#i sound like a hoe at a market

[emmg]

I'm likely never finishing it so here's whatever I wrote for this ellana x solas x elgar'nan one-shot lmfao, releasing it into the wilds of tumblr and away from my brain, be free, you unfinished thing, you. If I ever finish it, I'll throw it on ao3 and maybe like make it a three-shot because it will get long, but idk, probably not, we'll see.

100% inspired and owed to @teamdilf and their succinct and delicious A Flower in a Cage which all of you need to check out and admire. Their Elgar'nan has me in fits lmfao, ripping bongs and being suave, so freaking delicious

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Solas' anger has always been a quiet, simmering force. Even when Wisdom was lost, twisted into an abomination, he remained unsettlingly composed. There had been fury, of course—words of rage—but he reduced the mages responsible to ash with a cold, clinical precision. 

It’s that same look she sees now as she watches him from the corner of her eye. His narrowed gaze, fingers interlaced and resting on the table. For ten years, she had imagined all the sharp retorts she’d throw his way, the righteous fury, maybe even a slap or two. But now, seeing him like this, she just feels tired. Exhausted, really. 

They haven’t had a moment to talk. No chance to confront one another, to scream, cry, or even laugh together. So she lets her anger go, at least for now, and reaches out to touch his forearm. The cold metal of his armor unsettles her. He was never like this with her—never this sharp, this guarded. He used to wear an ugly sweater, soft fabrics worn thin with age. Not this hard, unyielding plate. Still, he feels her touch and, with the smallest tilt of his head, the briefest shudder, he exhales, just a little. 

She finds his hand—with her own, the one that’s still flesh and bone—and gently pries it from its rigid grip. She pulls it under the table, a small gesture. Not quite a reunion, but a quiet truce. 

The Evanuris are awake, their prison, past and present, shattered. Just two for the time being. Your problem now, she's heard Rook tell her of Solas' bitter words to them. Blame and responsibility tossed upon an innocent party just as had been done to her at the Conclave. She disapproves, of course, but she knows Solas too well. Duty is his constant companion, like a cloak he never removes. He wouldn’t have reacted this way unless he had been pushed to his breaking point.

These... negotiations—if she can even call them that—are bizarre. There isn’t a word that quite fits what’s happening. Solas says they want to talk to him, but it’s clear they also want to crush him for what he’s done to them. And yet, she supposes she understands. As much as they might hate him, he’s still the closest thing to kin they have in this strange, unfamiliar world. 

She never imagined she would meet one of the creators. Then again, she never imagined she’d find herself holding hands with the Dread Wolf, either. 

Ellana glances at Elgar’nan, seated across from them at the war table, legs casually crossed, his head propped on a loose fist. He’s odd, strange, but she’s relieved that he’s the one speaking. Ghilan’nain unnerves her in a way she can’t quite explain, fear that sits deep and wordless. One moment a mass of writhing shadows, then a woman, then a grotesque creature—twisting flesh, charred bones, marrow spilling out. She shapes her creations, scratches her monsters beneath their chins, all while her own form distorts. She speaks of life and inception, even as her body unravels. 

"What does an Inquisitor do?" Elgar'nan asks, his smile soft, almost teasing. 

She’s come to know him as the indulgent kind, always redirecting the conversation back to those around him. His words sometimes catch, slipping over sounds that seem strange on his tongue, as though their language itself tastes bitter. There’s a lilting accent in his voice, one she recognizes in Solas, though Solas has carefully refined it, polished it smooth to blend in. But Elgar’nan lets the imperfections linger, and when he falters, she asks him to repeat himself. He always does, patient, with a quiet, whispered apology—forgive me.

"Not much these days," she admits, rolling a shoulder with casual indifference. "Once, I closed rifts in the sky." 

"A fragile pursuit," he remarks, his gaze drifting to the metal-and-wood fingers of her left hand. "And a thankless one." 

"That’s behind me now," she replies. 

"Ell-a-na," he says, drawing out each syllable slowly, deliberately. "That is your name, correct?" 

"Yes," she nods, her tone sharper. "And it’s not a difficult one. No need to linger on it." 

She’s not the same girl who was sent to spy on the Conclave. Not even the same "Herald" who took up a mantle less sacred than it appeared, simply because her palm happened to glow. No, the years have reshaped her. The Inquisition took the forest out of her, and time since has stripped away her simplicity. Her hair, once wild, is now styled in an elaborate Orlesian fashion—three braids woven into one, cascading down her back like a ribbon, still white, but now more from weariness than nature. She wears the diplomatic garb of a dignitary, and sometimes, when she catches her reflection, she feels lost, unable to recall what it felt like to sleep in an aravel. 

"And whose are you?" Elgar’nan continues, unbothered, as if it were the most casual of questions. 

She arches an eyebrow. "Pardon?" 

He waves his free hand, a fluid, careless motion, as if he's painting invisible curlicues. She realizes he means her face, bare now for ten years. 

"I wore June's vallaslin," she says evenly. "Before I knew the truth." 

"Ah," is all he offers in return. 

The sound seems to shatter something deep inside Solas, splintering the quiet that had settled between them. His fingers twitch violently, then convulse, jerking away from hers as if they burn. He spins toward Elgar’nan, his hand rising to point, trembling. His voice erupts, sharp and venomous, every word cutting like a blade. It’s an onslaught—a rapid, fierce tirade she cannot comprehend. 

They’ve slipped into Elvhen, arguing with one another, but the language isn’t soft and lilting now. It’s jagged, like broken glass—an ancient tongue that still carries a musical cadence beneath the anger. It rises and falls, melodic yet taut, as though the very words are wound with tension, ready to snap. 

Solas all but hisses, and the sound of his voice, cracking under the strain, makes her stomach churn. She loathes hearing him like this—so frayed, so vulnerable. 

She slams her hand down on the table, the one that barely feels anymore, and the impact is harsh and jarring. The sound reverberates through the room, loud and ugly, sending the untouched wine glasses teetering, their contents sloshing dangerously close to the rim. 

"None of that," she snaps, her voice slashing through the tension like a whip. "If we negotiate, we do it in a way all can understand." 

"Certainly," Elgar'nan is quick to agree. "But I do believe we are out of time."

With rising dread, she realizes he is right. Solas cannot stay. His connection to the Fade, his prison, is tightening its hold. Whatever time Rook's intricate rituals had bought him is running out. He must return. And she can see it—feel it. He’s been glancing at his hands, turning them over, trying to shake off the pain but unable to hide it anymore. He’s told her little about the torment, but she senses it in him, just as she did all those years ago, when he kept her at arm’s length, refusing to let her help. She feels it even if she doesn’t, and that truth gnaws at her. 

She rises. "Then we shall go," she says simply. "And we will return." 

Elgar’nan waves them off with a dismissive flick of his hand, offering no words. 

Solas is quiet as they leave the grand hall. Once outside, the doors closing behind them with a finality that makes her chest tighten, he pauses, leaning heavily against the stone wall to catch his breath. She wants to touch him—to brush her fingers against his face, hold his hand, feel the pulse in his throat. He’s grown so pale, his skin nearly translucent, yet the faint dusting of freckles remains. She can still see them, those light speckles across his nose and cheeks. They aren’t visible from afar, but up close, she could trace them like a map of their shared history, a quiet testament to all they’ve been through, the jokes they shared, the bears they evaded. 

Then, she forgets her anger, the words she has yet to say, the blows that are to come, and the eyes that linger on them. She leans in, her movements slow and deliberate. She takes his face in her hands, but the kiss she gives him is not that of a lover. It’s brief, a mere whisper of touch��her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, his brow, his nose. It’s not passion that drives her, but something softer, sadder. She hasn’t seen him in so, so long, and here he stands—so pitiful, so broken, teetering between what he once was and what he can never be again. Pathetic. He is neither monster nor savior, a man who deserves the noose, yet she knows if it ever comes to that, she would be the one to tie it. Without her, he’d never hang. 

Her mind floods with memories as her lips trace his skin. She thinks of the tea he always hated, the paints he used to mix with care, the long, rainy days on the road, when Dorian complained of the weather and Solas, with quiet patience, fed a few more sticks to the fire. She thinks of the disastrous Diamondback game where he had outwitted Blackwall, leaving the false Warden stripped to nothing, his pride as naked as the rest of him. It is that man she remembers—the one who didn’t wear cold armor, but soft, worn leathers. The man who spoke in familiar tongues, who hadn’t yet driven knives into the backs of old friends.

She loves that man, loves him still, and with a quiet, aching guilt that weighs heavy in her chest, she loves the man standing before her now, broken as he is. All the gods, false and true, forgive her—she still loves him.

Her kisses slow and cease, and with a weary sigh, she pulls back. 

"I am sorry," Solas says, his voice barely above a whisper, and he’s not looking at her. 

And then the world shifts, wraps around him, pulling him away. He disappears, as he always does, when the Fade reclaims him, and she is left alone. 

The sentinels at the grand doors remain motionless as she approaches, neither acknowledging her nor opening the way. They stand like statues, their eyes fixed on some distant point. Her frown deepens, anxiety rising within her as the weight of their silence presses in. 

So, she turns back, retracing her steps to where Elgar’nan still sits, now idly flipping through a book. 

"Have a drink with me, Inquisitor," he says without looking up. 

"You waited for Solas to leave," she deduces, her tone more of a statement than a question, but she obliges, perching herself on the edge of the war table and lifting one of the untouched wine glasses. 

"Hm," he murmurs, a soft smile curling his lips. 

He stands, and she realizes he is taller than Solas. She wishes he had remained seated. There is something unsettling about his grace, the way he moves with quiet, effortless ease. He takes the other glass and toasts her from across the room before strolling to the window. He moves like liquid—fluid. His deep-set lines and silver-threaded hair suggest age, something ordinary, something all inevitably come to, but in the right light, he truly could be the All-Father from Dalish legends and murals, regal and distant. He feels like a shadow detached from fables, something both ancient and elusive. 

He gazes at her, but not as one would look at a person. It’s as though she is both insignificant and the most intriguing artifact in his possession, a contradiction that sends a chill down her spine.  She doesn’t think he sees her; not really.

Maybe it’s the headpiece, she thinks, those twisted, gilded horns that curl like gold spun from myth. Or perhaps it’s his eyes, nearly empty of pupils, giving him an ethereal, distant quality—like he sees through her, beyond her. 

"I do not like your words," he says softly, a quiet confession that deepens the lines on his face. "They are... crude. Too sharp for my ears, too heavy on the tongue." His frown lingers, but then his gaze returns to hers, more thoughtful. "Yet, you wield them skillfully. Or at least, you once did. I have read of your Inquisition," he adds, waving the book in his hand like a leaf caught in the wind, "and of the Imperium that swallowed my lands, born from the betrayal of the one you cherish." 

She swirls her wine, though the gesture is more habit than purpose now. It has been breathing for hours, lifeless in the glass. Still, she lets the quiet stretch between them, the pause heavy with unspoken thoughts. 

"Then you must see," she says finally, "that not everything is wrong. Not everything needs to be destroyed." 

He shakes his head, eyes still distant. "Your world... it is broken. It breathes, yes, but not as it once did. The fire in it flickers, dim, starved of air." With a flick of the wrist, veilfire ignites in his palm, a soft green glow that quickly flares into true flame, bright and orange, like a sun rising in the hollow of his hand. 

The flames dance around him, licking the air, alive with a hunger they no longer seem able to satisfy. He sighs, almost a lament, and the fire dies with his breath, as if exhaled from the very heart of him. "In my time, it would have consumed you," he murmurs, his voice touched with a far-off sorrow. "Now, it is shackled. You strain harder for less, the very world constrained by invisible fetters." 

"Perhaps that’s a blessing," she says, steady, though the air feels heavier. "I have no desire to burn." 

He laughs then, a sound both sharp and light. "Oh, no," Elgar'nan says, almost playfully. "No, no, one such as you was never meant to burn." He offers a mocking nod, as if considering. "Others—" his tone becomes oddly teasing, "—oh, certainly, but not someone with the power to shape things. With a mere touch," his laugh once more follows, not entirely kind, "or the semblance of it. Or more precisely, with a word. Politically, socially, religiously—you are someone." His gaze sharpens, the fire in him sparking once more. "And I do not burn those with faces."

She tunes out his words, letting them wash over her as her gaze fixes on a distant point beyond his shoulder. Her voice drips with bitterness when she finally speaks. "So, you’re like Solas," she accuses. "You want to tear down the Veil." 

"It is unnatural," he replies, calm, cold. 

"Not to me." She lifts her glass, drinking not out of thirst, but to stave off the silence pressing in on her. "What about the people it will destroy? Some of them are yours." 

"None of them are mine," he snaps, dismissive, like the notion itself offends him. But then, a slow hum escapes his lips, low and discordant, the sound lingering in the air like a half-formed melody. "Though they could be," he adds, his smile thin and eerie. "Religion, devotion—such exquisite tools, wouldn’t you agree, Herald?"

The way he draws out her title makes her skin crawl, each syllable sinking deep, heavy with intent. She knows exactly what he means, the kinship he’s attempting to weave between them, a shared understanding she does not want. 

"You can force a thousand men to their knees," Elgar’nan continues, his hand sweeping through the air as if shaping unseen forces. "And they will indeed kneel. But once the blade is lifted from their throats, they will rise again, defiant, waiting to strike. Faith, though—" He pauses, raising one long finger in punctuation. "Faith is a leash that requires no hand to hold it. It binds on its own. You know that already, however." 

His truth curls around her, thick and suffocating, as though he’s inviting her to share in it, to acknowledge the power she herself wields. Power she wishes she didn’t understand so well. 

"You're not a god," she blurts out, too quickly, the words tumbling from her lips before she can gather them, as if every lesson in diplomacy Josephine had drilled into her had vanished in an instant. "Neither is Solas," she adds hastily, a futile balm meant to soften her sharpness, though she knows it won't soothe him. "And I’m no divine representative." She rolls her eyes, feeling the bitterness in her own voice. "You were a slaver, like all your kind. But you don’t have to be one now." Her voice takes on an edge of naive hope, and she hates how it sounds—like an idealist who can’t accept the shades of grey the world truly holds, reaching only for the pastel colors she wishes were real. 

Elgar’nan shows no hint of offense, or if he does, it is buried so deeply she cannot see it. He simply watches her, appraising, as though he sees through her bravado and into the softer parts of herself. His scrutiny drifts over her slowly, with a kind of clinical interest, as though studying something fragile, something almost pitiable. 

"What I am," he says at last, his voice like silk unraveling in the air, "is irrelevant. What matters is what they believe me to be." The words hang between them, heavy, weighted with the truth of them. "Is that not what raised you to the pinnacle of your world, Ellana?" 

