#and this column stumped me

[merpmonde]

July 1830: the Revolution I forgot

This is Bastille square in Paris. As anyone who's had history classes in France will know, this is Bastille as in Bastille day, 14 July 1789, when Parisians raided the Bastille prison to get weapons for their revolt against the king - the flashpoint of the French Revolution.

It's also rather well known in France that the Bastille prison was demolished shortly after, as Paris rid itself of symbols of the Old Regime. So it would make sense that this monument commemorates that, right? It's super famous, after all.

Wrong. This column commemorates the events of July 1830, some forty years later, the significance of which, I'll admit, I had forgotten.

So here's how it goes. Since 1789, France had oscillated between fragile compromises of constitutional monarchy, revolutionary fanaticism and the iron fist of Napoleon. Following the defeat of 1815, Paris entered a period of calm acceptance under King Louis XVIII, but his successor, Charles X, wanted to go back to the old ways.

So, in July 1830, Paris revolted again. Disposing of the king was a surprisingly quick affair, as in just three days, Charles X was gone. He was replaced by his cousin, Louis Philippe, who seemed more willing to placate the bourgeoisie. A new constitution was drawn up, known as the Monarchie de Juillet, or July Monarchy.

In this context, a monument to the victory of 1830 was commissioned, and this is it: the Colonne de Juillet (July Column), a 47 metre-tall column adorned with the names of the fallen revolutionaries, a mausoleum at the base and the Spirit of Freedom on the top - and is that camera surveilling the street below?

Louis Philippe had ascended to the throne after a revolution, but he would also descend from the throne after the next. In February 1848, Paris revolted for a third time, swiftly ending the July Monarchy and establishing the Second Republic... which, within just 4 years, would become the second Bonaparte dictatorship.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This looks like a gorgeous home. It was built in 1997 in Oregon City, OR. 4bds, 3ba, $1.875.

A babbling brook at the front door. Ah, but the owner had a vision. Check out the inside.

The entrance has a floating staircase and 144,000 lbs. of basalt columns.

So, this looks like a water feature under the stairs, but I can't make out what's in that strip under the stairs. Looks like they decoupaged some magazine pages.

According to the description, the rocks were meticulously placed.

Mini cave to the dining area.

This doesn't appeal to my senses. A cool rock cave that leads to a bland, gray, dated dining room. Bleh.

The openings to the rooms kind of remind me of mines. In the living room there's a large stone fireplace and bring your trains, b/c there are elevated tracks hanging from the ceilings.

There's a mural in the dinette and a high open window to the kitchen, for some reason.

There are too many unnecessary stairs in this house. With all the natural elements, I don't know why they painted the family room rose.

The kitchen's nice. I like the counters. It's kind of angular, but I like the simulated brick oven.

You will notice that, for some reason, this home has lots of windows in the walls.

Here comes the train over the pool room. Reminds me of Mr. Rogers creepy ass trolley.

Is that real moss on the rocks?

This is weird. These stair railings are mission style. Look at the built-in drawer on the left and the little door. Some cool, but odd, features.

What is up with all the windows? This one in the primary bedroom has shutters. There's a lot of built-in furniture, too.

The en-suite has a glass block shower.

The basement isn't finished, but has a nice twig display.

Looks like there's a wood shop.

Large back yard with a patio, decks, and hot tub.

22.75 acres of land. This private road leads to an outbuilding.

This is beautiful. You could actually crawl inside that tree stump like some kind of hobbit.

Someone carved this tree.

This building has great potential to be a 2nd residence.

Gorgeous Oregon views.

The 22.75 acre property is gorgeous. Lots of possibilities.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/22091-S-Ridge-Rd-Oregon-City-OR-97045/48279634_zpid/

[kingofthe-egirls]

how about an God au with gear 5 luffy?

He's the sun god bored out of his mind until a new girl, Y/N arrives in town. Y/N is a new temple maiden by the way.

He's quickly enamored with her as she is sweet and kind to everyone, but he doesn't like that she has sutiors. She turned them all down though.

One gets handsy to her discomfort but Luffy intervenes with a lightning strike and people see it as an omen and Y/N becomes off limits!

One day to his luck, Y/N arrives to his temple to do cleaning at night, he appears to meet her. Saying he has been watching her since she arrived.

And with some soft coaxing, Luffy starts to spend a real steamy time with her. There won't be a part of her he won't touch! Or taste!

And through that time he makes Y/N his goddess! Which kind of Goddess is up to you!

i have done my best

SUN GOD AU: LUFFY x Y/N

(cw: sun god!au, sorta spoilers, sfw, cheek kiss, reader can't see luffy, food mention)

(a/n: okay so sorry this took so long, this is sorta what i have so far, i just haven't written the smut yet. it's sorta plot heavy, so i hope you still enjoy this!)

words: 1.1k

****

Sun God Nika is bored. 

She's dusting the altar again, singing to herself. He peers down from the marble pillars, legs wrapped around the column as he stares at her working. She's wearing a soft chiton, pastel pink like the rose petals she sprinkles on the golden offering dish. Luffy'd much prefer meat.

"Hmm," he stares down at her, swinging upside down from the pillar. She doesn't see him yet. He wonders if he should say something, maybe get her attention. Most priestesses can see him, if he speaks up. She's singing now, murmuring little lullabies with a songbird's voice. 

Luffy smiles.

She's pretty.

So he spirals down the marble pillar, letting his limbs snap back to his torso with a whack as he lands. He stands, grinning, his fists on his hips. He's shirtless, wearing nothing but his clouds and snow-white shorts. His sash swishes violet around his waist, as he steps up behind her with a shit-eating grin on his face. He's sending out rays of sunlight, he can tell, since she's all lit up sparkly and gold as he approaches her. 

She's sweeping as she hums, brushing away the dried rosebuds and sunflower seed shells from this week's previous offerings. He likes the seeds, but since he can't eat roses he wishes she'd leave the petals out of it. She stops, suddenly. She shifts, as she starts to sense his presence.

She turns, and Luffy stands with his biggest grin to greet his newest friend.

She's staring right at him, but her eyebrows are furrowed as she scans the room. He waves. 

"Hi!"

She screams.

"Ah!" She yelps, jumping in place as she drops the broom. It clatters to the floor, scattering shells and petals everywhere. She swirls around, shaking visibly in surprise. "Wh-what the fuck?! Is there someone here?" She's breathing heavily, nostrils flaring as she tries to keep her cool. Her soft dress sways around the scattered rosebuds. Luffy's confused.

"Hello?" He says again, head tilted. She stares at the space he's occupying, but sort of past it. Luffy waves again, but she doesn't respond. Oh. She can't see him.

That's a first.

"Huh!" He says, stumped. But then he gets an idea, and he's smiling again as he saunters up to her. "It's me!" He smacks a kiss on her cheek, expecting the swoon he usually gets, but she screams and slaps him in the face. She scrambles backward, swiping up her broom to wield in front of herself like a bo staff. She's flushed, chest heaving in fear. 

Oh.

Luffy scrunches his lips to the side: he's somehow made a mistake. 

Nami, his sister-goddess (she governs stars, currency, and navigation), would smack him upside the head for something like this. He frowns, sitting cross-legged in midair as he stares at the frightened human. She swallows heavily, starting to shuffle around to behind the altar. She looks like she's going to bolt at any second.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" He waves his hands in surrender, but then drops them as he realizes she can't see his gestures. He casts about him, searching for a way to calm her down. "Ah…uhh," he swirls around to the other side of the altar with her, sending as much radiance and light as he could. "See that? See the sunlight?" He asks hopefully, seeing the gold reflections in her eyes.

She stares.

"S-sorta…," she allows, still brandishing her bo-staff-broom. 

