#did not proofread this btw

[kisspotion]

college!matt murdock x reader | mutual masturbation... but not how you're thinking! | nsfw

a/n: matt’s kinda a perv in this… but you just sound so beautiful

college!matt fisting his cock in the shower to the same pace he hears you fucking yourself at. he tried to ignore your muffled moans at first, knowing how wrong it was to eavesdrop on his neighbor in the room across the hall. but his exam stress and your airy breaths combined into a painfully hard problem for matt.

it had been so long—too goddamn long—since he'd last had the chance to get off, mock trials and essays taking up any spare time. exhaling a long, slow breath, matt leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cold tile.

were you relieving your stress too? how many fingers were you fucking yourself with? were you wishing someone could be there to help you get off?

"fuck," he groaned at the thought, gripping the base of his cock. his hips jerked forward involuntarily at the sensation. he could hear your teeth pierce your lips as you hold back a whimper. matt sucked in a sharp breath thinking about your lips and how he wish he could feel them, feel the way your heart pounded with pleasure.

“pleasepleaseplease,” he overhears, fist continuing to work along his cock. your pleas combined with the wetness of your cunt hinted at how near your orgasm was. matt steadied himself against the wall with his left hand, ministrations containing with his right. it had been so long since he had last done this.

admittedly, matt didn’t find himself doing this very often. more typically than not, the stimulation was too much for him to feel pleasure. but sometimes, his neighbor across the hall sounds too pretty and fucked out for him to not. and you didn’t even know what you were doing to him.

“oh god,” his grip tightened, bringing him closer to the edge.

he wondered how long you had been touching yourself for before he caught you? what got you so worked up? if he were to just go and knock, would you let him help you?

matt’s chest heaved at the same pace as yours, orgasms approaching in tandem. your fingers grasp against your sheets, his desperately grasping for any stability against the tiles. his eyes squeezed shut, almost in a desperate attempt to imagine how you look while lost in pleasure.

a soft, echoing moan flew from matt’s lips, his head dropping back while his abdomen clenched at his release. cum splatted against the shower walls, washing away with the water and some dripping down his hand. his thumb swiped over the head of his cock, working himself to overstimulation to get this feeling out of his system in case he ever bumps into you leaving his room.

a pang of dizziness overcame him, pairing with his exhaustion. with a groan, matt pushed himself off the wall, leaning into the water stream. as his body began to relax, his ears grew deaf to the drops of water sliding off his warm skin, only hearing the slowness of your breathing and pulse of your heart.

he’d finish off his shower when he could find a thought of his that wasn’t about you.

[jelonelum]

:/ i dont get how u can read tbhk and come away thinking . Yeah the core message here is that supernaturals must be perished . this is a romance manga, and many of the relationships serve to bridge the gap between humans and supernaturals.

i get that people view characters like teru and hanako as reliable sources of information, but this is a manga and since all the information is gleaned through dialogue, you cant just take things at face value... when hanako says " destruction is the only salvation for supernaturals", this is less indicative of some greater universal truth and, more of a window into hanakos own system of values. (and we know hanako is somewhat self devaluating) (plus kou literally challenges that notion just seconds later like wauhjsahusdfiq)

like post no6 arc, im shocked that this is still what people take away from the story; the no6 arc shows us how both sumire and hakubo were exploited and taken advantage by not supernaturals but,, OTHER HUMANS. even going back to the beginning of the series, we see the vital role the rumors propagated by (Shocking. HUMANS) has over the action of supernaturals; they act under the discretion of their rumors. as long as humans circulate negative rumors, they are going to be dangerous. for a family like the minamoto clan, who has built their legacy off of slaying supernaturals. Isnt that..... pretty convenient ?

i know people inform their understanding of tbhk through aidairos other works, namely dmld, and even though that ending is somewhat tragic, its not an ENTIRELY nihilistic message. karuto and lily live within the confinement of the rules of their society, and these rules are never directly challenged ; instead, karuto finds a way to work within the system to create a solution. his deception of lily is definitely portrayed as somewhat gritty, but dmld is a oneshot, so it makes sense for it to end on a somewhat unexpected , perhaps nihilistic note. but tbhk creates a world with much more depth ; and unlike dmld, a big theme in tbhk is , Hope ! ACT ON YOUR DESIRES! bend the rules , CHANGE THE WORLD!

this isn't like...oyasumi pun pun, this is a romance manga with both dark and lighthearted elements. after 120+ chapters exploring the characters and the world they live in, wouldn't 'exterminate all supernaturals' be a pretty empty message? ?

[milkbreadtoast]

more 괴담출근 liveblog... just kim soleum word vomit... (ch 13-22) (gonna read more and finish this arc but gotta unload this first hmdnfbdn)

(ch 1-13 liveblog here:)

(ch 13)

(ch 22)

(still ch 22... WORD VOMIT INCOMING LMAO)

THIS ISNT EVEN ALL MY LIVEBLOGS JUST THE ONES I COULD FIT... i think the other ones were mostly just me repeating "i fucking love this guy" tho... I love him as much as han yoojin & jung yeseo... But he's really good and endearing in his own ways...🥺

[sha-brytols]

desertion

kirby's fucking pissed

What awaited her at Vigil's Keep had been nothing short of a disaster.

Trisha glares daggers into Stroud from where she stands on the battlements. The Orlesian Warden bows his head to her, his expression one of deep regret. Her hands clench into fists at her sides as he apologizes for the fifth time in the span of a single conversation.

"I understand your anger—"

"Where are they?" Trisha snaps, her voice trembling with emotion. She can feel the Veil whispering around her, her friends from beyond the Fade hovering restlessly as she fights to restrain her temper.

Stroud swallows hard. "It is believed the mage abandoned his post and fled north, across the Waking Sea. I do not know about the... creature."

"They have names, Ser Stroud. Anders and Justice. Or did you forget your manners when you allowed a Templar to infiltrate our ranks?"

This time, Stroud does not offer her an apology. His expression hardens. He says nothing more, and he doesn't have to. The message is clear.

I did my duty.

Trisha takes a deep breath, her fingers curling tightly around the rough stone of the parapet. It crumbles beneath her grasp, magic and tension and grief bleeding through the cracks in her composure. Maker's blood. She was a fool to believe that the Chantry would not retaliate after what had happened in Amaranthine; Anders is a loose cannon. Unpredictable. Rebellious. How naive to believe they would let him slip quietly into obscurity as they had her.