In the way he speaks her name, he strips away the titles, the masks, as though acknowledging her roots, the bare bones of who she is, wrapped in the illusions of power she’s been given. Yet, behind his stare, there is no warmth, no real recognition. He sees her, but only as one sees a fleeting shadow—curious for a moment, but ultimately unimportant. What she is beneath it all doesn’t truly matter to him. 

When his smile spreads across his face, a wave of profound anxiety washes over her, so deep and consuming that her hand begins to tremble. There is something terribly wrong in his expression. The smile is too perfect, too precise, as if it’s been borrowed—stolen—from someone else. It is beautiful, finely crafted, like a mask made by the finest hands. He is as breathtaking as the Mother of the Halla, just as ethereal, but something about him is fundamentally amiss. He is not like Solas. His refined politeness unnerves her, a facade too polished, too practiced. 

And still, he does not drink. 

In their old, foolish legends, she recalls him wrestling the sun from the heavens. And looking at him now, she believes it. If he were to tell her that he reached up and plucked the glowing orb from the sky himself, she would trust him without question. There’s something in him, something electric, as though that sun still sizzles beneath his skin. Magic, power, or something else entirely—it thrums in him, an otherness that sets him apart from the world around him, makes him feel like he’s not quite of this realm. And he isn't. Not really, not truly, even if he once walked it freely. 

"I should go," she says, setting her glass down with a quiet resolve. 

His head tilts ever so slightly. "No," he replies, his voice gentle but firm. "You will stay. And we shall talk more." His smile is disquieting, unsettling in its decorum. "But tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow." 

****

When she sees him next, he hands her a map of Tevinter and a quill. 

She is bone-tired, her body aching with the weight of sleeplessness. Fear, raw and primal, pulses in her chest—a fear she hasn’t felt in years. She loathes being alone in this place, the stillness unsettling, the ancient stones seeming to drink in both light and sound, leaving only silence in their wake. 

She hates them, the ones who awoke with the Evanuris. They are ancient, strange, devout in a way that defies comprehension—a faith so deep and unyielding it could shame the Chantry, even if Andraste herself walked in during a morning service. They are not like her, despite the shared features etched in their faces. They speak little, their silence more oppressive than comforting. They remind her of Abelas—distant, ageless—but where Abelas had been kind in his own way, they are colder, detached, their faces marked in the same strange patterns that make them feel even less...alive. 

"I don’t appreciate being locked in," she says, though her fingers have already wrapped around the quill. 

"You are not," Elgar’nan replies calmly. "Have you not walked freely? Are you not doing so now?" 

"And yet, the front door is barred." 

"A contingency," he says, dismissive, as though the locked door were nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. "Nothing more." 

She holds his gaze, her resolve wavering before she finally sighs and shakes her head. "What do you wish to know?" she asks, motioning tiredly toward the map. 

"Borders."

"They're already depicted," she says, her patience thinning, her words clipped. 

He smiles that maddening smile, his tongue clicking in a soft, rhythmic tsk-tsk-tsk, the sound as if chiding a child who has missed something obvious. "The unspoken ones," he corrects, his voice a velvety murmur, indulgent, almost tender, as though her ignorance were something to be gently shaped. "Show me where those you call Venatori creep through the cracks. The paths your former Inquisition slips along, unseen."

His finger glides over the map like a knife tracing an invisible wound, following the jagged contours of the Hundred Pillars. "All the hidden crevices where your people crawl," he continues, smooth and coaxing, "where they lie in wait like spiders, ready to ambush mine. And where they scatter like shadows," he adds, his tone darkening, "when the tide inevitably turns against them." 

She sets the quill down, her eyes following the slow fall of a single drop of ink, fat and heavy, as it splashes onto the parchment, smearing the careful depictions beneath. "I cannot give you that," she says quietly, but with finality. 

"Then perhaps," he muses, his voice as soft as the ink still spreading across the page, "you will give me something else." 

Her brow furrows, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "What could that possibly be?" 

"Peace," he says, the word lingering on his tongue as if it were a secret, as if it could reshape the very air around them. 

The next thing she knows, his hand is in her hair, fingers coiling through the strands she left loose, unlike the dignified style she wore yesterday. He doesn’t yank her upward, but the pull is firm, commanding—like someone catching a pet by the collar. It’s not forceful, but insistent, as though he knows she will follow. He leads her to stand before a vast map, one that spans nearly the entire wall, where shadows shift and flow, and figures seem to rise and fall as if alive. 

"No, no," he murmurs, his voice tame but unyielding. "You will look." 

His grip tightens just enough to keep her head still, fixing her gaze on the swirling masses before her. He is behind her, a looming presence, yet she feels the brush of his arm as it extends past her shoulder, his fingers furling and unfurling like tendrils, pointing at the restless shapes on the map. 

"I do not know much of the Chantry," he begins, sounding very much the scholar. "Nor of this religion it champions, a faith that has swallowed the land like a plague. And I know little of this Orlais you speak of." His tone shifts into something uglier, like his patience is thinning. "But I do know how many despise both. Many who look like you. Many who have already come to me, and more who will continue to come." 

She thinks of the elven alienages, of the unrest simmering like a cauldron on the brink of boiling over. She remembers how it erupted in Denerim—riots, rebellion, and the bloody purges that followed. It is a story she has seen play out across Thedas, each version a little different but always steeped in horror. And then her thoughts turn to her own clan, the Dalish, blind in their unwavering devotion to gods of a forgotten age. The offerings, the prayers, the way they shun the present, clinging to ancient stories like lifelines, dreaming of a past long buried, of how to breathe life into it anew. 

No, no, he is not lying, she realizes, and the dread coils tighter around her heart. She knows, with sudden clarity, that there will be many who see him as the harbinger of change—a living myth walking among them. They will kneel without question, without hesitation, and offer themselves to him as if their every breath had led to this moment. 

And Solas? If the All-Father walks, if Ghilan'nain walks, then Solas is no fabrication, no mere story whispered in the dark. He is real, and he is the Betrayer. The Dread Wolf of legend. And they—her people—will turn on him at the mere word of these two. Her people, who have carried their resentment for Fen'Harel like a festering wound for millennia. It would be so easy, too easy, for these ancient relics of the People to wield that hatred like a blade, to turn it against anyone who doesn’t revile him. Against those who show him sympathy. Against her. Against her friends. Against the fragile alliance Rook now leads—this little band that grew into something far larger, something that, in the eyes of many, might appear to stand beside the Betrayer himself. 

"So, let your words flow, Inquisitor," he murmurs, his voice pleasant, yet heavy with an undercurrent of menace. "Let them hear you. Let them withdraw. It will be easier—easier for you, for them, and yes, even for me." His hand glides across the map once more, this time stopping at its tattered edge, where the South, her home, is cut short. "Or, when this Veil, this hollow illusion you cling to, crumbles, and your wolf rises to his full strength, so too shall me and mine." 

With a sudden, unsettling motion, he gives her a shake—not violent, but enough to rattle her. "Why do you think your trickster, your deceiver, locked us behind a door without a key? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to end the threat completely?" His fingers begin their relentless tap-tap-tap against her shoulder, each strike a quiet taunt. "He couldn’t. He simply could not. And he cannot do it still—will stand even less of a chance when the sky ignites with fire." His words slide over her like poison as he continues, "So, I repeat myself: speak. Call for surrender. Don’t let this end in flames."

"Let me go," she snaps, shaking him off. His fingers slip from her hair as he takes a step back. Her body pulses with raw anger as she shoves him. "And never presume to touch me like that again." 

"You snarl like a cornered dog," he muses, but he is frowning now and she knows he is unnerved. "Baring your teeth, snapping. But I don’t offer a gentle hand to a beast that bites. I catch it by the scruff instead." His voice softens into a mockery of kindness. "Show me a fragment of decorum, Inquisitor, and you will see me return it tenfold." 

She watches as he brushes at his flowing sleeves, as though wiping away the very memory of her touch. The gesture is a quiet dismissal. Without another glance, he turns and begins to walk away. She steps forward, instinctively wanting to follow, but the air shifts—solid, impenetrable. An unseen force blocks her path, as if the very room bends to his will, keeping her trapped in her fury and isolation. 

****

"I do not like this," Elgar’nan mutters. "I do not like this at all." 

There is a cool detachment in him, she has learned—a restraint in the way he moves around her, as though the mere act of contact would shatter the brittle glass of his self-forged divinity. But not today. Today, without warning, he reaches for her hand, his fingers slipping into hers unbidden, even as she recoils, questioning, trying in vain to pull free. His touch creeps upward, like the encroaching shadow of some ancient force. Up, up, his fingers glide, finding the delicate curve of her elbow, where the clockwork joint meets her prosthetic, a careful mechanism of birch and dawnwood and magic. Then higher still, until two fingers press against her skin—living, warm—and two more against the cold metal. 

Suddenly, her balance deserts her. Her knees buckle, and for a breathless instant, she teeters on the edge of collapse. But his grip tightens, iron-strong, holding her fast. She would scream if she could, but the sound is trapped, suffocated, as fire blossoms through her arm—sharp, relentless, alive. It surges from the hinge of her elbow and winds its way inward, a serpent of agony twisting through her flesh. 

With horror, she watches as the finely-crafted prosthetic—a gift, a masterpiece forged by Tevinter's finest artificers at Dorian's behest—begins to dissolve. No, not just dissolve—it melts into her, her flesh absorbing the metal, and the metal melding into her skin. It is a grotesque fusion, an unnatural marriage of living tissue and lifeless machinery, bound by a fire that devours and reshapes. Three separate entities—her, the arm, and the magic—become one, a morbid union that should not exist. The flame sears through her, then dies just as quickly, leaving only the echo of its wrath behind. 

When he finally releases her, she staggers back, trembling, trying to make sense of the transformation. The prosthetic is no longer just an arm—it has become part of her, fused seamlessly to her body, moving with a fluidity that was once impossible. And the sensations—oh, the sensations. Her dawnstone fingertips burn with a newfound sensitivity, every touch more vivid than she ever thought possible. She can feel him still—the heat of his skin, the softness of his palm lingering against her. She can feel the whisper of the air as it brushes past, a breeze so faint it might as well be a phantom. 

And beneath it all, she feels the pain. Still, endlessly, the pain lingers, sharp and relentless. 

"How does it feel?" His voice is idle, almost distant, the question more a musing than a demand for truth. His arms fold neatly behind him, his head tilts with a feigned curiosity. Then, as an afterthought, comes her name, as if he's suddenly remembered she has one. "Ellana." 

She responds with a resounding strike across his face. 

The impact is so swift, so vicious, that it rocks him. His gaudy, ornate headpiece, that ridiculous crown of gilded arrogance, slips askew, tangling in the grey of his hair, pulling at strands like thorns catching in silk. For a heartbeat, it teeters precariously, caught between falling and staying, before it finally gives in, tumbling to the floor with a muted clatter, the sound so small against the thunderous echo of her slap. 

There is a moment, just a breath, where the world seems to still—her hand still tingling, his cheek reddening with the imprint of her defiance—and for that brief heartbeat, she knows he feels it too. Knows that he sees her as something alive, the same realization Solas struggled with. 

"Wonderful," she finally rasps, her voice rough, each word scraping painfully from her throat. "And I believe I already told you not to touch me again." 

Eh fuck it, I’m gonna write that ellana (lavellan) x solas x elgar’nan one-shot we’ve been fantasizing about and make it à la dinner & diatribes, something so utterly toxic and angsty and downright deranged that the asylum will be calling to check if i still have a soul. Lesgo my beautiful wine & dine charming villain, get the liquor and propositions out on the table

[whateverloomis]

"Scream" (1996) meets "X" || Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x GN!AFAB reader 🔪🔞

PART 2

A/N: I got this idea while re-watching "X" last week and I couldn't help but imagine the Scream (1996) characters combined with the movie. I had also been thinking what it would be like for Billy to fuck with Tatum so... Muahaha, here it is hoes. There will definitely be a part 2 for this because it would've been hella long if I had posted all of it. Plus, I like to do cliffhangers ;) Enjoy babes <33

Warnings: Voyeurism, mentions of cheating, making out, p in v, AFAB reader (no use of pronouns,) implied size difference, threatening, lots of teasing, poly!Ghostface, reader has pre-determined interests and outfits, Sidney is not in the story (sorry not sorry,) || Not edited

Word count: 2.8k

•

"Sidney doesn't know about it and she doesn't have to, simple," Billy told you while you picked some snacks from the gas station. "Besides, you're what's important here. You're the star," Stu continued, grabbing the items from your hands and walking towards the register to pay for everything.

"I mean, it's not like I care bu-" - "Then stop acting like you do," Billy interrupted and hugged you from behind, his hands squeezing your waist. You bit your bottom lip and smiled, feeling him nip at your neck softly. "Plus, after I fuck you in front of that camera you won't even remember your own name," he whispered in your ear and you craned your neck to kiss him, tongue brushing his bottom lip immediately.

"Ah ah ah, save it for the camera, kids," Stu said while walking towards you. He grabbed your face and kissed your cheek before walking out of the mini market. "Let's go babes, we have a long drive ahead of us!"

•

The car ride was chaotic. Stu and Tatum were making out and moaning in the back of the van while Billy sat across from them, occasionally closing his eyes to drown out the sound of the squeaky back door and his horny friends.

You were completely zoned out, looking outside at the corn field that seemed endless. You couldn't believe you were finally going to film a movie and become a star. Stu promised as much, and all his words of praise and promise excited you more every single time.

Randy was driving while singing along to a tune you didn't recognize and arguing with Tatum from time to time about how she should have some dignity and not suck her boyfriend's face in front of everyone.

He had always wanted his first film to be an artistic porno movie. It was going to be revolutionary, he said. Shown in every theater and be the number one best porn film with an actual good plot. It was everyone's big break.

Billy was in it for the money, not the fame. He didn't care if his face was recognized by any means, but if he got to fuck you and get paid for it?, he wasn't going to say no, and he didn't. You guys have been sneaking around for a while anyways, it was a matter of time before Sidney found out, so he didn't care. Not only that, but Billy supported you. He knew you had potential. He saw it, and this film? This movie was sure to raise you to fame. With those sweet moans of yours and gorgeous body. Those pretty little faces you make when he fucks you stupid. You were it.

"The fuck are you looking at?" Tatum bitched at Billy. He didn't answer her, instead he just kept staring at her, heavy eyes threatening to close once again. He smirked in amusement, Billy got a kick of bothering Tatum while doing the bare minimum.

"Fuck are you bitching at? I'm not looking at anything," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"You were looking at my tits," the blonde answered with an attitude and Billy let out a breathy laugh. "It's not my fault Stu has them out on full display for everyone to look at," he said and Stu laughed along with his friend.

