#I haven't written for him in a while.

[raticalshoez]

And I'd hope that if I find the strength to walk out, you'd stay the hell out of my way.

Just finished the fic You Could've Applied Online and it permanantly altered my brain chemistry...

Versions without text:

[fictionadventurer]

First Letter from Julia I. Sand to Chester A. Arthur

[1881 Aug 27]

To the Hon Chester A. Arthur.

The hours of Garfield's life are numbered--before this meets your eye, you may be President. The people are bowed in grief; but--do you realize it?--not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor. What President ever entered office under circumstances so sad! The day he was shot, the thought rose in a thousand minds that you might be the instigator of the foul act. Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce? Your best friends said: "Arthur must resign--he cannot accept office, with such a suspicion resting upon him." And now your kindest opponents say: "Arthur will try to do right"--adding gloomily--"He won't succeed, though--making a man President cannot change him."

But making a man President can change him! At a time like this, if anything can, that can. Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life. If there is a spark of true nobility in you, now is the occasion to let it shine. Faith in your better nature forces me to write to you--but not to beg you to resign. Do what is more difficult and more brave. Reform! It is not the proof of highest goodness never to have done wrong--but it is a proof of it, sometime in one's career, to pause and ponder, to recognize the evil, to turn resolutely against it and devote the remainder of ones life to that only which is pure and exalted. Such revolutions of the soul are not common. No step towards them is easy. In the humdrum drift of daily life, they are impossible. But once in a while there comes a crisis which renders miracles feasible. The great tidal wave of sorrow which has rolled over the country, has swept you loose from your old moorings and set you on a mountain-top, alone. As President of the United States--made such by no election, but by a national calamity--you have no old associations, no personal friends, no political ties, you have only your duty to the people at large. You are free--free to be as able and as honorable as any man who ever filled the presidential chair.

Your past--you know best what it has been. You have lived for worldly things. Fairly or unfairly, you have won them. You are rich, powerful--tomorrow, perhaps, you will be President. And what is it all worth? Are you peaceful--are you happy? What if a few days hence the hand of the next unsatisfied ruffian should lay you low, and you should drag through months of weary suffering, in the White House, knowing that all over the land not a prayer was uttered in your behalf, not a tear shed, that the great American people was glad to be rid of you--would not worldly honors seem rather empty then?

Make such things impossible. Rise to the emergency. Disappoint our fears. Force the nation to have faith in you. Show from the first that you have none but the purest aims. It may be difficult at once to inspire confidence, but persevere. In time--when you have given reason for it--the country will love and trust you. If any man says, "With Arthur for President, Civil Service Reform is doomed," prove that Arthur can be its firmest champion. Do not thrust on the people politicians who have forfeited their respect--no matter how near they may be to you as personal friends. Do not remove any man from office unnecessarily. Appoint those only of marked ability and of sterling character. Such may not be abundant, but you will find them, if you seek them. You are far too clever to be easily deceived. In all your policy, have none but the highest motives. With the lamp of patriotism in your hand, your feet will not be likely to stumble.

Do you care for applause? Of course, you have had it, after a fashion. Perhaps from the dregs of the populace, inspired by the lowest of politicians. Possibly it pleased you at the time--it may have served some purpose that you solved then. But in the depths of your soul, do you not despise it? Would not one heart-felt "God bless you!" from the honest and true among your countrymen, be worth ten thousand times more? You can win such blessing, if you will.

Your name now is on the annals of history. You cannot slink back into obscurity, if you would. A hundred years hence, school boys will recite your name in the list of Presidents and tell of your administration. And what shall posterity say? It is for you to choose whether your record shall be written in black or in gold. For the sake of your country, for your own sake and for the sakes of all who have ever loved you, let it be pure and bright.

As one of the people over whom you are to be President, I make you this appeal. Perhaps you have received many similar. If not, still believe that this expresses the thoughts in many hearts, today--and do not give those who have had faith in you, cause for regret.

Yours Respectfully,

Julia I. Sand.

46 E. 74th st. New York.

Aug 27th 1881.

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[call-me-oracle]

barbara gordon in batman: urban legends #2 (red hood and batman - cheer pt 2)

bonus:

[x-reader-things]

“Because of a cake?”

Ezra Bridger x gn!reader

Summary ; In which you scold your best friend on your birthday.

Requested? ; No, self-indulgent

Warnings ; none.

Word count ; 615

——————————————————————

"So."