How naive to believe that the Grey Wardens were ever truly above the petty power games of the Chantry.

Exhaling a long, slow sigh, she unfurls her fist from the stone. Blood trickles down her palms, and she absently heals the cuts as she turns away from the horizon. "You will be sent to Weisshaupt to deliver the full reports of this disaster, personally, to the First Warden," she informs him coolly, straightening her back and lifting her chin. "You will also inform him that if any Warden is withdrawn from my service—and I mean any Warden—I will take it to mean that the Order has no faith in me as Arlessa and that they have forfeited their claim to Amaranthine. Is that clear, Ser Stroud?"

The Orlesian's eyes narrow. "That is a dangerous threat to make, Commander."

"Is that clear, Ser Stroud?"

The warning in her tone is unmistakable. She will not be questioned in her own fortress. Stroud has no business lecturing her on propriety after what he's allowed to transpire under his watch. The Wardens in Orlais have no concept of true danger; they are secure in their alliance with the Chantry. They have never experienced a Blight. Adversity. They do not know what it means to have their own men spit on them and curse their names. They do not know what it is like to stand on the wrong side of Andraste's faithful.

They have not watched the people they love be wrenched away from them by those who claim to be their allies.

"Very well, Commander," Stroud replies at length, inclining his head to her stiffly. "I will leave in the morning. But I will not be returning here once I have completed my task. I intend to return to my post in Adamant as soon as my report has been delivered."

Trisha smiles thinly. "As you wish. You will be given accommodations for the evening." She gestures to the stairs behind them. "You are dismissed, Warden. I recommend you get out of my sight before I forget myself and toss you off of the ramparts."

She does not wait for a response before she turns back to the horizon. The sun has nearly set, the sky a deep, bloody red that paints the fortress crimson. The sound of clanking steel behind her is barely audible over the ringing in her ears as she watches the last rays of light disappear beneath the hills in the distance. Her throat constricts, her eyes stinging with tears. It is only when she is sure that Stroud has gone that she allows herself to slump against the stone, trembling hands running through her hair as she tries to calm her ragged breathing.

Anders, what have you done?

[mariyekos]

Crack fic idea: POV of a police officer chasing a robbery suspect who ends up running into DMC to escape/grab a hostage. When the officer opens the door, he finds the suspect standing frozen in the middle of the room, because on the opposite end by the desk, an angry Vergil's standing there stabbing a surprised Dante. This stabbing pretty obviously happened before the robber showed up. It's only through the hand, but the one guy is holding a whole giant samurai sword, the guy getting stabbed has a gun in his free hand, and there's kind of a lot of blood.

The other officer comes in after POV guy. Officer 2 looks over the scene, then starts to arrest the suspect who's still so shocked he doesn't really fight the handcuffs. Once the suspect is cuffed, Officer 2 starts to walk him through the door and tells POV Officer it's time to go. POV Officer is confused, because uh, sir, there's some pretty severe domestic violence going on and he doesn't know if that gun's registered, and even if they ignore all the normal police/violence/safety issues shouldn't they call some EMTs??? Or at least ask the guy getting stabbed if he's okay???? (To which Dante calls out "oh yeah I'm good!" confusing poor POV officer further)

Officer 2 just frowns and shakes his head. "No, they've got this. Right Dante?" To which Dante cheerfully replies with some small talk that makes it obvious he and Officer 2 are acquainted. Vergil gets tired of the small talk and rips the Yamato out of Dante's hand, walking upstairs. And when POV Officer starts to ask something else, Dante basically just waves him off with some sort of comment about how Vergil's just grumpy, honestly Dante kind of deserved that one, he'll admit he was being a bit pushy. And then waves goodbye when Officer 2 says they really need to get back go the station and book the suspect.

As they leave, POV Officer asks what's going on. Officer 2 basically just tells him not to worry, and not to write it in the report. That's just Dante. Dante tries to keep clear of the police, the police try to keep clear of Dante, and everyone's happy. He's helped out on a handful of cases when he just so happened to be in the area, he's gotten accused of some property damage a few times, it all evens out. You just don't mention Dante. City Police actually have a code for it, if they ever absolutely have to. But today they don't, so they won't. They caught the suspect. That's that. The suspect ran into one of the many abandoned buildings in the area and they caught him. Nothing else of note.

Oh, and if POV Officer is worried about the hand, he shouldn't be. The police here have known demons were real for years before Redgrave, and they're pretty sure Dante's one of the nice ones. When he says he'll be fine, hell be fine. Officer 2 has some good stories about him getting shot in the chest and getting tight bacm up, actually...

...

And so a crazy day comes to an end. The suspect's been caught, the streets are safe, and that's that. Nothing else happened. Nothing at all.

If POV Officer starts sprinting in the opposite direction when he sees a certain tall, white haired, blue eyed, blue wearing man when he's walking down the street later that week, it's for no reason at all.

[einsatzzz]

Can we have Hiyori x Yui art for white day! 💛💚

Hello Anon! 👋 To quickly answer your ask, that would be a no since WD has already passed. ANYWAY, WD IS ALREADY HISTORY! WE HAVE BIGGER FISH TO FRY!!!

‼️‼️‼️NOW TO THE MAIN POINT OF THE ANSWER TO THIS ASK‼️‼️‼️Because we do not do Ya/oi sacrilege within this house(blog) that worships Ya/oism‼️‼️‼️ /lighthearted & not mad btw but this is also serious business in this blog, ok?! We need to talk about this, anon!

I'm pulling up Yuipachi-sensei for this, so read carefully, because Sou and I are not above pulling an "Ummm Ackshuallly...🤓☝️📖✨" on you djdjgskshsks KHRe universe is created by crazy fujo/shi ein & crazy fudan/shi sou, we are the BL Snorter Brothers, always remember that.

I hope this very informative answer from Yuipachi-sensei helps. And if you have any issues, you can speak to our professional expert lawyer and apprentice, Atty. Miruku Osashima (pictured below).

( @lyingsun look at my lawyer dawg, im always gonna be walking away a free man 😌✨---maybe I should clean this up and color for the memes)

[wafel1160]

Chapter 1 of my Catday fic, “stay with me”

Chapter 1, 2, 3,

“Alright you two-“

A man tells the two critter stars.

“It’s exactly how we practiced!” He looks behind the curtain. “Just with more eyes on you. “

The little dog turned his head, looking at the new environment. It was filled with lights, yet it still felt so dark. He could hear people chattering behind the big curtain. He looked to the little cat next to him.