Tatum rolled her eyes and adjusted her dress up her chest. "Awhh, c'mon babe don't be like that-" - "Shut up! I can't believe you want me to fuck him," the girl said and you giggled, looking back at her; "You won't regret it, trust me," you said and Stu stuck his tongue out; "Thaaat's the spirit, see Tate?" - "Ugh, I'm taking a nap," she said before laying down on the carpeted floor, legs over Stu's lap.

•

After nearly a 6 hour drive you finally arrived at the old ranch where you guys were going to be staying at for a few days.

As you and the group were unloading your belongings from the van, Stu walked up to the house to talk to the owner and announce your arrival.

"I told you we were coming in today pops, relax," you overheard Stu say, nervousness lacing his voice. You looked at Billy to see if he caught on to the situation and saw he was already pulling his gun out from the back of his jeans. You gasped and ran towards him, placing your hand over his to stop him from pulling the weapon all the way out.

"Don't," you whispered and gave him a worried look. He poked the inside of his left cheek with his tongue in annoyance before sliding the gun back down inside his pants and you visibly relaxed.

"You didn't tell me there were gonna be so many people!," the old man said and Stu laughed nervously; "I know I know but listen, I've got some extra," Stu paused his words and pulled out a $100 bill out of his front pocket. "There's more where that came from if y-" - "I don't need your money!," the old man interrupted and pointed a shutgun at Stu's chest. Billy reached for his weapon once again, this time not hesitating; "You better back off or el-" - "Or else what?! You kids are getting yourselves kicked out of my property if you keep-" - "LET'S, all... Calm down, yeah?," Stu said, signaling Billy to put his weapon away and smiling nervously at the old man. "Look, we need this, okay? We drove all the way over here so give us one night at least?," he reasoned, and the owner glared at everyone. "One. Then you're out of here," the old man agreed and walked past Stu, making his way down to the small wooden house all the way across the field.

You closed your eyes and sighed, giving Billy a side eye before picking up your bags and following the owner with the rest of the group.

The small wooden cabin was perfect to accommodate everyone, and had a view of the lake that was not far from it. You sat on the couch in the small living room area with Randy and Tatum. Billy and Stu stayed behind talking to the old man but you couldn't make out a single word.

"That old fuck is gonna kill us, we shouldn't stay here." Randy said, fear lacing his words.

"Randy, you know Stu is not leaving until we film this." Tatum said, defeat and annoyance written on her face. "How the hell are we filming this in one day? That's impossibl-" - "Look, I'm sure Billy and Stu are coming to terms with the owner okay? Relax." You interrupted, but you were talking to yourself more than him.

Billy had little patience for people like the owner of the farm and he was definitely going to pull that trigger without hesitation.

You were nervous. You knew he had fired that weapon before. Billy didn't like to talk about it, but you knew what he was capable of.

"Alright! We negotiated and pops played nice. We're staying the whole week like we originally planned!" Stu announced and everyone cheered except for you and Billy. You had a feeling it wasn't so easy to get the old man to give in so quickly after his aggressive behavior.

-

"Did you threaten him?" You asked. You guys were getting settled in your room and the quietness of Billy was putting you off.

"Threaten who?" Billy asked, turning around from his position in front of the window. He had been keeping an eye on the owners house for God knows how long.

"The owner. Why'd he change his mind all of a sudden?" You continued and Billy looked at you seriously a few seconds before leaning against the edge of the window and smiling softly.

"Don't worry about that old rag, we just negotiated, that's all." Billy replied and you sighed softly. "Hey, c'mon now. Everything's fine. Nothing's gonna happen to you, okay? Not while I'm here." He continued and sat next to you on the bed. You looked at him in doubt and he gave you those puppy dog eyes that drove you crazy. "C'mere" he said while patting his lap. You crawled over the bed and straddled him, the boy placing his hands on your hips instantly. "This is your moment. Your big break, I'm not gonna let that old fuck ruin it for you." He said and kissed you softly. His lips molding against yours perfectly. You relaxed against him and placed your forehead against his. "I trust you." You whispered and Billy kissed you again, this time prolonging it. You moaned softly against his lips and felt him grow hard under you. On instinct, you started to grind against his clothed cock and pull his hair, making him groan.

You gently pushed his chest to lay down on the bed. The kiss getting more heated by the second.

Billy started to run his hands under your tank top and pulled it up, exposing your tits before stopping at the sound of the door opening.

"I knew I heard freaky noises." Stu said, leaning against the door frame.

Billy sat up and placed you on the bed next to him before turning around and glaring at his friend. "Fuck off, will you? Not now." - "Awhh c'mon! Tatum just went to bed."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Stu's clear intentions. Ever since you let him join you and Billy during sex once he's been trying to get another chance, but never succeeded since then.

You grinned at both boys and walked over to Stu. You got up on your tippy toes and placed a single, slow kiss on his lips before running your hand down his chest. "You heard the man, not now." You whispered and Stu sighed in defeat. "Fuck, fine... God, you're so hot." He said and Billy smirked at the sight. He couldn't help but find it incredibly hot when you used that sexy manipulative attitude on others.

Stu walked away and you closed the door quietly, before locking it and turning around to face Billy; "Where were we?"

-

The bright sun woke you up. The sky was almost crystal clear and a beautiful pale blue. Billy was already up since Stu wanted to start filming early, and you definitely didn't want to miss it, so you got out of bed and brushed your teeth, overall freshening up to go into the next room and see if you were lucky to catch them before the camera was rolling.

You didn't bother to change your clothes or cover up. You were comfortable enough to walk around in your black thong and thin white crop top that exposed your pebbled nipples in a rather subtle, nearly classy way.

When you approached the room next door and opened it they hadn't started the filming process and you bit your lip in excitement. You really wanted to see what Billy had in store, plus Tatum is hot as fuck and you knew they'd look incredible together.

"Just in time babe, we're about to start." Stu said and Randy looked at you with a rather unamused face. He wasn't exactly too into the whole idea considering he was filming Billy cheating on his forever crush, Sidney, but he was promised thousands just by standing there with a mic so he wasn't going to say no. Plus, maybe he could get some action himself and finally lose his virginity. Randy took the bait anyways.

"Do we really have to do this?" Tatum asked Stu, rolling her eyes. She was sitting on Billy's lap facing him, wearing a short sundress without panties on. Billy had his legs bent up slightly, cupping her ass and providing steadiness while he took a puff of the joint they had all been sharing.

"Babe c'mon! It'll be quick, trust me!" Stu said, camera in hand.

"The fuck are you saying? That I won't last long like your sorry ass?" Billy said, annoyed at Stu's implication.

"With that pussy? You won't last three seco-" - "I'm literally right here, asshole!" Tatum said and threw a pillow at her boyfriend. Stu laughed and threw the pillow to the side.

"C'mon, don't be pussies and get it over with!" He said and Tatum sighed. "Okay, whatever." The girl rolled her eyes before grabbing the blunt from Billy's hands and taking a drag. She exhaled slowly and started to rub Billy over his jeans. He looked at her hands working on him and couldn't help but grow hard at the sensation.

Tatum unbuttoned his jeans just enough for his cock to spring free and she lifted her dress up slightly, rubbing her cunt over his length to lubricate both of them with her slick.

Billy's breathing picked up at her movements. Even if he didn't want to do this he couldn't deny that she felt good against him.

Grabbing her hips, he positioned her right over the tip of his cock and she sat on his length slowly, swallowing every inch inside her tight pussy. Billy released a hiss at the feeling of her cunt wrapping around him. Stu was right, he wasn't going to last long with how wet and snug her little pussy was.

"Now ride him and do your best show for me baby" Stu whispered and she started to move.

Jumping up and down on Billy's cock she moaned pornographically. "Yes! Fuck yes! Pleaseeee" She said and Billy held her hips tighter, releasing inevitable grunts. He couldn't lie to himself, her tits bouncing right in front of his face looked way too good for him to deny it.

"Fuck" He whispered and started to thrust up, practically using Tatum in order to get off quickly. The blonde moaned loudly, this time it was legit. Billy's cock felt good as he fucked her from below and she could feel him growing bigger inside her, signaling he was going to cum any second.

They both couldn't help but moan in unison. Sex is sex, and it didn't matter to them at that point, they were only focusing on the pleasure.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum..." Billy said softly and Tatum continued her show for the camera, however she also wanted to rile Billy up just a bit before finishing. She was having fun. "Ahh yes, cum inside me pleaseee" Tatum practically screamed and that did it for him. Billy exploded inside of Tatum and rode his high quickly before pulling out and throwing his head back on the pillow.

Tatum collapsed next to him, cum dripping out of her puffy pussy. Stu pointed the camera between her legs to get a good shot at Billy's seed spilling out of her before stopping.

"Man, that was kinda hot." - "Shut up asshole." Billy said rolling his eyes before taking another drag from the blunt that was on the ashtray next to the bed.

"Oh my Gosh you guys looked so good." You said while looking at the footage in Stu's camera. You could feel yourself growing wet at the sight of Billy and Tatum fucking.

You took a glance at Billy and he was smirking at you. He couldn't wait to get his hands on you next inside the barn and fuck you raw until you came around his thick cock.

You noticed Randy shifting rather uncomfortably and laughed softly. He was hard and having problems hiding it.

"You good, Randy? Looks like you enjoyed the show." You said teasingly and he blushed, excusing himself.

Stu stuck his tongue out and chuckled at his friend getting hard because of the scene that was filmed. "This is gonna be so revolutionary guys, I can already taste the millions."

-

Before getting ready for dinner and discussing your big scene with Billy, you decided to go for a swim in the lake.

The sunset was approaching and the rays of light were glistening over the water. The wind created little ripples that made it look deliciously refreshing.

You decided to skinny dip since the area was alone, but you didn't really care if anyone saw you.

As you were taking your panties off, you noticed the string of slick that connected the fabric to your cunt. You moaned as you felt the cool air brush against your skin and couldn't help but run your fingers between your legs.

"Fuck..." you whispered to yourself, and trailed your hand up your body to spread your wetness over your pebbled nipples.

You thought about how your scene with Billy would be like. The rush of excitement ran over your body and you started to swing your hips while playing with your tits out in the open.

You chuckled to yourself and were spinning slowly until you were met with Billy's gaze. He was standing on the other edge of the small boardwalk, enjoying the view.

"Mind if I join you?" He said teasingly while walking towards you. You bit your lip and looked at his bulge shamelessly.

"Not at all." You answered and he placed his hands over your waist, squeezing the flesh. "You look so fucking good all alone out here. Naked. Vulnerable." Billy whispered and you couldn't help but release a little whimper.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good for the camera tomorrow."

[ranchstoryblog]

Nendoroid Dreams

With the recent release of the Claire Nendoroid, the natural question I've seen asked on social media and in our own Discord is what could we get next? Granted, usually only really big series get multiple Nendoroids, but it's nice to dream... So, let's get dreamin'!

The Bare Minimum: Pete

Honestly, if any other Story of Seasons figures are going to happen, it'd feel wild to me if Goodsmile didn't make Pete. Claire going first makes sense, the most popular figures tend to be the girls, but, well, I'll let Pete himself say it:

So, while trying to imagine what he'd come with, we'll use Claire as a basis: Two animals, a crop, and a tool. Since Claire came with the watering can, I feel like the obvious choice for Pete is the hoe. They're the two most essential tools for a farmer, since you can't till soil without one, and you can't water crops without the other. The most iconic animals Claire didn't bring are also easily the dog and horse, which most players are likely to get even if they never set foot in their barn. All that's left after that is the crop. My first idea was probably the carrot, since it'd fit well with the horse and could easily have the same gimmick as Claire's turnip by letting you plant it in the ground, but the power berry is a tempting option too.

My Ideal: Pete + Candidate Pair

The most important aspect of the series outside the farm is the townsfolk, and the most important townsfolk are the marriage candidates, so it'd be nice to get at least one pair of them. Getting four Story of Seasons Nendoroids sounds impossible, but, let's have fun trying to imagine how they'd do it anyway.

It feels like the "safest" way to look at it is from a marketing perspective: Who, in such a large series, would most easily get fans to open their wallets? The cast of FoMT/64 are still easily the most iconic, and we already have Claire, but are the FoMT designs iconic? That seems like probably the most important question. Largely because, at least in my observations, Gray is far and away the favorite among the male candidates in Europe, US, Japan, China, and Indonesia, with Cliff trailing somewhere behind him. The girls are a much closer race, but if the pairing is with Gray, we basically only have two options here:

With Gray as the constant, the remaining question to answer ends up being between Popuri or Marie depending entirely on Gray's design. Personally, I find it a really hard choice to make. The 64 designs are more iconic, but Claire already being sold as a Friends of Mineral Town character kind of sets a precedent if they're aiming to make a set. There's always the possibility of 64 getting a remake, or perhaps celebrating its 25th anniversary though...

There's also accessories to consider, with both possible sets feeling pretty different. 64's version of Gray is a rancher, so he could do with more animal stuff while FoMT's could deal with more mine related items, and both 64 Popuri and FoMT Marie have a lot of association with plants, so maybe they could have non-crop plants like herbs and flowers. Items from their heart events would be a good idea, too... Regardless, someone needs to have the Blue Feather. If I had to rank the most iconic items in the series, it'd easily be at the very top, so it's wild to me that Claire didn't come with it in the first place.

Endless Possibilities

I kind of intentionally narrowed the scope for the sake of making the article not go on forever, but there's honestly a ton of routes they could go if we do actually get more figures though. I know tons of folks would go crazy for A Wonderful Life characters, and even just sticking with protagonists from past and future games could reasonably cover all the possibilities for animals, tools, and lots of crops.

Currently it looks like the Claire figure sold out on Goodsmile US's store, so hopefully that's a good sign that she was decently popular. Goodsmile Japan lists her as "few left in stock," so she seemed to sell decently well over there too. If you want more Story of Seasons figures enough to read this whole dang thing, be sure to let them know by using the request form too! We made a guide on it a while ago:

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Prison For Life

Fandom: Star Wars (Modern AU)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Summary: Poe is your person. He's your love, your best friend. And you're his. And if anyone were to hurt you? Well...Poe would go to prison for life.

Warning: reader has an altercation with a man, allusions to sex

A/N: based off the unreleased song with the same title by Olivia Rodrigo. BACK ON MY POE HOE SHIT!

Poe parked his old truck at the famer's market. Fall has truly hit with the orange, red, and yellow leaves littered along the ground. The air no longer warm but with a chill. It's no longer bright and shiny but a bit cloudy and gloomy. You love weather like this.

The door to Poe's truck creaks as he steps out. He slams it hard because it won't stay shut if he doesn't. He rushes to your side, your door also creaking when he opens it.

