#leave travel concession

[psychotrenny]

I think one of Imperialism's most evil strategies is the national scale torture you'll see inflicted on countries that dare to dream of freedom. Like it's not just about overthrowing the anti-imperialist regime itself, but utterly breaking the very social, economic and in turn psychological foundations it's built upon. Prolonged periods of destruction that are as systematic as they are sadistic with the aim of making life unlivable until the government either collapses or gives in, accepting whatever concessions are forced upon them as the nation is remoulded into an dependent and obedient little neocolony.

Sometimes an imperialist power will act directly to achieve this (just take the gratuitous and deliberate destruction of civil infrastructure during the bombings of Yugoslavia and Iraq), but the preferred strategy is to employ local proxies. Groups like RENAMO in Mozambique or the Contras of Nicaragua. Bands of reactionaries, traitors and general desperadoes are gathered up, trained, armed and transported over the border at the expense of the Imperialists and their local collaborators. These armed groups have no interest in build mass support, of representing an alternative way of life. Their only purpose is destruction; killing, torturing, looting, burning whatever they can in order to bring their country to its knees. Frequently targeting important nodes in the networks that sustain the nation and the people's faith in it (bridges, rail depots, factories, hospitals and schools) but ultimately happy to attack whatever they can; every house burned or person tortured contributes to the climate of terror and corrosion of government credibility. Because when they kill these groups don't like to do it cleanly; their attacks generate countless reports immolation, disembowelment, victims hacked to pieces and left to bleed. But when possible they prefer to leave their victims alive and capable of further spreading their terror, inflicting the most vicious sorts of rape and mutilation on a mass scale

It's not just just evil for the sake of evil mind you. The cruelty has a point; human destruction to accompany the physical. Every person killed is someone who can no longer contribute to the development of the nation, while even living yet physically and psychologically broken victim places further strain on their country's increasingly fragile support systems. Meanwhile the terror of these actions spreads the impact beyond their immediate victims. The murder and torture of peasants makes the survivors too scared to go back into their fields, slowly starving the nation as the rural economy grind to a halt. The gruesome deaths of traders and travelers leaves the survivors too terrified to continue their business, shutting down the distributive networks that make national development and often life itself possible. The terror unleashed on foreign professionals can prompt the survivors to flee and discourage newcomers from arriving, depriving the underdeveloped economic and education systems of the skilled workers they need to improve or even function. And every broken body, ever broken mind, is proof of the government's weakness and ineptitude; a humiliating failure to protect their own people that demoralises supporters and empowers dissenters. The motivated sadism of these terrorist attacks is a microcosm of the motivated sadism displayed by their Imperialist backers

But why go to all this trouble? Why not just send in the paratroopers or organise a coup to end those troublesome regimes quickly? Sometimes it's a matter of possibility. As great as they are, the powers of Imperialist nations are not unlimited. All manner of constraints (domestic unrest, international condemnation which advantages dangerous rivals, the simple financial and human costs of such operations) limit what actions are viable or desirable. This is especially significant when the targets are motivated and disciplined anti-imperialists with a base of deep-rooted popular support, the sort of regime that won't go down to a simple commando raid or bribe to the right general. But sometimes, it's not enough to merely cut down a dissenting government; you have to salt the earth and make sure nothing similar ever grows back. I'll finish with the words of an anonymous Jesuit priest, talking about Nicaragua yet in terms widely relevant enough to be published in John Saul's conclusion to A Difficult Road: The Transition to Socialism in Mozambique (1985):

In Chile the Americans made a mistake. They cut off the revolution too abruptly. They killed the revolution but, as we can see from recent developments there, they didn't kill the dream. In Nicaragua, they're trying to kill the dream

[moonchildstyles]

harry at these soccer games…… 🥸🥸🥸 now THATS! my baby daddy prosecco h🥸

wordcount: 3.2k+

—————

"Sweetheart, are y'almost ready?" 

(Y/N) wanted to roll her eyes, huff out an attitude and shout back to Harry that she'd be ready when she was ready, until she saw the time. 

They were now running fifteen minutes behind.

To be fair, she thought she was doing much better on time than she actually was. She had figured the last time he had shouted to her was only a short two minutes ago, but it appeared he had given her a full ten minutes and she was still working on getting her hair to lay the way she wanted. At least her makeup was done and her outfit was laid out on her bed. 

"Almost," (Y/N) called back over the sound of the hairdryer, working the device a bit quicker over her strands. 

"We need to leave in five minutes, love. We're already running a little late, so try to be ready soon." 

Her lips thinned at his evergreen patience. Now she felt that much more guilty for almost giving him attitude. Besides, today was for him, one of the very few times he allowed himself to be the focus of their activities, the least she could do was hurry up and little and let him enjoy it to the fullest. 

Despite still not being happy with her hair, she took the strands at what they were and turned off the dryer. Worst case, she'd stick a claw clip in and hope that concealed the untamable strands. Rushing back to her bedroom, she made quick work of wiggling into her outfit. Finishing touches came in the form of clumsy perfume spritzes, extra swipes of lip gloss before shoving the tube in her bag, and blindly stuffing her feet into her shoes. 

Skittering out of her bedroom, she met Harry where he was standing with his phone in hand, forehead creased. 

"I'm ready, I'm sorry," (Y/N) blurted, fastening her emergency claw clip to the handle of her purse, "We can go." 

Harry looked up at her, clearly stressed with lines around his eyes and lips thinned, "'S alright, love. Y'look pretty." 

"Worth the wait?" she teased, feeling her cheeks warm from his smile praise.

The worry lines on his face melted some as she spoke, "Always. C'mon, pretty." 

Setting her hand in the crook of Harry's offered arm, (Y/N) suddenly forgot about each strand of hair that wouldn't cooperate, the fold on the heel of her sock from stubbornly stepping into her shoes. There was no way she could feel less than perfect when Harry talked to her that way—when he looked at her like that. 

—————

After the debacle of finding a parking space among the crowded lot, (Y/N) wasn't excited to see the amount of people that outnumbered the cars they had already trekked through. While she definitely enjoyed her nightlife, bar hopping among different crowds, there was something definitely much less appealing about this crowd she found herself among. 

(It was probably the lack of alcohol, if she was being honest). 

"Where are our seats?" (Y/N) murmured, clutching Harry's hand to keep him from straying. 

Absently peeking at the ticket on his phone, Harry rattled off the section and seat numbers. Truthfully, the information didn't mean much to her given that Harry was in charge of leading them to where they needed to go; she had hoped he would tell her in general where they would be watching the match, as in by the goal or something. 

She hummed in response, letting him pull her to go ahead of him as they ventured into a particularly congested area of the arena. A line for the concessions converged with the line of eager fans attempting to get special edition merchandise for the event, enough activity to leave a narrow space for both flows of traffic to travel through. 

"Jus' go straight ahead," Harry murmured as he ducked down to her ear, his hands on her waist from behind. 

A string of excuse me and sorry fell from her lips every time she encountered a new body, her steps minuscule as they moved beyond. If she had even wanted anything to drink or snack on during the game, there was no way she was even attempting the line unless they found a less noticeable stall or until everyone cleared out. 

Popping out on the other side, (Y/N) found a small space out of the way before turning to look at Harry once more. He made sure they got through the worst of it together, but his captaining job was far from over if the rest of the stadium was anything like that. 

"Y'okay, pretty?" he asked, looking to her through the dark of his shades though the stern line of his lips showed off all of his concern. 

"Yeah," she sighed, anchoring herself once more with a grip on his hand, "Just a lot of people. I wasn't expecting this." 

He hummed an acknowledgment to her as they started down the curving corridor along the bowl of the venue. "I've been wanting to take y'to other matches before this one, but someone's always too busy." 

The look he cast over his sunnies was accusing, though it lost much of his grit when a slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

"Because I am," (Y/N) countered, just a pitch away from a whine in her voice, "And, I don't think I've been missing out on much if this is how these things go." 

"'S no different than one of your concerts, love," he mused, ever-patient as he counted off each of the section headers above the doors leading to the seating, "And this is a big match, anyway. They're usually not this crazy." 

Before she could offer anything in response, Harry rapidly pulled her out of the way as a group of shirtless men with green painted torsos barreled through the corridor, drunken laughter spilling in their wake. His features were set in stiff lines as he looked over his shoulder at the rowdy group disappearing. 

"Maybe a little worse than your concerts, actually," he muttered, the admission made under his breath as he opted to keep his arm around her waist as opposed to leashing her by his hand. Easier to keep her safe. 

With that, he became her guard dog for the trek, sharp eyes keeping watch for any and everything that might cause his pretty girl harm while finding their seats. Rowdy patrons or those unwilling to give her space were given sharp glare before Harry elbowed around them, ensuring no one touched even a single hair on the top of her head. 

