#and wax would be completely baffled

[dracanthropic]

Someone here said that Steris would love Excel. This is certainly true, however...what if she CREATED the Scadrian version of Excel? She learned about this new fangled computer thing and found it to be a much easier place to store her lists but it was just missing ONE thing.

So you know ..she made it.

[eightyonekilograms]

Sigh, yes, I'm going to get mad at somebody on Twitter.

Of all the service professions to wax nostalgic about when you're making the argument "do we really want to replace this with a machine?", why do people constantly pick "grocery store checkout clerk"? It's baffling. Of all the commercial interactions I have with other humans, the ones I have with checkout people might be the most rote, automatic and, frankly, totally worthless. I'm perfectly friendly and polite, to be clear, but this the last place I would go if I was trying to make a warning about the societal dangers of mass automation.

Not to mention, just about everybody I've ever seen who has actually worked this job has reported that their end of this interaction is also on complete autopilot and that they don't give a damn about the customers. It's such bougie delusion that you are forming vital human connections with your supermarket clerk.

This argument is so bad I almost think these people are false flags for pro-automation forces. Why wouldn't you pick any other profession.

[spinchip]

NEVER THE DARK

chapter 2

Read on AO3

Prologue - Chapter 1

Warning: canon typical violence, grief

TASTE THE SALT OF FRIENDSHIP// NOTICE THE MOVEMENT OF A STRANGER// HOLD YOUR OWN

Jay is not new to the life of a ninja. In fact, he would even call himself a veteran (especially at the coffee shop next to the arcade, where he took full advantage of the ninja discount,) and as such, he knows that there’s a rule about being a ninja. A universal truth that simply states this: It will always get worse before it gets better.

What happened with Pythor? They failed, and he awakened the great devourer. Giant mythical world eating snake, ring any bells? Unable to stop one measly normal sized snake, they couldn’t win until they had to stop a massive apocalyptic ruiner. (Well, Garmadon had defeated him, but the ninja definitely helped!) And then there’s The Overlord, Who they had to kill twice, if he’s even really dead… Then Chen, who managed to succeed in turning his whole cult into snakes because the ninja failed to stop him when he was a human… Next is Morro and right after him the time twins, all of their plans fully realized until the ninja managed to save the day in the knick of time. Don’t even get him started on the whole Sons of Garmadon and Harumi disaster. The point is, they’ve never managed to stop the newest villain's evil scheme before it snowballs out of control and becomes nearly ten times harder to win.

They’ve unintentionally lived by this creed since Jay first stepped foot in the monastery courtyard. Instead of analyzing the current playing field and structuring a plan around that, they should all hunker down and think of the worst possible outcome and then go off that. Which is why it always baffles Jay how it surprises him every time. At this point, he should just tattoo Murphy’s law to the backside of his eyelids so he remembers the most important rule of being Ninjagos greatest heroes.

Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

Why he pulled on his ninja suit expecting that tonight of all nights would be the moment they broke the cycle is a mystery to him. Maybe it’s a good thing the ninja lifestyle hadn’t stolen all his naivety? He should be touched that he’s still innocent, right? Something like that.

He’ll be honest with himself. Jay let his guard down just a teensy, tiny, itty-bitty bit. When they started their patrol less than 24 hours after Kai chased off the thief, he wasn’t as on edge as he could have been. He didn’t meticulously check the dark corners, or make sure the windows were properly latched, or carefully examine the room of creepy wax figures for a possible not-so-wax interloper. Nobody was there, anyway. He was antsy to get home, as were Nya and Kai, so when the clock struck midnight and the time to swap out came they were already standing outside the front doors as Cole and Lloyd pulled up.

The chances of the thief coming back the following night were just to the right of nonexistent. A few nights for the previous encounter to simmer down was expected. Jumping back into the museum so soon after almost being caught would have been a stupid, foolish mistake on her behalf. The woman from last night was inexperienced, but even the most clueless of thieves would know not to try for two nights in a row. It was common sense! A courtesy, even. That’s the way things were supposed to go.

“How’s it going?” Cole asks, stifling a yawn as he walks up.

“You’re in for another slow night.”

Lloyd groans, “Not again. I almost wish something would happen.” He jokes.

Coles communicator make a loud, shrill series of beeps. They’re completely unprepared for Wu’s phone call, the emergency alarm tone ends the conversation as Cole scrambles to answer it, getting his finger on the button to hear Wu’s urgent voice, “Left wing, coming out of the storage area,” He relays quickly, “She’s back!”

“Me and my big mouth.” Lloyd facepalms before shooting to the front of the group and leading them inside.

Jay's heart rate jacks up in anticipation and Lloyd breaks into a run, “Come on!” He calls, throwing open the doors. They fall into line behind him, sprinting through the clean and cozy halls. It wasn’t surprising Kai had lost the thief the night before- Krux had designed the museum, and it was all so purposefully confusing that it would be easy to lose someone if you guessed the right turns to make. It was like a massive maze. They pass by cursed paintings, ancient swords and racks of armor, fragile and crumbling scrolls of times long past, and a great deal of magical artifacts graciously donated (forced to surrender) by the Explorers Club that are clearly untouched. The Museum's alarm system would have told them if any exhibit had been disturbed, and Wu had said the woman was coming out of a storage closet. Hopefully they caught her before she got her hands on anything dangerous, since she didn’t have time to hunt down something like the Scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu by this point. They finally emerge into a large grand hall. Old bones of long dead beasts are carefully strung up, put together with the utmost attention to detail to make large hulking goliaths stood around the room. Information stands decorate the room, happily informing the night air of the Dromaeosaurid Theropod Grundalicus intricate mating dances. On the other side of the hall is a door painted the same color as the wall with a white sign that says STORAGE. EMPLOYEES ONLY- but the woman closing the door behind her very clearly doesn’t work here.

“Hey!” Kai snaps as they come to a stop, the ninja fanning out in a semicircle across the hall in case she tries to flee. Slowly, they close in one her one step at a time.

She turns around and- well- she’s… not the same thief as before. She’s got tan skin and an angular face and short cut hair dyed hot pink that’s faded from a few washes. Jay tries to take it all in at once. He analyzes her every detail: A button up shirt several sizes too big, black on one side and stripped on the other, gray shorts, hot pink flip-flops that aren’t quite as vibrant as her scalp. She smiles lazily, black lipstick quirking to her left as a horizontal scar on the corner of her mouth pulls taut. She’s completely unconcerned with her predicament. Dangling from her left hand is a plastic grocery bag sagging with the spoils of her thievery.

“The ninja,” She says, sweeping her mismatched bluebrown eyes over them, “What an honor.” She doesn't sound a bit sincere, her eyes half lidded and tone bored and flat.

Jay blinks, “Who the heck are you?” He asks point blank. They know every major criminal in Ninjago! Sometimes personally! So this had to be another rookie, right? A team of two randos had actually managed to get a step ahead of them?

“I’m sorry, I don’t have much time to chat.” She sighs, not sounding sorry at all. She turns and starts walking over to a window, casually ignoring them. The echo of her flip flops slapping disrespectfully on the linoleum is the only sound in the room.

“Uh. excuse me?” Cole says politely, stepping forward. She hums in response, prompting Cole to continue, “We're not going to let you just leave with… whatever you stole.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “You don’t really have a choice. You won't be able to stop me.” Her tone isn’t cocky or arrogant, she just delivered the statements as facts. Simple confidence. She’s well aware of her disadvantage but she doesn’t break stride, she’s not even a little bit bothered by their presence. If anything, she's making Jay nervous. She feels… dangerous.

“Oh really?” Kai reaches for his swords, “You said it yourself, lady, we’re the ninja. I think we can handle you.”

She stops walking, turning her head to scrutinize him with a bored expression on her face, “Maybe you could have, once.” she says frankly, and then she sighs, “It’s been three years, and your team hasn’t recovered yet. You’re not a threat anymore. I’m going to walk out of here with this-” She holds up the bag for a moment before dropping it back to her side, “-and the only thing you get to decide is if we’re doing this the easy way or the hard way.”

The air grows thick with tension, nobody moves.

“If you want my honest opinion,” She says almost gently, “Take the money the city owes you for all you’ve done and enjoy an early retirement. You can’t function a head short, It’s time to give up.”

Zane. Jay's chest constricts painfully, and before he can convince his lungs to take a deep breath the room’s temperature rises by several degrees. Kai's fury tastes like sulfur on the roof of Jay's mouth, hot and burning and rotten. The sounds of his swords unsheathing scrapes violently in the silence of the museum, “Fuck you.” Kai spits, and before the others can say anything he lunges directly for her. In the dark of the empty hall, his swords catch and seem to glow with moonlight, glinting deadly sharp.

For one horrible moment, it looks like Kai’s swords are going to aim true and skewer her. She steps to the side at the last second and Kai’s swing goes wide, missing her and causing him to stumble. She twists, plants her feet before turning back and delivering a textbook perfect hook kick and- crack-! Her heel connects with the back of Kai's head and sends him sprawling to the ground in an undignified heap. His swords clatter to the floor and go sliding across the room as he fails to catch himself. She steps away from him, standing confident and flat footed before looking at the rest of them, clearly waiting to see what they’d do.

It happened in the blink of an eye, so fast Jay nearly couldn’t keep up. She dodged Kai's attack. She’d dodged Kai’s attack-! That just- it didn’t happen. And she didn't seem scared or worried at all- still with that flat, bored expression. Like they were a minor nuisance.

Kai groans, “I… still hate you… but great form.” He grunts from the floor.

Her lips quirk into an involuntary smile before she looks back to the remaining ninja, “I’m assuming this means resolving this peacefully is out of the question?”

Nya growls, stepping forward and putting her fists up. Water gathers around her fists in tiny droplets, “Not out of the question, as long as you’re the one to surrender.” Her voice nearly trembles with rage, her eyes flicking to Kai as he brings himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear the spots from his vision.

The woman shrugs, “I’m not going to.” And just like that the fight is on.

Nya breaks formation next and the others follow her, rushing the woman. She dodges each of their swings easily, weaving between them seamlessly. She seems to find and take advantage of every gap in their offense, and Jay can see her eyes flickering around them as she works out the perfect escape route. Jay realizes with a start that she’s not swinging back- not really. Physically, she can’t take them. The kick was a lucky shot and she only put him down because of how perfect the set-up was. If Cole were to land a blow- hell, any of them- they’d stop her in her track. If only she weren’t so. Damn. Elusive.

Cole swings his fist at her face and she plants her feet, raises her hands, and catches his fist mid-air. It takes both hands and all her strength to stop the blow but she does. It happens too fast for Jay to warn Cole- now that she has him, she’s set up another finishing move. She steps forward, throwing one arm over his shoulder and uses the other to push his fist down. She swings her leg around his, hooking the back of his knee and twisting just enough to knock his feet out from under him.

He falls directly to the floor, unable to counter it in time. Cole is not exactly a small man- how the mystery woman managed to execute that drop while being dramatically shorter than him he’ll never know- and when he falls he falls hard. He smacks into the ground gracelessly and lets out a stuttering wheeze, the air brutally knocked from his lungs. She releases him just in time to duck Lloyds arms attempting to bear-hug neutralize her and he trips over Cole, face-planting on the floor next to him.

Cole's rolls over and pushes Lloyds solid frame off his belly, “Can’t breathe!” He gasps out, still struggling to catch his breath. Lloyd presses the sleeve of his gi to his nose, his expression relieved when he pulls back to see no blood.

Jay goes to Cole’s side, helping him sit up. He looks up to see Kais rejoined the fight. His swords are forgotten and he's fighting with his fists, and again the woman seems to easily be dodging their uncoordinated attacks. Nya and Kai, as siblings, are the most naturally synchronized of the team and Jay can tell she’s putting more effort into dodging them than she was before. Lloyd and Cole follow Jay to their feet, preparing to jump back in. Kai gets a lucky swing in and clips her shoulder, and her expression goes from bored to mildly annoyed. She leaps to the side, transitioning into a roll to gain some distance. She takes half a second to gather her bearings as they all race towards her, narrowed eyes taking it all in. She breaks into a sprint, coming right towards them-!

And she runs right between Cole and Kai.

There had been a gap in their formation. Jays heart constricts again, and Kai and Cole stumble as if suddenly reminded they were missing a limb. Nya recovers the quickest, turning on a dime to chase after her. She pulls out a handful of throwing stars and flings them at the cables holding up the grundle bones- they come crashing down right in front of the woman, who skids to a halt. They’re blocking the path to the doorway out, and she won’t be fast enough to climb over them before Nya closes in on her. Whipping around to face Nya, she readies for a fight.

The bones don’t stop at the door- they crash backwards as well, spilling across the floor and separating Nya from the boys, leaving her and the thief circling each other in the arena of fossils.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Nya grins, the two of them keeping their distance. Nya walks carefully in a circle until she’s blocking the exit and the woman's back is to the boys, who are climbing over the mess to get to them. Perfect! She’s trapped!

She does that involuntary smile again, waiting until Nya is directly in front of the doorway before charging her. Putting her fists up, Nya waits for her to come to her. The woman bends as if she’s going to tackle her and Nya responds in kind, ducking down and widening her stance, stabilizing her form.