You swallowed the bite of cake - jogan fruitcake, no less - and raised a brow at the boy beside you. Well, really, he's more of a man now. But he grew up too quickly. It's hard to see him in that way.

Stars. You grew up too quickly, too, right along with him.

War has a funny way of doing that to teenagers who just deserve to be kids. But nonetheless, you still somehow find moments of respite.

Much like now.

"You mean to tell me. That you risked. Being found. By the Empire. Mr. Mitth'raw'nuruodo finding you, himself. On Lothal. Just to get a cake, all for my birthday?", you asked, pausing every so often for emphasis on how awful that idea was to your best friend. "You risked the whole of this rebellion, because of a cake?"

"Jogan Fruitcake," he corrected, stabbing at his own piece of cake with a fork. "But i guess, when you put it that way..."

He looked off to the side, taking a bite of the delicious treat.

You scoffed. He would risk a lot of things to make anyone in the Ghost Crew feel better, but this just takes the cake.

... no pun intended. Kind of.

He really did steal the cake. You weren't going to discuss that then, though, or even begin to wonder how he pulled that off imperial occupied Lothal. He's never done something that risky for a cake, even for Hera and Sabine.

"You are the dumbest idiot I've ever met, Ezra.", you sighed, holding a hand up before he had a chance to speak. You could just tell he was about to, after knowing him for so long. "And don't tell me that's redundant, smartass, I know it is - redundancy is the only proper way I can describe you at this point."

Ezra laughed, his shoulder gently bumping into yours while you both watched the sunset hanging past the trees on Yavin IV. You guys both found a little hideaway on top of the base when it was first established. Not many people knew about it, save for you, Sabine and Ezra.

And maybe a few others too, sadly, but you digress.

"Well, hey. High risk, high reward--", he began, casting a smile in your direction. The corners of your mouth began to turn up a bit, much to your utter dismay. You can never pretend to be disappointed in him for long. "And besides, it got you this awesome birthday cake, right?"

"Yeah," you hummed in acknowledgement, poking at a slice of jogan fruit with your fork. "I guess so."

Ezra reached over, stealing that slice of jogan fruit. He ignored your scoff of indignation, and gently swatted your hand away from stealing it back. "As long as it makes you happy, I'd do anything for you."

He had the gall to snicker after that, and eat your piece of fruit, that fiend.

"Except when it comes down to stealing my food.", you grumbled. You reached over towards his plate, and stabbed your fork into one of his own jogan fruit slices he put off to the side, as payback for him stealing yours.

"Hey--", he laughed, knowing damn well what he did. "That was my food!"

"You stole mine first! It's only fair--"

"--But I got it for you--"

"--Don't pull that Jedi guilt on me now--"

"--Jedi guilt?!"

The lighthearted bickering continued as the dusk morphed into a calm night. The calmest you've been in a long, long while.

Well, his risk definitely had a good reward. He made you happy today, regardless of the fact that he risked capture once again.

Over a cake.

[tired-biscuit]

Kakashi is so hot bro! I need that man under me ASAP!!! 😩😩

i was having some kakashi thoughts as of late, and all i could think about was you straddling his lap while his fingers are knuckle deep inside of you and he's going so slow; like he's really taking his sweet ass time with you, every stroke between your wet walls so languid.

he'd be the biggest tease, i know it, and he'd find your desperation secretly so amusing. would giggle quietly whenever he'd bring you so close to the edge that your legs would start to shake around him as he rubs these precise little circles into your clit and then stops the moment you're about to become undone before repeating the process all over again. and again and again. nearly making you cry for him.

the edging this man would make you endure would be borderline infuriating, but i know he'd build you up so good that the moment he would finally let you cum, it'd be so fucking strong and intense that your mind would go blank and your entire body would tingle - even the top of your head and the tips of your toes that would just not be able to stop curling. it'd all be the entire point of the edging: to make everything feel twice as strong.

slick would literally drip down his fingers and he'd praise you so much, calling you a good girl for it, that you're doing so, so good as he'd nearly start to pet your pussy in approval. and then he'd lay you down on the couch, your legs still nice and soft and spread wide open for him before he'd pull his mask down in the dark and you'd suddenly start to feel the warmth of the flat of his tongue slowly lapping at your sensitivity; all expert and careful, making you grab fistfuls of his silver hair until your back is arching against the cushions, and you're cumming all over again - this time into his mouth.

i think he'd take such good care of you, he'd really be the best soft dom ever. foreplay would be a must with him before he even considers stuffing you full with his cock; he wants his darling princess to really enjoy herself even if she must suffer a little for it beforehand. :(

[qcomicsy]

Lately I've only been wishing to grab a comic about my favorite character and just have a genuinely good time reading it.