Dogday could see the cat shaking as he held on to his tail. Dogday grabbed catnaps paw and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be together. Just, stay with me.”

The cat squeezed the dog’s paw and smiled back.

“Get ready in 3-2-1” One of the staff members said to them.

The curtains opened and they walked on stage.

“Introducing our latest project yet- Catnqp and Dogday!”

The crowd all gasped at the sight. They were real- sentient beings.

Dogday waved nervously. “Hello!” He said hesitantly. Catnap only stared forward while holding Dogday’s hand.

“Catnap- you gotta smile.” Dogday whispered.

Catnap only looked down.

“Go on Dogday- do your tricks.” The announcer nudged Dogday. He walked into the middle of the stage and stood on his hands. He paused for the crowd to watch, then cartwheeled away.

“Your next Catnap!” The announcer spoke again. This time, catnap didn’t do anything.

He held on to his tail and stood still.

The crowd followed Catnap’s decision with, “awe” Dogday then spoke up, “It’s okay! He’s just a little- shy”

“It seems he is” The announcer looked happy but his tone said otherwise. Dogday whispered to Catnap, “Just pretend im the only one here.” He said.

Catnap tried already. He knew all the ways to keep the fright away, but it never worked.

“C’mon!” The announcer said in between his teeth. He nudged catnap with his foot.

“It’s not that hard!”

Instead of doing his tricks, he grew angry. He bared his fangs and dug his claws into the floor of the stage.

“Catnap- Catnap!” Dogday yelled to calm him down, but Catnap couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything as he started attacking the announcer. His vision started getting blurry as screams filled the air. Something went near him and he pounced on it. Then his vision went blurry.

* * *

A distinct sound of voices filled the air as Catnap slowly opened his eyes. He heard something about injured.

“Do you think we have to drop the project?” A woman asked. “We are not dropping this! Maybe experiment 1188 is a failure- but experiment 1160 isn’t!”

“We can’t afford mistakes!” The woman yelled.

“I-“ The man got cut off by a small voice.

“What’s going to happen to Catnap?” Dogday! Catnap’s eyes shot open. He had a smile on his face, until he saw Dogday with bandages on his stomach.

Catnap’s expression could only be described as horror at the sight of his best friend injured.

I’ll post how chapter 2 is going so far to see if you guys like it

[6okuto-moved]

ATTACHMENT LOVE

🧺 #11: "you and i don’t love each other but i know too much about your mother / we’ll make this work" with hinata for @quikhs ! :-)

warnings: gn!reader, reader’s mom wants to have dinner (just a mention) (song link)

it’s been 3 months since hinata’s stayed the night at your apartment.

practice, work, outings with people other than each other—nothing seemed to line up, and when they did, it seemed too a heavy task for either of you to reach out, exhaustion and something else between the gaps of your bones and schedules.

you’re not sure what that something else is, or if he feels it too. you’re not sure if you want to know. but you feel it in dwindling good morning’s and plans cancelled long before his last sleepover, feel it fill the space your boyfriend used to as you wash his scent out of borrowed sweaters.

but shoyo’s here tonight, and that’s what matters, you think.

his toothbrush from 3 months ago slides as you move to change your own, and you figure you might as well change his too.

“changing our toothbrushes, do you care what colour yours is?” your voice bounces back at you while you look in the cupboard. there’s only three in the pack you have—primary coloured—and you figure he’d like yellow most. you grab red for yourself.

shoyo rubs his feet together, sitting on the edge of your bed instead of sprawling across. “mm, you can leave it for now, it’s okay,” he reassures you.

“...you sure?”

“yeah.”

“...okay.”

your eyes hover on the unused face masks he bought you for your birthday, and you let the noise of cardboard backing ripping from plastic fill the space neither of you can seem to.

shoyo calls you from the room over.

that something else roots in your stomach. “yeah?”

he doesn’t say anything for a second, two, and you take a breath.

“i ran into the girl—remember the one who, uh, kept trying to unlock the door one night because she was drunk and didn’t realize she was on the wrong floor?” you pull the memory up and along with your voice while your fingers tremble, stumble on their way to place the last toothbrush in the cupboard and almost drop it to the marble below.

and maybe shoyo notices what you’re doing—he must. he always does. “...yeah, and i thought i was gonna have to fight someone with your vacuum somehow. did she try apologizing again?”

“she almost did,”—you half smile, save the memory, that night, from sinking and drowning—“but i saw her stop herself. we just said hi and talked a little. found out she has a cat so i wanna drop by at some point if you wanna come.”

you’ve made your way back to your bedroom, and shoyo’s still sitting on the edge of your bed. he smiles, and it’s kind, not apologetic or pitying, but understanding all the same.

you’re not sure if its toward her or you.

he says your name again. quieter this time, but steady as he always is.

you purse your lips.

“and my mom wants to have dinner with us.” you grasp at the next thought. “she said she has some new recipes she wants us to try before she brings it to the next holiday party, and she wants to see your mom, too, and natsu, since it’s been so long. if that’s– if that’s okay with them– with you.”

“is that okay with you?” he squints, just a little.

the floorboard creaks as you shift your weight under his gaze, and you fiddle with your hands behind your back so he can’t see. (it doesn’t matter—he knows anyway.) “why wouldn’t it be?”

shoyo takes a breath while you hold yours.

“...yeah, okay.” his exhale is deep. “i’m not as busy this month, so i’ll ask my mom what her schedule looks like. natsu’ll be excited so i’m sure she’ll be good to go whenever.”

he moves further onto your bed as he thinks out loud. “you know i think she likes your mom’s food more than mine– i tried cooking lunch for her a while ago and the look she gave me. is my cooking that bad? i thought i stopped adding too much salt but maybe my salt senses are just dulled?”

and just for a moment, everything’s back to the way it was months ago: shoyo rambling, hands planted behind him on the mattress, you smiling as he whines, both of you in your pajamas for a night in.

but your mind lingers on the toothbrush still sitting next to your new one, and the way your boyfriend won’t lie down on your bed—an old acquaintance unfamiliar with a place that used to be as much his home as it is yours—and that something else that’s been creeping in the space between you knocks at your chest incessantly, an unwelcome visitor that has the decency to wait for your permission to enter.

you wish it would just leave or break inside.

“sho.” your voice is quiet, but catches his attention all the same. the sunset drifts over tangerine strands and honey brown eyes, lights up the dust that twirls around as he looks up at you, and you wish you were asking anything else but what you are.

