#dispenses her advice

[rambles-on-dragon-age]

I still have yet to see any sort of rewrite that would "fix" or "improve" the game when you look at it as a whole. It's almost like there was a team of dozens of people filtering through these ideas and making sure they were pretty stable as a final product or something. Like a team effort.

the thing is a lot of the veilguard suggestions I see are things that would actually make the game worse bc a lot of the people making these "rewrites" play this game with their eyes and ears closed and not connected to their brain

[clipartdinosaur]

Griddlehark Fics

I have read an absolutely insane amount of Griddlehark fanfics in the past few months so I figured I could make a like...list of all of my favorites that I bookmarked. I'm not sure if anyone will use this but if anything it will be for my own self-indulgence LOL. Just a heads up, this list WILL contain spoilers up to Nona the Ninth, so proceed with your own discretion. Anyway here we go!

(♥︎ = favorite!)

Short (<15k):

"By the Sword" by JeanLuciferGohard (2.6k)

The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth, Necrosaint, Ascended, the greatest bone adept in an Age, does one push-up, and collapses. Harrow does not beg for her cavalier. Harrow rakes her hair back and snarls, “Nav, I am going to unzip your cranial sutures. One by one. And zip them up again sideways.”

"Your Necro Questions Answered" by Magichorse (8.8k)

Syndicated columnist "Nav the Cav" offers a sympathetic ear to cavaliers across the galaxy and dispenses practical, no-nonsense, real talk advice on how to properly manage and care for your necromancer.

"A Lesson in Bones" by Magichorse (3.8k)

One of the laboratory trials at Canaan House compels Harrowhark to swap bodies with her cavalier. What will Gideon do with the power of the most talented bone adept in generations at her disposal? Nothing good, probably.

"Visions of Gideon" by tothewillofthepeople (13k)

Oh my god they were roommates...

"true love's kiss, or something equally nauseating" by corpsesoldier (4.6k)

She was where she needed to be. She was going to pull her necro out of this godforsaken tomb, end the game of musical bodies they were playing, and then everything would be all right. Harrow would be alive. And Gideon was going to give her shit for approximately the next myriad for not just taking what she’d offered and saving them a whole lot of trouble.

"The Big Warm Dark" by decalexas (haelstorm) (2.7k)

Gideon Nav knows how to swing a longsword, brandish a rapier, bridge the gap between life and death, punch the dead in the face, and maybe overthrow an Empire along the way. What she doesn't know how to do is reach for the girl who made all of this possible.

"carrion comfort, despair (not feast on thee)" by NotAFicWriter (5k)

Some time after Alecto wakes, Harrow and Gideon finally have a moment to speak to one another. Hearts are bared. Teeth are bared. Intentions are bared. It all comes at great personal cost (emotional honesty).

"never exhale all the way" by pigflight (1.2k)

Harrowhark paints Gideon's face.

"such an almighty sound" by CountingNothings (10k)♥︎

“I need you to marry me,” Harrow says, a propos of absolutely nothing that Gideon can see. And, uh, okay, this is not what childhood best frenemies say to each other upon discovering that both of their graduate programs have weird residence requirements. “What,” Gideon asks, “the fuck?”

"A Handsomely Dangerous Thing" by zoicite (1.5k)

Had Harrow ever looked at Gideon and felt pride before? Surely not. It sat like a tumor in her chest, a cancerous lump that had grown where it did not belong.

"How it didn't happen" by Nary (1.5k)

"How did you lose it?" Coronabeth asked, more softly than her sister's shrill voice. The group assembled at Canaan House barely knew her, and yet here they were, asking the most irritatingly personal questions, and acting as if they were being kind and thoughtful by prying into her secrets. "I dropped my pen into a vat of acid and reached in to grab it without thinking," Harrow said dryly. Coronabeth recoiled, screwing up her pretty nose. Ianthe looked unsure whether to believe her or not. Their meatslab of cavalier just stared blankly. "The Daughter of the Ninth House was blessed in this manner from her birth, as a symbol of her strength and power over the mysteries of necromancy," Ortus interjected. Harrow glared at him. "Oh," Coronabeth said, an expression of disgusting sympathy on her flawless face. "But then you would never have known who your soulmate was!" Harrow's glare intensified. "My soulmate is bones."

"Halcyon Nights" by Morike91 (10k)

It was hard to tell what was worse: feeling the full warmth of those unguarded honey eyes fall on Harrow, or watching them narrow in recognition and contempt, their warmth now hotter with something else.  “What can I get you?” It has been at least four years since Harrow last heard the voice of Gideon Nav, but it was still as familiar as her right hand. 

"I completely fucking hate you" by ClaraZorEl (7.5k)

In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes, the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once, that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping, that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing. OR Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been invited to Canaan University's ball. But to successfully represent her house, she needs a cavalier, and unfortunately, her only option is her least favourite barista from her least favourite coffee shop.

"A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them" by pipistrelle (7k)

"In the end, she poisoned Ortus; so it was Harrow Nova who walked out to the shuttle a half-step behind the Daughter of the Ninth, the chain of Samael Novenary wound about her offhand wrist, the black blade of the Ninth at her side."

"The Only Prayer We Know" by pipistrelle (12k) [Part 2 of "A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them"]

It's like a bad joke: two cavaliers (alive) and two necromancers (one dead) walk into a rebel faction of humanity, looking for a new life -- in every sense of the phrase. What they find is each other, and (in some cases) themselves.

"The Flames of Hell Are Warm" by silverapples (7k)

In which Harrow is a repressed evangelical Christian and Gideon performs burlesque in a lesbian nightclub. Feat. nipple pasties, chewing gum, and a steaming mug of gay coffee (wake up and smell it, Harrow).

"Necro Business" by rnanqo (1.6k) ♥︎

“Gideon,” you said carefully, “I will need to examine your mouth. Various structures, primarily the jaw, but also the lingual muscles—the tongue—” You stopped there. Your cheeks were going red, probably with indignity. “Yeah,” I said, a bit too loudly, “yeah, sure. Do it.”

"Holy Cross, Alaska" by softieghost (10k) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Harrow meets Gideon. They go through it together.

"my love will be your armor" by TheKnightsWhoSayBook (2.3k)

"The princess has a right to bestow her favor on whoever she wishes to win a match," Gideon tells her. "Are you going to?" "Why would I? I don't want to marry him," Harrow answers bitterly. "Do you want me to win?" Princess Harrow will be engaged to the winner of the tournament, and her only champion is her useless bodyguard Sir Gideon Nav, who isn't going to save her. Unless...?

"The Meaning Of The Word" by pipistrelle (8.4k)

Harrow, along with a good percentage of Canaan University's necromancy students, has the flu. Gideon has a lot of feelings that she is in no way equipped to handle. It's a tough week.

"(i shine only with the light you gave me)" by sashawire (1.7k) ♥︎

God prods, gently, “Even just starting with their physical description, and we can go from there.” “Imagine,” you say, from somewhere outside your body, “the worst shade of orange you’ve ever seen in your life.” * Harrowhark receives her saintly title.

"i will learn to love the shears" by corpsesoldier (4.7k)

The avulsion trial left Harrow's hair in a sorry state and Gideon offers up her expertise with a blade. Or, Gideon gives Harrow a haircut.

"The Titty Texts: A Work of a Stupendous Titty Nature" by EleniaTrexer (3k)

Gideon accidentally sends Harrow boobs. And then just keeps on sending them.

"can we start over?" by breeeliss (10k)

Gideon needs a tutor. Harrow needs someone to get her out of college gym class. All in all, a pretty straightforward arrangement to make with your ex.

"Dark Mode Enabled" by senseoftheday (12k)

Tech Company AU in which a certain Sales bro with no filter decides to ruin Harrow's life (and feature roadmap) by initiating the cross-functional project from hell. At least, Gideon has the decency to work remotely, and Harrow's new office crush makes some pretty great coffee.

"deconsecrated graves" by emotionsandphenomena (4k)

Gideon and Harrow got out of the cult they were raised in. Okay, what's next?

"settle up in heaven" by liesmyth (3k) ♥︎

“Isn’t this arrogance, Harrow?” Kiriona says. “Think you could fix what God couldn’t?”

"Quoth the Maiden" by Sarsaparilla (10.9k)

The bold outlaws Nova Hawk and Gideon meet for the first time on a narrow log-bridge. But is it really their first meeting? Or: what if Robin Hood and Little John were both lesbians?

"twice in a blue moon" by sinshine (8.7k) ♥︎

Gideon snapped out of her depressing reverie and blinked at her. "That's a really good idea." "Obviously," said Harrow, and it was only a little bit condescending. "Step one, sneak out of the party. Step two, acquire the necessary items at a store. Step three–" Harrow gestured vaguely at the deer in Gideon's hands– "And step four, profit." [G&H rush to fix a smashed snow globe that Dulcinea made so that Cam doesn't kill them before the clock strikes midnight at their NYE party. The fact that Gideon is back in her hometown after a long time away and she and Harrow have unresolved romantic tension is secondary and definitely won't be a problem.]

"It Came From Planet Slut" by LockedTombMemes (8k)

Well. Evidently going undercover to an Idan society fling in order to deliver a message to a high-profile BoE agent was a tits-out kind of look.

"Apostate's Yuletide" by sinshine (12.6k)♥︎

Gideon raised one eyebrow comically high. She smiled easily, erasing any hint of the anxiety that Harrow might have sensed. "What's with all the questions today?" Harrow huffed indignantly and fidgeted with the blanket draped across her lap, worrying the frayed hem with her fingers. "I thought your ego would appreciate the interest." "Yeah, but it's weird coming from you. I'm used to you monologuing, not playing twenty questions." "Perhaps it's a Christmas miracle," suggested Harrow, with an expression so absolutely devoid of joy that Gideon couldn't help but laugh. [Harrow and Gideon burn down a church on Xmas.]

"when it's over" by Adertily (2.5k)

Harrowhark had sworn to herself to live to see the girl in the locked tomb awaken. Alecto has risen. Now God is dead, along with everyone who had ever been dear to her - and Gideon has returned as a distorted creature. The war is over. Harrow wishes she could be too. Or: A character study based on Harrow's suicidal ideation and Gideon's determination to never run anywhere unless she absolutely has to.

"Supernova Bloom!" by sinshine (13k)

"It's just for a week, and then you never have to see me again," said Gideon. "I don't have time to find anyone else." And, "Please." Slowly, Harrow took her hand off the door and cautiously turned around. Gideon watched a dozen unspoken questions flicker across her face. She voiced none of them, but eventually settled on an expression of grim resignation. "I suppose I could suffer you for a week." [Gideon needs help getting her new flower shop ready for the grand opening. Harrow needs cash.]

"I still need your teeth around my organs" by sinshine (7.8k)

Although she was a beloved Daughter and a talented necromancer, Gideon's greatest vice was that she dearly loved to fuck around and find out. Knowing this, perhaps it shouldn't have been as shocking when she lifted one of Nova's hands, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. [4 times Gideon kisses Harrow, 1 time Harrow kisses Gideon]

"cuckoo, cuckoo" by sashawire (1.2k)

What Wake gives it is not a name. To do so would be a moronic, unnecessary cruelty. But she does deign to give it the microscopic dignity of a title, a goal, a purpose. Bomb. Eighteen years later, in the rubble of a once-sacred home, Harrowhark Nonagesimus reaches up and touches Gideon Nav’s grit-covered, blood-rimed face, splits a laugh like the world is ending, and calls her “flower.” * Six times God's unwanted daughter was nicknamed, and once she wasn't.

"my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear" by sashawire (<1k) ♥︎

Gideon chomps into her tongue as hard as she can convince herself, stifling a very dignified squawk. Her eyes water, Emperor’s left tit that fucking hurts, but—it works. Blood weeps from the bite marks, creeping down the back of her throat, up into her nasal cavity, staining her teeth. Okay. She has blood in her mouth. Blood that, somehow, needs to get into Harrow’s mouth. * Step #6: Consume the flesh.

"fifteen percent concentrated power of will" by surreptitiously (9k)

Teaching someone to do a push-up is a love language, when that person is very annoying.

"GHAZAL WHERE I'M BEGGING YOU TO TOUCH ME" by igneousbitch (12k)

You had your body and I had mine, and it was a miracle. Your hands against my face were a miracle. The rest of your meat attached to your hands was a prayer answered and a promise broken, but we were flush and gasping and alive, and Harrow—I really thought you might’ve kissed me then. But I felt it happen. The way your breath suddenly stilled, and your body locked up beneath mine, remembering. How with splintering gentleness, you pushed me away. “I’m so sorry,” was the second thing you said upon waking. The first thing had been my name. Stranded in a safehouse on an Edenite moon, Gideon and Harrow try to put themselves back together.

"catch you on the flip side, sugar lips" by corpsesoldier (4.9k)

Maybe if Harrow's brain runs enough scenarios, she'll find a way to keep what she's lost.

"hand to heart, I swear" by corpsesoldier (5k)

Gideon has a broken heart, and there's only one necromancer who can fix it.

Medium (15-30k)

"If you're doing it right you'll break their ribs" by almostnectarine (22.4k)

"How do you know Nonagesimus has gone somewhere dangerous?" asked Isaac. "Have you wired some kind of alert system?" "It's, uh. It's on the schedule," said Gideon. "I just... forgot. Because of the bread." Nobody was convinced by this, least of all Gideon. "It's a Ninth House thing," Gideon went on, backing away with increasing desperation. This was a slightly more plausible explanation, if only because nobody wanted to look too closely at what fell under the awful skeletal-ribbed and rotting umbrella of Ninth House things. "Gotta go—!" And she was out the door, gone. But it wasn't a Ninth House thing, except inasmuch as it was happening to the only two representatives of the noble and decrepit Ninth House on this quite literally godforsaken rock. Gideon knew Harrow had gone somewhere dangerous—knew that Harrow was back in the lab where they had only just completed a horrible trial—because she could see it, clear as day: an awful overlay on her vision of that terrible dangerous room and a pair of terrible dangerous hands drawing some kind of ward next to the plinth. The hands were definitely Harrow's. This was definitely a problem.

"If Home Is Where the Heart Is (Then We're All Just Fucked)" by JeanLuciferGohard (17k) ♥︎

When Gideon Nav gets a call that her ex-girlfriend, who never bothered to change her designated emergency contact, is in the hospital, she goes against her better judgement and responds. Everything after that just gets more complicated.

"blue gray green lavender" by smolranger (29k) ♥︎

Laser Radial sailor Gideon Nav just wants pass her classes, win a few regattas, and keep her head down. FJ sailor Harrowhark Nonagesimus has grand plans to qualify for the Olympics, preserve her parent's legacy, and save her home town. Despite the ties binding them together, the two have kept their college lives carefully separate for two years. But when Harrow's helm, Ortus, suffers a concussion mid-way through the fall season, their carefully separated lives collide. Harrow needs someone capable of taking Ortus' place for the remainder of the season or her Olympic dreams — and Canaan College's entire sail team — are in peril. And Gideon is her only option.

"Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" by zoicite (24k)

Harrow and Gideon and times they have (and also have not) shared a bed over the years.

"Disney World, Florida" by softieghost (24.6k) [Part 2 of "Holy Cross, Alaska"]

After the events of Alaska, Harrow thanks Gideon the only way she knows how: devotion. -- Chapter 3: The journey concludes. More confessions.

"we've got a good thing goin' " by sinshine (14.6k) ♥︎

“Not to sound ungrateful, but being here makes me wish that you had left me for dead,” said Harrow. Gideon had been staring hard at the face of the fountain’s statue. She was pretty sure that it was carved in the likeness of Naberius himself, but she didn’t want to say it out loud and make it true. She shook her head and turned to Harrow. “Leaving me to live out eternity in your bony sock puppet of a body? Hard pass.” Palamedes and Camilla shared a look. It was the mutual understanding of two people who had been trapped in close quarters with the bickering of Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus for far too long. [Team 69 hide out in Babs's vacation home. Because it's not like he's using it anyway.]

"Cake by the Ocean" by zoicite (15k)♥︎

Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. Everyone knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the least memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.

"careful fear and (un)dead devotion" by sinshine (23k)

[Gideon and Harrow wake up back in their own bodies but both of them are missing large parts of their memory. Camilla tries not to kill everyone.]

"who ya gonna call?" by igneousbitch (24k)

“Fret not, honeybun.” Gideon shook her red hair out of her eyes, belligerent. “I’m not totally sold on your whole skepticism thing.” “Well,” Harrow said, ignoring the nickname. She turned to the rest of the room, clearing her throat politely before addressing the empty air. “Ghosts, if you’re real, give us a sign. Make a noise. Move something. Send a shiver down our backs. Whisper softly into Nav’s left ear—” “I seriously fucking hate you.” - (Casual sex and paranormal investigation. Not necessarily in that order.) (or: the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU in which Gideon is ready to fight a ghost, and Harrow just wants to be haunted.)

Long(>30k):

"Beneath a Blue and Foreign Sky" by zoicite (35k)

Harrow has a decision to make.

"A Heart Full Of Sutures" by Rohad (40k)

All Gideon wanted was to get outside and ride her motorcycle. No part of that plan had included eight weeks in Canaan Medical Center with a broken Pelvis and the meanest little doctor this side of the eastern seabord.

"Midnight at the Mithraeum" by zoicite (66k) ♥︎

It'd been two years since Gideon Nav gathered her wine key and her gaming license and escaped The Locked Tomb, a speakeasy-style cocktail bar managed by the hateful Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Now, dealing tables at The Mithraeum Hotel & Casino, things were really looking up. So when Gideon scored a date with the most beautiful showgirl in the Gilded Halls of Ida, the last thing she expected was to wake up married to her old nemesis and former coworker. The story starts the night of Gideon's date and alternates between the events leading up to the wedding and the weeks that follow as Gideon tries to navigate life married to someone who claims to want nothing more than to forget she exists.

"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by pipistrelle (90k)

Being the journal of Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, chronicling the journey of the Emperor's warship Cenotaph on its hunt to slay an immortal Resurrection Beast. Or: the Moby Dick crossover AU that nobody asked for.

"The Darkest Night, The Brightest Light" by eternaleponine (50k)

Harrowhark has known for a long time that her home's financial situation is dire, and not getting better. She has plans to fix it all, but can't implement them until she turns eighteen in a few months. When her parents announce that the best (perhaps only) way to save Drearburh is to marry off its heir, Harrow realizes the timeline has changed and she needs to take action now to save her home... and herself. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. Enter Gideon Nav. Detested foe, and Harrow's only hope.

"putting your fist through a thick sheet of glass (i know you don't want to)" by oretsev (46k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Gideon Nav have always been at each other’s throats, and the animosity has only intensified since the death of Harrow’s parents. But when a car accident leaves Gideon without any memories of her past, Harrow sees a chance at the clean slate she’s wanted for years. Becoming involved in Gideon’s recovery assuages some of the guilt, but as she and Gideon become closer and increasingly involved in each other's lives, Harrow worries that some of her secrets may be more than she can atone for.

