#and quite ruggedly handsome too. if i might add.

[princehendir]

what would alistair > anders > josie read as to you

Vanders truther.

[weasleyswizardpleases]

Playing Nurse (4/4)

Summary: Fred Weasley keeps showing up in Hogwarts’ infirmary,  where you apprentice when you’re not in class, but he quickly becomes more than just a patient to you.

Warnings/notes: Blood, dental injury, bruising, broken bones. Language, kissing, some nudity, coming out. Not super graphic but it takes place in the school infirmary so people’s injuries and illnesses are described. Trans masc!Fred x fem!reader. Last chapter! Thanks for loving this one as much as I do you guys :)

Tags: @lucymfer @accioweaslcy @manuosorioh 

4. We Must Stop Meeting Like This

A week goes by before you see Fred again. You’ve pretty much given up on him liking you after your somewhat unexpected last encounter. But, like clockwork, he’s in the infirmary again over the weekend. 

When you arrive for your shift, the infirmary is already bustling. Pomfrey is doing intake on a group of students while a stern but somewhat worried looking McGonagall stands by. You take in the scene: Ron Weasley is there with a busted lip, Malfoy’s a few feet away, holding his head and looking dazed, Crabbe and Goyle by his side in disheveled states. You’re unsurprised to see an incredibly peeved Katie Bell, her stockings ripped, glaring at the Slytherins. She’s limping heavily.

“What happened here? How can I help?”

“There was… a fight,” McGonagall says tiredly. 

“Go ahead and examine Ron, should be a quick episkey, and then move on to Mr. Crabbe, I think it’ll be much the same but I haven’t had a proper look yet,” instructs Madam Pomfrey.

You take Ron to an exam table and give him a quick once over while asking him what happened. He explains that Fred and George weren’t having it and things escalated quickly.

“Turned into an all out brawl before anyone could get a word in edgewise. Percy was watching and ran to snitch, well, thank god he did, because they’re in really bad shape,” he says.

“Who? The Slytherins?” you say, using an episkey charm on his lip and a few stray scratches across his arms, probably from being thrown to the ground in the scuffle.

“Fred, especially, and Malfoy, and…” Ron continues, but you’re no longer listening. You look around and notice that the twins are unaccounted for. You’re finishing up on Ron when George and Filch come in carrying a stretcher with Fred on it. He seems barely conscious. You walk alongside them, asking all the questions you know to ask. This one is yours- Pomfrey is busy with Malfoy, who you suspect has a concussion, and will probably need to look after Katie’s ankle next.

George tells you that Malfoy hit Fred with a stunning spell, but after he fell, they kept kicking at him. You elect not to revive Fred fully yet, first casting a pain relief spell. You examine his clothed torso, feeling along his ribs, and notice that one of the bones feels out of place. You frown and continue lightly feeling along the area, and notice that he seems to be wearing a tight, thick undershirt.

“He’s got a broken rib. We’ll have to remove any garments that might constrict the area to set the bone properly. Could I ask you two to step out for a moment?” you ask, gesturing to the curtain out of the cubicle. Filch departs, but before George leaves he pauses.

“Don’t tell anyone, ok? It would break his heart,” he says seriously before stepping out.

You have little time to wonder what he means. You cut open Fred’s tee shirt and, as you suspected upon palpating his torso, find an undergarment laid tight across his chest. Like a sports bra, maybe, but why- in a flash, you understand the secret Fred was talking about the other day, and what George was saying to keep to yourself just now. It’s a binder. Of course. 

You waste no time reflecting and slice his binder cleanly down the middle to remove pressure from the area. You set about doing a complex set of spells- first checking for internal bleeding, then setting the broken bone back in place, then casting a bandaging spell so he’s not tempted to move about before it’s fully set.

“Rennervate!” you say, flicking your wand in Fred’s direction. He comes to, looking around in confusion, his eyes finally landing on you.

“How do you feel?” you ask him.

“Utter shit,” he says. “What happened, exactly?”

“Stunning spell from Malfoy or one of his goons, George said. You wound up with a broken rib from getting kicked while you were out, but the scan didn’t show anything else too terrible. Just a few bruises.”

“Those cheating bastards. I’d love to spit in their faces right now,” he says, moaning as he tries to sit up.

“Just lay down,” you say, resting your hand gently on his shoulder. “It should be pretty much healed by tomorrow morning, but it’s going to be painful until then. If you want, I can ask Pomfrey to give you something to help you sleep while I’m out fetching you a new shirt,” you offer. You pulled the blanket up to cover his chest when you finished working on his ribs, but he’s still shirtless underneath. You watch as he realizes you must have seen his chest while you were patching him up. He grimaces uncomfortably.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’d like that shirt, please,” he says, pursing his lips. You dash off to one of the cabinets to fetch an extra set of clothes and an extra blanket, since you know he’ll be staying the night.

“Here,” you say, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” You excuse yourself to let him change, and touch bases with Madam Pomfrey. McGonagall has taken Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle, who are all fully healed, back to her office. Katie Bell is sitting on an exam table, still looking quite angry with her swollen leg propped up high. George is lurking worriedly near the door. You make your way over to him.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Fred is going to be perfectly fine by tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey will have a look at him to make sure there’s nothing I missed, since it was a serious injury, but his rib is all patched up.” He sighs in relief.

“And don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” you add discreetly, smiling knowingly at him. He relaxes fully and nods in return. “Good luck with McGonagall. She did not look happy.”

“Thanks, Y/N. Take good care of him,” he says, nodding towards his brother’s bed before leaving to accept his punishment.

You return to Fred’s bedside to find him looking quite sheepish.

“Feeling okay?” you ask softly. 

“Sure. Bit embarrassed. I wasn’t hoping you’d find out like this, you know.”

“Your big secret is that you’re trans? Freddie, who in the world would care about that?”

“I dunno, some people.”

“Uh, yeah, bigots,” you say, laughing. “I certainly don’t care. I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“Thanks to you. Wanna sit?” he asks sweetly. You can’t say no, so you agree to wait with him at least until Pomfrey comes in to look him over.

“So, did you ever talk to that girl?” you ask, trying to make small talk after all the excitement. He looks at you like you’re a nutcase. 

“Y/N, are you thick?” he laughs hard, causing him to wince and hold his torso. He gasps in pain, but grins through it. “Honestly, who did you think I was interested in?” he asks, biting back laughter. You look at him, your cheeks hot. What is he getting at?

“How should I know? I hardly see you, outside of keeping you alive in here,” you say defensively.

“Wow, I thought for sure you knew. I was so embarrassed when you didn’t say anything, I’ve been avoiding you for weeks!” 

“What? Why?” you ask, but it quickly dawns on you what you may’ve been missing. “Wait… what?!” you say, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Yep, you got it.”

“You like me?”

“Yes, you idiot!”

“Come here,” you say. You lean down and plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, but he pulls you in gently for a real kiss, a long one. You feel so much tension you didn’t even know you were holding in leave your body, and stand back up, laughing big, just as Madam Pomfrey parts the curtain.

“Well, everyone seems in good spirits in here,” she says. You both nod awkwardly.

“Y/N has been taking such good care of me I hardly knew I was hurt,” Fred says cheerfully. Pomfrey gives him a quick once over, agrees with your diagnoses and treatment, and leaves you two alone once again. 

“You know, we have got to stop meeting like this,” Fred says, looking up at you. “Not that you don’t look lovely in your apron.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“How about a date?”

“I certainly wouldn’t object to a nice evening with a ruggedly handsome young man,” you say, giggling gleefully. He flashes a big smile, showing off his chipped tooth.

“Well, it’s a deal. You get me up and going again and I treat you to dinner,” he says.

“Deal! I've got to go, though,” you say, planting a sneaky kiss on him before you leave, “I am at work, after all.” You practically float out the door, proud of your work in more ways than one. Fred Weasley. Yours at last. 

[theroomofreq]

Personality Before Punctuality

In honor of #Jilytober2020 I decided to rewrite this fic from four years ago! It’s a meet-cute Muggle Au because I am a sucker. 

AO3

Lily was lucky, she thought, that her boss adored her to no end. Horace Slughorn owned The Hallows bakery where Lily was recently hired. Her interview lasted all of two minutes before Slughorn announced, “You’re a real gem Miss Evans. It would be a shame not to have you in our midst here at The Hallows.”

Lily was an hour late on her first day but somehow, she charmed the unnaturally stiff bakers to love her, they had to kick her out of the kitchen though.

Lily Evans had many talents but fell short –extremely short- when it came to baking. She did much better as the face of the store greeting and assisting customers. Lily still arrived late every day two months into the job. It was also every day that her personality came to the rescue with a witty joke and a smile.

personality before punctuality. personality before punctuality.

Lily rehearsed the mantra in her mind over and over again as she bustled through the crowds. She was going to be late again, and if she didn’t have something hilarious to say those bakers would really take the mickey.

Her walk to the bakery was usually busy about this time, and almost all of her fellow commuters would gather together before one street crossing.

Lily doubted there was a time that this place wasn’t crawling with pedestrians. The traffic light here had a sick sense of humor, it always made Lily late. In fact, it made everyone late. Her watch turned to 09:11 and the scowl on her face intensified with each passing second. 09:12. Lily turned her glare up to the light again and sighed. Instead the face of a crooked nosed man interrupted her view of the offending light. Due to her bad morning ‘tude she managed to deepen the glare, and Mr. Nose snapped to face forward.

Honestly.

Lily shook her head at the ill-mannered man, that small shake of her head brought her attention to the persons to the right of her. All of whom were blatantly staring at her, with strategic accuracy she sent a glower in their direction.

The whole situation seemed uncanny to Lily and particularly creepy. As she whipped her head round and around the crowd, she found almost every person to be staring at her. 

By the third time she sent daggers to a gawking bunch of teens she noticed there was only one person who wasn’t staring directly at her. It happened to be the bloke directly to her left.

She couldn’t gather much from his appearance, because hello staring is rude, only that his right arm was lined with tattoos. The man seemed not to notice nor be bothered by the fact that everyone was apparently obsessed with Lily today.

So, she decided to inform him of the situation, “By the way everyone is staring you’d think they’d never seen a red head before.”

Tattoos let out a low chuckle before he said, “Honestly. People these days.”

“They are starting to flock like vultures.”

“Look out,” he gasped, “that girl at 2 o’clock might get drool on you if she comes any closer.”

Lily shifted closer to him before she said, “If this goes on, I might be able to start charging for autographs.”

Tattoos choked a bit, “Well err,”  Nervous. He sounded nervous; Lily could work with nervous. “I do hope I could secure your autograph before prices skyrocket.” He finally managed.

Lily smirked and turned to face him before replying, and the tables turned. Tattoos wasn’t marked on his right arm, but on his left arm as well as his neck- Lily choked.

His neck was inked from the base to the edge of his jaw, with a stag’s antler.

Tattoos was not just tattoos, he was famous.

James Bloody Potter.

Lily was not the type to be star struck, really, she wasn’t. But let’s be real.

James Bloody Potter.

Lead guitarist to The Marauders, a band that recently rose to fame. Lily loved their sound and their original lyrics, and it seemed that a lot of others in London did too. And it might help that each member was exceptionally fit. James Bloody Potter included.

His hair was a right mess, his curly locks were inky and seemed stubbornly stuck in a messy mop atop his head. Did Lily mention the tattoos yet? They should be high on the list. Really high. His specs were important to notice too, they didn’t exactly seem to be the type found on a rockers face. But somehow Potter had them tilted at just the right angle that it didn’t matter.

So, go ahead sue her, she’s a bit enamored with a terribly fit guy in a band who’s smirking down at her.

Deal with it.

Seeing him came as a bit of a shock, it wasn’t exactly every day Lily ran into a witty guitarist on the way to work.  It definitely wasn’t every day that she spoke with famous attractive men. Hopefully she could change that.

It took her a moment to realize she needed to reply, “Perhaps we could work that out” she tried to add on a smirk, but undoubtedly failed.

James Bloody Potter. She could stare at him all day.

OH.

oh oh oh oh oh.

Shit.

Lily suddenly caught on. No one had been staring at her.

They’d been staring at him.

James Bloody Potter.

The famous musician from a up and coming band. The ruggedly handsome man next to her was catching all the attention, not her.

Apparently, her ego was unnaturally high today.

It wasn’t her at all, it was the bloke to the left of her. Lily was turning redder with each new thought.

She was so wrapped up in the embarrassment of her blunder it took her a second to realize that Potter was talking, “Ever think about getting a bodyguard? I hear those are dead useful.”

Only barely recovering Lily said, “Not really.” She gestured vaguely around her, “This is all new to me. I was hoping to be sneaky.”

“Just between you and I,” he said behind his hand, “Sneaky doesn’t seem to be working.”

Lily rolled her eyes, “Like you’d be doing any better.”

Potter threw his head back laughing, “Love, in my experience it’s usually the drastic measures that handles these things best.”

Lily heard the shuffle of footsteps and reluctantly pulled her eyes from him. The light had switched, and her fellow pedestrians were moving to cross. Lily took a step forward with the crowds and turned back to Potter. But he was gone, she looked ahead to see him surging ahead in the crowd, pushing and shoving to the front.

“Drastic?” Lily called after him.

The guitarist sent a nod over his shoulder to her before turning completely around to walk backwards. His hands shot into the air as he announced, “Alright people. I know Red here is devastatingly attractive,” Lily felt her jaw drop. “But all this staring is a bit excessive. So, if you all could kindly go back to your business that would-”

“Oi,” Lily interrupted, “Don’t think I don’t see you two trying to snap a photo.” She sent daggers to the two girls about to record Potter’s display, “I’ll be having none of that.”

In response Potter sent Lily a grin, “Yes ladies, sorry, she will be having none of that today.”

At this point the commuters safely crossed and started making their way down 12th, “Thank you all very much. Have a beautiful day!” he yelled out to them with a wave and a smile.

Lily continued straight instead of turning with everyone else, the bakery was just ahead, and was pleased to see that Potter did the same.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing a bodyguard as long as you stick around,” she said. 

“Well,” he pulled his hand up to splay across his chest, “I do specialize in the drastic and dramatic.”

Lily laughed, she supposed it had worked, he earned credit for that. Not to mention the fact that it was the most entertaining thing that happened to her all week. 

“Shall I scout ahead then?” He asked her.

Lily turned to face him with a quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“Scout, ya know. Race ahead determine if the area is safe. It’s what I think a bodyguard might do.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, somehow, she didn’t quite believe any bodyguard would race at all. But there was something about this Potter fellow that made her curious. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

A small smile appeared on his lips before he spoke, “Err, I was actually supposed to turn back on 12th.” He began to card his fingers through his hair while he watched the ground below.

“Ahh. I see.” Lily could feel the ridiculous nature of her smirk, “Go on then. Scout ahead.”

Potter’s head snapped up at that last bit, pulling his hand out of his hair and into a salute he said, “Copy that,” and took off.

He ran straight down the walk and into a collection of people, Lily figured a good scout would have ran around them in order to avoid detection.

Potter was not a good scout.

He took on the group by twisting and turning between each person. As he completed a full rotation he called out, “Spin move!” Lily was positive that spin moves were not stealthy enough for a scouting bodyguard, although his efforts did make her lips tug upwards.

After making his way through the disgruntled bunch Potter took off in a dead sprint, blowing right past the bakery. It was then that Lily decided that James Potter was the biggest dork she had ever met in her life.

