#but had a great time none da lesse

[peevishpants]

4 Rainy Day Outfits For The Inclement Weather Enthusiast ☔🌧️🌧️

Individual design details noted & linked below! Clicking each one leads you to their own individual post with their own commentary. You can also check the rainy day tag on my blog to see them all. ^^"

[itsonlydana]

Heyy I just wanted to ask if you could write something for Thranduil x gn!reader just something really light and fluffy maybe like how he takes care of reader what they do in a day and just spending time together doing romantic things and reader really just enjoying life without a care in the world... (Deine Fanfictions sind soooo super ❤️Ich stecke grade sowas von in der Prüfungsphase es ist echt Gold wert wenn man deine Stories zu Lesen hat🤌🏻 )

Spoil Me, Pamper Me, Love Me | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x gn!reader 👑

a cozy day spent with Thranduil

warnings/tags: none, fluff!

words: 1,4k

an: such a lovely request; had such a fun time writing it :) take the elvish terms of endearment with a grain of salt.. i literally googled them lmao but i made sure to use gender neutral names. [Ich wünsche dir viel Erfolg bei deinen Prüfungen, anon! Ich hatte meine im Februar und hoffe du kommst da gut durch <3]

+ masterlist + rules +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Being Thranduil's beloved comes with positives as well as negatives – he is a king, a leader after all, and most of his waking hours are dedicated to keeping up his political alliances.

This spanned from week-long travels to other kingdoms to meetings that could last long enough for most of the day to pass without seeing each other much.

Many of these affairs do not require personal attendance though and only expect Thranduil to correspond through letters; a convenience you both treasured admits all the dragging conferences at round tables that were more draining the less importance of the topic to be discussed – even a royal elitist like Thranduil, who took great pleasure in all things rich and extraordinary drew the line after twelve hours of staring at two types of wood to repair a bridge.

Paperwork days – as you called them – were the perfect opportunity for lazy mornings between you and Thranduil. Drowsily cuddling underneath silken sheets that caught the sunrise in their translucent fabric, shutting out the world for unhurried fooling around in each other's arms and with only your giggles and his huffed laughter carrying any indication you were awake at all.

Breakfast was served in your shared chambers and instead of getting up and dressed you took the small feast in bed, unbothered by the missed chit-chat and gossip that eating in the great hall brought forth for Thranduil's kisses are much sweeter than anything anyone could have done.

There is nothing the Elvenking wouldn't do for his significant other, including providing you with the ripest fruits to feed you only to lose himself in peppering kisses to your lips – chasing after the taste of the fruits that colored your lips red and pink.

"The sweetest," Thranduil mumbles, his lips moving from one upturned corner of your mouth over the bow of your lip to the other corner where he breathes another kiss into the crinkle of amusement that makes no effort of hiding across your whole face.

You are sprawled across the bed, still in an airy night robe that's pushed up to your thighs to leave room for Thranduil's hands to gently caress the skin.

The elf himself towers over you, the comfortable weight of his lean yet strong body pressing down on you as his hair falls over the both of you like a curtain of starlight. Your hands trail over his muscles as kisses the spot behind your ear that has you giggling and nudging your knee against his abdomen to push him away.

"Stop, my King–" you laughed, hands sprawled across his chest without any real strength behind them, "you know I can't stand this teasing!"

You feel the pull of his grin against your skin before you hear the rumble of his deep laugh. "I do, meleth e-guilen, I do," Thranduil says, and tipped his nose against yours, "but that makes it all the more tempting."

Your hands trail up to his shoulders and gather some of the light strands of hair, sweeping it over his back. His skin glows in the sun pouring through the window, thrumming under your touch, and with him draped over you, one warm leg between yours, the heat travels to you even if his broad back blocks out the golden light.

"Awful," you huff, "you are nothing but a dreadful lover, keeping me trapped here in bed." Like your hands on his chest, the words carry no harm behind them or any attempt to push him away from you.

If anything, you revel in the attention he peppers you with. The last weeks had dragged you apart and moments like this, where you had to think about nothing except for your lover's care toward you.

"Awful?" he repeats in a playful tone and makes a move to sit up. "Whatever did I do to deserve such harsh treatment?"

Instead, he quickly grabs you by your waist and before you can realize what's going on he has flipped you over, laughter bubbling up your lungs and spilling out while he falls back onto the mattress, pulling you with him and leaving you to topple over across him.

His fingers dig into your sides, holding you down onto him so you can't even escape the tickling that he dooms you with. "Awful, they say! I will show you dreadful, you minx."

Whenever you do make it out of bed eventually, hair all messed up by his hands, Thranduil insists on dressing you.

He treats you like you are made out of glass, warming up the milky creme in his hands before he massages it into your skin so that the chill doesn't bother you, and he sits behind you on the bed while he combs through your hair.

"Looks like thrush nested here," Thranduil chuckles. He barely evades the hand you swipe back at him as you snort indignantly. "Careful! You will scare the birds if you are not mindful of them"

The curse you throw at him instead has him gasping at the pure filth that leaves your mouth that, after hearing his reaction, curves into a smirk. "Get back to combing, Your Majesty. I do not have all day."

"Your word is my command, guren vell."

Thranduils lips kiss your neck, featherlight and then again, lingering. You sigh and let your head drop backward, falling to his shoulder, and blink up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes full of adoration.

His smile lights up a fire in your heart, the softness of it on marble features a reason to go to war just to see it again and for you to be the only recipient of this gentleness with which he wraps his arms around your middle, the hair comb long forgotten, that fuels the fire for all eternity.

On any other day, the duty to dress you would lay in the hands of your most trusted servants or your own, though nothing reached the level of wonderful that Thranduil made you feel right now, helping you to flowy robes.

For you, he even sinks to his knees, the only being alive that deserves this honor of the Elvenking kneeling in front of them, and you smile down at the crown in his hair, the silver circlet glittering just like his cerulean eyes in the midday sun, as he fixes your shoes for you but not without breathing more kisses on the inside of your calf which he carefully holds.

"Shall we walk through the gardens later?" Thranduils hand falls to your lower back on your way through the intricate floors of the underground palace, evoking a pleasant buzz in your stomach.

"We could go riding out," you muse, thinking back to the last time you and Thranduil had taken out the royal elk.

Thranduil steps closer, ignorant of the servants and elves rushing past you with lowered heads and bows, to nip at the curve of your pointed ear.

For everyone else, it looked like he had just kissed you, but his teeth grazed the delicate skin in a hidden manner.

That's how the public display of his utter devotion to you goes; loving kisses that – away from prying eyes – turn completely devoid of etiquette, as well as his hands that never seem to leave you, whether it's in the form of a simple pressure in your lower back or resting on your side to hold you close to him.

Thranduil did not need to put you on display for everyone to know you were his, the expression in his eyes told the story of a King completely in love in a way that didn't need flashy gems or luxuriant robes; not that those weren't gifts you regularly found yourself unpacking nevertheless.

"Whatever you wish for. My heart is your loyal servant," Thranduil vows, smiling at the bright-eyed expression you gift him at that.

The letters on his desk could wait for a day longer, he had all of eternity to manage his kingdom.

Thranduil spends the rest of the day tied to your side – or behind you on our royal moose, as you take him outside to the forest, Thranduils arms around your waist and his chin propped up on your head, as you let yourself fall into his chest. In these woods, with your beloved's sharp senses taking in all of your surroundings even while he busies himself with twirling the fabric of your robes between his fingers or drops kisses to your shoulder and neck, you are completely safe.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[thekingofwinterblog]

How to fix Halamshiral as a Zone

Inquisition is a flawed game.

I don't think there's anyone who is going to argue otherwise.

The only question is wheter you place it higher or lower than DA2.

One of the things I think it does better than DA2, is that it managed to give every place a soul, an identity of it's own, and at least a distinct, if not always amazing storyline.

The emerald graves doesnt have a very interesting plot, but it has some spectacular side quests, and atmosphere, inculding a haunted mansion, which might be my favorite possession based quest in all of DA because it shows much better than others just how dangerous untrained mages actually are to those around them.

The storm coast tells a story of what was once an important dwarven port, and shows how it fell and was repurposed over time.

The Hinterlands shows the aftereffects of the templar mage war, as well as solas stupid plan to give cory his orb, and the mage rebellion and an actually decent time travel story.

I could go on, but the point is, I usually have at least aomething nice to say about every single region.

All except one.

Halamshiral.

Halamshiral was the single worst part of all of Dragon Age Inquisition for me, and every single time I boot up this game, it's always the last thing i do before the temple of sacred ashes, despite how bizarre the game flows as a result.

And the reason is because i hate everything about it.

I hate it's unique attempt at side quests, i hate the characters involved, i hate the Orlesians who inhabit it, and i hate how this section tries to copy what worked so amazingly well with Orzammar and Denerim during the landsmeet section, and fails every single shot it lines up.

The ONLY good thing i have to say about this, is that it's at the very least relatively short.

So here's today's question. How to fix Halamshiral?

Let's begin with the three main players.

Celene, Gasparde, and Briala.

The big problem with every single option, is that they all suck.

Celene and Gasparde are both fucking awful people without any redeeming qualities, they have no charisma, and there is no prospect of the Empire reforming itself under either of them, the way Orzammar would under Bhelen.

Meanwhile, Briala is much, much better, but the problem is that we know exactly what is going to happen here if you support her.

Maybe today elves will have it better, but tomorrow, when Gasparde is gone, or celene turns on elves again as she always does all the progress will be repealed, and reversed, along with a few purged alienages.

Its an old story that's been told before in Dragon age.

In short, there is no reason at all to care about this overall plot. None whatsoever.

There were so many reasons to care about both Orzammar and Denerim in the same situation, and every single character involved had so much more charisma than either of these would be monarchs.

So let's fix that.

Starting with Celene, take the idea of her wanting to reform the empire, and actually take it to the next level.

Celene is genuine in wanting to reform the empire, and has already taken grand, successful steps to make the entire thing much better for everyone, even elves, giving them and serfs more rights, outlawing the practice of chevaliers having a tradition of killing unarmed city elves to graduate.

But the catch is, while she is genuinely making progress, she is doing so within the confines of the great game.

Celene has nonintention of changing the great game, no plans of wanting to remove this thing that holds Orlais back more than any other, this center stone of their nobility and it's culture.

Meanwhile, Gasparde is a different kind of reformer, one that takes the ideas he had of him claiming to hate the game, and actually doing something with it.

He is far less progressive, has no love for elves, is far more warlike than Celene ever was... But unlike Celene, his ideas of reform isn't going to act within the grand game.

He's going to break it.

Unlike canon gasparde, this gasparde is hated by every single noble family in the entire empire. His only support, and it's a strong one, is the army. The parts of the army that supports Gasparde, and they are a huge part, are loyal to him personally to the hilt.

And he hates them back. He hates the game, he hates the way it cripples the empire, and he wants to change things. Like Celene he plans to break the serfs free of their chains, for the good of the nation and it's power and economy if not for any progressive reasons.

And he'a going to start with Halamshiral.

For this Gasparde isn't merely positioning men to stage a coup... He's planning to kill EVERY SINGLE NOBLE in Halamshiral. Evety man, every woman, every child there.

He's going to reform this empire by wiping out it's cancerous nobility in one fell swoop, and install himself as supreme dictator to see his reforms through, and wiping out the entire Orlesian nobility that might have opposed him, french revolution style.

And thus the Inquisitor has a dilemma.

Unlike Orzammar, where only one side was a reformer, both of these Orlesians are... But you have to choose one.

Do you choose Celene? The more progressive candidate, who wants a more peaceful Orlais going forward? But who is not willing to get ridd of the grand game to do so, thus making it a permanent risk that all her reforms will be undone...

Or will you support Gasparde, and by doing so be complicit in destroying the entire nobility of Orlais, many of whom are not guilty of the shit that Celene and Gasparde here both hate so much? Gasparde is far less likely to create a peaceful Orlais going forward... But he will have obliterated the Grand Game for good and all, a prize that might be worth this Red Wedding style bloodbath.

Meanwhile there is Briala, the elven spy who has enough influence to allow, or prevent Gasparde's plans from going through.

Here there should be another moral dilemma, quite different from the base game.

Do you convince her to aid Gasparde, in exchange for the Elves getting a duchy of their own in Halamshiral? Do you then back her up with Inquisition forces and support, forcing Him to publicly announce her as such, and trust his own, twisted version of honor to actually stick to it going forward(Something he ultimately does), or do you throw her to the Wolves the moment things get rough?