[mocharoll]

(Ominis/GN!Reader) The Fools

An Ode to Young Love and Recovery

Summary: Two years post-game. Your final year at Hogwarts calls for early celebrations at the Three Broomsticks as you continue to struggle with your past. Only, you're slowly starting to learn that it is not enough for you to try and bury your memories, but to nurture them instead so one day they can become trees.

Rating: Mature (Implied sexual content, aged up characters)

Content: Angst, romance, humour, (self-)acceptance, trauma recovery, insights on growing up, raging hormones of young adults, a lot of fluff and a lot of love.

No real spoilers for the end of the game and spoilers for Sebastian's questline.

Link to the series: The Gaunt Who Loved

—

It was a mild September's evening, with the molten gold hues of the sky getting even warmer as the sun stretched over the horizon and across the evergreen hills surrounding Hogsmeade. Despite summer having ended some time ago, nature was showing no signs of grogginess so far. It's as if the Sun had not yet realised that it was indeed autumn, and missed the memo that he was supposed to be going to sleep earlier. Maybe today he wanted to watch all the ruckus that was going on, down there in the Three Broomsticks, for just a while longer. You approach the lively pub with a soft smile and tranquil spirits, having arrived a bit earlier to have a private celebration with your partner.

You are about to begin your last year in Hogwarts. It has been two years since you embarked on your fateful journey and your life took a rather jagged turn, going so rapidly in-between ups and downs that on a graph it must resemble overused scratch paper. Since all you've been through with your friends in foiling Ranrok and Rookwood's plans, the rest of your time has been quite relaxed and uneventful, at least by Hogwarts standards, so much so that one might suspect it to be early retirement.

When your fifth year had come to an end, Sebastian and Ominis were at an impass. Not only due to their strained relationship and their hesitance in approaching the other in fear of overstepping their boundaries, which was especially true for Sebastian, who did most offense albeit meaning no actual harm, but also due to Anne's refusal to have anything to do with her twin immediately after the incident. All of a sudden the boys didn't have anywhere to go. As such, it was only fair that you and your family opened your doors to your first ever friends in Hogwarts, who welcomed you with open arms when you were expecting a cold welcome as a relative outsider. Your parents, who were incredibly glad to not having to be scared witless for the the safety of their only child, who was miles away from them and in constant danger, did not hesitate for a single second to accept the fold into their home. Your friends were ever so grateful to be given the opportunity to heal and reconnect in a place where they didn't need to constantly be on their guard. Even so, everything that has happened in your fifth year seemed like a memory that couldn't stay in the past where it belonged. With every year that passed, the more randomly the remnants of all that has transpired resurfaced from your collective memory, and at unpredictable intervals.

"A year ago today I nearly became dragon kibble," said with mock indignance, petting the family cat that had just gotten used to the presence of more than three people being present at once in the house.

"Can't believe we all managed to get dragged into all sorts of trouble soon after we met you," said fondly with a twinge of melancholy, listening intently for any cues of positive or negative reactions, yet finding only melancholy palpably reflected back at him. Melancholy for what, nobody really knew. Loss of innocence? Although none of you had the innocence of what was expected in a typical teenager. The acknowledgement of lost innocence, perhaps.

"It's been two years since Solomon died," said abruptly, the monotonous tone betraying deep and persistent hurt, only a few minutes after you all had been laughing about Garreth's antics at Potions class. It had felt like someone poured a bucket of ice water over your head, freezing you with the same paralysing dread as when you realised what had happened. That Solomon had died in his sleep, peacefully.

You wince at the memories and all the lies you've had to tell in order to cover up those memories, albeit to little success. Your eyes instinctively close shut, yet it barely stops the part of your brain that is still terrified yet intent on replaying all that has happened, nor is it effective in distracting you from the faint prickling at the base of your skull that has been reoccurring in short bursts ever since you were hit by the Cruciatus curse, like a muted cascade of static electricity.