It was enough to have (Y/N) sighing as if in a dream. It was cute seeing him act this way, protective and adoring. It was even more interesting to see others' reactions to his behavior; when others cowered out of the way, (Y/N) wondered what was going on in their head. She couldn't imagine wanting to go the opposite direction of her Harry, not even when he had his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. She was too familiar with the dimples hiding in the folds of his cheeks or the bunny-like front teeth shielded by lips. 

"I'll go first this time. Hang onto me," Harry directed once they reached the correct section. 

As he started down the flight of stairs, he reached a hand out behind him for (Y/N) to take. She didn't hesitate before clutching his fingers, his grip tight as he started descending to their row. Looking around at the arena of fans around her, (Y/N) truthfully couldn't believe the energy. It was decidedly much different than any concert she had ever attended, even to ones she'd been to at this exact venue. 

There was almost something slightly aggressive about the audience with the differing sides mingling together, along with pints of alcohol and greasy food. There were costumed attendees complete with wild wigs and painted faces sat beside those with determined faces and brains full of the rulebook. Of course there were those like H, just excited to be there and hopeful for their favorite team, and those like her, there because someone they cared about wanted to be in attendance. 

Going lower and lower in the bowl, Harry finally stopped over a handful of rows away from the green. Pulling her to stand beside him, he pointed at a pair of vacant seats a few people in. 

"Those two, right there. I'll be right behind you," he murmured into her ear, urging her on with a hand on her back. 

Going ahead without a word, (Y/N) apologized as she skirted her way by those already sat down. She couldn't help the frown that plucked her features when the crowd around them erupted into cheers for no apparent reason. It spiked her anxiety, feeling as if they were missing something important, even if (Y/N) didn't really have any real interest in any of the events taking place this evening. 

Settling into her seat, she waited for Harry to join her with wide eyes. As soon as he caught the way she was looking at him, a small smile touched his cheeks. 

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he uttered, sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head. 

"There's..." she trailed off, emphasizing her point with her eyes scanning around the stadium, "so much." 

"I know, right?" he muttered, a giddy undertone to his words, "'S exciting." 

"Something like that," she smiled, happy to see how excited he was to be here. 

"It'll be more fun when the match starts," he insisted, "Everyone settles down a little." 

"When does it start?" (Y/N) asked, watching as the jumbo screen above the field went through an advertisement for the cheese sticks available at the concession stand. If she wasn't turned off by the mess of a line they'd seen, she would be asking Harry if they could grab an order of the fried cheese. 

Harry hummed, checking his phone. "Not for another forty-five minutes." 

Just as he spoke, just a couple of rows ahead of them, a pair of strangers began loudly arguing about some statistics she had no context for. 

This was going to be a long forty-five minutes. 

—————

Shooting to her feet, (Y/N) followed Harrys cue as he cheered. She wasn't exactly sure what for, considering she didn't see any of the players make a goal, but she would just have to ask about those rules later. For now, she clapped and cheered with him, watching from the corner of her eye for when he took his seat again. 

When the crowd settled once more, Harry held a giddy smile on his face, nose pinkened by the time in the sun. As much as this match wasn't her cup of tea, seeing him having fun the way he was definitely made up for some of the discomfort and how lost she was rules-wise. 

Leaning over the armrest with her mouth hovering by his ear, she asked the same question she'd already posed periodically through the match, "Good?" 

"Really good, pretty!" he answered in a chirp, "We've got the ball now." 

"Ohhh," she sounded. It was news to her that their preferred team didn't have the ball already. 

The ball was nothing more than a black and white spot going across the green while colorful jerseys followed after. The audience was raptured, almost caught in silence while the plays were made, but (Y/N) was much more interested in watching Harry. 

While he wasn't completely committed to watching any and every game that came on the television, she could tell being here was especially exciting for him. It made her excited about the game just seeing how much it meant to him; she was this close to grabbing a jersey to keep at his house for the nights she spent over. 

She couldn't help but to angle herself as close as possible to him despite the armrest separating them, leaving her arm pressed flush against his. Harry didn't even glance at her before he was lifting that same arm and dropping it around her shoulders, keeping her close. 

"Thank you for coming with me, sweetheart," he murmured into her ear, his voice clear over the rush of the crowd. A delicate kiss was placed on her temple, his lips warmer than even the sun's rays on the grass. 

She beamed up at him, admiring the angles of his features. The height of his cheekbones, the line of his sun kissed nose, the length of his curling lashes. Her man. 

"Thank you for bringing me," she said, craning her neck just enough to press her lips to the stubbled cheek. 

She could feel the dip of his dimple underneath her lips as he smiled.

Just then, a seemingly important goal was made. Harry pulled her to stand up and cheer with him, his hands over his head with the rest of the excitable crowd. 

"Did you see that!?" Harry yelled, eyes wide and smile broad. 

Of course she didn't. She was busy kissing on her boyfriend, she wasn't watching the match. 

Nonetheless, seeing him smile made it that much easier for her to do the same. "That was crazy!" 

His expression—bright eyes with a wide smile, his cheeks holding a pinkened glow—was well worth her little fib. 

—————

"That's gonna look really cute on you, sweetheart." 

(Y/N)'s beaming smile was directed up at Harry, looking at the colorful jersey he'd purchased for her. It was truthfully not her color, and the fit was going to be something she was going to have to fight to style to her liking, but it was Harry's favorite player. More than anything, this was for him, something she was going to keep at his home for the night she would spend in his bed. 

"You think so?" she chirped, looking up at him with bright eyes. Maybe her words were a bit of a ploy, fishing for some compliments. Could anyone blame her? Hearing softened words wrapped up in his voice, all while he was looking at her, was all too easy to become addicted to. 

"I know so, love," he smiled, quickly casting his eyes to the line of cars slowly moving ahead of them, "Gonna wear it tonight?" 

Her smile turned a bit sheepish as his voice drawled around the question. "I can, if you want." 

When she peeked at him from the corner of her eye, she saw the way his eyes dropped to the jersey in her lap back up to the line of her profile. There was a shade to his gaze now, something warming through the green of his irises as he looked at her. The raspberry of his lips was slicked over by the top of her tongue just before his attention was called back to the windscreen. 

"I want." 

The breathy laugh that fell from her lips was just as dazed as it was spurred on by the butterflies awakening in her stomach. "I can do that." 

Harry hummed, reaching over to place his palm against her thigh. Traffic finally began to shift from the stop and go lock the car park was caught in, into a slow crawl, leaving his eyes fixed on the windshield instead of on his pretty girl. Instinctively, she angered her body towards him, settling her palm atop his hand. 

The dimple in his cheek was his only acknowledgment of her move. "Did y'really have fun today, love?" 

"I did," she chirped, bouncing in her seat, "I don't think I really get it still, but it was so fun to see all of the people. It made me excited even though I didn't really know what for." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, glancing at her as he shifted into the flow of traffic, "'M happy y'had fun. I know 's not really your thing, but it means a lot that y'came with me. Thank you, pretty girl." 

This time, the warming pit in her stomach flushed away into something delicate, full of cotton candy clouds and saccharine threads. She was sure her eyes were practically hearts at this point, trained right on him.

"You always come to me with all of my favorite stuff, so I'm happy we did something for you today. You had fun today, right?"

"So much, baby. I always have fun with you." 

She could have melted right into the leather of her seat if not for his hand on her thigh holding her together. 

"I always have fun with you, too," she murmured, reaching across the center console until she had her lips pressed to his cheek. It was a lingering touch, something she was well aware she needed to cut short given the cars racing outside the windows, but she couldn't help but to take her time. The stubble under her kiss prickled against her lips, against the tip of her nose. "I love you." 

As she settled back into her spot, Harry's grip tightened on her leg. "Pretty, I can't pull over right now." 

Blinking at him, she sounded, "Huh?" 

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Y'can't act like that—kissing on me and whispering—when I've got to keep us safe. 'S not fair, I want to kiss you, too." 

Biting back a smile, she wrapped her fingers around his clenching palm. "Just find a shoulder or something," she suggested, "Or, I'm sure we'll get to a red light at some point." 

He seemed to consider the former suggestion for a moment, eyes glancing out the windscreen to the lanes before them. After a moment, he shook his head. "I'll save it for when we're home. Are y'spending the night?" 

"I can if you want." 

"I want." 

This time, she couldn't help but let out a full, bubbling laugh. His response was quick—too quick to hide anything. "Are we still stopping for dinner?" she asked, despite knowing the likely answer. 

"No." 

Maybe she was missing the feel of his stubbled cheek, or she was teasing him just a little, but she couldn't help but to lean across and press another kiss to his cheek. 

His hand on her thigh moved in an instant, landing on the back of her neck in a weighty press. 

"Pretty." 

"Sorry," she giggled, pulling away though Harry's hand stayed just where it was on the back of her neck, "I'll stop." 

The sunburned glow to his nose and cheeks was only emboldened by the flush touching the cream of his skin. "Y'better, love. Y'like being good for me, right?" 

It was her turn to feel the warmth, the pad of his thumb skating over the column of her throat. "Yeah. Sorry, H." 