Or alternatively, do you convince her to side with Celene, and bury the hatchet? And if so, on what terms? And similarly, if she actually wants to get something out of this, you actually need to back her up... Something you may, or may not choose to do.

And voila, here you have an actual story of intrigue, massive, lasting political changes as a result of the Herald's actions, and morally grey on grey choices.

Everything that Denerim and Orzammar had in spades.

Now moving on from the plot to the actual place.

Halamshiral has no soul.

It's a french villa on a mountaintop. Whoop de freaking do.

It has no interesting murals, unique art only found there, interesting geography, or anything really to make it stand out.

Compare it to Denerim and Orzammar, and the way they fleshed out the entire city's levels of power and criminal underworlds, and you see the difference.

Denerim is a very realistic, squat, squalid medieval city, with it's buildings built on top of every single bit of available space.

Orzammar is a full on high fantasy dwarf city lit up by a lake of lava.

Halamshiral is a villa presented as a city.

How do you fix that?

There is an artist here on Tumblr who pretty much showcased what Halamshiral could have been, if they had taken the idea of the Dalish(who were the original owners) taking inspiration from native americans(amongst others), and use that to build a truly spectacular city, which has long ago been paved over, but the structure is still there.

Make it a city on the water, like the aztex capital of Tenochtitlan, a marvel of canals and stone.

Make it this Venezia like city, with canals everywhere you look, and the entire city running on water. A marvel of Dalish city building, where they took something as simple as a couple of islands in a lake, and built the most beautiful city in the world.

And rather than just limit you to the palace, instead let you actually explore this city.

Expand the entire event from one night, to a week.

Let the Herald explore the city, meet the players, interact with the nobles, become friends with a few like you could with Ferelden's bans, which in turn makes the possibility of sacrificing them for the greater good hit so much harder.

Let you choose what fancy stuff to wear to the balls and meetings, rather than have this stupid motto of forcing you to wear one, pre determined outfit like this game had for some reason.

Let you discover the places where what little Elven Architecture and art still remains can be found, and talk with the elves who still live here, the descendants after the first elves the Orlesians enslaved.

Make the plotting of Gasparde and the positioning of troops be gradual, not instantly discovered and twarted.

And at the end, if you choose to back Gasparde, you mirror that scene from Dragon Age 2, where the Templars sail across the bay, and you either step aside and witness the bloodbath you just allowed to happen, or you fight them and be recognized by the nobility(most of which are horrible, horrible people) as a hero who just saved the day.

Have the venatori plot be to kill both Gasparde and Celene, rather than their involvement mostly be about handing the player the the easy knife for the knot of which monarch to pick without having to get your hands dirty.

Also have the entire group be gathered for once. Every inner member of the Inquisition just like at Denerim.

Each of whom have their own thoughts on the events.

Who supports who? What is the right thing to do? What is better for the inquisition? Are you staining your honor beyond repair if you back Gasparde? Does the Inquisitor maybe have a breakdown after witnessing what they just allowed to happen and they walk through the gardens or rooms filled with corpses? Maybe have the scene at the end with the love interest be about a moment of them truly comforting their lover in the aftermath of it all, understanding(or not) that as boss, it's your job to have to make the tough decisions. And now you have to live with them.

Or if you wanna go the other way, this could be one of the breaking points like Origins had. If you support Gasparde, Blackwall choses to tell you to get bent, and that he will die as benefits a knight. Defending the week, and calling you out on how you are just as bad as he ever was, a child killer who's going to run away from responsibility, to pretend you are some better person than what you actually are. You're a murder. Just like he was. You are just as responsible for the blood that's flowing as he was with that carriage back in the day.

It would have been a far more impressive reveal moment for his crimes, that's for sure.

Cole probably would be the one who would be second most upset, but wheter he leaves or ultimately stays should probably be depended on your other choices and your relationship with him prior to this, probably have his personal quest be the determinating factor of what he chooses to do.

And i could go on, but point is, this would be a return to Origins choices actually mattering. There were choices that could make or break a characters bond with you. Shale would not budge regarding Caridin, Leliana and wynne would stand against you if you choose to defile the urn, Sevran would choose to betray you for his old friend if he didn't like you enough, and of course the age old choices at the end of act 3 in da2, where you have to pick between templars and Mages, as well as anders fate, and chances are regardless of what you do, at least 1 person ends up dead.

If anyone reading this has any suggestions for how to further improve this storyline, feel free to share, but regardless, i think we can all agree that this is a vast improvement of what we actually got.

[lottiette]

Hi sweetie!! you're very good, I really like Billy fics, would you like to do one where Billy introduces his (still unofficial) girlfriend during a family dinner?

I would love it, hope you have a great day 🫶

luv u

Billy Thunderman X Reader

“What Are We?”

summery- Billy I introduces you, his unofficial girlfriend, to his family.

Authors note: Hey Anon! Thanks for the request. I apologize that this is kinda short and maybe not the best. I couldn’t really think of ideas but I hope you enjoy this. Feel free to provide feedback and advice.

Word count- 833

Warnings- none.

You were with Billy in his room studying for upcoming exams. It was more procrastination than studying but…you know. When you arrived there no one was home yet. It was just you and Billy. Nora went to hang out with some friends and everybody else was somewhere out. Nora came home at some point coming into the room to hang out with yall for a few minutes, then a few hours later you heard the door open and a middle aged woman speak, “Kids! We’re home.” “OKAY!” Billy and Nora yelled down. You and Billy continued to study, mess around, play fight, maybe kiss a few times. Who knows?-

Around 5:30pm another yell came from the middle aged woman. “Dinner is ready!” You hear a bunch of foot steps running down stairs. You huff, “Well, I guess I’ll take my leave now then.” You start collecting your things and Billy stops you, “Why? You don’t want to stay for dinner?” “Well I mean, there probably isn’t an-“ he cuts you off “Nonsense, stay and eat. I know how much you like food.” “I wasn’t really invite-“ “You’re invited! Plus I’m sure my family would love to meet you.” “Are you sure?” “Totally. Come on!” He grabs your hand and starts running down stairs with you(not with his powers)

You both make it down stairs to the kitchen and see his whole family already there. They all turn and look at you. You stand there awkwardly Quasimodo-ing into your self. “Um Billy who’s that?” The woman who you presume to be his mother asks. “Huh? Oh! This is ‘reader’.” “‘Reader’ this is my mom,” his mother shakes your hand “I’m Barb. Nice to meet you.” You nod and speak shyly, “nice to meet you.” “This is my dad,” His father gives you a firm hand shake, “Hank.” “My older brother Max and my sister Phoebe, they’re the twins.” “Hello” Phoebe say pleasantly while Max just gives you a head nod and a “sup” “and you already know Nora, and my little sister Chloe.” “Hi everyone nice to meet you” “When did you get here?” “Earlier. We were studying.” You say sheepishly. You look at Billy with an awkward face and smile. He just smiles back nodding with a bright grin. “So- Are you two dating?” The question catches you off guard, “What?” Your voice a bit high pitched “No- we-we’re not-“ You stumble over your words trying to explain but Hank saves you. He clears his throat “let’s eat lasagna.” “Yes let’s”

You all laugh and communicate at the table you. “So how long have you two been friends?” Phoebe asks you. “Uhh like since the beginning of the school year.” She nods. Slowly as time went on the conversation got less awkward and you actually started having a good time. You ate 3 plates of lasagna and later had dessert. Eventually it was time for you to go home. All the Thundermans wished you farewell. Barb liked you so much she insisted that you come over again for dinner soon. You’re about to open the door to leave, your hand hovering over the door knob but you don’t open it you swiftly run back over to Billy give him a kiss on the cheek “Bye sweetness I love you!” You cheerfully state then run back out the door. Billy is standing there smiling “Bye I love you!” His family stares at him shocked. Max leans to Phoebe, “HAH! I told you they were dating! 20 bucks.” Billy notices his family’s mouths agape. “She does that sometimes.” He says shrugging with a soft blush. “So are you two da-“ You come running back in this time soaking wet and a bit out of breath. They all stare at you. “It is pouring out there.” You’re dripping water. “Are you alright?” Billy approaches taking your freezing hands. Then thunder-monitor comes on. “Warning, tornado watch.” “Well you can’t go back out there” Barb states with concern. Barb continues, “Why don’t you stay here for the night honey?” “Oh I can’t do that to yall Mrs. Thunderman.” “No really it isn’t safe. Please stay till It clears up.” A loud thunder and lightning strike. “Yeah- okay. I’ll stay.” “Here come on. Come to my room.” Billy takes you by the hand and leads you up to his room. “Thank you Thundermans.”

In Billy’s room he gives you a towel, his shirt and some pant/shorts. (It’s your choice if you decide to wear the bottoms.) After you’re dried off and changed you and Billy cuddle up in his bed. You start whining, “My belly hurts!” “You ate a lot.” “It was delicious.” He holds you as he laughs and tucks your hair behind your ear. A movie is playing on his tv and you feel so comfortable in his arms but then your mind starts wondering with a question.

“Billy what are we?” …

[ell-vellan]

A bunch of my random, non-story initial opinions of Veilguard, with the knowledge that I do and will love this game no matter what, because I need somewhere to put them all:

I kind of hate the color customization system?? I cannot figure out the brightness and saturation levels to make the colors I want. Am I just dumb?? What am I doing wrong here that all the blonde options look green

I do love the stylized look of the game, it's different from DAI but it has a unique flavor and the colors are very lush (for once in a DA game lol)

So far, rogue has been more fun for me than mage. Haven't tried warrior yet.

i wish we could have customized Inky's arm/prosthetic even a little

It's so cool that we get body tattoos and scars and we can customized which ones go where. Would have loved to be able to mix and match but I know we can't have everything (sigh).

It's pretty apparent as someone who has background with the games, but it would've been cool to have the tattoos labelled "Dalish," "Dwarven," "Lord of Fortune," "Crows," etc for story reasons (even though I'm sure it only matters to the small percent of us who are into the fanfic side of things lol)

Elven ears are huge again and we can't change that. lol it's whatever i guess

The thing about customizing heads based on 3 different heads is...hmm. It's difficult to get the hang of, but I'm glad that you can customize it so much? Still, it's been hard for me to figure out how to make that look good.

they let us check our character in different lighting and with different armor!! great idea

terrible idea: only 3 previous worldbuilding choices. I got spoiled to this so I was prepared. but what the heck was the point of the Keep? why did we waste our time with all of that if none of it was carrying over? Way to flush the previous 15 years of story down the drain. Who's the leader of Orlais and Ferelden? Who's Divine? Who got left in the Fade? Guess it doesn't matter at all! I'm okay that we don't know where our Hero of Ferelden is, it's been long enough in game that their part is done, but Hawke? boo.

At first I was so excited about the "random" name generator! But it's literally just like 15 pre-made names not sorted by race naming conventions that you cycle through. Could've been cooler. oh well I know most of their demographic just wants to kill things I guess

The elves look like dwarves to me for some reason? like they're stockier now, not lithe like DAI. Just takes some getting used to.

While I kind of miss the open world a tiny bit, just for the sake of feeling like we're truly exploring and less "point A to point B," it's also nice not to feel like i'm wasting hours of my time just walking through open nothingness and getting a million meaningless fetch quests

The voices are all so good

Rook's moves are cool, they're fun to play

Speaking of, why do we walk so slowly?! I'm sprinting 100 percent of the time.

Miss the search function for items, even the highlight/glimmer is faint enough with the lighting of the maps I missed a bunch of stuff the first ten minutes

I wish we had a teensy bit more unique dialogues/reactions based on our background/race, so far it's been quite a small amount

I'm undecided on the whole...armor system thing

the maps are gorgeous

I love how many settings we can customize, it's great. I don't care about combat and I can make that part so much less annoying and save myself a bunch of time spamming attacks to get back to the story, which is what I care about, lol

Solas is so hot like this. wow

[sleepyfan-blog]

Consequences

Author’s Note: Hagiel part three! I hope you enjoy :D first. Previous

Tagged:@egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel @whorety-k

Warnings: none? Ask me to tag something if it bothers you

Summary: You and Hagiel chat for a little bit longer before parting ways. 

