#kinda smells like....mutiny

[favouritefi]

More catboy behavioral questions....

1. Do they groom each other for social bonding like cats? (I'm assuming they'd use their hands instead of their mouths, since they're people, but still.)

2. Again like housecats, do they tend to try and hide any symptoms of illness/injury or other weaknesses?

1. Yes but croziers catboys are a poor example of this due to their Issues, the marines groom each other pretty regularly tho (eg brushing each others tails and straightening coats etc). But I would say cuddling / sleeping together is more commonly utilized for social bonding than grooming since that’s smth cat/dogboys tend to only do with each other whereas humans can (or at least they are supposed to) groom their cat/dogboys. Crozier obviously does not do this so jopson has been taking care of himself for most of his life. Sometimes he will help little because little is a long haired ragdoll with depression but everyone else tends to just take care of themselves. Hickey likes to groom irving to stress him out and also hodgson to make him more bald which I guess is kinda like bonding but I think could be more accurately described as harassment.

2. Yes they try to hide it from humans, but amongst other cat/dogboys it’s harder because they can all smell sickness. This ability is acc a key point in the plot when they are hauling south cause like it’s hard to trust command and follow orders when you can smell them dying, and its hard to bury the dead when all you smell is meat rotting fast and going to waste. Long story short crozier’s miraculous lack of illness is likely what prevented dog/catboy mutiny and saved them all. long story long is too long for a text post, just know that there’s a reason crozier is now a semi-disgraced retired recluse living in a cottage with five catboys.

[liviavanrouge]

Livias class, flight and alchemy lines

Class

--Good Lines(Depending on the time)--

"This is kinda boring..."

"I wonder how far the Thorn Queens thorns could go"

"Jaguar...mutiny war"

"I learned all this from Nilo!"

"Silver said to work hard!"

"Who told this raggedy cat to come near me, he better move before I scorch his tail"

"Maybe I'll go to the library after this"

"I wanna see Headmaster Crowley!"

"I miss Crowley's presence"

--Great lines--

"Yay!"

"Tututu~"

"Wow, that's a fact!"

"I'm a bit annoyed right now..."

--Perfect Lines--

"Wowie!! Wowzers! Woah!"

"I did well, didn't I!?"

"I remembered that, hehe!"

"Hehehe, Leona taught me this one"

Special Lesson

"Crowley!"

"I'll do my best for the headmaster!"

"Mal Mal, Silver! I did it!!"

----

Flight

--Good(Depending on the time)--

"How fun!"

"Let's all be careful alright?"

"Silver says I'm a great flier!"

"WOAH! AH! SILVER HELP!!"

"I don't like areas that have too much sun, hurts my eyes and skin..."

"Grim...fly with me now"

"Bat Dad says to not be in the air for too long"

"Sebek says to take it slow and steady..."

"Hmph, where's Crowley?"

--Great--

"Weeee! Fun~"

"I used my wings for this one!"

"I wish Silver would be more careful..."

"Oh Trey! Look at me!"

--Perfect--

"Riddle says I look stiff.."

"Tututu~ the breeze feels great!"

"I wonder if Sebek is doing okay..."

"I see the orchard from here!"

Special

"This is amazing!!!"

"Ahahaha! Big brother look!"

"Honestly, flying is easy or are you all stupid"

----

Alchemy

--Good(Depending on the time)

"Stir it nice and slow..."

"Nasty smell!! Make it go away!"

"Mal Mal says to be careful"

"Big brother, big brother look! It changed"

"Silver!!! Wake up!"

"Oh no...Silver..."

"Vil taught me how to make this one!"

"Cowabunga!! Hehe, Floyd taught me that"

"This is gonna hurt my nose...."

--Great--

"Something on my coat?"

"Go back to where you came from..oh wait they don't want you, sorry I forgot"

"Honestly! Be more careful!

"Hah! I guess this is how Sebek feeks!"

--Perfect--

"Oh wow!"

"Rook, I did it!

"Haru, don't you dare!"

"Big brother, thanks for helping!"

Special

"How worthless are you!?"

"Do it right stupid, Crowley is watching!"

"Why are you even here, you're just a drag!"

----

Battle Lines

Battle Start: "Why are you even here?"

When Selected:

"I'm ready!"

2. "I don't wanna.."

3. "In we go!"

4. "Charge!"

Effect Usage:

Debuff: "I'll tell my big brother!"

Buff: "Use the magic wisely!"

Getting attacked:

"*Yowls*"

"Ouchie!"

Attacking:

"Cry Louder" -By Herself going first

"Disgusting!" -By Herself going first

"You hurt my eyes" -By herself going second

"You're useless!" -By herself going second

"Ugh, can we finish this!?" -With another student her going first

"Watch out weakling!" -With another student her going first

"I'll crush you worm!" -With another student her going second

"How much longer?" -With another student her going second

--Double Attacking--

"Why do I gotta fight you.." -By herself going first

"Bow your head!" -by herself going first

"Man, you're pathetic" -by herself going second

"I know best, heh~" -by herself going second

"I've been prepared for this!" -With another student her going first

"You entered a Jaguar den!" -with another student her going first

"This is a waste.." -with another student her going second

"Oh my God! Go down already!" -with another student her going second

--triple hits--

"You're dead!" -By herself going first

"How are you this worthless" -by herself going first

"Learn your place vermin!" -by herself going second

"Why do I bother..." by herself going second

"Wretched vermin! I'll make you cry!" -With another student her going first

"Honestly, are you even trying?" -with another student her going first

"I shall bury you alive!" -with another student her going second

"How dare you!?" -with another student her going second

--magic 3--

"Squeal in fear"

"You have some pathetic spells"

"Compared to me you're a bug"

"Unsightly rat!"

---

Battle Win

"Hah! How worthless you are"

Battle Lose

"Am I....worthless?"

@anxious-twisted-vampire @yukii0nna @writing-heiress @zexal-club @marrondrawsalot @yumeko2sevilla

@queen-of-twisted @pekoetiikapu @teddymochi

[kharti-old]

[ Good Sir, Mad Lad #25 ]

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Stede had no idea what to expect, just that he had been ordered by his crew to wait in the jam room for their surprise, seated in a chair that had been provided for him.

      ( Continue reading on AO3 or... )

Stede had no idea what to expect, just that he had been ordered by his crew to wait in the jam room for their surprise, seated in a chair that had been provided for him.

He was nervous. More than he probably should be. His crew hadn’t given him any reason to expect something bad, but he also didn’t know what to expect at all, and it was easier to assume the worst.

Perhaps it was another mutiny, or an intervention. Perhaps Jack had said something that upset them, or they discovered something he couldn’t see.

His heart started to sink. Perhaps they’d gotten the truth out of Jack, and were trying to find a way to break the bad news to him.

Then, suddenly, there was music, and Frenchie walked through the doorway, strumming on his lute and a cheshire grin on his lips. John came after him with a small drum tucked under one arm. The Swede followed, singing in his beautiful operatic voice.

The three of them stood behind Stede in a half-circle, their joined song filling the room, and just as he started to sway to its rhythm—

A figure stepped into the doorway, and Stede’s heart jumped into his throat.

It was Jack, Stede knew that, but he looked almost nothing like himself.

His hair was pulled out of his face, held back in a low ponytail with a deep purple ribbon that trailed over his right shoulder. He wore one of Stede’s nicer suits in matching purple and white, a little tight on his middle that he was clearly sucking in to get it to fit better.

And most of all, his moustache was trimmed to just cover his upper lip, no handlebars down to his jawline.

He stood there, eyes not meeting Stede’s at first, a bashful red hue to his cheeks that clearly had some foundation powdered onto them.

“Surprise,” Jack said, finally looking directly at Stede. “It’s me. Jack.”

“I know it’s you.” Stede rose to his feet and the music seemed to fade away as he stepped closer, his throat tight and voice tighter. “What have they done to you?”

“Somethin’ called a glow-up?” Jack reached up to scratch his smooth chin, and even his nails were manicured. “Ya should come closer, I smell like a fuckin’ garden over here.”

And Stede wanted to. Was tempted to. Could catch a whiff of the scented soap even at the distance between them.

But all he could do was barely hold his composure together. “I’m—” His breath hitched, turning an exhale into a shaky gasp for air. “I’m so sorry they did this, I can’t—I’m sure they meant well—”

This was why Jack had left in the first place. Stede’s annoying frilly fancies and how he’d forced him on Jack, just like this, tried to make him fit in a world he didn’t want.

Jack chuckled, and the sound was more music to his ears than the lute or the drums or the Swede’s voice, sending a shiver right down his spine.

“No worries, man. It was kinda fun. Had no idea folks spent so much time just fussin’ with their hair.”

Then Jack lifted a hand, his other tucked behind his back. “I want to ask ya to dance, but I still don’t fuckin’ understand the box, so. Will ya lead this dance?”

Stede couldn’t breathe. His heart was in his ears, pounding away, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Frenchie and John grinning, still playing their instruments, but now with a clear rhythm to follow.

“We don’t have to,” Stede said in a quiet whisper, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “It’s not necessary.”

Jack’s hand lingered in the air, then slowly fell back to his side. “Oh, uh. Guess not.”

They stood there, the music faltering when they didn’t move, and Stede took a shuddering breath in. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’ll have a word with them about this, I promise.”

“I…” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, his head angling to the side. “Is it that weird?”

Of course it was. How could Jack ask that? All of Stede’s things, his clothes and his dancing and his books and his poetry—all of them were weird.

“I prefer you as you are,” Stede finally said. “I don’t need you to change.”

“Well, that’s a hell of a lot easier, yeah.” Jack’s hand moved over what was left of his moustache. “Kinda wish they’d known that before they took a blade to my ‘stache, though.”

Stede didn’t know what to say other than another shaky apology, his own hands trembling at his sides.

The music dwindled down before it came to a stop.

“Do you not like it, cap’n?” Wee John asked, and it took all of Stede’s strength not to whip around and snap at him.

“Jack doesn’t like it,” Stede said in a tight voice, his mouth dry, and shook his head. “It’s not what he wants.”

Jack grunted. “I mean, yeah, not all the time, but… for you, I—”

“Don’t change for me,” Stede hurried to interrupt. “Please. I’m sorry I tried to make you change in the first place, much less now, with all this, I just… I’m sorry.”

He pushed past Jack out of the room, putting as much distance between them as he could before he felt his tears start up again, the panic gripping his chest.

“Hey!” Lucius called as Stede went by where the rest of the crew was gathered near the room. “What happened?” His keen eyes took in the whole of Stede and he frowned. “What did he do?”

“It’s what you did,” Stede snapped, then tried to breathe in to center himself with so many eyes on him. “Please don’t do that again.”

Lucius frowned, not backing down. “It was just a bit of fun. He actually seemed to enjoy himself by the end of it.”

Stede chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes darting to the side and back to Lucius. “Was it your idea to have him ask me to dance?”

“Aww, did he do that?” Lucius’s lips curved into a smile. “That’s actually cute.”

“You didn’t—” Stede blinked a few times. “But he doesn’t… like that sort of thing.”

“Honey.” Lucius took Stede’s hand in his own and squeezed it. “I have no idea what’s going on in that little head of yours, but Jack took a fucking beating from the whole crew just to convince us he was serious about you. So go back there and dance with the poor man.”

Stede hesitated a moment too long, and Lucius’s smile fell into a straight line.

“Swear to gods, if you fuck this up, I’m actually going to feel bad for him this time. Please don’t make me do that.”

Stede couldn’t speak, just gave a little nod and turned away to walk back down the hall to where he could hear Frenchie’s voice.

“… just caught off-guard, don’t take it personally. You look great.”

“Nah, man, clearly not,” Jack’s voice replied, and the tone was distinctly—sad. “He looked like he wanted to fuckin’ run at the sight of me.”

“Shouldn’t have done all the fanfare.” John sighed. “Made him nervous, I think.”

Stede hovered at the doorway, awkwardly clearing his throat. All eyes turned on him, and he resisted the urge to recoil and make himself small under their stares.

“Is it too late for that dance?” he asked, hearing the tremor in his own voice.

“Yeah?” Jack turned to face him, grinning, dimples visible at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, fuck, no, not too late.”

Frenchie, John, and the Swede all exchanged glances before they brought the music back together, finding their harmony to put the rhythm in place.

Jack held out his hand, and Stede’s heart pounded as he closed the distance between them to take it.

They wordlessly came together, hands falling into place, Jack’s breath on Stede’s cheek, the smell of lavender in the air. And as their feet started to move, neither with confidence, Stede broke the moment of silence between them.

“You do look handsome.” He glanced up into Jack’s eyes. “But I thought you already were before.”

“Wouldn’t mind dressing up for ya on occasion,” Jack said in a casual manner, but there was nothing casual to his tone. “If ya’d like.”

Stede tried not to think too hard, tried not to think at all, tried to just let the push and pull of the simple dance take his focus.

“I think you convinced the crew, by the way.” Stede leaned in to rest his head against Jack’s shoulder.

The box was incomplete, Jack’s feet not following along, but Stede didn’t want to correct him. They’d make their own shape, their own way.

“So…” Jack trailed off, uncertainly.

Stede let his eyes close and breathed in the scent of soap on Jack’s skin. “There’s one more person who wants to talk to you, and… then we can talk.”

“Sure.” Jack’s head tilted to put his cheek to Stede’s temple, his skin soft and smooth. “Whatever it takes”—he hesitated, and Stede felt the tentative breath in and out—”darling.”

Stede let the word settle in the safety of his mind, didn’t react beyond letting their dance continue, didn’t respond beyond a small smile on his lips that Jack couldn’t see.

      ( next )

📚 view a list of all my current stories!

[twst-bs]

NRC Students and an Anxious MC

And with this, I've done all of the students at NRC!! Well, with the nervous MC, anyway, I have some other stuff in the works too.

Also, in case anyone was wondering, I'm open for both requests and commissions!

-----

Ace: “You look awful.”