Ongoing:

"semi-charmed kinda life" by strangedelight (182k+) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Gideon asked questions. Harrow surprised her with answers. They reached an agreement; they decided to be smart, to be patient. Gideon made a promise, Harrow gave her one in return. Wait and see. OR the year is 1994, and Gideon and Harrow leave their small town for life in the city. OR team 69 roommates au only this time it's the 90s

"Intern the Sixth" by apocalypticTaco (33k+)

ADDRESSING THE HEIR TO THE NINTH HOUSE, OR PRESUMED EQUIVALENT: PALAMEDES SEXTUS, HEIR TO THE SIXTH HOUSE, PRESENTS HIS COMPLIMENTS TO THE NINTH AND REQUESTS A FORMAL ARRANGEMENT WHEREIN HIS MASTER WARDEN AND CAVALIER APPRENTICESHIP UNDER THE NINTH FOR FOUR YEARS IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SIXTH’S SERVICES. *Details to be discussed. Please turn to back page. Timeframe variable. Services and agreements variable upon the Ninth's request. An internship of this caliber is highly unprecedented and likely unheard of, but any information valuable to the Ninth and into the Tomb will remain undisclosed upon request; Primary experience and study is required as the Master Warden has already decided upon such being his final thesis prior to his end studies. No takebacks, no denials. Pleased to meet you. Palamedes Sextus, Heir to the Sixth and Master Warden and Camilla the Sixth, Cavalier Primary and Warden's Hand of the Library

TO THE MASTER WARDEN: FORMALLY REJECTED.

"What's Eating Gideon Nav?" by labyrinthineRetribution (40k+)

After a miserable fifteen years at Blessed Saint Anastasia's School for Girls, Gideon's luck finally changes.

"We Have Always Lived in the Apartment" by labyrinthineRetribution (171k+)

John looks up from his Jack and Coke in drunken curiosity. "What's with the face, Harrowhark?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "Contrary to popular belief," Gideon butts in, "her face just fuckin' looks like that, bitch." She tends to use "bitch" as liberally as commas when off her ass. "You're piss drunk," you shoot back. "And you, my good bitch, are just as contemptible as the day you clawed your way up from Hell." - It is Harrowhark Nonagesimus' birthday, and it only gets worse from there.

PWP (basically):

"I'll hold in these hands all that remains" by corvidlesbian (6.5k) ♥︎

“Do you want me to try?” Gideon said. “What?” “You got all hot and bothered without me trying. Do you want me to try?” Their newfound habit of cuddling gets interesting.

"sting of a wasp" by brightbolt, imperfectlyctor (42k) ♥︎

"You’re a virgin,” Gideon said, testing it out. "Huh." Harrow didn’t like the sound of that huh. She knew Gideon’s noises, and that was a thoughtful, sinister huh. That was the same huh she’d made before putting canned tuna in Crux’s work boots. Her eyes narrowed. “What.” Gideon cocked her head to the side. “Is there a reason you’re waiting?” There was no judgement in the question— only genuine curiosity. Perhaps it was this that made Harrow more inclined to answer. “I don’t have the time to look for someone new,” She shrugged. “And my available pool is… somewhat limited.” “Well,” Gideon said, with just a hint of conspiracy in those glittering golden eyes. “If you ever want to change that, you have my number.” What? What? Harrow blinked. “What?” Or: the five times Gideon and Harrow successfully bone, and the one time they don't.

"Suckle, Honey" by zoicite (7.9k)

“You crave my juice,” Gideon accused. “I do not crave your juice.” “Fuck, you do though. You went off to explore that study alone, without your cavalier, using a key that I nearly gave my life for, and then you snorted some powder that made you crave my juice! Harrow. I never would have let you sniff powder from a ten thousand year old jar.” This was untrue--Gideon probably wouldn’t have noticed Harrow breathing in a puff of jar powder until it was too late--but it sounded like something Camilla Hect might say, so Gideon went with it anyway. Camilla definitely would have stopped Palamedes from accidentally sniffing old as fuck Eighth House jarred juice addiction powder.

"Five Times We Hatefucked and One Time We Didn't" by rnanqo (8k)

“Fuck you,” you said. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” You ran a hand through my hair, fisted it, and pulled my head up. From here I had a spectacular view of your weird blown-out seething expression, like I was the worst thing you’d ever seen. Also a view up your blood-crusted nostrils. Choice. “Maybe I will, Griddle,” you said. “Maybe I will stop fucking you over and start fucking you." Gideon and Harrow realize, abruptly, that their hatefucking is no longer hatefucking.

"a call to motion" by groundedsaucer (coasterchild) (10k) ♥︎

Harrow and Gideon watch a porno.

"put her canine teeth in the side of my neck" by stranded_star (8.8k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is getting a PhD and a divorce. Against her better judgment, she goes out to the bar to celebrate and meets an incorrigible, absolutely ripped salt-and-paprika butch who takes her home and gives it to her good. To her horror, it's the best night of her life, and she sneaks home with her tail between her legs. Harrow has more important things to worry about - like raising her daughter and building the next stages of her career. But when her daughter's favorite teacher, someone named Griddle, turns about to be the Gideon she met at the bar, she's forced to contend with allowing herself (and her daughter) to find the happy ending she never thought they'd have. Featuring MILF!Harrow, Teacher!Gideon, and a very amused Camilla Hect.

"The Wound That Swallows" by seelieunseelie (7.8k)

Harrow can make out an uncomfortable amount of detail about Gideon’s body beneath. Powerful, strong as ever, yet somehow vulnerable for its supplication below Harrow’s. “Are we gonna get this over with?” Gideon says in a voice softly scratchy. She blushes then when Harrow sits on the edge of the bed. “It will hurt,” Harrow says. “Yeah,” Gideon says. “I think I can handle it.”

[moralesluvr]

IDFC 2 | BILLIE EILISH.

୧ ‧₊˚ part one is posted !!

pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. happy ending this time | kissing | angst & fluff author's note. hello this was request by a few peeps so here it is !! word count. 1.3k ish ?!

tomorrow has come. and if you were being honest with yourself, you felt like a mess.

the mid day sun cracks through the open blinds when you’re awoken to the sound of birds chirping and your music softly playing from your alexa. your bedroom is tranquil— but it’s cold and quiet. you have goosebumps running up and down your exposed skin when you look at the clock realize it’s already three in the afternoon.

usually billie would be awake, slithering into your room like usual to sit on the foot of your bed and sing to you or rant about any and everything. and of course— you’d prop your head in your hands and listen attentively as you talked for hours on end. but she doesn’t come, and it’s abnormal, so you wrap yourself in a blanket and sneak through the door, “billie?”

her name hangs in the air like it’s a burden, and there’s no response. it’s pin-drop quiet in your apartment and it makes you cringe, because it’s never this silent. and even if billie wasn’t home, she’d always tell you where she was going.

confused, and a little downhearted, you slide your feet against the hardwood floors and enter your kitchen, popping a pod of hot cocoa into the keurig when your eyes rest on a sticky note that’s plastered onto your favorite mug.

“needed to clear my head. i’m hungover as FUCK!

love you. be back soon. — billie.”

you nodded even though she wasn’t there, folding the sticky note and placing it in your hoodie pocket. your lazy eyes watch as the hot cocoa dispenses into your cup— the warm, chocolatey liquid nearly filling your pink mug to the brim.

it was only your favorite because billie bought it. just like everything else you owned that you took a special liking to. it made your stomach twist when you realized that your whole life was encompassed by her. everything you did was for her gaze, you longed for her, ached for her, and it was sick and twisted and crazy but you were crazy for her, and it just felt so damn right.

you’re curled up on the couch now, sipping at your drink, even though it burns your tongue everytime you swallow.

it reminds you of billie. you can’t help but bask in her presence everytime you see her, and even though it burns to love her— it hurts you so bad, you’re addicted to her. and it’s not her fault necessarily, because she doesn’t even know, but you’re not sure you can do this anymore.

it’s been years, what could possibly go wrong?

you’re stuck, that’s the issue. you haven’t even told anyone about this not-so-little crush, and you feel like there’s only one person on this entire planet who’s close enough to billie to give you raw advice, but also has been in love with the same person for years and years on end.

it’s so stupid, you think, and your hands start to shake when you pick up your phone and open your contacts app, your thumb hovering over the number.

finneas.

but you feel like there’s nothing else that you can do, so you click the ‘call’ button and it rings out a couple of times, and you almost pray and home that he doesn’t answer the phone. but of course, finn being finn, he picks up. and speak of the devil, claudia’s in the background.

“hello?”

“hi y/n!”

“that’s claudia.” finneas’ laughs echoes through the phone, “what’s up, kid?”

you suck in a breath before adjusting your position on the couch to get more comfortable, “hey…i just really need some advice right now, because there’s some shit i’ve been dealing with for so long and i feel like i’ll explode if i don’t say something.”

finneas makes a little “mhm” sound to acknowledge your statement, and there’s a moment of comfortable silence on the phone when he begins to speak.

“i’m listening. well— me and claudia, is that alright? if not, i’ll kick her out.” his tone is joking, and you giggle across the line, “no dude it’s alright.”

“okay, we’re all ears!” claudia laughs, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i…i think i’m losing my mind,” you admit lowly, but laughing bitterly to play it off. “it’s about billie.”

“billie?” finneas questions, his tone more serious now, and there’s a little bit of surprise laced with worry in his voice. claudia’s gasp is audible through the phone and you squeeze your eyes shut, already regretting saying a single word.

you can’t even respond, you just bite your lip as your eyes flood with tears. you let out a quiet sob and claudia and finneas say nothing, but you can’t even blame them because the situation just slapped them in the face.

but when she finally speaks, claudia’s voice is gentle, yet coaxing. “what happened, y/n?”

“she came home drunk last night.” you whisper, your eyes stinging with more vulnerable, unshed tears. “she apologized for being a mess, for making me deal with her shit, and all i wanted to do was grab her and tell her she’s not a mess, that she’s perfect, that i don’t care about anything else as long as she’s in my life. but i couldn’t. i didn’t. and now i’m just sitting here, losing my mind because i don’t know what to do anymore.”

“how long has it been?” finneas inquires this time, and you throw your head back and let out a dragged groan when the realization hits you.

“it’s been almost six years of this shit, dude.”

“six?!” claudia and finneas speak in unison, sharing a loving giggle afterwards. but they know that this is serious and very upsetting to you, so their laughs quickly subside and they leave you with a second of silence before finn speaks.

finneas sighs. “y/n, have you ever considered…telling her?”

you let out a harsh laugh, wiping at your wet eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, “and risk ruining everything? yeah, no thanks. i’d rather suffer in silence than ever tell her.”

“but what if she feels the same way?” claudia offers gently, her smooth voice soothing to your nerves, “you won’t know unless you talk to her.”

“i know she doesn’t,” you respond quickly, shaking your head even though they can’t see you. “she doesn’t feel the same way. she’s billie. she flirts with everyone. she kisses people like it’s nothing. i’m just…i’m just her best friend.”

you’re so caught up in your spiral that you don’t hear the front door open. you don’t hear the soft creak of billie’s jordan’s against the hardwood floors. you don’t notice her until she’s standing in the doorway of the living room, her face pale, her eyes wider than saucers.

“holy shit.” billie says, her voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t think i was supposed to hear that…but um…y/n?”

your heart stops.

everything feels so surreal right now that you’re not even sure you’re breathing. you want to cry, but no tears come. you want to scream, but your mouth hangs agape, lacking sound.

you don’t even move, you just stare hard at billie like she’s foreign to you— because she is now. the secret that you’ve kept from her for so long is now out, and she didn’t hear the watered down, bullshit version that you would’ve told her yourself— she heard the words raw, and there was nothing that you could do to make her forget.

she takes a step closer, her hands trembling as she shoves them into the pockets of her hoodie. you can tell she’s nervous too, and her face is so discolored she looks like she could throw up. she picks at the skin on her lips before she speaks softly, so softly you can hardly hear it. “are you… in love with me?”

you glance at the phone, still connected to finneas and claudia, and without another word, you reach over and end the call. they’ll understand— and claudia already texts you before you shut your phone completely off, your hands are shaking as you stand up, your knees threatening to buckle under you.

there’s no point in lying now.

“i— um…yeah.” you breathe, silent tears falling down your cheeks as your eyes bore into anything but billie. but billie stares at you, her chest rising and falling like she’s trying to catch her breath. “y/n…i— w-why didn’t you tell me?”

you laugh, but the sound comes out bitter and sharp, “well…because you’re you, billie. you’re the most important person in my life, and i didn’t want to risk losing you. i thought…i thought you’d never feel the same way, so i just ignored it.”

she’s quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. when she looks back up at you, her eyes are glassy, her voice trembling, like she’s scared too.

“but i do.”

your breath catches in your throat, and you feel like you’re gonna puke when billie speaks. your heart sinks but not in a bad way— it’s just so surreal to you. she felt the same way?

“w-what?” you stumble over your words, in disbelief, “are you sure?”

“i do.” she repeats, taking another baby step closer to you, eyes locking with yours, “and i’m sure. i’ve loved you for so long, y/n. i just…I didn’t know how to deal with it. i thought i was too much, that you deserved better than…this.” she gestures to herself, her voice breaking. “so i drank. i flirted with other people. i tried to hide it, but it never worked. it just made everything worse.”

tears are streaming down your face now, and you take a shaky step toward her. “billie…”

she closes the distance between you in an instant, her hands cupping your face, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “i love you,” she whispers, her voice raw. “i’m sorry it took me so long to say it. unironically…years.”

you giggle, but you don’t have time to respond before her lips are on yours, soft and urgent, and it’s like everything finally falls into place. her hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as you kiss her back with everything you’ve been holding in for what felt like eternity’s.

when you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, her forehead resting against yours. “you’re not a mess,” you murmur, your hands tangling in her hoodie. “you’re perfect, billie. you always have been.”

she smiles through her tears, her arms wrapping around you like she’s afraid to let go. “i’m so sorry,” she says softly. “for everything. please, don’t ever let me let you go.”

you let out a small chuckle as she holds you,

“don’t worry, i won’t.”

[louisupdates]

INTERVIEW: Lottie Tomlinson: we lost our mum and sister. Louis saved me

At the age of 20, the sister of One Direction singer Louis had already lost her mother, Johannah, and sister Félicité. Now 25, the social media star has written a book about how they coped

Alice Thomson | Tuesday July 23 2024, 5.00pm BST, The Times

Losing Mum was so hard. I was only a teenager but at least I knew that her death was a possibility, even though she didn’t accept it. She was 47 and had cancer. But when my sister died three years later, I was on this hotel balcony in Bali and I was screaming, ‘No, my baby sister, no.’ The pain was indescribable. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? This can’t be happening again. When is this going to end?’ ”

We are sitting on Lottie Tomlinson’s immaculate white sofa in her pristine white house in Chislehurst, southeast London, where she is curled up in tiny shorts with a perfect tan and impeccably applied make-up. But her French manicured nails are digging so hard into the sofa I think they might snap, the heart tattoo on her minuscule wrist is throbbing and her eyelashes are clogged with tears.

Her life sounds blessed. The influencer has 4.8 million Instagram followers waiting for her to dispense advice on how to apply mascara; the fake tan brand, Tanologist, that she launched at 19 has gone global; and she has a devoted fiancé, Lewis Burton, who runs a luxury concierge business and whose former girlfriend was the late Caroline Flack. They have an adorable son called Lucky, who is dripping ice cream on her marble counters. Her new book is also called Lucky Girl; her older brother is Louis Tomlinson of One Direction and she was touring the world with the band as a make-up artist at 16.

But after her mother died when she was 18, Tomlinson was left looking after her younger sister and two sets of twin siblings, aged eight and two, while creating her businesses, and trying to process her grief. Her father had left their home in Doncaster years before after a battle with alcohol. “Dad had a drinking problem. We’d see glimpses of his good side but he let us down,” she says. “I ended up trying to take care of him rather than the other way round.”

When her mother died, life felt bleak, “I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and then when my sister Fizz [Félicité] died of an accidental overdose, I thought I could never be happy again,” she says. “I found the lead-up to Mother’s Day devastating without my sister as well. It was a constant reminder that I was now different from my friends. In my dreams, my mum was still there; she was alive. I woke up feeling comforted, only to realise that she’d gone.”

Tomlinson, who is now 25 and a patron of the bereavement charity Sue Ryder, moves easily between telling you how to apply the best tan and how to talk about death. She cares passionately about both subjects and takes them equally seriously, worried that I’ve never tried a bronzer or used foundation before asking how I coped when my mother died during the pandemic. Her soft Yorkshire accent is both reassuring and no-nonsense.

Born near Doncaster, she was only two when Fizz was born and six when the first twins arrived. “I’ve always been the big sister — Fizz and I each got one and then more twins six years later.” While Louis had his own space, the girls all shared one room with bunk beds. “It was chaos, but my mum, Johannah, was a midwife and loved being pregnant and having so many babies,” she explains. “I used to be in awe of the way she could feed the twins at once, one on each hip. She would do the night shifts, while I held the fort at home.”

Within a few years, Tomlinson would be touring America, Asia and Europe, flying first class with Louis, part of the biggest boy band in the world, but until she was 15, the family had only ever gone to France once a year all packed into a seven-seater car, with her mother’s new partner, snacks laid out in the middle. They stayed in a caravan park. On a Sunday, a treat was to go to their mother’s hospital to see the babies.

While Louis just wanted to sing, play the guitar and listen to Oasis, the girls were obsessed with make-up. “From the age of 12, I struggled academically, but I loved cropped clothes and my mum’s highlighters and mascaras.” She learnt how to apply everything from YouTube tutorials, rather than doing algebra. “We didn’t have much money — we sometimes couldn’t afford to top up the electricity meter so used candles — but everything my mum earned she spent on us. We all looked immaculate — I remember her being horrified when I dyed my hair orange. So it was lovely later when we could treat her.”

Saturday nights were spent watching The X Factor. “My mother and brother kept applying; in 2010, he got in and the whole family went for the audition. We believed in him, but we never thought it would go that far.” One day the family were going to the live shows, the next the boy band was formed with Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. “He was 18. For my mum it was a big shock. It was all so sudden. The press and fans were in our front garden every day.”

The older twins had already made their first TV appearances — they sound like Doncaster’s Von Trapps. “My mother was gently pushy,” Tomlinson says, smiling at the thought. “When I didn’t get good enough GCSEs to stay at school, she sent me off to join Louis on tour as work experience. I was so scared. I remember her ringing up Lou [Teasdale], their hair and make-up artist, and saying, ‘Lottie has not got through to sixth form; she’s going to come and assist you.’ I was in the car going, ‘No, please don’t.’ But it ended up being the best thing that happened to me. I went for a week and stayed two years. Lou and I are still so close.”

Suddenly, the two eldest Tomlinson children were circling the world, eating room service and ducking the paparazzi hanging out of helicopters taking snaps. “At first Louis didn’t really want his little sister gate crashing his new rock-star life, but now it feels like the best time of our lives — we experienced that craziness together,” she says.

The teenage Tomlinson found it harder to cope with being photographed wherever she went. “I had some puppy fat which made me very self-aware, and the filler culture was coming in and I felt I had to look perfect.” She had her lips done first at 17. “Then I became addicted: cheek filler, jaw filler, more make-up, blonder hair, slimmer and more tanned. My mum thought I looked perfect, but I was always searching.”

Five years later, when she became pregnant with Lucky and her lips started to swell and crack, she realised she didn’t need the enhancements any more. “I had everything removed, the false eyelashes too. It was liberating.” She kept her boob job, however. “That was just enhancement,” she says laughing. “The rest radically changed the way I looked. My breasts also got huge when I was pregnant and it was a bit painful. But I still breastfed. I loved carrying my child. I felt fantastic even when I was sick and exhausted.”

She leans forward, wraps her bronzed arms around her stomach and whispers, “I am pregnant again. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl. It’s only 13 weeks, so this is the first time I’ve said it publicly. I think I want a big family. I loved having Lucky but after a year I wanted to give him siblings.”

