#and maybe less shite in the rivers too

[gettiregretti]

It’s looking like a Labour lead, lads. Some friends of friends are running for MP so I’ll be making shrieking noises at them to improve trans lives.

It’ll at least be easier to pressure Labour into caring than the Tories. But I do kind of wish we could have seen what the Lib Dems could do

[sealrock]

decembhyur, day 16: journal

9th sun of the 1st umbral moon, 15XX

it was supposed to be a simple job: find the mark, take off her head as proof of the kill, bring it to these uppity inquisition people who'd rather eat chocobo shite than look me in the eye, leave with a sackful of gil. they had no clue she had a babe with her, and neither did I when I took this bounty. knowing this lot, they'd throw in an extra thousand if I got rid of the child. I've had my fill of killing women with children... why must the little children suffer unjustly? these people are no different than the corpse brigade, they just wear fancy robes and preach their holier than thou rubbish. I walked away empty-handed that day. well, not entirely. she said his name is achille.

when the woman—an elezen named tauvane—discovered my intentions, she looked... how can I say it? she was more savage than human, with her claws and brute strength. she put up quite a fight: she had the strength of damn near twenty men. she nearly ripped my face off before she slammed me into a nearby boulder to make her escape. I took note of unnatural black growths trailing along her arms and legs, much like a dragon's scales. her hair was matted and filthy, and her eyes screamed distrust and panic, like a wild animal backed into a corner. she was by the river with the babe; I managed to catch up with her just before she plunged him in the rushing water. whether it was a cruel act of survival or sparing her child from the hands of her homeland, I cannot say. she was dealt with an unfortunate hand in life, that much I can tell. whatever crime or crimes she committed had the inquisition desperate enough to seek outside help. but I couldn't go along with the plan. I pitied her, I pitied the child clutched to her chest and swaddled in tattered rags, his mewling cries muted by the driving rain. instead, I let her escape... but she left achille in my care. she said he'd be better off with me, and that she'll return for him 'when the time is right.' and just like that, she dashed away into the trees with a speed I never witnessed before. I couldn't stand there and gawk, however. I needed to find shelter. as I write this, achille is sound asleep on my bed. I found temporary respite in this hunting village called tailfeather, and I leave on the morrow. apparently tauvane stayed around these parts, but the locals were unaware of her bounty when they allowed her a safe haven before she gave birth. rhalgr's cock, I never expected to become a father again, not after... what happened in ala mhigo. he's not a replacement for the son I lost. I have too much blood on my hands as it is. the families I killed for the sake of the king, they torment me. I cannot pass this fate onto him. he's too young to be separated from his mother, she made a mistake. besides that... he's very ill. I don't have the proper medicines to help him. he may not make it by next sennight. maybe I should have put the two out of their misery when I had the chance. I'll leave him here in the village, there's a woman that's able to nurse him. he'll be better off here.

24th sun of the 1st umbral moon, 15XX

... I found myself unable to leave this child behind. it's been roughly a fortnight since tauvane entrusted her son to me, and she hasn't returned to tailfeather. I fear she must have perished in the storm. but to happy tidings: the healers here saved achille's life with their folk magicks. it was then that I learned he was half-blooded; his ears were barely pointed, meaning his father was a hyur like me. I'm ignorant of ishgardian politics, but if the whispers of the healers are true, then achille would've lead a difficult life in tauvane's homeland. to condemn a child just for the manner of his birth, it sickens me. I'm relieved that he'll pull through, but... I can't bear to hold him, much less look at him. he's not my son, I am but a stranger to him. just before I said my final goodbyes, when I took a glance at him, I found him staring back at me. his eyes were the same shade as his mother, a brilliant red hue that reminded me of blood. it matched his fuzzy crown of dark red hair. he was quiet for a long while before he broke out into a smile. he smiled at me, someone he doesn't know. I am not his mother. I couldn't leave him. I am not his father, I doubt he ever knew his father. but he chose me as his provider, his protector. when he's old enough I will take my leave of this place, I am sure that is what tauvane wished for me to do. as of now, he's a little menace, and I say that with affection. he's incredibly curious about my hair. he won't stop tugging at my beard and braids with his mighty grip. he's so small that I can carry him with one hand. but I know he will grow into a strong young man someday... he and tyro would've been like brothers, if tyro had lived. my poor tyro. he will not replace the one I lost. but nevertheless, I believe what was destroyed can be rebuilt. what was cut down can grow again.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens Secret Santa 2020 - “Lights Will Guide You Home” (Rated PG13)

Summary: While watching the kids for the night, Crowley takes them all on an adventure, which includes a trip to the states to look at the Christmas lights. He drives them around to see bigger and gaudier displays, but Aziraphale is a little confused when he finally gets to see Crowley's favorite. (1556 words)

Notes: Written for Micha (@one-with-the-floor) as part of the Good Omens Secret Santa 2020 gift exchange.

Read on AO3.

"How about this one, kids? This might be the brightest one yet! ... Kids? ... Kids?" Crowley looks in his rearview mirror and scowls. "Oi! When did the little buggers fall asleep?" 

Aziraphale turns away from his window and the house beyond covered in every twinkle light available on the Eastern Seaboard (he suspects) and gives Crowley a confused look. Then, remembering that they aren't alone in Crowley's Bentley, he peeks over at the seat behind them, where five children snore softly, heads leaning on shoulders, fast asleep. "About five houses ago, I believe? Give or take? That's the last time I heard any ooo'ing or ahh'ing."

"Which house was that?"

"The one with the nativity scene made up of inflatable dragons breathing fire and wearing Santa caps."

Crowley's brow draws together as he tries to recall. "Oh, yeah. Right." He looks over his shoulder so he can see the pile of children properly: Warlock dressed in his stiff new Christmas suit, Adam a bit less formal in khakis and a pale blue polo, the rest of The Them a hodgepodge of wrinkled trousers, thick-soled shoes, and shirts of various fit alongside Pepper's red velvet gown, which her parents forced her to wear (a fact she stated numerous times throughout the evening) and which she accessorized with a faux leather jacket and a bulky pair of Doc Martens. "What's the deal with them knocking out so early? They're kids! They're supposed to be boundless founts of energy, aren't they?"

"Early? It's close to one in the morning!"

"Yes, but if you take into consideration the clan of gingerbread people they decimated, then washed down with a gallon of cocoa, they should be bouncing off the ceiling! We've been out for, what? An hour? Two?"

"Try four," Aziraphale says, checking his watch to be sure. "Did you have to miracle us all the way to the states?"

"Yes," Crowley says definitively. "They do Christmas a little differently out here. Bigger. More grandiose."

"That's an understatement," Aziraphale mutters as they pass a house so festooned with lights and animatronic creatures, he can't see the structure they're affixed to. "As is, I'm not sure how exactly you're getting away with miracling the lot of us abroad."

"When Hell finds out I used my magic to take five children across borders without passports, they'll be ecstatic!"

"But will Warlock's parents? Or Adam's?"

"Who's going to tell them?" Crowley shoots his angel a significant look, but Aziraphale matches it, arms crossed over his chest, glaring sternly, and Crowley backs down. "Look, their parents ditched them with us so that they could go off drinking and regaling and having a good time."

"Ditched them?" Aziraphale chuckles at Crowley's skewed point of view. "We offered!"

"And we promised these kids a good time!"

"You definitely delivered," Aziraphale says, smiling at his memories of their night: the snowball fight that ended with them crashing an outdoor service; the horde of snow zombies they built in the yards of a quiet and unsuspecting neighborhood; the hills they zipped down using trashcan lids as sleighs. Aziraphale was horrified by most of these to begin with, but that didn't last. Not when he saw how thoroughly the children enjoyed themselves. 

Crowley, too. 

But driving around, looking at lights? That was an unexpectedly tame suggestion. And Crowley was rather insistent. "But why did you want us to see Christmas lights?"

"Because it's important."

"How?"

"This is the only time of year you get to see this," Crowley explains, gesturing vaguely.

"And what's that? Enough wattage to coax down passing aircraft? Or are you perhaps referring to the eight-foot Santa mooning passersby?"

"No," Crowley replies. But that Santa was hilarious! The children spotted him from miles away and made Crowley drive over. They spent a good fifteen minutes pointing and laughing, making the kinds of off-colored jokes that make parents shush! But more hilarious was his angel's scandalized reaction - his dramatic tut, followed by an even more dramatic, "God Lord." "Humanity." Crowley sighs. "I know I talk a lot about Christmas becoming vulgar and over-commercialized. And come the day after, it'll be back to the business of not giving a shite about their fellow man, trampling each other in the shops to get the most ridiculous garbage at seventy-five percent off ..."

"Something you earned a commendation for, if I recall," Aziraphale points out.

"... but when humans light their houses like this, invite their neighbors to gather 'round, they're saying 'All are welcome! Stop on by! Let's celebrate together!'"

"To me, it's more like they're saying, 'Look at me! Look at all of this useless bother I own! Who cares that I'm diverting migratory birds from their destinations? Astronauts can see my house from space!'"

"Agree to disagree then," Crowley grumbles, then goes silent, and Aziraphale knows he's teased one step too far.

"The children falling asleep will make it easier to transport them," Aziraphale says, easing into a new subject until he can think of a way to apologize. "We can miracle them into their beds when we get back to the Dowling's. Then we can do a little regaling of our own."

Crowley grins. He can't stay stung by his angel forever. He's just too sentimental tonight to have a sense of humor. "Sounds about perfect. Been a while since I've done any regaling."

"Tonight's as good a time as any to start."

Crowley turns down a street with fewer lights and no neighbors milling about, preparing to snap them back to London. "Which house was your favorite?"

"Oh, none of these," Aziraphale says snobbishly. "I'm not the biggest fan of modern-day extravagance. I would have to say my favorite out of all the displays was that abbey down by the river: fairy lights reflecting off the water; tasteful nativity out front; evergreen trimmed with simple decorations - wooden star atop, red velvet bows, paper angels ..."

"Leave it to you to choose the one holy place we found, and only because we took a wrong turn."

Aziraphale wiggles happily in his seat. "You know what they say - there are no accidents."

"Yup. And four rights make a left."

Aziraphale pulls a face. "I ... don't think that's correct ..."

"Don't matter." Crowley turns in his seat, looks at his angel. "Do you wanna see my favorite?"

Aziraphale smiles, all thoughts of turns shelved for the moment. "Of course." "Alright. It's back in our neck of the woods, so hold on tight."

Aziraphale reaches to the side, takes Crowley's free hand in his, gives it a squeeze. "Ready."

Crowley snaps his fingers. 

For a single second, the world stops. 

A bright light surrounds the Bentley, engulfs it in its brilliance. In the amount of time it takes for Crowley's fingers to slide across one another, they're home. 

Aziraphale blinks, looks about as his eyes adjust to the lower light. He expected to see a house pulsating with a glow equal to a thousand suns outside his window, maybe with Virgin Mary riding a motorbike behind the abominable snowman while the angel Gabriel wrestles an alligator. But the shapes around him are familiar. His brow wrinkles as he tries to understand what he's seeing. They're not just back in London, they're in Soho.

Right outside his shop. 

"Which one is it?" Aziraphale looks up and down the block at darkened storefronts, most of them as frugally adorned as his own - a rope of garland, a wreath, a silver bell or two, but nothing special. Nothing noteworthy. Nothing even close to the houses they spent the night ogling. 

"This one right here." Crowley points past Aziraphale toward a set of wooden double doors.

Aziraphale frowns. "But ... that's my bookshop."

"A-ha."

"I didn't do much in the way of decorating."

"I know."

"And I don't like when people stop in, so it's not as if I'm encouraging my neighbors to gather."

"Know that, too."

"So, why is it your favorite?"

"Because ..." Crowley scoots across the seat, puts an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders "... it's home."

"You consider a dusty old bookshop home? When you own that mansion of a flat in Mayfair?"

"You consider the bookshop your home, don't you?"

"Yes, but that's because my books are there, my liquor cabinet, my snuff boxes - everything I'm fond of. Everything I adore."

"What a coincidence. Because everything I'm fond of ... everything I adore ... is at your shop."

"And what would that be?" Aziraphale asks sarcastically. "My bottle of Hennessy Paradis Imperial?"

"No. You, you pair of walnuts," a grumpy Warlock responds in Crowley's stead.  

Crowley glares at his young charge over his shoulder. "Rude."

"Look, could you guys take us home first and then make out?" Adam asks.

"Yeah," Pepper agrees. "My entire body is numb except for my right eyelid."

"Plus, listening to adults flirt kind of grosses me out," Brian adds, the rest mumbling in agreement.

"Alright, alright," Crowley growls, sliding back into his seat and putting the car into drive. "We'll drive you ankle-biters home, and then ..."

"We regale! Which I'm confident will include plenty of 'making out'? Right, my dear?"

"Absolutely," Crowley says with a smirk. Aziraphale snorts when their cluster of pre-teens groan.

"I think we're making them uncomfortable, angel." 

"Serves them right," Aziraphale says, straightening in his seat. "I could have happily gone on for another six thousand years without seeing Santa Claus's rear end. Vengeance is mine."

[the-fiction-witch]

NSFW 100 : Whitey Winn

1. What's the dirtiest thought you've ever had about a total stranger?

Uuuhhh I don't really think about stranger's.

2. Do you prefer sex at night, in the morning, mid-afternoon, or NOW?

Now is good. All times are good none better then the other. But I do like mornin's before y/ns properly awake shes so much louder when she's sleepy.

3. What's your favourite way to be seduced?

I like when y/n starts hintin' it's so cute because she starts blushin' and gettin' all embarrassed for askin'

4. What's the dirtiest fantasy you've had at work?

Ummmm... well did Imagine handcuffin' my little darlin'to the bars and stripping her naked leavin' her there all day so I could come back and fuck her whenever I wanted

5. How would you dominate your boss sexually if given the chance?

Noooo... I do not want to do that!

6. What do you do when you get horny in public?

Go jerk off. Or hide in the office till it goes down, or call y/n over.

7. Have you ever masturbated in a public bathroom?

No that's disgustin'. My house or the river that's it... or outside y/ns window before we where married.

8. What's the weirdest thing you've thought about while touching yourself?

I don't really think of odd thin's I kinda just imaginin' y/n,

9. What's the strangest prop you've used to get yourself off?

A Sponge... I was in the tub and I maybe have uhh tried to see what it felt like, it didn't feel that good but I got off so I was happy.

10. Do you remember the first time you felt aroused?

Not really I remember the first time I kinda felt with being horny but it happened so often I just kinda ignored it until I jerked off for the first time.

11. Who gave you your first orgasm?

I did I was curious so I did and I've been a dirty little pervy boy ever since.

12. Do you remember what that first orgasm felt like?

Ohh I remember it like it was yesterday, it felt so good so amazin' I can't describe it and that was with my own hand I can't even begin to explain the amazin' waves of pleasure from her hand, her mouth, her pussy the first times I ever got those.

13. Have you ever had sex with someone whose name you never knew?

Nope that seems like a werid thing to do.

14. What's your favourite thing about a quickie?

The gratification. And if course gettin' to secretly ruin my darlin'

15. What the most sexually daring thing you've ever done?

Lettin' y/n lock me up. And lettin' her do whatever she wanted to me. I was a little worried but my God it was fun.

16. Have you ever fantasized about fucking one of your teachers?

Noooo the teacher in la belle before his dunn was.... Not good.

17. Do you ever mentally strip strangers just for kicks?

Not strangers just y/n.

18. And then imagine, in dirty detail, what it would be like to fuck them?

Of course I do, I can't help thinkin' of fuckin' her every time I see her.

19. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex?

No. And as the options in la belle are the drygoods man, the funeral director, the bar keep, or bill... I do not want to.

20. What inspires you to make the first move?

Hormones mostly. But y/n made the first move with us just sittin' down the river and she nuzzled into my neck and gave my cheek a little kiss so I kinda have her lips a little kiss back and now she's my wife.

21. In your opinion, what does it mean to be good in bed?

To make your partner happy.

22. Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend or girlfriend because you just couldn't help yourself?

No! Anyone who has I will personally shot your dick off ya don't deserve a beautiful woman if ya can't 'help yourself'. I have the most beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman in the world that I love very dearly why would I ever want anyone else much less betray her trust and cheat on her she's my wife why would I do that?

23. Have you ever pushed the boundaries of fidelity to the brink and then retreated just for the rush?

What! No? Who has? That's a dickhole thin' to do to someone especially someone ya love? Why would ya do that?

24. Do you have a go-to masturbation fantasy?

Just imaginin' my sexy little darlin' strippin' for me and rubbin' soapy bubbles all over her sluttyy body.

25. What kind of porn turns you on?

Lookin' at y/n. That's all that make me hard

26. Have you ever had sex with your eyes closed?

Not on purpose sometimes they shut when I feel good?

27. Have you ever blindfolded or handcuffed your partner?

Many times I like handcuffs not so much blindfoldin'

28. Does naughty talk get you aroused?

Depends what's bein' said I think I like sayin' it more then listenin' to it.

29. Are you sure about that, my dirty little forest nymph of a sex goddess?

Humm... I'm sure my sexy little darlin', but if ya wanted to try I don't mind sittin" with ya lettin' ya try and talk dirty too me? Maybe I'll slap ya sexy ass when you've gone wrong and I'd ya get me hard enough ya can jump on my cock for a while?

30. What's the dirtiest thing someone's ever said to you during sex?

"Whitey I want you to cum so deep inside me that you get me pregnant"

I think it's sexy as hell but also kinda frightin', to be fair I did edge her for an hour so it was expected she'd go a little crazy.

31. Have you ever watched another couple get it on without them knowing?

No... why does this stuff?

32. Have you ever watched another couple have sex with their permission?

No and I don't ever want to

33. How would you respond if a couple approached you to be their "third"?

What kinda couple? Because if it's two girls then... maybe. But I don't know Id think about it, depends who it was

34. What's the most flattering thing someone's said about your naked body?

"Uuummm it's so sexy and big I don't ever want you do not be inside me"

I am very proud of myself that she said that to me.

35. When's the last time you had a vivid sex dream?

I don't get sexy dreams that much I think about sex durin' the day like sexy say dreams but never at night.

36. What do you think an orgy would be like?

I imagine very fun atleast for me just bein' able to torcher as many people as I wanted but I think I'd rather just snuggle with y/n after all she knows what I like.

37. Have you ever propositioned a total stranger?

No, why would I do that.

38. What does your ideal one-night stand look like?

Some good forplay, some nice kinky sex and a cuddle in the mornin'.

39. How long does it take you to get yourself off, on average?

Mostly it's fourty five minutes but it depends on what's bein' done for example a blowjob I'm done in like five minutes.

40. What's the weirdest thing that turns you on?

The weirdest? I guess baths? They make me hard.

41. Have you ever had a naughty dream about a close friend or family member?

I did about y/n before we got together. And maybe a couple times about louise but that was before y/n.

42. Have you ever woken up humping your pillow?

No, not my pillow I've woken up humpin' y/n but I can't help that.

43. When's the last time you orgasmed in your sleep?

In my sleep? I don't think I've ever done that? Maybe I jerk off too much?

44. What's the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you while hooking up?

The incident. Okay we kinda where foolin' around in the office one night and I let her handcuff me inside the cell and then uhh... bill came in while we where naked and we couldn't find the key.