The Ramshackle Prefect shot Ace a glare, but it lacked their usual fire. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.” he caught up with them easily when they turned around to keep walking. “I just meant you looked like you had a rough night. Or like you’re stressed out. You know.”

“Your grave only has to be six feet, Ace, you can stop digging now.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “You aren’t usually this crabby. Seriously, what’s up?”

They sighed. “You’re right, I had a rough night.”

“Any particular reason why? Or just ‘cause?”

The two of them had reached Crewel’s classroom, but they still had a few minutes before they had to be in there. The Prefect bit their lip nervously. “I kind of freaked out last night because of the homework.”

“It was pretty hard, huh?”

“Well, that too,” they crossed their arms, almost like they were trying to hide themself. “But, it’s like...I feel stupid, you know? You guys all know this magic stuff, but I’m struggled to handle even the basics. Then I thought, well, if I can’t handle the basics, I’m going to get punished, and I would deserve it because I’m an idiot, and...you can see how the spiral went.”

Ace was quiet for a moment, studying them with an unreadable expression. Then, he heaved out a side and grabbed their wrist, tugging them into the classroom. “I guess it can’t be helped, then.”

“Huh?”

He plopped unceremoniously into his seat and dug around in his bag. “Be quick about it, okay? Queen only knows what Crewel’s punishment for getting caught copying homework is.”

The Prefect stared at Ace with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Ace shrugged, slapping his notebook down on the desk. “If he says anything, I’ll tell him you helped me word it. Now, come on!”

Deuce: They weren’t getting anywhere.

The longer they stared at the question on their worksheet, the less they could focus. Apparently this was supposed to be basic stuff, but there were so many strange ingredients with different magical properties that they couldn’t keep track. And the more that had to flip back and forth between their textbook and worksheet, the more stupid they felt.

“...right? Hey, are you alright?”

Deuce’s voice broke through the panic that was beginning to set in, and when they finally looked up, his blue eyes were wide with concern.

“What? I’m sorry, Deuce, I kinda...spaced there for a minute.”

That only made the crease in Deuce’s brow deepen. “You looked really freaked out. Is something wrong?”

The two of them had made a habit out of studying in the library together. Since Deuce wasn’t the best student and the Prefect was playing a very intense game of catch up, they figured they could motivate each other while studying. But lately, all they had been able to do was sit there and be anxious about everything.

"I...um…" They absent-mindedly clicked their pen, unable to look Deuce in the eye. "I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked incredulously. "For real, are you alright?"

The genuine worry in his expression made something in them burst. They threw their pen down on the table and buried their face in their hands. "I don't know what I'm doing! I went from magic not existing to suddenly having to study it, and I can't even master the basics! I'm terrified that I'll fail and Crowley will kick me out and -"

"Whoa, whoa, hey, it's okay!" Deuce's chair scraped against the floor as he hurried over to their side, grasping their hands in his. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Their chest heaved as they tried to suck in enough air. "But -"

"Listen," he cut them off. "The stuff you have to deal with is a lot. And I'm sorry for not realizing it earlier. If you want, we can go to Professor Crewel and ask for some tutoring, or even remedial lessons. Whatever you need, I'll help."

Cater: “What are you looking at?”

At the sound of the Ramshackle Prefect’s voice from behind the couch he was sitting on in the Heartslabyul lounge, Cater lolled his head back to grin at them. “Heya! Just scrolling through Magicam, what else is new?”

“That is your favorite pastime, huh?” they leaned on the back of the couch, looking at the screen.

“What are you doing in Heartslabyul, anyway?” he asked.

“Ace thought he could get away with not studying if he ‘forgot’ his textbooks at Ramshackle. I’m returning them before Riddle thinks I was in on it.””

“Yeah, that tracks.”

The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence, the Prefect watching as Cater scrolled. However, out of the corner of his eye, he could see their expression gradually get tighter and tighter, like they were trying to control whatever emotion was trying to show through.

“What’s with that face?”

“What face?” they asked defensively. “This is just my face.”

“That’s the face you make when you start having bad thoughts but don’t want anybody to know.”

“Get out of my head, Cater.”

He snorted, turning so he was sitting sideways on the couch and could get a better look at them. “Come on, tell Cay what’s on your mind.”

They hesitated, picking idly at the loose thread on the couch. “...It’s just me being stupid.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“...The people on Magicam are way more good-looking than I am.” the finally mumbled, looking away. “I keep wondering when you’ll realize that.”

Cater’s green eyes widened before he giggled. “Nope.”

“Nope what?”

“I won’t realize it,” he reached around them to pull their face closer, kissing them affectionately on the cheek. “Because it’s not true. And whenever you start to think like that, you tell me, so I can reassure you.”

Jack: Something felt off.

Nothing in particular had happened, it was just one of those days. But, it was bad enough that they thought about just going back to Ramshackle instead of waiting for Jack like they normally did. Waiting outside of the classroom just made them feel even more antsy.

Just as they were about to shoot him a text to say that they weren’t feeling well - which wasn’t technically a lie - said wolf came out of the classroom, tail wagging involuntarily when he saw them waiting like it wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

Before he could even greet them, however, his nose scrunched up. Furrowing his eyebrows, he leaned down and began sniffing them.

“Jack, what the hell?”

“You’re nervous about something.”

Right. Nothing could beat that canine sense of smell.

“It’s nothing.” Jack opened his mouth to reply, but they cut him off. “No, literally. Nothing actually happened, it’s just a...a weird day, I guess.”

It was clear from the expression on his face that Jack didn’t quite understand, but the guy was nothing if not sympathetic. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Nah, it should eventually work itself out.” They tried to muster up an encouraging grin, but from the look on Jack’s face, they didn’t quite hit the mark. “I’m fine, Jack, promise.”

His tail had dropped, and his ears were pressed against his head. “...When I get worked up, going for a jog usually helps me. Gets all the energy out.”

They raised an eyebrow. “You and I both know that your jogging is my sprinting.”

“Then I’ll walk and you jog,” he grinned. “If you want to, that is.”

They paused before shrugging. “I probably won’t do a good job on the homework if I’m like this, anyway.”

Floyd: Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Crewel will turn you into a rug if he catches you falling asleep.

Their internal monologue was the only thing preventing them from passing out onto their desk. They had had a hard time falling asleep last night, and of course they were working on sleeping draughts in Alchemy today. The vapor wafting from the cauldron was enough to knock them out.

They hadn’t noticed that their eyes had closed until a hard knock on the classroom door startled them open. When Crewel called out for whoever it was to come in, the door opened to reveal Floyd.

“The Headmaster wants to see Shrimpy!” he sang, leaning against the doorframe. Crewel nodded, motioning with his pointed cane for the Prefect to get out.

Physically shaking themself awake, they stood. Next to them, Ace went “Oooooooh~”

“Trappola, just for that, you’re responsible for giving them the notes for the lesson.”

“Aw, come on!”

They didn’t even have the energy to stick their tongue out like they usually would. They just inched past all of the other students until they were at Floyd’s side. The merman casually slung an arm around their shoulder and steered them out of the classroom.

“What does the Headmaster want?” they asked. It could literally be anything, honestly.

“Oh, I lied!” Floyd giggled. “He doesn’t need to see you at all.”

“Huh?”

“You looked exhausted this morning,” Floyd tugged them closer. Not quite a squeeze, but there was something intensely protective in the embrace. “I figured you could use a nap.”

“So you busted me out of class?”

“Yup! This makes me your favorite, right?” he grinned, showing all of his teeth.

“Definitely.”

Epel: They always did have a nervous stomach.

There was a test in Trein’s class that day. No matter how much they studied the night before, they didn’t feel prepared, and their stomach was committing mutiny in response. They hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast, so now they were nauseated and hungry at the same time. They were either going to puke on the test or eat it, they hadn’t decided yet.

“Are you alright?”

They jumped. They had been so caught up in their own head that they hadn’t even heard Epel approach. “Hey. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of test anxiety, haha.”

Epel didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You look kinda pale.”

“Really, I’m fine. I was just a bit too nervous to eat breakfast.” they insisted.

“Well, that’s not good.” Epel frowned. “You’ll do even worse on the test if you’re hungry.”

Oh, why did he have to phrase it like that? Just the thought made their already roiling stomach turn, and they whined softly as they hugged themself around the middle.

“Ah, wait, I didn’t mean it like that!” he backtracked. “I just meant it won’t do you any good!”

Epel reached into his bag for a moment, mumbling to himself. “I know I have some in here...ah-ha!” he pulled out a bag of dried apple chips. “Here! It’s not exactly a full meal, but it’ll help. And they’re really light, so if you’re sick because of nerves, they won’t upset your stomach.”

“Are you sure?” they asked as Epel handed them the bag.

“Pos’tive.” he grinned. “I’ve got plenty back at the dorm. And Ma’s always sending me stuff from the farm anyway. So go ahead, I don’t want you passing out!”

Sebek: They had no idea what he was talking about.

It was a feat in and of itself to be able to not pay attention to Sebek. The man was a walking lightning bolt. But today was just not a good day, mentally.

A pity, too. They always liked walking around in the woods with Sebek. Something about being in nature and listening to him talk passionately about whatever was on his mind was almost soothing, but it just wasn’t working this time.

“Are you listening?”

They jumped when he said their name. They had gotten so sucked into their own head that they hadn’t noticed him turn his monologue into a conversation. “I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for? Is everything alright?” he looked them up and down with sharp amber eyes, scanning for anything that could present any danger. “Are you ill?”

“No, no, it’s not…” they sighed, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares.”

Bad dreams had been a problem before they arrived in Twisted Wonderland, but now they were really plaguing them. It made concentrating difficult, even on simple things such as a walk with their partner.

Sebek stepped in front of them, forcing them to stop in their tracks. His angular features were serious, thrown into deep contrast from the light of the sun setting between the leaves. He clasped both of their hands in his own, holding them tightly as he looked into their eyes.

“You needn’t worry about such things. I will not let anything harm you, even your own mind.” he squeezed their hands. “On my honor as a knight.”

Silver: Watching Silver train with a sword was...something else.

They could watch him all day, going after the training dummy like it was actually an enemy.

Well, usually, they could.

It had been another sleepless night, up worrying about all the various things they needed to do. They only managed to fall asleep around four AM, and they needed to be at their first class by eight, so they hadn’t exactly gotten well-rested. They were impressed that they had managed to stay awake during their lessons, but now it was catching up to them.

The warm sun shining on their face and the rhythmic swishing of Silver’s practice sword was vaguely soothing, and before they really knew it they had slumped against the tree they were sitting under, fast asleep.

When they awoke, they were moving. It took a minute to gather themself, and they blinked sleepily at their surroundings.

“You can go back to sleep.” Silver’s voice rumbled against their side. He was carrying them. “We aren’t that far from Ramshackle.”

“...You could have woken me up.” they mumbled, nuzzled closer to his chest. “I would have walked.”

“You looked so peaceful.” he responded, adjusting his grip. “Unless you want me to put you down?”

“No.” they sighed. “This is nice. Me and Grim are always saying that it takes forever to get to Ramshackle from anywhere in the school, I’ll take the ride.”

Silver chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead. “Go to sleep.”

[puckrph]

‘ YOU’RE AWFUL, I LOVE YOU ’  SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns, etc!

LOVE ME DEAD

‘ love me cancerously. ’ ‘ kill me romantically. ’ ‘ you’re awful. i love you. ’ ‘ you know just how to hold me. ’ ‘ when your edges soften, your body is my coffin. ’ ‘ love me dead. ’ ‘ you’re an office park without any trees: corporate and cold, gushing for gold. ’ ‘ does the fun ever start? ’ ‘ how’s your new boy? does he know about me? ’ ‘ you’ve got the mark of the beast. ’ ‘ you’re born of a jackal. you’re beautiful. ’

DRUNKEN LAMENT

‘ self-loathing is quaint. ’ ‘ you’re gone and i’m lost. ’ ‘ you said “forever.” ‘ ‘ tell me, why can’t you stay? ’ ‘ i’d ride in your pocket all day, but i just don’t fit. ’ ‘ i’ve been drunk since saturday, without you, without restraint. ’ ‘ i’m starving for words that would ration my sadness away. ’ ‘ you were the mermaid for me, till one day you found your feet, leaving me in this god-awful bottle, a model of heartache and grief. ’

PLEASE

‘ take me over. ’ ‘ please save this for me. ’ ‘ i’ll come back for you, love, i promise to. ’ ‘ my love will burn, and my heart will stay. ’ ‘ i’ll be gone by first light, last chance, hold on tight until then. ’ ‘ i lie awake and memorize your face as you sleep next to me. ’ ‘ the road looms lonely, but i will not fail. ’

TOPEKA

‘ i found god in a catalytic converter in topeka on a monday night. ’ ‘ i taste blood every time i think of summer. ’ ‘ i’m waiting desperately to get out of town. ’ ‘ you’ve been known to obsess over the future. ’ ‘ do you think you’ll get away from the past? ’ ‘ consider what you might have found. ’ ‘ every saint has a past. every sinner has a future. ’ ‘ you know what keeps me hanging around. ’ ‘ from here on, you can count on all things going the way they must’ve from the start.  ’ ‘ all you feel is the current flowing through you and seizing your infected heart. ’

LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN

‘ rest your soul and feed your brain. ’ ‘ you’ll get to see everything the water can be. ’ ‘ the rain was coming down. ’ ‘ it was the kinda night that makes you think the whole world’s going to hell. ’ ‘ wade to where the shallows break. ’ ‘ the interstate was flooded. ’ ‘ bad move, in retrospect. ’ ‘ come back! ’ ‘ there were no bodies; i’ve got none to hide. ’