He skidded to a stop a few paces past The Hallows Bakery and approached a lamppost. Lily laughed as he began to slink around it. His back pressed flush against the pole he slowly lowered his legs into a squat and made his way around to the other side. To him the movement was athletic, sneaky, and clever. To Lily it was ridiculous, unnecessary, and hilarious.

Lily shook her head as Potter took off once again down the walk, in a fashion that was none to sneaky, her head movement caused her to realize she too had passed the bakery. She wasn’t sure what exactly had distracted her from missing the bakery just a few storefronts back, she just knew she was later than ever.

personality before punctuality. personality before punctuality.  

“POTTER!” Due to the fact that he was still sprinting away Lily determined he hadn’t heard her. “HEY POTTER.” She yelled again, this time she caught his attention, he whipped around with an eyebrow raised at her. Lily simply jerked her thumb over her shoulder then turned back toward at the bakery. Potter dropped his brow and ducked his chin as he ran to catch up to the red head. Lily heard his chest heaving as he fell into step beside her.

“Took it a bit far that time, eh Potter?”

“Never can be too careful love,” his hand was in his hair again. “That lamppost looked rather shifty to me, had to check it out.”

Lily couldn’t bite back her smile. “That’s exactly the type of dedication I’d like to see in a full-time scouting bodyguard.”

“Aye aye Ma’am,” his hand snapped toward his hair, but remained solid in his salute.

Lily snorted into her laugh at his attempt to hold still. As she glanced sideways his salute broke to run his hand down through his hair. Unfortunately, along with the glance to Potter she realized they had come upon the bakery again. Lily stopped and began gathering enough charm to hopefully make up for her tardiness.

personality before punctuality. personality before punctuality.

“Err…could you perhaps, well if you don’t,” Potter’s stuttering pulled Lily back to the guitarist in front of her, “I was hoping. Well as long as it’s all right. It would just be such a shame.”

“Potter. Get on with it already.”

“Can I getyourautograph, it might not seem like it but I really do-”

Lily stopped him with a sigh, “Fans, can’t escape ‘em.” She held out her hand, “Got a pen on you?”

His eyes lit up with his grin, “Funny you should ask that,” he said, “Recently I acquired the habit of carrying one around with me.” One hand went to rub his neck while the other sank into his back pocket and produced a black marker.

“Fancy that,” Lily hummed as she took the marker from him and uncapped it. Lily reached out and snagged Potter’s wrist and ran her eyes around his inked arm trying to find a spot for herself. Finally, she settled on a blank section along the inside of his forearm. Lily held fast onto his wrist as she wrote her name along his arm, ensuring to take up as much surface area as possible.

Lily Evans.

“Wouldn’t mind if you put a number to that name love.” His smirk was audible in his request.

“Don’t push your luck Potter.”

“Course not,” he began. Lily pulled back from her handy work, capping the marker before she turned it back to her fan. His eyes lingered on her name a bit too long before he pulled his eyes up, “Evans.”

Lily couldn’t hold back her smile as he looked down at her with wide eyes.

“Wear a hat next time,” she said as he returned the pen to his pocket. “Perhaps that might prevent the need for drastic measures.”

Potter looked gob smacked, “And ruin my hair? Not a chance.”

Lily shook her head at him as he plowed through his hair yet again.

“Whatever Potter,” she dropped the line from the corner of her smirk, spinning toward the doors.

As she reached for the handle, she caught a, “S’later Evans.”

Lily didn’t need to turn around to know there was a huge grin on his face, but she did anyway. However, the grin wasn’t pointed her way, instead it faced down on his arm where she had left her name. And if it was that grin of his that made her so exceptionally late to work that day, then perhaps she would like to be delayed by James Potter far more often.

[fairfaxleasee]

Accidental DADW Prompt

All credit/blame for this goes to @rangeredacted who decided she needed to send me all the Ever Given/Suez Canal fic on AO3 today. My brain decided to turn it into a @dadrunkwriting prompt.

Pairing: Fenris/f!Hawke

CW: satire, terrible innuendo, poor life choices

"Hawke, come quick - it's an emergency!" Isabela had started shouting before she even opened the doors to Cassia Hawke's office in the Viscount's Keep.

Fenris decided to ignore how she managed to evade all the guards, not to mention Aveline, and why the damn cat-thing wasn't trying to kill her (in its defense, it wasn't used to people just flinging open the doors to Cass' study).

"I know it's an emergency, I'm seven thousand royals short on the repairs and I'm out of things to tax!" Cass pushed the piles of papers strewn over her desk around, almost as though putting them in a different order would solve the problem that had been vexing her most of the past month. The structural damage from Anders' attack had been worse than she'd initially thought and she'd been forced to scrap a triage approach to the repairs.

"No, Hawke, this is an actual emergency!" Isabela snatched the papers Cass was flipping through out of her hand and looked around, "And I need you to solve it before Aveline sees!"

"...why?"

"I - look, she's just going to waste a lot of time doing her 'I told you so's and 'what were you even thinking's and neither of those things are going to help any! Fenris, she listens to you, you tell her to help!"

"Not until you explain what this is," he narrowed his eyes - Isabela had a habit of underestimating just how far in over her head she was.

"I - well, I think it might be better if you see-"

"Hawke, Aveline wants you down at the Harbor, and-" Donnic stopped when he saw Isabela. "Seriously? Again?"

"Donnic! Ruggedly handsome as always! Any chance Aveline's in a good mood?" Isabela batted her eyes at the man.

"Well, when she realizes whose fault this is she will be for about half a second..."

"Don't worry; Hawke's going to fix it!"

"Hawke is not going to fix it, Hawke is staying right here until she comes up with another seven thousand royals," Cass was back trying to will her ledgers to add up correctly.

Donnic motioned for Fenris to get closer to him. Fenris raised an eyebrow which only made the man motion more frantically. He rolled his eyes and obliged. Once he was close enough, Donnic whispered to him, "She's going to be a lot more than seven thousand royals short if she doesn't fix this soon - Kirkwall needs its harbor working."

"What's wrong with the harbor?" Fenris asked.

"...you wouldn't believe me if I told you. And no, Cassia's not going to like it. But she does need to fix it."

Maybe whatever this is will finally be enough to make her quit...

Fenris called over to Cass, "I don't think you're going to get any work done until you go see what this is."

Cass growled discontentedly but put her papers down.

"Now, Hawke, when you get there - just remember it was the wind, not me, alright?" Fenris doubted Isabela was helping her case any.

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

"Isabela," Cass empathized each syllable as she glared at what had pulled her from the Keep. "Why the fucking fuck is there a Qunari dreadnaught blocking my fucking harbor!"

"Well, it's not really a Qunari dreadnaught anymore, it's my dreadnaught-"

"YOU STOLE A QUNARI DREADNAUGHT?!?" Fenris, Cass, and Aveline shouted in unison. Fenris found the fact Isabela had done something so monumentally short-sighted both unbelievable and inevitable.

"Did you learn NOTHING from what happened last time you stole from them?" Cass was glaring at the dreadnaught that was now her problem.

"I learned you're good at getting me out of trouble?" Cass snapped her glare to Isabela, "Besides, I didn't steal this, I found it. It was just floating, and no one was using it at the time, and I thought it would make a good flagship."

Fenris narrowed his eyes, "You don't just find Qunari dreadnaughts floating around."

"Well, I mean, maybe it was in a harbor at the time..."

"So you stole it!" Aveline stalked over to Isabela.

"I boarded it fair and square. Or, well, fair and square by Raider standards anyway."

Fenris decided to let Aveline handle Isabela for the time being. He approached Cass and placed a hand on her shoulder, "So... thoughts?"

"Lots. Most of them involve wanting to do things like keel-haul Isabela, but none of them help me figure out what to do about this. Oh! What about fire?"

"That depends on what you want to use it on; if it's to burn Isabela at the stake or something I'll go get the kindling, but if you want to use it on the dreadnaught, I wouldn't recommend it. They're booby-trapped with gattlock charges."

"Ugh!" Cass stalked over to where the ship was wedged against the harbor, then called over to Aveline, "Aveline! Come with me, I need someone to shout at all the dockworkers for me!"

"I'm not done with you yet!" Aveline shook her finger in Isabela's face one last time before moving to follow Cass to the crowd of dockers looking on.

Isabela stuck out her tongue at the Guard Captain's back and wandered over to Fenris. "So, going to yell at me too?"

"I wasn't planning on it; Aveline seems to have it well in hand, and she's better at it than me."

"Then why aren't you stalking off after Hawke? You're usually won't let her get more than three feet from you. You're not on the outs again, are you? If you want to reconsider my offer..." she leaned towards him. He waited until she was just about touching him to step back, causing her to stumble.

"Cass and I are fine. And no one's going to try and assassinate her until she fixes this - no one wants Kirkwall's harbor blocked. And if I wanted to catch something-"

"Hmph! You could have just said 'no,' you know!"

"Yes."

"So if you're not going to yell at me or hover over Hawke, what are you going to do?"

"Hmm, well, I was just thinking I'm a bit surprised that you don't have any experience inserting objects into holes correctly."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny!"

"Or that you've never gotten something wedged somewhere inconvenient before and had to get it unstuck for yourself."

"Hilarious, Fenris."

"Why did you even try sideways in the first place, you had to know that wouldn't work."

"I TOLD you at the Keep, it was the wind! And this isn't funny at all, you know! What if Hawke decides to do something that hurts my new boat?"

"You don't strike me as someone who's scared of ramming."

"I'm warning you, Fenris!"

"Do you wonder if this could have been avoided if you're remembered to use some lubrication?"

"OH THAT IS IT!" Isabela sprang at him. She leapt on his back and started tugging at his hair and ears.

"Get off me, wench! What are you even doing?" Fenris reached up to try and pry Isabela off him.

"I'm making you shut your mouth is what I'm doing!"

"You want to make someone else shut something? Is that what happened with the boat? You saw an opening and-"

Fenris had been so busy trying to dodge Isabela's hands he'd forgotten how close to the harbor they were. He stumbled, put his foot on nothing, and sent them both tumbling into the water.

At least he finally managed to successfully dislodge Isabela. He broke the surface and started coughing.

"FENRIS!" Cass had come over and was leaning over the edge of the harbor.

"You get back here, Fenris, I'm not done with you - shit, I mean, hello, Hawke - your boyfriend and I were just having a nice discussion and I was being very nice but not too nice to him."

Cass shot Isabela a glare then reached down to help Fenris back onto the dock. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Aveline walked up behind Cass, "Isabela just went and got herself all wet again."

"You're all hilarious, you know that?" Isabela was treading water, she knew better than to get too close to Cass and Aveline when they were both mad at her.

"Well, you do make it easy for us. But you make it easy for everyone, don't you?" Aveline retorted before shifting her focus to Cass, "We've got the winches in place. Once we shift the balance we should be able to pull the blighted thing out and move it down the coast a bit."

"What? You're going to sink my boat!"

"Well, that's not the plan but I fully understand that's a possible outcome," Cass responded.

"So... I can get my boat back then?"

"Only if you can pay the impound fee."

"Impound fee?"

"Yes, that ship was blocking the harbor, it required civic resources to dislodge it and disrupted trade for an afternoon. I'm impounding it and I'm not releasing it to anyone who doesn't pay the fee."

"What's the fee?"

"Well, I'll have to go to the Keep to double-check some of the numbers, but I think it's going to be in the neighborhood of seven thousand royals."

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- The past week has been hectic and tough, but we made it! Anyways, this may be the last update for this one for a couple weeks. Maybe. Finals are staring tomorrow, so I’ll only be posting things that I’ve managed to complete over the past two weeks or so. However, the exams are online and open book this semester, with way more time to complete them, so maybeeeee, I’ll sneak something in)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6

Warnings- Very, very slight smut

Chapter 7- Behind The Scenes

"And cut!" Jackson yelled, and after a minute of delay, Y/n along with everyone else in the scene stopped, some breathing sighs of relief, others diving straight into conversation. She'd been fretting against bindings on her arms and legs, though, upon his call, Y/n's muscles relaxed and a small group came to help out of the restraints that bound her to an old iron chair, which in actuality wasn't that old, in an abandoned warehouse, which really happened to be a section of the studio decked to look differently. 

From the minute the last of the rope was undone, Y/n stood, stretching her muscles. She'd been sitting in the same position for an hour. Just then, Keanu came over, wide grin plastered on his ruggedly handsome features, "Don't tell me I missed you being bound and gagged?" He teased, low enough so they wouldn't be discovered. While she'd been tied up, much like your typical kidnap victim, Keanu had been in the thick of his fight scene just a few feet off.

"Just by a bit," Y/n teased playfully. She was about to say more when Jackson approached them, his hair a wild, disheveled mess as it usually was and his grey button up was wrinkled to match his skittish, eccentric persona.

"There are my stars," he grabbed their shoulders, "I just wanted to let you two know, whatever’s changed between you two, I’m loving it. The chemistry is fantastic! Keep going like this and people will start thinking that you’re actually a couple!” As usual, Jackson seemed to completely forget about social cues, walking off before either of them could respond.

“Its….almost….like we’re actually a couple,” Y/n cocked her head to the side, a teasing glimmer twinkling in her bright eyes. Slowly, they started towards the entrance, close enough so her shoulder would occasionally brush Keanu’s arm, though not touching intentionally.

“I know,” Keanu scoffed, shaking his head, “It’s wild,” he chuckled, holding the door open so Y/n could exit first. The minute they were both outside, Keanu took a quick look around, before hastily shifting until he’d had Y/n backed up into the outer, grey painted wall of the studio, his front pressed firmly to hers. He looked down at her, feeling himself react to her coy, sultry grin, “I mean think about it; a girl like you, and I get to do this,” Keanu’s hands skimmed up her thighs, slow enough so his touch would send tingles up her spine as it made his way to her hips, slipping beneath the hem of her tattered, light blue blouse.

“I know right,” Y/n giggled, standing on her toes, “A guy like you, and I get to do this,” her fingers tangled in the ends of his soft, dark locks, twirling them between her fingers as she reached up to capture his lips in a kiss that quickly became heated. “We’re gonna get caught,” Y/n mumbled against his lips when he reached for the button of her jeans.

“You started it,” Keanu accused, pressing his denim clad hard on into her.

“Well,” Y/n giggled between passionate pecks, “Why don’t we finish this in my trailer?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“So,” they were huddled on the sofa, basking in the afterglow of their pleasure, "We're gonna be off for a month from next week. Got anything planned?" That was actually Keanu's way of asking Y/n if she'd be spending any time with him. It was illogical, but some part of his mind was worried that what they were doing was exclusive only to Chicago.

They weren't calling it a relationship. At least not yet. It was as if they were scared to.

Y/n shrugged in his embrace, absently tracing circles into Keanu's chest. "I don't really know yet," she thought for a moment more, "I'm definitely gonna spend some time with my dad, maybe I'll fly out to see my aunt," chuckling quietly, she eventually added, "And I'm dating this guy, he’s probably gonna want me to spend some time with him too.”

“Sounds needy,” Keanu played along, his fingers tangled in the ends of her hair, his other hand splayed on Y/n’s back.

Y/n made a little sound of disagreement, “He’s more of a control freak, especially in the bedroom,” she shifted so Keanu could see when she rolled her eyes, the gesture completely exaggerated, and when Keanu smacked her ass, Y/n yelped in surprise, “Ow!”  Her shoulders shook as she erupted in a fit of giggles.