And then the woman leaps up into the air. It’s so surprising Nya doesn’t know how to react, looking up at her in shock before realizing she’s aimed directly for her. Before she can raise her arms in defense, the thief’s sandal comes down directly on her face. Using her forehead as a springboard, the woman flips off her head and across the room clear of the bones and debris.

She lands on her feet with the barest stumble before turning around and offering them a small salute.

Then she takes off down the hall.

Nya crashes into the bone pile, the force of the blow sending her sprawling. She groans as the boys finally manage to get past their obstacles, running over to her to check her over.

“I’m fine,” She grumbles as Lloyd helps her stand, her hair flies left and right as she shakes the blow off, “Just a bruised ego.”

“You got a little…” Jay gestures to his face.

Nya glaces at her reflection in a glass display case. Stamped across her expression is a perfectly preserved shoe print. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” She  grunts, scrubbing her face with her sleeve until the mark is gone.

“Come on, guys.” Lloyd calls firmly from where the other three have cleared the bones out of the pathway, “We gotta go after her!”

“No arguments from me,” Nya says, cracking her knuckles before they all race down the hall after her.

Despite her lead, she hasn’t gotten far. Jay nearly thanks Krux in his head for the absolute nightmare of the museum's architecture, which is finally working in their favor. He could thank the mystery woman too, she made herself an easy target to track. All it takes is following the sounds of flip flops slapping.

Still, Jay has a bad feeling about all this.

[psychic-refugee]

Unbeknownst to most, Ajax Petropolis was the son of Billy Loomis and considered himself the true heir to the Ghostface legacy.

He found a kindred spirit in Xavier Thorpe, the son of renowned illusionist Vincent Thorpe, who was their first victim.

Both were savage and almost whimsical with their kills and could boast a double-digit body count in under a year.

They formed a brotherhood of murder, mayhem, and blood.

They baffled the Jericho police, who had yet to discern there were two killers.

Both killers became annoyed when a new player had come to town and the kills were blamed on the Ghostface Butcher, quickly catching up on their kill count.

Ajax worried when Xavier started to fall for the Medical Examiner, the elusive but brilliant Wednesday Addams.

She preferred to work with the dead rather than the living, and Xavier waxed poetic about her thorough reports that gave the most gruesome details of their kills. He almost didn’t care she was the only competent person on the police force, and her observations had outed them as two separate killers.

He had never felt so seen or flattered when she described his killing style as artistic and a love letter to the mad dark killers of the past.

Ajax would never admit he almost blushed when she described him as redefining brutality.

One night, while on the trail of a potential victim while in their Ghostface attire, they happened upon the beautiful Wednesday Addams in a clean room with every square inch covered in plastic. She wore a rubber apron and knee-high wader boots.

Their victim was wrapped tightly to an operating table with the same plastic wrap, completely immobile.

They had caught her with an impressive knife just about to plunge into the victims chest.

Both men had frozen, never in a million years thinking they’d find Wednesday in such a manner.

She was completely unfazed to be confronted mid-murder, and to face the country’s top killers.

“Xavier, Ajax,” she greeted them in her normal dispassionate tone, both of them gasped that she knew their identity. “Did you want to watch?”

Ajax then understood, especially when they took off their masks and she gave them that macabre half smile, why Xavier had fallen in love with her.

He was certain they had found their killer soulmate. 

[shockwaifuafterdark]

Greedy

Morgott x Male Tarnished Smut Snippet

My friend @cant-even-throw-straight is starting a big Morgott x Tarnished fic and I love Tashi, their oc for it, very much and have already written smut even before she's published the first chapter. Whoops.

Warning: here be porn. 18+ only please and thank you.

"Greedy," Morgott muttered, watching in rapt fascination as a fine thread of saliva still connecting their parted mouths bowed heavy then broke, leaving a glistening trail down Tashi's chin that already threatened to run yet lower. The man was so delirious that he didn't even move to wipe it away, too lost in the aftertaste of the kiss and the prominent swell of Morgott's knucklebones slipping in and out of his body to care, if he felt something so insignificant at all. What a mess his tarnished was. Perhaps he once would have scoffed at the sight of such excess, yet now the sight of the lovely ruin wrought by his own hands filled his chest with a strange sort of pride.

Tashi had often waxed lyrical of the beauty of reducing Morgott to a pathetic heap in pleasure. Though he still was not entirely sure what loveliness he saw in his twisted body, he was coming around to the act of breaking itself. As base as it was, he could not help but concede that this did have a sort of vulgar appeal to it, especially as their combined spit dripped down to his chest to mix with the rivulets of sweat and still tacky splatter of Morgott's own release.

"Is it really greedy?"

Tashi said, voice still breathless and rough but surprisingly put together. He never ceased to both impress and baffle, his dear partner did. That he'd even heard him considering his state was no small feat, and in respect, Morgott paused his prodding and raised a heavy brow to listen to whatever incoherent nonsense his love would give in explanation.

"I give myself entirely to you in exchange after all. There just so happens to be significantly more of you, so I do my best to make up the difference. You give so generously and I try to indulge in equal measure for both our sakes."

"Wouldst thou rather I call thee glutton?"

"Hmm, point taken. Greedy does have a more sensual ring. Though, even the foulest and most guttural language would sound like music if spoken in your voice."

"Glutton and sycophant," he amended, crooking his fingers with precise intent as he pressed the pad of his thumb firmly into his perineum. Any further quip Tashi had ready on his tongue fell away as yet another strand of dribble as he gurgled out a particularly wrecked noise. Morgott upped the pressure, turning that noise into a keen. What a mess his tarnished was: leaking from mouth, eyes, and cock, and still looking at him with such hungry intent despite having been at this for the better part of an hour, despite having ridden to his peak twice already.

Though his understanding of such activities was admittedly limited before this wild and reckless soul had quietly yet brazenly worked open the lock to his heart, he had no idea such things were even achievable. He had, his whole life prior, viewed his own pleasure as little more than another chore. An animal yearning for gratification, a distracting urge that he only entertained when it became impossible to ignore. He would take himself in hand and attempt to relieve his urges as quickly as possible, keeping his mind focused on his goal of completion, the stolen moment of bliss. His disgust at his omen hands befouled by his tainted seed kept him from repeating the action for long thereafter.

Oh, but his Tashi loved these omen hands of his, loved his tainted seed, loved everything about him. He begged for more, more, more. For Morgott to continue to work his body beyond the point of no return, to climb that cliff time after time, raw but too intent on loving every unsightly inch of him to care. Tashi wanted, and taught Morgott to want as well, and moreover to take. So take he did.

Tashi's legs were shaking, hardly able to keep himself standing upon Morgott's thighs as he straightened his fingers once again, spreading the two in as wide of a V as he could manage, still fascinated at the way the man's body stretched to accommodate him. He gazed again at his watery but intense eyes, his wet and flushed cheeks, and parted lips, and could not help but lean back down for another kiss. Even as his back ached from the held position, he surrendered to the sweetness of indulgence, for in truth, he had grown something of his own greedy streak.

[phoenix-joy]

Author: Sonja Anderson Publication: Smithsonian Magazine Timestamp: January 22, 2024

Extract:

Researchers have long been puzzled by the Roman dodecahedron. More than 100 of these strange 12-sided metal objects have been found throughout Europe—but their purpose remains unclear. Now, another discovery in England’s countryside has reignited the mystery surrounding the ancient artifacts.

[...]

“[Dodecahedrons] are one of archaeology’s great enigmas,” [Richard Parker, secretary of the Norton Disney History and Archaeology Group] says.

“Our example is remarkable. It’s in an excellent condition—considering it’s been buried for 1,700 years—and complete with no damage.["]

[...]

The hollow, grapefruit-sized object is made of copper alloy, as the Norton Disney group writes on its website. Its 12 flat sides are punctuated by circular cut-outs and studs on each corner.

According to the group, the discovery brings the number of dodecahedrons unearthed in Roman Britain to 33, while about 130 have been discovered throughout the Roman Empire’s northwest provinces. [The dodecahedron discussed in the article] stands out because it’s still in one piece, while many of the others were found fragmented or damaged.

[...]

Some Roman dodecahedrons date to as early as the first century C.E. However, no visual or textual references to the objects have been found in historical records. [...]

“Nobody knows for certain how the Romans used them,” wrote Smithsonian magazine’s Sarah Kuta last year. “Some theories are that they functioned as measuring devices, calendars, ornamental scepter toppers, weapons or tools.”

[...]

[...] the group agrees with experts who think dodecahedrons were used for ritualistic or religious purposes. [...] researchers at Belgium’s Gallo-Roman Museum have hypothesized that Romans used the objects in magical rituals, which could explain dodecahedrons’ absence from historical records: With the Roman Empire’s eventual embrace of Christianity came laws forbidding magic. Practitioners would have had to keep their rituals—and related objects—a secret.

/end of extract

"12-sided Roman relic baffles archaeologists, spawns countless theories"

Author: Leo Sands Publication: The Washington Post Timestamp: April 30, 2024 at 11:09 a.m. EDT

Extract:

“One reason that it is so captivating for the public is that it’s hard to believe that we have anything from the Roman period that we don’t know what it’s for,” Lorena Hitchens, an archaeologist specializing in Roman dodecahedrons[...] “It’s very tempting to want to solve that mystery.”

[...]

Internet sleuths have joined the speculation [...] with many gravitating toward an explanation that revolves around their use as tools. [...] knit and crochet pattern designer Amy Gaines posits [...] that dodecahedrons may have been used to knit gold chains, constructing a 3D-printed replica to demonstrate her theory.[...] English Heritage lists theories ranging from a tool for finding the best date to sow grain, to functioning as a candleholder, a polygonal die, a range finder, a surveying instrument, or a way of knitting gloves.

But academic archaeologists shy away from the suggestion that they were practical objects used as everyday tools. “I know that because I’ve examined a lot of them, and they don’t have the kind of use wear you’d expect from a tool,” Hitchens said.

“They’re also much more delicate than people realize,” she said. “They would be broken very quickly.”

[...]

The most popular theory among academic experts [...] is that dodecahedrons held religious or ritual meaning, linked in some way to local practices on the Roman Empire’s fringes.

Proponents of this theory [...] point to the intricacy of the object itself, suggesting it probably had special value. According to Hitchens, the relic was made using a lost-wax bronze-casting process, an extremely technical feat — made even more challenging by the fact that the final product was hollow. [...]

/end of extract

[munsonology]

ALRIGHT I'm going to tell you a story I've told others that makes me chuckle and is also a OH MY GOD and also sexual harassment so

I love massages. To give and to receive. The lady I typically went to was booked and I was out of town for the next two months. Being out of town as I was, I decided "hey let me try a place up here". So I went to a place that also did waxing. I had talked with my masseuse as she did both, about prices so she knew I was interested in waxing

Now, if you've never had a massage, you strip and lay on a table and are covered. When I was a preteen I was uncomfortable and left my bra and undies on, now I just leave my undies on because I'm paranoid about starting my period while there (it happened 1 time and now im like oh God it could happen again 💀)

So to set the scene: im laying face down, completely naked except for my not thong but was basically a thong, a thin sheet covering me. The Masseuse is massaging my back. I am used to silence, relaxation- NO. She talks the ENTIRE time. Anyways, she compliments me. My leg specifically. As she is massaging it. Says it has a great shape and looks nice. And I was like oh uhhh I try?

She straight up ran her hand up my leg and said "oh you don't have to try"

SO I laid there awkwardly for the rest of the HOUR LONG MASSAGE. Cause like WHAT DO I DO? I ain't gonna jump up, titties flying!

She may or may not have also sang a love song to me as she held my hand

She also mentioned twin flames and said we were destined to meet 💀 after I got dressed she brought up the waxing AINT NO WAY SHE SEEING MY V NOW

I laugh about it now, because this would happen to NO ONE ELSE BUT ME. The imagery of me jumping up, titties flying, kills me. I didnt do that but

But then she texted me cause my number was on the form I filled out. Said something about destiny- and hey, maybe it wasn't her maybe it was a fluke cause they didn't say their name but that we had been destined to meet and if I ever wanted to see them again to make an appointment (it may NOT have been her but I mean the likelihood of someone else texting me????)

I blocked the number and moved on.

Coincidentally was watching about that twin flames cult AND SHE WAS ONE OF THE MEMBERS 💀💀💀💀 I COULD HAVE GOTTEN LURED TO A CULT SAV

BESTIE OMFGGGGG 😭😭😭😭😭 thank you for sharing and sorry this happened to you it was def harassment

But also wtf 😭 like how why are so many people in massage therapy and holistic health borderline and/or doing criminal acts???? That lady was def pushing the boundaries

maybe the place you went is also one of those massage places (*sex work is work however these massage places treat the people so badly from my knowledge*)

👀 at least some recruitment place for that cult

Speaking of cults idk if you’ve ever seen the Leah remini show on Scientology but it always baffled me how the former members were scared and getting harassed because I do feel for them but also go and get that 🔥 and they’ll never come back 💀

[theminecraftbee]

It starts—as many things did in the Boatem Village, in those heady days before the moon (and afterwards as well, just with slightly more apprehension)—with a bet Grian makes while lying upside-down on a shulker box, watching Mumbo agonize over fluid dynamics.