It's been getting better, you reassure yourself, because you don't yet know what to make of the other alternative, which is that you've only gotten used to the sensation. Of course, your friends have been of tremendous help as you healed, both physically and mentally, and for a while they were the one grounding factor that kept you sane. That is, after they knew how they could effectively help you better when you finally relented and told them you needed their help. You are forever grateful for them; for their support, patience and compassion. It is then you became aware of how incredibly lucky you were to be surrounded by so much positivity and tenderness. Perhaps you needed to survive such a calamity to realise how loved you really are.

"Are you intent on standing there any longer?" You hear a familiar voice ring out behind you, the musical lilts brimming with amusement. "If so, please be so kind to step aside so at least one of us can enjoy the butterbeer that you had proposed we get." You can't help but smile to yourself and at the warmth spreading out from the centre of your chest, which promptly dispels the remaining dark clouds behind your eyes. Normally it takes way more effort for anyone, let alone you, to pull you out from the eye of a storm like this, but that's just the effect this guy always had on you; the kind that passes through your defences as gently as the foam of sea waves caress the farthest edges of the sand. His influence over you has never alarmed you, and frankly you allowed for it, because you are well aware that the disgust he misplaces in himself due to his family's reputation and how utterly wary he is of his capacity to hurt others makes him that much more careful not to betray the trust of those he cares about. Hence you've never hidden your positive reactions from him when he's around, even before you were together, because your trust in him helped him build trust in himself.

With that, your eyes flutter open, your otherwise heavy eyelids showing no resistance, and you blink rapidly to clear the remaining fog to see the reflection on the door. Surely enough, you see none other than Ominis standing behind you, wand resting at his side, his bemused expression otherwise displaying calm patience.

"Hey, you!" You sigh in relief.

"Hey." He lifts his gaze from the ground and brings it up towards the direction of your voice, smiling warmly. He lifts his other arm slightly and curves his hand inwards, beckoning you to come closer.

You don't need to be asked twice. You step into his space in practiced confidence that still gives you butterflies and wrap your arms underneath his, your head landing right underneath his jaw as he wraps around you. Ominis didn't use to be too big on hugs, mostly because they startled him if a verbal warning wasn't given beforehand and, well, he's not used to the gesture all that much. Or rather he wasn't, because your inclination for showing affection through physical contact, which he found endearingly tolerable at first, became something he greatly enjoyed and eventually gladly initiated. You swear every time you tuck your head in the crook of his neck you can feel how tall he's gotten since the last time you hugged, especially considering the first time around you were almost the same height! Each hug feels a little different than the last, although the reason for that is completely unrelated to height.

After a few blissful seconds, or more (you can't really tell at this point), you lean your head back a tiny bit to look at him. Despite the mature sharpness of the lines of his face and the slight hollowness of his cheeks that was a temporary side effect of growth spurts, you could still see the softness in his features and in his unfocused eyes that were somehow able to see all of you at once. He is getting more handsome with each passing month and you'd be lying if you didn't enjoy making him blush with your attestations of just how attractive he is. As for you, while your height was guaranteed to remain the same by now, the excess fat right below your cheekbones that you irately tugged at in your early adolescence got smoothed out, just like your mother had assured, and the bridge of your nose that you inherited from your father started to get more prominent, which he had jokingly forewarned you against when you were a kid. He made light of it by telling you that you'll be able to smell things a lot better, yet given your experiences around noxious and pungent materials that were an inherent reality of the 'authentic Hogwarts experience', you don't see how that could possibly be a good thing. Nevertheless, you were glad to be growing and accepted the changes your body was going through as best you could. Besides, the way Ominis was holding you already made you feel like you were the most gorgeous thing ever.

"How did you know it was me?" Your voice is reduced to little more than a whisper.

He opens his eyes, their corners crinkling at your sudden discretion. "I was right behind you, you know." He says matter of factly, also whispering. "I recognised your footsteps."

You chuckle softly, sliding your arm out from under his, and run your fingers through his hair. "Figured as much."

"Mhm." He arches into your touch and hums lowly, grazing his nose against your cheek with a smirk he doesn't care to hide anymore. He leans in closer, his soft breaths making your skin feel hot red. That is your cue to face him, and Ominis gladly meets your lips in the middle. You stand there for a moment, entwined in each other, swaying gently with the early autumn's wind that feels like cool lemonade, and when you finally deepen the kiss you feel him inhale sharply, his brows furrowing with intense focus. His grip on your robe gets tighter as he pulls you closer until you're flush against his body and you feel him pressing tightly against your thigh.