He gave one more lingering pulse of his fingers before his palm dragged down the curve of her throat and the length of her arm until it was back in her lap. "It's alright, sweetheart. Jus' save it for m'bedroom. And your new little shirt."

Who was she to turn down a plan like that? 

Maybe, they were going to have to start going to more of these matches. Especially if they ended like this.

—————

ive missed my king Prosecco:( I really hope everyone enjoys how this turned out! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if theres anything fun you want to share send them in!!!!!

[crucialplayer]

Thoughts on Venus placements

!! everything is based purely on my experiences with signs, written with no other purpose than to share my observations and be unserious.

Aries Venus. View public humiliation as a flirting tactic. Will borderline call you stupid and ugly and genuinely expect people to get the hint that they’re actually very interested. Will prob ask themselves out on ur behalf. If u don't show interest immediately as they enter a room they’re done. Life is a cycle of falling in and falling out. Romance is 90 percent fucking.

Taurus venus. Like anyone who’s pretty but LOVE prob one person in a lifetime. Will have an aneurism if you try to rush them or speed up the prelude. Unbearable in their pickiness (esp with food and smells). Have deluded themselves into thinking there are people dying waiting for them to grace this earth with their love and attention. Limit freedom but act bothered when being imposed with the same limitations. 

Gemini venus. What’s there to say that hasn't been already cried out loud by the casualties of their love. Wandering eye. Don't promise much and deliver even less. Fun tease flirts, will take you on Before Sunrise style date and rot ur brain with all the talk. Like to leave people wondering. Everyone wants to try this one out at least once. Word’s been going around that a non-cheating-gemini Venus has been spotted in the wild but we’re yet to confirm the evidence. 

Cancer venus. Want to be treated like a baby but always end up babying other people. Want to please their loved ones at all times and if not met with instant appreciation become very irritated and sad. Never voice their needs properly. Expect the most distant emotionally constipated people they usually choose as their partners to be mind-readers. Cook-clean-snog love. 

Leo venus. Promise u the moon and the stars but will be too lazy to actually get them. Love themselves first and won't let you forget that. If not received naturally - will drag those compliments out of you manually. At their best great at hyping people up. Love anyone who praises them. Also kinda get attached quite fast. Get jealous and offended easily (I feel like I say this about every Leo placement but what can u do).

Virgo venus. No one can please them and with time fewer people try. Get the ick over people simply breathing. Want the most sterile of love there is. If you’re not the best at your craft or do not aspire to be WHY the fuck not??? Legit think organizing ur desk is a good substitution for letting know they have warm feelings towards you.

Libra venus. Their partner is the star of the night month year life. Choose partners that can be bragged about and envied for. Very loving never shut up about their relationship no matter the setting always find a reason to bring them up. In a relationship make concessions until they blow up.

Scorpio venus. Insanity falsely taken for being in love. Blood contract on the first date. The ones that giggle at cannibalism=love metaphors. Might just lock you up but in a romantic wayyy... Romance is NOT a joke and ANY attempt making FUN of it WILL NOT slide. Looking around might count as cheating. Also if I may I suggest never leaving them on read..) Forever and always til death do us part. 

Sagittarius venus. Often forget that they are in a relationship. Love the fun aspect of dating, but hate everything else. Need someone who constantly shakes things up and makes life interesting for them. In an ideal world, they travel around the globe and have a lot of se make meaningful connections for life. Very playful tho!

Capricorn venus. In relationships become very domestic but it takes a lot for them to actually end up in such. Love language is to cover basic necessities and feel worn out after that. Typically require to be TAUGHT on love and I know there are some people who find this an exciting quest god bless you on that journey. Prob the most rigid Venus in terms of compatibility with others imo. 

Aquarius venus. So fucking random in terms of people they crush on like I can never guess who’s gonna tingle their interest braincell this time. Normally they go for the intellectuals but once they think they’ve got too predictable with it next choice is gonna be wild. Friends with people who have a crush on them and are oblivious to it. Freeze when you get mushy or clingy with them. 

Pisces venus. Takes a village to pull them out of that one abusive dynamic they’ve been perpetually stuck in. Unironically think of themselves as smol beans. Dedicate their whole unprompted to the person they’ve had a crush on for like two days. Very very veryyyy lovey-dovey-sweet-corny, have no problem confessing their love. Likely to draw ur portrait if they like you. 

[genshin-side-piece]

Love Me Tender

Warnings: Yandere Content, Dark themes, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Sexual themes, not smut (sorry),Not Fluff, Uncomfortable themes, Angst, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

Maybe OOC for him? It's hard to say.

Neuvillette's favorite time to be with you is in the dead of night. He enjoys the days, in the sense that he enjoys being near you. Watching you from across the room did bring a sense of comfort from the knowledge that you were safe in his care, but that was all. He garnered no satisfaction in it, not when he ached to be so much closer to you than what he is allowed to be. You denied him that. Despite you being in his home, in his care, you denied him the right to be next to or close to you. He was only ever allowed to be near and even that had not come easily. It was the one concession you had made after doing all you could to avoid him.

In the past, outside of meals, you had always left the room the second he would appear. It was in vain of course. Neuvillette would follow you, like a loyal dog follows its master. His eyes fixed on your form, dutifully watching your every move. Room to room, hallway to hallway, until he finally cornered you in a space where you could not escape. From there he would take his appointed place near the door, keeping you where he wanted you until it was time to change for dinner or on the rarest of rare things, he allowed you to take dinner in your room before going to bed early. It had gone on from the day you had entered his house, lasting for months on end. You would run and he would chase. Oddly, he found it fun. The concept of chasing or hunting you awoke something dormant in him. An instinct that had long been buried due to its lack of use. It became a game between you, a battle of wills to see if he could trap you or if you could manage to get away. You never did of course. He had the upper hand when it came to his hunting grounds. If he wanted you in a particular room or to travel a specific path, he knew which keys to hide and which doors to lock beforehand to get you to go the way he intended. 

His favorite place to keep you was his study. Unlike the other spaces in his house, the study was on the smaller side. His desk dominated most of the space in the room, leaving either a small sofa or a chair beside him as your only two choices if you wished to sit. Any of the other options you had tried, like the corner that was furthest from him, were automatically dismissed. Seeing you was a luxury he could rarely afford. While he enjoyed his hunts, Neuvillette preferred not to waste what time he did have with you moving furniture every time he wished to see your face. His one insistence on the matter had been that you make a choice between resting by his side or the sofa. He had told you he didn’t have a preference of where, even though it was very clear he did. By his side was always preferable, though the thought of you sitting on the floor that first time awoke something that the gentleman in him tried its best to deny. Just the idea of you kneeling beside him was enough to make his c*ck stir. On the nights he didn’t come to your side, he laid awake, practically consumed by it. Your cheek grazing his thigh, his fingers combing their way through your silky hair, your contented little sigh as you rested your full weight against his leg. It was pathetic to think that fantasizing about the most basic forms of contact were enough to bring him to a swift orgasm, but here he was. After many months together, Neuvillette found himself so desperate for your acceptance, for your love, for your warmth that the mere mention of contact would cause him to make a mess of his hand. Maybe it was a good thing you always chose the sofa. If you did bring yourself to willingly be beside him or touch him, he might cum on the spot. 

He had time to work on that or at least that’s how he consoled himself as he cleaned himself up in the dark. The weather had been warm as of late. It had made maintaining a specific distance easy for you. He had to wonder if you would feel the same way once the weather turned cold. His office, like the rest of his house, did have a reputation for being drafty. Since you refused anything beyond the most basic of garments from him, it was only a matter of time before the cold got to you. What would you do then? Would you accept that as your appointed guardian he would have little choice but to punish you for your foolishness by holding you in his embrace as a means to warm you back up or would you suffer the chill for the sake of your own stubbornness?

The answer, to Neuvillette’s great surprise, was neither.

If his study was one of the coldest rooms, then outside of the bedrooms, the warmest place in the house was the drawing room. When the winter months came, the drawing room became a place of refuge for you since your keeper advised you that hiding in your bedroom was out of the question. Even if Neuvillette would happily cover you with blankets and furs should you ask, your pride decided you were better not to. You would rather freeze or in this instance, tolerate him being near you for the sake of staying warm. It had been a small victory for him. One that he relished every time he looked at you. From then on, you allowed him to sit in the same room as you, provided he stayed on his side. If he dared to get closer, he earned himself a scowl worthy of shearing the cliffs of Fontaine into the sea below. That’s if you looked at him at all. On the nicer days, your eyes were always fixed on something else, mainly the windows and the world beyond them.

Your present situation is not fair. He’s been made painfully aware of that through his own experiences with you. In general, Neuvillette understands that humans are meant to be free, or free within the limits that the laws of the land allow. The loss of that freedom should those laws be broken was to remind your kind of their place in this world. You, however, had broken no laws. At least none that were on the official books. In the eyes of Fontaine, you had been a model citizen, therefore you should be free. As far as Neuvillette’s own standards and rules were concerned, your behavior had been less than ideal. Hence his need to lock you away.