Luffy snickers, setting his feet down on the marble floor. His sandals crunch over the scattered shells. "It's me! Sorry ya can't see me, I dunno what that's about…" He frowns, scanning over her face. She seems like she can see other stuff, like how she stares at the rose petals and the flickering candle lights. Or her own fists wrapped tight around the handle of her broom.

"Here," he says softly, alighting his fingertips onto the tip of the handle. He pushes it down, just so she can feel his weight manipulating objects in the mortal world. She gasps, but doesn't drop the broom. He slowly slides his hand down the handle, until his fingertips are almost touching hers. He doesn't want to scare her again, so this time he asks. 

"S'okay if I touch ya?"

She hesitates, but nods.

So he softly traces the backs of her knuckles, before wrapping his hand around her fist. She's smaller than him. She seems to glow a little bit, being touched by a god. She breathes in a sigh of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing. She lets go of the broom with one hand, letting her fingers tangle with his invisible ones. She's soft as feathers.

"Doesn't hurt, does it?" He asks cheekily, and she smiles as she shakes her head.

"S'warm," she confesses, letting his fingers trail up her inner forearm to dance at the crease of her elbow. She scrunches her nose, "Tickles."

"Shishishi," Luffy snickers and pulls away. He sits back up in midair, legs crisscrossed under him. "So, what's it like serving me? S'fun so far?" He tilts his head, floating along behind her as she sets the broom to the side. She seems much more comfortable now, since she knows he's real. She's all melty and relaxed, like she's been sunbathing for a while.

She smiles dreamily, fingers playing in her hair. It's decorated with gold jewelry, with a sparkling jewel at the center of her forehead. Third eye, Nico Robin would call it. She's much better at this spiritual stuff than Luffy is, truthfully. But his temple priestess is suddenly flustered again, except this time she's blushing instead of breathing heavily. 

"Oh, um! I should have offered you sunflowers, or something–"

"You're good!" He's sick of flowers, "Is there any meat instead?"

"Meat?"

Luffy flicks a sunflower seed off the gold offering dish. He sits on the marble slab, relaxing amid the candles with his head propped up on his hand. "S'my favorite! Any kind of meat will do," he watches her cast about breathlessly, a soft blush decorating her cheeks.

She's cute.

Luffy likes her, he decides, although he'd already liked her singing. 

She shakes her head, comma of displeasure forming between her eyebrows. "I-I don't think so… I'd have to go to the market," she twists her fingers in front of her, tangling them in the soft pink fabric of her dress. She stares to the left of where Luffy stands. "Is…that okay?"

"Sure!" Luffy chirps, sliding his warm hand into hers. She blushes ferociously, but she squeezes his hand in comfort, anyway. He swings their arms between them as he starts leading her toward the front door. "Let's go!"

She stops, stricken. "Wh-what?"

Luffy snickers, "Let's go together! Cmon, it'll be an adventure!"

She swallows, letting him start dragging her back towards the door. She scuffs her sandals along the sandstone floor, but she doesn't refuse. "Okay," she says quietly, "I think I'd like an adventure," she smiles at him, sorta to the side, and Luffy beams back. He squeezes her hand.

"Let's have an adventure, then!"

She smiles, and lets Luffy drag her all the way to the town square.

[thevioletcaptain]

🤠🎶🌬️

Thanks for the prompt, anon! I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to fill. You can also read here on Ao3 💚

Deus Ex Caschina

Dean/Cas | 2k words | Mature When Dean and Sam get into a bad situation on an impromptu hunt near the Cuevas Ranch in New Mexico, Dean calls on Cas for help.

There’s something whistling out in the desert; a shrill, two-note call that starts high and ends low and makes all the hairs on Dean’s forearms stand on end.

Even knowing that whistling back is the worst possible thing he could do, he feels the impulse ricocheting through his body. He tamps it down. Hard. Presses his lips together and waits for the compulsion to pass.

Beside him, Sam has gone stock-still, eyes sharp and jaw tense as he scans the dark for some sign of the — well. Whatever it is.

Why he thinks he’s going to be able to see a damn thing beyond the fire-lit edges of their camp is a mystery, but Dean doesn’t bother to mention it. More likely than not, he’s not even thinking that far. A lot of the time, Dean knows, it’s less about having any real hope of success and more about the need to feel as though you’re at least doing something. Anything at all.

Because really, when it comes down to the cold hard facts? They’re helpless out here.

Sitting ducks, waiting for whichever desert-dwelling monster has been picking off the local horses — and most recently, an extremely unfortunate veterinarian — to stop toying with them like a cat batting a mouse from one side of a room to the other.

They’d found the case entirely by accident. Had been passing through New Mexico on their way back to the bunker when Dean had heard a familiar voice while waiting for his order at the Watrous Coffee House. He’d glanced toward the door, scanning faces, and found Cesar Cuevas talking with an older guy in dusty flannel.

Within the hour, he and Sam had been sitting in the kitchen of Jesse and Cesar’s ranch house going over the scant clues the retired hunters had managed to pull together in the days since a local vet — a well-liked guy named Petey — had been found on the edge of the neighboring acreage with his insides on the outside.

It’s not a lot.

Like the three horses which had suffered similar fates in the week before Petey died, there wasn’t any sign of a fight. No scuff marks in the ground to suggest he’d been dragged there after.

The local cops determined pretty quickly that the remains were in line with those left behind by a mountain lion and closed the case.

"Because of the missing spinal columns," Cesar had explained, his nose crinkling up in disgust. "Cougars tend to go for that first, and Petey and the horses were all… well. You get the idea."

"So what makes you think they're wrong?" Sam asked.

"Besides the fact that they're cops?" Jesse had snarked back, and Dean snorted. "No bite or claw marks, no paw prints, no scat, for starters."

"And this," Cesar added, handing over a long chunk of glittering stone. It only took Dean a moment to realize why it seemed familiar.

"Fulgurite?" he'd asked, handing it off to his brother, and Jesse and Cesar had nodded. "Any lightning storms lately?

"Not in months. And we found these at every site."

"Any idea what it means?"

"No clue."

"And that's all you've got so far?" Sam had asked, and the pair had nodded.

"Yup," Jesse said. "That's all."

That was six days ago, now, and though they've found a little more evidence, they're still stumped. Hence the camp out. Dean wasn't keen on it — camping isn't his bag on a good day, let alone when there's something eviscerating everything it can get it's hands on in the area — but after days of dead ends, and two more dead horses, they're beyond the point of putting it off.

Staring out past the creosote and cactus that edge their campsite, and knowing full well that he'd have just as much luck with his eyes closed, Dean listens for some other sound that might tell him what they're dealing with. Where it is.

Nothing. Just the distant pop of a car backfiring, and the tiny blinking lights of a plane flying east to west overhead. He's ready to give up when the whistle comes again.

Hiiiiiiiigh-low.

Shrill and sharp. It seems to come from somewhere straight ahead, and Dean strains to see. Strains and strains until his eyes start to sting.

He needs to blink.

…why the fuck can't he blink?

He tries to tell Sam, but his jaw feels wired shut. His tongue heaves against nothing, unmoving in his mouth as if pressed flat by some invisible force. He can’t speak. Can’t move.

He has the brief, panicked thought that he might not be able to breathe, but it passes. His lungs expand. Deflate. Expand.

Whatever is doing this, it doesn't want him dead.

Yet, he thinks, and the panic sets back in, dialed to eleven. It doesn't want me dead yet.

Thanks to the way they're standing, he's only peripherally aware of the side of Sam’s face, but it seems that he is experiencing the same problem. Great. Awesome.

Another whistle. Dean's skin prickles head-to-toe. Itches, like he's brushed up against fiberglass. His vision blurs as his eyes water with the agony of it, of being so goddamn itchy that he can't think, but utterly incapable of doing anything about it.

