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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Title: Distorted.

Pairing: Yandere!Dottore x Reader (Genshin).

A Grab Bag Commission For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Summary: With the help of the Akasha system, Dottore strives to keep you happy and docile and, most importantly, unaware by his side.

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Unreality, Slight Gore/Blood, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Obsessive Behavior.

“Do you think Ajax is free?”

Dottore hummed thoughtfully, pressing his scalpel downward and severing a measured length of small intestine from the greater mass. With time to spare and the patient he was extracting his materials from long-dead, he took a minute aside to note the patches of scar tissue lining their internal tissue on a blood-spotted journal, to test for unusual viscosity or durability that’d have to be accounted for in his research. It was a minor study, something that would’ve been handed off to a younger branch of himself not yet ready to play a hand in more dire schemes, but due to the intervention of a certain archon, he was forced to carry out more of his own grunt work than he had in decades. Not that he minded getting his hands dirty, of course.

Especially when the same archon’s nation had given him such a lovely lab assistant to keep him company while he worked.

“Planning to replace me, little mouse?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten. It’s your own dinner party, for the Tsaritsa’s sake.” He heard you sigh in mock exasperation, then again – your frustration more genuine. You were sitting at his desk, working away at whatever little task you’d assigned yourself, the ring of blue light encircling your head pulsing brightly. It was his own handiwork – a version of the Akasha system he’d been able to maintain even after returning to Snezhnaya. He had no idea where you thought you were, what you thought he was doing, what you saw through those clouded eyes, but he knew you couldn’t be here, in his dark, cluttered lab - couldn’t see your beloved husband, the man who you’d crossed half of Teyvat to stay with, elbow-deep in a vat of disembodied organs and viscera. That was what interested him most about your experiment, really. It was one thing to wonder how you’d react if you ever found out the man you loved had such grisly pastimes. It was another, to watch what lengths your mind would go to just to substitute your reality with a more palatable fantasy. When it suited him, he could play a more involved hand in your fabrication, make himself into a hero or a villain or something else altogether, but most days, he was content to let you create your own daydreams. You were the most obedient when you could make him into exactly what you needed, that day.

“To celebrate your return to Snezhnaya,” You went on, as he piled the segmented pieces of a malformed liver onto his scale. “Pierro says that you haven’t been holding up your social obligations. I know it’s not customary, but I thought it’d be nice to invite another Harbinger – so you don’t have to suffer a room full of noblemen and merchants alone.”

So you were aware of his status as a Harbinger, today. More often than not, you treated him like a neighborhood doctor, or a traveling scholar as far from home as you’d found yourself. Sometimes, he was a low-ranking diplomat, or a medic you could welcome home from the battlefield, but you rarely acknowledged him as something so dangerous, something so far above yourself. It must’ve been the occasion. It would’ve been hard to deny who he was when you were sending out the invitations to a Harbinger’s event.

On that note, he abandoned his work, positioning himself on the opposing side of your desk. He was already smiling – it was difficult not to, when you were in his position – but his grin broadened further as he looked over your half-finished guest list, your attempts at calligraphy scribbled across what little scrap paper you could find. “I believe Tartaglia was sent back to his post in Liyue last week.”

You pursed your lips. “Pantalone comes with good company.”

“And he charges market-price for every precious second of his time. You wouldn’t want to bleed me dry, now, would you?” You tilted your head to the side, pretending to consider it, and he let out a breathy laugh, rounding the table and settling behind you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “There must be an alternative.”

“Well,” You tilted your head back, your smile now matching his own. “It has been a while since I’ve heard Columbina sing–”

“Anyone but Columbina.”

“I write Pantalone a letter tonight, then.” You allowed yourself a moment to bask in your own self-satisfaction, leaning back in your seat and allowing your gaze to drift – first to your lap, then to your shoulders, where the blood and viscera coating your hands was beginning to soak into the fine ivory silk of your sleeves. There was a flash of repulsion, a sound not unlike a half-choked scream, and then you were shoving him away, your expression only growing more pained when he refused to move. He felt something tighten in his chest – not quite fear, but pure, zealous excitement. Had you, somehow, managed to break yourself out of your trance? Was there a flaw in the Akasha system he hadn’t accounted for? How much would you force yourself to forget, overwrite, warp and distort into something loving in the coming hours if you saw him for what he was, now?

“Zandik.” The sound of his name on your lips was to die for. He leaned down, pressing nipping at the corner of your jaw, and you groaned, brushing him away. “I’ve told you not to touch me while you’re painting. Look at me – it’s going to take ages to get this out of my clothes.”

Oh. Painting. How adorably quaint.

How adorably wrong.

With a sigh, he leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss into the corner of your neck. You crossed your arms, sulking, but allowed him to. It wasn’t as if you’d be able to refuse. “Forgive me, darling.”

He straightened his back, watching red seep into white and begin to stain.

“I’m sure you’ll forget all about this in no time at all.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yanderecore #yancore

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader grew up in a household where she wasn't allowed to be very feminine/like cute things. Her family was adamant that she be tough and that anything remotely feminine or pretty would be wasted on her. So she secretly likes cute and pretty things, but has internalized all the things her family told her so she never let's it show. I would love to see astarion pick up on it and how he would react? I just imagined one day he presents her with a delicate handkerchief with her initials (he embroidered them himself) and I practically bawled my eyes out 😭😭😭

Idk why I really struggled to write this one. I just had a hard time starting it. So I'd write an opening, hate it, leave it for a bit, come back, leave it again. But I finally got it to a point that I am happy with it

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader

Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing

Word Count: 1,041

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

One gets quite good at reading people when that’s all you did for 200 years. Someone would twitch and Astarion could know exactly what they were thinking. Reading you was as easy as opening a book.

Every time you passed a market or merchant, Astarion could see the way your eyes flit longingly over jewelry or dresses. It was always brief. If the vendor noticed, they’d try pitching the item to you; the same old lines: “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady!” But you just smiled politely and shook your head, muttering how it wasn’t your style.

It was curious. Throughout your journey so far, he’d noticed other things, too. How you’d save the most beautiful, feminine dresses for your female companions. At first he just thought you wanted to give them something nice, but it was odd when you’d provide them an item much more suited to your strengths than their own. How your eyes would linger a little longer on flowers and lace gloves. But the moment you felt eyes on you, you’d turn away, the distant longing gleam in your eye replaced with a set determination.

He’d even caught you staring at the embroidery on his clothes once or twice.

(“Distracted, are we?”

“I was only wondering what it says. An odd poem for a shirt.”

“Hmph. Clearly it’s meaning is lost on you, darling.”)

So, with 200 years of experience, Astarion came to the only conclusion he could plausibly find. He accounted for your own attire - masculine or purely functional - your steadfast avoidance of anything feminine, the sorrow that visibly washed over you when you came across something particularly beautiful.

You didn’t allow yourself these things, because you couldn’t.

Well, you could, he supposed. But you weren’t. Perhaps, like him, you felt you didn’t deserve it. Or perhaps, like him, it had been ingrained into your very being that you couldn’t have it. Either way, the result was the same.

He wasn’t honestly sure what came over him when he realized. And it had taken him a few days to think about the idea that formulated unbidden, itching at the back of his mind in a way that put the tadpole to shame. But one night, after feeding (on you and a boar), he sat within his tent and got to work. He threaded the eyes of needles with practiced ease, steadily guided it back and forth through the material in his hands, creating elegant shapes. If he was being honest, it was some of his best work.

It took him even longer to gather the nerves to give it to you. You handed out gifts freely - armor, weapons, trinkets, blood. But he’d… well, he’d never really given anyone a gift before. Nothing as genuine as this, certainly. His mind, his own worst enemy aside from Cazador, kept plaguing him with thoughts of how you’d hate it. How you’d take one look at it, struggle through a smile, and tuck it away at the bottom of your bag. And so it remained in his belongings, safely hidden.

And then you just had to go and be so damn good. You just had to stand up to Araj Oblodra when she kept insisting he drink from her. You just had to quietly tell him that he could, if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. And you just had to respect his choice. He’d never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. Nobody had ever done that for him. His choices didn’t matter, his comfort didn’t matter. But you didn’t even hesitate.

When you sought him out at camp later that night, you even told him he was free. No longer a slave who had to get on his back for mere breadcrumbs. Too many emotions - relief, fear, euphoria, worry, gratefulness - flooded his chest.

He cleared his throat. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. “Consider it a… thanks, for what you did for me back there.”

He pulled the neat, white handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to you. Red eyes flit over your face, trying to read every little expression that passed, as you stared at the cloth. On the corner, embroidered in the same golden thread as he used on his shirt, were your initials. Immaculate and shiny.

Your mouth opened. Your eyes were wide, your brow furrowed and then raised. You struggled for words. You met his eyes with shock. “A-Are you sure? I mean, this is much too fine for me - I was happy to stand up for you - Not that you needed any help! I mean-”

“Darling,” he hushed. So you did enjoy it, after all. “It’s a gift. Consider it repayment for all the nights you’ve bared your neck for me, if nothing else. A simple exchange.”

A dying sound left your throat with a breath as you looked back down at the handkerchief. With shaky hands, you took it from him. You held it as though it was a religious artifact from the gods, not a folded square of soft silk with lace borders. It had the same smooth feel as running your fingers over the surface of still water. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes as you ran a thumb over the letters.

“I…” You took a shaky breath, looking up at him again through the building water in your eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

He smirked, though your blatant joy made his lips twitch into the start of a genuine smile. “You… deserve something nice. Something more than, well,” he gestured vaguely at your worn cotton attire, “this.”

You laughed and brushed away the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks with the back of your hands. “You’re still a bastard.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“But a nice bastard.”

“Careful, darling.” He leaned forward with an even wider smirk, fangs peeking out as a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eye. “We wouldn’t want word getting out.”

And if he caught sight of that little cloth poking out from a pocket or resting at the top of your bag, well maybe he let himself enjoy that warmth in his chest.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171

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literaryvein-reblogs · 24 days ago

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Writing Notes: Thinking Historically

What Does it Mean to Think Historically?

Rather than focusing on dates or facts, thinking historically means recognizing the ways humans shape history through their words, thoughts, and actions.

People do not experience events in the same way.

As a result, history is often told from multiple points of view.

Identifying these perspectives deepens understandings of the past and the ways in which history is created.

A Process for Thinking Historically

The first step of thinking historically is to learn more about the historical context.

Some important aspects to research include:

Who were the key people involved?

What happened?

When did it happen?

Where did it happen?

After studying the historical context, the next step is to consider how the Who, What, When, and Where work together to create a narrative and why.

Other questions to ask when examining a historical narrative may be:

How does the Who involved influence What happened?

How does the What change depending on Who is describing it?

Why did the Who describe the What that way?

How does the When impact the way it happened?

How does the Where affect the way it happened?

Example of Historical Thinking

Event: The Boston Tea Party

Historical Context:

Who: Parties involved included the Sons of Liberty, Loyalists, colonial merchants, and British Empire.

What: The Sons of Liberty dumped imported British tea into the Boston Harbor to protest a tax and business monopoly on tea.

When: The Boston Tea Party took place on December 16, 1773, prior to the American Revolution.

Where: This event occurred in Boston, Massachusetts, a city in the American colonies.

Narrative details:

Backed by colonial merchants, the Sons of Liberty disrupted the tea trade from Britain, describing their actions as a patriotic means to protect the economic interests of the American colonies.

Loyalists, American colonists loyal to the British Empire, described the actions of the Sons of Liberty as unlawful, reasserting their allegiance to Britain.

The British Empire suffered an economic loss and political humiliation from the Boston Tea Party, so the empire described the event as reprehensible, closing the port of Boston.

Note

By examining the Who involved in the Boston Tea Party, one can see how each group experienced and perceived the event influenced the ways it was described:

The Sons of Liberty benefited from the event and therefore described it positively.

The British Empire and Loyalists, on the other hand, experienced a loss; hence, they described it in negative terms.

Thus, thinking historically allows scholars to understand how and why multiple accounts are created for historical events.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

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maleyanderecafe · 9 months ago

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My Angelic Husband is actually a Devil in Disguise (Webcomic)

Created by: HaeMyang / Hiella / WOONGIN THINKBIG / Nyamm(Art)

Genre: Fantasy/Romance

I have mixed feelings about this webcomic- mostly because I absolutely adore the concept of a damsel yandere, one that uses their incompetence or feigned uselessness to get close to their love interest, however, I'm not sure I really like how this webcomic does it. Don't get me wrong, there are some good moments within it, but it's not particularly how I would write a damsel yandere. As of writing this, there are about 40 chapters out.