Hagiel held you close to his chest as the scouts eagerly chased after the ship that had briefly held both yourself and him captive. The fact that your vacation - which had been a great deal of fun, up until you'd been threatened by an asshole and kidnapped - had been a great deal of fun... But now your vacation had been thoroughly ruined, and by the gratuitous if warranted property damage being inflicted by the young Astartes was anything to go by, you were going to start working now. The younger mer were quick to sabotage the ship, their speed, strength and weaponry no match for the pleasure cruise that was completely undefended. You felt guilty for your fellow innocent passengers, and the crew - dealing with large, furious mers was tricky at the best of times, and with one of their own having been temporarily captured and injured on purpose...

You were glad that Hagiel had indulged you when you asked to briefly stop by the room on the cruise ship you'd been renting, which allowed you to grab your purse which had your phone in it. Astartes weren't known for their mercy when it came to those who would try and kill or capture their people. Blood would mingle with the waters here today. You could only hope that Hagiel speaking of mercy and innocents being caught up in the machinations of the guilty and cruel would carry over to whoever of the older Astartes were coming to deal with this incident. Not all Astartes pods would concern themselves with who was innocent and who wasn't, instead slaughtering all adult humans aboard. Sometimes the astartes would then take the human children to the closest human settlement. 

No one knew what happened to the children aboard such vessels if they weren't returned to human society. No one was brave enough to ask what happened, when the bodies or... bones, depending on the Astartes pod were discovered on a derelict ship, floating for who knows how long, waiting to be found by humans a grisly reminder of why fucking around with Astartes was a spectacularly poor plan. Those such incidents - and others where more pirate-minded Astartes who would leverage the lives of the human crew for whatever material onboard a seafaring ship that they wanted - was the reason behind the creation of your job. You were part of an Astartes negotiation team and had been frantically texting your boss from the moment you'd spotted the scouts.

Hagiel and his younger brothers appeared to be non-chaos, non-renegade Lamenters... You hoped to be able to reach an amicable agreement with Hagiel himself before one of the higher ranking Astartes in either the Lamenter pod or the Blood Angel pod - of which Lamenters were a younger off-shoot of - arrived. The older the Astartes, the less willing they were to negotiate and the more likely they were to go on a rampage - no matter where their loyalties lay. You really hoped that this incident wouldn't attract the attention of a Chapter Master - the Astartes with that title seemed to be in equivalent rank to the head of state of a country. From what you'd heard, they tended towards being incredibly uncompromising when it came to this sort of incident, and extracted very high prices to avoid the rampages that could result from this.

Lamenters tended to be easier to negotiate with - they tended to have noble and kind hearts, though with all Blood Angels and their off-shoots they had very dangerous and largely unknown triggers that would send them into either a blood-seeking frenzy, or a frenzy of howling wrath that always ended in death and copious amounts of human blood shed. The teenage Astartes were hissing at the repair crew, swatting at them as the humans attempted to fix the damaged ship, refusing to allow them to do so. You really hoped to avoid either the blood lust or the black clad fury from descending on the cruise ship, as there would be few to no survivors if that happened.

Hagiel hummed, resting his chin on top of your head, warm red eyes glancing down at your phone as he asked, sounding playful "What are you doing, miss?"

"I've contacted the nearby Astartes negotiation team. Considering what's happened, I'm legally required to tell them as soon as possible, so that they can react in a reasonable time frame." You answer honestly, hoping that the security film on your phone worked to prevent him from reading everything that you were texting to your boss, and what they were telling you. You weren't sure how he'd react. 

Hagiel nodded before answering "I suppose it does make sense to contact them, as it will make processing your fellow humans easier... Ah but the chapter master will want those responsible for my capture to be handed over for justice to be served. He's coming with several of the sanguinary guard."

You swallow dryly at that, knowing that Astartes justice is often swift, brutal and deadly. Especially when it came to the capture of and experimentation on an Astartes. "They also kidnapped me and put a lot of other baseline humans in danger by kidnapping you, considering not all Astartes are as merciful as you and your pod is, Hagiel... Considering that some..." Your voice cracked embarrassingly, and you hide his face in his muscular chest, flustered.

"Considering that some astartes pod slaughter or otherwise punish all adult humans on board such a ship, regardless of their knowledge or participation in the capture and torment of the astartes in question?" Hagiel offered with a wry smile He could see several baseline human children peering over the side of the cruise ship and waving enthusiastically over at the scouts he'd been watching over. three of them stopped hissing at the repair crew and waved energetically back. Two of them began to show off by doing a series of acrobatic flips and spins. Hagiel sighs and calls out "Scouts, to me!" He was faced with many pouty faces, though they did reluctantly obey, swimming over to where he was still holding you.

"So... Are you willing to allow baseline human law enforcement to help sort the innocent from the guilty?" You ask hopefully. Your boss had just informed you via text that the local Astartes negotiators and law enforcement unit h ad been contacted and were already on their way over,, but you were hoping to have Hagiel's agreement, as the Astartes who'd been directly kidnapped and hurt in this incident.

Before Hagiel could respond, a huge dark red mer with shimmering blond hair and piercing crimson eyes breached the surface of the swelling waves, joining you and Hagiel in the air as the scouts parted before him. "If Hagiel was the only astartes who had gone missing in this area, perhaps your request would be entertained. But Hagiel, temporary though his capture was, isn't the only astartes who's suspected to have been captured by baseline humans. in this region. A word bearer and a thousand son have also gone missing in this area under suspicious circumstances as well."

"Oh... I hadn't known that..." You respond as your fingers frantically text that over to your boss. This could be shaping up into an Actual Incident and could get really ugly, as there could potentially be multiple different kinds of astartes pods involved in this... Why did this have to happen while you were on vacation? You'd been accused of being unlucky before... But this was downright abysmal.

The massive red mer rumbled wordlessly in amusement before Addressing Hagiel "Return this baseline human to the nearest beach close to a human settlement, then take the scouts to the lar ger pod.... Unless, are you in need of an Apothecary?"

Hagiel shook his head "I'm not in immediate need of medical attention sir, though I should probably be checked over sometime today." He shifts how he's holding you in his arms and asks "Is there anything else on that ship that you need before we leave?"

You shook your head "No." You were going got be leaving behind some clothes and toiletries, but nothing that you couldn't replace. That and from the impassive stare you were getting from teh fuck-huge red ast artes behind Hagiel, you got the impression that the larger mer wasn't going to take any delaying shenanigans well... Or, possibly, at all.

He nods and flies you over to the nearest beach - the scouts trailing the two of you in the ater, occasionally making silly faces up at you.  

He sets you down on the warm sand, smiling softly at you, a contented purr rumbling in his chest "Thank you for your help, miss."

"I am glad to have been able to help you... And thank you, for coming to my rescue. I hope that the issue with the cruise ship will be resolved peacefully, and that the other astartes are found." You murmur earnestly.

"I am sure that Chapter Master Soloniel will be able to sort things out quickly. It's one of his strengths of his commander, to be able to see into the hearts' of others and divine the truth from lies." Hagiel rumbles cheerfully. He lets yo u go and starts to leave. He pauses for a moment before saying "I hope that we will meet again under better circumstances."

"I hope that we meet again in a better way, too." You respond.

Hagiel smiles warmly at you for a moment before diving off ito the sea, chasing after a couple of the scouts who'd followed the two of you from a distance. You watched them swim and play in the surf until they vanished from yoru sightline with a soft sigh. 

[jaimebluesq]

always found it interesting that despite the fact he clearly wants the sect to remain in the family, nie mingjue literally never made any attempts at continuing his bloodline, foisting it off on huaisang instead along with the sect leader title. what if it was he couldn't have had kids even if he wanted to, because taking up baxia too early caused him to become sterile? and admitting as much would have been too humiliating? anyway, brotherly scene where he's forced to come clean about it, and whether it ends in a decision to adopt or huaisang agreeing to take up a political marriage in the future just for heirs or whatever is up to you.

Oh Anon, you have no idea how close this idea is to my heart because of my own life experiences. I love that you came up with it, and thank you for sending it to me... now let’s see if I can do it justice.

~ ~ ~

Nie Huaisang stood outside his brother’s office, his hands twisting upon his closed fan. He’d been anxious for days, trying to figure out how to broach a particularly sensitive topic with his brother – had practised with both Nie Zonghui and Jin Guangyao to try and get his words just right. Oh, it was something he’d tried asking many times before, but his brother had always brushed him off and directed him to the training field for saber practice.

Not today. Today, he would get an answer whether his brother liked it or not.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked on the door and entered when his brother called out. He was careful to close the door behind himself before approaching his brother’s desk.

“What is it?” Nie Mingjue asked tiredly, his fingers rubbing at his temple. “Isn’t it time for-”

“Saber practice was this morning,” he replied, “and I actually attended today.” He’d attended only to leave one less thing to anger his brother on the day he came to seek answers – though Nie Mingjue’s fatigue made him wonder if he should have chosen a different day. But then, his brother looked tired most days since the end of the war.

“If you’re asking about-”

“Da-ge?” He waited until his brother finally looked up at him. “I... wanted to talk to you. About something important.”

Nie Mingjue looked him over, then picked up his papers and set them aside. He sat back in his chair, hands on the arms and fingers drumming along the cherry wood, waiting for Nie Huaisang to speak.

The first thing Nie Huaisang did was sit down to face his brother. “I heard from Zonghui that you received a request for an alliance from Yao-zongzhu,” he began, wanting to ease into the subject he wanted to address.

His brother sniffed. “He’s trying to pawn off his sister to anyone who’ll have her, all to tie himself to one of the great sects. I’ve no desire to ally with the Yao.”

“But what about the He,” Nie Huaisang prodded. “Or the Lan – Er-ge told me he has a younger cousin that’s quite lovely and kind and would make a wonderful furen. Or the Jiang – I know Jiang-xiong doesn’t have any blood relatives, but he has some promising lady disciples that would-”

“We don’t need another alliance,” Nie Mingjue ground out through gritted teeth. “Is that why you’re here? To harass me about getting married? Leave it alone – it’s none of your business.”

It was the same answer he had given Nie Huaisang before – but it was one he could no longer accept.

“But Da-ge... it is my business,” he said with a shaky voice that grew stronger with every word he spoke. “It’s my business because this is the reason I’m your heir, and I have the right to know why.”

Nie Mingjue narrowed his eyes, his face turning dark. “If this is just another argument to get out of saber practice-”

“I don’t want this!” Nie Huaisang’s voice broke mid-sentence. He tightened his grip on his fan. “I don’t want to be sect leader one day, you know this. And the Elders don’t want me either – you’ve heard what they say about me when my back is turned.”

“If you would only practice your saber more-”

“It won’t do a thing, Da-ge, because I’m not meant for this!” He took in a shaky breath. “Please, Da-ge, don’t make me do this anymore. You, me, the sect, we all deserve better, don’t we? Please don’t tell me you genuinely think me being heir is the best thing for Qinghe Nie?”

“This sect must be led by a member of our family’s main line,” Nie Mingjue insisted.

“Then why haven’t you started a family to inherit the sect?”

“Because I can’t!!!”

Nie Huaisang felt glued to his seat. There was something in the tone of his brother’s voice... it wasn’t anger, not just anger, but it was painful to hear. And then his brother’s shoulders dropped and he brought a hand to rub at his temple, and Nie Huaisang could have sworn he saw a glint of wetness in his brother’s eyes.

“I can’t,” Nie Mingjue repeated, slower and a little calmer.

When Nie Mingjue looked up, their eyes met. The two of them breathed heavily for several moments, broken only when Nie Mingjue picked up a document and threw it across the room. Nie Huaisang heard a rattling nearby; he glanced over to where Baxia trembled lightly in her stand.

“When one of us becomes sect leader,” Nie Mingjue explained, “there are many different rituals and sect secrets we learn from the Elders and other sect officials. And one of the very first things they tell us is that we need to work immediately on birthing an heir. Because our lives are so short, and one never knows when we’ll be taken out by a Yao or a qi deviation, or some tyrannical sect leader who doesn’t like being opposed.”

Nie Huaisang swallowed hard. His brother had only been fifteen when their father had died... he couldn’t imagine being told he had to become a father when he was only fifteen.