With the help up Poe, you hop out of his truck and land on the ground. You pecks his lips in thanks and close the door behind you.

Once he locks up, Poe's hand is in yours and you're walking together towards the vendors selling their wares.

"Alright, what's on the list, baby girl?" he asks, waiting for you to pull out your shopping list.

When you do, you name off the items, "apples, honey, those treats that Beebs love so much, celery for the stew I wanted to make, aaaannd tomatoes."

Poe nods, "Sounds good!" He looks around and his eyes brighten, "Baby, the cider vendor's here!"

You gasp, "Oh, we have to grab some before they sell out again!" you move to grab your wallet and Poe chuckles, "I got it, honey."

"You got it last time."

"And I'll get this time and the time after," he gives you a wink and then leaves your side to get in line for the cider you love so much.

You continue down the aisle of vendors. You approach one selling fruit so you check to see if they have the apples you want. Luckily, they do, so you start grabbing some and placing them in your shopping tote.

"Hey," you hear a voice that's definitely not Poe's.

You look over your shoulder to see a man standing behind you. You watch as he looks you up and down and you scowl, "Not interested."

He scoffs, "And what makes you think I was interested in the first place, huh?"

You turn back to picking out apples, but the pushes you, causing the apples in your hands to topple over. You turn to face him, looking at him in disbelief, "The hell is your problem?"

"I was talking to you, bitch!" He grabs your arm, "What makes you think-"

"HEY!" Poe practically throws himself between you and this stranger, "Get your hands off her!" He pushes the man away from you.

"I didn't do anything!" the man yells.

"Then why did I see your hands on my girl, huh?!"

The man marches back to Poe, but the fruit vendor yells, "YOU BETTER QUIT IT OR I'M CALLING THE COPS!"

The man's jaw clenches as he eyes you and then Poe, "Fuck it," he pushes Poe one last time before stomping away.

"Asshole," Poe mutters before turning to you, his eyes softening, "You okay?"

"Yeah. I was ready to punch him until you stepped in."

Poe smirks, "Why do you think I did? Don't want the poor guy to not be able to eat anymore."

You snort and Poe chuckles and then sighs, "I know you could handle yourself, but you know I'd do anything for you, right?" You bite your lip and nod, "Good," he says, "'Cause if anyone were to hurt you...well, they'd have to put me in prison for life." he looks at you with intensity in his eyes and you have to look away. Your body suddenly feeling hot.

You clear your throat as you turn back to the vendor, "Just these, please." the vendor tells you the price and Poe immediately holds out the cash with one hand, while his other is on your waist, giving it a light squeeze.

He knows. He has to know what he's doing to you right now.

"What's next, baby girl?" he murmurs in your ear.

You step away from the stall and reply lowly, "Actually, I think we should go home."

Poe looks at you confused, "You okay?"

"Mhm...I'm just a little hot."

Poe smirks and teasingly asks lowly, "Did I get you hot and bothered, sweetheart?"

"Yes, so you better take me home right now."

Your response makes him laugh, "Whatever my baby wants," he slips his hand in yours and guides you back to his truck.

You can just go to the famer's market next week.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

A Night At The Christmas Market - Modern! Helaena Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You and your wife, Helaena, spend your first Christmas as newlyweds at a Christmas market.

Pairing: Modern! Helaena Targaryen x Fem! Reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1.6k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) this one is for all the Helaena girlies out there. I hope you enjoy! ;)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

Snow was falling across the city of King’s Landing, as you and your wife, Helaena, bundled in the most comfortable winter parkas imaginable - her in pink, and you in purple - made your way to the largest Christmas market in Westeros at the heart of the city. 

Helaena thought you had never looked more beautiful, cheeks flushed and slightly puffed lips from the cold, yet eyes flashing with excitement as you took in the sight of the streets decked out with Christmas decorations. For as long as you remember, growing up in the Vale, a mostly mountainous country area, you always wanted to come to live in the city. While you did miss the rolling green fields and idyllic lifestyle sometimes, you found something way better here. Grinning, you took Helaena’s hand, and she smiled at you, eyes shining with affection. The love between the both of you was as bright as the morning snow. 

When you finally reached the Christmas market, you were so excited that you practically dragged Helaena from stall to stall, seeking some food to nourish your bellies. Helaena indulged you, wanting to see you happy. After all, she had been to the Christmas market so many times as a little girl with her brothers, Aemond, Aegon, and Daeron, that she didn’t feel the need to get excited over everything. 

She did, however, love watching you get excited. It was one of the most beautiful things in the world, aside from getting to see you wake up next to her in the morning. 

Armed with a handful of small bites that you had gotten from the stalls, you and Helaena found a table near the outskirts of the table area set aside for people who wished to dine on the Christmas market’s many edible delights. You opened the bags to be greeted by a mouthwatering smell: deep fried cheese balls, fried calamari and onion rings, steaming hot reindeer stew, a meaty slice of honey glazed ham, some roast turkey, two cups of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and fresh out of the oven gingerbread cookies.  

“By the Seven, how are we going to finish all this?” Helaena laughed. You grinned, opening your first packet of food. “You married a woman with a bottomless appetite, you know. If you don’t want anything, I’ll be happy to snatch it up.” 

“Okay, okay, you blackhole,” Helaena said affectionately, before unwrapping some cheese balls. She was surprised when halfway through, you slung a hand around your shoulder, pulling her closer to you. “Hey, you’re okay with all this, right?” You asked her in a gentle voice. Helaena had always had anxiety when it came to large crowds, and you didn’t want to overwhelm your wife. 

A radiant smile slowly spread across Helaena’s features, as she looked at you fondly, kissing you on the lips. You returned the kiss eagerly, tongue tangling with hers, before the both of you pulled away, cheeks red not just from the cold now. “I’m fine, my love. Really. You know, I used to come to this market every year with my brothers?” 

You tilted your head, an inquisitive gleam in your eyes. “Really? What was it like?” Helaena mulled over her response, “Chaotic.” You laughed, somehow it didn’t surprise you after you had met Helaena’s brothers. Your first question to Helaena after meeting her family was how her mother managed to keep up with all of them. Helaena had shrugged playfully as the sounds of Aegon drunk tackling Aemond to the ground while a spectating Daeron cackled in the background echoed behind you, “I have no clue.” 

“How long has it been since you last came here then?” you blew on your spoonful of reindeer stew, laden with carrots and celery, before putting it in your mouth. Helaena thought carefully while chewing on an onion ring. “I think around five years, or when Aemond moved away to further his studies at Riverrun University.” 

“Well, is it less chaotic experiencing it with me then?” you asked teasingly, leaning in for Helaena to pop a calamari in your mouth. Helaena bopped you on the nose, eliciting an indignant huff from you, before she popped the calamari in your mouth. “Nope. Just as chaotic.” 

The two of you finished your food, and continued strolling around the Christmas market. To both of your delight, they had somehow managed to invite and set up a husky-sledding rink here, and you and Helaena enjoyed being pulled around by the zealous huskies, though Helaena did complain a little about the snow that kept blowing in her face. You had won a game of toss-the-hoop-onto-the-reindeer’s-head, and you handed the prize - a stuffed octopus - to Helaena, who hugged it happily. Helaena stopped by some craft stores, buying some woodworked mini figurines and snowglobes. 

Helaena was about to go over to a stall selling hand woven mittens when she heard your squeal. She whipped her head up, initially thinking something bad had happened, but you soon ran up to her, safe and sound, and began pulling her away. “Where are we going?” Helaena barely managed to ask, too overpowered by your eagerness. “You’ll never believe what I found!” 

Helaena gave you a deadpan stare as you stopped in front of a tent. “A fortune teller? Really, love?” You rolled your eyes, “It’s not like I actually believe them. I just think it’ll be fun. Come on, pretty please?” You gave her your best puppy eyes, and she eventually relented, letting you lead her into the tent. 

The fortune teller turned out to be a kindly looking old lady, wrapped in colourful shawls lined with fur. She looked at your fresh, eager face, and Helaena’s more reserved one. “Are the both of you friends?” she inquired. You shook your head, “Oh no, ma’am. We’re married, actually.” 

Helaena was worried for some lashing out should the old lady turn out to be one of those conservative grandmothers, but to her relief, her wrinkly face lit up. “You are? How wonderful!” The old lady leaned forward, her voice dropping in a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I used to have a wife too.” Your eyes widened, “Really?” The old lady nodded, a bit sadly. “Yes, she was the great love of my life after my husband had passed. Unfortunately, she followed the Stranger last year.” 

You clamped your hand over your mouth, a little chagrined, as Helaena said quietly, “We’re sorry for your loss.” The old lady waved it off, her expression brightening again. “Tis’ alright, child. Let me read your fortune, how about that?” The old lady took out a deck of cards, shuffling them deftly in her hands, before spreading it out on the table before you. 

“Pick two cards each,” the old lady instructed, looking at the two of you. Helaena did it quickly, you much slower, as you deliberated on which card you felt more drawn to. “Hurry up, dearest,” Helaena playfully thumped you on the arm when you took nearly two minutes to choose your second card. “I have to see which one my intuition feels most drawn to, okay!” you protested. 

With the four cards drawn out, the fortune teller observed them, before laying them out in front of you. “Well, the first one here tells of a happy marriage,” the old lady looked at the both of you, her smile turning mischievous. “Though I’m sure the both of you don’t need it.” Helaena smiled slightly at that, gripping your hand under the table. 

“Ah, the second one,” the old lady’s voice turned a bit serious. “It spells a bit of trouble in the future, especially in the workplace. Perhaps one of you will have a disagreement with your boss?” 

You snorted, “Well, it can’t be Helly, since she runs her own business. Guess that’s for me then. I’ll live.” Helaena patted your hand soothingly, “She didn’t say it’s just for bosses. Maybe it could be me having a dispute with a customer, who knows.” “I'd rather have this fortune befall on me than you though, Helly.” You said sincerely, your eyes shining fiercely. Your wife had suffered enough throughout her life. Helaena only smiled, touched. 

The old lady also shared Helaena’s smile as she moved on to the third card. “The third one is slightly more tame, don’t worry. It just speaks of travelling to an exotic place. Do the both of you have any travel plans next year?” You looked startled, turning to Helaena. “We were planning for that trip to Qohor, so that you can see the art of their hand woven and dyed tapestries. Helly, she’s got it on the nose.” Helaena stifled a small laugh at your amazement. “Yes, dear. She really did. What does the fourth card say?” The old lady’s finger moved to turn up the fourth card, and her eyes widened. 

“Oh, the fourth one,” the old woman exclaimed, with clear joy in her voice. “It says that…a child will be coming into your lives. And very soon at that!” 

“A child?” Helaena’s eyebrows furrowed. “A child!” you piped up excitedly next to her, turning to your wife. “Maybe next year we’ll finally find that dream daughter we always wanted to adopt. It’s a sign, Helly, it’s a sign!” You were nearly jumping out of your seat, as Helaena tried in vain to quell your elation, while the fortune teller looked at the young couple with a knowing smile. 

And indeed, during the next year’s Christmas market, a new addition had joined your little family, her dark eyes gleaming with impish excitement as your new four year old daughter, Irina, dashed around happily in the snow, while you and Helaena sat at one of the benches at the side of the Christmas market, smiling as you rest your head on her shoulder, relishing in your little family, and your joy. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.” 

“Merry Christmas, my darling.”

let me know if you wish to be added to a general taglist for helaena related works, or just my works in general in the comments or through this form! :) 

thank you for reading! if you liked it, likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! merry late xmas guys 😘🎄

[spngi]

It ain’t over ‘til it’s over |part 6 charles leclerc x singer!reader

Warnings: wrong English grammar, mentions of cheating, The songs mentioned do not belong to me and I am providing the link to the songs here!

In which charles and y/n have always known each other, but not everything goes as planned

part one| part two| part three| part four| part five

y/ninsta

No words to explain what it was like to record this new album! Thank you to everyone involved, this album is the best thing that could have happened!!! I hope you love him the way I do, he will always have my heart! Available on the platforms tomorrow 🫶🏻

User1 the cover omg 😱

User2 this hoe can’t forget Charles???

Pierregasly can’t wait for it

Yourbff probably this will make me cry but ok

User3 omg I wasn’t expecting this

- I don’t betray you - Charles sounds altered by the walls of the house.

- You didn’t even have to, Charles! You were in love with her! How did you want me to feel? - I answer him angry. - You were falling in love with her right in front of me, you didn’t have to betray me to make me feel betrayed.

- I don’t...

- You don’t have to deny it, Charles. I saw, right in front of me, you fell in love with her and even if I tried, and I tried a lot to ignore it... it was extremely visible.

- But I’ve always loved you - charles retorts.

- And I you, but you still hurt me. You act as if I had abandoned you, but staying here, staying and seeing you falling in love with her would destroy me, more than ever destroyed both of us....

He sits, on the sofa opposite my position in the living room, a whole cliff between us, we are like this, each one in a corner of the room thinking about what life has brought to us. It would be easier to abandon the presence of the other if everything were so simple, but it never was, not for us. We spent a long time like this, minutes, hours, the sun disappears through the open windows and brings the breeze into the empty apartment that I call mine.

- I love you, I never stopped loving you... - Charles speaks at some point after so much silence.

- I love you

Gp of France 2022

- Charlie, how are you? - I whisper to the phone.

- Cherie... - charles sighs on the other side of the line - terrible - he concludes, after his dnf in France.

- Are you at home? - I hear your agonized voice on the phone and answer your question. - Go to the piano, I’m sending you some ideas by message

- Charles - I try to interrupt your thinking but Charles insists.

- I have this melody in my head, love... but the words, you have always been better with them than me, but these words are for you what I need to say to you - he speaks very fast, stuck in suffering.

- Okay, I’m on the piano - I whisper to him - talk about your idea.

He speaks, hoarse voice on the phone, his thoughts everywhere, I hear his crying on the phone, I would like to be in France with him and be able to dry all the tears running from his eyes. He vents, although he expected him to talk about the championship and Ferrari, he talks about us, apologizes to me, opens his whole heart to me all night long.

When the sun appears through the windows, Charles is still on the phone and maybe one day everything would return to normal.

There is a huge echo resonating through the walls of the rented apartment that I am in Monaco. Charles left half a bottle of whiskey behind. There are many words resounding through my head, there is a lot of resentment behind all the words and the voice of the leclerc continues to open its way to my ramblings.

Monaco is electrifying under my windows, and I can’t help but remember every memory we conquered on every street in this city. The streets that charles taught me to drive, or the street with the small market that was near our apartment, the times we tried to sneak around the corners of the city to be able to have our time alone, all the memories terrifie me showing me how much I’m losing and that every minute that passes I’m late to have charles again.

- I missed you - I speak hugging Charles’ hot body.