The story starts with Seita about to graduate from the college before her family attempts to sell her to get married. Her family would often gamble and treat her badly, trying to sell her to pay off the debt. She is then invited by Miere Lunaria, one of Seita's classmates. Miere wants to have someone who can manage his accounting and assets as he himself is too incompetent to do so. He proposes a contract marriage so that she can work under him, and in exchange, would pay off the debt for Seita's family so she doesn't need to worry. The contract would terminate under a four years allowing Seita to live her life. Not really able to go back to her family, Seita accepts and the two get contract married. The two of them have to pretend to be like a loved couple, going on dates and living together as to maintain Miere's reputation as a duke and of course, sleeping in the same bed together. After some cute moments while Miere and Seita working on their garden together, Miere travels to the prince. Unfortunately, this leads to a bunch of bandits attacking them on their travels, leading Miere to die. Seita has to attend his funeral but continues her duties taking care of Miere's assets. Miere returns after three years as we learn that he's not dead, but rather was working with the prince to get rid of said bandits. He's able to reconcile with Seita after all these years and despite this, Seita still accepts him and forgives him for what he did. During her years of being alone, she worked hard to continue her work, and befriended a local merchant named Roynus whom she works with closely, and who Roynus gains a crush on. After Miere comes back, Roynus basically tries to pull her away, stating that she only was with Miere for a month, yet Seita still retains loyalty to her husband. We find out also that Miere is actually quite competent in most things from basically Seita's work to actually assassination, but feigns ignorance as a way to get by Seita's side, as he feels she will simply leave him if she finds out that he can basically do all that he can this entire time. He uses his servants to watch over Seita even while he was gone for the three years and slowly wins her over in lovey dovey ways. Miere also keeps an eye on Roynus, being extremely jealous over the fact that he was by Seita's side those years that he was gone and that he is pining for her, attempting to find skeletons in his closet to out him. After a weird side plot about burning pillows so that Miere can sleep without a divider and be with Seita, we get to see how Miere fell for her in the first place. While at the academy, he would watch her from the treetops studying, seeing how studious she was. After noticing that she enjoyed some flowers on the road, he ended up taking up gardening, and despite the fact that he actually quite dislikes gardening, Miere still did it to maintain a connection to Seita. The last couple of chapters revolve around Miere buying an expensive piece of jewelry for Seita disguising it as something cheap, Roynus's return in winning Seita's heart and the introduction to the vice-master of the assassin group, Bianca.

As I said, in concept, I should like this manga. I like the way that Miere pretends to be incompetent to get Seita to like him. Seita believes that Miere needs her because he can't really do anything right, not even from just maintaining his assets but also just not putting on his clothes properly. Of course this is all a ploy so that Seita will stay with him, but I... also don't really see the point in it all. Miere could have very easily just had a contract marriage to pull her out of her bad family without having to resort to acting pretty stupid to be honest. Other than the initial ploy of getting her to marry him, he really had no reason to continue acting stupid but lovey dovey in front of her. Honestly, even if Miere had revealed to her right after that he was an assassin, there would still be no way for Seita to leave him and Miere could probably just play into the angelic facade he had anyways instead of this entire thing of incompetence. Plus now that he has gone this far, Seita is likely going to have more trust issues with Miere because he's pretended for so long, which regardless could have been avoided if he had just told the truth. The other thing which I think is pretty obvious as a problem is the sudden time gap of Miere pretty much dying and then coming back after three years. The two of them only really had a month to bond and to be honest, it wasn't really anything that I really saw as especially romantic or deep. He then basically pretends to be dead for three years, leaving Seita a widow essentially only to come back and then beg for forgiveness... to which Seita accepts it?? I mean, I get that Seita basically doesn't know this guy since they literally had a month together, but I think that most people would be at least a little pissed off that they were essentially ditched for three years to do a bunch of work all while thinking that Miere was dead the entire time. It makes way more sense for Seita to ends up with Roynus because as he said, the two have only known each other for a month at that time and Roynus had been by her side for two years. Yes, there was the contract, but like I said, Sieta basically had to do all of his work without the knowledge that her husband was alive, so despite the fact that he was on a mission for so long, still didn't know that he was alive. The assassination thing also doesn't seem to come up a lot since we never really see him actually.... you know, kill anyone. We know he's dangerous, but we're never really shown it other than him threatening a bunch of his servants.

I actually do like Seita as a character but unfortunately I feel like she's pretty underutilized and the plot forces her to make some dumb decisions at times. Seita being a hard worker and having to manage Miere's finances is very interesting and she does manage to do some good work with it, but honestly she could have gone way farther like fund her own school or even just get back at her parents in some way. It feels like they just gave her a bunch of responsibilities and power but she's not really allowed to use any of it- especially when she thought that Miere was dead. She probably could have used the money to help manage the safety of people traveling so that they wouldn't get killed by bandits or something but she doesn't. I get that part of it is because the servants are watching so they wouldn't really let her get away with anything too big, but like...she could have done more and should have done more since that seems like something that she would do. The other big thing I feel like they just did for plot reasons is her falling in love with Miere after one month of interaction, thus allowing her to forgive him for ditching her for three years. I can kind of accept her accepting him ditching for three years because to her this is just a contract marriage, she just wants to leave her family and have enough money to sustain herself, so she doesn't really care about Miere... or at least she shouldn't because again they knew each other for a month, but somehow in that one month of being together, he was able to woo her that much, which is absurd because again, they barely did anything noteworthy together. Afterwards, of course, Miere is far more lovey dovey to make up for the time that they missed together, but it's still very strange that Seita would just accept it without really any anger or disappointment. I also feel like her falling for Miere's more lovey dovey side so quickly is a bit out of character, but that just might be me. She's not aware of Miere's assassin or more devilish side, so I'm curious to see how that will end up in the future.

Okay, we finally end up with Miere and I really want to like this guy because again, I love the damsel yandere on guys, but I just don't understand what he's doing and neither does most of his other servants. I think the logic is that because Seita married him to help him with his incompetence (and to get out of her bad family), he has to continue feigning that kind of personality, but like I said before, if the two are in a contract marriage they cannot divorce until after four years like the contract says, so even if Miere pretty much killed someone in front of Seita, they two wouldn't be able to divorce or else Seita wouldn't be able to escape her family. Even as a damsel yandere, he does very basic things for incompetence like not being able to do any of the actual documentations, not being able to put his shirt on (or something) and not staying on the right side of the bed. I personally think he could have gone further either pretending to be completely innocent and himbo like or just incompetent in terms of clumsy and can't live without Seita type deal, but he doesn't really commit to either of those. He also, again does the really stupid thing of faking his death for three years, which kind of basically only leaves on year for you two to actual fall in love, which you are extremely lucky that Seita even speaks with you afterwards and doesn't just move on with Royus since she thinks that you're dead. Other than that, he also uses his royal money to buy things for Seita and make deals for her, while also trying to find secrets from Royus to try to snuff him out, as well as just use his power to do whatever he can to be with Seita. And that's about it. I guess it's fine, I think the artwork is also a bit stiff in a lot of places but like, there's nothing specifically special or interesting about it.

Overall, I think it's a good concept that's not very well executed. I would have liked it if Miere had an actual strong reason for him to actually pretend to be stupid. And perhaps actually use his assassination skills for something useful instead of just having it be something that he has and basically never uses.

#My angelic husband is also the devil in disguise #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #webcomic #ongoing

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smuttyaf · 1 year ago

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SouthSide Serpent

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: R

features; childhood friends to lovers, loverboy ashton, literally ashton has been pining for y/n, & sum good old smut :)

a/n: idek what to say but hi! i’ve been in retirement for like 4 years and rediscovered this account. i got nostalgic & decided… shit why not write again?

please cut me sum slack tho! i wrote this on my notes app & it’s been years since i’ve written so i would love to hear feedback!

& yes i am hella descriptive and like to build suspense! i can’t help it >.<

also! y/n is heavily based on serena from mtv downtown ( i love her ) & this picture of ashton ( xx )

The crisp October breeze blew through your hair as the dull taste of your cigarette burns on your tongue; your forefinger and middle finger clenching the nicotine filled paper and pressing it against your lips, drawing in the vapour.

Your head nods along to the music playing before you just two doors down on the opposite side of your street. There was Ashton and his band, either playing covers of their current favourite songs, oldies, or new ones that they’ve all come together and created.

The usual guitar flow and drum beat of Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs blasted through the speakers in the garage as the sound of Luke’s voice sang along on top of the tune.

You hum along to the lyrics as you glared in the direction, your lips peeling away from the filter and letting the smoke settle in your lungs before releasing it. The four boys were all dressed in their usual attire: white shirt, black trousers, beat up old chunky Doc Martins, and their signature SouthSide Serpents leather jackets.

As the wind picks up again you let your free hand tear away from your windowsill and tug the flying strays of your hair in front of your face behind your ear, the chipped black polish on your almond nails coming into view as you remind yourself you needed to get them done.

The bridge of the song is now blaring down the street, causing you to raise your cigarette back to your lips and think to yourself, what a coincidence this song is playing; the lyrics, the time frame, and the memories that all come flowing back as you hear the familiar melody.

It was 2009 and Ashton had invited you over during Christmas break to play Garage Band since Santa gifted it to him because that was the only thing he asked for on his wish list. You were both 8, banging on the drums and singing songs that you both were too young to know or remember from when your parents would play them on the drive home from school. But, for some reason this is the song that stuck with you both the most. Maybe it was the easy lyrics or the amazing beat but from then on it had you hooked to this alternative sound.

Now fast forward to a year ago, your now ex boyfriend Xavier was laying on your bed, finger pads heavy weight on your skin as he drew sloppy hearts on your hip. The wire of the headphones tangled between your shoulder and his wrist as you both listened to his playlist. The familiar intro notes to the song beginning to ring throughout the buds and the tug of your maroon lined lips turn into a smile.

“Already like the song?” He asked, brown eyes rested on top of dark circles scattered with freckles as he smirked down at you.

“I love it.” You sheepishly said.

The wind knocks you back into reality as it pushes through your window again, only making you remember how much you loved October; the weather changing, leaves blooming, smell of the rain just before it hit the concrete, the sound of the leaves dragging along the pavement, and the endless horror movie marathons that would run on AMC.

The orange, brown, and green leaves spin in the breeze and rustle along the branches as the sun stood brightly among the houses along the horizon. From your view on the windowsill you can see houses upon houses before you see the local water tower and old plazas that scream they need new merchant signs and fresh cement.

Your eyes flick to the lonesome string popping out of your black long sleeve before the sound of your phone’s text tone goes off, your eyes darting to the message running across the screen.

Stop watching me

Ashton’s text read, making you roll your eyes before placing them on the dark hair boy who had a goofy grin on his face from your view, his drum sticks were stuffed in one had and the other held his lit up phone.

With a smile on yours, you let the hand that rested in the crook of your neck tear away from the warm flesh and your middle finger stand in the air as a response.

Clothes were thrown in every direction of your room as you let your eyes drag along your frame in the mirror, your loose knitted black sweater hung off one of your shoulders as low waisted charcoal jogging pants rested on your hips. Your hair was in its loose waves as your curtain bangs swept against your temples, your fingers curling into themselves in frustration as you tried to not stress over how you look.

You didn’t want to over enhance your appearance to see Xavier since he wanted to meet up to get “closure” -even though he was the one who called it off despite your many pleas- but you wanted to make him feel bad for even deciding to drop you.

A frustrated sigh left your wine stained lips before turning around and sticking your feet into your ruined Converse. The low muffled sound of Xavier’s Prelude is heard out your window and you feel your heart drop.

You never understood why you always felt this way about him and why you couldn’t just get over this stupid boy who likes to break up with you every other month, a new reason every single time. The constant tears, text threads, and blocking to unblocking seemed to never get exhausting to you because you were always back in the same place, wondering if you overdressed to see your ex for closure.

The chime of Xavier’s specific text tone rings through your room and you already know what it says, so without checking you twisted your foot into your shoe to fit perfectly before you reach over and grasp your phone in your hand and tug your way to the window sill. Fingers pressing the frame up and letting the fall air sweep into your room before crouching down and fitting yourself through the frame and safely scale down the roof, onto the sturdy vine wall filled with dead clematis that prickled on your palms the way down before your feet landed on the short cut grass.

As you turned away from the wall and begin tugging your feet towards the black coupe, your eyes catch on the tall frame standing on their front step as an amber light glows slightly illuminating his face. You already know this is Ashton, so with a slight smile you let your index finger rest against your coated lips, a gesture to him to be quiet.

The only response he gives is his head nodding off to the side with smoke trailing out of his mouth.

The smile quickly falls as your fingers clench the car door handle and tug it open, the smell of him crashing down on you as you sit in the familiar leather, the hum of the engine vibrating under you as the car peels off.

The tinge of tequila burned on your buds as you felt the room spinning, the sound of chatter and shouts are heard from below you as the bass of Destroy Lonely’s song can be heard in the room you barged into when you gave up on waiting for Tabitha; who said she wouldn’t be long with the curly haired new kid in her history class.

Red solo cup was loosely clenched in your right hand as left was lazily running through your hair at random moments as you laid against the cottage floral bed sheets.