Neuvillette remembered the day or rather the circumstances that had caused him to clip your wings. He’d had you on schedule for sometime. You weren’t aware of it, but through his own manipulation of your life, you would wake at a certain time, eat at a certain time, work for a specific length, and finally report home at an appointed hour. Before his influence you had run around as you pleased. Your erratic behavior of running to and fro had made watching you from afar impossible. The schedule he slowly imposed upon you fixed all of that. You being at a specific place, at a specific time made things easier for the melusines to keep an eye on you and report in. Everything had been running rather smoothly, and Neuvillette found himself pleased with the outcome. You were where he wanted you, when he wanted you. Things were as low maintenance as they could be, until you decided to throw a wrench into the machine. 

He had been stuck at the opera for days, knee deep in an idiotic dispute. It was on that day, that you had decided to deviate from your normal routine. Thinking back on it, had things ended there and you had gotten back on track, nothing would have happened. In Neuvillette’s mind, one day's worth of deviation was tolerable. You took days off from time to time. It wasn’t too hard to pick up your routine on those days. You generally slept later or ate at different times, but there was one constant; you always kept yourself to the city. The melusines could find you without too much trouble. The only real inconvenience was that the daily reports about you were thrown off their schedule. He didn’t particularly care for it, but in this instance, it hadn’t mattered. This time, outside of one fact, the reports about what you ate, where you went, and who you spoke to couldn’t be made at all. How could they, when you had vanished without a trace?

There had been no warning, none of the usual signs that you were tired or stressed or in need of a rest. The day you had vanished started like all the others, the only difference was that it had begun with your bed being empty. The report that you hadn’t gone to work as you should didn’t reach him at the opera. Neither had any of the others regarding your lack of contact. Instead, the reports had been delivered, as instructed, to his office at the Palais Mermonia. Words like vanished, missing, and lost didn’t find him until he returned to the city two days later. At the time, he had believed you had been kidnapped. His own panic that you were missing had dismissed the concept that you had left of your own volition. The idea that you had decided to go away to the mountains for a few days seemed inconceivable to him. You hadn’t slipped your schedule while he had been distracted. You hadn’t taken one of the water taxis out of the city while no one was watching. No, in his own paranoid mind you hadn’t left, you had been kidnapped. Neuvillette had many enemies. Despite his own discretion regarding you, they must have gotten wind of you. That had to have been it. There was no other reason for the fact you hadn’t returned. You had been stolen. The very idea that you had been taken triggered something in him; something ancient, something primal. He needed to find you. He needed to hide you. He needed to protect you. Your part would be to comply with his wishes. Refusal was not an option. 

Neuvillette’s search for you was thorough. He scoured the countryside for you, searching above and below the surface for any sign of you or your abductors. No crevice of Fontaine was left untouched. No stone unturned, no ruin not inspected. It took him an additional three days to find you. When he did, the little house that you were staying in seemed anticlimactic. There were no guards nor was there any real fight. Just your utter confusion at the sight of the Chief Justice standing outside your door and Neuvillette’s solemn vow that he would never allow anything like this to happen again.

Even if it meant locking you away, your freedom could stand the sacrifice.

The contempt and rage that followed was something that took Neuvillette completely by surprise. He didn’t believe you possessed such strong emotions, but they were there. All it had taken was the cage door being locked shut to bring them to the surface. All he could do was listen as your cries and protestations lasted for days on end. Initially he had tried to calm you, calm your anger, but it had only made things worse. Stern or soft words didn't make a difference. You just continued to rage at him, so in turn he met you with silence. It wasn’t that he was insensitive to the situation, he knew taking your freedom wasn’t ideal. Where Neuvillette took issue was that he simply didn’t understand your reasons for being upset. The loss of freedom was unfortunate, but was it necessary. The schedule had been designed to keep you out of trouble. His motive in bringing you to his home was to keep you safe. You had deviated from one, so the solution was the other. Could you not see he was trying to help?

Even with his justifications though, it would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel guilty about what he had done. Your safety was of the utmost importance to him, but he desired nothing more than for you to be at peace with his decision. Neuvillette had brought you here for your own good. The world was a dangerous place and you, well you were far from safe in it. Your little disappearing act had shown him how incapable you were without him. That the schedule he had imposed upon you from afar was not enough. You needed a heavier hand to guide you, to keep you, to protect you. He knew you would be happier if you could be free, but that was no longer an option. Maybe that’s why he could never bring himself to be harsh with you. Neuvillette knows that on the surface, he could make your relationship be what he wanted it to be. Should his patience run much thinner, he could take a firm stance with you. He could apply force. It would be nothing for him to attach a leash to the invisible collar he made you wear and keep you at arm's length at all times. You could be bent, you could be broken, and most of all you could be rebuilt how he wanted you to be. Then, his dream for a life with you might be fulfilled. If he remade you how he wanted, you would smile at him like you do other things. He wouldn’t find himself envious of the sun, the music from the phonograph, the books you are permitted to read, and even the birds that play on the other side of the window. You wouldn’t love all of them more than you loved him.  He would be worthy of the smile he yearned for. The same smile he adored from afar and the same one that vanished the second you see him. His very soul shattered every time your lips fell into a thin line across your face, never failing to draw that same line across the room and his own heart.

That's what made the dead of night so special.

In the night, after sleep had claimed you, the hard line that you had drawn between you and he vanished. The darkness that consumed the world hid the truth of the entire situation perfectly. In those precious hours, he could pretend that you loved him. He could pretend that you understood his reasoning for his actions towards you. In his own mind, Neuvillette could make you accept that you were something delicate and rare. That you were unable to guard yourself from a world so keen to harm you. That you needed him to help you. He had imagined your gratitude a thousand times over. Decant thoughts of you thanking him for being your savior, of you falling into his arms, of your sweet lips on his, of your soft cries as he plunged his c*ck into you over and over.

It was untoward for him to think of you like that. He shouldn’t really. It was ungentlemanly to do so. But some things couldn’t be helped. When the night washed away the scowl that was reserved solely for him, Neuvillette found it all too easy to let his mind wander. He embraced the privilege of crossing the threshold of your bedroom and pretending that the smile you often wore in your sleep was for him. He could approach you without hesitation then. He could indulge himself in the feeling of your hair in between his fingers as he brushed it away from your face, the warmth of your skin as he ran his hands over the parts of your body that your nightgown or the heavy comforter refused to hide. He could work out his own frustrations by your side, his one hand fervently stroking his c*ck, while the other traced the lines of your thighs.

The entire charade was a ridiculous one. Something that in the cold reality of day he would dismiss as folly and nothing more. Logic, in this case, would always win out. You weren’t grateful to him. There was no way you ever would be. You didn’t understand his reasons for confining you. You would never understand his reasons. How could you? In your short life span, you had been blessed with peace. The world as you knew it hadn’t been torn asunder. You hadn’t witnessed the destruction of all you hold dear. If you had, perhaps you might share his view that you needed to be kept safe. Then, maybe Neuvillette wouldn’t have to reduce himself to being nothing more than a pathetic figure, pining for you in the dark.

Because god how he wanted you, how he needed you, how he loved you. On his worst days, when the burden of the nation was to the point that he felt the weight of it would crush him, he had you. His corner in the drawing room tied him over until the stars climbed high into the sky. Then, in the darkness of your bedroom, with only the moon light to serve as witness, Neuvillette could wrap himself in around you and wash his own worries away with the tears he spilled into your hair. Whispering a silent prayer that when the dawn came, perhaps today would be the day that you would see that he is yours. 

[delopsia]

The Little Things They Do When Dating You

Contains: ✰ Robert “Bob” Floyd, Rhett Abbott, Miles Miller, and Harrison Knott. Warnings: Food mentions. Miles is implied to be living in the present day. Don't bite me for it 😅 

✧˖° Robert “Bob” Floyd

♦ Associates you with a particular animal. If you don't already have a critter in mind, then he will not rest until he's assigned you one. Comes home from deployments with figurines, plushies and other things related to that animal ♦ Shamelessly makes puns just to get a rise out of you.

♦ Loves, loves, loves to settle down on the couch with you and read in silence together. Feet tangled under the same blanket, wrapped up in your own little stories. ♦ When he goes on deployments, he likes to do this thing where you read the same book series and discuss it when he comes back. Also likes to swap books! What you read while he was gone will be what he reads when he comes back, and vice versa 😊 ♦ Before he leaves, he writes you a series of letters and hides them in places that he knows will take you a while to find. It's his little way of loving on you, even while he's gone. ♦ Can't resist spoiling you every chance he gets. Sweet treats, jewelry, little things he caught you looking at while walking through town. If you want it, you've got it. ♦ Lays on top of you when he's trying to get you to slow down. Some days, you just forget how to take it easy, and this is the only way he knows how to calm your nerves. ♦ Has so many inside jokes with you. Conversations can very easily fall into secret code that nobody else can understand. ♦ Lays down on the couch and encourages you to lay on top of him while watching movies together. Sneaks his hand beneath your shirt and rubs invisible shapes into your skin. ♦ Is surprisingly clever when it comes to bickering with you. It's so hard to come up with something to say when he's got you laughing.

