#Someplace is surely higher than this place

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Dark! Yandere! Leon Kennedy Headcanons

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Possessive Behaviour, Obsessive Behaviour, Mention of Plotting, Mentions of Smut, Non-Explicit Depictions of Smut, Mention of Dirty Talk, Mention of Overstimulation, Mention of Choking, Mention of Power Imbalance, Mention of Manhandling, Mention of Aftercare, Dominant! Leon, Rough Leon, Feral Leon, Paranoid Leon, Leon just wants Validation <3, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You'.

SFW

Possessive doesn’t even begin to describe how Leon acts around you.

Territorial may be how you describe him to your friends – a compliment, really.

But the fact that he never lets you out of his sight and worries about you whenever you’re not in his immediate vicinity is…telling, to say the least.

Calls you every 30 minutes on the rare occasion that you’re not together.

“Are you okay ?”, “Are you hurt ?”, “Do you need me to come over ?”

Paranoid aaah Leon.

But he means well – you know that much.

Once, you joked that the two of you “Might as well move in together if we’re going to talk this much !”

And that started putting ideas in Leon’s head.

He does have the notion of staging a break-in at your current home address so that you’ll feel unsafe and be more likely to move in with him.

But he doesn’t want you being traumatised like he is. Not by his hand.

But can you blame his rather questionable behaviour ?

After everything he went through in RE2 and RE4, you’d have been surprised if he didn’t turn out the way he had.

Despite all that, he’s a good boyfriend :>

Does anything and everything you ask him to, without question.

Scarily loyal.

And he expects you to be the same.

That being said, he doesn’t get jealous, as such.

Rather, he believes that the guy who’s been glancing at you every minute or so is planning on attacking you.

Not on Leon’s watch.

Scary dog privilege. Though your ‘scary dog’ is rather pretty; he just has an intimidating glare and figure.

Due to this paranoia and constant anxiety about your health and wellbeing, Yandere! Leon prefers an S/O who’s reclusive, one that doesn’t venture beyond their home very often.

It makes it easier for him to survey you, makes him feel more at ease knowing that you’re tucked away someplace safe.

Well, not entirely safe. Leon firmly believes that you can never be entirely avoidant of disaster unless you’re with him 24/7.

Not sure if you’ve noticed, but Leon has a *sliiight* saviour complex.

He wants to feel strong and dependable – to counteract all that the events of RE2 forced him to feel.

While this manifests in his wild daydreams about saving you from some undead horror straight out of a zombie movie (or real life, in Leon’s case), this manifests in more subtle situations in your day-to-day life.

He’ll open a jar for you, or reach something off the top shelf (regardless of whether you can reach it or not).

Don’t ask how he knew you were going to have trouble opening that particular jar, or that you wouldn’t reach your favourite mug that was placed a few shelves higher than it was yesterday.

It makes his chest swell with pride and strokes his ego.

But, as much as Leon likes it when you’re dependent on him, he does want you to have a fighting chance if the unthinkable should happen – that he’s not around to save you.

He tries teaching you self-defence, which, while you appreciate the thought, you tell him is unnecessary.

Yes, you know (vaguely) about what happened during Leon’s missions (though he is typically quite scant on the specifics, not wanting to worry you or drive you from him, as selfish as he believes that desire is).

But when you tell him that “I don’t need to know self-defence,” and Leon, cautious, asks ‘why ?’ you hit him with an answer far better than anything he’s fantasised about. And trust when I say that Leon has fantasised about you. A lot.

“Because I have you to protect me !”

As well-intentioned and innocent as your statement is, something within Leon breaks. Snaps.

NSFW

He has you under him quicker than you can blink.

His territorial, possessive nature filters through into the way he claims you – marks you.

He doesn’t bite you, though.

Years of trauma with the snapping jaws of zombies has put him off the idea.

But he sucks bruises into your skin, goes harder than intended when he turns feral, gripping your thighs, your arms, your sides – anything accessible to him.

And though he tries his best never to hurt you, he does end up losing himself whenever he gets like this.

Not that you mind.

His lips dip beside your head, and you can hear him say “You’re mine. All mine,” as he holds your body hostage.

He has a lot of endurance and an abundance of excess energy (usually emotional), so he ends up overstimulating you a good deal of the time.

Just pounding into you long after you’ve finished, his face buried into your neck, breathing becoming uneven as he works another euphoric release out of the both of you.

Say his name and he’ll go wild.

“Say it again,” he pants, his chest to yours as he takes you. “Tell me I’m the only one who can protect you – the only one who– aah! –you love–”

I understand why people say Leon’s a switch with bottom lean, but consider that time in RE4 when he said that “Following a lady’s lead just isn’t my style,”

You can’t say that there isn’t at least a remnant of top energy in there.

Hence, Leon – at the very least Yandere! Leon – can be quite…dominant.

As evidenced above.

Also evidenced by the fact that he gets off on the fact you’re weaker or smaller than him.

Doesn’t matter how tall you are, how much muscle you have; Leon is stronger both mentally and physically.

Though, this is somewhat of a guilty pleasure. But he has no problem letting you know what he’s thinking.

“God, you’re so weak,” he says, voice straining with his release hanging over him.

“Say it – say you need me; that I’m the only one who can take care of you, who can make you cry like this,”

Maybe he grabs you by the throat. Maybe he chokes you a little when you’re taking too long to answer.

But, regardless of how rough he can get, Leon is a certified King of Aftercare™.

Feels absolutely abysmal if he thinks he’s hurt you, or pushed you too far.

And your part of the aftercare is purely emotional. You have to convince him that you’re fine, you’re happy. And maybe enjoyed being manhandled a little…

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[kyasarinkishinuma]

Rumours

Summary: The new merc in town's been dropping by Reader's café lately, and she can't help but wonder if the food is all he comes back for.

Pairing: Cloud Strife x Reader

Themes: Fluff, café setting

AO3 link

“Today’s special, please.”

There he was again. That stoic merc everyone in town had been talking about lately. Rumour says he was a rather unsociable man, but… 

He came to your café once, and had been coming back since. Once a week, Thursdays, 2pm flat. Every single time.

And for a guy who had such an intimidating reputation… Well. He surprised you with his politeness every time he came in.

“Coming right up. Take a seat.” Bowing respectfully, you retreated within the confines of the kitchen to cook up Cloud Strife’s meal. Today? Spaghetti with garlic bread. Simple, but comforting. Your homemade food was what your regulars coming back weekly. Or at least that’s how it had been before.

“Thank you for waiting.” Within a few minutes you came back to your sole customer of the day. He had taken a seat by one of the three round tables sitting outside the abandoned wagon you had sought refuge in lately. Not as charming as those higher-class cafés and restaurants, that’s for sure. Business… had been rough lately. Yet the mercenary gratefully accepted the meal, mumbling a polite ‘thank you’ before he picked up his utensils, seeming to hesitate in your presence. You smiled warmly.

“Dig in.”

That’s all it took. The switch was immediate, from polite and poised to absolutely famished. It was funny. Endearing, even. Every time the blonde had come into your café, he ate like it was his first meal in days.

“More, please.” 

And with his manners? Almost boyish, the way he’d stare at you expectantly with his hand outstretched as he gave his emptied plate back for another serving.

“I got you covered.” 

Back into the kitchen you went, and back you came with another healthy heapful of spaghetti for the man. Cloud never had much to say, so you usually did most of the talking when he’d drop by. He didn’t seem to mind it. Never really gave any elaborate answers to your small talk, but you didn’t mind it either. Sometimes people just need a break and some good food.

“When’s the last time you ate?” You asked by the time Cloud was on his third plate, and finally starting to slow down a bit. It was almost fascinating, to watch him wolf it all down like it was nothing. And deep down, you didn’t really judge. He didn’t seem the type to have a loving family and warm food to come home to.

The man paused. “This morning,” he answered after a moment, before going back to eating. You raised both brows at that, a hint of amusement gracing your smile.

“And you’re this hungry?” 

Strife shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“Is it a SOLDIER thing?”

Cloud stopped eating then, and you found yourself regretting those words. Had they been a bit too bold? Of course most knew about the merc’s former association to Shinra. Whether the rumours were founded in truth or not didn’t matter when the glowing eyes gave it away. You had been about to apologize and to excuse yourself when the man turned his gaze to you, freezing you in place. Those mako eyes… Not annoyed. Calm. Thoughtful. They swept over your surroundings then, the dirt and grime of the Midgar slums.

“Your café hasn’t always been like this, has it?” The man spoke out of the blue, taking you by surprise. He seemed to take your stunned silence as an invitation to continue. “You’re a lot better at this than the other locals. You worked someplace big?”

You could only stare at the sudden bombardment of… Compliments? Were these compliments, coming from a man who fought monsters straight from your nightmares for a living? Finding him staring back expectantly… You could only assume he was being genuine about this. Or perhaps he simply wasn’t realizing the nature of what he had just said.

You nodded then, finally getting your voice back. “Yeah. I used to own a café in Sector 1 before the Mako Reactor blew. My home was destroyed, so I had to move.”

It was Cloud’s turn to be silent, blinking a bit as he processed the information. His emptied plate seemed to have long been forgotten now, the fork sitting idly next to it.

“Sorry about your home,” he spoke after a moment, turning his gaze back to the plate in front of him. You simply showed a smile, genuine and grateful.

“That means a lot.” A pause. “So… Are you still hungry?”

“What’s that damn merc up to anyway?! We told him the meeting was at 3 tops!”