“None of the other sects helped me try to bring evidence against Wen Ruohan for what he did to A-Die, and I certainly wasn’t going to ally with any of them.” Nie Mingjue grimaced. “It was suggested to me that we find someone outside the sect, someone completely apart from the cultivation world, who wouldn’t have known enough to vie for power. I... I had no idea what to do, who to look for. All I’d ever done before was train, and when I did have tender thoughts, they weren’t about the girls they brought before me.”

This didn’t surprise Nie Huaisang – he’d seen the looks exchanged between Nie Mingjue and his ‘sworn brothers’. He nodded.

“So we finally settled on someone to try with,” Nie Mingjue continued. His voice already sounded lighter than when he had first begun explaining, and Nie Huaisang wondered if his brother had ever told this story to anyone else before – if Er-ge and San-ge even knew. “She was kind, and patient. The agreement was that if she became with child, then we would officially bring her in as a concubine. But after a year of trying once a week, every week... nothing happened. And then the Elders insisted on trying with another woman because the problem ‘obviously’ wasn’t with Nie-zongzhu, and before I knew it, I had four women I didn’t want that I had to lay with, all to try and do my duty to my sect.”

By this point, Nie Mingjue was no longer looking at Nie Huaisang, but rather staring out the nearby window. A part of Nie Huaisang wanted to tell his brother to stop, to tell him he didn’t have to say anything more – but the other part of him really wanted to hear the answer, to understand what had gone wrong, both for his brother and himself.

“After another two, three years of nothing, the Elders called in a highly respected physician. He looked me over, did a few tests, and then the Elders discussed the results. And then they told me that I was a rare case – that training so aggressively from such a young age may have made me stronger than anyone else in our sect, but it also had the side-effect of rendering me... barren, so to speak.” He sighed. “We called off the women after paying them handsomely for their efforts, and we helped them find husbands who would honour them properly. And then I named you my heir permanently.”

Nie Huaisang’s shoulders felt heavy even as he tried to roll one of them back. “Why didn’t you tell me, Da-ge?” he asked softly.

Nie Mingjue snorted. “Your voice hadn’t even begun to change when all this happened. The only things you knew about such matters were from spring books – and yes, I know you’ve had them since you were twelve, I’m not an idiot. There was no way I was going to lay this on you.”

“I may have been young, but so were you.” Nie Huaisang tried to offer a smile when his brother finally faced him again. “And... this is something we’ve needed to discuss, for the good of our sect. After all, I’m not a boy anymore.”

“You’ll always be a boy,” Nie Mingjue countered with a wistful smile. “The tiniest little thing that Xiao-Niang brought out to me and told me to protect it for the rest of my life.”

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whined, mostly to break the seriousness of the moment.

Nie Mingjue let out a chuckle. “Well, you know now.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “And now we can figure out what to do about it.” His brother’s eyebrow lifted. “Because the way I see it, the moment you die – which you’re not allowed to do, by the way, not without my permission – this sect will immediately undergo a challenge to leadership, because there are far too many people who don’t see me as a proper leader. And quite frankly, they’re right. So... I’m presuming adopting is out of the question, or else you would have done it already...” As he spoke, he began counting off fingers from his hand.

“Ideally, the leadership would remain in the main family line,” Nie Mingjue explained tentatively.

“Well, I suppose that leaves us with only one option left,” he concluded with a nod to the growing confusion on his brother’s face. “The only question is, do we work to ally with another sect, or find someone outside the Jianghu? Because I don’t mind getting married or taking a concubine, but I do not want anything to do with Yao-zongzhu’s sister. Just because I enjoy pretty ladies does not mean I want a part of that mess>”

“You can’t be serious!” Nie Mingjue huffed. “You’re just a boy!”

“I’m the same age as Jin Zixuan,” he countered, “and he’s marrying Jiang-guniang in a few months.” He absently chewed on his bottom lip. “And just the other day in Lanling, I was chatting with Madame Qin – she is very much not in favour of Qin Su’s little crush on San-ge, by the way – and she was trying to encourage me to ask her to walk in the gardens. She is rather pretty, and-” He paused at the stare his brother gave him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nie Mingjue sighed. “Just because I can’t do this, it doesn’t mean you have to give up your life like this.”

He met his brother’s gaze in a way he never would have done as a boy. “I’m a Nie,” he explained, “and we both know we have had to fulfill our duties to our sect. I know I can’t fulfill mine on the battlefield – I was never meant to be a soldier or even a cultivator – but I can do this.”

The corners of Nie Mingjue’s eyes crinkled, and he nodded. “Qin-zongzhu’s daughter does seem like a good choice,” he finally agreed, “but the girl is still enamoured with A-Yao no matter how he has tried to dissuade her.”

“Then I imagine San-ge would have a vested interest in helping her get over him,” he grinned, “don’t you think?” Nie Mingjue nodded. Nie Huaisang stood up and stretched out his back. “I’ll go write him a letter and see what he has to say, and we’ll go from there.” He began walking to the office door, but stopped at his brother’s voice.

“But for the record,” Nie Mingjue announced, his tone steady and strong, “you and the Elders are wrong. You might not be meant for the battlefield, but... a sect needs a different kind of leader in peace-time, and you would make a good one.”

Nie Huaisang swallowed through his suddenly tight throat. He made no sound, nothing to indicate he’d heard his brother’s words, and continued on his way out the door.

But his heart flooded with warmth at one of the few compliments he’d ever received from his brother.

[pnayelf]

6 hrs in and some thoughts

disclaimer: all critiques abt racism/orientalism/etc is valid, these things are outside of that because I agree with those crit

i'm genuinely enjoying the game, it's fun

i think it's beautiful. environment is gorgeous

my biggest crit is i feel like (so far) the companions agree so easily on everything - less friction etc. don't get me wrong i don't want it to be like da2 where it was so stressful if you had anders/merrill/fenris with you, and one of my crits of da2 IS that none of the companions ever developed with their rs with others. a happy medium would be best

this is personal, i dislike the combat, mostly bc the games i play are largely point and clicks and side scrollers (Save for like, DA lmao and mirror's edge). the combat is so overwhelming for me and i'm struggling so i turned off death. however if you're someone who does like combat this is plus!

i love bellara sO MUCH i already knew i would

i think the magic tech thing is cool bc i always wondered how magic + tech would come together once ~society got closer to our modern adjacent times"

the armor ain't doing it for me sadly

i love the parkour-ish elements!!! i always wished da would have some stuff that was in mirror's edge and it's great that its there

i so far genuinely like the game, which is know is an unpopular opinion lol. to me da is like chicken nuggets, it has to be horrendous for me to hate it

[scotianostra]

Scottish pop singer/songwriter Dean Ford was born as Thomas McAleese on 5th September 1946 in Airdrie.

You wait all year for a Scottish singer/songwriter to appear, and two come along at once. Dean Ford was one of the most underrated artistes Scotland ever produced.

Tom, as he was still known as back then first began singing in public accompanying a jazz ensemble at the local Whifflet parish church dance hall. He formed his first musical group The Tonebeats at age 13, one of several he hooked up with during his teenage years. By the time he left Clifton High School in Coatbridge at age 15, he had been gaining more exposure as a featured singer. His break came after a performance with the Monarchs at the Barrowland Ballroom in Glasgow in 1963, where he was seen by members of the popular east Glasgow band The Gaylords and subsequently invited to join the group.

McAleese adopted his stage name (a moniker he coined by combining the names Dean Martin and Tennessee Ernie Ford) and The Gaylords were re-christened Dean Ford and the Gaylords. With hopes of achieving more commercial success, Ford and the band relocated to London in 1965. The bands name came from a notorious post war Chicago Gaylords street gang.

Although the band were very popular and despite being crowned ‘Scotland’s Top Group’,they struggled to break through into the big time. The band changed their name in 1966, but although they were well received , they still struggled to make progress, this was despite Jimi Hendrix describing their 1967 song I see the rain, as the 'best cut of 1967, it did however make it to the top of the charts in The Netherlands!

Things started to go their way that year though when they played as Pink Floyds support at London’s Marquee Club, they started mixing it with the likes of The Who, Joe Cocker, Traffic Gene Pitney and The Tremeloes.They still lacked that chart success and CBS threatened to drop the band if they didn’t deliver soon, they famously rejected the song, Everlasting Love in 1967, Love Affair took the song to the top of the charts! Eventually the band had a hit with Lovin’ Things the following year, their follow up fared less well but in 1969 Marmalade became the first Scottish group to ever top that charts with Lennon and McCartney’s Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.

Marmalade went on to have 8 more top 40 hits over the years, my favourite was written by Ford and band member Junior Campbell, Reflections of My Life. Marmalade continue to show up at these 60’s shows but as far as I am aware none of the original band remain.

Dean lived in Los Angeles for much of his later life, but never forgot his routes, recording and releasing his final album, This Scottish Heart just two months before his death, the album of course having a Scottish theme with tracks like Glasgow Road, Bonnie Mary, Made in Scotland and For MacDougall included in the 30 songs, which also featured a remake of my fave Marmalade song, Reflections of my Life.

In 1998 Dean and Campbell were awarded a Special Citation of Achievement by BMI for attaining radio broadcast performances in excess of one million in the U.S. alone.

Dean, Thomas McAleese passed away suddenly on Hogmanay 2018 in Los Angeles, at the age of 72.

The song is Bonnie Mary by Dean, a song about our tragic queen, Nary Stuart.

We'll remember Bonnie Mary Queen of Scotland and Queen of France All the poets spoke of her great beauty And they say, she loved to dance

She married Darnley and they had a baby Oh, too soon, they took wee James away Then they chased our Mary out of Scotland Never to come back again

So they took a boat across the Solway Stepping on to England's northern shore She wasn't safe with Elizabeth in London Her fate was sealed forevermore

So it was to be, she was held a prisoner For eighteen years They shuttled her around Then one day, she called out to her maker Mary's head fell to the ground

So we remember Bonnie Mary Through it all, her dignity still shows All the poets spoke of her great beauty And our love for Mary grows Oh, oh, our love for Mary grows

[fatehbaz]

[M]onk seals continued to live in large herds along the largely unexplored Atlantic seaboard of northwest Africa. It was not until 1434 that Portuguese explorers landed on these [supposedly] untamed coasts, and discovered thousands of monk seals. Almost immediately, an intensive and lucrative trade in skins and oil was established [...]. Constantly vying with Spain [...], Portugal was determined to increase its sphere of influence in Africa. While Spain eventually became preoccupied with Columbus’ elusive vision [...] [and] his celebrated 1492 expedition [...] Portugal’s colonial influence in Africa was reaching its height by 1500. The first expeditions to Africa’s Gold Coast were recorded for posterity by an official chronicler, Gomes de Zurara [...]. In his book [...] he relates how the Portuguese Infante [royal prince], eager [...], dispatched explorer Afonso Gonçalves Baldaya in a cargo vessel to make contact with the mysterious “moors” or “pagans” who were believed to inhabit the region (Zurara, 1437).

“But these are people, no matter how beastlike they may be,” proclaimed the Infante, “and they need to be governed... I command you to penetrate this land as far as you can and that you work in order to learn about those people, perhaps taking one captive, so that you may become acquainted with them.”

It was in “the year [...] one thousand four hundred and thirty-six” that Alfonso set sail [...]. [T]he barinel eventually reached the shores of the Gold River, the Rio de Oro, situated at the Bay of Dakhla in the western Sahara. [...] Afonso and his crew sighted their first seals. Literally thousands were suddenly in their field of vision. [...] “Upon seeing on a reef at the mouth of the river a large number of sea-wolves,” relates Gomes da Zurara, “which, according to the estimates of some, amounted to five thousand, he ordered killed those that could be killed and had their furs loaded onto the ship [...].” Despite the windfall in skins and oil, Afonso was still dissatisfied, having failed to take captive any of the elusive natives. He therefore ventured a further 50 leagues “to see if he could capture a man or at least a woman or child in order to satisfy the will of his master.” [...]

---

[In] 1437 [...] another Portuguese ship was dispatched to the Gold River to fill its hold with the furs and oil of the sea-wolves. [...] In 1441, [...] the Infante ordered his young wardrobe keeper, Antão Gonçalves, to captain a small ship and return to the Gold River. [...] “[T]he reason for this voyage, as instructed by his Lordship,” writes da Zurara, “was none other than to load that ship with a great quantity of hides and oil from those sea-wolves.” It appears to have been a lucrative undertaking. “ [...]

