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redorich · 4 years ago

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Out of This World

Niki watches despairingly as her new roommate, one Mr. Wilbur Soot, once again pours water into his cereal. He seems to prefer it that way; Niki can’t help but wonder, not for the first time, whether her roommate is a literal alien from outer space, or just the weirdest motherfucker she’s ever met.

What kind of a last name is Soot, anyway? She thinks to herself unkindly. At least he doesn’t leave dirty clothes on the floor for her to clean up like her last roommate did. But seriously, Niki can’t tell if this man is a crackhead or not.

“Niki, can you pass the salt?” Wilbur says, breaking her out of her reverie. Without thinking, she plucks it from the lowest shelf of the tiny kitchen cabinet and hands it to him. She regrets it instantly when he begins to salt his cereal.

Breathing deeply so as not to grab him by his bony shoulders and shout, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”, she flees the scene of the food crime. When Niki was in college, she was surrounded by people who asserted they had the world figured out. Atoms and gravity and wavelengths. But Niki knows that humanity is desperate to control the uncontrollable, define that which cannot be explained. Science, Niki knows, isn’t just throwing out what doesn’t fit, but rather taking all the data and asking the question, “Why?” So, she thinks, let’s consider the data.

-------

Niki sneaks trepidatiously to the door to Wilbur’s bedroom. Who knows what sort of unholy, confusing mess he’s got in there, lurking in wait for its next unsuspecting victim. A pinch of guilt hits her. Yeah, Wilbur may be a lunatic, but an alien? Really? It’s a bit uncharitable of her to think such a thing. Shaking herself, she knocks on the door.

“Yes?” Wilbur’s voice carries from inside the room. “Come in.”

Steeling herself, she turns the doorknob with a sweaty palm and is faced with…

A bed. A desk with a computer on it. Two pairs of shoes lined neatly near the closet. Wilbur is taking off his headphones-- he was playing Minecraft. How… ordinary of him.

“Hi, Wilbur. Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted, uh, to see how you were settling in.”

Wilbur smiles his pretty smile. “Thank you. Quite unaccustomed am I to the comforts of-- apartments.”

What Yoda-ass kind of phrasing is that? Niki thinks. A figurine of the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters stares her down from its place on Wilbur’s desk. She meets its eyes warily.

“Oh! Noticed my Ghostbusters statuette, have you?” Wilbur says brightly. “I have more in my closet, if you should like to see them.”

Niki is filled with a sick sense of curiosity. Yes, she wants to see whatever insane thing Wilbur hides in his closet, but she also doesn’t. She idly wonders if Wilbur has ever read The Cask of Amontillado. She feels like he has. This is not comforting.

Wilbur doesn’t sense her hesitation. A small corner of her brain thinks it’s because he’s unfamiliar with human body language. Without pause, Wilbur opens the closet door, revealing…

Niki’s first thought is, where does he keep his clothes? Because the closet is filled with Ghostbusters paraphernalia. The entire. Fucking. Closet. It wasn’t even that great of a movie?? How much did Wilbur spend on this, anyway?

Her roommate misinterprets her blank uncomprehending stare as a marveling gaze. He puffs up proudly.

“Such a profound impact have these movies made! I am truly fortunate to have met a lass of such upstanding artistic caliber, that you should also enjoy the Ghostbusters franchise.”

“Thank you for showing me this,” she says slowly. “I need to-- water the dog. I mean, I left the stove on. At my friend’s house. Uh, see you later.”

She beats a hasty retreat, leaving her apartment for Eret’s place. Something whispers in the depths of her mind: Doesn’t one of the Ghostbusters movies have aliens in it?

-------

Orange is her favorite nail polish color. Eret paints the nails on her right hand in that soft warm shade of orange as he listens to her complain.

“Am I being irrational? Like, do you think I’m going too far?”

Eret hums noncommittally, putting a little flamingo sticker on her index nail. “He does sound like an unusual person, but I don’t know if I would say he’s an alien.”

Niki nods her head, since she can’t gesture with her hands. “Okay, yeah, sure-- but he puts salt in his cereal with water. He has a literal dragon’s hoard of memorabilia from shitty movies that came out like three decades ago. And his vibe is just...off. Like when I talk to him, he’s there, but his head’s drifting off somewhere in outer space. God, I’m the worst.”

Eret protests. “Hey, hey, you’re not the worst. Look. I don’t know why this dude is bugging you out so much, but you said he didn’t seem dangerous, right?”

Niki nods dejectedly.

“So, we can figure this out together,” Eret says with a flourish, screwing the top back onto the bottle of polish.

The tender moment is interrupted by Niki’s ringtone. It’s from Wilbur; speak of the devil and he shall appear. Gingerly, so as not to ruin the wet paint on her nails, she picks up the phone and puts it on speaker. “Hello?” she says, motioning for Eret to remain quiet.

“Ahoy, Niki! Wherefore are mine frog legs gone?”

“What?” Eret mouths at her. Niki doesn’t understand either.

“Sorry, Wilbur, what was that?”

“My frog legs,” comes the crackly timbre of a phone in an area with poor reception. “They are no longer in the refrigerator.”

Niki sputters. “Why did you have frog legs in the-- no, never mind. I don’t know what happened to your frog legs, Wilbur.”

The phone line repeats static to her for a moment as Wilbur pauses. “Interesting. Perhaps they walked away, as legs are so oft wont to do. Niki, would you mind dearly to purchase some more? And perhaps, be you willing, some condensed milk?”

Eret silently gags at the idea of frog legs and condensed milk together. Niki doesn’t blame him.

“Okay,” Niki says.

Eret shakes his head at her, as though begging her not to torture herself like this. The moment Niki hangs up, the first words out of Eret’s mouth are, “That man is one hundred percent an alien. I am so sorry I ever doubted you.”

-------

With frog legs, condensed milk, and an Eret in tow, Niki enters her apartment the following morning with new-found assurance. The rest of the evening goes about as normal as it can, with Wilbur humming nursery rhymes and stirring a pot of, quite frankly, poison. Niki and Eret hide in the living room watching all the Ghibli movies until the only light left comes from the TV in front of them. The front door opens and the floors creak as Will enters. I thought he was in his room?

Eret seems to be on the same page as her. “I didn’t hear him leave,” he says, distant fear in his eyes.

Niki’s ears pick up a faint sound. “Shh!” she hisses. “He’s on the phone.”

Though the apartment is dark (the only light being the TV), Wilbur’s eyes glow like an animal caught on camera. Niki shivers. She only barely catches a glimpse before he ducks back into the entrance hallway, but what she sees unnerves her.

“Philza, calm down,” Wilbur says from the hallway as he takes off his shoes. “It is fine, she suspects not.”

A pause. The other person on the line, Philza, is talking.

Wilbur replies, “She was impressed with my Ghostbusters collection, you know-- Ghostbusters is a great movie, fuck off!”

Another pause. Wilbur sighs.

“Aye, I must admit you may have been right on that one. Pretending to be human is--”

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

Wilbur’s head peers around the hallway’s corner in a panic to see Niki and Eret. Niki is pointing her finger at Wilbur with pride on her face, and Eret looks as though he wants to be doing the same thing.

The two in the living room both flush a bit at the outburst, but Niki doggedly continues. “You’re an alien!”

Even though Wilbur’s phone isn’t on speaker, Niki and Eret hear Philza’s laughter from all the way across the room. Wilbur sputters and angrily hangs up the phone, before turning the corner to properly face the two humans. His eyes are actually glowing, it wasn’t a trick of the light, Eret observes. Of course, he also notes that Wilbur’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, and he looks about ready to jump out the window to run from them.

“I am… not an alien,” Wilbur says softly.

“Wh-- but you just said--” Eret says, then cuts himself off when Wilbur phases through the fucking floor.

“He’s a ghost,” Niki whispers, all the pieces clicking into place. Old English, weird taste in food, Ghostbusters are you kidding me. If Niki didn’t just watch her roommate evaporate, she’d be banging her head against a wall and asking her professors to revoke her degree.

Wilbur phases back up through the floor, much closer this time but still hesitant. He sits down a few feet away from the pair of humans nervously. He’s more afraid of us than we are of him, Niki thinks. Like the bears at the zoo.

“For many years, observed the living have I,” Wilbur begins slowly. “I wished to commune with them once again, as one of their own. My father-- Philza-- said unto me that I knew nothing of the modern era. I confess that he was right. Willst you cast me out of your home, knowing now of the spectre that I am?”

Niki tries and fails to suppress the amused quirk of her eyebrow. “How about this: Eret and I show you the ropes of being alive in the 21st century, and in return, you keep the frog legs on your side of the fridge?”

Wilbur smiles that pretty smile again. “Deal.”

-------

“Niki? What is an OnlyFans?”

FIN

#this was a collab written with barnaclegirl on discord #she doesnt have a tumblr so i cant tell yall to follow her :(#mcyt #nihachu #wilbur soot #eret #philza #ph1lza #me.txt #dream smp

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flowerfruite-slugs · 4 years ago

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Slug Habitats

Backstory

I got my slug, Harold, about a month ago. When I first got them it was 7:30 at night as I was going to my freezer to get food to warm up, and found them on a trail outside my house. I immediately scooped them up and said that I would claim them as a pet. Honestly, I didnt expect them to survive this long.

I put them in a jar and cut five holes in the lid as I researched how to take care of a banana slug, as I was very ill prepared. I quickly learned that this was no size of enclosure appropriate for a 6 inch long banana slug. I ventured to my basement to grab my old fishbowl.

I kept Harold in my fishbowl for a week and a half, soon realizing they were very depressed. Slugs are explorers, and Harold had no place to explore, only moss and rocks. Something needed to change soon, especially as they stopped eating.

Frantically, I started searching for what could be wrong with them. Was it what I was feeding them? Lack of a vitamin? A temperature change? Eventually I came to the conclusion they needed a bigger home. It was time for an upgrade.

After having Harold for a week I decided on a ten gallon aquarium, with a nice mesh lid. Below I will tell you about the enclosure and requirements I recommend!

Enclosure Items

This will be a list of what is included in my enclosure

Ten Gallon Aquarium: This aquarium is a reasonable size for my Pacific Banana Slug, as they are six inches long. Remember to fit your aquarium to your slug or snails needs!

Mesh Covering: Use a mess top for your aquarium, as your enclosure will need a constant air flow, and your new friend hopefully wont be able to escape :) be sure that you find one with matching dimensions!

Aquarium Toys: Harold has both a large battleship and a bridge in his enclosure. He likes to explore these items, as they have a nice texture and many holes and grooves!

A Place To Hide: Slugs spend most of their life underground, so your new best friend will need a place to take shelter. I use a plant pot burrowed into soil to provide some coverage :)

Feeding Center: This is a small smooth surface to keep food you give to your slug, as slugs can be messy lil friends

Others: I also have a wooden mushroom given to me by a friend, as well as sticks with fun grooves in them for Harold to travel! Make sure your enclosure is not too crowded, but also has plenty of fun things!

Preparation

Thisll offer a short guide on how I prepared my slugs enclosure!

Start by baking your soil at 400 degrees Fahrenheit to kill any creatures in it. MAKE SURE you bake more than you think youll need, it will save you from having to bake more

The soil can then be taken out and put into the aquarium, and shouldnt take too long to cool

Start dampening your soil with water, until it is moist enough that it will keep shape in your hand without seeping water

Place all of your items as you would like and transfer your slug into their new home!

Maintenance

This will be a brief statement on maintenance, water details will come soon!