“Bet I could bench you,” he says.

“What?” Mumbo says, whirling around. He’s soaked. He’s been trying to build a waterfall for four hours. Grian thinks he’s seen him cry? His eyes are sure still red.

“Soaking clothes and all,” Grian says, idly chewing—something—honestly he’d put it in his mouth and stopped paying attention, but he’s not dead yet so it probably hasn’t poisoned him? “I’ll have you know I’m incredibly strong.”

“Yes, well, you do have to have the body strength for the wings. You’ve done it before,” Mumbo says, still sounding vaguely baffled. Despite having known the man for years, Grian is entirely uncertain if it’s the kind of baffled that’s ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ or the kind of baffled that’s more just Mumbo’s default state when confronted with anything while he’s already confused. Grian’s just going to assume the latter, because, you know, it feels obvious what he’s saying.

“Right. So I bet I can lift you without my wings, considering all the boxes of stone I also lift without those wings.”

“Why?”

Grian considers, before swallowing the thing he’d been chewing. He tries not to give away that he chokes a little. Ah. He thinks it was a rock. Right then, not telling anyone about that one. He flips off of the box a little awkwardly, barely avoiding hitting his head as he more sort of rolls off of the box than properly flips to his feet, stumbling. The blood rushes out of his head.

“Because I can! Besides, Mumbo, if I can lift you with the help of my wings, I bet I could lift everyone in Boatem.”

“At once?”

“Don’t be stupid, Mumbo.”

“Ah, right, of course. Silly me.” A pause. “I’ll give you a box of deepslate if you can, though.”

Grian considers the offer.

“Yeah, bet,” he says.

“Boatem meeting?” Mumbo says. “I mean, this seems more productive than our usual meetings.”

“Of course,” Grian says, to both of those statements, and they both nod and go to collect the others with no further thought to the matter.

Approximately four hours later—Scar had inexplicably been stuck in a hole in the swamp, a fact that Grian was somehow both not at all surprised by and boggled by—they’ve managed to gather everyone around the Boatem Hole. Grian and Mumbo have, in the process, accidentally turned it from a bet for Grian into a competition. It is, ultimately, not fully either of their faults. Impulse had been busy, so Mumbo had needed to do convincing, and then Impulse had said he wanted to show off. Scar, trapped in the hole, had waxed poetic about Grian’s ability to lift with his wings and not hurt his back, and then had declared he would lift with his arms without Grian’s input. Pearl had laughed and said she might try it, and that Mumbo had to do it, too, if Grian was.

So, they’d take turns, they decided.

“You know, are you sure we should be doing this next to the Boatem Hole?” Impulse asks. The yawning hole into the merciless void chooses that moment to feel a bit more chilly.

“I’m not going to drop you,” Scar says, extremely unconvincingly. (He is going first, because it had been generally agreed upon he would be the worst at it. Scar didn’t even bother being offended.)

“Good enough for me,” Impulse says cheerfully. “You sure you want to start with me? I’m a big guy. Isn’t Grian hollow?”

“You know, I sort of resent that,” Grian says.

“I mean,” Mumbo says.

“It’s just my bones, and not even all the way!” Grian says, puffing up somewhat. “Do you think all birds are completely hollow? Impulse, I need you to answer me slowly: do you think my parrots are hollow?”

“Sure,” Impulse says.

“What?” Grian says.

“We’ve gotten off-track,” Scar says. “We’re meant to be exploring my splendid lifting abilities on my own!”

Grian considers. On the one hand, he could shake Impulse until he explained why he thought parrots were hollow, and if he thought other animals were also somehow hollow. On the other hand, he wanted to see Scar make a fool of himself. (This isn’t, Grian thinks, normally a hard thing to see, but it is always delightful.)

“Yeah, okay,” Grian says. “Go for it.” 

“Right then. Feast your eyes on aOH GEEZ YOU’RE HEAVY—” Scar says, attempting to lift Impulse without properly getting into position, clearly realizing immediately his mistake, and nearly falling backwards into the Boatem Hole as he drops Impulse again. Pearl handily stops Impulse from falling on Scar’s neck or something while Scar makes various horrified noises. It is exactly as delightful as Grian had hoped.

“Right then, Scar’s lost,” Grian says.

“I wanted the deepslate,” Scar whimpers from the ground.

“You dropped me after saying you wouldn’t,” Impulse says, about half an inch from certain void doom.

“I really wanted the deepslate,” Scar explains. He looks terribly pathetic. Grian would almost feel bad, but he literally knows everyone here can lift him, so why Scar had insisted on Impulse is well beyond Grian’s understanding. Ah, well, the mind of Mr. Goodtimes is an enigma. Maybe he just wanted to get out early?

“Mumbo’s next, right?” Grian says.

“Oh, yes, I mean, sure,” Mumbo says. “I’m doing you first, Grian. Up you get.”

“You have to lift me.”

“You land on my shoulders on your own all the time though. I don’t have to—”

“Mumbo.”

“Oh, right, competition. Er, yes. Hold on.”

Grian yelps as Mumbo unceremoniously picks him up and plops him onto his shoulders. 

“Give me a warning!” Grian says.

“It’s like lifting a sack of grapes,” Scar says quietly.

“He is hollow,” Impulse adds.

“Besides, everyone can lift me! The point was the others!” Grian says, valiantly ignoring everyone commenting on his small size. He may be easy to grab, he thinks, but he has a secret weapon. That weapon is his wings, and also the retribution he will lay down upon those who do as Mumbo just has. (Mumbo is exempt by virtue of having faced this retribution so many times that, frankly, Mumbo just moves on with his day, which isn’t particularly fun.) Grian curls his talons into Mumbo’s shoulders and thinks. “Also, isn’t the point lifting all of us at once? I probably shouldn’t be on your shoulders for that.”

“No rule against it,” Mumbo says, and he goes over to Scar. “Although, you did say bench. I really more deadlifted you. Are you ready, Scar?”

“Yeah, okay, I’m over my embarrassing defeat,” Scar says. “Take Grian off your shoulders, he can stand on me when you lift me. It won’t hurt, it’s Grian, he weighs—”

“Yes, well, we all get the point,” Grian says. “Get on with it then. I’ll stand on Scar.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but with Pearl and Impulse acting as spotters, Mumbo manages to lift the both of them. After putting down Scar, Mumbo sighs.

“I don’t think I can lift Impulse, and I don’t know how much Pearl weighs.”

“I mean, it would be impolite to ask,” Pearl says cheerfully. “Want to try?”

“Sure, but not with Grian’s additional weight.”

Pearl walks over. Pearl is put into Mumbo’s hands. Mumbo shakes his head. “No, Scar’s the best I can do. Definitely not getting that deepslate—Grian, lift Pearl for us, no wings, you’re next, right?”

“Of course,” Grian says. “Get over here, Pearlo.”

Grian gets into his own position. Pearl gets into his hands. Grian’s a little surprised at how heavy she is. After carrying around so many shulkers of stone—of course, shulkers do play with space and weight a lot, but still! Benching Pearl is more of a struggle than he’d expected. He puts her down with a huff after a moment, having managed a single rep and deciding that he absolutely won’t try another.

He huffs from the ground heavily. “Give me a moment before I try Scar or Mumbo.”

“What about me?” says Impulse.

“Impulse, you’re like 6’5” and huge,” Grian says. “Pearl is 5’7” and… surprisingly heavy, true, but…”

“Fine, fine,” Impulse grumbles. “It’s not my fault demons are tall.”

“I’ll do it,” Mumbo says. “That was the original point, right? Proving you could lift me without using your wings?”

“True,” Grian says, and he lies and waits for Mumbo to come over. Mumbo, Grian finds, is more awkward to lift that Pearl. He has too many sharp angles, Grian thinks, although frankly he’s… lighter than Grian remembers? Grian tries to think. Maybe it’s the potato thing? It’s been a while since Grian’s lifted Mumbo somewhere in the air, and the air is different from lying on his back on the ground, so—

“GRIAN,” Mumbo says, as Grian proceeds to lose balance in his arms thinking about this.

“Right, sorry!” Grian says, straightening out and lowering him gently. “I can probably lift Scar too. Maybe even both Scar and Mumbo.”

“Try me,” Impulse says.

“We’ll all spot,” Mumbo says, resigned, and Grian admits at this point that his bet about lifting every member of Boatem at once is probably bunk. He does, to his pride, manage to get Impulse into the air, next, and that counts as a lift? But he nearly drops him, and he taps out at that point, his wings and back and especially his arms hurting.

Still.

“I am winning,” Grian says.

“True,” Mumbo says. “You can lift every single one of us. I mean, you didn’t try with Scar, but—”

“He can lift me,” Scar says.

“Why do you know that?” Mumbo asks.

“It came up,” Scar says, which doesn’t answer anything, but Grian doesn’t particularly want to answer that question for Mumbo, either. It had been a perfectly normal conversation between a resistance leader and a government official, and definitely not a bet about the outcome of the Turf War that neither of them had mentioned to their own factions. Absolutely not! What on earth would give you that idea? Grian won anyway, and they both decided it wasn’t dramatic enough, and also they sort of forgot when they were tallying the—

Anyway.

“My turn then!” Impulse says cheerily, before picking up Grian and putting him on one shoulder, then picking up Mumbo and putting him on his back. Grian doesn’t even yell about it. He’s just… resigned.

“I don’t count, apparently,” Grian says.

“Oh, I know. That’s why I’m going to get Scar, too. Come on over!”

“How?” Scar asks, curiously. “You already have Mumbo and Grian in your big, beautiful grasp.”

“Hold on,” Impulse tells Grian, and then he lifts Scar in a dead man’s carry. At this point, even Impulse is trembling. Grian can feel it beneath his feet. The instinct in Grian that tells him to launch off of an unstable perch is telling him to fly away before he gets hurt, but the instinct in Grian that loves watching people crash and burn tells him to stay where he is. Impulse huffs. “Oh, oh man, I think three is my limit.”

“Really?” Pearl says.

“I mean,” Impulse says. “I mean, even if one of them is Grian, this is pretty—”

“That means it’s my turn,” Pearl says. She stretches, and she picks up Impulse, with all three of the others still on him, in one hand.

Grian gapes. He’s pretty sure everyone else does, too.

“There we go,” Pearl says. There’s exertion in her voice, but not nearly as much as Grian thinks there should be. He’s pretty sure his brain also just got put in a magnet to wipe and restart it though, so maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Impulse was right and he is hollow. Maybe all of them are hollow. 

She holds them there for a bit before putting them down with a huff. Grian thinks that wait, maybe she’s shaking a bit? Or maybe he’s just imagining it to make himself feel better about the world.

“I believe there was a box of deepslate?” she says. Still gaping, Grian watches Mumbo pull it from his inventory, stumble on it falling into his arms, and put it down next to Pearl. Pearl picks it up as though it isn’t full of one of the heaviest types of stone there is before putting it in her own inventory. She makes it look, Grian thinks, like she’s picking up him. Or a sack of grapes. Either/or.

“What are you made of?” blurts Impulse, in a tone of voice that sounds concerningly like the tone of voice one uses when Zedaph has started to rub off on them. Grian puts an arm on Impulse’s shoulder, just in case.

“Uh, I mean,” Pearl says.

“Muscles, clearly,” Scar says.

“I mean, sure, most people are made of at least some muscles,” Pearl says.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Grian says.

“I guess I have,” Pearl says, walking over and grabbing Grian by the ankles. He’s slung over her shoulder in a moment. He starts frantically flapping his wings, but even his not-inconsiderable ability to produce force with those things doesn’t dislodge him. “And you—you promised to look at a build for me.”

“But I hate organics!” complains Grian.

“I have the deepslate now, you’re helping look,” Pearl says. Grian continues to flail. Scar laughs at him. Horrible.

As she walks away, Grian hears the following exchange:

“I’m going to give her a bite strength test with Tango.”

A long silence.

“You know what, sure. It’ll be funny.”

He concludes that, like most bets he makes with Mumbo, this had been an awful idea, and he never should have done it. Unfortunately, he had, and now Pearl is going to make him judge how animals she’s built look all day.

Well, he thinks, at least next time there’s something heavy to lift, he knows who to bother?

(The next day, Impulse appears in front of both Grian and Pearl’s base, saying something about density in water. Grian closes the door on him. The doorframe is unfinished, so the door closing doesn’t quite have the same effect, but it gets the point across well. All-in-all, it’s a very average day in Boatem.)

[nightcolorz]

Random Gotham Rogues Headcanons

(In honor of all the wonderful people who wanted more after my last post, yes I see y’all)

*Jonathan has a huge sweet tooth, the poor bastard didn’t try sugar until he was like 12 and eats candy like it’s his last meal.

*He’ll forget he needs food to live for way too long and eat a gallon of ice cream or some shit that’ll give any sensible man heart palpitations and just be like “😐👍”.

*Selina tells the newer rogues she was raised by cats to freak them out, Jervis still believes her. (Tbf, Selina does walk around with a cat tail on hissing at people and purring on their laps, I don’t blame him).