“What about your mom?” Keanu probed when the mood settled as they lapsed into yet another somber bout. Up until then, Y/n never talked about her mother, she’d mentioned her father a couple times, never by name and only briefly. But never her mother.

Y/n didn’t make any move to respond immediately and Keanu was beginning to think that she hadn’t heard him. Or perhaps she’d wanted nothing to do with the question. Though, Y/n eventually gave in, feeling the weight of her silence press down on them, “What about her?”

“You aren’t going to see her too?” Really, it probably wasn’t his business, Keanu was mostly sure that Y/n would tell him about her family life if she wanted too.

Shrugging again, Y/n maintained her facade of indifference and if there was any turmoil swirling beneath her exterior, Keanu couldn’t readily identify it. Of all the women he’d met, all the women he could never figure out, Y/n was by far the most difficult. She was an enigma of sorts. Maybe that was what had made her so alluring. She was so quiet and reserved that an air of mystery followed her like plumes of smoke signaled fire and her demure disposition was perfectly enticing, her obvious innocence making Keanu want to show her things. Ruin her even. But only in the best ways. 

Y/n was the embodiment of a paradox, the thought; the more she told him, the less he knew. And her silences were typically quite telling. Much like the one she’d just sunk into. Her relationship with her mother was clearly a sore subject, and Keanu was about to remind her that she didn’t need to tell him more than she wanted to when Y/n spoke up, “I’m not, we haven’t spoken since I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, cuddling Y/n closer. Again, he wanted to know more. Yet, he didn’t know if it was even his place to prod around; Y/n didn’t exactly come across as the type that wanted to open just out of the blue like that. Still, he felt compelled to put it out there, “You can talk about it, if you want ”

On his chest, Y/n folded her arms, propping her chin there so she could almost meet his gaze, “I don’t want,” she rejected, already disinterested in the topic, “So, what about you; what are you doing with the time off. Any hot girls to keep you busy?”

Chortling quietly, Keanu let his rough palms inch lower, reaching her thighs and urging her legs open, “Oh,” he cocked a devilish grin, “Just one.”

It had been a while since she’d been there, but still, Y/n knew the place like the back of her hand. Her father’s beachfront home on the Malibu stretch was the perfect reflection of contemporary luxury; thirty two hundred square feet of modern architecture situated on thick round posts, holding the house nearly four feet off the pale sand. When tides were high, water would invade the space beneath the house, and unless you were willing to wade through a foot worth of ocean, then you’d be stuck there until the water receded. 

Inside, large panes of glass, lightly colored hardwood and white marble dominated. Natural lighting filtered in from several places, though transparent walls and awning windows, negating the need for bulbs during the day and the view from the living room was spectacular; the vast blue was straight ahead, just past an infinity pool that hung daringly over the shore. 

An open floor plan allowed one to still see the sparkling water even from the small kitchen, which was nearer to the front door. Y/n and Roger had spent most of their evening there, preparing dinner together. Or course, it might have been easier to order in or maybe even let one of the house keepers do it for them, but cooking together was something they enjoyed. It made Y/n feel normal; in the kitchen she wasn’t a rising actress and her father wasn’t an acclaimed director. It was just a father and his daughter, most of the time floundering around a recipe that was far too complicated for their sub par talents put together. 

That night, Y/n was on pasta duty while her father sauteed scallops in a white wine sauce, both often referring to the recipes on their phones. “I think I’m doing this wrong,” he eventually admitted, when for some reason beyond comprehension, the sauce started to dry down without the shellfish taking on the golden color it was supposed to.

“Maybe you didn’t put in enough liquid?” It was no doubt more of a question than sage advice, and Y/n was too busy trying to finely chop a handful of parsley to pay attention to whatever Roger’s troubles were anyway.

“You’re right,” he hummed, grabbing the bottle of Pinot Gris next to the stove, pouring a generous amount into the pot, “Wine makes everything better,” he chuckled. Y/n just shook her head, rolling her eyes absently at his ridiculous quip. “So,” Roger began once he seemed to get everything under control, just as Y/n finished draining a potful of al dente penne pasta, “How are things in Chicago?”

What he really meant was; did you ever work things out with Luke and he who had never been named?

“They’re good,” Y/n started up her own sauce, trying to follow every direction to the letter, unlike like her father, who usually preferred to add his own touch, even if his culinary skill set was next to nil, “Filming has been lots of fun, I’ve been…..hanging out with….people,” just one person really.

“You’ve been hanging out?” Roger seemed surprised, if he knew his daughter as well as he thought he did, and without fail, he really did, he knew for a fact that Y/n wasn’t the ‘hanging out’ type. She’d always been more reserved, keeping an alarmingly small friend circle and almost everyone at an arm's length. There was only a privileged few that had seen her for the sweet girl she really was, with an overly sensitive heart and an open mind. Most people, the ones that didn’t really know her often, though she was stand-offish and too prissy to hold them in conversation. “Are these people real?”

Y/n’s dismay came in the form of a huff, contained in her throat and an annoyed rendition of the classic, “Dad!” Huffing again, she continued the task as hand, measuring out the right amounts of stock before pouring it into the pasta, following that up with a generous handful of basil.

“Can you blame me?” Roger took a lengthy sip from his beer, proceeding to lower the lower the flame on his burner, letting their entree simmer. When Y/n just scoffed, he continued, determined to wean what he wanted out of her, “So, did you ever work things out with Luke?”

For a minute, Y/n considered pretending to not hear him, but there weren’t really any disruptive noises, unless you counted the crashing of waves muffled by the walls. Besides, she’d just feel guilty about ignoring him anyway. “No,” she breathed reluctantly.

Roger nodded slowly, regarding Y/n curiously, “But you’re seeing someone, aren’t you?” 

Why’d he have to know her so well?

Well, there was no point in lying anyway. “Yeah, we’ve been going out for about two months now. He’s nice.”

“Yeah? Nice enough for me to like him?” Of course her father would want to meet that man she was dating. Curse him for being so involved! 

Y/n just shook her shoulders, wishing that there was a way for her to just slither out of that conversation. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of dating Keanu or anything like that, but she still wasn’t really sure of what they were doing. He’d never called himself her boyfriend, and she had even considered that she might be his girlfriend. It felt even juvenile to have to think about something as frivolous as labels, but for the first time, Y/n understood Luke’s desire to have them. Labels were easy and unambiguous. There was no toeing around the subject or wondering where you stood. 

But on the flip side, Y/n wasn’t even sure if she wanted Keanu to be her boyfriend. He was a little confusing, serious most of the time but humorous at others and she constantly felt like he was holding out on her, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And worst yet, Y/n didn’t think she’d exactly call herself ‘girlfriend material’, she was a little too self-concerned sometimes and found that she couldn’t always empathize when she was stuck in her own thoughts and feelings. Who wanted that for a partner? 

“Well?” Roger probed, awaiting an answer. Why was it so confusing? Because despite both their obvious flaws and incompatibilities, Y/n wanted things to work with Keanu. She thought she could want them to work in the forever kind of way, even if he didn’t seem like the kind of man interested in forever, even if part of her knew that she probably shouldn’t. 

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet,” the mood changed and Y/n gave the pasta one last stir before turning the stove off, “We’re just…..”

“Seeing where things go?” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head, getting a couple dishes out of the overhead cabinet mounted to the wall over the sink, “Why are you young people always doing that? Seeing where things go? When I was your age, people dated for a future, for marriage.” Which was probably how he’d ended up with her mother.

At a loss for words, Y/n just raised her brows in unspoken annoyance as she took a generous swing from her own tinted bottle. She didn't really want to broach the whole ‘Keanu wasn't really her age’ part of her answer, "I don't know what to tell you dad. I'm just not looking for that right now," she shrugged, helping him with plating their dinner. Afterwards, he grabbed a couple of stemless wine glasses and Y/n grabbed a bottle of white from the refrigerator, following her father out to the balcony where they'd be having dinner.

 "What about him?" Their talk was starting to feel like an interrogation.

"What about him?" Y/n shook her shoulders, using the toe of her black ballet pump to shove the screen door open. When she saw the warning eye, scolding her sass, coming from her father's direction, Y/n sighed internally, relenting, "He's not looking for anything too serious either."

Y/n could see the worry in his gaze, nearly boring into the side of her head. Maybe it was the turmoil of her parents' marriage, maybe it was just her nature, but Y/n was proving to be repellent to stable relationships, not wanting to get too serious or go the whole mile. She knew that he'd probably blame himself for part of it, but she wouldn't. She'd cut that offender out of her life the second she could. They set everything down at the table that looked over the infinity pool and the ocean beyond. "Well, who is he?"

Ugh

Y/n was growing tired of the conversation. The less she gave, the more Roger wanted to know. Even if he hadn't been around a lot when she was younger, he always tried to be involved. Usually Y/n didn't mind, he was her go to for parental advice and a listening ear, but as of then, her dating life was a complicated mess and the last thing she wanted was for dad to give her a lecture on why she shouldn't be with Keanu. "It's the guy from Chicago," she evaded, "The one I told you about."

"I thought he didn't feel the same way?" He quoted. 

Pushing some food around with her fork, she shrugged childishly, staring at her glass, the chill of the wine fogging it over, "I guess I was wrong."

"You don't want to talk about this," he finally assessed, "But you know I don't mean to be overbearing, I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"I know," she nodded, "I won't," it was a baseless promise, Y/n had no idea on where things were going with Keanu, and it was likely to end badly, even if she was hoping for the best. 

Their silence stretched on for a while, but when Y/n broke it, she was adamant on shifting gears and getting them to talk about something else. "So, are you reading any new scripts?"

After a lengthy conversation about her confusing dating life, Y/n and her dad had spent the rest of their dinner talking about work. She'd left his place at around nine that Friday night, and after nearly three months of not driving on an actual street, she drove back to her place, a cushy condo in West Hollywood. 

Keanu had called and they'd talked for about an hour, in the end deciding that he'd come to her place that Saturday evening, just after sunset. And, as promised, he'd showed up at around seven, "Hey," he cocked a crooked grin, his motorcycle helmet chucked under his arm and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark jeans and his leather jacket zipped up. 

"Hi," Y/n pulled one of the heavy doors open a bit wider, wordlessly inviting him in through one side of the double entryway. The minute she closed the door and turned the lock, Keanu discarded his helmet on the counter of her moderately sized kitchen, just a few feet off from the entrance, laying his hands on her hips. He pressed a searing kiss to her lips, letting one arm circle her waist. 

"I missed you," he mumbled against her lips, his salt and pepper scruff rough and ticklish on her skin. As they lingered like that, Keanu tilted his head again, his calloused touch inching beneath the hem of her loose, cotton tank top. 

Y/n giggled softly, the musical sound muffled by his lips smooshed on hers, "We saw each other two days ago."

"Two days too long," he growled, tugging her closer that Y/n thought was possible. Really, he was right; in Chicago they saw each other every day, they had sex everyday. 

Y/n's hands skimmed the cool leather of his coat, sliding them upwards until her fingers were tangled in his ends of his shaggy, dark locks, tangling them around her little fingers, “You really missed me, didn’t you?” Y/n teasingly rubbed against his jean clad erection, smiling at how he hissed appreciatively. 

“Baby,” his husky voice was low and rich, the simple word making her feel things, “You have no idea.” Kissing her again, heated and hungry, Keanu pushed Y/n deeper into her apartment, just past a thick rectangular post, where the electronic fireplace was embedded and the television mounted above it. There was an armchair near the unlit fireplace, with soft white upholstering, complemented by black accent pillows, and as they reached it, Keanu slid his palms down the curve of her ass, hoisting her up in his arms. As he sank down into the chair, Y/n straddled him, eager to undo the zipper of his jacket before pushing it off, unabashedly moving on to undo the fastenings on his jeans. 

Groping her ass one last time, Keanu’s hands resumed their former task, traveling up the inside of her worn, grey top, his touch igniting shocks. His lips ravished her neck, probably leaving behind purplish bites and beard burn. Y/n ground in Keanu’s lap, moaning eagerly when he reached around to fondle her unrestrained breasts. Clumsily, she reached between them to free his hardened cock, when a startled obscenity erupting from near the kitchen interrupted them. 

Keanu’s hold on her boobs was still firm as sirens went off in Y/n’s head. “Dad!” Y/n shrieked, more horrified than she’d ever been.

“What?” Keanu furrowed his brows, confused at her alarm, and why she’d stopped. Turning and craning his head to see who she was seeing, his eyes went wide, his jaw hanging slack. Just when he thought a situation couldn’t get much worse than sleeping with a woman and then having brunch with her and her boyfriend, Keanu was reminded that it always could. An uncomfortable and awkward brunch was certainly better than getting caught with his hands up the top of an old friend’s daughter. “Roger?”

“Keanu?” Needless to say, Y/n wasn’t the only one absolutely mortified with the situation. Almost immediately after, though still not nearly soon enough, Keanu dropped his hands, not really sure of where they should go from there on. 

It took another minute or two, but eventually, Y/n was scurrying out of Keanu’s lap, tugging at her tank top and loose, grey booty shorts. So much for hiding her somewhat complicated relationship from her father. Though, that wasn’t the issue hot on Y/n’s frazzled mind, “You two know each other?”

Red in face, Y/n stood, barefoot on the fluffy, off-white rug, unconsciously curling her toes into the fabric. Neither of the men made a move to answer and the sheer horror of the moment seemed to be mirrored three ways. Everyone was at a loss for words and tension was on a continuous rise; embarrassment, awkwardness and bubbling anger from at least one person. The room suddenly felt much smaller than it actually was, and though there was at least ten feet and one piece of furniture between Keanu and Roger, anyone could tell that whatever friendship was shared between them, wasn’t going to be there much longer. 

As seconds ticked by, and everyone processed what had just happened, it felt like time was passing too slowly for anything to make sense. Though, when the kettle finally whistled, the noise was piercing and what happened next was not what Y/n was hoping for. 

His face was beet read with anger and his fists were clenched at his side as Roger strode up to Keanu in long steps, “You’re fucking my daughter!”

“Dad!” Y/n screamed, and the rest of it was a blur.  

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan  @keandrews @greenmanalishi​

[laufire]

In depth fandom ask: the last fandom you joined bc I can't remember it now

Well, I guess the last fandom I’ve properly joined --making a few edits, starting yet-another-WIP etc.-- is Black Sails, so. Plus I want to talk about it a little, spoiler-free, in case you decide to watch it ^-^ (I’ll leave that to the s3 post I need to finish...).

Top 5 favourite characters: Max is my number one, without a doubt, and of the rest of my faves Silver has an edge... but the remaining positions are a tough fight between Flint, Jack, Madi and Miranda, and I honestly can’t choose DD:

Other characters you like: Mr. Scott, Anne, Idelle, the Maroon Queen, Billy, Eme, Abigail... This show has a lot of great characters tbh.

Least favourite characters: I still loathe Peter Ashe with every fiber of my being. Alfred Hamilton is obviously The Worst(TM). And though it hasn’t grown into hate (yet), I don’t like Woodes Rogers one bit ¬¬

Otps: Flint/Miranda, and the combos in Flint/Madi/Silver and Anne/Jack/Max (in no particular order at the moment because I just HAVE TONS OF FEELS ABOUT THEM ALL).