Here you were, back in the same spot you always found yourself in: drunk, heartbroken, and thinking about a boy who doesn’t even care about you. The constant routine of wanting him, then wanting to be far away but craving him every other second burned into your heart. The comfort and familiarity of him that you missed always overlooked every excuse he gave you whenever he broke things off.

Last month he said he needed time to himself, this month he told you that he was confused and didn’t know what he wanted; frankly he lost feelings for you, at least that was what he says now. Those words kept on replaying in your mind as if that was your favourite song. The way he sounded emotionless yet unsure that, that was what he really wanted.

And just with those thoughts, tears were flowing down your temples. Eyes blurring as the voice replayed in your head, the memory of him sitting beside you and saying that, to then recollect memories of how sweet and endearing the boy you loved in the beginning grew cold to your touch and looked into your hopeful eyes with detached ones.

The popcorn ceiling was fuzzy in your sight as the tears spill over your waterline and beads down the sides of your face. You already knew your cheeks were heated up, the liner and eyeshadow that was occupying your bottom lashes was smudged and probably slipping away with the liquid as a sniffle wrinkled through your nose.

God you hated this; the empty feeling of missing someone who you know you shouldn’t want but yet crave so badly. Why him? Why you?

As you were deep in thought you hear the rustle of the door knob before it turns and the music that pours from outside reaches into the empty depths of the room, the sound of footsteps halting and a sharp intake of breath being heard, but you don’t dare look away at the ceiling. Frankly, you could care less about who sees you crying your eyes out on this outdated duvet with ruined make up.

“Fuck my bad!… Wait Y/N?” The recognizable voice of your childhood friend is heard before the door is closing shut.

The weight of him sinks next to you on the bed as you let your eyes close and the final stream of tears leave your eyes.

“I look desperate don’t I.” You state, voice raspy from the strain in your throat as the usual feeling of a ball is formed.

“I think you look sad,” He points out, making you snort as the hand that was lazily playing in your hair tears away and feels the sheet below you.

“No shit,” You mumble before letting your eyes peel open.

“You and Xavier broke up again?” Ashton questions, the sound of his zippers clashing from his jacket as he shuffles around.

You only hum in response before you let both of your arms sit you up on the bed, your back standing straight as your hands cradle the solo cup. Your eyes stare down at your ruined pantyhose beneath your mini lace black skirt before they flicker to look at the hazel boy.

Eyes connecting with yours, you hear his breath hitch as he draws in your appearance. Cheeks with a glow of cherry red sweeping the bones under your eyes that are damp with black eyeshadow, your eyes were still puffy and red rimmed as they batted slowly up at him.

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” You let out, your eyes rolling before letting your plum coloured lips take a sip of the warm mixture of Pepsi and tequila.

“Oh?” He says in confusion, bushy eyebrows coming together trying to figure out how that could be since he saw you two together three nights ago.

“I’m so sick of being with these screwed up guys all the time,” You state, hand tearing away from the cup to dig your nails into the rips of your stockings.

“Really?”

“I have such crummy luck or taste? What is it with girls like me? All a guy has to say is, he can’t express his feelings or he listens to Deftones and it’s like my head tips right over and my brain start to slip out of my ear.”

Ashton lets out laugh, the beer bottle he’s holding by the neck resting on his knee as he stares down at you. “So which one is Xavier?”

“Both,” You scoff while sticking out your tongue in disgust.

“You know… if you wanted to, I’m sure you could have a different great guy to go out with every night,” Ashton assures, a smirk tugging on your lips as you decide to ignore the glint of promise in his eyes.

“No way, I’ve always been a mess. Remember Cleo?” Your second boyfriend that seemed to be stuck on your hip but ironically found someway to cheat on you every weekend yet you still dumbly went back to him every. single. time.

The feeling of your sheer button up rubs against your arm as you let your hand fall against your hip and feel your black crop top tight to your skin.

“Maybe you just need to talk to someone who isn’t your usual type,” Ashton points out. Your head nods a few beats as your thick wedged heeled boots run over the wooden flooring.

“Maybe I’ll be luckier if I tried dating someone nice for a change,” Voice hopeful as your eyes dart away from the bubbly dark liquid into Ashton’s brown hues.

“Nice guys,” Ashton says with a smile, both of his hands tearing away from his knees as if to gesture to himself in this equation.

A laugh escapes your lips before your eyes run over Ashton’s frame from head to toe.

“What are you getting at Irwin?” You say with a pointed brow, playing stupid to the implication.

“Oh nothing..” He sings while tearing his eyes from yours, toothy smile still spread on his lips before he takes a swing of his beer.

You shake your head with annoyance before your hazy eyes look down at your lap, your hands resting on the cup and drumming a random tune.

“Honestly Y/N… I think you’re a really great girl and…. I just think maybe…” His words a scrambled mess and trailing off. You smile to yourself before turning to look back at him.

“Mm?” You question, the fifteen percent liquor coursing through your bloodstream and giving you confidence as you lean into this chest, eyes never tearing away from his. Because if Ashton was going to give you hopeful eyes and stuttering speeches you might as well put the ‘nice guy’ to the test and see if he was really about what he said.

That only made his lips break into a smirk, his tongue sneakily gladding along his bottom lip to wet it before looking into you daringly.

That only made you squish your plucked eyebrows together in question. How did the stuttering boy from just a view seconds ago all of a sudden turn cocky and confident? How many drinks did he have? Or was it the weed that clung to his jacket that gave him the boost.

“I think you should give me a chance,” He nips back, and before you can even respond to him, you watch his neck crane down and press his lips against yours.

The crisp taste of his beer stung your lips as they opened and immediately danced along with his tongue. White liquor and brown meeting together to taste each other and leave an acquired flavour in your mouths.

You hummed along to the feeling of his tongue circling against yours before peeling away and molding your lips to sink against each other. Your heart was beating through your chest, nails now digging into your plastic cup and head ducked back as you continue to press your mouth against his.

The feeling of his cold hand pressing against your neck caused you to shudder and tear away from his lips for a second, your eyes peeling open as they look in front of you. Black hair loosely falling on his forehead, the smell of his husky cologne clogging your senses, and the feeling of his fingers now dancing along the back of your neck.

“What are we doing Ash?” You breathe against his lips.

“Something that I’ve always wanted to do,” He says, making your heart launch. You bite down on your bruised lip and tear your eyes away from his, your stomach twist as you try and gain some self control as you almost fling yourself on top of him.

Something that he always wanted to do? You never really found yourself desirable to the point we’re men would see you in that type of light? But maybe what Ash said was just a simple lie, just so he can get what he wants and frankly you don’t even care. You’ve heard lies your whole entire life when it came to boys and this wasn’t any different, maybe you should just let your mind shut off from your stupid ex and just be in the moment for once.

So with that final thought, not having a care in the world, you drop the red cup in your hand and let your lips launch back onto his. Ashton follows your movements and the sound of the nearly empty beer bottle drops onto the hard wood, his right hand now resting along your neck as you both kiss each other.

Warm breaths, beating hearts and the sound of music is the only thing heard in the room as you lick into each others mouths. Soon you feel the weight of Ashton nudging you to lay back on the bed as he lies on top, you feel the cold zippers from his jacket press against your skin and all you can do is moan.

The feeling of his left hand tears away from the hairs on the nape of your neck and dance down your collar bone before letting it cup your breast in his hand, kneading the soft tissue which only makes another moan slip through you.

He pulls away from your lips and begins to suck and press kisses along your pulse, your hands that lie by your side now running up the sleeves of his jacket and into his hair.

A whimper spills out as you feel his hand tug your tank down and free your naked breast, he engulfs it in his cold palm making you let a shaky breath escape before you’re curling your fingers in his hair, the feeling of him twisting your nipple makes you bite down on your bottom lip. The pleasurable pain you feel running up your spine making your shoulders slightly buck off the bed.

“Hmm…” Ashton hums in your neck before tearing away, his eyes once such a light brown and green hue, now a chestnut and forest green colour filled with lust.

Your fingers tug away from his hair as he now descends down your body, his warm lips pressing kisses to your exposed skin as you let your hands tear your blouse and tank off. Your eyes never leaving his as he watches you undress. His lips now press against your pieced belly button as his fingers tear away from your chest and roughly takes your skirt by the band and peels it down your hips, your stockings following soon after.

Not wasting a moment he lets his mouth press against you covered core, lips pressing small kisses against your heat making you quietly moan. You wanted so desperately to tug Ashton into you and make him start devouring you right there but instead you let your hands trail back into his hair and play around with his locks.

Small kisses soon turn into open mouth licks, his wet muscle running up and down your clothed slit that it had your head digging back into the sheets, your legs spreading wider and whimpers endlessly trailing out.

“Ash.. please..” The words slip out so quiet that you assume he didn’t hear from the pulsing music below you, but instead your met with the feeling of his finger pulling your panties to the side and his tongue finally meeting you were you desired.

It circles around your clit gently before you feel his lips suck it into his mouth, a moan drawls from your throat due to the sensation. Soon enough, he’s letting his mouth discover the way you taste which only elects a moan from him. His tongue now dipping in between your two lips and curling around your insides.

“Oh my,” You moan as your fingers dig into his hair, eyes closing shut as you begin to slowly move your hips to the movement of his tongue.

The feeling of his right hand breaks away from your thigh and flows to your hips, his nails leaving small indents as you feel his other hand move away from your panty and rub against your clit.

The feeling of him humming against you sends a vibrating pleasure down your back as he continues to lick you, this only made your toes curl and your hands to fall out of his hair and onto his leather shoulders.

“Fuck,” You moan, your hands tugging him gently away from you as you feel your climax about to overcome your nerves.

And just as you feel it on the tip of your toes, the mouth between your legs pulls away beginning to press wet kisses up your thigh, his hand that once laid against your heat now meeting with the other at your hips.

A groan leaves you as your eyes tear open and look down at him. He mischievously looks up at you, his kisses now run up your stomach once again to lead to your neck.

“Upset?” He teases, only making you shudder at the rasp in his voice.

“I want you Ash,” You say breathlessly, turning your head to knock his out the way and look him in the eyes. “Please,” You utter, fingers now leaving his shoulders and brushing against his rip cage covered by his white tee.

Without any hesitation, Ashton is pulling away from your embrace and leaning back. He shrugs off his jacket, tugs his shirt over his head, his fingers going to the back of his baggy jeans to pull out his wallet to dig through before you see a gold package flash. If your cheeks could burn any brighter they differently would.

The mixture of his clothes and yours are strung through out the room, both of your shoes kicked to the bottom of the bed as he now shuffles his way back up to his original position.

Without question your hand meets the band of his boxers as you begin to inch them down his waist, wanting to return the favour.

“I think that can wait love, I rather be in you right now,” He breathes against your neck, only making your heart stutter. A sheepish smile tugs at your lips as you feel him twist around and lay on his side, his hands laying on your hips, turning you into the same position.

Your head rested on his arm as your back laid against his chest, hips aligned with each other as the feeling of his smell overcomes you. His knees prop up your legs as you hear the tearing of the condom package.

Deciding to distract yourself you let your eyes fall looking at Ashton. His black hair a tossed mess from your fingers, hazel eyes drawn to wear you both meet as he begins to run his member against your heat.

A whimper leaves your lips as you close your eyes when you feel him push inside, his hand now propping up your thigh as he eases into you.

He nudges your head forward and begins sucking kisses down the expanse of your neck, the feeling of his heart beating against your back and the smell of his sweat mixed with his cologne was filling your nose.

“Feels so good,” He mumbles against your skin, his arm that rested under your head turning slightly as he runs his hand against your wrist and takes your fingers into his, lacing them together as you continue to feel him stretch you out.

You never expected Ashton to have a thick piece but you also didn’t expect to be in this exact position right now, literally. Your childhood friend having his way with you while you were both drunk off each other and the alcohol in your systems.

His hips meet your backside before drawing back and pushing back in, your walls expanding with each thrust as you feel him begin a good pace. Moans begin to fall from your mouth, your eyes fluttering open every few seconds as your skin burns from the bruises soon to appear on your pulse from the black haired man beside you, skin still stuck to his lips.

“You’re moans are so pretty,” He breathes against you, his hand that was holding up your thigh runs up your hips to your chest, letting your leg fall as he takes one of your breasts and squeezes it gently.

All you can do is hum at his words because you’re too overstimulated to speak. The feeling of his thickness drawing in and out of you so heavily has you nodding off at the sensation, his fingers intertwined with yours beings to squeeze them together as the hand that was on your breast meets with his head at your neck.

“You like me fucking you,” He says into your ear as his hand squeezes your throat gently.

You nod your head as you feel your eyes slip close, and you were completely wrecked. He was so dirty yet gentle with you, peppering you with kisses yet digging into you so devilishly that it had your mind distraught.

“You like the way I feel inside you,” He continues, his hand growing more tight around your throat.

“Ash…” You say breathlessly, as your hand that rested against the bed sheets rises up and places it against the one making you breathless but encouraging your climax.