I would not recommend switching out your soil, as slugs thrive in bacteria

If you do find yourself switching out soil, switch it out every one to two weeks, but only half at a time. Then, mix the bacterial dirt with the new dirt, so that your slug will thrive

Make sure to dampen your enclosure so that it is constantly wet, as dry surfaces can damage your slugs skin

Feel free to clean the side of the enclosure whenever you would like, wipe them down with a paper towel and water :)

If you have any questions feel free to ask! And that is all for Slug Habitats! 🐌

#slug #slugs and snails #slugs #snail #snails #pet #pets #habitat #habitats #pet animals #my pets #snailcore #nature

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sonders-bookshelf · 4 years ago

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One (1) person has asked for this so without further ado one of my many Vigilante Shinsou Ideas

(also disclaimer I'm pretty lenient with Shinsou's quirks abilities bc at least so far we haven't seen much of it don't @ me)

Ok so! We lay our scene in fair corona and. Idk what the inciting incident is yet- I'll work on the backstory later rnrn is the second chapter onward (First chapter is backstory, as is necessary) All I know is Shinsou is around. 13-14 at the start of the fic

So Shinsou becomes somewhat of a Vigilante, taking down various people using his quirk alone (bc this child is good at provoking people not following through) he uses his quirk on them but there's no proof of it bc he pretty much consistently brainwashes the bad guys to forget what he looked like or what happened. (He hates brainwashing the innocent people, but he does whenever they pop up. He usually tells them not to remember that he used his quirk, along with telling them a wildly different description to tell the police (so that in case someone gets away, they're description of him can't be considered accurate)

He eventually like. Realizes if he's gonna go out looking for trouble he needs smth better than a hoodie and a mask

So he puts padding into his sweatshirt and his jeans, as well as saving up for some combat boots. He fashions himself a utility belt (mainly for show, but he likes to think he could put smth in the empty pockets one day. He so far only has mace and a pocket knife)

He fits his mask (black with a cat nose and whiskers on it) with a voice modulator and, for extra measure, buys some green colored contacts.

Its after this that he first encounters Eraserhead

He almost forgets to run when he first sees him, he's so starstruck. But eraser is almost finished with the guy he was fighting and ohfuck that means hes coming for me next- and he starts booking it down the street

Eraser catches up to him easily (he's been trying, but he's still not exactly the embodiment of physical fitness) and its in a panic that Shinsou uses his quirk on Eraser

He sits there a moment with the pro under his control before he fully realizes what he's done. He's like 'ohhhh shit' "turn around and finish your patrol. You saw me, but i disappeared before you could catch up. In your police report, you'll say i had straight red hair" and as Eraser starts walking away he's like 'ah. Im gonna die.' And yeets home

They do this for a while, woth Aizawa almost catching up and Shinsou having to use his quirk on him. He stops altering his memories of the events, and eventually he starts following Aizawa instead of vice versa

Aizawa, surprisingly, wasn't aware of this until one night he was fighting a group of thugs and right as one of the men moved in his periphery, something dropped onto the man's head. Aizawa finishes thr fight and looks up to see a pair of green eyes staring back at him before running off

This happens a couple of times, with the kid following from far behind, making sure no one gets the drop on Eraser when, one night after Shinsou dropped a potted plant on someone, Eraser calls out "You can come down here, kid. Im not gonna hurt you"

There's stunned silence, then some shuffling.

"You might not hurt me, but you'll still arrest me."

Aizawa sighs "i wont arrest you either. If your helping me, id rather be able to recognize you afterwards." (Aizawa remembered the couple of times He caught up to puppet, and they're conversations didnt seem much changed but his appearance was different every time.)

#vigilante Shinsou au #shinsou Hitoshi #yes Eraserhead is in this fic what do you want from me #Aizawa Shouta #dadzawa #theres also Erasermic because. yes obviously #I have more for this but this is where i ran out of steam so

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a-method-in-it · 4 years ago

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Trans(masculine) former Potterhead here! I still own the books, were a gift, a hardcover set from my mom from years ago. I even made a parody of Im a Lumberjack and I'm OK from Monty Python as I'm a Hufflepuff and I'm OK and helped found a Dumbledore's Army club at my High School I loved HP so much, I was obsessed, but now I have so many mixed emotions about the franchise I don't really know what to do.

I cannot speak for trans women, but as a queer trans person, if I see someone reading the books or watching the movies or wearing merch its like. Ok. I know I might get along with this person, they like the same stuff I (used to) like....BUT do they know how the werewolf thing is about AIDS, implying gay people are out of control monsters, and how the only villain with werewolfism specifically targets minors, implying pedophilia is a trait inherent in gay people? Do they know that when a trans woman reads the books they worry they wont be "woman enough" to keep the stairs in the girls dorm from turning into a slide, because they know that the author specifically thinks they don't deserve to sleep in the girl's dorm because of their gentials? Do they understand that JK Rowling's opinions are there, insidiously rooting into young minds? Are they reading this critically? Or do they support what JK is saying? Do they know all of these things and not care about it, dismiss it out of hand?

Does this person want me dead?

It boils down to a Feeling of Unease. Is this person safe for me to be around? There is a Very Real Danger that the person in the Ravenclaw Shirt and Golden Snitch Earrings is going to call the police on a trans woman going to the bathroom, or beat her, or even kill her, because the author of their favorite series has convinced them trans women are men in dresses and that men in women's bathrooms are dangerous. That person could also be a nice genuine nerd, queer themselves, even potentially a friend, but now I am Suspicious of that person. I am suspicious of anyone who openly enjoys it (unless they are children, kids don't know better, or if they have a tattoo, idk how old that tat is). They want to read it at home and want a discussion on new themes and how to make it better/less gross? Fine by me.

But if someone is publicaly supportting her, staying extremely active in the fandom defending the books or movies or JK herself, having and wearing merch which could direct new people (probably kids! Who will get Obsessed! And don't know better!) into buying things from her and giving her money? After all that she's done? After she literally helped create legislation against being trans?? Not cool.

The series is just simply tainted for a lot of trans folk like me. I still hold it dear foe what it did for me as a child, and I know if I read the series again I would still love it, but I would also HATE myself for enjoying it, knowing that the person who wrote this, the bit of her soul which she has given me, wants me dead. Wants my friends dead.

So I'm not really saying if you support HP publicaly people will see you as a TERF but I am also absolutely saying that people will see you as a TERF if you publicaly support the HP franchise. Death of the author is well and good when the author is dead and/or their estate doesn't get any money for new books or merch purchased, but she is alive and actively trying to kill trans folks, so literally anything that could be seen as support of her, or get others to support her even accidentally, can make trans folk uncomfortable and feel unsafe.

Hope this helped? I know I'm not the original asker, this is just my two cents.

Hi there! Thank you for posting this lengthy and very thoughtful response (and I hope you don’t mind my answering publicly -- if so, let me know and I’ll delete). There is one (admittedly very long) thing I’d like to say in response, but if you’re not looking for that, just know that I really value hearing your perspective and you can feel free to skip all of this and carry on your way.

---

You say that you would probably enjoy the books if you reread them, but would hate yourself for doing so -- and I just want to say that what you like does not make you a bad person or act as any valid basis for deserving hate, from yourself or anyone else.

Like, for instance, I’m a person who cannot stand horror movies and I am genuinely confused that anyone would enjoy watching terrible things happen to people for 90+ minutes. But I would never say that people who like horror movies are bad people just because they do enjoy that. The same goes for violent video games -- I don’t like them, but I don’t think the people who do are bad.

Because what media you personally enjoy has really no bearing on whether you are a good person. Being a good person is about how you treat others, whether you are kind, whether you are patient, whether you are understanding, whether you help people when you can and show up for the people in your life when they need you. It has nothing to do with whether you like a particular book or movie or videogame.

So if you do want to reread those books because you think they would bring you joy, I hope that you do.

Long before she became a TERF -- (and for the record, I don’t think that she was actively and consciously transphobic at the time when she was writing the books, for the simple reason that most of the people who are TERFs today weren’t at that point) -- I had already gotten used to tuning out Rowling and her fondness for Word of God pronouncements.

Like, Dumbledore being gay actually fit into the canon very well, but others? They just felt tired and not thought-out and her whole short history of American magic was incredibly lazy. The werewolfism=AIDS thing was offensive in very real ways--and also it should be noted just does not make sense as a metaphor. Not just because AIDS will kill you and being a werewolf will not and there’s no way to bridge that fundamental disconnect -- but also because the way people talk about being a werewolf in the damn books doesn’t resemble at all the way people talk about AIDS patients in real life. Which makes me think she didn’t actually mean for it to be a metaphor when she wrote it and then years later threw it out there because it sounded good to her in the moment because she hadn’t thought it through.

By the time we got to wizards shitting on the floor because she very clearly forgot that she had already had chamber pots referenced in the text, I was long-since tapped out.

Which is all just to say that it is beyond fair for you to use being a fan of Harry Potter as a data point in gauging your safety as a trans person -- but if we’re talking just about you enjoying the books?

Well, in that case, fuck Rowling and her weird post-canon comments that half the time don’t even make sense. If she wanted trans girls to not be allowed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, she should have put it in the damn text. As far as I’m concerned, trans girls and trans boys are allowed up whichever staircase matches their sense of themselves (and, I like to think, nonbinary kids get the run of the whole tower).

In fact, as far as I’m concerned, she lost the right to have me care what she says about the Harry Potter universe when all of her comments started being unbearably lazy, asinine, and/or nonsensical. If she’d been half this uninspired and careless when writing the actual books, I would have stopped reading them.

This has been a very long reply on that single point, but I want to end by saying that the point is, even if I accepted the premise that liking the Harry Potter books is in and of itself wrong -- and I hope I’ve made something of a case that it’s not -- it still shouldn’t be something you hate yourself over. Short of actually murdering people, I’m not sure there’s anything that’s grounds to outright hate yourself, honestly, but liking a book is definitely not on the list.

Either way, you seem like a lovely person, one who is very thoughtful and has been very patient and generous with your time in writing all of that out. I hope that you find ways to also be a little more patient and generous with yourself -- about Harry Potter or any other topic -- because you deserve that and you do not deserve to be hated by anyone, least of all yourself. And I also hope you have a good rest of your night.

#method speaks #jk rowling discourse #but this my friends #i think #is the end of it for me for a while #she sucks #on multiple levels #the transphobia being the worst #and then just going right on down the list #it confuses me #that the woman who wrote Prisoner of Azkaban #became this #but life is strange #and here we are #theflowerpunknerd

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breanime · 5 years ago

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117 & 119 Miguel galindo Please? 💞💞💞💞 Thank you for doing these!! 😊🌸

117. “I’m all yours.” - “Really?” 119. “Just one moment…” - “What are you doing?” - “Well, I suppose I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s alright.”

I changed #119 a little bit to more fit Miguel’s voice.

TW: mentions of steam

Miguel had been on his phone all week, it seemed. There was some kind of business deal he was working on that involved SAMCRO, the Mayans, Santo Padre AgriPark, and Galindo Enterprises that he promised you would have a “huge pay-off”, but it was taking up most of his time. It was rare for you to see your husband without his phone now, and even rarer to have him to yourself.

So you kept busy. You took on a big project of your own, spending time in your office while Miguel was conducting his own business. You mostly saw him at night, coming in a few hours after you’d already gone to bed as he kissed your forehead before climbing into bed behind you, or in the morning, already up and making a fresh pot of coffee for you as you shuffled your way into the kitchen. If you were lucky, you’d be able to get in a quickie if you woke up and Miguel was still in bed with you, but usually, you would have to settle for a hurried kiss and rushed “I love you”.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was only temporary. And besides, you were actually getting some good work done at your office.

“Mrs. Galindo,” your assistant poked her head through the door, “Mr. Galindo is here to see you.”

That was unexpected. You were digging in one of the file cabinets, looking for some documents from the early 90s, but stopped as you looked over at her. “Miguel is here? Now?” You looked down at the expensive Sterling silver wristwatch Miguel had gotten you for no reason last month and checked the time. It wasn’t even noon yet; you had figured he’d be on his way across the border by this time. “Really?”

“Mm hmm,” she said, smiling, “Should I let him up?” She asked, as if there were any scenario where she—or anyone else—could keep him from you.

“Yes, of course,” you nodded, turning back to your work. You didn’t want to get too excited; he was probably stopping by to tell you he’d be in Mexico longer than expected, or to drop something off before he was out again. It would be nice to see him for any amount of time, you knew how busy his life could get, and you didn’t fault him for it—his work ethic was one of the many things you always loved about him.

“Good morning, mi amor,” Miguel greeted you with a hug and a kiss as soon as he was shown into your office. You melted in his embrace, giggling like a schoolgirl when you felt his hand on your ass. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, baby,” you said back, smiling up at him, “Are you on your way over the border?”

He shook his head. “No need,” he replied, “Alvarez is handling that part for me, and I’ve got the MC dealing with the Crows for me.” He grinned, his smile making your heart speed up. “So I thought I’d come by and see how mi reina is doing.”