Another whistle.

Closer, now, but this time it's behind them. A little to the right.

Suddenly, the fact that there was never any evidence of a struggle makes a lot more sense. It's not that the thing is fast, or even particularly sneaky. It’s just been doing this. Rendering its victims incapable of fighting, moving, making a sound.

If they were anyone else, they’d be screwed right now.

If they were anyone else.

Cas, he prays, grateful beyond words for the angel on his shoulder and his freshly-reinstated wings. We’re in a bit of a situation here, buddy.

Another whistle.

Closer, still.

Another.

Then;

SNAP.

A wet crunch and a sound like a hose unravelling.

Cas, I really fucking hope that's you, Dean prays again, trying not to let himself imagine that a spinal column might make that sound if it were being yanked out of a living creature.

A whistle. Distressed gurgling.

THUD.

Footsteps crunching closer, and—

"Dean," Cas strides into his view, concern etched into his brow, his face spattered with blood. The wet droplets reflect the crackling fire, making him glitter in a way that should not be hot, but somehow really is. "That creature was about to kill you. Why didn't you call me sooner?"

You said you wanted to spend the week with Jack, Dean prays. I didn't want to interrupt Heaven stuff.

Cas frowns. Reaches out to touch Dean's jaw. His body floods with warmth as Cas' grace works whatever paralytic agent he'd been afflicted with from his system, and though he's been able to breathe the entire time, he sucks in a breath. Relaxes his muscles that feel as though he's been tensing them for a solid hour.

Fuck, he's gonna need a massage tomorrow. He can already tell he's gonna be feeling it in about three hours.

"'Heaven stuff' can wait. And Jack is God. He has plenty to occupy himself when I'm on Earth."

"Yeah, I know. I just… I feel like I've been monopolizing your time since you got back, that's all."

"It's not monopolizing my time when you're the person I wish to spend my time with," Cas reminds him. "Besides, I thought we agreed that if I was taking time off from hunting, you would too? You were supposed to be driving straight back to the bunker. I would have stayed to make the drive with you if I'd known you'd be putting yourself in danger."

"We were driving back. But then we ran into Jesse and Cesar, and they told us about this thing that had been— look, it's a long story, okay? And hey, you saved the day. So, y'know. All's well that ends well."

Cas huffs and crosses his arms. Unfortunately for him, Dean thinks the display is more cute than it is imposing.

"I'd prefer you didn't need saving in the first place."

"Well, yeah, obviously," Dean tells him. He glances over his shoulder. "What was it, anyway? Thing had a killer freeze ray."

"I'm not entirely sure," Cas admits, and Dean steps forward, pulling his sleeve down over his hand and wiping the dark blood off of Cas' cheek.

"But you killed it," he says.

"I did. It was projecting its intentions rather strongly. It was going to eat your spine, and then most of your organs. I couldn't allow it to live."

"My hero," Dean tells him, then, a brainwave; "Deus ex Caschina."

He grins wide, and Cas rolls his eyes. Waves a hand to zap the rest of the blood away. Dean takes that as his cue to properly express his appreciation.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says.

Try as he might, Cas can't keep the displeased frown on his face when Dean pushes into his space and kisses him. He does still manage to sound huffy when he says you're welcome, Dean, but the tilt of his mouth softens the bite.

"So, is Jack expecting you back upstairs tonight?" Dean asks, nipping lightly at his lip. "I'd kinda like to repay you for the assist. Get on my knees, say a prayer of thanks, maybe get my mouth on your—"

"Sam!" Cas blurts out, and Dean leans back, making a disgusted face, before he realizes what Cas is saying. Unwinding his arms from around Cas' shoulders, he turns to look at his brother as Cas makes his way over to him. He's still stock-still, eyes wide and pleading as he stares into the middle distance somewhere beyond Dean's shoulder.

"Oops," Dean grimaces. "Forgot we weren't alone."

"He started praying," Cas says by way of explanation, and boops Sam in the middle of his forehead. "My apologies for the delay, Sam. I was… momentarily distracted."

Stretching out his jaw, Sam shakes his long limbs as if to make sure they're all still functional.

"It's fine," he tells Cas, nice as pie, before turning a glare on Dean. "Maybe next time make sure everyone is alive and functional before you start macking on your boyfriend."

"We actually decided on 'partner'," Dean corrects him, mostly just to be annoying, and Sam narrows his eyes.

"Really?" he says flatly.

Dean knows he's just pissy about the whole left-in-a-frozen-state situation, but Cas — wonderful, badass, occasionally too literal for his own good Cas — moves back to stand at Dean's side, and Dean knows, immediately, that he's about to tell Sam why they settled on the term. He wishes he were filming the reaction, but there's no way he'd be able to get his phone unlocked in time.

"Yes," Cas says proudly. "Partners. Like cowboys, but married."

"You're not married," Sam says, incapable of well-actuallying no matter the circumstance, and— here comes the kicker, Dean thinks.

"We got married in 2013," Cas says. Matter of fact. Like Sam's forgotten something everyone knows. Sam's eyebrows rise high enough that they somehow seem to clear his forehead.

"What?"

"Admittedly, we weren't in a romantic or sexual relationship yet, and it was mostly to ensure that if I were to wind up in hospital as a human, Dean would be able to visit me without any difficulty. Though obviously now we can both acknowledge that we were very much in love with one another at the time."

"What?"

Dean whistles. High-low. It does the trick, snapping Sam out of his stupor, and after his snap-reaction of fear dissipates, Dean clears his throat. Points toward their campsite.

"Hey, uh… maybe we should pack all this up, head back to the ranch before it gets too late? I know the uh… the thing is gone, but the insects are not. So…"

"I can't believe you got married without telling me," Sam says.

"Oh my god, it was over a decade ago, get over it," Dean says.

Sam does not laugh.

"Dean."

Groaning, Dean throws his head back.

"Listen, when we do it for real, or like… renew our vows or whatever? You'll be the first to know."

"We can do that?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, I mean. People do it all the time. Why, d'you— do you want to?"

"I'd like to," Cas tells him.

"Okay. Let's do it. Maybe Cesar and Jesse will let us do it on the ranch."

"Are you two serious?" Sam asks.

"What?"

"Just like that, you're engaged now?"

"We're already married, Sam," Cas tells him, squinting. "Did you not understand what I said earlier?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Sam pushes out a hard breath, and shakes his head, and seems to let it go.

"Congrats," he says finally.

"If you're wondering what to get us for a present," Dean says, pulling Cas alongside him toward the camp, "I hear waffle irons are always a good choice."

[written for this prompt game] [posted here on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for deleting my classmate's online output in retaliation for previous grievances, & WIBTA if I kept this up?

📚🧪🗑️

(↑ so I know Tumblr didn't toss it into the void)

Take your time reading this before the poll. Trust me, everything matters.

I (16NB) am a student that migrated from the regular 10th grade sections into the top section of my school's STEM program via passing the admission test. I'm part of the very few that made it from the regular sections into such a prestigious senior high strand (which had only 3 sections and ±30 students per section), and the rest of my classmates and batchmates come from specialized programs that they were in since 7th grade. Naturally, they don't know me, and wouldn't think much of me due to my previously "mediocre" background. But really, I was only able to join the STEM strand this year because of financial difficulties during the lockdowns, so my parents could only afford to put me through the regular sections from grades 8 to 10.

Amongst my specialized program classmates was this girl, who I will call V for anonymity. V (16F) struck me as aloof and reserved at first. Our class seating arrangement dictated that I sit near the window farthest from the door, and V near the room exit, so we were 3 columns and one aisle apart, and had no one-on-one interactions so far due to this.