45. Do you like touching yourself in front of the people you sleep with?

Not really, because why would I be doin' it in front of her surely if she's there we should just have sex? But if she wanted to watch I wouldn't tell my darlin' no.

46. What's the dirtiest text you've ever sent or received?

I hate not. I got a note that said go to her house she was waitin' does that count?

47. Do you prefer professional or amateur porn?

Uuuh... I guess lookin' thought y/n's window while she's havin' a bath is kinda amateur porn?

48. What's your favourite blowjob technique?

I don't really care, it's a blowjob in happy just be receivin' one at all.

49. If you had to pick, would you be a dominatrix or a submissive?

Uhhh dominate I guess, I kinda switch but Dom if I had to choose

50. Is there anything you won't do in bed?

Nothin' that's goin' to hurt like spankin' is one thing but I'm not goin' to like slap her face or choak her

51. What's your dirtiest sexual fantasy?

Ummm comin' home from work to see my little y/n all dressed up for me in her undergarments, her runnin' me a hot bath and scrubbin' all over me with her soft hands then givin' in and climbin' in with me

52. How many people have you slept with?

Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhh... one I think. Yeah I never did anythin' with Louise so one and that's y/n.

53. Where's the weirdest place you've had sex?

On my horse.

54. What's your favourite part of Y/n's body?

Her legs or more specifically her thighs I don't know why I just think there sexy especially when I'm runnin' my hands all over them.

55. Have you ever had anal sex?

Yes, but I didn't enjoy it all that much and I know y/n didn't either.

56. If you could choose what Y/n was wearing right now, what would you choose?

Oooohh well nothin'.

But if I had to choose her a beautiful outfit I would probably pick, those thick ridin' boots with her fishnet stockin' then her big brown skirt with the huge slit and her little shite shirt that has the lace all the way across and shoes off her chest and shoulders.

57. Where on your body is your favourite place to be touched?

Well... my cock of course I like when my darlin' decides to start touching me but also hair I like her playin' with my hair while we snuggle

58. If you could have sex anywhere in the world, where would it be?

In our bed I think. Or in the river.

59. When did you first had sex?

The first time was actually in the office bent over the desk one night we got a little drunk

60. What's the best sex you've ever had?

Our weddin' night, by God I was exhausted but it was all soooo good.

61. What's your favourite position?

Bent over!! Just bend her over the nearest thin' and get goin'

62. Have you ever been caught having sex?

Yeah bill caught us in the office a few times, Maggie has many many times, some guy caught us down the river Last week but I kinda like the idea someone could see us they could watch us havin' amazin' sex watch her sexy naked body scream for me as she cums make sure the world knows shes my little darlin'

63. Do you watch porn?

I do... some would call it peepin'.

64. What kind of porn do you watch?

Window

65. How often do you masturbate?

One a week I'd say now I have my darlin' but before I was fuckin' her on the regular I was like six times a day.

66. Name a sex position you'd like to try?

I would like to try on the side even though it seems complicated

67. Do you prefer to give or receive?

I love receivin' but I gave a very good girl who gives it to me

68. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

So many times, she looks so good climbin' out the water naked I'd skinny dip with y/n everyday if it weren't so dam cold in there.

69. What's the most sex you've had in a day?

I have up countin' all I know is I couldn't cum for a four days after this day but to be fair it was our weddin' after all

70. Are you loud or quiet during sex?

Loud! I want her to squeal, scream, be' for me, and I want her to force the noise of off me I don't care if la belle hears us I wanna destroy her with all of them listenin'

71. Have you ever tried using food during foreplay?

We tried honey once...it didn't go well. So dam sticky.

72. What's the first thing that sexually attracts you to someone?

How much skin there showin', how much leg, how much of the breasts, luckily if I wanna see any I just rip y/ns dress off her

73. Would you say you have any fetishes?

I like restrainin' to the extent sometimes she doesn't even want it when I start but I'll just handcuff her or make it so she has no escape and fuck her till she agrees she won't deny me again and she'll bend over wherever I want her too

74. When it comes to BDSM, how far have you gone/would go?

I would go all the way If my little darlin' let me but so far just teasin', tiein' up Maybe a little torcher

75. What's your favourite toy?

Hummmm? Well my favorite of course is my little darlin' but to use on her? Umm I love handcuffs I love cuffin' her to our bed she she can't try and run away from me and all the things I'm gonna do to her

76. Do you ever read erotic fiction?

No... I like those post cards the miners used it get with the ladies in there underwear?

77. Have you joined the mile high club?

No but I would be thrilled to.

78. Do you think you could take off Y/n underwear with no hands?

I bet a hundred dollars I could, and I would enjoy every moment of tryin'

79. Would you say you're kinky?

I would say I am? Some would probably argue and say I'm just a dirty bastard?

80. Do you enjoy shower sex?

We do not have showers? We have baths? I do like bath sex just an extra excuse to get y/n naked

81. Where's the weirdest place you've ever masturbated?

Down by the river I guess... maybe the woods?

82. Do you like to be spanked?

I do not. However I'm not apposed to givin' my darlin' a spankin' if she's been a naughty girl.

83. Have you ever fantasised about someone else during sex?

No, why would I need to fantasie when I have a sexy little darlin' bouncin' on my cock?

84. If y/n caught you masturbating, would you stop or would you finish?

I'd sit there and keep jerking while I looked at her maybe ask her to take her pretty dress off? Or maybe pull her to sit on my lap and deal with it for me either way I'd finish.

85. Have you ever had an inappropriate crush?

Uuuuhhh... I don't think so.

86. Have you ever cried or fallen asleep during sex?

No, my eyes watered once... when I had just had my fourth orgasm In a row when we where playin' torcher does that count?

87. Do you prefer eye contact or not during sex?

I'm not that bothered I'm not I to it but I don't mind either way, I do like when my little darlin' makes eye contact when she's suckin' on me especially if she makes that innocent little gave she does...ummm it makes me wanna fuck her pretty little mouth.

88. Do you like to kiss during sex?

There is a time for kisses durrin' sex when ya gettin' heated up or when ya coolin' down but once ya inside it's no time for slow little kisses

89. Do you get tired after sex?

It depends what we did if I just spend and hour roughly havin' sex then yeah I might get a little tried but usually orgasms just make me wanna cuddle someone

90. How many positions do you think you've tried?

All of them! I think maybe we've missed like one or two but I doubt anymore then that.

91. What's the longest you've ever gone without sex?

On week. And I only did that because y/n was havin' her womanly time. It doesn't bother me I was happy to continue as normal but she said no so one week and I don't indent tryin' any longer then that.

92. How high is your sex drive?

Do I really need to answer this or does ^ and ↓ answer question?

But pretty high.

93. What's a surefire way to turn you on?

Look at me. Suggest sex. Take off ya clothes? I guess

94. Sex with lights on or lights off?

On, why would I wanna miss a moment of the sexy lady takin' her clothes off for me? And lettin' me inside her? No lights on I wanna watch my cock slippin' in and out of ya drippin' pussy darlin'

95. Do you like dirty talk?

You tell me darlin' ;)

96. Do you prefer one night stands or longer-term sexual partners?

I actually prefer lon' term. Ya can get much more used to a person what they like what you like and that makes overall just better sex

97. Do you prefer to be on top or bottom?

Depends on mood, and how lazy I feel that day if it's been a lon' day at the office maybe I'll be on the bottom, or if it's early and I can't be bothered to get up yet but other then that top so I can do whatever I want

98.Rough or romantic?

Rough, so we can have some dirty smutty times

99. Quickie or marathon session?

Quickie everyone's happy and satisfied, why go for hours when ya can rock each of for a few minutes and both be equally happy

100. What's the best thing about our sex life?  

The fact it's constant and amazing darlin' ya my pretty little wifey that I can make love to whenever I want it means so much more to me then just sex it's makin' love to ya my darlin' and maybe soon we can fool around that special way so we can plan for Jr.

[timeagainreviews]

Reappraising Companions

Years after having watched every available episode of Doctor Who, I've had plenty of opportunities to rewatch episodes time and time again. As with most movies and television, I've found revisiting certain stories and eras has caused me to see them in a different light. A story I may have once reviled is suddenly more interesting. I even came to appreciate Peter Davison's performance as the Fifth Doctor for its subtle nature. But what about companions? Are there any companions I didn't care for at first, which I've softened toward over time? That is the question I wish to explore.

Below I've chosen a selection of companions of whom I had initially disliked for various reasons. They span across multiple eras and both the classic and modern versions of the show. With each companion, I have endeavoured to be fair in my reappraisal, but this doesn't mean I've changed my mind. I would also like to state that none of these appraisals are about the actors. My goal is to evaluate companions by the way they were written. The performance will come secondary.

1. Danny Pink

I chose Danny Pink to kick this list off because he is the reason I am writing this article in the first place. Recently, I took to rewatching a selection of Danny Pink episodes, in hopes that I may find something I didn't initially see. When Samuel Anderson was cast as Danny, I was excited. I've always been a big fan of male companions. They offer a different dynamic to the TARDIS that we don't often get to experience. However, in the wrong hands, they can be exhausting. Enter Steven Moffat.

When Steven Moffat took the reins of Doctor Who, he introduced us to Rory Williams. A smart, loyal, and combative male companion, not at all enamoured with the Doctor's mystique. At his worst, Rory was made to compete with the Doctor for Amy's affection. At his best, Rory held the Doctor accountable for the lives he brought aboard the TARDIS. With Danny, I felt like this is what Moffat was trying to do again, but this time, it wasn't as successful.

When we're introduced to Danny, we watch him and Clara fumble over their words like teenagers. It's meant to be cute, but their chemistry is non-existent. It feels like watching an episode of Coupling, in that it's painful and causes me to scan the room for exits. Their adorkable awkwardness is supposed to endear us to their relationship, but it seems forced. This is compounded when the Doctor enters the equation. Forcing Danny to fight for something very few of us in the audience believe in the first place.

Once again we find the male companion being forced to compete with the Doctor for the affection of a woman. But in this instance, instead of holding the Doctor accountable, Danny seems to hold the Doctor in contempt. Coming from his own history of military training and PTSD, Danny projects all of his inner struggles onto the Doctor. Which is unfortunate, as Danny's inner turmoil is his most humanistic trait. This wouldn't be the first time in Moffat's era where the Doctor's nature as a hero was called into play. The problem with Danny's appraisal of the Doctor as a general, barking orders, is that he's wrong. And we as an audience know it.

Not only do we know it, but so does the Doctor. The Doctor even gets a character arc over the identity crisis Danny gives him, wherein he realises Danny is wrong about him. Danny, however, never comes around to the Doctor's side. Even in his final moments on screen, he remains combative with the Doctor, in an exhausting refusal to grow as a character. We're supposed to believe he's come to some sort of character growth of self-acceptance by sacrificing his chance at a new life, for the life of a boy he mistakenly killed. Instead, he carries the same chip on his shoulder to his grave.

Danny is a companion wholly failed by writing. Even at his most heroic, it seems in service of making the Doctor look like a buffoon. His mimicking a soldier while yelling in the Doctor's face is embarrassing for everyone involved. Imagine this is your boyfriend meeting your friends. You would be mortified by his behaviour. Now imagine you have to lie about hanging out with your friends because it might make your boyfriend upset. Now imagine this friend is a very dashing person who constantly puts the lives of others before him. Danny and Clara's courtship is a romance by gaslight.

2. Clara Oswald

Clara is a whole other can of worms. I could probably dedicate an entire article to her character. I should clarify that my initial dislike for her character is somewhat mired in personal disappointment. By the time Clara was introduced, we had seen a string of modern human companions. We got the occasional tertiary companions from the future, such as Captain Jack or River Song. But we hadn't had a main companion from the past, future, or another planet. So when Jenna Coleman was introduced as Oswin Oswald, Junior Entertainment Manager of the starliner Alaska, I was very excited. Finally, a companion from the future! I was so ready for the Doctor to go on a quest to save Oswin from the cruel fate of becoming a Dalek. What an exciting storyline that was going to be.

And then we see her as governess Clara Oswin Oswald. Ok... Well at least she's still from a different era, right? Oh, she's dead now too? Oh. Much like Moffat's Dracula, all of this great promise was suddenly dashed against the rocks of a contemporary setting. Sigh. I was so excited. What we're given in “The Bells of St. John,” is a new character with less direction than either Oswin or the governess before her. So much that Moffat had taken to literally modulating her brain with an app. Maybe she's really good with computers now? Sorry friends, much like Rose Tyler's gymnastics and Peri Brown's botany, it's never going to come up again.

And this is the biggest issue I have had with Clara Oswald. She spends most of her screen time fluctuating between what character they're writing her as this week. The writers simply didn't know what to do with her while the Doctor tried to figure out why she's so "impossible." One week she's wacky, one week she's stern, another week she's bisexual queer bait. Her characterisation is all over the charts, which sadly, tracks with her entire storyline. She's a woman, fragmented across time, and so is her personality. And don't even get me started on that impossible girl nonsense.

Steven Moffat once said in an interview that one or two people usually guess his big reveal ahead of time, but that no one had guessed Clara's. Perhaps that's because nobody's fan theory was "It's going to be absolute shite." Instead of just being a woman who gets to be her own person, she has to become the most importantest companion. She has to save the Doctor by being planted throughout his timeline, saving him from the Great Intelligence. You know, by sometimes being born as herself, and other times being born as a Time Lord. Sometimes knowing who the Doctor is, other times having no idea whatsoever. Sometimes having a name that is a play on of Oswald, or Oswin, or Clara. And at no times did it make any kind of sense.

The funny thing is, that for me at least, Clara's character doesn't really become interesting until all of that nonsense is behind her. The Clara I find most compelling is the Clara in mourning. Clara post-Danny Pink is a Clara with focus. Her mood swings seem more from a place of destructive behaviour in the wake of great loss. Watching her hold the TARDIS keys hostage above a volcano was some seriously gripping stuff. Aside from the gross digs at her appearance, I found the Twelfth Doctor's relationship with Clara far more endearing than that of the Eleventh Doctor. It may have taken them until her final moments as a companion, but they did get her right, in the end.

3. Melanie Bush

Back in 2015, I had the opportunity to meet Louise Jameson, who played Leela, my all-time favourite Doctor Who companion. I also got to meet Colin Baker, who was all charm. Also in attendance was Bonnie Langford, aka, Doctor Who's Mel. After having gotten autographs from Louise and Colin, and having circled the convention hall a few times, I decided "Sure, why not. Let's meet Bonnie Langford. It's only 10 quid for an autograph." Upon meeting her, she was a very kind woman, and even still, I was racking my brain for something nice to say about Mel. To save face, I lied a very simple lie. I said, "I really liked you in Doctor Who." She smiled, said thank you, and signed my picture. And I walked away, taking my shitty liar mouth with me.

Because the fact is, I didn't like her in Doctor Who. I found every moment she was onscreen excruciating. From her poodle haircuts, to her 80's disaster attire, to her fat-shaming the Sixth Doctor, to her constant screaming at every little thing, she depressed me. I spoke in my review of "Terror of the Vervoids," just how weird it was that we're never actually introduced to her as a character. Instead, Peri is written off, and suddenly, Mel is there, already chummy with the Doctor. You guys know Mel, she's the Doctor's friend, because we told you she was! Instead of getting to know Mel slowly, we're thrown into the deep end, forced to sink or swim within the curls of red hair piled high. Mel doesn't just come out of nowhere, she comes on strong. Fitness expert Mel here to get your fat Doctor Who loving asses into shape. Drink this carrot juice you geek pig!

Not even in Big Finish audios was I finding myself warming up to Mel. When Ace was introduced, they couldn't have pushed Mel out quicker. I found everything about Ace immediately refreshing. Here was a calm and collected badass rebel that I could get behind. It's ironic then; that it was in the Seventh Doctor era that I have begun to find something likeable in Mel. Much like Clara Oswald,  a changing of Doctors enriched my appreciation for her character. This appreciation didn't come immediately, mind you, it came about around my third or fourth watch-through of "Paradise Towers."

Perhaps it's the influence of Andrew Cartmel, but with the Seventh Doctor, I have begun to appreciate Mel in the snarkiest manner. Mel is best utilised as a commentary on the Doctor/Companion relationship. She's precocious to a fault, she chews scenery, she screams at the drop of a hat, and she is oftentimes a naive idiot. Yet in "Paradise Towers," it becomes hilarious. Like much of the 80's era of Doctor Who, there is a very "2000 AD," atmosphere to the stories, and I could easily see this as a setting for Judge Dredd to drudge through, busting skulls and filling bodies with bullets. Setting the sunshiny persona of Mel against this backdrop is so brilliant that I can't imagine another companion in this story. Where she would usually grate against me, her sharp contrast from the things happening around her is exactly why I began to soften toward her.

Not even the ire from the Kangs could shake Mel's confidence, which is oddly what makes her cool. Or "ice-hot," as they would say. For the first time, Mel's headstrong sense of self makes her a rebel. She doesn't need to follow a crowd to feel accepted. Sadly, very few writers were able to find this core to Mel, but it was enough for me to be able to look at her in a different light. I could finally look at Mel and say I did like her in Doctor Who. Even if it was just for a moment, and even if it was somewhat at her expense. From a very cynical perspective, Mel can actually be pretty fun.

4. River Song

I know a lot of you are probably aghast to see River Song on this list, but I assure you, I have my reasons, and they are not without consideration. I should begin by saying some good things about River. She's smart, she's competent, she's got a healthy grasp on her sexuality, and she's cool. Why then did I not like her very much the first few times I watched her? Well, if you hadn't noticed, the bulk of this list are characters written by Steven Moffat, and once again, it all comes down to writing.

We're first introduced to River in the Tenth Doctor two-parter "Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead." At first, she's just one of a team of forgettable space scientists on an expedition. However, as she finds out the Doctor is who he is, her entire demeanour changes. Like Mel on steroids, we're given a heaping dose of "Who does this bitch think she is, being all familiar with the Doctor?" Only, instead of it lasting one episode, it's every interaction we have with her character beyond this point. Instead of getting to watch River and the Doctor grow as a couple, we're forced to watch them meet in opposite directions. It is the antithesis of "show, don't tell." Everything about the Doctor and River's relationship is implied. "You're going to love me someday," she promises. Couldn't we just see it play out naturally? Spoilers.

This idea is one that can only really be done on a show like Doctor Who, where things are wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. The problem is, this doesn't mean that the idea is worth exploring, or even successful. It's made even worse when the relationship implied is one deeper than friendship. The Doctor is famously chaste, married only to his TARDIS and what lies ahead. Because of this, the idea of a person the Doctor will someday trust enough to share his real name and eventually marry carries with it a sizeable amount of convincing. Such a huge shift in the show's dynamic requires a lot of character development. Sadly none of that is to be seen onscreen. Who is Jim the Fish? Who cares? Steven Moffat's joke of "I'll explain later," became painfully prophetic of his time as showrunner.

I've got no complaints about River being a Time Lord, or even her being the child of Amy and Rory. Those elements are fine, really. It's the way in which she is presented which I find most detrimental to her character. I never did buy into the idea that the Doctor loved her as a wife. Their wedding seemed necessary to save the universe, as opposed to a union made out of love. Any kind of enjoyment I've ever gotten out of River stems mostly out of my love for Alex Kingston's performance. Where the show fails to establish her, she more than makes up for in style and substance. I grew to like River Song, despite the show's failure to ground her properly. River grew on me as she always said she would, but by no effort on the part of the writers. River is cool because River is cool, not because it was inferred that she was.