- I missed you, cherie - charles understands what I said, it’s not a simple I missed you while I was traveling, it’s the lack of all this time apart, it’s the way we say we miss everything we’ve lost in the meantime.

I’m in his apartment, it’s not the same we used to share when we were dating but it smells like charles and that’s comforting. He looks into my eyes, faces my soul, I face the space between us and throw myself into his arms, no longer putting up with all this distance between us.

Charles’ hands pull me closer to his body, I breathe his smell, the smell I chased every day after we finished, the cozy smell of home.

Being with Charles is as if life was light, I remember all the problems that hit us while we were together and even so everything remained easy because we had each other, and now everything hurts when we are far from each other. I cling more to his body and feel his hands in my hair, he smells them wanting to remember the aroma and I know exactly how it is, because the aroma that surrounds me smells like home.

I’m lying on the soft carpet of the studio, glass of whiskey next to me, Charles is sitting relaxed in the chair in front of me, laughing alone after the doses of alcohol, I can’t help the huge smile on my face.

We are having a night break after toasting our neurons recording some songs and trying new melodies.

- I love the vocal you did in fallin - charles babbleds after a time of silence. I look at him, big eyes scared not waiting for him to have heard the songs of my post- charles.

- What? It’s a very good song, it’s on my playlist.

- I just didn’t expect you to have listened to them... - I stand face down on the carpet looking at him and listen to his soft laugh.

- I listened to them all dear, and I loved them all... - he smiles and I see his eyes traveling. - I listened to them for a long time after you moved... I kept looking for you everywhere so at least I heard your voice

I look at Charles and see the pain in his eyes, he doesn’t need to say what happened, I know. Because in the same way that I moved to London so as not to be persecuted by our memories, he moved from our house, the house we used to live. I know he was looking for me next to him in the car or in bed the same way I did, or the times I held myself so as not to call after an accident on f1 and how I waited for his call after the day I crashed my car.

- I’m happy you’re here, Charles - I whisper to him. - You left a huge hole in me, which only you know how to fill.

[miaatiny]

Dazzling- P.SH

Chapter 2

Warnings: lots of angst, reader misses home, reader almost gets r*ped, Seonghwa still a hoe, mdni!!!!

You have been traveling for 4 hours now. Seonghwa was still seated across from you and has barely said a word. The air was progressively getting colder, signaling you were getting closer to Azure. You had started shivering even though you had a shawl over your shoulders but even that couldn’t protect you from the coast of Aurora’s nasty cold winds. Seonghwa seemed to take notice if this.

“Are you cold, y/n?” He asked. His tone was always so cold, as if we was scared to show any emotion towards anyone. Even him speaking your name sounded mike disdain. Nevertheless, the nodded at him as you tried to tuck your arms into yourself for warmth. Seonghwa looked out the window signaled for you to look.

“We’re almost to Azure. We’ll be crossing the land bridge soon. That’s how you know you’re entering Azure territory.” You looked out the window and noticed what Seonghwa was talking about. A mile or so up ahead was the land bridge that crossed over a small gorge. No doubt connecting to the harbor.

“Once we cross the land bridge, we’ll head into Azure. You’ll be able to see the harbor from your right.” You nodded at his words. You knew the harbor was the biggest trade route in Aurora. Azurians were very proud of it. You continued on for another hour until the harbor came into view. You have never seen so many ships in your life. The harbor was gigantic. You could see fishers on the docks, people going on and off ships to transport cargo. There was a market on the harbor as well. You seen people walking around, trading merchandise and conversing with others. Even with the weather being well into the twenties, people were bundled up in fur coats and going about their daily lives.

The carriage approached the palace gates. Guards were dressed in the traditionally Azure colors, dark royal blue and gold. The color was pretty, but you were used to red and silver. That was definitely going to change now. You pulled up to the palace and seen citizens watching from outside the gates for the princess’ arrival. Seonghwa stepped out first and reach his hand out for you. He had the same uninterested look on his face like always. Never smiling, always careless. At least towards you. You grabbed his hand and stepped out of the carriage. “Here.” Seonghwa said as he covered your face with the veil on your crown so your face wouldn’t be seen. In Azure, it was customary citizens did not see the princess’ face until her wedding day. Seonghwa took your hand in his and led you towards the palace doors. You had never seen the inside of the palace before but the sight before you was unimaginable. Gold columns lined the walls, the stairs went up both sides and met at the top. Maids and guards were lined up down the hall to greet you as you came in.

A woman came up to you and bowed. She was around your age of 20 and very pretty. Lady y/ln, my name is Anastasia. I will be your maid while you live here in Azure. I’m pleased to welcome you to our palace.”

“Go ahead with Anastasia, y/n. Get settled in. I have to meet my parents to let them know of our journey home.” Home. The word sounded so foreign to you still. Seonghwa began walking down the great hall into the royal hall to meet his parents. Anastasia took you hand to follow her. She led you up the left side of the stairs to where your chambers would be.

“You will be staying here until your wedding night. On your wedding night, you will move into the prince’s room. It is customary here in Azure. Soak up all the alone time you can get.” Anastasia giggled. The room was lavish. It was cold and white accented. The bed was big even for one person. Off to the front of your room you had your own bathroom. It was equipped with lavish soaps and scented bubbles.

“The queen made sure you would have the finest things here.” Knowing the queen loved you, even if her son did not made you feel a bit better. At least you knew someone was on your side.

Evening had set in and Anastasia had dressed you in a plain royal blue gown as you were preparing your first dinner in Azure. She had fixed your makeup and put your hair up in a messy bun type hairstyle. She guided you down towards the dining hall and opened the doors for you. Seated at the table was your future in laws but Seonghwa was no where to be seen.

“Ah, y/n! Please, have a seat.” Your father in law said. Anastasia pulled the chair out for you and you sat down. You were seated across from an empty chair, assuming that’s where Seonghwa would be seated. Your mother in law was seated next to you.

“Seonghwa tells me your journey here went well, dear.” She smiled graciously at you. “Yes, it did. It was very cold though.” You said with a smile.

“We’ll have to get you a fur coat then. We’re are having dresses made for you that will help you endure the cold a bit better.” She said, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip. Seonghwa walked In through the doors, two females behind him. They were holding onto his arms giggling. You noticed your mother in law send them a glare and they quickly dissipated to the other side of the room. Seonghwa sat down across from you without even looking your way.

“We may eat now.” Your father in law said. You had begun taking small bites. As hungry as you were, you didn’t want to seem disrespectful. Anastasia was going around the table pounding more wine into your glasses. You noticed the two women that had walked in with Seonghwa were shooting looks your way and whispering to each other. Anastasia reach down to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t pay them no mind. They’re just bitches. They aren’t good for anything.” You looked up at her, stunned and she giggled. Dinner was going smoothly. You all talked and laughed amongst each other, besides Seonghwa. He stayed quiet most of the time.

“Y/n, tomorrow I will be taking you to be fitted for your wedding gown. I would like to give them enough time before the wedding to get it fitted. If you don’t mind.” You mother in law said.

“No, that’s perfectly fine.” You said with a fake smile. It was becoming too real. You didn’t want this, but you couldn’t do anything to change it. You were bound to this man, this family, this land. You briefly looked at Seonghwa and seen him rubbing his forehead like he was in pain. He hated the idea of this. He didn’t want to marry, let alone marry you. When his father told him he was set to marry the princess of Calor, he was outraged. He wanted to pick his bride when he was ready to marry. If he was ever ready. he was promised that right. It was stripped away from him just because of the alliance. He had tried every way to talk his father out of it. Alas, his attempts were unsuccessful. In just five days, he would say goodbye to his bachelor life and take you as his wife whether he liked it or not.

Dinner had ended and the queen had asked Anastasia to stay behind to discuss some things. You were walking back to your room when a hand had touched your shoulder.

“My, my. The princess is as beautiful as they said.” You turned around and seen a young man standing there. He was dressed like a prince and had a sword on his side. “My name is Jackson. I’m a friend of Seonghwa’s. I come from a land far away from Aurora. You gave him a small smile. “Well hello Jackson. I’m princess y/n.” You gave him a small curtsy.

“I’ve been told a lot about you from the king. He’s mentioned you were from Calor. I heard its very warm there, no?” You giggled. “Yes, its a lot warmer than Azure.” You appreciated talking to someone outside of the royal family. It was a bit smothering talking to your future in laws sometimes. Speaking to Jackson was like a breathe of fresh air. You both had kept talking and he offered to walk you back to your chambers.

“It was very nice talking to you. I wish you didn’t have to leave.” He put his arm on your shoulder and his touch had made you very uncomfortable. “Y-yes, I’m very sorry. Tomorrow I’m being fitted for my wedding dress and I need some sleep after my trip.”

“That bastard Park doesn’t really deserve you, you know.” Jackson slid his hands down your back and gripped your hips tightly, preventing you from moving. He leaned in and began planting kisses on your neck. “He’s not even married to you yet and already he’s unfaithful.” Tears were forming in your eyes. Your throat was burning, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry for help. Jackson began tearing your dress down your shoulders, exposing your breasts. He opened your door and threw you down on your bed. You began sobbing loudly, hoping someone would hear you. He was biting your neck and shoulders. You trued to push him off of you and he only held you tighter. It was no use. He had you. Just as you were about to give up, Jackson was suddenly yanked off of you and thrown into the wall of your room. You could hear punches being thrown to his face but you were unaware of who was delivering them. Anastasia came to your side and helped you off the bed and covered you in a blanket. You got a clear look at who was punching Jackson. It was…Seonghwa?

You were in complete shock. Seonghwa was delivering punch after punch to Jackson’s face. Jackson fell to his knees on the floor. Seonghwa’s knuckles were bloodied and he was panting. He grabbed Jackson by the collar.

“Stay the fuck away from her.” Seonghwa spit. He threw Jackson back against the wall and the guards came in to take him away. Seonghwa came over to you and inspected your neck which was littered with bruises from Jackson’s lips. He pulled your dress up over your halfway uncovered breasts. He looked at Anastasia.

“Get her a bath and in a new dress. Immediately.” And with that, Seonghwa turned around and walked out of the room.

You were sitting in the bathtub in your assigned bathroom. Bubbles floated around you. You had asked to be left alone. You had scrubbed your body multiple times to get him off you. You felt disgusting, dirty. It wasn’t even your fault and you felt so ashamed. There was a knock on your bathroom door and Anastasia poker her head in.

“Miss Y/n, whenever your ready, the prince would like to speak with you privately. I’ll give you time to get changed.” She closed the door gently. You got out of the tub and dried off. You slipped on your night dress and walked out to see Seonghwa sitting on the edge of your bed with his head in his hands. You leaned against the doorframe and he looked up. He had been crying.

“What did Jackson say to you?” He asked, sternly.

“W-what do you mean?” You shuffled from one foot to the other in nervousness. Seonghwa got up and walked towards you.

“What did he tell you?” Seonghwa voice got colder. You swallowed hard. Why was he acting like this? This was worse than what he normally was. You sighed.

“H-he told me that…you were unfaithful and didn’t deserve me…”

Seonghwa swore under his breath and as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Listen here, princess. I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone. If you thought I was going to he your knight in shining armor and the perfect husband, your completely wrong.” He spat.

Tears were forming in your eyes again. You knew he didn’t want to marry you. You didn’t want to marry him either, but you never thought he would feel this strongly about it.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. I truly am. But I’m not the one for you. You need to go back to Calor where you belong and talk your father out of this.” With that, Seonghwa walked out of your room.

What were you going to do now?

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Whew! Part 2 of Dazzling is done! This chapter was a bit different but unfortunately it doesn’t stop there for our princess. Thank you to everyone who has joined for Dazzling! There is surely more to come!

miaatiny, 2024

[tragical-romance-and-all]

Bruised Fruit

march x farmer | FOM

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synopsis:

When a new farmer moves in she unexpectedly becomes intertwined with the local blacksmith. Both carry baggage that they can unpack together.

romance - slow burn

word count: ~1500

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This all started when I overheard two of the regulars at Three Horses Tavern talking about the farm up for grabs in Mistria. Apparently, word had been sent to the guild that the town was in disarray after the most recent earthquake. In exchange for helping around town, they were giving the deed to a house and plot of farmland. It seemed like a dream, this is all I’ve ever wanted, a home…

 And even better, everyone I spoke to about this endeavor sounded disinterested, as if it really wasn’t all that good of a deal. I figured we all have different goals at the end of the day. Besides, I know this is meant for me. It feels like something is calling me there. I felt even more cemented in this when I met the  Baron’s kin Adeline and Eiland. They were very welcoming and friendly, showing me around town. 

Now I’m just lying in my bed, in my house. My house. This is so cool! Today everything feels right. Tomorrow I will get the first round of crops in the ground. I shut my eyes and drift off into a blissful sleep. 

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I wake up to the sound of wind chimes and birds being shrewdly overpowered by my alarm clock. 6:00 a.m. sounded like a reasonable start last night but this morning I’m having second thoughts. Yet I still force myself up, feeling a bit more alive once I turn off the alarm and am greeted with the pleasant sounds of mornings in Mistria. I take a deep breath facing the window and I think to myself, “This is it, this is the fresh start that will stick.”

I get dressed wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, it’s soft against my skin. I pull on baggy overalls and a pair of socks. Pulling my hair from the front of my face I notice my roots could use some touching up. I had dyed my hair a deep purple a few weeks ago and my roots are growing faster than I expected. I’ll have to find out if the market in town sells hair dye. I tie my boots and head outside.

I had peaked in the tool shed next to the house yesterday, but now that I am really looking at these tools I see that they are not in the peak condition I had hoped for. For the most part, things were worn but still usable. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered the watering can has a quarter-sized hole near the spout on the bottom. Not to worry Eiland said something yesterday about the blacksmith carrying tools in his shop, I can check after I pick up the seeds. I grab the shovel and hoe and start my way towards town. 

After crossing the river, I see a cute cottage to my right. Just behind the fence shiny blonde hair and a bright smile greet me, “Hi you must be the new farmer! I’m Celine, it’s so nice to meet you!” 

“Hi, my name is Stella! I guess we’re kinda like neighbors.” I meet her with the same enthusiasm. It’s been a while since I’ve been around nice people. Celine goes on to tell me a little about herself. She grows flowers and makes beautiful bouquets out of them while also helping at her parent's shop. I share a little about myself but nothing too revealing. We wave goodbye and I continue into town. The market shop is quaint and exactly how I pictured it. 

“Welcome in! You must be the new farmer, we’re so happy to have a new face in town.” A jolly-faced man at the counter greeted me. He has the same bright smile as Celine. His friendly voice started again, “My name is Holt and that lovely woman over there stocking the shelves is my wife, Nora.” The woman turned around a waved at me and I reciprocated. 