Tomlinson’s influencer career began once she established herself on tour. Soon everything she did, even dying her roots rainbow-coloured, went viral and fashion companies from Asos to Dior wanted in on it. “I was just going for it. I couldn’t believe the money I was making and spending — money I didn’t know existed as a child.”

Then suddenly her mum came home from holiday with flu. “She didn’t want to get out of bed. The doctors quite quickly told her she had leukaemia and she went straight to London for treatment. It all happened so fast. I remember being in London at work and getting a call from her partner — she couldn’t say the words herself, it was too hard for her.” The family were told it was treatable. “We kept so much hope.”

Her mother asked the family to keep her illness secret. “It was hard because you feel so isolated, but I understood. Louis was in the public eye and she didn’t want him questioned. She was determined to fight it and didn’t want everyone pitying her. My friends noticed I was acting differently for a few months. But I wanted to respect her wishes. It was her one request.”

She also dropped everything to go back to Doncaster to help her grandparents with the twins. “The younger ones were two and I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. I can’t imagine what my mum was feeling leaving her kids to go to hospital.

“I would take them down and treasure seeing her — we tried to keep it light, no serious conversation. The only way Mum could cope was to keep it normal. Then, when the doctors said the transfusions hadn’t worked, she came home to die.”

Tomlinson tries to sound matter-of-fact. “We went to see her in hospital in Sheffield and the next morning we woke up and were told she had died. We felt numb. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Now I am involved with the Sue Ryder charity, I am surprised we were offered no support or counselling at all, from the GP, the teachers, the professionals. They all kept away.” Her nan and grandad picked up the pieces.

It’s not surprising she can’t remember the funeral. “I just remember getting really drunk to numb the pain. I couldn’t come to terms with it. I can’t even remember how we organised it. My instinct was to take over as the eldest girl and step into my mum’s shoes so that is what I did.” Meanwhile, her older brother, who was launching his solo career, ensured there was enough money. “He’s incredibly generous. We looked after each other.”

Tomlinson returned to London months later, after her grandmother said she needed to become a role model for her siblings. Her younger sister Fizz worried her most. “She was very academic — she got straight A’s without trying — but she always said she felt different. She was bottling her grief for so long; it was too much and made her turn to other things. I think Mum’s death destroyed her. Only my mum seemed to understand her. If she had been offered some help at the start, things might have been different.”

Meanwhile, Tomlinson’s self-tanning brand was soon being sold in Los Angeles, New York and Australia, while her own fanbase grew; she hardly ever needed to pay for drinks, meals or holidays. However, she finds the term influencer obnoxious. “I don’t want to act like I tell people what to do. I am more of a content creator,” she explains. “I get paid by brands to create content for their clothes or beauty products and promote that to my followers. I also wanted my own business. I was quite aware that, at the end of the day, I was just working with an app. That’s why I started Tanologist with my business partner. I was always using tanning treatments that would end up turning my sheets orange and my face would break out in spots — this is more natural.”

Louis was also forging his career as a solo artist, eventually creating the song Two of Us about his mother’s death. “We were always so proud of Louis and what he was doing. We were not going to match up to being a global superstar, but we didn’t want to — ‘successful’ looks different for everyone,” she says.

But her sister Fizz was slipping and struggling. “She was old enough to do what she wanted at 19; she was partying and taking stuff to numb everything. She did go into rehab but to me it didn’t feel like an addiction problem, but a way to blank out her grief.” When Tomlinson was invited to Bali, she asked Fizz whether she wanted her to stay behind. “She said she was OK, and then it happened while I was away,” she says. (Fizz accidentally overdosed on cocaine, an anxiety drug and painkillers, her inquest found.) “Louis called me…” She stops talking.

The shock of a second death must have been devastating. She doesn’t speak for a minute while she twists her huge diamond engagement ring. “We weren’t mentally prepared,” she eventually says. “I can’t even remember if the two funerals were in the same church. I think grief has affected my memory a lot and that’s quite common. Grief is such a powerful emotion; it takes up a lot of your brain.”

Five years later, she now knows how to remain positive. “I had an amazing mum for 18 years. I have the most amazing family, my little boy and my career, and that is because of her. The same with Fizz — I had an amazing sister. It’s heartbreaking they aren’t with us any more, but they are together and they are looking out for me,” she says, sounding as though she is repeating a mantra.

Having a baby made her feel closer to them both. “He was a boy — it’s funny, he actually looks a lot like Louis did — and I thought, this is what my mother must have felt. But then I had so many questions I couldn’t ask, even more because she was a midwife.”

Her biggest problem was her terror that something terrible would happen to her son. “I became fixated [on the idea that] something bad would happen to him, so I couldn’t sleep. You go to the worst-case scenario, because that’s happened to you twice, to two of the closest people in your life. I couldn’t turn the lights off at night; I needed to see him all the time. Luckily, it calmed down quite quickly.”

We are still flitting between her story and advice on make-up, exercise and clothes.

“I like sharing advice. If a child lost their mother, I would say there is no magic answer. But the point of this book is to show that you can have tragic things happen and still keep going.”

What would the 25-year-old now say to her younger self, struggling at her second funeral at the age of 20? “I would say, ‘You are going to be OK; you will live a nice life.’ I didn’t think I could. I thought this will be a really sad, lonely life without my mum and sister. I wouldn’t have believed then that I could be happy again. But it would have been nice to hear.”

Lucky Girl by Lottie Tomlinson (Bonnier, £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members

[lurkingshan]

10 Things I Love About Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

This wonderful little show has come to an end, and I feel compelled to tell folks why I loved it, and why you should watch if you haven't yet. First, a big word of thanks to @isaksbestpillow for providing her excellent subtitles and making this show available to international fans. You can find all seven episodes here, get them while you can!

This drama understands that sometimes we really do want to fuck that old man

I don't know what to tell you, the man is hot. He is kind, patient, and generous, he's a master chef, he has a beautiful home with a garden that he tends himself, he is a loving dog owner, and on top of all that he has a hilarious dry wit. Who wouldn't want to fuck him??

Ishida is an endearing protagonist having a relatable quarter life crisis

Ishida certainly does! Which is a nice little revelation for him in a time when he's already struggling to figure himself out, as it's his first time wanting to fuck a man and his work colleague to boot. Ishida has hit a stumble in his original career choice and is feeling pretty apathetic about his job when he meets Mitsuya and gets his world rocked.

Mitsuya is a weary older man who has been burned

Mitsuya is quite a contrast to Ishida as an older adult who very much has his shit together, but has also survived some deep hurts living as an out gay man and grown reluctant to let people in. He and Ishida both see something in each other that the other needs.

It's a food drama that will make your mouth water

The food Mitsuya makes and serves to Ishida in this show looks so delicious that I had to make sure I was fed before watching each episode. Mitsuya can feel free to bait me with food any time.

Shige is my idol

We get to spend ample time at the neighborhood bar, where Mitsuya's old friend Shige serves drinks and hot goss. Shige is a great mix of the wise elder gay dispensing advice and the mischievous trouble maker who likes to stir the pot. I love him, and this show's understanding of the realities of men their age living out and proud.

Frito is a very good dog

FRITO! I'm not always too hype about pets with prominent roles in my shows, but in this story Frito is an important character and an emotional support to Mitsuya, and often provides impetus for Mitsuya and Ishida to grow closer.

Have I mentioned this show is hilarious

Truly, so funny. I laughed out loud during most episodes. Ishida is a walking comedy show as he flails through life, and the few moments when Mitsuya's dignified exterior cracks will have you howling.

It gave us one of the best dates I have ever seen on my screen

I still think about this date all the time. It was so beautifully written to underscore why this couple fits and how they each meet the needs of the other. Just having seen this one day spent together, it's easy to understand how a life between the two of them would unfold.

This show has a mature and nuanced understanding of relationships

We get deep into the show's perspective on love and romantic relationships via the return of Mitsuya's ex, Kaoru, a plot which the story handles with remarkable grace. I loved the space they gave to Mitsuya's former love and need for closure, and that Kaoru was not treated like a villain. He even got to provide an assist to Ishida!

The main romance feels deep and compelling

All of this adds up so that by the time we got to the finale, I really believed in this romance and why Ishida and Mitsuya needed each other, and the way the show dug into their hesitations and fears around that was so moving. My only regret is this show is short and we can't follow them to keep watching their lives together, but we got what we needed to feel confident in their future. I will miss them.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Obey Me

♡ featuring: kaeya x f!reader

♡ summary: you learn your lesson for disrespecting the calvary captain wc: 4.1k+ (i am so sorry)

♡ cw/tw: wax play, humiliation, degradation, sex toys, dacryphilia, rough sex, hard dom, overstim, orgasm torture, edging, bondage, squirting, pet play if you squint, kaeya is kind of an asshole, pet names (dove, pretty girl, sweetie)

notes: idk how the word count did that I'm too silly. feral kaeya does something to me tbh. n e way I promise a shorter one next time hehe. art by ttalby_ on ig <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Kaeya isn’t used to feeling like this.  

The interesting days of tasks and adventitious missions superseded his need for activities outside of the Knights of Favonius. He often stumbled—more so, needlessly interjected—into petty situations. He lived for theatrics, an audience to indulge emotion and intimacy in its most vulnerable state. A man who solves the problems of the public before his own knew neither authentic nor genuine connection. Kaeya was well aware of how easily he made hearts swoon, with a silver tongue and attractive timbre, a mask imperceptible. When you arrived as an apprentice for the 6th Company, he assumed you’d be just as easy, just as captivated. You were anything but. You barely acknowledged his existence for the first year, and he’d be wrong to say your lack of dalliance didn’t chip away at his self-esteem. 

Something egotistical in him wanted your attention. Romantic prospects were dispensable to him, but you had to know who he was. After all, who doesn’t love the Calvary Captain?  

Just for fun he told himself, as you became the first person to turn him flushed and sow seeds of doubt surrounding love in his heart. Kaeya finally managed to achieve your regard and all you asked for was his name. The audacity of you, to ask the captain who he is? He nearly busted out laughing. He gently held your hand and kneeled to kiss it, maintaining eye contact throughout. 

“Kaeya, my dear.” 

You were surprised to find him waiting for you outside the headquarters one day, handsome navy strands haloed in confidence, a delicate flower and perfumed letter in hand. Kaeya watched you read it in silence, his poem dedicated to you, requesting a date. You couldn’t help but smile at his charm, despite his sweaty palms as he awaited your answer. An accumulation of the little things; the bouquet of roses he bought you weekly, so you’d always have a fresh one, making sure you were always hydrated, his ability to make you laugh in trying times. You were both full of adoration, though he wouldn’t admit how invested he was. The only person who glimpsed the truth was Diluc. Kaeya rambled in his drunken stupor at the tavern, and Diluc sighed at the overdramatic sonnet. “My heart beats for her like no other. Will this be my fate? My Greek tragedy?” he mumbled through hiccups. 

As your relationship blossomed, work withered. An emerging problem reared its ugly head. Your assignments consumed your daily life and dwindled the moments spent with Kaeya. In the beginning stages of dating he understood, exuding nothing but patience and encouraging words. He didn’t expect you to drop work for him, and he was willing to accommodate the hectic schedule. Romantic gestures were limited to light caresses or kisses, clandestine sessions in abandoned alleyways. Frequent dates reduced to a couple a week, then a month, then none. The worst instances were when you assured Kaeya you’d arrive, only to call him a couple hours later with a tired apology, still stuck at your office. You promised him you’d make time for yourself and practice self-care, but it was evident you weren’t listening to his advice. You were no stranger to quickies, kindly offering them to Kaeya if he ever needed “destressing”. But the captain was never a fan of rushed affairs. He wanted desperately to share extended time with you, and you had none to give. It became easier to lie than to admit how overworked you were. 

Kaeya didn’t come to headquarters today, but you recall the conversation from the previous night. 

“Mm, I’m missing my little dove. Think you can come see me?” he said, tilting your chin up to meet his loving gaze. 

“Of course. I don’t have a lot of work tomorrow so I should be done early.” 

“Great. I’ll make dinner for us. Be at my place by 8, okay?” You agreed to the timeframe. 

Now that you’re comprehending the incomplete documents strewn across your desk, you regret your conviction. You shouldered the weight of everyone in your division. It’s getting close to the date, and you’ve barely scratched the surface. You fumble for concentration, anchoring down to finish the rest of the list. You make haste and shove the papers at Hertha. I still have time to get there you thought. Glancing up at the clock as you dart out the building, your eyes widen at what it reads. 10:15 pm. 

Fuck. You’re running now, skirt bouncing and bag rustling, navigating busy streets with an uneasy mind. Once again you promised, and once again you broke it. How could you be so careless? You catch your breath when your hand contacts the door. You relax before giving a few light knocks. The door swings open.  

Kaeya’s hair is free from its usual constraints, draping down his back and shoulders, wispy bangs hugging his sharp features. He’s clearly pissed reclining against the doorframe. He stares at you with his arms folded in front of the parted button down that peaks into the muscular, scarred chest underneath. 

“Kaeya, I-” 

“Get inside.” He turns and walks to the kitchen. You follow him inside and take note of the cold portion of a beautiful plate—presumably your meal—sitting on the table. He swishes the nearly finished red wine before taking a sip. You search aimlessly for an acceptable excuse while he leans against the table with his hand, glass in the other, eyes trained to the floor. Each second of silence simmering makes your stomach knot tighter, and he lets you stand uncomfortably.  

“I’m sorry, I... There were a few roads closed in the area. I had to take a different route.” you fib. He gazes at you, panning up and down before forcing a sarcastic smile. 

“How unfortunate. Are these the same roads that made you three hours late?" His jaw tightens. 

“It was pretty busy today-”  

“I’m feeling generous tonight, so I'll give you one more chance to be honest.”  

You sighed. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a lot of work lately. It’s not fair to you to deal with my problems.” He scoffs deeply, downing the rest of the glass and sets it on the table. 

“If this isn’t working for you, I understand.” 

“Oh? Are you suggesting a separation? Not even the gall to try and make it up to me?” he sneers. 

“You’re handsome and people like you. It’s not hard to find other options.” 

“If it’s not hard, why is the one thing I truly desire so difficult to hold? A petal drifting unpredictable wind, too quick to grasp.” He starts stalking towards you, relaxed but seemingly irritated. The contrast between his words and actions unnerves you. 

“How many times must I tell you to take care of yourself, to not let them walk over you, to come to me if you need help?” He gets to you and snakes his calloused hand behind your neck, a firm grip. Yearning lips are inches from yours, his hair tickles your eyelashes. 

“Why can’t you just listen to me, (Y/N)? Hmm?” He’s lenient, but you feel a shiver up your back and heat pooling in your stomach, nonetheless. 

“I’ll try harder. I promise.” you say, barely above a whisper. The pad of his thumb swirls your cheek. 

“I won’t entertain promises. Show me your dedication.” 

“What do I do to prove it?” A sadistic grin grows across his face, and lips graze your ear, sultry voice coiling around the shell. Your breath stalls. 

“Tonight, I’ll eat you up slowly-” Kaeya peppers soft kisses between the words against your jaw. “-savoring every. Little. Bite.” He trails down to your neck. You're melting in his hold, grabbing his robust arms for anything to stabilize you. "And when I’m picking you apart, and there’s tears in your eyes and you’re begging and you can’t take it anymore-” He drinks up your anticipation, an amused chuckle from the shudder prickling your skin.  

“-you’ll sit there and obey me until I'm done. Like a good pet.” 

You’re stripped of everything besides your underwear in front of the restlessly eager man. Standing in the center of this candlelit room, you feel miles away from him as he sits fully clothed on the edge of the bed. He’s lax, legs spread with a nonchalant posture; they invite you to kneel between them. Sex with Kaeya was never like this. Though infrequent, your back-alley blowjobs were done with kindness and haste. It was one thing for Kaeya to ogle your mouthwatering figure, another in the humiliating state he constrains you to. Your hands are bound by leather handcuffs that clip to a chunky black collar on both sides, limiting the movement of your wrists to just centimeters away from your face. You could move if you tried to, but the collar locked and tightened around your neck the harder you struggled. In the middle was attached a dangling leash, empty of its owner.  

The vibrating lace panties he put you in buzz agonizingly low against your clit, sending gentle bursts to the butt plug filling deep, foreign space in your body. You’re glutted, chafing your thighs together to numb the sweet ache dotting your core. 

“C’mere dove.” Kaeya orders, his finger curls in a guiding motion. You take one step assuming his entreat, and he retorts with a tut. 

“Aht aht, dogs don’t walk. Get on your knees and crawl to me.” Embarrassment overcomes you as you drop to your knees from the filthy demand. It’s degrading, having to crawl without the use of your arms. You scuffle with balance, and he takes pleasure in playing with the controller. Your rocking rear and wobbly legs find rhythm on the floor through the violent highs and lows of vibration. It was harder due to the position you stumbled in; the bullet teases you in the right spots. You finally reach him, resting your head on his knee, exhausted for what’s to come. He merely pats your head and uses the other to stifle the smug smirk. 

“Good puppy. Look at me.” Suddenly, he wraps the leash around his hand and pulls in taut. It snaps your eyes to his lustful expression, a thick aura that encapsulates you, suffocates you in his command. Kaeya zips his pants down to spring his throbbing cock free, a dark brown gradient to the mushroom tip.  

“Suck. If you let anything spill, I’ll punish you” he cooes. You lick the pre come away, fixating on the sensitive tip. His breathy sighs show appreciation. You lick in circular motions around it before lolling your tongue and taking all of him between your lips. His girth makes space in your mouth impossible until the head presses the back of your throat. “Ugh, fuck” he groans. Kaeya stands and pulls the leash towards him, enough to nuzzle your nose against his pubes. You gag and slobber over his balls from the constant pressure in your throat, and he keeps you there, watching the tears ball in your eyes, unfazed by your retching pleas. He keeps a firm grip on the back of your head.  

“Can you take it?” It’s almost mocking, as if he can’t see the mascara that smears your cheeks and your sweaty, breathless figure. You nod anyway, eager to please. He hums approval before pulling out completely and hammering his length down your throat. His heavy balls smack your chin at a savage pace, and strings of spit connect your puffy lips to his shaft. It’s barbaric and your throat is raw from the impact, but he chases his high. You’re absolutely powerless, your hands can’t even push his thighs back. However, subconsciously it felt nice, to be out of control, at the mercy of someone else using you for their impulse. The whir in your soaking panties feels richer now, tangling in your lower back and clouding your senses. All you smell and feel is him, it was like you never worked a day in your life. Like you were made for this, and this alone. Obscene noises come from your squelching mouth and Kaeya’s broken moans. Fuck and yes are all he can handle through constant whimpers, and you feel him trembling toward his release. He tilts your head to get a better view of you, spit and tears mixed with strands of hair stuck to your skin. You were a mess. But his eyes are solely on you, drenched in adoration and pure love for your trust in him.  

“I want this pretty face on me when I come” he whines and speeds up his thrusts before spurting hot, creamy ropes down your throat, painting your mouth white. He twitches wildly on your tongue till rest, and his guttural moans echo in your ears as you hollow your cheeks to suck him clean. A satisfying pop emerges when you free his tip, and he recollects himself. He somehow looks completely untouched, besides the sheen of sweat; the poise of a prince. 

Once Kaeya comes to his senses, he eyes the evidence of wetness that soaks through your panties, along with drops of pre come you failed to notice. Truthfully, you tried hard to avoid spilling anything, but the sensations in both your back and front were dizzying. He drawls a dramatic sigh, and loosely fiddles with the leash. 

