#SAP FI Course

[ashucampus]

Therefore, one must consider joining the SAP FI Course to learn more about this platform and build a secure career as an SAP Financial Accounting (FI) professional.

[sapficocourse]

What is SAP FI?

SAP FI, which stands for SAP Financial Accounting, is a module within the SAP ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning) system that focuses on financial management and accounting processes in an organization. It is used by businesses to manage financial transactions, financial reporting, and other financial-related activities. The sap fico course It is designed to provide comprehensive solutions for managing an organization's financial data and processes in a centralized manner.

Key features and functionalities of the SAP FI module include:

General Ledger (GL): The GL module manages the company's financial accounting records, including balance sheets, income statements, and profit and loss statements.

Accounts Payable (AP): AP manages the organization's vendor-related processes, including invoice processing, payment processing, and managing vendor master data.

Accounts Receivable (AR): AR handles customer-related processes, such as managing incoming payments, customer invoices, and customer master data.

Asset Accounting: This submodule manages fixed assets, including acquisition, depreciation, disposals, and reporting on asset values.

Bank Accounting: Bank accounting integrates with financial transactions involving banks, such as electronic bank statements, reconciliation, and cash management.

[foultaledeer]

SAP FI stands for SAP Financial Accounting and is a module in the SAP ERP system that allows companies to manage their financial transactions. For instance, such as accounts payable and receivable,

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

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A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Sneaky bastard.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with:

"Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

"And what's this, doll, hm?"

His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

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I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

[altraviolet]

Oh man now that I've seen TWO asks this day about Soundwave dying, is that the inevitable conclusion to this fic? Did I miss this big spoiler somewhere or all the clues to it? I don't remember seeing a "Major character death" tag, either.

Or is this people speculating and doing "what if"? ...not that I'd be adverse to it, especially if it made sense to do so!

Also I completely understand about work sapping all creative juices. While I don't write (I've dabbled in the past, but little 3k words or less things for OC's way back in the LJ days), I used to sketch, draw, paint nearly every day for hours before I ended up in a corporate 9-5, full time job. Even doing customer service jobs, I was able to sketch on napkins and scrap receipt paper and sticky notes.. and now I just.. can't. Its unbelievable how mentally draining full time jobs can be. Every now and then I'll get the sketch pad or watercolors out,but it's maybe once or twice a year now.

I've seen writers who do ko-fi for tips or writing commissions for certain stories (I remember a tf author I used to follow did this - where a story was only continued if the chapters were commissioned) - or even patreons, where they set up an early access to the newer chapters, and the cut scenes, additional content - have you thought about those? I think you've got a big enough following where it could be feasible to go part time! And maybe fund a self publishing of an original work sometime down the road!

>is that the inevitable conclusion to this fic? Did I miss this big spoiler somewhere or all the clues to it? I don't remember seeing a "Major character death" tag, either.

The major tag on the fic is "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings." You haven't missed a big spoiler or clues. The influx of "WHAT IF HE DIES" was puzzling to me, too, but I rolled with it.

I'm curious why people think Soundwave is going to die, when one of the major themes of the fic (at least to me, inside my head) is bringing people back from the dead. Not literally, of course. But... but did they see the whole point of what Rodimus is doing? Trailbreaker, Ambulon, and Mirage? Skywarp? Literally pulling Soundwave from the shadow zone, where life is not worth living?

There's actually a lot more I want to say on this, but I don't want to spoil the story. I have a FAQ planned for when the fic is done and I address death in it, and my approach to writing it vs JRO, and the aforementioned major theme.

I'm guessssssssinnnnnnng people are going the doom route because of the Scavengers, and because Soundwave keeps getting injured and can't be healed, and because... ? I feel like stakes have been high in the past, so maybe that's part of it, too. I won't say anything else for now, though.

This post got long so I'll put the rest under a cut.

>Its unbelievable how mentally draining full time jobs can be.

good god, yeah. low key, I used to be an artist (mostly hobbyist, a few pro jobs). I gave up and went back to writing because it's much easier/comes more naturally to me, and that's all I have energy for. I fuckin' mourned stopping art, to be honest. but you know what, I'd rather have Echo Garden than slog through commissions. I learned I'd rather create my own things than do things other people want me to do. so I guess learning that about myself was ... good. it's absolutely unbelievable how draining a 9-5 job is. I will admit I am jealous of people who have spouses or understanding parents that allow them to do art full time by providing a safety net in the form of housing and health insurance. jealousy is very human, you know :D surely there is a better balance out there for us ;A;

>I remember a tf author I used to follow did this - where a story was only continued if the chapters were commissioned

oooohhhhhhhh you know... I get it. I get people need money. but that doesn't sit right with me. I would not withhold fic like that.

>patreons, where they set up an early access to the newer chapters, and the cut scenes, additional content - have you thought about those?

I've thought about it only in the fanciful sense. To be honest, unless I was getting enough support to quit my job, it's not really going to change my life. Like, how do I say this. I won't have any more additional time in the week to write if I make $50 extra/month through patreon. I'll still be doing my full time job AND I'll have an obligation to write for people. Does that make sense? Unless a patreon offsets the actually draining thing in my life, it's just another thing I have to do.