“Hi Holt, my name is Stella and I actually just met Celine as well,” I said with a smile. He appeared to be elated at this, “Oh I just know you two will be fast friends in no time!” He practically shouted this and I let a giggle slip out. 

“You must be here for seeds though and not just chitchat, what can I get for you?” Holt’s customer service kicked back in and I had him help me pick out the best seeds for the spring. I got some turnip, potato, cabbage, and strawberry seeds. I let Holt know I would be back to get a cherry and lemon sapling later this week. I also asked about hair dye, Nora let me know they don’t typically carry it but if I ask Balor the merchant I met on my way into town yesterday, he should be able to get it. With everything loaded into my backpack, I left the market and walked north in the direction of the blacksmith. It was pretty nifty of Adeline to give me a map of town. “This is really helpful,” I thought to myself. 

I walk into the blacksmith, a little bell chimes at the top of the door. There is a subtle and unpleasant odor lingering in the air, a voice calls out from another room letting me know he’ll be right with me. The voice is rough but there’s a soothing quality to it. I turn to look at some of the merchandise while I wait. I can sit still but I must be looking at something new frequently. I hadn’t noticed the man the voice belonged to had approached me until I heard a scoff. I look up to see a young guy around my age. He has burgundy hair sitting messily atop his head with a headband tied around his forehead. I assume to catch the sweat, based off his muscular build I can tell he must be the blacksmith and not just some apprentice. 

“Oh, it’s you. The new savior farmer in town. That’s what everyone has been saying right?” His tone was cold and harsh. I could tell he already didn’t like me. He didn’t even know me, but then again that never stopped anyone before.

“I don’t know about anyone calling me that but my name is Stella and it’s nice t-” I try to get out quickly but as if he could sense my rapid onset anxiety he cut me off. “Listen, I know you just arrived, but I wouldn’t get to comfortable. You’re not gonna last around here.” 

I was taken aback by this, it’s as if he could see right through me. He knew my past present and future. He knew about all my failed attempts and of course, this one would be no different. At least he had the decency to warn me right? To give up before it goes too far. It always goes too far. 

I snap out of it when another, taller man joins us. I didn’t realize how tall until he stood next to us. He towered over both of us and the blacksmith already had some height on me. His intimidating stature was mellowed by his large grin and puppy dog eyes. 

“The names Olric, I hope my little brother March wasn’t being too rough with you,”

He put he hand up against his face, covering his mouth from March’s view and spoke as if his hand would block the sound as well. “Between you and me, it’s our fault. We didn’t socialize him right when he was younger and now he doesn’t know how to play nice. Don’t worry though he’s all bark and no bite.”

I could see March rolling his eyes but it didn’t stop me from letting out a laugh. In a more annoyed tone now March spoke again, “Whatever Olric. Anyway, new girl, Stella is it? Did you need something or did you just come in to bother us?”

I am reminded of the task at hand and share my plight of the leaking watering can. March pointed me to a shiny new copper can. I bought it despite it being the same cost as all the seeds I had just bought. But this is an investment after all. I walk home on a slightly different path than I came trying to become familiar with my surroundings. 

My mind drifts to what March had said, that I wouldn’t last here. What if he’s right? I don’t know how many more fresh starts I have left in me. What if other people in town agree with him? But Olric seemed so reassuring. Maybe it was just March, maybe he’s just a sour guy. He can’t really hate me, he doesn’t even know me. And I’m sure if he got to know me he would see that. I know I’ll just make sure I’m extra friendly when I see him. 

I smile to myself as I reach home again. Now to start the field

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Thanks for reading! It's been a while since I've written anything but March has me so inspired right now.

[dballzposting]

I love Tenshinahn & Chaozu they make each other so happy and theyre so sweet 

There is a BFF spectrum an on one end is Goten & Trunkz with things like “ride or die, bros b4 hoes, physical violence & intimacy, love to mess with the other” and on the other end of the spectrum is Tenshinahn & Chaozu.

Tenshinhan & Chaozu:

- Are very close and well-bonded

- Must be adopted together

- Pick flowers together, travel at leisurely paces together, train together, build furniture together, live together 

I know that in the actual source material, 60% of chaozu’s dialogue is just him going “Ten-San!” in alarm, but open your mind to the reality that that does not contradict, and does coexist, with the fact that chaozu can hold his own and could go out for a night on the town with Puar & Oolong and could totally win in a gunfight. Chaozu’s kind of a real one and he’s kind of a boss bitch. He’s a crazy motherfucker. He plays cringe music in the car becasue he likes it and he makes it based by not caring about looking cool. He pushes the pedals using his psychic abilities because he’s too short.

When he first met Krillin at that tournament, he just pointed at him and said “Bald.”  .. and when Krillin tried to counter with a “look who’s talking” type deal, Chaozu very confidently and calmly and matter-of-factly took his hat off and showed him his One Hair.

Chaozu calls ‘em as he sees ‘em ... One look, one pull, done with it. No fanfare. One pointing finger, one declared adjective, done. And he’s right every time. 

I think that he could get on fine without Tenshinahn. BUT Tenshinahn is his closest friend and committed companion and he KNOWS how when Tenshinhan worries too much he’s prone to vomiting so he’ll haul ass to get home if it’s been a while since he and Ten reconnected. (To be honest as Tenshinhan progresses as a martial artist his tendency to fall victim to vomit when he’s worried out of his mind has vanished, as he no longer allows himself to fall into such spirals of distress, as he has the discipline and inner strength to simply not need to feel that way, but he is still happiest when he and Chaozu get to see each other often so this is a habit that has persisted.)

Chaozu stayed right by Tenshinhan as he went through his moral crisis and ultimately betrayed The Crane Hermit, and it’s becasue Chaozu is a little guy and a follower and no one expects him to exercise much autonomy, but it’s really becasue Chaozu cared much more about his companion than he did about their school. Even though being a student of a martial art school is a lifestyle commitment by your entire being, Chaozu was not going to forsake Tenshinhan, becasue their bond is the core of his value system. They are ride or die. Nevermind the Crane Hermit being their master and all. Nevermind the deep ignominy of forsaking him.

Also there’s this scene from a movie that i havent seen yet that is making me feel so many things

Honestly I think that Chaozu is SO OPEN-MINDED that his brain space is essentially just the universe and so he handled forsaking the crane hermit and the shift from evil to good pretty easily. He was like “Oh no more robbing and lying? OK. Sounds good. Time to commit myself to virtue” and then he just does that perfectly. 

I think that Tenshinhan needs his little buddy the same way that he needs to stand in waterfalls for hours on end. This is just how he has to live his life

Like I do not need to tell you about the intricate and interesting complexities of Tenshinhan (mostly becasue i cannot put it into words) but he is like a constellation in the night sky. He is deep and profound and earnest and dire. 

And he and Chaozu pick flowers and build furniture and go to the market and make their own dinners. 

Individually, they each can handle most things. Chaozu can handle the awful things that Oolong says. Tenshinhan can handle the dirty jokes that Yamucha makes. Chaozu can handle a gunfight grand-theft-auto style. Tenshinhan can handle when Launch bursts in firing on all calibers. 

But together there are so many things that they do Not do ... they have fully-realized personalities and “excessive curiosity and adventurousness” is not a part of them. Some BFFs are like that (Goten & Trunks) and they do everything together and it’s fun just because theyre together, but these two are not like that.

It’s true that they do need to do everything together (there is no universe where one went on one moral path and the other on a different one...) but they do not do random shit. They are quite fond of and comfortable with structure. They do not burden each other with classless jokes. Never would they even think to repeat one when only the other was present. They don’t make useless comments about what they see. They are never concerned with making the other laugh. They appreciate and respect animals and when one embarrasses itself in front of them, they lend a helping hand. For comparison, if Yamucha saw an animal trip while scrabbling up a tree, he would first be like “looks like me monday morning” before offering any aid. Tenshinhan & Chaozu do not say that shit ....

I love Tenshinhan & Chaozu and I think that they are so sweet. 

I love them

[blue2black]

Has anyone seen the Class Of 09 animation that was posted a month ago?

I love the two games and I REALLY loved the anime one. I really hope they get the sources they need to make more of it! :)

But, anyway, the anime kinda reminded me of a dynamic Ghost, Gaz and Soap could’ve had if they ever knew each other in high school.

Allow me to demonstrate:

—————————

Gaz: …is this what cam girls feel like?

Ghost: I feel like cam girls do a little more than we did.

Gaz: But at least they get paid, we had to flirt with that weirdo for free.

Ghost: No, we lost a bet. That’s not free, it’s just hoe and pro bono.

Gaz: Why would you put up flirting with Graves in the first place?

Ghost: Oh, so you thought she could steal that hot dog roller?

Gaz: No! But…ugh, just that whole class yesterday.

Gaz: “WoW, gRaVeS, yOuR nArUtO dRaWiNgS aRe So GoOd”—EW.

Ghost: That wasn’t even the worst part. People had to watch us do that.

Gaz: Plus, he probably won’t leave me alone for like, a month now. He’s gonna go home to his video games and make created characters of us..

Ghost: Yeah, he’ll kill us in Grand Theft Auto.

Gaz: You can make characters in Grand Theft Auto?

Ghost: Do I look like a bitch who would know?

Gaz: Whatever.

Gaz: God, I need a Xanax. *reaching in his back pocket*

Gaz: Wait, where’d I put it-

Ghost: *has the Xanax on his tongue and swallows*

Gaz: Bitch, that was my last Xan! How’d you take that??

Ghost: Quick hands.

Ghost: Ass and Xanax, what a combo.

Gaz: Goes together like peanut butter and percocet.

Ghost, mimicking Graves: “This is true”.

Gaz: Oh yeah, he kept doing that! “This is true”.

Ghost: Like he’s too good to say “yeah”, he has to be a scientist about it.

Gaz: Oh, and what about: “Uhmmm, okaayy”.

Ghost: I HATE it when they do that. Like, they gotta sound like the gay, comic, relief cat in every Disney movie.

Gaz: “ThIs Is TrUe”.

Ghost: “ThIs Is TrUe”.

Gaz: “YeS, iN fAcT”.

Ghost: “QuItE tHe InTeReStInG oUtFiT”.

Gaz: “Stop screaming, we’re having sex”.

Soap, in the distance: What are you doing?

Gaz and Ghost: *startled*

Soap, walking up to them holding McDonald’s fries: Sounds like you had a class with Graves.

Ghost: He has McDonald’s—Johnny, where’d you get McDonald’s?

Soap: …McDonald’s?

Ghost, holding out his hand: Bitch, give me a chip.

Soap, pulling the fries away: Is that how you ask?

Ghost, still holding out his hand: Bitch, PLEASE give me a chip.

Gaz: And yeah, we had a class with Graves.

Soap, feeding a fry to Ghost: Me too, I could tell.

Soap: He was drawing pictures of you guys the whole class.

Gaz: No way.

Ghost, with his mouth full: What are we doing on the pictures?

Soap: Like, being cute. Making kissy faces with hearts around it.

Gaz: SIMON, we’re gonna get murdered. We’re gonna get murdered by a guy who can’t even tie his FUCKING shoes. *slams his fist on the table*

Ghost: Well, at least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

Soap: Yeah, but I ripped them up and threw them in the trash. Told that hoe to watch it.

Gaz: You’re the best, John.

Soap: I know.

Soap, walking away: Okay, I gotta go sell the janitor Adderall, I’ll see you guys later.

Ghost, once Soap’s gone: …he’s like the hottest man ever.

Gaz: And I love his hair.

Ghost: What’s gayer, dating a guy or wanting a guy to have sex with your dead body?

Gaz: Uh…dating a guy?

Ghost: Still straight… *sighs*

Gaz: What were we talking about…?

Gaz: Oh yeah, so, what’re we doing for marketing?

Ghost: It’s the movie casting thing, right?

Gaz: Yeah, yeah, so, I was thinking- *BOOM*

*Ghost and Gaz pause and look behind Gaz*

Ghost: I think the AC exploded again.

Gaz, looking back at Ghost: That scared me, but yeah.

Gaz: The challenge should be a cast of bald guys who don’t look like they say the n-word.

Ghost: How is that a challenge?

Gaz: Name one.

Ghost: Vin Diesel—no, wait…

Ghost: Bruce Willis—wow, this is challenging.

*BOOM BOOM*

Gaz: Damn, that’s a lot of AC units.

INTERCOM: *static* ATTENTION STUDENTS AND FACILITY ARE IN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. PLEASE FOLLOW PROCEDURES AT THIS TIME. *static*

Gaz: ..what the fuck was that about?-

*Ghost and Gaz flinch at the BOOM’s and people yelling and screaming behind the wall*

Ghost: Is that…

Gaz, getting up: GRAVES SNAPPED. WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE.

Ghost, not moving: Huh…

Gaz: What’re you doing?! Let’s go!

Ghost: We flirted with him yesterday, we’re the last people he’d kill. Just chill out.

Gaz: That’s easy for you to say, you took my last Xanax!

*Ghost watches as Gaz runs away*

Ghost, sitting there listening to the gunshots and screams: …

Ghost, noticing Gaz walking back to him: I thought you were running for it.

Gaz, sitting back down: Security locked the doors…

*BOOM*

Ghost: Damn, that was a big one.

Gaz: He won’t be in rush hour three.

*they both sit there listening to the banging and yells*

—————————

Original:

[mizumech]

Day 4: Divine/Infernal

It’s mizumech! I had this written a little in advance, so here it is. Presenting “rises the moon” a demon hunter AU clocking in at 1743 words.

I reserve all rights to editing and putting it up on ao3, and happy reading! :]

TW: guns, swearing, injury

—

Martyn’s hands twitch on his rifle. The day is almost gone and he can make out the faintest shape of the moon in the sky.

Tonight will be the night he hunts a demon.

The church altar roars with noise as the pastor rouses the people and their pitchforks, and Martyn’s stomach seems to do a flip.

He clutches at the lapis talisman under his coat; because something deep down is telling him that this hunt will be one of his biggest mistakes for a reason he can’t fathom.

He’s not scared of the chase and he’s not scared to kill. He doesn’t believe in their god and he doesn’t believe in demons.

So why does his heart still protest this one like his life depends on it?

Martyn remembers his first kill. A great stag on a full moon, with antlers that pronged towards the sky.

Ren hadn’t been there to see it, but he had congratulated him on it when he came back to town, so that was that.

Speaking of which, where is he?

Well, any excuse to be away from that frenzied mob. Any excuse to be where he actually belongs.

~

Back at the house, Ren…isn’t there either.

The pantry’s also bare, which is strange since Martyn clearly remembers going to the market to buy pumpkins, potatoes, and steak with Ren just yesterday.