*Edward has a tiktok account that he made to fule his own ego, he’s a fragile little shit, literally all of his hate comments have video responses (as you can imagine, Edward gets A LOT of hate comments).

*One time a teenager called Edward “submissive and breedable” and he was too baffled to make a clap back.

*The Rogues have a surprising amount of stans. Ivy’s fan base consists mostly of lowly simps, Joker gets stopped on the street daily by greasy redditors and zealous scene kids.

*No one likes Joker, he thinks it’s because he’s “Batman’s favorite” (it’s not).

*For a while Joker has been insistent that he fucked Bruce Wayne once at one of his many parties, no one believes him except for Harvey (begrudgingly).

*He says it’s “Perfectly in character for Bruce” as much as he may hate it.

*Selina denies everything.

*Oswald and Jonathan share solidarity as “the weird bird people”. At first Oswald was a little put off that Jonathan only held knowledge of crows but soon got over that when he realized that now he had an excuse to infodump on someone who might actually be interested.

*Every time Jonathan visits Oswald’s aviary to pick up Nightmare and Craw Oswald jumps at the opportunity to talk about his numerous birds in excess, Jonathan’s a surprisingly good listener.

*Despite Edward and Joker’s long term rivalry Edward has remained relatively civil when faced with Joker’s constant egging on. That is until one iconic day in Arkham Asylum when Edward beat the absolute, ever loving shit out of Joker in the cafeteria. To this day no one knows what exactly got him to snap, not even Joker.

*Harley keeps a scrapbook about all her misadventures + friendships as a rogue, she has a habit of taking pictures of the others at the most inappropriate times (during a heist, while being beaten to a crisp by Batman, ex).

*One time Harley asked Batman to pose for a picture to put in her scrapbook, he obliged to everyone’s surprise.

*Edward is wholly insistent that he doesn’t belong in Arkham, and is convinced he’s completely sane. He’s weirdly obsessed with the fact that Oswald is sane “as well” and will make unprompted snide remarks like: “Blackgate sounds terrific, unfortunately I’ve been misplaced among MORONS, it’s a shame that the system is too incompetent to properly judge my un-categorizable psyche.”

*Oswald usually responds with a simple “🙂👍” or “ok” to avoid conflict, disagreeing with Edward could be catastrophic.

*Art therapy is an occupational hazard for all the Arkham staff. (Seriously, who thought giving super villains an outlet to express themselves was a good idea).

*Edward can’t draw so he spends his time harshly criticizing the other rogues art, that’s caused more than a few fights. The one time Edward’s ever actually done art in art therapy was when he drew a green triangle and explained in complex detail how he colored it to perfection.

*Jonathan is no longer allowed to share his art with the group before having it reviewed by a staff member after emotionally scarring a few patients. He’s one of the few rogues who presents his art every time, just to see the disturbed looks on the others faces when he explains whatever twisted art piece he came up with this time.

*Jervis is probably the most dedicated artist of the bunch, he‘s not allowed to make himself any hats (for obvious reasons) but he’s still a very skilled seamstress and has a very interesting art style (Jervis tries not to draw anything explicitly linked to Alice in Wonderland in fear of getting repercussions, as rogues often do when they engage with their ‘personas’).

*Harvey isn’t very technically skilled in drawing, but Harv usually spices their art up enough to make it interesting. Their drawings are always two themed, as expected. One time Edward criticized a painting of theirs for being “too unrealistic” and Harv had to manually restrain himself from kicking Edward in the teeth.

*Victor can’t draw either, but he writes pretty good poetry. His writing is excessively melodramatic and flowery, and his themes even more so. Half of the presentation period is spent listening to Victor muse about the meaning of life or some shit, his poems are VERY long.

*Waylon and Ivy are the obligatory pretentious painters, both have a fondness for flowers (for very separate reasons). The two will often compare their paintings and wax poetics about the beauty of nature or some bullshit before never speaking again. That’s one of the positives of Art therapy, it brings rogues together who would otherwise not grant each other a passing glance.

*Group therapy is just as (if not more) atrocious than Art therapy.

*The only one who ever talks is Joker (and sometimes Harley, but way less).

*Joker is the embodiment of an irl troll, he does a much better job at getting responses from the other rogues in therapy than the therapists ever could (usually hostile responses but still).

*Occasionally a new and bright eyed therapist will try and coax childhood memories out of the rogues, it never ends well (usually with the rogue or the therapist in hysterics).

*The majority of the Arkham staff are either terribly unqualified or terrible period.

*Music Meister lived with Edward for a short while after escaping Arkham together but he was promptly kicked out because he wouldn’t stop singing.

*Selina and Ivy had a huge argument once because Selina’s cats nibbled on Ivy’s plants.

Okay this post is all ready super long so I’m gonna end it here, as I said last time I can always make more if you guys like these (I’m not running out of headcanons anytime soon!)

[sigmaleph]

@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.

First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...

Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.

This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.

if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese

I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.

As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.

This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.

The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[

Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.

It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).

Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?

This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Eat at better restaurants.

With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket

What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.

Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!

It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.

Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.

I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.

At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.

I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.

how.

Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.

Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.

What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.

This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.

Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.

The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.

still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.

The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.

There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.

Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.

I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.

Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.

[original post]

[of-tatooine]

for the record. | chapter 2 - bravo

it was time you tied the name to the person behind it.

[Day 0, 2011 - 06:50:12, Credenhill, UK]

Modern warfare was a man’s world.

Everyone knew it, everyone acknowledged it. It was as if there was this unvisible barrier surrounding certain aspects of the life, unwritten rules memorized by many soldiers.

No one would speak about it, nor would anyone bother to, but everytime the guns were locked and loaded, fuels of engines were replenished and explosives were strapped - it was one of the many things running rampant in your mind.

Though you had been young compared to the others, having some considerable amount of years of service under your belt had shown you that some truths were indeed hard to swallow. Yet they had to be accepted nonetheless - it was just the way things worked in your line of duty. After all, it had been just one of the many facts of the matter that you were forced to suppres deep down into your subconscious, along with many emotions associated with them.

They taught you how to suck in your much-preserved pride as you crawled in deep gravel and dirt, your skin a mess made out of mud. As you collapsed out of dehydration during the trek in the jungles, only to be pulled back to your feet to face yet another barked order. As you roared in pain when a bullet lodged itself into your flesh, twice as loud as it was pulled out.

They never taught you how not to miss the fallen, the friend and the comrade, or how to forget about those nightmares creeping into your being at night.

It had taken a lot of pondering and controlling your mental before stepping onto that plane and getting flown out to Credenhill. Being placed on the reserve regiment for some time had gotten to you - it felt like an eternity since you had been out in the field, deployed on an assignment. Weeks that had been filled with gathering intelligence and running strategy behind operations would slowly transform themselves into lots of pushups and reloading, that you had absolutely no doubt about.

However, spoken in the silent mumble of your lips, you prayed your body did not betray you - operating behind screens and files was lightwork compared to the drills that you suspected Captain Price would put you through. At some point the muscle memory would kick in, that was for sure, yet what concerned you was how long it would take till that eventually came true.

One step at a time, Sergeant.

It indeed was a beautiful day out. The rays of sunshine out in the vast concrete of the base courtyard emanated within the short sleeves, providing some much-needed warmth and comfort. Not much time had been given as you arrived on base - “get yourself to the range right away, soldier,” were the instructions that had followed the moment your feet touched the earth in the forsaken hours of the early morning.

Task Force 141. Now, that was a nice mouthful for classic selection training, considering the fact that you had been shipped out to the common 22nd Regiment training compound, the choice baffling you. Operating behind enemy lines within a covert squad certainly could not work when you were right where the enemy expected you to be - one of the main training bases of the entire Special Air Service. He must have been planning something substantial yet hidden behind plain sight - it had been impossible to get a word out of the renown Captain ever since he had approached you in London - in broad daylight, much to your added surprise in hindsight.

That meant you would just have to wait and see.

As your light steps took you towards the armory, clad in your gear of tactical shirt and pants with all the holsters strapped in place, there was a certain mix of emotions harbored in your heart and resonated within your being. Some confusion due to the lack of direction in your assignment.

And then, even though faint, came in a deeply-lodged sense of peace. How everything seemed to fit just a bit tighter, a little bit better - the perfect little adjustment to the crooked painting on the wall. The atmosphere of the green hangars and tents, the smell of tank engine fuel with the sound of shell casings dropping, one after the other, in soft clinks. The constant rush and the ever-lasting adrenaline.

There was a certain habituality to it, an accustomed year’s ease and some beauty in the routine of it all - and your soul had apparently longed for it for too long.

Welcome to your new home.

“Glad you made it, Sergeant,” a familiar face would greet you as bright lights hit you upon entering the hangar, his hand gesturing towards the guns laid out on the table. Nodding your head with a small smile, you would oblige.

“I trust you know the drill. Report back to me after you’re comfortable with the rifle - Captain Price wants to see you.”

That made your jaw clench in anticipation, or was it more of a bottled worry? Whatever it had been, it certainly did help as your bullets rained down on target after target, getting used to the weight of the rifle within your hands - while some shots had been a bit lacking, it did not take too many attempts for you to get back into the groove. The metallic sounds of fake targets lowering and the explosions helping you remember.

Footsteps behind you as yet another target went down in a screeching rusty sound. It seemed like he had chosen to watch, after all. “Not bad. Might even be a bit better than the FNG,” Gaz would comment on your shooting - which you believed was his attempt at being as nice as possible - as you turned your body to face him, your grip on the weapon in front of you relaxed. That earned him a little cocking of your eyebrow, tilting your head in a newfound curiosity.

“FNG?”

And there came the words, along with a nod.

“Fresh out of Selection. His name is Soap.”

There it was again. That name. Now, you had heard your fair share of silly little nicknames thrown around to soldiers - the kinds that stuck with them forever. This had to make the list of the best you had heard.

What the hell kind of a name is Soap, anyway?

It was like he read your mind, noticing that silent pause coupled with the upwards curl in your lips - returning the smile lightheartedly as he gestured you to follow him outside. “Weird name, eh? Captain was not willing to take it easy on him,” he commented as he walked alongside you to the far hangar, the fresh air hitting you along with the grumbles and low roars of the armor passing by.

“I bet,” you returned, a slight chuckle on your lips. Your tone growing just a tad bit lower, softer and meaningful just before the comfortable silence of your walk was cut off at the entrance of your destination.

“It’s good to see you, Kyle.”

“Likewise,” he acknowledged, giving you the type of understanding nod shared between old comrades alike - gesturing you to enter through the vast metal doors as you took a deep breath in your slightly nervous state due to the unknowns behind that hangar wall.

Orders were barked, audible even right from the entrance as you heard commotion. A replica of an obstacle course was occupying most of the space, the Union Jack and the SAS emblem proudly hanging next to each other on the far end. Shots were being fired, and you could hear the heavy footsteps sprint down the wooden flooring.

On the left side, which quickly became your next focal point, stood your new team - a few soldiers huddled up and clad in blackout tactical gear, watching the monitors to perhaps gauge how well the soldier running the course was doing. And of course there he was - the signature beard was recognizable from miles away as he leaned into the microphone installed, practically yelling to the intercom even though the poor soldier was most likely double-hearing him with the echoes of his tone.

His voice followed after a couple more final gunshots dropped in the distance - "Sprint to the finish!"

As you advanced towards observation with Gaz announcing your presence, you could not help but note the uniforms. Completely blacked out gear, light waxed material. Fit for a night time operation - in and out, close quarter combat. Relatively not too heavy material that would last in water and land. It made you wonder what your next mission would look like already.

“Welcome back into the fight, Sergeant,” the familiar commanding voice spoke, the blue eyes softening ever so slightly upon the sight of you yet never losing professionalism.

“It’s good to be back, Sir,” came your response, standing still and awaiting orders as you took a look around your surroundings once more - the static of the screens helping just a tad to numb your mind as you felt all pairs of eyes in that room were focused in on you.

Nothing you had not handled before, so you stood up even straighter - and put a brave face, jaw clenched.

“We’ll debrief for the mission ahead once the FNG carries himself over,” he instructed all the others, his tone sounding almost tired of dealing with the new guy, as the other soldiers that you could not really recognize behind the dark fabric chuckled. With the grip on your weapon relaxed, you continued to hold it against your chest like you were trained to do, losing yourself in the gentle upheaval of the base behind you. The smell of cordite coming in closer, it was followed by residual panting and boots against concrete.

“Pretty good, Soap. But I’ve seen better.”

As you searched for the body to finally associate the name to, it did not take long for you to spot yet another pair of blues, these ones a bit stormy and icy in the little specks - piercing nonetheless. Tall, you would note, as his built legs took him towards the monitors you stood near. His chest heaved in a mild rhythm, the weapon clad iron tight in his gloved hands - in the split second that you had gazed at him, you would also spot his mohawk, which he surprisingly sported well.

Oh.

What intrigued your curiosity more was that he was staring right at you too - the clenching of his jaw indicated that he was trying not to, for too long. In an attempt to break the uncomfortable nature of the interaction, he would nod in an almost respectful way, though there had been some sort of light reflecting in his irises.