Although 'early access to chapters' sits way better with me than denying future chapters UNLESS funded. Though paying for fic is a huge gray area and I don't think it's wise to poke that beast...

>I think you've got a big enough following where it could be feasible to go part time!

thank you, I appreciate your kindness here :D I don't think my following is big enough, though. I think the readership is maybe 1400 people? and a bunch of those are minors and most of the adult fandom is fucking broke, lol. (the tf fans with the money tend to be the major toy buying ones, not the fanfic reading ones. Stereotype, but that's my observation)

and part of the problem is my place of employment. I asked, years ago, if I could go part time (so I could practice art) and my boss said no. it's a full time only position ;A; which is why I say, unless patreon can fully support me, it's not really feasible. freelancing incurs a higher tax rate and you don't have any health insurance, so I'd actually have to make more than I am now... and given the number of absolutely fantastic fan artists I see struggling to make it with patreon, I know I can't (since fan artists make more than fan writers)

I hope that my answers don't sound dismissive. Thank you very much for your empathy and kind ideas. I don't think the fandom can support me monetarily in the way I would need, and I think their interest in me will drop as soon as Echo Garden is finished. I base this statement on the fact that TEG has exponentially higher stats than any of my other fics.

The people clearly want only one thing, and it will eventually end xD

If you or anyone else thinks I'm looking at this wrong and there may actually be a way I can write without dying, please let me know. I've thought about this for years and the above is what I've concluded.

Thank you again for the kind ask! <3

[apoptoses]

Devil’s minion Armand loved blade runner and time bandits, but do you think there’s any newer movies or just ones he found out about later that he took a liking too? And of course i have to bring Daniel into this so what are some of your movie hcs for him?

Oh man, I think Armand is someone who will watch just about anything, but specifically-

-Weird A24 movies, the more psychological and shocking the better. He's 500 years old so he's got a high bar for being surprised, and I think stuff like the Lighthouse would really grab him. It's weird, it's homoerotic, it has undertones of greek mythology he can explain at Daniel. He's into it.

-All those period pieces that came out in the 90s/early 2000s. Daniel finds watching them with him insufferable because Armand sits there and picks at the inaccuracies ("Paris was hardly ever so clean, and no one wore snow white wigs in such a fashion-" "Yeah, yeah, I get it, the costumes suck, we've been over this a thousand fucking times"). But his nitpicking is just a cover to keep it from being obvious that even he is weak for a good Mr. Darcy declaration of love.

-He loves a modern retelling of a classic. Baz Lurhmann's Romeo + Juliet? He was obsessed, seeing Shakespeare molded into something which a modern audience could identify with thrilled him. 10 Things I Hate About You? Daniel spent hours listening to how it was a retelling of Taming of the Shrew. Clueless? "Daniel, did you realize this is based on a Jane Austen novel which was quite popular when it debuted-" "Armand there's literally a thousand articles on the internet pointing that out."

(Lestat joins them on modern Shakespeare nights, much to their mutual delight, and commentates through the entire film)

-He's still a sci-fi fan, he likes things that explore technology humans have yet to develop. He spent time watching Star Trek with Daniel in the 70s and got tickets to the premiere of Star Trek Beyond for him and Daniel in 2016.

-Both of them are Cronenberg weirdos, it's just facts. Videodrome? Crash? The Brood? Dead Ringers? They're into his psychosexual weirdness.

-Daniel specifically enjoys film adaptations of books, for better or worse. Kubrick's The Shining he had mixed feelings on (they changed the ending!!), Lord of the Rings he read as a child and he loved the film version. The Hobbit? Hated. Too much CGI, his vampire senses make CGI so obvious and he'll always prefer a film with practical effects. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas? Solid, very fun.

-The sap in Daniel likes movies where the protagonist falls for the monster. The Shape of Water? Edward Scissorhands? He can relate.

-Daniel also has a secret thing for watching vampire movies, the worse the better. He and Lestat had an excellent night in which they drank off some very inebriated club goers, put Twilight on at Trinity Gate and spent the night howling at vampires that sparkle in the sun.

-Pretty much he's in the same stuff as Armand, but Armand has a stronger stomach for horror than him. Put on a Junji Ito movie or something gratuitously painful like Saw and Daniel is tapping out, sorry.

(if anyone else has specific films, feel free to reblog and add them on!)

[inkblot22]

Spirit Crusher: Riddle

Okay, forgive me but I just wanted to write some good old gory death junk. This is heavily inspired by this post. This user has since changed blogs, please go follow them @lacrimariums (If you want me to untag you, please let me know.) That being said, please pay attention to the trigger list, which will be larger than usual, because this one is not a light post at all.

TW for reader death, murder, physical abuse, verbal abuse, captivity, confinement, descriptions of pain, descriptions of violence, descriptions of gore, abusive relationship dynamics, yandere, misuse of unique magic, enabling behavior if you squint. DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.

Like any other day, you wait. Riddle is fond of your patience, fonder still of your eyes lighting up once you see him. 

You've only seen him and fleeting glimpses of Trey since… Since the two of you began your courtship. You smile at the ghosts of your memories, the vague image of you and Riddle in the rose garden, in the maze, having tea.