Ever since the incident, Ominis and Sebastian have been trying their best to mend their strained relationship, and Sebastian had been focusing on reconciling with Anne in order to make up for precious time lost after he had ironically neglected her in pursuit of cheating death for her. As such, you and Ominis ended up spending more and more time together, making up for time spent chasing after Sebastian and not around each other. After getting over the shock of the revelation that you like liked each other after your admissions of mutual affection, you started to get closer and closer. The playful glances became tentative touches, and those became bold caresses as you got older and grew more comfortable around each other. And now, it just so happened that he was pinning you against a wall.

The muffled buzzing of the bar is almost completely snuffed out as your senses centre around him and nothing else, until you barely notice that you're backed against the wall and your kisses have started to get urgent and desperate. And then Ominis breaks away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours as he grounds himself and tries his best to calm himself. His eyes stayed closed, like opening them would mean losing the clarity of you. You gasp at the sudden loss, swollen lips gaping pathetically. You feel dizzy, intoxicated, even, and it doesn't help that his face is only a few inches from you, yet you silently hold onto him while you wait for your head to stop spinning. He's drawing this out and you know it. A part of you appreciates it, despite it being positively excruciating.

Once you've both caught your breaths, it doesn't take long for the position you're both in to finally dawn on you, and how the steps of incoming and departing patrons seem to falter, pause, then continue hurriedly in the opposite direction as you. You thought you could even hear the cheer of a particularly tipsy patron that sounded old enough for you to avoid eye contact at all costs lest you see him in class someday. A jolt of panic shoots up your spine when you feel Ominis trembling and you worriedly turn back to check on him, but you see that his shoulders are simply shaking in silent laughter. His face is scrunched up in equal amounts of delight and embarrassment, and also the reddest you've ever seen it. It's not long until you join him as well, cupping his cheek and chuckling uncontrollably. Your laughter eventually goes up the wrong airway and turns into a massive snort, which prompts Ominis to practically start wheezing.

"Okay, okay!" You plead after you feel tears collect at the corner of your eyes. "Please. I'm about to pee myself."

Ominis can only manage to bury his face into your shoulder, shaking his head as if to convey that his efforts to stop are ultimately for naught. You are left to pat the top of his head and fix his once carefully groomed hair as you look up and wipe the tears from your eyes. This is one of the things you love most about yourself. That you can find, pluck, and bring joy wherever you go. You've found that people bloom in your presence, that your friends are not only motivated to reach their potential in terms of academic success, but in being the best they could be. The most passionately impulsive guy you've known realised he could find the peace he was desperately searching simply by slowing down and enjoying the time he has with his loved ones. The reserved guy who exercised unprecedented self-control over himself to the point of neurosis is a bubbly laughing mess in your arms.

I turned out okay after all. You smile to yourself, closing your eyes peacefully and burying your nose in Ominis' hair. Ominis, who has significantly calmed down by now, peppers your neck with kisses in return of your gesture.

"That was nice," he mutters elatedly.

"It was," you brush your thumb across his cheek, "...and we can do it again, later."

He nods and turns his head, planting a quick kiss on your thumb before standing straight, hands searching for misplaced or fuzzy strands in your hair. He finds plenty, so he starts to gently comb them out with his fingers. You also fix his tieless collar and realign his dark grey vest, and run your hands through his hair one last time to ensure it looks close to how neat it look before your make out session ruined it. He doesn't seem to mind it in the slightest.

"Perhaps not outside of the single most crowded pub in town, yes?" Ominis raises a teasing brow.

"Indeed. You're ravishing, by the way."

Ominis brows shoot up at that, almost to comical proportions, but he recovers quickly enough. He instinctively checks the collars of his shirt and smooths the front of his vest.

"You don't think the vest is a bit too much?"

"I think it's perfect. And you left out the tie so it looks relaxed enough. You look like you're just here to get a drink."

Ominis nods, satisfied. "That is my intention." He tilts his head, smiling. "And you're absolutely breathtaking."

You chuckle, shrugging with quasi-modesty. "I try."

His smile turns cheeky as he traces the side of your neck with his fingers. "Really? I didn't notice."

You sigh incredulously, shoulders raising so dramatically that it makes Ominis smirk. "Shut up before I back us up into a corner again. And this time we're not stopping."

His expression shifts at that and his hand halts at the base of your jaw. "Who said I will stop?"

"Don't, please." You say without a trace of your bratiness earlier, voice thick with desire and desparation.

Ominis freezes at your tone, his jaw tensing up as he takes a few deep breaths. You realise he's doing his utmost best to not pounce on you right there.