Notps: I don’t have strong NOPE feelings towards anything, but I’m not into Eleanor/Max (which is a dynamic I actually really like BUT that I’m glad it doesn’t return to shippiness LOL); Eleanor/Rogers (I might be indifferent towards Eleanor most of the time but I haaaaaate Rogers for her. RUN GIRL), Flint/Vane (booooooooring).

Favourite friendships: Max & Silver (THE duo I swear), Jack & Max, Flint & Silver, Idelle & Max (I might not have said so before but I guess I like a little conflict LMFAO), Billy & Flint (NOT a friendship, but their relationship absolutely cracks me up I swear. “Who’s Billy?” XDDD).

Favourite family: Madi’s family, which is all I can say without getting spoilery. I just. *lies down on the floor overcome with emotions* xDD

Favourite episodes: the problem with binge-watching (okay, I’ve taken s3 more slowly but) is that they all kinda blur together LOL. Hmm. The season finales are all *chefs kiss* so far (sometimes in a very painful way... I’m looking at you s2. Though the ominous Flint/Silver moments in the s3 were A LOT too); any in which I get to see Max & Silver scheming together ofc. And the first handful of eps in s3 were particularly enjoyable to me because I was drowning in PURE ANGST and Flint & Silver feels xDD (I can’t NOT believe the fandom seems to call one of those “the shark date” asñldfjasdfñl).

Favourite season/book/movie: oof. I honestly can’t pick; s1 is probably the “least” because the others include better moments for some of my secondary faves, and because there’s a plot that’s really hard to watch... BUT it has things on it I adore to pieces too. s1-2 doesn’t have Madi (major drawback xD), and s3 is after one of my faves’ death... but frankly they’re all neck and neck so far.

Favourite quotes: “I am ruined over you” always comes to mind DD: “Liked is just as good as feared”; Max combo with Eleanor about sand (typing that down made me think of Anidala LMFAO. The scene itself is very different though! xD) in the s1 finale; “in another time, in another place, they would call me a queen”; “this ends when I grant them my forgiveness, not the other way around”, Mr. Scott’s “No. Only YOU.”... honestly, this show’s dialogue is just too good(TM), I could just quote it all back xD. And of course, I HAVE to mention “WHO’S BILLY”. It’s the law.

Best musical moment: the score is perfection all around, but given that I never skip the intro just to listen and watch it... yeah, the intro xD

Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: well, I *might* have lost it the moment CAPTAIN FLINT COMES OUT TO LONG JOHN SILVER OVER A BONFIRE, IDK XDD

When it really disappointed you: the fact that I won’t get to see a fully fleshed out Mr. Scott-Silver dynamic is MAJORLY disappointing, let me tell you. That Flint’s actor didn’t somehow get his mother (aka Maggie Smith aka Professor McGonagall aka Lady Violet) on the show too ¬¬. LOL.

Saddest moment: character’s deaths of two of the characters listed on “top 5”/“others you like” xD.

Most well done character death: the hanging in 3x09 was well done and served its purpose.

Favourite guest star: for a value of “guest star”... I’m going with Idelle.

Favourite cast member: Jessica Parker Kennedy is the one that I know and love for other projects she’s done.

Character you wish was still alive: THE ONE WE TRAGICALLY LOST IN 2x09.

One thing you hope really happens: I’m cheating because I know there’s some of that in s4, but I want to watch more Flint/Madi interactions pls.

Most shocking twist: well, I wasn’t spoiled for Mr. Scott’s plot in s3 so I was (pleasantly) surprised by that xD

When did you start watching/reading?: a little over two weeks ago; I watched (devoured) s1-s2 and 3x01-3x04 in a few days because I wanted to meet Madi, and then I tragically had to slow down :(((

Best animal/creature: I will always love Treasure Islands’  parrot that Silver named after Flint LMFAO.

Favourite location: Nassau aka Max’s ~domain xD. And Miranda’s house.

Trope you wish they would stop using: noooooone. I love the tropes this show reuses LMFAO. Romantic Betrayals(TM), triumvirates, “good things happen in the dark/away from civilization”, the power of narratives, social climbing and revolt... bring them oooooon.

One thing this show/book/film does better than others: quite a few xD. But one that really stands out to me is the dialogue; both the ~deep and sorrowful type (there were so many quotes where I had to take a break to freak out properly lol), and the humorous ones.

Funniest moments: I know I’m repeating myself, but I recently rewatched the pilot to edit some scenes and I keep remember the WHO’S BILLY one xDD (which I maintain it was Flint trolling him. He could give Abigail a rundown of Billy’s whole life story AND he shamelessly checked him out that one time. Flint knows who Billy is, he’s just an asshole xD). Really, all the scenes between Billy and Flint in that episode are comedic gold lmfao. Billy’s “oh dear I fucked up” expression when he tells Flint the crew has started to think him weak and Flint looks half a second away from murdering him right there, his WTF face at Flint’s antics with the stolen page... Gold, seriously.

Couple you would like to see: I meannnnnn. I would’ve been very happy if the show had decided to go with Flint/Madi/Silver, for one. Bonus if Miranda could’ve been included. Or just explicit Flint/Silver in poly arrangements (THEY ARE IN LOVE, IT’S JUST ~COMPLICATED XD).

Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: MAGGIE SMITH DAMMIT.

Favourite outfit: literally everything Max wears in s3. Eleanor’s s1-s2 outfits were things I’d love to wear too. Flint’s ~dramatic coat. Miranda’s collection of supposedly-puritan-but-showing-the-goods dresses xDD (and ofc her London clothes), Jack’s clothes (he’s Nassau’s fashion icon lbr).

Favourite item: the books!! Especially when Flint gave Miranda “La Galatea” as a gift (given that sometimes he reminds me of my OC Latoya, you might understand the freakout I had when he gave the other member of my OTP a book titled like that xDD).

Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: no, but I kinda want to. I did have a Treasure Planet computer game I tragically can’t find... it was about collecting money in increasingly difficult scenarios LOL. And I probably have more pirate-y/Treasure Island theme stuff. I had a long pirate phase xD

What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in?: Max’s because I like being on the winning team, thanks xD (though I do ~align more with Flint and Madi’s lbr...).

Most boring plotline: Eleanor and Vane’s ~romance is not at all badly written... but the fact that I find both of them boring kinda ruins the whole thing because I always wish that time went to someone else xD. Also, Blackbeard. Meh.

Most laughably bad moment: n/a.

Best flashback/flashfoward if any: the London flashback where Miranda goes to Flint’s house unannounced to take him to an art gallery, she finds him half-naked and he gets all awkward about it lmao. And then they hook up in the carriage :DDD

Most layered character: we get to explore Flint and Silver the most. Silver’s development in particular is something that never ceases to impress me ngl.

Most one dimensional character: except the one-note characters I wouldn’t really call anyone completely one-dimensional, tbh. Though I do think the fandom attributes more complexity to Thomas than it’s seen in canon? Like, I like what I see; I think he’s functional, he works well, and he adds wonderfully to Flint’s (and Miranda’s) story, but I don’t see him as a full character in his own right. Which is perfectly fine for the narrative so far, but I fear it might fall apart for me at the very end.

Scariest moment: I never know what to say in this... I mean, I guess Flint killing a man with his bare hands in the pilot Like That was scary xD. I understand why Silver freaked out LOL.

Grossest moment: any of Max’s interactions with Vane tbh. Stay away from her ¬¬

Best looking male: Flint has that ruggedly handsome thing going on for him, if you’re into that (and sometimes I do appreciate his ~aesthetics... very sad he shaved his head in s3 though. Like, I get you did it for the Angst, honey, and trust me, I Feel U, but still). I feel like I might be forgetting someone, but seriously, none of the dudes in this show so far do anything for me LOL. I can honestly say I love them for their personalities xDD

Best looking female: I have a weakness for Max, but Miranda, Madi, Anne, the Maroon Queen, Idelle, Eme... all of them are gorgeous in their own way. This show is good for sapphic women’s enjoyment in that sense xDD.

Who you’re crushing on (if any): I could crush on any of the women mentioned above tbh.

Favourite cast moment: I have literally only seen this post about an interview where Flint’s actor says he’s too old to party with The Youth of the cast and just wants to chill on the weekend... with bonus Max and Eleanor’s actress talking about how Vane’s once climbed the side of a building up AND back down. I’m with you, Toby Stephens, you don’t need those shenanigans xDD

Favourite transportation: the Walrus, for sentimental reasons LOL. I liked stolen Spanish warship too.

Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): lots of good ones, though I think my fave might be the one of Miranda sitting by the window in London. Or the one of Charles Town burning down, I liked that :))) (I remember thinking “Flint better go full Daenerys on them”. And he did! It was nice xD).

Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: n/a, so far.

Best promo: n/a.

At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: I liked it from the word go, but the moment that TRULY cemented it for me was in 1x03, with Max making a decision that I... frankly didn’t expect. It made things worse for her in the short-term, the storyline itself was difficult and disturbing to watch and I still have some mixed feelings about it. But what it said about her as a character and how her journey goes after that... I was in awe of her, and of the show.

[helianthus21]

@procasdeanating asked for: 41.“Show me your scars.” “But… why?” “I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn’t there.” There you go, hope you like it <3

*

It’s only been a few weeks since their relationship exceeded the friendly pat on the shoulder stage and went full on below-the-belt. Their escapades inside the bedrooms so far only involved frantic groping with their clothes still on which made Dean feel like a goddamn teenager.

So it’s a little bit of a shock when one day Cas says, out of the blue, “Show me your scars.”

And it’s not like Dean’s ashamed of his body or anything. He might have grown a bit of a beer belly but that doesn’t bother him enough to get rid of it.

But Cas is…. Cas. He’s probably the closest thing to perfect there is, the closest thing to perfect Dean’s ever had the honour to witness, and Dean is no contest. So instead of instantly complying, like his nether regions beg him to whenever Cas’ voice commands him, he decides to be difficult. “My scars,” he asks. “But… why?” Cas responds by laying a hand atop Dean’s chest, right where his heart resides. He pushes, and Dean goes where he wants him, leaning back onto the bed. There’s a shimmer in Cas’ eyes that Dean can’t quite decipher. It’s curious and adoring and… sad, almost. “I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn’t there.”

It’s hushed, barely audible. Like it’s Cas who should be ashamed.

“It’s not-” Dean starts, shaking his head. He covers Cas’ hand with his own. “Those aren’t your fault, you know.”

Cas nods, but Dean can see through it by the way Cas isn’t meeting his eyes.

After squeezing his hand once, Dean lets go of it briefly to get rid of his shirt. Better to start slow, he thinks. Cas’ eyes are glued to his chest.

So Dean takes his hand again, moves it over the area of his collarbone where a thin streak of white scare tissue runs halfway up to his neck. “Wendigo,” he says. “I was distracting it so Sam could torch it behind its back.”

He moves lower, towards his ribs. “Ghoul threw me into a table. Hurt like a bitch.”

And lower, towards his abdomen. “Angel blade. Did I mention your brothers can be real dicks?”

Grace flickers at Cas’ fingertips but Dean withdraws. “Don’t take them,” he says. “They’re earned. They’re part of me.”

A look of deep sorrow taints Cas’ face and Dean almost wishes he, too, could take it from him with a touch of his fingers. But it’s not that easy, and he knows it.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I wasn’t there.”

And it’s true. Cas wasn’t there. Sometimes it feels like he’s gone more often than not, and it sucks like hell to miss him, but Dean’s learned a long time ago not to put Cas on a leash. Figures that from all the people in the world, Dean had to fall for the one person with actual fucking wings. Like emergency suitcases that are always packed beside the door, always ready to take off.

It’s one of the things they’ll have to work on, if this thing between them is supposed to work.

But getting himself into trouble without Cas’ protection has never been the issue, at least not for Dean. He was raised to fight, and while he and Cas make an awesome team, he can make do without his hands on deck for a couple hunts.

So, “It wasn’t your fault,” Dean repeats.

Cas trails his fingers over the scars, like a butterfly’s touch. Like Dean is something fragile to be handled with care. “I couldn’t protect you. I should’ve been there,” he says, head still bowed as though he needs to confess his sins to Dean and hope for absolution.

Well, Dean’s having none of that. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

When Cas finally raises his head, Dean waves his protest away before it comes. “You think I want you by my side as my fucking bodyguard? I’m not some damsel in distress you need to wrap in bubble wrap, and even if I was, you think that’s all I want out of this relationship? I hunt, I get hurt, I fucking deal. If you can’t stand the scars on my body, maybe you got the wrong guy.”

For a moment, the look Cas’ turns to him is fierce and almost angry and Dean’s half prepared for a fight that blows way out of proportion, like most of their fights tend to do. But then Cas deflates, and he drops his chin on Dean’s bare chest, looking up at him with big blue eyes.

God

, it’s unfair how big and blue they are from this angle.

“That’s not what was bothering me,” Cas says quietly. Dean swallows. “I know.” And he does. Cas might be a stubborn, self-loathing bastard sometimes, but he’s not shallow.

“I actually like them… if you do too. They add to your ruggedly handsome looks.”

A smirk interrupts Dean’s scowl, and that is unfair too. “Angels dig scars. Who knew.”

“It’s just that,” Cas continues, and look at Mister Thesaurus searching for the right words. “Sometimes I feel like I failed you.”

Dean wraps his arms around him, hugs him closer because maybe the closeness will keep his heart together. “That’s a you thing,” he says. “’Cause I can tell you, buddy, the feeling’s not mutual.”

A noise is coming from Cas that sounds suspiciously like a sniff. Not for the first time Dean wonders, if angels can cry. But Cas has his face buried in the crook between Dean’s shoulder and neck by now, expertly avoiding Dean’s soul-searching gaze.

“You know, if you wanna keep track of when I need you,” Dean suggests. “How about you keep in touch a bit better when you’re gone. Call more often, text, tell me ‘bout your day, ask me how I am.”

Another sniff comes from Cas’ direction. Then: “I’d like that,” he agrees.

“Super.”

And did they actually get somewhere today? Dean’s turning out a real model boyfriend, oh if Cassie or Lisa could see him now.

“You’re really proud of yourself now, hm.” Cas has lifted his head again, enough to squint at him through his lashes.

“Stay out of my head,” Dean says, even though Cas doesn’t need his mind-reading tricks to guess his thoughts.

He plants a kiss on top of Cas’ head, runs a hand up and down his back. “I’m proud of us,” he corrects.

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

Not sure what exactly can I blame for writing this, but I guess my deeply buried need for twisted AUs occasionally takes over. There are only few people who might take interest in it and that’s okay. I’m mostly considering it to be @sevensneakyfoxes jam, but also maybe @indiefic. 

It’s short. It’s Bucky/Sharon, but not established in any way. Mentioned background Peggy/Steve. Enemies to, well, technically still enemies at this point.

Oh, and it’s a cliché omegaverse... 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

„Leave.” His command comes out soft, but it sends all of the bloodthirsty spectators scrambling away in a hurry.

Sharon's first instinct is to back away. It's rooted deep within her, that pull which responds to the hierarchy bestowed on them by genetics. But she spent enough time hardening her control to fight the urge.

Fists clenching at her sides, she stands her ground. Even as he moves towards and his scent abrades her senses.

For a beta Barnes' power is beyond astonishing. Strong, fast and deadly, possibly more than any enforcer among Northern packs. He commands respect and fear. The fact he's also ruggedly handsome has got him a wide pool of devotees eager to present and bare their throats in submission. Sharon's sure he enjoys the fuck, but from what she knows he hasn't claimed anyone.