Seventh Heaven was in chaos as always, with the members of AVALANCHE running around in disarray as Marlene chased after them, giggling excitedly. Tifa? Unfazed through it all, showing her impatient friend a smile from behind her counter as she prepared him a drink to calm his nerves. But… Barret was right. Where was Cloud?

“If he’s not here now, I don’t think he’s coming.” Tifa hesitated to speak the words, out of fear that Barret would just explode. Truth be told, though, they needed not be spoken at all. It was a blatant fact. Cloud… was a difficult guy to grasp. And he didn’t seem to care too much about this AVALANCHE stuff.

“Damn spikyheaded ass! I’ll show him!!” Barret’s outburst was almost comedic as he stomped around on his seat, waving his hands around. But even he seemed to come to terms with the situation as he calmed down, heaving a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms and slumped onto his seat. No point in getting so worked up over it. “Y’don’t suppose he’s at that café again?”

“Thanks for the meal.” Cloud always left so soon. He never really stayed for the small talk like most of your regulars had before the bombing of Mako Reactor 1. You never asked him to stay, though, simply showing him a smile as you got his cheque ready for him. But today… You did want to ask him one thing, before he left.

“Cloud.” He hummed, head snapping up at attention to meet your gaze as you spoke his name. “Why… do you come here? Why come here when there’s all those other big, nice cafés in the sector?”

The man furrowed his brows then, his gaze falling to the side as he shrugged. “I like your food.”

You frowned a bit then, watching him attentively. That couldn’t be all of it. You… felt it. There was something more. Was he hiding something?

“I’ve heard rumours…” You felt your heart race in your chest as you gathered the courage to address the question that had been burning in your mind since the first time he had returned for ‘today’s special’. “That… You don’t come here just for the food.”

“Why would he go there when he can have free food here?! It’s part of his damn pay! That guy don’t know how to show some damn gratitude!”

Tifa couldn’t hold back a chuckle as she watched Barret get riled up all over again, swinging his arms around. Even though Barret had a point, and it stung her heart that her childhood friend avoided spending any more time than necessary with AVALANCHE… Tifa was starting to think she may understand Cloud’s motives a bit better.

“I think… It just helps him to have someone who doesn’t expect anything from him.”

No favours, no battles. Just a warm meal and a ‘thanks’.

“...Maybe I don’t.”

Cloud’s answer came in the end. He stood then, your shocked eyes burning into his face as he slung his sword over his back and dropped a generous portion of Gil onto the table.

“Keep the change. I’ll see you next week?”

You found yourself unable to answer, cheeks burning in the slightest as you watched him stalk off back the way he came in that calm, unfazed way of his.

But when he had gotten up to leave…

You could’ve sworn you saw him smile.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy happy birthday 🎂🎉🥳 Are you still doing the “cursed identity porn” au where LWJ can’t really see the Yiling Patriarch (because the mask?), but still tries to settle into being married to him? (Or JC traveling back in time?) Thanks!

a continuation of 1

“Where do you want the talisman?”

Lan Wangji looks up from checking over his pack one last time to see his husband in his doorway. He lifts an eyebrow.

“I’m going to be wearing the mask but there’s no reason for the enchantment to affect you,” Wei Wuxian says. “You already know what I look like. I have to paint it somewhere on your body – preferably someplace there’s no chance of anyone else seeing.”

Ah. That explains why Wen Qing have never seemed to have the same problems looking at Wei Wuxian that everyone else did during the war.

Lan Wangji considers several locations before untying his belt and shrugging off several layers of robes, letting them pool at his elbows and leaving his chest bare. “Wherever you think is best.”

Wei Wuxian hasn’t so much as given him a covetous glance since their marriage. Lan Wangji can endure it, if he must, endure the lack of his husband’s affection and even endure the way he seems so willing to share it with others. He does not have the soft, delicate features and willowy body of Wen Ning, Meng Yao, or Jiang Yanli. But if nothing else, his place as the number two most eligible male cultivator means that he’s not without his charms.

If he is completely outside of his husband’s tastes, it’s best that he knows that now.

He braces himself for indifference, keeping his expression bland to ensure that Wei Wuxian can’t see how surely it’ll crush him.

“Oh! Uh, um, sure, great,” Wei Wuxian says, voice at least two pitches higher than it is normally as his eyes dart up then down several times, blood rushing to his cheeks and painting them scarlet.

Lan Wangji stares. He has seen Wei Wuxian walk across a battlefield and stare down sect leaders and be harassed by a dozen uncles at once and surrounded by three screaming children and never has he seemed as out of sorts as he does right now.

He lifts up the brush and hesitates. “Is it okay – do you mind if I, is this okay?”

“Yes. You can touch me anywhere,” he says.

Wei Wuxian freezes, blinking rapidly before he swallows. “Oh. Kay.”

This is the best day of Lan Wangji’s life.

His husband steps closer, curling one hand around his bare shoulder to keep him steady and using the other to make small, sure brush strokes against the skin of his left side of his chest, right above his heart. He likes the symbolism. He also likes how Wei Wuxian’s blush doesn’t fade at all.

“There,” he says a few moments later. “Just give it time to dry and it should be fine for a week or so, then I’ll have to reapply. “

“Thank you,” he says, quirking his lips up at the corners when Wei Wuxian finally manages to look him in the eye

His returning grin is blinding. His eyes fall lower twice more before he leaves and Lan Wangji feels the low hum of satisfaction down his spine that he normally only gets from a particularly difficult spar.

His husband is capable of finding him attractive.

He just has to somehow encourage this behavior.

Twenty minutes later Meng Yao sticks his head into his room and demands, “What did you do to him?”

Lan Wangji pauses. Is he upset that he’s gotten Wei Wuxian’s attention? He never seems to mind Wen Ning, but perhaps that arrangement has already been settled between them and he sees Lan Wangji as an intrusion, regardless of his status.

“This is hilarious. Whatever it was, do it again,” he orders before continuing his way down the hall.

With pleasure.

[luneariaa]

✧ in piscinam.

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : claudio serafino x fem! reader.

✰ 𝐰. 𝐜. : 1k+

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : claudio sees you within the cool waters of the pool, before deciding to approach you and make his presence known.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : reader is wearing a dress ( mentioned ), claudio might be ooc, pretty much a self-indulgent fic. also very fluffy <33

✰ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : my very first attempt on writing for him, and the ideas have been brainrotting in my mind for weeks 😭💙 so i just knew that i had to actually post this one out.

. dividers by @/saradika-graphics !! 💫

The light taps of your shoes filled the silent hallways, stepping against the perfectly marbled floors with such ease within the private sanctuary within Italy– the Duomo di Sirio, as it was known to some others. You are also recognized to be in a quite higher position than others as well, just below CLAUDIO SERAFINO himself, as you are his personal confidante. One of his most trusted person, as far as he’s aware.

Not a single soul in sight, so you have decided to take a quick dip within the clear waters of the pool nearby, just to try to cool yourself off due to the warm weather. Claudio wasn’t around as well, since the last time you checked his schedule, he had some important errands to tend to.

Eventually arriving at the intended location, you take one last look around you, just to make sure that no one is present– gradually letting your dress fall onto the hard ground without any sound and changing it to a transparent one, before immediately letting yourself sink within the cool waters below.

Today seemed strangely quiet. For Claudio, at least. He was expecting any sort of greeting from you once he arrived not too long ago, but instead, he finds himself searching for your whereabouts around the place. 

Several thoughts are running through his mind, and yet, none of them have made any proper thoughts due to how messy it currently is. His steps are quite heavy, yet cautious as to not attract any attention somehow. These past few months have been admittedly stressful for him, and it has tested some bits of his patience in ways unimaginable.

It didn’t take him long enough to halt on his tracks, spotting a rather familiar someone by the clear waters. It’s pretty unexpected to see someone taking a dip at this time of the day, yet he couldn’t even blame the said person, as the weather outside has been nothing but merciless to them.

He leaned himself over the edge someplace almost hidden, not wanting his presence to be acknowledged just yet as he rests his arms atop of it. His slate blue eyes are quite sharp and observant, clearly now having different thoughts as he sees the person in the pool, yet none of them has any.. Unholy intentions, dare he say, but rather, one gaze that is filled with pure adoration and silent amazement. 

The sunbeams from above seemed to have touched your face perfectly, which made your expression to appear more serene in a way. Your now wet hair flows down so beautifully, as if you originally belonged in a portrait that’s being highly revered and taken care of– or that’s how he told himself to be, at least.

His thoughts never lied to him, because why would he?

Claudio begins to feel some sort of a strange sensation within his heart– has he been living in a certain darkness for all this time? His throat feels dry, his mind goes hazy for a while there. He has always been a man who's focused solely with his own assigned duties naturally; all the while, trying to avoid any potential distractions within his line of work.

But the sight he’s witnessing right now made him really think deeply. Has he never seen you being all relaxed and ethereal like this? You did it all so effortlessly, which made him possibly be baffled with his own actions if you ever caught him watching you like this.

Without moving away from the spot just yet, the Italian exorcist moves his hand in a smooth fashion– creating something rather unexpected, yet beautiful for anyone who’s able to see it. A small, blue butterfly begins to emerge out of nowhere; glowing vibrantly as it follows the magic flow from his hand, flying discreetly towards where you are. 

The seemingly glowing butterfly gracefully glides across your features, immediately catching your attention as he intended. He watched, as it landed just on your cheek nicely, making you look even more divine from his perspective. It compliments your features so well, which makes his heart swell. 