“Didn’t I say not to spill anything?” His words are methodical, weaving enough vitriol to make your blood still at the upcoming punishment. “I’m sorr-” 

“You made a mess. Clean it.” He drops the leash and waits. What you assumed to be a towel clean-up was quickly refuted as you felt the tension of his boot press on your upper back. With just enough weight, he forces your body down towards the fluids, arms crossed. You lick it up without complaint. “Good puppy” he praises. 

Kaeya picks you up as if you’re featherlight and sets you on the edge of the bed on your stomach. You can’t see what he’s doing, and the silence frightens you. Immediately, the judder of the bullet increases significantly—not enough to make you come, but just enough to torment. You attempt to sway from undying heat between your legs, yet the static overtakes. Unbeknownst to you, the butt plug begins to vibrate, as well. You whine and arch your back involuntarily. You finally hear a deep chuckle from Kaeya. His fingers graze your sopping underwear. 

“So naughty, you got like this just from sucking me off?” He pushes the bullet harshly against you. You mewl from the feeling. “Please Kaeya, it’s too much.” 

“Shh, I know, I know. We still have a long way to go.” he soothes. He spreads your ass to reveal more area, and he’s hushed to an alluring whisper in your ear. “(Y/N). I’m going to spank you. And each time I do, you’ll count. One, thank you. Two, thank you. Up to sixteen. Understand?” 

“Yes” you rasped. 

“Good girl.” 

Kaeya massages your backside and prepares a slap. His palm crashes sharply on one with a resounding crack. Blazing surge sprawls across the whole cheek, but you manage to stay afloat. “One, thank you.” He promptly delivers another, a staggering strike to match the other cheek. “Two, thank you” you hissed. He kneads the smoldering dough in his hands and smiles at the juices stuck to your inner thighs. 

“Such a pervert. You’re not enjoying this, are you?” he teases. The lines of pleasure and pain blurred for you long before. The crackling fire of his hand swatting your ass makes you cry out. He’s brutal, and the grip you have on his sheets colors your knuckles white. You endure delicious thwacks with a tender bottom all the way through thirteen. Your malleable mind forgets to count past that, forgets your place. Kaeya feigns hurt. “Am I that forgettable? Should we start over?” A shudder trails down your back. 

“M’no, Kaeya ple-ase. ‘M sorry.” you stammer. He swipes your tears with his thumb and licks it. “I’m touched by your tears” he groans. He moves back to your searing bottom, digging crescent shaped indents into the welted flesh with his nails. 

“Do you know why I had you count to sixteen?” 

“N-no...” 

A low hmph. “That’s the number of dates you missed.” You go pale for a second. “It won’t happen again, Kaeya. Please!” you beg. The need for release ruins your rational thoughts, and he can taste your desperation. “Please what, dove?” He plays ignorance. “Tell me exactly what you want.” He caresses your face lovingly, despite his cruelty. 

“Wanna come, I need it so bad, Kaeya.” His name rolling off your tongue in lewd fervor makes his length constrict in his pants. You’re putty in his presence, and he delights in molding you to his wishes. 

"Are you worthy of it?" he taunts. Fresh tears brim your eyes, and he can’t fight back the snicker in his throat. He walks away from you, and you’re left alone until you feel the mattress give way under his knee. What little sight you had in front of you is robbed by the silky black blindfold pulling stiff on your eyes. “Too tight?” 

“A little.” He loosens it a bit and kisses your temple. Suddenly, a sphere makes contact with your lips, and you open. The ball gag secures around the back of your head, and you’re already salivating from the stretch of your jaw. 

“You know what, I’ll let you come.” he lulled. You can’t hear the malicious tinge in his words, and he swiftly turns both vibrators up to a harrowing speed at the same time. A strangled moan gets caught in your throat and you quiver and lurch over. He spanks your sore behind in response. 

“Keep your back arched. I want a perfect view” he husks. You use the stamina you have left to stay in that position. Your hips are unconsciously rutting against the bullet, and the ecstasy lapping at your swollen clit sends trails of fire up your stomach. Kaeya watches the saturated outline of your convulsing vulva, the honeyed, muffled moans unending and palms his erection.  

“I’m sorry, this must be so hard for you” he soothes. “Almost as hard as it was for me to hear you lie so blatantly.” Kaeya wasn’t a man that held grudges, but he took amusement in your reactions. All he can think about is breaking you, with each touch and kiss; so that you travel through heaven and hell, drowning in desire until he carries you out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you come hard, hole fluttering around nothing with electricity squirming in your bones. However, the pressure doesn’t stop, it seems to vibrate faster as you buck and cry. “Oops, wrong setting.” He turns it up higher, the bastard. It rips through your orgasm, already approaching another and you can’t take the sting. “Tell me if it’s too much” he sneers. Your hands jolt and snap back to the collar.  

“I’ll turn it off later, I’m kind of busy right now. You know, work and stuff.” What? He wouldn’t leave you like this, right? Undecipherable noises bounce around the gag, but none persuade him. Footsteps get quieter, then the door shuts.  

You can’t look or beg for Kaeya, and tears begin to stain the blindfold. Buzzing roars in your ears, your limbs are too weak to hold up and you can barely breathe. Your thighs shake from sick passion, and you come undone again over the persistent toys. The twenty minutes he was gone felt like hours. Your muffled sobs are uncontrollable, come cascading down your legs and spit dribbles from your lips. You aren’t sure how many times you came before he got back.  

The Archons must have shown mercy; the vibrations stopped. You hear that suave voice resounding in your brain. 

“I think you’ve earned a break.” he says, freeing the panties from you. The plug steadily glides out of your pulsing ring, and he removes the blindfold. Kaeya is the first thing you see, and for a moment he shines like royalty. The gag comes off and you’re babbling Kaeya’s name over and over like a chant, a devoted disciple. He cradles your face and hushes you. 

“It’s okay, I’m here.” He flips you on your back. You’re in a daze gazing at him but his attention is lowered to your spread legs, slabbering at the slippery aftermath of his abandonment. 

“Beautiful. A living work of art” he whispered. His mask dissolves before you. He reaches for one of the red candles glowing vividly on his nightstand and returns with the wax-leaking stick. You share a soft kiss, warm and pure while he tilts the candle over your chest. He’s careful with the course and allows it to dance across your breasts, down your sternum and above your pelvis. Each crimson plop and fleck are its own singing thrill, but your awareness is diverted to his wanton kisses, the nips on your bottom lip. Heat reignites your core. Once he blows out the candle, he smudges French kisses down your neck, tracing the pattern of the wax to subdue the burn. “You’re flawless” he breaths against your nipple. He sucks one while pinching the other, the occasional bite on your slightly bruising skin makes you wince. He slides off the bed and starts stripping with an insatiable thirst that longed to be inside you, shirt and pants thrown about. In one swoop, he grabs your thighs and pulls you to the edge.  

“If I uncuff you, will you behave?” You nod frantically with the clinking metal, and he detaches the restraints. He brings your legs over his shoulder, and you feel the cockhead prodding your slit. Kaeya sinks his tip into you, and you’re suddenly overcome with frenetic throbbing that ripples through your hypersensitive clit. “W-wait, Kaeya-” You don’t have nearly enough strength to protest when you grab his wrists settled on your waist—he’s determined to fuck it out of you. “Mm, just a little more” He’s craving, his veins rub your walls all the way to the base. With his balls flush, he pulls out and drives into you. The first pump sends a flaming shock through your body, an abyssal fall you succumb to. You can’t register the erotic screams or pleasant shock of Kaeya as a stream of liquid coats your bodies and drenches the sheets. Your hysterical sobs and innocent sorry’s are music to his ears, better than any melody in Teyvat. He rubs circles on your lower belly and starts again at an unrelenting pace. “I-I can’t Kaeya, ‘m coming so hard.” you wail, writhing from the deep strokes coaxing your g-spot. Your stomach quakes and you grip him like a vice, he can’t stop the feral urge. “Fuck- aww, sweetie. I know, I know. Can you do another one, for me?” He tries to keep his composure, but his voice is bordering unhinged, dying to see you squirt again. Kaeya's chest pins yours and he pummels your cunt with your shaky legs locked around him. Your nails latch onto his back and you weep into his shoulder. The emotion is too intense; your heart thrums viciously in your ears.  

“You’re my pretty little fuck toy, hmm?” he stutters through thrusts. “Just lay here and take my cock. Quit your job. Be mine entirely.” Loud plap’s accompany his silent plea, and you feel another orgasm boiling. His palm pressing on your womb makes you incoherent and he chuckles. “Aw sweetie, it feels too good?” he mocks. You touch foreheads. You’re both teeming, waiting for each other. “Give it to me. Come on my cock like a good slut” he demands. Wave after relentless wave splinters you, and the gushing sprinkler covers him exactly like he wanted. Kaeya moans at the sight. “Shit, ‘m coming.” He pursues his sputtering hips, shooting thick globs that greedily crowd your sex.  

Kaeya breathes heavily as he comes down from his peak twitching inside. You still tremble sporadically in his arms. He rubs your back, placing calming kisses all over your face. “You alright, pretty girl?” You’re edging on unconsciousness. He stays with you until you gather responsiveness.  

When you wake, the collar is off, and you identify concern in his eyes. “You weren't this scared when you were killing me” you murmur quietly. Kaeya flashes a genuine smile. “If you died from good sex, that’d be quite the compliment on my part.” He props you into his lap facing him, and you're reposed on his chest. He pats your hair, staring off into nothing and everything. 

“I’d much rather have you in pieces. Because I’m the only one that can put you back together.” It was a passing thought, one that shouldn’t be said out loud. It churns in your gut, and you aren’t sure why. 

“You worked so hard today. Let’s take a bath, okay?” 

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hey got more aggre guy questions with you hehehe :D

How would you know if any of them had a crush on you?

Hehe... a classic cute question.

Sans: The absolute most difficult to tell. He just acts like a close pal. Honestly, if you're not Papyrus, it's near impossible to know how Sans is genuinely feeling. This guy is a master at disguise. The signs are ridiculously covert- how many words he uses in his texts, which eye he most frequently winks at you with, the kinds of jokes he uses, which side of you he sits on. He gets slightly jealous of people you like, and expresses that with veeeery subtle coldness toward them. To Papyrus Sans is outrageously flirting, and to you he just said 'heh, i'm gonna steal that joke'.

The most reliable sign that he likes you, is he would rather be with you than without you. He messages you when he's bored, when he's got a day off he asks if you want to come over and hang out together. He's casually affectionate with you; with everyone else he's very physically guarded, not really allowing any prolonged contact, but he'll sit close enough for your knees to touch and lean on your shoulder. When he's sleepy, he'll just put his head in your lap.

If at any point you're actually starting to suspect that Sans has a crush on you (ie you catch him lightly blushing or looking at your hand like he wants to hold it) that means he's already fully in love with you. If it's obvious enough for you to tell, he's planning to spend the rest of his life with you.

Red: Red is also pretty difficult to tell. Not as hard as Sans, though. He's highly flirtatious in general, but even more so with people he's physically interested in. Sometimes, it can be hard to know if he's just a super flirty guy in general, or if he genuinely really likes you.

When he's in love he switches between totally forgetting to flirt (he's thinking about more than just sleeping together) and acting more like himself, then panicking that you won't like his real self and becoming EXTRA flirtatious and swaggery. He instinctively wants you to see the real him, and like him... but he's also terrified of you not liking the real him, so he clams up and tries to play the part of the big sexy badboy that everyone else seems to like so much more. The longer he likes you the more he eases. If at any point you find out he needs glasses, or that he quit smoking out of fear that it'd impact your lungs, that's a sure sign he's fallen for you.

Another reliable tell is jealousy. Red doesn't get jealous a lot, because usually he doesn't really care all that deeply about his flings. If he shows jealousy about who you're with, it's a big flag that his feelings run a lot deeper than he wants to admit.

Skull: Skull isn't difficult at all. It will be loud & clear that he likes you. Nonstop staring, intense blushing at the slightest interaction, he drops/breaks things a lot because he's distracted just looking at you. His brain -> mouth filter vanishes, he'll be completely silent except to blurt out things like "you're so pretty" and "i like your smell". Before he drums up the courage to start talking to you properly he might even come across as a bit creepy and overwhelming, given his size and strength, the intensity of his feelings, and his love language being staring.

Papyrus usually comes very in handy. He makes Skull seem less intimidating by providing the cute real reasons for Skull's bizarre behaviour around you. He can be a great translation service for his brother- when Skull mumbles something totally unintelligible to you because you make his brain stop working, Papyrus can step in. He's also great at getting that perfect balance between encouraging his brother, and stopping him from crossing any lines; he'll help Skull approach you at a house party without teleporting somewhere completely random out of nervousness, but he'll also dispense helpful advice such as "PERHAPS YOU SHOULD INTRODUCE YOURSELF BEFORE YOU TELL HER YOU WANT TO HAVE KIDS WITH HER."

[followthebluebell]

Just a quick request for advice (feel free to ignore!).

We have two cats, and the younger of the two is very food obsessed.

We’ve tried the standard wisdom: feeding them both on a schedule, trying to control how much they eat, etc.

Baby boy is very vocal though, and sing-screams all the livelong day for food. Waiting him out can be a vexing process because of this, and because of his size he just shoves the other cat out of the way to get at the food when we do give it to him. We’ve had to resort to occasional free feeding because we’re legitimately worried that the older cat isn’t getting enough to eat.

So the easiest (and more expensive) option here is to get a fancy microchip cat feeder for your older boy. I'm most familiar with the SureFeed brand and it works really well--- I'm always a bit skeptical of chip feeders just because my gut says 'the more parts a thing has, the more complicated it is, the more likely it's going to break'. But the SureFeeds are pretty solid.

But expensive. x_x;; So uh. Not an option for everyone.

My personal cats are kinda like yours. Yardstick is VERY loud and demanding around mealtimes and will shamelessly push Saia out of the way to get to her food. Saia is a very light eater. She has yet to figure out that, if she doesn't finish her meal, Yardstick absolutely will.

In their case, I feed Yardstick in the bathroom and Saia gets her meal elsewhere. Once Saia is done eating, Yardstick can come out. Again, this might not be feasible for people since it depends on having space.

Slow feeders might be an option. There are all sorts of slow feeders available: silicone plates with little divots that you smear wet food across (downside: the cleaning, ugh) and toys that they can push around to dispense dry food (again, keep in mind that there's cleaning involved). Hell, even a bowl with a toy in it can slow a cat down JUST enough to give the other kitty time to finish their meals.

Finally (my favorite method) is to harness that FOOD HUNGER. Your cat will do anything for a treat. Use that. Get yourself a little bag of cat treats and, while your older kitty is eating, distract your younger boy with training. Teach him some silly cat tricks, like how to give a high five or sit or how to hop up onto some random piece of furniture on command. Your cat might not be howling JUST because he's never been fed a day in his life; he might be bored and consider being fed the highlight of his day.

I hope something in here works for you!

[ckret2]

Chapter 23 of human Bill being the Mystery Shack's prisoner is honestly becoming a bigger inconvenience for them than for him, featuring: Bill's ex-girlfriend.

Bill wants to avoid being seen in a human body (humiliating), Mabel wants to know everything about Bill's love life, and Ford and Soos just want to get rid of the safety hazard. And somehow they start here—

—and end up here.

After going through the entire pile of library books on lucid dreaming, Bill found one to recommend to Mabel that had glossy full-color illustrations, simple little meditative exercises, and—most importantly—no information about astral projection. (It was galling enough that her brother had somehow picked up the trick without realizing it; like heck would Bill help Dipper master it unless Bill could think of some way to take advantage of his skill.)

But for himself, Bill elected to follow a slim decades-old guide that advertised full control over your dreams in four weeks or your money back. A frustratingly long wait to master his own dreamscape, but surely Bill could find a way to fend off his execution at least another four weeks. And anyway, Bill was already a dream expert—maybe he could take shortcuts a human couldn't. He'd picked this book for two reasons: it was the shortest of the books Mabel had brought home; and it had Bill's face on the inside cover page, a triangle containing a grayscale human eye. If Bill couldn't trust advice dispensed by his own face, who could he trust?

He flipped to the back of the book, to the section on all the advanced dream tricks the author promised readers could learn once they'd mastered the basics. Telepathically sharing a dream with a lover. Prophetic visions. And of course, astral projection.

He gazed wistfully at the drawing of a body with its humanoid soul floating above it, loosely tethered to its physical shell's belly button by a ghostly cord. When Bill got out, no tether would tie him back to his flesh prison, and the little soul floating free wouldn't look so human.

He hoped it wouldn't, anyway— No. It wouldn't. Surely the Axolotl had only imprisoned him, not altered him... but then, the Ax had strange ideas about mercy.

Well, Bill wasn't getting to those tricks until he mastered the basics. He flipped to the front of the book. Step one of this four-week journey was to establish...

Bill scoffed under his breath. "A dream diary? Seriously?" A primitive travel journal for psychically-stunted creatures who could only peer through the doorway of the mindscape without properly exploring it.

But right now, Bill was one of those creatures. This book was for him, no matter how condescending he thought it was.

He sighed. All right. Dream diary. Fine. Luckily, he'd already assembled all the supplies he needed.

Mabel had spilled out her crayons in front of Bill plenty of times; sometimes she even let him use them. It had taken some careful timing and preparation, but a few days ago he'd grabbed the unloved grey and greenish-yellow crayons—the sharpest in her collection—during a moment she'd left him unsupervised. So that there wouldn't be any gaps in Mabel's meticulously rainbow-ordered crayon box, he'd had to unwrap the crayons, break off the tips and butts, roll out two tubes of Claydough to fill in the gaps, rewrap the false crayons, and stuff them back in the crayon box before Mabel got back. The middles of the crayons were safely spirited away in his hoodie. He was a genius. The humans underestimated him without his powers, but he was the smartest creature in the universe.

Bill was loathe to pull out Ford's Journal 4—he'd entertained some vague fantasy of filling it with the secrets of reality and slipping it somewhere Ford could find it, make him really regret turning his back on Bill's wisdom—but it was good quality paper and it was already in Bill's possession, so he couldn't afford to pass it up.

The lucid dreaming guide recommended keeping the dream diary under his pillow. Considering he was still sleeping on the floor on a couple of stolen couch cushions that he shoved aside as convenient, not likely. If he was supposed to have easy access to it whenever he slept, he couldn't leave it in his usual hidey-hole, either. He pulled the cushion off the window seat, chewed a tiny hole in the seam on the bottom edge, and carefully plucked out the thread to open up a gap along one side where it wouldn't be seen.

He pressed the stuffing out of the way, slid in the journal and crayons, and put the cushion back in place to await his next dream.

As Bill straightened up, he glanced out the attic window—and flinched in surprise.

Just outside, by the trees, was someone he knew. The most beautiful, graceful, desirable person in all the world. Someone he half thought he'd never see again. Bill stared in shock.

And then she turned toward the shack.

Bill ducked out of the window's view. "Heck."

####

"Star girl, we've got trouble." Bill was standing grimly in the kitchen doorway. "My ex is back in Gravity Falls."

Mabel's brain short-circuited so hard that she momentarily lost the ability to see as she processed the revelation that Bill Cipher had a love life. A whole new multiverse of matchmaking possibilities had just opened up. "Your what?!"

Bill pointed upward.

Mabel bolted out of her seat to follow him upstairs.

"Anyway, I assume we're exes," Bill said. "I usually dump people when they die, I'm sure she did the same to me."

