."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Remember what Trant Heidelstam said about Feld.

"What if it was the Feld personnel when their assets were being seized by the revolutionaries?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Another likely scenario." The lieutenant nods.

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Or maybe...

"What about people from the Coalition? The so-called moralists?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yeah... it's very unlikely the Coalition forces were the ones who died here. They were always the *last* ones against the wall."

"To be honest, if a Coalition member was anyone in this situation -- it was the commandant. The superior giving the orders."

+5 XP

5. Good bye. [Leave.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - A cold sea wind blows away the figures.

🎵 Disco Elysium

This section of the coast hasn't been used in decades.

We've been looking at that wall long enough for Gary and Morell to have left.

TRAP: MORELL - This is the trap Morell just set. Checking it over, he said, is just a *technicality*, but...

Look around.

Reach for the trap.

[Leave.]

TRAP: MORELL - The reeds by the abandoned camp site hiss and shake.

SHIVERS [Easy: Success] - The later it gets, the colder. Remnants of the camp can still be seen in the sand, the fire that's gone out... you feel strange, somehow.

2. Reach for the trap.

TRAP: MORELL - This trap is also full of panicked locusts. No sign of any cryptozoological beast inside.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Another empty trap," the lieutenant takes a note -- more out of habit than duty.

"Let's keep going. The next one is the *lucky* one."

"How are you enjoying the cardio, lieutenant? I'm quite enjoying it myself."

"I want to make it clear that I don't *actually* believe the phasmid exists, okay?"

Say nothing, just put the trap down.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Always up for a good jog -- otherwise, would I still be *on* this case with *you*?" He smiles and raises his collar. It's windy.

2. [Leave.]

We're going to double back now, starting to head northeast along the boardwalk - past where Trant and his son are.

Someone must have worked hard to smash the plastic dome.

Buzz. Hum. The electricity flows through the wires with audible power.

RAILING - Someone has left an unidentifiable article of clothing on this railing. It smells really bad.

Touch it.

Take a closer look.

Maybe later. [Leave.]

RAILING - The cloth, if you can still call it that, makes a soft crunching sound as you thrust your finger into it.

2. Take a closer look.

RAILING - It's streaked with dried seagull shit and tangled with pieces of seaweed. A dangling arm suggests that there might be a jacket beneath the crust of filth.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - It seems likely that it was left in the surf until someone laid it out on this fence to dry out. Unfortunately that just seems to have stiffened it into a shapeless mass.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Please tell me you're not taking that with you."

"I think this is the jacket the Idiot Doom Spiral Guy wanted me to find."

"Why not?"

"It might be a clue."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A clue? You think our suspect is a seagull who's been defecating on unsuspecting jackets?"

"No."

"Yes."

"It could have been multiple seagulls."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - A poet could write a dozen verses and still not begin to capture the profound vexation in that sigh.

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] - You should still take it. It's probably Doom Spiral's.

A makeshift roof. Vagrants have tried to make the boardwalk habitable.

That tarp will keep out neither rain, nor snow, nor wind.

A coin operated weighing machine. Hasn't been used for a decade.

MEGA-BINO'S PRESCRIPTION LENSES

+2 Encyclopedia: Discover your inner bino -1 Perception: Nausea inducing hell-glasses

Whose idiotic idea were square and beige plastic frames anyway? Beige is a colour that does not look good on *anyone*. Not to mention that seeing the world through these exceedingly thick lenses feels almost nauseating...

FILTHY JACKET

This filthy rag has been at the mercy of the elements for quite some time. It's streaked with seagull shit and abnormally stiff from god-knows-what natural processes. You can't even tell what brand it is.

>INTERACT

FILTHY JACKET- As you hold it in your hands, it makes an uncomfortable crunching sound...

Man, how did this jacket get so disgusting?

Let's not think about that right now. [Put the filthy jacket away.]

FILTHY JACKET- It's a sordid, filthy tale, not for the weak. Are you sure you can stomach it?

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Some secrets are better left uncovered. Don't even try, seriously.

But the *content*!

Think about it.

Don't think about it.

FILTHY JACKET- It occurs to you that you're not even *holding* the jacket itself, but rather the thick crust of jetsam and seagull shit that ensconces it.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - It smells like a dead sea creature, tangled in grey strands of seaweed. It must have spent quite some time in the water before the tide deposited it ashore...