Claudio has not experienced these types of feelings for a long time now, and he wants– no, needs to keep feeling it deeply within his heart, if he were so bold to say. A warm, genuine smile made its way to his handsome face, wanting to let the scene unfolding ahead of him to be engraved within his memories alone.

The way you smiled as the butterfly flew around you– it is something that he didn’t want to ever forget. Sure, you are his confidante, but your smile alone is enough to send his heart beating so rapidly, as if you are his lifeline. Claudio didn’t even remember when was the last time he’s able to observe you properly like this, without any work-related distractions.

The feeling just escalates even further as he sees how gentle you are, cradling the butterfly on the palm of your hands with an expression of pure awe. He could admit he had feel.. Something, within him– a type of feeling that he ever tried to shut it away from.

When the butterfly has gradually flown away, his smile remains– clearly still mesmerized by the genuine actions you’ve portrayed. It’s beginning to feel a bit funny for him since he doesn’t want the feeling to stop just yet–

“How long have you been standing there, Signore Claudio?”

Has he been stuck within his own train of thoughts for that long? It startled him slightly when your mere voice managed to pull him out from his own little world; now realizing that he has finally been caught. But that’s like the least of his worries at this point.

You have propped one of your hands up by the pool’s edge, placing your head atop of it with an amused expression. Somehow, he doesn’t know how, but you looked even more.. Attractive, looking at him that way. So his smile returned without any ounce of hesitation present.

“I’ve been here for a while now, cara.”

His reply was simple; quickly being followed by the temporal lingering silence between the two of you. But this only made your curiosity grow, tilting your head slightly as you added more words to your previous question even more.

“Have you, really?”

A small smirk is present upon your delicate features by now, “Do you know how improper it is to stare at a lady who’s bathing?”

“I’m aware,” he answered with honesty, not even shifting his gaze away from you just yet. “I just couldn’t resist, bella.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, not wanting to admit that those little nicknames he has specifically given to you did make you swoon internally. Claudio has always possessed a certain charm with him– maybe being Italian is one of them– but that’s beside the point. He’s always been this way ever since you decided to work alongside him, so you almost couldn’t tell yourself.

Not even moving away from your current spot, he begins to approach you with several steps closer; eyes not leaving yours as if he’s simply trying to convey his unspoken words from there.

“You sure know how to make a man’s heart throb.”

“Oh, do I?” You tried to mask your surprised expression, giggling a little with the maintained eye contact. “Do I, perhaps, have caught your heart at least, Signore?”

The Italian exorcist stops just not too far in front of you, yet leaving just a few spaces between you both as he kneels in front of you. Without thinking twice, he leans his face just a bit– his heartbeat is so rapid that he’s sure you might be able to hear it if you went a bit closer to him.

His mind is telling him to move away this instant, but his heart tells him otherwise. Perhaps, something just awakened within him, that he just begins to fall into a clear realization? You have been his confidante for years, after all, maybe that’s why he dares to become a little more bold right now.

Maybe you are the lady who was meant to be his equal in a lot of ways. Maybe now he knows what he’s been lacking.

Claudio was unsure yet, but he can tell for one thing– his heart has spoken to him. He knows what he wants, and he’ll try to slowly pursue it.

“Ah, don’t get too close to the waters. Or else, I might have to pull you along with me.” You leaned your head backwards and slightly move away from him, which caught him off guard.

He decided to just follow what his heart tells him. A genuine chuckle escaped from his luscious lips; already feeling even more entertained by the whole ordeal.

“Is that an offer, bella?” His Italian accent is thickening somehow, and deeper as he spoke those words, his smirk reappearing within seconds. “Then, who am I to refuse?”

You had your brow raised, before giggling then returning his smirk in a similar fashion– swimming even further away from him as a way to possibly tease him, “Well then..”

“You know what to do, Claudio.”

mb idk how to properly end it lmao-

@luneariaa do not repost; reblogs are alright. all rights reserved.

[castieltrash1]

on the 1st day of rothmas, castieltrash1 gave to me... holiday decorating with the tim roth characters! (more below the cut xoxo)

⋆ freddy “mr. orange” newandyke (reservoir dogs)

freddy’s place has never really been cohesive, to say the least. you’ve noticed none of his dishes or cutlery match and most of the time his bedsheets and pillowcases are different patterns or colors. besides his blue walls, retro comic book posters, and that stained glass cross by his front door, he doesn’t really ‘decorate.’ as long as his work stuff is easily accessible, everything else just kind of fits wherever. he prefers spending his free time on renovations -- clanky bathroom pipes or a loose kitchen cabinet hinge are more important to him.

that being said, freddy is a traditional christmas decorator. as early december rolls around, he lugs his fake tree out of storage, hangs a wreath on the door, and strings up some lights. most of his ornaments are plain glass bulbs, but he’s collected a few keepsakes over the years! in all honesty, he’s secretly excited to settle down with you and make a home out of someplace (preferably not his messy apartment.) it’s not in the cards just yet, but he knows someday you two -- and maybe some pets or kids if you feel so inclined -- will have a cozier domestic setup where christmas feels less like an obligation and more like a celebration.

“step back and tell me if this shit is straight,” freddy says, jerking his chin up to the string of lights he’s hanging above the door. you hesitate for a moment, not wanting to put the ladder he’s balanced precariously on out of reach in case he falls; a scenario that seems completely likely considering he’s got a nail gun in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette propped between his lips.

you slowly inch backward and… “oh. they’re- uh…” one end is about three inches higher than the other, give or take. “no, they’re good. perfect.”

freddy snorts, a flicker of ash falling to the ground. “i’m a cop, remember? i know when you’re lying.”

⋆ cal lightman (lie to me)

cal has always been your average low-effort christmas decorator. half of his presents are wrapped in a brown paper bag, for christ’s sake. towards the end of his marriage with zoe and shortly following their separation, he put a lot of effort into holidays for emily’s sake, but now that she’s grown, his co-parenting relationship has mellowed, and he’s got you in his life, there’s a lot less pressure for the holidays to be perfect!

he is absolutely going to keep cutting corners, though. why would he wobble on a ladder outside in the cold to hang up lights he’ll have to take down in a month anyway when he can just use those projectors that shine colors all over the house? and sure, he likes ornaments, especially the cheesy hand-made ones emily made in elementary school, but he’s content throwing some tinsel and popcorn strings on a lit-up tree and calling it a day. speaking of trees, they’re one of the few splurges he’s willing to spend his time and money on. he likes the smell and look of real ones, sue him!

“did you even measure the door beforehand?” you ask, barely able to see the top of cal’s head over the massive tree in the way. he’s got one end, you’ve got the other, and emily has disappeared somewhere in the middle of the prickly pine needles.

“it’ll fit!” cal yells back, just as emily crawls out from under the mass of branches, sweat and melting snow glimmering on her forehead. she takes one look at the way you’re straining to pull the top through the front doorway and laughs under her breath, shaking her head.

“twenty bucks says we have to bring it in through the backyard.”

⋆ philip chaney (captives)

when you meet philip, he’s been moved to a short-term facility, so the rules are more lax. it’s still prison so traditional decorating is out of the question, but you two make it work. he doesn’t want to draw unwarranted attention from inmates or cos whose radars he’d rather not be on, so philip sticks to his favorite and the safest way of sprucing up his cell: photographs. bring him pictures of you, your decorations, and your tree during visits and he’ll tape them to his wall or the underside of the top bunk to admire before bed.

on his days out -- after his classes are over and he’s got an hour to blow before the bus arrives --philip loves walking around to see all the christmas lights. it’s freezing, but he never seems to notice, too busy pointing out his favorite decorated buildings and houses. his old contracting and electrical wiring jobs make him a pain in the ass, though, since he never stops scrutinizing the shoddily hung lights or clear fire hazards.

philip flicks the ash of his cigarette, eyes narrowing at the bundle of cords tucked on the side of a building you two always pass; now covered in flashing red, white, and green. your fingertips are freezing off and you can’t tell the smoke of philip’s exhales from your breaths of white air.

“philip.”

“what?” he looks back at you, pointy teeth curling into a knowing grin when you glare. he keeps walking, leading you somewhere warmer, but doesn’t let up. “they’ve got three fuckin’ cords plugged into one bloody outlet.”

⋆ ted the bellhop (four rooms)

ted is kind of like a retail worker -- christmas decorations and music send a chill up his spine. thoughts of working new year’s eve at the mon signor make him lightheaded and the last thing he wants is to bring that home with him. unfortunately, he also gets sad if you two don’t decorate, so it’s a lose-lose situation. he’ll eventually decide that the bellhop’s room remain decoration-free for his sanity, but at home, he needs a little holiday cheer.

don’t let him try any handmade or crafty type decorations. if there’s one thing ted’s bound to do it’s burn himself, start a fire, rip something, trip over something else, electrocute himself, fall off a ladder, and end the night slamming his fists against the floor yelling “why, god, why?!” make it simple and save yourself the headache. give this man some plastic ornaments, battery-powered fairy lights, and a few garlands and he’s set.

as the first few notes of “jingle bells” fill the room, ted’s neck snaps toward your cd player, the color draining from his face. “turn that off. please. now.” you watch in slight amusement as the candy cane in his fist cracks under the pressure of his whitened knuckles.

as you skip the classic tune, ted lets out a comedic sigh of relief, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “i heard that fifty-seven times last shift, you know!”