“is this okay?”

whatever this is.

shoyo blinks, once, twice. sighs and smiles one more time. “i don’t think so.”

qui !! thank u so much for joining and ur ask 🥹🥹!! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME!! this one was a toughie,, doesn't play out exactly like the song. shoyo has a lot of emotional intelligence but i think he struggles in this case because he’s never had a break-up before and. it’s you. he still cares for you, even if it isn’t in the same way, and he doesn’t want to hurt you and ..? he came tonight because he knows you should talk but. he gets there and he sees all the evidence of him and your life together and everything’s harder when the time comes isn’t it. hm. anyway. if u ever write something ur proud of feel free to tag me !! i'm vry happy u enjoy mine,, thank u again!! 🥹🥹

[permafrown]

CHOP CHOP I WANT THREE SEPARATE FICS

🤝🏽 + 💪🏽 + ✊🏽

YOUR GREED .. SICKENS ME..... anyway these are all roughly 500 words a pop so here you go

🤝🏽 Hand holding - Varrè × Rue

-> Varré finds Rue wounded in a cave (tw for blood)

"There you are, my lambkin." Varré purrs as he settles on his knees beside Rue, taking in their lethargic form. Their breaths came out slow, but steady. Their Knight's helmet had been cast aside, body curled over a rock. Hair splayed against bloody stone as they're just barely able to turn their head to look at him.

Their pupils, he noticed, went large at the sight of him. With hunger or affection, or perhaps even a mixture of both, he wasn't sure. "I was beginning to wonder where you had ran off to."

It would seem whatever venture they had gone on recently landed them in a nasty battle. Roughed up and bleeding. Luckily, their curse would keep them alive. Infact, they'd eventually heal, but without feeding it would be a slow, painful process. His Rue was a stoic one, veiling their pain with shaky breaths and subtle twitching.

"Your prey put up more of a fight than you anticipated, hm? Poor thing." He tuts, tucking a stray curl behind their ear. "You must be starving."

Rue's eyes went half-lidded at his gentle touch. Too tired to speak, it would seem. Up until then, they had been focusing all their energy on healing, but they did their best to focus on Varre's words.

"Say no more, your Varré is here to help you." He says, chuckling to himself as he began undoing the bandages on his arm. Rue raises their head weakly, watching him curiously. It surprises him how patient they are, despite their apparent hunger. Had he had been anyone else, perhaps a random passerby or an animal that just so happened to be weaker than them in that moment, Rue would've sank their teeth in already.

Once his arm is unwrapped, he offers it to them. Rue hesitates, for a moment, almost out of a sense of embarrassment. Varré lifts his arm higher, persisting. "Come on, don't be so modest now. We've done this song and dance before."

With a defeated huff, Rue takes ahold of his arm with one hand, the other atop his as he held it down firmly. Nails dug gently into his skin, a small distraction as they bit down on his wrist, incisors piercing skin to draw blood. The initial prick made Varrè his softly, his hand shaking slightly. Rue intertwined their fingers with his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

They lap at the blood from the wound. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter up until that moment. Varré watched on with interest. He felt like he could see the life returning to their eyes before him. He was glad to see it working so quickly, but he wouldn't tell them that.

Once satisfied, they departed with a kiss to his wrist and a murmur of thanks, wiping any stray blood from their mouth.

They sit up, slowly, keeping a gentle hold on his hand as they began to re-bandage it for him. "I don't have much in me, still. I'll likely fall asleep soon in a moment to fully recuperate." They finish up, and lift their head to look at him. "Will you stay with me?"

Behind the mask, Varré smiles. While staying in a dank cave wasn't ideal, perhaps he could make the exception, just this once. "Of course, dear."

💪🏽 Bridal carry - Momotaros × Doombringer

-> momos and doombringer being weenies idk what else to tell you (no tws)

Tasked (or perhaps punished) with tracking down an Imagin, Doombringer and Momotaros stood outside the location of the reported spotting, eyes cast upward at the house on the hill. It was all run-down with no sign of life within it, vines half-way on the way to reclaim it. It didn't help it was already nighttime outside, either. The house sported a torn-up banner that read 'Haunted House Attraction!'

"Jeez, this place gives me the creeps." Momotaros murmurs, a shiver accompanying him after.

Doombringer shrugs, unphased. "It is actually haunted, after all."

"Seriously?" He asks in a harsh whisper. Doombringer doesn't respond, beginning to walk up the steps to the abandoned abode. Momotaros looks around, before hurrying after his partner before they got too far up the stairs "W-wait! Don't just say that and then try to leave me behind!"

Rushing up, he ends up bumping into Doombringer's back, catching them petrified at the top of the stairs. "What's wrong? What's there?" Momotaros asked, his voice getting shaky as he peered over their shoulder.

"The.. the door opened by itself.." Doombringer murmurs, pointing. Just then, thunder began to rumble in the sky. The two looked to eachother slowly, and then back at the door. 

With great hesitation, Doombringer began to walk forward. Momotaros followed closely behind, keeping a tight grip on their arms as they crept down the entrance hallway, which happened to have dimly lit candles.

"Any sign of that imagin?" He whispers.

"No," They whisper back.

The door slams shut behind them, and the two huddle closer. Momotaros whimpers. "Do you think it did that on it's own, too?"

"I don't know." Doombringer whispers back. "Maybe we should check."

Neither of them move for a good minute, merely staring ahead in silence, getting nowhere.

Slowly, Momotaros turns around first, a scream erupting from him at the sight of a horrible, several-eyed Imagin blocked the doorway, barely visible in the dark. He grabs at Doombringer frantically, who makes a series of confused sounds as they turn to see what he was seeing. Their scream joins his, and before they even know it, Momotaros has lept into heir arms and they're booking it to the nearest exit.

Luckily for them, the house has a back door. The door flies open, and Doombringer rushes out. They end up tripping on a blade of grass, however, and the two go tumbling down the hill.

The initial panic subsides as their rolling comes to a stop, and Momotaros is the first to spring up. "Wait a minute! Why were you panicking? You have a weapon!" He yells, pointing at Doombringer's signature meat cleaver attached to their waist.

"Not like I could've grabbed it with you in my arms like that! What was that for?" Doombringer barks back, sticking their hand out for Momotaros to help them up. Groaning, he takes their hand, pulling them up before turning back to the back entrance with a new-found determination. "Stupid imagin.. Now we really have to kick his ass."