Gross.

Okay, but what's the crust *made* of?

FILTHY JACKET- Somehow it was carried or dragged to the boardwalk, if not by human hands than perhaps the feral dogs that prowl the beaches at night...

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - The faint impressions of many footprints are also present, though it's impossible to tell what kind or how many. Suffice to say, the jacket spent some time on the ground before someone draped it over the railing...

Okay, that's pretty disgusting. I've had enough.

What happened once someone put it on the railing?

FILTHY JACKET- The crust is hard. This jacket spent at least a day baking in the sun. Who knows what happened to it then?

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Somewhere, high above the city, a pair of seagulls trace loops through the air...

They are like the bombardiers of the aerostatic brigades, gliding above a *target-rich environment*...

All of a sudden, the bomb bay doors open, and their white glittering payload rushes to the ground...

*SPLAT*. An explosion of white on a man's shoe. A curse goes up, but the birds do not hear.

Why did I just spend all this time thinking about seagull shit?

I feel like I really understand this jacket now. [Put the jacket away.]

COMPOSURE - It's too late! You've already thought about it. And now your hands are covered in muck!

Ew, ew, ew! (Flick your hands.)

Maybe if I wipe my hands on my pants?

COMPOSURE - Now you're just flicking that shit everywhere! This is a disaster. You'll never get the smell out.

-1 Morale

Vagrants have recently painted the tarp red. Water drips from it.

POSTCARD "COURON '33"

This one has 'HELL' written on its back. It could not be further from the truth. It's the boom years, and Couron, the nicest district in Revachol West, is enjoying a sun drenched day. Tall and handsome buildings rise from the riverside: steel, iron and yellow limestone, with cloud shadows sliding on the facades.

A big wine canister -- it's open and empty.

Hm, I've hit image limit. I think I'll close this post here and continue in a new one.

[trickster-jpeg]

I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die.

Summary: A Finnick Odair character study type piece. Finnick’s purpose was to be their starter, main course, and dessert. They pulled him into pieces starting with the entrées and worked their way through the menu so long as it meant they could taste him on their tongues for a split-second more. Carved up and torn apart. Meat falling straight off the bone with a single bite. He melted in their mouth like the most sought after cuts of steak.

Warnings: Typical canon typical Finnick backstory is implied (underage forced prostitution/abuse, etc).

Word Count: 1307 It's on AO3 -> Here

It had been weeks since the arena. Since it all went to shit. It had been weeks since Mags had been murdered by the Capitol in that glorified snow globe shaped rat trap, the woman that was a second mother to him from the moment he entered the games at fourteen as her mentee. It had been weeks since they’d captured Johanna from the arena. Weeks since they’d hijacked Peeta as well. It had been weeks since that autarch of a president had released the order to abduct Annie from their shared house by the coast. It had been weeks, and he was still sat in the medbay in District 13 tying knots with a length of rope that was shorter than his forearm because the nurses were worried he’d jump at the chance to hang himself should it be any longer. He’d nearly tried when he’d been told about Annie’s abduction. And for the first time in his life he wished for nothing more than for her to be dead.

Finnick had hoped and prayed to any God that was listening that his dear, beloved Annie was as dead as Mags, because death was far kinder, far more merciful, than the things that Snow would do to her. The Hunger Games had already consumed her. Borderline destroyed her. She had fought every single day to get her feet back on solid ground since then, and Finnick was in awe of her because of it. But being held captive by them? He didn’t know how long she would be able to last. He refused to give up on her, if there was even a chance that she was alive he would be on the frontlines to get her out. If she wasn’t, all he could do was hope that it was a quick and painless death.

Finnick wished he could be selfish enough to go through with killing himself. That he could do what so many other people did once they’d hit what looked like rock bottom. To take just one more step off of the cliffs and tumble into the crashing waves below, like a stone thrown into a lake just to disturb the water. But Finnick? When he first hit rock bottom, he’d just been handed a pickaxe and told to dig by the man that made sure he’d be permanently chipped and chiselled away at into a perfectly sculpted statue for every Capitol tourist to touch and marvel over. Just another attraction to satiate their constant addiction for more. To quell the consuming itch by grasping at whatever they could get their perfectly manicured hands on.