“Mm I like the way you feel around me,” He eggs on, and that makes you cry out, your back pushing pack and meeting his hips.

The feeling of your stomach twitching and legs quivering to close makes your head tip back even more against Ashton as you feel your orgasm on the brink.

That has him taking his hand away from your throat and slips it to lift your thigh back up as he continues to thrust into you, his lips press more kisses against your neck.

Your toes curl as the knot in your stomach expands and releases, the satisfying sensation washing over you as you let a deep breath break through your lips with a moan.

“Fuck,” Ashton hisses as he feels you twitch around him, the contractions from your high throwing him into his; his hips stutter before rocking back into you slowly, teeth gently digging into your skin, his breath being blown over the expanse of it.

The thickness of him slips out which causes your eyes to open, his hand dropping your thigh to wrap around your hips as his head buries into your neck.

The room is quiet for a moment as the only thing that can be heard is your hearts calming down and the chatter from down below.

“I would give you more kisses but I’ve made a mess on your neck,” His voice vibrates against you, that only makes you let out a broken laugh.

“I don’t even wanna know what it looks like,” You reply, your hand that rested on the duvet linking with his that rest along your stomach.

This felt nice, the amazing sex and cuddling session after. The room just being quiet and the only thing that can be heard is your breaths and beating hearts. This was so spontaneous that you still can’t even wrap your mind around what happened.

“How would you feel about doing this more often?” Ashton says after a few minutes, his chest moving as he pulls his head away from your neck to lie back against the pillows.

Having casual sex with him? You ponder on the idea. It was definitely one of the best you have ever had, he felt amazing and checked off every box when it came to how to please you. You couldn’t even lie and say that you didn’t find Ash attractive, you are also now officially single, free to due what we you wanted, so fuck it.

“Like… Friends with benefits?” You say, your thumb running against his hand still linked with yours by your head.

“Yeah, friends with benefits,” He confirms.

You let your head swish from side to side as you feel the burning sensation of his love bites strain against your neck as you let out a sarcastic hum to yourself as if you’re thinking it over.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

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lemonhemlock · 1 year ago

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I think one of the most frustrating things about both the ASOIAF/HOTD fandom is the inability for people to discuss these characters or books without projecting their own personal/modern sensibilities. I've noticed this a lot with TB so targ nation in general, but they fundamentally hate the world building and lore of a feudal medieval monarchy. They hate tradition, they hate religion, they hate the concepts of honor and duty which is why they can't or won't understand Criston's character if their lives depended on it, they hate anything that can be deemed in anyway conservative, religious, traditional lol, they hate the inheritance laws preferring males, they hate that women have to stay chaste before marriage, they hate arranged marriages, they hate the fact that people care so much about bastards and that bastards cannot inherit, etc. I could go on. Yes, from a modern perspective a lot of these things are now deemed obsolete and uncool, but there were very good reasons for these things AT THE TIME. These people just hate the entire lore that this world is based on and instead of good faith engagement with the lore, they just call anyone who uses the world/lore to logically analyze the text a sexist, misogynist, tradcath, conservative, or whatever. It boggles my mind. Why interact with media, and not just interact with it, but have entire social media accounts dedicated to their hyper fixation and borderline parasocial relationship with these characters/books if they fundamentally hate the world and hate seeing their faves lose as a result of the rules in place. I'm begging these people to go read one of the thousands of fantasy books that isn't set in a rigid feudal monarchy.

This is such a spot-on, insightful comment into how a lot of people interact within this fandom. 👏👏👏 This typology of the late stage social justice internet warrior that fundamentally refuses to engage with the historicity of the story's spatio-temporal setting, i.e. a feudal medieval monarchy of European inspiration, that predates centralization and thus absolutism. Even though Westeros is so very obviously decentralized, many fans do not realize this for some reason and pretend it's an absolute monarchy a la Louis XIV.

Many people, like GRRM, who is a prolific science-fiction writer (!), are attracted to this setting regardless, because of the pageantry (look how obsessed he is with creating house sigils and mottos), the romantic flair + the fact that it's literally the setting of fairy-tales, which inspires in the reader a world of magical possibilities. Of course, the world of ASOIAF is an attempt to shore up the 'realism' of this imagological construct, but medieval fantasy is a genre in and of itself, like there are certain flavours of societal layering and organization that are inescapable, like the rigid social structures, the political rule as the purview of the elites, the importance of religion in everyday life etc.

This is not to say that those aspects are in any way aspirational for a modern person or that we should yearn to go back to those times, only that they are merely characteristics that developed hand-in-hand with the technological advancements and the economic progress of the period. If you have a civilisation whose economy is centered on land ownership as the main source of wealth acquisition, its society is going to look a certain way. Certainly, in Westeros there are some craftsmen and merchants, but there seem to only be a handful of towns throughout the entire continent and, off the top of my head, the mention of guilds and the middle classes are few and far between in the books, so there is no concrete way of determining how consolidated the bourgeoisie is. At the same time, this is absolutely just a story and not a 1:1 recreation of those times, so these gaps are completely understandable, as there only is so much worldbuilding one man can do.

Anyway, I often see analysis or commentary being circulated, which are obviously a projection of modern sensibilities, like how there should be no king at all or the Iron Throne is evil or how Westeros should revert to being separate kingdoms because somehow the concept of unifying regions with a common cultural and religious background is automatically bad, always and with no exception. To me these are rather perplexing, but they are so wide-spread that it's not even worth it to try and open up that particular can of worms. Some of these takes don't even make sense if you expand them to their natural implications. Someone has to be the king in a medieval society; it doesn't work like some people envision this - no one chooses to rule and that's that, problem solved? How is society going to be organized then? It's doubtful that the conclusion of the last book will be anarcho-socialism. The Iron Throne consistently cuts kings who are unworthy to sit on it - it's not a symbol that the author intended to be construed as malevolent. Sure, death of the author and all that, but it's not described as mystically quasi-sentient for nothing either. Fragmenting Westeros back into individual kingdoms while maintaining the feudal structure retains the inherent unfairness and inequality of said hierarchy; it's amazing to me how it could be considered progress etc.

To wrap this up, yes, I agree, some people would be much better served if they simply found other fantasy media based on a different time frame. Because it doesn't make sense to become so entrenched in this specific one if you hate the medieval period so much. Again, this is not to say that the Middle Ages cannot be criticised because that's just the way it was back then, they absolutely can, but a lot of criticism shared around is just done in bad faith and with no real desire to understand the historical phenomena at play.

For example, a few days ago, someone commented on one my bastardposts that "just because it was illegal doesn't make it fair", with the implied solution to that conundrum that Rhaenyra should simply be allowed by society to do whatever she pleased. No reflection on why that law/rule was in place to begin with, no consideration of how it would impact the wider community, no proposal as to how one could advance to a society in which all children are considered equal, regardless of their parents' marital status etc. The thought doesn't go beyond "feminism in its modern definition can magically crystallize in any historical period because it is completely divorced from the material conditions of a society".

#ask #anon #anti hotd fandom #bastardposting

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the-lonelybarricade · 9 months ago

Text

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 6

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

All of my love to @climbthemountain2020 for reading through this chapter and convincing me not to delete everything 😂💕

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

The terms of a bargain must always be clear.

In Prythian, ambiguity was a weapon, and by the docks of Velaris, the lesser fae knew how to wield it expertly. There, where saltwater seeped through the cracks in the wood, rotting everything from the inside out, gamblers only kept on their feet through careful, precise wording.

At a minimum, each deal should state plainly when it begins and ends. If the terms of a bargain weren’t finite… it could be damning. It could mean a lifetime in service of its terms.

Raised as a merchant’s daughter, Feyre learned at an early age how to word a deal in her favor. But it was the years that came later, when evenings in taverns became routine, where she witnessed the true consequences of ill-worded bargains. Swaggering males who walked through the doors with everything and found themselves indebted beyond coin.

The lacework of ink decorating Feyre’s hand, fingertip to elbow, laid testimony to each wager she’d ever made, the countless times she’d risked her life on a gamble. And won. But perhaps, caught in the arrogance of her triumphs, she’d forgotten her first tavern-goer lesson.

The terms of a bargain must always be clear.

Twenty-four hours of her company, during which the High Lord could do whatever he liked to her, in exchange for ten thousand marks.

A simple enough bargain. Straightforward, finite, measurable. The twenty-four hours had passed, and the ten thousand marks had been conferred. The terms were fulfilled, and hypothetically, Feyre and the High Lord would now be able to go their separate ways.

But—that had not been part of the bargain. If Feyre could go back to amend the terms, she would have added: Twenty-four hours, after which the High Lord was never allowed to see or contact her again.

They’d made no such agreement. Which meant that after the funds had been withdrawn from the account Rhysand created in Feyre’s name, of which he’d doubtlessly been notified, there was nothing stopping the High Lord from waiting outside the modest apartment they rented above a confectioner’s shop in the Palace of Bone and Salt. She’d hoped for somewhere on the Rainbow, but ten thousand marks would only stretch so far, and the two-bedroom apartment that perpetually smelled of burnt sugar was a far improvement from the moldy attic in the tavern.

“He’s back,” Elain said, appearing at her door frame with wide eyes.

Of course he was. This had become his daily routine.

Feyre pried the hatch of her second-story window open, exposing her bedroom—one she no longer needed to share with her sisters—to the dewy morning air, crisp and sweetened by the cooked sugar within the shop below. The High Lord of the Night Court was opposite its storefront, propped against the wall with his hands leisurely tucked into his pockets.

He’d been staring at her window before she’d pushed it open, and when she leaned over the windowsill, his smile stretched wide enough to see his perfectly white teeth.

“Surely a High Lord has more important things to do than stand outside my window?”

“Someone thinks highly of herself,” he said, nodding towards the Cauldron’s Confections sign hanging over the door. “I could be here to provide valuable patronage to my people.”

“Patronage usually occurs inside the shop.”

Rhysand shrugged. “Some find my presence… distracting.”

Feyre snorted under her breath. Distracting didn’t even begin to describe how it felt to be pinned beneath his assessment. Even across the cobblestone pavement and a story below, his power radiated from him, pulsing like an invading heartbeat, threatening to spear beneath her veins and take control. His talons of darkness were nowhere to be seen, but Feyre still double-checked her mental shields just to be sure nothing crawled into her mind while her guard was down.

“I’m waiting out here until the shop quiets down,” he continued.

A moment of silence was all she needed to confirm his lie. The shop did sometimes get busy, particularly at midday, when an influx of voices swept in from the streets and drowned out the movements of the kitchen in the back. Now, the voices in the shop were a low murmur—and if she listened carefully, she could still pick out the crackling flame beneath the oven, the soft sputter of melted chocolate.

“In other words, you’re loitering,” she said.

Outside of his line of vision, she could feel moisture collecting in the hollow between her palm and her death grip on the window ledge. It was a concentrated effort not to fidget, particularly as Rhysand cocked his head like he was weighing the audacity in her tone.

Then he smirked. “And if I am, who’s going to hold me accountable for it?”

There was a challenge in the way he said it—in his eyes, as he studied her, turning over every inch of her expression for all the pieces of information she was unknowingly betraying. His smile was taunting, like that penetrating gaze saw past the veneer she painted over her uncertainty, through the defiance of her tipped chin and narrowed brows, right to the pit of apprehension yawning open in her stomach.

This was a mask she’d worn a thousand times over, night after night in that cramped tavern. She’d faced the scrutiny of males with fewer reservations towards violence, and yet none had ever made her feel so unsteady as the High Lord. But none had ever been as powerful, as capable of killing her with half a thought.

“The press,” she decided, after a moment’s consideration. “I bet I could sell this story for a pretty copper. The High Lord neglects his duties to laze around a sweet shop. Better yet—to stalk a harmless female.”

Stalk. She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud, and to his face no less. Her boldness was going to get her killed one of these days, but this was the third day in a row that he’d shown up outside her apartment. She didn’t see how else to label it.

Rhys laughed, but with a razor-sharpness that straightened her spine. Shadow unspooled around him, rippling from his form like someone had smeared charcoal along the outline of his portrait.

His voice dragged over her skin, delicate as a lover’s blade. “That sounds a bit sensationalized to my ears.”

The velvet promise in his voice, its underlying violence, raised every hair on her arm. Despite her better judgment, she said, “The best stories usually are.”

He was drifting closer. No longer propped against the wall, but standing in the middle of the street. Citygoers passed by, moving out of their way to avoid him, but he continued staring up at Feyre’s window like he didn’t notice. A great stone parting a river’s current.

“Would you allow me to buy your silence? With dinner, tonight?”

Feyre shook her head and pushed up to her full height. “I’m afraid our bargain gave you the wrong impression, High Lord. I can’t be bought.”

His mouth opened, but she shut the window with exaggerated force before she could hear his response. She hurried into the kitchen, where Nesta and Elain were both sitting at the table with raised brows that said they’d been listening to every word.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Nesta said. “If you think you have any agency with him, you’re deluding yourself.”