“Busy,” you sighed, moving away from him and back over to the file cabinet, “I’m writing up this contract for some pompous asshole who’s more interested in my ass than my assets,” you told him.

“Mm,” Miguel hummed, standing behind you with his hands on your hips, “can’t say that I blame him.” He leaned forward and put his lips on the back of your neck. “Do you need me to have a word with him?”

You laughed, shuffling files and shaking your head. “No, mi amor, it’s fine.” You laughed again when you felt him pressing more kisses to your neck. “Miguel…”

“You know I love when you wear this fragrance,” he said, burying his nose in your hair, “It reminds me of our honeymoon…” His grip on your hips tightened, and he pulled you back towards him. “Do you remember, my love? We hardly ever left the bed…”

You closed your eyes, mind flashing back to those sweet, sweet days where you and Miguel were the only two people in the world. “I remember,” you answered. You opened your eyes and turned your neck to capture your husband’s lips in a kiss. “I was sore for days.”

“Yes,” he grinned, turning you around, “you were.” He kissed you again, his body pressed into yours, and you put your hands on his shoulders. “But you begged me to keep fucking you,” he continued, voice low and deep, “didn’t you?”

You nodded, eyes closing again as Miguel’s mouth moved to your neck, kissing the skin there. “I did,” you replied, rolling your neck to give him better access, “I just couldn’t get enough of you.”

“I know the feeling,” you could feel his smirk on your skin, and his hands were started to wander your body.

Your phone rang then, and you removed yourself from Miguel’s lusty embrace to answer it, but he beat you to it.

“Y/N Galindo’s office,” he answered, grinning over at you, “I’m afraid not, she’s going to be taking some time off for a while now… Just one moment…”

“What are you doing?” You asked, watching with wide, surprised eyes as he hung up the phone. “Was that a client?”

“Yes,” he said, coming back over to you with that easy smile on his face, answering your last question, “and they were very understanding. As for what I’m doing…” His hands were on your waist again, and he tugged you forward. “…I’m kissing my wife. I hope that’s alright.”

You laughed despite yourself. “You’re hurting business, is what you’re doing,” you teased, standing on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his, “You should be getting back to work, and so should I.”

“My work is done,” Miguel told you, “I delegated. And now I’m going to sweep my beautiful wife off of her feet and keep her in bed for as long as I can,” he grinned, “I’m all yours.”

“Really?” It was too good to be true. “For real?”

“Yes, mi amor,” Miguel kissed you again, softly, and you sighed against him, “I know you’ve been trying to give me space to work, and I appreciate that, but… I miss my wife. There is nothing more important to me than my family,” he put his hand on your face, “I want to be with you. So… Time off?”

You nodded. “Yes please.”

Triumphant, Miguel kissed you again before moving to your desk and packing your things for you. He was stuffing your laptop in your bag when you came over to him and put your hand over his.

“But first,” you grinned, “I want you to bend me over my desk… let’s make some new memories today, baby.”

Miguel grinned back, pushing your things to the floor with the kind of reckless abandon only a man of his status could afford to have before grabbing you and slamming you onto the desk, chest first. Your breath hitched, and you felt Miguel behind you, hard and ready, as he slowly began to pull up your skirt. “Should we lock the door, my love?”

You shook your head, gripping the edge of the desk in anticipation. “If someone comes in,” you said, breathless, “they can get a full view of us, and see that you’re mine.”

You heard Miguel’s chuckle as he unzipped his pants, and when he spoke, his voice was low and deep, making you shiver.

“Sí, mi reina, I’m all yours.”

*******************************************************************************************

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#miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo imagine #miguel galindo #200 prompts drabble

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modernagesomniari · 4 years ago

Text

Fic ‘Measuring the Veil’ Part 1!!!

I’m sorry what? Somni writing something in more than one part!? Surely not!?

Seriously, my dudes, please be nice.

So this fits into Mala Suledin Nadas and features my Eli Lavellan and Solas (Solaveli, if you will). As might be guessed from the title, I wanted to 'novelise' the quest 'Measuring the Veil' as we didn't have any cutscenes for it. This is my first attempt both at the whole novelisation thing and at writing something that's going to be in more than one part and I hope to do more in the future! You can read it on AO3 here.

Solavellan (Solaveli),~6000 words

PG-13

Canon-Typical Violence

*********************

She was alone at the main fire when Solas approached her, most of the others already in their tents. The sun had only just gone down and the pale vestiges of light peeked through the trees that surrounded the camp. Despite the hill they had chosen they were well hidden and the banner of the Inquisition was displayed proudly on the crest of the rise. Not long ago that would have meant very little, but now both the conclaves of mages and templars had been wiped from the King’s Road even the hardened mercenaries that had, for some reason, taken up this eastern stretch of the Hinterlands didn’t mess with them unduly. Still, she liked to sit on the side of the fire where her back was to the jutting wall of granite that protected them from the wind. It meant she could see through the tress in front of them, shadows growing in the gloaming as the weak daylight gave way to darkness. The fires of the Crossroads lit the valley in front of her in strange, eerie lights that still gave her shivers if she forgot where she was - she would never have got this close to so many shems before.

She smiled at Solas as he came to sit on the thick log the soldiers had brought into camp for them. He sat at a respectful distance, but she could have reached to touch him if she wanted. He also didn’t seem to want to talk immediately, so she went back to flicking through the notebook Varric had given her where she’d been taking notes on what they’d found during the day. They may not have spoken all that much since the Breach but enough that she had noted his surprise in Haven when she had seemed curious and excited about his field of study. He was less enthusiastic about her desire to stick up for her people in the face of his disdain. So they carefully walked around each other, still unsure where the pot holes were.

“We are moving further east tomorrow, yes?” Solas asked, quietly.

“Yes, Scout Denver said there were bandits on the road. No point getting Dennet to send all his horses if they’re just going to be picked off.”

“Indeed. I wonder, then, if I might make a suggestion as to our activity?”

His tone made her look over - if she didn’t know him any better she’d say he sounded a little unsure. His hands were relaxed in his lap save for the fact that one of his thumbs was idly moving over the other, almost bashful. She closed her notebook.

“What sort of suggestion?”

He looked up and she took care to keep her expression neutral.

“If I am correct, I believe there may be an ancient elven artefact nearby here.”

“Oh? What kind? In a ruin? I can’t imagine an intact ruin around here with so many shems. What do you think it is?”

She had already figured out that Solas didn’t smile too much, but there was a tiny, unmistakable twist to his mouth where he was clearly trying not to. “That is many questions I have just asked.”

“I seem to remember you telling me that finding ruins was something of a passion of yours, in your Clan.”

She didn’t want to talk about her Clan right now, they’d probably fight.

“Well yes, it was. So what is it, do you think?”

“I believe it to be an ancient mechanism for interacting with the Veil between your world and the Fade. If I am correct, activating such an artefact would strengthen the Veil in the surrounding area. Which in turn…”

“…might make it harder for Rifts to form.”

Mouth still slightly open from speaking, he nodded instead. “Well that would be amazing, if we could. Do you think it would still work?”

“If the ruins are intact, which I believe they are, then yes. We built to last, despite the ruined state of all that can be found of what is left.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“I’d come across them as I dreamed in ruins, ancient and undisturbed by modern hands - I did not see their use until the Breach. But when I knew our path would bring us here I began to search in earnest.”

His face pinched slightly and he looked down at his hands. “These demons threaten all that live around them. Their anger and their fear have made them mad. They can know nothing but destruction, now.”

Eli was quiet for a moment, the sad cadence to his voice sombre and quiet in the evening air.

“You said you’d come across ‘them’ before - does that mean there may be more than this one? That if we could figure out how to make them work, we could protect the Veil in other places?”

He looked at her like she’d surprised him.

“Yes. I imagine so.”

She nodded, something a little like hope blinking into light in her chest.

“Well that is more than worth researching - will you take us there tomorrow?”

Now he smiled, soft in the firelight.

“I would be honoured to do so, Herald.”

She grimaced.

“Oh you were doing so well until ‘Herald’.”

“Ellana, then.”

“Better.”

She checked that he knew she was jesting with him before turning back to the fire and they settled into a comfortable silence. If only for a moment.

“I shall turn in, I think.”

She felt him move beside her and felt something a little like panic. She didn’t want him to go.

“Oh um, Solas?”

“Yes?”

Think think think, wait.

“I was wondering if I could get a little help? I know you showed me before, but I was looking at that last stanza of the Tyrrda epic today and I couldn’t quite work out your shorthand, could you just remind me of a few things?”

She looked up at him hopefully, praying her eagerness wasn’t too obvious in her face. He looked down at her slightly warily for a moment before nodding and sitting again.

“I would not necessarily expect someone to decipher a whole shorthand in one session, which bit is troubling you?”

She (rather shamelessly, she thought) scooted up the log so that they could look at her notebook together. If her hip and elbow bumped against his, well sometimes you had to make sacrifices for knowledge, didn’t you?

She turned a few of the thick pages until she came to the section she had reserved for Tyrrda. She had painstakingly noted down the first stanza they had found, until Solas had offered to take down her dictation. He had learned an ancient form of shorthand in the Fade, he said and had briefly taught Eli how it worked. To be fair to her, she had genuinely been meaning to ask him about some of the more complex passages before this.

As they sat together, he gently took the charcoal she had been writing with into his own fingers to extrapolate on the symbols he’d used. Eli had been meaning to listen, really she had, but no sooner had she noticed that his woollen jerkin smelt slightly of elfroot that she also saw that, in taking the charcoal, he had managed to get a smear of it on his fingers. The black smudge on his pale skin fascinated her, the starkness of it highlighting how long and elegant those fingers were, how dextrous and delicately they moved as they sketched out words or pointed out similarities in pattern. She rather wanted that hand on her, all of a sudden.

“Do you see the connection?”

She looked up from his inappropriately beautiful hand to see his face close to hers, eyebrows drawn slightly together in question. She had no idea what he was asking her and he knew it. Those brows furrowed further in irritation and he looked away, moving to pass the book back. “If you did not want my help…”

“No, no no no, wait, I did. I definitely did, I was just….distracted.”

“Distracted?”

She had never been able to raise one eyebrow and it was very unfair that he could. By Sylaise’s generous bosom, she had always been bad at this bit.

“Yes, you um, you had charcoal on your hand.”

His irritation faded a little as he looked down at his own hand, now seeming merely non-plussed.

“That is wont to happen when using charcoal, yes.”

She nodded, as if in agreement and the irritation came back again. “What in particular about my charcoaled fingers was so upsetting?”

Eli heard herself stuttering and felt her own hands clench together in front of her body. He noticed, too and there was something vulnerable threading through his annoyance now. “I was not about to dirty you with it, if that is what you were worrying about.”

Oh but I really want to you to dirty me with it, was the immediate thought that went through her mind (along with a vivid image of him using the broad palm of his hand to smear it over her naked stomach) and she only hoped she hadn’t said it out loud. She hadn’t, she knew she hadn’t, but clearly her hesitation and something in her face had told him at least something. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on what had changed physically in his expression, but whatever it was made something fizzing and hot in her stomach dip firmly between her legs and back again. “Unless, of course, my dirtying you was not the problem?”

His voice had become darker all of a sudden and neither of them moved for what felt like minutes, Eli acutely aware of the firelight dancing mischievous in his eyes and how very close his face was. He in turn, kept very still except for those eyes, which darted down to where Eli knew her breathing had just sped up and back to her face.

One more moment of heat and the questioning intensity of his gaze, and then he leaned back, a shutter over his expression. He coughed slightly and, to Eli’s horror, she promptly found it incredibly endearing. “Evenings…are not always the best time to learn new things. Perhaps we shall try again on a bright morning.”

Eli needed two tries to get her voice to work.

“Yes. With coffee, that always seems to help.”

His smile was easy and insincere, but there was a gentleness to the way he laid the charcoal over the notebook and pressed them back into her lap.

“I will retire now.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there in a momen…I mean, I’ll take some rest as well soon.”

He paused in getting up, something flashing across his face like a smirk before he turned away.

“Indeed, that would be wise. Sleep well, Ellana.”

“You too, Solas” Eli replied, remembering just in time not to use the elvhen. The first time she had wished one of her gods to look fondly on him he’d glared at her with such ferocity that, even in its briefness, she hadn’t forgotten it.