Riddle smacking you upside the head with his canestaff in a fit of rage.

You shut your eyes and turn to look at the door as he enters. Your smile returns and you stand up, crossing the room to greet him.

"Good afternoon, housewarden."

"Yes, hello, beloved. I trust you've done what I asked of you?"

It was simple chores, organizing his closet by color and function, things such as that, so you nodded, "Of course I did. Um… Riddle-"

"You should run us a bath." He doesn't do that often, cutting into your words like that.

You nodded and tried again, "Yes, sir. But, Riddle, do you think we can go out to the garden later? I'm going crazy, cooped up in here."

His eyes narrowed on you for a moment, but he turned away, looking into his closet to inspect your organization. "Why are you still standing there? Go do what I told you to."

You swallowed and ducked your head, walking into the bathroom and turning on the water. You watch until it reaches the small scratch you discreetly placed there to measure how high the water can be before Riddle gets irritated.

The one and only time you got it wrong, he made you scrub the bathroom, ceiling to floor, with a soft-bristled toothbrush, all while wearing one of those magic collars. You felt so weak afterwards, as though it were sapping your body of life…

You turned off the water, stepping towards the doorway of the bathroom, "Riddle? What bath salts do you want today?"

Riddle was seated at his desk, looking over his assignments. He waved an uncaring hand at you, "You can choose this time."

That's never a good sign. Riddle does not enjoy your autonomy. You took a stumbling step backwards and he flicked his eyes towards you, then turned back to his work. 

The bath salts and bombs and flakes were organized by date acquired, appropriate usage, and quantity. You loved the smell of the bright red, cherry sized bath bombs, since it reminded you of going to the garden, so you picked up two of them and turned, fingertips peeling uselessly at the plastic.

"No, not those. It's a Tuesday." Riddle's voice was cold.

"I-is it?" He had that irritated look in his eyes. That wasn't a good sign. "I'm sorry, I entirely forgot. It reminds me of the garden, so-"

"You need to release this silly garden nonsense. We are not going out today."

"Please, Riddle, I haven't seen the rosebushes in so long, and I'm going insane in here."

You could see the flush of anger, starting in his cheeks and spreading outwards, "Are you implying that my company is not enough?"

This is how it always started. Your fingers shook and you fumbled one of the bath bombs, "N-not at all! I… I just wanted to spend time with y-you outside."

His eyes shut, then opened to pin you with a glare.

You dropped the other bath bomb, lips opening and closing before you tried again, "I… I've been very good. You said it yourself, this morning, that I'm doing a good job. And I never… Never ask for anything, really, so-"

You only heard the whistle of the wind between the fingers of his gloved hand before you were sprawled out. Riddle was not a large person, not in the least, but you weren't expecting him to hit you just yet. You clutched your cheek and looked up at him.

"I didn't know you were so arrogant. Just because I compliment your performance does not mean you are entitled to privileges. I will not allow this… This insubordination! I refuse to allow you to continue speaking to me as though we are equals!"

His face burned crimson, a prominent vein in his forehead standing out. You scooted backwards on the bathroom tile.

Riddle knelt, getting in your face, "I deigned to raise you up to my level, and yet you continue to break rules and-"

"I don't even know half of the rules!" You shouted, "I'm just trying to make you happy!"

Riddle jerked back as though you had struck him, then stood, hands clutching at his canestaff until he pointed at you and screamed the last words you wanted to hear him say today.

"Off with your head!" 

It always felt suffocating. Like you were trapped underwater with a felled powerline and covered in acupuncture that you did while drunk at 3am. You wailed, shock and pain turning to fury. You do not necessarily have an eager temper like Riddle does. You do get angry when it makes sense.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Your shout has a snarling edge to it, and Riddle looks taken aback.

“I figured you were smarter than that. Have I really chosen such an incompetent partner?”

“Fuck you! I didn’t even want to be your partner at first!”

You hear the sharp intake of breath, see the way he stiffens, and you see his grip tighten on his canestaff. Then it comes down on your head. You’re already down, so it just makes you try to protect where he hit you, right in the soft spot on your temple. Riddle has struck you with his canestaff before. He has always stopped as soon as he breaks or bruises skin, but this time he doesn’t stop.

Over and over, the canestaff cracks into your skull and fingers until you’re in too much pain to keep your hands over your head and in too much pain to stay fully conscious.

“How dare you?!” He screams at you, raising it once more, “I love you!”

You slip in your own blood while trying to get up and do not try again. When you speak, it sounds like you’ve just been unearthed, like your corpse is bloated and you’re speaking through mud, “You love the idea of me.”

It’s only after you pass out that Riddle registers what you said. He’s under the impression that you’ll wake up and patch yourself up. Like you usually do.

You don’t wake up. He finds you in the same place after dinner, when he brings in your plate. You’re not in his main room, so he assumes you’re pouting, which you hardly ever do, ~not since he “trained” that nasty habit out of you.~

Riddle only registers what he’s done when he sees the mess that the bathroom is in. He only realizes how big of a mistake that he’s made when he sees the red puddle that has been spreading from your temple, your skull cracked open and brain exposed, not moving like it should be.