The entire school year in my school is split into two semesters, two quarters each semester, so four quarters. In Q1, I tried signing up for the strand-exclusive club that was practically a boost for report card grades, the STEM club, and we used printed forms. I filled in my form, and V collected the forms from everyone who signed up to give to the STEM club leader. We waited a week for confirmation of our acceptance (which was our forms being given back with a red stamp and the leader's signature) and everyone except me got them back. I asked V if she received my form. "No, you didn't give me any," she had said. I was denied another form by the leader, who accused me of lying about me having already given the form.

I didn't ask for a rivalry, but I had no choice but to be wary.

In Q2, our Earth Science professor gave us a lab activity and grouped us by random. I ended up in a group with V in it. I actively participated in the activity by helping prepare the materials and answering the guide questions on the activity sheet given by our professor, but I was stumped when it came to a question that required some research. Our professor allowed us to assign someone by group to take the activity sheet home and submit a picture instead when we ran out of time, so I went to my group's chat and asked them to wait for me as I finished the answer for that particular question. It took me an hour or so before I finally got the answer. I gave the answer to my groupmates, but V said that they had already turned it in, confirmed by my other groupmates. I asked them "Why did you hurry the submission? We had plenty of time left to refine and finalize the answers." They didn't reply, and they didn't answer me when I brought it up the next day in person. I went to my professor and explained the situation, even providing screenshots of my group messages as proof, but he didn't believe me. However, he did let me write down my answer to the question I was doing research for.

By then, I suspected V had convinced them to submit the activity sheet without me, and going back to Q1, also got rid of my membership form when she had the opportunity. I think she also might have lied to the professor that I wasn't even participating in the lab activity, and damn if he was gullible enough to fall for it.

Come Q3, this current quarter. Our professor in Literature gave us homework to be submitted in Google Drive. I did mine, converted it into the required file format, and had uploaded it to the Drive folder when I came across V's output. I figured it was time she got what was coming when she ruined my reputation to the teaching staff, so I deleted it. I secured my own folder so nobody but I can edit/delete it, just in case. The next day after that, V had nothing for submission and let's just say took some hits when the professor scolded her, and I have plans to get rid of more of her future outputs since we're relying on online tools for turning in homework.

On one hand, I feel a bit bad for doing that, and in addition I'm also scared I may be caught/traced. But on the other, I felt that it was only fair that she experienced even a fraction of humiliation that I faced during Q1 and Q2.

I dunno, Tumblr, AITA for that, and WIBTA for continuing with my plans?

What are these acronyms?

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

hello! first of all, thank you for being such a wonder in this community, I wouldn't know half of the GO news if it weren't for you :)

secondly, I transcribed the newspaper that Aziraphale is reading in the trailer, if that's of interest to you? (the question marks are where words are covered or cut off by the screen)

A strange phenomenon has got the locals of The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh scratching their heads and tapping their feet. For no matter what song they put in in the pub's jukebox, it will only play one tune: Buddy Holly's Everyday. Proprietor Mr Tulloch is at a loss to explain it.

"I took over The Resurrectionist over twenty years ago and the jukebox was installed by the previous landlord, and it has never given us a moment's trouble until recently. my regulars noticed that all the records seem to have changed into this Buddy Holly song? I'm quite partial to a bit of Buddy Holly myself but everyone in the pub is getting a bit scunnered of it, to be honest with you.

Asked what he thinks could be behind the phenomenon, Mr Telloch is completely stumped. "Of course, I naturally imagined that this was a prankster at first, but I've taken to sitting up all night and watching over the (???) whenever i put new singles (???) honestly swear that no-one(???) pub and yet in

Next column:

... 'Everyday'. I've had the engineer out umpteen times, but he says it's never been tampered with and can't explain it either. It’s cost me a fortune in visits."

News of the strange occurrence is beginning to spread and Mr Tulloch admits that people are starting to turn up at the pub to check it out for themselves. "I was worried at first that people (???) off. There is only so much

Next column:

of one song that (???). But now we're getting (???) wanting to (???) Maybe (???) for business (???)

Hiya! :) Thank you, yeah :)! Also had it in my todo list but there is so much wonderful things today! :)

[waynes-multiverse]

Rehab – Prologue

Series Summary: Thanks to Soldier Boy, the CIA was able to develop Project Bloom under the fierce leadership of Grace Mallory: a final cure to Compound V and a hopeful end to the supe epidemic three years after the explosive incident at Vought. A secret rehab facility in Upstate New York is supposed to help former heroes find their way back to humanity. The catch, though? Soldier Boy has never fucking agreed to any of this shit and is surely not happy about being powerless for the first time in his goddamn long life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, general angst

Word Count: 778

A/N: Welcome, friends! I’ve missed writing for Soldier Boy, and I’m so happy to have this dirty, ol’ gramps back. Be aware, tho, that some topics are of a darker nature and it doesn’t necessarily have the happy ending y’all are imagining 😉 That being said, enjoy this prologue and lemme know if you wanna be on the series tag list for this story!

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Prologue: rehab

“How are his latest test results?”

“Looking good, ma’am. His body is behaving exactly like we wanted it to. The Compound V is gone from his system after the third dose, and he’s recovering as expected. His vitals look very promising.”

“Good, good.” Grace Mallory nods at the young doctor in a white lab coat, a smirk playing across her thin lips as she looks at the unconscious fallen hero through the glass of his cryopod. “Wake him up and move him to the facility Upstate with the others,” she orders.

And so it happened that Soldier Boy was no longer a threat, the once most dangerous bomb on the planet defused, rendered harmless and impotent. These days, the former venomous snake was no more frightening than a toothless blindworm.

Y/N’s head lifts from the backgammon board in front of her and drifts to the commotion streaming in from the hall as the high-security metal entrance doors of the facility fly wide open. Curiously, she rises from her lounge chair, abandoning her winning match against her companion, and stalks closer, leaning against a concrete column. Three CIA agents hold down and wrangle with a furiously screaming man – broad-shouldered, longer sandy-blond hair, and neatly trimmed beard. They push him inside with all the strength they can muster while the guy in agony fights tooth and nail against the restraining arms around him.

“LET ME GO! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU ALL! NO! NO! GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! NOOOO! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?! YOU FUCKING BITCH! I’LL FUCKING END YOU FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME!”

Y/N, however, is not so surprised by that circumstance. After all, the guy’s not the first person that has ever tried to fight his way out of supe rehab. It happens all the time. In fact, she might be one of the few that actually came here willingly. Her brow significantly raises, though, as Grace Mallory strolls in behind the four men. Officially retired from the CIA but still in charge of Project Bloom, she only comes along for the special cases, the big fish, and as Y/N squints her eyes and takes a closer look at the newest arrival, her heart completely stops and drops to her slippers on the ivory linoleum.

“Is that–” She stumps, not daring to say the supe’s name aloud.

“Ben, yes,” Mallory nods and smiles, enjoying the struggle a little too much, her eyes practically fixated on the green-eyed man. “Of course, you might know him only as Soldier Boy.”

Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat. So it really is him. The sole reason why she’s here, the greatest superhero that ever lived who was captured and brainwashed by the commies – or so Vought claims. She’s never met him personally before today, but Soldier Boy’s surely been on the news a lot in recent years – the radioactive hero and his killing sprees. Whispered rumors among supes even say he fathered Homelander, which, if true, is just a blatant crime against humanity in and of itself.

“Do me a favor, Y/N? You’re our most experienced patient here – take him under your wing, make sure he adjusts and stays out of trouble,” Mallory says, albeit it’s unmistakably meant as an order. The CIA doesn’t do nicely phrased requests.