✧˖° Rhett Abbott

♦ Nuzzles your noses together when you cuddle. ♦ Isn't afraid to try the things you enjoy, regardless of how 'feminine' it might be. He wants to understand the feeling you get out of it. Lets you paint his nails, put makeup on him, pick his outfit for the day, put him in skirts. There was one instance where he asked you to teach him how to shave his legs because he wanted to know what it felt like. ♦ Quietly follows you around on your shopping trips, only speaking up when he sees something you're looking for or if he thinks you might like it. ♦ He's gone from not knowing how to share a bed at night to not being able to sleep without you. If you leave town, then he's pretty much guaranteed to sleep terribly. He can't help it. There's something so comforting about having you there with him. ♦ Hugs you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder whenever you're standing somewhere. Concession lines, watching the rodeo, in the kitchen. ♦ Gave you one of his old buckles to wear because he'd heard you say that you wanted to match him. It's ridiculously large, but there's something about prancing around rodeos with an Abbott buckle that makes your heart flutter. ♦ Kisses and traces the indents that his buckle has left on your skin. ♦ Switched his workout routine because you love his chest and biceps. He hates taking pictures of himself, but he's gotten into a habit of taking the occasional photo that flatters his chest just to get a rise out of you. ♦ He doesn't know a damn thing about dancing, but he'll spin you 'round and 'round in front of his truck headlights or the refrigerator lights. ♦ Refuses to let you stay in those trashy motel rooms that he usually resigns himself to when he's traveling to rodeos alone. It might be okay for him but for you? He'll spend the extra dollar to make sure you're as comfortable as possible. ♦ Gets red in the ears when you show him off to your friends and family. He's never been with someone who was proud to call him theirs before, never mind introducing him to those they care about.

✧˖° Miles Miller

♦ He loooves to use emoticons. There's the occasional emoji, but it's primarily things like: ^-^ :D :) :v >.< ^w^ ♦ Cannot pick a good movie to save his life. Cute pet movie? The dog died in the end. Camping film? It was actually a horror. That movie with the snow on the cover? Surprise cannibalism! The romance film? The love interest died in the end. Please save him. ♦ Trips over his own words when he's trying to describe something he likes about you, or even when he's saying 'I love you' in general. He's got so many feelings, and he just doesn't know what to do with them all! ♦ His smaller, lanky stature often tricks you into forgetting how protective he can be. A guy tried to smack your ass once, and Miles had him by the wrist before the hit even landed. Puts himself between you and whoever is bothering you. Doesn't say a whole lot, but it's often enough to ward folks off. ♦ He traces your facial features when he thinks you're asleep. Most of the time, you've secretly been awake, fighting the urge to smile when it starts to tickle. ♦ Cries when you do big things for him. Once, you surprised him with a birthday party, and the poor thing was so happy that he burst into tears. It took him ten minutes to blow out the candles because he just kept sniffling. ♦ He keeps buying matching pairs of socks to wear together. His heart can't handle the idea of matching outfits, but socks? Socks are fun for him. If he catches you wearing a pair of yours, then he'll go and find his to wear, too. ♦ He thinks everything you've ever done is amazing. You can be folding laundry, and he'll be mesmerized. Tries to tell you as much, but he can hardly get the words out his mouth. ♦ Makes you desserts all the time. He's recently figured out how to bake, and he just can't resist bringing you little sweet treats. ♦ Talks about you in his sleep. Most of the time, it doesn't make any sense, but then you'll catch little murmurings of how pretty he thinks you are and how much he loved this one thing you did for him.

✧˖° Harrison Knott

♦ Loves to hold your hand. On the days when it's too hot for that, he likes to link your fingers instead ♦ Does not play around when it comes to you taking medication. You're finishing that prescription whether you still have flu symptoms or not! ♦ You can't pay him back for anything. You may think that you've gotten away with putting that $10 bill in his wallet, but you have yet to realize that he's already taken it out and put it on top of your fridge. ♦ Massages the tension from your shoulders whenever he notices you're stressed out, then settles between your legs and fucks you nice and slow, just for extra measure. ♦ Ever since he found out that you couldn't get enough of his body, he's doubled down on his workout and diet routines. Fitness has never taken a huge priority for him, but he's in love with the feeling of your eyes raking up and down his body, hands greedily squeezing at his muscles. ♦ Picks you up and carries you around the house because "what's the point of working out if I can't carry you whenever I feel like it?" ♦ Bounces his leg when you're sitting in his lap. ♦ Makes you custom playlists for every occasion and gets so smiley when you make one for him, too. ♦ Tricks you into looking at something that isn't there, then kisses your nose when you turn to look back at him. ♦ He loves to take you down to the beach but hardly pays attention to the scenery because he's too busy paying attention to you instead. If you call him out on staring, he'll just nod his head and confirm that it's exactly what he's doing.

[artdcnaldson]

Wouldn't art hate the idea of sharing reader with charlie? Like the thought of him touching her at all makes him want to kill him and her all together? Also, does he resent patrick a little bit? feeling like it's somehow his fault that he can't actually be with her the way he knows he should?

KILL THEM? 😟😟😟 now let’s walk that back a lil

I think he isn’t Okay with it, but he finds ways to get small concessions. Fucking in your shared bed is one. Or making you tell him how good he makes you feel, how he’s better than your husband, how he’s bigger, he feels like he belongs inside of you. And anyways I think art deserves to suffer a little. Like he has to know someone is waking up to your pretty face in the mornings, and gets versions of you that he can’t have.

Idk there is something so yummy to me about the infidelity like it’s toooooo easy for you to leave your husband at the altar like. I need months and years of sneaking behind someone’s back and escaping a marriage that by all accounts should be blissful and happy because you still crave the sick sort of obsession you have with Art. A kid that might be his, a suspiciously close friendship so he stays over when Charlie is traveling or out on business. He gets to play house when Charlie’s gone.

Idk idk idk!! It’s yummy to me maybe im the only 1 who thinks it….

[jjksblackgf]

salty treat | jhs (m)

pairing — jung hoseok x reader summary — a boring date night at the movies always has a chance of getting more interesting. but Hoseok needs to keep it together before they get caught. genre — smut, pwp rate — 18+ word count — 1.5k warnings — explicit sexual content. oral sex (m receiving), masturbation (m receiving), exhibitionism.

“May the date of making fun of action movies commence,” you announced in a cheery tone. You could almost jump up and down in excitement. 

“Finally something appropriate to channel those judgy instincts of yours,” he smirked, and his smile grew bigger when your jaw dropped.

“Hardy har har.”

“What, you can dish it, but can’t take it? That’s healthy,” he joked, pressing you against his chest and kissing your temple.

“Whatever.”

“Man, that popcorn looks tasty,” Hoseok said, staring at the concession counter with an almost inappropriate gaze.

“Look at you, salivating like a Pavlov contestant,” you joked, but you could still see the excitement in his eyes through his annoyed face.

“Well, that was kind of mean,” Hoseok said. “What’s up with that?”

“Nothing, I just think you look really cute when I tease you,” you tried to appease him, kissing his cheek, and he softened ever so slightly. After all, he knew what he was getting into when he decided to make a partner out of his best friend.

“Whatever. I’m going for the popcorn.” He said. “Keep the teasing to yourself, please and thank you.”

You entered the concessions stand line hand in hand, and your teasingly short attention span found something else to focus on. Standing in line in front of you, there was a balding man wearing a feather earring and a worn down leather jacket. 

You turned to Hoseok with the let’s-gossip-about-this face he knew so well. He was, obviously, still dreaming about his popcorn bowl. You nudge him with your elbow and point to your subject.

“What sort of midlife crisis do you think is happening here?” you whispered, holding your laugh the best you can, but no answer from Hoseok. “Do you think he has a vintage Harley-Davidson?” you continue to try to pry on this poor man’s life, and Hoseok shushes you. 

Dumbfounded, you fidgeted from side to side, and tried to find another target for your commentary, looking around at the almost dead movie theater. But a caressing hand and a restricting arm held you in place.

“Hold tight, baby. Don’t get impatient on me now,” he whispered. Hoseok pulled you tight against his side, his hand firmly holding your hips in place and kissed your cheek.

“I’m not impatient,” you mumble, crossing your arms in defeat.

“If you say so…” he appeased. His lips were caressing your forehead, and the feel of his soft lips were sending chills down your spine. The scent of his perfume was engulfing you now, and you felt your knees weakened. 

You hugged him, close enough for the tip of your nose to travel through his slightly exposed clavicle. You had to, somehow, thank Biker Boy for the long order. Maybe leaving him alone would do.

Hoseok didn’t stop your tender caresses to his shoulder, so you saw it as an open invitation to kiss his neck, and then his jaw, reaching closer and closer to his lips. He stiffened.