Riddle doesn’t bother calling to see if you’re still alive. He doesn’t kneel and shake your shoulder, he doesn’t demand that you get up. He simply casts a glance at his canestaff and notices the gore dripping off of the top, screams at the top of his lungs, and vomits.

He’s got such wonderful friends. He really does. As soon as Trey hears the shriek, he comes running, assuring the other guys that he can handle whatever happened.

He can’t. Riddle is inconsolable, and you are dead. No matter how mature anyone is, no one is prepared to handle the murder of a close friend at the hands of their supposed lover.

[ashucampus]

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[cakesdown]

hey I hate to do this but I’m going to promo my doodle coms again.

I was scammed out of $36 earlier this year by an artist who has chosen to ghost their entire social media presence instead of get back to me about a commission that I paid for in January of this year. I have been pushed to the limits of my patience and with insurance bills coming up I could really use that cash right now.

So I’m promoting my ko-fi mini commissions again. My normal ones are open as well of course but these will take much less time to do and work has been sapping my energy lately for big pieces. Six doodle coms would pay it off! If you can’t help, reblogs would be super nice. Thank you!

[iviarellereads]

The Eye of the World, Chapter 46 - Fal Dara

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Dead tree icon) In which we learn that yes, the whole world's been having a hella weird winter.

The countryside is rolling, forested hills, but most of the trees are leafless. There are a few evergreens, but their needles are mostly brown. This is Shienar, one of the countries in the Borderlands. The Blight itself isn't far. Some of the trees look like they've been hit by lightning, but Lan explains the winters get so cold, sometimes the sap freezes and explodes, sounds like fireworks going off, and there were more than usual the past winter.(1)

They pass an empty farm. Egwene notes they can't have been gone long, and when Mat asks, explains that the curtains in the window are too thin for winter, they can't have been up more than a week or two. Perrin laughs at curtains, but agrees with them, there was a scythe out, with no rust on it, can't have been out more than a week or two. Rand tries not to stare at Perrin, because his eyes are (or were) sharper than Perrin's and he didn't see well enough to tell if the scythe was rusted or not. Mat says he doesn't care where they went, just that they get to a place with a fire, soon. Rand wonders *why* the farm is abandoned.

Rand tries again to get the women and Loial to stay behind in Fal Dara, and Loial gets excited about meeting the Green Man. Many of the Elders have met him, and tell such stories. Nynaeve says they're part of the Pattern too, and if you boys... you men, are willing to do whatever it takes to defeat the Dark One, then she can do no less. They're all stunned that she called them men at all.

Egwene comes up beside Rand and says quietly that she only danced with Aram, he wouldn't hold it against her, would he? He wonders why she brought it up now. He also remembers Min saying she's not for him, nor him for her, but he tells her no, of course not.(2)

They approach the Fal Dara city wall and Lan pushes down his cloak's hood, and motions to the others to do the same. It's the law in the Shienar, nobody can hide their face in a town, because Fades can't hide with their face exposed. As they enter, several call out to Lan, calling him "Dai Shan" excitedly, asking if the Golden Crane will fly again, which he doesn't really answer. However, many people are crammed into the city, and many carts piled high with furniture and miscellaneous belongings. This is where the farmers went.

A man, Ingtar, meets them in the courtyard of the fortress, and leads them to Lord Agelmar, the leader of this place. He greets Moiraine and Lan with the local language, says they must have had a long journey, and calls for rooms, baths, and such to be prepared. Moiraine says they'll stay just one night. Agelmar says they're planning a confrontation in some place called Tarwin's Gap, and they both would be more than welcome, more than helpful there. Especially if Lan would fly the Golden Crane again...

“The Seven Towers are broken,” Lan said harshly, “and Malkier is dead; the few of her people left, scattered across the face of the earth. I am a Warder, Agelmar, sworn to the Flame of Tar Valon, and I am bound into the Blight.”

Agelmar says surely a few weeks can't make a difference... Lan asks how bad it is, and it's Pretty Bad. All the Borderlands have been raided by Trollocs all winter, everyone's sure a great army is coming forth from the Blight, some are even saying the world is ending, the Dark One loose and all. He begs Lan to ride with them, to hearten the men. He and Moiraine both. They both cannot, they have their own battle to fight in the Blight.

Agelmar takes a moment to evaluate the company she's keeping, and is skeptical of their chances. Moiraine says his men would distract from their purpose. Need and intention are the key to finding the Eye of the World and the Green Man. She has been there once before (at which the Duopotamians stare at her) but there is no need greater than hers right now, and she has something that may make the difference.(3)

Rand's observations of the decor of the place (all very minimal and stark) is continued into dinner talk about "there's beauty in a single flower placed among the rocks, making the rocks more beautiful in contrast" and such. Even Lan recites some poetry.(4)

Ingtar appears and tells Agelmar that a stranger tried to get into town. He ran away when the gate guards questioned him, then was found shortly thereafter trying to scale the walls. His accent marks him from Lugard, sometimes. Agelmar excuses himself to deal with this stranger, you can't know who to trust these days, and Moiraine asks to accompany him. The whole party goes with.