5. Susan

If you’ve followed this blog long enough, you’ll know I’ve already mellowed on Susan. In my reviews of the First Doctor era, I’ve had mostly good things to say about her character. This doesn’t change the fact that I found her utterly irritating at first, and it feels appropriate to talk about it here.

My initial dislike for Susan is a lot like my intial dislike for Clara. A lot of it was wrapped up in my own expectations of the character. Susan is the Doctor’s granddaughter. She is a Time Lord, therefore she should also be brilliant. And we get a lot of that in her first episode. She is mysterious, she’s enigmatic, and she is brilliant. Even her teachers at school found her perplexing. But the show doesn’t continue down that line. In fact, there are times when they make Susan borderline stupid. But how much of this is clouded by my own preconceptions?

For starters, Susan wasn’t a Time Lord. At least, not then. She was just a young girl. She may have been smarter than her fellow students, but this played more into how she was raised. So when the show depicts Susan screaming at every little thing, grabbing her hair dramatically, it smashed apart my mental image of a Time Lord. I couldn’t appreciate that they had her act this way to help sell a bad effect. Oftentimes Susan, like many Doctor Who companions, had her character sacrificed to make the baddies scarier. It was a product of her time, and even still I feel her character suffers for it.

However, one of the things I have discovered through repeat viewings of the First Doctor era is the surprising amount of character development among the TARDIS crew. The Doctor, Ian, Barbara, and Susan all go through deep character development that was sadly often secondary in classic Doctor Who. Before the nature of the Doctor and companions was transient, there was a feeling of a family bond forming. Through this, I have come to find Susan to be a rather deep and sensitive person.

When it comes time to say goodbye to Susan, I can’t say I exactly agreed with the method. The Doctor locking her out and deciding she was mature enough to set out on her own felt hasty. But I would be lying if I didn’t agree that Susan had gone from a little girl to a young woman at that point. When you stop expecting Susan to be the Doctor, and allow her to be a kid, she grows on you instantly.

6. Adric

Let's be honest; it's not really original to hate on Adric. It's nothing new to point out what a bad companion he is, but here we are. Something I constantly endeavour to do on this blog is to be fair. One of my biggest complaints about the Doctor Who fandom is the proprietary attitude people take toward the fandom. The "I don't like it; therefore you shouldn't like it," attitude spat with such vitriol is one of the worst parts about being in the Doctor Who fandom. So when you say "Adric is my favourite companion," I'm not devising an argument for how wrong you are, it's fine. Like who you like. This doesn't mean I'm not also thinking in my head "What? Why?" Because I honestly, without malice, do not understand.

The most I ever enjoyed Adric, was in his introductory story "Full Circle." Setting him against a group of fellow Alzarians dilutes his lesser qualities. In fact, when paired with Varsh, he almost seems likeable. Sadly, we have to say goodbye to Varsh, and it's downhill from there. We're forced to watch a contrarian boy genius butt heads with the Doctor while he waddles around in a toddler's outfit while showing off his pound shop sheriffs badge for "mathematical excellence," to anyone who will listen. Adric is so obnoxious that he makes Wesley Crusher seem likeable in contrast.

However, it's not just his contrarian nature that makes me despise Adric, he's also disloyal to the Doctor and his friends. He's so susceptible to bad ideas as long as they a presented logically, that I've dubbed him the Ben Shapiro of the TARDIS. He's a smarmy little shit who believes himself superior to women, and he's really got no justification for his ill-placed self-confidence. Constantly demanding respect while giving very little reason to deserve it, he's like a poster child for incels. To make matters worse, he's oftentimes wrong and easily duped into taking the side of evil, turning him into more of a liability than an asset.

Recently, the idea that the Thirteenth Doctor could save someone from sacrificing themselves by using the TARDIS at the last moment to save them came under fire. "Why didn't the Doctor do this for Adric?" they said, forgetting conveniently when the Twelfth Doctor did the exact same thing in "Into the Dalek." But yes, why indeed? Why would the Doctor ever let a duplicitous, argumentative braggart die by their own stupid need to solve a math problem? My headcanon is that the Doctor got better at flying the TARDIS. The real reason is that people hated his character. The silence over the credits after Adric dies isn't out of respect for the character. The real reason is that the BBC couldn't secure the rights to Kool and the Gang's "Celebrate Good Times," before it aired.

Listen, I am not unsympathetic toward Matthew Waterhouse. He never should have been given such a big role, considering his utter lack of ability at the time. I imagine it was his own insecurity that fuelled his on-set antics. Giving unsolicited advice to veteran actors is cringey, but also the actions of a young and naive boy, in over his head. I know I said I was going to try and treat the performance as secondary, but in this case, it goes hand in hand. He has the stage presence of a fake. Every moment he's onscreen is disingenuous. The fact that he is present at the death of my favourite Doctor, stinking up the scene is genuine pain to me. If he has been made better in Big Finish, I've not yet heard it. As of now, there is nothing I've seen of Adric that has changed my opinion. But I'm glad if he makes you happy.

[fistsoflightning]

holy

on the subject of missing you.

                              gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: sacred

aka. a’dewah ‘lilycat’ tia needs a Damn Break that i keep refusing to give him

summer’s cool night had fallen, and yet a’dewah was burning up like a matchstick in suzaku’s warpath, cradling into the heat as if he were a moth to the flame. his hands were cramping from how hard he was grasping at the front of haruki’s yukata—now more than halfway open like he insisted on keeping it regardless of what company he kept—and frankly, he couldn’t care less on how his fingers would complain later, pulling haruki closer so he could bury his face into haruki’s chest. 

a’dewah knows he’s been mumbling something into haruki’s sunset cast skin this entire time, eyes glazed over as he idly watches the flickering lantern light glimmer on his scales and sort-of freckles. haruki’s name, perhaps, in a pleading sort of way that he won’t remember as the sun rises—or perhaps a series of sacred ramblings spilling from a’dewah’s lungs that he couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to exhale in time to catch up with his mind.

not that he needed to. he can’t imagine either of them are terribly self-aware as of right now.

his red ala mhigan cardigan had long since been tossed to the side, haruki having given up at the white shirt and simply shoving his hands under it, tracing up a’dewah’s spine with his fingertips from the base of his tail like river water rapids in reverse. he trails kisses up a’dewah’s shoulder to his pulse, mumbling something soft and husky that a’dewah can’t catch before haruki continues until he reaches a’dewah’s jawline, firefly sparks lighting up a’dewah’s nerves as he holds him like something to be treasured, to be worshipped and needed and loved akin to a deity.

(and in some twisted way, maybe he is; one of summer and fireflies and ephemeral flowers meant to mark a path to victory—or maybe that was more befitting of the warrior of light, savior of eorzea, liberator of doma and ala mhigo and champion of ishgard. here he felt more human, like he’d never been twisted into fourteen and made into a weapon; here he was a’dewah tia, so deeply in love with haruki hagane and happy with this singular moment, saturated in midsummer air and night dew. not a hero, not a deity, but human, human, human—)

haruki kisses the shell of a’dewah’s ear, a low and rumbly laugh resonating from haruki’s chest when his ears unconsciously flick and lightly slap haruki’s face before he whispers teasingly into a’dewah’s hair—

…  

“a’dewah, do attempt not to fall unconscious onto your inkwell,” duscha, who is both a blessing and a curse to have as a friend, wakes a’dewah up with such a startle that his head slips from his palm and slams into the cabinet’s decades old table anyhow. faintly, a’dewah thinks of that one time duscha had been drunk and said… something about the library being “a place of learning, not napping”, mind still reeling and fuzzy from the false warmth of…

“shite,” a’dewah curses, slowly pulling his face from the cool metal that he so ungracefully face planted into. duscha mutters some incantation one second and then larkspur flutters into existence beside him, her dancer’s rings at the ready and wings glimmering with the candles scattered across the table. “that stings…”

as larkspur soothes the would-be bruise (accompanied by a small ringing of little bells, attached to the back of her little vest), a’dewah realizes that of course he’d been dreaming; still stuck on the first with half his being with no way to travel back and forth like zaya, of course he couldn’t have actually been in haruki’s arms. of course he was here, in the cabinet, surrounded by scholars who could pick him apart in seconds instead of the doman enclave in the midst of summer.

(but kami forfend, he so desperately wishes he was. he wanted the moonlight drowned nights, the gentle warmth, the stupid dances that all came with haruki and doma and home, left with only the letters the waiting the desperate need to just be done with musty books and dim libraries and pictures showing him what he could have kept close had he not been so fickle, so stupidly scared—)

“forgive my blunder,” a’dewah mumbles when y’shtola, urianger, and alphinaud look curiously at them from their seats, closer to the bookshelves so they might simply turn and pull a title from behind them. “i simply didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“then surely you must have fallen ill,” duscha says teasingly—knowingly, seeing as how larkspur is snickering atop a’dewah’s arm, her silk-tied dancing rings fading into aetherial petals from where she’s dropped them. duscha lifts a hand from his piles of notes to poke at a’dewah’s cheek. “you’ve flushed a brilliant crimson.”

damn it all, he thinks as alphinaud fumbles his book while trying to melt into his chair. y’shtola gives him a curious, knowing look as he hides his head between his fingers, covered in ink and not glimmering light. why must my luck be so horrible?

a’dewah barely musters up the courage to plead, sorely wishing he could dissipate like larkspur could at her whim. gods, g’raha was just on the other side of this section of shelves—he doesn’t think he can handle being flustered in front of him, not when he’d easily tell lunya every little rumor and moment he could for her teasing wishes, so he takes a deep breath and says, “could we please forget it before i attempt to leap over the railings and book it?” 

“of course; however, i do believe you should see the contents of this tome,” y’shtola says quietly as she taps urianger on the head with her fountain pen, his wobbly smile quickly hidden as she passes one relatively thick title to a’dewah—which, of course, reads a treatise on love letters, as if that was something relevant to infusing crystals.

(he’d later find out the title was not, in fact, a treatise, but a novel eerily similar to a love story he’s heard before in a ballad—simply edited heavily enough to be… tasteful, if that could even be said.)

“my thanks, y’shtola.” a’dewah says as he carefully, quietly, slips haruki’s latest letter into the back of the book, hopefully out of y’shtola’s gaze despite her handing him a book with a title all too on the nose to be coincidence.

the picture from that letter—of mune and haruki showing off the fruits of a’dewah’s experiment with morning glories on the one garden’s pavillion—stays just out of sight under the cover of another book on crystalline infusions, their happy smiles fueling him as six scholars burn midnight oil til syhrwyda comes to wrestle them all to the second serving for breakfast.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Silver and Tears || Adam and Kaden

TIMING: Takes place immediately following The Killing Moon PARTIES: @walker-journal and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Adam finds a fallen hunter and has to make a decision

Adam’s gear jostled as he made a boot camp hustle towards the distant sound of disturbance. The moon was a swollen argent sphere beyond the thick ceiling of branches, casting the forest in a wane selenic ambiance. Pools of moonlight seemed to form in the gaps between trees and cast the gore covering the busy Hunter into ugly black streaks and stray pieces of fur. Freshly cut pelts thudly wetly against the M4 carbine also slung over Adam’s shoulder. This night had been a hectic one, and Adam’s current hunt had been drawn off course by a frenzy of barking.

Cold brown eyes searched the woodland as he drew nearer, dilated in the darkness and adrenaline. At first when Adam saw the limp form and frantically barking dog he assumed that he'd come upon just one more victim of the lunar frenzy, far from the first he’d seen tonight. But as he hustled up a brush-covered ravine and vaulted over a great fallen tree, features became visible amidst a veil of blood.  

“Kaden?!”

The Walkers had raised their children to be soldiers in the Great War against the Hell dimensions. Even for superhuman soldiers wounds were inevitable, and Adam’s training kicked in, drowning all questions in the race against time that colored all First Response efforts. Adam sprinted to Kaden, eyes scanning the darkness to guard against the all-to-common tactic of wounded allies being left as bait for an ambush. However the pale moon-drenched woods were silent other than the dog’s barking and inquisitive whine as Adam drew near.

“Hey man, you still there? If you can I need you to speak to me. It’s Adam, you in there Kade?”

Keeping up similar requests for response, Adam slid out of his heavy gear and began checking Kaden’s pulse and shining a flashlight in his eyes.

Kaden woke up, blinking at the lights shining in his eyes. Great. Not dead. That was a good start. He heard Abel first, whining, upset. The voice was familiar. Hard to place for a moment, focus was still coming back slowly. And everything was still woozy. “Stop shining that fucking light,” he grumbled. He tried to piece together the events just before. Woods. Hunting. Werewolf. No, the werewolf. Then a scream. His vision still not all the way back, Kaden went to push himself up. “Where? Wolf, there was a… Scream. And… Regan.” Oh bad idea, really bad idea, world started spinning again. Lying down was better. “Walker?” he said, finally placing the voice and now that his eyes were covered in less stars and white patches. “When’d you get here?”

Though Adam Walker would have liked to have entertained surprise that Doctor Kavanagh was involved in all this somehow, at this point it would’ve been disingenuous. The wounds on Kaden were consistent with a werewolf, but ‘The Werewolf’ left him at a loss. However Kaden’s eyes were responsive and focusing on the light, which was something at least. Adam clicked off the flashlight and began tending to Kaden with a practiced motions that possessed military efficiency but probably left much to be desired in the tender beside manner department.

“Just now, was following something when I heard your dog raising hell.”

From his bags Adam retrieved a flask of a bright orange liquid that was luminous in the darkness, like a piece of warm sunset that contrasted sharply with the washed out selenic forest. He unstopped the top, filling the air with the scent of pungent spices that brought to mind rosewater and the mingled redolence of bazaars beneath the hot desert sun. “Drink up,”  Adam commanded, placing the flask to Kaden’s lips. “It’ll ease your body out of shock and clear your head some.” Adam didn't add that it would also help make his death painless should it come to that. Hopefully Kaden was not too far gone here.

For a moment, Kaden entertained the thought of going back to sleep. That sounded nice. Less pain. Less spinning. Abel’s whine jolted him back. Nope, sleep was bad. Passing out again was bad. He drank whatever the hell it was Adam gave him and it was helping. Slowly. Things were coming back. “The scream. You heard it right?” He thought about sitting up again but thought better of it. For once. His arm felt fur brush up against him and then warmth against his side. Kaden reached over to pet his dog. His very good dog who couldn’t hunt a damn thing but probably saved his life all the same. Well, hopefully. Jury was still out. “Did you see a werewolf? A black… Black with a mark.” With the hand not currently petting his dog, he drew the sign in the air. Well, tried to. And even when not half conscious, he wasn’t a great artist. “My camp. It’s.. It’s not far.”

Part way into his ministrations Adam was faced with a choice. Adam was no physician but the mauling Kaden had suffered was bad, the kind of bad where that camp would probably be where Adam dug a grave.What magic Adam knew could make anti-venoms with the proper herbs and maybe a warding seal with lots of blood and luck, but lifting Kaden’s shirt made it clear that even the military hydrophilic foam in his backpack couldn’t stop internal bleeding like this.

“Nope sorry man, didn’t hear the scream.”

Did the Banshee scream for Kaden? Wasn’t that certain death? Could Adam even prevent something like that? Should...he stop fate like that?

Adam looked from his brother Hunter, maybe fated to die, to the tiny vial in his first aid kit, the most valuable possession Adam owned. Seconds ticked by, and the window of choice narrowed.

Fuck monsters and their magic. Fae weren’t God. They were just thin-blooded mutants who licked to dress up their powers in gradiouse superstition. Fuck them. This is happening.

“Nope, killed myself a red Lycan and a white Dip, but no black wolf..”

The most expensive prescription drug on the market was Myalept at 71,301 bucks for a single dose. A vial of Phoenix Tears the size of Adam’s pinky? Well that made Myalept look like fucking lunch money.

Adam took a swath of bandages and winced only slightly as he poured his entire college tuition over the cloth. It’d been a gift from Mom, pure life taken from one of the rarest supernatural beings in the world. But if Adam let another man die when he had the power to save him. How could he ever be worthy of that gift?

Adam tore the part of Kaden’s clothes that covered the wound, and applied the world's most expensive piece of sports bandaging. He secured the moist cloth against the most lethal parts of the wound to ensure maximum regenation. He placed the empty vial in his First Aid kid without comment and shouldered his bags.

“Sure thing man,” he said, hoisting his backpack and supporting Kaden to his feet if the other Hunter let him. “Let’s get to camp”

Kaden tried to scrunch his face in confusion but it was feeling like a lot of effort just then. “Are you deaf, Walker? Scream… the, you know…” There was no way anyone in the woods that night hadn’t heard it. Wait. Regan. Did that mean? He’d initially been worried a monster was after her, that something had found her. That the werewolf might have. Then he remembered. Other hunters. Wardens. They all heard it, too. They had to. Merde. No, he wasn’t-- he couldn’t let that-- Get up. He had to get up. He couldn’t let that fucking wolf take another person away from him that he-- Why wasn’t he able to get up?

“Putain. That wolf it… it was the one. Killed my parents. I know it. Almost… had him.” The longer he lay there, the less he was able to feel. Not his toes, or the tips of his fingers brushing through his dog’s fur. Slow, delayed panic rose in him as Adam kept on doing whatever it was he was doing there to his wounds. Kaden kept running his hands through Abel’s fur, slowly, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. One deep breath. He couldn’t say what it was but guess whatever he’d given him earlier must have been kicking in. Feeling started flowing through him again. It hurt and was wobbly, but leaning on Abel and then Walker, he was up and walking. Well, hobbling.

Adam nearly tripped when Kaden explained the context of the encounter. Holy Shite. Yeah sure, family dying to monsters was an inevitability of Hunter life. Adam’s own father had sacrificed himself in a Rift event three years ago. However Adam Walker wasn’t yet a Hunter who had lived too long, and still felt the pang of empathy when Kaden spoke. He remembered the rage, loss, and helplessness he’d felt when the news had arrived from Jerusalem. Grim as it was, Dad dying as a hero during something as vast and impersonal as a demon rift was easier than something like this. Adam couldn’t imagine what’d it’d be like to lose both parents, especially to an individual person who had the fucking audacity to still be breathing after the act.

What could he say? How could he answer something like that?

“Holy fuck, well can try and track it after you get patched up,” was the best Adam could manage. He wasn’t exactly the guy people called on for comfort that wasn’t binging related, not that he imagined Kaden would exactly be receptive to a heart to heart in a time like this.

“I was in some of the old mining caves past the river,” Adam explained in a belated response to the previous line of inquiry. “A Lycan had dragged a couple into a kind of den type thing, couldn’t hear much down there.”

There was a tricky pit near a ravine, but in due course Adam supported Kadan over his shoulder towards a clearing that matched the older Hunter’s description.

“Alright, think we're almost to the camp here.”

“This time next month. Dead. He’s dead.” Or he would be. One way or another. If it was the last thing Kaden did. This was the second time Kaden almost died to that piece of filth werewolf. Walking away, no dead bodies, felt like a failure. Guess that checked out for his life on the whole as of late. The trek back to his camp felt longer than he though possible. He hadn’t strayed that far, had he? Then again the whole almost died thing probably put a damper on that speed thing.