“Behave,” Hoseok warned. Before you could entertain yourself — or tease him — any further, the line moved.

You thought you’d have the whole room to yourselves. After all, this was rated a horrible movie when it premiered almost a month ago. But there were, surprisingly, a complete total of 6 people seated.

Previews had already started, so you rushed to the seats in the back. You cozied up to Hoseok, and this time he welcomed it, throwing an arm around your shoulder. 

With your head once again on his shoulder, your hand makes a way to his inner thigh, caressing him there. The theater lights were turned off, and his perfume caressed you again. You’re so close from his neck that you can feel the texture of his skin with the tip of your nose. You inhaled deeply, and can’t control the hum that escaped your throat.

Hoseok giggles, breaking your concentration. “Do you want to leave?” He asked, turning his head to look at you.

“No. Why?”

“Because you clearly don’t want to see the movie. I know I’m a handsome man that you can’t take your hand off me, but the movie date was your idea.” he joked.

“Who said we can’t combine the two of them?” you whispered in his ear, moving your hand up his thigh, surprised he seemed as interested as you. “Well, aren’t we excited?” you whispered. 

You trailed small pecks around his earlobe, his jaw, going down the side of his neck. Your hands went back to his thigh, and you felt his bulge grow when you made sure to trail his sensitive spot with your tongue.

“This is getting out of control,” Hoseok started, frantic. “We’ll get caught.”

“No, we won’t. Not unless you get too in love with my tongue,” you joked, and he had to run his palm against his face.

“Isn’t it best if we just go back to watching the movie?”

“Anything you want, baby. But I do need to warn you,” you whispered seductively. “I’ll be thinking about your hard cock growing in my mouth through every second of this movie.”

Hoseok’s leg was bouncing up and down in nervousness, but he did lick his lips while looking at your hand still resting on his thigh. You were almost in. He sighed before scolding you. “You’re a sick, sick person.”

You smirked, pecking his lips. “Just relax, we’ll be fine.”

“Go quick,” he urged. 

He facilitates the unzipping of his pants, moving his popcorn bowl out of the way and scooching down on his seat, using the light of the screen so you can see better. You tried your best not to moan at the sight of his cock out in the open, Hoseok was already antsy enough.

But when the warmth of your tongue pressed against his length, he sighed a little too loudly, and you had to squeeze his thigh as a reminder of your impromptu rendezvous. He shoved popcorn into his mouth to cover the moans he was doing a poor job of hiding. 

He would have to try harder, though. You made the effort to coat his penis entirely, using tongue and cheeks to massage him. Hoseok was now biting his own hand, and before your gag reflex could flare up and ruin this moment, your head bobs back, leaving a trail of saliva behind. Nature’s lubricant.

You massaged him up and down with your hand, and your mouth and tongue followed suit behind. His hand rested atop your head, not guiding you, but not letting you leave either. He took the opportunity of loud explosion noises to moan.

“This is so fucking good,” he whimpered. The sounds of your muffled laugh got to him, and he hissed. You’d worry about getting blacklisted from the movie theater for life, but Hoseok got grabby with your neck, and you knew he would finish soon.

His breath caught in his throat when you cupped his testicles and caressed him with his thumb. You were definitely getting thrown out any second now, but Hoseok was showing all signs of being close.

“You cannot control yourself, can you?” you whispered, finishing the job with only your hand now. 

“And whose fault is it?” He retorts, placing the popcorn bowl in front of him, shielding the view of a couple of people who were turning around.

But that didn’t deter you. Your hand massaged him swiftly, using the pressure you knew he liked.

“I’m close,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. Your finger caressed his tip, and inhaling sharply, he came. On the popcorn bowl. You snickered, but before you could comment. You clocked the custodian far away. Hoseok ran his hand across his face, and you tried to unzip his pants back up as quickly and as smoothly as possible. Hoseok was finally calm enough to see the man walking towards the both of you, and threw his arm around your shoulder again.

“Hello sir, misses. We had complaints about disturbance coming from this area…”

“Oh, my. Really?” Hoseok said as he played innocent. “We didn’t hear anything, sir. I’m sorry that we can’t help you.” He continued, but you could see the custodian didn’t buy that entirely.

“That’s alright, enjoy the movie.” He excused himself, and you kept one eye on the movie and another on the custodian, noticing when he planted himself in front of the emergency exit with the broad view of your seats. 

Hoseok finally relaxed and took notice of his popcorn.

“Well, these are ruined now.”

“And whose fault is it?” you mocked.

“Yours,” he responded, quite annoyed, but pecked your lips.

“I dare you to take a bite of your popcorn with exotic seasoning,” you laughed, and Hoseok rolled his eyes.

“Stop it, or I’ll make you eat it,” he grumbled.

“I should’ve just let you cum in my mouth. Now you’ll be testy for the rest of the day.”

“Maybe next time,” he joked. “We’ll pick a horror movie, so people won’t be so shocked if I scream.”

[tsunael]

part. I -> II

“It’s beautiful here.”  She commented long after the flock of long-tailed tits she entertained had deemed his sudden presence unworthy, and fluttered off home. 

She spoke of the ripe peach of a Sharlayan sunset blazing before them. The Dawn Father being laid to rest, he recalled her once saying, in which she described a tale where He died every day just to let the moon breathe, or some such other romantic notions relating to Auri duality.

He replied, “Agreed.” Although the horizon was much too far when everything and more stood right in front of him. The dropping temperature was not what brought him to her side, for lately he found an uncomfortable need to be close, positively overwhelming in its insistence.

Tsuna turned away from the burning skyline in sensing that his attention had ever been elsewhere. To his surprise, she did not shy away from his sudden proximity. There was a certain delight that a tryst could bring, he knew all too well, and he could feel her basking in the moment in her own reserved way– soaking in the privacy afforded only to them. 

She leaned on the parapet. "I'm setting off to Thavnair on the morrow. I… wanted you to know.” Tsuna finally spoke, and he wished she hadn’t. 

He frowned at the notion. Her wounds were finally healed, yes, but her orders were still to avoid strenuous exertion. Her aether still remained thin-- much like the rest of her in the past few moons.

“So soon?" He bartered. "You’ve only just been given leave.”

“I cannot stay here any longer while my father is out there,” she sighed deeply, tired. “I need to find him. I need to know he’s alive– that he’s not suffering alone.”

Her father, the proud man he had the displeasure of meeting some time after their initial arrival on Hannish soil would have been truly terrifying in his youth for how their first meeting had been. He was withered now, and moreover wounded during the deluge of Blasphemies that descended upon Thavnair. His wounds could have been mortal before they were separated, although Thancred very much doubted a man so stubborn would succumb to something so base without a fight.

Naturally, he kept those acrid thoughts to himself.

Though her tone certainly had changed, for once she would have cursed her father’s name and all he held dear, and now she would risk life and limb to find him again– having no real blood ties of his own, Thancred almost understood it. Almost.

He reached out to gently tug at her arm, and she twisted to better look at him. “I would go with you.”

Her gaze fell beneath her lashes in challenge, though her barb was dull. “Do you not think I can handle it?”

His brow raised, bemused. “Fresh from your sickbed? Not at all.”

“Gods… Please, Thancred.” Tsuna made an exasperated sound. “I won’t suffer you travelling so far for my personal matters. It will be much easier if I go alone.”

He chuffed, incredulous. 

He had gone to the bloody moon for her, to the very ends of the universe and back– attending to her during what would be a quick jaunt to Illsabard paled in comparison, he reasoned. He had made enough trips to and fro that even the aether sickness had dwindled to that of a mild headache. There was nothing stopping him, save for her pride.

“It was my hope that when I said that I would follow you anywhere... that you would believe me.”

He watched in real time as she weighed his word’s worth. The tension slowly but surely released from her shoulders, which eventually led to her concession. He could not help but lose himself when she looked at him so: a gentle smile that bloomed until her eyes creased, twinkling in gratitude. 

"You are kind," she said with an edge of defeat. She drew closer, whispering for his ears only. "Much too kind."

She drew his wry smile. "And it will be the end of me someday, I am sure."

He played the role of lover well.

So well that the lines did so often blur, just as they did when he eased fully into her space, openly caging her against the parapet in hopes of capturing some manner of kiss. It was their worst kept secret: something he knew he must cull before it grew out of both their hands, but she reached up to splay fingers on his chest, and he felt himself pull on the leash of his own longing. He moved forward to meet her, aided by her tiptoes.

“Someone might see,” she chided softly against his cheek, yet she lingered. 

He hummed in consideration, ultimately finding the notion impossible. They hid it well– in plain sight one night say– though ‘love’ did well in dulling all sense and reason whilst sharpening others. He cared not to check his corners in his eagerness to chase the electric feel of her. She craned to meet him, her breath hitching in anticipation as their lips brushed, noses touching.

“Tsuna dear, I wondered where you had wandered off to after supper." A woman’s voice sounded that did not belong to one of theirs, and he felt the rare prickle of embarrassment trail up the back of his neck.