It doesn't take them long to recognize Padan Fain. Rand realizes he must have been the beggar in Caemlyn, and the one who followed them through the Ways. He says that "he" made him do things, "him" with the burning eyes, and then his whole manner and accent change, and he says he's overcome by spells sometimes, don't mind him, or his clothes, he had to hide from those who mean him harm. Padan Fain is one of the disguises he's had to wear over the years, but don't be fooled, he can teach you how to defeat the Dark One, yes he can. Then he changes back to Fain, saying he wants to "be free of him".(4)

Moiraine recognizes what this is. There's no time to wait, she has to question him alone.

=====

(1) True events! The effect is very similar to a burst pipe in a home, the tree's sap mostly doesn't freeze, but the right tree type under the right conditions can explode. You see 'em a lot in places like Texas when they get those freaky cold snaps. (2) I suspect it was remembering that they're both considered old enough to marry, and probably would have been nudged into it had they stayed home much longer, since Egg had only just earned her braid. The reminder from Nynaeve that the lads are men, and Egg wanting some security since all their lives have been royally upturned in the last month or two. (3) The Borderlands, and Shienar in particular, are heavily inspired by Asian folklore and tropes. Even the language has echoes of Japanese throughout it, and the whole poetry over one flower in a stone yard thing makes it pretty clear. (4) What's happened to Fain?

[night-market-if]

Hi! I'm newly obsessed with your amazing IF and in awe of your skill creating compelling, three-dimensional characters that have me rooting for them all.

Just did another replay on Milo's path and after chapter 11, I just want to hug him and protect him from the world. Cannot imagine what he has been going through and really just want to tell him it's ok and we'll get through everything together. Am I a complete sap? Definitely! but his desperation and fear really broke my heart. Mal is so right, Milo is extremely easy to love, but it's nearly impossible to get him to love himself. 😭

That scene in Chapter Eleven, where you look back on Milo's past, was heartbreaking to write. It of course does not excuse his actions now, but I felt like it was important for the readers to have a little more insight into where he came from. The types of things he experienced. I also felt it highlighted how him and Mal were far more than the stories we had heard of them to that point.

And it's okay. You can be a sap. I actually think there are a few ways you are going to be able to think about what he has done/does and so I am very interested to see everyones take on him post chapter twelve.

🪷✨🪷✨ If you want to support me 🪷 ✨🪷✨ 

Demo 🌿 Patreon 🌿 Ko-fi 🌿Discord

[welcome-to-oslov]

Thinking of/missing Tilrey, and this time of year made me wonder: does Oslov culture have holidays? Or religion/spirituality? Seems like no, but just curious!

I appreciate how Tilrey lives a bit by a code of being a good person (for ex. he was so uncomfortable/hesitant about recruiting a replacement, how he treated that sort-of doppelganger actor kindly, etc.), though of course that kinda of thing can totally exist side-by-side with atheism. Seems the high-class folks mainly worship those quant scores...?

Good question! I had to go into the archives for this one because it’s mentioned so rarely.

Officially, Oslov has no religion, but there are traditions left over from Feudalism, like saying “May their last moment be bright” about a dead person. Feudals believed that your last moment on earth becomes your after-life. Feudals also had myths about owls and believed they gave sap to human beings and it was a sacred substance for ritual, rather than a recreational drug. Niko Karishkov went undercover with some Thurskein Laborers who still believed this.

There is a secular solstice festival, and Thurskein has many additional winter festivals, some of which might have Feudal roots—we hear about that in “Crosscurrents and Consequences” when Vera goes there and has culture shock.

Many Laborers still have old religious beliefs that the government doesn’t sanction. Here’s the main passage about that, from “I’ll Be Watching You”:

“On the dingy-white drywall to his right, someone had stenciled an icon: a stylized yellow lightning-bolt enhanced with glitter. The Spark, the life giver. Bors had seen it often on walls in the neighborhood where he grew up, along with its companions, the Fruit and the Signal (or the Radiance, as some people called it). Maintenance crews scrubbed them off or painted over them, but they always reappeared.

His mother used to press her index finger to the Spark for good luck. Bors himself had done it a few times before big tests at school. Now, as an Upstart, he was ashamed of such superstitions; everyone knew the icons originated in the decadence of the Tangle and not in some magical past. The Spark had once signified electric power, nothing more or less.

He watched as pilots heading back out to the hangar paused to touch the icon with their fingers or thumbs. Did they really think the Spark would keep their battery-powered planes safely in the air, or was it just a reflex?”

This is also me being a little corny because the “spark” is the standard electricity icon, the “fruit” is the Apple logo, and the “radiance” is the Wi-Fi icon. 😏 I like the idea of them gaining religious significance in a post-collapse world (which is what Oslov emerged from).

Oh, and I have a chapter close to ready, but other stuff came up. Soon, I hope! ❤️

[sap23center]

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[chenziee]

More than a battleship

For Law's birthday, I present to you: cheese.

I actually posted this (sort of) on time for his birthday on AO3 but I was waiting to actually proof it before posting here xD I'm not a total disappointment to myself hahahaha

Happy birthday, Law! Luffy loves you and I do too 🖤❤

[ Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi ]

----------

Law didn’t particularly care about his birthday. Maybe once, a long time ago, when his parents and Lammy would throw him small birthday parties while being much more excited about it than Law himself… maybe back then he did care.