⋆ joshua shapira (little odessa)

besides the fact he doesn’t celebrate, joshua isn’t a big decorator to begin with. most of it is out of necessity -- wherever he’s holed up has to stay discreet for safety reasons. the last thing he needs is bright flashing lights pointing potential threats in the right direction. if you two live together or are settling down, he’ll let you decorate inside, regardless of which holiday you celebrate. he’ll tease you, but, as long as it makes you happy and isn’t too overboard, he doesn’t mind.

the few hanukkah pieces he has are heirlooms his mom secretly gave him after he left home. after her passing, they became even more important to him. he keeps them safe all year long and makes sure they -- the menorah, especially -- are proudly displayed by the front door window. he doesn’t have the best memories from home, but lighting the candles has always been one of them.

after reciting the respective blessings, joshua takes the shamash and begins lighting the menorah. you watch as the flames spark, slowly moving from the left to the right with each candle. the reflection flickers in his eyes even after he finishes and steps back, pulling you close.

“it’s beautiful,” you softly murmur, resting your head on his shoulder.

he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “yeah… it is.”

⋆ guildenstern (rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead)

medieval yule decorations are all about the foliage. guildenstern might not be able to differentiate between most plants and flowers, but he knows a good branch of holly when he sees it. he prefers the celebrations, music, and food more, so he won’t go all out, but he still enjoys being festive. also a big fan of mistletoe for its symbolic protection and the excuse it gives him to kiss you.

if you two spend yule at or near elsinore, you’ll be treated to the castle’s extravagant decorations. the great hall is especially beautiful this time of year with the roaring fire, bright greenery, and intricately embroidered tablecloths made of fine fabric. the church would also likely have trees donned with paper flowers and apples to celebrate!

guildenstern sidles up to you in the great hall, biting into a crisp red apple. the sharp crunch cuts through the music playing and you shoot him a glare. “pray tell, where did thou find that?” the banquet had a variety of feasts, but there wasn’t an identical fruit in sight. the only place you’d seen one was those decorating the church’s oaks and surely guildenstern would never-

“upon a tree outside,” he replies, grinning between chews. “there are more to be found, should thou desire one.”

⋆ david (resurrection)

david doesn’t like celebrations of any kind unless he’s the focal point. he won’t make that obvious at first, of course, but you’ll slowly realize his attitude shifts whenever you bring up the holidays. the more decorations you put up, the more kindnesses he asks of you. it’s a simple trick that gets your brain to associate festivities with sacrifice and discomfort.

if he’s feeling kind or wants to reward you for his own benefit, he’ll let you have a few decorations. it’s important you realize that it’s a privilege bestowed by him, so you’ll be more thankful for it. most of the time, you’ll be responsible for putting the decorations up and taking them down, but he might surprise you in the morning with a few lights or tinsel hung just to hear you praise him.

it’s a simple strand of lights above the door, but it’s the most decorative thing you’ve seen this christmas season. your eyes practically water at how warm and cozy it feels, and david rests his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly.

his lips curl into a smirk as he watches the colors dance on your face. “aren’t you grateful, dearest? i did this just for you.”

⋆ colin (meantime)

while colin’s family does decorate for christmas, it’s never been too exciting for him. they can’t afford anything new, so he’s seen the same lights, figurines, and garlands used every year since (and before) he was born. most of the houses near his are the same, too. in the past, he’d cut festive pictures out of magazines, the newspaper, and advertisements on food boxes from the grocery store, but mark teased him relentlessly for it.

visiting you gives colin an excuse to admire your decorations as long as he wants. if you two aren’t together yet, he’ll find a way -- mostly with coxy’s goading -- to offer to help you hang lights or some other mundane task that lets him spend more time with you. he’s quiet during the whole process, but you notice he’s extremely careful, making sure everything is set up exactly how you want it.

“oh, wow!” you stare up at the string of lights dangling from your roof trim with an excited laugh, one that turns into a fearful gasp as you watch colin wobble on the ladder at the sound of your voice. “oh shit.” you quickly grip the metal to steady it, peering up at your flustered friend. “are you okay?”

“i-i…” colin’s face is bright red and you’re not sure how much of it is from the cold. “… didn’t hear you… come out.”

“sorry,” you wince, biting back a frown. you’d gone inside to make some snacks and hadn’t thought twice about making your presence known. “the lights look great, though!” this time, the darkening of his cheeks is an obvious result of your praise, and you nod toward the front door, hoping to get him back inside. “hungry?”

⋆ gerbino de ratta (virgin territory)

safe to say, you won’t be doing a lot of decorating with a plague spread further than you could ever travel. any celebrations you have will be limited to those in gerbino’s closest circles, mainly his men, so it doesn’t matter all that much anyway. at most, he’ll “buy” you some nice gold and pretty candles but everything must remain inside lest it be stolen (again.)

“this is beautiful,” you say, mesmerized by the pristine candleholder gerbino’s brought home. he’s even found a tall beeswax candle to pair with it; already smelling sweet despite not being lit. “where did you get this?”

gerbino’s smirk falters. “never mind that, love,” he quickly replies, guiding you toward the mantel that holds all the other trinkets he’s gifted you. “let’s light it, yes?”

⋆ oswaldo mobray (the hateful eight)

your dearest “english pete” is a big fan of the holidays and all the celebrations that come with it. since you two and the rest of the domingre gang are often on the move, most of your “decorations” are on various stagecoaches and horse reins/saddles. pete, in particular, is a big fan of wreaths and holly but he also sniffles and sneezes with the foliage so close to his sleeping quarters.

pete also loves decorating you. he’ll spend whatever he gets from different heists on soft silks and velvets that you can wear through the cold season. some of it is embroidered, and some are pristine heirlooms stolen from richer folk. you usually manage a good collection by the time the near year rolls around!

“hm… hm… yes, yes, like this,” pete mumbles under his breath, a white puff of air in the cold wind. he fiddles with the new red velvet cape he’s found you, fingers adjusting and readjusting the fabric through his thick leather gloves.

he steps back and you grin, teeth near chattering. “well?”

“quite dashing, if i do say so myself, love.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

12 days of rothmas masterlist

[thehandworld]

AI-less Whumptober - Day 9 - Hypothermia @ailesswhumptober

Everything started with Kyoko wanting to learn how to ski, then Tsuna wanting to follow so she wouldn't be alone, and before anyone knew it, the whole family was going to a Snow Park, they even brought the Kokuyo gang and Hibari, why? No one understood how that happened.

But they were there, they rented the whole place, as there was a whole group of people, also because, in a place where Mukuro and Hibari were together, it could only happen one thing.

The day was really fun. They all learned how to ski, and some even tried snowboarding. While Gokudera was more versatile than the Storm he is, he really liked snowboarding. It was fun and brought more stability for him.

But a change of weather was enough to disrupt that nice and calm fun.

Gokudera with the Ski was going up the mountain, deciding to test his own skills by going down the highest difficulty. He was already able to go down the medium one, so now he was ready for the highest. What he didn't expect was the weather to change so suddenly, in the middle of his way down.

The wind got harsher and he couldn't see his way down, stumbling and falling out of the way, he hit a tree and then shaking he looked around, not able to see much as the snow was pilling up quicker. Even with the snow gear, he was feeling cold, so quickly getting up he started to walk, but without direction, as he couldn't see with all the snow.

His clothes were drenched, and he was already shivering not feeling his feet or hands right, his nose was also numb. Hayato needed to find someplace to hide and quickly. Yet because of the weather, all he could see was trees and snow, not knowing exactly where he was, he decided to stop walking. Even though walking would keep his body warm, that also means losing precious energy.

Sitting down close to a tree, he decided to hold his legs close to his body, and using his dying will flames he melted some of the snow around him, keeping him a little warm. That wasn't enough to stop the shivering or the effects of the cold, but it sure was enough to buy him some time.

Not knowing how long the snowstorm would take, he closed his eyes, remembering the fun they had today, while Hibari and Mukuro weren't actually fighting it was obvious to see their rivalry by them trying to win one against the other in who learns quicker, who could go down the higher difficult and so on.

The girls seem to have fun purely by learning a bit and then staying with Lambo and I-Pin, playing with the snow. The Kokuyo and the rest of the Family seem to have fun with the small bickering and competition of skiing.

Truly, it was a nice day, as the storm guardian yawned, and pulled his arms close to his body. The shiver was already part of his status, as he tried to ignore the best he could. He closed his eyes tiredly, he knew better as the hypothermia made him sleep and he should try to keep himself awake as much as possible.

But quite honestly, right now? Sleeping sounds so good. Keeping himself as curled as possible, he closed his eyes, maybe a few minutes wouldn't be bad right? Yeah... As he let himself fall asleep.

The storm was found only the next day, as he walked far away than what people expected. Because of the way his body recovered, it took a week before he recovered any type of conscience, making everyone worry and freak out.

[ernmark]

It's my last day at my current job, and I'm really struck by how different this last day is compared to some of the others that I've had (and others I've witnessed at this employer): specifically, that people seem to be sorry to see me leaving, including my boss.

That one especially comes as a surprise to me. One of the reasons I started looking for a new job in the first place was that I was sure I wasn't wanted at this one. I kept reassuring myself that I was competent enough (and they were desperate enough for warm bodies) that I wasn't worth the headache that came with firing me outright. So I was safe, technically, until they found something better. But that was the only actual assurance I had-- almost all of the feedback I got was criticism, and sometimes (sometimes) the acknowledgement that a task had been done at all.