Elain took a long sip of her tea, not meeting Feyre’s eyes. Her silent way of saying she agreed.

They didn’t know the full truth. She let them think the same as everyone else in that tavern—that the High Lord had seen a pretty, half-human novelty and wanted to have his fun for an evening. Feyre hadn’t told them how she met the High Lord in the alleyway, how he’d saved her life and slaughtered his captain. They didn’t know that he’d discovered her daemati ability and that he hadn’t touched her, at least not the way they assumed, during those twenty-four hours she’d been subject to his will.

I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron.

Yes, she was playing a dangerous game, but one she had stumbled into unknowingly. She was in its trenches now, fumbling blindly, and she already knew she was far too deep in shit to find a way out now.

“What was I supposed to do?” Feyre demanded, relying on her temper to disguise the helplessness clawing at her. She wished Nesta could give her an answer. “Let him buy me dinner? I’m sure that would have gone over splendidly.”

Nesta set her teacup on its saucer with enough force to send the porcelain ringing. The sound speared through the room, so sharp it made Feyre’s teeth ache. “You could have kept the window shut and ignored him. You’re only indulging his game by acknowledging him.”

“He’s our High Lord, Nesta.” Feyre flung her arms out in exasperation. “I can’t just ignore him. We’re required by law to pay him our respect.”

“Oh, because that conversation was brimming with respect.”

Feyre’s temper reared. “If you know so much better than me, what would you do?”

Nesta took a moment to respond, paying the question more consideration than Feyre expected. Once she came to her decision, Nesta tipped her chin and said with quiet steel, “I would have taken his money and bought a ship that would carry us as far away from Velaris as we could get.”

And maybe… maybe that was precisely what Feyre should have done.

That night, Feyre dreamt of the sea, churning beneath a low sun that cast its rippling surface into a deep, honey gold. It swirled and swirled until it crashed against a wall of crystal glass and emptied down into her open mouth.

Her throat burned against its invading strength, but it warmed her chest, and she sighed, setting the crystal down on a table.

“I heard your plan for our little recruit epically crashed and burned.”

“Shut up.”

Neither of those voices belonged to her. They were deep and smooth like the golden sea refilling her glass, churning again as a broad, umber hand lifted the cup and swirled its contents.

“Cheer up. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“Leave me to drink in peace, you bastard.”

If more was said, it was lost to the bottom of the glass and the torrent of golden liquid that washed over her, its current warm as it carried her out to sea, then back to shore. The sun’s touch prickled over her skin, and she thought she heard a soft voice whisper—

Sweet dreams, Feyre.

Feyre was being followed.

The unsettling awareness of it skittered down her spine. She stood in line for a bakery on the corner of the Palace of Bone and Salt. It was a busy day at the market, and a glance over her shoulder betrayed only the passerby flitting between stalls.

Eyes of varying jewel and earthen tones swam past, many straying towards the palace’s largest attractions of smoked meats and spun confections. If any attention snagged on Feyre as she scanned the crowd, it was brief and largely accidental—apart from one ash-haired lesser fae, who met her stare and offered an inviting smile. That was a strange, new thing she’d become accustomed to. People treated her differently now that she was wearing handwoven clothes from the Palace of Thread and Jewels and not an oversized tunic she’d won off a sailor’s back.

With her fine sleeves covering the bargains inked onto her skin and her hair down to cover the smooth curve of her ears, Feyre looked just like any other citygoer. No one in the market was paying her any mind, but she couldn’t shake the unease coiling a knot in her gut. With a huff of air, Feyre stepped reluctantly out of line to see if anyone else abandoned their place to follow her. She earned her a few curious glances, but there was little movement aside from the few who shuffled forward to claim her spot.

That was fine. There was more than one place to get bread in the Palace of Bone and Salt, and she ambled in the direction of another stall as though she’d merely caught its scent and found its offer more tantalizing. The line was shorter, which promised the quality of the bread was less appealing, but maybe that meant it was cheaper, too.

“Good morning,” the baker chirped, standing beside her proud display of fresh bread, each wrapped lovingly in twine and wax paper.

There were other delicacies, too. The morning sun glinted off a row of glazed pastries generously dollaped with berries as vibrant as a freshly cut ruby—and nearly as expensive. Between the cost of their new apartment and the clothes they’d purchased last week, there wasn’t enough coin left over from Feyre’s bargain to afford her sweet tooth.

Just as Feyre opened her mouth to order, someone reached over her shoulder, pointing an elegant finger towards the pastries she’d been eying.

“Two of those, please,” said a male voice, deep and churning as a honeyed sea. Feyre stiffened. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d last heard that voice. “And what else were you after, darling? A loaf of bread, I presume.”

She whirled to find a familiar pair of violet eyes, half-lidded with delight. He was standing so close he needed to stare down his nose to meet her eyes.

Feyre bared her teeth at him. “Have you been following me?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he purred, slipping his coin to the baker without even counting how much he was overpaying her.

No wonder all the shopkeepers in Velaris thought so highly of him. Not that she’d been asking, of course. But in the weeks since their bargain, she had been listening more intently. Checking the tabloids if only to ensure her name didn’t end up among them. For all the gossip traded in this city like its own currency, she noticed there had been remarkably little chatter about the High Lord’s bargain with the witch of Velaris. Though if he was aiming for discretion, cornering her in the busy marketplace seemed counterintuitive to that goal.

Feyre crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“You can be so grouchy in the morning,” he said, clicking his tongue.

The baker handed him a pastry, which he immediately offered to Feyre.

“Here, have something to eat.” When she only stared, he raised a brow. “Do I need to take a bite to prove that I haven’t poisoned it?”

The baker looked affronted by the question, which was the only reason Feyre took the damn thing from him.

“Thanks,” she said, ice dripping from her voice.

Rhys was satisfied enough by her response that he didn’t push further. With a charming smile towards the baker—the kind he flashed like he intended its recipient to begin fawning over him—he accepted the second pastry and handed Feyre a loaf of bread.

Once they were out of earshot, Feyre pushed her uneaten pastry back in his direction. “I don’t want it.”

“No?” Rhys swiped his finger through the jam in the center. It collected at his fingertip, gleaming like a pinprick of blood, and he held it an inch from her lips with a taunting smile. “Not even a taste?”

Taste, something whispered in the back of her mind, urging her to move forward, to dart her tongue across his skin. Perhaps it was a leftover cry from the child who could still remember how sugar melted on the tongue, from a time when her father used to return from his voyages with treats from faraway lands. Feyre leaned back, less from the threat of the High Lord’s fingers and more because she didn’t trust herself not to give into that wild and inexplicable impulse.

“And what will it cost me?” She demanded, stoking her anger to smother that strange ache. “Another day in your service?”

Rhys pulled his hand away. “Just your company,” he said, holding her gaze while he licked his finger clean with a long, exaggerated swipe of his tongue.

She tried not to think of the dream he’d given her on the night of their bargain, how she’d hovered over his mouth, close enough to feel his breath, and what that tongue might have done if she’d let him continue. Tried—and failed miserably.

His eyes sparked like he could see the direction of Feyre’s thoughts, despite how she triple-checked that her shields were still up.

Feyre narrowed her eyes. “My company for how long?”

“Only the time that it takes you to eat the pastry.”

Oh? It was roughly the size of her palm, but Feyre wagered she could still eat it in a single bite if she needed to.

“Fine.” She took a pointedly large bite and said around it, “But you might consider talking fast.”

If he was offended by her bad manners, he did a good job disguising it behind a laugh. “Have you considered that I simply enjoy your company, Feyre?”

She swallowed around the thick bite. “I think you like to check in on your loose ends.”

That prompted a raised brow. “Is that what you think you are?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve left my life of gambling and mind reading behind.”

“And what are you doing now?”

Feyre raised the loaf of bread in her hand. “Shopping.”

“I mean to make money.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said with an innocent hum. “But hey, worse comes to worse, I could always get a job at one of the pleasure halls. Do you think you could give me your personal recommendation?”

Rhysand’s pupils flared, and Feyre’s heart jumped into an uneven beat at the darkness she saw flickering there, accompanied by a sideways smile. “I could write you a glowing recommendation, Feyre, but I personally think that’d be a waste of your talents.”

“Oh?” She took another bite of her pastry, meeting his eyes as if to say, your window’s closing. “And what would you have me do instead?”

“You could come work for me.”

There it was.

Pushing him, she crooned, “In your bedroom?”

Rhysand gripped her chin, turning her face towards his. “Is that where you’d like to serve?”

A challenge. An offer. A threat, maybe.

Her nerve was crumbling beneath the full force of his gaze. Those eyes seared straight through her, and though she knew her mental shields were in place, she somehow felt like he could read every thought she’d ever had. Her soul laid bare to him.

She wanted to make him feel equally riled. To waver the control he so carefully laid in place. Maybe that was why she whispered to him, poisonous and sweet, “Maybe I want to sit on your throne instead.”

His fingers tightened. She’d just threatened to steal his crown, and yet he was grinning like a fiend. “That could be arranged.”

Claws raked against her mental shields, and with it, an image flashed: Feyre, with her legs spread over the arms of a dark throne, Rhysand crouched before her, his head buried in her thighs. She flinched, struggling against his hold to escape the vision. His grip was iron-tight, and he only yanked her closer, leaning in until his lips grazed the curve of her ear.

“I have been exceptionally generous with you, Feyre Archeron, and your behavior has been atrocious in return. Is it a bid for my attention, or has someone never bothered to teach you any manners?”

Feyre gritted her teeth. “Some might say it’s part of my charm.”

The back of his throat rumbled. Rhys pulled away just enough to examine her face. His eyes narrowed in on her lips and he swiped his thumb upwards, brushing away a bit of leftover jam, which he then held in front of her mouth. Waiting.

Their eyes met, and he said, “Even I am a man of limited patience, Feyre.”

She parted her lips and he pressed his thumb between them, his remaining fingers holding her firm so she couldn’t pull away. With her cheeks burning, and her eyes boring into his, she pressed her tongue to the pad of his finger and licked away the jam.

“Good girl,” he said, releasing her.

Feyre wiped at her lips like she could erase the humiliation of what she’d just been made to do. With a glare in his direction, she shoved the rest of the pastry in her mouth. Rhysand’s chest was heaving, eyes simmering at her defiance.

All she said was, “Thank you for the food, High Lord.”

Then she stalked off, trying to put as much distance between them as physically possible. Rhysand didn’t pursue—at least not from what she could see glancing over her shoulder. But the oily, uneasy feeling of being followed didn’t relent, no matter how many crowds she weaved through.

Feyre veered another corner before she decided that even if Rhys was following her, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know where she lived. It wasn’t as if she could escape him in his own damn city. With a sigh, she cut across an alley that she knew would take her back to the Palace of Bone and Salt.

She dodged a shopkeeper loading barrels into the back of her store and kitchen staff filling up buckets of water from the outdoor spigots. Their curious stares trailed her as she passed, but it loosened some of her tension to know she wasn’t alone.

Not alone, indeed. Soon, that creeping sensation cracked over her spine with the urgency of a snapping whip. She noticed the shadows lurking in her periphery before she picked up the footsteps, and Feyre whirled, prepared to give him another piece of her mind.

Except it was not Rhysand standing behind her.

Feyre barely registered this information before her body was sent barrelling into the brick wall at her back. The air knocked out of her, and she’d only had a moment to gasp when her assailant grabbed her by the throat, trapping that precious breath beneath his palms.

Black cloth covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were exposed. Hazel eyes, wild and burning as they narrowed on her, as his gloved fingers tightened against her throat. She clawed and thrashed at his grip, but he met each of her pathetic blows with unflinching strength.

“Please,” she choked.

She speared her magic towards him, only to slam into a mighty wall of cruel, vicious steel.

“You’re close with the High Lord,” he said.

Feyre shook her head.

The cloth over his cheeks shifted, and if she had to guess he was baring his teeth as he snarled, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she rasped.

His voice was the violent thunder rolling over a midnight sky. “You looked pretty close to me when he had his fingers in your mouth.”

Feyre kicked her legs out, shrieking her exasperation that nothing she was doing had any impact on this cold, ruthless male. She flashed her teeth at him. “And I would have bitten his fingers off for it, if he wasn’t High Lord.”

Something flickered in the male’s eyes, a certain understanding, and his fingers loosened on her throat. Feyre drew in a sharp breath, greedily sucking air back into her lungs.

“You resent him?”

Feyre held her tongue. She didn’t know who this male was, who he might be reporting back to. But her silence said enough.

He let go of her throat entirely. “Well then, how’d you like to make some coin and even your score with the High lord?”

Her interest was piqued. But so was her suspicion.

“Doing what?”

“He has something that belongs to me. Steal it back, and I’ll pay you what it’s worth.”

Feyre cocked her head. “Tell me what I’d need to steal, and I’ll consider it.”