But at 26 years old he was ready to admit he would really rather do anything other than be forced to sit awkwardly at a table while people sang a stupid song and congratulated him for being one year closer to death. Telling him to blow out candles on cakes that he wasn’t even going to eat. Giving him stupid gifts that he did not want and being obligated to act like he liked them.

His crew was forced to understand and accept that about him early on and they soon settled for a comfortable middle ground of a fancier-than-usual dinner and Law pretending he’s not noticing the books, collector coins, and small stuffed animals of all things mysteriously appearing in his room all throughout the day.

That was how his birthday was supposed to go this year as well.

Key word: supposed to.

“Torao!! We’re here!”

But Law really wasn’t counting on Straw Hat and his crew of idiots to somehow—likely courtesy of Penguin and his inability to keep a secret—catch wind of the news of his upcoming birthday. And he certainly wasn’t counting on them changing their own course, basically turning the Thousand Sunny around to instead follow Law’s vivre card all the way to the middle of the fucking ocean.

He would never understand what was wrong with these people.

“Oh, there you are!”

Law sighed when Straw Hat’s head popped into his room through the open door, that stupid bright grin of his firmly in place on his face when he strode in like owned the place. Seriously…

Law wasn’t sure why he was even surprised at this point.

“Straw Hat-ya,” Law said, slamming the book he was reading shut to instead look at the man who was currently jumping on his bed. 

The very same bed that Law was currently sitting in.

Straw Hat snickered when he landed on the soft covers—and right on top of Law’s knees. He didn’t pay any attention to Law’s wince or his annoyed glare; instead, he beamed up at Law, his big expressive eyes blinking up at him innocently.

“Torao~” he sang. “I missed you!”

“We saw each other last week,” Law stated matter-of-factly.

“Still!” Straw Hat insisted, a pout on his lips. 

It didn’t last long though, his lips soon stretching into an easy smile once more as he shuffled forward, crawling over Law’s legs and up on the bed until he was close enough to press a loud kiss to Law’s cheek.

The corner of Law’s lips twitched upwards as he raised one of his hands, his fingers stroking Luffy’s cheek gently to guide him closer, until their lips connected in a proper kiss.

 “Why didn’t you tell me it was going to be your birthday?” Luffy asked quietly once they separated.

“Because it doesn’t matter.” Law sighed, rolling his eyes for good measure as he relaxed against the headboard.

Straw Hat was quiet for a moment while he regarded Law—staring at his face, searching his eyes for something… until he shrugged, turning around to flop against the headboard next to Law, his head coming to rest on Law’s shoulder where he leaned against his boyfriend. “Your loss. I’m taking your portion of Sanji’s desserts.”

“Suit yourself,” Law replied, huffing in amusement. It wasn’t like Law was a huge fan of sweets anyway—although he had to admit Black Leg’s cooking was amazing…

Oh well.

He could live without those entirely too fancy mini-cakes—or whatever they were planning to make—just this once. Especially if he was going to get a smile this wide, this blinding in return.

…He really was turning into a sap.

How embarrassing.

Closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Straw Hat’s face anymore, Law let his head fall back to rest against the wall, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t help but remember the last time someone accepted his utter lack of care for this day without question or trying to argue. 

Fourteen years.

Fourteen years ago today, Cora-san shook his head and laughed. He had simply ruffled Law’s hair with a smile, then went on with his day—except the day was not spent planning another pointless hospital trip. Instead, Cora-san had taken Law to a nearby town, making sure he spent as much time with Law as he could; taking him for lunch and shopping, all of which the navy had unknowingly paid for. Or maybe Doflamingo had. Law didn’t know, didn’t ask, and didn’t care.

He still had the anatomical heart keychain he found on his pillow the next day.

Law was brought back to the present when Luffy suddenly sat up, digging his elbow deep into Law’s side in the process. 

“I nearly forgot!” Straw Hat said before he stretched one of his arms to reach the foot of the bed. Law hadn’t even noticed the small bag that was lying there—he could only assume Luffy had carelessly tossed it aside when he threw himself on the bed earlier.

Law watched on without a word while Luffy’s arm snapped back to place, the item he was searching for now in his grasp. It didn’t even take a second for the careful paper wrapping to be unceremoniously ripped off to reveal… a book?

“I didn’t take you for a book person,” Law noted with amusement.

“Hey, I could read if I wanted to!” Luffy said defiantly, shooting Law an unhappy look.

“I’m sure you could,” Law replied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his lips.

“Torao, don’t be mean,” Straw Hat whined. “It’s not my fault reading is boring. Though I do kinda wanna read this, I can see why you like it. It looks pretty fun.” He was now looking at the book with interest, flipping through the pages easily—sometimes stopping to look at a page, sometimes even going back to check something that had caught his eye.

It was… a curious sight. Law honestly never expected Luffy to look so engaged with a book even while simply giving it a quick look, much less a book that he claimed Law liked. All the books Law read and liked were either medical ones or novels with a lot of pages and small print. In other words, books that someone like Luffy, who didn’t care even for newspaper articles that didn’t involve anyone he knew, likely wouldn’t even attempt to start before declaring them boring.