Instead she watched his back as he walked away, once again surprised by his height as he had to bend to enter the canvas tent. Once she couldn’t see him any more she turned back to the fire and let out her breath in a long, slow exhale. She watched the flames tremble in front of her as the air caressed them and then turned her eyes to the sky, where the stars twinkled through the leaves of the trees. She wanted to believe that this was just because he was elven, that he was the most familiar thing that was around her so she was developing feelings that she couldn’t control, but it didn’t ring true to her. She felt more emotionally akin to Varric and she didn’t get distracted by his hands (save for marvelling at the solidity of him). Sera was an elf and, whilst they were playfully flirting with one another that was more because flirting was the safest thing they could do given Sera’s views on the Dalish. Solas was one of the stranger things she had come across, but whilst she had idly wondered how sex with Bull would even work, it was not his strangeness that attracted her to him either. Nor his scholarship, as proved by how badly Eli and Madame Vivienne got on.

He was dangerous, this lone elf. Then again, if Sera’s view on mages represented what most people in Thedas thought, so was Eli herself. They were all dangerous in their own way, perhaps she just liked him. She would need to be careful of herself, but she suspected he was going to be just as careful.

She rose from her seat by the fire and gave Scout Harding, who was watching the road beneath them on the far side of camp, a little wave goodnight before she headed to the tent. Regardless of her feelings for him, if she could get these artefacts working like he said, she might actually be able to start feeling like she was making any sort of difference.

****************

She woke early the next morning, the cold brisk enough she had to fight with herself to stick her feet out of the blankets. Dorian groaned gratefully into his own pillow when she told him not to get up yet, idly waving at her before tucking his hand back into his little cocoon. She threw her blanket on top of his as she left and he grunted in what she decided was gratitude. The morning air was fresh on her face as she left the tent and she outlined the plan for the day to Varric and Cassandra as they sat round the fire drinking hot coffee and munching on porridge with Harding’s local berry jam. As Eli suspected it would, the potential for making it less likely for an innocent farmer to stumble unknowing in to a Terror demon perked the both of them right up.

She had time for a brief burst of embarrassment when she first met Solas’ eye, but he was as polite and distant as he had always been and honestly, what with everyone else milling around them, it was a relief.

They geared up, Bull giving her tips on how to tell if these were real bandits or mercenaries whilst tightening the harness for her staff. They took a moment to smirk at each other as Vivienne pointedly asked Solas if he had any notes on these artefacts for her to study or did he stick to his rustic roots and keep it all in his head? The smirks turned to snickers as Solas politely informed her that he did indeed make notes, but in a language Vivienne would almost certainly not have lowered herself to learn. Not good at being idle, Vivienne then promptly decided that she would visit the cult at Winterwatch and that Bull would accompany her. At this, Blackwall stood from his position by the fire, wiping the last of his porridge off his beard.

“Perhaps I’ll come as well, my lady. I’d like to see if any more of Berand’s men have turned up, the Commander as been asking after them.”

“I suggest taking Sera as well, Madame Vivienne,” Eli added, gently. “These woods are teeming with bears and dogs, you could use a good bow at your back.”

Sera shot her a disgusted look and Eli shrugged, apologetic but unmoved. The Dalish never travelled in groups of less than four if they could help it - all the better for dealing with unexpected shem hunting parties. She saw no reason to change that habit now, not with everything happening as it was.

Her group set off first. She still wasn’t quite used it, just setting off in the morning air free to go as she pleased without running into shemlen. Demons, perhaps, but not shemlen. The Hinterlands were beautiful, their muted mixture of greens, greys and browns laid over the rocky landscape like a blanket. She loved how the lush, fertile arable land was always protected by hard rock or by water, so that the land itself seemed to hold the people that lived on it in its palm, safe.

They passed through the crossroads quite quickly. Eli stuck close to Cassandra and let her reply to the inevitable hails from the refugees and the soldiers. She still felt very uncomfortable being the centre of everyone’s attention. She tried to be grateful that they were whispering behind their hands because they thought she was holy rather than preparing to lynch her because of her ears and tattoos, but it didn’t really help. If Cassandra noticed, she didn’t say anything, for which Eli was very appreciative. She would get used to it, she was sure that she would, but she didn’t have to be accustomed to everything straight away.

Beyond the crossroads was a steady if long hill up to the gate where Scout Denver had been on watch yesterday. Almost as soon as they were through, Cassandra put out an armoured arm in Eli’s way.

“Look. Bodies.”

She wasn’t wrong - a few hundred feet in front of them were three corpses littered with arrows and having bled from deep wounds Eli could see from even here. They weren’t wearing armour.

“They were refugees.” she spat, making a sound of disgust.

“Which is weird given how many holes are in them.” Varric added, a similar expression of distaste on his face. “Speaking from experience, if you’re going for someone not wearing armour you need one arrow, possibly two if your aim’s off. There’s a body there with five.”

“Scout Denver did suspect they were not mere bandits.”

“Damn right, Chuckles. If that’s not a warning you can shave my chest and call me a nug.”

“A warning for what?” Eli asked, taking a step beyond Cassandra’s arm and trying to peer into the myriad of large boulders to no avail, there could be any number of things hiding in there. She felt naked with shoes on, unable to feel the ground beneath her - she really had to start persuading Cassandra to let her go barefoot. Casting a quick envious look at Solas’ pale toes landing gently on the rough mud of the track, she glanced up to his face to see wariness in his eyes and decided to loose her staff from her back. He followed suit and there was a rough slide of metal against metal as Cassandra freed her sword from its scabbard. Varric swore under his breath and the strange clicking of Bianca readying herself followed.

They moved forward along the road, steady but wary. Eli herself strode forward, not to be cowed by cowardly shemlen sneaking around and killing innocent people. They passed the bodies quickly, a brief once-over by Varric telling them nothing other than what Scout Denver had reported - whatever equipment the mercenaries were using, it was quality.

As they approached a jutting outcrop of rock, lined on their left by a steep ridge covered by trees and the right by a sloping hill littered with bits of cliff, Eli caught the first sight of movement. One to her right, suddenly another to her left, then more, like stars twinkling out of cloud. She shared a quick look with Cassandra, enough to send her off into the main group on the right and then the Seeker’s metal mass was charging past her, shield raised and voice clanging through the quiet morning air loud enough to make Eli’s bones shake.

“Take the flankers.” she ordered steadily, feeling the air chill beside her as Solas drew every bit of moisture in the air to his hands. The nearest flanker had enough time to bark out in pain before ice covered his face, Eli already feeling the caress of flame in her palm as she aimed her staff level at the other, who had leapt out of the way as soon as he had seen the ice form, screeching at the others that there were mages. A quick break in the stride of her rhythm and the panicked screams of one of Cassandra’s assailants indicated that Eli had indeed set his entire jerkin on fire. Then it was the ebbing flow of battle, low burn in her arms from wielding her staff, quick bursts of flame, eyes scanning the battlefield to respond best to her allies. The two men trying to flank them were dead quickly and she and Solas turned back to Cassandra just in time to see a bolt from Bianca hurl a man about to strike their Seeker in the back far enough he cracked his head on a boulder.

The men and women were well trained and well armoured - as soon as it became clear the mages were in the fray three of them split off from the group of seven attacking them and started circling round Cassandra’s whirling, slamming, one-woman-army towards them. Eli let the fire loose, trusting that Cassandra’s armour was good enough to take any stray flames that came her way. After a few moments she noticed, suddenly, that of the three mercenaries that had been coming towards them she could now only see two. After a quick assessment of the rest of the fight, she cast her right arm out past Solas’ chest, bumped it once so he noticed, and felt the settling readiness of the flames lying eager in the soil just to their right. Something clicked into place low in her stomach a few seconds later, the fire leaving her and sinking into the ground, ready and waiting. Solas grunted, whether in acknowledgement or approval she didn’t know. At this point she just wanted to make sure he didn’t blow the both of them up by treading where he shouldn’t.

The tide was beginning to slip into their favour. Cassandra was a bulwark, engaging with shield and sword - breathtaking to look at. A shield deflected one blow where a sword slashed out at the calf of a man stupid enough to try and disengage. That same sword came seamlessly up to parry a downward swing as the shield hit the face of the other attacker so hard Eli saw her nose erupt in blood. Two of the mercenaries who had planned to come for the mages had turned back, clearly deciding Cassandra was the greater threat. Eli couldn’t blame them.

Every time the shimmer around Cassandra faded Eli felt an tug in the air from beside her and watched as Solas drew particles of the Fade down through the air around Cassandra to land gently on her skin and turn away any blade that had the audacity to come into contact with it. She had never seen someone lay a barrier with such accuracy before, such grace, like drawing on the Fade was as easy for him as breathing. Perhaps it wasn’t just his hands she admired.

Varric’s shout of pain cut through the battlefield like a knife to her gut. It was raw with that indescribable undertone that told every living thing in earshot that there was something deeply wrong and, content that Cassandra was fine, Eli looked over to see twin daggers retreating from either side of his neck. That fucking knife-wielder had bypassed her and Solas and gone straight for the dwarf, taking him by surprise in the back. Varric crumpled, Bianca getting stuck bolt-first in the ground so he fell awkwardly, half sideways. With a desperate noise she lurched forward only to find Solas’ arm at her stomach. She nearly punched him for getting in the way.

“Wait.”

She watched, wary of others, gasping as the air around him pulled into his body, nearly bringing her off-balance into him this time. His arms drew forward, fingers pulling upwards through the air like he was lifting soil from the ground and fadelight erupted around Varric, two spots of it pulsing at the wounds on his neck. His body rose like someone had taken hold of his glorious chest hair and was pulling upwards. Solas muttered something in elvhen, grunted with effort she felt more than she heard and she watched as Varric’s eyes and mouth opened like he was gasping, the green, like ghostly fire, pouring from his eyes and mouth. Something like wings scooped up under his body, pushing down like they moved through treacle to right him before setting him down on his feet. As Solas breathed out, the cords of his muscles relaxing, the light faded and it was Varric standing there, a brief second of surprise on his face before it hardened.

The mercenary was still there, too.

Eli had enough time to see Varric swing around, Bianca in hand, before the mercenary shouted in rage and simply swung backwards with one of his blades, directly against Varric’s unprotected chest. Blood swept over his fine silk shirt almost immediately and Varric only had enough in him to swing Bianca up and catch the bastard in the chin before he staggered to his knees.

“Varric!”

Fear tight in her stomach, she was about to run to him all over again, but this time Solas’ rigid arm hit her hard enough in the stomach he nearly knocked the breath out of her, his hand tight and bruising around her arm. There was something of a growl in his voice and his face was white with what she realised quickly was rage.

“I have him. Look to Cassandra.”

“But…”

“I have him!”

She took him at his word, a little shaken, pulling a barrier of her own down onto Cassandra and beginning to pick off her targets one by one. She kept glancing over at where Solas had run, ready to help him, but he had moved fast enough the mercenary was still peering over Varric’s body trying to work out if he was really dead this time when Solas reached him. The heavy end of Solas’ staff hit hard and accurate directly at the man’s temple and he fell to the ground like a rag doll that had just had its strings cut. Solas was already kneeling to tend to Varric, something breathtakingly dismissive in how he reached back without looking to cover the man’s face with his hand. The shem’s body jerked once, twice, and then blood and ice burst from his eyes over those pale fingers. Solas didn’t even miss a beat as the man died, bringing his bloodied hand back around him to pull Varric’s shirt away from the wound.

They needed to finish this fight. With both Solas and Varric out of action, it was more difficult to manoeuvre around the remaining mercenaries but, confident that if Solas couldn’t save Varric no one could, Eli moved closer to Cassandra. She jumped to the top of a nearby outcrop of rock and rained fire against them all, until Cassandra lopped the head off the shoulders of the last man with a cry and it was done.

The moment he fell to the ground Eli was running, stabbing the sharp end of her staff into the mud as she slid to her knees beside Varric’s head. She took in his condition quickly, well trained under her Keeper, and to her immense relief Solas had him stable, but he was yet to stitch the wound together.

“Can I help?”

“No.”