Antão Gonçalves had fulfilled the command of his master, his ship’s hold brimming with hides and casks, but the young man was eager to pursue his adventures rather than return home as ordered. He assembled his 21-man crew on deck, and addressed them with a rousing speech: “Friends and brothers, our cargo is complete, as you can see, so the principal aim of our mission has been accomplished, and we could well return should we wish to limit our toil…” He then proposed an adventure that would gladden the men’s hearts, providing relief from the laborious and tedious task of hunting, skinning and melting-down seals - a hunt for native slaves [...].

---

These first tentative expeditions to the Gold River paved the way for hunting on a more intensive, industrial scale, with 15th century Portuguese explorers dividing their time between lucrative massacres of seals and the equally profitable slave trade [...].

Indeed, within a few years of the sea wolf discovery, a purpose-built installation to process seal hides and oil had been constructed on Ylha de Lobos [...] in the estuary of the Rio de Oro [...]. Around Cap Barbas [...] no less than three sites once bore the name of the sea wolf [...]. [T]he [French and British] colonial plundering of the region [in the early twentieth century] [...], like [...] [Portuguese] conquest before them, were also portrayed as essentially idealistic endeavours. Just as the conquest of the Rio de Oro by massacre and slavery [...] “proves anew that the pursuit of disinterested geographical knowledge [...] were never the only motives of colonial conquest, so the slaughter [...] [today] would today be called “rational exploitation” [...]”,

---

All text above by: William M. Johnson. “Monk Seals in Post-Classical History: The role of the Mediterranean monk seal (Monachus monachus) in European history and culture, from the fall of Rome to the 20th century”. Mededelingen 39. The Netherlands Commission for International Nature Protection. 2004. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- shopping

It didn’t take long to lose the arm I held to a clothing shop, requiring I chase it. We’d not purchased new styles in a few years—give or take a decade—as there hadn’t been much change. That shop proved me wrong, and Lucient took great pleasure in having me try on everything. Even had me model for him.

He did the same, bursting from behind a curtain in progressively more elaborate outfits. I was useless as ever, finding everything beautiful on him, and earned such lovely anger for it. And words I’d grown used to—and yet haven’t shared enough for how often he spoke them.

“Prendre la tête,” he clipped, throwing arms in the air as he declared I was driving him mad.

Grinning for it, I caught him before he sped off for more clothes and tasted all the syrup of his tongue until he swooned for me. Then I argued if it was my fault he was perfect, “est-ce ma faute si tu es parfait?”

“Chose coquine, how you flirt,” and he was off again for more.

The poor tailor had no idea how to handle us together, let alone the blue and honey blur tossing clothing around his shop, but a command of, “you’ll forget us when we’re gone,” proved enough to keep him from screaming.

We also paid handsomely.

“We could simply eat him,” I suggested as we left and worry of my command wearing off bubbled.

Lucient laughed for it, snuggling closer, “so perfect my treasure. However, empty shop or not, someone would see him missing...and we’re not finished in this little city.”

Cameras are what he meant.

Specifically, ones that didn't contain silver and thus could record our images. There were far more than expected, and he couldn’t find any he cared for—as they lacked color—but we did have our pictures taken by one.

Less time than a portrait, and less yelling at us to remain still.

Lucient was not impressed with anything about it. Not the lack of color, not the values, nor the lighting. He even took issue with how the photographer was standing when he took it.

“How long have you been at this,” he did not ask but threatened, holding the photo as one might a dead rat.

Eyeing me for any assistance, the photographer found a shrug and a smile and tried it on his own, “these cameras have only been around a few years, sir, and none in this state know them better than me.”

Scoffing, Lucient slapped the photo against the man’s chest, “doubtful, but I will give you another chance to get it right.”

An hour. Each exposure took an hour. And he hated three before he settled on the fourth—one hanging in our bedroom to this day.

I managed, during his tirade over the second or third, to purchase him his own camera. He'd balk about the sigils—which he refused to let the photographer use—but it allowed him to take his own pictures and it captured color, limited as it was.

Keeping it hidden through the remainder of the day, in the massive tote bags we had to buy to hold all the clothes, I found other delights to gift him.

Such as a construct that wasn't, inside a clock-maker’s shop. It was clockwork alone and utterly enchanting. It played the violin—and I imagine it rests in our studio on the luna to this day.

What I didn't notice was Lucient slipping away while I played with it.

Until he returned with his cat-with-a-canary smile. One I’d not address, leaving him his surprise as I asked after the gnawing of my veins, “are we ready for lunch, husband?”

“Oui, mon mari,” he said through soft kisses, grinning for sneers across the street from where we’d stopped, pulling me into a deeper kiss and speaking to me alone, and look how eager it is.

Full Chapters here (though not this one yet, it is in progress >.>)

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

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[heaven-s-black-box]

Red at Night- Fukumori

Return to File

Recovery date: Feb 2nd, 2022

Description: Fukumori secret marriage

Notes: N/a

Word count: 1 153

Back to directory

Fukuzawa Yukichi, as Kunikida had come to learn, had a great many secrets. Some were inconsequential, like the man's incredible fondness for cats, and some were a great deal more important, like his former acquaintanceship with the port mafia’s boss. But Kunikida had come to understand that if it was important to the safety of the agency or Yokohama, the president would disclose any necessary information.

So when a bouquet of flowers was delivered one morning, addressed to the president, Kunikida brushed it off as just another simple secret. The colors were warm, and he couldn’t help but think of an old adage Kenji had told him: Red at night, sailors delight, red in the morning, sailor’s warning. It was likely a coincidence, but the yellows and reds painted the picture of a violent sunrise so early in the morning. But it was none of his business.

Fortunately for his curiosity, Dazai had no such filter.

“Kenji-kun!” Dazai called across the office once the delivery man had left. “What do those flowers mean?”

“Hm?” Kenji asked, perking up from where he was hunched doing paperwork.

“The flowers that were just delivered, what do they mean?”

“What makes you think they mean anything?” Kunikida snapped, not once looking up from his laptop. “Not to mention it’s none of our business.”

“Aww, Kunikida-kuuun, you’re no fun. Besides, call it a detective's intuition.” He posed, index finger pressed against his forehead and eyes closed pensively.

Kunikida just rolled his eyes.

“Hm, I think they were zinnias, carnations, and peonies. Yellow zinnias mean daily remembrance, and magenta zinnias mean lasting affection, but in a family kind of way. The other two are romantic, dark red carnations mean romantic love, and red peonies love, honor, and respect.”

“Wow, you know alot about flowers,” Atsushi commented in awe.

“That’s because I help the old lady a few blocks over with her shop sometimes, actually I think that delivery guy was from her shop.”

Despite his determination to leave the president's private life alone, Kunikida had two takeaways from that conversation: one, the sender was likely a lover, and two, the flowers were sent from a relatively cheap shop nearby.  A third less important takeaway was that Dazai was still as nosy as ever, not that he’d ever doubted that.

And so concluded the mystery of the flower delivery.

Until the following week when the same delivery boy delivered the same flowers, this time at the end of the day.

The office was still busy as Kunikida and the other agency members filled out paperwork given to them by the gifted special division in the aftermath of the guild conflict. Once again, Kunikida was reminded of the old adage.

A soft scoff sounded from Rampo’s desk where he sat munching on a box of pockies, but Kunikida wasn’t paying attention. Instead he noticed, as the president came out of his office to accept the floors, that the previous bouquet sat wilting in a vase on his desk. It wasn’t strange that they had begun to wilt, but it was quite the coincidence that a new bouquet arrived just as the last started wilting.

It was almost as if the sender knew they’d begun to wilt.

And so the case of the bouquet deliveries was once again reopened as Dazai called out-

“Another bouquet, president? Whoever sent them must really like you, maybe you should send some back!”

Kunikida’s shoulders hunched in as he grit his teeth. Dazai truly had no tact.

“Da-”

“Yes,” the president cut Kunikida off, stopping in front of the door to his office. He gently held a few petals as if examining them, a smile barely resting on his face. “Perhaps I should. Now get back to work, you still have a report on our partnership with the port mafia to finish.”

Dazai let out a groan at the reminder, sinking further into his chair, while the president reentered his office and closed the door behind himself.

“I still can’t believe you kept that from us,” Kunikida grumbled.

“What?”

“That you used to be a part of the port mafia, an executive no less! It never once occurred to you that that may be important information?”

Dazai just shrugged, and Kunikida was so busy scolding him for withholding such important information that he missed the amusement dancing in Rampo’s eyes. After all, if Kunikida thought Dazai had been withholding important information he’d blow a fuse when he found out who was sending the flowers.

And he did. Far sooner than Rampo thought he would, afterall the detective never expected Mori to show up so soon after nearly killing Fukuzawa.

But as the door to the agency opened and Mori Ougai, boss of the port mafia, stepped in, the entire agency jumped to defensive positions. All except Rampo, who continued sucking on a lollipop with his feet kicked up on his desk. He was glad Yosano was out for the day too, as even though she kept her mouth shut he knew she’d rather see Mori dead.

“Tired of sleeping on the couch?”He called, grinning at the confusion that echoed through the office.

“Yes, unfortunately it seems my words alone are not enough and so I have decided a proper apology dinner may be necessary.”

“He’s in his office.”

“Thank you, Rampo-san,” Mori nodded before slowly passing between the desk, wary of any attack that may be sent his way.

He reached the office door without incident, and as he reached for the handle Rampo waved Kunikida and Dazai down. Just as the two stepped closer to Atsushi and Kyouka’s desks, Mori opened the door and ducked as a knife was chucked out.

“I deserved that,” Mori said calmly before righting himself and stepping in.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Dazai turned to Rampo.

“Really? Tanaeda-san sent me to my ex-boss' ex-husband?”

“Ex-hus-husband! What on earth makes you think they were married?!” Kunikida hissed as the other agency members rushed over to convene at Rampo’s desk.

“Mm,” Rampo took the sucker out of his mouth and waved it towards Fukuzawa’s office, “technically they never got divorced, that’s why Mori-san started sending flowers again when we teamed up to fight the guild.”

“The president was married to the port mafia’s boss?!” Atsushi yelled.

“What do you mean again?”

“Why are you so calm about this!”

Using his sucker to point, he went through each question.

First Atsushi’s. “Yes.”’ Then Tanizaki and Naomi’s. “Back when they were together Mori would send flowers all the time, usually I would get a box of sweets,” he pouted, “hey I didn’t get treats this time.” And finally Kunikida. “Because I was a witness.”

“And you never thought that was important to share?”

Rampo shrugged. “It wasn’t my business.”

“Since when do you care what is and isn’t your business?” Kyouka asked.

“Since watching Kunikida blow a fuse is funny.”

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

Day 28: Free Day: Blindfold/Sex in a Church

For @myladyjanecentral Kinktober/Kimptober

Excerpt from my My Lady Jane Cupid and Psyche AU

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

He let go of her hand, asking her to stay. She could hear the soft flicker and hiss of a candle being lit - first one, and then another, and then many more, until she could almost glimpse their soft glow through her blindfold.

And then she heard his voice echoing from somewhere behind her, “you may look now.”

She pulled the blindfold from her eyes to take in the room before her. More than a room, she realized - they had somehow entered into the castle’s chapel. Though small in appearance from the outside, inside, the stone walls and high windows lent it a more impressive air. Starlight dimly glowed through the stained glass arch at the front of the chapel - an ancient portrait of the Virgin with the Child cradled to her heart, both of them haloed with gold and light. All else was lit by the many flickering candles placed around the small sanctuary, most of them atop the large altar at its center. There sat a large collection of books, in fact there were an unnumbered many littered across windowsills and pews. As if someone had tried to turn this small chapel into something of a library. She clasped the first volume she sighted.

“Quam ut rememdium bestia ,” she took up another, “ Das Biest Beenden , Euripides, Diodorus Siculus - these are all books on beasts, and ancient myths.”

She looked back without quite meaning to, though her lover had hidden himself well enough behind the stone columns at her back. 

His voice echoed from the shadows of the narthex, his tone less certain. “To answer your earlier question, I don’t know what I am. I had hoped to find the answers in these books, though I have not yet found any such satisfactory account.”

Jane turned back to marvel at the collection. “How did you even find all of these? Many of them are said to have been lost.”

“My man Rupert travels the world to collect them for me, any time I get word of a new volume. He has always been loyal to a fault.”

“Most of these are in ancient Greek or Latin - though this one is in the Sicilian dialect, and this in Aramaic - can you read Aramaic as well?”