Barely listening to him, Mabel gushed, "Bill, you sly dog, you've been holding out on me! I didn't know you dated!" She took his elbow to help keep him from tripping as they headed upstairs. "What's she like? Tell me everything!" Mabel hoped she wasn't evil. She probably was, but Mabel still had her fingers crossed for some sweet alien princess with a taste for bad boys who may yet lure out Bill's tender side.

"Oh—she's a stunner." Bill used his free hand to pantomime a shape that didn't conform to any silhouette Mabel could imagine, "Curves in all the right places... Down for anything..."

Maybe it was that pink Henchmaniac. She had curves. And was also the only one Mabel remembered who looked like a girl. "You must miss her a lot."

Bill grimaced uncertainly and muttered, "I miss what she does to my body, let's leave it at that."

He steered them toward the attic window and heaved a sigh of relief. "Okay, she's still here. Don't let her catch you staring."

Mabel pressed her face to the glass, eager to see who could have won the heart of Bill Cipher, Most Villainous Triangle Ever.

Below, a gigantic veiny eyeball flopped through the air on gnarled bat wings.

Mabel glanced up at Bill skeptically. "The eye-bat?"

"Mm-hm." Bill was biting his lip and gazing at the bat with pained, shiny-eyed yearning. His face reminded reminded her of the time her parents had dressed for a fancy grown-up dinner, and the way her dad looked when her mom came out in a slinky fuchsia cocktail dress.

Well, who was Mabel to judge? Everyone is beautiful to someone. Good for them. "What's her name?"

"Iris." Bill put a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "You've gotta help me."

####

"Hey, Ford? You got a minute?"

Ford looked up as Soos hovered in the door of his study. "I suppose I do now." He swept aside his lunch—his desk was littered with the remains of formerly-undead teriyaki chicken and the cheap wooden chopsticks he'd jabbed through the meat like wooden stakes—and slid the notebook paper with Bill's fowl resurrection spell back into his journal. "What's on your mind?"

Soos stepped fully into the room. "We've got a supernatural problem I was hoping you could help with," he said. "You know those little eye-bat things that hang around the farm? Well, there's a really huge one flying around the shack, and all the tourists are out-of-towners, so they don't know the eye-bats will swoop at your face unless you pretend you're blind? So the big guy keeps attacking the customers. I had to give away all our souvenir sunglasses to let the last tour group escape to their cars."

"A giant eye-bat?" Ford frowned. "How large?"

"Uh..." Soos held his hands apart. "Like a big beach ball? Yeah. One of those novelty oversized beach balls. But not like, so comically large you can't do anything with it. You could definitely still play beach volleyball with it. But you'd have to deflate it to get it through a door."

It sounded like one of Bill's minions. "It's not turning people to stone, is it?"

"No, just swooping at people's faces and being terrifying."

####

Bill watched from the kitchen window as the eye-bat folded in her wings, like a hawk preparing to snatch up a mouse, and dove at a tourist's head. The tourist screamed and ran the other way, chucking her purse at the eye-bat. Bill shouted at the window, "You don't know what you're missing out on, lady!" He dragged his hands down his face, groaning. "Man I wish that was me."

####

Ford nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

It was a welcome distraction. With Fiddleford currently pursuing their best lead to kill Bill, Ford hadn't felt motivated to keep researching long-shot plan B options; but he got antsy without work to do. Maybe dealing with an eye-bat would make him feel useful enough to quiet his nerves. 

Soos heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I've gotta head back up now—there's a tour bus coming and I need to scare the eye-bat off with a broom so they can come in."

As Soos got on the elevator, Mabel bounded off. "Hi Soos. Grunkle Ford! I need your help. You'll never guess who's at the shack: Bill's ex-girlfriend! Whaaat!"

Ford opened his mouth. He shut his mouth. He tried again. "His ex-girlfriend."

Mabel nodded excitedly.

Ford was momentarily stunned silent as he, too, processed the revelation that Bill had a love life; although his reaction had less to do with matchmaking possibilities and more to do with trying to reconcile the eccentric, intellectual, standoffish alien that Ford knew with the concept of romance. "She doesn't happen to be an eye-bat, does she?"

Mabel's face fell. "Did he tell you about his girlfriend before me?"

Once Mabel had explained what she knew about the situation, Ford frowned. "This could be gravely dangerous. One of his 'Henchmaniacs' is a potential ally. If he catches her attention..."

"Actuallyyy," Mabel said, "he's super trying to avoid her."

Ford blinked in surprise. "What? Why?"

####

"I can't let her see me like this," Bill told Mabel, pacing across the attic floor. "I'd be a laughing stock! Look at me—stuck in a human body, powers locked away, and hideous!"

"Don't say that," Mabel said reassuringly. "You know I think you make a really beautiful human, right?"

"True, but that's like saying Caesar is delicious for a salad. It still doesn't compare to a hot fudge sundae, does it?" He pointed toward the window. "You have to hide me."

####

"So do you think you can help?" Mabel asked.

Ford reluctantly got to his feet. "I suppose there's not much choice, is there?"

"Wait—" Mabel stood in front of Ford, blocking him with her arms. "You can stay here! I just meant if you know how to make some kind of magic anti-eyeball forcefield or something! You don't have to—you know—talk to Bill..."

It was sweet of her to try to spare him. "Unfortunately, I do. I don't trust his story." Why would Bill drive away a Henchmaniac, ex or not? Maybe this "ex" was actually Bill's enemy—some sort of interdimensional bounty hunter or law enforcement officer hunting for him. Bill was too sly, too opportunistic, too manipulative to throw away a useful ally.

But then, Bill was also vain and arrogant. Once the portal was finished, how fast had he thrown Ford away?

Ford headed toward the elevator, gesturing for Mabel to follow him. "Come on. Let's find out what he's really up to."

Mabel cringed, but followed.

####

Bill's face lit up as Mabel came in from the gift shop with Ford. "Look at you, Shooting Star, you brought reinforcements!" From his position seated cross-legged on the cushionless sofa, Bill gestured grandly at the unoccupied living room chairs, like a lord inviting two guests into his parlor.

"Yeah," Mabel laughed nervously. "Reinforcements. Sure." She took the chair closer to Bill. 

Bill beamed at Ford. "Welcome back to the surface world, Stanford. If I'd thought you were coming up, I'd have made tea."

Ford remained standing. "Cut the chatter, Cipher. Why is your 'girlfriend' back on Earth attacking people? How did she get here? Is she looking for you?"

Bill's eyebrows raised in surprise at the abrupt confrontation; then he slowly leaned back in his seat, his expression cooler. "How should I know? Maybe she never left Earth."

"How? The rest of your thugs were dragged back into the Nightmare Realm when you died."

"So I've been told," Bill said dryly, glancing at Mabel like he trusted her eyewitness testimony over Ford's.

Mabel nodded. "Like they got sucked into a big invisible rainbow tornado!"

Bill spread his hands in exaggerated bafflement. "Then I don't know what to tell you. It's not like I was around to see it. Maybe she was out visiting family when you kicked out my pals."

"Of all the absurd—family? On Earth?" More likely she had been sucked out with the rest, but found her way back to Earth through—what?—a small rift they'd failed to seal that Bill was trying to cover up...? "For once in your life, why don't you give a straight answer?"

"You wouldn't know what to do with a straight answer if I did give it! You walk in looking for a fight and act like I'm the one who picked it." Bill gestured between Ford and Mabel, "You think I can't see you two trying to pull some good cop/bad cop routine?"

Defensively, Mabel said, "I'm not—!"

"I'd be happy to give you straight answers about anything you want, Stanford," Bill said, "but if you're treating this like an interrogation instead of a conversation, then I'm pleading the fifth until my lawyer gets here. And you do not want to meet my lawyer."

Bill had lost the privilege to have "conversations" years ago. But—as much as Ford hated to admit it—starting a fight was a poor way to gather information. "Fine." He forced himself to sit down. He wasn't about to be nice to Bill, but he could at least hate him civilly.

Bill made a gracious, open-handed gesture, as if to say proceed.

Now that Ford had taken a moment to turn over the idea—perhaps Bill wasn't lying about the eye-bat visiting "family." Here were two facts: there were eye-bats in Gravity Falls; and there were much larger eye-bats in the Nightmare Realm who'd been there before the dimensional portal ripped open. Ford hadn't been able to inspect Bill's variety, but... "That's another mystery I've been wondering about. What's the nature of the relationship between your eye-bats in the Nightmare Realm and ours in Gravity Falls?"

"Pfff, come on." With an air of smug intellectual superiority, Bill rolled his eye and said, "You clever little pattern-seeking humans want to find connections everywhere! Who said there's any relationship between them at all?"

"You did," Ford said.

"A few seconds ago," Mabel added.

Bill's smug look disappeared. He considered that. "Hm."

So much for getting straight answers out of Bill. He couldn't go one minute without contradicting his own lies. "Unless you're saying she was 'visiting family' because she is from Gravity Falls? Not one of your Henchmaniacs," Ford suggested. "Just some local eye-bat you mutated and magically enthralled into doing your bidding when you arrived?" Bill wouldn't like that.

And sure enough, Bill laughed harshly. "I'm flattered you think I can woo someone that fast," he said, blithely gliding past Ford's implication that mind control might have been involved, "but no. She came with me from the Nightmare Realm and we've been going out for... I don't know, a century and a half now?"

This information immediately activated the household romantic. Mabel gasped. "What! Bill that's so long! You're basically triple married."

Bill shuddered. "Yeesh, don't say that. It was a casual physical thing! We were seeing each other until we found better options, that's all. She's hot, but not my type."

"You have a type?! What's your type?"

"Don't answer that," Ford said. (Mabel pouted, but didn't argue.) "How is the same species in two places? Are the eye-bats in Gravity Falls descended from the eye-bats in the Nightmare Realm...?" But how would they have gotten in?

"Other way around," Bill corrected. "A few leaked into the Nightmare Realm from Gravity Falls. I wouldn't be so rude as to call them an invasive species, but they've taken really well to the place! I'm proud of the gals."

"But then how did the eye-bats get into the Nightmare Realm before the portal was complete? That's the whole reason you needed the portal—there was no other access."

Bill hesitated—and Ford got the sense that Bill had once again accidentally talked himself into a corner. Then there was some other passage to the Nightmare Realm, and Bill didn't want them to know about it. But what? Where else in Gravity Falls was there an opening to other dimensions?

The answer came to him before Bill had a chance to try to make up one. "The bottomless pit," Ford said. He couldn't believe he'd never made the connection before. "That's it, isn't it. The eye-bats could have fallen through. One of its exits leads to the Nightmare Realm. You said so in my journal."

There was a flash of irritation across Bill's face, and then he was all smiles. "Oh, you finally figured out that code, did you."

"Please, it was a simple substitution cipher. It wouldn't have taken me nearly so long if someone hadn't kept me sleep deprived for weeks."

Bill didn't respond to the jab—but it was clear from the way his mouth twisted that the restraint took an effort. "I'm not making any plans to jump into the bottomless pit, before you get worried." Said like somebody who had definitely considered jumping into the bottomless pit. No wonder he'd been so evasive about his eye-bats' origins. "The odds I'd actually make it back to the Nightmare Realm are way lower than the odds I'd either end up right back here or somewhere worse." 

"'The lady doth protest too much,'" Ford muttered. He'd have to find a way to seal off the pit. "Is that why the eye-bat wasn't sucked out with your other minions? It has some... ancestral, genetic link to this world—?"

"What, do you think the fabric of reality is running DNA tests to see what does and doesn't 'belong' here?" Bill scoffed. "Most universes aren't sentient and yours isn't one of the exceptions. Still, you might be on to something. Most of my guys are built on biological blueprints and laws of physics that aren't compatible with this dimension; I had to use some of my power to 'translate' between their bodies and your universe. That magic connection probably reeled them back into the Nightmare Realm. And the eye-bats were the only ones I didn't do that for."

"Really." Ford's fingers itched to pick up a pen; he wished he'd brought his journal. "If you were supporting them, why did they get sucked back through the rift when you died? Rather than just dying when your power dissipated? Was that some sort of safety measure you left in case—? No, that's not like you." In order to plan for his death, Bill needed to admit he could die. "Is the source of your power in the Nightmare Realm?"

Bill said, "Frankly, I'm taking your word for it that they survived at all. I wasn't exactly around to watch."

"You're dodging the question." Trying to get anything out of Bill was like chasing a dancing ghost while wearing lead boots. "I want an answer."

"Then ask a different question."

"Fine!" Ford had plenty of questions. If Bill wanted another one so badly— "Why did you need the interdimensional portal?"

Bill stared at Ford. "What?"

"The bottomless pit is ancient—and you clearly knew about it. If you already had an opening into Gravity Falls..."

"The pit only goes one way."

"So why didn't you build something on your end of the exit to reverse its direction? You certainly had the time to work out the science! Or—there are thousands of openings from other dimensions into the Nightmare Realm, natural and artificial alike. Why did you never use them?"

Ford had wondered for decades during his travels through the multiverse. He'd told himself he would never know, that Bill's motives were incomprehensible—ineffable like a god's, unintelligible like a madman's. But Stan had asked the same question a few days ago, and Ford hadn't been able to get it out of his head since. "If you had a trillion years to refine your plan, then why did you give me blueprints for a portal that would tear my universe apart, instead of any other design? Why here, why now? Why me?"

He expected some catty quip or a dismissive brush-off. But instead, Bill gave Ford an appraising look. A chill ran up Ford's back. Bill's face was blank now—no trace of the smirk he'd worn while tossing out contradictions and cryptic riddles—but his eyes had the same hard, heavy look he'd worn in the penthouse, talking about "liberating" his dimension. Bill asked, "Do you really want to know?"

It felt like they were back in Ford's dreams, and his fickle, wonderful muse had finally decided to stop teasing, get serious, and tell his student some precious secret. It felt like he was about to get a real answer. Ford did want to know. Of course he did.

"No."

Bill would only lie. Everything he'd ever said about the portal had been a lie.

Disappointment flickered across Bill's face.

Before an uneasy silence had a chance to fully settle over the room, Mabel shifted in her seat. Ford started; she'd gone so quiet, he'd almost forgotten she was here. "Grunkle Ford, is that everything we needed to know?" It wasn't like her to sound so timid. "We know she's not looking for Bill, she just—got stuck here last summer. Right?"

Why were they talking? "Right." The eye-bat harassing the tourists. Ford shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "And the eye-bat is from the Nightmare Realm, but it's descended from Gravity Falls' eye-bats—which means it has the same weaknesses as local eye-bats. Right?" He opened his eyes again, directing the question at Bill.

"Oh, now you're interested in what I have to say?"

"Good point; I'm not." Ford stroked his chin. "I have a recipe for an eye-bat repellant spray I learned from Old Lady Sprott, we could use that to keep it away from the shack. I wrote it down in... my first journal..." 

"Ah," Bill said. "You mean the incinerated one." He said it so coolly, like he wasn't the one who incinerated it.

"Actually," Mabel said, "after everything went back to normal, Grunkle Ford's journals got un-incinerated!"

Bill made a poor show of trying not to look surprised. "You don't say."

"Yeah, good as new! They regrew their torn pages and everything," Mabel said. "And... then we kinda chucked them into the bottomless pit."

Bill cracked up, kicking out a foot in mirth. "You what?! You idiots, don't you know you had an invaluable occult encyclopedia in your hands? The second journal alone was the most important human grimoire of the last five hundred years!"

Ford was too irritated to be flattered. What business did Bill have mocking him, thirty seconds ago Bill had thought he was the one who destroyed the journals. Ford snapped, "I didn't want to keep anything you'd tainted."

He was gratified by how fast Bill stopped laughing. "Then burn down your shack and lobotomize your hippocampus," Bill muttered. "Fine! Are we talking about the eye-bat repellant made with gnome wizz?"

Bless this insufferable, all-seeing pest; maybe he was good for one thing. "That's the one! You know the recipe?"

"That's the only ingredient I remember."

Ford mentally retracted the prior blessing. "It's the only ingredient I remember." He sighed. Maybe Old Lady Sprott had taught her son...

Bill said, "But wasn't that was back before you turned into a hermit, when you were still interviewing the human neighbors about the freaks in the woods? All those little interview notebooks—"

"Yes! That's right, I'm sure I kept them somewhere—"

"Filing cabinet under your globe. Second drawer."

Ford shot Bill a dark look.

"You're welcome," Bill said.

The insufferable all-seeing pest didn't need any blessings, he was smug enough already. Ford got to his feet. "Then as soon as I find the recipe, we can chase this eye-bat off and put this whole mess behind us."

"Finally," Bill sighed. "Always a pleasure to work on a project with you, Sixer."

Ford glared at him again; but as he turned to go, his gaze fell on Mabel. Sitting in her chair with her hands under her thighs, with that big-eyed small-mouthed look children got when the adults were talking about something they had no part in but they were paying keen attention to it anyway. Ford winced at himself. "Mabel. I'm sorry that got... a bit heated."

She gave him a small smile. "It's fine—"

"And whose fault was that?" Bill cut in. "I was being perfectly helpful."

Ford swallowed back the urge to retort. 

Mabel didn't. She blew a raspberry at Bill. "When you weren't lying to us?"

"When did I lie! Tell me one lie I told—"

Ford wasn't getting dragged into this. "I think you can handle him from here," he muttered to Mabel. "I've got work to do." He escaped back to the gift shop; but the tension in his shoulders didn't start to loosen until he was back in his study.

####

The door swung shut behind Ford; and Mabel waited a few more seconds before she said, "Sorry about that." She sighed. "I thought Grunkle Ford could think of some way to help. I didn't think he'd actually come and talk about it."

"Not your fault." Bill smiled ruefully. "He was probably looking for an excuse for another confrontation. And to think, for a moment I was excited when my old friend showed up." He sighed deeply. Oh, how poorly he was mistreated—

"What?" Mabel laughed. "What are you talking about? You're not friends—"

"Hey! Shush-shush-shush!" Bill blocked Mabel's words with a hand. "Shooting Star, I'm about to tell you something that'll put you ahead of the competition for the rest of your life. Once you've figured out lucid dreaming, go back to the library—"

"Are you about to give me more homework?"

"I'm giving you more homework. Go look up the law of attraction. Master that, change your life. If you want something to happen, the first step to making it happen is saying it's happened. Say it until you believe it; believe it until it's true. So I don't want to hear any of your negativity, buster."

A thoughtful look crossed Mabel's face as she considered that. She was such an attentive listener once you figured out what caught her attention. Best student Bill had had in eons. She'd go far. "So..." She lowered her voice. "That means you really do want to be friends with Grunkle Ford!"

"That's not what I said. I said we are friends." Bill was sure she'd pick it up. It was an easy game and she was a quick study. "Even if he clearly doesn't know it. Sixer's such a grump these days." He sighed, again. Woe was him—

"He's not that grumpy! Only around you," Mabel said.

"And how is that fair? After everything I did for him—"

"You mean everything you did to him?"

Bill shot her an exasperated look. Mabel's impish grin stretched wider. Bill said, "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm on the side of truth and tough love!"

"Oh, truth. Truth's a fickle god. Does your version of the 'truth' include all my contributions to his work that he never brings up—"

"Nope, I don't care about what you're saying!" Mabel bounded over from her chair to join Bill on the couch. "We're done talking about your dumb grudge and pretending you're not evil."

"'Pretending'—!"

"There's only one thing I'm interested in!" Mabel leaned into Bill's face. "I wanna know everything about your love life."