"Mm." They hum in agreement, clenching their fists in show of their joint excitement. A thought crosses their mind just then, and they switch to gesturing toward the door as they turn to him. "Do you want me to carry you back in? Momohime."

Momotaros baps the back of their helmet, eliciting a hiss from them, and then he keeps walking. "Let's go, stupid."

✊🏽 Protecting - Deimos × Psychs

-> Psychs allows Deimos to accompany them on a retrieval mission (gun tw)

"Leave it to me, pretty lady." Deimos puffs his chest out, proudly waving his rifle around with no real concern for firearm safety. He spins on his heel, and starts to walk down the Nexus Core hallways. A smirk tugs at Psychs' lips.

Although this was Psychs' previous place of employment and they could most certainly navigate themselves, Deimos had insisted on serving as their escort. Infact, coming along was also entirely his idea. Once he had caught wind of the undertaking, however, he had practically begged Psychs to let him go with. They had planned on going alone since having anyone else tag along felt like more than a liability than anything, but, it seemed they had been persuaded otherwise. It was a simple retrieval mission, after all.

Deimos walks faster than Psychs, remaining vigilant as he constantly monitors their surroundings. The scientist, on the other hand, moves with a leisurely stride, hands behind their back as they keep their eyes on Deimos more than anything.

He sees a split path up ahead, and holds his hand up to signal for Psychs to stop. He looks left, and right, and then left again, contemplating. Nodding to himself, he starts to move right. Psychs stands at the intersection and watches Deimos walk down the corridor, and clears their throat.

"Oh, Deimos," They call after him. He turns to look at them. "You're going the wrong way." They chuckle, leaning to the side as they gesture beside them.

"My old lab's this way."

Deimos blinks, jogging back to Psychs, nodding as he moved past them to head in the guided direction. "I knew that."

As they moved forward, Deimos noticed how quiet things were. He clicked his tongue, tapping his rifle against his shoulder. "Is it always this quiet over here? I could've sworn this place used to be crawling with grunts.." He mutters. "I was hoping to get the chance to show off."

"Show off," Psychs repeats. "As if I haven't seen you fight before."

"Yeah, but this is different." He looks back at them, winking. "I'm protectin' ya!"

"Watch. By the end of this, you'll be fawnin' over me. I'm gonna shoot an agent and you'll be all like-" he pauses to clear his throat to put on a stupidly high-pitched voice "'Wow, Deimos! That was so cool of you! You're so handsome and I love you sooo much! I don't know why I didn't ditch these losers sooner!"

"Mm." Psychs hums in tame amusement, the two stepping into an elevator. Psychs presses a button to one of the upper floors. "Is that how I'll sound?"

"Yup!" Deimos grins. "Down to the last word."

The door opens after a minute, and immediately, an approaching agent spots the two of them, startled.

"Now's your chance." Psychs whispers to him, and Deimos laughs, running out the elevator to show this nameless agent- and more importantly, Psychs- what he's made of.

[sea-buns]

not really, but I suppose that’s just a difference of opinion. I do think that gorgug’s nightmare sequence was one of the weakest, especially with how it shifted topics (being dead, small spaces, not being able to escape a stereotype, because if any of these had been expanded on that would’ve been great), but I do think a lot of gorgug’s character revolves around feeling in-between, or too much one thing and not another and trying to close that gap. The best one for me was deffo the sphinx tho, I interpreted it as not *just* about him being dumb, but rather like. You’re big and dumb and strong and your main job is getting angry and hitting shit with an axe. You went to a community of gnomes and they gave you a better axe, and you loved it. You are uniquely dumb, unlike those who have come before you, because you cannot solve a specific kind of puzzle while a sphinx talks at you. You are the reason your parents cut contact, and from the beginning you were unsuited for their home. Your extended family predicted that you would grow to know only rage, and here you are, a barbarian. You, from this perspective, are not proving them wrong.

I do think that that whole sequence does reveal that he’s afraid of like. Being that stereotype? And then going yeah sure I’m stupid eat me, then moving forward and clawing your way into understanding anyways

Ahhh I see. Yeah I think I did misunderstand your first ask a bit lol

I did really love a lot of the topics his sequence brought up. Like I've read some incredibly well-written fanfics that covered the ways that claustrophobia, and imposter syndrome, and being dead have affected him. But like you said, if they had just honed in on at least one, rather than hopping back and forth, it could have done so much for that section. Cuz, personally, I don't feel like we saw Gorgug be significantly affected by any of those. At least not in a way that felt complete and satisfying.

I really like what you said about his character being "in-between". I totally agree. Kinda circles back to how his parents trying to help him calm his rage was actually stifling him.

Your family needs you to calm down; you've broken another bedchairdoorappliance. Your teacher wants you to rage; he says anger is good but you don't understand. You sing to try and calm yourself, you're always trying to be kind to others; they only use it to hurt you more and all you can do is get angry back. Your friends need you to rage. You don't have the power to protect them socially, but this you can do. You try not to rage outside of a fight, but.... they don't seem to be that bothered when you do. In fact, you watch them provoke physical confrontation when they're mad on many occasions.

(Oops dipped a biiiit into the pot of how important friendship is to his character. Did not mean to lol it's just one of my fav things about him so it's kinda subconscious I guess)

But yeah! He's also in such a limbo this season as well! You can't do this you're too angry, you're not smart enough for that, you don't rage right.

Also realllyy like your interpretation of his trial. The angle you described it at was really interesting.

I don't think stereotype is the right word, though. I would say... he's afraid of becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy? I'm assuming based on your own "stereotype?" that you weren't sure about the word either.

I don't think Gorgug is, or would ever be, afraid of being a "stereotype". Like I don't think he gives a shit about the stereotype that orcs/half-orcs/barbarians only know anger and destruction. I think he's afraid of being a self-fulfilling prophecy of all the things people say that he is. Stupid, mindless, destructive, etc. To pull from what you said here (which it wont let me copy paste on mobile god fucking damnit)

"Your extended family predicted that you would grow to know only rage, and here you are, a barbarian. You, from this perspective, are not proving them wrong."

"Stereotype" for sure applies to his racist extended family. They fucking breathe stereotypes like oxygen. But the bit where his afraid of becoming what everyone says he is, I think "self-fulfilling prophecy" suits that much better. He believes he can be more than that, he knows he can, but it doesn't change the fact that they are technically right.

Okay and the giving in but then "clawing your way into understanding anyways" actually goes so hard lol. Anon, you are so right. From that pov, it's not so much a give up as it is an acknowledgment before he essentially puts the subject on ice.