"Later," he manages, extricating himself from you with sheer willpower. He retrieves his wand from his pocket and mutters something as he sways it gently, seemingly fixing the appearance of his trousers.

"Later." You agree, peering into the pub momentarily. "There's a lot of people."

"I noticed. It's alright." Ominis clears his throat, looking somewhat sheepish over his apparent loss of control, but later on when he recalled this moment and your initial reaction, he would think back to it with great pride. He extends his free hand. "Shall we head inside?"

You happily take his hand, swaying them gently before resting them at your side. "Right this way, then." You step forward to open the door and a cacophony of rowdy chatter and trills of laughter bursts out in a giant tide, hitting you straight in the face like the heat of an oven when you first open its door. It's as if you turning the handle was but only a simple catalyst for this vibrant eruption, and you feel giddy at the sensation. You look over at Ominis and see that his brows are slightly furrowed due to the sudden loudness, but is too basking under the warmth. By now the Sun had already started to give in to fatigue, and blinked at the people of Hogsmeade one last time before setting to meet with them the next morning as he so promised to the Earth at the dawn of the universe. You step inside right after Ominis, tapping your feet against the magical rug that gladly gobbles up the dirt from your weary shoes.

It's not going to be the easiest job in the world; moving forward, reconciling with your restless memories, your occasional sleepless nights and your survivor's guilt. But it is going to be easier than it otherwise could have been, with your loved ones at your side. You will just have to remind and allow yourself to take it one day at a time, not only because that's the right thing to do given the traumatic circumstances you have faced at such a young age, but because that's the only thing you can do. Step slowly but surely into the future, staying together, acknowledging the importance of your combined strength to overcome whatever difficulties you might face from the past and beyond. Perhaps that is all you really need.

Ominis slips his fingers between yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckle, as if he could tell that you had gone elsewhere and wanted to remind you that he was there for you. You squeeze his hand in return.

I'm back. I'm back and I know you're here and I couldn't be happier to have you.

The tenseness in his brows completely dissipates as his expression lights up and he blinks softly at you with great affection. Sometimes you really wonder if he can hear your thoughts, or whether your boyfriend is actually a cat. You chuckle at your thoughts and nod at him, tugging your hand in the same rhythm to say you're ready to move. Ominis smiles and moves ahead as you slip inside into the centre with him, the door shutting gently behind you.

[not-poignant]

Do you think there will be Raphael pov in palmarosa at any point? I love how you write hiiiiim

Hiya anon!

So far I'm leaning towards no.

The reason is that I actually like that he's so hard to read, and because I find the concept of writing his mind genuinely challenging because he is so inhuman to me. I think if I were writing his POV I'd feel seduced by the urge to humanise him 'internally' and we'd lose the mystery and mercurial power of seeing him as an outsider (i.e. from Astarion's POV).

And while that's tempting in its own way, I'm very much not wanting to do that either! Part of what I enjoy in this story is watching Astarion deal with the loneliness in a way of being with someone / spending time with someone who thinks so differently to him, who prioritises differently to him, who has different values to him, and who is so very *not* human.

And sometimes that's something I want to write, but I actually don't want to humanise Raphael to that degree, so I'll be avoiding his POV, I'm sorry!

[acquiescest]

ok wait forgot some stuff

[passthroughtime]

yagami, WHY do you have to be such a bitch around kuwana. i'm going to strangle you.

(P.S.: he didn't tell kuwana that tesso said not to feel bad about it. obviously.)

[afterthegreatunknown]

random pre-canon moment with some sbg members (all eighteen or older here) that is a combination:

a hot summer is something not many people want to experience. this goes especially so when the hot summer day drives everyone indoors and being indoors isn't help at all, even if you close the blinds and drawn the curtains to limit the sun's ray and heat. luckily, the invention of the air conditioner and the fan makes being indoors enjoyable.

unfortunately, monty montgomery's air conditioner is broken, and he only has one working fan. as such, everyone is taking turns sharing the fan. still, everyone is wearing clothes fitting for the weather. almost everyone, but he isn't currently in monty's place at the moment and that is the opinion of the people indoors: monty, frank, kit, bertrand, and miranda.

monty is currently in a t-shirt and loose shorts. frank is also in loose shorts, but he's wearing a sleeveless shirt, having taken off his button-down shirt on account of the heat. kit is wearing a tied crop top and jean shorts, with her hair in a messy high bun. bertrand has his button shirt undone, and elected to strip down to his boxers on account of not wearing shorts today, with his pants in a nearby corner.