"Wh—?" Bill's train of thought veered off track as the conversation swung from Ford back over toward Iris. "I'm flattered by the attention, but don't you think 'everything' is a little personal?"

"Nope!" Mabel got comfortable in her seat. "So have you ever gotten married?"

This was what Bill got for being so open and forthcoming with the personal details while Ford was in the room. He'd wanted to look like he was an open book, and what happened? Now Mabel thought he was an open book. Funny how that worked out. "You don't even know if marriage is a thing where I'm from."

"Is it?"

"Next question."

"Do you want to get married?"

"Next question that isn't about marriage."

"Who do you consider the top ten most attractive people or creatures in Gravity Falls."

It was beginning to dawn on Bill that he was in danger.

####

Soos passed from the gift shop through the living room. (Mabel had put on the Color Critters Valentine's special—Prisma the Rainbow Fairy and Glory Unicorn were explaining to Misty Dolphin why it was important to give a Valentine to all your friends, even the ones you weren't as close to, because it might hurt their feelings to be left out and including everyone might make you a new friend.) Bill was sitting upside down, legs hooked over the back of the sofa and head bright red, as he said, "No, I just don't see relationships as eternal. Romance is a short term commitment. Like a fashion trend, or, or—"

"Like gum?"

Bill snapped his fingers. "Yes! Exactly like gum—"

"Hey dudes." Soos awkwardly squeezed around behind the TV to avoid blocking the screen. He looked at Bill's face and said, "Hey, all the blood's rushing to your head. Be careful, Abuelita says if you do that too long your head could pop."

"She's right," Bill said.

Mabel said, "He's making his face red on purpose so I can't tell when he's blushing."

"Not true! You little tattler!"

As he headed upstairs, Soos heard Mabel say, "So when a romance starts to lose its flavor, you just—" and Bill cut in, "You spit it on the sidewalk, grind it under your heel, and float away without looking back, never thinking about it again..."

A few minutes later, after changing out of his Mr. Mystery suit into a more comfortable question mark t-shirt, Soos headed back downstairs. Bill was still talking, "... and all you get out of it is sickly sweet spit, you're just—swallowing all this sweet spit until it makes your mouth sour and it's dripping out around your eye, and you're hungrier than if you'd never eaten at all, and all your friends say 'oh Bill, you're always griping about your gum, why don't you settle down to eat a proper meal,' and you say 'how about you mind your own business, Kryptos, I don't lecture you about your diet,' and then your other friends accuse you of choosing inedible snacks so you don't have to commit to swallowing them, because they don't get that you're a flawless energy being, you don't need 'nutrition' or 'sustenance,' this is just a hobby to you—and finally you just, you get sick of the taste of gum altogether, you never want to chew gum again as long as you live, it's always so needy and your jaw hurts, and everyone thinks it's your fault if you can't focus on chewing the stupid thing all day every day, like maybe you have a life of your own, did anyone consider that? And at this point you're so disgusted by the very idea of gum that you burn down a gum factory so you don't have to look at their stupid ads! And then an eon later you find yourself craving a stick of gum, so you find a different brand and cram a new one in."

Mabel, who'd been listening to Bill's monologue in wide-eyed stunned silence, finally smiled in relief as he landed on a familiar sentiment. She pumped her fist in the air. "Yeah! Cram a new one in!"

"You get me, kid."

Probably none of Soos's business, but he thought Bill needed to work on his relationship with gum.

He took the elevator down to Ford's study. "Sup, dawg."

"Hm?" Ford was sitting on the floor in front of an open filing cabinet, completely surrounded by skinny reporter's notebooks like the kind Abuelita used for shopping lists, intensely focused on flipping through one. "Soos. Yes?"

"How's the eye-bat problem going?"

"I'm working on it," Ford sighed. "Somewhere I have a recipe to repel eye-bats, but it's been thirty years since I've seen those notes, so..." He shrugged helplessly. "But I'll find it before I go to sleep and we'll deal with the eye-bat tomorrow."

"That'd be great. Thanks, Mr. Pines."

"In return, can I ask you to take care of something?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Could you find a way to block access to the bottomless pit? If Bill gets outside the shack, he could use it to escape to his own dimension."

"Yeah, no problem. I've got the perfect thing for that," Soos said. "Hey, don't stay up all night, okay? I kinda think the eye-bat's attracted to bloodshot eyes."

"That's not the worst thing she's attracted to," Ford muttered. "Thank you, Soos. I won't be too late."

That was, of course, a lie.

####

(Took a week longer than planned, but it was worth it to get this hammered out properly! As always, I DEEPLY appreciate any thoughts, comments, and feedback y'all have—hearing from you guys is what saves me from feeling like I'm just shouting thousands of words into the void. Thanks for reading!)

[bakerolivia]

hey guys,,, so this is genuinely one of the hardest things i've had to come to terms with... i'm not good at asking for help, never have been. truth is, i was raised to be independent and as great of a quality that can be, it's also one of my greatest flaws... i would say. for a few months now i've been REALLY struggling. i was going to school and working, but work got to be so stressful, i kind of set school aside because i felt like i really needed to give work my 200%... and well i did just that. so during this time, i unfortunately lost my grandmother and i'm not going to pretend it's not one of the greatest tragedies i've ever had to face. she was such a big part of me, and losing her as been-- yeah. i still can't listen to marjorie by taylor swift. so, two week after i lost my grandmother, the job that i sacrificed so much for laid off all of it's employees with no notice. i've never felt so dispensable before, it really triggered something in me... all while also dealing with my loss and unemployment. flash forward to another 2 weeks- i got into a car accident. and well, the one thing i had paid off- i lost. now it's been 4 months, i'm unemployed, drowning in bills, unable to go back to school because i can't afford to- and i just kind of feel like the more i try to dig myself out of this hole i'm in, the deeper i fall in.

which brings me to the hardest part- asking for help, any help. advice, donations? reblogging? perhaps commissions? which i'm thinking of opening... but idek if anyone would be interested in that. i just need something... anything. i don't want to feel alone, and my birthday is coming up in a few weeks... i've never felt so low in my life. anyways--- i'm sorry about this sad story... i normally never rant like this- but i don't know what else to do.

thank you all in advance, any help is help but if you like anything that i post in this blog / gifs, icons, etc- consider ko-fi, if not... if you'd be interested in commissions- please let me know, i'll actually work on opening them here. please help me spread the word <3

[inkinmyheartandonthepage]

Bad Dates and Pick Me Ups

Day six of Flufftober! The prompt was Mistaken Identity. You can read it here on Ao3.

“-and then it turns out that this was a live grenade –“

“Hey Ashton.”

Buck looked up at the sudden venomous voice that interrupted his story to find a woman standing at the edge of their table. Her bright coloured sundress was a stark contrast to the glare that she had on her face and directed at Buck.

“This is for cheating on my brother,” the girl continued.

Buck had half a second to close his eyes before the takeaway cup she had been holding was flung at his face. He gasped as cool liquid slapped across his face, dripping down his neck and into the fabric of his shirt. His lips parted, chocolate flavoured milkshake coating his tongue as he breathed. Already he felt sticky, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he reached up to wipe the milkshake from his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, milk dripping from his eyelashes. The café around them had gone silent, nothing but the steady drip of the milkshake splattering onto the floor from where he fell from Buck. Licking his lips, Buck looked at the girl who was now looking at him smugly.

“He’s Ashton,” Buck said, lifting a sticky covered hand to point at his date across the table from him.

The woman’s face dropped, eyes going wide.

Buck reached for his own half-forgotten milkshake (too busy rambling about a call to try and impress the guy sitting across from him) and slid it over to the girl. “You can use my drink.”

The woman cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

“Hey! Wait a sec-“Ashton tried to protest but the girl had already picked up Buck’s milkshake and dumped it over the guy’s head.

“Asshole!” The woman hissed at Ashton. She immediately spun back to face Buck, her face apologetic. “I am so sorry. Here, let me help you get cleaned up.” Then she was taking his hand and tugging him out of his seat.

Half blinded by the milkshake in his eyes, Buck allowed the woman to pull him through the café and towards the bathrooms. She pushed him into the bathroom, and he heard the tap start and the rapid sound of paper towel being yanked from the dispenser.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman rambled apologetically. “I’m such an idiot! I was just so mad! I mean, I should have checked first but ugh, that asshole broke my brother’s heart and I just,” she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

“Guess I should be thanking you,” Buck chuckled weakly, accepting the wet towel thrusted into his hands. He wiped it across his face first, focusing on the area around his eyes.

“For covering you in milkshake?” the woman asked, sounding sceptical.

Buck shrugged, moving closer to the sink. “I’m a firefighter with the 118. I’ve been covered in worse.” Buck ran his hands under the flowing tap, rinsing his hands before cupping them, letting them fill with water. “But, uh, no. Thanks for saving me from that asshole.” He lifted his hands, splashing water over his face and started to scrub.

“Well, I may not be a firefighter,” the woman said. “But I can still pull off a rescue. Not a very elegant one, clearly.”

Buck laughed as he washed the back of his neck. “I’m Buck, by the way.”

“Tiffany,” the woman introduced herself.

Buck washed as much as much milkshake off as he could before switching off the tap and binning the wet paper towel. He accepted a few dry ones to dry his face before binning them too.

When they exited the bathroom, Ashton was long gone, and their table was being cleaned up. Tiffany went to the counter, pulling out a few notes and handing them to the cashier.

“For the mess,” Tiffany said sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“My manager would like me to tell you to never come back,” the cashier said. She looked around before leaning in closer. “But I want to say you rock. Wish I could have done that to my cheating ex.”

“My advice,” Buck said. “Make sure you have the right person first before you attack.”

The cashier giggled while Tiffany turned pink in the face.

Buck chuckled, apologised to the cashier one more time before leading Tiffany out of the café. They stopped outside the door and Buck cleared his throat. “Well, it was interesting meeting you. I hope your brother feels better soon.”

“I’m really sorry,” Tiffany said, looking stricken.

“I accept your apology,” Buck said. “You’re a good sister. I know mine would probably would have done the same.”

Tiffany laughed. “She sounds awesome.”

“She is,” Buck smiled. “Your brother lucky to have you looking out for him. Take care. I’m going to go home and shower.”

Tiffany winced, giving a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Sorry again.”

Buck waved before heading down the street towards his car. His shoulder’s slumped as he climbed into his car. Another failed date. Buck sighed, starting his car. This was the fifth date he’s been on this month and none of them had worked out. Buck knew why. Because none of them were Eddie.

Realising that he was in love with his best friend hadn’t been all that life changing. Buck thought it had been rather obvious, and he was mad that it had taken him so long to figure it out. Buck wanted nothing more than to tell Eddie, and everyone, that he was in love with him.

Except, Eddie was dating Marisol and Buck wasn’t about to break that up for his own selfish needs. Eddie was happy and that’s all that Buck wanted. So, he had tried to date in an attempt to get over the man he couldn’t have. But none of them had been Eddie so they hadn’t worked out (and it especially wasn’t going to work with Ashton since he was a cheating dick) and Buck was tired. Resigned, Buck finally pulled up to his loft feeling sticky, defeated, and lonely.

The elevator ride up to his floor seemed to take for ever. Buck’s footsteps felt heavy as he walked slowly to his front door. His keys were sticky when he pulled them out of his pocket, and he groaned quietly. Milkshake had gotten everywhere. He made a mental note to clean them once he was out of the shower.

The front door swung opened, and Buck tossed his keys onto the kitchen island, listening to them clatter as they skidded across the marble surface. He moved closer, tossing his phone on to the bench too before moving towards the stairs. His fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and he started to pull it up –

“What the hell happened to you?”

Buck blinked twice. Eddie had come from his living room, eyes wide as he took in Buck’s stained clothes.

Buck cleared his throat, abs still exposed to the cool air. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“I came to hang out,” Eddie said, eyes scrunching as they roamed over Buck’s figure.

Buck followed the man’s gaze as it drifted to his exposed stomach before they quickly snapped back up to his face.

“Chris is with his Abuela,” Eddie continued, the tip of his ears turning pink. “You still haven’t told me what happened?” He gestured to Buck’s whole figure.

With a sigh, Buck whipped off the rest of his shirt, tossing it towards the downstairs bathroom. “Mistaken identity.”

Eddie made a noise in the back of his throat as Buck kicked off his shoes.

“What?”

Buck sighed again. “My date is a cheating asshole. Tiffany was defending her brother’s honour, and she dumped a milkshake on him. Only, she thought I was Ashton.”

Eddie’s lips pressed together tightly.

Buck rolled his eyes and started up his stairs. “Laugh when I can’t hear you. I’m already feeling pathetic, I don’t need you adding to it.”

“Buck,” Eddie called after him, voice strangled but Buck ignored him, ducking into his bathroom and shutting the door firmly. He knew Eddie wouldn’t follow him, but he wanted it clear he wanted some space.

Buck had no intention of telling anyone, especially the 118, what had happened today. He wasn’t expecting Eddie to be waiting for him, not when he had been so busy with Marisol lately that Buck had hardly seen him outside of work. He was already feeling raw and as much as Buck always wanted to see Eddie, he really wished his best friend wasn’t here.

Buck took his time under the warm spray of his shower. When he was thoroughly clean and the water starting to go cool, he stepped out. He towelled himself off before wrapping it around his waist. He stepped out of the bathroom and swallowed thickly when he found his favourite hoodie and sweats already folded on the bed waiting for him.

Putting on some underwear, Buck quickly dressed. He put his towel up to dry and then grabbed his milkshake-stained clothes. The loft was quiet as he came down the stairs but his hopeful thinking that Eddie had left was dashed when he saw the older man putting together a sandwich.

Eddie looked up when he approached, face carefully blank. “I’m assuming you didn’t get to eat on this date.” He slid the plate over to Buck. “You eat while I put your clothes in the wash.”

“I can wash my clothes, Eddie,” Buck said, a little more snappish than he intended. He winced, looking down at his plate. He looked up when Eddie’s finger circled his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“I know you can. I just want to help,” Eddie said quietly.

Tears blurred Buck’s eyes and he quickly looked back down at his plate, giving a small nod. Eddie gave his wrist one last squeeze before he took the clothes from Buck’s hand and then moved away. Buck listened to Eddie pick up his shirt from the floor and then he was out the door, taking Buck’s clothes the laundry room on the ground floor.

Buck ate while Eddie was gone. He washed his plate and then sat down at the kitchen island. He grabbed his phone, scoffing when he saw a message from Ashton.

Want to dinner later since our date got ambushed? Ashton.

Buck opened his phone and deleted the message. He was in the middle of blocking the number when Eddie came back in. He followed Eddie’s gaze as it darted to the phone in his hand, expression darkening slightly.

“Texting Ashton?” Eddie asked lightly.

Buck snorted. “Blocking his number.”

“Good,” Eddie said shortly. “Does this mean you’re done with the dating apps?”

Buck snapped his gaze up to Eddie. “What?”

Eddie moved closer, the scent of his aftershave making Buck feel a little dizzy.

“The dating apps. Are you going to stop using them now?”

Buck scowled. “Are you seriously judging me? Why do you even care how I date, Eddie? You have Marisol, do you maybe think that I want someone too?” He made to stand up, but Eddie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not with Marisol,” Eddie said firmly. “And I’m not judging you for using a dating app. I’m just waiting for you to see that I’m right here.”

Buck’s head swam with the flood of information and his heart pounded in his chest. “You – you broke up with Marisol?” Buck managed to croak out.

Eddie made a small huff, but he drifted closer again. “A couple of weeks ago.”

“Why?” Buck asked, half curious and half stalling because Eddie was getting closer and there was hope rising his chest that would absolutely crush him if he was reading this all wrong.

“You kept going on dates,” Eddie said. His hand slid across Buck’s shoulder. “And they were all wrong for you and I kept complaining about it to Marisol and she said.” Eddie shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “She said if I was so concerned about who you were dating, maybe I should.”

Buck shifted in his chair, coming to sit on it sideways. “Eddie.” His legs parted automatically as Eddie stepped in between them.

“She was right,” Eddie said, nose brushing alongside Buck’s.

He shivered at the soft touch, letting out a shaky breath. “Eddie. Are you, is this, don’t – don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” Eddie promised softly. “I love you, Evan.”

“I love you too,” Buck said, fingers curling into Eddie’s shirt. “None of the dates worked because they weren’t you.”

“I’m yours, if you want –“

Buck cut Eddie off with a kiss. He drew him in closer, humming as his chest burst with little butterflies. Eddie’s lips were warm against his and so much better than his fantasies. Eddie made small noises as he kissed Buck deeply. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed pressed against one another until Eddie pulled away gently, thumb brushing against Buck’s birthmark.

Buck smiled brightly, his heart thumping joyfully in his chest. “I love you.”

Eddies smile was just as bright. “I love you too.”

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

I have provided fresh meat, my Darlings!

The link to the entire fic as well as the new chapter is provided above.

@blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @richardslady121 Also please let me know if you would also liked to be tagged with updates!

CW: dubious consent; arranged marriage; forced marriage; forced pregnancy; rough sex; implied/referenced child abuse; blood kink; problematic smut; implied/referenced sexual abuse; implied/referenced torture

Chapter summary: Feyd-Rautha and the Reader look at each other and think, "They need work, but it's fine. I'm training them."

Chapter Notes:

-This chapter doesn't have quite as much plot or action and is generally more introspective/kind of shows a turning point and transition to both the Reader starting to learn to play the game and Feyd-Rautha seeking to challenge and unnerve her. Basically the Reader thinking, "I don't think I can reasonably make him better but I can make him treat me better" and Feyd thinking, "I can make her worse😈" -There have been a lot of interpretations of Feyd-Rautha's Darlings given that there's little information we're really given within the movie and I really like the theory that I've seen going around that they're effectively animals with human bodies that were experimented on by the Bene Tleilax.

CHAPTER SEVEN: YOU'RE LEARNING

You wake up early the next morning to your morning coffee and a reminder of your mother’s advice.  She dispensed it more than once over the years, enough that you were able to repeat it verbatim: sometimes a person isn’t a person, but an obstacle. Sometimes they’re obstacles that you need to face, problems that you need to solve. Find out what they need that you can use to get ahead.

So what does Feyd-Rautha want and how do you get it for him in order to temper him, make him more amenable to you?  He’s made clear at this point what he doesn’t want: compassion that he’s undoubtedly misconstrued as pity, any reminders of his childhood and adolescence, and any insinuations–intentional or otherwise–that he’s inadequate as a man.  

That leaves what he does want from you, and for the most part you think you know.  He wants you to have his children, and that’s in progress if not now, then soon.  He wants, well, other than last night, he’s been transparent that he wants you , carnally if for nothing else.

He also wants you to properly learn to fight at the level he wants, and there’s no way it’s just for your sake, or even wanting you to stay safe as the mother of his future children.  Those are a given.  

You can’t forget the way he’d gotten hard during your training and the way he spoke about it later.  You hadn’t seen it in the arena when he was slashing throats with theatricality and precision but little else, but this must be intimate for him.  It doesn’t surprise you once you think about it; a man who enjoys the taste of your blood would most certainly get off on getting a knife at your throat, even if he’s not allowed to cut it.