Solas’ voice was curt and quiet, but there was a tremor of fury in it that made her sit back slightly, despite herself. She heard Cassandra coming up behind her.

“Will he be alright?”

Eli nodded, glad to see some tension around Cassandra’s eyes release. She cared for him after all.

“I need this out of my way.”

It was Cassandra who stepped forward, grasping Bianca and heaving her out of the ground with a grunt of effort.

“How does he carry this thing around all the time?”

“She probably weighs less for him.”

Cassandra shot Eli a look that told her exactly what she thought of that comment, but she placed Bianca down on the grass with surprising care.

“I will search the bodies and keep watch. Perhaps there will be something on them to tell us why they are here.”

Eli nodded and turned back to the men. Solas’ hand was passing slowly over the gash in Varric’s chest now, skin knitting together under the glow of his palm. There was gore smeared over his knuckles from whatever had spurted from the dead man’s eyeballs, vivid and brutal. Varric’s face was still and very pale beside her knees and she instinctively reached out to brush the hair from his face.

“I said I did not need help.”

“And I heard you, don’t snap at me. I just want to get his hair out of the way. I won’t do anything.”

Solas grunted and Eli muttered a curse under her breath. She had long taught the members of her Clan not to speak to her like that, she wasn’t used to it.

Varric’s red hair was dank with sweat as she lifted it from his face, her fingers lingering to smooth over the stubble on his cheeks. Such a strange sensation.

In the end she kept watch whilst idly stroking the hair at the Varric’s temple, until Solas sat back on his heels with a long breath and whatever magic he was using fizzed away from the air like a breath of wind. Varric coughed under her hand and she leant down, legs tucked under he, so that she could see his eyes as he woke. It took them no time at all to focus, which was good, so she grinned at him.

“Welcome back, Varric.”

He groaned (rather theatrically, she thought) and gingerly stretched beside her, clearly feeling for anything broken. One hand lifted to press at the crook of his neck, prodding at it until he looked, rather incredulously, up at Eli. She smiled, shaking her head and looking over at Solas. Varric huffed a laugh.

“Maker’s balls, Chuckles. No one’s pulled me out of death’s ass that fast since Blondie. And even that was only when he was glowing.”

“Oh there was quite a lot of glowing.”

“Chuckles glowed?”

“No! You did.”

“I did?”

“Yup. Wings and everything.”

“Ugh. Damn spirit healers.”

“Perhaps you would have preferred it had I not.”

Solas’ voice was tight and harsh after their playful banter and it actually took Varric by surprise, a flash of shock making him look very vulnerable as he lay prone on the ground. Eli felt her lip curl again.

“Of course he wouldn’t have preferred it, that’s not what he meant. You’re just looking for something to be angry at.”

She didn’t flinch this time as the full force of Solas’ glare turned to her. “You just saved his life. Twice. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

Solas took a breath as if to argue, then let it out without doing so. He looked away from her, looking strangely ashamed.

“It should not have had to be twice.”

The fury had gone from his voice, leaving it just quiet and clearly humiliated. Eli and Varric looked down at one another, equally taken by surprise apparently.

“Chuckles, don’t sweat it. It’s not as if grasping a man by his short and curlies and pulling him from the brink of death isn’t going to be flashy. And, speaking from experience, I felt those daggers go in. I had minutes, if that. You had no time.”

Solas was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath, ceding the point with a dip of his head to Varric, but still not looking at either of them.

“Perhaps not. Still, it could have been done better. Can you stand?”

It was clear that the conversation was over - he rose from kneeling in one graceful movement, holding out his hand. Varric shot him one more suspicious look before reaching for it, allowing Solas to help him sit, gently and then stand, Eli pushing Varric’s other elbow up from the floor.

“Thanks. Just give me a moment then I’ll be fine. Where’s Bianca?”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Over on the rock. Cassandra put her there.”

“The Seeker? Cassandra I hope you were polite with my lady!”

Eli let Cassandra’s disgusted sound led the two of them into gentle bickering again, before standing herself and retrieving her staff. Solas was standing next to her, leaning slightly on his own and watching Varric with an expression she couldn’t place. He tensed as she approached, clearly wary.

“I haven’t seen that done before.”

“The revival?”

“No, that I’ve seen, though nowhere near so impressive. I meant the shem.”

He looked at her, confused, until he clearly remembered that he’d frozen a man’s brain to death and looked behind him.

“Ah. Yes.”

“Don’t tell me you learnt that in the Fade?”

“No.”

She waited for a moment for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Fine.

Cassandra was searching the bodies and Eli moved over to join her, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms from the exertion of battle. There was a smell of charred flesh here and she was glad it was a good long time until lunch.

“Anything?”

Cassandra stood from where she had been crouching over a woman whose face was just a mess of blood and broken nose.

“Another letter saying to keep people away. This one has the name of a camp, however.”

“Is it somewhere around here, perhaps, given the warning sign by the gate?”

“Indeed. Will we investigate?”

“I think we have to. If they’re really serious about warning people away then more travellers are going to be killed just to make a point.”

“You disapprove.”

“The Dalish don’t have the luxury of being wasteful with life.”

Cassandra nodded, looking over Eli’s shoulder.

“Are you gentlemen done?”

“Nothing a good bath and a better masseuse won’t fix, Seeker.”

“I am ecstatic to hear it.”

“You wound me.”

“Unlikely.”

Solas tutted in annoyance and turned to Eli.

“Where next, Inquisitor?”

“Cassandra?”

“The place the letter mentions is further east along the road, whether we go there now or look for your….”

She was cut off by a distant cry of fear from somewhere south of them, up the rocky slope past where they could see. As they listened, the cry came again, angrier and it was followed by a hollow, undulating call that sent goosebumps down Eli’s arms and a blossom of fear in her gut. Shade.

They all moved off simultaneously, pushing steadily up the rise to the right of the path. Cassandra, eyes hard and ready, lifted a bottle from her pouch and chugged it without breaking a stride, handing another back to Varric. Eli joined Solas in hopping up onto the boulders and using them as stepping stones, leaping lightly from one to another until they reached the brow of the hill and entered into a shallow copse of trees. As they paused, scouting and waiting for the others, she scanned the area behind the trunks and saw merely a brief strip of land before a sheer cliff. She had just enough time to recognise that the boulders there were larger and more shaped - ruins then - before she caught sight of the sickly brown, slithering form of the shade, slipping like oil around a chunk of masonry and followed by a small figure wielding a staff pulsing with crackling lightning. One glimpse of her face, pale and flashing in the light of her own magic, and Eli was momentarily stunned into stillness, hearing an irritated sigh from beside her with a growing sense of dread.

The woman was Dalish.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solavellan hell #solavellan #dragon age fic #I just love writing Solas tbh #and this has been amazing for voice/Eli's voice etc #but there's a long way to go #and thank you to those who have cheered me up about it over the last week or so #even if you don't know you did #<3 #somni #mywriting

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faunusrights · 5 years ago

Text

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG //CHAPTER 20

i mispelt the title as ‘oofal hunt’ which, i mean, mood,

IN THIS EPISODE OF DEPRESSION TO THE MAX:

"Fuck you."

THAT’S IT. THAT’S-- THERE’S THE CHAPTER.

/looks at the chosen lyrics for this chap :hrm:

do i still have to a little introduction to this liveblog? twenty chapters in? methinks not so lets just get right Tew It shall we

“We’re here, Ms. Fall.”

/marks this next section down on the tally of cinder’s mistakes. we’re somewhere in the high thousands.

An old Dust extraction point, quietly rotting. Cinder’s mouth pulled. There was an abysmal dearth of kindling.

cinder: you know you could at least take me somewhere better suited for me to kick your ass. this is VERY rude. am NOT a fan. my yelp review will NOT be kind.

i love cinder counting up the numbers. you know honestly id be deeply charmed if someone saw it fit to bring half an army out to take me on. i mean, would it be a pain in my ass? yes. but also. awh. thanks lads! love how many of you blocked out this evening just for me x

"Sienna Khan!" Cinder could barely hear herself between the claws of that strange laughter. "Sienna Khan! It’s really—really—you!"

uh-oh sisters,

oh man sienna and cinder is just. look. WOOF. theres a lot here. a lot going on. a lot that HAD gone on. but also im gay so this tension is peak for me PLEASE lay it on thick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LETS GO!

Cinder stopped laughing.

"Overkill," she repeated, and in the same breath, crossed the tarmac in full immolation.

HELL YEAH BABEY. but also was the more the implication that cinder is an easy kill OR the implication that glynda’s the bigger threat that’s more annoying,,,,,,,,,,,,, well!!!!!!!! too late to find out now!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They clashed: once, twice, three times, steel on Aura, flitting through space, but—he wasn't faster than Glynda.

wait it’s the former i forgot cinder’s gay nvm

“Cinder. I mean it. I want to talk.” Sienna’s face revealed nothing. Her gaze stayed fixed on Cinder, as if she were searching for something.

What it could be, Cinder had her guesses, and all of them repulsed her utterly. She spat, “Well, I was only planning on sending your Lieutenant’s head to you in a box signed Love Cinder, so I didn’t really come with a speech prepared.”

SDHJGHJGSKFD SORRY IM LIKE. tryna liveblog but im also just :EYES: at everything here.......... im SO PUMPED for this cause im just SO CURIOUS,,,,,, WE’VE HAD SO MANY SNIPPETS,,,,,,,,, BUT IM HONGRY FOR MORE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

that said i feel like cinder’s the type of person who revisits arguments in her head hours later with new, better points, so i think she does have a speech prepared. in fact i think she has many words stored up in the ol’ meatspace, and all of them are very rude,

The Sienna Khan that Cinder remembered still had baby-fat in her cheeks and hadn’t learned to keep her thoughts off her face. The one she saw now had weaponized distance.

/stage whisper hang on that visual is cute dont put it in HERE where the TENSION IS

Quietly, Sienna went for her belt, pulling away something the same polished silver as her whip. It might have been an arrow tip, except that it was lethally barbed and looked like it had been modified to chamber Dust. Pale blue glinted within it.

Cinder darkened. "Ice Dust?"

sienna: i wanna talk sienna: with violence!

GOD ITS REAL INTERESTING CAUSE,,,,,,,,,, THERE’S A LOT HAPPENING HERE. glynda didnt Know cinder in any sense so we’ve very much been on the ‘let’s figure cinder out with glynda’ train like the whole. the rain! and the desert! etc! all very much thru the lens of glynda ‘i dont remember shit’ goodwitch! so now we have seinna who Knows Shit cause there’s so much history here and im like blease wait talk more first i want the KNOWLEDGE

[...] "Roman Torchwick is holed up in Vytal with your warehouses, and those two teens haven’t been sighted in months... But you wouldn't send them that far north, would you?”

“I wouldn’t send them anywhere you could get your claws in them.”

“The White Fang isn’t like that anymore. We don’t strong-arm children into our ranks. That girl—the snake Faunus—”

“If you say one more word about her,” Cinder said. “I’m going to do something drastic to every single person here.”

ACTUALLY TALK LESS TALK LESS LETS FIGHT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!! AND NOT TALK!!!!!!!! A T A L L

Sienna's shoulders leveled. "This is not Hróðvitnir's White Fang anymore."

me: huh why do i recognise that name,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, me: oh yeah!!!!!!! that bitch,

HJGDSJKHGFDS we Love a homage to a classic au and to a cinder so good that id die for her. i mean id die for this cinder too but like that was another level of Die For. anyway. back to the au at hand,

“If I didn’t know better, I might believe you," Cinder snapped, and her old scars throbbed in tandem. “But I do know better. I found one of your parasites, sucking the life out of a town near the wastes. Bringing the White Fang’s protection. You should have seen how he protected them. There wasn't a child there without a fang or an antler missing."

hang on a sec, lets LEAP BACK in time for just a moment

okay so i nipped back to chapter five for just a hot second to see if there was a line that was particular pertinent, but also i found smthng else...