From the look of things, it wasn't even intentional-- just the higher-ups being too caught up with their own things to acknowledge me beyond what was necessary for correcting mistakes. But on my end, it's pretty damn discouraging.

And the thing is, I know this isn't just the way things are.

I've had other jobs where I was given actual regular feedback and accomplishments were regularly pointed out, and I did great. I've also had jobs where the designated scapegoat was quietly ground down until they took the hint to seek employment elsewhere, at which point that role was passed along to someone else.

And I'd much rather be someplace where I can thrive than in an environment where I'm constantly looking over my shoulder and second-guessing myself.

[dreamdesire]

★⋆ 「 @kisenth 」

  Amany is never quite sure what to expect when ducking into forests these days, but nowhere else was this truer than Galar. The region's wild area was a veritable jackpot when it came to new and varied places to rest their head...

  It was also a region where the chances of running into trainers in these scattered biomes was higher than any other region the star can remember roaming. So, when they hear the sound of music among the shuffling leaves, it is only with mild surprise that they should find a human at the source of it.

  Admittedly, they lose track of how long they watch the woman and her partner practice, almost glued in place by an equal mix of curiosity and... something else. It is only when the pair take a quick moment to rest that the star speaks, a quiet voice echoing from someplace in the back of the woman's head.

"You... are wanting something very, very much."

[lifeofkaze]

Summer Time

A/N: This is my entry for @hp-12monthsofmagic August prompt. Enjoy!

Drop, drop, drop.

Lizzie Jameson rested her temple against the window, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them with her arms. She watched one of the drops come loose from its spot on the glass, running down and dissolving weaving through the rest of them, leaving a thin trail in its wake.

Drop, drop, drop.

She breathed out a long sigh, her breath fogging up the windowpane. A lone car was braving the grisly South-East weather, its headlights two diffuse white rings rushing past the house on the edge of Lyme Regis. Lizzie watched after it, wondering where it might be going. Probably someplace more exciting than her parents’ house. Everything was more exciting than her parents’ house.

“Liz? Where are you at?”

Lizzie grimaced and slid down from her perch as her brother’s head peeked through the doorway. His eyes swept the living room, lighting up when he spotted her. 

“There you are.”

With the incessant rain of the last couple of weeks, nerves had been running thin in the Jameson household. This morning, things had escalated when Jake had stolen Lizzie’s plush cat, and Lizzie and he had pulled at it until its tail had ripped off. An outraged discussion and a toy Quaffle thrown at Jake’s head later, the two children had been banned from each other’s company for the remainder of the day while their parents had gone to work. 

At first, Lizzie had been chuffed about this, having occupied the living room with both the books and the TV. But after Jake had settled into the kitchen and tugged into Grandma Caitlin’s biscuit jar, she wasn’t so sure whether she’d got the long end of the wand after all.

Pressing her hands to her rumbling stomach, she wrinkled her nose at Jake. 

“What do you want, Jake? Mum said we’re supposed to stay in separate rooms.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Mum and Dad are out, stupid.”

“Mum will know. She always knows.” 

“So?”

Jake looked at her challengingly, making Lizzie raise her chin. “What do you want, now?”

“I’m sorry about Mr Whiskers earlier.”

“You should be.” Lizzie placed a protective hand on the toy cat’s little head. Her father had repaired the damage with his wand, and had tied a bandage around Mr Whiskers’ head and tail for good measure, too. “He is very offended.”

“But he’s fine now.”

“Still offended.”

A frown passed Jake’s face, but instead of getting into another argument with his little sister, he raised his eyebrows at her. “So you and Mr Sulky-Whiskers don’t want to see what I’ve been doing all day?”

There had been a string of low rumbling noises coming from the kitchen earlier, followed by a period of suspiciously long silence. Lizzie was dying to know what Jake had been up to, but she could hardly tell him; instead, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and pointedly looked out the window with a tut.

“Absolutely not.”

“Your loss,” Jake shrugged as he ducked out of the doorway. “You’re only missing out on the best thing ever.”

Lizzie fought with herself a moment longer, then tucked Mr Whiskers firmly under her arms and followed Jake, warily looking left and right as she crossed into the hallway. Deeming it safe from prank devices of various kinds, she made her way into the kitchen. The temperature seemed to be rising as she did so, and as she stepped through the dining room, she could see why. Her mouth dropped open. 

All the kitchen lights had been turned on, making the room overly bright against the dark grey sky outside. The big kitchen table had been pushed to the side of the room, the chairs being stacked on top of it. Jake had brought in their mother’s palm trees from the conservatory adjacent to the kitchen, too, which were now creating shady spots against the flaring kitchen lights. 

The warm temperatures Lizzie had noticed in the hallway were higher here still. The oven was running on the highest setting, its door standing slightly ajar, letting the hot air pass into the room. She stepped forward, her feet sinking into something she only now realised must be at least four bags of flour. Pots and bowls filled with water were scattered throughout the room, and in the middle of it, Jake was sitting.

“Time for some real summer, wasn’t it?”

There was a smug look on his face as he took in Lizzie’s wide-eyed expression. He’d clearly already had some of the ice cream tub sitting between his legs, the big smudge of chocolate on the corner of his mouth making his smile somewhat lopsided.

Still too busy to take in everything Jake had done, Lizzie gaped at him. Jake must have taken her reaction wrongly, because he sighed and pointed at the second tub of ice cream sitting next to him.

“Come on, Liz. There’s cherry ice cream. And sprinkles.”

Lizzie needn’t be told twice. She sank into the flour next to Jake, who passed her a spoon with a wide grin. For what felt like the next few hours, the two of them sat and ate their ice cream, dipped their feet into the pots and pans, and tried building sand (or flour) castles, even though it wasn’t really working that well.

They were so caught up in their doings that they didn’t notice the steely grey sky outside turning darker. They were in the middle of digging a hole into the flour for Mr Whiskers to sit in and enjoy a bowl of milk when a low rushing noise sounded from the living room. 

“We’re home! Jake? Lizzie? Where are you?”

Michael Jameson’s voice took on a more apprehensive note when his second call was met with silence. Lizzie and Jake exchanged panicked glances. Frantically, they began looking for a place to hide, but before they could do so, light but determined steps descended the hallway. They stopped abruptly as Helen Jameson appeared in the doorway.

Wide-eyed, her mouth hung open as she took in the state of both her children and her kitchen. Lizzie and Jake shrunk into their flour-covered clothes as she set her eyes on them.

“Jacob and Elizabeth Jameson. What is this?”

Her words were abrupt, and Lizzie found herself subconsciously clutching Mr Whiskers tighter to her chest, subtly moving behind her brother from her mother’s flashing eyes. Jake seemed no less intimidated, but he braced his shoulders anyway. Pouting, he said,

“We wanted to have summer. Summer outside this year sucks balls.”

“Language, young man.”

Michael had joined them as well. He quietly whistled through his teeth.

“Well, it’s… certainly something.” He stepped into the room, peering at their makeshift ponds and palm trees. “Did you make all that by yourself?”

“I did,” Jake said, puffing out his chest.

“Didn’t you, now?” Helen followed her husband, stemming her hands into her hips. “And who is going to clean this mess, then?”

Jake and Lizzie glanced at each other. 

“Him?” Lizzie offered helpfully.

“Not quite, Lizzie.”

As both their children hung their heads, their parents exchanged a look.

“But since this seemed to have been quite the piece of work, it would be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?”

Helen Jameson took out her wand, and with a flick of it, the palm trees scuttled back into the conservatory and the pots and pans stacked themselves neatly by the kitchen sink. The flour-beach, however, rippled as if a wind passed over it, scurrying together to form a set of neat white lines dividing the kitchen in half.

“As punishment for turning my kitchen into a beach site,” she said and stepped out of her heels and into the middle of what Lizzie realised was a tiny football field, “I challenge you to a match. Winners pick takeaway, losers clean the kitchen.”

A football had appeared in her hand, and with a yelp the two children ran to get toward it. There was a short discussion on how to team up, and then Helen set the ball into the centre of the pitch, whistled sharply through her fingers and the game was on. 

They passed the ball back and forth between them, using an open cabinet and the door into the hallway as their goals. It wasn’t long before any pretence at making their match a casual thing was forgotten. When Helen evaded her husband’s attempt at stealing the ball with a cheeky trick Lizzie’s grandfather had taught her in her youth, Michael reached out and got hold of her arm. With a cry of protest, she stopped.

“Foul!” she called, furiously pointing at him. “Yellow card for Jameson!”

“Jameson has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Talking back to the ref, are we? That’s an indirect red for you. You know what that means.” Her face split into a grin as Michael’s eyes widened and he waved his hands defensively. “Get him!”

Whooping, both kids ran and tackled their father. He swayed under the impact, slowly toppling. Helen spurred them on, joining the fray a moment later, and the four of them came crashing onto the floor. Jake snorted out a mouthful of flour, his dark hair dusted white, and Lizzie shrieked as Michael began tickling her. The ball and their match all but forgotten, the four of them lay on the ground, pulling everyone trying to get away pack into their pile until the sky was well and fully dark, their laughter ringing louder than the thunder rolling in the distance. 

[kariachi]

Who wants nearly 2k words of Kwarrel Lives fic? Leaning more towards UAF compliant, but within my own shit.

~~

Kevin made hiding out more difficult than Kwarrel had originally hoped for, back before the child had fallen under his mentorship and care. He didn’t blame him for it of course- it wasn’t his fault, it was just a fact of life. Raising a child was hard, alone harder, a child of another species harder still. Even before you got into problems like the boy’s dietary needs, the attention his powers drew, the fact they were on the run from the law, everything had already been guaranteed to be more difficult. If anything Kwarrel had brought it on himself, caring too much to put himself first and leave him behind somewhere.