So how do you use that?  The Reverend Mother Mohiam all but stated that seduction was the key to tempering and subduing him into something you can handle but that’s easier said than done.  You’ve understood on some level for years now that you’d one day have to learn to use your sex as a tool, but it’s easier to implement in theory rather than practice.  The limited experience you’ve had before this–kisses both stolen and given freely at night when you’d slipped away unsupervised, fondling over the clothes, above the waist, and once grasping and sliding your hand over a boy you’d liked as he’d panted and moaned directions at you and you’d frantically tried to finish him off before either of you could get caught--weren’t for an agenda but for its own enjoyment.  Before your wedding night the only person who’d dared go beneath your skirts was you.  And then, of course, you’re reasonably certain that most men don’t keep an entire armoire of devices to use or have used on them while in bed, that most men aren’t eager to taste their wife’s blood, that most men don’t carry around the kind of shame and buried anger that your husband does wrapped in a deep-seated need to hurt and be hurt.

But that’s the hand that you’ve been dealt, and the only leverage you’ll be getting out of this marriage is by appealing to those desires and using your own body as a tool to keep him satiated and keep you in the best of his care.

By the time you’ve finished plaiting your hair you’ve decided that you’ve learned enough since your wedding night that you can try and use to your advantage.  You’ll keep adapting and if one of the ways to win him over is at knifepoint, then so be it.

And if he wants to banish everyone from the Training Halls so he can rut into you like an animal next to a rack of knives, then fine.  You can take him however he comes to you.

You try to keep all this in mind as you leave your chambers and take to the Training Halls for another lesson.

Feyd-Rautha already appears to have broken a sweat.  Drills, you assume, and done alongside his men if their matching sheens are anything to go by.

Korvo’s back to train you, he says.  He needed to have part of his jaw wired shut but otherwise he’s fine; he just won’t be able to talk much for a while.

And strangely enough it’s true; whatever Healer Korvo went to did an excellent job because there’s not a lot of bruising or swelling.  It occurs to you that he looks a few years older than Feyd, and you can’t help but wonder what Korvo thought about the hushed rumors about the Baron’s proclivities years ago.  About Feyd-Rautha, the boy who’s become the man he now serves.

As for your husband, it’s as if the past couple of nights never happened.  He seems indifferent as he hands you your shield device and a knife.  There’s not a trace of the quiet rage from early yesterday morning nor the cold domination of last night.  Not that you were ever going to ask him, especially not with other people around, but he gives you your answer to the silent question, When are we going to talk about yesterday? The answer?  Never .

He has Korvo start off slowly with you, a warm-up of sorts, movements guarded as you go over strikes and parries before taking over for the rest of your session.

You think you’re prepared for it this time as he starts to speed up, stops going through the motions and actually starts sparring with you.  You tell yourself that no one’s going to catch you unawares again, but well.  His training is a lot more extensive than yours.  You let out a yelp, realizing yet again that you weren’t focused enough on his footwork and he’s taken the opportunity to trip you.  You stumble, catching yourself just in time to avoid a fall.

“You’ve had a day to rest,” Feyd says.  “There’s no reason you can’t be pushed farther.”

To rest .  He was the one that told you not to come and train yesterday.  You clench your jaw and strike again.  If anything Feyd-Rautha seems amused by your irritation and sends you stumbling again with a swat on the backside with the flat of his knife.

You turn, incredulous and with an insult on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t strike in anger,” he says, holding back a smirk.  You raise your chin and try to level your gaze at him as you try to collect yourself.

Hey, this is actually a good sign , a part of you realizes.  There’s something almost close to playful in the way he’s looking at you right now.  He’s already in a far better mood than he was yesterday .  This is working for him.

You roll your shoulders and take a defensive stance, silently gesturing for him to strike first, and this time he actually grins.

Breakfast afterwards is its own task.  You’ve gotten your appetite back this morning, but only when you forget everything except your own hunger and especially try your best to ignore the man at the head of the table.  You’ll try to bury what you know about the Baron for now, or at least try to act like he doesn’t disgust you.  Not that he’d care what you think of him, not like you can do anything about it.

Instead you wonder about what motherhood looks like on this planet.  You’ll not want for anything, you’re sure, in terms of space for the baby and help raising it, but you hope the Baron isn’t an indicator of how children are raised here.  You haven’t seen many children in the Fortress–the sons and daughters of captains and generals, you’re sure–and you haven’t interacted with any. Feyd-Rautha mentioned military and combat training for any sons you’ll have but what about general schooling?  

When the children come, surely you’ll be a part of their lives somehow?  You’ll make certain of it.  You have to; they’ll be raised in the Harkonnen culture but they’ll still be half you , and you’ll do everything to make sure they never forget that, where you come from and the half of them that you represent.

“Not too tired from your training session, are you?” Feyd-Rautha asks, and you realize that you’ve been drifting off, staring into the distance.  You hadn’t expected him to notice.

“Oh, no, husband,” you tell him.  “Just lost in thought.  Actually, I was curious about where one might put a nursery in the private quarters.”  Not that there would’ve been any use for them within the royal family in decades, but surely there must have been something installed before?

As soon as Feyd starts to answer, the Baron interrupts, “What are you training her for?”

“Just in the event of an emergency or ambush, I want her to be prepared to defend herself.  If the time ever comes that I’m not there to do it for her,” Feyd-Rautha adds.

The Baron looks at him with those beady blue eyes.  “You really think such a thing will ever happen, boy?” he asks, and there’s an undercurrent to his tone that makes you look away, never mind that they’ve started talking about you as if you aren’t there.

Boy .  As if not just Feyd’s title but his very manhood is a privilege his uncle bestows on him that he can revoke at a moment’s notice.

Feyd ignores the taunt.  “Just planning ahead,” he says.  It doesn’t come back up.  When you excuse yourself to use the bathroom the Baron doesn’t react when you come back.  He barely seems to notice you’re there.

To him, you are not family.  You are the orifice his handsome young nephew buries himself in and the birthing canal that will add to the Harkonnen lineage, but not a real person who’s earned any familiarity with him nor will you ever be.  That suits you just fine and you find that you’d rather he ignore you than pay any special attention to you, just so long as he never gets to sink his claws into your future children.  

Speaking of which, “The Fortress has everything you could need,” Feyd says.  “Our children will have their own quarters and plenty of staff to watch over them.”

And how about allowing me to watch over them? you want to ask, but won’t, especially since you’re not alone.  Or do ladies of leisure outsource all of that here?   Idrisa will know; you’ll save your real questions for her.

After breakfast Feyd-Rautha offers you his arm.  “I imagine you’re interested in the relaxation chambers now?” he asks.  “They provide massages.  Great for the joints.”

“I could be persuaded,” you tell him, feeling not just sore from earlier this morning but from two days ago.  You’d never considered yourself a lazy person but you’ve also never committed to any kind of daily training regimen and the nighttime and occasionally additional morning routines in the bedroom certainly haven’t helped.

“It’s interesting,” you tell him, “training with you and seeing how you do it, even if I’m not there for all of it.”

“That wasn’t my last training session for the day,” he says.  “I’m going back soon.”

You blink.  “Why?” you ask him.  He’d clearly started early and gotten his heart pumping by the time you’d arrived.

“To be as physically prepared as I can for the arena showing on my birthday.  It’s less than three weeks away at this point,” he says.

You look over at him with your brows furrowed.  What does he really need extra preparation for?  He’s in no danger, there’s no real risk.

He seems to understand your confusion.  “It’s important that I look like I'm in top form,” he explains, which just presents further questions.

How will they even know what your body looks like?  If it’s anything like last time, you’ll be the only fighter in the arena that’s fully dressed .

“Well, alright,” you finally.  You look back at him.  “So you’re going to have to get changed again into training gear, and then shower again and change again after that?”

“Yes,” he says, voice curt.  “Appearance is important here.”

Yours is, certainly , you don’t tell him.  But you do realize that your uncle’s still the Baron and he floats around in his suspensor chair wearing a long nightgown?  If he’s ever cared about his appearance, he must’ve stopped years ago .  You suppose that it’s one of many ways that Feyd’s turned out differently from him, although not the most important.  It’s not for nothing that even though you have no idea how he’ll turn out as a parent–yet another thing that scares you about this–he still won’t be as bad of a parental figure as his uncle.

He looks at you for a moment and you realize that you haven’t spoken and have just enough sense to realize that giving a simpering compliment about his looks will come across as not only disingenuous but suspicious.  “My apologies,” you admit.  “I was just thinking about what expectations will be placed on our children.”

“Our son, although we’ll need more than one, will embody all Harkonnen core values: power, ambition, resilience, intellect.  I’ll accept no less and neither will anyone else on Geidi Prime,” he says. How long has he been thinking about fatherhood, you wonder?  Or is he repeating what he’s been told time and time again what the Baron wants out of him? 

“And if one of our children is a daughter?” you ask, hoping that doesn’t happen.  It’s bad enough to be a man on this planet.

“She’ll be expected to be gracious, discreet, and always careful and cognizant of her surroundings,” Feyd says.  “She’ll be composed even under pressure and adaptable.”

You try to absorb this, wondering how much he thinks you fit that mold yourself and assuming that you come up short.  “I thought the first word you were going to say was fertile ,” you tell him.

“That goes without saying,” he says.  “It’ll be her greatest contribution to the family to add to its lineage.”

I think you just described my responsibilities and expectations here, you think as he escorts you to the relaxation chambers.

Before he leaves he gives you a brief kiss–a little reward, perhaps, for minding yourself.  “You’re learning,” is all he says.

You’d expected the rooms to have the same austere black and gray background as the Dining Halls, the Throne Room, even the bedrooms, but whatever materials used for the doors and panels emulate the colors and patterns of cedar even though you doubt it’s real wood and the textured walls are painted a warm, pale cream.  It feels like a different environment entirely, reminiscent of the women’s bathhouses on your home planet.  The attendant inside recognizes you immediately, although you assume that it’s hardly a challenge.  “ You can’t mistake the Na-Baroness ,” you’re sure servants tell each other, “ she’s the only one in this Fortress with hair. ”

Most of the attendants are women, and again most of them seem young, hardly more than girls.

“Welcome, Na-Baroness.  We do so hope that you enjoy our accommodations,” the first attendant says, her head in a respectful decline as she curtsies.  “How may we be of service today?”

When you tell her that you were hoping for a simple massage because your joints have been feeling stiff she reacts as though you’ve told her that all your bones have shattered.

“I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been in discomfort, Na-Baroness,” she says.  “We’ll make sure to ease all aches and pains.”

As she guides you away and towards a private room you sense people looking at you and notice a couple of higher-ranking women in dressing robes, undoubtedly here for a bit of relaxation themselves.  As soon as you look over at them, they glance away, pretending that they’re looking off into the distance.  You want to stop, walk over, and introduce yourself to them ( they know who you are, though.  Everyone knows that the Na-Baron just married an arranged non-Harkonnen bride from another planet ) but you don’t get the chance.  Instead you tear your gaze away to follow the attendant to another room with what you must assume is a synthetic material that effectively mimics the appearance and grain pattern of wood, complete with a changing station, a table with oils and towels, and in the middle a covered massage table with a servant on either side who bow as soon as you enter.

It’s an interesting experience, to be sure.  The servants attending to you are quiet and gracious, but you’re made starkly aware again of your foreignness.

Your hair confuses them, for one thing.  They look at and touch it as if they’re not sure whether or not they think it’s attractive when you've spent your entire life before Geidi Prime being told that it’s beautiful.  They’re gentle with you, careful when undressing you and guiding you to a massage table.  When kneading oil into your sore muscles they treat you as if you’re delicate, even though they’re smaller than you are.  They work silently, your own muffled moans when they work out a particularly sore spot the only sounds other than the ambient mist coming from the next room.  

You wonder at first if it’s because they only speak Harkonnen and not the Imperial Standard, but as they’re getting finished one of the young women–probably not much older than you, although it’s still difficult to tell without any hair or eyebrows to better indicate her age–timidly asks, “Would the Na-Baroness like to be given stimulation as part of her massage?”

You blink, not sure you heard correctly, and raise yourself up on your elbows.  “Stimulation?” you repeat, brow furrowing.

“Some people enjoy other kinds of massage as a form of relief, Na-Baroness.  We’d be honored to indulge you if you prefer,” she says, looking down the moment you look up.

I’m still lost , you almost tell her before it sinks in.  “Oh!” you say, the single word slipping out.  The woman flinches, undoubtedly worried that she’s offended you.  It’s probably why she hasn’t said a word this entire time; she has no idea how to talk to you, what you would consider appropriate or not, and would rather not speak at all than risk saying the wrong thing.  You gape for a moment before managing, “No thank you.  A-a normal massage is plenty.”

She bows.  “Very well, Na-Baroness.  Is there anything else we can do in service to you?”  

You’d been curious about the other rooms but suddenly you wish for nothing more than to leave.  “No thank you, not today.  The massage was all I needed.”

“It was our pleasure, Na-Baroness.  We are at your disposal,” the woman says, words you’ve already heard multiple times.  “Let us help you redress.” 

They gently wipe off any excess oil with damp washcloths and dry you off before guiding you back into your clothes as if scared they’ll hurt you, or rather, scared that you’ll say something that gets them in trouble.  Even a foreign woman commands fear if she’s married to the right Harkonnen, even if she’s never going to be a true Harkonnen herself and whether they’re scared of you because of who you’re married to or also because of who you are, it makes no difference.

In spite of everything, when you get back to your quarters you realize that physically, you feel great ; better than you have since your wedding.  You feel pliant and loose-limbed, your skin soft and supple.  In theory it should give you all the energy you need to continue your studies of this planet and its language.

But your self-imposed Harkonnen lessons aren’t holding your attention; the grammar structure is fairly simple, and you’ve learned a few basic words and phrases (and obscenities, because you’re pretty sure that that’s most of what Feyd-Rautha grunts in your ear when he’s fucking you) and you can’t help your restlessness as you settle back in your chair.

You tap your fingertips against your desk, mind wandering to your husband, your body remembering with a throb how he feels inside you.  You’re getting used to it more and more, for the most part even learning to enjoy it.  

He might be coming back from his second training session soon.  Maybe he’s already come back and is taking his second shower or bath of the day.  Maybe you’ll ask him about his armoire, which he hasn’t opened for you since that first night, but, and you pause, thinking it over, picturing him sweaty from his training, and think, no.   The armoire can wait.  If you want to improve your seduction game, you can start by being the one to initiate your encounters.  You can start now.

You strip again, wondering how he’ll react to you entering his chambers.  Hopefully amenable to it; he probably won’t dismiss you if you come to him like this.  If nothing else he has an incentive to put a baby in you, you think as you wrap yourself up in one of your robes and pad over to your bathroom.

You press your ear to the door joining your bathroom to his.  The water’s running: he must be showering.  You wait, heart pounding, thinking, It will be fine.  Think about this morning; he seemed reasonably happy with you this morning.

You shut your eyes for a moment, take a breath, and open the door.

He’s standing in the middle of his shower, his eyes on you from the moment you step inside.  He turns the water off and watches you silently, eyes falling to your robe.  He must be fully aware of the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath.

“Sorry to interrupt, husband,” you say, hoping that your intuition is correct.  “I was just…” bored? Interested in your company? Curious about how else you decompress after training? You swallow, fiddling with the sash of your robe.

Feyd says nothing at first as he steps out of the shower and onto the soft mat on the black granite floor.  Any words you have die before they can reach your lips as he steps in closer and the height difference between you feels vaster than it’s felt before.

His eyes flicker to your robe.  “Take that off,” he says.

You look him in the eye, raising your chin slightly as you unfasten the sash around your waist and brush the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor, presenting yourself for him as naked as the day you were born.  The two of you stand in silence for a moment; he’s dripping wet and you’re, well…you bite your lip and hesitate before reaching out, wrist turning as you wrap a hand around him.  You feel awkward in the ensuing silence, brushing your thumb over the tip of him and glancing between his face and his cock, breath catching in your throat as you see the way his gaze darkens.  You open your mouth to speak but find yourself at a loss for words.

It doesn’t occur to you that he might prefer this to any polished seduction or that he likes your nerves, your earnestness.  That you've come to him as if yesterday never happened and like he's a whole intact man with no buried shame.  He stiffens rapidly under your touch, silently daring you to keep fondling him.  You wonder if it would be worth it to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth–you’ve done it once before as a preamble to the act itself and remember every detail and lesson of it vividly–when Feyd-Rautha starts walking you backwards, backwards, until you reach his bathroom wall and you drop your hand in surprise.

“I…” you start and he silences you with a kiss, gripping the back of your head and tilting your head up to meet him.  Once he has you where he wants you, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, his hands slide down your sides, over your hips and ass, coming to the backs of your legs, nudging you forward.

“C’mon,” he says, his rasp quiet but commanding in the echoes of his bathroom.  You can’t help your nervous laugh as you hop up and he catches you, hands under your thighs that he quickly wraps around his hips, holding you in place as his cock brushes against your folds, your lower belly.  It’s filled out and ready and you bite your lip as you think: how to maneuver…?  

You glance back up at him and his expectant gaze.  Come on, pet, he seems to tell you.  You’re a clever little thing, you can figure it out, and so you grip his cock again and position it at your entrance, almost laughing at how two weeks ago you’d have been hard-pressed to know exactly where it is and how to properly penetrate it.

You gasp, head falling forward as you sink down onto him and cry out as he jerks his hips up, filling you the rest of the way.  It’s always such a deep ache and stretch when he buries himself in you and you’re never quite given enough time to adjust to the size of him before he starts moving and it feels like he’s so deep in you that can hardly breathe.  Every time he picks a new angle to fuck you in it almost shocks you how he seems to find another way to make as though there’s no part of your insides that he hasn’t touched, and you hold onto him, trying to rock back down on him, and finding you can only really cling to him.  He buries his face in your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair and the tonic you use for it, before pausing, shifting you further onto him, and moving away from the wall.  You yelp, tightening your thighs around his waist and wondering what he’ll do next, where he’ll take you.   

He carries you, then, out of the bathroom and to his bed where he drops you unceremoniously on your back and following you as you go.  You both grunt as he lands on top of you and pushes your legs further back towards your chest and he braces his arms on either side of your head.

It’s hard and rough and fast, your knees pushed back nearly to your shoulders that he spreads wide to make room for his own.  Your cries as he pounds into your open, vulnerable body spur him on and he drops his forehead to yours, panting against your mouth.  He speaks in the Imperial Standard this time when he says, “Like a little songbird, making pretty noises for me,” and brings his mouth to the juncture of your neck and jaw.

You let out a whine as he continues, his tongue flickering and then lapping at the sensitive skin like he’s done before to your cunt.  You gasp and readjust your grip on his shoulders, almost stunned at the visceral reactions he can pull from just that.  You’d known it was a sensitive area, had been kissed there before, but especially juxtaposed against the pounding of him inside of you it’s–it’s–

“A -aaah! ” you manage, clenching around him, barely holding on, your legs shaking as he speeds up, his mouth continuing the onslaught.  The whimpers that spill out of you escalate and turn to a sharp cry as he bares his teeth and bites down.

He grunts, hips pumping, as he comes inside of you, his teeth and lips on the sensitive skin of your neck and your arms wrapped around him.  He gives one final thrust for good measure before dropping his head to your neck, his breath harsh.  You hold onto him for a moment as he pauses and pulls out.

Will you let me hold you again?  I liked that.  I liked when you rested on me and I got to pet you as if you could ever be made docile .  You don’t ask, and don’t know how to.  He rolls over onto his back.

“I trust that training went well, husband?” you ask instead after you catch your breath and start to come down.

He grunts an affirmative and for a moment you think that’s the end of it.  He takes a breath, though, mulling over the silence between the two of you.  You wait, sensing his realization that you’d like to hear more.  That the two of you can have a normal conversation like a normal married couple.  “Sparred with a few of my men, then a couple of criminals in the dungeons.  They don’t provide as much of a challenge but it still keeps me alert to practice on someone who actually wants to kill me.”