Violence collected at her twitching fingers, old scars across her body flaring with phantom pain. (Chapter 5)

“If I didn’t know better, I might believe you," Cinder snapped, and her old scars throbbed in tandem. (Chapter 20)

HM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, man. cinder. you got real fucked up huh. ANYWAY THAT WASNT WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR I JUST LINED THE CONTINUITY (because im jealous). what i was ACTUALLY looking for was THIS:

There would be another overseer, the inhabitants would resume their harried lives, and Cinder wouldn’t spare this town a second thought.

i said at the time in an emotional fit of pain that this was a straight-up lie but cinder is nothing if not a melting pot of emotional reckoning, and I WAS RIGHT. LET IT BE INSCRIBED UNTO THE STONES!!!! SHE DID SPARE IT A SECOND THOUGHT!!!!!!!! HELD IN HER MIND LONG ENOUGH TO RECALL THE DETAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JUST 2 SPIT IT IN SIENNA’S FACE!!!!!!!!! im telling you that cinder has SO MUCH MORE GOING ON!!!!!!!!!!! and heres my PROOF. PROOF OF WHY SHES AN ANGEL (ONLY ON TUESDAYS THOUGH [10AM-1PM])!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then: "Why don't you say," Sienna responded slowly, her expression slotting into place like a bullet chambering, "precisely what you mean, Cinder."

"Fuck you."

:’3c

cinder has such a way with words. i love her eloquence. remember that time glynda thought she was taking the piss out of the fact she was autistic at dinner? cinder yr a maestro. never change.

“You brought Beowolves to heel. You could turn a Goliath with a word!"

“I had—no—Aura! Nothing to protect me!”

:eyes: :thinking:

HM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, INTERESTING??????? i feel like this is the first time we’ve heard of cinder w/o aura implicitly? unless im Stupit and dont remember a Got Dang Thing but HUH. does this. hm. huh. am i stupid. someone tell me if i missed a thing.

“This isn’t a diplomatic mission, Cinder. I simply wanted to know what their lives were worth to you—before we wipe our hands of each other for good.”

“That’s a funny way of saying only one of us is walking away from this.”

GOD,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, i LOVE this scene a lot the interplay between sienna and cinder is absolutely PEAK,,,,,,,, PEAQUE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, im rly enjoying this. also im dying. but im enjoy it a LOT.

“The White Fang you and I grew up in doesn't exist anymore. We’re changing. But you… When did you stop caring? Was it when you cut your horns to be one of them instead?"

Dragonfire scorched Cinder's lungs, blackening every word: "I was never—your—people."

feels like its been a good goddamn whilst since i got to do one of these 👈😎👈, so let’s savour the moment

👈👈👈👈👈👈😎👈👈👈👈👈👈

aaaaaand savoured. lets continue.

Shaking with the effort of holding her strike, Sienna grit, "I won't relish this."

And Cinder howled, "I will!”

ah shit i shouldve said lets RELISH this to tie the whole theme together and-- and fuck it, combat scene. never good at liveblogging these. sdfjhgsdfghj

Gunfire sparked against her, but she honed in on him with single-minded intent, the kind she’d whetted to a razor’s edge against Glynda.

for a chapter following cinder escaping glynda, she’s thought about her TWICE now. huh. huh. interesting. gay. and interesting,,,,,,

It was nothing like fighting Glynda. This was bleak and repetitive: the second drove forward and Sienna covered his openings, stopping Cinder before she could rip his heart from his chest, and all the while, the gunfire whittled away at her Aura. It was a joyless tactic, no flair or heart, and yet—

HUH. GAY AND INTERESTING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO FLAIR OR HEART,,,,,,,,,, i cant believe every time they fought cinder was actually just doing a shit job of flirting. the more you know.

The world erupted into flames. They grew massive, swirling around her like a hurricane—Cinder’s Aura exploded outward in desperation, like a dying star defiantly spending the last of itself on a supernova; one final flare, brighter than entire galaxies, if only for a single moment. Cinder felt flashes of bright pain through her muscles as if the fire was burning her from inside.

MAN,,,,,,,,,,,,, I COULD TALK ABT SOME UH,,,,,,,,,,,,, well. i could talk abt a few things here. but theyre kinda 👈😎👈 so i WONT,,,,,,,,,,,,,, but kno that i am having some Thoughts on the matter. hm.

“Prove it!” Death was thrumming in her veins. It had never made her brave before. It did now, the memory of Glynda’s blind, resolute stare heady in her skull. “Come and prove it! Do it, or I’ll hunt you to your last, miserable breath, Sienna!”

so remember when glynda had her little outburst at winter and i said that i love how cinder rubbed off on glynda in the worst way? i cant believe glynda ALSO rubbed off on cinder ALSO in the WORST WAY!!!! this is how u know this truly is a soulmates thing.

“It’s a shame you outgrew your swords, Cinder Fall. I would have taken them as a trophy,”

it’s with great disappointment that i must say: i agree with adam. the swords were hot. they should come back.

Sienna’s footsteps were whispers at Cinder’s back. The trap was closing. Cinder pooled flame in one palm. The other hand was useless, limp at her side. Impotent rage tasted like blood in her mouth. “I don’t even remember your fucking name.”

HJGKDSFKJHGFSDJDHGF GOD IM SORRY BUT THIS MADE ME LAUGH. WHAT A LINE. WHAT A LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i may actually have to draw this scene that image is SO wonderful. just cinder, staggering, exhausted, and she still manages to just spit that out. im screaming. shes a champion. i think she won this battle literally just there pack it up her burns come in more flavours than one.

Beneath Cinder, Hati turned, scanning for an escape, but she didn’t drop Sienna’s gaze. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she said, “I’m told I’m something of a menace.”

firstly: AAAAAAAAA HATI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BABY BOY OH NO THATS NO GOOD BAD TIMES AWFUL FEELS MY GUY!!!!!!!!!!!! secondly: CINDER THESE ZINGERS ARE UNREAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JESUS CHRIST. I KNEW YOU LIED WHEN YOU DIDNT HAVE A SPEECH HOW MUCH MATERIAL HAVE YOU GOT IN THERE?????????

OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

WAIT WHAT HANG ON

WHAT

WAIT

W H AT

okay wait hold on lets dial back i read ahead and dint live blog wait rthereghsdfgjhdffd HOLD ON

Cinder buried her face in Hati’s mane, hating them, hating, hating, hating. Black ichor clotted in Hati’s fur, tacky against her palms. Grimm didn’t have Auras to protect them, and exit wounds riddled Hati’s mighty body. Cinder’s heart lurched with fury. She could have screamed.

i read this bit and got STRESSED because hati is PEAK like hati didnt even fucking SHOW UP in og but i LOVE HIM and i knew shit would happen because its fucking offal hunt BUT

It should have been impossible at this distance, but Cinder could feel her gaze like traded blows, even nestled among the black of Hati’s pelt.

Sienna’s eyes shone like coins. They were cool, detached. Prepared.

She twisted her wrist and the whip flickered through the air in tight wheels. Its end glittered pale blue.

UH OH

Adrenaline cooled to permafrost in Cinder’s body, as though the Dust had already found its home between her ribs.

Cinder whispered, “Don’t.”

UH OH

Expressionless, Sienna gave a wide lash, and the jagged end of her whip released with a click. Silver sliced through the air, then through feathers and fur, with a sickening sound—wet and meaty as the arrowhead dagger buried itself deep into flesh. Hati’s whole body shuddered and Cinder only had a moment more before ice exploded from his ribs, ripping out through his pelt, even slicing into Cinder’s own skin. It speared him from deep inside, where the cartridge had sunk, impaling everything and rending him asunder.

JESUS JESUS CHRIST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

JESUS CHRIST WHAT A VISCERAL DEATH SCENE HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! O H N O T H A T S A N O G O O D V E R Y B A D T I M E

Cinder’s stomach jumped into her throat, and she held on tight to Hati, her bastion, her sanctuary, her family—held on tight like it would make any difference at all—like she could hold her family together with just her own two hands.

Hati dissolved right between her fingertips, and she plummeted alone.

like she could hold her family together with just her own two hands

OUGH what the FUCK

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HEY THIS. HEY THIS SUCKED HEY THIS WAS A BAD CHAPTER WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT WAS HATI!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT WAS MY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!! GO TO HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EXCUSE ME????????? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?????????? HELLO??????????? WHAT THE FUCK????????? SIENNA???????? BITCH?????????? GO TO H E L L

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

#rwby #offal hunt #liveblog #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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gwaciechang · 5 years ago

Text

A Very Pierre Prequel (4/5)

Edited on 4/7/2020 to fit the Joey Batey Fanmatic Universe, and I added a new section.

Written for the TAD server, slightly edited. TW for flogging. If you see any straight apostrophes or dialogue marks, grammar errors, or a better title, you can let me know. Otherwise keep your opinions to your own damn self.

“So it shall be. 20 lashes, or until the accused confesses,” the historic decree settles like a block of ice in your stomach. You twist the flogger nervously in your hand, as you approach the bound Templar. No matter how many times you do this, it never fails to surprise you exactly how coarse the fibers are.

His blue eyes, sharp pinpricks in the light, bore at you more deeply than any needle or knife. He knows why you volunteered to do this, and you’re not sure whether he will confess to your crimes to buy himself a little leniency. You raise the flogger, but he doesn’t break eye contact until it actually connects with the soft skin of his belly with a sharp crack!

A red mark is left in the flogger’s wake, but not bleeding, not yet. Nor does he make a sound besides the rustle of his clothing as he hunches over. He opens his eyes, which don’t seem damp, so you raise your arm again for another. You don’t quite manage to hit in the same spot, but it’s enough to draw a grunt from Pierre. The sound makes your pulse rush to your ears, and when you bring your arm down a third time, it’s more forceful and less accurate. A thin red line appears in the middle of a raised mark a full inch over the first two.

The handle is starting to warm your palm, but you know it’s nothing like the absolute fire that the knots draw across Pierre's stomach. He manages to muffle his shout into a hiss, but it’s enough to make an entirely different kind of burn in your own stomach. Pierre is still looking at you in between strikes. You’re going to have to rectify that.

The fifth strike provokes no sound, to your disappointment, but the sixth draws out an actual shout. Pierre bites his lip to muffle the next shout, and the next. You’ve scored another bloody line across his stomach, and you plan for your ninth strike to cross over all three of them.

It nearly does, and this time Pierre doesn’t manage to lift his head quite as quickly to look back up at you. You keep your smile to yourself, because you don’t want the fun to end just yet. You gear up for the tenth strike.

Crack!

There, all three lines, joined by a fourth. Something sparkles down Pierre’s cheek, and you wonder what it would taste like.

“Are you ready to confess?” you ask. It’s only fair. The skin on your palm is red, and you want to see more of it.

“No,” Pierre manages to lift his head. The sparkle’s gone, so you lift the flogger in an attempt to call it back. He keens, the sound hanging in the air almost visibly, like the drops of blood the flogger drew out of his stomach. But he’s still looking at you, so you lift the flogger yet again.

You grab the flogger and aim for one of the red, sluggishly-bleeding lines, it doesn’t matter which. You want to cut a groove deep enough to scar, to remind him of this day and the one who delivered it. He screams when you hit your mark, once, twice, three times. His shoulders shake with suppressed sobs, and his legs have started to slide out from underneath him. The sight of this makes you realize how close your own legs are to doing the same.

One more strike, and he hangs his hair over his eyes. So disappointing, you need to see them, see their sparkle, so you strike again. His entire body is shaking now, so you miss and hit a yet-unmarked patch of skin. He relaxes a little and draws in a full breath as he readjusts his stance. This won’t do. You make sure the next strike hits squarely over a red line, undoing all his work and drawing out a louder, higher scream. Much better.

He winces when each gulping breath moves his stomach in and out. You wince as well when you raise the flogger again, as the handle rubs against your reddened palm. He notices, of course he does, nothing gets past him. There’s something satisfied in his gaze, and this time he doesn't look away when you break another line, even as he groans in what must be considerable agony.

You want him to blink even more than you want to see those eyes fill with tears. You ignore the abrasion in your palm and the soreness in your shoulder as you swing the flogger down with renewed force. He lets out another scream, and continues whimpering when your arm drops. You roll your shoulders to soothe the ache while holding his gaze. His hands are tied behind him. He can’t move to adjust his position no matter how badly it hurts.

You wait until the whimpers and trembles die down before you strike again, leading to another stream of broken sounds. He’s nearly bent double, and something sparkles in the air before darkening a small spot on the ground. You wait, but even after he’s silent and still, he doesn’t rise. “Do you wish to confess?”