Rings back a bit to the start of fhjy to me. That dread of seeing the email of school starting back up again, and the terrible sinking pit in your stomach of avoidance, because the time has come to really unpack all that. There was something specific Zac said in his little Gorgug recap before the season started that was about, like, the dread of having to figure out who the fuck you're gonna be when everyone around you seems to have their shit together. That. That hit hard lmao but the experience that he's covered is very true to Gorgug, I think.

I totally misunderstood your first ask! Though I'm happy you sent another cuz I understand a lot better, I think. And tbh I've never had the opportunity to discuss that section of fantasy high with anyone? I wasn't on tumblr or watching d20 when it first aired so I missed these specific topics. Always been v interested in what others thought of his part. Maybe I should put the vods on in the bg next time I'm play sdv. Give em a relisten. And man. The fact that I'm out here quoting your message brings me back to english class so hard. Shocked I don't hate it. Actually having a topic you give half a shit about does wonders huh lmao

Thanks for the ask! You have altered my perspective and I appreciate it. It's like how sometimes you gotta read something out loud to understand it. If all I have is the walls of my own skull, I can only get so far.

[hoboblaidd]

"you can go back to sleep. it's safe."

Rare was the time Solas fell asleep without realizing it. It was a trick he'd pulled on countless others in the past, drawing someone unwillingly into the Fade while their waking body slumped into an unnatural slumber.

He'd been subjected to it precious few times in the past, and then only ever at the hands of an evanuris. The loss of his control was disorienting, and the Fade for a moment felt as unfamiliar to him as modern Thedas. It was an emptiness Solas felt with a tight grip of fear on his heart.

Confusion here led to danger, and an emotion like fear even moreso. Already wisps gathered around him, inquisitive and, as yet, harmless. At the edges of his mind, he felt more powerful spirits take notice of a lost dreamer.

But this was still the Fade, his natural home and as part of him as breathing. Solas may walk its disparate paths now with heavy feet or as a shade of the Wolf, rather than, how had the Iron Bull put it? 'Flap your arms and zip around in there?’ Amusing, and closer to the truth than Bull had realized. But no matter his shape, Solas could bend its paths to his will, and call on spirits to guide him as he traversed the channels he made.

If this forced dream was some Venatori somniari’s doing, it would be a very short-lived victory.

Before he could effectively investigate this, he needed to ground himself. He'd guided enough unwilling dreamers through it in the past, when the evanuris used it as a tool of control. Or even in the intervening years since when he was exhausted and traveled as barely more than a lupine shade, stumbling across mortals ensnared by Tevinter dreamers. The process was the same, mortal or otherwise. If they could manage it, so too could that which was once called Wisdom.

He went through the process methodically.

Where was he when he fell asleep? The Storm Coast of Ferelden, in an Inquisition camp atop a rocky outcropping, with unrelenting rain and cold air from the sea battering their tents. He pushed on the Fade to take that shape. The wind whistled around him and he tasted salt in the air from the ocean's runoff.

Was he alone when he fell asleep? The others were around them. His Inquisitor laughing at some cryptic observation Cole made about Dorian and the Iron Bull. Varric and Cassandra bickering as she helped raise his tent. He focused on that noise, and the sound of Varric's wry retorts echoed around him, the sound of his Inquisitor's unflattering snort of laughter, Cole's stuttering confusion at a joke he did not realize he'd told.

What was he doing when he fell asleep? He...could not remember. Confusion, fear, and more spirits congregated around him. He pushed past the emotions once again, firmly sticking to the logic game he forced himself back into. What was the last thing he did remember doing? Sitting with little Nanna Amell. He let out a slow exhale, and the Fade softened around him, as she so often softened him. Sitting with Nanna, sharing a rare fond memory from her days in Ferelden's Circle. A smile that reached her eyes, and one he always returned. Asleep in a place of peace, then.

Grounded, he held out his hand. The Fade shimmered as he called forth stone over the memory of the muddy ground of Ferelden. He set foot before foot, and the wisps became guides rather than curiosities. The spirits at the edges of his mind calmed as he did, and the path winded through the amalgamation of the Storm Coast back to the waking world.

Solas.

He started, and his careful reconstruction and control of the Fade slipped. The salty air of the Waking Sea soured on his tongue. Varric's voice distorted into a tremble of the earth he had not felt since they first took these bodies, the Inquisitor's laugh rose into a cry as Andruil crushed a village in retaliation for his actions. The soft look in Nanna's eyes blackened and her fond memory was choked by the blight.

But so, too, did the wisps around him flee, and the push of the greater spirits dissipated. He was in the presence of something that far outshone them. Something he had not thought to feel again, because he had run from it. One of them. The greatest of them. And his instinct was to run from her.

It was not her voice, or at least, not as he remembered it. It had been so long that even the shape of her felt distant. But he felt her as readily as when they'd simply been Wisdom and Benevolence. The press of her arm against his as they watched his first sunrise. A voice guiding him to the Titan blood he would shape into their dagger. The hand on his face as she admonished him for betraying her but declared that her steadfast love and friendship had never waned in spite of it. The ripple of her murder echoing across the Fade to the Lighthouse.

"Mythal?" His voice was small in the sudden, vast nothingness around him. There was no ground or sky. He could not force a path, or call on spirits to guide him. He had no control, and in the emptiness there was now only him.

Why have you not looked for me?

He had, once, when first he'd woken. He'd felt her impossible presence in the world and sought her out in the memories of the Fifth Blight. From Kinloch Hold to the Korcari Wilds he'd searched for her. He'd found the memory of something like her, a human woman in a swamp who spoke with two voices. It had morphed into a memory of a pendant given to another human to take to the same Waking Sea he now slept before. Asha'bellanar, it had spoken to him, and beckoned him to cross the ocean for her.

And he hadn't.

I have waited for you. Why have you not come for me?

Because he did not recognize her in that human woman. And perhaps, it was because when he'd first woken into a world without any evanuris, a small part of him had rejoiced before the full extent of the calamity of the Veil became known to him. They were free. He had won. His work was at last done.

I wait for you. Why do you not come to me?

"I can't," he whispered.

Ever you make the wrong choice, old friend.

Solas started awake with a gasp, quiet and contained, but there, and lurched upright. His heart pounded and his breath stuck fast in his throat. He reached beside him with a shaking hand for Lavellan’s arm. She was always there when he woke, the smell of her hair against his face, softly snoring where her nose pressed into his neck, and her eternally cold feet laced below his legs for warmth.