miranda, the lucky girl, currently has the fan. wearing a camisole and workout shorts (her outer shirt she took off), she lies on monty's sofa with the fan blowing on her face. miranda won her turn with the fan on account of winning the latest round of fuck, marry, kill; her answer was fucking dorothea s. markson (not to be confuse with s. theodora markson, her sister), marrying gifford, and killing captain robinson (widdershins' second chaperone)

as monty lies on the floor with frank, kit, and bertrand, all of them having an ice pack on their foreheads -or chest in bertrand's case- miranda continues to lie on his sofa with her eyes close. it's a comfortable silence in the apartment. nearly everyone would have fallen asleep if it wasn't for one thing...

"aha! that's it!" shouts miranda.

monty takes off his icepack, and sits upright. he sees miranda sitting upright also, positioning herself to see the others on the floor.

"what's it, miranda?" asked monty.

kit, bertrand and gustav follow suit, removing their ice packs and sitting upward to stare at miranda.

"i just thought of a new combination in our game on who gets the fan!" miranda smiles at them, devilishly so.

"oh no," say monty. "i don't like that look of yours."

"something tells me that smile implies our choices this round are worser than the last," says kit, pushing up her glasses. "but i'm in. who do we have to pick from?"

"you're being rude, snicket. we should wait for widdershins to come back," says frank.

"i agree with frank," says bertrand. "it's unfair for widdershins to be excluded and lose an opportunity to have the fan."

"i was implying that with widdershins picking up our lunch, we should wait for our food before we play our game," says frank. "but your reasoning is a hell of lot better than mine."

what frank said is correct. widdershins is the one in their group not wearing clothes fitting for the weather, at least in their opinion. he's wearing a light blue button-down shirt -though his sleeves are rolled up and the top two buttons are undone- and brown loose pants. he unlike the others, made no complains about the hot weather.

and that is why widdershins was elected to pick up their lunch.

"oh bertrand, don't get yourself in a twist!" miranda waves a hand at him. "he'll get his chance! you just have to wait to say your answers until he returns!"

"but that means we have the advantage of having to think over our answers, while widdershins will possibly get only a minute or so," bertrand argues.

"bertrand, while i understand your concerns, do remember that this is widdershins we're talking about," says kit. "remember his philosophy."

"he who hesitates is lost," answers bertrand.

"or she," adds in monty.

"exactly!" miranda snaps her fingers. "that means widdershins wouldn't need to think that long to give his answer. ergo, the rest of you are in the clear on hearing the choices."

bertrand doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in agreement.

"since we have everything settle," continues miranda, "let the game round begin! fuck, marry, kill: ghede-"

"ghede!?" interrupts frank. "you pick her of all people!?"

"says the one who gave us gifford in the last round," mutters monty.

frank gives a nasty glare at monty, and then a hard smack on the arm.

"anyway," continues miranda, "as i was saying! fuck, marry, kill: ghede, mr. clovis baudelaire-"

"miranda," interrupts kit, "you're making this too easy. we all know which one beatrice's father deserves."

"we should grateful that beatrice inherited his looks, and not his personality," says bertrand.

"you all need to remember that i'm not done yet," says miranda. "fuck, marry, kill: ghede, mr. clovis baudelaire, and...ishmael."

hearing the last name drop, everyone froze.

of all the volunteers, ishmael was the one they never expected. their generation has such a hatred -or extreme dislike from those who are trying to be polite- for the old man, the four young adults didn't expect miranda to bring ishmael's name up in their game.

everyone is in too much of a shock to make a proper response or complaints of frustration at miranda. speaking of frustrations, miranda quickly crosses her arms, and glares at them all.

"is no one going to yell at me for including that old coot?" asks miranda. "no cussing me out? nothing at all?"

no one still speaks.

"since you're all going to be quiet," continues miranda, "now would be a good time for widdershins to show up."

knock-knock-knock!

"everyone, i'm back! i got our lunches, aye!" shouts a familiar voice.

"well shit," says miranda, standing up now. "i got bless with the gift of prophecy from apollo. don't worry everyone. i'll get the door."

miranda leaves the room, leaving everyone still in their place. the four of them hears miranda unlocking the door, and widdershins stepping in. not long afterwards, the two of them return. widdershins is carrying two large paper bags, one in each hand.

widdershins stares at them all, and then tilts his head. "what got their tongues?"