„Got yourelf in quite a predicament, sweetheart.” He drawls out, circling her. His scent is the freshest wave she has smelled for the past few days – a sharp, cold shiver thrusting her out of pit of dulled, sweaty human odor she's been hiding in.

„You were too hasty. Have we taught you nothing?” With a tut, Bucky stops in front of her.

Sharon sneers, all semblance of previously shown vulnerability wiped away. „Considering I killed two of yours I'd say the lessons paid off.”

Surprisingly, he grins. It's a flash of charm she witnessed many times, back when she was still safe in Pierce's territory, but there's something dangerous to it. Has it always been with a hint of a threat, Sharon doesn't know; she's never been on the receiving end of it. But it sends a thrill down her spine.

It spreads in a hot wave through her belly and down to her thighs.

She clenches them and pricks her skin with fingernails to cut through that pleasant haze.

„You were good. Not enough, though.” Smile disappears from his face and suddenly he seems much taller, and broader. More scary up close than Sharon remembers. But she's mastered the stoic indifference for half of her life, putting that mask on is a flick of a switch. She doubts it will fool Barnes into believing she's not scared of him for long, but it's all she has for now. Until she gets a moment to think of the best way out of here.

She's not naive to think she can make it out all alone. However, if she manages to break outside at least the rescue party could meet her halfway.

That there will be someone coming for her she's certain of.

Bucky expects it too, she thinks.

He wouldn't hold her in his own quarters otherwise. She'd be either locked up in one of the cells, or dragged straight in front of Pierce. Keeping her as bait right where he can watch her himself, Barnes makes an obvious statement he's out for those who come to her aid. Then again, it seems too predictable. Very unlike him.

„You shouldn't have been out there on your own.” Bucky frowns at her. It reminds Sharon of Steve's disapproving glare. His words, however, sound more like Peggy's. She wouldn't be mad Sharon was scouting, only that she went without backup.  

„Because an omega needs protection from the big, bad world?” Sharon snorts.

He advances so fast Sharon has no time to brace herself. Instead she backs away. Step for step Barnes follows until her back hits the wall and he has her trapped. She swings at him. With the cutest, feral sound he's ever heard.

Bucky catches her hand with ease, wrapping his fingers tightly around her wrist. He leans forward, holding himself back from fully pressing into her body. Sharon barely refrains from turning her head to the side when he puts his free hand on the wall beside it. 

„Your designation has little to do with it.” Bucky nuzzles the hollow beneath her ear. „Though you do smell tempting,” he adds with a purr.

He pulls back enough to catch her gaze. „You're a Carter.”

The bounty for Sharon's head is impressive, but it's merely a chunk of what's offered for Peggy. Or for Rogers. Though she's sure Pierce wants to hold onto any omega of a Carter's royal bloodline, having her is a means to get his paws on the one who truly undermined his power.

„Then you know we rarely do what we're told!” With a snarl, she knees him in the groin then decks him with a solid right hook that has Barnes stumbling back two steps.

There's blood on his bottom lip. Slowly, he wipes it with the tips of his fingers. He doesn't lunge after her, much to his inner wolf's dismay. Everything inside him strains, screams to fight and chase.

Sharon's smart enough not to run. If she made a move for it, Bucky wouldn't be able to control the wolf. The outcome could literally bite them.

Taught to use opponent's distraction, Sharon attacks again. She's no match for him in an even fight, but with a few dirty tricks up her sleeve she can damage his pretty face and disable him for a moment long enough to give herself a head start.

But she's never even sparred with Bucky. He's nearly as fast as Steve. And more of a boulder than the alpha – most of her punches bounce off of him. Sharon manages to scratch his pretty face, a minor gash that will heal within minutes.

When she throws a kick at him, however, he catches her knee over his elbow. With a swing of his leg he knocks her off balance and brings her down on the floor.

Barnes wraps a hand around Sharon's throat, clenching it enough to make her freeze.

She's reasonable, Sharon tells herself. It has to be the threat of death that has her yielding, not the surge of heat the weight of Barnes' body on top of her suddenly causes.

A Carter's mind is a sharp weapon, but her body is still ruled by the wolf. And the bitch is fucking delighted with the press of a dominant wolf between her splayed thighs.

Sharon wonders if this is what Peggy meant when she said she was unable to not respond to Steve despite being the most resilient omega. As the firstborn and an omega of the Carter clan, Peggy's future was decided. She'd mate with the pack's alpha (and possibly murder him after at some point, because everyone knew how much Peggy hated Pierce's son and future alpha, Jack). No one expected a very pragmatic, dutiful Peggy to fall for an orphaned, low in hierarchy beta.

Maybe it wouldn't happen if Steve remained a weakling beta the pack took him for. But the scrawny boy started filling out more than just in muscles, his power grew rapidly. Sharon never paid much attention to his scent back then, but the fact Peggy couldn't stay away from him was enough indication of his alpha potential. Then Peggy's heat came and everything got fucked.

Sharon's heat isn't due for another month or two, yet her body warms up beneath Bucky. Only her face remains hardened, grey eyes flashing anger.

„Easy now,” Bucky says softly. He's inches above her, tips of his hair tickle Sharon's cheek.  

„Let go of me!” She hisses, trying to twist away.

To Sharon's surprise, Barnes moves off of her. Swiftly, he picks her up and stands her on her feet. He grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back enough to bare her throat. „Behave,” he growls. „If you cause ruckus the word of your capture will reach Pierce sooner than I'd like.”

He lets go of her and steps away. Sharon eyes him warily as he moves across the room. Barnes is Pierce's enforcer, a beast on a leash. Keeping secrets from his alpha, especially secrets of this calibre, is more than suspicious. It's also hard to do within a pack. She assumes Barnes' poeple who brought her here won't peep a word about her whereabouts without his explicit permission, scared of him more then of their alpha.

She realizes Barnes finds her useful. Giving her to Pierce would serve nothing but to placate the alpha, pointless if looked at from a wider perspective.

„I won't tell you where they are.” Sharon crosses her arms over her chest.

„I know.” Bucky nods, sliding behind a desk. He sits down in a chair and opens a sleek, black laptop. „I have no need for it. A true alpha doesn't leave his pack members behind.”

He's sure they will come for her. Sharon considers arguing, but Barnes is too smart to believe any of the lies she tells him about Steve Rogers. He also knows Steve too well to doubt he'll come for Sharon.

Not only is she his mate's sister, but – like Barnes said – she's Rogers' pack now. Steve's too protective to fight down the urge to save his people. Too true of an alpha. Something Pierce and his kin had killed inside of them long ago. Sharon's not sure Pierce would risk his life for anyone, even his own son.

„A pack member is ready to lay their life for the alpha.” Bucky slowly looks up at Sharon's words. Her promise isn't fervent. It's a vow which he can respect.

„Until that moment arrives, no harm will come your way.” He replies. It strokes a string inside her, a pleasant hum spreading to the very tips of Sharon's fingers.

She hopes Steve kills Barnes, for she fears what could become of her otherwise.

[imjustlo]

Changing Dynamics

“Did you find me attractive before the war?”

Meng Zhi nearly chokes on his tea. “Objectively?” he asks. “Or are you asking if I was attracted to you back then?”

“Were you attracted to me,” Lin Shu clarifies.

Meng Zhi pulls a face. “You were a child. A man—eventually—but you were, what, nineteen at the start of it?”

Lin Shu nods.

“Then no. I still saw you as a youngster at that time. Maybe with time my feelings would have changed, but you were engaged to Nihuang, anyway.”

Lin Shu hums and sets down his book. “So do you think my having a new face helped along your attraction?”

Meng Zhi frowns. “Why are you analyzing my attraction?”

Lin Shu shrugs.

“... Oh. It’s a scholar thing, isn’t it.”

“I’m curious,” Lin Shu says, giving him a fond smile. “Humor me.”

Meng Zhi furrows his brow. “Well,” he says, “I can’t say I really know. It’s not like I was instantly attracted to you upon seeing your new face. It was more... you. All of you. Your looks were secondary.”

“What was primary?” Lin Shu asks as he leans forward.

Meng Zhi averts his gaze. “If you must know, I guess it was the third or so letter, a while after you told me you were still alive. It became clear you’d changed. Matured. Become wiser, or what-have-you. Still my xiao-Shu, and if you were anyone else it might not have had the same effect, but I was attracted to the man you became. Still am.”

He trails off when he notices that Lin Shu’s smile has widened into a grin. He clears his throat, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“Not that I’ve thought too much about it,” he adds gruffly. “How about you?” He meets Lin Shu’s gaze. “Did you have a crush on your ruggedly-handsome mentor?”

“No,” Lin Shu replies, and Meng Zhi’s disappointment comes like a blow to the stomach. “You were like an older brother to me, that would’ve been strange, don’t you think?”

“I s’pose,” Meng Zhi mumbles under his breath.

“No,” Lin Shu continues. “My attraction started the day you recognized me at Xie Manor.”

Meng Zhi blinks. “Did it?” he asks.

Lin Shu nods. “You displayed that you can be deceptively clever with that trick.”

Meng Zhi grins. “Did I?”

Lin Shu nods again. His eyes take on a mischievous glint. “It also helped quite a lot that you grew that beard,” he says. “The moment I saw it, I knew I wanted it between my—”

Two minutes later, Li Gang pokes his head into the room. “Chief,” he says. “I heard glass breaking, followed by yelling and lots of laughter. Do you two need assistance?”

Meng Zhi lowers his head even more over where he’s trying to gather the shards of his broken teacup, and Lin Shu is thrust into another fit of giggles, hand on his side to ease the pain of it.

[nerddface]

Cliché Sunsets

...for lack of a better title.

Characters: female!reader, Snotlout Jorgenson, Fangster, mentions of the other riders

Warnings: Nothing. Unless you’re afraid of sunsets.

Notes: Anon request :) (reminder that you're welcome to request as well, here and here)

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Y/N was always a quiet girl. Berk and the surrounding land masses were beautiful (despite the town’s rather rough exterior), the people welcoming, and she was always offered a seat in the Great Hall with the other Vikings her age, but… it wasn’t home.

Well, technically it was. At least, now it was. Her family had decided (for her, might she add) that their little hut on their own island wasn’t suitable any longer.

“We’re getting older now,” her father had said when he broke the news that they were moving. “Your mother and I. And you need some company of your own age. And your own species.” He was referring to Y/N’s best friend, a Hobblegrunt named Ionin.

Word had spread from Berk about the alliance with dragons. It was actually on a ship from Berk that had delivered the news, when Trader Johann came to pick up his monthly shipment of ale that Y/N’s father had brewed. The eccentric trader’s ship was a little seared on the mast, and when he was questioned about it he launched into a long-winded story, complete with a theme, a prologue, and an epilogue. By the time it was over, he’d somehow made his way into Y/N’s home and was seated at their main table, sharing a mug of ale and more stories of dragons with her father.

Y/N, curious as she ever was, and desperate for something other than the same-old thing of their island, took it upon herself to explore Johann’s ship while he was distracted. While on board, she discovered a length of thick, odd-looking rope that trailed out from behind a large stacking of cloth-draped boxes. She tugged on it to retrieve it, and when she did, fans split out from either side and it retreated behind the crates with a yelp. Not a second later, nothing other than a dragon came tumbling out, the large bolt of cloth draped over it. Blinded, it stumbled, nearly trampling Y/N and splintering a couple crates, shaking its head to rid itself of the unwanted clothing. Y/N managed to snag a corner, and with a little effort, it came off. The bipedal dragon flashed yellow as it shook not unlike a dog would, flared the frill around its head, and settled its scales to a rich blackberry purple.

Y/N was just as shy as she was inquisitive, and backed slowly away from the creature. It followed, striped its skin yellow amidst the purple, and sniffed tentatively before blinking its huge blue eyes, shaded its head more yellow, and nuzzled her, nearly lifting her off the ground in the process.

Johann had assumed the dragon—a Hobblegrunt, he’d called it—stowed away and fell asleep through his relatively short journey from Berk. He had laughed and observed that it appeared to like her, and thus Y/N found herself in the company of a dragon.

Y/N was an only child, and had no other friends than herself, her parents, and their small number of livestock. With this lack of company, she’d learnt to enjoy the quiet of undisturbed wilderness, and spoke little so as to keep it that way. She learned how to read from watched her father label barrels and her mother making lists of things for her father to pick up when he made trips to the mainland to sell and buy. Ionin was her new friend, and her only friend, and in her constant habit of quiet observation, Y/N learned her dragon.

Ionin would turn yellow when she was happy; especially when she was tossed a drumstick or when she came back from fishing, belly full, and dropped a fish head as a token to Y/N. She turned purple when something interested her, like when they first met, and when she was introduced to Y/N’s habit of sitting and watching the sunset on the far cliff of the island. Her scales fell red when she was angry—this only happened once, when she tried to snap at one of Y/N’s mother’s sheep and was reprimanded for it.

Usually, though, Ionin’s skin was a kind of yellow-blue, like the color of the blue opal pendant she’d found from trader Johann once. Y/N knew part of it was happiness, but she couldn’t tell quite what blue was yet. Y/N never dared ride, yet, if she would at all, but she and Ionin were inseparable regardless.

So the Hobblegrunt had accompanied her and her family to Berk. The other dragons had greeted her warmly, and her head frills flared, her color darkened to purple, then flashed to yellow, and they were friends.

Y/N, on the other hand, wasn’t as apt to friendship. She had been introduced, and timidly said hello, but she avoided contact for the most part. Hiccup, the chief’s son, was nice, and considerate of Y/N’s desire to be alone. Astrid was surprisingly soft-spoken, even though Y/N had heard from Johann that she was one of the best shield-maidens Berk had. The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were far too loud, always running around with their Zippleback and wreaking havoc wherever they could, in the name of Loki. The big one, Fishlegs, was quieter, but he and his Gronckle enjoyed company—company that Y/N didn’t. The black-haired boy with the Ramshorn helmet, Snotlout, was almost as loud as the twins, though he was less mischievous and more arrogant. His Monstrous Nightmare Hookfang was the same. And they wouldn’t leave her alone.

She couldn’t deny that constant compliments were sort of endearing, albeit annoying. Snotlout had taken to calling her “beautiful”, and even if she wasn’t the only girl who got that nickname, she found herself hiding a blush every time she heard it. With these newfound feelings came something other than sheer introverted-ness—she was actually nervous to talk to him. They exchanged only the absolute necessary, but Y/N was terrified that she’d trip up and make a fool of herself in front of him.  She was better friends with the dragons than their human counterparts.

Her dragon training studies were communal, but she did all of her practicing on her own, on the farthest part of Berk she could get to where she could be alone, in the quiet, with Ionin.

Today was a laid-back day. Her brief training was finished, and she decided she wanted to watch the sunset. Ionin had flown off a short distance to gather herself some supper. Y/N had packed a small one for herself, and she pulled it from her leather satchel now. She was polishing a bright red apple when a gust of wind disturbed her. She thought little of it, until she heard Snotlout’s cry of “No, no, no, no—Hookfang!” and a pair of dragon paws scooped her up.

“H-Hookfang!”

“That’s not what I meant, you overgrown garden lizard!” Snotlout’s shout came from above, and the ride jerked as the Nightmare was whacked over the head. Hookfang seemed to laugh, and soared higher, making Y/N squeak. She’d never been this high!

“At least let her up here, you idiot, you’re scaring her.”