SUCH AS IT ENDS

‘ i’ve been losing sleep for days. ’ ‘ love, such as it ends, breaking the hearts that wouldn’t bend, closes the doors you used to listen through. ’ ‘ we’ll start again. ’ ‘ in the end, i’ll be with you. ’ ‘ you’ve been burning up for days. ’ ‘ you know they can’t all be saved. ’ ‘ i’ve been vacant for so long, but you were there. ’ ‘ you look so tired now. just please, love, let me take it on my shoulders. ’ ‘ we might make it home. ’

MUTINY BELOW

‘ put me in my proper place. ’ ‘ i’m not the one for you, but you’re here now. ’ ‘ can you come in? ’ ‘ you made me feel alive again. ’ ‘ you made me feel alive again. i wish we’d never met. ’ ‘ i finally let go and learned to live without you. ’ ‘ there were nights when i was sure your love was all i had. ’ ‘ we’ll work it out tomorrow. ’ ‘ let me go. ’

STREETLIGHTS

‘ when the streetlights come on, the pooling night is leveed aside and pressed in twilight against our two rooms. ’ ‘ i’ll see you tonight. ’ ‘ the pavement is aching, cicadas are crying, the wine-colored air is breathing thoughts through your hair, breezing to me, leading me there. ’ ‘ i come alive as the shadows parade. ’ ‘ my hot summer blood comes in floods and in waves. ’ ‘ i’m not longer afraid of what you’ll say. ’ ‘ streetlights will keep watch over me: they flicker like stars. ’ ‘ the secrets carefully kept inside run the streets red. ’ ‘ now, there are no words, only the glow in our wires. ’ ‘ our lips set the sun. ’ ‘ i’ll never leave you. ’

GO-GETTER GREG

‘ you must be new, i guess.  at least, you’re new to me. ’ ‘ i saw you unpacking your car so i said to myself “maybe i should help her out,” since we’re neighbors now, and all the other people here are elderly and probably a little stand-offish, and i’ve got nothing to do, and whatnot... by the way, i live in 207, my name is ______ . ’ ‘ i’m a go-getter guy with a gun on my hip. i’m just searching for that someone to be firing it. ’ ‘ i’ve narrowed down the field and i’m taking a glance, and i’ve say you’ve got a pretty good chance to be my girlfriend. ’ ‘ didn’t mean to sneak up on you there. ’ ‘ you could come over tonight, i’ll be watching cop dramas, smoking fatty-fatties. ’ ‘ i really think you could use a guy like me in your life, looking after you. ’ ‘ i’d never leave you along. ’

THE HORROR OF OUR LOVE

‘ i’m a killer. ’ ‘ i’ve murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones. i’ll fill the graveyards until i have you. ’ ‘ i can smell your softness. ’ ‘ love, i’d never hurt you. ’ ‘ oh, the horror of our love; there was never so much blood pulled through my veins. ’ ‘ i wake in terror. ‘ ‘ i’m your servant. ’ ‘ break my skin and drain me. ’ ‘ that ancient language spoken through fingers, the awful edges where you end and i begin. there’s catastrophe in everything i’m touching. ’ ‘ you’ll die like angels sing. ’ ‘ you’re a ghost, love. ’ ‘ you are a dream among the sharks: beautiful and terrifying. ’ ‘ we dance in dark suspension. ’ ‘ bury me in the ocean floor beneath you where they’ll never hear us scream. ’

SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM

‘ a man is many things; let’s count them all tonight. ’ ‘ there’s nothing catchy about the life of a saint. ’ ‘ if i scream about a good man’s life, would you ever stop and listen? ’ ‘ sing it sad and sweet. ’ ‘ say goodnight, goodbye, love: in the morning, you will see. ’ ‘ it’s breaking me down to tears. ’ ‘ i’d rip my eyes out for you. ’ ‘ i’ll pull you close. ’ ‘ it’s so dark tonight. ’ ‘ would it make you cry? ’ ‘ would you finally see that all your lives are moments? ’ ‘ all your words and closeness keep you here and human. ’ ‘ do you think they’ll ever care? ’

IN SPACE

‘ the moon is old, all dusty craters. ’ ‘ stretching in the morning light, no celestial body could compare to you. ’ ‘ all i think about is you and me and the atmosphere. ’ ‘ i can’t wait for gravity to bring you close to me. ’ ‘ i bet the leaves are changing there again. ’ ‘ i’m hurtling and pressurized; if only i could get a breath of you. ’ ‘ i hope this message finds you, and you won’t feel so alone, even if i never make it home. ’ ‘ your picture’s all i look at. ’ ‘ my place is with you. ’

[sharkiewrites]

“you’re going to die in your best friend’s arms” kinda sounds like a gintama title, doesn’t it? - Excerpt #2

Excerpt #1

this part borders on NSFW, but nothing graphic.

----

"— furthermore, how many probiotics are in the average strawberry milk? Not a single one. One bottle of Yakulk contains 10 billion unique probiotics."

"Yeah, one bottle?" the Shiroyasha parrots mockingly. He’s slightly older than the last time Hijikata saw him in a dream, taller and broader-shouldered. "One dinky bottle, too small to hold the average piss? Yakulk tastes fine, but strawberry milk is the elixir of champions. It comes in a variety of cartons. All adequately-sized."

Gintoki and the shadowy figure are back-to-back on a battlefield, surrounded by sneering Amanto forces and the countless corpses of their own men. Hijikata has never really seen a war. The closest he's come were the Shinsengumi mutiny and the battles against the Altana Liberation Army and Utsuro. But he's never been entrenched in a war, never had war imbued into every breath. Gintoki carries himself differently in the past, like war is both propping him up and weighing him down.

"The bottle size optimizes hygiene to avoid contaminating the probiotics," the figure argues. "Besides, there's nothing stopping you from drinking two Yakulks. Maybe three, if you're feeling adventurous."

"I can drink multiple cartons of strawberry milk, too! That's not a valid argument!" Gintoki blinks rapidly. "Oh. Wait. I get it now. It's because you're short, isn't it? You're fine with small bottles because you're short?"

An enraged yell, and the stoicism in the figure's eyes finally snaps as he hurls his sword at Gintoki. Gintoki ducks. The blade spears an insectoid Amanto through the chest. Screaming about infighting, Gintoki yanks the sword out and hurls it back at the figure, who catches the hilt in one hand. He stabs another Amanto without looking, because he's too busy glaring daggers at Gintoki.

The battlefield melts into a damp and dark room, smelling of stale sweat. The walls are papered in maps. Hijikata is about to examine them closer when the door slides open.

It's the Shiroyasha again. He's shouting as he backs the same shadowy figure into the room. Shoving them, really, until the shoves turn into slaps and the slaps turn into —

Oh. Uh-oh.

Hijikata has seen Gintoki do a lot of weird, humiliating, and downright appalling shit, but he's never seen him kiss someone on the lips. So. Uh. It's a shock, to put it mildly, to see him kissing a lot. Yet Gintoki is still closer to fighting than fucking his partner. For a full minute the now-familiar figure stays shadowy and silent save for heavy breaths but Hijikata knows they're giving as good as they're getting, based on how Gintoki moans into their mouth. The sound sets Hijikata's skin to goosebumps. Gintoki radiates satisfaction. He bites. The figure moans, too, and Hijikata's goosebumps multiply.

"Gintoki," the figure says, deep voice teetering between furious and wrecked. They snarl and pull Gintoki onto themselves, right on the hard floor. Their entire body clings to him: arms, legs, even the green gaze flashing in and out of Hijikata's comprehension.

Hijikata watches with his mouth hanging open. He doesn't know if he wants to kiss Gintoki or be him, oozing self-assurance with every movement, making the figure gasp. And Hijikata knows, somehow, that Gintoki's partner never gasps ordinarily — knows it from the way Gintoki smirks, how his grip on their waist goes from punishing to possessive.

Then Gintoki's hand slips up the figure's thigh and — okay, yeah, Hijikata would prefer to be the person writhing under Gintoki. But only just.

The figure surges upwards and captures Gintoki's lips in their own. They grab him by the chin and spit a single word so unbelievable, Hijikata can only see the shape and guess its contents. Maybe Mine. Maybe Yours. Gintoki slaps the hand away. He stares at his partner in silence, his scowl failing to suppress a smile, dead fish-eyes so fucking alive.

Hijikata's chest twists. There'd be hell to pay, but he wishes Gintoki would turn and see him. Just once, to look at him the way he's looking at his partner, even if it's an accident. Of course it would have to be an accident. Then the pain reminds Hijikata of his own body's existence. He discovers he can move. He turns and flees from the room.

It hurts. It hurts to see Gintoki with someone else...yeah, he can admit that, now that he's spent minutes transfixed by the sight. Part of it is the irritating infatuation Hijikata hates to acknowledge, a seed planted all those years ago after a quick fight on a rooftop. Part of it is plain old pride. Is this dream seriously saying Gintoki was getting laid while Hijikata wasn't?

But it also hurts to know it didn't last. Whatever Gintoki had here, he lost, just like Hijikata lost Mitsuba. Not just to death, but the first heartbreak. By his own hands, by his own fault.

And unlike Hijikata, Gintoki doesn't have a Gintoki to understand him.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

With Zero Power

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 3382

For @spiderman-homecomeme, with the following prompts:

winter power outage

holiday smut

“I can think of one way to warm you up.”

Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for more instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t do that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I know I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. Click-click, click-click. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I feel is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she not have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“Fuck,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

Trust me, he mentally urges. Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. Ok, he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He feels rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

Fuck. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. She is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”

[shrike-nest]

D&D Character Ask Post

In Honor of D&D, Here are 100 Questions answered about my character Alistair. Done from a prompt reposted by @mechmech and @scatterpatter , and also gonna tag my DM @aerial-ace97

What Does He Smell like: Ozone, Sandalwood, Pine

Voice: A light baritone, sometimes slipping into a bit of a lit from his native island (similar to a Scottish brogue/Irish lit)

Motivator: Before he met his group? Power and Adrenaline. Now? Redemption.

Most embarrassing memory: (TW: Animal Death) He doesn’t really remember this as he was terribly drunk at the time, but he and his crew stopped in a city that held goats as a sacred animal. With a terribly “bright” idea, he wondered how far a goat could fly? Because goats fly. Throws the goat off of the third floor of a building. Then proceeds to have a not very respectful Coffin Dance-style funeral for said goat.

How does he react to pain: Lots of swearing and anger.

What does he wear: He wears dragon scale armor that has three deep gouges in it from where he was previously killed. A faded and slightly ragged admiral style coat on top, leather breeches, and give this man some high calf pirate boots. He also always wears a green headband to keep his hair back, and occasionally an eyepatch to hide his demonic eye.

Most positive relationship: In terms of character development, it might be Torvid, as Torvid inspires Alistair to be a better moral person. In terms of wholesomeness? His partner/hopefully soon fiancé, Atwater. Atwater was able to show Alistair that he can have positive love in his life, without having to fight so hard for it.

The weirdest thing he has ever eaten: Corren’s cooking

Sleep: He suffers from nightmares and now more recently night terrors. Because he technically doesn’t need to sleep from effects of his class, he often chooses not to. However, when he does sleep, he sleeps hard, snores lightly, and octopus cuddles anything in his bed.

Favorite food/ kinda food: He actually really loves a dish similar to pao de queijo (Brazillian Cheese Bread).

Most insecure about: His ability of being a leader.

Like to wear: He enjoys fairly tight fitting clothing to prevent too much flapping when he flies or moves around quickly.

How do they react to feelings of guilt: Denial and self doubt

React to betrayal: A very quick and violent anger that chills to a long lasting and cold hatred. He doesn’t forgive easily.

Greatest achievement: After being mutinied against by his former crew, being wanted and supported as a leader for his current adventuring party

Too little sleep: Pretty robotic, but he doesn’t get exhausted anymore or feel any physical effects of not getting sleep due to his class.

What are they like drunk: He’s a very cheerful and boisterous drunk. Makes and laughs at many jokes. Can fall into a melancholy pretty easily though if he thinks on certain thoughts too long. Deflects with humor!

Music likes: 80s hair band music, and 70s-80s rock.

Right or left-handed: Right handed

Fears: He’s claustrophobic, but also has a fear of being vulnerable and getting his heart broken again.

Favorite weather: Sunny Day with a slight chill.

Favorite color: He really likes blue.

Collect anything: Well technically he used to collect gold and other high priced artifacts. He doesn’t really collect anything anymore.

Hot or cold weather: This man controls the weather. He enjoys his thermostat of life to be at a nice 70 degrees F.

Eye color: His natural eye color is an emerald green. His left eye is a demon cat eye, with a gold iris and black sclera.

Race/ ethnicity: He’s a human in the world of Sekrezia, but in IRL, he’s probably northern UK.

Hair color: Ginger/Auburn, with some sun-bleached streaks in it.

Happy where they are currently: … Well his adopted sister and brother just died in the last game so nah. BUT- as kind of a whole, he’s happy to be where he is now as a person compared to how he used to be.

Morning person: Yup. He tends to wake with the sun if he sleeps, and once he’s awake- he’s awake.

Sunrise or sunset: He loves the sunset. It calms and amazes him that he survived another day.

Messy or organized: He’s messy. Kind of an ADHD procrastination kind of messy.

Pet peeves: Disloyalty, undeserved ego trips, other weather veins that mess with his control of the weather,

Objects of significant importance: O’Malley, his halberd. He earned his weapon when he became a captain, and it has saved his life numerous times after.

Least favorite food: After being stuck in a cave for over a year? Anything with mushrooms.

Least favorite color: He’s not a fan of dark reds or browns. Reminds him too much of dried blood. (oooh edgelord)

Least favorite smell: Cauterized Flesh, Rotting Fish

The last time they cried: Last game. But before that? When he found out that Torvid killed his father. Before before that? When Atwater died. Before before before that? When he woke up alone in the desert after the mutiny.

Were they with anyone when they cried: His party. His party and both sides of the war that was going on. And no one.

One time they got injured: He actually died in a fight with a dragon, not with the dragon, but with a bat crony of the dragon.