But she was not there.

He dug his heel into the sand, feeling its damp sharpness cut into his skin. He gazed sharply above, like a beast cornered and looking for escape, but though there was no sky, a red tarp flapped overhead with the wind. The air tasted of salt, gulls called to each other. Night had fallen outside, the fires doused and heating runes glowing beneath each tent. The pale light of a waning moon cut through some of the dark clouds carrying the storm.

Awake, he thought. Most likely awake.

He felt a light touch on his arm and he turned sharply

"You can go back to sleep," said Nanna. "It's safe."

It wasn't. It could not be further from the truth. His fist clenched tightly until his knuckles whitened, and he used the slight pain to ground himself, even as his chest tightened and his breath came unevenly. He felt a spirit congregate just outside the tent, but he recognized Compassion. Cole had felt his distress, and he felt a slight softening of the tension stealing his voice.

"I apologize, Nanna," Solas said as if nothing had happened. But usually he called her da'len. Saying her name made her feel more real. "I must have drifted off." Judging by the height of the moon in the night sky, it would have been hours. "I would...prefer to stay awake awhile instead if," he paused. It had been so long since he asked for something like companionship that it felt foreign. Solas smiled to disguise his hesitation, but it did not reach his eyes. "If you would like to continue your story." Easier to put the onus back on her instead of admitting that he desperately needed to hear someone else talk, to chase the voice from his dreams and keep him here. His hands still shook. "You were telling me of your friend, Evune. I’d like to hear more.”

[gender-euphowrya]

honestly the whole punkitt situation rn is just a blaring example of how So much discourse isn't judged on what's being said but how it's phrased and if you don't use the exact magic words a person will deem acceptable (they will not tell you which !) they are going to absolutely rip you to shreds even if you said something correct

[outer-edges]

"It wasn't time that did it."

Joel’s voice is so shaky and small, yet somehow full of so much fucking emotion that Ellie thinks she might get crushed underneath it all. If the thought didn’t scare the shit out of her, she thinks she would call it love. Love and care and trust and all of that other gooey shit that made her want to burst into tears at the very thought. Now, Joel sits in front of her, baring his fucking soul to her, and she suddenly gets what Riley meant all those months ago. Ellie didn’t belong anywhere. Not until Joel. Maybe it was fate, maybe it’s just plain luck. Whatever it is, he flinched all those years ago, and she survived that bite, and they’ve been hurtling towards this moment ever since. 

The one where Joel chokes on his words, and she feels every ounce of the unsaid words. Time didn’t heal his wounds. She did. Because she’s his. And he’s hers. Because they somehow found each other in this terrible fucking world, and nobody has ever made her feel like this. Safety. Belonging.

She isn’t sure what to say. Isn’t really sure if there’s anything she can say. Ellie just hopes he can tell how much this fucking means to her. How much he means to her. He’s everything. He’s been everything for months now. The way he’s looking at her now, like she’s his everything too, it might make her start crying. There aren’t words to describe this. Not ones she’s been taught. Not ones anyone has said to her before. Maybe there were words for this twenty years ago. Maybe there are even words for it still, just not used for people like her. She’s too rough for anyone to get too close to. 

Anyone except Joel. They match like that. Too rough and stubborn for their own good. They match. She’ll hurt for him, and he’ll tear up a town for her, and they’ll find their way back to each other. They always do. They always will.

All those months ago, he said she wasn’t his daughter, and he sure as hell wasn’t her dad. That doesn’t really feel true anymore. It hasn’t felt true since Silver Lake. Since she threw herself into his arms and he whispered soft promises and terms of endearment as he held her. It didn’t even really feel true when he said it, if she’s being honest. Things like fathers and daughters, that won’t ever be something she truly understands, but she thinks this is the closest she’ll ever get.

No. She knows this is the closest she'll ever get. Because, even if they don't address, even if the thought makes her feel a bit like she's wearing a too tight-too itchy wool sweater, they're family. They belong.

“Oh,” Ellie breathes out finally. 

The words go unspoken. They both understand regardless. 

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

good morning, it's a new dawn, new day and all that, so i'm on my unhinged inputting spree.

good news: so far, it's taken me under four minutes each to do the first two (2) pages (which means this whole ordeal MIGHT take me under four (4) hours?)

bad news: the first couple pages have Less Purple On Them than many of the later pages, so we'll see if that actually holds lol

[robiberon]

who wants an analysis of a french saying??

probably no one but i was thinking abt it in the shower and i wanna write down my thoughts lol

before i begin, i have found a few versions of this saying in english, like: "translating is betraying" or "translator, traitor". i'm gonna use the first one coz it matches the french one exactly:

"Traduire c'est trahir"

as a language nerd, i really like this expression for 2 reasons:

1. for what it means. coz it's true. no deep thoughts there, except that it's a quirk of languages that i love. it's art. it's cool.

2. the structure of the saying itself (which is what i'm gonna talk abt)

DISCLAIMER: idk the IPA (international phonetic alphabet) so when talking abt phonems i probably wont make a lot of sense to non french speakers, sorry :/ OTHER DISCLAIMER: i dont know anything about anything. dont believe anything i say. i'm probably wrong abt a lot of definitions and stuff. also i was never good at analysing texts in french class. i just really like words :))

"traduire c'est trahir" is what we call in french a "paronomase". a paronomase is a figure of speech (figure de style), and is basically when you put two similar sounding words next to each other to create a particular effect (like a repetition or echo). It's fairly common because the repetition makes things easier to remember, and because it sounds good. You'll find this in your day to day in the form of sayings, or advertisments, or cool one liners in movies for example.

So, "traduire c'est trahir" is a paronomase. The two nouns ("traduire" and "trahir") sound alsmost identical, with the exception of the syllable -du in the middle of the former. Apart from that, they begin and end the exact same way. The paronymy makes these words equal, but also, i think, helps underline their almost oxymoron nature (idk if it's an actual oxymoron tbh, but they are contrasting. the point of translating is to convey the meaning AND form of a text as faithfully as possible. a good translator will succeed in translating the literal meaning, the metaphorical meaning, and the overall artistry of a text from one language to another. a bad one will not be faithful to the original text).