Walker’s explanation about the scream didn’t make sense. No way a cave would dampen that sound. Kaden wasn’t sure he cared. And he didn’t think it was wise to alert another hunter to the fact there was a banshee in the woods. Especially if that banshee was who he was sure it was. Best keep that close to his chest. Just in case. “Strange.You didn’t hear it. Sounded like a monster. Maybe it was just the wolf and the blood loss thing fucking with my head.”

The camp came into view and a wave of relief washed over him. Only, Kaden figured it might be a bad idea to stay there outside overnight on a full moon by himself while injured. Putain. “Thanks, Walker. For, you know.” Saving his fucking life. “You’re a better hunter than I am. Pretty fucking sure.” For a lot of reasons. He went to take a seat in the chair he’d brought with him, placed by his makeshift fire pit. “Bad idea to stay here, right? Like this?” He winced at the thought of moving more. He just wanted to curl up in his sleeping bag and go to bed. “Too much trouble to ask for a ride back?”

“Maybe,” Adam said noncommittally. However Kaden seemed to buy his lie or have other things like mind-boggling pain to worry about. The truth of why he hadn’t heard the scream was a kettle of fish he wasn’t ready to go into right now. Maybe when comrades weren’t two steps from death.

Kaden got seated and Adam began unpacking some things, offering some water Kaden’s way. “No I’m not,” Adam said, a knife twisting in his gut at the memory of when he’d stopped being a Hunter and fallen to be no better then the things he hunted. “You’d do the same for me. We’re just brothers serving humanity,” Adam said, reiterating the abnegation-focused philosophy he’d been raised with. Only the cause mattered. Hunters were born to be unseen servants and protectors to humans. Glory and status were immaterial.

“I’m not leaving you to go get the car, because we don’t know if ...It..or some packmates are still out there,” Adam said. “I’m gonna call Harper and Sanchez,” he continued, flipping through his phone. “They can bring their pick-up and we’ll get you a doc.”

“Rest up Kade, you’ve seen him now. The fucker’s gonna wish he finished the job.”

[trulycertain]

I’ve just finished Hearts of Stone for the first time (I got the expansion packs last birthday, thanks Ma), and cor, I’m... still a bit dazed. That was one of the best experiences I’ve had with a game for a long time. Heck, in some games that would’ve been the main campaign. It truly feels like a work of passion.

The negative, to get it over with

I had some issues with the portrayal of the Ofieri. The people we see are monsters, mages, mystics and enemy guards. The first Ofieri person you meet is... a toad monster you kill. And then the next ones are your jailers. 

And you might say that Temeria and Redania are full of yokel stereotypes - I mean, the “How often should I beat my wife?” NPC line is a clear nod to that kinda thing - and plays on Slavic mythology, folk tales, and fairy tales, and Ofier is the nod to the Arabian Nights... but we don’t get many Ofieri characters, nor clear examinations of those tales. Instead we’re quietly directed back to Robin Hood and Beauty and the Beast homages (which I adore, but). And one of the first introductions you get to their pseudo-Arabic language (which doesn’t feel as researched as Sapkowksi’s cod-Welsh Elven, but I don’t know about Nilfgaard’s language) is a Redanian guy calling it “gargling.” *wince* After the interesting, often nuanced takes on pseudo-Slavic culture and the fantasy non-human racism, I found that a bit frustrating. 

And yet... In some ways, it feels like CDPR were aware of this. Because you don’t actually have to kill the rest of the Ofieri guards, and then the next people you meet from Ofier are scholars and thoroughly nice dudes. (And... merchants, which is another stereotype on its own, but maybe I’m reading too much into that and reading British biases into it.) And gosh, I find it interesting what little we see of Ofieri scholarship and spirituality, and runeworking/smithing as prayer. It’s like a mix of Islamic Golden Age mathematics - but with languages instead - and humanism, maybe with some Pagan influences. It’s really, really beautiful, and it’s clearly had some thought put into it. Also interesting is the interlinked duchies/city-states sort of system that the merchant nods at, which I’d love to know more about.

OK, so... maybe this is easy for me to say as an English lass who looks like a flour explosion in a snowstorm, but it feels wonky (to say the least), but... not ill-intentioned. If anything, the portrayal of the Ofieri is rather less biting than portrayals of other countries, though those portrayals also feel less.. loaded. I’m not sure what to think, to be honest. I had some issues with how strongly the pack tries to force you into romance with Shani and makes it a bit all-or-nothing. I wish I’d been able to buy her a drink or give her a nice rowan garland (actually, seriously, I need to draw her in that flower crown, it’s lovely and she was adorable) even as a friend, as a way to say goodbye, rather than just... buggering off and leaving her there sad, and failing a side quest to boot. Framing the romance that way made it very clear that “oi, you’ve made the wrong choice,” even if you had your reasons. And when you talk to her later, it’ll still treat things like you romanced her.

The Order of the Flaming Rose didn’t do much. Yay, fancy bandits. But... thanks for the armour, guys? Made a fair bit of cash off that, nice of you.

The positive (my favourite bit)

Shani! I haven’t played the first game or the second (I’ll... get there), so I hadn’t met her before. She’s wonderful. And much as I love Yen - and stayed faithful to her, though I was sitting there thinking, “Would books Geralt do this? I’m really not sure” - I liked how in contrast, Shani often gets into the thick of it with you. I also love a) doctor characters b) characters who put their calling above all else and have such strong purpose. She’s kind and wry and I was seriously tempted to romance her. I also like her admitting that it was a “make the most of the time we have” thing, and that it probably wouldn’t work long-term. I appreciate that honesty and again, that sense of purpose. Much like Triss, she’s not dropping everything for Geralt, who has his own crazy timetable and travels to deal with. That straightforwardness is lovely. 

And also... god, I really like her friendship with Geralt. Even if you don’t romance her, they’re so comfortable with each other, and it’s so clear how happy he is to see her. They relax around each other and she knows how to gently poke fun. Seriously, I can see why people liked her and wanted her back.

“And now I have nowt.” Bloody hell, is Olgierd von Everec actually written with Northern dialect as well as voiced with the accent? Is the dashing rogue... Yorkshire-accented? God, they must be Polish, Northerners almost never get to be upper-class or smooth in British media. (Even Sean Bean had to go posher for GoldenEye.) Nice to hear the language spoken properly.  I always admire the localisation when I’m playing Wild Hunt; it’s beautifully thought-out and detailed. And yes, Von Everec was an absolute jerk in a lot of ways even before the wish, but... a well-written, nuanced one. Also, considering some of the lasses we see in Skellige: sometime, I’d really like to have seen a female character along similar lines somewhere (one Geralt couldn’t bonk), though I know that won’t happen. (No more Geralt games. ;_; )

“A man must have some moments of madness from time to time. Tells him he’s alive.”

Iris! Goodness, I hesitated for nearly ten minutes over That Decision, and I still feel sad for her typing this post up on my couch, having finished the expansion an hour ago. I think it adds even more that I’d purchased “Starry Night Over the Pontar River” by Van Rogh (I can’t believe they even did that). I played Geralt as genuinely loving her paintings. (And seriously, speaking of assets, that Iris/Olgierd marriage portrait is lovely.) She was as complicated as her husband, though she got less screentime - and some part of me would have gladly trapped Olgierd in a painting and brought her back into the world, but I also know that necromancy in The Witcher doesn’t work like that. A very romantic-fairy-tale take on the tortured artist trope.

I even found Vlodimir interesting. I was glad that Shani called him on what was basically fancy sexual harassment and told him to keep his hands to himself, and he was clearly a real shite in life, but... yeah, even I felt rather sad for him after the dressing-down he got from O’Dimm. And to be honest, he does have some bloody hilarious lines. This series excels in “likeable bastard” characters.

I get shades! And I’ve been going round with the Mastercrafted Wolven Armour and those, doing the look I fondly call Douchebag Geralt, ever since. CDPR’s nerdery. It wasn’t particularly immersion-breaking, and it made me cackle. “Merchant With A Pearl Earring”? “Witness me”? “Geralt: The Professional”? “The Professor’s Glasses”?

All the optional NPC dialogue. You can doom yourself by not researching enough. You can never find the runewright. You can miss half the wedding party dialogue. You can miss things like the Van Rogh painting and the sad, rather interesting story of Vesemir and his lover (and the Viper Armour!). The game always rewards you for being interested in the story, and thorough (you are playing a detective, after all), but because it was smaller, they’ve also made HoS so dense and all that’s here in abundance.

“Delight in the world and all its glorious creations.”

The furious pace. It’s a rollicking, rip-roaring adventure. A frog prince! An old friend/lover! A political plot! A storm! A deal with... something not-good that may or may not be The Devil! A shirtless tied-up action-movie fight with five dudes! Dueling a reluctant immortal! Characters from distant shores! A horse race through the streets of a village! A Guy Ritchie-esque heist movie nod to Robin Hood! Getting possessed by a ghost and sitcom/rom-com hijinks while fishing for boots, herding swine, and retrieving fire-eaters! Haunted mansions and tortured artists and interesting grief and depression metaphors! A Seventh Seal-esque game of wits with something very old and very unkind! O’Dimm promised a big adventure... he wasn’t wrong. And it probably sounds like they’re throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks... and yet, it all makes sense and ties in beautifully. It’s really well-written and thought-out, and balances a touching story with CDPR clearly wanting to give you your money’s worth and take you on the best journey they can.

Gaunter O’Dimm. The one thing I did think was that they’d be more vague about who/what he actually was. I was surprised at the more overt things like the crossroads deal, and the Oxenfurt scholar. But I immensely enjoyed his character, and that trippy finale was fantastic, even if I spent everything after the first second or so muttering, “It’s a REFLECTION, oh my god Gaunter you have commitment to your theme, please let there be a mirror in the house.” (And it’s also kind of perfect that one of the main spectres who attacks you in his realm is a Hym. Punishment for misdeeds, the guilty conscience... I’m seeing a theme here.)

Treasure hunts and new armour.

“Like your new gear, Roach?” We got to see a bit more of Geralt's fondness for this Roach (not sure what number she is, to be honest) and that he treats her well.

Lots of quiet but intense, lovely Geralt moments. The kindness with which he treats Shani, and his quiet, wry joking around with her in comparison to Vlodimir’s crudeness; the fondness and understated grief with which he speaks of Vesemir, and finally getting to hear a bit more of what he thinks about his mentor; the guilt he feels over being pulled here, there and everywhere on adventures and how many people he’s left behind; more stuff on “Witchers are heartless bastards because mutations” and how untrue that actually is; his steadfastness about trying to avoid bloodshed in the heist; how he doesn’t like to see Vlodimir tortured, even if he is... Vlodimir. Course, I play Geralt as a (pragmatic, blunt) goody-two-shoes, so it might be different if you play him bloodthirstier, but there were some lovely not-blank-slate-protag moments. CDPR get that the characters are why people come to the games; I adore playing a game where “go to a wedding reception” and “have a snowball fight with your daughter to cheer her up” are missions.

I’d be interested to see anyone’s takes on this pack, because I was so busy trying to avoid spoilers when it came out (and I think I might have been knee-deep in Fallout 4? Not sure) that I missed most of the stuff on it. But it was full of fascinating characters, wonderful performances, some really sad, achey complex themes, and pulpy adventure. I spent... too many moments trying not to cackle in joy. And much as I tried to be a completionist and do base-game sidequests remaining after the main story and drag it out over several days, I spent enough time on this expansion that Geralt’s beard grew back and my backside went numb. So. Even with its imperfections, probably one of my favourite gaming experiences of all time. So.

...God, and there’s another, slightly bigger expansion to go. I’m not sure I’ll survive.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Trail (Part 5)

Since it has been a while. https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143391?view_full_work=true

This chapter deals with mothman because I’m going through a phase. 

A warning… the voice echos in her mind.

The stretch of road before them is long and damp from a rain that had fallen before they had made it into the area. Azula cranks the windows down and lets a breeze waft through the car. It is a particularly hot night and it had been an even hotter morning. Zhao and Sokka--Sokka especially-had complained about it all day. Azula herself found it rather nice, especially when thinking back to their more frigid endeavors. She imagines that Zuko is enjoying the weather too. 

He peers into the rearview mirror and she sees a faint little smile. There are so many crickets out tonight that she can hear them even over the wind and the car engine. 

“We need some tunes.” Sokka suggests. 

“I rather like the night noise.” Azula disagrees. 

“We’re on a cryptid hunt, we should get some Johnny Cash and Deadman’s Bones. The Doors?” 

Azula rolls her eyes. 

“Come on. Riders on the storm, into this house we’re born.”

“Please stop yer singin’ laddy.” Zhao grumbles. “I’m with the lass, crickets are fine.” 

“Come on, every good monster hunt needs a good soundtrack.”

“We’re not even on a hunt right now.”  Azula replies. “We’re just driving. Sometimes you just drive on forested roads because that’s where the GPS takes you.” 

Katara stifles a laugh. 

“Where’s our next turn?” Zuko asks. 

Katara peers down at the map. “It’s coming up soon. At the next intersection, turn right.”

Azula watches moths, mosquitoes, and fireflies flit in and out of the headlights. A light mist swirls along the road where the puddles are the thickest. She leans out of the window and snaps a few photographs.

“Azula, what did I tell you about doing that!?”

“Relax Zuzu, you aren’t driving that fast.” 

“What if a bird comes by?”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Brids aren’t nocturnal, dumdum.”

“Fine. What if a bat or an owl comes by?” 

“Then I’ll have a nice photo.” Azula slips fully into the car once again. “Besides, it’s a nice night. If it were up to me, we’d park this car and take a little stroll.”

“Have ye no fear, lass?” 

Azula smirks, “not an ounce. Why? Are you afraid, Zhao?”

“It is night, we are in an unfamiliar forest, and it is misty. Of course I’m scared.” 

Azula rolls her eyes. “Yes well the car is running just fine, the weather is wonderful, and, if you shut your mouth, you can hear crickets and owls and all sorts of night sounds.” He only blinks at her. “It would be so noisy if a predator was around.”

“Turn!” Katara abruptly exclaims. 

Zuko jolts and jerks the wheel. 

“Ah shite!” Zhao shouts as the car fishtails. 

Katara grips the armrest as Sokka lets out a hollar of excitement. “I used to go do doughnuts on the gravel road until dad stopped me.” He declares as though that will help Zuko any. Azula clutches her camera protectively. 

Zuko turns the wheel a few times until he gets the car under control. “Good thing you weren’t leaning out of the window.” He declares. 

“Shut up, Zuzu.” She grumbles and folds her arms and slouches back into the car seat. 

“Are we oot of the forest yet?” Zhao asks. 

Katara looks at the map, “not for a while, Zhao.” 

“My legs are getting tired.” Sokka frowns and folds his arms across his chest. “Like, I’m starting to get that annoying tingly feeling.” 

“We can pull over.” Azula shrugs. “There’s a rest area over there.”  She points to a small recreation area with only a single and dim lamppost. Zuko rolls the car to a stop but doesn’t unlock the door. 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of eerie.” 

Azula unlocks the car door and wanders out. The place looks ancient; there is a single log building that she assumes is a bathroom. This has two smaller and even dimmer lights above each door. Creeping ivy has taken to climbing over the logs and spilling out from between them. The sidewalk leading up to is cracked with age; grasses and dandelions poke up from between the cracks. 

The sound of crickets grows in volume as Azula makes her way over to one of six wooden picnic benches. Out in the open, she can hear the croak of tree frogs and the buzz of other insects. The wood of the bench is damp when she sits upon it. She notices tufts of moss creeping up and down it. There is more graffiti than moss though; mostly just names with years and initials in hearts. Azula traces her finger over a particularly deep etching as she watches a moth ram itself into the streetlight. “Are you guys coming?” She asks. 

Katara and Sokka exchange a look before Sokka emerges from the car. Azula looks to the left at the sound of a creak. The wind has taken to gently tossing a swing back and forth. The thing looks as ancient as the picnic table. The slide next to it is made of rusting metal. Azula wanders over to it and wraps her fingers around the chain of the rocking swing. 

“Can you guys just get back in the car?” Zuko asks. He seems to shudder after his request.

Azula rolls her eyes. She supposes that she can go back to the car, but while she is out and about she photographs the park. She crouches down to tuck her camera back into its case. Something heavy and oppressive befalls her and she halts her fumbling to look at the treeline. It is not like it usually is, the crickets still chirp and the frogs still croak. The fireflies still glimmer on and off as if they aren’t sensing the same energy that she does. She scans the treeline more intensely and a chill vibrates through her soul. She squits and slowly rises to her feet. 

She can’t tell if the creature is perched in a tree or if its head simply reaches that high. Whatever it is, it stands pillar still and observes her with a ruby gaze. She as as transfixed as she is disquieted. 

She knows that she should go back to the car, but she finds herself curiously drawn to this being. She puts less thought into it than she should--really she puts no thought at all into edging closer to the treeline.  

“Azula!” Zuko shouts. His voice cuts through the mesmerized haze in her mind and she jolts. In a flicker, a sense of ominousness replaces the enchantment. She backs away with just as much slowness. If it is one of the weres, then she is in rather deep and running will only draw more attention. But she has never known the weres to be so compelling. 

The creature leaps off of the trees and fans out wings so black that she can’t tell if they are feathered, furred, or leathery. She can tell that they are huge, perhaps ten feet or so. It makes no sound as it descends and Azula’s stomach turns. 

Zuko slams on the horn, a long and loud bleat but the creature is undeterred. It is as focused on her as she had been on it. 

She whips her head around to flash a longing stare at the car, they are all yelling for her. Things that she can’t quite catch under the sound of flapping wings. The being eclipses her view of the car entirely. 

It can take her so easily. 

It towers far above her. She fully acknowledges that, that isn’t saying much. But it would tower of Zhao as well and the man has a good six feet and then some on him. 

And yet, Azula isn’t afraid. 

She doesn’t feel particularly pleasant either. 

She realizes that she doesn’t feel anything at all, save for faintly curious. She wonders if the creature is curious as well. But no. She can see in its deep rose-hued eyes that it knows. It has a wisdom older than perhaps the park itself. 

I want to show you something. Its voice slides into her head. She doesn’t block it out, though instincts tell her to throw up as many mental walls as she can. I will show you something. There is a very brief flash of images. This time she does erect her walls.

It speaks again, this time its communication is external. “No harm.” It is a raspy whisper, a stark contrast to the deep and smooth voice in her had. 

What it instills within her this time is neither a voice nor an image but a feeling of soothing. Something warm. Something akin to brushing her cheek against something fuzzy and gentle. Something like when her mother used to wrap she and Zuko into a blanket and coo them to sleep.

She will give it a chance. 

It wraps its wings around her. 

Distantly she hears a shout and a few pops. 

Very close she hears a shriek of pain. It breaks her stupor once more. She sees the gun poised and ready. “Zhao, no!” She hollers. She hears another pop. This time the creature flees, but not without her. Zuko shouts for her but she doesn’t resist. 

It has knowledge and she has a curiosity.  

Azula isn’t sure how far it takes her. She watches pines roll by green ash and river birch roll by, sees the mist churning and swirling like a grey-washed river. The night air is still pleasantly warm on her cheeks.  The entity comes to a clearing, it sets her down onto the forest floor and perches itself in the branches. 

Now the other forest creatures know.

Now it is dead silent. 

Silent except for that deep, silky voice. Let me show you.