Scars: He’s got a scar in the shape of a jagged p on his right cheek, a claw scar from when his eye was gouged out, and he also has the marks from the bat crony when he died. Alistair also has lightning scars on his arms that led to minor nerve damage that occurred when he first was learning how to use his magic.

Mental health issues: ADHD, Depression, Anxiety

Bad habits: Lashing out when he doesn’t know how to process his emotions

Why might someone dislike him: … Lemme get the list. So if we ignore the fact that he used to be a feared sky pirate, earning the nickname “Orphaner of the Skies”… he can be a flippant asshole sometimes. He can often forget to stay in touch and update people on important topics. Also, some may dislike him because he insists on being their dad (*cough* CORREN *cough*)

Why might someone love him: Alistair is very loyal to those he trusts and he can often fall into caretaker type tendencies.

Believe in ghosts: Yeah. He’s seen them and fought them. Also dated one.

Anyone they would trust with their life: Mecha, Corren, Tristan, Atwater, Jerry, Mephistopheles, and Torvid.

Romantically interested in anyone: Atwater!

Dating/ Married: He is currently dating Atwater

Like surprises: Not really

Birthday: His weave day is in Summer, Sibelya 13th.

Celebrate their birthday: He used to. Doesn’t really anymore, mostly because he hasn’t had much reason to celebrate or the time.

Family: His parents are dead, but he still has his adopted aunt Imelda. He also views Tristan as his brother, Corren as his little brother, Mecha as his sister. Atwater is his romantic partner, and he is now the step father of Atwater’s child, Crestwell. He also is the adopted father of Liam (deceased) and Liam’s twin sister, Serana.

Close to their family: Yes

MBTI type: ENTP

Zodiac signs: His Sekrezian Sign is Xamatang, The Coming Storm

Hogwarts house: Gryffindor

Alignment; Chaotic Neutral but he’s steadily making his way towards Chaotic Good

Nightmares: Yes. Often about his ex, Ghost. He also has nightmares about losing those he considers family.

View on death: If it happens, it happens. Once someone is at peace, leave them be.

Something they always laugh at: Seeing his group smile and joke around.

When bored, what do they do: Fly, tinker with magic, practice magic, research magic.

Enjoy the outside: Very much so.

Accent: I can’t replicate it, but I imagine it’s somewhere between a Scottish and Irish accent. However it has faded as he hasn’t been home in a very long time.

Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, the first reaction: *Poke it*, *Look at it*, *Look around*… *Shrug*, My cake now.

If they knew they were going to die what would they do/ say: He would find his party, if he can- gives them hugs, and hopefully be able to die watching the sunset. “Find what makes you happy and hold on to it. You all deserve to have happiness in your lives.”

Feelings about sex: He likes it. He also has a pretty damn high libido.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Squeamish around blood: Somewhat. It makes him uncomfortable now because he’s scared that he likes the sight of it still.

Anything they find gross: Rotting bodies and decaying bodies.

TV trope: Father Figure, Tragic Backstory, Anti-Hero

Enjoy helping people: Yes, he finds it comforting, like a form of redemption.

Allergies: Minor shellfish allergy

Pet: Does Meph count as a pet? I mean, he usually hangs around Alistair as a cat.

Quick to anger: Depends on the situation, but yes.

How patient is he: Not very. He gets very jittery and anxious easily. He’s getting slightly better at that.

Good at cooking: Somewhat, he tends to overdo it on the spice.

Favorite insult:” It’s cute when you try.”

How do they act when happy: The biggest doofiest smile, and he can’t help but laugh occasionally.

What do they do when they learn about others’ fears: He keeps it secret, but tends to go out of his way to help them through it, or help them avoid their fears.

Trustworthy: If you earn his trust, yes. A million times in return.

Do they try to hide their emotions: If it benefits him? Yes. And he’s damn good at it. But if he feels it’s not necessary to do so, his heart is on his sleeve.

Exercise regularly: Yes. His constitution is ridiculous and so he often finds ways to keep up and improve his stamina and strength even further.

Comfortable with the way they look: Yeah. He can get a lil cocky about it. But this is a man who uses bar soap on his hair.

Features they find attractive on others: Eyes and hands.

Personalities they find attractive: He likes those that can keep up with him intellectually, but also on a wittier level as well. He really views self-confidence as attractive.

Do they like sweet foods: Yes.

Age: He just turned 42.

Tall or short: He’s 6’0”

Glasses or contacts: Nah

Consider herself attractive: Yup

Sense of humor: Sexual humor, dad jokes ftw, but can also throw in some dark and self-deprecating humor nowadays.

What mood are they in most often: Most recently, a sort of determined melancholia. But he used to be very self-assured, confident, and flippant.

What angers them: Child abuse, betrayal, hurting those he cares about.

Outlook on life: “Just keep going. Roll with the punches. Because that sun is going to rise again, and you’re going to get to try again, try something new, find something new.”

What makes them sad or depressed: Thinking of those he has lost, thinking of Ghost, falling into his own insecurities.

Greatest weakness: He often jumps into situations without thinking them through. He tends to be very “leap before he looks”

Greatest strength: His determination and resiliency

Something they regret: Losing contact with his crew and Imelda, not being a better leader in his eyes, his past of piracy, and in some ways- all his deals with Mephistopheles, even the one that granted him his magic.

Biggest accomplishment: Isn’t this the same as greatest achievement?

Favorite memory: Sitting by the campfire with his group and all of them laughing, joking, and smiling with each other. With the good ol occasional ribbing at Corren’s expense.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Second idea, but feel free to ignore!

Captain Blowhole in action mode, kicking ass and taking names, to res use his favorite philly.

@safarigirlsp I HAVE HAD THIS SITTING IN MY BRAIN FOR EVER AND IM SO SORRY I’M FINALLY ANSWERING THIS NOW, BUT I WANTED TO MAKE IT WORTH THE READING AND ADVENTURE THAT YOU DESIRE BITCH! 🖤

ALLOW ME TO TELL A WHALE OF A TALE MY SWEET SIREN...

He knew he’d fucked up. Knew he shouldn’t have been so greedy with his booty, and his other booty, so to speak. Following the undead buccaneer crew to the depths of the Isla De Muerta, in search of gold and glory, and all for what? For you to be captured by the undead crew? Doomed to be touched by Barbosa himself? 

The thought of his skeleton fingers encapsulating your precious throat, nigh, his precious throat, made his stomach churn with anger and remorse. 

He stared into the abyss of the fog ridden ocean, squinting as the Black Pearl came into his view. A devilish grin falling over his face as he patted the large chest sitting by the captain’s wheel, the cursed treasure sitting at his waist as he conjured up negotiations for your freedom. 

He bit the skin on his nails, thinking of clever ways to bargain with the dead, who were long past their time to be able to touch you, to smell you, to do what they willed. The thoughts of how illy you were being kept rattled around in his head, making him seethe more and more as the black sails grew closer to his vision. The billowing blackness of the clouds surrounding the cursed ship, the holes in the sails, and the undeniable black flag that whistled in the bustling breeze. 

His first mate came to his side, patting his shoulder as he tensed from the touch, handing him a flask of rum as he spoke, “do ya think she’s okay?” he questioned, concerned for your welfare as his buddy bit at his stupidity. 

“I sure as fuck hope so,” he grunted, swilling a drink of liquid courage, “I’ll kill every motherfucker on there if she isn’t,” exhaling as the warmth coated his throat, wiping the drippage from his beard as he handed the bottle back to Ron. 

“She’s probably not too happy with ya right now, Z,” he commented, giggling as he took a swig again, placing a hand on the wheel to aim the ship starboard for the attack. 

Flip smirked, huffing a deep laugh as he contemplated the words, “you’re probably right on that account, buddy,” clapping his back as he glanced back down at the stone chest, “but I have ta make it right either damn way,” he growled, placing hands on his hips as he gazed towards Ron. 

“Plus,” he placed a hand over his mouth, chuckling at his own dirtiness, “I kinda like it when she’s mad... It... does things to me,” shuttering as he thought of your claws pawing his pristine back muscles, hearing your pained cries underneath him in a round of hate-fucking that was destined to ensue when you both were reunited. 

Just then, the anchor lowered, placing the Roger side by side with the Pearl as the canons were shuttered open from both camps. 

“Well, well, well,” a booming voice called out, “look who finally decided to show up, gentleman?” a chorus of laughter coming from the black shrouds on the enemy side. 

“We don’t want this to be a fight, Barbosa,” Flip shouted back, his voice looming over the waves and the wind as he noticed the captain come into view, “I brought a trade opportunity for you, in fact,” leaning on the case like a sleazy salesman. 

“A trade you say?” the dirty seaman rubbed his festering beard, yellowed eyes boring in Flip’s direction, “a trade for what, blowhole?!” bellows of heavy chuckles ringing out again at his insult, causing Flip to roll his eyes, wishing he was blowing his hole in your cunt instead of negotiating with the dead. 

“You know exactly what I want, Hector,” the shocking reveal of his first name sending the enemy captain in a furied frenzy, “show her to me you snake!” Flip growled over the tidal waves brewing around the vessels. 

Barbosa bored his jaundiced eyes towards Flip, the two of them not even stopping to blink as he watched him mull over the command, “show her, and I’ll give you the one thing you want most in this world,” he taunted again, the words stinging the old captain’s face as he heard every pronounced word. 

After a few moments, he indulged his curiosities, “bring the slut,” he chanted to his mate, who nodded and promptly went to fetch you. 

Flip grimaced at the slur, his fists balling at his sides as he tried to compose himself. ‘take some deep breaths buddy,’ he chanted in the recesses of his mind, ‘she’ll be back with you in no time, maybe,’ exhaling at the notion. 

The crewman produced your writhing form from the gallows below, your hair in complete chaos, stripped down to your skivvies as you gnashed at the whistles and howls from the enemy crew taking you in. 

“Get the fuck off of me you bastards!” screaming at the top of your lungs, your body freezing as the cool air hit your undergarments. 

“Now, now, lil’ lady,” Barbosa gripped you in his crusty hands, pushing you to be shown to your lover, “you need to play nice in this negotiation, pet,” running greasy fingers through your tattered hair, the feeling making your face contort in disgust as you shut your eyes. 

“I’m not a prize to be negotiated,” spitting on his buckled boots as you were slapped across the face by his first mate. 

“You will behave, whore!” he shouted, you hissing from the pain of the blow as your feral form looked over to finally lock eyes with your sailor. 

“Flip!” you yelled, “Flip you fucking jackass!” a combination of angry and relieved as you were forced to your knees on the deck of the ship. 

“As you were saying,” Barbosa continued, his crewman wrapping a gag around your mouth as you groaned and bit at him, “produce your trade, captain,” he taunted, curious what could be more important than a lowly whore. 

Flip snarled as he watched you be treated like an animal, the blood boiling in his veins as he backed to produce the chest, “Here, is my trade,” he pronounced, the stone top hitting the wooden deck in a thud. 

A hush grew over the crowd of scalawags, bugged eyes gazing at the Aztec gold as is shimmered in the sunlight. Flip’s cheeky grin appeared as he saw the captain squirm under his prize he’d thought he’d had over him, crossing his muscled arms over his chest as he waited for Barbosa to reply. 

“Name yer terms, Zimmerman,” he snarled quizzically towards the handsome sailor, placing an iron grip on the top of your head as you panted below him staring into the eyes of your lover. 

“You give me, Y/N,” he cocked his head, deep voice radiating your name like a siren song, the wetness forming in your britches as you angrily writhed again, wanting to choke the life out of every sailor on the Seven Seas including blowhole. 

“And?” the scheming captain pandered, gesturing for the rest of his demands. 

“And,” looking you dead in the eyes as he retorted back with sarcasm, “I’ll give you the answer to your problems, Hector,” smiling as he tipped his cap towards him, “I know you crave to... feel again,” the final nail in the negotiations pinned as he waited on baited breath, canons at the ready in case of a mutiny. 

“Well,” the captain contemplated again, ripping your face to meet his as his ratty finger stroked your pristine cheek “let’s get this goin’ then shall we lass?” chuckling as he lifted your weight to his eye level. 

Flip watched as he drug your body towards the end of the ship, eyeballing his crew as they readied for any kind of foul play. 

“You want her so badly, captain?” he mewled at him, “then go fetch your whore!” flipping your ass off the end of the ship to sink you in the depths of the black ocean, a series of screams echoing coupled with a splash as you fell. 

“Mother fucker!” Flip yelled out, ridding himself of his cap and jacket, to bound over the edge of his ship, a chorus of yells erupting on both sides as canons began to flare in an all out brawl. 

He penetrated the cold water, hair erupting around him as he sought out your figure flailing in the ocean, hands tied around your back as you struggled to meet the surface for oxygen. 

He stroked over to you, a frenzy of waves crashing overhead as he gripped your waist to pull you to the surface. A huge gasp leaving your lungs as you felt the cool breeze on your wet face. 

“I’ve got ya, darlin’,” he panted, pulling himself and you towards the Roger as gunfire clouded the ships, “I’ve got ya,” using his brute strength as you helplessly floated with him. 

He pulled you to the back of the ship, shoving you in a porthole before he climbed in as well, the thud of your body causing him to chuckle slightly as he remembered your restraints. 

As soon as he climbed in he was met with a slap on the face, the strength of it knocking him back to the wall of his ship. Your raging fists in front of your face as you’d escaped your ropes.

“You lying,” stumbling over him, fists balled up in a fury, “cheating,” gritting your teeth, “sleazy, son of a bitch, pirate asshole, motherfucker!” screaming as another hard punch landed on his prominent nose. 

“Jesus fuckin’,” he groaned, the blow causing his nose to bleed as he shook himself back to reality, your angry apparition clouding his vision. 

“I-I’m sorry darlin’,” putting his hands in retreat as you had hauled a piece of wood to beat him with, “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry!” cowering slightly to prepare for an ass beating he so rightfully deserved. 