It was Captain Price’s authoritative voice and the clearing of his throat that brought you back to reality, from that interlude which felt like it lasted almost forever. After a soft nod of acknowledgement thrown at the man, your focus was again redirected back to your officer in command, awaiting your next assignment.

“Listen up - the cargo ship mission is a go. Get yourselves sorted out. Wheels up at 0200. Dismissed.”

A plethora of strong echoes of yes, sir rang throughout the space, the tone intensified at the hinted urgency of the mission. Perhaps you should not have been so surprised when Captain Price called out your name, beckoning you to come hither.

“Sergeant, it’s your turn to run the CQB test. See if you can get the squadron record broken, eh?”

Maybe it was your eyes lying to you in the early hours of the morning but you could have sworn you saw Gaz’s smile from the edge of your vision as he headed out from the hangar, with the FNG trailing right beside him, sunlight seeking to outline his broad back to you, adorned by the weapon strapped down. With no other evident choice presented to you other than following orders, you did so - this time, with much more purpose.

Was it the fact that you trusted Price with your life? Or was it how you fought side by side in the trenches with Gaz, as dirt and bullets rained down over you both? Was it the way the squadron welcomed you in without question nor judgement, without having their eyes trail down all over you laced in other intentions?

Was it the brief eye contact you had with yet another new soldier into the squadron that told you, somewhere deep within your subconscious, that everything would be just fine?

This de novo sense of excitement and vigor within you, originating from an unknown source led you towards the ladder with considerable ease - you would not notice the way Soap’s eyes lingered on you just for the briefest of moments, turning back before stepping out of the sliding doors - before Gaz eventually and practically dragged him out by his arm.

And that night, during the only time he got to write in his journal before the looming mission, Sergeant MacTavish would start, while his memory was still fresh, the hard lines and edges of the very, very rough sketch which would end up as his most prized artwork - a drawing of you.

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[hatboyproject]

Finally, all 57 spoken lines of dialogue are in place for this scene, complete with branching paths that both set & check for the presence of different variables & only unlock once both paths have been heard.

This ensures the player only gets the more emotional stuff the more they talk with him during this conversation, & if they don't want all that, they don't even need to know it's there.

Because I embrace pain, I have been working on a 4K body texture for Jeff to bring him more in line visually with his surroundings & with Shepard, because up until now he's been using an AI upscaled 1024 X 1024 image, which sucks and is noticeable.

So I've been taking the opportunity to paint in a bunch of details by hand, starting by changing the skin tone to match his. I've gotten rid of the existing freckles on the body & given him ones in different locations. I've given him a lot more body hair, including arm & leg hair, because I see Jeff as kinda a fluffy boy in contrast to Kaidan's waxed look. I've also given Jeff a ton of big, long scars on his legs of varying ages, based off of bone graft & Ilizarov cage pin site scars. His legs aren't "pretty." I mean, they are, because they're his legs & also scars are neat. I have a bunch myself! But you know what I mean. They aren't pretty in the stereotypical sense.

Right now the challenge is mostly in matching the skin tone & disguising seams, because for long & boring technical reasons what you see on the texture is not what you get in game, colour-wise. Also I don't like to be needlessly mean about someone else's work, but the way this model was originally UVd (prepared for texturing) by whoever at Bioware was... Not excellent. Decidedly un-good. Its seam placement is garish & baffling & honestly for the Legendary Edition of this mod I may very well make good on my threats to re-UV it despite having to then also re-weight it for the skeleton & of course create an entirely new hand-painted texture. As opposed to what I'm doing now, which is fairly extensive editing.

For example the elbow has been painted in the wrong location and I'm needing to move that as well as calm down a lot of this strange contouring in the arms that makes them look like pulled beef. I'm trying not to be mean here but... I've never seen forearms that look like what this texture seems to think they look like, and it's taking a lot of work to fix.

On top of this I need to edit the Normal map, because the pectoral muscles on it have been sculpted to look like sharp cut glass & need to be toned down.

I'm doing all of this though, and in terms of the original Kaidan body texture, have done all of it non-destructively... That is to say, the corrections I'm making to Joker's unique texture that would also be nice to have on Kaidan's (such as the moved elbow & better forearms & normals) exist on their own & I'll make those assets available once they're finished, so that other people can use them.

"If I've already done the work, no one else should have to," is my motto. "Give me coffee & pizza, I'm hungry," is also my motto, but it isn't as catchy, & no one listens to it anyway.

Excuse the blue hue, that was an error that has since been corrected, but it shows what I mean about the weird forearms & misplaced & kinda overwrought elbow skin.

I have no idea how to do a Read More thing on mobile so forgive me, but in the interests of showing the texture, this shows some of the changes I've made (not the moved elbow just yet, that's still how it is in vanilla.) But I've calmed down a lot of the overdone stuff. That weird beef jerky thing is still visible slightly because it's there on the Normal map.

"Homf"

So yeah. Been tweaking animations in the conversation as I've been going along, too.

Most of the dialogue in this scene is going to be more or less raw synth output and that's because... I want to try to use the lip-sync generator prototype for this, but that depends on the files from xVASynth, for the timing & placement of sounds. So if I mess with it everything will be wildly out of sync with no way to easily correct it. So I'm going to have to take the hit there & forego editing dialogue in post.

Because... honestly, if I have to animate 57 lines of FaceFX completely by hand, key by key, shape by shape... I will probably go fully and actually bonkers.

I think I've done around 80 or 90 for the entire mod up to this point. 57 in one scene is an achievement I am going to give myself a medal for because look, modesty & all, but GOD DAMN.

[onepiece-writting-forest]

“Apology.”

Setting:  One Piece Universe; Zoro x Reader

Word Count: 1765

Summary: You damaged his sword a few times now and Zoro was clearly sick of it. He was frustrated which lead into anger. Anger he targeted at you. You knew he was right, and decided to apologize to him properly. This couldn’t end like this. 

!Credit to the Artist!

“That's the third time now, enough!”

He barked at you like a wild dog, and snatched the sword out of your hands. You wanted to use them a bit, just to see how it would be with a sword. He gave you permission a few times now and watched over you. He taught you some easy techniques and was quite excited to give you all of his knowledge. However, you always used his swords and in your inexperienced hands it happened that you harmed the blade. He told you to get yourself your own weapon, but since it was rather just to try out and not actually your weapon of choice for combat, you didn’t.

This was the third time. The third time you tried something with it, and accidentally cracked the tip of the sword. Zoro was patient in the beginning, he knew that it took time to learn it. But his weapons were not your toys when you were bored. He made this very clear. You watched him push it back into it’s scabbard before he stepped closer to you. The way he stood in front of you was threatening. Like a wild animal ready to lash out. He didn’t care that you were a crew member nor his friend. He had told you to be careful several times and this was enough.

“Get your own god damn sword. I’m sick of having to repair them all the time only you can play. This isn’t a game, Y/N. Swordsmanship is not a fucking game.”

You wanted to yell back and protest, however your words were stuck in your throat. You knew he was right, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Your pride was stopping you from actually listening to him and your impulsiveness had made you do it three times now. You’ve never seen him this angry and it scared you. Your body instinctively stepped back and you flinched at his words. Zoro was still standing in front of you, eyebrows deeply narrowed. His body language spoke aggression, which he tried to hold back. You made the string of patience rip.

Quickly you left the crows nest and disappeared into your shared room with the other two ladies. Nami and Robin had heard your argument and looked at each other, before following you into the bedroom. With your friends by your side, you quietly cried over your mistake.

“It’s better you apologize to him. As mad as he is, he will calm down after you do.”

“Are you sure? I doubt he wants to see my face again.” You sniffed and clinged onto your pillow. Robin nodded reassuringly and gently stroke your back. She didn’t want to remind you that what you did was indeed somewhat stupid, and Zoro was right. Nami was in the same boat. It was better to look ahead and look for a solution to get along with your crewmate again.

“Of course. I remember when Usopp wanted to leave the crew and basically dragged Luffy through the mud, Zoro gladly accepted him back when he apologized. He’s a simple man Y/N, and in no way someone who holds grudges for a long time.” Nami smiled at you and gave you a tissue to wipe those tears away. Hearing that, made you think for a moment. They’ve told you that story before, they probably knew the swordsman better than you did, considering you were rather new in comparison to Nami and Robin. You nuzzled your face into the pillow a bit and nodded.

“I will. Thank you.”

The next day when Zoro woke up, his hand automatically grabbed to his swords. With a yawn he put them besides his hip where they belonged to. Wado Ichimonji, Kitetsu...Shusui…wait.

“Shusui?” Confused he looked around in the room. His third sword was missing. He swore he left it next to him. He looked in his bed, in his closet, in the other beds and closets. It couldn’t be...did he leave it in the crows nest? He remembered he put all three swords aside before he went to sleep. “Fuck where did I leave it…” He mumbled to himself and looked through everything again. No matter how many times he looked in the room, he couldn’t find it.

Frustrated he walked on deck and searched there for his weapon. Usopp was sitting in the gras of the Sunny and noticed his crewmate walking around in distress. Before the sniper could question his mood, Zoro spoke up already. “Usopp, did you see Shusui?” He pointed at his hip where only two of his signature swords were. The other man shrugged and shook his head. “Nah, didn’t see it.”

“I saw Y/N leaving with it into town.”

A high voice pitched from the other side. It was Chooper, who was holding some drink in both of his hoofs. He sipped it slowly and looked at Zoro with his big deer eyes, like the innocent little thing he was. The swordsman tensed up noticeably and sighed. He clenched his hands into fists. It made Chopper back off a little. He was clearly mad at you taking his sword again. Zoro thought you haven’t learned your lesson and assumed you were messing around with it. How many times did he have to tell you to stop it. He already snapped at you yesterday. He wondered how stubborn you actually were. Maybe you did it on purpose he wasn't sure. But enough was enough.

“Z-Zoro...w-wait what's the matter?” Usop watched him stomping off the sunny with confusion. He wasn’t on the ship yesterday, therefore didn’t hear the argument you had. The anger his friend was radiating was irritatingly strong. He’d never seen him this angry at you. “What was that…”, the sniper mumbled to himself, before he shrugged and continued to work.

You had some business in town which you just finished. The way back to the harbour was quite calming, it was a small little road through a little forest area. The atmosphere surely helped your nervosity. Robin had helped you get Zoros sword while he slept. The weapon was wrapped in fabric and strapped on your back. It should be a little surprise along with the little bag you had in your hand. You dearly hope he would forgive you. You felt sorry for what you did and didn’t want to risk your friendship to continue like this.

Sadly, the surprise wasn’t one for long. In the distance you could see the owner of the said sword. His posture was giving you clear signs. Zoro was mad, yet again because of you. He must have noticed his sword was missing. Obviously. You had hoped to get back to the ship before he woke up, which clearly failed. You swallowed hard when he stomped to you and grabbed your collar.

“Z-Zoro, please let me explain!”

You rose your hands in defense when he handled you this roughly. His fingers were dug deep into the fabric of your shirt, an iron grip which you couldn’t escape. His eyes shot from you, to his sword on your back. Seeing the fabric around it, he narrowed his eyes. “Did you break it now?! I swear to god if you-”

“Let me explain Zoro, I beg you.” Your voice was filled with fear that he’d be mad for you forever. The expression you gave him through your eyes made him hold still for a second. He frightened you. You looked like a scared animal ready to run away and hide. With a sigh he let go, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. Speak.”

“I...I wanted to apologize…” Zoro raised one eyebrow when you grabbed behind your back to his sword. You placed the bag in your hand on the ground to remove the fabric from the weapon. The scabbard was shining in the sun. Someone polished it, even the little scratched in the wood were gone and a fresh layer of polishing wax was on it. You pulled the black blade out, the one you broke the tip off. The metal was shining as well, sharp like new. Zoro eyes widened when he saw his sword. He was speechless. It seemed like you brought his sword to a blacksmith to- not only repair the blade -but also give it a clean up. It looked fantastic, he didn’t know what to say. “Y-You…”

“And this.” You put the sword back into it’s scabbard and handed it over to him. Zoro gladly took it, still speechless. The bag on the ground was also for him. You gave it to the swordsman as well. A delicious smell hit his nostrils. He didn’t have to look inside to know that it was the smell of smoked eel. It was still warm even. With his sword in one and, and the food in the other, he stood there completely baffled. He didn’t expect this and didn’t know how to react. His eyes wandered from the food to his sword. However, when you spoke up, Zoro faced you again.

“I’m sorry for acting like that. I know swordsmanship is not a game, I apologize for disrespecting. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Zoro stood there in silence for a second, before he sighed deeply. He put his sword back and stroke through his hair. He felt like he had to apologize as well. He was way too rude to you. The way he had grabbed you earlier obviously had scared you. It wasn’t his intention. Zoro didn’t want to scare you off like that. “It’s alright. I guess I should apologize for being that rough.”

With a relieved smile you shook your head. You were more than happy that Zoro accepted your apology. That was more important. “Already forgotten...I hope you like smoked eel by the way.” Zoro nodded with a small smile on his features, and sat down on the side of the road. He motioned next to him. “Hope you do as well.”