"... It seems I had no reason to worry.” Ameliance stood before them, looking completely and utterly amused at their expense.

In hindsight, considering he had picked her balcony as the stage for his ignominy it was to be expected. Still, he had thought himself grown out of such foolishness.

Tsuna immediately pushed herself into his chest, gasping in terror, then fell to pudding in his arms once terror gave way to the hot knife of shame. 

“Gods– I’m… We weren’t– Lady Ameliance, I–”

Ameliance sidestepped Tsuna’s blathering with grace. “Never did I imagine such an adorable pair of lovebirds would deem it fit to roost.” She looked beside herself with girlish amusement. 

Thancred huffed a self-deprecating laugh in extricating himself from the fretful girl. “We were caught up in a bit of bird watching ourselves,” he began, knowing he could not fully bluff his way to innocence. “Might I say, my lady, that you are looking positively radiant this evening–”

Tsuna shot him a glowering look of disgust for his act, though it was simply comical when her face was as red as the horizon. The humiliation, however, was too much for her to bear. With a respectful bow, Tsuna stole from the balcony, falling into a staggered run to where only the Gods knew. Thancred stepped forward, thinking to give chase, but Ameliance kept him rooted by way of her hand.

“Oh dear,” she tutted. “I suppose that’s my fault.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. No, the fault lies with me, my lady.”

It seemed, however, his words once again were chosen poorly. Ameliance made a sound of distaste “My dear boy. After all these years, how many times must I ask you to simply call me by my name?”

It was his turn to feel the patronized fool. He felt himself founder, jaw wagging in vain until he could think of a clever response. No matter how many times she called him family, he could not help but shy from it. He cleared his throat, and reeled himself back in…

“Aye. Of course. Ameliance,” he opened his arms in concession, though his shoulders sagged for it.

She finally burst into laughter, entirely of his chagrin. “That's better, much better! Though you still think you can simply sweet talk your way out of everything, I see.”

“Lost my touch, you think?” 

“To lose insinuates that you had it from the beginning.”

He winced. Touché. “Then I will speak plain: my sore lapse in judgement notwithstanding, I ask only for your confidence.”

“A secret, is it?” she asked, tapping the corner of her mouth in thought. Her expression suddenly wizened, and he knew it to be the precursor to something he did not wish to hear. Finally, she cocked her head. “I see. You’ve fallen for her.” 

His eyes widened at her assumption. “No. Gods no,” he forced a laugh. “Nothing of the sort.” His unsteady gaze fell instead to the darkening skyline. It was an infatuation-- just one of many.

He could feel her silent judgement, though he did not rise to refute it. Her expression changed slowly into one of concern. “I suppose I could give you my word… however– and you must excuse me for my eavesdropping– but what was all that nonsense about leaving?”

Thancred opened his mouth to apprise her, though he wished he were not the one to parrot it. Tsuna had run off before she could explain, and he only hoped she did not pack up and leave for the Aetheryte without him whilst he was trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place.

“Twelve preserve. You know she is not fully well.” He was gladdened when she reached the self-same conclusion. "See to it that you tend to her."

“I will. If she were to have me... And even if she won't." He was not above tailing her from the shadows if it meant her safe return.

Ameliance hummed, making a curious sound of appraisal whilst also looking fit to spill all sorts of secrets from his past and maybe even some of her own– and he sorely hoped it was the latter.

“You know, Thancred, dear. I believe that’s called love.”

[here4tripitaka]

Chapter 56: Tripitaka gets mugged; Tripitaka and Wukong have a blue

In this chapter, rather refreshingly, nobody wants to eat or have sex with Tripitaka. No. In this chapter, Tripitaka has the equally disastrous but rather more mundane experience of getting mugged.

Yep. Not realising who he is, some run-of-the-mill local bandits try to mug him, just like they would any other guy on the road. How’s that for equality?

It also goes to show how important it is to be in the know. If only they’d realised who he was, they could have eaten or sexed him and gained immortality. Clearly word doesn’t travel as fast on the human grapevine as the demonic grapevine. You’ve got to pay more attention to who’s been reincarnated recently, lads.

Anyway. I’m loving Bajie and Wukong’s dynamic in this chapter. They’re just two guys joking around, having fun and annoying each other for shits and giggles. Bajie is trying to hurry up Dragon Horse - who doesn’t care, and keeps plodding along at the same speed. Wukong rebukes Bajie, but then decides Bajie has a good point about hurrying up, and sends Dragon Horse sprinting. Owned, Bajie.

These hijinks lead to Tripitaka being galloped way up the road, all on his lonesome, where he is surrounded by bandits who want to mug him:

Pardon me. Not mug him. They are… self-appointed… tollway men:

They take payment in the form of clothes, horses and gold. And they don’t give concession rates to monks. Failure to pay may result in detention up a tree until one of your mates can come up with the money.

Now, what did I say about Tripitaka being better when Wukong isn’t around? There are no tears here: Tripitaka handles it like a pro. Sort of. He explains that, as a monk, he’s not exactly their best bet if they’re looking for sweet cash money. When they demand his clothes and horse instead, he just calmly explains that his robes aren’t worth stealing. He also implicitly threatens them that they’ll get a bad incarnation if they’re mean to him:

I love this little backgrounder about how the robes are made. It seems like the patchwork thing is a true story. Apparently, traditionally:

“Jiasha are made by piecing together sections of cloth donated from members of the community in a patchwork-style design. Unlike patchwork, the arrangement of panels is very specific, influenced by the Buddhist mandala motif, with a core center and flowing symmetry. The modest cut of the jiasha and pieced-together appearance references the rags worn by the Buddha during his ascetic period.”

Anyway, the muggers slash tollway men still aren’t impressed, so Tripitaka starts lying and pretending that Wukong will turn up any minute with the cash they want. That’s fine, but the narrator has a mega brain fade:

What? “Never lied in his life before”? Uh, remember two chapters ago, when Tripitaka was swearing to love and cherish the queen of Woman State til death do they part? Yeah. That little thing.

In any event, this is where Tripitaka begins crying. Well, fair enough. He did really try. The bandits tie him up and leave him dangling from a tree, where Wukong finds him.

I have to say, I love Wukong’s personality in this chapter, dubious as it may be. He’s so jovial:

I love him trolling the bandits, channelling pretend spirituality:

… before sweetly telling them that perhaps they should actually give him THEIR money:

And playing with the bandits - telling them they can have his staff if they can pick it up:

Ah, the iconic needle/staff in the ear:

But I’m interrupting myself:

Wukong is having a blast. Needless to say, he kills a few bandits. The rest flee.

Tripitaka proceeds to absolutely lose his marbles about Wukong committing homicide. And don’t get me wrong: it’s homicide. But Tripitaka manages to do it in a way that makes him come off as a jerk - which is quite something, when you’re protesting homicide.

When he discovers what’s happened, Tripitaka loses all spiritual composure. He starts acting like a road rager stuck in peak hour traffic, muttering low-grade verbal abuse:

Wukong isn’t even in earshot at this point. When he does get within earshot, Tripitaka continues:

Spite? That doesn’t sound very spiritual!

He attempts to give the bandits a proper burial, which seems nice at first. He gets Bajie to bury them, and tries to find incense and candles for the ritual - or substitutes, at least. But once he starts praying, it becomes clear what his real motives are. All he wants to do is suck up to the deceased, point the finger at Wukong, and make sure no ghosts come seeking retribution against him. It’s totally self-centred and fear-driven - not coming from a genuine place of caring for the deceased at all:

There is more to his prayer, and… it isn’t great, either. It’s just him telling the bandits that he, Tripitaka, tried to play nice (so it’s their own fault they got killed); that their deaths are Wukong’s fault (not his); and that he’s been very nice to them by doing this funeral ritual (ie he didn’t perform this funeral for selfless reasons: he did it so they will give him credit).

He could at least have wished them a positive reincarnation. Or something, anything, that was purely for their sake and not for his. Alas! Our young Tripitaka still has a way to go, spiritually.

Bajie sees through Tripitaka’s pseudo-spirituality, and teases him:

Wukong is less amused. He seems to find the ass-kissing funeral schtick ridiculous and kind of cowardly. Wukong isn’t afraid of any ghosts coming after him and makes this clear - perhaps more to make a point to Tripitaka than anything else:

Next, they find shelter at an old couple’s hut. The old man is nearly hysterical at the sight of the disciples, and won’t calm down. His wife is far more grounded, and gets him back on track.

I love how blunt people are about Bajie’s looks, and how indomitably cheerful Bajie’s response is:

They all have dinner, during which they find out that the old couple’s son is one of the bandits. Wukong offers to kill the son (huh?!), but the old man prefers him to stay alive, so he’ll have someone to dig his grave one day. The disciples gently remind Wukong that it’s none of his business.

Let’s cut to the middle of the night, where the bandits gatecrash the old couple’s house and decide to kill Tripitaka & co in their sleep. The old man tips them off.