Azula nods, she wants to see. “Trust.” It says out loud. It reaches a clawed hand out and brushes it tentatively over her hair. A sense of deeper soothing ripples over her. Trust, it repeats. And her head seems to split. A deep pounding cracks her skull and she falls to the floor. 

She is in her bedroom--her childhood bedroom--staring at the tinkling mobile. A tiny topez dragon, a citrine phoenix, and a ruby monkey. At the center is a little dream catcher. It sways and bobs in a breeze that isn’t natural. From somewhere she can hear a music box. It should be comforting. It has the atmosphere of something cozy and yet the shadows furl and unfurl in ways that make her feel queasy. 

She notices that she is bleeding, but she can’t tell from where.

Maybe it isn’t actually hers. Maybe she just has blood on her. 

She tries to sit up but her body remains paralyzed as though a weight is being pressed upon her. She can’t scream. Neither can she blink. The shadow unravels further before thickening into something more solid. 

Something more palpable and putrid. 

It is slick and oily and it plops onto the floor with a wet slosh. 

Azula’s shout is locked within her throat. Her world goes black but she still has her eyes wide open. When the blackness clears she can see Zuko, his figure ringed by a halo of silver-blue moonlight. 

But he is wrong, all wrong. His eyes are a such a shade of black, to the likes that she has never seen. He opens his mouth in a silent scream and that oily sludge comes pouring out. Out and out until it pools around the bed. Until it rises to the height of the mattress. 

Zuko’s face flickers between his own and another. Something masklike; smooth and silver but oddly akin to a liquid. It shifts and simmers. Every now and again an eye or a mouth or a nose emerges on the surface. It is a different one with each flicker. 

Finally Azula can cry out. But no one can help her.

The slime has reached her feet.

She finds herself laying on the forest floor, a cold sweat glistens on her face. She is shaking. A figure still looms over her; tall, muscular, winged, and imposing. “A warning.” It speaks. She can’t bring herself to move. 

She opens her mouth to speak. 

Go home. The voice eases into her mind. But she doesn’t know where home is anymore. For the longest time home has been the RV that she and Zuko have parked in a rented lot back in their home city. The one they’d grown up in has long been foreclosed. 

Maybe it hears her thoughts. No, it definitely does. Or perhaps it just knows. Knows in the same way that it foresaw the collapse of the Silver Bridge. It projects another image into her mind. She is sitting in a living room--she knows, somehow, that it is in Scottland, that it is Zhao’s home--watching TV. Zuko is next to her snoring. The atmosphere is inviting. The Scottsman enters the room and declares that they will be going to the loch, that Nessie would like to see her again. Azula swallows, the idea of seeing Nessie again isn’t so bad. You need to go home. It says again. 

And once more her head seems to fracture. She lays in that dark room again. This time it is in a state of disarray and the sludge gathers in inky splotches around the room. She only sees Zuko’s pitch black gaze and his mouth agape in that grotesque silent scream. The last droplets of ooze dribble down his chin.

[calleo-bricriu]

what's the de sade ripoff book like anyway?

It’s like listening to someone who thinks they’re a genius but who’s really sort of–slightly below average at everything ramble on and on and on for over 400 pages about how they’re a genius and everyone around them is making their life horrible because they don’t understand how much of a genius he is.

Also, alcohol isn’t a stimulant at all, let alone a strong one. I guess, to be entirely fair, if I found out my Mum had a sex dungeon in the house I’d probably need a drink as well.

A lot of drinks.

And an Obliviator.

Finding out your mum has a sex dungeon is a pretty reasonable excuse to drink a lot.

Anyway, this author is allegedly a doctor, he ought to know damn well alcohol isn’t a stimulant.

I really do just love how it’s the same exact story, only with worse writing and set in Dresden–then Hamburg–then…New York City.

Some guy named Newcomber completely flips out any time someone says a woman’s name around him in his own house. It’s never explained why. I feel like that should have been an important plot point? Maybe he’s assuming everyone’s already read the book he blatantly lifted from.

Men just need to not be allowed to describe women in their books if they’re going to do it like this: “Seated in a large leathern chair was a dainty piece of pink-cheeked, dark-haired, ebon-eyed femininity. Her sealskin jacket fitted snugly her lithe form, and a fascinating toque rounded off the saucy, childlike appearance of the young woman.”

That’s the sort of description that makes you feel like you need to run a Scourgify through your entire brain.

I’ve read, as I mentioned yesterday, de Sade; all of his uncensored garbage and the difference is, de Sade knew he was a shite writer.

He was just one of those obnoxious people that feels the need to be edgy for shock value; to get a reaction. He wasn’t ever trying to be good at it, he just wanted to get a reaction and have people pay attention to him, which he got–usually in the form of prison.But, the end result of that is that his writing aged in a way that makes it so completely off the wall ridiculous that it’s more funny and less shocking now.

Like–right, if you’ve never read 120 Days of Sodom you should, because all it is is this list of increasingly improbable to impossible scenarios, in actual list form, that are discussed by the characters like they’re going over a list of chores they need to do that afternoon.

One involved mice and cannons, actual cannons, that somehow didn’t result in death or injury to anyone (including the mice), another had to do with somehow arranging it so a woman would give birth to a goat, which would then become a sex slave–the goat, not the woman, I think he forgot there was a woman involved in that one by the time he got to the impossible goat baby–and when you read something like that, you know damn well the person writing it was writing what they were writing as bait to see how mad people would get about it.

This idiot, however, didn’t appear to get the joke and is taking his own…version of Justine very, very seriously which leaves you more with a really creeped out feeling than a, “HA! I can’t believe anyone fell for this, it’s so obviously written as over the top with intent to offend people too stupid to get the joke,” sort of thing.

So, moving on from the creepy description of childlike femininity–and who says woman like that anyway?

Ms. Femininity gets up and gives the, “Never Say A Woman’s Name In My House For Any Reason Ever” Newcomber a kiss and he just sort of shrugs it off, which makes her concerned but since he never bothered detailing whatever backstory these two have I guess I’m just supposed to make one up. Guessing that, because it was described as “armorous” they’re lovers but, it might have had more of an impact if he’d–mentioned that previously at some point?

This is only page sixteen, as an aside.

She was gossiping with his mom and mom let slip that he was leaving Dresden and she’s upset but again, no backstory given between these two so we don’t even know how or why she knows his mother. All we know about that relationship is that his mom grosses him out probably because of the sex dungeon thing, which is a fair reason to not want to visit your mother’s house.

So he’s pretty meh about the kiss hello, she loses her mind about it and says he’s being cruel then flings herself onto the sofa for a good cry about which he doesn’t even care.

His name is Leigh, apparently, which is a perfectly common German name, as is Newcomber..

And she’s–Tahitian (but upper class, he’s emphasised that, can’t have him screwing around with a commoner from Tahiti, obviously) and grew up in…Honolulu and got married to a US Navy officer two years before she met the guy in Dresden that she just kissed and is now crying over while the author scrambles for a backstory.

Great, got married at sixteen, is now referred to as a “child-wife” and somehow his deployment from Honolulu landed her in…Dresden.

He should have known not to leave her alone in Dresden because, since she’s Tahitian, that means she’s just going to start cheating on him the second his back is turned (which appears to be what’s happening here).

An entire page later, we find out her name is Obera, and the guy whose mom has a sex dungeon who straight up ignores her is apparently the love of her life despite the fact that all we’ve seen so far is that he’s straight up not the least bit interested in her.

That finally ended and we’re back to her crying on the sofa and he tells her to knock it off because it makes him feel mean–when he was just mean to her not even two full pages ago. Leigh’s got a terrible memory, I guess.

“Finely-molded limbs”. Stop it.

A few paragraphs of Obera going on about how Leigh’s sister, Mizpra, is a complete and utter bitch and Leigh agreeing with her that Mizpra is, in fact, a complete and utter bitch. I might be too if my name were Mizpra.

At this point, in the middle of Obera trying to explain some theological lecture she attended, the author butts in to tell us that the lectures are FACTS then references some article in Popular Science Monthly from May 1989 called, “Witchcraft in Bavaria” right after Leigh starts talking about how Dresden has lousy weather and they’re going to the Rhine because the climate is that much different–five hours barely South and mostly West of Dresden, though it might be closer depending on where along the Rhine they’re going; its a river, and it’s not exactly a short one.

It also apparently has a climate similar to Honolulu which tells me he’s never been to either place but, it’s fiction, so why the hell not?

I’m only on page 22 now, as an aside.

Suffer with me, this is awful.

So he’s already planned this whole thing, someone named Frau Leidmann will lie to everyone and tell them that Obera is traveling with some old woman, he’s sending a telegram from…New York asking her to meet some made up person in Hamburg which, incidentally, is five hours North of Dresden and if you’re trying to aim for a warmer, closer to Honolulu climate here, you don’t want to be going North but okay, fine, we’re going to Hamburg.

Author really ought to have consulted a map before writing this.

“Was it right that he should take her with him and wreck her life?” Um–if you have to ask…

Wonderful, well, at least by now she’s 18 because she got married two years previously at 16.

By page 23 he’s essentially admitted he doesn’t like her much at all but she’s hot and young so he’s going with that. Not creepy at all.

“He would throw her aside as he would any other obstacle. Was this love?” …no. We established that two paragraphs ago when his thought was straight up that he didn’t love her.

Can’t take her back to the US with him but–he’s–that part was never mentioned at any point, as far as we’ve known until page 24 is that the guy lives in Dresden, his sister is a bitch, and his mom has a sex dungeon.

Nothing dignified about his appearance, likes his laboratory, doesn’t have a real job, nobody understands him, I’m starting to think it’s less that his sister is a bitch and more that he’s just kind of a whiny creep.

So, that’s the end of chapter 1.

Chapter two starts with him explaining why he named one of his dogs Bridget and why he’s mad that Obera could not possibly care less. I couldn’t possibly care less either but he explains it anyway in the weirdest possible way, “They do not associate the name with the beautiful, refined, and historically interesting woman who gave it such prominence. How can you associate a noisy, china-breaking, red-headed, befuzzled, opinionated ruler of the kitchen with Bridget the Goddess of Poetry, the Gaelic Muse, the sentimental, impulsive Sappho of ancient Ireland?”

Man, don’t talk about your dog that way, just don’t. I don’t like where you’re going with it.

Dagda gets a much shorter, “he was the all-king, almost the Zeus of ancient Ireland.”

Ah, and Obera is, of course, a princess. A Tahitian princess.

From Honolulu.

Which is famously in Tahiti and not a six hour flight–a thing that didn’t exactly exist in 1901 so I’m assuming it would have taken a hell of a lot longer by boat–North on an entirely different set of islands.

Okay.

You know, at least de Sade knew where physical locations of places were.

Do you know how bad something as to be that, not even 35 full pages in, you can not only recognise it as a direct derivative work of the Marquis de Sade but also have it be abundantly clear that it’s, like, a version of it so poorly done that the only reason you’re still reading it is because you kind of now want to see just how much more idiotic the story can get?

That’s what this book is like.

“He arose and went to her, took her on his lap, and talked to her as though she were a child.” No. No, stop that right now.

Four pages of him explaining that the reason why he ordered, ordered, her to read a childrens book was to prove to her how all folk tales are all the same and nothing is original and something about random Greek philosophers, then Why Catholics Are Right.

I might have been as bored reading that as Obera probably was having to listen to it.

HA! SHE FELL ASLEEP WHILE HE WAS TALKING!

She has a nap, wakes up later, and has somehow…uh…received a letter from that guy she married in Honolulu basically saying, “We both made a mistake. Divorce time.” and is somehow upset by this despite it being established in the last chapter that she wasn’t super interested in him anyway as the first thing she did when he ended up deployed was start fucking this idiot of a pseudo-intellectual.

…and this is somehow Mizpra’s fault, so I’m assuming she tattled, then he straight up jumps from, “Yeah I don’t love her, she’s just hot I guess” to “I LOVE YOU LET’S GET MARRIED DEFINITELY NOT TO SPITE MY SISTER!”

That’s not sarcasm. That’s exactly what it was. Right after he does the, “I love you! I’ll marry you!” (twice in a row at that, nobody talks like that) he moves right onto “the bitch can’t laugh at you getting busted cheating if we get married” which is not entirely sound logic but that’s where we’re going.

Robert Mesney hopefully got out of this stupid plot by realising what was going on and filing for divorce.

Actually, he doesn’t even ask her  to marry him he tells her that he’s going to marry her and doesn’t give her the option to object which I guess is just fine because at some point during his rant about his sister being a tattling bitch Obera fainted and he just…didn’t notice until he let her go and she fell over because of the being unconscious thing. Even then he didn’t really care, he just sort of went, “Oh.” and dropped her back on the bed.

Now she’s talking about his “aged countenance” which might be a little more fair if it hadn’t been mentioned that he’s 25. It’s not exactly old enough to count as “aged countenance”.

Apparently he’s also an alcoholic, which they keep referring to as dipsomania. Good idea, marry the 25 year old alcoholic who the plot has established doesn’t even love you (nor has he shown it at any point in their interactions apart from shouting it at her after finding out his sister told her soon-to-be-ex-husband that Obera was cheating on him), that’ll go well for everyone involved. I don’t see what could possibly go wrong here.

The servant at this place in Hamburg has been going on for five and a half pages about how Leigh is a drunk and how it’s his mother’s fault or something then just rambling on about his own family tree for no actual reason and how he’s somehow related to Leigh but also is looking forward to the time when the last Newcomber dies.

That’s chapter 2.

Chapter 3 starts with the fact that Leigh said he’d be back by lunch and it’s been three days and he’s still not back; I guess, to be fair, he didn’t say by lunch on which day.

He’s just out binge drinking in Hamburg.

Shows up four days later at four in the morning and immediately starts drinking again and none of this is a red flag for her.

Now they’re–he’s going to Paris, she’s going back to…the US from Havre, and he’s somehow decided it’s a better idea for him to not also go to the US via Havre but to instead go to Liverpool and leave from there. Okay.

This is only page 44 out of 408.

Mizpra wants to control their mother to snag most of her estate out from under Leigh, it appears as though she’s just his stepsister anyway, Mrs. Kassel is apparently a nice lady because the author hammers that point away for a good two solid pages and she’s going to New York with Obera because she apparently owns a house on Fifth Avenue.

All right.

She just randomly tells Obera that crooked noses and mental illness (sorry, “bad psychic quality”) runs in the family. Still no red flags for Obera.

Skips right to the wedding which has…no detail at all. Literally the only mention it gets after all of that build up is, “The wedding took place at Mrs. Kassel’s, who attended to every detail,” then moves right on to Leigh getting a flat in uptown and a job at a hospital and to mention that his mother’s letters were “curt, unresponsive, and insulting” for which he blames Mizpra.

Couldn’t be the fact that he ran off to the US with a still married 18 year old without telling anyone, why would that bother someone’s mother?

He either gets fired or quits at the hospital, it was never mentioned either way, and has irregular work so now they’re behind on bills and Obera’s “condition” requires quiet and rest and…Mrs. Kassel to take her on a vacation I guess. Time skip from spring to autumn and, to nobody’s surprise, Obera comes back with a baby and her idiot of a husband is still unemployed and also didn’t seem to notice or care that she was gone (because that’s never mentioned) for almost a year.

By this point, Leigh straight up hates his mom and Mizpra is a “moral criminal” but it’s not explained how, just that she is.

Mom, Mizpra, and a whole bunch of their maids suddenly turn up at an uptown hotel and he just–takes off to go and see them despite having spent the last few pages going on about how he can’t stand either of them.

Sister’s got masculine handwriting which is somehow important to know.

Oh, let’s see, what else are we learning about Mizpra: Large jaws, muscled neck, small hips, uncomely waist, large hands, bold frame, coarse features, a “masculine larynx” and she–author keeps refering to Mizpra as she so that’s what I’m going with here–tells him to fuck off and that she’ll call the police if he tries to see mother.

So, instead of trying to reason with her (also why did they come over from Desden if they didn’t want to see him?) he just tells her she looks like a man.

“Mother doesn’t want to see you.”

“YEAH, WELL YOU LOOK LIKE A MAN! CHECKMATE! I AM SUCH AN INTELLECTUAL!”

Great display of the long winded nonsense the author gave everyone about what an intelligent intellectual this idiot is; best he can come up with is to tell his sister she looks like a man.

He still doesn’t have a job.

It’s been almost an entire year, how have they not been evicted from that flat yet?

Oh, but he has money to go out and get trashed again, though.

And he’s rambling to the bartender about people staring at “crippled children” for some fucking reason while the bartender pretty much pretends to listen.

He drinks because he’s a genius. That’s it. That’s the reason. He’s a genius and nobody gets him so he drinks.

58 pages in and I can kind of see why this guy’s sister doesn’t particularly care for him. I don’t particularly care for him either and, so far, am kind of on Mizpra’s side on this one.

Random name dropping list of famous people who had epilepsy or who were alcoholics or drug addicts. For an entire five pages. Nothing else, just a list, until he gets to Edgar Allan Poe who apparently had a psychic incubus problem instead.

One long paragraph held together by semicolons that says nothing at all.

Five pages about how his drinking problem is literally just like lycanthropy only, instead of turning into a wolf, he just goes to a pub and does so more often than once every full moon.

Same thing though. Exactly like lycanthropy which we all know is caused by thinking you’re a genius then being mad that nobody else agrees with that self-assessment.

More internal dialogue about how everybody is an idiot except him, because he’s a genius that nobody understands.

Somehow.

A few more pages of comparing himself to Nero which is not strictly the best comparison someone could make unless he’s planning to burn New York City down.

Couple of pages of internal dialogue about how he shouldn’t have to get a job because he’s a genius and people should just pay him to grace them with his presence.

End of Chapter 4 and I can’t keep reading this anymore today. This might be the worst thing I’ve ever read and not at all for the reasons the author was intending; it’s not shocking unless you’re shocked by how badly it’s written.

It’s so bad it’s almost exhausting.

[windup-warrior]

Prompt 4: Saving Time

Corners Cut

“Time is the longest distance between two places.”

― Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

If a penny saved is a penny earned, what can we say about the temporal equivalent? Is a moment saved, a moment earned or is it not such a one to one translation? Admittedly I am both a lazy hedonist and also a moment hoarder, so this is a subject that simultaneously perplexes and amuses me. I was once told that I am only so lazy as I am for the sake of investing my time and energy into only the most worthwhile endeavors. Or I am just a lazy ass. It could honestly go either way.

“Get up, lazy bones. It’s nearly midday.” The crowing call came with a looming shadow over my resting form. With the sun overhead, it wouldn’t be long before its progressive descent to the horizon in the distance would soon cast its harsh light over my cozy sleeping spot tucked beneath the overhang of the old woman’s home.

“I’m up.” I groaned, draping an arm over my eyes to shield them against the light. Little by little I dragged it away while cracking my eyelids bit by bit, little by little until I could peer up at the shaded form standing over top of me. A stout thing, the Midlander was a wrinkled old thing late in her sixth epoch. Her wrinkled hands sat upon the breadth of her hips, one pinching at a piece of parchment marked with black ink and bearing what looked like a triple cream coffee stain in the corner nearest my reach. “What have you got for me today, Garwynn?”

“A few things from the merchants in town and something to take to the mender. If it’s not too trouble.” She thrust the parchment my way and with a yawn, I took it off her hands to look it over. A few dry goods, fresh meat, a handful of crafting materials. It would be easy enough to knock out and get back to being lazy for the rest of the day. Pushing myself upright, I picked a piece of hay from my hair and brushed my side off while yawning.