Together you sat next to each other and emptied the little box full of delicious rice and eel. Zoro asked you how you managed to get his sword and how you found that blacksmith. You quickly explained which made him grin a little. You were a bit clumsy with swords but you surely were witty. Soon you two drifted into some conversation about god and the world, as if nothing happened. Nami was right, Zoro wasn’t someone who held grudges long. Especially not with this kind of apology.

[mxvladdy]

Beelzebub- True Form

Three more boyos to go!

Next up: Leviathan

Beelzebub-  

The embodiment of starvation. The sharp contrast between his healthy and fit forms is truly baffling.

Mouths are scattered all over his gangly form. It is the only human thing about him as he is faceless otherwise. When hunting they release a mist or plague of locusts depending if his hunger is physical or emotional

His hunting form is juvenile and frail. Naturally small and unassuming, it is perfect to lure his victims close and ensnare them forever. He attracts souls with an overwhelming hunger. It’s a lure filled with false promises of substances and warm. When close he latches on like a parasite and gorges until there is nothing left but an empty husk.

Once full his form shifts into something- greater- his small body growing and stretching. It’s somewhere along the lines of a human growth spurts, or puberty, but is done in moments. It’s uncomfortable for him; the rapid growth takes a lot out of him.

When fed he is larger, but still skeletal in form. It’s a permanent reminder of his new immortal purpose. His skin is like stone, hard and grey but translucent. It is stretched tight around his frame, like an artist canvas over his jet black bones. The texture of it emphasizes all the odd twists and turns of his bone structure and whatever else lies underneath his flesh.

Each raspy breath he draws from the many mouths scattered around his body rattle his disjointed skeleton. His bones clinking together with every exhale to create a truly chilling symphony.

When crazed with hunger he loses himself. In his younger years as a cardinal sin he was responsible for wiping out land masses and civilizations to try and dull the ache before his brothers could contain him.

His gluttony isn't only for physical sources of substances. Slabs of meat only go so far. He will latch on like a leech, to anything that radiates his current emotional cravings. Love? Happiness? Fear? He wants to experience it all. Filling and cramming every little space with whatever sensations he craves. Till the deadened feeling in his chest is a little less.

There was a time where he was very close with his brother sin greed. During their younger years as demons they would terrorize the mortal realm, a deadly duo. Both unable or unwilling to control their new urges.

He hates this existence. He’s empty and it drives him mad. Was he like this in heaven? Honestly, Beel can’t remember anymore. He doesn’t think so. He had his brothers and sister to keep him in order and a different name. At the time he was called Temperance, right? He thinks. It’s a bit foggy.

But what hurts him the most is that his family structure is fractured now. There is a hole where Lilith used to be, and no amount of souls or food will ever fill that.

When he met you it helped a little. But he has to be weary.

He has better control of his abilities now then a couple centuries ago so you don’t have to worry too much. He likes having you around. It fills part of the void that he’s been struggling with for so long. Being with you makes him feel like dirt has finally hit the bottom of what he thought was a vacuous void inside.

Sometimes his natural abilities seep out when he is hungry or frustrated from another family row.  He gravitates towards you then, searching for that odd human comfort demons just don’t possess. He sips slowly on it; with your permission of course. Not the wisest idea- but an idea nonetheless. 

Mini Fic

Sleepy Sloth Boi- Hey. Can you check up on Beel? He had a bit of a argument with Asmo today Sleepy Sloth Boi- Apparently he ate a homemade face  goop? IDK, it’s stupid.   Sleepy Sloth Boi- I would, but I’m stuck in a remedial class with Lucifer Sleepy Sloth Boi- I don’t know when I’ll be out-                                                                                     Ok! Is he in your room?-   Sleepy Sloth Boi- No, at the gym. Asmo called him and chewed him out. Didn’t go well. Trainers called me. He busted up some equipment and might have eaten someone... They want him out.                                                                                  Oh... K I’ll head over now-

You frown down at your D.D.D and stuff it in your bag. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. You had heard stories of his terrible temper when hungry. Most of the time you have seen him just mope, huddled up in the kitchen eating his feelings. He was always open to talk though and you usually could convince him out of the kitchen so Lucifer didn’t have an aneurysm over a barren fridge.

The gym isn’t far from the house. A short tram ride and a walk down a couple of familiar streets. You have spent every Saturday morning with Beel there, spotting him. Not that you really could. With the amount of weights he was dead lifting, but he appreciated the company nonetheless. You ring up the front desk dashing across the street. It goes straight to voicemail. Crap it must be bad. You round the corner right before the gym and skid to a halt. Glass and metal litter the cobble street. The shards flicker off the lights of the street lamps drawing your eye to the sheer amount of damage around you. Some equipment even stuck out of the wall adjacent to you.

You make your way closer. “Human! Tis’ not the best time to be here. We are having a bit of an issue.” A terrified trainer scuttled towards you, mandible clicking in alarm. “You best turn back. We don’t need your body littering the streets too.” They wave a three fingered claw back up the street. On cue a weightlifting machine was launched through the remaining window exploding on impact with the road. A few more trainers run out after it, yelling and pushing at each other to get out of the way. A dark black mist bellows out after them.

Well shit.

“I’m actually here to try and help.” You smile down at the tiny demon trying to instill some false confidence in them. You think you could handle this. You didn’t want to call in the cavalry to get him. Knowing Beel, it would only trigger his guilty conscience. “If you could give me a moment.” Ignoring the little creature you creep forward, careful of the broken glass and praying that no more equipment got launched.

“Beel?” You call out peaking your head through the gaping hole on the side of the gym. "Hey, Belphie texted me. Wanna talk about it?” The inside of the gym was dark. Wires hung and sparked dangerously in front of you. A large burst pipe blocked most of your vision. “Beel?” You could hear his loud bone chilling breathing. He was close.

“Careful.” You jump swallowing the curse that threatened to slip out. Beelzebub emerged from the darkness at the back of the gym. His eyeless face locking onto you. “You are close to a line.” His many mouths move in unison. Some rumbling as he spoke, others just drawing in rasping wheezing breaths.

“Thanks.” You jump back onto the street. “You wanna come out? You look a bit cramped.”  He was comically too large for the allotted space. His goliath sized body packed into a little sardine can. He rattles for a bit considering. You cock your head to the side looking at the empty street. “Plenty of room out here.” You wave at your sole spectator and give them a small thumbs up. They blink in horror over your shoulder. Eyes locked on the beast emerging.

“I’m sorry.”  He drags himself  out. Thick steel like claws causing the little trainer hiding behind you to whimper. Beel’s fingers dig into the stone and mortar. Oph- this was going to cost a bit to fix.

“It’s ok big guy-happens to the best of us.” You say casually. Once he was outside he shivers in the cool afternoon air. His bones creak as you approach him. “May I touch you?” You approach hand raised. He never cared if you touched him in his human form. It centered him a lot of the time. He enjoyed the feel of your soft and giving flesh against his smooth hard skin. But this form was slightly more dangerous for you well being.

Beel shakes his head at your movement melding back into the dark hole. His mouths open wide to release a plume of black smoke. The trainer cries out, scurrying back further down the street. You hold your ground however. Chin up definitely, unafraid at what you knew was coming. The thick black vapor coats your skin. It latches on to you and seeps through your pores. You feel him in the back of your mind running through your head, searching for something. You breathe slowly, letting him shuffle through your psyche.

You feel a flush of warmth, a near giddiness that brings an uncontrollable smile to your face before it is gone. Snuffled out like a candle in the wind. A slow chilling tingling begins in all of  your extremities as he feeds off your emotions. He pulls at your center, eating away at your mental state. An odd empty ache blooms in your chest, you need to untangle yourself before he bled you dry.

He pulls back then, knowing when he has gone too far. The pallor of his skin is richer now. A darker grey than before. The waxing sheen gone and replaced with a deep purple hue underneath. His cobweb like veins thumping with life. “Thanks~” His rattles remerging onto the street. His oblong head nudges your shoulder, checking on you. You pat at it, careful of the mouths and razor sharp teeth.

“Of course; don’t mention it.” You turn on weak knees to the trainer. Looking at complete ease with the cardinal sin currently wrapping his many limbed and mouthed body around your comparatively tiny frame. “I guess this is not super common?” You ask, waving at the destruction. They shake their head.

“He-he ate Gordin.”

“Ah-ye. He does that. Sorry.” At a loss, they accept the sleek business card you thrust at them with your free hand. “Call Mr. Morningstar. He can work on the repair finances with the manager.”

“But Gordi-” You wince as the little demon’s mandibles tremble, voice getting frantic. Could demons shed tears? You were about to find out.

“Beel?” Cupping his large head you stare at him, eyes traveling over his face. His mouths snap shut, body turning smooth. The only movement from his was his hearts beating steady beneath his translucent skin. He stood still like a statue carved by a deranged artist. “Beel.” You say again more firmly. You step away from his hooked fingers. “Spit them out.”

He doesn’t move. His inner rattling becoming louder and more defensive.

You roll your eyes and look back exasperatedly with a shrug. The other demon stares speechless in terror. Or with the dawning realization of just how absurd this whole situation was. You turn back to Beel, fists balled on your hips. “If you don’t I guess I’m going to eat all these snacks I brought.” The death rattle stops. You could feel his full focus on you now aghast. “I’m serious. Mammon even went and bought those new limited release batwing chips too, extra spicy.”  

He hacks suddenly, back arching like a cat as a large seam opens on his skin where his stomach (stomachs?) region was. A bulky demon covered in purple viscous sludge tumbles to the ground with a wet squelch. Their skin was a sickly color and their eyes wide in terror.

“Gordi!” The other trainer pushes past you and grabs at the trembling demon, pulling him away from the hungry mouths.

“Thanks, Beelzebub.” You walk him quickly down the abandoned streets once the two others had fled. He lopes behind you, gaunt body swaying in the light breeze. Once you hit the more crowded streets he moves closer to your back. Other demons on the street give you a wide berth, eyeing and swatting at a few straying arms or fingers that attempt to grab them or their things. You move quickly, hoping to avoid having to scold him again for eating more demons.

“I’m sorry.” Beel croaks once more when you finally come to a stop at an empty park bench. He sits next to it expectantly. The grass and foliage around him weathering and turning to dust at his touch. His arms subconsciously start stuffing the dried grass and flowers into his many mouths.

“It’s ok.” You repeat yourself coming to rest on the park bench. Without preamble you dump the contents of your bag onto the ground. He croons in delight at the mound of snacks being pushed to him. “Eat up. Take a breather and then we can talk. If you want.” With that he dives in.

Beel munches in silence, mismatched limbs unwrapping-or not- the treats and popping them into his little mouths. You watch for a bit before getting preoccupied with a book you borrowed from Satan. You don’t know how much time passes before a boney finger pokes at your forearm. The same arm then hovers by your nose offering you a pudding cup.

“Ah, thank you!” You close your book and take the flan pudding. He had finished most of the food and had calmed considerably. Most of the mouths have disappeared, closing as they were sated. He scoots closer, the oppressive neediness of his sin dulled to an almost non existent thumping in your stomach. Easy enough to ignore, especially now with a sweet treat boosting your mood. “Feeling any better?”

Beel grunts, scratching at his knobby spine. You watch him for a moment. Reading his emotions in this form was hard. Thankfully, you knew the reason for the outburst this time. First time you stumbled upon him like this  had been an absolute circus. A terrifying, and destructive circus. He had been in full form that night. Locusts and clawed fingers moving in blurs, swiping at everything that came near. The younger brothers screaming at him over the sounds of breaking furniture and the buzz of insect wings. They dodged around his tantrum trying to calm him before Lucifer returned from a meeting.

“It’s a damned ice cream cup!” Satan roars, close to shifting himself. The tell tale heat of his body starting to radiate out and singe the carpet beneath his feet. Beel screeches back, flies and spittle spraying out over them. Asmo yelps and  drags you out of the room with him.

“Ugh! The moment he gets all gross and buggy I’m out.” He shudders, locking the door on the apocalypse happening on the other side. “Hopefully Mammon can slow Lucifer down so they can neaten up.”

“Is he going to be ok?” You look back watching the solid door shudder under the weight of a body being thrown.

Asmodues sucks his teeth dismissively, bright nails clicking away at his phone. You glance at it seeing that he had messaged Mammon to bring some take out too. “Oh ye, this happens from time to time. He just has to let off some steam. Then we can stuff him with food and he’ll be right as rain. You want anything hun’?” You shake your head stunned by his carefree attitude as the house shook around them.

Beel had come to apologize for his behavior later that night. His human form a little banged up, but no worse for wear. You went out for ice cream in hopes to cheer him up. Offering an ear too if he needed an outsider's perspective. You were also curious about his true nature and had a thousand and one questions to ask. He was apprehensive at first. It was clearly a sore subject for him. But over time he opened up, speaking freely about his struggles and fears of destroying his family's already shaky foundation with his gluttony.

“Asmo is furious with me.” He sighs, bringing you back to the present. He rests his head on your shoulder, careful with his weight.

“He’ll get over it.” You stroke his cool skin tapping at a closed mouth. It opens and licks your finger. It was as close to a kiss as this form could get to. “It’s not like he can’t make more.” Beel huffs, rubbing his head into the soft fabric of your sweater.