Y/N was unceremoniously tossed onto Hookfang’s back, landing behind the sturdy Viking on his neck. She clung to his solid back, hands making fists of his vest.

“Being afraid of heights won’t do you any good as a dragon rider.” He chuckled.

“I never said I wanted to be!” Y/N cried. Snotlout’s body jerked in surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t want to be a dragon rider? You’re training for it!”

“All I wanted was to learn more about Ionin! What if I fall off up here??”

Snotlout’s head turned halfway back to her. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall. And I’m sure Ionin won’t either.”

“Ionin!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Well, yeah, she is your dragon—“

Y/N pointed. “No, Ionin!”

The Hobblegrunt was soaring beside them, her scales the color of the sun in the morning. She exchanged a purr with Hookfang, then seemed to chuckle and flew off, in the direction of Berk.

“Don’t tell me she was in on this too!” Snotlout exclaimed. “Hookfang, go home!”

Hookfang directly disobeyed this and instead turned towards the horizon. Snotlout tried in vain to get his dragon to turn around, but Hookfang was dead set on… something. Something that apparently Ionin was also in on.

Y/N sighed. All I wanted was to watch the sunset in peace.

“Peaceful. Sounds more like boring.” Snotlout responded, and Y/N realized she’d spoken aloud.

“Oh, I, uh—“she stuttered. The Viking she was clinging to chuckled.

“Is that what you do when you disappear every day? Watch the sunset?”

Y/N had no response, but something caught her attention. “You notice?”

It was Snotlout’s turn to trip over his words. “I—I didn’t—I don’t—aw, Thor.” Y/N found herself laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me, beautiful! Yes, I notice, because—brace yourself, this might be a shocker—I actually care. About… well, you.”

Y/N was very near speechless. Her grip loosened. “Me?” she asked in a timid voice. Snotlout scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh… yeah.”  

“Why?” Y/N was so quiet she was hardly aware she said it. Snotlout, being directly in front of her, picked it up.

“Why? I like dark, mysterious types. But not too mysterious.  Why don’t you talk to us? Actually, more importantly, why don’t you talk to me? Are you intimidated by my ruggedly handsome looks?”

Oh, Frigg, why did he have to say exactly what she thought about him? “Erm…”

“Wait, really? And not just sarcasm?”

A blush raged across Y/N’s face. She tried to hide, forgetting that the thing she was trying to hide in was the person she was trying to hide from. Snotlout shifted in the saddle. “Well, that’s new.”

Silence settled over them for an awkward moment before Snotlout spoke up again. “But I don’t think that’s the whole reason you avoid all of us.”

Y/N sighed shortly. “I just… everyone is so loud. I like calm and quiet.”

“Sounds boring. Like watching the sunset. What did you do as a child?”

“…watch the sunset.”

“Wow. You had officially the most boring childhood ever. I need to teach you how to do stuff. You really do need me.”

Y/N was grateful he couldn’t see her. “I, um… it was just my parents and I growing up. There was nothing else to do, really. And it was pretty.”

“Not as much as you,” Snotlout murmured.

Again, silence fell, save for the wind across Y/N’s ears and the occasional sound of Hookfang’s wings pumping. Y/N tried to focus on that, but it didn’t quite bring the same calm that it usually did. Maybe that was because this time, she was hundreds of feet in the air, hanging to her crush for dear life on the back of a dragon. Part of her wanted to let go, but the greater of her didn’t, for her life and for a reason she couldn’t quite name. But it sure had something to do with the Viking she was holding.

“You know,” sounded Snotlout’s voice. It was surprisingly soft and hesitant—not at all like what Y/N had heard out of him so far. “Uh… I’m not very good at these heart-to-heart kinds of talks. But, you know, you should let me—I mean us show you how to have fun. In other ways than watching the sunset. Your sense of fun really needs work. I mean, maybe try sticking around. I think it’ll be worth it.”

Y/N’s voice spoke for her before she could even think about it. “Okay.”

“Good.”

She hadn’t noticed Hookfang was slowly climbing until the clouds wet her face. They burst through the cloud cover with a puff, and what was above took her breath from her.

It was the sunset, but from a perspective she’d never even imagined. The sun illuminated the clouds with pink, orange, yellow, while the sky was painted a hundred different colors before it faded to blue, a blue that darkened as it went up to the emerging stars.

“Woah.” Y/N wasn’t sure whether it came from her, or from Snotlout, or both.

“Maybe you weren’t wrong. That’s pretty cool. But not as cool as me.” That was definitely Snotlout.

Y/N smiled, feeling a little better. Slowly, she let her fists relax, and coiled her arms around his chest instead. “I don’t want to fall,” she excused, though it was rather thinly veiled. One of Snotlout’s hands came hesitantly to pat one of her own before returning to Hookfang’s horn.

~skip brought to you by the ability to light oneself on fire. Also because I can’t bring myself to fill the space~

Snotlout deposited Y/N in front of her house, where Ionin was lounging in the now cool night air.

“No chicken for you for a week!” Y/N scolded, though she knew she wasn’t serious. If anything, she’d be thanking her dragon later. “You betrayed me!” Ionin purred, laughed, and scuttled onto the roof, where she taunted Y/N.

Snotlout laughed. “I like that one.”

Y/N grinned as she turned back to the Viking. Even Hookfang seemed to have a smug look.

“You should smile more often,” Snotlout commented, and Y/N shifted her gaze to him, leaning on his dragon’s side. “It looks good.”

A blush returned to Y/N’s face, and she averted her eyes to the ground with a breathy laugh. “Thanks.” She took a step forward, patting Hookfang’s snout.

“Next time, don’t kidnap me. All you really have to do is ask.”

Snotlout chuckled. “I’ll make sure he remembers that.”

The teens both shifted awkwardly, avoiding each other’s eyes. Y/N’s heart pounded as she contemplated, then decided that she may as well. Thor give me strength, and she took a step forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks. For… a lot. See you tomorrow.”

A dumb smile on her face and her cheeks flushed, she rushed into her house. She shut the door, hearing silence from outside for a moment, before she heard Snotlout laugh and a bang followed, assumedly a head-butt with Hookfang.

“Yeah, Hooky! Smooth! Snotlout, Snotlout, oi oi oi!”

[golfandpeople]

Kapalua. Maui. HI. USA.

On Kapalua, Hawaiian hospitality, & the forbidden fruit of travel in 2020.

For those who love golf, an early weekend alarm is always welcome. Add five hours worth of east-west jet lag to the mix, and that wakeup call is rendered almost useless. And when the first tee that awaits is that of Kapalua’s Plantation Course, only the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning can compete.

I got to set that alarm in November, amid this global pandemic. It was cathartic and conflicting and confusing all at once, and decidedly worthy of an honest account. It all began the day before, with a twenty hour odyssey from Montreal to Maui...

---

“Where are you traveling today?”

“Maui.”

“Ok thank you.”

That was...it.

Walking to the gate, one could not help but wonder how this US Customs exchange could be so easy. Medical masks and a temperature check were all that distinguished the process from pre-pandemic 2020. It was all strikingly surreal, yet familiar. This would be a common theme over the next eleven days, on a work trip that seemed impossible for any Canadian in this norm shattering year.

But after an uneasy layover in Chicago, a twenty minute hike from the gate to a parking garage rapid COVID test and back in San Francisco, and about fourteen hours of flying, I finally stepped foot on solid ground on Maui.

---

Morning came quickly on Saturday November 14. Get dressed, grab a coffee and a muffin, and the keys to the rental. Work would come on Monday, but not before 36 holes of pure bliss. Did I forget to mention we were first off on Sunday morning, too? Yeah. Lucky bastard, indeed.

The drive up to the clubhouse, which is on par with some of the great lead ups in golf, built the anticipation and offered just a taste of what lay ahead. The sunrise joined in on the reception with rays streaming down the famous eighteenth and lighting up the ninth, first, and second.

(Sunrise - Kapalua’s Plantation Course)

Welcome to Kapalua, home of the PGA Tour’s Sentry Tournament of Champions! This is the big leagues.

It was a member of the business operations team on-property who had kindly set us up with the first tee time. Easier, perhaps, due to Maui’s slow lifting of COVID restrictions and a light tee sheet, rare for a Saturday morning in paradise. My humble offering for such a hookup was a can of Quebec maple syrup, beaten up by the journey in the bottom of my travel bag.

The next four hours constituted an escape that was certainly better than most: perfect weather, ridiculous views of the Pacific and Molokai, hole after hole of “oh, this is far cooler than on TV,” and ice cold Kona IPAs cracked well before noon.

Tongue in cheek, you realize that maybe “aloha time” isn’t all that bad after all.

Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw’s now mature renovation makes for the perfect combination of scorability and punishment: width and angles all over the shop paired with perfectly placed bunkers, dramatic false fronts, and diabolically subtle greens.

Bogeys, doubles, pars, or birdies, it really didn’t matter. Making this trip possible was an all-time combination of good fortune, timing, and a lot of hard work by many, none of which was lost on me. By extension, I was experiencing Kapalua not just for myself, but for 3 distinct groups. First, for an office full of golf crazed colleagues that would have traded places with me in a heartbeat. Second, for a foursome of friends that rose for many a 6am tee time in this socially starved summer. Finally, for my father, who I had not seen since Christmas, and who I had not been able to share 18 (or 19) holes with in some thirteen months.

As a result, whispers of guilt were a struggle to silence. Like Maui’s trade winds, they lurked around every corner, poised to remind me that I would not be able to share this magical place with those that shared my passion for the game.

However, much like how those winds force focused knockdowns and crafty bump and runs, the guilt kept me from flying too close to the sun. Simultaneously admiring and documenting every panorama, every putt, and every last piece of sushi was now of monumental importance. I simply had to bring back more than just predictable souvenirs.

(5th Hole - Kapalua’s Plantation Course)

Even having never been on Maui, it was easy to see the very real impact that COVID has had on almost every business and the locals who own and run them. Case numbers remained low, but with virtually no tourists for months, many shops and restaurants had shuttered. Hotels and resorts were ghost towns, and normally bustling beaches were criminally empty.

No traffic, no selfie sticks, no problem, right? Not quite. While that would seem to make for an unthinkably perfect vacation or business trip in normal circumstances, it also meant so many were without work. Skeleton workforces maintained many establishments that operate with razor thin margins at the best of times.

Despite these crippling challenges, the people were warm, kind, and ever hospitable. It became impossible to ignore the parallels with Newfoundland, from where I hail. Curious, perhaps, as nearly six thousand miles and an entire continent separate the islands.

Hawaiians and Newfoundlanders fish with the same net of sensibilities, even though they’re oceans apart. There’s an appreciation for those that have travelled long hours to visit your home. It shines through in a certain pride felt by showing off its most breathtaking landmarks. There’s also a willingness to teach the language and dialect, always at the risk of one’s ears bleeding from butchered tourist attempts. And of course, there is the everlasting desire to share local delicacies, most of which are sourced from an ocean that has shaped so much of each place’s story.

Fueled by the knowledge that I would regret every lost opportunity to explore, it was time to fully embrace this modified version of Maui.

First, the food.

My brain, heart, and stomach all begged in unison to forego the fridge full of groceries at the resort: “Go to every place on your list of recommendations. Now! Poke for breakfast? Absolutely. Another beer after dinner? You bet. You don’t even get to sit down in a restaurant back in Montreal.”

A couple of places stood out.

Joey’s Kitchen, a friendly neighborhood Filipino joint just minutes from Kapalua, requires multiple visits. The garlic chicken is dangerously good; the short rib unequivocally divine. Post round, it cannot be beaten.

(Garlic Chicken - Joey’s Kitchen)

Tamura’s Fine Wine & Liquors, set unassumingly in an industrial park in Lahaina, came highly recommended for poke. Saying it is the best I’ve ever had would be a disservice - it was phenomenal. Best enjoyed on the beach, try as many varieties as you can. Mediocre brunch, this is not.

Miso Phat Sushi, another Lahaina staple, also knows to let the fish do the talking. Order the TNT and a baked Dynamite roll, because as their names suggest, they’re the bomb.

Maui Brewing Co. in Kihei is everything a brewery should be. Modern, casual, and unpretentious. They pour plenty of interesting beers with local traits, and serve up tasty shareable snacks to go along with them. NFL Sunday kicks off at 8am in these parts, so plan accordingly.

Second, the sights.

The northwest corner of Maui is ruggedly handsome, with dramatic cliffs giving way to tiny coves and gorgeous beaches. Watching the surfers from high above Honolua Bay as the wind whips and waves crash against jagged volcanic formations is a sensory overload in all the right ways.

Both Kapalua courses draw on these vistas from various points on each course. The photogenic par 3 eleventh on The Plantation, a broadcast favorite during the Tournament of Champions, appears to melt into the ocean behind the green. This despite it being a DeChambeau-length drive from the sea. The all-world par 3 seventeenth on the Bay Course brings you even closer. Thrill seeking locals cliff jump into the Pacific around the corner, and many tee shots share the same fate. The forced carry to a precariously perched green just might be the single coolest shot on the entire island.

(17th Hole - Kapalua’s Bay Course)

On the southwest coast, the weather is decidedly less temperamental. Makena State Park and its beach is as idyllic a location as one can fathom. Get there at the right time, and the sky catches fire while the sun slowly disappears behind Kaho'olawe. As Hawaiian sunsets go, this is the one that you’ll replay over and over.

This was a final glimpse of Hawaiian daylight as a redeye back to Canada, and the real world, awaited. An unlikely trip had come to an end, but a return under more normal circumstances is just a matter of time.

Mahalo, Maui, for your golf and for your people.

(Sunset - Makena Beach)

[somevirtualnolife]

Fifteen Minutes

1152 Words

Rating: G Pairing: Hawke x Cullen (featuring the Skyhold Staff) Summary: The hardest working Commander needs to take a break at some point. Whether he likes it or not.

Previous Chapter: Kitchen Opinions Author’s Notes: Very dialogue heavy. I was talking to a friend about how I find it difficult to write Cullen just because I feel like I need to be able to balance his shyness, sternness, stress, and kindness. It's also what makes Cassandra challenging.

And for anyone curious, I played my Hawke as diplomatic, but every now and then, I'd choose the sarcastic Hawke, and she'd always say the wrong thing at the most inappropriate times. And thus, this is how I write her; always trying to say the right thing, but with a tendency to also flub up now and then.

Aerianne had never actually been to the Commander’s office before. Usually she would just meet him in the War Council Room, or bump into him on battlements. Yet, there was something strangely nostalgic about going there now. She remembered his office back in the Gallows, where she would often try to gather information or drop off a strongly-worded ‘report’.

She knocked on the door three times, and heard the familiar grumblings of the ex-templar. Aerianne shook her head and rolled her eyes a bit as she opened the door. Sure enough, it was what she expected from the Commander; dimly lit room with a giant desk piled with maps reports. Oh, there was a few book cases as well. Filled with books… and more reports. There also seemed to be a ladder of some sort that lead to a second floor, that she could only assume lead to more reports.

“How does one man have so much paperwork…” she said aloud, mainly to herself, but it seemed that it was just loud enough to finally catch Cullen’s attention as he lifted his head up from whatever he was reading.

“Hawke,” he said, a little flatly. It was clear he had been at this for a while. Most likely through whole night. “Can this wait a bit? I’m a little busy,”

“You? Busy? Maker, I’ve never seen that before,” she replied, walking approaching his desk and setting his plate down on one of the stacks of reports.