That does the trick. He stands up with several harsh breaths, and he’s glaring at you again. Not for long, the next strike has him bent over again. You take a step forward before you realize, and scramble back. He chuckles, winces when that jostles his stomach, and slowly raises himself back up. When the final strike hits, it’s you who can’t look him in the eye, preferring to see the final red line scored into his stomach.

He winces after you untie his stiff and cramping limbs. Your rub the blood back into them and he nuzzles into your cheek under the guise of letting his exhausted head drop against your shoulder. He sighs and barely manages to open his eyes. Okay, maybe not so much pretending.

“Was that good for you?” you croon. “Do you feel you’ve been punished enough?” He shakes his head, and the warmth in your stomach fizzles out.

“Pierre,” you lift his head up so you can look at him, and his eyes shift everywhere but you. You hold him in place, you’re not going anywhere. Finally, he looks up, and his eyes are wet with tears. “I don't deserve-”

“You deserve the world, darling. You were so good for me, you screamed so beautifully. You took every strike I laid on you, and I know you could’ve taken more, but look at my hand, darling.” You show him your palm. It’s red and glossy, like a burn. “I couldn’t.”

He scowls when he sees it and drags you over to the pot of salve. It hurts him to move so quickly, you hear his sharp intake of breath, but he doesn’t stop until your hand is liberally coated. “You need to wear gloves,” he begins to lecture, but you place your finger against his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, darling,” you say. “Now hush, and let me take care of you.”

You pile your fluffiest pillows up on the bed like a nest before helping him sit on the bed. You want to help him lie down as well, but this close, you can see the tiny aborted flinches he tries not to let show on his face when you touch him, so you let him lie down on his own. There’s a story there, but he’s already so vulnerable, demanding anything more is unforgivable. “I have some aloe, darling,” you move your arm in grand, sweeping motions so he knows exactly where your hands will be, even as tired as he is.

You apply the salve in light, careful motions like you know he needs, but Pierre still grunts impatiently above you. “Get on with it,” he refuses to look at you again. He hates what he considers coddling and reacts to softness like he had been scalded.

No, you’d scalded him once, and he had reacted much more calmly.

“I know you don’t need this,” you carefully avert your gaze, “but I do.” And it’s true. Your eyes are already filling with tears at the thought of how many times he must have lied alone, with no one to look after his hurts.

A hesitant hand pats your elbow like you’re made of glass before gesturing for you to go on. You glance up at him, and his gaze is inquisitive, not impatient. You beam at him until he returns the look.

You put as much salve as you think you can get away with. Too much and he’ll start to squirm, possibly doing more damage to himself. But you have your own rule: the games stop until the risk of infection is over. And as pigheaded as that boy is, he would sooner stab himself through the heart than disrespect you. The thought makes your pulse quicken in a thoroughly unpleasant way, and you squeeze his hand in yours to feel his pulse, kiss it to feel his warmth. He looks at you with confusion, but there must be something in your gaze that keeps him from pulling away. Instead, his eyes soften even further, and he brings his other hand up to curl against the back of your head. You let him pull you against his chest, then you settle, mindful of his injuries.

He kisses the top of your head and curls an arm around the back of your shoulders protectively. You do the same across his chest, drawing small circles with your thumb along his clavicle until you reach his neck. Then you press your warm palm, greasy with aloe, around his cheek so that he turns to see you with your lips pursed for a kiss.

He leans forward obligingly, and the kiss deepens as it's wont to do. He growls, and the fire in your stomach bursts back to life when you feel something poke you in the thigh.

He pulls you flush against him and your stomach strikes against his. His grunt is so different than his pleased rumbles and you freeze above him, and almost simultaneously, he stops as well. Then he’s moving again, this time biting his lip until it's a bloodless white.

“Stop,” you press your hand against his sweaty chest. You pet it like you’re soothing a hurt animal (because you are), until he carefully puts you down beside him. You’ll never get enough of how gently he handles you. “I can keep going,” he protests.

Your yawn is genuine, if exaggerated. “No dear,” you run your fingers through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut and his entire body goes lax except for his head, which arches into your palm. Your heart breaks even as it melts. This is the only way to make him relax enough to seek the touches he craves, instead of being afraid that every hand only brings pain. But for now, he’s leaning into your body with his, the blankets are warm and the flutter in your chest even warmer than that. You’re home, you’re safe, you sleep.

You wake up when the door opens, because holy shit, how did you forget Laurie lives here too?

Pierre stirs underneath you, frowning. He hisses when the cold air hits him as you hastily exit the bed.

“Do I have to leave?” he asks forlornly. God, you can’t look at that face again.

“No, no, I just have to talk to them, go back to sleep,” you motion for him to lie down again.

“I have no desire for you to get in trouble with the person you share quarters with,” Pierre is already putting his shoes back on. How did you not notice how weird those shoes are?

“I’m used to talking my way out of trouble,” you say with a failed attempt at a wink.

Laurie looks stressed, which is unusual, since you know her boss at the restaurant is a pretty nice guy who doesn't tolerate mistreatment of his employees.

“Are you okay?”

Laurie snorts. “Shelley took us out for drinks today, and a gunman chased us out.”

“Jesus,” you look them over, but they’re not bleeding anywhere, and you doubt they would only be disgruntled if they’d been injured. “Um, would it be a bad time to mention that I have somebody over?”

Laurie sighs. “Just let me take a shower first,” they say wearily.

“I made potatoes?” you blurt out. Damn, you’d really been hoping to save those potatoes for tomorrow, but that just means you have to come up with a new dish for Pierre.

“Really?” they perk up.

“If you let me use some of your lotions, I’ll warm it up while you're in the shower.”

“Yay! Thanks, Alex! You’re the best!” Laurie goes to the bathroom greatly cheered. So, that’s one crisis averted.

You let out a sigh of relief before putting the potatoes in the microwave and going back to your room. You find Pierre pacing like he wasn’t flogged within an inch of his life a few hours ago, and the flogger is already hidden in your closet with the other presents the dominatrix gave you.

“Okay, so first off, don’t let Laurie know that you were sent here to kill me, and second, don’t let them know you’re from the 14th century,” you say. “Otherwise, we can pass everything off as you being from, I don’t know, a backward village somewhere? Unless that's offensive?”

“Offensive? Are we going to war?”

“Fuck, never mind.” You wish Maisie were here to tell you how to word good. The shower stops, and you give Pierre a grin. “You’re going to love this,” you say, taking your most colorful bath bomb and dragging him to the shower.

The bathroom is still steamy, so your bath bomb dissolves faster than usual. Pierre audibly gasps as the smell of ice cream, not that you expect him to know what that is, fills the room.

You smile at his face as he swirls the colors around. “Well, get in,” you motion, already settling in.

He moans when he gets in the bath. Outside, you can hear both the television and the sounds of potato-y chewing getting louder.

“You’re so soft,” he marvels. He sniffs your hair, which makes you feel warm in a way that can’t be attributed to the water.

“You like my shampoo, huh?” you pull out the honey-scented bottle. “I’m going to get behind you now,” you shiver a little when you stand up.

He frowns until you sit back down at his back, but when you put your hands on either side of his head to tilt it back, he’s not tense at all. He shakes a little when you just run your fingers through his hair several times, and You wet his hair and carefully untangle the knots. He shakes a little, and you decide to pour a generous amount of the shampoo in your hand before he gets too pliant to hold himself up.

“Close your eyes,” you say hoarsely. Once he does, you work the foam down every strand, scratching his scalp a little more than necessary. He makes a series of half-gasp, half-sob noises, and you press a kiss to the small dark scar on his leg. He twists around and pulls you up to kiss you, and you keep your eyes closed to pretend it’s bath water that's causing the wetness on your face.

“God, you need a person,” you say, pressing your foreheads together. You put your favorite cookie dough scented body wash on your loofah and grin at the idea of introducing Pierre to cookie dough. “Okay, now stand up.”

He doesn’t shiver when he stands and gives you full access to that strong body of his, but he does giggle when you run your loofah down his side.

“You're ticklish!” you giggle. This is delightful.

“Don’t you dare,” Pierre glares at you, but the effect is ruined by the way he keeps closing his eyes as you run the loofah down his body. You try to not let this ruin your mood to, the proof that he hasn’t had anyone just touch him gently before in every expression of simple happiness.

So you jam your fingers into his sides and laugh as he falls with a shriek, splashing the water out of the tub. He glares at you, and before you know it, has tugged you into the water with him. He turns his body so you land on him and not the tub, a courtesy you kiss his chin for.

He hums pleasantly, and sitting between his legs like this, you feel his arousal spring to life.

“Well, hello,” you purr, wrapping your hand around it. It feels nice in your hand, and you briefly entertain the idea of it feeling nice inside you, but the idea of fucking in cooling bath water is less than appealing.

Pierre bites his lip and pants while you jerk him off. “Oh god,” he gasps.

“You’re so wonderfully responsive for me, darling,” you murmur.

“Is-is that a good thing?” he asks in fits and starts. “I’ve never, ngh, I’ve never done this before.”

Your hand stops for a second before resuming. You run your thumb over the head several times, each time earning a little squeak as he thrusts. He comes quickly, then sags against the side of the tub. Sweat covers every exposed inch of him, and he misses your mouth when he presses you closer for a kiss.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, half propped up against you and half propped up against the side of the tub. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling, of course,” you turn away to avoid looking at his tears and focus on stroking your hand down every inch of him, waiting for him to regain his ability to sit and stand on his own power.

He gets up out of the water reluctantly, even though the water’s not that much warmer than the air now. His eyes close again at the feeling of the soft towel, and you know right then that you would do just about anything to make him look like that every day.

#pierre you dick #knightfall fanfic #whump there it is #into the joeyverse #joey i am literally begging you not to look through this tag

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joshslater · 5 years ago

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The Last Urn

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- Hey, I think I found it. It's tiny.

You turn towards Mark's voice and quickly move in his direction. Years of research, travels and digs, and a finally you are only steps away from your prize. For this, Indiana Jones-esque cave exploration you didn't bring any crew. In fact, it's more like a treasure hunt than any scientific archaeology. Indiana Jones-esque. You are not a complete moron to walk into unexplored caves alone in search for ancient artifacts though, so you brought trusty old Mark. A friend of convenience and circumstance from the small school where you grew up. A bit thick, a bit rural, but tough, handy and knows how to keep his mouth shut.

- Coming! Don't touch it. - Too late. I'm touching it all right. Shouldn't there be a trap or something.

I round the bend of the cave and see a minuscule clay pot in his hand, illuminated by the LED lamps on his helmet. Before I have time to say anything else he opens the lid.

- Noooo

The entire room fills with the shimmer of Marks body, like the reflection of a sunset lapping the cave walls.

- What the hell? - Fuck! I really hope that doesn't count. OK, listen carefully. Everything you say for the next few moments will come true. - So if I say I want a 10 inch cock then.... Oh, shit!

Even with those lose fitting caving pants you could see the change.

- Stop swearing! - I want to be just like Tucker, but even more jacked.

You watch as Mark in the blink of an eye transforms into something resembling his insufferable drinking buddy Tucker. You don't know if Tucker actively tries to conform to as many of the stereotypes as possible, or if he obliviously was a racist piece of shit on his own.

- Stop talking Mark, before something really bad happens. I've made a list you can read from. - Shut up, fucking faggot!

You felt it hit you, like a wave of hot air. You have no doubt what just happened, since instead of being deeply concerned about what Mark was doing to himself, you now want nothing more than to touch him, lick him, suck him, fuck him. But what's worse is you can see the shimmer in his body is fading quickly. You want to tell him to at least put everything back as it was, but you can't say anything. Your body wont even try to talk.

- I'm so fucking tired my tax dollars paying you go around the world just to look at foreigners. Just be one yourself and be done with it.

This time the change knocks you over. The change itself was pretty much instant, but it took some flailing attempts to get your bearings in your new body. It doesn’t make any ethnological or even racial sense, your body. Like some dolt just mashed together Aztec, Inca and African racial stereotypes into one. Way more muscled than historically accurate for any of the warriors, and frankly kind of obscene even for today. And the clothes are laughable tatters. All the ancient cultures were skilled craftsmen.

- Timotla tonaltzintli lotsinoa!