“Easy peasy.” At sixteen, it was essentially my goal in life to get by doing the absolute bare minimum. In a post Calamity world, I had no family, no school, no direction or purpose in life save for survival. Garwynn Armstrong was the only one keeping me honest at that point. She gave me a place to stay, menial jobs through which I could make a little pocket gil, and kept me on the straight and narrow. She had lost her husband and only child in the Calamity, leaving her just as alone as I was. We were kindred souls of a sort, I guess. After her passing when I was eighteen, I took her surname as my own, abandoning my father’s name in favor of the only person I have ever truly considered to be “family”.

“Don’t dilly dally either, child. The birds need their greens before supper.” Garwynn leaned down to pinch at my cheek, prompting a scrunch of my nose and a little grumble as I got to my feet. She smiled and retreated into the modest one room cottage set on the fringes of the Chocobo Forest not terribly far from Tailfeather in the Dravanian Forelands.

“Dilly dally shilly shally.” Singsong tones and a dragging lack of pep to my step made for an odd combination but wasn’t that me in a nutshell? Garwynn knew how it would go. It was why she let me sleep as late as she had but still roused me to get something done before the day was through. It was a nice balance that she struck for us both, a beneficial partnership through which she gained a part time companion and someone to tend to the chores and errands that she was getting too tired to do in her advanced age. In turn, well, I had a home. Kinda. She didn’t exactly have the space for me inside, not unless we were sitting or dining together. But there was a generous stable with unused space for me to lay my head and stash a handful of my possessions. When the weather was particularly bad, she would coax me inside and let me curl up in front of the wood fire stove in the corner of her cottage where I would warm my bones while listening to the rumble of the Midlander’s snoring as she slumbered across the room. Usually before morning, I would sneak back out to the stable and bury myself beneath a few layers of gear and a pelt or two until the weather broke. Old habits, they die hard.

The path from Garwynn’s to Tailfeather wasn’t overtly treacherous, frequented by traders and pilgrims alike as they passed through to more promising prospects further on down the line. With a rucksack on each shoulder, one full and one empty, I tromped through the woods en route to my final destination. There I handed off one bag to the mender with the promise to pick it up in a short while. From the mender, I made my way to the collective of traveling merchants that had a habit of lingering near the middle of the small hamlet. On slow days there would be just one but if you were lucky, and I usually was, there were a handful to pick from.

Today was a slow day.

“Shite.” I muttered under my breath when I saw the line congregating near the sole trader. He looked flustered but pleased as punch about the business he was dragging in. I suppose that is inevitable when you’re the only one from which people can buy their needed items. The Dravanian Forelands was by no means a kind or forgiving landscape. Sure, if you tried really, really hard, you could provide for yourself while working the land and hunting and gathering. At least until winter came and blanketed the landscape with feet of heavy snow. Only the most hearty and hale of animals remained and they were usually some of the more vicious species that populated the forest around the town. If any of your preparations faltered during the summer and fall, it would make for an immensely long winter until you could finally get what you needed. As such, many capitalized on the traveling merchants who passed through to get their various sundries to bulk up stockpiles for every season. Dravanians were nothing if not resourceful and well prepared usually.

“Excuse me… I just need a few things…” I piped up, raising a hand to try and get the sole merchant’s attention. At an angle, he heard my call but didn’t see where I was, leaving him to search the crowd around him.

“What do ya need la-- oh.” He stumbled when he saw me, locking gazes and quickly looking away to retreat to the nearest patron perusing his wares. “You’ll have to wait like the rest of these good folk. If there’s anything left for you when they are done, you’re, ah… you’re welcome to it for a premium.”

“A premium? You’re pulling my tail, right?” Typical. So very typical. Not even here could I escape the persistent prejudice that seemed to permeate through every tier of society. Jerks. Whatever. I scanned the list in my hand and turned away from the man. It would likely be at least an hour before I got my turn. There was no way I was going to sit and wait for him forever just to pay more than anyone else for whatever he may have had left.

“Keimfyr!” Five minutes later, I was rounding one of the peripheral buildings on the edge of Tailfeather in search of a particularly reliable Roegadyn who frequented these parts. Like Garwynn, he lived on the outskirts of the forest but ventured in often to peddle his own wares. I found who I was looking for, thankfully, and lit up with a bright smile for the man as he looked my way.

“Little kit, how’s Garwynn?” He called with a jovial smile in return. His nickname made me crinkle my nose but he could only laugh at that too. With the way he towered over everything and everyone, I was sure that he called everyone little. It wasn’t personal, right?

“Doing well enough. Sent me out for a few things she needed… but the only guy in town is, uh… a bit of a jerk. So I was wondering if you might be able to help me out…” I asked hopefully, lifting up onto my toes with a little bounce.

“Well… maybe. What have you got?” He asked, gesturing for me to hand over my list. I passed it over without argument and rocked back on my heels while he scanned it. The low thrum of a contemplative note in his throat had me holding my breath. After a moment or six, he finally nodded and turned away to his chocobo, rounding the side to flip the flap on his saddlebag. “I might have some of this. If you aren’t keen on waiting for the arse over there, you could always hunt some of it down yourself. About… five hundred yalms north, north-east of here, you could be able to track it down if you are careful.”

“I’m always careful!” I protested, puffing myself up as if it would make me bigger than I was. I wasn’t quite full grown yet so that probably put me at four and a half fulms high even if I stood on my tip-toes. He chuckled and reached over his chocobo to ruffle my hair. As if it wasn’t already a totally hot mess. Thanks Keimfyr. Sinking back, I scowled at him and waited for him to get the rest of my requested items, which I ultimately traded for a modest amount of gil. With a stuffed ruck, I thanked him and promised I would give Garwynn his best for him, before taking my leave, setting off north out of Tailfeather along the Whilom River’s babbling path.

“Should shave an hour off of today…” Talking to myself was fairly normal. Sometimes the voices answered back but for the most part, it was an echo chamber into which I called but never received anything in return. Maybe I should have spent less time talking and more time listening because by the time I shut up, it was too late. The crunch of underbrush met my ears only a moment before the heavy weight of something yellow, red, and musclebound bowled into me from the side. Frumious bandersnatches, curse them all.

I rolled before sharp teeth could embed themselves in my throat, half of my bag’s contents scattering across the ground. Swearing, I ripped free one of the two blades I carried on the regular, a smaller dagger I kept sheathed on my hip. Backhanding my grip, I slashed out to try and gain myself a little space. The tip of the blade only narrowly grazed the bandersnatch’s shoulder and served only to piss it off more than it already was. It dove forward, the pointed edge of a wicked tusk caught me in the leg as I tried to spin away, sending me crashing to the ground with a sharp cry. It gave me enough time to pull the hatchet from my back, whirling it in my grasp so I could lash a heavy handed blow into the its chest as it pounced. The bandersnatch let out a wailing snarl and bucked its way off of me, rolling over then recovering enough to leap at me again. I hacked and slashed over and over, cleaving flesh and fur alike until it stopped moving. It collapsed over my lower body, leaving me panting and pinned down. Not that I could stay like that for long though, the commotion would assuredly draw more predators if I didn’t take my leave as soon as possible.

Ultimately I made it back to Garwynn’s an hour later than I originally expected, bearing just a fraction of what she asked. To boot, I forgot to grab her garb from the mender before I returned. As I limped up to the front door, a fluttering of the nearest window’s curtain drew my attention before the door opened.

“What happened to you?” Garwynn asked, padding out onto the front step on bare feet. I sighed and shook my head.

“Long story. I took a shortcut.” I said with a wince as Garwynn leaned down to poke at the puncture wound in my thigh.

“What have I told you about cutting corners, little one? Come inside, we’ll get you cleaned up.” She put a hand to either of my shoulders and steered me over the threshold and into the crisp warmth of the cottage within.

“What about the stuff? I lost half of it…” Admitting that wasn’t easy, pinking my cheeks with embarrassment. Garwynn passed her hand over my hair and gifted me a soft smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

“Never fear, dove. We can get it tomorrow, don’t you worry.”

[nostalgia-tblr]

Dark Water

First of all Danny Pink DIES, which is a lesson in road safety for all of us. If only he'd seen that SPINK ad with Jon Pertwee in it. And Missy must have been driving that car or her plan doesn't come to fruition. Said plan seemingly being "pair the Doctor with a human he likes and wait for that human to lose a loved one to death." Which is a slightly odd plan in that it could take ages. Unless she killed Danny, of course, so I think she almost certainly must have. The cremation thing is way too dark, I can only assume it's so there's a reason for people to delete themselves in the Nethersphere? But it's horrible and there's kids and bereaved people watching. Sometimes Nu Who is horrible like that, as when Amy and Rory lost their baby to a kidnapping cult. It also doesn't tend to add much to the story when it goes to these places, because the Ponds somehow were fine and River could have had another backstory. Anyway, Missy. Missy is English in this one, though I remember her going Scottish in part two and obvs after that she's from Ayr like Gomez. Odd. Maybe they decided to just go with her real voice mid-filming? Missy kissed the Doctor and launched a million Twissy fics. Her being the Master does make her plan less stupid, in that the Master's plans almost always suck and they're almost always about getting the Doctor to pay attention to them. So that works. Gomez is delightfully batshit in this, I fell in love via this episode when it first aired back in the day. Capaldi's reaction to learning Missy's actual identity is always pretty amazing, he does about 57 emotions in two or three seconds. Clara is distraught and distressed, so I don't expect too much from her in this one. She talks to Danny in the afterlife for a bit and then has to run away from Cybermen. This time I did not automatically put her on the naughty list for that stunt with the TARDIS keys, possibly partly because I knew what was actually happening and also a bit because I don't think the Doctor would tell anyone where all the keys are, just in case. BUT STILL I was very upset about the idea of her breaking up the Doctor/TARDIS OTP to get the Clara/Danny OTP back. It's understandable, and I like that she doesn't apologise cos she'd do it again, which seems very real, but still it is very emotionally traumatic for those of us who ship the correct ship. Eh, Sexy would probably just unlock her doors for the Doctor anyway, she's nice like that. Danny gets some good stuff too, as we finally find out who he killed and why he left the army. Why he's so eager to keep the children safe. The day "Dan the Soldier" died and Danny Pink had to find a new identity to live up to. I wish he had got to come back from the dead like everyone else did though. Cybermen are in this, but Cybermen aren't especially a favourite monster of mine. I liked how it teased the reveal without spelling it out, so it was a surprise but also not really. That was good. The scheme is too dark, though, like I said. But I suppose Cybermen are pretty horrific as a concept with the deleting your emotions and making you wander about killing people while still a bit alive but also somewhat dead. Five out of five for this one, it's got some great emotional content and obviously Missy is in it. Missy is like River in that I can watch an episode she's in and have no idea whether it was objectively Any Good At All or it's just that she's in it and I love her too much so I don't notice when the story's actually shite.

[codenamesailordarillium]

Rules: Answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better.

Tagged by @regalpotato lol I haven’t done one of these in ages m8, thanks

A - Age: 22, and constantly frustrated to be living in an alcohol-free home despite having reached the legal drinking age over a year ago

B - Birthplace: Dhaka, Bangladesh (specifically the Red Crescent Hospital ~ Red Crescent is the Muslim country equivalent of Red Cross, so for all intents and purposes I was in fact born in a Red Cross hospital)

C - Current time: 7:24 AM, which it’ll definitely be well past once I’m done filling this out

D - Drink you last had: honey tea that my mom made me because I’ve been coughing up a storm since like 5:00 AM

E - Easiest person to talk to: my best friend who is also more or less my wife, my mind just seems to instantly clear and I’m able to communicate all my thoughts thoroughly to my complete satisfaction with her <3

F - Favorite song: who has just one favorite song anymore lol, but in general probably something Lady Gaga

G - Grossest memory: idk I kinda tend to repress that stuff nowadays, and in general whenever faced with something gross my mind hyper-fixates on the goal of cleaning/washing up whatever’s grossing me out tbh

H - Horror yes or horror no: haha this is where I have to assert the disclaimer of ‘sorry for being a demon’ once again because lol I kinda love that shit, tho tbh I have a hard time finding horror movies that really interest me so I’m more into watching people’s horror game playthroughs on the YouTubez

I - In love?: don’t think I’ve ever been, but hope that I might get to be someday (closest I think I’ve come is aforementioned best friend/wifey)

J - Jealous of people?: yes, like the sad little cunt I am, but it’s because of my own shortcomings and I try never to begrudge people their personal achievements ‘cause that helps exactly no one

L - Love at first sight or should i walk by again?: maybe...I think sometimes it’s possible to sense that you *could* fall in love with someone upon meeting them, tho I don’t think you can literally be in love with someone by just looking at them

M - Middle name: Nahrin, tho it isn’t so much my middle name as it is my original surname which was then supplanted to middle name status when my parents stuck my dad’s surname onto all of our names when we immigrated from Bangladesh to the US so we’d look more like a family unit or smth...OH, ALSO according to my dad it means RIVER (or riverS plural but still!!) which means BITCH MY MIDDLE NAME IS RIVER like what kind of serendipity tho...

N - Number of siblings: one (some of you may know Empress Fuzzy, the sweet adorable baby sister bear of my heart)

O - One wish: that I will someday climb out of the abyss that is my perpetually shite mental health and actually have even the slightest sliver of control over my life (whoops, didn’t mean to get too real, but it’s the truth)

P - Person you called last: my mom, yesterday, when she was coming to pick me up from school

Q - Question you are always asked: "Has she graduated yet?” NO I HAVEN’T PLEASE STOP REMINDING ME *continues to sob, shout, and scream bloody murder into the void*

R - Reason to smile: I must agree with Katie about dogs, last night we went to my aunt and uncle’s house for dinner and I was predictably left cooing over their two little loud stinkers called Benjy and Beulah like the utter dog person I am

S - Song you sang last: idk most likely “Diamond Heart” off of Gaga’s album “Joanne” (even tho I prolly shouldn’t be trying to belt out those lyrics with my throat in the state it’s been but YOLO amirite?)

T - Time you woke up: 5:00 AM after only sleeping like 4-5 hours because my respiratory system decided to see if it could qualify on the Richter scale

U - Underwear colour: striped in two shades of aqua blue with a black waistband

V - Vacation destination: really just wherever as long as I have my wifey by my side *blows kiss*

W - Worst habit: biting the fuck outta my nails when I’m stressed and then getting scarily compulsive about how ugly they look and attempting to trim them with a proper nail clipper to look slightly less ugly only to be in constant stinging pain because I’ve breached the boundary of how far you can trim a nail before it starts to hurt (yeah I might’ve done it a few days ago and hate myself for it why d’you ask)

X - X-rays: haven’t actually had one in literal years now that I think about it...tho who knows, might need one soon to see if I’ve got some kind of infection now that’s the reason why I’VE BEEN SICK LIKE OVER SIX WEEKS OR SOME SHIT SOMEONE PLEASE END MY SUFFERING FUCKING FUCK ME T_T

Y - Your favorite food: generally anything made of the potato

Z - Zodiac sign: Pisces, and boy do I never forget how much of a fish cunt I am according to literally every goddamn horoscope/zodiac post I encounter on the internet *sigh*

Alrighty then, hope that wasn’t too depressing/ranty. I don’t think there’s anyone left that I can tag, but if you’re really dying to do this taggity-tag type business, literally feel free to tell me so and I will come back and retroactively tag you in this so that y’all don’t need to feel left out because I’m all about that inclusion life yo.

[serene-gale]

Reunion Part 1: A Warm Welcome

Previous Story

A hazy fog beset the Chocobo forest as Serene walked brisky into the expansive treeline. It had took her roughly a day or so to traverse from the frigid cold Coerthan Highlands to the much more temperate, but still chilly landscape.

Serene took her time, simply too tired to rush any more, the Roegadyn took in the sights, the odd looking trees, the plethora of wild Chocobos roaming the flora, the decidedly less friendly looking bandersnatches lurking out of the corner of Serene’s eye, a fascinating place, surely, though Serene’s attention was torn between it and her stomach, the Roegadyn desiring a place to rest before continuing her journey.

Fortunately enough, her legs eventually took her to what looked like a place of establishment, a large gate, a few houses and barns strewn about, a village, just on the cusp of being a hamlet even, in the distance. Serene picked up her pace, eventually breaking into a jogging pace as she got to the village gates, throwing her hands in the air as she did so.

“Finally! A proper settlement. Maybe now I can get a proper change of clothes.”, Serene exclaimed, sighing in relief as she let her arms down, moving further into the confines of the village, where she was promptly approached by a Elezen man, surprisingly not as tall as her, with a small amount of stubble and a warm smile on his face.

“Welcome to Tailfeather stranger, not often we see Roegadyn in these parts come and go, but you’re welcome to stay a while all the same.”, he greeted Serene , who waved in turn.

“Hey! How are you? I’d be happy to stay for a bit, need a change of clothes and something warm to eat, do you guys have anywhere for me to get set up?”, Serene asked, only for the Elezen trapper to scrunch his face up a little.

“Not really missus, we’re hunters and trappers, not got much hospitality for those on the outside, but then again, we’re not wont to shove you off. We got bunks if you need to rest your head and clean up, and if you want some food I’m sure you could haggle with a travelling merchant if they happen on by or ask one of our boys if you can buy a cut of his catch. Eeh, Bandersnatch meat is shite, but it fills you up.”, the trapper explained, to which Serene nodded, beaming a smile at him.

“Hah, I’m not one to be picky, unless I’m allowed to be picky, any meat would be happily accepted and eaten in full.”, Serene said, her stomach growling as if on cue, “Mind showing me around so I can grab this meat and get myself stuck in?”, Serene asked, to which the trapper nodded, beckoning Serene over to a small congregation of other men by the river.

“Oi Esbyrne! You got any spare bandersnatch meat you can throw on the pyre for this girl here, she’s willing to pay!”, he called out, a older man, Hyur, gruff looking with a grey beard, slowly got up, nodding.

“Eyup, got some just rotting here, should be good for another day or so though, you want this dryin’ or just cookin’ lass?” the old man Esbyrne asked Serene, to which she shook her head before replying.

“Just to cook thanks, need something in the tank asap, how much you want?”, Serene asked, to which the man held up his hand, fingers and thumb outstretched.

“500 gil, not gonna go higher, this stuff is shite for ‘actual’ food, used for Gnath hunting if anything.”, he grumbled, taking the coin Serene handed over as he got up fully and picked up a slab of Bandersnatch meat, sticking a metal rod through it and putting on a heavy duty glove.

“Will be a while, rest up or whatever, I’ll get one of the lads here to call yeh when I’m done.”, Serene simply gave the lethargic old man a thumbs up.

“Will do!”, she affirmed as she headed off towards the barracks that the Elezen trapper mentioned prior.

Serene yawned, taking herself aback by her sudden onset of tiredness. A dull pain radiated from her side, the Roegadyn figuring that she was still somewhat out of it from her previous fight, nothing bad, she surmised, surely, but still something to rest on.

The room she entered was dark, with a few people sleeping in their respective bunks. Serene took off some of her more cumbersome belts and lay down on the wooden frame of the bed as quietly as she could. The bed frame was rough, but it did the job well enough for the Roegadyn to fall into a slumber. A slumber that had Serene dream about her old life, pleasant memories, memories she’d rather forget but would still treasure, as that was all that had been left for her.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a great bang had Serene jump out of bed. She rushed out to the daylight of Tailfeather, it only having been an hour or so since her arrival. Small, localised fires and continued, smaller bangs rang out all around her. For a brief moment the Roegadyn Monk pondered on whether she had been cursed to have misfortune follow her every step, though she quickly snapped out of it and ran towards the centre of the village.