“I know some little Church Latin, and Rabbit knows some German, but we are none of us able to translate the preponderance of these. I had heard that you were the most learned woman in the kingdom, a polyglot of sorts.”

“SÌ - though I’ll confess I know the Florentine Tuscan better than the Sicilian.” 

She was already trying her hand at the Diodorus Siculus in front of her.

“Dante or Petrarch?” He guessed at the source of her knowledge.

“Boccaccio,” she argued. Though in Latin, his De Mulieribus Claris on the great women of Italian history had been as a bible to her.

“Jane, will you close your eyes again?” Came his voice from behind her.

Reluctant though she was to set down the ancient manuscript, she acceded, turning towards the columns to show him that she had done as he asked.

She felt both her hands taken into his. He was now directly before her. The temptation to open her eyes nearly overwhelmed her, even though now she knew precisely what she would see.

His voice was filled with solemnity. “Will you help me then? To discover the source of my curse and its cure?”

“Your curse?” It was the first she had heard the word, but as she said it she started to understand. 

The other beasts could take what shape they willed, could walk in the light as man or beast. None were so terrifying as her husband. But also, none could protect them half so well.

“You wish to cure yourself?” She altered her question. 

“You wish to be wed to a monster?”

“I had no wish to be married at all,” she reminded him. “But you are the source of safety for all these people.”

“And at what cost?” His voice grew bitter.

“Yes, I understand something of that cost,” Jane’s hands tightened in his. “But you have succeeded where I failed to protect them.” 

He pulled away.

“And for how long? How long will they stay safe with me? How long will you? I cannot stay trapped in this castle any more than you can. I have no control over this.”

Jane could understand this feeling, more than perhaps anyone else she knew. She had endangered everyone she loved in challenging the laws and tradition of her Kingdom. The nobility had turned on her swiftly, even as she held the support of the people, and they were all of them stripped of their former station. Still, she is not certain she would have acted differently, even knowing how it would all end. Her family had survived, whatever the personal cost to her own freedom.

Guildford sensed her hesitation, though he did not seem to understand its true source. “If you were to find a cure, we could both leave here. I promised you I would set you free when it was safe to do so - this is the only way I can honor that.”

Janed frowned at this. Apparently his earlier promise had been more conditional than she had hoped, and now he expected her to do the impossible. In all of her studies she had never read of such a condition, far less any possible cure.

“What do Archer and the others say of this?” Surely if anyone knew of a cure, it would be his fellow beasts.

“Archer insists there is no curse, that I must accept what I am to gain mastery of it. But it is curse enough to remember what the beast is capable of - controlling it would only compound my guilt.”

Jane’s breath halted at his words.

He continued. “Surely you don’t think a mere glance at me was enough to scare away the Kingsland guard - even though it clearly set you running.” 

“It merely took me by surprise,” Jane insisted, not wanting him to think her still afraid of him. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

But Jane had heard their screams, and she had seen the blood on his teeth - no matter that Susannah had assured her it was no more than false conjuring. If this was indeed a curse, there must still be some source. How many stories were there of those driven to such an illusion by their guilt?

Jane couldn’t find it in herself to condemn his actions however. Though she had been unwilling herself to demand the execution of her opponents, they had never held a sword to the throats of her friends. She imagined someone threatening one of her sisters, or Susannah, or even the man in front of her in such a manner. Jane knew already she would make the same choice to defend them, by whatever means she could.

“Then will you help me?” His hands took hold of hers once again.

“I will try,” she hesitated to promise.

“Please, that is all that I ask. It is the only way I will be able to set us both free.”

Still, she had her doubts.

“But Guildford, what if it doesn’t work?”

His lips pressed to hers, taking her by surprise.

“What was that for?”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.”

She blushed to hear the delight in his voice at so small a gesture.

“This is the first time I feel as though I actually know something of you. But Guildford,” another kiss, “I still have so many questions.”

“I expected you might,” he teased.

“To start - how does this work? Can no one look at you? Or is it just me?”

“No one.” His hands tightened around hers.

Jane breathed out a small sign of relief. At least she was not bound up in this curse as well.

“Can you look at yourself then?”

“No. If I were to see myself in a mirror I would transform just the same.” 

Jane realized there were no mirrors in her room, no reflective surfaces at all.

“So then you don’t know what you look like as a man?”

“Jane, I have not always been what I am now,” he chuckled.

And of course, she knew that. He had been a part of the Court once, and she recalled hearing of his name as his father’s son. But first one and then all three Dudleys had been exiled from the Court before her ascendancy to the throne.

“Wait, let me turn around - I don’t wish to be blindfolded again but it is difficult not to look at you.”

She turned from him, but he lingered near, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her curls. This way, she could not so easily glance around to see him.

“Why didn’t you tell me at our first meeting?” This question is foremost in her thoughts.

“I had thought you might run at the sight of me, and, as it turns out, I was quite correct.” His words were harsh but his tone was teasing. He did not fault her for this, at least.

“I might not have, had I had some warning.”

“I did warn you not to be so curious.”

“You might as well ask a bird not to fly, you knew what might happen.”

He laughed. “I had hoped I might have a little longer to convince you to stay.”

Jane thought  back to their nights together - every time she had asked him any real questions about his nature, he had drawn her back into their marriage bed. Had it all been an attempt to convince her to stay with him?

“And that was how you thought you might win me over?”

“I believe the seduction was mutual.” A soft kiss was pressed to the side of her neck, and she shivered at the touch. Jane couldn’t deny that she had drawn him in just as readily. “But how does one win over a Queen? Surely you wouldn’t be impressed by jewels or fine dresses.”

“If I were, then Rabbit might better have won me over,” she teased. “I think I’d rather have books than any other gift you could buy.”

“I thought offering you any from my own collection might give away my secret too soon.”

“Then perhaps the way to win over a Queen is with honest conversation,” came her retort.

The low rumble of his laugh tickled her ear. “I gave you poetry.”

“I prefer non-fiction.”

Another laugh. “I presented you with a challenge, which I know you like best of all.”

This she could not argue, though she greatly desired to do so. Instead, she reached for the blindfold still atop the altar.

“I thought you didn’t wish to be blindfolded?” He asked, even as he helped her to tie it once more around her eyes.

“Can’t I change my mind?”

“Yes - I often expect you to do so.”

There were many ways she could interpret his words, though she hoped to persuade him that she would not go back on her promises to him at least. She would aid him, as he had asked her to, and would stay with him until she was assured of both their safety, and that of her friends - whether she cured him or not. She would not be afraid of him again. 

Jane could think of no better means of communicating this than to turn and take his lips with her own. Her fingers slid into the soft familiarity of his hair, and his lips opened easily to the tender press of her tongue. His arms stayed wrapped around her, hands flexing against her spine as she drew a pleased noise from her reavowed lover. 

She pressed him back toward the altar rail, and he went willingly at her tough. But in her blind state she could not accurately judge the direction of her aim, and Guildford instead stumbled over the raised dais. He fell back to seated just beside the altar itself, laughing as he went. He reached up to pull her down with him, until she was settled astride his lap, the stacks of books just over their heads. She pushed at his shirt, realizing that he must have dressed himself after she had caught her all too brief glimpse of his naked form, and she could imagine no greater shame. Her hands traced over the muscles of his chest and stomach, melding the tangible sensation with her memories of their appearance. She wished she could see him again, feeling greedy for the sight of her lover - and jealous that he could so easily see her. All of her but her eyes, at least - despite it all, their eyes had never once met. This thought suddenly overtook her.

“My eyes are hazel,” she breathed out, thinking to even this score between them. 

His lips met hers again with fervor, and she knew he had understood what she was trying to share. He pulled away but for a moment. “If you can cure me, perhaps I will one day see them for myself.”

“I will do my best to see that happen,” she promised, and Guildford’s lips surged towards her once more.

But Jane was now placed above him, and it was so easy to slide her hand along his jaw and into his hair, catching at the thick tufts of it tightly enough that she could take control of their kiss. She felt his groan of pleasure against their lips.

It was the work of only a few moments as they tugged off his trousers, and rucked up her chemise so that the heat of her was pressed against his waiting skin. Jane pushed him to lay back as she positioned herself above him, breathing out his name as she took him back inside herself. Her own name was on his lips as their bodies met, both trembling at the feel of what they had almost lost. 

When Jane attempted to shift her hips upward, Guildford’s hands pulled her back down again, and together they built a rhythm between them. Their sounds of passion echoed through the church but no one was around to hear them. 

She spared a thought for her cousin, the Queen Mary, and how she might view this as proof that Jane truly was a heathen. And perhaps she was, though there was nothing unholy about this union with her husband. Even if the bonds between them weren’t til death, he was hers to have for as long as she stayed here. And in this moment Jane saw no reason to leave.

[cornchrunchie]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

I'm very excited you tagged me in this, @all-my-worlds-a-stage and @fallingforfandoms! I really enjoy reading the answers from all of you.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

109, which makes around 12 stories per year. Fun fact!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

360,182, which is about the total word count of C.S. Lewis’ seven-book Chronicles of Narnia series. Fun fact #2!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Tatort Münster. Like 99.9 % mostly. I think I have only one story posted on AO3 for a different fandom (Knives Out), though I don’t post everything I write. As you might have guessed from my recent content on this blog, I’ve also started a fic for Good Omens. We will see if I will finish it, let alone post it.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Unsurprisingly, the fic for Knives Out has the most Kudos. Less niche than the other ones :)

Tonight Will be a Memory Too – Knives Out, Benoit Blanc/Phillip It's part of Evelyn's job at the musical theater to talk to guests. Once in a while, she gets to meet truly fascinating people. A glimpse into Benoit's and Phillip's life through the eyes of an outsider.

Ein Leben lang daheim – Tatort Münster, Thiel/Boerne Auf der Fortbildung, die sie besuchen, gibt es einen Coronafall und Thiel und Boerne müssen präventiv zwei Wochen lang in Quarantäne.

Schnee von gestern – Tatort Münster, Thiel/Boerne, co-written with Tjej Es wird Rum gemacht und es wird rumgemacht.

Tauchen ist wie Fliegen unter Wasser – Tatort Münster, Thiel/Boerne Im Münsteraner Schwimmbad kommt vor hunderten von Zuschauern eine junge Frau ums Leben. Doch die Ermittlungen gestalten sich für Thiel nicht nur aufgrund der widersprüchlichen Hinweise als schwierig …

Zuhause – Tatort Münster, Thiel/Boerne, co-written with Tjej Thiel ließ ihn gar nicht erst ausreden. Auch wenn das für ihn vielleicht ungewöhnlich war, aber er hatte sich eigentlich schon Pläne für die Feiertage gemacht. „Danke für das Angebot, aber ich wollte mal wieder nach Hause fahren.“

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, I do! I try to answer every single one, even if it might take me a while to do so. Comments mean a lot to me and I appreciate when someone takes the time to write one. I'm especially fond of those short comment conversations, and the interaction with like-minded people. I made some friends that way.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't write a lot of angst and if I do, there will probably be at least a comforting ending. One of my rare fics, if not the only one, with angst throughout is Alles (Tatort Münster, Thiel & Boerne with hints of possible slash). Even after several years, I still like this one a lot.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, what exactly does happiest mean, right? The great majority of my fics end with two people getting together, a storyline that tends to be quite happy in itself. One fic I consider to have a very happy ending where there is no direct romance to the plot is Ein Tännlein aus dem Walde (Tatort Münster). It's with almost everybody on the team, so a lot of Found Family feelings. I guess the Christmas theme, the high spirits of everybody and this feeling of... content make this a very happy fic to me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I can't remember any hate, so I guess this is a No.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Depends on the fic but sometimes I do. I've written explicit and less explicit stuff alike. It's been a while since I last wrote something explicit, though.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I've never written a crossover. I rarely read them, too.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

If so, I haven't noticed.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

None that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

As it becomes clear through my top fics: Yes, several and in different ways! I've co-written some fics where we took turns in writing, some where one person wrote the beginning and the other person completed the story, some where we brainstormed together and one person wrote most of it by themselves. I really enjoy writing with another person! The discussions, different ideas and chances to read parts I haven't written keep me excited about the story. It's like a series of prompts!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I would have to lie to say that it wasn't Thiel/Boerne from Tatort Münster. They were the first ship I can remember shipping (apart from Ernie and Bert, maybe) and even though I don't agree with everything done in the canon, I hold them close to my heart.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I once started writing a Groundhog-Day-inspired fic for Tatort Münster where Boerne relives the same day over and over again and thinks it's about a murder case when it's actually about, shocked noises, love. The idea is still interesting to me but I doubt I will find the motivation to properly plot this.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Something that comes relatively easy to me and what people tend to highlight in their comments is the dialogues I write. I think they're what I like best about many of my stories.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not good at writing quickly, as I tend to overthink. And it’s difficult for me to keep the right tempo of telling the story, and having a conclusive story arch, especially in long fics. I sometimes feel like I randomly elaborate on parts of the fic rather than actually think about it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If it suits the story, why not. I don’t think I have done it yet, though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Tatort Münster :)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This one is hard. Of course, my writing style changed over the years (developed, I should hope) but I still feel very fond of most of my stories. If I absolutely have to pick a favorite, it might be Tauchen ist wie Fliegen unter Wasser (Tatort Münster, Thiel/Boerne). It took me about five years to finish this story and I am proud of all the love and work I put into it. Coming up with the murder crime, making it interesting and connecting it to the romance of Thiel and Boerne was challenging, and I am happy with how it turned out. The fic still means a lot to me.