“Alright,” Y/N nods resolutely, hoping the former CIA deputy director doesn’t notice the thick swallow that drips down her throat. Her eyes swerve back to the man in question, one of the doctors forcefully ramming a needle into his jugular as the hero screams at the top of his lungs before his bowed legs give in. The violent green eyes lose their fight and close, and he succumbs to the linoleum with a loud thud worthy of his massive stature. “Is that really necessary?”

Y/N always hates when they sedate someone. After all, the clinic is supposed to help people, not necessarily torture them, albeit the CIA often shares a different view than her.

Mallory just scoffs darkly. “It is. Trust me. He’s a handful,” she notes condescendingly and rolls her eyes. “You have your work cut out for you with this moronic bastard. Don’t fall for his charm, and if he becomes dangerous, shoot him in the head. I trust your judgment.”

Y/N’s stomach churns at her words, watching as the former hero’s lifeless body gets dragged down the hallway into a room, the door locking behind him. And while she knows Soldier Boy is no innocent angel, she can’t help the sympathy that permeates her heart.

What do you see when you look at me? Don't cover my scars, let them bleed

Chapter 1: maybe

Mallory’s clearly not a Soldier Boy stan like us 😂 Hope you enjoyed this little intro, peeps! 🖤

Tag Lists:

Everything J (Prologue & Chapter 1 only): @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @iamsapphine

Rehab Series: @eevvvaa @deans-spinster-witch @iamsapphine @jessjad @suckitands33 @ladysparkles78 @spalady26 @zepskies @syrma-sensei @muchamusedaboutnothing​

Note: Wanna be on the series tag and don’t see yourself yet? Lemme know! Everything J won’t be tagged anymore after Chapter 1.

[cowpokeomens]

Is it alright if i request jolly x reader

with reader cockwarming jolly before bed

My mans J-dawg is so underrepresented in this cult so Imma write for him first, nonnie.

If you've sent in a request in the last week or so, I see you!!! I'm gonna be going to town writing for the next few days so pls do not feel I'm ignoring you!!

Anyways, let's get slutty! I tried to make this gender neutral (we all got holes baby!!!) so I hope that all EIGHTEEN AND UP AUDIENCES will enjoy, mwah love u <3

You had never been superb at “reading the room.” It took you until your mid-20’s to catch on when people were hitting on you, and what felt like even longer to catch onto the weird passive-aggressiveness of your last roommate (Who the fuck even leaves a sticky note for coffee left in the pot overnight? It’s not like it was going to detonate!) But Jolly- you could read him like a book. It came easy as breathing, picking up on the minute shifts in his mood. You’d be at dinner with friends, and his eyes would linger on you for a half-second too long, and you’d know: He wants to leave, now. He’d blink slowly, face impassive, and you could tell he’s fighting back the urge to pop off at some dumbass music executive over superfluous deadlines. You knew what every micro-expression meant. Tonight though- tonight Jolly was restless. 

You’d both laid down in bed 45 minutes ago, you reading your fairy-porn novel of the week, Jolly thumbing through some music magazine in another language. You didn’t have time to linger on how you’d both become an old married couple, though, because of his incessant leg-shaking.

It was the occasional foot-tap at first. Every few seconds, his foot would change directions, an innocent gesture. 15 minutes in, he was shifting his entire body every few seconds, jostling the bed with him. For the rest of the time, though, his leg was just- shaking. Bouncing on the mattress like a kid counting “Monkeys On the Bed.” With a sigh, you shut your novel. 

“Not enjoying your book?” He asked casually, almost vibrating. 

“I was enjoying it immensely, actually- Rhys was about to put Feyre through the mattress- but someone is doing their best impression of a sentient Hitachi wand next to me in bed.”

His leg stopped at once, and he turned to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, älskling. I’m having a hard time winding down. There’s a bridge in one of the new songs that’s got us all stumped, and-”

“Hush.” You said softly. “You don’t have to apologize, I’m not mad. Just concerned.” You placed your book on your bedside table, crawling over to straddle his lap. A year ago it would have made him stiffen up immediately (it still might), but nowadays there was less lust driving your relationship, more of an ebb and flow in emotional output to help balance each other. You had fucked like bunnies those first few months, but now you had both accepted that you were it for each other- you could take all the time you wanted, without the need to rip off each other’s pants to feel close. Still, though- you knew your partner. 

You leaned in close, nose tracing along the column of his neck. He exhaled shakily, hands coming up to rub your hips soothingly. You kissed him once, twice, feeling his cock twitch in his pants in response. You were still rubbing along his neck when you asked, “Want me to keep you warm?”

His next breath was heavy with relief, like drinking water when you didn’t even know you were thirsty. “Please.”

You nodded, coming up to kiss him on the tip of his nose, one hand snaking into his pants as you began to jerk his length to hardness. His eyes slipped shut, hands still heavy on your hips. He was full in no time at all, hot in one hand as the other reached over to rummage around in his bedside table. When you finally pulled out a tube of lube, he opened his eyes. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t-”

“Hush.” You said again. “I’m not young and spry like you, I can’t just get it up whenever.”

He snorted. “I’m older than you, älskling.”

You rolled your eyes. “I want to. I just need a little assistance tonight.” As you finished your sentence, you rubbed your hole with two slippery fingers, sighing as you slowly eased them in. It only took a minute or two for the muscle to relax, after which you popped your fingers out, wiping them on Jolly’s pillow. 

He frowned at you. “I haven’t had to sleep with lube on my pillow since I was, what, 19?”

You grinned wickedly. “Don’t I make you feel young?”

He huffed a laugh, sliding further down on the bed so it was easier for you to situate yourself. You grabbed his length, lining it up with your entrance, sliding down slowly. Even with the lube, there was a stretch that had become familiar and pleasant over the time you two had spent together. Jolly sighed underneath you, jaw going slack as his muscles relaxed. You finally bottomed out, leaning forward to rest your head against his chest. His hands came up to rub your back slowly, slipping under your shirt in a fluid motion. 

“D’ya wanna roll over?” You mumbled into his chest feeling full and sleepy already. 

“Mhm.” Was his affirmative, gingerly maneuvering your bodies so that you were both on your sides, facing each other. Even with his gentle movements, you could feel him shift inside you, making you gasp.

“Sorry, älskling.” He murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. 

You quieted the horny monster that lived inside you for the time being, promising yourself the morning. You could be good, for now. “S’okay.” You murmured back.

The hand that was rubbing your back wrapped tighter around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. You slowly wrapped your leg around his waist, making sure not to move too quickly. He let out one last deep breath, then you could feel him fall asleep. It wasn’t longer after that you followed suit, the heaviness inside you a comfort.

[fiercefauna]

What exactly does it mean when a Plague Doc makes a reference to - “Ring Around the Rosy?” What exactly have you gotten yourself into when invited to participate in a “Ring Around the Rosy?”

That said welcome to another installment of Afflicted Lands - I have more installments - but they don’t need to be read in order (assuming this works, 😆) You can enjoy the picture, or read on to see what happens in -

We All Fall Down

Roughly a month ago I’d been apprenticed to Artemis and James, who told me to always let them do the talking. This put me under the general impression that the “Ring Around the Rosy” was in no way suitable for apprentices, though I’d be doing it anyway.

Thunder rolled in from the direction of the distant mountains and the first beam of light cut into the night sky like an aurora. My new gloves were sweating what smelled like rubbing alcohol from their palms as they gripped the lever. Another beam shot up, but it was still far away. This seemed much too solemn a time for questions but a part of me deeply felt like we were all going to die.

“So you guys traveled to my reality in order to save the world from this - plague, you’re generating some kind of force-field to trap it in the town and destroy it, you’ve done it before, but for some reason you want me specifically to pull the final lever?”

James fiddled with his hat, sniffling noises anxiously emanating from his pale snout as he pretended to examine the woody stumps of recently cleared vegetation. “It’s just one switch, Junior. The other operators know what they are doing. All you need is to wait for the signal, squeeze and pull.” 