Two mornings later, Feyre woke to the sound of fluttering paper, and peeled her eyes open to find a letter resting atop her bedside table.

She knew where it was from, even before she lifted the parchment to her face and found the Night Court insignia stamped at its signature—the same one she found inside Rhysand’s desk drawer. The letter was penned in elegant scrawl, though its content was meaningless to her.

Feyre D-

Feyre Dar-

Feyre Darling,

Im… Ima.. g—

The letter crumpled in her fist. With the Night Court insignia, it looked like an official letter, perhaps even a direct order from the High Lord. Elain would read it for her if she asked, but Feyre didn’t trust Rhysand not to have added something incriminating or absurd.

When she knocked on his door hours later, the letter folded and shoved into her pocket, he opened it with a smile that said he knew she’d be paying him a visit today.

“Feyre,” he purred. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She crossed her arms. “What does your letter say?”

“That’s for you to find out.”

Feyre tossed him a flat look. “Rhysand.”

“My, what a pleasant sound.” He stepped back into his entryway, gesturing to the hallway beyond. “Would you like to come in? I’d love to tempt my name from your lips a second time.” He craned his head. “Unless there’s another reason why you’ve come?”

She took a deep breath.

“I want to renew our twenty-four hour bargain.”

#Feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x feyre

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justavulcan · 1 year ago

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Backgrounds With Class: Golgari Agent

I'll be honest: Ravnica has always fascinated me. I was a high schooler when the first set came out, and I was immediately consumed creating characters for the setting. Now that we've actually received my long-awaited crossover, I thought it would be nice to write a love letter to the setting in the form of another Backgrounds with Class series. After all: some guilds have natural class choices tied in, from a conceptual standpoint. Boros and Fighter, Izzet and Wizard, Selesnya and Druid. But guilds aren’t class-restricted, and so I wonder what it would look like if you paired every class with every guild background, even the ones that seem at odds, like Izzet and Barbarian, or Gruul and Artificer. So I thought about it, and this is what I came up with. Some character concepts for each class, and each Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica background for each class.

Golgari Agent

The Golgari Agent Artificer is one of the kraul, a wingless merchant who recently took over the family business. Poling a narrow raft through the undercity’s sewer network isn’t glamorous work, but it does afford her a fine selection of various fungi and other ingredients for her elixirs and salves. If push comes to shove, her alchemical expertise is for more than just brewing potions; many an undercity predator has tasted her home-made deathspore bombs and opted for easier prey elsewhere.

The Golgari Agent Barbarian has been a member of his neighborhood’s hunting party since he became of age. Eschewing moodmark paint in favor of a hunter’s mottled camouflage pigments, he knows how to track and run down prey with the pack coordination of a wolf. This talent’s not hyperbole, either; his last encounter with one of the Selesnya’s ledev guardians supplied him with a fine wolf-pelt cowl he wears proudly over his hunter’s paint. Sometimes he even thinks the spirit of the wolf takes over on the hunt; it would account for the times he’s come to after a kill with blood on his face.

The Golgari Agent Bard knows better than most how things of import can turn up anywhere. A findbroker by trade, her ability to discover the history behind any gewgaw or trinket she scrounges up has more than doubled her profit on occasion. Gifted with a turn of phrase and the eerie, low-pitch ocarina she cares for like a child, her ambitions don’t stop at finding lost art- she yearns to be the first to rediscover some buried vault or basement thought long lost.

The Golgari Agent Cleric, in accordance with the Swarm’s care for the cycle of life and death, has been responsible for dozens of acts of euthanasia in her life. It doesn’t take an expert to recognize when a hunter’s been taken by zombie fungus, or when a red reaver bloom’s explosive dispersal drives a whole apartment block mad with aggression. It just takes care and respect for the final solace of death to ease people’s suffering. That her focus also comes in handy fending off territorial disputes is icing.

The Golgari Agent Druid is, technically, a drudge, one of the zombified dead that the Swarm relies on for muscle, both on the farm and the battlefield. However, unknown processes allowed the fungal parasite to seize full control of the host, and arrive at a consciousness of their own. Now, they’re busy determining the meaning of their new existence. While they work it out, they shamble about the Undercity, working odd jobs tending livestock and helping farmers with their natural understanding of other fungi.

The Golgari Agent Fighter is militant, a troll-blooded human with the strength of arm and heart to testify to his lineage. While for the moment just one of the many toughs that lurk around the Undercity looking for easy prey, his true goal is far less provincial: to climb the Swarm’s political ladder and become one of Jarad’s closest advisors or even his bodyguard. To this end, he’s quick to speak out in aggression against surface- dwellers intruding on his domain, or take the initiative and lead a raiding party himself.

The Golgari Agent Monk was always gifted with swiftness of arm and wit; as a nymph he scrapped with his siblings more days than not, and has since taken to far more dangerous partners to improve her skills. He mostly works as a guide for the rare surface-dweller to travel below the sunlit streets, and even distills his own moonshine from fermenting fruit and the ample yeast colonies on his travels. He’s become quite the alcoholic aficionado, and claims he fights even better when he’s had a few drinks.

The Golgari Agent Paladin was, like many of his Ordruun kin, originally slated to join the Boros Legion as a cadet when he came of age. He did, but when a raid went bad and he was left for dead in the Undercity by a sergeant he knew to be corrupt, he swore he wouldn’t leave the darkened streets and buried closes of Ravnica until the man lay dead before him. A childhood roaming the near-surface reaches and a minotaur’s innate sense of direction have served him well, and his new guild feeds the cold core of his desire for vengeance happily so long as it’s pointed at their mutual enemies.

The Golgari Agent Ranger always liked bugs. Wasn’t much of a choice, really, living in one of the many tenement buildings sunk below the sunlit streets of upper Ravnica- you learned to deal with the scurrying things of the world young. Cultivating a unique magical bond with them was the work of many long nights, but the result has been beyond reproach- his many tiny friends are stronger than they look, and complement his hunting well as they ensure that his prey can never truly escape.

The Golgari Agent Rogue has aspired to become one of the Ochran ever since one killed his abusive parents in front of him. Starry-eyed about becoming one of the Swarm’s most famous killers, he moved to the Undercity the next week, escaping the home of his blood family to find new kin. He had a rough time of it, begging and sweeping out chimneys, but he picked up the poisons quickly, and has always been slight enough to slip down sewer pipes and chimneys to find the target.

The Golgari Agent Sorcerer was a washout before he was anything of real use- literally. Originally an experimental attempt at forming a drake-human krasis for the Guardian Project, he was mistaken by a careless lab assistant for a failure and flushed out of his transformation tank before his scales, wing flaps, and poison glands fully developed. Recovered by a rot farmer accustomed to handling the runoff from the Simic lab in question, he’s grown to appreciate his new environment- and has already misdirected or slain the first attempts of the lab’s owner to track him down for retrieval.

The Golgari Agent Warlock always made a point of delving deeper and into tighter environs than his contemporaries. Never a good fit with hunter or shaman, he explored the depths of the Undercity all on his own before stumbling one day into an as-yet undiscovered chamber. The figure sitting on the throne there was enormous in size and patched together from all different creatures, but when it stirred to see the boy before it, all it did was offer him a set of knucklebones on string. Taking them was the beginning of something, and now the man treasures the talisman that forms the link to his patron.

The Golgari Agent Wizard has been a rot farmer for decades. It’s only now, lately, that he’s set out to travel and study magic in the hopes of winning his farm back. It was taken from him by a devkarin lich, an objective lesson in might making right within the Swarm, and he hopes to master enough of the necromancer’s art to bend the new owner’s undead farmhands to his will. He’s quickly finding that things are very big outside his secluded cavern home, and even that he likes it- perhaps enough to keep him from going back.

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merchantservices444 · 9 months ago

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How much does it cost to open a merchant account?

(Human directed ai content.)

In today's digital age, having the ability to accept electronic payments is crucial for businesses of all sizes. Whether you run a brick-and-mortar store, an e-commerce website, or a mobile service, having a merchant account allows you to process credit and debit card transactions securely and efficiently. However, the cost associated with opening and maintaining a merchant account can vary depending on several factors.

Understanding Merchant Accounts:

Before delving into the costs, let's clarify what a merchant account is. Essentially, a merchant account is a type of bank account that enables businesses to accept payments via credit or debit cards. When a customer makes a purchase using a card, the funds are deposited into the merchant account, and then transferred to the business owner's primary business account after processing.

Factors Affecting Cost:

Several factors influence the cost of opening a merchant account:

Type of Business: Different types of businesses have varying levels of risk associated with them. For instance, a retail store with a physical location generally carries less risk compared to an online business. High-risk businesses, such as those in the travel or adult entertainment industries, may face higher fees due to the increased likelihood of chargebacks and fraud.

Credit Card Processing Volume: The volume of credit and debit card transactions processed by your business plays a significant role in determining costs. Merchants that process higher volumes typically receive lower processing rates and may even qualify for volume-based discounts.

Business History and Creditworthiness: Your business's credit history and overall financial health can also impact the cost of opening a merchant account. Businesses with solid credit histories and a track record of financial stability may qualify for better rates and terms.

Payment Processing Provider: The provider you choose to work with will heavily influence the cost of your merchant account. Different payment processors offer various fee structures, including interchange-plus pricing, flat-rate pricing, and tiered pricing. It's essential to carefully compare providers and their fee structures to find the best fit for your business.

Common Fees Associated with Merchant Accounts:

While the specific fees can vary depending on the provider, some common fees associated with merchant accounts include:

Setup Fees: Some providers may charge an initial setup fee to establish your merchant account.

Transaction Fees: This fee is charged for each transaction processed through your merchant account. It may be a flat rate per transaction or a percentage of the transaction amount.

Monthly Fees: Many providers charge a monthly fee for maintaining your merchant account, regardless of transaction volume.

Statement Fees: Some providers charge a fee for generating and sending monthly statements detailing your transaction history.

Chargeback Fees: In the event of a chargeback, where a customer disputes a transaction, you may incur a chargeback fee.

Early Termination Fees: If you decide to close your merchant account before the end of your contract term, you may be subject to early termination fees.

Conclusion:

Opening a merchant account is a necessary step for businesses looking to accept credit and debit card payments. While there are costs involved, the ability to offer convenient payment options to customers can ultimately lead to increased sales and improved cash flow. By understanding the factors that influence the cost of a merchant account and comparing providers, businesses can find a solution that meets their needs while minimizing expenses.

#merchant account #merchant account pricing #merchant account fees #merchant account rates #how to get a merchant account #what is a merchant account #merchant account providers #merchant account processing #merchant services #how to open a merchant account #high risk merchant account #merchant account application #how does a merchant account work #how to open merchant account without ssn #how to set up a merchant account #how to create a merchant account

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doughguts-art · 2 months ago

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Okay okay back with more Bandit questions and observations now!!! Hi!!! First off, what's the model of his gun? Literally just curious, really doesn't mean anything unless I feel like drawing it lmao. Secondly, what's his thoughts on the people in power/the guardians + the queen (I'm lumping the Judge into the guardians)? You said he won't work when he can survive well on his own, but does his dislike stretch out to even wishing harm on the guardians? Actually, does he know if a guardian dies, their Zone dies, too? How knowledgeable is he on the world of OFF's lore and how it functions?? Thirdly, does he have any friends I should know about? You drew him interacting with Project Goldfinch/Just Finch to break up the text in my first ask, what's their relationship? Does Bandit scam him to hell and back, or do they just casually chat every now and then? Fourthly, I VERY BRIEFLY checked out Ask Bandit and here are some observations I made: Uno, how come you ship him with Red from Animal Crossing? Is it cuz they both steal and resell?? If so, that's hilarious and I love your sense of humor. Dos, when drawing him with Elsen 7 I did not know Bandit currently resides in Zone Three, because 7 lives in Zone One. This whole time I was under the impression he travels through Zones for some reason lol? I guess that's my curse of having a handful of ECU Elsen that do that themselves lmao. Last but not least, not something Ask Bandit related, just generally speaking, would you like to see any future doodles I make of Bandit, whether he's interacting with my own OCs or otherwise? If not, I totally get it lol. Sorry if this is too many questions btw!! You're free to infiltrate my inbox with silly questions too if you want, just to make it more fair. Thank you! :]

Apologies in advance, I didn't make any new Bandit art for this post so I'm just linking something I drew in April that I don't think I shared to tumblr XD Answer time!

I modeled Bandit's gun after a Glock?? Kinda?? I didn't really reference a specific model, more like loosely inspired. I probably should create a prop-reference for it, but I haven't yet.

Bandit's dislike for authority does not stretch to wanting to take out the guardians. It would be counter-intuitive to his role as a merchant to kill off his customers by killing off the guardians. Bandit cares too much about profit, and although the guardians are annoying, without them he wouldn't have profit.

Bandit is fully aware on how the world of OFF works, it's inner workings, and other meta things.