Your eyes widens in horror as you realize that your last attempt to talk sense to Mark, or Tucker or whoever he is now, comes out as whatever language is native to this body racist Frankenstein imagined together.

- Ximocahua!

Tucker looks at you with superiority mixed with disdain.

- I done so much for you. You should look happy!

You have no idea what dumb shit he is saying as the last gasps of shimmer dies out from his body, but you can’t help to smile about it. He really fucked this one up. Fucked you up. Well, you are not leaving these caves without everyone being properly fucked. With a smile.

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ftriver · 5 years ago

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hi angels ! im most likely sleeping right now so i have this drafted but let me just say i am fucking buzzin’ to be a part of this group , i've been itching to write again for the longest time & thankfully i can do that with dis shithead named river . i go by t , she / her pronouns , and i would absolutely love some messy plots to dig into so please milly rock on that like button . :~)

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 here and do i have the tea for you . river is back on campus , which is surprising considering the threatening note i left them . yes , i know all about his growing alcohol dependency because of their gluttony . imagine the tabloids and how the o’connor family would feel for such information to come out , not to mention the reputation of pike because of their actions . at this rate , he is better off staying put in tampa , florida and living off that $900m family net worth . what’s the point in studying business law with plans to strive into the nfl unbeknownst to his family , is it worth it with what i know ? anyways , they may want to continue to be charismatic & perspicacious because the choleric & imprudent attributes make me want to spill . trigger warning : alcoholism , republicans .

𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : alexander river o’connor . 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 : only goes by river . 𝐚𝐠𝐞 : twenty one years . 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 & 𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 : leo sun , aquarius moon , gemini ascendant ! 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 : tampa , florida . 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : swings both ways ( family are unaware ) , & has only been in relationships with girls so far . 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 : painfully caucasian . 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 : obnoxious laughter , snapbacks , empty beer cans , protein shakes , dust-covered study books , two seasons into spongebob squarepants on netflix , unread message from father , bitten nails , overflown trash cans , used condoms , cupboard full of ramen pots . 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒 : • the o’connor’s hail from an incredibly political background . river’s grandfather , great grandfather were both former mayors , his father is a wealthy senator & his mother a news anchor with a heavy hand in journalism , she's been called out for her controversial right - wing opinions in the media . river’s raised in a family who hold strong christian , conservative values ( republicans , yuck ! ) though his father remarried two times before winding up with river’s mom . needless to say , this clueless boy stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of his full & half - siblings ; who all had fixated dreams & plans from a young age , whether that was delving into medicine , business innovation and even the world of criminal law . • in all honesty , though , let’s not get it twisted ! river was subject to a very privileged childhood . he had everything handed to him on a silver platter until the age of sixteen lmao & that’s when his father was tireless with his efforts to align his political aspirations with river’s future . he made sure that river was a hard working boy with several public sector volunteering jobs along with school ( it was more-so about maintaining “image” & brushing up on prowess ) , & all throughout high school he still sustained tip top grades . • during his private academy years river was also an active member of his school council , debate team , played lacrosse & football but really fell in love with football more than anything . he dropped the rest of the extracurricular’s towards the end to focus on football , as his coach was a huge positive influence & encouraged him to pursue this lil’ ol ambition ! • so lets skip to college ! river knew by senior year he wanted to get away from florida and embellish in new surroundings for his college years . ngl his family initially wanted him to go to harvard so he had to put up a good fight to attend hollingsworth . he pledged for pike even though his upbringing was more aligned with the sigma house , but tbh river knew from the get-go he'd better fit with his pike brothers 'cause thats where he could find kindred souls for his love of football . he immediately hurled himself into a wild partying lifestyle ( lets get reckless luv ) . alcohol , drugs , sex , you name it . & as of now he is currently playing for the college football team as a wide receiver in the pipeline dream of getting scouted lmao , but his parents of course pushed him to take on a degree that could be utilised for a political future . he figured business law was perhaps the most ideal course of action 'cause he really doesn't want to delve into the world of politics , especially seeing as he internally opposes everything his family holds dear as their beliefs . also , if the football thing doesn't work out for him , corporate law is the next best thing fdjdfnj . so yeah ! though he comes across really meathead - like & kind of ( ? ) a mess , back home river’s family are on the receiving end of a more polished , cultivated version of their son .

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀 :

• okay first thing’s first . river’s a huge shithead but the rare times get him in his philosophical spiels talking about the world’s political state , or rather , america’s political state , he’s far more woke than his family , & actually doesn’t believe in a lot of what his family spews . there have been far too many family dinners where there’s been heated debates between him & his relatives . some of his siblings also share progressive opinions but there are others ( the older ones ) that are exact replicas of his father lmao • as i’ve mentioned before , he’s become a huge party boy , & with this , unfortunately , in the recent year there’s been a slight dependency for the bottle ( jsyk he’s not a raging alcoholic yet but im js nine times out of ten you’ll find homeboy buzzed ) . river doesn’t think he really has a problem though , & he especially doesn’t think he has a place to really scream “ woe is me “ , if that makes sense ? he’s aware of his privilege & most times when he feels the whole world is piling on top of him , it’s just easier to go out & turn up . he’s stressed a lot of the time , but again , it’s easier to bury this with the company of his friends on some #lets get wrecked boys lmao . also when he goes back home between semesters , he helps with his father’s campaign & the like . there’s responsibilities , he doesn’t get to go back home for a break . he used to be a freak of routine & get lit until six in the morning every day & then run his normal errands on no sleep but recently his partying habits have caught up to him ddfjnfd he's kinda been having more and more trouble recovering as time has gone on . his attendance at school is slowly declining this year cause there'll be days where he misses continual day's worth of classes and you wont hear from him for a while... but eventually he’ll show up like nothing was wrong . :~) • an attention - seeking fuckboy , he can very loud and vulgar but is here for a good time not a long time. most of his relationships have either been very on / off or flings that have fizzled out due to the fact he’s a leo & river is too invested in himself to ~ open up ~ emotionally . he’s an athlete so he is very competitive , a sore loser dfjndfj & can have a melodramatic temper both off and on the field !

#holling:intro

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tipsy-focusing · 6 years ago

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Items can vary from person to person when it comes to living it rough.

Some enjoy the comforts that come from home, like pyjamas, a toilet, ample lighting, enough space to stand up straight in, being able to keep out the creepy crawlies, having all these kinds of utensils from the kitchen that you just couldnt do without.

And that’s perfectly acceptable. If you have the room/budget for it.

For myself after many years of camping, I can definitely say its taught me to be a little more open to the natural world and not to fear it as some people do. I dont have the space to have my own private it toilet but that’s cool I’m fine with using public toilets or ducking out into the scrub. I’m okay with wearing the same pair of pants for a couple days in a row. Letting loose on some of your riturals can be hard and a little uncomfortable but it can lead to less worries and more focus on what you’re really out here to enjoy.

” there’s nothing better than sitting around a fire, with a beer, with people you love and just enjoying what’s around you.”

From as young as I can remember my family have always been the adventurous type and would be out in the Australian bushland every other weekend; whether thats all of us together or one of us.

I believe its safe to say that from the years of camping next to/on riverbeds, lakes, beaches, on mountains where puddles would freeze over night, places only 4WD vehicles can acess, deserts, dense bushland; you just name a place on the east coast of this country and there’s a high chance that I’ve been through it at least once. I don’t mind getting a bit dirty, or finding a few critters next to my seat.

My family has gone through fazes of different tents, different cooking methods, trying out some form of ‘glamping’ with a camper trailer that fully set up; looked like we we were building the next skyscraper. There was a point where it took a boat to get to specific spots.

I’m not fussed if it’s pouring down with rain and I’m stuck under a tarpaulin with some friends. It’s always felt like a learning experince or just an experince in itself that I will forever remember

To me there’s nothing better than sitting around a fire, with a beer, with people you love and just enjoying what’s around you. Hanging out, having the occasional deep conversations, it feels like it really brings a group of people very close.

Starting with the kitchen.

Starting in my ‘oh so small’ cabinet kitchen you would think that there is just not enough storage. But here is what I can fit and what I find useful for two people:

2 heat resistant cups *perfect for any drink at camp from wine to tea

Heat safe plastic plates and bowls – 2 of each

Cutlery for 2 *knives, forks, spoons, teaspoons

1 small and large knife that come with a slip on cover

Paint scraper *sounds odd but it’s perfect for cleaning hot plate BBQ’s

Tongs both long and short *long is great for getting things out of the fire

Bottle and can opener *try and find a tool that does both

Wooden spoon

Silicone spatula/scraper

Large serving spoon

Collapsable bowls * one for mixing and one that it sized well for dish washing

First Aid Box *doesnt need to be in the kitchen area but thats where it easily accessible

Scrubbing brush

Steel wool

Space saver measuring

cups

Re-usable shopping bags for those who are trying to be eco friendly

Paper towel and tin foil *wouldn’t reccomend tea-towels as they require washing and drying which isnt ideal if you’re constantly on the move

Portable Butane Gas Stove with replacement gas cartridges

Non-stick 26cm frying pan with high walls and a lid

Fire safe Billy Can or Camping Pot for Non-Australians

Dish detergent

Baby wipes/ Wet Ones

From observing what my family has used in the past and what I’ve used for myself, these items seem to do the job well and are very practical.

The smaller AND larger extras.

For items that are used on the regular like hand soap, shower toiletries, flashlights/torches, pencils, books, water bottles, sunscreen, hair ties, dog leads, quick fix tape; from doing a little research it was found that clipping a multipocket organiser on the back of car seats makes really efficient storage for these types of things.

I also have two flat fold-out chairs, these are great chair for saving space inside. A folding table can be really usefull when you’ve set yourself up to stay for a few days and allows

you to expand your space outside of your home on wheels. Now while this isnt necessary,

but since I had the spot for it; a beach umbrella is perfect for those days on the coast or at a lake to enjoy sitting out of the sun next to the water *even in it!*. A roll of Paracord, a

tarpauline, tent pegs, two or three tent poles are also great for making a covered outdoor spot from the doors of your van. Other people would just get an awning but my challenge is to not look like a Camper Van from the outside.

But when it comes to clothes and enterainment stuff like fishing/hiking/whatever outdoor activity gear. It’s really up to the user and what they plan on doing while on their trip. For me I still have storage under the bed where I would keep clothes, miscellaneous items like bluetooth speaker, dog water bowl, dog food, dog cooling mat, shoes, straps, vest for paddleboarding, water. You can have endless possiblities when it comes to these things.

However unlike the people who travel in their Sprinter Vans; my storage space is very limited so I’m reduced to carrying items that can lay flat.

Now for my bed, a handy note I learned from a fellow Vanlifer was that a combination of regular medium density foam matress with a 5-7cm thick memory foam layer makes up for a very comfy bed *and I’m a side sleeper*.

What you can see in above is that for the design of the bed I’ve cut the matress into two pieces. This allows for the two pieces to make an L-shape which replicates that couch feel.

But keep in mind like i mentioned eariler if your budget it tight all these items will add up in weight. This will then add up to how much fuel you put in your tank in a week.

I’d just like to mention these true words of Edwin Way Teale –

“Reduce the complexity of life by eliminating the needless wants of life, and the labors of life reduce themselves.”

The main focus when it comes to picking out your tools and utensils, is to really think how practical each item is.

In the famous words of my father –

“Lay out all the things you think you might need. Now… leave half of that behind at home. You likely wont use it anyway”

So for anyone who’s new to the whole outdoor experince and is new to the Van Life, I hope that my shared experience of useful tools in the van help shed some light in the darkness. I’m sure some of these thing may change for me in my future but for now that is what I need.

I’m aware that the interior may not look aesthetically pleasing like all those other vans you find on intstagram, but what mine is – is practical and I’m quite content with that.

Cheers!

Did you like the information from this? Continue to follow this blog to learn more about how I make life a bit easier when I’m out in my Camper.

From experience this is what I'm happy to travel with. Items can vary from person to person when it comes to living it rough. Some enjoy the comforts that come from home, like pyjamas, a toilet, ample lighting, enough space to stand up straight in, being able to keep out the creepy crawlies, having all these kinds of utensils from the kitchen that you just couldnt do without.

#campervan #essentials #kitchen #space #storage #toyota hiace #utensils #van living #vanlife

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