It is a short saying (only 3 words). The first and last words are paronyms, which create a mirror effect around the verbe "c'est" ("it's"), which serves as a sort of axis. "c'est" is very discreet, it's a single syllable made of a soft -s that seamlessly rolls into a -é. It does not require the mouth to move. It almost drowns in the middle of the -u and -i vowel sounds that force the mouth in more extreme shapes, as well as the harsh -t and -r consonnants sounds. It separates the two main words/ideas of the sentence, and helps with the general flow of it by making it both easier to understand and just prettier to hear.

Both the meaning of the saying and the grammar seek to equate "traduire" and "trahir". The latter is the natural consequence of the former. By contrast with the english version ("translating is betraying") it feels almost more accusatory? ( i have nothing to back this up, just vibes and bilingualism) but the french version FEELS more active: YOU are translating therefore YOU are betraying. the english feels much softer: a translation was made and it, by its very nature, betrays. They are both in the active voice but the french sounds more agressive to me for some reason.

[wizardofgoodfortune]

Gonna go ahead and ask you #58 on your Spotify wrapped while I'm thinking about it

#58 on my top songs is mirrorball by taylor swift! this is definitely one of my fav songs from her, if not The Favorite; a vivid music video plays out in my head every time i listen to it. here's my favorite part from it, which can definitely lend itself to particular dreamling scenarios... like 1989.

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

---

When his stranger didn't show up in 1989, Hob spent the whole day waiting for him. The whole night, too. He heard the last call but stayed long after, until the bartender—Ian was his name, Hob learned at one point—had to kick him out so they could lock up. To Ian's credit, he did it with his most apologetic face.

"Sorry, Hob," Ian said as he locked up the front door of the tavern. "Feel free to come back 'round tomorrow. Promise the place'll still be here by then."

Hob, who was hovering listlessly beside him, gave him a smile. "You'll regret you said that."

Ian laughed. "I'll never regret having more regulars. God knows we need it."

Hob frowned. Right. He nearly forgot about that.

"Need a lift?" Ian offered, fishing out a different set of keys from inside his pockets. "You've drunk quite a lot."

"I'm fine, I just need to—" Hob took a deep breath, "—I need to walk it off."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Sure? I better not read about you in the papers tomorrow."

Hob snorted. "Trust me, you won't."

With that, Hob stood in front of the tavern and watched Ian drive off, until the old man rounded a corner and disappeared.

Now that he was alone, Hob slumped down on the damp ground and leaned against the front door. They've probably replaced this door more times than he could count, along with the rest of the tavern. Century after century, Hob saw less and less of what used to be here 600 years ago: the chairs, the tables, the mugs, the godawful drinks. The closest thing to permanence this tavern had was its name, and, up until tonight, his stranger. And soon, it wouldn't even have itself.

Hob reached into his coat pocket and took out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes. As he watched London's everchanging skyline glitter above the Thames, he lit a cigarette, the orange of it glowing in the dark. He sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting. He was good at that, at waiting. All you had to have for waiting was time, and Hob had it in abundance. So he waited until the sun rose, until the streets came alive with cars and people, until Ian came back to open up.

"Oi, what happened to walking it off?!" Ian exclaimed, standing over Hob, shielding him from the noon sun. "Bloody hell. C'mon now. Up you go."

Hob let himself be corralled into the tavern's small office and be sat at the small couch that was probably meant for interviews and terminations. He drank the water and aspirin placed in front of him, and he wore the spare shirt lent to him, but he left Ian's questions unanswered.

"Y'know," Hob started as soon as Ian came back in from the bar, "I reckon I could do a good job running a tavern."

"You should be asleep," Ian said accusatorily.

Maybe he should've been. But instead, Hob was sitting upright, wide awake. "I've been in countless taverns, just like this," he continued, "and I reckon I could make a great one. It would be so great that people from all over the world would come to eat and drink there, and say, 'Hey look, it's Hob's tavern, the greatest one around!' And d'you know what the best part about it would be?"

Ian sighed and leaned on his desk. "What?"

"It would be so great that they'd never close it down. They wouldn't be able to. Everyone would rally around it, even the council. And it'd be there for, for centuries. No, millennia. No, forever."

Ian shook his head, smiling. "A beautiful dream."

"A dream?" Hob scrunched his eyebrows. "You don't believe me?"

"Hob, this tavern has been here for centuries. That's a pretty good run, I'd say. Before that, it might've been something else, like a house, or a barn, or something. And before that, it was probably an empty plot of land, or maybe it was full of trees. Maybe bloody dinosaurs lived and died here. Or maybe it was underwater, I dunno. But I'm getting away from the point," Ian said, scratching his scraggly beard. "The point is: things change. That's life."

Suddenly, Hob was reminded of that night a hundred years ago, how his stranger detested the implication that he changed, that he grew to be lonely, lonely enough to seek out companionship. Hob's companionship. Obviously he detested the implication enough to not show up yesterday. But maybe, just maybe, his stranger will show up again today or the next day, just to prove a point, just to say he didn't need him to be his friend, and to say goodbye for the last time. Surely his stranger's not cruel enough to not show up at all, right?

"I, I know, but I can't let this place change, at least not yet," Hob said. His desperation must've plain on his face from the way Ian smiled sadly at him.

"And why's that?"

"My friend and I," Hob paused, thinking about what to say, "this place is important to us."

"You can always find another place."

"He won't," Hob said, voice breaking, "he won't be able to find me."

"How sure are you that he won't?"

Hob put his head into his hands. "I'm sure."

"You don't have his number?"

Hob shook his head.

Ian sighed. "Well, like I said last night, you'll need a lot of money to—"

"I have the money," Hob blurted out.

"What's that?"

"I," Hob repeated, raising his head in realization, "I have the money."

Ian only looked at him.

"I can, I can keep this place alive until he comes back."

Ian regarded him wordlessly for a few more seconds, then said, "I appreciate the thought, I do, but I reckon you can just establish a new one and it'll be less expensive. You can always, I dunno, put up some signs. 'This way to the new tavern' or something. Then when your friend comes around, they'll just read your sign and go to the new tavern."

Hob stared at Ian, mouth hanging open. Then he laughed, feeling a sleep-deprived lightness in his chest. He stood up and held Ian by his shoulders, still smiling. "Ian, you're a genius."

Ian chuckled heartily. "I try."

"And you're a hired genius."

"Pardon?"

"I'll need a bartender for the new tavern," Hob said, grinning.

Ian scoffed in disbelief, but he was smiling. "And what'll you name it?"

Hob thought for a second, then settled on: "The New Tavern."

Ian chortled. "You need sleep. Dearly."

---

send me a number and i'll write something based on the corresponding song in my spotify wrapped!