“What’s this?” Cullen asked, looking at both the food and her suspiciously.

“It’s your breakfast,” she said. “Before you say anything, I assure you I didn’t make it or lace it with anything. You apparently forgot to pick it up from the kitchen earlier,”

“Ah, that’s right,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Although the commander always looked as though he was perpetually tired and irritated, he did seem even more exhausted than usual.

“Eat,” Aerianne insisted. She wouldn’t push the other issue just yet.  

Cullen’s nostrils flared a bit, but he reluctantly took a piece of bread off his plate and bit into it as he continued to sign documents with his free hand.

“Did they also tell you that I would appreciate not being disturbed?”

“Their first mistake,” she tossed a piece of cheese into her mouth.  

“How foolish me to think that you would actually listen this time,” he replied wryly and motioned for her to grab a seat. “Fifteen minutes. After that, I have to head to the courtyard to train the new recruits,”

Aerianne gave a thumbs-up as she sat down across from him, continuing to eat her own breakfast.

“How have you been adjusting to Skyhold?” he asked, finally putting his pen down.

“Everyone has been surprisingly courteous. Even the templars,” In all honesty, she expected a less than friendly reception. Her pro-mage stance and ties to Anders didn’t make her the most popular of ‘heroes’, especially in Orlais. But they were supportive of the work she tried to do in Kirkwall, and her fight against red-lyrium. Or maybe they were just being nice because that’s what the Inquisitor told them.

Regardless, things were surprisingly peaceful here. Yes, they were preparing for war and battle, but there were so many other things going on as well. Children running about, evening get togethers, romance, pointless gossip. It was still up in the air to how long she intended to stay in the large fortress, but for now, it was pleasant.

“I’m glad to hear,” Cullen nodded approvingly. “In all honesty, I was a little worried, with Varric being away,”

“Worried, how?” she looked at him suspiciously. “Worried that I’m not capable of taking care of myself, or worried that something might blow up?”

The commander realized just how his statement must’ve sounded. He’s really not particularly tactful when it came to speaking with her. “I meant that, it’s been years since you’ve seen him and now you’re left alone in an organization that was partly…”

“In charge of hunting me down?” she finished his sentence. The ex-templar coughed a bit, clearly feeling a little awkward about it. She smiled with a shrug. “It would not be the weirdest thing to happen to me,” And if history would have it, it wouldn’t be the last time either.

“Are you… sure you’re okay, Hawke?”

“Let’s change the topic to something more relaxing, shall we?” she said, clearly dodging his question. “Are you aware that you’re the second most eligible bachelor in Skyhold?”

Cullen coughed, nearly choking on his food. This was a relaxing topic? “Pardon?”

“Iron Bull is first. Understandably so, I might add,” After a few drinks with him and his crew at Herald’s Rest, she got an idea as to what kind of person he was. Aerianne would be lying if she didn’t at least consider his proposition.

“There’s a list in the kitchen. I hope the Inquisitor hasn’t seen it. He would be quite devastated by his current ranking,”

“Maker’s Breath, Hawke is that why you were in the kitchen? To catch up on idle gossip? This is what you do in your free time here?” his tired face slowly turned to embarrassment, his cheeks now flushed with a shade of red.  

“It wasn’t intentional! I was hungry. The gossip just came with the meal. They really like you down there. I suppose you have this whole ‘seasoned veteran’ thing going on now,” A broody soldier... she supposed she could sort of see it. He was never a bad-looking fellow by any means. Quite the opposite. Aerianne wasn’t blind after all. But it had finally moved from a sort of boyish charm to ruggedly handsome. A stern face. Or at least it would be, if he wasn’t completely red with embarrassment.

She couldn’t help but grin as she saw Cullen grow increasingly uncomfortable. “You’re beet red, Cullen! You really didn’t know? I haven’t seen a giddier bunch of women,”

“It’s not something that particularly think about, no,” the commander scratched the back of his neck, and tried to avoid eye contact with the rogue. “Can we change the topic again? Please?”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “Old habits and all that. I couldn’t resist,”

“You take far too much pleasure in my discomfort,” he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t done the same to me,” she waved her hand dismissively. “You’d always get this pompous, satisfied grin on your face when you thought you had the upper hand,” She could already feel herself getting annoyed by the thought of it.

“Fifteen minutes is up,” Aerianne said, pulling a strand of her behind her ear. Cullen could’ve sworn he saw a slight flash of pink on her cheeks.

“That it is,” Cullen relaxed, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t think either of us are guaranteed to    

“I’d… quite like that, actually,”

[applecut3-blog]

Double Fantasy, again

Last year Oddur and I had great fun with a little post we did sometime in January, looking back at the year behind us, remembering some of the things that stuck in our memory. Not necessarily the most important things or the highlights but the things we thought might be amusing or useful for you or at the very least not too boring to read about. The curious format we used was modeled after a favorite album of my mother’s – Double Fantasy with John and Yoko, where they take turns submitting their songs rather than collaborate on the same songs. I was John, he was Yoko and while he’s protesting this year – since it’s my blog he’s still Yoko. True to form all his entries seem to focus on dogs, or pasta or Italy but I kept mine a little more local.

As I’m writing this I’m feeling a wave of optimism. After a cold winter we’ve been having glorious weather, the kids are on holiday and we’ve been preparing the vegetable garden for spring, pruning the olive trees in front of the house and we have even lounged on the rooftop terrace at least a month early. Everybody’s got a little color on their previously pale faces, we’ve replanted the rose bushes that the dogs ate (actually we re- re planted them as the dogs also got the ones we planted first) and we’re looking so forward to everything that’s coming our way – not least our new website that we hope to have ready this spring.

Before we get on with the double “album” I wanted to say thank you to all of you who have taken the time to respond to my call to arms. In my last post I mentioned we were looking for help and we’ve received letters in the hundreds. So many good prospects and while I won’t be able to answer you all I wanted to say that no decisions have been made but I’m on it this week and next.

Secondly I have a Manger Workshop announcement: Last summer we announced the 2017 workshops and immediately got incredible response. The most popular workshop this year (and most popular from the beginning) is the “antiques workshop” this April. I think I had to turn away close to 50 people, even after I squeezed in a few extra people to the very full workshop. I completely understand as I love antique hunting myself and there is nothing better than mixing it up with some good food and wine. So while we initially planned to host no workshops after October we’ve decided to add an extra workshop next November 29 – December 1st. These dates coincide with he Quinconces Brocantes in Bordeaux, just like the April dates.

On top of that Oddur, who finally decided to do a photography workshop in May has decided to add another one in September 13-15 but this one will be held in Italy and not here in Médoc. There will be wine tastings as well and good food but no cooking unlike the one in May. He will be revisiting the setting for the story he wrote for CN Traveler this February. As he says himself “this one will be all action – not for the faint hearted, but for those who love an adventure”. ps there will be wine and dogs.

If you are interested please write to [email protected] and we will send you more information.

That’s all for now, I give you … Yoko

Tajarin – Inspired by Torino

I am fortunate enough to love my work (if it is work at all) and while I prefer above all else to stay at home with my wife and kids and dogs … and wine cellar, I do love a short trip to Italy. Last year I traveled to Torino for CN Traveler (you can read about that here) and fell in love with the city. I’ve always traveled a lot to Italy but Torino had escaped me until last fall. While it would feel repetitive to recount all the reasons why I fell for the city, let me just tell you about this particular pasta dish:

Sometimes magazines like to ask people about souvenirs they’ve brought home from trips etc. But I’ve always thought the most important souvenirs are not objects or even photographs. They are memories, of course, but if you can say after a trip that it has changed you in some way (for the better let’s hope) or that you learnt something, then you have really taken something worthwhile back home with you. And that something will always stay with you and will forever connect you to the place to which you traveled.

I have always loved tomato pasta. I have made a version thousands of times – I guess everybody has. I’m actually quite good at it (and you won’t hear me praise my own cooking very often). But this one is a little different. It has to do with two things: Olive Oil and the type of pasta, the Tagliarini or Tajarin as they call it in Piemonte.

It’s a little warped that I associate this pasta with Torino, tomato sauces aren’t really what the region is famous for. The restaurant where I had it, while old and by now quite Piedmontese is originally Tuscan. It’s called Al Gatto Nero and I spent a morning there taking pictures. It was a fine experience and while the kitchen was not in full swing they offered to make me a pasta dish so I could get some shots. They had tomato sauce ready so they just threw it together with some Tajarin and when we were done the pasta sat there in a bowl, getting cold. I guess Andrea, the proprietor, saw me glancing a the bowl so he kindly asked if I wanted to taste. I did. The rest is … an eternal quest to recreate it. Andrea saw I liked it and gently said, “it’s the best sauce in the world”. Not only was this true but when he said it, is sounded like a humble understatement.

I never asked for the recipe, and I guess it’s more of a technique anyway. I’ve tried to recreate it many times and so far the results are encouraging.

Let’s be clear about one thing – don’t try this at home unless you have Tajarin, dried or fresh.

This is my version of “the best sauce in the world”.

(My wife offered to assist me in writing this recipe. I was proud, I declined. The loss is yours).

Slice one small carrot finely. Slice one small red onion finely. Pour a lot (hell of a lot) of good (but not great) olive oil into a large pan. Sauté the vegetables until golden or translucent or whatever words they use in recipes – about 10 minutes (sometimes I add chili flakes at this point – sometimes I also add a bit of white wine, neither is necessary and frankly the same goes for the carrots). Add one can of the best tomatoes you can find. When the tomatoes start to disintegrate (with the help of your wooden spoon) add about half a bottle of good Passata (you could of course use either just passata or canned tomatoes but this works for me and I’m superstitious). Let this simmer while you get the salty pasta water to boil and make sure the sauce doesn’t get too thick. When you have the right consistency add a good deal of fresh, coarsely chopped basil to the sauce and plunk the pasta into the boiling pot. Set the timer for 2 minutes (even if it takes 3 minutes to cook). Transfer the almost cooked pasta to the sauce (chefs would cook it in a strainer to make it easy) and add as much cooking water as you deem necessary. Once on the plate add some grated parmesan, a very generous drizzle of great olive oil to finish and serve. Hope your guests will like it.

The result should be a pasta that has a noodle like quality, with an oily (but not too oily) delicious tomato sauce, that generously (but not too generously) covers all the pasta.

If all this sounds to vague it’s because it is.

This Tajarin is an idea, a challenge, there is no right or wrong, only results … and they better be good.

The Como Cover

Wow, Yoko can really write a long text about a tomato pasta. But I give her this: it’s very tasty 🙂

While I said my “songs” would be local I can’t start this album with anything other than the most important thing that happened to me last year. The birth of my baby boy, Lucian. He is a mother’s dream, an extension of me still. Motherhood can be demanding but no sooner is he out of my sight than I want him back in my arms. If practice makes perfect then let’s just say I’m mastering motherhood, sort of. Or maybe a better way to describe it would be saying, I enjoy it even more now. I know how tough it can be, but I’ve gotten used to it. I also know it won’t last forever and I want to savor every single moment. He’s my last one. I love him so.

Speaking of moments, this particular one was as charming, improvised and organic as any I can remember. We had taken half the kids to Milan and decided to spend two days in Como. On our first night we had a lavish dinner at our hotel, the wonderful Grand Hotel Tremezzo, and I had dolled myself up for a big night. To make sure Lucian would stay out of trouble I decided to give him a little “drink” before heading down. Oddur came in and immediately went for his phone. “This is too beautiful he said”. At first I protested, I don’t usually allow picture of myself breastfeeding – I guess it’s my Asian private side. But it was a tender moment and I even decided, upon reflection, to post it – after all I think encouraging breastfeeding is a good thing.

Strangely enough, that dimly lit photograph, shot with an iPhone, ended up on Vogue Living as a cover. They had seen it on my feed and while I warned them it was a rather low-res image they still decided to go ahead with it and I’m glad they did.

There are moments of pure, unfiltered happiness. This was one of them.

Raimond

Back to Turin. I was coming back to Torino after a day spent driving and drinking in the Barolo wine region, about an hour’s drive from Torino. I had set up a dinner date with Mimi at a restaurant called Tre Galli, on my list to shoot and I was racing to catch the last light of the day. As I arrived outside the restaurant I could see it wasn’t yet open, the cooks were all seated together at a long table and at the head of it, a very imposing, well dressed, ruggedly handsome man. I approached from outside and instinctively “drew my camera”. As I entered, without asking for permission, I starting shooting the table, focusing on the man at the end. Finally I did what many photographers do, asked forgiveness rather than permission. I had caught the moment now I had to face the music. The music in this case was a sweet melody, Raimond, as the well dressed man is called, was very kind and even invited me to take more photos. It turned out that he’s just a guy from the neighborhood, friendly with the local restaurateurs and sometimes dines with them. I was keen to take more photos of him, in better light so we made plans for the following day. This time he showed up almost in costume and sat for a few more portraits. When we parted, he wrote down his name and details and even made me a little sketch of a naked woman on the backside of the paper. Raimond is an artist and a philosopher in addition to his refined sense of dressing. There is something very noble and quirky about him, they call him the king of his neighborhood. Less noble was the fact that I lost the drawing and details but I promise to make up for it when I return to Torino. I will bring a framed photo and copies of the CN Traveler issue. Raimond, if you are reading – outside my wife and children you were my favorite subject of 2016.

The Playlist

Last year so many of the people who have joined us for the workshops practically begged me to assemble a playlist with samples of the music we play during our workshops. I finally relented and while that playlist, now over a year old, goes in and out of fashion in this house, I think it’s a good tradition. So here it is, the Manger workshop playlist 2017, I hope you will enjoy it. Some of the songs we’ve been listening to for years, others have been suggested by our friends or workshop attendees. These are the songs that get us in the mood when the Champagne is flowing freely and the night is young.

Yves Montand – C’est si bon

Dusty Springfield – Take another piece of my heart

Raspberries – Go all the way

Gerry Rafferty – Right down the line

Dalida – Paroles Paroles

Charles Aznavour – Les Comédiens

Chet Baker – I fall in love too easily

Frank Sinatra – Days of wine and roses

Gilbert Bécaud – Je reviens te chercher

Peter Sarstedt – Where do you go to my lovely

Lucienne Boyer – Parlez moi d’amour

George Michael – Kissing a fool

Dusty Springfield – Windmills of my mind

John Lennon – (Just like) Starting over

Frank Sinatra – Watch what happens

Click here to get the playlist on Spotify.

Armagnac – A fling in the spring

I keep raving on about Italy but it should be noted that France is my first love but Italy a close second. If we lived in Italy we’d spend our holidays in France and vice versa.

It’s been rather well documented on this blog and in Mimi’s book, how much I like wine. Particularly Bordeaux wine. Particularly old Bordeaux reds from the finest vintages. I also love Champagne (that love is equally well documented). The liqueurs and digestifs and all that stuff is all wonderful but I’ve never really fallen in love with it and for that my liver will be eternally grateful. Having said that I did have a little fling last spring with Armagnac. We were spending easter in Gascony shooting a story on the region, in the company of a bunch of wonderful people. And those wonderful people were all drinking Armagnac. Not all the time, but in the evenings when dinner was over and we had all assembled in front of the fire in the grand red salon. I became very fond of my Armagnac those evenings in Luxeube and enjoyed nothing better than to nurture a glass or two while the more ambitious guests argued over the rules of parlour games they had created.