“I am nothing but a burden to them aren’t I.”

“Never.” You don’t hesitate. He grumbles unconvinced. “Hey,” You nudge him off your shoulder to look at him. “Remember last Saturday? How you helped Levi get his limited edition statue?”

“I just stood in a line.” He pouts. “And I only did that because I ate his Ruri-chan mochi’s.” Oh- you didn’t know that part.

“Well, I still think you’re a good brother.” You cover. “ Tell me, would any of the others do the same? You beat yourself up over every little mistake. How many times has Asmo or Mammon swiped one of your snacks?” He hums contemplatively, nails clacking on the concrete.

“But I always lash out when they do that.” You nod kicking your feet up to lounge on the bench, back resting against his. Grabbing at a set of arms you wrap them around your waist playing with the fingers that weren’t razor sharp.

“Yes, and? Asmo just did too. Runs in the family by the looks of it.” You chuckle. “ So why should you be the only one not allowed to get upset? But next time call before rampaging through the city, K?” You smile up at his monstrous visage. He smiles back hesitantly before coming closer.

Beelzebub nips you gently with his primary mouth. Large fangs careful not to break the skin. A cute little display of gratitude. He tastes your sincerity on you. Sweet and smooth on his tongue. “Thanks,” He rumbles. Cradling you close, he rises to his full height. “I think I’m ready to head back now.”

You snuggle into his unyielding body checking your wrist watch. “Yeah big guy? Guess it is almost dinner time.”

He picks up the pace.  

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (43) || atz

It’s a fine day once more.

The morning sun shines down upon the Treasure, its golden rays touching your cheeks as you glance up at the sky. It’s been peaceful the last few days, and you’ve heard from Yeosang that your captain has begun considering sailing back to Nassau so that Seonghwa can visit his childhood friends Seohyun and Soobin.

The cook’s been in a much more cheerful mood for the last few days after hearing those words, excited about seeing how their baby is coming along. He can’t stop gushing to you in the kitchen about how cute he thinks the baby is going to be, worrying endlessly whether they’re going to be alright, to the point that you’ve resorted to stuffing bread rolls in his mouth to keep him quiet so that he can focus on his cooking.

You don’t him to end up with two less fingers like Soobin.

After preparing breakfast with Seonghwa, you’re now seated in the rigging swaying back on forth with the wind, letting the sun warm your face as you prepare for another day ahead.

“I can’t wait to get back onto dry land.” Yunho comments with a groan from above you on the main mast, hanging upside down from the ropes. You glance up at him with a smile, shielding your eyes against the sun.

“I’m sure Jongho could always throw you overboard if you’re sick of being on the ship.”

High pitched laughter comes from beside you and you turn to see Wooyoung swinging over from the mizzen mast, grinning as he steps over to you, expertly keeping his balance on the yardarm. He’s surprisingly steady on his feet, considering the last time you’d seen him yesterday, he was screaming drunken insults about Yunho’s apparent pea sized brain for not understanding how the mizzen mast was the better of the two. He bows mockingly, gesturing to the sparkling ocean far below you.

“Maybe you’d like to go for a swim, your majesty?” Wooyoung jibes, barely able to keep the snicker out of his voice. The lookout tosses his shoe at his friend and Wooyoung ducks easily, catching it in his hand.

“Be silent, you knave.” Yunho grumbles, now missing a shoe. Reclining against the ropes, he gazes at the horizon with a steady eye, body bobbing up and down with the pitch and roll of the ship. “I still haven’t forgotten the last time you pushed me off the yardarm to save your own ass and I fell into the sea because of you.”

You raise your eyebrows as you glance at a shamelessly grinning Wooyoung, who is neither denying nor confirming it. Knowing the head gunner, however, it’s probably… no, definitely true. “How did that happen?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to answer, but before the silver tongued charmer can say another word, Yunho cuts in, obviously knowing full well Wooyoung is going to twist the story upside down to his own advantage.

“We were on the main mast, arguing about how the main mast is obviously the better mast,” Yunho begins with a haughty tone, ignoring Wooyoung’s cry of indignation. “When San was at the wheel he stupidly beached the Treasure on the shore and the whole ship jerked. I, being the better rigging monkey, caught my balance, but Wooyoung-”

You unconsciously grip the ropes beneath you a little tighter, suddenly wary of falling off the mast yourself. Ahh. So that’s why no one on the ship trusts San with the wheel. You sometimes wonder how they even trusted him with their injuries in the first place.

“I’m a better rigging monkey than you!” Wooyoung splutters in outrage, but Yunho flat out pays no attention to him, continuing with his tale. “As I was saying, I caught my balance but Wooyoung fell. I was reaching down to save him, but then he grabbed my arm-”

“I didn’t need any saving-”

“And I fell off instead! It’s twice as bad because he stayed on the mast and I didn’t!”

“I was perfectly capable on staying on the mast myself, thank you very much.” Wooyoung grumbles, but Yunho isn’t listening to him in the slightest. In fact, he’s so pumped up with ranting that he’s starting to wave his long arms around like a windmill, complaints spilling from his mouth completely unchecked.

“And do you know what else he did? During a battle at sea, he even jumped onto the main mast on purpose! My precious main mast! The crow’s nest got blown off, you know? That’s like the head of the mast!’

You’re starting to lose Yunho to this silly argument, having no idea where this is going.

“Why is it Wooyoung’s fault the main mast got hit?”

Yunho stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because he’s so ugly everyone tries to shoot him.”

“What did you say, Yun Hoe?” Wooyoung screeches in the background like an offended pigeon. “Haven’t you forgotten that time you grabbed onto the mizzenmast sail and ended up tearing a huge hole in it? You defiled my beautiful mizzenmast and exposed her for everyone to see!”

You’re utterly lost from this conversation now, baffled as to why any of this matters in the first place. “Come on, guys…”

“You blew the mainmast’s head off!”

“You shamed the mizzenmast in front of the whole crew! The disgrace, Yun Hoe, the disgrace-”

“Oh yeah?” Yunho actually looks furious now, drawing his cutlass from his side. Panicking, you turn to Wooyoung, expecting him to use that glib tongue of his to somehow worm his way out of the antsy situation, but you’re shocked to see that he’s drawn his own blade as well, looking every bit ready to fight Yunho.

“Come at me, Yun Hoe!”

“It’s on, Poo Young!”

Sighing at their antics and the sheer stupidity of it all, you turn around to glance at the sea before you. It’s the same as before, an endless expanse of shimmering, deep blue as clouds drift past the horizon, sun shining-

Wait.

Frowning, you block out the sounds of Wooyoung and Yunho’s ridiculous squabbling, leaning forward to squint at the delicate line separating the ocean from the sky. Puffs of white clouds are rolling across the blue sky, but there seems to be a patch of white moving in a different direction from the others.

“What’s that?” The words leave your lips in a mutter, but Yunho hears it even over his argument with Wooyoung. His eyes narrow warily even as he sheathes his cutlass, stepping over to you.

“What is it?” He asks you and you point far into the distance, trying to understand how that one white shape is moving towards you instead of away from you, like the rest of the clouds are.

“That cloud is acting weird.” You tell him, feeling Wooyoung step towards you from behind, curious as to what is happening.

Suddenly, Yunho stiffens next to you, staring at the white shape. Frowning, you turn to ask him exactly what has gotten him to tense, but Wooyoung seems to realise it as well, fingers tightening on your shoulder unconsciously, all traces of his argument with Yunho vanishing in sight of the odd cloud.

“That’s not what I think it is, am I right?”

Yunho chews on his lower lip. “But why would any of ship be out here?”

You finally realise it now. The white shape that’s growing in size is actually a sail, starkly contrasting against the blue sky behind it. A chill runs down your back as you lean forward unconsciously, trying to catch a better glimpse of it, but Wooyoung pulls you back before you can fall over.

“Wouldn’t want you taking a dip now.” Wooyoung tries to smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s obvious that he’s worried at what the sight of this white sail could mean, considering it could be a simple merchant ship or even a Royal Navy frigate.

The three of you wait with baited breath as the ship grows in size.

Then suddenly, as if they can read each other’s minds, Wooyoung and Yunho both freeze at the same time, the very tension in the air sends a shiver down your entire body. You turn to glance at the two of them, confused as to why they’re acting this way.

“What is it?”

“It’s them.” Yunho spits as he stares at the horizon, seeing the snowy white sails crest the waves. You frown, unable to see as clearly, leaning forward and squinting to see what exactly could be causing your two fellow rigging monkeys so much distress.

Wooyoung curses, baring his teeth as he leaps to the ropes as fast as he can. “I’m going to tell Captain.” With that, he slides to the main deck with an urgency you’ve rarely seen in him, in such contrast to his usually easy-going and cheerful self.

But then you catch sight of it and your own eyes widen in horror.

On the sails fluttering in the wind is a red shape, starkly contrasting against the snow white background.

The same sigil decorating the shoulders of the coat you had woken up with.

The symbol on the red wax seals of Lucio’s letters.

The emblem of a crimson rose.

Your heart sinks in your chest.

It’s the Royal Navy.

“Damnit.” Yunho curses under his breath, fingers tightening on the handle of his cutlass. He’s afraid of what this might mean, for the crew and for him. How did they find you here? Was it simply by chance? Or have they been tracking you somehow? “We’re going to get into a huge battle again. I hope you’re ready for a fight, Chin Hae.”

“Is it stupid to hope that they’re not here to kill us?” You mumble under your breath but Yunho snorts, shaking his head.

“We literally all have bounties stamped on us. There are rewards of up to five hundred gold pieces for our captain’s head. Fifty for each crew mate. Two hundred for San. Two hundred fifty for Jongho and I. Three hundred for Mingi and Wooyoung.” He exhales shakily, staring as the blood red rose grows ever closer. “If they don’t want to kill us, I’ll eat my own shoe… and Wooyoung’s at that.”

You laugh nervously, trembling fingers seeking his and gripping tight as you watch your impending doom. “Want to raise the stakes?”

“I’ll even admit the mizzenmast is better.” Yunho mumbles uneasily under his breath. Just as he says those words, the sound of a iron bar being struck repeatedly rings throughout the air and the deck floods with activity, the crew swarming to the bulwarks to search for the impending threat. He pushes you lightly to the ropes. “You should go. San will want you with him when the action starts.”

Nerves rise up in you, but you force it down and slide down the rigging, careful not to burn your hands on the ropes from friction. You drop onto the deck, making your way to the quarterdeck where you had last seen your master.

To your surprise, Yeosang is there as well, Mingi at the stairs bellowing orders to the crew to ready the cannons and prepare for battle. You hear the sound of the cannon carriages being wheeled to their spots, the powder monkeys running about in organised drills to ferry the gunpowder to their guns. All of the crew are readying their weapons for battle, suiting up and loading their muskets.

Tension runs high in the air and adrenaline in your veins as you step to the railing, where Yeosang and San are. Wooyoung must have headed to the gunwales to handle his powerful cannons, the long nine and the 42 pounder, the two most deadly and lethal weapons on the Treasure. San reaches for your hand nervously, squeezing it tight.

“Are you scared?” He asks, and you don’t bother lying to him.

“Yes.”

You hate the way your voice cracks even though you’ve been in battle twice already, once with the Royal Navy before and the other on Nassau. You wish you were braver than this, but you can’t stare death in the eye without the slightest whit of fear like your captain and Yunho and Jongho can.

Yeosang takes your other hand, and even though his face is ashen and pale, he still pats your hand comfortingly.

“Don’t worry.”

You’re reminded of the first time you had been attacked by a Royal Navy ship near Tortuga, Yeosang too, had taken your hand and told you not to worry. The difference this time though, was that you were no longer just a amnesiac girl who had to be protected by Jongho, but a person reasonably well versed with the cutlass and musket, who had experienced dangers and could help people around her with her healing ability.

You just hoped it would be enough.

“Yeosang-ah, can you tell anything about the ship?” Your captain calls from this wheel, his voice eerily calm as if they aren’t on the verge of a massive battle.  Yeosang leans forward a little, squinting as he tries to make out distinctive features of the ship.

“It looks like a standard Navy ship, about fifteen cannons down each side on the upper deck. A three masted frigate with no battering ram and it relies on sail power, not on rowers. But…” Yeosang’s voice trails off in shock and you glance at him in worry.

“But?”

You had thought that Yeosang was already pale from fear, but then all at once every drop of blood seems to drain from his face, leaving him white and bloodless. His fingers tighten on the railing of the ship, mouth falling open in horror and pupils dilating in fear as he stares at the approaching ship in shock.

Concern floods you. “Yeosang-oppa?”

“The flag they’re flying…” Yeosang breathes, barely above a whisper. “It’s a black crow.”

San stiffens.

“What?”

Hongjoong somehow manages to hear that over all the noise coming from the main deck, because he whirls around in shock to look at the ship coming from the stern, instructing Mingi to take the wheel. His boots click on the deck as he makes his way over to the three of you, his one green eye narrowing in fury as he stares at the approaching dark shape. His anger radiates him like some sort of black miasma that’s poisonous to the touch, the very air around him almost acrid with sour rage.