“So, what is it?” Law asked after a while, when it looked like Luffy was about to flip to the very first page to actually start reading for real.

Luffy froze at his words, blinking once, twice, before he turned to stare at Law. It took a few seconds for his hand to come up to slap at his forehead while his face scrunched up into an adorable expression. “Shit, sorry. I got into it,” he apologised sheepishly, making Law’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s for you, actually.”

Law frowned. “Why?”

“Because! Look!” Luffy said instead of actually replying. His eyes were full of excited sparks when he turned to Law, shoving the book so far in his face that Law couldn’t make anything out except… colours.

“You know people can’t see what you’re showing them if you go and poke their eyes out with it, right?” Law asked.

A snicker was his only response. He wasn’t expecting anything less.

Huffing in amusement, Law grabbed for the book… then immediately froze when he recognised the colourful script of the title, as well as the figure of a hero with his faithful seagull and robot side-kick. He studied the letters, the faces, his fingers gently running over the crisp cover. With the pages slightly yellowed, it was obvious the book was quite old—even without knowing it came out over 20 years ago—and yet, it was in pristine condition; never read, likely never even opened before now.

Law felt like he was looking at a miracle.

His heart was beating fast and he was sure his eyes were comically wide when they slowly rose up from the very first volume of Sora, Warrior of the Sea to look at Luffy.

“Glad you like it,” Luffy laughed when he saw the look Law was giving him.

Law only clicked his tongue and looked away. “I’m a bit old for comics, Straw Hat-ya.”

“Says who?” Luffy asked as he tilted his head to the side in genuine confusion.

Law didn’t have an answer.

And so, he simply looked back at the comic book in his hands, gingerly opening it to flip through just like Luffy had earlier. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled on his lips when a wave of nostalgia hit him at the sight of the familiar art, familiar characters, familiar scenes. He had nearly forgotten some of them but a single glance had it all coming back—the banter, the fights, the cool weapons…

It was only when he got to the very last page that he noticed something more.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, not even hiding his awe. “It’s the first edition.”

Law didn’t tear his eyes away from the page and yet, he could feel Luffy’s wide smile and warm gaze anyway. It took a second for him to reply, his voice soft and barely above whisper. “Sanji said you liked it so I asked him about it and he said his family got copies. I asked his sister if she still has them.”

“You do realise Nami-ya would kill me for this, right? This thing is probably worth a few hundred thousand beri. Or more.”

Now it was Luffy’s turn for his eyes to widen. “For a comic book?!”

Law hummed. “It’s the first volume, first edition, unused, in pristine condition,” he said matter-of-factly even though he knew it probably wouldn’t make any sense to Luffy. “If we could prove the real Germa 66 owned it, add a few more zeroes on top of that.”

Luffy gulped loudly when Law finished, his gaze dropping to stare at the innocent looking item in Law’s lap. “Let’s not tell her.” 

There was finality and such fear in his voice that Law couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Straw Hat to carelessly throw around things worth more than an entire battleship. Or five, if they threw in a photo of Stealth Black.

Too bad Black Leg had destroyed the raid suit.

Although… Law had to silently admit he might not have been able to part with this even so.

“In any case, I’m really happy you like it,” Luffy said as he turned over on the bed, ending up basically lying on top of Law. Blinking up at him with those large, honest eyes. “Happy… not-birthday?” he added then, his words sounding uncertain but accompanied by that wide, impossibly bright grin of his and Law—

Laughed.

The sound bubbled out of his chest so easily, so naturally, that Law had to wonder where it was even coming from. He didn’t remember the last time he laughed this way.

But… looking at Luffy, at the light dusting of a blush on his cheeks, at the stars dancing in his eyes, at the way his breath visibly hitched… 

Maybe he should let himself laugh this freely more.

A smile still playing on his lips, Law reached out, letting his fingers gently touch Luffy’s cheek—letting them slide over his soft skin until they buried in that soft hair, tilting his face slightly upwards. Their eyes met and Law felt like he was drowning in those dark, soft brown eyes. In that gaze that made him feel so safe, so warm, so loved… that it was almost impossible to bear.

Impossible to bear, yet impossible to live without; like a moth to flame, Law was sinking deeper and deeper by the second into the feelings this man, this absolute menace was stirring inside him with every kiss, with every shared moment, with every breath.

And the moment their lips connected once more, the simple, soft touch sending shivers down Law’s spine, he thought…

Maybe it was fine to let himself sink, just for today.

It was his birthday, after all.

[mariacallous]

PENRITH, England—A man in overalls whitewashes the front window of yet another shop closing on the city’s main street. Families stockpile blankets to ward off the cold as they sit shivering in their homes with no heating while lines of people who cannot afford to feed their children form at the local food bank. Bars shut their doors early, and some days, they don’t even open at all.

I’m not in Ukraine, where I’ve spent the last year reporting on the devastation caused by Russia’s war. This is life in broken Britain, a quagmire of misery and problems, where even February’s weather is predicted to be colder and glummer than usual.