To be fair, Ren’s always a little absent during full moons, and the week after often consists of Martyn helping to patch up wounds that he knows Ren will never explain, but tonight is important to the safety of their home, and Ren wouldn’t just run, right?

Right?

But his coat and his axe are gone.

Where could he be?

~

Ren watches as Martyn leaves the altar with worry twisting his features.

In that moment where the moonlight slips through the rooftops and catches his features, Ren thinks he might be looking at a god.

His hair looks like someone spun gold and took the care to sew it into a doll and his eyes are like if someone could have a Heart of the Sea for eyes.

God to a mortal.

Unbeliever to a demon.

A shout from the rabble startles him out of his trance.

The moon is rising, and his simpage must cease, for the sake of both his safety and Martyn’s sanity.

Goodbye, sweet Dogwarts, he thinks.

If Ren can help it, he will never see Dogwarts again.

~

No one has seen him.

Neither that nice librarian who’s dedicated their life to Mending books nor that farmer who’s spent theirs in the sun hoeing and threshing grain.

Martyn can’t tell if he’s buying himself time or running out of time.

However, Martyn has suspicions. 

One last spot to check before giving up, he decides, just one more.

~

As he reaches the forest, Martyn decides enough is enough. He’s quickly gotten sidetracked by a shady figure who he knows he can't let go and he still hasn’t found Ren.

He forcefully loads his rifle, letting his normally practiced movements be heard.

The hooded figure stops in its tracks and slowly turns around.

Martyn trains his gun on them, not willing to make another sound until they do, cacophony of hard breathing and pumping blood rushing in his ears; thoughts of Ren all gone.

Who-you, they sign in Dogwarts Sign Language, Why-here?

Martyn’s thought flow stutters to a halt. 

“I—I’m not going to put down my gun. I—Maybe you’re mute or maybe you’re deaf but I don’t know what your intentions are, or whether you’re a threat to us…”

He lets out a shaky exhale, almost too shaky for his liking, the adrenaline leaving, leaving Martyn working on empty but surprisingly clear-headed.

His fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Show me you don’t mean any harm.”

The hooded figure fumbles, patting themself down for any talismans or tokens, presumably.

Martyn has no problems with that, but then the hooded figure’s hands start retreating towards the pocket area, and that’s what raises his hackles.

It could be a knife or it could be a bribe or it could be a—

He shoots. Better safe than sorry.

The sound reverberates, bullet arching upwards, straight and true in some twisted arithmetic question; gun recoil hitting his cheekbone, just as the hooded figure reaches out a hand; either to stop him or to show him something and shouts his name.

“Martyn!”

Fuck.

He’s just alerted basically the whole village to their location with his gunshot, for it to be nothing.

Martyn slowly lowers his gun from its position, from pointing towards the sky to strapped across his shoulder.

He doesn’t even need to look at what they were trying to show him, because he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Ren.”

“Hey.”

Martyn sighs. Out of petulance, he turns to reloading and cleaning his rifle; very purposefully not meeting Ren’s gaze.

“Well, if you’ve got anything to say, at all,” he sneers as the bullet case is ejected, “Now’s the time to do it. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m sorry, my dude.”

“You’re always sorry, Ren. Every month you’re sorry, and from the moment I met you when you were bleeding in the woods you were sorry. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The image of flaxen hair and void-dark eyes seems to telepathically manifest between them.

“That’s not fair, to compare me to him.”

Fair?

“What? Because he’s the one who’s bandaging his landlord’s wounds? Because he’s never left Scar?” Martyn snarls, all his previously bubbling annoyance suddenly rising to the top; rifle now aimed back at Ren, “What do you take me for?”

“Martyn—“

“All you ever do is leave,” Martyn grits out, between the roiling turmoil that threatens to make him shed tears because gods above, Ren is someone who he has always cared too damn much about, “You leave and you come back right as I think you’re gone forever and then you leave again and you leave me to pick up the pieces—“

“You don’t understand, Martyn! I’m leaving for a reason that is bigger than you and me. I can’t tell you or show you because—“

Martyn slowly lowers his rifle again.

“—because you don’t trust me?”

Ren sighs, adjusting his robes while he fidgets.

“…yeah, I guess. I—I—take a walk with me?”

“Don’t be a coward about this. No more running, no more running away, okay?”

“I’m not,” Ren says, and Martyn can hear his voice crack, “I’m not running. That’s not the difficult part.”

“Then stop walking away. Stop fucking—leaving all the time. If you’re going to leave, don’t keep coming back just to do it again. What is so much bigger than me that I can’t understand it? Am I just not enough?”

“You’re always gonna be enough, Martyn.”

It would be so easy for Martyn to leave it on that; something that will keep him going in hard times. But all his problems in his life have been because of his big fucking mouth, and it seems that he’ll never be able to let go of that habit of betting on losing dogs.

“If it’s so damn easy for you to leave, why do you even bother coming back at all?”

“Because leaving ISN’T THE EASY PART, MARTYN!” Ren shouts, maybe sobs out, “It's loving you, that’s the easiest goddamn thing in the world! That’s why it’s so difficult to come back! I come back every month and I see you worried! I see you holding your questions and I know you want answers that I can’t give you!”

In the emotional scuffle, Ren’s hood falls.

The moonlight that’s cast on his face starts to distort his features, much to Martyn’s horror and shock as his eyes go crimson and grey starts to seep into his normally brown hair; the colour of wolf fur. His skin starts to mottle with scales and his figure starts to tower, with horns spiralling and leathery wings ripping out of his back like a leviathan might cut through the sea and into the open air.

Martyn clutches his rifle, frame seemingly cutting into his hands like an ill-made axe, as he whispers with uselessly trembling hands, as he shrinks away from him, “Ren, your hood’s off, Ren——”

The air suddenly feels dryer, now like the air wasn’t made for someone human like Martyn himself to breathe.

“Who’s the coward now, Martyn? Who’s running?”

That word jolts him out of the trance. 

Why is he running? From Ren, of all people?

“That’s…fair.”

Ren turns away from him.

“I can hear them coming. Do what you have to do. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m…sorry. For all of this. I just wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

There’s a rueful laugh from Ren.

“You were also sorry from the moment we met, weren’t you? You’re also sorry every month when you make me drink that—glistering melon juice.”

“That’s just…us now, I guess. Losing dogs who can’t stop regretting.”

“And who’ll be left to bet on us?”

They both share a melancholy chuckle. A good last inside joke to ease the parting pains.

~

Finally, the pitchforks come and the shouts of the rabble grow ever louder as they approach.

Ren turns back to him, eyes conveying some sort of look Martyn can’t ever hope to decipher in this lifetime. 

There’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to leave unsaid.

And for once in his life, his big mouth (doesn’t) fail(s) him.

Ren’s height forces Martyn to look up to stare into those strangely pink pupils; pink like a peony in a snake’s skull; up like a child looking upon a god.

As Ren seems to ascend with the beats of those powerful wings, one of the elders shouts for Martyn.

“Shoot, boy, shoot!”

Instinct suddenly kicks in again.

He raises his rifle.

Shoots a missing shot, just skimming Ren’s ear and reloads.

The bullet case falls beside a lapis talisman that matches his.

It’s Ren’s.

That’s enough to send a tear streaking down Martyn’s face as he takes aim again because he could have killed him—

He closes his eyes, and lets fate take his next shot. Maybe he won’t even shoot.

“All you do is leave,” Martyn whispers bitterly against the butt of his gun; maybe a bit of a justification to himself, and maybe a bit of an angry mourning, “All you've ever done is leave.”

Martyn’s hands twitch on his rifle. The day is almost gone and he can make out the faintest shape of the moon in the sky.

Tonight will be the night he hunts a demon.

The church altar roars with noise as the pastor rouses the people and their pitchforks, and Martyn’s stomach seems to do a flip.

He clutches at the lapis talisman under his coat; because something deep down is telling him that this hunt will be one of his biggest mistakes for a reason he can’t fathom.

He’s not scared of the chase and he’s not scared to kill. He doesn’t believe in their god and he doesn’t believe in demons.

So why does his heart still protest this one like his life depends on it?

Martyn remembers his first kill. A great stag on a full moon, with antlers that pronged towards the sky.

Ren hadn’t been there to see it, but he had congratulated him on it when he came back to town, so that was that.

Speaking of which, where is he?

Well, any excuse to be away from that frenzied mob. Any excuse to be where he actually belongs.

~

Back at the house, Ren…isn’t there either.

The pantry’s also bare, which is strange since Martyn clearly remembers going to the market to buy pumpkins, potatoes, and steak with Ren just yesterday.

To be fair, Ren’s always a little absent during full moons, and the week after often consists of Martyn helping to patch up wounds that he knows Ren will never explain, but tonight is important to the safety of their home, and Ren wouldn’t just run, right?

Right?

But his coat and his axe are gone.

Where could he be?

~

Ren watches as Martyn leaves the altar with worry twisting his features.

In that moment where the moonlight slips through the rooftops and catches his features, Ren thinks he might be looking at a god.

His hair looks like someone spun gold and took the care to sew it into a doll and his eyes are like if someone could have a Heart of the Sea for eyes.

God to a mortal.

Unbeliever to a demon.

A shout from the rabble startles him out of his trance.

The moon is rising, and his simpage must cease, for the sake of both his safety and Martyn’s sanity.

Goodbye, sweet Dogwarts, he thinks.

If Ren can help it, he will never see Dogwarts again.

~

No one has seen him.

Neither that nice librarian who’s dedicated their life to Mending books nor that farmer who’s spent theirs in the sun hoeing and threshing grain.

Martyn can’t tell if he’s buying himself time or running out of time.

However, Martyn has suspicions. 

One last spot to check before giving up, he decides, just one more.

~

As he reaches the forest, Martyn decides enough is enough. He’s quickly gotten sidetracked by a shady figure who he knows he can't let go and he still hasn’t found Ren.

He forcefully loads his rifle, letting his normally practiced movements be heard.

The hooded figure stops in its tracks and slowly turns around.

Martyn trains his gun on them, not willing to make another sound until they do, cacophony of hard breathing and pumping blood rushing in his ears; thoughts of Ren all gone.

Who-you, they sign in Dogwarts Sign Language, Why-here?

Martyn’s thought flow stutters to a halt. 

“I—I’m not going to put down my gun. I—Maybe you’re mute or maybe you’re deaf but I don’t know what your intentions are, or whether you’re a threat to us…”

He lets out a shaky exhale, almost too shaky for his liking, the adrenaline leaving, leaving Martyn working on empty but surprisingly clear-headed.

His fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Show me you don’t mean any harm.”

The hooded figure fumbles, patting themself down for any talismans or tokens, presumably.

Martyn has no problems with that, but then the hooded figure’s hands start retreating towards the pocket area, and that’s what raises his hackles.

It could be a knife or it could be a bribe or it could be a—

He shoots. Better safe than sorry.

The sound reverberates, bullet arching upwards, straight and true in some twisted arithmetic question; gun recoil hitting his cheekbone, just as the hooded figure reaches out a hand; either to stop him or to show him something and shouts his name.

“Martyn!”

Fuck.

He’s just alerted basically the whole village to their location with his gunshot, for it to be nothing.

Martyn slowly lowers his gun from its position, from pointing towards the sky to strapped across his shoulder.

He doesn’t even need to look at what they were trying to show him, because he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Ren.”

“Hey.”

Martyn sighs. Out of petulance, he turns to reloading and cleaning his rifle; very purposefully not meeting Ren’s gaze.

“Well, if you’ve got anything to say, at all,” he sneers as the bullet case is ejected, “Now’s the time to do it. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m sorry, my dude.”

“You’re always sorry, Ren. Every month you’re sorry, and from the moment I met you when you were bleeding in the woods you were sorry. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The image of flaxen hair and void-dark eyes seems to telepathically manifest between them.

“That’s not fair, to compare me to him.”

Fair?

“What? Because he’s the one who’s bandaging his landlord’s wounds? Because he’s never left Scar?” Martyn snarls, all his previously bubbling annoyance suddenly rising to the top; rifle now aimed back at Ren, “What do you take me for?”

“Martyn—“

“All you ever do is leave,” Martyn grits out, between the roiling turmoil that threatens to make him shed tears because gods above, Ren is someone who he has always cared too damn much about, “You leave and you come back right as I think you’re gone forever and then you leave again and you leave me to pick up the pieces—“

“You don’t understand, Martyn! I’m leaving for a reason that is bigger than you and me. I can’t tell you or show you because—“

Martyn slowly lowers his rifle again.

“—because you don’t trust me?”

Ren sighs, adjusting his robes while he fidgets.

“…yeah, I guess. I—I—take a walk with me?”

“Don’t be a coward about this. No more running, no more running away, okay?”

“I’m not,” Ren says, and Martyn can hear his voice crack, “I’m not running. That’s not the difficult part.”

“Then stop walking away. Stop fucking—leaving all the time. If you’re going to leave, don’t keep coming back just to do it again. What is so much bigger than me that I can’t understand it? Am I just not enough?”

“You’re always gonna be enough, Martyn.”

It would be so easy for Martyn to leave it on that; something that will keep him going in hard times. But all his problems in his life have been because of his big fucking mouth, and it seems that he’ll never be able to let go of that habit of betting on losing dogs.

“If it’s so damn easy for you to leave, why do you even bother coming back at all?”

“Because leaving ISN’T THE EASY PART, MARTYN!” Ren shouts, maybe sobs out, “It's loving you, that’s the easiest goddamn thing in the world! That’s why it’s so difficult to come back! I come back every month and I see you worried! I see you holding your questions and I know you want answers that I can’t give you!”

In the emotional scuffle, Ren’s hood falls.

The moonlight that’s cast on his face starts to distort his features, much to Martyn’s horror and shock as his eyes go crimson and grey starts to seep into his normally brown hair; the colour of wolf fur. His skin starts to mottle with scales and his figure starts to tower, with horns spiralling and leathery wings ripping out of his back like a leviathan might cut through the sea and into the open air.

Martyn clutches his rifle, frame seemingly cutting into his hands like an ill-made axe, as he whispers with uselessly trembling hands, as he shrinks away from him, “Ren, your hood’s off, Ren——”

The air suddenly feels dryer, now like the air wasn’t made for someone human like Martyn himself to breathe.

“Who’s the coward now, Martyn? Who’s running?”

That word jolts him out of the trance. 

Why is he running? From Ren, of all people?

“That’s…fair.”

Ren turns away from him.

“I can hear them coming. Do what you have to do. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m…sorry. For all of this. I just wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

There’s a rueful laugh from Ren.

“You were also sorry from the moment we met, weren’t you? You’re also sorry every month when you make me drink that—glistering melon juice.”

“That’s just…us now, I guess. Losing dogs who can’t stop regretting.”