Artwork was all he’d ever been to them since he’d won his games. They saw him as a priceless artefact but he could feel like nothing but a poorly constructed hand puppet. A caricature. The people painted his portrait full of lust and desire; the masterpiece of a boy that was barely fifteen, destined to be sought after and craved like some forbidden fruit that was just barely ripe for the picking.

And when they declared him ripe enough, they tried to swallow him whole.

As soon as his ornate frame had been taken down from behind the red velvet barrier, he’d been auctioned up to the highest bidder for their own private displays. To brag their winnings at the claimed Victor and display him in their homes to those who knew how to handle the canvas without causing permanent damage to the paint. They could place him anywhere in the house and he’d be the central talking point. The feature that brought the room together and grabbed the attention of everyone that laid their greedy eyes on him. A carefully constructed centre piece at the heart of the banquet.

Finnick’s purpose was to be their starter, main course, and dessert. They pulled him into pieces starting with the entrées and worked their way through the menu so long as it meant they could taste him on their tongues for a split-second more. Carved up and torn apart. Meat falling straight off the bone with a single bite. He melted in their mouth like the most sought after cuts of steak. They bit into his skin and lavished in the blood that seeped from his veins, so perfect it refused to stain their too-white teeth a darkened crimson because he couldn’t mark them the way that they marked him.

Such a pedigree lapdog passed from one owner to another, well behaved enough to thank every single one of them for fixing their own jewelled collar around his neck. Only the best for their rented pet. To flaunt their wealth and say the words to have him lapping at their feet and performing tricks for a 'treat'. Tugging at his collar if his step faltered from their side, even just for a moment.

Finnick always felt his collar being tugged and tightened. The material always wrapped firmly around his throat. There was barely ever enough room for it to expand and give way with each inhale. The chafing grip rubbing at his skin fixed as a reminder that the hands of Snow would forever be frozen and wrapped around it. That all it took was one wrong move for the man to crush his windpipe like a crumpled piece of paper, useless after the pencil marked scribbles could no longer be erased. There was no fixing that. No fixing him.

He didn’t want to be fixed if it meant he could keep her safe though. The whole world could take his body, mind, and soul if it meant that Annie could be free from their grasp. They could string him up by his hands and feet, skin him alive, pull his nails and teeth. They could throw him back into that arena day in and day out if it meant that Annie could continue to recover soundly in District 4 for the remainder of her days.

When he’d been picked up from the arena he thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he would’ve been given the chance to turn himself into someone he could live with. Someone he could look at in the mirror and identify with. Or just recognise. That he could be the person he saw in the salty reflection of rockpools crouched beside Annie. That he could live as the man he was, not the spectacle the people saw him as.

But as soon as Finnick had stepped foot into the stale charnel house of District 13, as soon as he’d been forced into the presence of Alma Coin, he knew that this life would be no different for him.

Just another four letters. Just another last name with four letters that would continue to hold him and the collar he wore. He saw the hunger in her eyes the way he saw it in the Capitol’s people. The drive, the cruelty, the itch that had to be scratched. He saw the secrets she was hiding beneath her pearled white smile, and he saw the same ice that would bite behind it. He watched the cogs turn in her head as she catalogued each of the Victors that stepped off of the aircraft. Ways she could keep them in line. Methods that allowed her to maintain absolute control. The endless possibilities that could arise by using Annie and Johanna against him, should they ever be reunited in this life again.

Coin was going to sink her teeth into him and bleed him dry under the label of martyrdom, just as she would do to Katniss as soon as she could. The woman would stand by and use the seventeen year old for the people, just as Snow had done with Finnick, and he’d be damned if he just stood there to watch it happen.

[tempestgnostic]

tw: physical assault

so i was walking in the city the other day when this piece of shit came up and grabbed the side of my neck before he kept walking.

we were on a dark-ish street walking opposite ways and he was muttering to himself so i tried to subtly give him a wide berth and didn’t acknowledge him ‘cos i was minding my own business and he literally swerved over to grab my fucking neck and then went on his merry way like nothing happened.

when i say that i advocate for human rights and dignity, i’m including that asshole, too. yeah, my initial adrenaline-fueled reaction was to pray that the next person he fucks with would curb-stomp the guy. and then i stepped back from that thought and realized, this guy—who was certainly on drugs or mentally ill, if not both—has probably been beaten down and tossed aside like trash by this system. this city fucking hates poor people, much less if you take drugs or are mentally ill. and god forbid if you’re homeless in this city, you’re just fucked.