“You’re not fuckin’ sorry at all you asshole,” heavy sobs leaving your lungs as you watched him get up, the faint sounds of shotguns blaring amongst the waves, “If you were sorry you wouldn’t have left me to die on that goddamn island you cowardly shit!” heaves coming out from you as you fell to your knees, cowering in the reality that he was using you for his own trade deals. 

“I-I you’re right,” he stammered, watching as you wailed from the drama over the last few days of your capture, “I-I’m such a shit,” he agreed, trying to inch closer to comfort you, only to have you pummel his kneecaps in revolt. 

“Don’t,” you looked up, seeing red, “don’t you fucking touch me, Phil!” releasing a breath as you gathered your thoughts again. 

“In fact, why don’t you go save your precious crew while I stay down here and think about all the things I’m gonna do to you later you fucking dick!” shooing him away with cat scratches as he stumbled up towards the fighting. 

“I’ll be back, my sweet siren,” trying to signal his apology, his amber eyes boring into yours as he looked for any sign of forgiveness, “and you can do whatever you see fit to me,” bowing as he smirked, running his ass up to fight the good fight as you rolled your eyes, thinking of ideas to pummel his ass later on. 

I HOPE THIS WAS CHEEKY ENOUGH FOR YOU! BLOWHOLE IS NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART AND HE’S SUCH A DICK HE DESERVES A RIGHT BEATING FROM US FOR SURE! 😂

oneshot taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @bpdbensoloblog, @hopeamarsu, @caillea

[leporellian]

warrior cats rewrite: forest of secrets

 back at this again! in this exciting edition, Things Happen

now that the first 2 books introduced everyone, book 3 sets up the plot of the last couple books by tying up the last mysteries there are.

also this is pretty threadbare, sorry

- prologue: mistyfoot and stonefur are on patrol together when tigerclaw approaches them at the border

- “who the hell are you” they say. “hold on” says tigerclaw “i have a proposition to make”

- meanwhile things are getting back to normal in thunderclan after the constant fights from the last book. fireheart presses darkstripe for more information, darkstripe again swears that he saw nothing and that fireheart is a traitor for even insisting the idea.

- fireheart and graystripe get the idea of going to windclan to ask spottedleaf about the battle where redtail died, because she was There, so they sneak off in the night to ask.

- she tells them that redtail was her brother, and that she had seen him and tigerclaw together. however she was too focused on healing to know about anything else. however, she receives an omen midway through their discussion: water can quench fire.

- no new information, but fire and gray do find that it corroborates with what darkstripe told them. on their way back they see tigerclaw meeting with mistyfoot and stonefur in the middle of the night.

- oh shittt, they think. they overhear stonefur saying oakheart was crushed by a rockfall, and since then leopardfur has been deputy. this doesn’t corroborate with what tigerclaw says happened, with oak and red killing each other... oh shit.

- but what does tiger want with riverclan? who knows

- however whatever it is isn’t good. so The Gang tries to help riverclan, in order to hopefully become friendly enough that they talk to them about what tigerclaw wants. however bluestar is strangely against any attempt they make at socializing with the swimming cats... hmmm

- graystripe is still in love with silverstream and they find out they’re expecting kits. fireheart is terrified but gray and silver aren’t fettered at all

- on one of these occasions fireheart gets swept up in the river, and almost drowns- tigerclaw doesn’t try to save him, but longtail and sandstorm do, signifying Character Development

- thistleclaw, tigerclaw, and brokentail meanwhile... they are Talking.

- fireheart tries to warn bluestar abt tigerclaw, bluestar doesn’t believe him. she tells him about tigerclaw- tigerclaw is her last kin in thunderclan, and she’s especially close to him for it, even if she detests thistleclaw. 

-  she reveals she had to give up her kits to become leader, altho fireheart is somewhat disturbed by this. she doesn’t elaborate on who she gave them to or who they are.

- meanwhile at the gathering nightstar reveals thunderclan is sheltering brokentail and everyone is mad, the next day there’s another fight between thunderclan and windclan like in canon

- afterwards yellowfang kills brokentail, which plays out like it does in canon.

- not too long later silverstream has her kits- but it goes wrong. silverstream survives, but she’s lost a lot of blood, and one of the three kits dies- leaving featherkit and stormkit.

- graystripe leaves for riverclan with his family. bluestar sympathizes with fireheart’s worries, telling him that her kits are- in fact- misty and stone.

- meanwhile, goldenflower has given birth to tigerclaw’s kits, tawnykit and bramblekit, as in canon.

- brackenfur graduates apprenticeship early, fireheart is given cloudpaw to mentor.

- they talk to princess, who mentions that she’s seen strange cats around- some who smell of blood and some who smell of fish.

- leopardfur takes a patrol, including misty and stone, to discuss graystripe with bluestar. tigerclaw and thistleclaw are out of camp...

- AND THEY RETURN WITH ROGUES OH SHIT.

- tigerclaw announces a mutiny with the rogues, reasoning that bluestar harboring brokenstar and being too Nice to the other clans save RiverClan was harming thunderclan and leaving it open for attack. he kinda has a point

- thistleclaw goads the other elders to be on his son’s side, but they are horrified at thistle’s traitorousness and maul him to death.

- bluestar is almost murdered by tigerclaw in the den. she tries to escape but mistyfoot and stonefur don’t let her- looks like they were in on tigerclaw’s plan too! fireheart fights tigerclaw. bluestar is in shock- all of her remaining kin have turned on her.

- a few rogues die in the battle, as do runningwind and speckletail.

- the dust clears and fireheart tells the clan of tigerclaw’s crimes- redtail’s death, trying to kill darkstripe and cinderpaw, working together with rogues and riverclan cats to arrange the mutiny...

- tigerclaw is exiled. darkstripe leaves with him in fear, despite the clans’ protests but longtail and sandstorm- both horrified that tigerclaw killed their father- stay.

- thunderclan starts to recover, but fireheart doesn’t feel like he’s won- especially when he sees a tuft of tigerclaw’s fur across the border on riverclan land...

[seacollectsrivers]

terror 7: horrible from supper

i only mention black sails twice this time! go team

oh awww before the journey!!! oooh my heart these young lads :(

Mr hickey??? I SEE

why are they packing crystals and china skshhdkdb

billy looking.... uuuuh..... 😬

billy please shut up.

Crozier's words of encouragement for the men staying behind vs Sir John's for the lead party. something there.

UHM. "Friend, mother, lover" vs Miranda's ghost speech along the same lines i’m!!!!

places as characters is something I adore

who's EC

when crozier tosses his hat to jopson idk it's cute how in-sync they are

is that lady Silence?? i was wondering what had happened to her

o fuck morfin is not doing well

aw Collins :(

"well you haven't tried with me" my boyyyyy

god this poor man

everyone should have a hug from goodsir

I know I keep harping on this but I genuinely love goodsir sm and I am also wholly ready for some Psychic Damage involving that man

the callback to the dog convo in ep 1 tho

hickey-not-hickey is a smart man how long till he figures out the lead thing

yeah why is Morfin still working hard stuff??? he's obviously not fit???

uh oh spaghettios

oh jesus that’s very deliberate now. that’s a warning that is.

NOT TO GO BLACK SAILS ON MAIN but uhmmm Crozier, Flint, keeping things from their men??? fruit fruit??

sound designnnn i’ll never get over it

james in his uniform and crozier in his wee anorak 😌

how fuckin cute... James didn't need the help up there and yet. Hand Held.

^i’m gonna EXPIRE

ah, I assume the names this marine lad is listing to be armed are their little mutiny party

thats kinda creepy, goodsir, but i’ll give it a pass since ur a scientist and all

oh shit morfin

I am WORRIED once more!!

collins :(

I dont like the marine sneaking arounddddd

goodsir :(:(:(:(

love that Crozier is smart enough to smell the potential mutiny. love that for him

i have nothing to add to this i’m just Looking

I like jopson :)

oh heck yeah!!! Well fucking deserved!!!

like Hickey's not wrong hes really not, they are deliberately keeping kinda vital info from them

I love that they call the crews Terrors and Erebites

did he.... kill the dog...........

jsdkhfdkjs listening to Hickey talk and remembering the story abt your one captain Blanky was talking about, the one everyone was fantasising to kill

also noticing that Hickey's saying Crozier and not Captain

"survival is a nasty piece of business, but we do what we have to do" oh yeah what’ve you done in ur past mr hickey not hickey

one of the men in irving's hunting party, with the sunglasses, looks exactly like blinkin from Robin Hood: men in tights

hickey walking alone, separated from the others. hm.

oh!! people!! please don't.... please don't so anything stupid hickey.....

the clothes of the Netsilik look so much warmer and cozier than the wool uniforms ngl

thats v kind of them dang

breaking bread, sharing a meal!!

uhmmm have... have the others gone from the ridge

Worried once more!!!!!!!!

Hickey!!!!! bro!!!!!!!

this music!!!!!

uhm!!!!!

im gonna go absolutely insane hello???

[teiranlavellan]

Compassion and the Lady of Iron

Thank you @honestly-wilde​ for the prompt!

(Talesfromthefade): “Cole trying to help Vivienne, for the DWC?”

@dadrunkwriting​

Madam Vivienne de Fer stared into the darkness of the canvas tent she shared with three other people in the middle of the forest wilderness.  She had waited, her eyes closed and her hands folded—still visually striking even when in repose—until she heard the semi-silence of sleep from the three tents that housed the Inquisition’s Inner Circle.  She had chosen this tent of her three options because it lacked Blackwall’s stench and Bull’s tendency to take up most of the available space.  Now she listened for the signs that she was relatively alone; the only moments of solitude when traveling with nine companions: Sera’s sleep-mumbling at a predicable broken pace, Teiran’s still-asleep flip from one side to the other and Cassandra’s snore.  She listened to the nocturnal silence outside their tent, the crackle of their ember-filled fire pit being punctuated by various snores and deep breathing. Vivienne was safe.  She could scrub away the invisible mask she always wore.

Fingers running along her soft skin, Vivienne’s façade began to crack and pull away. Bastien’s death had been two weeks ago, but with so much to do at Skyhold, she had made herself believe it didn’t hurt that much.  Not really.  The many threads to pull, cut and tangle amongst the visiting nobles and long-distance contact with Val Royeaux had been a suitable distraction.  But ever since they had left the safety of those ancient, stone walls, Vivienne had felt the bubble of grief begin push its way from beneath the surface.  If she didn’t allow herself some leeway, it would burst at an inopportune time.  So, Madam de Fer had counted on this moment of privacy.

She wept beneath her hands, silently and without a single sob escaping her beautiful lips.  Her heart overflowing with loss, every sentiment she had pushed down and denied leaking through her mute cries.

A voice that wasn’t hers but perfectly mimicking the timbre of her own voice whispered near her head, “Bastien . . . Bastien, how dare you leave me.  How dare you die—It’s alright Vivienne.  I can hel—”

Caught in her moment of vulnerability and sensing a demon in their midst, a stray thought of “Am I in the Fade?” passed through Vivienne’s mind before the blow. Lightening arcing from her palm, she struck above her with the speed and grace of a snake.  Throwing her bedroll aside, Vivienne twisted away from the demon and stood, tears fresh on her face and her finely shaved head brushing the top of the tent’s canvas and pole.

Two screams registered on Vivienne’s right, one following the other.  The mage glanced over and froze in shock.  Sera was hysterical, jumping around like a rabbit caught in a snare.  Teiran’s back was to the enchanter, but the gleam of steel and a knife’s handle protruded grotesquely from the elf’s side.  The horror on Cassandra’s face and the blood on the Seeker’s hands as she held the Inquisitor in place made Vivienne feel as if she had been the one struck by lightning.

Alarmed exclamations and the sound of sleepy confusion outside the tent reached Cassandra’s perception.  The warrior had been plunged headfirst into a crisis, but this wasn’t the first time. She tried to remain calm as the blood pooled around her hand on Teiran’s side, but Sera’s hysterics were jarring her half-asleep mind and the smell of ozone and blood permeated the small space. Looking for aid, Cassandra glanced up at Vivienne, but the enchanter was uncharacteristically frozen in shock and, even more unusual, in tears.  The tent was sliced open as one of Bull’s horns pierced the fabric and then his two meaty, gray hands grabbed and pulled at the wide slash.  The tent fell slack and enveloped them for a brief moment before being flipped off by many hands.  When the fresh night air hit her, Cassandra saw them all stop and stare at the scene lit by Solas’ veil fire.

Solas, clad only in a pair of long pants, was the first to move: a single, hesitant step halfway between the smoldering heap that was Cole and the gasping, bloody mess that was Teiran.  Solas’ face was lined with indecision and reeling with the possibilities; calculating that he could save them both on his own, in this instant if he showed his true capabilities.  His imagination worked out the consequences of his dilemma: either he saved them both right now or risked losing the one he didn’t personally attend to.  However, saving both simultaneously would raise too many questions and then he might lose her in the end.  But could he live with himself if he lost the precious spirit of Compassion to this world of his own creation?  Could he live with himself if he lost the Anchor too?  Solas’ mind railed against his heart, “What was most important to him?”

The eye of the storm, Cassandra took control of the situation.  Drawn by the movement of Solas’ step and seeing the intense swirl of emotions in the typically composed elf, Cassandra decided how best to delegate the healers, “Solas!  Help Cole.” Cassandra moved along the line of faces until she landed on the handsome Tevinter, “Dorian. Help me with her.”

Solas hesitated only for a moment, hovering between mutiny and affront at the decision being made for him, before lithely fade-stepping over to the still-sparking Cole. Checking the spirit for breath, Solas infused as much power behind the healing spell as he dared.

“What happened?” Dorian spat out, yelling over Sera’s string of nearly-incoherent profanities.  

Dorian, wearing a sleeveless robe with a fabric belt, navigated the folds of canvas hiding the contents of the tent until he stepped upon them almost losing his balance in the cramped space.