"my choices for the newest round of fuck, marry, kill," answers miranda. "give me the bags, widdershins. you should sit down. you been in the heat, after all."

widdershins does exactly that, taking a spot between monty and frank. widdershins stares at each one individually, and then twiddles his thumbs. "are they that terrible of choices?"

"depends on how you look at it," says miranda, her voice coming from the kitchen. "well, since you're here, it's now your turn to hear them. fuck, marry, kill: ghede, mr. clovis baudelaire, and ishmael."

widdershins blinks a few times in rapid succession, and then stares at everyone. "that is certainly a combination of choices, miranda."

"i know." miranda comes back to the room, and sits back down on the sofa. "but that is the aim of the game, widdershins."

widdershins turns his attention to miranda. "i suppose so." he then curls up a lock of his hair up like parentheses. he stares at a random spot somewhere for a moment, and then lets go of his lock of hair.

miranda gives a brief glance at bertrand. it's an 'i told you so' glance, for she next says, "i assume you have your answer?"

"aye. gave it some thought too," answers widdershins. "for me, it's fuck ishmael, marry ghede, and kill clovis baudelaire."

seconds later, everyone sans miranda speaks up at last.

"please tell us you're fucking joking," says monty softly, voice so soft it's hard to hear.

"what the ever-loving FUCK," shouts frank, voice bold and loud.

"what are you fucking thinking!?" yells kit, voice hinting great disappointment.

"i must again reiterate: 'fuck' in our game context means sexual intercourse," states bertrand, as if he's reading a dictionary definition.

"aye. i stand by what i said," answers widdershins, standing up. he brushes his hands on his pants, and claps his hands. "i'll tell you my reasoning over lunch. aye, i'm starving. i hope the chill cucumber soup isn't warm. josephine says it's one of the best things she ever ate, aye, and i want to eat it the way it should be!"

as widdershins walks to the kitchen, everyone stares at one another, still horrified with what widdershins said with little hesitation.

miranda is biting her lower lip, eyes wide. kit has her hand on her forehead, looking pale and haunted. frank drags both of his hands down his, and gives a muffled scream. monty runs both hands into his hair, and screeches softly.

bertrand is the only one who has a resemblance of calm. he stands up quickly, and then buttons up his shirt. then he walks over to the nearby corner where his pants are at.

"regardless of our associate's reasoning," says bertrand, putting on his pants, "are we in agreement that whatever we answer, widdershins wins this round?"

"aye," say kit, nodding her head.

"agree," says miranda, blinking a few times.

"no one is going to beat widdershins's answer," says monty,

"of course no one is," says frank. "it's hard to beat the answer of a hypothetical old man fucker."

[seaofadventure]

“Only good captain’s get gifts,” he tsked lightly, his turn for a teasing tone, “You shouldn’t have messed with me if you wanted something, Roger.”

“Rayleigh—” it would be incorrect to have called it anything other than a whine, but Rayleigh would allow his captain to keep some honor— “I was just playing around!”

Late entry for @rogerpirateswk Day 1: Fun! Week's been rough for me but things are slowly getting better so hoping to play catch up and finish the drafts I do got uvu

[nebulouscoffee]

Me, attending the latest in a ridiculous number of funerals this year in the place of a childhood friend who couldn't be there, watching the lifeless body of an old lady who used to make me snacks in the kitchen when I was a kid be carted away forever while my friend's mother cries and tells me she's grateful I could be there because it felt like having the support of her own daughter, hugging her and talking reassuringly and not processing a single one of these emotions: ... I am going to write soooo much fanfiction about this

[beedreamscape]

I think what is missing with 4-sided Dive that Talks Machina had was a third party to have those character discussions with. It's not the same with a fellow PC. Also someone with interviewing abilities, sometimes I feel like they meander so much.

And I do like to watch them talk, I do watch old episodes of AWNP, fireside chat, etc, but for discussing the game/campaign I think the mechanics of it muddles with the flow.

I personally feel no value is added from the tower of inquiry or the cup questions, though I don't mind the game playing at the end since at this point who had their curiosity satisfied can simply leave, but answering while playing which they tried doing at least once I watched didn't work at all.

Edit: Btw when I say no value is added I mean the format (being in a cup, pulling from the tower) and not the questions themselves.

[telleroftime]

Ah yes, descriptions of Sukuna. "There is no one in this world more proud and conceited". Bet I can break him.