This was so much fun! Props to everybody who read this far.

I think most people I know have already done this by now, so feel free to ignore: @cricrithings @holly-hop @keinbutterdieb @khalaris and anybody else that feels like it!

[femmmie]

THE ISLAND

Read the entire fic on AO3

Chapter 10: Encounters at sea

Summary:

Anthony is finally releasing his genetically enhanced cyanobacteria into the ocean... but then, something crazy happens, and he sees a familiar face from long ago...

Chapter word count: 1.848

Rating: teen

“It’s too late to turn back now.”

Anthony crossed the sandy old railroad track. It was an ‘alea iacta est’ kind of moment. He knew he would have to pay the price eventually.

He descended into the picturesque lagoon. The coast always had its own particular climate. Things somehow seemed less desperate here.

He waded into the strangely cool water and turned to look back up the cliff one more time. His old, secure life lay there, behind him. That was in the past now.

“I could just do it here…” He thought. But no, a little further out at sea would be ideal.

Behind the large cliff lay a speedboat. He climbed onto it and started the engine. It worked. Thank God. He sailed along, on and on.

He had brought a couple of blunts from Brandon’s house. As the salty water gently rocked his boat, he lit one and smoked. It was the only way to calm himself down. God, he was tired. He passed out.

When he woke up, he could no longer see the shore. Shivers of anticipation ran down his spine.

“Just a little further…”

The sea seemed an endless blue. But then he encountered a slight fog.

“This should be excellent…”

He took several vials out of his pockets and looked at them gratefully. He had saved some of the cyanobacteria after the fight while the agent was talking to Tommy, and then he had kindly fucked the frick off.

“So, this is it…”

But then Anthony heard a loud, erratic sputter overhead.

“What the-”

A loud splash and then lots of waves. People screaming. Gunshots. His boat nearly capsized from the crashing waves and he fell backwards. Then it was quiet. As he crawled back op, the fog started to dissipate. In the distance, he saw a lifeboat with two figures on it. They were both soaking wet.

~

“So, this is it!”

Dave Dilford was panting. He still wore that infuriating vest with his douchily rolled-up sleeves. But his glasses were cracked, and he now had a Walther PPK in his hand.

“Finally, it’s you and me! None of your little friends are around to save you now!”

“What are you going to gain from this, Dave? Why kill me?”

Dave spat his words out. “Don’t you get it, Eeny? All my work at Defy, all the excellent and FUNNY content strategies, which I deployed for YOUR SAKE, you absolute douchebag… it’s all over. Because you had to go and play the hero.”

“This is about work?! You kill for work grievances? I thought it would at least be ideological or something. This is just sad, man.”

“FUCK YOU, HECOX! We were a great comedy team, a duo.”

Ian shook his head. “We were never a duo, Dave.”

“Together we conquered America! How dare you jeopardize that?! How am I getting a job after your presidency? No, I deserve more! I am the hero! I save you from your rogue secret service,” Dave grinned, “which I bribed. But alas, it’s too late. They got you!”

Dave aimed at Ian’s chest.

“Right in the-”

But then, *it* happened.

Something stirred under the water, right under the lifeboat. Submerging from the depths of the ocean came the jaw of a monster. A black and white monster.

Anthony had sat there frozen all this time, but now he let out a gasp.

A killer whale bit the boat in half. Specifically, the half where Dave stood just a moment ago. He was gone.

Ian fell into the ocean.

“Oh, fuck me.” Ian swam for his life, but he also just accepted that he was about to be devoured by a group of hungry orcas. His suit was weighing him down. He wrestled out of his jacket. But he could already see the black fins circling him, getting closer…

Seemingly out of nowhere, a speedboat approached. He was hoisted on board, nearly missing the orca’s second bite.

~

“Ugh, wet wet wet…” Ian panted as he tried to squeeze the sea water out of his tie.

“Whew, that sure was a Free Willy moment…”

Ian snorted. A bit of dark humor was just what he needed. Looking up, he saw who had just saved him. His eyes widened.

“Huh… Are you… No frickin’ way, are you from Sac’?

“Yes sir, born and raised!” Anthony was freaking out so much he couldn’t even look straight. What had just happened?

All he had seen was a bad guy aiming a gun and then getting absolutely mauled by a killer whale. Oh yeah, the orcas were probably still out here.

“I have to get us out of he- huh?”

Anthony finally looked at Ian.

“Mister president?”

“Ian, please call me Ian.”

“Yes sir! Ian.”

They both leaned forward, still panting. Ian’s eyes searched Anthony’s face like he was looking for some lost childhood memories. And then Anthony remembered as well.

“Oh shit, it’s you! You’re Ian Hecox from school!”

“And you’re Anthony Padilla.” Ian’s whole face lit up.

“Wow, the president knows my name.”

“Hey! Don’t get any illusions. I just remember you because – yeah just like that! – your laugh is mega-annoying!”

Ian was sure he was dreaming. Could it be that he had found that guy, THAT GUY! From high school! Here, at sea?! Of course, his laugh wasn’t annoying. It was the best sound in the world. It was like Ian could finally breathe again.

Anthony and Ian were both giggling like Beavis and Butthead, half from recognizing each other after all these years, and half to alleviate the stress from being nearly shot and then devoured by sea monsters.

“I can’t get over the fact that I’ve seen you plenty on tv and even knew your name, but I never recognized you! I just never put two and two together.”

“Yeah bro, that’s on you.” Ian’s soaked shirt was see-through, and Anthony couldn’t help but look.

“So, Ian, we really should get out of here, huh. But there’s something I need to do first. And it’s kind of perfect that you’re here with me, right now.”

“Okay, okay, I guess we could kiss…” Ian puckered up his lips dramatically.

“Mister president!” Anthony laughed. So this was what he had missed for all those damn years.

“Come on, just a little kissy kissy!”

Anthony scratched his neck. “Would it still be considered an Australian kiss with the US president?”

“Hmm, I don’t know actually…” Ian looked like he was considering the linguistic possibilities. “But wait, what do you need to do in a speedboat in the middle of the ocean?”

“Well… I kind of engineered a species of algae that spreads through the water like a virus but actually does extreme carbon capture. It has a chance to.. to…”

Saying it out loud, finally, made Anthony once again realize the gravity of it all. He had worked on this for so long. Knowing it could very well either save the world, or make everything worse, or both at once. For one person to make such a grave decision was unfair to, well, probably all other life on earth. And the burden of that choice had been heavy.

“So, let me get this straight,” Ian said. He didn’t seem bothered at all by Anthony’s confession. “You’re planning an act of ecoterrorism, and you’re telling your president about it?”

“Okay if you put it that way it sounds bad!”

“It does, doesn’t it? Hehe, nah, you’re fine. Do you really think – Wow, I’m getting so many flashback memories just looking at you – you think this will work?”

“Only one way to find out, sir.”

“Just call me Ian.”

“Okay, Ian.”

“Anthony.”

“…Ian.” Anthony laughed.

“Alright, dickhead. Let’s do this!”

Anthony got one vial from his pocket again.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?”

“It looks like slime, to be honest.”

“It kinda is slime. But it’s very, very potent.”

“It looks like the Hulk’s jizz or something.”

“It thrives in salt water, and when in contact with CO2, it starts to procreate.”

“Well, there’s lots of carbon out there so I’m sure this goo will love it.”

Anthony took off the lid and poured the vial into the water.

“Do we see any of it?”

“We should, yeah… It’s still too misty, though.”

Anthony poured the rest of his vials into the ocean as well. The adrenaline finally got him though, and he tightly shut his eyes and held his breath.

“Please, please work,” he thought.

“Holy... Anthony?”

“Yeah?”

“Open your eyes?”

As he did, he gasped.

“Oh my god!”

“Oh my frick. I guess you did it.”

Their boat was surrounded by green. Anthony half laughed, half sobbed and launched himself into Ian for a tight hug.

“There, there…” Ian was suddenly up-close with Anthony’s body. It was very intense. The muscles, the tattoos… He patted his old classmate’s shoulder.

“You did good. If I could, I’d give you a medal or some shit.”

“Thank you mist- Ian.”

“So, what do we do now?”

That question startled Anthony. Was the president really looking for guidance from – him? Anthony blurted out: “I guess we can go back to shore? I bet everyone will be searching for you.”

“I somehow doubt it.” Ian sighed. “The things I’ve seen, Anthony, you don’t want to know about it. I took a principled approach to being president, only to wind up in some Game of Thones ass shit. You just saw that guy trying to off me. And there’s plenty more where he came from.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yeah, but you know, it was bound to happen eventually. I rather not go to shore yet, though.”

Anthony started the motor. The fog got thicker again. And that was for the best because they heard several helicopters pass in all directions. But the green sea around them had Anthony in a great mood. The algae had spread so fast, that everywhere they went, the surface of the water had already turned into an aggressive emerald.

“So, won’t it be kind of dark for the fish and stuff?” Ian had put on sunglasses now and Anthony was still marveling at having his president and that really funny guy from school, all in one. “Not that there are much fish left…”

“No, the algae are quite opaque. Also, as soon as they’re full enough with carbon, they sink down, basically a permanent source of fish food! And making room for new growth.

“That’s crazy dude.” Ian leaned back, almost relaxed. “And what will happen to the rest of the planet?”

“If all goes according to plan,” Anthony said while looking into the distance, “Earth’s temperatures are going to go down drastically, fast. Give it a couple of months, say. I know it’s very geo-engineering-y but Ian, we tried everything else.”

“We sure did.”

Another helicopter flew over.

“What do you think they will do once they find us?”

“Let’s not find out just yet, alright?”

“Sure.”

They sailed deeper into the fog. Until they almost crashed into another boat.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person who tells them (and you've never claimed to be)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: sarah black | the bishop/john hartley | also the bishop, pining from our dear nolan here

Word Count: 3086

The first rule about running a con is that if you ever find yourself believing your own lies, it’s time to get out. 

Did he believe that he really cared about Agent Built-Like-A-Brick-Shit-House Hartley? At first, no, because he was just an angry wall of meat that was always conveniently placed between him and anything he wanted—namely, the eggs—and it was not hard to hate angry walls of meat. Then it became yes, he did actually care about this massive lug hauling himself alongside because hey, more people equals more variables equals more things he has to prepare for when everything goes tits up. 

Then…yeah, okay, maybe then. 

Maybe. 

Like, gun to his testicles he probably wouldn’t say anything but if Hartley was throwing a party, he’d turn up. Maybe. Just to snatch the most expensive bottle of booze, crack a joke, and leave. 

No, you know what? This is a dumb place to start. Try again. 

He wishes he would’ve just left with the fucking egg. 

He wishes he would’ve jumped off the car and onto the other car and rode away on it. 

He wishes he would’ve let the Bishop shoot Hartley in his fucking chest. 

He wishes he wouldn’t have included him in that prison escape plan. He wishes he’d never told him the long story about his dad. He wishes he’d’ve let that fucking train rip him in half.

He—

Nope. This sucks too. Starting over. 

The oldest rule to a con is that it’s got three parts. Hook, line, sinker. 