“It has to be me?” 

Artemis nodded. “For an outsider to understand the necessity of a quarantine is a great deal of weight off our souls, new one.” 

“You people actually feel guilt?” 

l’d never seen her nostril slits retract so far into her face. “What put you under the impression we didn’t?” 

Sirens mounted on a near by radio tower started their dirge. I wasn’t about to disappoint my new friends or risk more incursions of that - thing - out into the wider world, so I threw my weight back against the lever, pulling it forward. 

The all encompassing hum caused the ground under our feet to resonate with the pulse of the sirens and the intensity of the light column blasting up out of the rig not four meters back. I saw my friends fall, but managed to keep my footing as the ambient sound and overwhelming brightness began to dim. As soon as I could, I ran to them, observing the tears across their mask-like faces and hearing the sobs that made me briefly wonder why a successful occlusion had troubled them so. 

A dull, red glow from the spent rigging as it started to crumble distracted from my concerns. Wildfires were reason enough to leave the siblings with their secrets until the threat was abated. 

Wait, where were the distant mountains? Perhaps a fog was rolling in. Moonlight came from the wrong direction and from a crescent instead of an orb. Had I been mistaken to assume it had been full? A void filled my insides as I saw that the lands beyond the occlusion ring had been replaced with sand dunes and the sounds of waves crashing on an unseen shore, but it was the stars that most shook me. I’d always been one to look for constellations but there was nothing familiar here. 

[a-s-levynn]

Okay there is no new art or anything today (the how i do stuff is w.i.p.) but i got a few new pencils and a pen last week and i wanted to do a new comparison.

I'm putting it under a cut because it is really not scientific nor professional, simply a random observation from someone who draws as a hobby and i know there is a limited amount of people who would be interested in that.

The pencils in question:

Faber-Castell (triangle) 2B Faber-Castell 9000 2B Faber-Castell Pitt Matt 2B Faber-Castell Pitt-Matt 4B Koh-i-Noor Hardtmuth 1500 4B Koh-i-Noor Hardtmuth 1500 2B Koh-i-Noor 1770 2B Staedtler Noris 2B Staedtler Mars Lumograph black 2B Deli 2B Tombow Mono100 2B

The pens in question:

uni-ball Signo white Sakura Gelly Roll 0.5 white

The comparison

The upper white line is the GellyRoll, the lower white line is the uni-ball. The blended column was blended with one of those woodless white pencils, not a paper blender stump or anything. Also please just ignore how bad i am with the layout

I mainly kept to the 2B hardness, i'll explain why there is two 4B-s included when i get to them. So let's go over them one-by one.

Faber-Castell (triangle) 2B Trusted friend. Slightly lighter than the usual 2B pencils but it is reliable, looses sharpness somewhat slower than most. Smudges less then most. Mid range price.

Faber-Castell 9000 2B Cool stuff. It is very smooth, blends very nicely, the smudgeing isn't too bad. Upper mid range price.

Faber-Castell Pitt Matt 2B Novelty but for what. I first bought this because i was excited about the supposedly less shine this has over other graphite pencils. Which is exciting, needing less editing after scanning. What i did not know at the time, that for the same saturation you have to purches 2 up to get the same result. So initially i was utterly disappointed with the 2B because i just wasn't able to get the level of depth and darkness that i like. Upper mid range price, not sure i would recommend, but it is fun to try once. Upper range price.

Faber-Castell Pitt-Matt 4B Enter 4B version. This is what a 2B pencil is. This one redeemed the 2B one. It actually is about the same result as the F-C 9000. They are fun but.. not really that special. Yes there is somewhat less shine to them but i don't think they worth the price just for that. Upper range price.

Koh-i-Noor Hardtmuth 1500 4B Only included to serve as comparison to the Pitt Matt 4B. Low price range.

Koh-i-Noor Hardtmuth 1500 2B Reliable. Reasonably smooth, nothing special but in a good way. Low price range. Holds sharpness relatively well. Low price range.

Koh-i-Noor 1770 2B My oldest friend. Bit scratchier than the K-i-N 1500 but nothing too abrasive. Holds sharpness relatively well. Worst blendability. Cheap.

Staedtler Noris 2B An oldie but a goodie. I know this is many people's favourite, and not without reason. It's nice, reasonably smooth. For my tastes it looses sharpness a bit faster than i'd like. Cheap.

Staedtler Mars Lumograph black 2B Now this one is a new one for me and i am not that floored by it. It is a nice and smooth feeling pencil but i don't feel the step up in price is bigger than the step up in how it feels to use. Upper range price.

Deli 2B This feels very close to the Lumograph actually. I would not be surprised if the goal was a more accessable alternative. It is nice and smooth, very nice blendability. Cheap.

Tombow Mono100 2B Now this. To be honest this is the one where i actually felt like a significant difference. This one is nice to hold, feels so good on paper, it is smooth, blends nicely. I'm loving everything about it. I'd consider this an expensive one, but i'm not mad about it. This one actually has ther shits to cost more than the rest.

For the two white pens, you can see how well they work on graphite. Both is pretty nice, they don't really differ in price either. I am more partial towards the GellyRoll, because it has a bit more opacity to it, but honestly the uni-ball is almost as good and the application of that is much much smoother. So they are about on equal grounds. It all comes down to preference really.

So yeah, that's me for today i guess. ✌🏻

[thehypnone]

This may be a silly ask, but how did you come up with the like general layout of your intro post?

I made a diff blog for ghost stuff and know what I want to post, it's just the intro that's been stumping me I guess ;^;

I hope you're doing well too!! 💗🌷

I just wanted to have most important info put in there without excessive detail because no offence but there are people with like 5 page long solid text columns story of their life intro posts and respectfully no one's gonna read all of that. and then they get upset because someone accidentally crosses a boundary that was hidden in the middle of it. so yeah I just went with the most important info in the most condensed form possible and that's my tip for everyone. so that's about the content but in general go have fun with the layout I guess just maybe don't make it all solid text so people don't have to read all of it just to find one thing? maybe like a bulleted or numbered list. dunno, hope it makes sense

[amarshmallownamedo]

Okay, as far as I can tell, the text here reads:

A strange phenomenon has got the locals of The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh scratching their heads and tapping their feet. For no matter what song they put on the pub's jukebox, it will only play one tune: Buddy Holly's everyday. Proprietor Mr. Tullach is at a loss to explain it.

"I took over The Resurrectionist pub over twenty years ago and the jukebox was installed by the previous landlord, and it has never given us a moment's trouble until recently. My regulars notice that all the records seemed to have changed into this Buddy Holly song! I'm quite partial to a bit of Buddy Holly myself, but everyone in the pub is getting a bit scunnered of it to be honest with you."

Asked what he thinks what could possibly be behind the phenomenon, Mr. Tullach is completely stumped. "Of course I naturally assumed that this was a prankster at work but I've taken to sitting up all night and watching over..."

(next column)

'Everyday.' I've had the engineer out umpteen times, but he says that it's never been tampered with and can't explain it either. It's cost me a fortune in visits."

News of the strange occurrence is beginning to spread and Mr. Tullach admits that people are starting to...

[maths-screaming]

Doing the Maths, Subtraction Edition

I can't wait for the post-break conversations with my students.

"What did you do over break?"

"Math worksheets."

"...Ms. F, are you okay?"

BARELY.

After spending most of a day feeling stumped about subtraction (and literally counting beans at one point), I generated a worksheet on mathisfun.com and did some test problems.

My Goals, in order:

Use any method that made me feel reasonably confident about my answer,

Show the method I used,

Check my work,

Be able to explain it to y'all.