Armagnac is a type of brandy that comes from Armagnac and it has to come from Armagnac. If you are sentimental about such things, and not too old, you can probably find a bottle from your birth year. Some people make a great fuss about such things (often the same people who are ambitious at parlour games) but the truth is that the best Armagnac often comes from assembling vintages.

I haven’t had a lot of Armagnac since then (remember my pact with my liver) but once or twice for Christmas I broke my rule and that distinctive flavor, quite different from other brandy, is very beautiful and brings me back to that red salon in Luxeube.

Rediscovering Provence

It was a pleasant surprise to be asked to be the face and ambassador for the French cosmetic brand L’Occitane en Provence. I didn’t have to think twice, it’s a company with a good reputation and excellent products that I have always used throughout my life. L’Occitane comes from Provence in the south and the DNA and soul of the company is very linked to its birthplace. In spring I was invited to come and see their origins, the fields where they grow the various herbs and flowers, their aromatherapy insitute and their amazing spa. Everybody likes Provence but it’s so well-known, much more so than our beloved Médoc, that it’s easy to take it for granted. I hadn’t been down there for quite a few years but an added bonus to my work for L’Occitane was rediscovering this jewel of France, guided by the people who know it best. Walking through the blossoming fields of thousands of almond trees, heavily pregnant and flanked by my daughter Louise was one of the most remarkable experiences of last year. Lucian, who was in my womb at the time, actually went twice. A few weeks after his birth we were back on the road, this time just me and the boys for a whirlwind trip. We had a lovely night at the L’Occitane spa at the ‘Couvent des Minimes’, I walked in the lavender fields with Humfri and then we had a quick stopover in the magical town of Arles, so infused by artistic charm and history.

It’s a reminder to not take things for granted, to rekindle old flames.

Happy hour

(Breaking the rule, still Mimi here – It seems I have more songs than my husband)

It’s very rare, if it ever happens at all, that we don’t have some sort of apéro in this house. Come rain or shine, hell or high water, sometime before dinner we’ll be pouring something into a glass, enjoying something delicious spread out on the kitchen table, the garden table or even, on a clear day, on the roof. Often these moments include sausages and cold cuts, the debatable “grenier Médocain”, the very salty but irresistible smoked duck breast. Radishes with butter, carrot and celery sticks, crunchy duck skin with hazelnut dip, oysters, foie gras. In summer we’ll often have rosé or Champagne or rosé Champagne. In winter we’ll have Champagne or Reds. When Matt and Yolanda are here we’ll have cocktails, then Champagne. Sometimes we go alternative. Deep fried things like sage or pumpkin flowers. Or popcorn. Everybody loves popcorn.

In the morning we love to have boiled eggs and soldiers and sometimes, when we have time, we drench the soldiers in a mixture of salt and rosemary and parmesan. That mixture is equally good when drizzled over popcorn and the kids love it. Oddur loves to make virgin Mary’s with the kids and they adore it.

Something about a virgin Mary with a crunchy celery stick and even crunchier popcorn perfumed by rosemary.

French Country Cooking

Last year I wrote about the two impending births in 2016. That, in part, inspired the title “Double fantasy”. Lucian, of course, was born in June but my other “baby” – French Country Cooking only came out last October.

I have written much on this blog about my second cookbook, which is partly devoted to the pop up family-restaurant we opened here in Médoc in the summer of 2015. In many ways the book wrote itself and now that I have had time to reflect I can say that I am immensely proud of it, happy that we made it all work but mostly happy that the recipes work. I always knew it would be a nice looking book but it’s only after the book is out there that the recipes start to get tried and tested, that the reviews come in. Almost every day I get a comment, an email or even a kind word on the street.

It seems those of you have bought the book like the recipes and for that I am eternally thankful.

ps: Observant readers will notice that this is not the actual cover but a similar one that was almost in the running. When Oddur was shooting John Ray for the cover (which was partly an accident) then Helmut (now Gustave) was also crawling about and got a shot at the limelight. In the end, though, we chose John Ray but here’s to Helmut nevertheless.

Vanity Fair Magazine (France) feature, March issue 2017. Out on newsstands now.

The Insta Puppies

Oddur here (enough with this Yoko business).

Last year saw the birth of two litters of Smooth Fox Terrier puppies. We don’t really breed professionally and certainly not for financial gain (it’s a money losing operation if there ever was one). We do, however, have excellent dogs and would happily have many more if A. Space allowed B. Fox terriers were actually pack dogs and could get along with each other (the males get very territorial). The two litters we had were carefully planned and we meant to keep at least one or even two from last year’s batch. In the end it wasn’t to be. We decided against keeping a male (John Ray who is on the cover of the book and was our choice ultimately left us) as we have three others and while they liked him as a puppy things were bound to get messy. Then we planned to keep a female but fate threw us a surprise in the form of a bitch (the correct term) called Moneypenny who will be perfect down the line for Humfri, our finest dog. Adding two females was sensitive and now they are all gone. But what fun we had, they gave us good memories those puppies of summer. They also messed up the garden but that’s another matter.

The silver lining in all of this is that they are all in great homes. Each of them found a great family, many in NY funnily enough, but we now have agents in London, Geneva, Paris, NY and Bordeaux. And many of them have their own IG accounts.

Here are a few:

@ardenpalaisroyal @pitalicious @johnraynyc

Others share their accounts with their adoptive parents.

Our next litter will be in 2018 and by then I hope the balance will allow us to keep one. Preferably one that’s the spitting image of Humfri which is the big idea.

The Chicken Suprême

Last year I wrote that while this was not a traditional post I felt it needed at least one recipe. Oddur already took care of that with his Tajarin but I also have something up my sleeve. I have always loved simply fried chicken breast with sligthly crunchy skin and lately my butcher has started offering “suprême de poulet”, technically a suprême is a breast with the wing bone still attached, I just cut off at the tip. It’s even tastier and juicier than just frying the breast. Lately I have cooked this dish or a version of it for lunch, perfect and healthy for the colder months with nourishing, delicous beans and a crispy spinach salad on the side.

Recipe

6 chicken breast (with the skin), or in French suprême de poulet 

8 garlic cloves, slightly crushed and unpeeled

450g/ 1 pound cannellini or other cooked white beans, rinsed and drained 

160 ml/ 2/3 cup white wine

A bouquet of fresh rosemary

Olive oil

Fleur de sel  and freshly ground black pepper 

Preheat the oven to 180°C/ 350°F 

Drizzle the olive oil over the chicken and season with salt and pepper. Heat a large heavy sauté pan, add more olive oil, about 2 tablespoons. Add the chicken, skin side down. Once the skin is golden, turn the chicken and brown on the other side, about 2 minutes.

Place the beans in the baking pan, drizzle the juice from the pan all over and season with salt and pepper. Transfer the chicken on top of the beans, scatter the rosemary and garlic all over. Drizzle a little more olive oil and the white wine. Place the baking dish to the pre-heated oven for about 8 to 10 minutes, or until cooked through. Be careful not to overcook the chicken or it will be too dry.

Serve the chicken with the beans and garlic, drizzle a little olive oil and season if needed.

The Count of Monte Cristo

This time we have no baby to announce (thank god) although I have had great fun with the hasthtag #babyno9 which sends all our friends and especially my parents into a frenzy. There will, however, be an addition to this family in early summer. I have wanted a Bracco Italiano for years and almost got one last summer. Having done much research and many more observations on my own dogs I am convinced that such a dog will go nicely with what we have already. The theory being that a gentle dog like the Bracco won’t mess with the Terriers and that the Terriers, while all action, will be smart enough not to mess with a much bigger dog. My own experience and the experience of others has taught me this.

Once again it will be the year of the dog in Médoc. The land of wine and roses.

Source: http://mimithorisson.com/2017/02/22/double-fantasy-again/

[sabraeal]

Will you please write someone's POV in Lyrias (like Shidan or Lata) on obiyuki, not really knowing about Zen.

Hiro thinks he might faint when Sir Obi asks him to meet him in his office.

His palms sweat as he stands at attention. He tries to wipe them off on his trousers, only to find there is no casual way to do so. Hiro sends up a frantic prayer to whatever ancestor is listening: please don’t have him ask to shake hands.

Sir Obi stands behind his desk chair, hands gripping the back in a way that makes the tendons stand out like some sort of – fancy painting. Or something. He’s a man who deserves to be all done up in oils, Hiro thinks. Should be hung in a hallway and all that fancy stuff.

He’s heard he’s killed a man with those hands. His knees tremble.

Maybe we could shake hands a little.

“At ease, Hiro,” Sir Obi tells him, mouth rucked up at one corner as usual. “I didn’t bring you here to discipline you. I’d like you to do me a favor.”

“Anything,” he breathes. “I’m your man, sir.”

Sir Obi’s mouth stretches wide in a grin, as if they’re just two mates having a good laugh. Hiro’s heart stutters in his chest. If only.

“I’m glad, Hiro. That’s good to know.” He stands up, pacing over to the fireplace. “You know His Lordship has me escorting Master Ryuu to the outpost tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods. “Good. I need you to keep on eye on Lady Shirayuki while I’m gone.”

Hiro’s breath catches. Lady Shirayuki. Everyone knows of her – she’s the best pharmacist at Wilant, has the ear of the king, and –

And she’s Sir Obi’s betrothed. Everyone knows it.

“O-of course, sir. It would be an honor.” He bows. “Please do not worry, sir. I will keep your lady safe.”

Sir Obi’s face is bemused when he straightens. “Thank you, Hiro. But…” He hesitates, strangely unsure for the commander. “Lady Shirayuki does not belong to anyone except herself.”

He grimaces. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“You best talk him up, greenhorn,” Jirou tells him as they soak in the baths, washing away the aches of the day. Some of the other men nod, some snicker. “That’s a man’s sacred job, talking up his mates when they can to their ladies.”

Hiro nods. “Of course! Not that Sir Obi needs anyone talking him up. I’m sure Lady Shirayuki already knows his value.”

Jirou’s look turns oddly sly. “Well, it never hurts, anyway.”

He reports to Lady Shirayuki bright and early as she takes breakfast with a companion. He doesn’t know all the scholars at Lyrias, but he’s made sure to know everyone she’s is expected to speak with throughout the day. This one is Mistress Yuzuri, head botanist.

He bows deeply. It’s not even half what she deserves, but he’s heard that Sir Obi’s lady is humble, before all else. “My name is Hiro. Sir Obi sent me to watch over you.”

Lady Shirayuki is speechless, no doubt from strong emotion.

“Oh, did he?” Mistress Yuzuri mutters strangely, teeth bared.

“Sir Obi is very thoughtful,” he ventures, Jirou’s words lodged firmly in his mind. “He was quite concerned with the sanctity of your…person.”

A bark startles him, until he realizes it is Mistress Yuzuri, tears streaming down her face, laughing.

“Oh,” she hoots, “I just bet he is.”

Lady Shirayuki sends her a look full of censure. “Thank you, Hiro. I’m sure you’ll be quite…adequate. For my safety.”

His duty is pleasant, at least at first. Lady Shirayuki spends most of her day in her lab, bent over her desk. Short of assassins, he does not think he will have to worry about the safety of her body.

Master Suzu, one of the men she shares her lab with, seems to find his presence remarkable.

“Does it talk?” he deadpans, walking in a wide arc around him. “Or do you think Obi makes them mute?”

“I can talk,” Hiro offers, unsure if giving him that information is wise.

“Of course you can,” Master Suzu says, as if he had not said the opposite only a moment before. “It’s more fun for him that way.”

“How do you like working for Obi?” Master Suzu asks, moments later. “I can’t picture him being a commander. Is he tough? Is he fair? Has he made a grown man cry?”

“Suzu,” Lady Shirayuki hisses in warning.

He shrugs. “I can’t help it if I wonder.”

“Sir Obi is the best commander Lyrias has ever has,” Hiro tells him confidently. He doesn’t know much about the other ones, but everyone seems happy with Obi. “He’s tough but fair. Funny too.” He glances at Sir Obi’s lady, clears his throat. “And he’s, um…handsome, they say.”

Master Suzu’s eyes widen. “Is that what they say?”

He only lasts a half hour. It seems no one may know peace once Master Suzu has imparted the knowledge unto Mistress Yuzuri.

“No,” Mistress Yuzuri says. “I have to know. Who is it that says this?”

“Everyone.” Certainly they’ve all talked about how Sir Obi would be popular with the ladies if he wanted, but this doesn’t seem the right forum to air their debate on whether Sir Obi is handsomely rugged or ruggedly handsome.

‘He is…very strong,” he offers instead. “He’s picked up Jirou before, and his arms didn’t shake. And he’s taken his shirt off at practice loads of times.”

“Of course he has,” Mistress Yuzuri snickers. “Makiri probably has to pay him to keep it on.“

Sir Obi’s lady continues to work diligently, ignoring her more…loquacious colleagues. He can see why the commander is so taken with her; she is just as stalwart and hardworking as he, only in a quieter way.

“Be fair, Yuzuri,” Master Suzu chides, leaning his chin on her shoulder. It looks ridiculous, considering how tall he is. “If we looked like Obi, we’d hardly keep our clothes on either.”

Lady Shirayuki does not deign answer. Moments later, when the other two are deep into their debate about who between them has better muscle definition, she excuses herself. Hiro cannot help but notice a pinkness to her skin that was not there before, and inquires into her health. He cannot imagine Sir Obi’s wrath were his lady to faint on his watch.

“Ah, no, it’s just –” her flush deepens – “hot in here. And I need something from the stockroom anyway. I’ll be only a moment.”

Hiro had thought that his duty would be easy, but after eight hours his legs start to ache, and he is beginning to tire of Mistress Yuzuri’s probing questions.

“What do the ladies think of Sir Obi?” she asks, grinning. “I know there’s none in the guard, but surely you’ve heard rumors.”

“He’s quite popular,” Hiro says primly. “Many ladies watch our practices from the upper galleries –”

There’s a clatter over by Lady Shirayuki’s bench, but when he turns it is only that she has knocked over a vase of implements. He grimaces. Of course she does not want to hear about her betrothed having women throw themselves at him.

“Of course there is none he cares for so much as my lady,” he adds delicately. More instruments clatter to the floor. “I have never seen him look at any woman besides you.”

She is oddly quiet, oddly still. “Is that – so?”

“I – yes?” He blinks. “There is no doubt that he loves you beyond anyone else.”

“I…” Her gaze is fixed to the woodgrain of her bench. For once, neither Mistress Yuzuri nor Master Suzu seem to have comments. “I don’t think you can know that, Hiro.”

“But, my lady…” He searches for the words to make this right. Oh, what trouble he will be in when the men find out he made her doubt Sir Obi’s devotion. “Why else would he ask you to be his betrothed.

Her head snaps up. “His what?”

“Good to see you haven’t gotten into trouble, Miss.”

They all startle, watching Sir Obi descend from the window. He turns toward his lady, all sly grin, and she shuffles demurely, unsure of what to do with her body around him.

“I hope Hiro took good care of you,” he says, leaning in, smug. Lady Shirayuki  dances out of his reach.

“I – um, yes. He was most helpful, I just –” She dodges his hands as he comes to reach for her. “Forgot something. In the greenhouse. I’ll just –”

She dashes from the room, only pausing at the doorway to say, “I’ll – see you at dinner.”

Sir Obi stares out the door, lost. “What…just happened?”

Master Suzu grins. “Looks like Hiro helped you a little more than you meant him to.”