In Penrith, a Conservative Party-supporting town in the far north of England, most of the shops now close their doors at 4 p.m. and don’t even bother opening three or four days a week. A popular pub—the third in recent months—and a local grocer have announced they are closing after 25 years and 18 years, respectively. Even a local store that sells cut-price clothing, which is (in fact) stock from insolvent chain stores, is closing due to a 50 percent slump in sales.

For the first time in my life, supermarket shelves sit empty due to supply chain problems. There is an egg shortage, a potato shortage, and a shortage of Wi-Fi bars; working in war-torn Ukraine is easier and more comfortable (missiles aside) than trying to do the same in peace-shattered Penrith. Britain’s troubles are legion: the fallout from COVID-19, high inflation, an energy crisis, a cost of living crisis, transport and health sector strikes, food shortages, rising poverty and inequality, the first war in Europe in a generation, and a possible recession. If the winter of discontent does sequels, we’re in it. Chief among all the culprits is the destructive effect of Brexit and bad governance.

Brexiteers promised the country would “take back control.” Instead, it is on course to be the world’s worst-performing big economy this year, according to the International Monetary Fund. It is predicted to be the only major economy to hit a recession in 2023, lagging even behind war-busy and sanctions-hit Russia.

As the third anniversary of Britain’s formal withdrawal from the European Union lands, many people are asking what, exactly, have they gotten control of? Brexit has added red tape and increased costs for both U.K. businesses and the foreign companies that once used Britain as a European base. It has stifled imports and exports as well as sapped investment. It has contributed to both labor shortages and problematic inflation. The U.K.’s Office for Budget Responsibility expected long-term GDP to drop 4 percent because of Brexit—or 100 billion pounds ($124 billion) in lost output and 40 billion pounds ($49 billion) in lost public revenues every year.

London has been one of the world’s biggest financial centers for a couple of centuries and was the largest financial hub in Europe. Brexit prompted finance professionals to relocate to Paris (among other continental destinations), and now the “City of Light” is challenging London. Foreign direct investment in the U.K. has dropped by 4 percent from 2010 to 1.7 percent in 2021. According to a report by the London School of Economics and Political Science, households are paying the brunt of the long-term costs of Brexit. Food bills rose by 210 pounds ($259) on average between 2019 and the end of 2021, costing consumers 5.8 billion pounds ($7 billion) and disproportionately affecting those on a low income. Meanwhile, Scotland, which has been in a union with England since 1707, is pursuing a second independence referendum: 62 percent of its voters wanted to remain in the European Union.

In 2016, 52 percent of Britons voted for Brexit. Buyer’s remorse has set in—belatedly. A recent YouGov poll found that, when asked if it was right to leave the EU, only 34 percent of respondents said yes and 54 percent said no. Yet the government, the same one that is mired in repeated sex and corruption scandals and has had five leaders in six years, maintains its smoke and mirrors stance that Brexit is the path to growth. Last week, Chancellor of the Exchequer Jeremy Hunt—who in fact campaigned for Remain during the referendum—unveiled a plan to get the country back on its feet, saying “Our plan for growth is necessitated, energized, and made possible by Brexit.” Made necessary, at any event. Both the government and the opposition Labour Party refuse to publicly acknowledge the negative effects of Britain’s departure on the economy.

Almost 50 shops closed down every day across the country last year, and the forecast for 2023 is equally bleak. Brexit has left the country with a labor shortfall of 330,000 people, mostly in jobs like transport, storage, hospitality, and retail. Pubs, the stalwart of British society, are increasingly under threat. Tim Martin, owner of the popular low-cost pub chain Wetherspoons, was among the hardest campaigners for Brexit. Now, as he shuts 32 of his pubs, he is urging the government to increase EU migration. It’s beyond irony and into farce.

The Penrith area voted more decisively for Brexit than most of the country, with 53 percent in favor, but now 88 percent of local businesses say they have staffing shortages, according to local media. Bar staff told Foreign Policy that British people no longer want to work in hospitality due to long hours and low pay—and because COVID-19 closures pushed many people to find a new line of work. The problems are not helped by spiraling energy costs—a Penrith Mexican restaurant was quoted at having a 1,000 percent rise in its energy bill by providers at the beginning of winter.

After spending almost a decade abroad, the stark decline of my country is shocking, even after my time in Ukraine. I am typing this wrapped in cardigans and blankets, as it costs 10 pounds ($12.30) to turn the heating on for a few hours at home. People are increasingly turning to food banks amid stagnant wages and rising prices while rail, post, and national health service workers are all implementing rolling strikes. Waiting times even for emergency hospital patients can be longer than 12 hours, and travel is now so expensive that a round-trip bus ticket to nearby market town Keswick, just around 40 minutes away, costs 24 pounds—while the minimum wage is around 10 pounds an hour.

It wasn’t Brexit alone that broke Britain, but facing what by some accounts is the worst decline in living standards in a century, it’s clear Britons could have done without it. It remains to be seen how leaving the EU plays out in the long run, but for now, people are poorer and more miserable, and the country is more isolated. Philosopher Thomas Hobbes was right in the end: Lives are solitary and poor and nasty, if not quite brutish and short. The British can overcome outrages done by foreigners—there’ve been enough of them—but the worst part of all is that we did this to ourselves.