“Worry about that later.  Vivienne!” Cassandra rounded on the frozen mage in the outline of what was moments before their tent, “Help Dorian.”

Feeling Teiran convulse under her hand, Cassandra braced her.  Dorian kneeled behind the elf.  Teiran coughed blood, her lungs spasming from the puncture of Sera’s knife.

“Ma’am?”  Bull asked cautiously, his eye darting between Dorian and Vivienne.  “Can you walk, ma’am?”

With a swipe of her hand, Vivienne replaced her mask, “Of course dear.”  She held the slit hem of her low-cut dress as she stepped around Sera and sat down beside Dorian, who was muttering agitatedly to himself.  

“No.”  Came the hollow but nonetheless powerful sound emitting from Solas.  He took a step away from Cole and fixed his distant gaze on Vivienne as if he meant to remove her physically from Teiran’s side.  His healing magic was still swirling between his outstretched hand and Cole.  Cole twitched, slowly fading back to consciousness. Solas’ distant gaze, still seeing Cole’s injuries, fell on Cassandra, “Look at what she has done.  We cannot trust her.”

Cassandra looked between Vivienne, Teiran and Solas, then she took hold of the handle of the knife. “Solas, you have enough to deal with healing Cole on your own.  We cannot lose the Inquisitor.  We will deal with that after the danger has passed.”  She turned to Dorian and Vivienne, “Ready.  Now!”  She pulled the dagger free and let it clatter to the ground.  The blood pooled quickly and Teiran slumped unconscious in Cassandra’s arms.  Cassandra, bearing the elf’s weight, gently lowered her on her back.  Dorian and Vivienne followed the body, eyes glazed and green-hued magic swirling and mending.

Solas bared his teeth in frustration, watching the Enchanter closely.  He monitored the internal and external damage being repaired by Dorian and Vivienne from Cole’s side of the tent.  Cole revived under Solas’ hands and took his first shaky breath since being struck.  Solas refocused exclusively on his own patient, sending soothing thoughts and magic to the spirit who was now experiencing a previously unknown facet of having a body: physical pain that cannot be waylaid by will or intent.  Solas reviewed his own first experience in this realm and tried to decide how best to heal Cole’s mind as well as body.

All this time, Sera had continued to stare at the knife, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.  Blackwall stepped up and over to the distraught elf, tucking her under his shoulder, leading her out of the destroyed tent and towards the fire that Varric was building up again.  

Blackwall positioned Sera near the fire.  “This is bad. Bad.  Bad.  Shite. Piss-balls.  I’ve killed her.  I’ve killed Quizzy.” Sera yelled sporadically, sitting on the ground in her underwear.  

Varric sighed heavily at the thought of getting anything out of Buttercup.  Instead the dwarf let Blackwall take over rebuilding the fire and he rejoined the group gathered around the sundered tent.

Seeing Cole’s eyes open and staring, Varric approached and sat opposite Solas, “Kid? Can you hear me, Kid?”

“I still don’t understand.  No matter how I pull at it, the pain won’t go away.”  Cole muttered softly, staring into the stars above rather than looking at either the elf nor the dwarf beside him.

The lines of concentration on Solas’ face deepened, trying to communicate and heal the spirit simultaneously and quickly.

“It’s not that kinda pain, Kid.  You just gotta wait for your body to heal.  But don’t worry, I’ve seen Solas do this before.  It’ll be alright.”  Varric reassured Cole with a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The sound of glass clinking together announced the return of the Iron Bull.  The Qunari pushed a healing potion into Varric’s hand and then held a blue bottle of lyrium out to Solas.

Eyes still glazed, Solas shook his head, “Give it to Dorian please.  I am almost finished here.”  Solas reached over and grabbed Cassandra’s blanket, throwing it over Cole with an efficient grace. Varric slowly tucked the blanket under Cole’s sides and feet while Solas continued healing the last of Cole’s charred flesh.

Taking a few steps to the right, the Iron Bull kneeled beside Dorian and put a hand on his arm, “Here. Drink this.”

Dorian’s glazed eyes roamed over the uncapped lyrium potion, then one of his bloody hands reached for it.  The mage downed it in three long gulps then returned the blood-smeared vial to Bull. His mustache twitched with the sudden burst of magical energy and his magic took on a more turquoise shade of green as it continued to swirl around the Dalish elf.  Bull handed a red healing potion to Cassandra, who accepted it without taking her eyes off of Teiran’s slack face.  Then Bull stood and came to kneel before Vivienne, offering her a blue vial.

“I have no need of it.  Thank you darling.”  Vivienne refused graciously, never taking her glazed gaze away from the tree line beyond Cassandra’s shoulder.  

Bull grunted and then left the healers to replace the vials in their respective stashes.  Still looking for something to do, Bull pulled the ripped tent completely free of its supports and dragged it over to the newly revived campfire Blackwall had made.  Seeing the rigidity of stress in both Blackwall and Sera, he offered them a thick needle and thread.  Blackwall accepted with a nod, rolling up the sleeves of his shapeless, long nightshirt and the two men began stitching the hole in the tent.  Sera didn’t even look up, her forehead still on her knees.

“Cole?  Can you stand?”  Solas asked, his magic dissipating and his task complete.

           “I can.”  Cole said in his own voice before switching to an imitation of Solas’ voice, “I would see you safe, but I must . . . I need to. . . I need to. . .”  Cole blinked at Solas, “Where did you go?”

           Solas pulled Cole slowly to his feet, then supported his weight under the boy’s shoulder.  Varric lead the way back to the tent he and Cole shared with Iron Bull, holding the tent flap open and then stepping back inside the tent.  Solas tucked Compassion into his bedroll then turned to Varric, “Will you—”

           “I got this Chuckles.  Go help them.”  Varric replaced Solas by Cole’s side.  “Alright Kid, now this is going to taste awful.  But you need to drink it, alright?”  The dwarf said as he uncorked the healing potion.  Solas left them and returned to the other healers, appearing at Cassandra’s side in moments.

           Cassandra started at the elf suddenly next to her, but relaxed when she realized it was just the apostate.  She watched Solas add his healing magic to the other two and marveled at his magical stamina.

           Teiran’s eyes flew open and she struggled to breathe fully, her body shaking and convulsing.  Cassandra and Vivienne held Teiran’s shoulders against the ground in an attempt to keep her body still while the last bits of organ and flesh were healed.

           Solas’ soothing voice broke through Teiran’s sudden distress of consciousness with the calming and foreign sound of Ancient Elven mixing seamlessly with Elven, “You will be able to breathe in a moment.  Lie still and take shallow breaths.”  he instructed, trying to calm her and focus her mind on the challenge of the new language rather than the physical pain.

           Teiran bit her lip and scrunched her face against the pain, trying to block it out and understand what was being said to her but her oxygen-deprived brain swam without focus.

Cassandra gripped Teiran’s shoulder, but it was no longer necessary.  Teiran stayed still of her own will.  The Seeker and turned to Solas, “What was that?”

Ignoring the question, Solas repeated himself with a new mixture of the two elven languages, trying to remember which phrases and words he had already taught Teiran and which ones she would struggle to understand.

Teiran’s breathing came easier as the three mages finally completed their work on her lung and her nearby organs.  Dorian sat back with an exhausted sigh, leaving the other two to do the relatively easy work of stitching the remaining flesh.  When it was done, Vivienne sat back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at the blood soaking her high-collared and embroidered night gown.  With a flick of her hand, she stood and used the dregs of her magical supply to force the liquid from her dress and into the nearby grass.

Solas’ magic still flickered through his grip on Teiran’s left forearm, the Anchor sputtering in response as Solas searched for any flaw in the elf’s healed body.  Once satisfied, he released his grip and turned his lethal gaze on Vivienne, who folded her arms against his condemnation and waited patiently for Teiran to rise.

Palms pressed flat against the tent’s ground cover, Teiran focused on taking deep breaths until the pain in her head cleared and she could feel blood pumping through her limbs. Teiran pulled herself up to her elbows then Cassandra steadied her and pushed the healing potion between her lips. After draining the vial, Teiran felt the rush of vigor and turned to look at each of the faces around her.  Then she ran her hands along her bloody and torn sleeveless tunic and felt the drying pool of blood under her soaked capri-length pants. Dazedly, Teiran asked Cassandra, “Is everyone alright?  Were we attacked?”

Cassandra swallowed, “You were stabbed.  Sera was frightened and likely believed we were under attack.”

Dorian stood, “The question is, why was Cole here at all?  Much less injured.”  The Tevene threw the blood from his clothes into the night air carelessly and turned an eye on Vivienne.

Teiran’s eyes widened and she looked around quickly, her voice wavering, “Co-ole?”

           “Cole is well.  It would appear our First Enchanter struck him down with a bolt of lightning.” Solas spoke through clenched jaw.

           Vivienne cleared her throat and addressed only Teiran, “Inquisitor, I apologize for my part in this unfortunate affair.  Your pet demon came into our tent unannounced and I responded accordingly. However, I could not have anticipated you would also be injured.  Rest assured, we should ensure this does not happen again by sending the demon away and forbidding Sera to sleep in such close proximity to weapons.  It really would be in everybody’s best interest; don’t you agree dear?”

           Solas was deathly still, except for his hands, they were twitching lividly, “It is Cole who is owed an apology from you.  Yet you would use this situation to demean others and ingratiate yourself farther. Truly, it is you who should be sent away.  Cole was only performing his function as a spirit of Compassion.”

“You expect me to apologize to a demon?”  Vivienne asked incredulously.

           Teiran took a deep breath, marveling over the ease with which she could now do so. She understood now, Cole had been trying to help Vivienne who had, of course, reacted poorly.  Putting aside her curiosity over why Vivienne had elicited that response in the spirit, Teiran glanced from Solas to Vivienne.

Over the past couple of months, Teiran had taken to secretly thinking herself Keeper of her own, relatively new Clan.  She refused to turn any of them away, but getting them to work together and become the Clan she saw them potentially being someday was proving a monumental task. Mustering all her leadership skills, she quickly thought of a way to administer justice to restore the relative harmony of the diverse group rather than punish any of its members.

           “I accept your apology, Vivienne.”  Teiran started to stand with Cassandra’s aid, “But you should apologize to Cole as well. I know that you think Cole is a demon who means you harm, but you are the one who harmed him.  And if he surprised you by entering without anyone’s knowledge then he had the chance to harm you, but he didn’t.”  Teiran took another deep breath, then left the stunned mages with Cassandra supporting her steps.  Pulling upon her own magic, Teiran wiped away the blood that clung to her clothes and body.

Solas watched them leave, staring after the Inquisitor and evaluating the fond feeling that was beginning to appear more and more frequently when he interacted with the Dalish elf.

Dorian was the first to move, clearing his throat, he followed Teiran and Cassandra to the campfire and sat beside Iron Bull, who was weaving thick stitches through the tent’s canvas and still sporting only a pair of loose shorts as his nightly garb.

           Teiran, upon entering the company gathered around the flames, was greeted with varying exclamations of joy at seeing her fully recovered.  Teiran approached Sera without Cassandra’s support and sat down next to her.  

Poking out from behind her knees, Sera and Teiran conversed softly, mending the situation.  Soon, Sera was spreading her typical vibrant energy as she moved from person to person to engage them in broken, laughing conversation.  Then, stealing the thread and needle from Blackwall, she snuck up beside Teiran and began flamboyantly sewing the hole her dagger had made in Teiran’s tunic.  Cassandra stiffened at the sight of Sera wielding a sharp instrument so close to Teiran, but the Dalish elf survived the encounter without further injury.

Watching the scene from afar, neither Solas nor Vivienne had moved yet.  Then without looking at the other, Vivienne and Solas each departed. Once they both realized they were heading in the same direction, they paused just outside Cole’s tent.  

Vivienne broke the tense silence, “If I might have a moment of privacy?”

Solas hesitated, then stood aside but remained at the entrance to the tent.

“That is unnecessary, but if it pleases you by all means stay.”  Vivienne replied as she entered the tent.  She found Varric sitting next to and chatting amiably with the gangly, cross-legged teenager.  Vivienne had to remind herself that this was a demon, however much he appeared fragile and naïve.  Swallowing her misgivings and putting the finishing touches of sincerity on her mask, Vivienne steeled herself and completed her task of making an apology for causing “it” harm.  Then she politely reminded “it” to refrain from entering without permission and never at night before taking her leave.  She passed by Solas’ disapproving set of his jaw and rejoined the other companions sitting around the fire.

[halt-kun]

Hunter x Hunter Chapter 161 - Face Off (4)

Let’s gooooo Bobopo died

It’s funny how they wanted to avoid infighting by taking fodders and end up with cowards causing infighting.

Anyway the poor guys have already been stuck there for a long time and it’s understandable to not want to face certain death

Killua min maxing is good

DODGEBALL, I remember this what the fuck moment and at the same time the joy of seeing dodgeball in an anime with high stakes. I miss playing dodgeball. I was shitty at catching the ball but I was very good at dodging. I always ended up in the last ones. I also wasn’t that bad at throwing and strategise on who to eliminate

Gon feels bad about Bobopo

8 members, noooow

we rarely see a head on 8 vs 8 (even if it’s more 1 vs 6 here) in anime too

I love this part of Hunter x Hunter

The number of the devil means more strength and less agility often. I just noticed the number of balls on their hands is the same as their number

Razor would definitely be bad in a direct fight. The highest number is 13 I think so it means he can only fuse two at once. Most of those are very hard to deal with and with the addition of Razor it’s a pain in the ass

I think Razor is the 14th devil

Who thinks getting hit on purpose is a good idea ?

Gon is a nice kid and person

Gon is quite right but Razor would reply you could fill in your numbers like he did, when you’ve no friends or ally, make them yourself (DIY friends, the nen ability)

I’m not pro death penalty but I won’t cry Bobopo either. He was technically killed by someone else serving their sentence though so don’t act like you’re better Razor

The cat is out of the bag

Bobopo was also dumb to try to mutiny against a monster like Razor and break the contract keeping him alive.