As quickly as she arrived, Serene found the source of the commotion, a small group of queer, bug like entities where attacked the trappers and hunters of Tailfeather ferociously, using their improvised, crude, but effective weaponry to deal heavy damage to their humanoid opponents.

Without a word Serene leapt into action, engaging with a small group of the ‘Gnath’ that had surrounded a wounded trapper, the Elezen from before. The Roegadyn spared no mercy, sending one of the three Gnath flying into the nearby log cabin with a swift, but decisive roundhouse kick that rendered the bug unconscious. The other two turned and aimed their weaponry at Serene, only for her to lunge at the closest Gnath, grab it’s rifle and swing it and the Gnath on the other end into it’s ally, a crunching sound accompanying the crumpling of the two bodies on the floor.

Before Serene was even able to speak up, a sharp pain shot through her upper arm, a pellet of what she assumed was buckshot hit her from a Gnath behind her, who was in the process of reloading. Without hesitation, Serene aimed the gun she had disarmed from the other Gnath and fired a shot directly at her assallant, hitting it square in the chest and causing it to fall back motionless.

Dropping the now empty gun, Serene went to the Elezen, who was, despite his coughing fit, alright.

“H-help...Esbyrne, old man...’gainst a bunch o’ them...I’ll be...fine.”, he gasped, to which Serene gave a curt nod, beckoning over a nearby hunter who was looking for injured. After seeing off the trapper, Serene sprinted off the direction she was told Esbyrne was in, hoping the old man was still safe.

What Serene saw as she approached Esbyrne caused her to panic, a group of four Gnath, all of them with their rifles pointing at the old man with intent to end him. The Roegadyn’s eyes flashed for a brief second before her form was enveloped in a golden glow for again, the briefest of moments as she sped up to a speed the Gnath around Esbyrne couldn’t perceive.

One, two, three four. Serene neutralised each Gnath with a single strike for each, the first falling to a full power punch that sent it flying. The second getting grappled and slammed into the ground with such a force that if not for its thick carapace, would have broken its face. Next the third was dealt the receiving end of Serene’s boots as she vaulted on the body of her last victim to  deliver an especially powerful boot to her would be assailant. Finally the last Gnath, backing up, would be caught by a back handed strike by the Roegadyn, slumping to the floor like the rest.

“Are you harmed?”, Serene said, the aetheric glow fading quickly as she rushed to Esbyrne’s side, the old man nodded, using Serene to stand up, propping himself on her shoulder as best he can.

The two made the first step towards safety, the Gnath had their ranks broken, the raid a failure as those who were still living or conscious began to all collectively panic and run. Serene didn’t know why for a scant few seconds until a deafening roar and what felt like a piercing shouting in her mind made her all to aware of what the hive minded bugs were afraid off.

‘*noise...that noise...must stop...*’

Serene heard these words in her mind, as did everyone present as she turned to face something that gave her pause.

A Wyvern, perched on the rooftop of the Chocobo Nest, it let out another howl and took to flight, using it’s tail to smash the nest under it before launching a fireball at the nearby storage building Serene and Esbyrne were next to, forcing the two to fall to the ground to avoid debris that was launched by the firey attack.

And as soon as it started, everything was.

‘*quiet*’

Next

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: You Can’t Lie to Your Soulmate (Mobster!Ben Organa-Solo x Reader)

A/N: Holy shit, it’s been half a year and I’m only just now posting a Kylo Ren fic.

Ben Organa-Solo and Kylo Ren were not the same person. Sure, they were both very tall, dark-haired young men who expressed an air of intelligence and aloofness, and they were never seen in the same place at the same time, but that was to be expected: Ben Organa-Solo was the well to-do son of an adored senator, a self-proclaimed arts dealer by trade on top of that. Kylo Ren was a mask-wearing gang leader who terrorized an entire city doing God acknowledges what under the shade of night. 

No, they certainly weren't the same . . . Because Ben Organa-Solo had the sense and decency to hide that side of himself from everyone else.

Nobody needed to know that his friends (?) Armitage Hux or Phasma Silverman were more like his righthand man and woman in crime. Nobody needed to know that an abundance of his money was actually linked to his involvement in black-and-grey market sales or back alley dealings with the indebted. And nobody really needed to know that he had been out on this particular evening, inflicting a hit on some deplorable who couldn't keep his mouth shut about a deal gone awry. 

That's what made Ben's sudden visit to the hospital for a cut running down his left temple to the bottom of his cheek both unexpected but easier to get away with: nobody knew who he moonlighted as, so he could just lie about it.

"Okay," sighed a frustrated Hux. His grip on the steering wheel caused his knuckles to bleach white. "The story is that we were leaving your gallery and some muggers wanted Phasma's earrings – "

"Why are you making me out to sound like a damsel?" demanded Phasma coldly. She was multitasking from her place in the backseat, trying to press a worn towel to the bleeding cut lining Ben's face whilst also keeping the blood from daring to drop into Hux's "Corinthian leather" seats. "I'm a good two inches taller than you, have killed a man with a shoe before, and you think I couldn't handle some imaginary thugs?"

Hux grit his teeth, glaring into the rearview mirror. " – They were trying to take earrings that they thought you had" –Phasma rolled her eyes– "And Ben, being the brave gentleman he is, just had to step in and defend your honor." Hux didn't need to know that Ben was glaring at him through the towel; he could feel it. Oddly enough, the heavy dose sarcasm in that sentence did nothing to soothe the harsh, bloody sting streaking along his boss’ face. Good.

"I apologize," hissed Ben. "Next time you're going to hesitate on taking a shot, I'll just let you. We'll see where doing nothing goes – maybe with us to our graves after the bastard fires off a couple rounds into our bodies, but not before he takes a fucking knife to our faces." Even in pain, the sarcasm and bitterness was strong in him. It was an inheritance present in both Kylo and Ben.

As tempted as he was to end it all, to just swerve the getaway car off the nearby pier out of spite, Hux tried to remain as calm as possible. Eyes fixed on the night-slicked road, he chose to try and ignore his boss' comment. "What even possessed you to take off your mask when you knew he had a knife on him? Who does that?"

"Realize, Hux," Ben said through clenched teeth, "the empowerment looking your enemy in the eye and to be the last thing they see is a sign of dominance. For them to realize they were killed by a mere man is their final humiliation – "

"For fuck's sake, who asked you to bring that Shakespearean shite into a hit!?” Hux demanded, daring to look to the backseat with fury if only for a second. Scoffing, he retrained his attention back on the road. “It’s always the dramatics with you. You can’t just kill anyone anymore, there’s always got to be some ‘poeticism’ to it,” he reproached. “Whatever happened to just shooting someone, dumping the body on their boss’ doorstep or into the river, and sending flowers to the widow?" 

“What is a prince in black without his theatrics?” Phasma asked rhetorically. Her expression remained just as bored as ever as she applied further pressure to Ben’s injury. Ben, however, seemed far more irritated by the fact that they were talking of and over him, rather than the pain of the wound.

"Whatever. He was dealt with in the end. Can we move on now?" Ben snipped, wincing as a pearl of blood ventured a little too close to his eye for his liking.

Hux groused, "We can if you can repeat the story."

Normally, Ben would sneer and brutally deconstruct Hux with a silvery tongue lashing. Unfortunately, a searing pain in one's face can often rob you of the passions required to do so. He exhaled heavily, swatting Phasma's hand away from the towel as he took it on his own. "Some deplorables assumed Phasma had jewelry. I stepped in because you were too much of a pussy to do anything about it."

The remaining part of the drive was mostly silent, aside from the growly hiss Hux tried to contain in his throat in response to Ben's comment. Every few blocks, over the hum of the engine, there was a quieted creak of the steering wheel's leather being strangled by the driver’s increasingly tightening fingers.

The wait hadn't been long at all, due to Ben's relation to Senator Organa. One of the few perks Ben could bear to enjoy about his public position.

After a process of cleaning the cut, Ben using his charm to constantly insist that neither his mother nor the authorities need be made aware of his whereabouts, advising that the situation be kept within the confines of this room, and a good bit of an hour placing stitches into his face, golden boy Ben Organa-Solo was ready to be discharged. At least, he readily assumed such. But, to both his and his cronies' dismay, there was one last thing.

"Wait right here," instructed the doctor as she removed her gloves to dump into the sanitation bin. "You can leave in a bit but first, we need prescribe you some antibiotics to keep that wound clean. Keeping the stitches in is only half the battle.” She flashed an assuring smile. “But it won't be long at all and you'll be right on your way, Mr. Organa-Solo," she insisted. Inwardly, Ben was irritated. To hell with antibiotics, there was nothing he couldn't keep at bay with a good alcoholic rub down or perhaps even downing a bottle of aged scotch. This was just a waste of time.

But he had to remember: She was speaking to Ben, not Kylo. Kylo might have received the scar out of sheer carelessness, but it was now Ben's cross to carry as well. He had to play pleasantries, at least until he was out of this place.

He smiled that of a son of a renowned politician would have been brought up knowing how to give: kind, patient, and understanding; the sort of beaming that makes viewers who weren't Phasma or Hux want to smile back. The doctor was no exception.

"Someone will be with you in a moment," she grinned as she walked out of the room and shut the door. The moment the lock clicked into place, Ben’s smile dropped like a weight. Similarly, his own giant mass seemed to lose some of its composure as well, becoming loosened and irritated as if under some burden of sorts.

Releasing a thick sigh, Ben muttered, “And I couldn’t just have one of you sew me up because . . .?”

Phasma, forcing entertainment out of a daily health magazine she’d swiped from the waiting room, kept her eyes trained on its literature.

“Because while you’ll feign patience in public, with us, you pitch a fit,” she responded. She flipped a page, “Also, neither Hux nor I enjoy stitching headwounds. It’s too risky, too unsanitary, and it’d be all too easy to just stab you and end it all there. And then we’d be out of the job.” From his position behind her, glaring at his phone, Hux nodded once in agreement.

Ben narrowed his eyes as much as he possibly could through all the soreness, but offered no vocal response. He didn’t doubt Phasma’s capacity to end him under the right circumstances, and therefore had no desire to orchestrate such conditions.

“What I meant,” Ben spoke carefully, “is that it would have caused less of a commotion had we just used one of our own resources to fix this, rather than dragging it out into the public. I highly doubt any of this visit will be kept under wraps, given the oh-so realistic details of the story, we could’ve just avoided this all if we’d just – ”

“Oh, we could have. In fact, we could have avoided this entirely,” Hux spoke. Ben rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was coming. “This could have all been avoided, had someone just kept. His damn. Mask on.” His cold, blue eyes glared at the dark-haired man for emphasis, beyond tired from this hellish evening.

“Don’t you mean if a certain someone had just manned up and saved Phasma from the muggers?” Ben said.

“It’s not too late to pop those stitches open, Ben,” Phasma warned. If she wasn’t tired from the evening’s occurrences, she was definitely done with being a fake prop.

It was uncertain who benefitted from your arrival the most, but whatever the case, they all recomposed themselves accordingly: Phasma remained “enthralled” with the boring magazine, lifting her sights only to give you a polite nod; Hux, in a struggling effort to not let his anger translate through his features, forced an appearance of neutrality; and Ben, rehearsed in his methods, expressed an air of a good person, his darkened eyes rounded like the average innocent. As if a switch inside of him had been flicked.

You smiled shyly as you ushered yourself into the room. “Thanks for waiting,” you said, gingerly shutting the door behind you. You tried to keep a calm demeanor. One screw up with a beloved senator’s son and who knew what this would mean for your career. (Not to mention that he wasn’t bad to look at, even with that scar . . .) “Oh, and my name is (Y/N), by the way.”

Ben gave you the smile he reserved for no one. “Good evening,” he replied in a warm tone. He had used it so often, perfected it to an art, that even Hux and Phasma were beginning to believe it on occasion. They were reminded of its cheesiness by your subtle attempt at hiding a small shiver from hearing Ben’s deep voice say your name.

“Well, I can assure right back to you that this won’t take long at all,” you murmured, directing your attention to the paperwork on the clipboard you’d arrived with. “I know it’s late and frankly, a cut on the face would be enough to make anyone want to head home for some rest, so let’s get you squared away . . .” As you made fast work with the regarded antibiotics, you attempted to make chitchat, praying that your turned-down expression could potentially hide your growing fluster.  

“So what exactly did happen to you anyway, Mr. – ”

“Ben,” he offered. “Please, call me Ben.” If you weren’t too focused on trying not to outwardly gush at the shining smile on Ben’s face, you would’ve possibly noticed his two companions in the background, rolling their eyes or trying to stifle a bitter laugh. One of Ben’s many methods of putting on the charm. Judging by the wobbly smile threatening to slip on your face, they were assured that this technique had, once again and without fail, worked yet another poor soul.

“Well, Ben,” you spoke, “my coworkers and I are sorta being kept in the dark about what all went on. And my boss won’t say anything so . . .” You bit your lip. “You mind telling me what ‘upstanding citizenship’ you’ve done that’s gotten you cut up? I’m sure the guys in the back would love to hear about it!” You momentarily froze before retracting your excitement. “I – I mean, if you want,” you quickly threw in.  

A corner of Ben’s political smile twitched. He failed to see what was so impressive about Hux’s bullshit story. But, then again, the average person didn’t see nearly half as much action as he did on a regular basis. It made some bit of sense that someone – even someone in the medical field – would find something intriguing about his “courageous act.” Might as well humor you just this once.

“I was trying to kill someone and he pulled a knife on me at last minute,” Ben grinned.

The silence was so deafening that you could hear a cotton ball hit the floor.

Hux could practically hear his bones creaking as he slowly turned his head up. If it were possible, his face would have gone paler. Phasma herself didn’t seem to notice her grip on her magazine pierce tiny crescent-shaped marks into the paper. The stare she shot above the pages could simultaneously freeze and melt a solid.

Ben only knew this because he could feel both sensations encasing his spine, causing his smile to falter. That, and the realization of what had just flown from his mouth surely did nothing to keep his false warmth kindled.

It was therefore a godsend of sorts when you finally broke the awkward silence with an equally awkward fit of laughter.

“O-oh! Wow, Ben, that’s, um . . . That’s quite a sense of humor you’ve got going on there,” you forced a giggle. Though it was more so just a wobbly, shaken delivery of your sentence. Maybe rich people just had a sense of humor you couldn’t quite understand? Or maybe Ben was just trying to make light of his situation and just went about it wrong from shock and exhaustion?

On the inside, Ben was, indeed, startled. But not for what you thought. Nevertheless, he was never one to miss an opportunity. Seeing your laughter as a place to put a foothold in, Ben forced a crooked smile back onto his features.

“Sorry about that; I guess the evening’s just getting to me. I apologize.” That was what he’d wanted to say. He wanted to say these things so incredibly badly, with the force and effort of everything in his being.

But alas, Ben, with an adorable smirk present, said nothing of the sort.

“No, actually, I mean it,” Ben began. He couldn’t stop himself from delving in further. “I was out on a hit because a traitor cheated me out of my money and he slashed the side of my face!” The smile stuck to Ben’s face for only a fraction of a second. But the look of horror present in those eyes of his remained for an eternity.

You didn’t awkwardly giggle. You didn’t even make a stiff smile in response to Ben’s statement. Instead, all you could do was stare. Just . . . stare. Into those deep, dark eyes that, when you’d first entered, looked so warm and welcoming. Now, when you focused on them, all you could see was the visual expression of, “Oh, shit.” Neither of which were what you would ever have expected from Ben Organa-Solo.

“Uh – Ben,” Hux barged in, pushing himself away from the window and to his companion’s side. Leaning forward to the man’s ear, he hissed through clenched teeth, “A bit late and inappropriate for dark humor, isn’t it?”

“Well, you know me, Hux,” Ben whispered back. “You know I can’t help myself.” From the emphasis, the structure of the man’s tone, Hux was cued in that something was wrong.

Hux had to fight to keep his eye from twitching with annoyance. The entire damn plan – the one that had been flying on broken wings and the grace of God already – was about to fall apart become this manchild couldn’t keep together for some nurse!?

Nevertheless, he fought to keep a frustrated flush from blossoming on his pale skin. “Well, Ben,” Hux attempted to smother his terseness with an air of friendliness. “We all know how you can be a little excitable when around pretty things,” his voice trailed, trying to make it sound as though he were referring to his associate’s “job” as an arts dealer. “But really: I’m sure everyone here has had a very. Long. Night. I’m sure that (Y/N) here has had enough excitement this shift and would just like to close off the evening with a nice, assuring story about the city’s golden boy.” Hux’s teeth gritted themselves into a tight smile. “But of course, perhaps it would just be better to put everything to rest and leave things be.”

All the while, you stood there, eyes flickering with growing perplexity. And all the while you were doing this, Phasma was staring both at you and her two male colleagues.

This wasn’t how she’d wanted to spend her Saturday night: She’d planned to run the damn errand then go home and treat herself to some sushi. It was bad enough that her night included going to the hospital because Reversed Hamlet over here had to be dramatic during a killing; now it was looking like she was going to either spend it in jail, or trying to hide your body – which would also end in jail. And a slightly guilted conscience.

Judging by the fear present in your face, it was only a matter of time before you fled the scene. And, sure enough, one of your feet took a step backwards and towards the door.

Dammit, Phasma hissed in her mind. Why the hell couldn’t he just lie!? It was this thought that stopped Phasma from making a proper list of how many ways one could incapacitate somebody with a tongue depressor.

“Wait . . .” Phasma whispered. Her eyes had finally remained settled on you. You weren’t too happy about that.

You tried not to foolishly make a shield out of your clipboard, obviously intimidated by the statuesque woman. You were already in a room with a scary-looking man with cold, blue eyes and a man who may or may not have killed someone but was sounding way too serious to be joking about it. You weren’t in any position to assume that the woman wouldn’t do you any type of harm.

The blonde Amazon of a woman, however, appeared to be undeterred, taking the steps needed to get between both you and her cohorts.

“(Y/N), be a dear and tell Ben his hair is red,” Phasma instructed.

Once again, she appeared unfazed in the face of your furrowed brows. But, once again, you literally weren’t in a position to press her.

Tongue heavy, you whispered shakily, “H-his hair is red.”

“No,” Phasma said. “Don’t tell me; tell him.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the man in question.

You had no choice, sighing and trying once more: “Ben, your hair is black.” It startled you to hear yourself say that; to say “black” in a manner so weak and unexpected that it tumbled from your mouth with none of the confidence as the preceding words had took to the air with. It felt to the floor like a baby bird.

Your eyebrows rose in accordance to your widening eyes before creasing yet again. “I mean, your hair is rreeeeblack!” Your hand flew to your mouth, pressing your fingers curiously against your lips. It wasn’t as if you weren’t trying (you really were). But every effort always felt as though it was being bolstered to the side, making way for new words, words you had tried not to focus on. The longer you tried to drag out the thoughts you had wanted, the more awkward it felt in your mouth, in your mind. Not even awkward in the sense of being aware that what you said was a lie, but a physical discomfort, one that couldn’t be ignored. One that refused to be ignored.