Had he been on his own, Kwarrel would have found some random planet with large livestock and set himself up in a rural area. He could do animals and do them well, was big enough to handle a lot of animals with ease that smaller species would have to take more care around, and farmers often were happy to pay you off record. You didn’t get paid as well, but as a browser by species he would have been able to save money and supplement his diet by learning what local plants he could safely eat and foraging and spreading them himself. He would have stayed off official records, been able to keep himself going perfectly fine, and with the lower rate of Plumber activity in rural areas the odds of being found would have been extremely low. He could have kept his head down, just lived out his last few decades in relative peace.

But he was, for all intents and purposes, a single parent and that meant changes to plans. Between being a hybrid, being a mutant, and various dietary restrictions, making sure Kevin was getting enough of the right foods, making sure they had access to things he could safely eat, was a key factor. Kwarrel himself was willing to risk fucking up his health if it came to it, but that was a risk he wasn’t about to take with Kevin, not if he could help it. Plus, he really did prefer to get him into school when he could, get him socializing with other children and learning as much as possible. In a rural area the food access would have been more limited and there would have been a smaller variety of species walking around, meaning higher odds Kevin would have been ostracized by other children and stuck still with only Argit, always showing up for all that he wouldn’t let Kwarrel take proper responsibility for him. Worse, fewer species meant fewer medical options, and less likelihood of anyone who could manage any troubles Kevin might develop. Which left them with more urban environments.

Joy.

In a rural area you could choose someplace that was technically too small for you in general and adapt your own spaces to make up for it, but in urban areas… Planets that were set up for people Kwarrel’s size left Kevin dangerously underfoot and out of sight. Those more suited for Kevin were far too small for Kwarrel. In the end he’d found himself focusing on places Kevin could be safer and more comfortable, at the expense of his own comfort. Kevin wasn’t about to get run over, or toppled over, or stepped on, at the expense of Kwarrel having to adapt to common items being too small for him. To sharing space that would have been too small for him to be comfortable alone with what was ninety percent of the time a pair of children.

Housing was more expensive in urban areas as a rule and options his size were slim on top of that, leaving them most often with one-bedroom places Kwarrel could cross in just under a dozen steps. There would be no saving up to buy enough property for a reasonable garden- not that Kwarrel would have been guaranteed to in a rural environment, not with a child at his feet. But the odds would have been better. Property would have costed less, and he would have had better job options. As it stood, working off record in urban areas meant rough, heavy work for minimal pay. Shifting goods was harder on the body than tending livestock, and Kwarrel was closer to old than he liked to think about, leaving him with more medical issues to take up chunks of his paycheck.

Kevin tried to help, despite Kwarrel’s best attempts. He didn’t want the boy working- he was too young, and he wanted him to have something resembling a proper childhood. School and play and hobbies. There was only so much he could do for Argit, but for Kevin he tried so hard. Only for the him to regularly run off to help Argit with the crimes he committed to keep himself afloat. Crimes Kwarrel wanted nothing but to keep them away from, it was a bad path, they all knew it. But that was the option for proper income the children had, Argit was incapable of trusting Kwarrel or really anyone enough to rely on for food and shelter, and Kevin wanted so much to help.

If a rural location had been feasible then they probably could have managed without. Argit knew how to hunt and was always willing to teach Kevin new things. Every spring brought with it baby livestock as well, Kwarrel would have been able to teach the two of them how to raise a cheap purchase to slaughter or market size. Some spare money, some spare food. He could see Argit especially doing well turning around lost causes. But no, no the medical security wasn’t there, the social openings weren’t there, the food options weren’t there.

What was in the urban areas were people and Plumbers, both of which where a threat all their own. No matter where they went Kevin being an Osmosian was guaranteed to be noticed eventually, but the more people around the more likely one of them would be ready and willing to try to snatch him up for their own profit. It had happened before, repeatedly, and Kwarrel lived in fear of it happening again. There really was nothing more stressful than having to hunt down your own kidnapped child and rescue him from whatever piece of shit had decided he’d be best kept chained as a living mine. Argit had a body count now because of that shit.

The Plumbers weren’t any help, either. All three of them were wanted criminals, Kwarrel and Kevin Incarcecon escapees, so it wasn’t as if they could go to them for help. Instead, all they did was serve as a constant lingering threat. The more variety of species there were in an area the greater chance the three of them could fit right in, but also the more Plumbers you’d find wandering around. And more Plumbers meant more chances for them to be noticed, especially with the kids running cons and committing small-scale robberies. Authorities would close in on a series of small crimes and they would have to leave. Would look too long at Kevin as he walked down the street and they would have to leave. Pull Kwarrel aside at work for even unrelated questions and they would have to leave.

It was regular hopping from planet to planet, small apartment to small apartment, shit job and small con to shit job and small con. None of the stability Kwarrel wanted for the kids, even if there was only so much he could give them. None of the comfort, none of the security. Times were hard, life was a struggle, and paranoia was too damn high.

That was in part what had gotten him looking at Earth. Originally it had been in a fit of ‘what can this child even eat’ after Kevin had had an allergic reaction to something they had all been sure would be fine. His thinking had been that since Earth was Kevin’s homeworld they would know for sure what he could and couldn’t eat there. It would have all been figured out ahead of time. Plus, for the most part the medical system would be able to handle him. He hadn’t really considered moving out there, not when the planet hadn’t yet made First Contact, but the more he’d looked into things the more he’d been tempted.

Geilla Bohln was an amazing collection of species from across the galaxy, despite being a small town on an isolated backwoods planet. So right there was the guarantee that the kids wouldn’t likely be ostracized. Doubly so when he realized that it had a relatively large Erinaen population. The Osmosian pack centered there was a mixed bag, most likely it was Kevin’s own birthpack and Kwarrel didn’t know just how bad a thing that would be, but still it meant that he would be marginally safer.

Add to that, the Erinaen population at the very least meant Argit, just about grown by their standards, would have actual job options available to him. Proper work would keep him out of trouble, and that in turn would help keep Kevin out of trouble.

The town also, while not rural itself, was far closer than anywhere else they’d been. There were farms nearby where, while he would have to obtain and utilize an ID mask, with any luck Kwarrel could find work he was properly qualified for. Fuck, if he was really lucky there might be farmers who already knew about the aliens in their midst and so he could be open with that to cover the bigger reason why he would need to be paid off record. Housing and real estate seemed relatively cheap as well, so he would likely be able to afford better than they could as things already stood. Maybe even land outside of town that he could pass on to the kids and their eventual children.

There was the problem of Plumbers, yes, it seemed like a base wasn’t too far off, but everything he could find seemed to show that their presence was greatly diminished from where it had been even a decade prior. Supposedly they’d struggled to keep numbers up in the system, and it wasn’t worth the struggle when the non-native population was so low. It was music to Kwarrel’s ears. Fewer Plumbers meant less risk of being found out, and while the amount of crime would likely be a bit higher, with an Osmosian pack there it was doubtful it was anything so nasty that it would be worth avoiding the place over.

Few Plumbers, cheap housing, high chance of social acceptance, access to proper medical care for Kevin, the schooling situation seemed to be iffy but iffy was better than nothing, high likelihood the kids would both know or quickly learn exactly what they could and couldn’t safely eat? There was the problem of Earth being pre-contact and all the branches you had to bend for that, but for the most part it seemed great. The only major concern was the risk that he would be putting Kevin right back into the same bad environment he had been in before. The one that had led him down this path in the first place. A major concern, yes, but one that was best handled with communication rather than just writing the planet off immediately.

So it was that the next time they had to pull up their roots- he’d worked hard to gain control of his temper but someone too damn close to his own age trying to put moves on either of the kids was an easy way to set it off- he’d made the decision to pull Kevin and Argit aside and put the planet up for consideration.

As long as it was good for Kevin, it would make things so much easier.

[ffxivaltstars]

FFXIVWrite2023 - Prompt 18 - Fish Out of Water

Never in his young life had he ever seen anything like Ul'dah. From the smell of spices, to the overlap of a thousand voices, to the way no moisture could exist under the unrelenting bake of the merciless sun, the Jewel of the Desert may as well have been another planet. Apollo stepped out onto the street and immediately flung himself back again in order to avoid being run over by a roegadyn man with a pushcart.

A young woman carrying an armload of fabric bolts hurried past Apollo, taking the space he had intended to try merging into again. Rather than annoyance, he found himself almost weak-kneed with relief. Apollo nearly tripped in his haste to dive into her wake, letting her carve a path in the overwhelming overlap of activity. Where was she going? He didn't know. It didn't matter, overall, since he wasn't yet sure of his goal. With luck she would lead him to a quieter place to take his bearings, and he would then find someone who could point him in the direction of overnight lodging. Maybe they could even direct him to someplace where he could play music and earn a few coins.

His long ears perked higher at the idea. A nice corner of a tavern somewhere, where he could play and listen and get a feel for Ul'dah as a whole, would be absolutely perfect.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Armchair Quarterbacks

I need to go out for some last minute supplies, hopefully beating the rain, but I needed to stop a moment and say, “What the fuck is wrong with people?”

It’s my own fault for engaging in a “Recommended For You” post on Facebook. It was one of those, “You sleep for eight hours and work for eight hours; you have fourteen hours--” (yeah, the maths is wrong, I know) “--to do great things. Time is not a factor”. And I had to see the comments.