Some examples:

This one is a combination of "change the numbers to make the problem easier" and "use a number line to check the answer." Notice where I accidentally tried to add the tens column instead of subtracting! I fixed it when I realized there was no way I should need to write out 80 numbers to check my work.

I made this mistake twice in 17 quetions (adding the tens instead of subtracting them), and I caught it both times when I went to check my work. I guarantee you that 7 year old me would not have caught that mistake, because 7 year old me would have been expected not to do something as concrete as a number line to check their work.

Here I again changed the problem to make it easier and then checked my work by reaffirming that, yes, 4 and 6 make 10. (In hindsight, "6+4=10" would have been a better check here - by rewriting the subtraction I basically just did the material part twice.)

I did this one by breaking down each of the numbers into their respective tens and ones groups, then subtracting each. I could have drawn a better diagram showing where all those numbers came from. I did not.

This one has two checks of my work. Again, I broke down 52 and 33 into their respective tens and ones groups. I checked my work by adding 19 and 33, then double-checked that adding 3 to 9 did in fact get me to something ending in 2. (It did.)

What's the Point of All This?

You may have noticed that my to-do list above doesn't include "get the right answer." That's intentional.

The most useful definition of stress I've encountered yet is that a stress response occurs when the resources one has are inadequate to meet the demands one faces. It certainly applies with me and math: For decades, my available resources to do basic arithmetic have been outpaced by the demands of nearly all basic arithmetic.

"Get the right answer" is a big demand. It looms over my puny pile of resources. It freaks me out.

This time, though, I have something I didn't have at age 7: a fully-functioning prefrontal cortex and several decades of teaching experience.

So I decided: The point of this evening's exercise was to understand what I was doing well enough to check my answer and explain it to the Internet. I trusted that if I could do that, "correct answers" would follow logically.

I trusted that I could make some kind of meaning out of numbers. I trusted that if one way didn't work, I could try another. I trusted that numbers are logical.

In other words, I decided to trust that - in spite of 40 years of evidence to the contrary - I can learn to do this.

For me, that's a huge step.

[vashuknivesu]

VashWood (I wrote the one I posted previously two hours ago and then got this idea and wrote this fifteen minutes ago?? Idk why I’m on a VashWood warpath?? I hope you like it tho)

Warnings: Uhh scar mentions. A lot. That’s it. Smoking? Wolfwood things.

~*~

“-And that one was from a Bounty Hunter. I really nearly got got that time.”

Wolfwood huffs out a column of smoke, watching with low and heavy eyelids as Vash maps out the scars on his naked abdomen. He can’t remember how they got onto the conversation exactly. A joke, he thinks vaguely, about putting a cap in the blonde’s ass if he carried on being annoying that turned into a rather funny story on how he very nearly actually got a cap in the ass once.

Not a single scar was an accident. From small, barely visible things that could pass as birth marks to the large, horrifying and knotted tragedies that took up vast amounts of his skin. They all had a story.

Wolfwood can remember a time in the early stages of their romantic relationship when Vash was self conscious of the network of mutilated flesh his body adorned. Shying away if the Undertaker looked too closely, ever so subtly hunching his shoulders forward whenever he was shirtless as if to shrink in on himself. He was a little bit proud to say that the Typhoon didn’t really hide from him anymore. Evident in the confidence he had in drawing attention to each and every twisted little scar on his form, hesitant only in explaining how it got there if the origin was a touchy subject.

“Anyway,” the blonde chirps, clearly having had enough of the skeletons in his closet for a day, “do you have any scars?”

The question catches Wolfwood off guard a little bit. And he doesn’t realise the ash on the end of his cigarette is getting a bit too large until it falls, landing right between his naked collar bones, and he hisses at the little sting. Vash laughs as the other man shoots up into a sitting position, swiping the ash off of himself, and stumping the half-smoked cig into the ashtray on the floor beside the bed. He grumbles, laying back down with a grunt and thinking for a moment.

“I got one.”

“Just one?”

“Yea’. When I was a kid.”

Wolfwood holds his arm up skyward, and Vash scoots in, until his cheek is resting on the inky-haired man’s shoulder, peering up at the arm as Wolfwood brings his other hand in to point at a spot in the centre of his forearm.

Vash squints. It’s… green. Like an old bruise.

“That’s a scar?”

“Mhm.”

“What is it?”

Wolfwood inhales, squinting at the spot himself for all of a few seconds before exhaling again.

“At the Orphanage. There was this kid I hated. Constantly made the other kids feel like shit cuz’ apparently he was only there ‘temporarily,’ n’ his Mom and Dad were gonna come back for him. Total lies. Just wan’ed to feel better than everyone else.”

Vash nods, soaking in every word, his big blue eyes shifting their focus from his partner’s arm to his tawny face. The square of scruffy jaw, the hook in his nose. His eyes soften fondly.

“Anyway, I got sick of it. Told him to shut up, n’ that his parents wan’ed about as much to do with him as the rest of us. And…”

The Typhoon blinks.

“And…?”

“… And he stabbed me in the arm with a pencil.”

Vash the Stampede was a good man, despite what others may think of him. Or what he may think of himself. He was open minded, understanding and endlessly kind. He’d never judge anyone for their origins, and would always lend a listening ear if someone needed it. So when a little sound forces its way out of his lungs, he clamps a hand over his mouth. But it does nothing to slow down the sudden onslaught of laughter that uses his entire stomach.

The Undertaker snarls, shoving a hand in Vash’s face and barking at him to stop his laughing. And Vash tries. He really does, but it doesn’t work. He laughs and laughs until his midriff is aching and Wolfwood is on top of him, hands braced either side of his head, straddling his hips and threatening violence.

“I-I’m sorry!” Vash giggles, wiping his eyes, “I just… A pencil.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, if you’re so inclined.”

Wolfwood scoffs, rolling his eyes and climbing off of his companion, stomping around to grab his cigarettes.

“I can’t believe that’s the only scar you have.”

“What can I say,” he grumbles, “everythin’ that came after the experiments healed like it never happened.”

“Right…”

Wolfwood turns to look at the man still lying prone in the bed, but his expression is now one of guilt, remorse. His eyebrows are drawn together, looking at nothing in particular as he thinks.

“Oi, Spikes,” Wolfwood calls out, “don’t go gettin’ soft on me now. You were just laughing at me a second ago.”

“Yeah, well that was until I remembered your tragic backstory,” Vash sulks, looking sullen and a bit upset with himself. Wolfwood can tell he’s worried that he may have insulted him with his laughter and rolls his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed with his new cigarette and lighter in hand, and leans down to catch his lips in a sudden kiss that catches the blonde off guard.

“It’s fine,” Wolfwood breathes against the softness of Vash’s mouth, “I don’t mind you bein’ a bit mean.”

“Well I mind,” Vash pouts in retort, “makes me feel bad.”

“You need thicker skin.”

“Coming from the guy with a pencil scar.”

“I thought you felt bad.”

“I’m over it.”

Wolfwood huffs a laugh.

[plethomacademia]

Update: this is now chapter 2 of my fic that lets me roll around in the concept of the bard urge, sorry and/or you're welcome

Original post: I had this idea and it came out. I guess I'll have to finally make an ao3 if I keep this up huh. Tweaked a touch from my original posting to make it about planning the House of Wonders heist instead of the crown heist. Content: fem Dark urge (based on my high elf bard) and Gortash have their first one on one chat to plan the heist on the Hall of Wonders. 1700 words of Gortash being thrown off when the vicious Chosen he's seen leading a murder cult takes advantage of a rare excuse to listen to an orchestra. This is the song I listened to while writing this:

When the Chosen of Bane had asked the Chosen of Bhaal for an in-person meeting, he had expected her to decline. Up until that point, they had communicated solely through coded letters. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her in person, each from a distance while she was leading her followers through some kind of slaughter. So when she had not only agreed to the meeting, but suggested they pick a neutral ground not owned by either party, he had been stumped. Where did one take a woman who was usually covered at least partially in blood?