Bandit will say anyone is his friend, even if they clearly hate him. Louis would be the only one that would truly think of Bandit as a friend (except maybe my elsen-sona, but they're a mary-sue type oc and should probably not be counted if we're talking in-universe/story lol)

As Finch is the protagonist in my game concept, Bandit will be the merchant selling them items. Finch is distrusting of Bandit, but sees him as a necessity in their mission. I do have an idea where Bandit does steal something from Finch to propel the plot, but who knows if that'll stay in the final lol

Bandit x Redd is a joke ship created by @brandy-elsen (tagging the account it was posted on and not your current account because I do not wanna waste a tag on this I am sorry Brandy AHHSGFG). All the credits to her for the comedic genius. I think you guessed right as to why that ship exists tho. I just drew it for that post because it met the "two pieces of fanart" criteria I set.

Bandit travels the zones, your initial assumption was right. He is only in Zone 3 on the askbandit blog because of the story being told on there. He's gotta refill his stock of sugar manually since sugar happens to be one of the things he cannot magically pull from his pack.

I would love to see future doodles you make of Bandit! I like collecting all the fanart I get and posting it (with credits/links) to his gallery on toyhouse.

I'm terrible with asking questions, but I'll keep your offer in mind if I have any in the future! :D

a dapper Bandit in a suit

#bandit (elsen)#bandit elsen #bandit #finch #finch (PGF)#finch (elsen)#Project GoldFinch #PGF Dev #oc #original art #original character #louis (elsen)#fan oc #off fan oc #elsen oc #elsen (off)#elsen off

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planet-gay-comic · 10 months ago

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The Sensual Soirees of Ancient Roman Merchants

In the heart of ancient Rome, particularly before the establishment of the Empire, social and cultural dynamics unfolded that were distinctly different from those of later epochs. One facet of this era, often mentioned in literary and historical works, is the sensual feasts of the merchants, serving as a reflection of a more open attitude towards sensual and homoromantic relationships within certain social strata. These feasts offered not just a setting for culinary enjoyment but were also centers of cultural, business, and personal exchange.

At lavishly laden tables, adorned with exquisite dishes and exotic fruits, merchants displayed not only their wealth but also their far-reaching trade relationships. Music, poetry, and dance were integral parts of these gatherings, creating an atmosphere of freedom and openness, and thus fostering a culture of tolerance and acceptance.

These feasts were also a breeding ground for free and unbound conversations, often giving rise to deeper, personal relationships. In a world where personal connections and networks were of crucial importance, such events played a significant role both in private and in social life.

A vivid picture of this era is drawn in the literary works of the time, particularly in Petronius' "Satyricon," as well as in the poems of Catullus and Horace. Another example is found in the works of the poet Catullus. In his poems, he openly speaks about his feelings for a young man named Juventius. These poems are characterized by their emotional openness and direct description of his affection and longing.

Horace, a contemporary of Catullus, offers a somewhat different perspective in his poems. His works often reflect philosophical and ethical themes and show how culture and personalities influenced social life. Horace's poems, known for their elegance and subtle observations, convey an image of the social strata and the role that cultural events such as the merchants' feasts played in this context.

The "Satyricon," written by Petronius in the first century AD, is a key work that provides insight into the daily life and society of ancient Rome. This novel, often regarded as one of the first novels in world literature, illustrates the extravagant life of the Roman upper class. Particularly relevant are the descriptions of Trimalchio's feast, which reflect the decadence and excess of the time. The detailed accounts of the banquets and entertainments offer valuable insights into the cultural practices and social interactions typical of the merchants' feasts.

Catullus, a poet of the first century BC, is known for his passionate and often personal poems. His works illuminate the emotional depth and complexity of interpersonal relationships in Rome. Catullus' lyricism, ranging from passionate love to biting satire, illustrates the diversity of emotional expressions present in Roman society and reflects the atmosphere of openness found at the merchants' feasts.

Text supported by Chat GPT-4 Base Image generated with DALL-E, overworked with SD-1.5 inpainting and composing.

#AncientRome #HomoromanticHistory #AncientWorld #gayart #LGBTQ #gayhistory #loveislove #gaylove #manlovesman

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my-my-my · 2 years ago

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Loved your answers to the meta hcs on Aizen. Any chance that you can include more? Thanks!!

Sure! I feel like many of these are hcs several others also share, so it may not necessarily be new, but these are things I think about when it comes to him. He's a complex character imo, and there are so many tidbits I like to overanalyze haha!

I also apologize because this isn't very meta - but more of a word dump about how there are little references that add to Aizen's complexity (even if it's from me overanalyzing everything lmao).

This is incredibly long, so thank you to those who take the time to read this! I really appreciated how responsive people were to my last meta post, it means a lot.

I apologize for not replying to comments (I can't on this account), but it truly means a lot that people also feel similarly about Aizen!

👓 NAME 👓

I'm not fluent in Japanese AT ALL, like super basic, rudimentary skills, but I'd like to think Kubo put thought into the names of his characters.

Let's breakdown his last name: Aizen (藍染). I think many common assumptions is that his name is tied to the god of lust and wisdom (Aizen-myoo) but the kanji is completely different from that mythical figure (愛染明王).

The kanji in our Aizen, represents indigo dye. It also shares the same kanji as a Japanese-native psychoactive mushroom (Psilocybe subcaerulipes [藍染芝生茸]).

I find indigo an interesting colour. I always saw it as leaning towards blue, but other times I've seen it lean towards violet. In a sense, it blends between the two - you can interpret this as how Aizen blended between being a wonderful captain, to a murderous traitor of Soul Society. Or going even further, an excellent and skilled shinigami, to an even more powerful, dangerous transcendent being.

Indigo dye, purple, deep violets, etc. are family of colours perceived as royalty in historical Western kingdoms - what did Aizen want to do? Become the Soul King.

Aizen's own reiatsu is depicted as being a violet colour.

In Japan, the shades of indigo have a different meaning: benevolence/virtue (again, this is where you can interpret indigo as more blue or more purple). He saw killing Tosen, attempting to kill Hinamori, etc. as "benevolent" acts (even if his perceptions are deeply skewed). He was also known to be a virtuous captain before his betrayal. Here is a link to traditional Japanese colour theory.

This is more of a stretch, because the likely reason the psychoactive mushroom has the name "Aizen" in Japanese is because it bruises into an "indigo" like colour, but again - psychoactive mushrooms cause hallucinatory effects. When you're tripping, your senses are deeply affected.

There's something to be said about tripping on shrooms. From personal experience, you want someone you trust, to be sober and watch over you, you want to be around people you trust, etc. This is from the concept of "set and setting" - your emotions are deeply affected by shrooms. The hallucinatory properties of kyoka suigetsu deeply affected many people's emotional responses. Aizen, who would be the "sober" one, is untrustworthy and pushed people further into his hypnosis until he undid it, leaving many mentally scarred for a time being (Hinamori). This is also a massive risk when taking psychoactive drugs.

Another way to see interpret his name is that it could be a reflection of his family's status. Many cultures, historically, had names based on family's main occupation. Indigo dye could be interpreted into many facets: were his family merchants? Were they silk weavers? Indigo is a very difficult colour to create, so it would be expensive - it could be a fair assumption that Aizen grew up comfortably, but still very, very far off from the nobles.

This could explain how Aizen understood the meaning for birthdays - as even Hitsugaya pointed out, being in Rukongai 1, birthdays were not important. Again with Aizen, you can interpret him as being knowledgeable about everything, or it could reflect that he grew up in an environment where birthdays were celebrated, making him "better off" than those in all of Rukongai.

You can interpret that the association of his family having some mercantile occupation, giving him insight as to how the noble families operated, and him growing his disgust towards them. "These people rule over Soul Society? They're complete idiots." or something of that effect haha!

On the other hand, there are similarities between Aizen, the god Aizen-myoo, and divinity.

Within the Japanese Monarchy, there are 3 items tied to it and the royalty's associated godhood: Kusanagi (sword); the Yata no Kagami (mirror); Yasakani no Magatama (jewel). KS represents both the sword and mirror - the hogyoku represents the jewel. Aizen held both at one point in the story, but were "destroyed" - thus stopping him from reaching the royal palace ("godhood").

The hogyoku was revealed to be a "wish-granting" item, which is very similar to the "hoju" in Japanese Buddhist mythology. There are certain gods and goddesses associated with this jewel: Kannon (who is the figure in Urahara's sword/bankai); Jizo Bosatsu (Mayuri's Ashisogi Jizo) and Aizen-myoo. It could be that Kubo wanted Mayuri to also be involved/have a connection to the hogyoku too!

Both Aizen and Aizen-myoo open their third eye, associated with beings of a higher consciousness, spiritual awareness, and enlightenment.

Aizen and Aizen-myoo can be seen as foils in their depiction, aside from having similar sounding names. Aizen-myoo's skin is flushed red, while his hair is wild and unkept - which is tied to passion, rage and lust - raw emotion. Aizen Sousuke is the opposite, his skin is stark white (devoid of passion), his hair is slicked back (composed). He's controlled in his emotions until Urahara seals him in bright red seals. His hair also becomes wild!

Another thing about Aizen-Myoo: he is the patron god for many occupations, one of those are trades relating to fabric-dyeing, going back to the indigo aspect :).

So Sousuke/Sosuke, as Kubo wrote it is: 惣右介

The 惣 represents:

A historical term for rural, self-governance (and what did Aizen want to do again…). Specifically referring to the "Muromachi period". Interestingly to note, this period is where Zen Buddhism flourished, especially in the arts (like calligraphy!!).

右 represents "right-hand side" (as in "turn right at the corner") 介 for being "concerned with one's self".

Sousuke/Sosuke is a popular Japanese name, which adds another layer to Aizen's deception. His name is very common, almost like he's an NPC - he's so innocuous in the world of Sereitei. Mild-mannered, disciplined, refined, he doesn't stand out too much, but enough to be recognized for his work ethic.

At the same time, I'm not taking too much stock into this interpretation of his meaning :). For example, Kisuke (喜助) also has the same suffix in romaji (-ke), but different kanji associated with it (介 vs 助).

🪞 🌸 🌊 🌙 KYOKA SUIGETSU 🌙 🌊 🌸 🪞

I'm not doing a breakdown on the idiom kyoka suigetsu represents (as there are countless, and better explained posts breaking that down better than I can). What instead I'm bringing, is how kyoka suigetsu is a tool to show how ambitious and focused Aizen is. This section is very much thanks to this Reddit post and additional "research" I wanted to know more about lol!.

One of the most prominent books on swordfighting, strategy and warfare in Japan is "A Hereditary Book on the Art of War" written by Yagyu Munenori in 1632. This book is split into three arches: 1) The Killing Swords; 2) Life-giving Sword; 3) No Sword.

In this book, Munenori breaks down the same idiom kyoka suigetsu represents, but ties it to sword fighting.

Munenori takes the idiom "moon in the water" but equates it as the moon's ability to instantaneously cast its reflection on the water's surface, and how a warrior must do the same.

A warrior must be able to "see" far ahead, like the moon, and "cast his reflection" (killing strike, his ambition) on where he wants to go, just like the moon reflecting on the water. His ambition will guide his "body, hands, and feet", thus without ambition, your physical strength is useless.

To be able to utilize their ambition and physical strength effecitvely, the warrior must be focused and disciplined. Aizen (prior to his loss against Ichigo and Urahara), exhibited a lot of Zen values/attitudes, even in his fighting.

Munenori also discusses that the warrior, who is able to mimic "the moon reflecting on to the water", must be unreadable, mysterious, to his opponent - the opponent should be confused on when to strike (the warrior's "inscrutable sword").

What Munenori states as "body, hands, and feet" is just knowing/being able to read your opponents

"Sickness" isn't the literal physical ailment of being sick, but in the Zen meaning of "being free of fixations".

Zen teachings explain that true freedom comes from "freeing the mind of fixations without losing concentration, attention, or control". Aizen's own focus is an great example of that - his ability to make near perfect illusions is not a testament to kyoka suigetsu, but of his own mind.

Aizen was constantly focused on the "present", while being very aware on what he needed to go "further ahead". His ability to continuously wield his strength/reaitsu, with his high intelligence and tactical mind, made him probably one of the strongest enemies Soul Society ever faced. We can argue that Aizen's "fixation" on being the Soul King led to his downfall.

Combining this, kyoka suigetsu is powerful because Aizen is the one wielding it. Even Gin said so himself, it's not KS that's powerful, but Aizen - his focus, his ambition, intelligence, etc. make him fearsome. Applying Munenori's tactics to Aizen's own sword fighting ability, also adds an additional appreciation of Aizen's immense strength.

🤫 APPEARANCE 🤫

This is a shorter section lol, but Aizen having glasses as part of his attire is a very deliberate choice imo. It's pretty much the same reason the protagonist of Persona 5 wore them:

it creates an "unassuming" appearance; Aizen appears as a non-threatening, and ✨intellectual✨

Without his glasses, he has a intense, even menacing stare. I'm sure the students at the Soul Academy were curious to see what he looked without them, but they would probably be very intimidated if they saw him without his glasses.