“How dare he…” You captain seethes, before turning to Yeosang. “Yeosang, are you alright?”

But the navigator only continues to stare at the ship in shock, unresponsive to his captain except a mumbled ‘yeah, I’m fine’ that no one believes.

You’re confused as to why this ship seems to have such a massive psychological impact on Yeosang, but then San tugs on your hand lightly, his usually bright eyes grim.

“That’s the ship Yeosang’s father captains.”

Memories rush back to you, from that night you had decided to heal Yeosang with your very life force. An officer with a single, golden monocle, thin lips pulled into a permanent scowl, a white scar above his brow bone, golden patches on his shoulders.

Commander Kang. Captain of the Royal Navy ship the Black Crow. Yeosang’s father.

The man who’d abandoned his only son to bloodthirsty pirates and had left him for dead.

“Oh shit.” You mumble under your breath, realising the gravity of this situation now, how it not only crosses the physical boundaries but also the emotional and psychological. You take Yeosang’s hand in both of yours and clasp it tightly, hoping to offer some comfort, but he doesn’t seem to register it, eyes still fixed on the ship.

Then something catches your eye that makes your heart stop in your chest.

“Are they… are they seriously hoisting a white flag? A parley flag?” You spit out in shock, and your captain stares at the Black Crow, utterly furious at the sight and yet completely bewildered by this abrupt change of events from what he’s used to. A Royal Navy ship offering to parley with the Caribbean Sea’s most wanted pirates? That was wholly unheard of in the whole of maritime history.

“Are they mocking us?” You hear San growl under his breath, obviously incensed, but you must have gone a little crazy from the mixture of shock and terror, because an unsteady little giggle leaves your mouth, your hands trembling from both suspense and trepidation.

Your master glances at you, obviously concerned. “Chin Hae? Chin Hae, are you alright?”

Another near deranged chuckle spills from you as you shake your head, mind as blank as the parley flag being hoisted from the foremast.

“Oh no…” You begin, unsure what to say, every thought fleeing from your mind as the dark shape almost looms over you in your imagination. “It’s just that…”

Another uncontrollable laugh escapes you.

“Yunho needs to eat Wooyoung’s shoe now.”

[noire-pandora]

Wildflowers for @14daysdalovers​  Also on my AO3

Words:  2410

Warnings: None

Pairing: Solavellan. 

Elluin shivered, goosebumps blooming on her skin as the chilly air of the morning found a way to sneak under her leather armour and kissed her skin. She encouraged the fire in front of her to burn brighter, her magic fueling the flames. 

The morning watch found her yawning as she waited for her companions to wake up and resume their trip back to Skyhold. No matter how exciting the Emerald Graves was, she missed the castle, its corridors and the bedroom it came with. And the double bed. Sleeping in a tent, on the cool, rocky ground, with twigs stabbing her back and neck might have been fun at twenty years old, but now, at thirty-six, she appreciated a good, fluffy bed.

She learned how to enjoy the privacy of her room provided, especially when she shared the tent with Solas. His presence, his body so close to her, kept her up at night, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The thought of waking up too close to him brought butterflies in her belly.

She huffed, yanking a stick in the fire. The feelings for Solas baffled and thrilled her. She’d be a liar to say she didn’t love the subtle flirting games going on between them or his pleased look when she didn’t back out from their little verbal teasings. 

She found the words dance exhilarating, a welcome break from all the pious and polite words the rest of the people threw at her. The people who saw her as the Herald, as the Inquisitor; a being above them, a being who inspired fear and respect. And while Solas showed her nothing but respect, she noticed the thrilling spark of something else in his eyes when his gaze lingered on her face or when his fingers touched her skin, a second too long as he healed her wounds. As the days passed, she waited, convinced those subtle touches would turn into heated caressing. 

Until Wisdom died and Solas disappeared for two weeks. In those weeks, doubt gnawed at her mind. Did she imagine it? Did she invent those signs? Will he leave her with the bitter longing in her heart? Those fourteen days felt like an eternity.

When he returned, she felt the sting of the tears in the corners of her eyes. As she ran towards him, her heart smashed against her ribs, pushing her to hurry, to abandon any restraint and press her lips against his. To admonish him for leaving her alone, for forgetting to visit her in the Fade at night. But Solas’ pained expression stopped her in her tracks. His suffering reflected on his face made her understand the deepness of his sadness. The games stopped, and a distant politeness fell between them.

And now, a week after his return, the loss still affected him, the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes.  He spoke rarely and only when absolutely necessary. He searched for solitude, and no matter how much kindness and understanding she offered, his polite but cold smile pushed her away. 

She had no idea what to do, and every time she opened her mouth to speak with him, she stumbled on her words. A nagging thought added conflict to that: jealousy. Jealousy on a spirit. She believed the connection between Solas and Wisdom might have been more than a simple friendship. 

The noise of the tent flap opening broke her trail of thoughts. Cassandra emerged from the canvas, yawning. She wore nothing but a linen gambeson; her armour still stashed carefully next to her pillow. She nodded in acknowledgement and headed towards the trees, flexing her fingers. 

Suddenly, she stopped and turned on her heels to look at Elluin. “Inquisitor, what are you doing up? This isn’t your watch but Solas',’” she turned her gaze to search for the elf, but she frowned as he was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Solas?”

Elluin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she shrieked, making her way back to Elluin. “Did you not meet with him when you woke up?”

“I did, I did. I told him he can go back to sleep since I was up, but he decided to go for a walk instead. He left an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?” Cassandra threw her hands in the air. “Anything could have happened to him in an hour. “

“Cass, Solas is a grown man,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “He travelled for years on his own. I’m sure he can take care of himself for an hour, in a forest.”

“I know, but sorrow can blind anyone. He has not been himself since he left Skyhold. I will go after him.”

“Wait, I’ll go after him,” she got up from the log she sat on. “You’re in your gambeson, and it will take you at least fifteen minutes to put your armour on. I can find him faster.”

“Are you certain about it, Inquisitor?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m in my armour already, and I can see and hear better in the forest than you. I’ll be fine,” she took a moment to stretch and yawned again. She had no idea how to find Solas, but the thought of a stroll in the forest, alone, brought a smile on her lips.

The twigs snapped under the pressure of her steps, the mix of rotten leaves and mud sticking on the soles of her shoes, hindering her movements, but she was in no hurry. Cassandra exaggerated in her worries, and she knew Solas was in no danger. He survived alone, as an elf and a mage, for more than forty years. She doubted this forest could offer any challenges to him.

The trees surrounded her, giants swaying under the gentle touch of the wind. She stared at them, muttering a small prayer for her ancestor buried under their roots. The soft whispering of the woods brought peace to her mind, all the nagging thoughts about the fate of the word forgotten for a few minutes. The music of a flowing river joined the symphony, its confident bubbling encouraging her to follow its path downstream. She walked next to it, skipping and jumping on the stones scattered on the river’s bank, allowing herself a few moments of playfulness. 

Soon, the river completed the trip, its waters feeding a small, almost oval lake. Rays of lights gleamed across the water, its surface mirroring the blue, cloudless sky. Wildflowers surrounded the lake, the diverse colours of their petals joining the green of the grass, their leaves resting under the warm touch of the sun. A sweet, floral smile tickled her nose, and she took a deep breath in, filling her lungs with their scent. Her muscles instantly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over her. 

She frowned. A crouched silhouette moved in the middle of the flower patch. Her fingers twitched, ready to release her fire magic at the smallest sight of violence. The figure rose from their position, and she sighed with relief as she recognised the person. Solas. She grinned at the image in front of her: his lean, tall figure, surrounded by multicoloured flowers, their leaves touching his legs. She made a mental note to capture the scene on paper. 

“Solas!” she shouted, her voice breaking the peace. “Over here!”

Solas jumped, turning on his heels to face her in a hurry,his face strained. He immediately relaxed at her sight. In his hand, he held a small flower bouquet, the rich colours of the wildflowers contrasting with his pale fingers. A little pang of jealousy crossed Elluin’s mind.

He made his way through the patch of flowers, his feet never stepping on them. A small smile tugged at his lips, his face relaxed and calm. Her heart skipped a beat, his beauty stopping her breath. She stared at him, hardly moving, unsure what to do next. 

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her as he eventually met her. “Did something happen?”

She shook her head to clear her mind. “No. The usual. Cassandra turned into the mother hen once more, and she sent me to search for you. She worried for your safety.” 

He chuckled. The melody of his laugh sent shudders down her spine. 

“Cassandra should not worry about my safety. I can take care of myself.”

Elluin rolled her eyes. “I told her that, but you know how she is.”

“Indeed.”

Silence shrouded them as they took in the beauty surrounding them. Elluin glanced at the flowers in his hands, curiosity nibbling at her mind. She knew he valued privacy, but she had to know who was the lucky soul to receive them. 

“I see you picked up some flowers. Who’s the lucky one?” she grinned in an attempt to ease the air between them and hoped Solas won’t notice her worry. 

He looked down at his hand, his eyebrows furrowed as if he forgot about the flowers’ existence. “Oh,” he acknowledged, raising the bouquet in front of his chest. “I gathered these for you.”

“For me?” she stuttered. “Really?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You said you wished to make your own flower garden at Skyhold. If you cut their pods and the seed heads and let them dry on wax paper for a few weeks, you can plant them. I cannot guarantee you they will bloom, but you can give it a try.”

Elluin stared at him, a curious expression crossing her face. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, hesitating to find the right words to say. When she spoke again, amazement coloured her voice. “Solas, I talked about that once, with Blackwall, months ago. You didn’t even participate in the conversation. How did you remember it?”

He smiled. “Indeed, but I did overhear the conversation, and I have a good memory. When I stumbled upon this meadow, I imagined you would be happy to take a piece of its beauty back at Skyhold. I apologise if I made a mistake and—”

“No!” she cut him off quickly, stepping closer to him, closing the distance between them. “No, it’s not like that. I’m just surprised you remembered. I want that. I want to take them at Skyhold. Thank you,” she whispered her thanks, a faint blush spreading on her face. 

Her hands reached out to take the bouquet from his hands, their fingers brushing in the movement, but Solas hands still gripped the flower’s stems, his gaze fixed on her face. She looked back at him, forgetting how to breathe. 

“I am the one who should thank you. For your help and kindness.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Help?”

“Yes. You helped me when I needed it the most. When Wisdom was in danger.”

She sighed and looked down at her legs. “I don’t know how much I helped. I couldn’t save Wisdom. They died, and you suffered,” she laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t call that helpful.”

His long finger gingerly touched her chin, lifting it to look in her eyes again. “Even if Wisdom died, your eagerness to help mattered more than you can imagine. I am in your debt.”

Her thumb softly stroked his knuckles. “Don’t be silly, Solas. I’m sure I’m not the only one who helped you when you need it.” 

His hand left her chin, and he shook his head. “You would be surprised. It has been so long since I could trust someone with my private matters.”

“I see,” she mumbled, unsure how to act next. This was the perfect time to let her heart confess how much he meant for her, but her legs trembled with fear. She gulped down the nod in her throat, but before she could say anything, Solas spoke again. 

“I also want to apologise to you, Inquisitor.”

His words snapped her out from her state. “Apologise? What for?”

“Varric told me how concerned you were for my safety. He said you hardly ate in those two weeks I have been away.”

Her gaze dropped to the flowers both of them held as embarrassment took over her mind. She cursed herself for allowing her feelings to become that obvious. But suddenly she frowned. No, she had every right to be worried.

“I thought you would never come back. I thought you abandoned us,” she whispered. “I thought you hated me for not saving Wisdom.”

“I thought about it,” he said, the words pushing Elluin to stare at him. It was his turn to look at the flowers they still held. “To never return to Skyhold. But then I realised you did everything you could to help, and I couldn’t abandon you right now,” he shifted his gaze back to her face. “I apologized for being away. I needed to find another reason to come back. Something to keep me steady on my feet.” 

His hands left the stems of the flowers to hover above hers, their skin barely touching. He swallowed hard and studied every line of her face as if to memorise them. 

“And?” she inquired, her voice quivering. “Did you find it?” 

Solas smiled and nodded. “I did.”

The answer brought every surrounding sound to a halt, the thudding of her heart against her chest the only noise she could hear. A faint dizziness took over her. Her instinct screamed to move, to say something, anything, but her body refused to listen. Seconds passed, but no words came to her. She saw Solas’ shoulders drop, the intense expression on his face slowly replaced with his usual, calm demeanour. His hands finally left hers and she understood the magic of the moment passed. He left her side, heading towards the forest. She slapped herself mentally for missing the perfect opportunity and the ideal location for a romantic confession. 

“We should get going, Inquisitor,” she heard Solas saying. “Before the Seeker sends a searching party to find us.”

She snorted, shaking her head, and slowly left the meadow, in no hurry to abandon its beauty. The wind caressed the colourful bouquet in her hands, and she smiled at it. She looked up to check if Solas watched her, but he slowly walked away, paying no attention to her. 

She buried her face in the bouquet, the pollen colouring the tip of her nose and her cheeks. Pure happiness took over her as she took a deep breath, the sweet, wild smell tickling her senses. It was the scent of love. The scent of his love.