In the end, he had picked his box at the opera house. It was more secure than a random tavern room by far and he often brought guests to it, so a mysterious woman would not bring any kind of notice. Not to mention the entertaining room behind the actual box had plenty of space to lay out a few maps, maybe even enjoy some wine at the same time. All he could hope was that she remembered the clean the blood out from under her fingernails.

He arrived ten minutes to curtain while the orchestra was warming up in the pit. He had expected some kind of guard for her to already be present, but the door was unattended. Perhaps she wouldn't show after all, he thought before gesturing one of his guards to their post. His other guard stood behind him as he knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by an older woman he kept in his employ.

"My lord, the lady arrived some time ago. She is in the box seats." The servant swung the door wide to allow his entrance.

Sure enough, there was a figure seated out in the last row of the box seats. She did not turn despite having to have heard the noise of his arrival. He took that moment to look at the dark brown hair piled on her head, the long column of her neck, the point of her ears. He had seen her before, of course, knew that despite being a Bhaalspawn she was a surprisingly fragile looking high elf. An attempt at Bhaal for once to maybe have a bit of subtlety in his progeny, he thought. But from this angle, she truly could have been any other tryst, whisked up to be ruined in the opera box of a lord.

He dismissed both the servant and his guard with another gesture, walking the short distance to the box. He sat down beside her, expecting her to look up then, to acknowledge that he, the host of this evening, had arrived. But she continued looking down at the paper in her hand. That's when he realized it was the playbill for the opera that would be starting shortly.

He waited a moment. When she didn't look up from her playbill, he cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting --"

"Have you seen this one before?" She turned toward him finally.

He could see that it was her, of course, the Chosen of Bhaal that he had seen disemboweling a person while leading a congregation in ritualistic chant. The hands that he had seen several times up to the wrist in dripping blood, now holding a playbill. Her head that he had seen held back as she shouted about the ecstasy of murder to a rapt audience, now looking up at him expectantly. But at this distance, in this place, all he could think was how had he never noticed before that her eyes were silver. He realized after staring for a moment that not only had she asked him a question, but that the question had been of all things about the damned opera.

"I don't tend to pay much attention to them."

She smiled. "No, I imagine not. I've heard what you tend to get up to in this box." Before he could ask what she meant, she continued. "I haven't seen this production, but it's supposed to be good. The Gazette had a write up about the conductor, apparently he has quite a way about him."

She had already turned her attention back to her playbill and he found he missed it. "And how is it you know what I do in my opera box, Miss … ?" He actually didn't know her name. No one did. She was simply the Chosen or the Slayer to anyone who even knew of her. It was any wonder his first missives even made it to her in that temple at all.

Her nose wrinkled. "Maeve will do. Not a lot of use for formality where I come from." She put the playbill in her lap, folding her hands over it before looking at him again. "You have to know I have people watching you, of course. Just as I know you've been watching me."

"Is that why you brought no guard?"

She shook her head. "Lord Gortash, of course I have a guard. You just didn't see them. That and I know you wouldn't jeopardize our future alliance, of course."

The lights began to dim in the theater as the ushers began to douse the candles. That's when he realized the orchestra has stopped warming up quite some time ago. In all honestly, he hadn't had many expectations when he left for his evening with a Bhaalspawn but this, well. Who could have ever expected this? He found himself on the back foot and yet somehow enjoying the sensation.

"I know this is a business meeting, but I hope you'll indulge me the first song. I promise it's worth it."

He found himself whispering as the crowd settled down. "And you aren't worried about --" He gestured to the crowd.

She shrugged a shoulder. "They'll think I'm like the other women you bring here, I'm sure. Nothing worth noting at all."

Before he could reply, the first note rang out. It was a slow song, starting with just a few instruments, but building until it was thick and full and rich with dissonance. He was hardly a musician, but he had been to enough of these to know that she was right, it was quite good. The song seemed to ebb and flow, swell and retreat, building up the tension only to sigh in relief as the chords resolved. He made an effort to look at the conductor for a while, but in the end his gaze drifted to her.

She never took her eyes off the orchestra, her hands remaining together in her lap. As the song continued, he noticed that she had started to move just slightly in time with it, her shoe slightly moving with the beat without a sound. He saw her hands clasp together in her lap, her fingers tightening together, her throat working as she swallowed, her eyes eventually closing so she could focus solely on the sound. She was absolutely transfixed on the music and he was absolutely transfixed on watching her.

After the last note, the audience broke out into applause. Lord Gortash snapped his face away as Maeve came back to herself, seemed to even remember where she was. There was a flush on her cheeks that felt almost indecent to look at. He made a show of turning towards her, hoping she had been distracted enough to think he had been looking at the show the entire time.

She sighed. "Almost like it had magic in it," she said to no one in particular, before finally turning toward him again.  "Thank you. It's been years since I've heard that."

He nodded. "Happy to oblige. An unexpected surprise, really, that some like you actually enjoys the opera."

If he hadn't been a practiced politician, a person that had scraped and fought his way up the political ranks, he would have likely missed the way her expression changed. He could see the mask sliding in place, her eyes turning distant,  her smile turning sharp. "I've always thought it would be a beautiful thing, to lull so many people into the warm embrace of a song like that, then end all their lives at once. But we're here for business, of course. To discuss our heist."

The moment had been dismissed. And it was for the best, the crowd was settling again and the opera was about to begin in earnest. When they stood, the long slit of her moving skirt caught his eye, along with the flash of a dagger strapped to her thigh. He had seen that dagger before, plucking out a man's eyes as he screamed. A reminder that this woman, despite her pleasure in song, was dangerous.

They retired to the entertaining room, sending all the other people outside for complete privacy. After all, there was no need for security since neither of them would benefit from starting a scene in the middle of an opera house. Not yet, anyway.

The opera was a long one, he had picked it for that reason, and they spent that time pouring over maps, discussing the guard schedule at the House of Wonders, going over the broad details of where the Bhaalists and Baneites would position themselves. She sipped his wine and ate the finger foods left by the servant. But for the subject matter, she truly could have been any kind of tryst.

"That's the last song starting."

He looked up from where he had been gesturing at a diagram. He hadn't been paying any attention to the music at all. "My guard --" he started before being interrupted by a knock at the door. As he had been about to say, he had instructed his guard to let him know when the opera was coming to a close. "Good ear," he conceded.

She stood, smoothing her skirt, making sure her blade was not visible. "Well, Lord Gortash, the plan is sound. You have our thanks for helping us take back what was stolen from us."

He couldn't help but smile. "Splendid. I'm happy to have convinced you to take our aid and, of course, to have finally spoken to you in the flesh."

She nodded. "I expect another letter with details, soon, of course." She was already at the door, opening it, leaving this bizarre evening behind her.

"Maeve?"

She turned, looking at him through the half closed door, her eyebrow raised in question.

"Feel free to use this box any time. I'll send those instructions along as well."

Her eyes rounded a bit in surprise and he caught her looking just to her right, to somewhere he couldn't see. To someone he couldn't see, more likely. But the mask was back on after a moment.

"How generous, Lord Gortash. I may take you up on that." And with that, she turned and left his sight.

[quadrant-query]

might wanna take the poll a little more seriously dude whatever wins is gonna be in the room when i pail you

What?????????????????

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I don't even fucking know what I'm doing here anymore!! Why the hell am I even dignifying this message with a response!! You are clearly just experiencing the slow but deadly effects of complete sponge death and I think I'm just going to Log The Fuck Off!!!!!!!