i’m glad i didn’t try and start something with this guy. honestly i think i might get the logic he was running off of, even given the state he was in. here i am, dressed up in my little dress clothes from Target, walking down a gentrified street in one of the poorest parts of the city toward a fancy hotel where they sell $4 chocolate bars at the café and none of the employees can afford a room for even a night. here i am, a young 20-something white guy coming back from a restaurant where they’ve got hundred-dollar entrées, looking like i’m ready to attend an upscale tech seminar, followed by my parents who are dressed to the nines. and this guy knows full well that his neighborhood is being bulldozed so that people with money who look like me can come and eat lobster tacos and talk down to the hotel staff and treat folks like him like they don’t even exist—or worse, like an eyesore that should be purged from public sight.

idk where i was going with this, but basically what i’m trying to say is that my advocacy includes him, too. what he did was fucked up but ultimately i’m not hurt, he didn’t use any pressure and it was over in a second anyways. regardless of his reasons, if he even had any, if i were in his situation and shit had gotten that bad for me, honestly i’d probably reach a point where i’d want to do the same. looking the way we did that night, folks like us are a grim reminder of the reason he’s on the street to begin with.

[trueduelist]

Holy fuuuuuuuuck i felt like a hostage tonight. Started my day 15 unpaid minutes early to ensure i will have enough time to enter the food order even if 10 things go wrong. Finished that, begin setting up my station but we get busy right away so i have to wait, get a tiny bit of prep done, busy again, repeat for four hours.

Ok everything done and im off now.

Hmm but of course the AM fry cook didnt run the filter cycle and i need that oil to last one more day. Guess ill hang around 10 minutes to get that done. Oh shit i just remembered i didnt put the last shipment of buns away and im expected to that so gonna get that done quickly. I break down the cardboard and remember there's empty boxes in the walk in still. Gotta deal with those. Suddenly 30 minutes have passed. Oops.

OKAY NOW IM DONE. Got my street clothes on, just gonna pop back on the line and grab some food. Oh shit its busy. Like REALLY busy. It's shift change so there's only two cooks working right now and our bill times are gonna be ridiculous. Can't leave it like this so i guess i'll help out.

20 minutes later and done. Got my food. Got my coat on. Lets get outta here. Say bye to GM and im about to reach for the door when he says "hey actually do you think you can stay 3 hours just to make sure theyre ok?"

FUCK

"no problem im on it! 😃" Is my immediate reply however

Back in my clogs and whites and im thinking ok this is fine im just here for the dinner rush and then i go home. My hours were cut this week so at least i can get a few back.

HOLY. SHIT. We got destroyed, annihilated, pulverised, whatever. I got put on expo and i have never seen such madness. It was somehow worse than a friday night. We only had about half the covers we do on friday but they were concentrated into one single hour of pure hell.

My PM fry cook didnt want to be there and refused to do half her job (make fries). She tried to pawn her shift to me immediately and got upset when i said hell no. She also snapped "dont tell me what to do when you havent helped me at all!" when i said to her "please you need to help me blanch (your) fries because we (you) are gonna run out in about 10 minutes!!" meanwhile i have 12 entrées that are piling up at my station and im communicating with FOH to make sure things dont get run to the wrong table which prevents me from walking away and oh yeah cooking fries is YOUR job. One of the takeout servers heard us and actually ran into the kitchen with a box of fries 😭😭😭😭 new favourite server

Anyways then while shit is still fucked she walks out of the kitchen to talk to the MOD and i see them talking and tbh i think oh fuck shes telling her she cant work with me. Then the guy on desserts walks over and starts dropping baskets so im like oh okay they wanted to swap. But THEN he says to me ok im going back to desserts now btw and im like !?

So now im watching fryers as well and im wondering where the fry cook is. After a while i finally say WHERE IS SHE and one of cooks says oh... She went home sick. Forgot to tell you.

WTF

Okay actually im super tired n ow so im not even gonna finish my rant but the the main point is that i wanted to fucking go home after this shit and all those cunts inthe kitchen guilted me and bullied me into staying. They all claimed they didnt know how to clean the fryers which i find hard to believe. I got upset and then they were like ohh no.... You can go home. Totally. We wont hold this against you and make your life worse or anything. Like WOW awesome.

So thats how i worked 12 hours today on 0 food and a single can of monster because i didnt even have time to get water.