Shaggy, almost unkept hair, gives a sense of approachability.

I think Aizen was very aware about how he looks/is meticulous about his apperance. His disguise as "Lieutenant/Captain Aizen" had to be very believable - he was deliberate in how he presented himself.

Even in a modern AU setting, I can see Aizen having a wardrobe that leans towards timeless, classic pieces, and pieces that avoid him standing out. He is an observer, and he also likes to take people by surprise. Maybe the nice, cashemere sweater he's wearing, costs $500 haha! Something like that.

It's not that he cares what other people think of him, but he has goals he wants to achieve, and showing is "true" self, will not yield him that reward. He's aware that he can further his agenda by playing into the hands of how the public treats and reacts to him.

👩‍🔬 🧑‍🔬 👨‍🔬 SCIENTISTS 👨‍🔬 🧑‍🔬 👩‍🔬

Aizen, Urahara and Mayuri are the three (in)famous scientists in Sereitei. I would also argue Shutara Senjumaru of the Royal Guard also deserves a spot for that, so I'm going to include her in this as well.

We see that Mayuri and his sword, if you were to "categorize" what science he fell under, it would be "toxicology" which is more chemistry and biology driven. Mayuri is focused on poisons, their effects, and his tolerance/immunity to them. Urahara on the other hand, would be biological engineering. He also invented the hogyoku, as well as the untraceable gigai, and many other tools. His bankai is also representative of anatomical dissections, which is pretty prominent in many applications of biological engineering.

Shutara would be associated with materials science since she created the Shinigami uniform, which has built-in defense properties. She also created the Shutara scale to detect hollows and their frequency (again, dealing with the material, physical world).

Aizen on the other hand? Neuropsychology. His powers and skill are focused on the person's brain/mind and soul. He's skilled at reading people and observing them - to the point in strategizing and using their emotions for his own plans. I mean, there's even a whole subset of how psychology can be used in warfare...

WOW. This was massive. Thanks again for those who read this!!

#aizen sousuke #aizen sosuke #aizen #bleach #sosuke aizen #sousuke aizen #aizen headcanon #anonymous #answered #bleach writings #a writes #aizen meta

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not-poignant · 11 months ago

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November 2023 Writing Round-Up

Here's the monthly round-up of everything written and posted in November 2023! What a HUGE month it's been!

Underline the Black 68

Underline the Black 69

Underline the Black 70

Underline the Black 71

Underline the Black 72

Underline the Blue 05

Underline the Blue 06

The Nascent Diplomat 38

The Nascent Diplomat 39 (Augus+Gwyn Tier+)

Underline the Blue 09 (Augus+Gwyn Tier+)

Underline the Blue 10 (Augus+Gwyn Tier+)

Constellations 03 (Gary+Efnisien Tier+)

Chapter Commentary - Underline the Black 29 (Mosk+Eran Tier+)

Chapter Commentary - Underline the Black 30 (Mosk+Eran Tier+)

Game Theory Edit - Chapter 3 (Gary+Efnisien Tier+)

Game Theory Edit - Chapter 4 (Gary+Efnisien Tier+)

FANFICTION

A Stain that Won't Dissolve 25 (Alex/Sebastian, Stardew Valley)

A Stain that Won't Dissolve 26

Palmarosa 09 (Astarion/Raphael, Baldur's Gate 3)

Palmarosa 10

Palmarosa 11

Thanks to NaNoWriMo, I wrote 62,000 words this month. It would have been a lot more, but some real world stuff came and rained on the parade a little. The next two months will have a slimmer schedule to conserve energy and health. :)

In November, I realised how powerful my Ream account can be going forward (a mirror subscription of Patreon that cleans up very nicely, with its own in-built e-reader), and that has inspired me to create books or compilations of all of the previous Chapter Commentaries so no one needs to search anymore to find them all. They're (almost) all now in book or compilation form at both Patreon and Ream. I will eventually be doing this for Song Spotlights and more :D

I've activated Collections over at Patreon, so for folks looking to quickly find things who don't want to scroll a lot, they can check the Collections tab!

MERCH TIER RELOADED: I've also revamped the Evan+Vexteria tier, so it's now a merch tier as well. Not only do you get everything in the previous tiers, but you also will get a merch drop every 5-6 months, as long as you've been subscribed in that tier, during that 6 month period, for four consecutive months. The first merch drop went out about a week ago.

On the writing side, I started strong with NaNo, but hit the wall after about 60k. It's been rough. I'll be taking care of my health over the next few months in a more conscious and deliberate way.

Constellations is officially launching on AO3 in December!

For those who remember the Merchantverse novel Tradewinds, this is coming in book / e-book form to Patreon and Ream only in the Gary+Efnisien Tier or higher. It is a completed Fae Tales Verse story, that focuses on merchant fae in the southern hemisphere, and Seelie vs. Unseelie merchant traders. This will come either in December 2023 or January 2024.

Sending out love to all who are enjoying the stories and worlds, and to those who contribute to this writing existing in whatever forms you do. I'm endlessly grateful. If anyone ever has any questions about Patreon / Ream etc. or the Schedule and so on, let me know and I'll help out. :D

I'll see you all in December! Which is now! We've just passed our first heatwave, which saw a fire severe enough and close enough to the suburbs that several members of my family needed to evacuate. They are safe, thankfully. My flowers are doing well, and I've kept everything alive despite the heat, and the stonefruit is officially in season. Cherries, nectarines, peaches, apricots and more? Summer might be oppressively hot, but the fruit is wonderful.

#housekeeping #monthly roundup #monthly round up #schedule coming next!!

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princess-earthquake-the-third · 5 months ago

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[More precious than gemstones]

hello,I wrote this after getting somewhat into Topaz,Ratio, and aventurine as a ship, this is just a one shot exploring something I thought of, hope you like it.

(ps, you can interpret this as romantic or not,I didn't think about that when writing it)

The ambience in the bar was dead quiet, on account of it having only a few patrons, some of which were huddled together in their own booth, one was sitting on their own, enjoying a drink, all the while Aventurine was at the counter, the stool he sat on was comfortable, the drinks were good, the barkeep mostly kept to themself, which was preferable to Aventurine, as his reasons for choosing this bar culminated in wanting a reprieve from his work.

Usually his experience at a bar amounted to what is basically an intelligence gathering mission, butter up a few people here and there, get someone in a festive mood where they’re likely to let a few things slip, use his charms to win over a few persons of interest, the works.

And certainly, the IPC provides its workers with the most luxurious hotels, holiday destinations, amusement parks and casinos, for the right price of course, like a very greedy snake eating its own tail.

But this bar was entirely outside of that, a small world of his own, his secret island, the barkeep was more a hobbyist than a merchant, their artistic flare was entertaining, the patrons were few and far between, and none of them knew him, and if they did, they didn’t bother to bring it up, the IPC’s influence does not reach here, mainly because it has no reason to, there is no profit to be made in a random hidden bar, no matter how fancy it may be.

The shop’s entrance opened suddenly and the bell-like device above it let out a melodious ring, surprised by the noise Aventurine turned to look and recognized the figure as none other than his coworker Topaz and her companion Numby, Topaz was looking into a communication device, most likely closing a deal or making one, such was the life of an IPC worker.

He controlled his expression into a wry smile, he was a gambler by trade yes, and unexpected variables were his bread and butter, yet he could not help but be caught off guard by her intrusion upon his little island.

Topaz turned off the device, having evidently completed whatever it was she was doing and looked up, she smiled slightly upon noticing him, and confidently made her way towards him, she took a vacant seat beside Aventurine, and Numby simply floated beside her.

‘’I’ll have a crimson saucer, oh also, one galaxy ranger please’’ she told the bartender, who immediately started mixing the drinks, in a show of finesse and talent, manipulating the ingredients of both drinks at the same , each with a single hand ,they ended their show by mixing both drinks in the same mixer, and pouring them out in succession.

The drinks were then presented to Topaz and Numby, who were visibly impressed.

The crimson saucer , called as such because of how the foam the red liquid contains takes the shape of a saucer, is an alcoholic drink with a fruity flavor, the white over striking red creating a beautiful picture, topped with the simple but elegant slice of silverberry, the galaxy ranger on the other hand, named after a galaxy ranger that had gotten lost and wandered into the bar , apparently leaving a strong impression upon the owner, was a strong drink ,purple liquid with a white line slashing it in half , red particles could be seen floating in it, like flower petals gently swaying in the abyss, as if they came from the slash itself, the drink emanated dark haze, like something sinister, yet its flavor was as gentle as sleep, which was what most of those who drank it experienced right after it entered their bodies, as this drink had a track record of being too much for some.

Topaz held the glass of crimson saucer in her hand, while Numby was sipping? From a twisted red straw in the shape of a flower, Aventurine found the whole arrangement rather ludicrous, but he supposed the body of a trotter interacted with certain things differently.

For his part though, he preferred ‘’Golden slumber’’, a drink that contained alcohol, honey, and citrus, simple, but beautiful all the same, it looked like a sunset, the bottom was a deep violet that gave way to a brilliant gold at the top, the rim of the glass incrusted with some substance , possibly sugar or salt, so that it looked as though it was inlaid with gems, and tasted just as wonderfully as it looked , Aventurine was by no means a lightweight, but he was more partial to savoring the flavors of a drink rather than attempting to pass out.

Topaz broke the silence by putting her elbow on the counter, drink in hand, and turning to face him, she mockingly said ‘’So, come here often?’’

‘’Topaz, to what do I owe the pleasure?’’ he answered sarcastically.

‘’Nothing important, just came to check on you before the big mission, touch base and all’’ she replied, adding ‘’ and you better wipe that look off your face’’ she pointed at him with the hand that held her drink, he smile had become an annoyed frown.

‘’ Well, there’s no need for that, we’ve already gone through what, thirty meetings? I can recite the plan in my sleep now” he sighed” and if you’re still worried about your little jewel, there’s nothing to do , orders are orders and all that” Numby let out a grunt, Topaz grabbed them and started petting the agitation out of them, evidently they had already went through their drink, Aventurine measure of Numby had changed.

“First of all, I know what your plans amount to” she raised her fingers at the words plans, and continued” and second of all, I’m not worried about that thing” the thing in question being her cornerstone, her expression turned serious” I don’t use it that often, not that I like to, and if anything happened to it, Diamond would just make me a new one at some point” she let out a little laugh” not before making me work for it though, I’m worried about you dumbass” saying this , she looked at him, and he felt small under her eyes.

The words knocked him off balance for a second , his fiddled with his hands before covering himself with an unreadable smirk” just do your part , and I’ll do mine” he stuttered through the words more than he would’ve liked to.

“ugh, you know, just cuz you technically outrank me right now, doesn’t mean you have to be such a pain in the ass about it” she let Numby jump off her lap , sensing it was time to leave , they were ready to move out.

“At least you’re working with Ratio, he’ll probably keep you out of trouble” she rummaged in her pockets for her phone” although knowing you two, things might get out of control, is it too late to convince the family to let me in with you?” this she said with none of the conviction of expecting a real answer, the family is suspicious at best of the IPC, that they managed to get Aventurine in was already quite the deal.

“I can take care of myself” Aventurine said, exasperated” and Ratio would rather throw chalk at my head than work with me, so I imagine he’ll be very enthusiastic about this” he rolled his eyes.

“That may be true” she chuckled “but you know, he cares about you, we both do”

At this Aventurine‘s eyes widened, yet he smile remained “yeah sure”

Topaz frowned, then there was a shine in her eyes, she had an idea.

“ Wanna bet , then?”

“What??”

“Let’s bet on it” Topaz explained “if it’s heads, I’ll pay for the drinks, if its tails, you pay and you have to admit that we care about you”

“You sure you want to gamble with me?” his cup was empty, he supposed he could go for another golden slumber.

“The drinks aren’t that expensive” they were, but both of them were rich, so it didn’t particularly matter who paid, the second part of that bet that concerned Aventurine.

Aventurine used a chip he keeps on him for spontaneous bets such as these, it was his lucky chip, he played with it for a bit, to Topaz’s annoyance, he then flipped it and held it in his closed palm, of course he knew how to achieve desirable outcomes when it came to betting, but he supposed it was only fair to, well, play it fair in this instance.

Before he could reveal his hand however, Topaz went ahead and paid for the drinks, and his second cup of golden slumber was served.

He looked at her baffled “I just thought, whether or not I win you probably won’t admit anything, might as well save myself the trouble”, she put her hand on his shoulder as she was leaving and uttered words that knocked the wind out of him for the second time that night “See you on the field, Kakavasha” and she disappeared with the hum of the doorbell.

The chip landed on Tails.

#drops random ramblings #drops writing #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr topaz #hsr ratio #dr ratio #veritas ratio #hsr numby #topaz and numby #topaz #star rail aventurine #hsr fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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