Someone was flagging up that actually, we have to work for more than eight hours just to be able to afford the electricity bill these days. And someone else responded, “Well, just move out of the USA and to someplace that has decent pay, sick pay, paid holiday, and all the benefits!” Presumptive as fuck on a number of levels, the first one being that OP was from the US. I’d figured him for a Brit, given his talk of benefits, and I double-checked to be sure and what do you know? I also figured that the guy replying was from somewhere in the EU, which turns out to be right. So I ... got involved. I flagged up that OP was from the UK, and the issues that we’re having here as regards pay, inflation, and the energy price increases.

The response I got? “Unionise!”

..................First sentence off my fingertips: “The people currently striking for higher pay are all in unions!” I then flagged up how Thatcher kind of undermined the unions’ power base, the current Tory government wants to more or less finish the job of destroying the unions, and Labour’s not stepping in to support the very labour unions that birthed his political party in the first fucking place. Finished with the statement that simple one-sentence solutions don’t help anyone because there are logistics to think about, particularly with the one about “Move away!” Because, seriously - WITH WHAT MONEY?!?

And, while I was typing this, one more response from this person. “Good time for a revolution, no?”

In principle, I agree? But again, logistics. Here’s what would happen:

We’d start with the usual kettling, indiscriminate tazer use, and usual police tactics. When and if the knives (or the explosives) came out, so would the armed police. Because this country does still have a few.

If this continued? I would not put it past this government to institute martial law, and probably make some adjustments to allow them to keep power by, like, scrapping the next election. Yes, despite it being nearly two years from now. I put nothing past this government. Plus, I mean, the army’s already out and about because they’re apparently stepping in (read: crossing the picket line) during the ambulance workers’ strike.

They would also use that martial law to force in some of the utter bullshit they’ve been trying to get through Parliament. The few remaining scraps of “right to protest” we have would go out the window, as would most privacy laws, I’d imagine.

Meanwhile, the attempted ‘revolt’ itself would cause the US to point at us and go, “See? This is what happens when you take away people’s guns!” This despite the fact that an armed general population would not have helped and would in fact only have increased the number of lives lost.

Also the number of elderly, young, and disabled people who would die in the process would be obscene. Noncombatants always suffer in these situations. And given how a lot of our media works, the spin would put the blame on the revolutionaries, not the government that sparked the mess in the first place.

Yeah, it’s nice that the dude is in a comfortable enough place that he doesn’t have to worry about this shit. It’d be nice, though, if he extended one ounce of actual empathy and looked at what people are actually going through instead of giving us “big-shit-eating-grin” emojis and one-word ‘solutions’ that would only cause more fucking problems. It’s fine to be an armchair quarterback about an actual American football game; not so much when people’s lives are on the line.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Fleur-de-lis 16: Good Pet

Originally published Jun 24, 2017 This series is being revised

Though retired from the runway, Gisele Bundchen was still a key player in the fashion industry. A series of intelligent investments had made her not just the most financially successful supermodel in history, but a savvy businesswoman to be feared. Consider it this way: Gisele's husband, now indisputably the greatest quarterback in NFL history, was riding on the high of his fifth Super Bowl victory, and she was the real breadwinner. Gisele wasn't just money though, she was power. And anyone could benefit from having her name on their side. That was why, when backed against the wall by Elena Maxwell, Gisele was Michael Ramsey's only play.

Michael was a big player behind the scenes of Fleur-de-lis, effectively Elena's number two, but on the surface he was a ghost. If Michael Ramsey's name was floating around fashion forums online, something had gone seriously wrong. He knew that Gisele wouldn't just meet with him on request, he had to use someone with a higher profile. That was how Miranda was enlisted, pulled away from her duty in Goddess Maxwell's penthouse to reach out to Gisele. Miranda's star had fallen since signing on with Fleur-de-lis. It was baffling to the public why she would stay with the company if she was used in so few photoshoots, but the truth was simple: Miranda was Elena's favorite slave. Of all the models Elena had brainwashed, Miranda was the most fun. Elena looked forward to those inevitable power struggle when Miranda's conditioning would weaken, and her surrender when she accepted the conditioning all over again. Elena never kept Miranda too far from her home, and that meant fewer photoshoots than the other models. Fleur-de-lis had plenty these days anyway.

Miranda and Gisele were two people cut from the same cloth. In her non-brainwashed prime, Miranda had put her money into a series of savvy investments. She had ambitions of following in Gisele's footsteps. Similarity didn't mean they liked each other though, and Gisele found Miranda too cutthroat to deal with. Sure, Gisele didn't get to the top without betraying a few friends, but now that she was there she expected complete loyalty from scrubs like Miranda. It took some work to even get Gisele on the phone, but Miranda's promises of privileged Fleur-de-lis information was too good to ignore, so the meeting was set.

Gisele should have known that the promise was too good to be true, and she couldn't hide the annoyance on her face when she arrived at the restaurant that afternoon to find that Miranda had brought the lawyer along with her.

"I apologize," He said in a way of greeting. "Michael Ramsey, my firm represents Elena Maxwell and I didn't think you'd meet me one on one. He'd chosen a restaurant downtown. Someplace fancy enough that Gisele wouldn't feel too good for, but low key enough that Elena wouldn't know. He requested a booth, preferably in a corner, and the hostess placed them in the darkest corner they had to offer.

Gisele glanced at Miranda sitting silently by Michael's side and she said, "What is this, some kind of shakedown? I'm not buying into Fleur-de-lis if that's what you want."

"I'm not here to offer you stake in Miss Maxwell's company," Michael replied. "In fact, she doesn't even know about this meeting at all." Gisele raised an eyebrow, "A mutiny?" "You could call it that."

Gisele took her seat across from Miranda at the booth. "What's her problem?" she asked. Michael smiled, "Why don't you tell her there, Miranda." "I am a mindless slave," Miranda droned. "I must obey my orders." "Cute trick," Gisele said.

Michael went on to explain everything that had transpired since Elena's hostile takeover of Victoria's Secret. The models she owned, the people she'd brainwashed to keep things quiet.

"That's it?" Gisele asked. "She develops this technology and she uses it to brainwash models? It doesn't track. Why wouldn't she sell it to the government?"

"Technically, it's the government's research," Michael replied. "In the sixties Elena's husband, George Maxwell, went into business with a young engineer named Dorian Hawthorne. College friends. Dorian was the brains but with an bottomless trust fund, George handled the business. They first struck it big when Hawthorne Industries won a military contract and they began their research into what today is the heart of Fleur-de-lis' business: mind control. The military dumped Hawthorne and Maxwell before the senate started investigating MKUltra in the seventies. They moved into other ponds after that--clothing, fast food, radios."

"How did Elena get her hands on the technology?"

"Hawthorne never stopped his research. He continued it on his own dime, bought an island near Puerto Rico where he was free of government inspection. They split ways but remained close friends and when Elena came along," Michael paused, as if he was ashamed to even say this out loud. "Just think about it."

"Oh, I know all about Elena Maxwell," Gisele flashed a sadistic grin. "Failed model, fishing for rich guys until one finally bites. Gets her own company out of it." "George didn't trust Elena. Would you? Some woman forty years your senior comes along and you give her half your assets?" "He brainwashed her."

Michael was staring down at his untouched food. Then he said, "Yes, in a matter of speaking. They would regularly vacation at the Hawthornes' estate on Valverde where Elena would be educated." Miranda blinked, her thoughtless eyes as hollow as a statue's. "But it's not permanent. And when George died she...woke up. Started blackmailing Dorian. George kept tapes of Elena's sessions on the island and it wasn't the kind of thing that Hawthorne wanted falling into the hands of the government. They couldn't touch him on Valverde but he did have a lot of vulnerable money wrapped up in the United States. So he met her demands, surrendered everything he'd learned in fifty years. And then he died. Boating accident."

Gisele nodded in rapt fascination, and then she remembered that she was a businesswoman. "Okay," she said coolly. "What does any of this have to do with me?"

Michael scoffed and said, "You're the most powerful woman in this business. Elena's reach is unimaginable at this point. If she's not paying people off, she's brainwashing them, and it's not even models anymore. She's got Selena Gomez, Taylor Swift, Katy Perry. Practically everyone who works at Nickelodeon. She's losing control and I've seen this before. Why do you think George kept those tapes of her brainwashing? He loved having dominion over her. If he were younger, he would have taken more women. She has to be stopped now before she's untouchable."

Gisele nodded. "What do you want me to do about it?" "Elena's crazy, but she isn't unreasonable. Buy her out. Fleur-de-lis is the most valuable lingerie company in the market right now, you'll be making money and doing a good thing. Please, Gisele. This has to end."

And that was how the plan was set in motion. It was nothing dramatic, no plan to beat Elena at her own game. Gisele had the money to offer, and Michael hoped that it would be enough to convince Elena to step aside. After they agreed on the amount, Michael told Gisele that he had to get Miranda back to the penthouse before Elena grew suspicious, and the went their separate ways. A few days later, Gisele's lawyers reached out to Michael to make the deal, and Elena responded with interest. She requested a meeting to discuss terms, which Gisele agreed to if she could choose the location. They met in an office at the law firm, and negotiations went quickly.

"I've been running Fleur-de-lis for a decade," Elena said. "And these last couple of years of success have been more stressful than all those years we spent in the red. Frankly, I'm ready to retire."