Anyway contracting death row inmate is kinda sus morally speaking

Anyway death row penalty is bad either way, justice making mistakes is a thing and one innocent life is one too many to be lost. I know I might want retribution such as death in some case but more violence won’t solve anything and I don’t want to live in a country that would allow such act to be carried out by justice. Finally, the justice system is there to avoid such things from happening again and death penalty has been proven to not reduce crime rates (and even increase some types of crimes) and it costs more than jail for life anyway.

Also you need to pay some people to kill other people and I’m definitely against that being a job. 

Jail time is also pretty bad for most crimes because it just fucks people more and will just lead to committing crimes again. It’s not like serial killers fill jails too. Most rapists are out of them. Small fry thieves have no reason to just be imprisoned for their crime too. It serves no purpose other than cause pain and suffering to people who need help most of the time. Am I supposed to feel satisfaction from that ? Contempt ? 

Anyway enough ranting on this, I’m just really annoyed by french politicians lately only talking about throwing people into cells like it will do anything and like it hasn’t been proven to lead to less safe countries. Jails are already filled to the brim

Hisoka just likes to talk and reveal important truths to people. He wants to feel smarter than everyone

Gon ? I never understood how this was supposed to be related to Ging. GI is in the real world --> Ging might be there more than if it was a virtual world ?

Togashi’s creepy faces are the bests

SHOCK then excitement

really a creepy kid this Gon

Goreinu having gorillas for a nen ability is quite funny

So maybe he’s a primatologue or maybe his wrestling involved very NSFW stuff (remembering Kurapika needed to taste and smell chains to be able to conjure them)

Also he conjures male apes ? pretty gay

FIGHT TIME

Gon seems worried

AH yes rule times

WHO DIDN’T PLAY WITH THE ‘CUSHION’ effect ?

seriously it’s a standard rule

GON !?! SEIOUSLY ?!? 

Well of course he never played dodgeball with the 1 other kid of whale island but it’s not that hard. Well I can understand if it’s the first time hearing it

Weaker players of each team is out. Goreinu probably needs less focus too that way he doesn’t have to wonder about dodging or catching with three potential body but two 

Razor leaves the first ball, he’s confident 

Well Goreinu don’t jinx it

10 - Nice for dating but please don’t leave it to a stalker, good for careers too I guess

11 - I don’t like leaving my choices to other stuff, my destiny is in my hands and I’ll fuck it up of my own free will

12 - I’d love to just have these words everyday, I’d feel more confident. I would probably be unable to use them accordingly

13 - Worst thing, prize money for not taking chances

14 - I don’t like cutting off people from my life and anyway I don’t need scissors to do it if I need to. Would be good for victims of abuse tho

15 - I would never be able to come up with 1000 wishes (after a few years maybe)

16 - Nice advice tool

17 - Classic card, heal anything, quite efficient

18 - Drug or climax little devil, I perfectly understand getting good vibes from someone winking at me tho

Well one more chapter for today !

sorry for the prison rant

[verecunda]

This is funny and all, but Jesus Christ, it explains so much about Boyne’s research methods. I’ve read two of his books (Mutiny on the Bounty and This House is Haunted) and the historical research in both was surface-level at best, with numerous errors (admittedly, none as bad as this, but pretty noticeable).

Obviously, I can’t speak for anyone’s methods but my own, but when I find myself having to look up things like dye ingredients or herbal remedies for writing purposes, I constantly find myself going into a tailspin of additional research: I’ve never heard of that thing - what is it? what does it look like? smell like? taste like? what qualities about it do I need to know about? how would you process it? what (if anything) would you need to use with it? any other uses? unpleasant side-effects? would it have been readily available to my characters in X time and place? etc. etc.

Did he honestly not look at phrases like “Hylian shrooms” and “Octorok eyeball” and think those names sounded... a bit weird? (Also, who uses the term “shrooms” in a Serious Historical Novel?) Did he not want to look them up, just to know what the fuck they were? Reading the whole excerpt in the photo, it looks like the protagonist is using their dye-making ingredients to poison Attila (the Hun??). Did he not want to do even a five minute check to make sure that the concoction he was describing was actually poisonous, as well as “inoffensive to the nose”? Or to make sure that Hylian shrooms and Octorok eyeballs were definitely available to the Huns of the fifth century? (Link killed Attila the Hun!!!)

Honestly, it’s kinda dispiriting. Boyne is routinely on the bestseller lists, but he clearly doesn’t give a fuck about the quality of his work, let alone the basic intelligence of his readers.

Bonus:

[bluegreenamber]

The Kidnapping ch. 8

(AN: Hey, it's a chapter 8! Aka The Big Reveal. Which has already kinda been revealed... *lighthearted glare* So. I've been speed-writing the rest of the story and oh boy. Though it feels kinda rushed, the ending... It's a doozy. I didn't even see this one coming, folks. Here are your answers, guys. Hope they were what you were looking for....) The next few hours were spent in near-silence. The three friends all had many questions for Tord, but they were unsure of his emotional stability and so didn't risk asking any of them. They felt it wasn't their place. Plus, Tom just didn't want to talk to the guy period. When the next visitor arrived, they weren't sure what to expect. Pat wasn't helping. He didn't seem to be acting like any of his former… selves. He wasn't arrogant or cold or gentle. He sounded almost human. Not a particularly good human, just someone predictable and almost normal. “Don't worry. I'm just here to chat,” he announced immediately upon arrival. “Pat?” Tord straightened, the ropes resisting as his body changed positions. “Tell me what's going on. Now.” “I will, I will. I just… You're not going to like it.” Tord ground his teeth. “Does it look like I'm particularly enjoying any of this? Just tell me.” Pat sighed. “Well… you see… I'm sorry to say that it seems you've been… replaced.” “Replaced? How? And by who?” Tord narrowed his eyes behind the blindfold. “Who mutinied?” “No one mutinied. The boss just had you… demoted.” “The boss? I'm the boss. I'm in charge of this army!” “No, you're not, Tord.” “Would you people stop calling me that?! Do not address me by my real name, especially while you're on duty.” “Would you prefer ‘prisoner’?” Pat sounded as if he had finally grown tired of Tord’s demands and given into his annoyance. “I will have you thrown into the prison for that,” Tord growled out. “See how well you like it.” He huffed in irritation. “Fine. If you're so intent on believing that someone else could possibly be in charge of this place, I must inquire you: who is calling the shots around here then?” “Red Leader.” Tord actually groaned in exasperation at that. “Are you kidding me? You guys are still going on with that? For the last time, I’m Red Leader.” “No, you're not.” “Then who is?” A pause. “Me.” Tord barked out a laugh. “Now I know you're kidding.” “I'm not kidding. I am Red Leader.” Tord still wouldn't take the soldier seriously. “What? Did you go get that put on your birth certificate or something, just to spite me?” “No.” Pat sighed. “Obviously, you don't know what Red Leader really is.” “No, you’re the one who obviously doesn't know what it is. Because I'm Red Leader. I'm the one who runs this army and who is in charge of you. And that means that I can ruin you.” Tord jumped as far as his restraints would let him when he suddenly felt a hand on each of his arms. Warm breath was in his face, smelling like nothing in particular and sounding heavy and angry. A few foreign stray hairs tickled his face. He leaned as far away as he could from whoever was holding him firmly in place and was standing uncomfortably close. “Didn't you ever wonder where ‘Red Leader’ came from? Or how you became it? Are you that blind?” Pat hissed in his face. “No,” Tord replied with an equal amount of venom. “It was a title I created when I started the Red Army. Something to represent my status and power and keep everyone in line. It was something to be respected, feared, admired. Nothing more, nothing less. You know this.” “You're wrong.” Pat let go of Tord and backed up. “You didn't just create that name out of the blue. Regardless of what you believe, that title is much more than just the one you made up years ago. ‘Red Leader’ was something created long ago.” “And why exactly am I supposed to believe you?” Pat actually laughed. “It doesn't matter if you believe me. What matters is the truth. And the truth is, there have been many chosen to be Red Leader in the past. I dare not name them for they were all failures in the end, and I really don't want to become another example. Do you know what happens to failures, Tord?” Tord wanted to call him out for his lies, but this was getting him answers, even if they were complete blasphemy. He had to play along for now. “What happens?” “They end up like you.” A stunned pause. He was not expecting that. “Like me?” “Yes. Like you. Tormented and then killed. Red Leader does not tolerate failures like you. In fact, he punishes them. He gives them the worst punishment imaginable.” “Are you talking about yourself in third person?” Tom had to cut in. He didn't like where this was going, and keeping Pat distracted seemed like a good idea. “Yes and no. I am Red Leader; do not doubt this. But Red Leader is so much more. So much bigger than those he deems worthy of wielding. He embodies the greatest, the strongest, the most powerful of them all. He is supreme in ways beyond the human self.” “And that's you?” Tom tried to fake the mocking incredulity but wasn't sure if he was overdoing it. Apparently, he wasn't. Pat laughed again. “Why, yes, in fact, it is. Hasn't that been what I've been saying all along? Once Red Leader determined that this weakling was just another failure, he chose me to become his new vessel.” He clapped his hands suddenly, causing everyone else to startle. “Now I believe I answered enough of your thinly-veiled unsaid questions for now. I'll return soon, and the punishment can begin. Starting with Edd.” Hurried yet near-silent footsteps faded before anyone could get another word in. They were alone again. (AN2: Okay. So. When this story was in its earliest stages, not even written down yet (I'm talking like back in January, folks), I thought about making it with the Traitor AU. The Pat here wasn't the Pat from this universe; he had somehow crossed universes so that he could continue his insane revenge on Tord for making him kill Paul (the Tord from his universe had already been tormented and killed). The Pat and Paul from this universe wouldn't know anything about it and just think they're getting orders from "Red Leader" (aka Traitor AU Pat). But the whole idea got kinda... messy. Plus, I really like the idea I came up with afterwards, and staying original has always been a priority of mine. I also thought about having Paul not actually be there. Pat would basically impersonate him or whatever. It would've made it so Pat was the only one there and that Paul had no hand in it (if he was even alive in this universe). He wouldn't have played a big role anyway. But ultimately, I thought having a bit more variety would be better. And later on, I found out that he does play a slightly bigger role than I had thought. Obviously, I didn't go with either of these things, and I hope that's okay. I've really enjoyed this concept of Red Leader being something more than just Tord. I hope you guys are enjoying it too.)

[omegabard]

Chapter 1

“Bardic Terror”

I slowly opened my eyes. I saw a length of brown wood with glasses covering the top. I had fallen asleep at the bar last night after my performance. Thanks to how lively I get, and how long my encores are, I tend to barely make it to bed before passing out.

In any other town I’d be scared of sleeping at the bar. Thanks to Tugal, the dwarven bartender, I knew I was safe. I slowly raised my head off the bar and wiped the drool up with my sleeve.

“Hey buddy,” I managed to mumble out.

Tugal turned around to face me, “morning Miss Bard! Tugal kept ya safe from the bandits last night!” He slapped his gut, and patted his bicep.

“Oh yeah? I bet all zero of them where quite strong!” I giggled and sniffed the air. The smell of bread was absent.

Tugal put his hands on the bar in front of me, “Ya can put that nose down miss. No deliveries on Tuesdays from the Jakenhimers.” He laughed and reached under the bar, “but Tugal saved ya one for this morning!”

I put my hands out and started grabbing for it, “you really are the best!”

Tugal handed the bread over as I hopped off the stool. I waved at him, mouth full of bread, and pointed at the lute on the bar. He gave me thumbs up placing it on the floor for safe keeping.

As I exited the bar and saw the town was already in full swing. Based on the low morning sun it had to be no later than 7 o’clock. The merchants were shouting about their wares and telling you about their best products. I was pretty good at looking passed people and had no reason to stop at any stalls.

I didn’t have much to do today and was honestly just looking for a reason to be awake. The further down the dirt road I got the more spread out the vendors started to get.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw two knights check the road before heading down an alley between two red buildings. I knew that if knights felt the need to check their backs, they were either up to no good or about to slack off. Either way, I could, maybe have some fun. I stayed a safe distance from them remaining undetected.

I joined a thief’s guild a few years back to learn some skills. I might have incited a mutiny and taken out their leader. I was put “in charge” for like a week, then ordered the guild disband. I got all of the skills and none of the bullshit.

The men suddenly stopped. What was going on? I couldn’t see around their armored bodies. I climbed up a few crates I was hiding behind. As I came to the top and peered down I saw a pink haired, gray skinned tiefling wearing full armor. Wait. She’s barefoot. What in the world?

“You’re no knight!” The first knight bellowed out, “Take that armor off now.”

The second knight chimed in, “by orders of his majesty it is illegal to impersonate a knight.”

The girl grinned and giggled, “Aw! You boys just want to see me naked. That’s hardly noble of you!”

She bent forward and pulled at the collar of the armor. Both men took a step back, their faces bright red. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or innocence. The first knight drew his sword and charged at her.

“You hardly know the rules and ethics of knighthood. Take off the armor!” He shouted his command as his sword nearly hit the tiefling girl.

She spun and the blade scraped down the chest plate leaving the first knight off balance. In the blink of an eye she had flipped over his back and was now sitting on the ground behind him.

“Gosh you boys really want to see some boobies,” she laughed and grabbed her ankles now rocking back and forth.

“Hardly ma’am,” The second knight was much calmer as he spoke. He too had drawn his sword, “please come with us. We don’t want to hurt you. “

The first knight now stood behind her. He was gritting his teeth. The site was something to behold. The tension was thick and I still was unsure if I should step in. The town really liked me, so maybe I’d have some pull with these guys.

“Miss please stand up and come with us,” the second knight now seemed to be pleading with her.

“I don’t really want to go with a couple of perverts like you,” she giggled and continued to rock in place on the ground.

“That’s it,” the first knight yelled, spit flying from his mouth, “by order of the king. I will strike you down for your actions.”