“They weren’t sedated?” you ask.

He shakes his head, exhaling.  “Not these ones.  Didn’t want to contaminate their bloodstream,” he says.

You think back to over a week ago, and something Idrisa told you.  “So you could safely feed them to your Darlings afterwards?” you ask.

He turns his head to you and you do the same, mirroring him.  His full lips part as he mulls your words over.  “Now where’d you hear about them?” he asks, clearly trying to think back to a time when he’s mentioned them to you and coming up with nothing.

“Idrisa,” you add when you don’t see any recognition in his eyes at the name, “my personal attendant, mentioned that you had pets that you fed human remains.”

This piques his interest, it seems.  He rises up on one elbow, turning to his side, leaning over you.  “How did she describe them?” he asks.

You shrug, not sure how that makes a difference.  “She didn’t.  She just said that you feed human flesh to what you called your Darlings,” you say, not bothering to hide your distaste.  You’re not going to pretend to like or condone everything he does; not like it would stop him.

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes glint.  He breaks into a smile that is equal parts delighted and cruel.  “Is that really all she told you?” he says.  He doesn’t move a millimeter, but you can sense his growing excitement coiled tight within him like he’s ready to pounce.

“So…what are they?  Canine or feline?  Or aquatic?” you ask, not sure if you want to know or get a more specific image but asking all the same.

Feyd-Rautha looks at you as though you’ve given him the greatest gift he didn’t even have to ask for.  “Would you like to meet them?” he asks instead of answering your question.

No, of course not , you want to tell him.  I have no interest in meeting a bunch of animals who devour people whole .  “Sure.  Why not,” you say.

His black teeth and gums are unnerving against the pallor of the rest of him before his smile turns closed-mouthed again into a smirk.  

When you’ve both dressed and left his chambers, you assume that he’s going to lead you to a dungeon, but he instead starts walking down a corridor not far from the private wing.

“I’d keep them closer,” he says over his shoulder, “but they make such a mess.”

So a pool or a moat would be out of the question, but a shark tank is still feasible , you think.  

He reaches a door, and the first moment you step inside and see what’s on the padded platform in front of you, you want to roll your eyes and walk back out.

So he’s taken me on a detour first to meet his concubines , you think.  

Three naked, lithe, bald-headed women lie curled up sleeping, nestled against one another like a pile of kittens.  You raise your eyebrows, letting out an irritated huff.  You should’ve known that he keeps concubines; most leaders from Major Houses do.  It’s just that he’d seemed so preoccupied with you that you’d almost forgotten that very possibility.  These are the women he normally slakes his lust with and what he’ll go back to once you’ve confirmed that you’re carrying his seed.  You have a snide remark on the tip of your tongue about how nice it is to meet the other women he fucks.  

But then you notice that there’s blood drying on their hands, caking their sharp-nailed fingertips and you realize what the smell of the iron tang that permeated the air really is. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?” you say aloud to no answer.

The women stir, and then they open their eyes.  They have neither pupils nor irises.  Pure ink black, stares, unthinking, back at you.

When you first met him you’d been quick to assume that Feyd-Rautha lacked all humanity beyond his physical form, but this is what it truly looks like when a person has no human essence.  You’re not sure what they’re seeing when they look at you but they perceive nothing except the sight of warm meat.

Abomination!  Abomination! you think, too frozen to scream it out loud, the sound of it only coming out of you in a pitiful squeak when they start to move, clambering towards you.

Oh, Great Mother, they move like animals, on all fours .  One of them opens her mouth, teeth and gums as black as her master’s but her teeth are sharpened into fangs she bares in what may be a smile, may be a snarl. 

Oh, fuck this.   

You turn and start to run when Feyd-Rautha holds his arm out to grab you around the chest and pull you to his side as he says something in Harkonnen that you try to grasp.

Something-something woman something-something food.  Okay, that was a negation.  He’s saying something like “she’s not food.”  You gasp and dig your nails into his forearm, unable to look away from them, the way they tilt their heads at you.

You can hear them hiss and chatter, put out that he hasn’t presented them with a meal, and you realize that they’re speaking in neither the Imperial Standard nor Harkonnen battle-language but a vague imitation of human speech.

“What the fuck?  What the fuck? ” you say aloud, struggling in Feyd-Rautha’s grip, watching as they scurry closer to the two of you, sniffing at you in particular.

You stare at the fathomless depths of their unblinking black eyes and how they tilt their heads, even their curiosity utterly fucking terrifying.

“You said you wanted to meet my Darlings,” Feyd-Rautha says in a satisfied tone.  “Don’t be rude.  They like you.” He says something in Harkonnen to the women that you can’t decipher, and their chattering ceases and demurs into near-purring.

One of them sniffs and nuzzles at your stomach and you flinch, wondering how quick she’d be to open her mouth and take a bite of your sensitive skin if her master allowed it.  Your stomach that within a few months will swell with Feyd-Rautha’s heir.  Does she understand what any of that means?  Do any of them?

How naive you were, thinking that he kept animals as his pets, normal women as his concubines.  How silly and childish to think that he wouldn’t be as much of a degenerate as you feared.  

Just when I think I’ve adjusted to this insane planet I see something even worse.    

Feyd-Rautha closes the door and directs his gaze up and down the length of your body, the tremors in your hands, your entire body shaking, in fact, and settles on your face.  He says nothing, waits for you to go first.

“What…” you bring a hand to your forehead, hoping that this is a nightmare, “ are they?”

He doesn’t smirk but you can sense his satisfaction.  He undoubtedly gets some entertainment out of each time he gets to introduce someone new to his Darlings, or rather, inflict his Darlings on them.  He probably doesn’t get the opportunity as often as he’d like.  “They’re a Bene Tleilax experiment,” he says.  “They thought we might enjoy them.”

“Why would they…” commit a crime against nature like this?  

“Because they can,” he says.  

“Then why have them?” you ask.

He looks at you as if you’re the unreasonable one.  “They already exist, and I’ve found some use for them.”

As his concubines .  “So you…” you feel nauseous at the idea, barely able to say it aloud, “...fuck them?”

Your shoulders sag with relief when you he says, “No, I don’t fuck them, Y/N.  They’re nice to look at but it would be akin to fucking a wild animal.  They can be entertaining, though.  And they’re a decent tool for intimidation.”

Entertaining .  You could use hundreds of words to describe what you just saw and the wretched nature of their existence and entertaining would not be one of them.

Still, you realize what he means.  His menagerie needs to eat to stay alive, and it provides incentive to stay on the Na-Baron’s good side.  No one wants to end up as food.  And how many men can honestly say, “ If you don’t do as I say I’m going to feed you to the trio of feral cannibal women I keep in my Fortress” ?  It’s a far more unique and memorable threat than any you’ve heard.

So they’re not his concubines; you don’t believe for one moment that he’d care enough to lie to you about that, which just makes you wonder where his real concubines are.  “Who were you fucking before I was assigned to you?  I wasn’t your first.”  

Feyd-Rautha’s lips quirk up for a moment in a brief almost-smile.  “There are times when people see me in the arena and want to know if I’m as much of a brute as I seem,” he says.  

“Are you?  With them?”  You haven’t forgotten that he’s expected to be better-behaved with you than he probably would be with someone else.  Someone potentially disposable.

His expression is carefully neutral as he seems to think on how much he wants to frighten you some more or how much he’ll let your own imagination do the work.  “I give them what they’re looking for,” he says after a moment.

You glance back over at the door.  How many people whisper about his trio of naked women the way they keep their head down about the Baron?  Does that not bother him, how people who know about this undoubtedly think, If he’s willing to stick his cock into them , what else is he capable of?

“You do know that calling them your Darlings, having them naked like this–it makes it seem like you have sex with them,” you tell him.

Feyd-Rautha looks unsurprised and unmoved.  “They can be sedated into being dressed sometimes.  It’s just too cumbersome to try and change them every day,” he says.  “Besides, people can think what they want,” he says.  “I don’t care, just as long as they fear my name.”

Very Harkonnen of you , you think.  “What are their names?” you ask instead.

He seems amused by the question.  “Didn’t bother.  They don’t need them,” he says.

You look back at the door.  They can’t always have been like this, could they?  “Did they not have names once?  Before…this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.  “They won’t remember.”

You can’t help but stare at him when he says that.  These were people once , you don’t need to tell him because he doesn’t care.  You don’t know what to say to him; the words dry up in your throat.  Here you were trying to bring out the human side to him when you get a stark reminder that for many people that side of him doesn’t exist.  You try to remember how the Reverend Mother assured you that he has weaknesses that you can use, just like any other man.  How he has his own, albeit twisted, moral code and sense of honor.

Count yourself lucky that it extends to you, you think.

You don’t like yourself very much when you think about it, the palpable fear he instills in everyone he thinks he can readily discard, and the fact that you’ve already decided that you’ll do your best to overlook it, for now anyways.  You have yourself and your future child to look after first.

[david-goldrock]

There's something so magical about the IDF enlistment process

People from all over the country just come with their awesome stories (most people don't know, but people are just so interesting if you just let them talk)

There's this one girl who was really stressed to finish early, because her boyfriend, who is in golani, has just got a day off after he was in service for 30 days straight

And this boy who is an Oleh from south Africa, who talked about how the regime is corrupt and evil and not to worry about their case with the ICJ

And this boy and girl who are a part of Petach Tikva's FRC team? I gave advice to the boy who was the programming lead lol

The person doing my interview? She just finished her service a month ago, and was called for reserve service. She's an environmentalist, and she bought her teammates multi-use mugs so they stop throwing away the dispensable ones

Also when I got out there were hundreds of religious guys. Their teacher, who came with them, explained that they decided to enlist the whole grade to the Netzach Yehuda brigades because of the war

(Every boy complained that the old Russian doctor was really rude and.... Hurtfull)

I love our people

[syndrossi]

resonant ch26 dvd commentary

That's right, it's a series now!

Favorite line:

“They will return soon enough,” he told the tiny dragons, feeling a kindred dismay that his sons had gone riding with someone other than him. “Until then, you must content yourselves with me.”

It's not my favorite chapter, and doesn't have any real bangers, but this was a fun little exchange. The mental image of Qelebrys and Shadow perched on Daemon's shoulders, all three of them wearing a glum/pouting expression, is very cute.

Favorite detail:

Carrying the theme that Daemon noticed when he took Rhaegar and Jon on Caraxes to and from the Giant's Toe, where Rhaegar is drawn to the beauty of the world when he's up high on a dragon, while Jon is looking at those ships below and pondering their significance. It's just as much reflective of their life experience as personality. Jon without the burdens he carries of having been a leader, responsible for administering multiple wars, might be able to afford to look upward or forward, rather than downward at the world encroaching in.

Favorite dynamic:

We had a few barbs traded with Cole, but it was fairly tame. Rhaenys and Daemon are my favorite dynamic again, in part because I enjoy writing people giving advice that makes sense to them but isn't necessarily the most healthy. No one character is an infinite font of wisdom, existing to dispense it to our heroes. Everyone has their own faults, flaws, self-interest, etc, and their advice is colored by it.

I'm talking, of course, about Rhaenys basically telling Daemon to suck it up, give up on having a good relationship with his brother founded on mutual understanding, and resign himself to the fact that his brother prefers a version of Daemon that isn't real, with all the edges filed off. Daemon does in fact know his brother better than Rhaenys, so it's actually not the best advice in this situation!

But it doesn't mean he didn't need to hear some version of "suck it up and figure out an approach," because he's been reactive/passive so far with Viserys. (Some of that is out of fear, to be fair.) But he can't afford to be afraid/not take risks, Rhaenys believes. Not with so much at stake.

(Rhaenys is not without her own self-interest, either.)

And Rhaenys has a better grasp on Otto than Daemon. She's not wrong about what he fears. So that was also good context for Daemon, if he pays it heed. But the conversation doesn't leave Daemon in a great place at the end, sadly.

"Quick" hitters:

I mentioned this before, but there were three separate scenes written for and removed from this chapter, including one that was up in the draft I saved on AO3 and then removed this morning before I posted it.

I think I figured out my real issue with this chapter, and it comes down to using the wrong lens during the Dragonpit parts. We're focused in tightly on Daemon and Rhaenys's conversation, which is fine/fair, but we pull back too much for the kids and hatchlings interactions. It would have been nice to perhaps get the actual introduction of the dragons as dialogue rather than exposition, and focus in a bit more on Jon during the final naming.

The chapter feels very self-indulgent and filler-y, which may be while I feel guilty about writing it. Not that you can't write those things, but I always feel like they fit better in side-stories.

Jon naming Shadow was added into this chapter after the fact. I'd decided on the name a while ago and kept trying to find the perfect moment for it, only for it to not really materialize. Jon making it a game the baby cousins could join in on ended up feeling right.

I kept going back and forth between the Valyrian and Common versions of "Shadow," but at the end of the day, Jon has a theme.

I really liked Harrenkos for a name ("suitably long" in Valyrian), given that Shadow is a longer boi than most.

With Laenor and Rhaenys about to be gone, and Rhaenyra in Dragonstone, the poor Velaryon boys are about to be on their own (with their nurses) for a while, poor lambs. We'll see if Daemon invites them over for supper a few times. That's a lot of kids to wrangle by himself!

I'd been holding onto this, but I don't think it's something I'll end up doing later on in the story, so I'll go ahead and share one of the deleted, incomplete scenes. Originally, there was going to be an attack on the carriage on the way back, but Daemon being up in the air on Caraxes made it a really poor choice on the part of their attackers (and the attack itself a little too obvious not to have the place swarmed with Goldcloaks), so I scrapped it.

Apologies to Rhaegar, who was going to get a hero moment and possibly his first kill (though I didn't get that far).

x~x~x

The hatchlings were exhausted after their exciting day, each settling on their laps to nap for the carriage ride back to the Red Keep. Jace soon followed their example, nodding off against Princess Rhaenys’s side twice before she rearranged him so that he could rest his head on her lap.

Jon had enjoyed their day out, but he did feel a sting of regret at not being able to accomplish either of the things he had wanted to today: gaining an audience with King Viserys, and speaking to their father about the candle. There was always tonight for the latter—or tomorrow. But he hated the thought of it continuing its efforts to torment Rhaegar, especially since they were now separated in the afternoon.

“Did you hear anything today?” he whispered to Rhaegar.

“Not in the yard,” his brother said, which was not a no.

The bumpiness of the ride down the sloped path leading from the Dragonpit gave way to the cobblestone of the Street of the Sisters. The sun had set, and the sky was halfway to twilight, leaving the interior of the carriage dark. Jon tuned his senses to hearing to distract from the unpleasant odor of Flea Bottom, which the street passed through briefly.

It was quieter than he remembered. Even the slums of King’s Landing had their equivalent of markets, and plenty of peddlers hawking their wares. He sat up straighter in his seat as the carriage slowed, and the strong scent of burning wood wafted through the window. He could hear the low murmur of their two Kingsguard ahead of the horses.

Jon glanced at Rhaegar, who met his gaze with a tense frown as their hatchlings stirred on their laps. Princess Rhaenys meanwhile was gently shaking Jace awake, turning to glance behind at the window. A glow was visible now, lighting up the area, and calls began to ring out from further away. Jon stood on his seat to get a better view; up ahead, he could see buildings aflame on either side of the street, and what looked to have once been a wagon burning in their path.

“Can we go around?” Jon heard Ser Erryk—or Arryk—say in a low tone to the carriage driver.

“Only if you fancy going deeper into Flea Bottom,” the man said.

“Turn back,” the Kingsguard ordered. “We will return to the Dragonpit.”

Smoke was beginning to drift through the window, stinging his eyes, and the shouts were growing louder. Jon reached carefully for his knife, which was strapped against his leg beneath his pants, though he did not yet slide it free. It was possible that whatever fire had broken out along their path was entirely accidental, but if so, it was extraordinarily convenient timing.

The clack of horseshoes on cobblestone was just audible over the din as one of the Kingsguard pulled alongside them. “My princess, remain within. We will turn and head back to the Dragonpit until the fires are put out.”

The tension in the knight’s voice told Jon that he too believed it to be no coincidence. The street was still narrow at this point, which meant two very long minutes of horse and carriage maneuvering to turn back north.

Too long.

The horrible scream of a wounded horse pierced through the din, and through the haze of the smoke still spilling in through the window, Jon could make out the shaft of an arrow embedded in its flank. Two clanking noises followed, the noise familiar to Jon—the clatter arrows deflected by a shield.

“Ser Erryk,” Princess Rhaenys called out tensely, holding Jace tightly to her side. Their young cousin was wide awake now, eyes large with fear.

There came another two loud thuds, this time above them, and Jon could see the point of an arrow splitting through the wood of the roof, and another a foot away from it.

“They are trying to set the carriage aflame, princess,” the knight said. By the sounds of it, he had drawn up along the side of the carriage opposite from where the first two arrows had come. “You and the children may need to leave it, if the fire catches.”

Jon could hear the agony of indecision in his voice. The carriage afforded protection from arrows, but the longer they remained within, the longer whoever was attacking it could get into position for—whatever it was they were after.

Us? Jon wondered. So far, none of the arrows had been aimed at the body of the carriage, but even so, he dragged Rhaegar several inches further from the wall. The other Cargyll brother joined his twin on the safe side of the carriage.

“There are at least four with bows,” he said. “They do not yet approach.”

The horse’s screams were quieting, which Jon knew meant another obstruction on the road. The smoke was growing thicker, enough to make Jace cough, and a glance upward revealed a darkening of the wood of the roof.

“Jon.” Rhaegar’s voice was low but urgent, his face set with tension. He extended a hand toward Jon. “Give me the knife.”

His first instinct was to deny the request, the notion of being unarmed in the chaos nearly unthinkable, but his arm was still injured. Rhaegar might lack Jon’s experience in a real melee, but he stood a better chance of defending them.

[end scene]

[pokemonshelterstories]

do you have any advice for dealing with separation anxiety in sylveon? i've tried to do all the things to prevent it from developing (not making a big deal about leaving or coming home, ball & crate training, etc) but despite my best efforts my buddy has started freaking out whenever i leave the house without him.

unfortunately, friendship evolutions can be prone to developing separation anxiety even with training that would normally suffice. you're not doing anything wrong here; it just sounds like your sylveon is a little more nervous and attached to you than usual.

providing enrichment can go a long way towards helping an anxious pokemon stay calm by letting them work out that nervous energy. i find that sylveon really enjoy toys that they can manipulate with their feelers. if you keep a regular schedule, putting your sylveon's next meal into a treat dispenser before heading out for the day can be a good way of giving him something to occupy his time. scent-based enrichment also works really well with the eevee line, and you can actually buy sweet scent infused toys to help him relax. and, while it's not ideal to keep a pokemon balled for an excess amount of time, you can safely ball him for up to 24 hours at a time provided he gets some stretch and food breaks if it's ever absolutely necessary while you're still working on training. i usually keep spicy mayo balled while i'm at work, since she'd be sleeping then anyway, and it's gone a long way to prevent her from being destructive while i'm gone.

i'd also talk with your vet about their recommendations for managing your sylveon's anxiety. while you should absolutely work on training and providing a good environment before asking for medication, your vet can help monitor the process and assess if your sylveon would do well on anti-anxiety medication if training isn't helping.

[sollucets]

ohhhh by the way i love so much that aylin, who has been dispensing good and correct relationship wisdom this whole series, does in fact just straight up take her own advice and confess to luna herself without fuss. incredible. my brave girl