“And who’ll be left to bet on us?”

They both share a melancholy chuckle. A good last inside joke to ease the parting pains.

~

Finally, the pitchforks come and the shouts of the rabble grow ever louder as they approach.

Ren turns back to him, eyes conveying some sort of look Martyn can’t ever hope to decipher in this lifetime. 

There’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to leave unsaid.

And for once in his life, his big mouth (doesn’t) fail(s) him.

Ren’s height forces Martyn to look up to stare into those strangely pink pupils; pink like a peony in a snake’s skull; up like a child looking upon a god.

As Ren seems to ascend with the beats of those powerful wings, one of the elders shouts for Martyn.

“Shoot, boy, shoot!”

Instinct suddenly kicks in again.

He raises his rifle.

Shoots a missing shot, just skimming Ren’s ear and reloads.

The bullet case falls beside a lapis talisman that matches his.

It’s Ren’s.

That’s enough to send a tear streaking down Martyn’s face as he takes aim again because he could have killed him—

He closes his eyes, and lets fate take his next shot. Maybe he won’t even shoot.

“All you do is leave,” Martyn whispers bitterly against the butt of his gun; maybe a bit of a justification to himself, and maybe a bit of an angry mourning, “All you've ever done is leave.”

@treebarkweek

[just-antithings]

Honestly "anti kink at pride" queer folks sound like they've accidentally licked a couple of boots. And that's not necessarily bad, but something you need to unlearn right quick. Our community was built by kinky hoes (self proclaimed). Forcing us from our spaces that we built is wrong. If you don’t want to see kink. Don't go to pride. Or go to an event that's specifically marketed as family friendly. I'll continue to swag it out at the regular pride events in cat ears, a collar, and my sparkly rave bra because that is where I belong, I'm not gay as in happy. I'm queer as in fuck you. And if i need to say fuck you to the purists in my own community i damn will without hesitation

Yea they definitely need to cut that out quick. And all the alleged complaints are incredibly tone deaf.

This comic never stops being relevant

[lees-chaotic-brain]

hooray!! congrats on the good news, i hope the streak continues!

okay i'm glad you won't be uncomfortable with the stuff i interact with. i didn't bother with any warnings on my blog bc i'm mostly here to consume things and don't expect too many people to wander by lol. but! since i have been coming out of my lil lurker basement lately i finally at least added a color scheme to it so i look less like a bot.

oh man oh man where to start on tea and jackets? what are your go-to's for either? i'm kind of a tea purist-i prefer tea the east asian (chinese/japanese/korean) way, just pure tea leaves and occasional aromatics with no additional sugar or cream unless i'm specifically making a milk tea. i don't really like herbal teas. i want that camellia sinensis in my shit. my default tea rn is probably hojicha. i made a sunrise burnt basque hojicha cheesecake and though the layers didn't come out as cleanly as i wanted it tasted lovely. a tumblr friend on here inspired me to try out the burnt basque with a FANTASTIC green thai tea i have next! (if you're in the market for the green thai tea and are usa-based i cannot recommend it enough. it's so unique bc green thai is uncommon in the states already, and most of it comes from the powder packets but the one i have is all whole ingredients, no extracts or dye or flavor enhancements and it is DIVINE. sooo fragrant with pandan and vanilla and mint. i will scarf down anything with pandan in it but this is especially lovely)

i basically only own leather jackets or blazers, i have an embarassing amount of both. i did just do a closet purge with a friend's help though and i am proud of say i got rid of like, 16 college-era (p)leather jackets and blazers that had seen better days/are no longer in style

ty for sticking around for my D1 yapping!

dw abt it LMAO. it's not super apparent, but if you look close enough you can see my inner hoe poking through in my tags, so yes. i definitely consume smut and dark content and am looking forward to seeing your stuff on my dash 🤭

omg and for tea? i literally drink any and all kinds of tea. so again, if you've been on my blog long enough/look closely i'm pretty sure i've mentioned it before but i'm half korean, and i while i love all kinds of tea, the tea my mom made for me are nostalgic and bring me comfort. i almost always drink my teas plain (chai being the only exception) or with a little bit of honey.

i LOVE herbal teas. i can't really drink a ton of caffeine with my adhd meds or i genuinely start tweaking. like twitching and all that shit, so i normally drink other teas even though i really enjoy green and black teas :')

THAT TEA AND CHEESECAKE BOTH SOUND SO GOOD OMG

i'm a sucker for jackets and boots, and while i don't have too many, i definitely own a few, but i'll probably reblog this post and rant about them later lmao

if you're interested, here is a comprehensive list of my top ten favorite teas (in no particular order), how i drink them, and why. thank you for attending my lecture.

1. you are so right about hojicha. i love green tea, but my absolute favorite variation of green tea is nokcha. i love the extra flavor the brown rice brings to it. i normally drink it plain, but if i'm feeling fancy i'll steam a little milk and add a drizzle of honey

2. this definitely isn't korean, but when i was little my mom would make me this tea and it was so, so, so, good. it's basically just a stick of cinnamon, some apples slices up, orange and lemon peel, and a little bit of honey boiled together for like an hour. it's literally my favorite thing to drink in the fall bc it just warms me up from the inside

3. oksusu-cha. it's basically a korean tea made from roasted corn kernels and i really, really, like it. it's different from a lot of teas in the sense that it's almost savory, but its taste is very unique and almost earthy? idk how to describe it but i highly recommend trying it. i always drink it plain, but pouring it over heukmi bap (korean purple rice) and eating is also amazing

4. earl gray. i know this one is very british and different from the rest of the teas i drink, but i love having a cup of it once in a while! i drink it black sometimes, but i'll also drink it with either lemon and honey, or a little milk and honey

5. chamomile my love. i love love love a nice cup of chamomile before bed while i'm reading a book! i almost always drink it plain, but if i'm on my period i add a spoonful of honey

6. hibiscus tea. while this isn't necessarily my favorite taste wise, it brings back a lot of memories from when i was little and would go to a cafe with my mom. not to say i don't enjoy the flavor, it's just a little too sweet and a little too tart for me to drink a lot of

7. gyulpi cha. it's a korean citrus peel tea (not unlike #2) and it's really, really, good. i always drink it plain.

8. chai. this is the only type of tea i drink with a ton of stuff in it. i'm currently boycotting starbucks, but i love their iced chai latte with sweet cream foam. during fall i normally get it with some pumpkin flavoring lol. however i barely consider the drink tea at this point lmao

9. lavender tea. i absolutely love a cup of lavender tea before bed. i always drink it plain, and think the scent is so calming!

10. and finally lilac tea. i love lilacs. growing up we had a massive lilac bush and the smell always brings me back. i really enjoy its subtly sweet and floral flavor, and always drink it plain.

anyways, that's it for the tea lmao.

[vergess]

Stupid question ahead! PLEASE feel free to ignore, but you're the person I know who seems most well versed in all this.

So, I'm aroace. I'm a virgin. I enjoy masturbation, and want to try having sex.

Where do you like. Start?

Like, in my head easiest option is find and hire a sex worker, and that was legit my plan once I found out they were a thing when I was young b/c "Oh wow that just takes all the pressure of first times off! That's great!" But now in my mid twenties I'm realizing I don't know how to find one/the ettiquite involved. And obvious getting in touch varies state by state I'm sure.

The whole "have a relationship, get to That Point" is a definite no go on my end. None of my friends are really casual sex types, or if they are they haven't clued me into that fact, and idk about hooking up with like. *Unvetted* strangers you know?

How does one enter their hoe era :<

Well, if you can find a professional in your area, I super recommend it. Having an experienced partner who is focused on teaching YOU rather than pleasing themselves is a really luxe way to make your sexual debut.

That said, it sounds like the market in your area is broadly inaccessible to you, and most sex work platforms were crushed under fosta/sesta, so let's focus on non-professional options.

You can basically go one of two ways: online hookups or in person browsing.

Now, with COVID being what it is (ongoing, crippling, often lethal), in person may not be super available. If it's an option, though, I'm gonna let you in on a secret the allos won't admit to.

"Flirting" isn't actually a specific technique. It's just the act of putting on your most euphoric persona and acting like everyone who talks to you is the reason for that euphoria. Sit at a bar (NOT a table) in a restaurant or club and look generally ecstatic to be there. Give meaningless, retail like greetings to anyone who enters your talking radius. People will wander up to you over time.

Online is often easier if you know what you want. Like, if you're specifically looking for someone 5'4" so you can lift them up like a trophy, that's easier to pick and choose.

Hookup apps are nearly infinite and hugely varied by niche. BDSMlr has had good reviews from people I trust, and has a nice, tumblr like user interface. You might enjoy it!

The benefit of a hookup app is, everyone is already there to fuck. No need for pretenses. Just find someone interesting and straight up say, 'wanna fuck?'

It's that easy.

Now, as far as 'unvetted' goes:

You can 100% vet your sexual partners. Ask them about past hookups and their STI status, especially. If someone refuses to discuss that stuff with a person they're about to fuck, that can be a red flag. But, in general, as long as a few friends know where you are and when to expect you home, you don't need to worry.

The biggest risk with casual sex isn't violence, it's disease. And just using condoms/dams is enough to crush that risk way, way down.

Finally, before making your sexual debut, get an STI test of your own. "Oh but I've never..." There are STIs you can get from nonsexual activities too, and you have the same responsibility to be upfront about your STI status when asked, at your partners would.

Be responsible, be respectful, get tested!

[nityarawal]

10/5/2023

Morning Songs

Dia's Song

Sitting In The Woods

Once Again

Wondering Where To Turn

Thinkin' Of Our Moms

And Foul Play Done

Billionaire Heiress

Lydia Abrams

Disappeared

Now A Probate

Money Tied Up

By Court Fraud

Her Son Just Wants

Closure

Confirm

X- Sheriff Keith 

Harper Murdered 

His Mom

Dia And Her

Caretaker Jodi

I Called On Ad

To The Caretaking Ranch

Job

I Called On An Ad

And Spoke To Keith

Harper

For Bautista Ranch

Up Apple Canyon 

Hurkey Creek

Didn't Take The Job

Won't Go Out

And Investigate

A Already Solved

Case

He Already Murdered

My Bunky Jodi

And Dia Abrams

Why Does Becky Clark

Advertise A Murderer

Confirmed Sex Offender

She Offered Me $15

Dollars An Article

Before Idyology

Caged Me

And Pushes Academy

Moms On Pleas

Was The Advertising

Money

Worth It

For A Registered

Sex Offender

$15 Like An Article

To Buy Another

Murdered Caretaker

Why Would You

Do A Story

On Man

Who Murdered Two Moms

Not Get To The Bottom

Of It

Or Tie Up Loose

Ends

For Academy Graduates

Journalists

We Alerted The

Help Center

About Keith Harper's

Ad in Idyllwild Town Crier

For Another Caretaker

Sounds Like 

Another Journalist

Grad

From Idyllwild Arts

In Latest Video

From Jodi

Touring Bautista

Wedding

Airbnb Site

Garner Valley

Was Almost Sold

Out

Again

Take Down Your Ad

For Sex Offenders

Victims

Witch Hunting Mommies

For Proud Boys

Take Down Your Ad

We Work For Dia

Restraining Orders

For Sex Offenders

From Her Ranches

Not The X Sheriff

Or Officers That Need

To Be Fired

Raiding For Billions

We Work With

Dia

San Diego Probates

PNC Bank

BBVA Before Them

Wells Fargo

San Diego Credit

Unions

Fidelity

Refund Billions

Times To Thee

Mary Schmitz

Admitted Airbnb

Fraud

Murder

Management

400 Victims

In Idyllwild

Mountain Center

Pine Cove

Wrongfully Evicted

Idyllwild Realty

Wrongful Deaths

Sergeant Protero 

Pretends To Investigate

Lipstick On

With A Harem

Of Hitmen

Fraudulent Officers

Ignorant Of Laws

Raping Mommies

Away

Not One Good Probate

Judge

Not One Officer

Knows The Law

Diplomacy

5 W's

Citizen Journalists

So Charge

Harper And His

Accomplices

Sheriff Bianco

Enoch

With Fraud

DA

You Can't "OJ Murder"

Another Mom

On Cons

My Sisters

2nd Bunky

Witnessed Foul Play

Paris Hilton Whistle 

Blew

#FreeBritney And I

Don't Take Another

Heiress

For A Job

Our Taxes Won't

Cover

In-House

Murders

Domestic Terrorism 

Don't Take Another 

Heiress

Give 300k  Finders

Fee To #Nitya4Eternity

To Me

Starving Journalist

In Need

Needy

Who Tweeted

Until Elon

Joined Me 

On "X"

Just A Humble

Journalist

Nobody

Jealous

Of Merlin

Mommy

Nobody Jealous

Of Merlin Mommy

Give Us Back Our

Kids

Give Us Back X

You Can't Give Us

Back

6 Years

With King Kyan

Or Princess Anjali

Nor All The Oil

Stolen

For Iranian Women

Lives Matter

Now

And Always

All The Oil Stolen

In WW3 Bribes

Give It Back

To The Prople

But The Power

Is Now

And You Can't

Do That

Give It Back

Give It Back

Rewind Pendant

YouTube And

Watch That

Stole Our Time

On Apple Cons

Techy Bribes

Selling Starter Wives

Give It Back

Give Back My Beach

Home

Your Black Mary

With Her Pierced

Nose

Conned To Work For

CPS

Senator

Probate Judge Jackson

Candace Owen's Pod

Bribed My Mothers

Heads

On The Black Market

For Politicians

Send Back Your

Dancing Gigolos

To London

Jodi Was Flustered

As Keith

Tried To Burn

Through 

The Hoes

Enough

Peace

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[worry--wort]

//it's more hearing than seeing! the context is that they were on opposite sides of the war and the father killed the son

there is quiet.

and then there is sound.

the sound of the cattle mooing, the sound of a hoe plowing through the fields, the sound of voices laughing, the sound of home. this is home.

there is sound.

there is sound.

THERE IS SOUND THAT RIPS THROUGH YOUR EARS THAT SCREAMS INSIDE YOUR HEAD THAT PULSES AND POUNDS AND--

"HELP-- HELP NO I WON'T PLEASE NO I--"

"What'd you want for supper? Ma bought a lil' something from the market that I--"

"Get Bessie fed and maybe we'll go run to Diane's later tonight but remember--"

"HAHAHHAHAHHA LITTLE MAN DOWN ALREADY?"

"I DIDN'T RAISE NO FUCKING FAILURE LIKE YOU."

there is sound.

there is sound.

and then there is quiet.

A famous prompt: Describe a barn as seen by a man whose son has just been killed in a war. Do not mention the son, or war, or death. Do not mention the man who does the seeing.