"I understand," Gisele replied. "Most models will say that they miss the runway but it was always so much work." "Of course," Elena smiled. "Now you're free to eat," her eyes gazing up and down the woman's body. Gisele shivered. "So we have a deal?" "Absolutely. I told Michael that I couldn't retired if I wasn't leaving Fleur-de-lis in capable hands, it's too important. But I don't know if there's anyone I trust more than the Bundchen brand. Its stock can only go up." "Well," Gisele smiled back. "Maybe you can invest some of your retirement in the company."

They shook hands outside of the firm, Gisele got into the backseat of her Benz, and the doors locked. "Enrique?" Gisele said to her driver. "Enrique?" Slowly the partition rolled down and Gisele was blinded by a piercing bright light. Everything slipped away, and her thoughts dissolved into nothingness.

Gisele awoke in her underwear, lying in bed and staring at herself in a mirror. She wasn't the first model to wake up in Fleur-de-lis' orientation room. Above her she saw a speaker, and Elena Maxwell's voice boomed: "You thought I'd just give my company away? You're a hard woman to get a hold of, but I just had to have a Gisele to complete my collection."

"Michael..." The name fell out of Gisele's mouth as she tried her best to form full thoughts.

"I thought Michael was going soft," Elena said. "But he played you pretty well. I wouldn't let a slave like Miranda out of my sight. But I knew if Michael showed up to that meeting alone that you'd never believe the story. You needed hard evidence. One of the models."

Gisele just laid there, her back propped against the headboard, struggling just to flex her muscles. She could only stare into that mirror, stare deep into her own foggy eyes. She tried to plead, but only tiny whines escaped her mouth.

"You like the room?" Elena taunted. "This building was a police station before my husband bought it. Never really thought I'd get a lot of use out of this old interrogation room. Pretty neat, right?"

"Neat..." Gisele parroted the words back to Elena. She'd been in a trance for so long, her mind completely vulnerable to Elena's words. She was already gone.

That evening Elena brought her newest thrall back to the penthouse. "What should I do with you?" She asked Gisele. The supermodel stood stiff in the doorway as she said, "Whatever you wish, Goddess." Elena clapped her hands in excitement and cried, "Oooh! I can't believe it! Gisele Bundchen, my slave!" "I cannot believe it either, Goddess."

Elena admired her conquest, running a hand through her long, dirty blonde hair. "What do you want me to do?" she asked. "Command me, own me. Obedience is my purpose. I live only to serve you and Fleur-de-lis."

Elena bit her lip. "Let's go. You're wearing far too many clothes." She dragged her slave to the bedroom, calling for Miranda to join them as she dropped Gisele onto the bed. Straddling Gisele, Elena removed her top and said, "Can you feel it? We haven't even fucked and you're already on the edge. That's what it's like to be a plaything. Every waking moment is a new, undiscovered pleasure."

"Thank you, Goddess," Gisele moaned. "Thank you for freeing my mind!" "Oh!" Elena giggled as Miranda slipped in to bed behind her, unclasping her bra and placing soft kisses on Elena's neck. She'd had so much practice in this bed that she didn't even need to wait for commands anymore. "And you, Miranda?" Elena asked. "Tell me how it feels."

"Intoxicating," Miranda replied. She stared down over Elena's shoulders into the empty eyes of Gisele, once her rival, and a slight smile crossed her face. She groped Elena's body, and then her kisses trailed up the woman's ear before Miranda whispered, "I love being a good pet."

Elena gasped, her eyes widened, and then she was at peace. "Good pet..." she repeated before collapsing limp on top of Gisele.

Miranda stood up, lazily dropping Elena's bra on the floor. Then with a scowl she said, "Your lack of will is incredible."

[designedparadigm]

   “you  know,  i'll  cut  it  honest  with  you.”  since  it's  bothering  him.  constantly  echoing  in  his  brain.  he  knows  beyond  all  else  he's  insufferable.  kicked  to  the  curb,  loaned  out  -  nothing  is  stable  for  too  long.  his  personality  gets  on  nerves;  and  he's  well  aware.  he  refuses  to  change  who  he  is  for  anyone.  it's  his  life.  if  people  don't  agree  -  tough  shit. 

   but  it  still  hearkens  a  question. 

   “why  haven't  you  kicked  my  ass  to  the  curb  yet?  usually  i'm  booted  out  by  now.”  he  leans  forward,  draping  his  arms  over  the  bench  the  other  is  sat  on.  “surely  i've  gotten  on  your  last  nerve  by  now.  free  spirit  and  all  that  shit.”  he  makes  a  waving  motion  with  his  hand.  “how  can  i  piss  you  off,  even  fail  you  at  times,  and  you  still  decide  i  have  some  worth?  most  people  figure  out  by  now  i'm  not  worth  the  headache  it  is  to  put  up  with  me.  i'm  surprised  you're  seeing  something.  you  waitin'  for  me  to  die  or  something?  i'd  think  that  ship  ain't  sailin'.  you  should  know  that  to.  you  know  how  many  times  i've  been  ‘not  today  death!’?” 

   beneath  it  all  -  it's  insecurity.  knowing  he's  never  seen  someone  higher  up  than  him  see  worth  in  him.  just  another  punk.  but  he'd  become  accustomed  to  it.  accepted  it.  to  the  point  the  idea  of  something  seen  in  him  -  it  gets  under  his  skin.  festers.  itches.  why  am  i  still  here?  maybe  a  part  of  him  wants  to  move  on,  to  jump  from  one  place  to  the  next.  to  adventure  and  take  in  new.  or  maybe  there's  some  deep  fucked  up  part  that  wants  that  burn.  wants  the  scorn  of  being  kicked  to  the  curb.  something  to  hold  onto.  spite  to  fuel  the  fire.  without  it  -  what  is  he?  he's  thrived  on  it.  and  now? 

   “c'mon.  if  you're  waitin'  to  let  me  down  easy  -  don't.  just  fire  me.  set  me  on  my  way.  i'm  not  gonna  hold  it  against  you.  everyone  does  it.”  he  shrugs.  “i'll  be  chill.  and  then  on  my  way  for  someone  else,  someplace  new.  you  know.  drift.  like  a  maple  leaf  in  the  wind.”  another  shitty  i'm  canadian  joke.  he  thinks  it's  pretty  funny.

[saltyenthusiastpizza]

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[austronautcirca1147]

🥕 Fool's Golden Men; Part 1

A fun historical fiction series I might be able to actually finish about the Klondike Gold Rush

RAIN

Father used to say, there’s really only space for a few people to actually live in the world. Sure, people might exist, but, he said, their lives are hardly lives at all.

Everyone here is so alive, more so than the noisy forest around us, its chattering and chirping and swaying enclosing the voices of powerful men as they decide on the fate of what feels like the world. Men who stand with heads held high, all their might and sureness etched onto their faces.

Monsieurs Hykes and Montesquieu are speaking. They stare boldly into the distance like the statues Mama put in our gardens of valiant knights and Greek heroes. It’s almost like they believe they have a higher purpose than becoming more rich than they are now.

All our trappers, they’re runnin’ off to the West, Hykes announces. We should do sum’in about that ‘gold rush' business we’re seein’ in Yukon.

A chuckle spreads through the crowd. Billie leans over and whispers, Hykes is no fur lord, no nothin’. He runs a mill company over in Chilliwack, tha’s all.

Billie always knows. She says she is skilled at listening closely, but both she and I know it is merely practice from listening in on Mama and Father while pretending to set the table.

Hykes, a voice sounds, holding back laughs, it sounds to me like you’re simply having trouble controlling your staff. Joseph Tempest motions for the flurry of approving shouts to quiet down, nodding in appreciation, the smooth furs draped over his shoulders shifting and gleaming in the light. He could have said any number of ridiculous things, and the others would all crow and shout in approval, like great, lumbering boars, hoping to gain even a fraction of his favour.

Everyone has noticed that Old Stewarts hasn’t come, of course not. The old furnace-smith is resting in an inn someplace, complaining of better days to be found. Tempest is here instead, and it is clear he’s the one to take over the Stewarts estate and enterprise after his master kicks it, which no man here can stand to imagine.

Even if the darkness of his skin and the black in his eyes is all forgotten temporarily, overshadowed by the prospect of gain, the gleams on the pale faces that surround him speak wordlessly: Old Stewarts let you get too strong, tribesman. Work for me, and we will profit, but you must know your place at a white man's feet.

Miffed at the comment, Hykes struggles to hold his head high, stalking across the clearing to perch himself stiffly atop the back of his carriage. Figures creep around Tempest, each trying to make witty remarks, to lure him into making some vague promises of friendship with their companies.

Billie shifts by my side, leaves rustling quietly as she moves. I hush her, lest we be found out, quickly assessing the stability of the branches we are perched on. There is only one thing I can appreciate about these men: they convince themselves that they are important, and thus their plans must be in the thick undergrowth, surrounded by ominous winds, darkness, and the howling of wolves.

Raine, Billie whispers, motioning toward the faded white fabric of what may have once been a pristine housekeeper's dress, I think a branch tore my sleeve. I nod, muttering, we'll fix it later.

What feels like hours pass, but we can’t leave, for we would surely be found out if we were to make any movements.

Mindlessly, I peer down the length of a branch to the opposite side of the dark clearing, squinting to better see the men gathered below.

Ice trickles down my spine as something small glitters in the corner of my gaze, and I force myself to look. A pair of gleaming eyes stare back at me in surprise, then triumph.

Billie, we have to go.