Hook, get your target to admit you’ve got a point. Get them interested. A foot in the door, no matter how gnarled, gross, disfigured, or warty it is. Even if it’s just a single toe. Get it in the door. 

Line, feed them something they’ll want to eat. Hint at what you want them to be paying attention to. Get them talking, get them on your side. 

Sinker. Ride the gullible sap all the way to the bottom of the ocean. Like dead weight. Reel them in. Make them eat your bait until their little fish mouths are so full they’re gasping before they’re even out of the water. 

…yeah, that metaphor fucking sucks. Start over. 

Any minute now. He’ll think of something. Don’t you worry. 

…it’s really fucking hot out here. 

Didn’t even give him any sunblock or sunscreen or sun tan lotion or whatever the hell else people call it. You know how hard it is to be inconspicuous with tan lines? Maybe he should be grateful that he’s getting his vitamin D now since wherever Das is gonna stick him now likely won’t have panoramic views. 

Also the cuffs. Hurting like hell, thanks. 

He wasn’t lying, not really, when he says he’s got no hard feelings for them. They’re good. Holy shit, they’re good. They fooled him, that’s saying something. And the whole thing with the dramatic build-up and the kiss? Poetic cinema at its finest. Sure, he also wasn’t lying when he said he had notes for Hartley’s performance. A little less of the posturing, yeah, maybe a little less heavy-handed with the I became a cop to get back at my old man who despised the law and everything it stood for bullshit, and maybe a little less of the I’m-going-to-pretend-to-be-asleep-after-you’ve-just-confessed-your-tragic-backstory-since-that-time-with-your-third-therapist, that was a dick move. 

But everything else…yeah. Really great. Top notch. 

Great performance. 

Nolan sniffs and tries to adjust his arms so he’s resting a little more comfortably against the tree. Which is hard, considering he’s standing in the middle of a fucking jungle with his hands cuffed around a branch and his chest is currently doing its very best to fucking explode. 

You have to get really good at listening to your body when you do what he does for a living. You have to know when you’re in pain and understand where your limits are. Extends to other things too, knowing when you’re hungry, when you’re tired, any of that stuff. Sure, once you know your limits you can start to push them, can start telling your body to fuck off and all that good stuff, but you’ve got to learn them first. 

Nolan Booth is not a fucking rookie. He’s been around the block. Over it, under it, through it, he’s practically circumcised it. He knows what he’s doing. 

Which means that it’s probably a good thing he’s handcuffed to the tree right now so he has an excuse for not knowing what the fuck he’s doing. 

Is he mad that they got the drop on him? You bet your sweet ass he is, he’s supposed to be the one victorious at the end of all of this, he’s supposed to have his walk-off into the sunset moment. Sure, it’s tempered a little bit by the fact that yeah, okay, game can recognize game and that was good. 

Is he mad that he doesn’t get to keep any of the eggs? Again, you bet your fucking ass he is. He did so much of the work to get those eggs, he fucking unearthed deep-seated childhood trauma for this shit, and no payoff? Rude. 

Is he mad that the stupidest, easiest lie in the fucking world is the one he fell for? 

Does he even need to say it this time?

Nolan clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the press of his forehead against the bark of the tree. It rasps against too-sensitive skin and doesn’t do anything to alleviate the sting of the cool metal cuffs. 

He tries to tell himself that this is fine, that the lie isn’t as stupid and entry-level as he thinks it is. Hartley may not have actually worked for the FBI as a profiler, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the skills. Hell, he’s worked as a circus performer and he didn’t even have to pad out his CV that much. Hartley knew him, better than he’s let most therapists know him, and adjusted the lie accordingly. It was tailored specifically for him, that’s why it worked so well.

Never mind that it’s impossible to get that much stuff without actually talking to someone, never mind that it’s almost insulting how easy it was for him, if that was the case, it means they looked him up and did the job they knew he would fall for. 

Of course they did, a traitorous part of his brain whispers, they’re con artists. That’s what you do. 

Nolan grits his teeth and tugs at the cuffs again. It’s useless, he knows, he’s actually going to have to work to be free of these blasted things, but his hands aren’t working properly right now and he’s still too distracted by the pain blossoming in his chest. 

He wonders if Hartley knowing how badly he wanted to believe the lie was a part of how they came up with it. 

Who is he kidding, of course it was. 

Hartley’s words still ring in his head. Worthy of your father’s love. That had been the first time he’d conceded to the big hunk and he…he’d honestly thought it might be the last. But it hadn’t. 

Not when he’d gotten caught right next to him and found that not only is the man strong, he’s smart.

Not when he’d actually been hurt when he’d heard the fake snore coming from underneath him. 

Not when he’d watched him about to handcuff the Bishop only to stop, an actual fond smile coming to his face before sharing what might be the most tender kiss he’s ever seen with the woman who was supposed to be their greatest rival. 

His greatest rival. 

Nolan resists the urge to slam his head against the branch. Barely. 

We. When did this become a ‘we’ thing? When did he start thinking of this operation not as Booth and some agent he’s dragging along, but Booth and Hartley? When did he start to care that someone else was here, to the point where he left the fucking egg?

As with all good cons, the target can’t point out a singular moment where the switch flipped. It’s a slow burn, the kind where you put a frog in water and it doesn’t jump out even when its skin starts to peel off. 

How hot was the water when he heard Hartley laugh for the first time? Like, genuinely, I’m-not-shitting-you, you-genuinely-caught-me-off-guard laugh. His whole face had broken out into this smile and Nolan hadn’t been able to look away for a second. 

How hot was the water when he’d heard Hartley gasping for breath behind him and his chest had seized, trying to make him spit out the information just so he could get Sotto Voce to stop?

How hot was the water when they’d both been scrabbling around in the dirt like children, their sides pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, until the heat was almost unbearable?

He’d been boiled alive at the bottom of the waterfall. 

It doesn’t matter what you do, only what they think you’ve done. 

It doesn’t matter that the gasps he heard from Hartley made his throat cry out in agony, only that he lied to Bishop about where the last egg was. It doesn’t matter that his hand shook as he fitted the watch into place on that Nazi bunker, only that it worked to get inside. 

It doesn’t matter that his heart feels like it’s tearing itself in two, only that he got them what they wanted. 

The cuffs jangle as he yanks on them. 

Hartley…with his gruff voice and short sentences and jokes that slid just underneath Nolan’s skin. Even when they’d been fighting, he’d never hurt Nolan, not really, not badly, and the way they just seemed to match each other. Even with their insults and when they’d been squaring up in front of guns and technology and behind enemy lines, they’d been—he could look at Hartley and feel some sort of security. 

And Bishop…god, where does he even begin? The attention she’d paid him, the way she said his name, the way she’s crafted the narrative of them together as art thieves, even the way they teased Hartley for being so Johnny Law…

He tries to observe his own flaws with the way he does others, if only to make sure he can account for them when he goes to work. He knows he has a need for validation, for attention, but god had he underestimated how much he’d turned into a fucking lapdog. 

The pit in his chest opens a little bit more and two hands twist the knife. 

Whoever said that true friends stab you in the front because it’s quick and painless is a filthy liar. 

Of course they knew. Of course they knew. They’re too fucking smart not to know. He knew as well, that this was just a game. This was a game of them trying to one-up each other, seeing who could get the other to give up a weakness first. He knows he lost. He knows he’s lost badly and he’s a gracious loser. But that doesn’t mean it’s painless. 

He wonders who figured out he was starved for affection first. His money is on Hartley, just because the man is the one who figured out how to walk the line between giving Nolan enough to make him follow the crumbs like a stupid pigeon while still believing it was all his idea. But Bishop…oh, Bishop did so well with toying with him that he has to believe she knew it too. Little boy, perfectly molded into what they needed him to be by a daddy who didn’t talk to him for over a year and there he was, a pawn they moved effortlessly across the board, hand in unlovable hand. 

Another lie he told himself, another lie he knows he won’t ever be able to believe. 

Thank god he’s tied up in a jungle. The breeze ripples through the trees and insects whine like it’s their job to suck his brain out of his ears and he’s panting as he pulls at the jangling cuffs. It’s not quiet, it won’t ever be, not here, and he’s just a little bit grateful to them for that. 

“Do you ever shut up,” Hartley had grumbled on the flight to Argentina, “or am I cursed to just put up with your noise?”

“Aw, don’t complain, sweetheart, I’m sure I’ll make plenty of noise for you if you just ask nicely.” Never mind the fact that he would, he knows he would, if only that shamed and shunned part of him weren’t so buried. 

Hartley had glared at him. “I’m sick of you.”

And unbidden, Nolan had laughed. Genuinely laughed. “You think you’re sick of me? I have to listen to me all the time, even when I’m not talking.”

Hartley had given him another look, one that he now knows means he’s filing that information away to be turned into a weapon later, wielded by him or the Bishop, it doesn’t matter. Back then, he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, it’d been something like…regret? Compassion? Something?

Nolan isn’t sure that Hartley knew what he was saying. 

I have to listen to me all the time, even when I’m not talking. 

The worst thing about prison is the silence. Of seeing so many people and knowing they’re there and no one saying anything. Of being ignored because of course he’s there to be ignored. No one cares, no one will, and he will drown in silence until he can’t hear himself scream. 

Maybe he should. 

His throat closes up and aches to be let free and he wants to, he wants to, but the lingering fear that someone might hear him keeps a lock on it. 

Because he’s under no illusions that he’s saved face, but he has some pride left. 

He settles for the most pathetic whine he can think of as he buries his face into the bark of the tree. There’s no one but himself here to lie to, not in the safety of his own head, and he knows better than to try right now. 

He thought his legs were going to give out when he realized what had happened. He’d stared at them looking so smug, so perfect, so annoyingly perfect when they revealed what the jig was. And then to see them comforting each other, reassuring each other, apologizing to each other because they cared about each other. Seeing the fake warmth fade to genuine affection and fondness as they proceeded to treat him like a wall. He wasn’t there. He didn’t matter. He never did, he was just the Bishops’ pawn, and he would never be anything more than that. 

Nolan’s eyes squeeze tighter. He’s not going to cry alone in this jungle, handcuffed to a tree. He’s not. 

He’s not going to think about how stupidly condescending that last speech was. He’s not going to think about the part of him that still yearned to reach for Hartley during that moment when he said they had nothing but respect for him. He’s not going to think about how much he felt like a kid again, begging for scraps of anything from a father that wouldn’t give it to him. 

He’s not going to think about how easily they moved around each other. He’s not going to think about how, even when they were still supposedly enemies, they moved around each other as easily and comfortably as only intimate lovers could. He’s not going to think about how well he could see that in how they took turns tearing him apart. 

He’s not going to think about where they’re going now. He’s not going to think about the Bishop in some extravagant evening gown with Hartley taking her arm, the power couple they are. He’s not going to think about how much they care for each other, how much they depend on each other, and how little of anything they ever gave him was or could have been real. 

Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t real. It won’t be real. They don’t think of him. He is nothing to them, not in the way they could be to him. 

So he’s not going to think about it. 

He’s not. 

He’s not. 

Nolan Booth ducks his face between his elbows as tears squeeze themselves from his eyes. 

He can’t stay here. Das is going to come looking for him. He’s going to be escorted back to prison and he’s going to have to deal with this. He has to plan. 

So he lets himself have this. He slumps against the cuffs and lets them dig into the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists and he lets the ache in his chest send him almost to his knees. Because the second Das finds him, the game is on and he’s going to need all of his strength for what comes next. 

He has to rest now. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he wants to scream, he has to rest now. 

He’s as silent as he can be in the middle of an abandoned jungle. 

He lets Das and her men throw him roughly into the back of a truck. He lets his restraints be fastened so tight his circulation is about to be cut off. He lets himself be shoved into the back of a silent truck that means he can’t hear anything other than his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. 

He lets the boat spray hit him too hard in the face as he rides it out to the yacht in the middle of the ocean. He lets his shoulders ache and protest as he squeezes himself into a too-small space. He lets the sounds of passionate, real love and affection nestle into some soft part of his brain and stay there. 

He lets Hartley look at him like he’s a pest. He lets his words that say I don’t give a single fuck about you and you wish I cared enough to be angrier strike him where Hartley knows it hurts. He lets Bishop persuade her partner—her partner—to take the score because Booth can be a valuable asset and Hartley trusts her, one hundred percent. 

And he never again lets himself believe that, even for a second, any affection they show him could possibly be real.