The knight again went after the girl. The second knight must have been lower rank because he took a ready stance. The girl wasn’t moving from her position.

Shit. She’s going to die! Without realizing what I was doing, I had drawn my rapier and was dashing towards the second knight.

As I reached him I slid on my knees between his legs, running my blade across his inner thigh. This would sever a muscle that was integral to his ability to stand, but would not kill him. Then without losing too much momentum, I rolled my body forward so my legs would be above my head. The first knight was close enough that I could push off the ground, and then I could plant my heels square into his chest.

As I made contact I heard the distinct sound of air being knocked out of his lungs. His body gave way to mine. With that move the second knight was now knelling, holding his leg. The first knight was lying on his back with me sitting on his chest. My pink rapier caught the sun as I pressed it to his throat.

“Buddy I don’t think you should go around trying to kill women just because you don’t like what they are wearin’” I was breathing hard, but could still get my threat out.

“How dare you defy the king.” he barked out now trying to catch his breath.

I turned to the armor clad girl and smiled, “I don’t think I’m defying anyone’s orders. I mean how humiliating would it be to have to go back to the barracks and tell the other guys that you got taken down by a bard?”

He was staring a hole through me, “so you want us to just let you walk away?”

I nod and point to the other knight, “yeah and your buddy needs a medic or he won’t ever be able to walk again.”

The knight looked away from me then nodded his head. I got off his chest and let him get up. I still had my rapier to his throat. He walked passed us after sheathing his sword. The knight slung his buddy’s arm around his neck and the two of them disappeared down the alley.

I walked over the tiefling girl and knelt down to her. A smile swept my face, “that was both brave and stupid. My name is Persephone. What’s yours?”

The girl threw her arms around my neck and hugged me, “I’m Belarus. And I think you were amazing!”

Chapter 2

“The Pair”

I gently patted her back. The armor she was wearing was the real deal. I thought for sure it was a costume piece with how easily she maneuvered during the incident. She released her hold on me and narrowed her eyes.

“So how much do you want for,” Belarus gestured with her hands making air quotes, “saving me?”

A puzzled look crept across my face, “I intervened because they were going to kill you.” I paused for a moment confused at the thought of being paid, “doing the right thing shouldn’t be a for profit endeavor.”

“You sure about that,” she was cold with her question.

Belarus’s skinny tail now flicked back and forth like a pissed off cat. The tip was heart shaped.

I nodded and got to my feet, “you’re safe and that’s what matters to me.” I offered a hand to her and gave her a toothy grin, “big plans now?”

Belarus shook her head and took my hand. As she stood up I realized she wasn’t much taller than me. Her horns were smaller than the tieflings I had seen in the past. She then did something I could have never expected. Belarus laughed. She was laughing so hard her armor was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks.

“I’ve never meet a human that would save a tiefling because they could,” she pulled me in for another hug. “Persephone you are a rare one. I think I may just fall for you!” Her words were clear between her laughs

The hell did she mean fall for me? Was she saying she was in love with me? No. That’s not something someone would just say. No. Not right now.

I pushed away from her, gently, “I’ve been told I’m not your typical lassie.” I stepped back so I was out of arms reach of Belarus, “so Belarus was it?”

“Bel is fine.” She smiled and I saw her sharp teeth.

“Uh, did you want to get out of this alley?” I asked gesturing towards the road opposite of the direction the knights had gone.

She nodded, “I’ll just follow you. I didn’t have a plan today and honestly you seem fantastic!”

Crap! I didn’t have a plan today either. What should I do? Stupid as I’ve acted today I should probably lay low.

I grabbed Bel’s hand and led her to the open market. The best part about this area is lots of food and even more people. I looked back and she was staring at our hands. Her gaze was fixed on our intertwined fingers.

“Are you ok?” I was very nervous that she was angry or upset that I had grabbed her hand.

I just thought it would be easier to stay together this way. Oh god. Then she spoke. Her words were barely audible.

“You’re. You saved my life and now you’re holding my hand,” Bel was just above a whisper, “your hand is so soft. Why are you being so nice? I don’t deserve this.”

I stopped mid stride and turned to her, “listen up. I think you are really nice and kinda cute, but don’t look too deep into this.” I couldn’t decide if I was being too harsh or not. My heart is off limits, “I don’t mind being your friend but that’s the furthest I go.”

Belarus stared at me, a smile still on her face, “Persephone I’ve never had a friend and if that’s what you’re offering then I’ll gladly take it!”

A sigh escaped my lips. I was so worried about being honest with her. I didn’t loosen my grip on her hand. We were now walking side by side down the paths between tents. Bel would stop and pick out a kabob or a sweet and offer to share it. I took advantage of the offers a few times. Finally we found ourselves just outside of the town hall. The walls were free to sit on so we made a small area our picnic spot.

“Thanks for buying all this food. I only had a loaf of bread this morning,” I chuckled and took a bit of some mystery meat on a stick. The salt was a bit strong, but the gamey taste was subtle.

“I figured I owed my savor a bit of lunch,” her toothy grin was infectious.

I looked her up and down and finally just asked, “So full armor and no shoes? That's an odd choice for a paladin?” The inflection in my voice made it clear I was asking.

Bel had this cute little laugh I heard a few times in the market when I made a sarcastic remark about the wears at some of the booths. Once again I got to hear it as she swallowed the food in her mouth.

“Gosh no,” she used her thumb to wipe away the sauce left on the side of her mouth from the mystery meat, “I’m a rogue. Couldn’t you tell from my black clothes that match my black soul?”

She looked dead serious. Then at the same moment we both burst out laughing. We continued on for a solid few minutes. We would randomly get out a word or two before causing the other to go back into laughter.

“I really am a rogue but the armor is useful to help defend me when I’m in town,” bel was slowly regaining her composure. “I’ve gotten so used to the weight of it now that it doesn’t even slow me down anymore,” she used her knuckles to tap the chest plate.

I shook my head and took another bite. What an odd girl. I really could enjoy having someone around that I could at least talk to.

“Hey Bel,” I spoke between chews, “wanna come to the tavern and maybe stir up some trouble with me?”

She smiled and nodded. I guess Tugal was about to get a surprise.

Chapter 3

“Fate, Beer, and Music”

We walked to the bar sharing stories about stealing from people flaunting their wealth. How we’d both joined thief’s guilds and dropped out. Apparently I’d made a bit of a legend for myself for the way I handled my departure.

“Ok so the guy in here is super nice but kinda high strung,” I gave a devilish grin, “which means give him a hard time whenever possible.“

Bel nodded and smiled. She reached her hand out toward mine. I laced my hand into hers and gave it a small squeeze.

We came through the door and Tugal called out his typical ‘welcome, find your own seat then I’ll find you’ greeting. I looked at Belarus and tugged her towards a booth near the stairs. We sat across from each other. Tugal eventually came out from the kitchen area.

“Tugal can get ya what ya nee...” he paused mid-sentence, and looked at me then at Belarus. His tone got hushed and he leaned in towards me “Err. Miss Bard. You brought a demon to Tugal’s bar. Tugal can’t say he expected that.”

My eyes stared a hole through his forehead, “Tugal! I didn’t know you were a racist!?” My voice got a bit louder than I intended, “she’s very nice and has been my protector though out the day!”

Tugal stood back up and adjusted his belt around his tummy, “well if you say she’s good people then Tugal will trust ya lassie.”

I nodded and looked over at Belarus. She was staring down at the table using her nail to pick at a loose piece of wood. I patted the top of her other hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Now ya damned racist!” I was rolling with this guilt train, “we will take whatever you decided to put on the fire this morning and two pints!”

Belarus shook her head, “sorry Persephone I don’t drink.”

I gave her a wink and stopped Tugal as he was walking away, “make it two each.”

Belarus crossed her arms and huffed, “you going to try and make me drink?”

I laughed and shook my head, “nope, 'cause I don’t drink either. I just love wasting his time. Most likely he will just bring me water.” I paused and thought about it for a second, “Yeah if he brings you ale just ask him to deliver it to Al.”

Belarus looked at me inquisitively. A smile came from the side of her mouth. She nodded as the dwarf came back to our table. He had indeed just brought me water. Bless his heart though, he did bring Belarus ale.

As he walked away she tapped his hand, “aye Tugal. Could you take these to Al? I’m not much of a drinker.”

Tugal started to agree to take the drinks then realized she had just used my line.

“Miss Bard! I will not take your lute ale again!” Tugal was nearly yelling as he took back the pints.

We let him get a few feet while we tried to hold in our laughter. We were banging on the tablet. I was trying to explain that my first performance here I’d convinced Tugal that my lute was a mimic with rhythm. He let the pint sit there for nearly 3 hours waiting for it to be consumed.

After our meal we headed back out to the town. Tugal was glad to see us go. He barely told me to piss off before we exited.

Belarus looked around, “this place can be kind of boring. What should we do about that?” Her tail was once again flicking about.

As I stepped forward, the cabbage salesman collided with me. I must not have seen him because I was looking towards Belarus. We both fell to the ground. The cabbages he was carrying landed next to me. I picked them up and handed them over.

He got to his feet and snatched them from me, “you damn adventuring types just think you can walk over us regular people. To hell with all of you.”

I flipped him off and walked towards the other merchant tents. What a prick. It was an accident. Belarus was staying close behind me.

“I heard some lady needed a group to go look for her son just outside of town. She thinks a group might have taken him,” I pointed towards the gate, “I think we could take them.”

Belarus nodded and we were on our way. It was still midday, so we had plenty of time.

After talking to some people on the road, we managed to gather a few people had seen some shady guys with a young boy walking through the woods. A few hours of tracking we found their camp. The guys had a couple of tents. We could see the boy bound lying next to a log they were using to sit on.

I looked at Belarus and unsheathed my rapier. That’s when I saw her pull a small knife from her calf armor. Was that really what she used in combat?

We split up deciding it was best to take out two of the men right away leaving the last one outnumbered. The men were carrying on about whose turn it would be with the boy in their tent. The argument really had them nearly attacking each other, Belarus and I jumped from the shadows running the men through. They dropped to the ground instantly. The man was sitting with two murderous figures barely illuminated by his fire.

“Wow I guess it would be your turn first in the tent,” my gaze dropped to his crotch taking aim. I noticed his pants were moist, “you wet yourself like a coward, yet you were ready to take this boy’s innocence.”

Belarus flicked her tail as she spoke, “Now I don’t think we can let someone so pathetic reproduce.”

I shot her a quick smile and a nod. She threw her knife at the man’s head. He tried to say something before it reached him, but the thought wasn’t able to process.

I bent down and untied the child. Belarus was going through the men’s belongings. She found a few pieces of jewelry and a couple of copper. I was consoling the boy. Making sure he knew his mother was very worried and that we were taking him back to her.

We safely got back to town with a few minutes of daylight left. We found the boy’s mother and she paid us a small amount for our trouble. They were so thankful we were willing to take our time to find him.

“Good job Bel. You were awesome!” I gave her a quick hug.

“Did...did you just hug me?” Belarus was looking me up and down, “what did you do with Persephone and who are you?”

I laughed and gave her a wink, “I said my heart was closed not dead. We did a good job and that made me happy.”

Belarus nodded, “I have to go take care of something then I’ll meet you back at the bar?”

I looked at her for a moment then nodded. We said our goodbyes and I went to get set up for tonight’s performance.

Chapter 4

“A Mad Lass”

The night was in full swing at the bar. Tons of patrons had flooded the seats. I was chatting with Tugal while he was in the kitchen plating food. As much as he hated to hear it, he was a pretty good cook.

“Miss Bard.” He paused while he finished throwing chicken on a plate, “where’s yer friend?”

I shrugged and gave him a toothy grin, “probably got run off by your racist remarks earlier.”

His face got red and he shook his head, “Tugal has never had a good interaction with a tiefling in my life. If you want to keep her around that’s fine. Just don’t leave her alone in my bar.”

I picked up a couple chunks of fruit and shook my head, “whatever you say. I mean she was ‘taking care of something’ hours ago.” I popped the food in my mouth, “I guess I was just a friend for a moment. I ‘unno.”

He looked up at me then made a shewing motion with his hand. When things get to awkward or real Tugal had a habit of ending conversations there. It was fine. I needed to get on stage anyways.

“Thanks for the fuel shorty. I’ll make sure you make some money tonight.” I laughed and walked away as he cussed me for my remark.

The crowd was really eating it up tonight. My dancing lights and use of mantles really made for a great show. I was doing jigs while Alejandro would play by himself. The crowd was in a roar. That’s when I saw the door open and Belarus snuck in. She’d come! I really thought she was gone. After casting dancing lights, and making it look like a glowing aura around me, I snuck off stage letting Alejandro take the lime light for a few minutes.

I grabbed some water and walked over to Bel. “Hey you!” I leaned over her table. A bit of sweat came off my hair and landed on the table, “I’m glad you came!”

She jumped a little. I think she was lost in thought. Her hands reactively cupped over her mouth. Even though she was hiding it she was smiling. I could see it in her eyes.

“Yeah my errand was a little harder to finish than I anticipated,” she rubbed the back of her head, “it’s all taken care of. That’s not the point though!” She placed her hand over mine and moved some hair out of my face, “you’re doing a great job up there!”

I smirked and patted her hand that was over mine. She was so kind. Tugal was just wrong about her. I took a deep breath and gave her a wink.

“You haven’t seen anything yet and I think it’s time I gave ya a front row seat!” I leapt up on her table and started a full Irish dance while using my drum to pull people’s attention from Al to me. A smile swept across my face as the crowd’s cheers got louder. I let out one final note, dropping to my knees and stretching out my arms. I was breathing hard, my smile hurting my cheeks. I began to bow as I stood up. The crowd was chattering and getting back to their drinking as I landed a backflip off the table.

“Very impressive!” Belarus was still staring right at me. I had felt her gaze the moment I jumped up on the table