It was as though you’d lost any inhibitions you had over your own body, becoming hijacked by the subconscious and spilling out without any reserves. It was puzzling to say the least.

The confusion became infectious, spreading in different strains to all present but Phasma herself.

“Phasma, what is the point to all of this?” Hux quietly demanded. Ben, however, remained quiet, focusing instead on you. Phasma ignored Hux’s query, however. Aside from her height giving her a physical advantage, apparently being the most level-headed of the trio allowed her to have the best foresight and understanding.

Passing over Hux, Phasma continued, “Ben: Tell (Y/N) what you do.”

Ben, however, remained silent. In fact, he was biting the inside of his mouth in an attempt to keep some kind of neutral or bemused countenance. Maybe he couldn’t outright act like a child but he sure as hell could stick to his guns and remain silent for once. Like hell he was going to risk anything at this point.

Phasma, on the other hand, wasn’t having it. Confident in her suspicions, she pressed, “Come on, we haven’t got all night. Now tell her what it is you do or else those won’t be the only stitches you’ll end up with.”

Ben didn’t doubt her. He inhaled begrudgingly and said, calculatedly, “I am an arts dealer.” He would’ve been entirely satisfied with leaving it at that, had the tall woman not been glaring at him as she had done before. Apparently, his own satisfaction wasn’t enough to amount to Phasma’s own.

“Ben,” she said in an eerily quite voice. “What else do you do? Do you walk dogs? Bartend? ” You shivered at her tone, reconsidering if hiding behind the clipboard was really such a bad idea.

Nothing, Ben thought. “No . . .” he found himself murmuring. “I do . . . things.”

“Look at (Y/N) when you’re speaking,” the blonde demanded. Begrudgingly, Ben directed his eyes at the startled little nurse before him. His eyes, already dark by nature, appeared to be almost black, enhancing his fervent glaring. Behind those eyes, he was formulating the words he wanted to say, the words that would tell a decent lie like, “I also bet money on horses.” But, when staring at you, your fingers gripping your clipboard as your eyes and mouth opened wider, they just wouldn’t form.

“I . . . do . . . illegal things.” If he squeezed his eyes shut any further, you would’ve thought it possible for his face to swallow into itself. Inside his own head, that was exactly what Ben was hoping for. Why did he say that? How could he say that!? It wasn’t as though he’d wanted to, and yet there it was now, out in the open air. It was like some unknown force had pulled it from his throat and contorted his intentions.

“Illegal things like . . .?”

“I pirate muuuussssiiiiiccccI sell weapons and do dealings and hits I am essentially the mafia.” God. Fucking. Dammit.

“And why are you telling Nurse (Y/N) this?” Phasma said, a hint of being pleased with her findings present in her tone.

“Be . . . Because – ” Ben’s voice floated up a strangled octave as he tried to contain himself. His face grew red and discomforted, but not out of embarrassment. There was a physical discomfort boiling inside of Ben as he struggled to keep his real words at bay. He could feel them forming, the letters taking shape in his mouth. His mind was flooded with the words, the thoughts he knew deep down would come out. Still, he just had to try and fight this. He just had to try, and maybe, just maybe, he can beat this – “BecauseImunabletocontrolwhatIsayIcantlienomatterwhatItryanddoanditsextremelyfrustrating!”

Hux’s burning features contorted with an assortment of negativity. The most basic summation of them all would’ve been “a vortex of pisstivity” mixed with a mind scampering around to think of how to silence you to keep this from ever getting passed the door.

Phasma, however, remained just as composed as she’d been under even some of the worst circumstances. The only difference (one that not only confused Hux, but caused an unnerved tingle to travel down his spine) was the rather pleased smile that grazed her features. She folded her arms, satisfied that her theory had been officially proven correct.

“Well,” Phasma said. “I believe we have the answer to our problem. Perhaps coming here was a good idea after all, Ben: You got to find your soulmate. Maybe now you’ll stop your incessant whining.”

At the sound of that word – that “s” word – Ben’s eyes popped open. Erstwhile, you tensed up even more than what you thought possible for the evening.

That was the case?

Apparently, Hux had been thinking the same, uttering a low, “Unbelievable.” Not one born out of amazement, but more so extracted from a feeling of, “Are you absolutely shitting me right now?” Only he could live a life where he’d be dragged out on a hit on what should have been his night off, stuck driving the getaway car, and his whining, overly dramatic boss would still find a way to make the evening even stranger and more problematic than necessary by finding the one person he couldn’t lie to. Hux had given up.

And yet, he was nowhere near as gone as Ben was: The black-haired man sat quietly, not even slack-jawed, but just staring at you with a blank expression. You stared back, frantically trying to compose yourself at the sudden and immense influx of information.

This wasn’t how you thought your shift was going to go . . .

Reading the room, the only sane person left decided to take the initiative to put the pieces in place. “Come along, Hux.” Phasma effortlessly began to usher out the redhaired man. Hux himself put up no struggle, too befuddled at the realization of the circumstances to truly put up a fuss. “Let’s leave these two to their own devices . . .”

The clicking of the door only just barely reminded Ben to return back to reality. In reality, you were still very much startled. By what exactly, he couldn’t quite place. Was it the fact that he, Ben Organa-Solo, son of Senator Leia Organa, was your soulmate? The fact that Ben Organa-Solo was a mobster in his spare time? Or the fact that Ben Organa-Solo, part-time mobster, was your soulmate? All options were viable.

“S-so . . .” you stammered. “Um . . . About your prescriptions . . .”

Ben had to admit it to himself: You were quite a trooper for sticking to the previously intended subject. Even if it was a bit lackluster, given the new understanding between you two.

“You’re gonna need some bacitracin . . .” You nervously clicked your pen as you began to scribble down your instructions with a shaking hand. “You’ll – you’ll also need some pain medication. Regular ibuprofen should do the trick, so you needn’t look for anything heavy-hitting.” You tried your damndest not to stammer, to make yourself appear even weaker than before. At this point, you wished that your biggest worry was still over prescribing medication to a handsome son of a politician.

Anxiety flowed off you and concealed the room in a thickness so strong that even Ben could feel it.

In a weak attempt at humor, he questioned, “Will downing some scotch do the trick instead?” If it weren’t for the dull throb of his stitches and the fact that he would look quite silly doing so, Ben would have slapped a hand to his face in self-deprecation. Instead, he opted for a small, frail apology that quivered out in a small, whispering stammer.

“Actually . . .” you replied slowly as you lowered the clipboard, “Actually, I think a drink might do the both of us some good right about now . . . You ever been to the cantina down the street?”

At first, Ben wasn’t quite certain how honest you were being. The irony being that you couldn’t lie to him even if you wanted to. But judging by the small, demure smirk that you formed with your lips – one almost entirely akin to the one you’d presented before the whole revelation – you were positively sincere.

And for that, Ben couldn’t help but smile right back. Awkward and crooked, it was the first, honest smile he had made in a very long while.

[thehalfworld]

Fanfic MST: Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen, a Twilight fanfic [part 7]

The penultimate chapter!

Warnings this time include sex, violence, and a few references to what went down in the previous installments. 

Recap: Tiaa learned that her father is a vampire, and that she would become one herself if she had sex with Edward. Guess what she did. (Also, she killed Uncle Larry and drank his blood.)

Chapter 1

Previous chapter

thanx for the revews!

You’re so welcome!

Chapter 7 - Surprises!

I woke up sheepishly and wandered where I was for a minute.

Vampires don’t sleep, and no one wakes up “sheepishly.”

I got out of bed, wandering if all the things that had hapened to me last night were just a dream. I went downstairs for breakfast and sat down with Dave and Marie.

Vampires don’t eat breakfast, either. Unless she plans on eating Dave and Marie. I wouldn’t object.

THey look at me and smiles adoringly.

You do have a beta reader, right?

"wow tiaa i love your new hair and contat lenses, your look so beautiful!" said marie with her face all bright and happiness.

Marie freaks me the hell out. Why is she so perky?

I got up and look in a mirror. Holly shite! I looked totally diffrent! For the first time I could see my face was truely beautiful, it was even prettier than before.

If you can possibly imagine that, because Tiaa’s descriptions of herself in previous chapters weren’t exactly modest.

My eyes were a weird silver color like wet pools of noble moonlight in distant medows,and my ivory gold hair seemed to shimmer like the suns burned rays in the morning, with the purple streaks shining like neon lilac.

So in the Twilight universe, vampire eye color depends on how recently they last fed and what they last fed on. A vampire with human blood in their system will have red eyes; a hungry vampire has black eyes; vampires who eat nonhuman animals (like Edward and his family) have gold eyes after feeding. Tiaa ate Uncle Larry last night, and she’s newly turned, so she definitely has human blood in her body. Her eyes should be red.

I guess her hair’s the same except for the dye job, though, because she used to have multiple colors streaked into her hair and now she just has purple. Not sure how being a vampire would affect that, honestly.

I was radiant and magical and looked awesome.

I love this sentence.

My skin was even more pale than before and my features more delicate and queen-like, my nose was small and dashing and my cheeks were high and pale and my chin was soft but majestic. I was amazed.

I’m just hoping that she still smells like mint and cinnamon.

Suddenly the phone rang and nuked me out of my silent staring.

Must be one of those newfangled atomic phones.

Dave answered it.

"what? oh my god! Your kidding! This is inconsideratable!" and he hung up

Nice vocabulary, Dave. Nice job hanging up on the caller, too.

"whats happened honey?" Marie asked smiling

Why is she always smiling? Is her face stuck like that?

"uncle larry is died, it looks like he was ripped apart by a wild beast! I feel so sad!

Yeah, you seem real…

(wait for it…)

…torn up about it.

he was my brother"

Not sure why he needed to remind everyone. Can’t imagine Uncle Larry was a pleasant brother, though, since his entire character consisted of being ugly and evil.

I suddenly remembered what I had done, and i screamed and ran to school.

That’s not suspicious or anything! Actually, wait, it’s Dave and Marie; they won’t suspect a thing.

Also, I pictured her doing this like Gir from Invader Zim.

I felt so awful and giulty for what I had done! I new uncle larry was a perv and a rasist and even thou he had raped me and tied me up and spanked me and made my life hell I still shoudnt have killed him!

No, you totally should have killed him.

I was going to explode with guilt. i ran through the forest towards the school but suddenly a large thing appeared in front of me.

Wow! Love the description!

it was a bear - a big panda bear!

…this is happening in a small town in Washington State, correct?

it was huge and fluffy and realy cute, but I was scared as this was a totally weird thing to happen.

She’s not wrong.

But, then again, in the context of this story I guess it’s not too implausible.

"greetings atlantaina!" it said - i was totally freaked out - since when did panda bears live in Forks? And since when did they SPEAK? I was totally confused

You and me both, girl.

"WTF?" i screamed!

"I'm a panda bear, my name is Snooflanti-tatuna but you can call me Snoofles.”

Well, thank god, because I have no idea how to pronounce that first thing you said.

"A talking PANDA BEAR?" i shouted furiously

Why is she angry?

"I cannot talk like humans can, but your not human anymore so you can understand me. You can talk to animals. You probably have other powers too you just don't know it yet"

Oh, I get it. So I think I mentioned this earlier, but in the Twilight universe some vampires gain a special ability after being turned — typically an amplification of some ability they possessed as a human. That’s how come Edward can read minds, his sister Alice has visions of the future, his brother Jasper can influence the moods of others, and so on. Tiaa’s ability to communicate with animals comes out of nowhere only in the sense that it wasn’t foreshadowed; the power fits with canon otherwise.

I’m pretty sure one vampire having multiple extra abilities is unheard of, though. There goes Tiaa breaking the rules again. (Though at this point… after all she’s been through… I guess she deserves something good for a change, no?)

"like watt?" i said

"I dunno, touch that tree" said Snoofles, smiling at me.

Hey, hold up. How does the panda know all this shit? Like… how does he know who Tiaa is? How does he know about how vampires work? Even allowing that Tiaa can communicate with animals now, how come this one is demonstrating human-like sapience?

You know what, none of this will ever get explained and I’m done thinking about it. Let’s move on.

I touched the tree and consentrated hard and even though it was winter the tree suddenly started to bloom huge bunches of flowers. The flowers cascadad down like a river onto the bare forest floor. i took my hand away in horror. The flowers were so beautiful they made me think of edward. then i remembered how he had left me after we had made love, and i became angry. I touched another tree and it burst into flames. It was as if the trees turned into things that somehow reflected how I was feeling!

This power actually makes sense for volatile, moody Tiaa, but it’s not gonna be very useful until she learns to control it. Which might never happen because this girl is an emotional loose cannon. Also we’re on the second-to-last chapter.

"OMG, how is this possible?" i said

"Don't ask me I'm just a panda, lol" said Snoofles with a big grin and he raised his eyebows,"but I'm so happy to find a person who can understand my speaking! i al; ways wanted a human friend! will you be my human friend?"

Nice going, author. I like how you had Snoofles know things he shouldn’t and then had him not know how he knows those things he shouldn’t. Great writing! Allows you to avoid explaining anything at all!

"well yah ok" i said, "but i have to go to school now so I'll see you later Snoofles ok?"

"that's cool" said Snoofles "i'll see you later"

I ran away and was totaly weirded out by my meeting with Snoofles.

I, too, was totally weirded out by your meeting with Snoofles.

I was almost in a trance at school and even though people starred at me and made coments about my new apperance I had never cared less.

Maybe because they did this every day anyway?

in gym class I ran around dressed in my gym clothes.

That is what one typically does in gym class, yes.

i was playing dodgball and the cleerleaders kept throwing there balls at me realy hard like biaches but i was dodging them at the speed of light.

Being subtle, I see! Good going convincing everyone you’re still human!

Lauren came over to me and tries to hit me over the face with her balls and I slapped her in the face.

Did Lauren just try and teabag Tiaa?

"WTF you freaky goth tudor bitch!" she shouted with her ugly face flapping like a big bag

I swear this fic has the best similes I have ever seen.

"leave me alone yeah?" i said looking more beautiful than ever

And this is relevant why?

"no - ill never leave u alone becase your so werid! what has hapened to your face its like your from another planet, your so pale and delicate its freaking everyone out and we all hate you!"

Well put, Lauren.

I was so mad i pushed her but when my hands touched her arms her skin started to blister and froth in a totally gross way and she got struck by a bolt of lightning. She wasnt dead or anything but she looked totally disgusting and she got taken to the hospital.

Nasty! Can’t say I feel bad for Lauren, though.

I didnt look for my friends and after gym class I sat in the changing rooms after everyone has left and cried becase I felt so sorry for watt I had done to uncle larry and to lauren.

Oh, come on. Lauren is just a bully, admittedly, but Uncle Larry was a rapist — a particularly violent one committing repeated rape against a teenager, no less. Killing him was just taking out the trash. And Lauren should be okay-ish after a few skin grafts.

I was sat there wearing a very short leather mini-dress and red ripped tights and a skull necklace and a gothic top hat with feathers on it.

She headed to an Emilie Autumn concert after school or what?

Suddenly I heard a voices from behind me

A voices. One voice, but it’s plural. Got it.

(I wanna make a System Shock joke here but I can’t think of a good one.)

"Tiaa? Tiaa? It is I Edward Cullen!" said edward.

No one on this planet talks like that. I don’t care what time period you’re from.

i turned to kook at him and he gasped in a high piched way and fell over onto the floor. I was mad at him and totaly upset about other stuff so i didnt check to see if he was ok. He got up in a minute.

…alright, I’m not sure how to react to that.

"I fainted Tiaa, thou is so sexy and exqisite i lost my contentioness.

I’m pretty sure vampires can’t faint. Did he pretend to faint? Because, if so, that’s really funny.

Thy face is even more sacred and filled with shinning glory than before, I am amazed" but then he noticed I was crying tears of soft blood and he said "what is wrong with thee?" said Edward

“Im trunign into a My Immortal characted!11!11!!1” I yielded depressingly as blod streemed down my iviory fetnures. “Ewdard fangz 4 all da help but not even u can salve me now. I”m gong to go slit my rists with a steak so i can end my live of mizery!112!!!!11111”

“OMS no Tiaa dont go!” Edwerd shooted sadly but it waz 2 latte. I cut miself with da knife and da word went blak.

"I killed someone Ewadrd! I killed my uncle and drank his blood and I think I made lauren get stuck by lightning"

Okay, but like… Edward knows your “uncle” had been raping and beating you repeatedly. The Lauren thing might be considered bad, since her main crime was just being an asshole, but Tiaa didn’t mean to hurt her like that, so it’s not really her fault.

"its ok Tiaa he was evil and noone cares about lauren" Edward says to comfort me and he put his arms round me

Dude has a point.

"still watt i did was awfull and anyways GET OFF ME!" i stood up and shock him off me "dont come near me ever again! I havent forgiven you for whatt happened last night! We did sex and you left me there in the forest!"

"I'm sorry! I cannot stay away from thee and yet I cannot be with thee either" he cried and threw his hands up and weeped

Hey, wanna play a drinking game? Take a shot every time Edward starts crying. Finish your drink every time Edward goes immediately from putting the moves on Tiaa to saying he can’t be with her or vice versa. I guarantee you will get very, very drunk.

"make your mind up Ewdard! this is a serious thing! Ether stay here with me now and screw me and be with me forrever or leave and go be with Bella! Make youre choice right now!"

That’s a reasonable ultimatum except for the part where she propositioned him for sex while they’re in a public area of their high school.

"I choose thee Atlantnina! Bella is a big mean cow and I cant be with her anymore!

Get wrecked, Bella.

I will never leave thou side again my lovley damsell!"

See? Was that so hard?

He started to cry and I kissed him. He was so amazing. His yellow eyes and tussled aubon hair and pale skin made me want to screw him all the time, I'd never seen anybody look so perfect.

Get a grip, kids, you’re at school.

I took off my dress so I was only wearing my underwear and i sat on his knee and we kissed a lot.

What part of “get a grip” was so hard for you to understand?

He touched me all over and I felt dizzy and week.

This is shaping up to be a very vague sex scene, huh?

"Do you mean it edward? You'll be mine forrever?"

"I does, i shall be thy mate" he said beautifully in his smooth hot velvet voice

I didn’t get any girls in high school, but I guess it was probably because I didn’t speak in butchered old-timey English, huh? Nothing gets teenage girls going like a little bizarre grammar!

I found some handcuffs on a bench and I tied him to a hook.

I could get analytical about what it means for Tiaa, who was chained to a bed and nearly raped the day before, to develop an interest in restraining her sexual partners… but I’m far more confused by why the hell there are handcuffs laying around in a high school.

he was unable to move and i took his pants down and looked at his throbbing lavender man-fruit thing.

Why is it lavender? Is he okay?

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I put it in my mouth and sucked it and he thrusted madly untill he had an orgasm in my mouth.

I’m far from being a seasoned erotica writer, but if you go from the beginning of the sex act to the climax in a single sentence it really makes it sound like your character came about 10 seconds in. Which, even for a 17-year-old boy, is pretty embarrassing.

The hot juice flowered in my mouth and it was magical.

I really don’t think it was, actually.

Sodenly a voice came from behind me

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING YOU EVIL RODENT PEOPLE?

It was……………………………. DUMBLEDORE!!11!!!

I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU BOTH AND NOW I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF!"

It was Bella Swan!

Okay, that had to have been a homage to “My Immortal.” And god bless!

Next chapter