I want to pause here to observe how bizarrely calm and composed the old man is. This is a guy who became hysterically scared just looking at the disciples’ faces. Now he’s in a tense and unexpected emergency situation, trying to sneak one group of guests out of the house, lest his other guests murder them. Yet he acts like it’s nothing. Is this not the first time that his bandit son has tried to murder a houseguest? Tripitaka is shaken by the news, but the old man sneaks them out and falls back asleep without a second thought:

Of course, the bandits give chase, and Wukong kills many. He goes out of his way to identify and behead the son of the old man - then show off the head to Tripitaka. 

Why Wukong would do this, I have no idea. Is this meant to indicate something about Confucianism? Or is it just Wukong’s usual love of homicide? I feel like I might be missing some cultural context.

Tripitaka falls off his horse in fright, yells at Wukong and, as soon as he’s able to stand again, breaks out the band-tightening spell on him. This, to me, is where Tripitaka crosses the line. It’s like he’s performing the Cruciatus Curse:

More than ten times? It's awful.

Now, just a heads up. I was VERY upset that Tripitaka did this, and I wrote a lot about it. But I realise we all have different perspectives. So if you don’t feel like reading a giant essay about why I felt this was so bad, here is a pretty picture of a traditional jiasha for you, and let’s pick up again next week.

Alright, brave reader. Here’s my reaction to Tripitaka’s torture spree.

I’m not saying that it’s inherently wrong to punish somebody for homicide with something along these lines. It would be a very different story if Trikitapa had taken time out, reflected on the whole thing, and soberly decided that it was necessary to do this as a punishment. But it just seems like he’s lost his temper and lashed out.

I think I’m more annoyed with Tripitaka than Wukong, because Wukong has never pretended to be anything other than a fighter and killer. Tripitaka acts like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and preaches compassion. Wukong didn’t want to become Buddhist and has only done it under duress. Tripitaka may not have chosen to become Buddhist originally, but he seems to have embraced it pretty enthusiastically. Wukong’s job is to keep Tripitaka alive on the road, so Tripitaka can get to the west - and Wukong is well and truly doing that job, even if Tripitaka doesn’t like the way that he’s doing it.

It’s easy to criticise others and backseat drive. Tripitaka is expecting Wukong to be both a consummate fighter and spiritually precise. Maybe, for Wukong to be the fearless fighter that he is, he needs a certain level of callousness. Wukong goes into situations that nobody else will - again and again. Who says it’s so easy for him to be proportionate when he’s fighting? It’s not always possible to be in two different gears at once. Tripitaka is all too ready to criticise and demand, without ever having walked a mile in Wukong’s shoes.

And Tripitaka seems to expect more of Wukong than Tripitaka expects of himself. Tripitaka hasn’t even tried to learn self-defence. He has not tried to become more well-rounded. Yet he tortures Wukong because, in his eyes, Wukong is not perfect enough or sufficiently well-rounded. I think Tripitaka should have to try to learn the 72 forms himself before he gets to even THINK about using torture on Wukong.

I never expected to find myself defending a killer - even a fictional magic monkey killer. Let me be very clear, I condemn homicide completely. I’m just saying, I think Tripitaka is a prick to use torture here. It was different when he used the band-tightening spell to try to prevent Wukong from killing somebody. That’s fair enough. But using it to lash out is inexcusable.

And it’s totally hypocritical. Tripitaka claims that he’s trying to teach Wukong compassion. It’s like he’s saying, “So help me God, I’ll beat you until you’re more compassionate.” How is that meant to work?

It disturbs me on the level of allegory, too. Like, if Wukong represents the mind-heart, what is this saying? That the mind-heart has to be dominated through force and brutality? Really?

After the band-tightening spell, Wukong begs Tripitaka to use his words, and Tripitaka obliges - saying he doesn’t want Tripitaka as his disciple.

Horrifyingly, Wukong kowtows to the guy who just went full Voldemort on him. I’m gonna say that kowtowing to someone who just tortured you seems like an excess of filial piety. But at least Wukong isn’t getting violent with Tripitaka like Tripitaka just got violent with him.

He begs for an explanation. This is pretty staggering. As wrong as it is for Tripitaka to use the band-tightening spell like this, it should be obvious to Wukong why he’s angry. Wukong clearly hasn’t listened to a word Tripitaka said, and he is a massive jerk for that.

Tripitaka explains (unsurprisingly) that it’s due to all the unnecessary killing, and tells him to get going before he uses the band-tightening spell again. Wukong vanishes.

Oof. Well, that was all very unpleasant. But I certainly want to see how this turns out next week.

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

---

Image credits: The usual spiel. The images above are either AI, or random pictures from the web that I’ve modified, or a Frankenstein of both. They are not original. The AI image generation is by Stable Diffusion. The pre-existing images should turn up with reverse googling, but feel free to ask and I’ll dig up sources.

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 6/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

                There’s a fucking bell being rung and he squints, reaching for his phone. Of all the information that was piled on to him last night and no one warned him about this. A 5am wake-up call. What the fuck. He knows he doesn’t have anything he needs to be awake for until much closer to eight, a far more humane time to be awake after the travel day yesterday. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, pulling the pillow over his head in an effort to drown out any potential future sounds or alarms.

                Of course it’s no use. He’s wide awake twenty minutes later unable to get back to sleep and decides to just get up, take a walk around and get the proverbial lay of the land, review what aspects and areas he’s in charge of. Meet with anyone who might also have the misfortune of being awake this early. He gets dressed, and he’s brought with him his oldest clothes, knowing time on a ranch wasn’t going to do his wardrobe any favors. He enters the mess hall and it’s quieter than the previous evening, far fewer people but there’s the smell of coffee and baking biscuits and his mouth waters. Aunty Kaye is nowhere to be seen, but the kitchen is clearly a hive of activity without her presence anyway.

                A few people watch him, and they’re probably awake because they’re getting ready to go out and work. Work on a ranch that is, not a movie set. He glances around and then ambles over.

                “Mind if I sit?”

                “Be our guest,” one of them says, and they shuffle over. Glancing around Bradley is pretty sure he’s the only one awake who isn’t a ranch worker. Clearly a type of hazing, and fucking Natasha and Bob and Rueben were in on it. Fuckers.

                “Hi, I’m Bradley, the lead stunt coordinator.”

                That gets a few interested looks, and he gets everyone’s names around the table and he’s going to struggle to remember them all, but he’s pretty sure he’ll get most of them. He’s always been good with names. Then one man, older than the rest is reaching his hand across the table.

                “Andy. I’m the foreman. You got any questions about the ranch you can come direct to me.”

                “Thank you sir, that’s good to know.”

                He’s not normally a person that calls people sir and ma’am but it’s just slipping out of him, a natural response to the apparent Southern hospitality he’s being shown. Mav and Ice would be proud. Andy’s lips twitch in amusement and he wonders if his Californian accent sounds odd or amusing to them.

                “I’ve met with Selina a few times now, she tells me you like to walk the perimeter of the set…”

                Bradley snorts and shakes his head.

                “When it’s practical. I think I’d get lost if I tried that here.”

                Andy snorts with amusement, clearly agreeing with his self-assessment.

                “Well, you’d be right. Also you can’t do the boundary in a day. We usually send out a couple of teams. You’d need to stay a couple of nights outdoors if you were wanting to ride the whole boundary…”

                Bradley blows out a breath, making a conceding and impressed gesture, shrugging his shoulders a little in concession. He knew before coming that he wouldn’t be able to do his usual routine, has already reviewed aerial photos and maps. It’s not drivable either, they’d do it all on horseback. He’s got the outline of where they will be filming and he knows he can walk and ride that, become familiar with that and leave the rest of the ranch to the professionals.

                “You want me to show you around the wider area?” Andy asks, standing as the others move, clearing dishes and heading out.

                “I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

                “It’s fine, we’ve got plenty of help at the moment.”

                “Okay then, that’d be great.”

                He follows Andy and the rest of the crew out to the stables, watches as they all go through their morning routine and prepare for their day ahead. Andy is giving out jobs, discussing things with different teams and Bradley knows it’s a large ranch, is bordered by farms in most directions, but from the sounds of it they’re friendly with all the neighbors.

                “Saddle up,” Andy instructs, pointing toward a stall.

                “Sure thing.”

                Okay. He wasn’t expecting that exactly but he’s not as out of practice as he would have been a couple of months ago. Inside the stall is a bay mare, sturdy looking and Bradley nods, giving her a quick brush down before saddling her and adjusting the stirrups. He strokes a gentle hand over her nose as he swaps the halter for a bridle, and she’s clearly used to working, simply noses at his hand like she’s looking for a treat and he murmurs about bringing her one later.

                They mount their respective horses and he follows Andy’s lead, heading out to a large building a bit away and he can’t see as much as he would like to in the pre-dawn light, but Andy seems sure and Bradley can do nothing but trust him.

                “From what I understand, most of the scenes are going to be filmed in either the practice rodeo arena, the outdoor pen or potentially the track along the stream to the pond out back,” Andy says, his voice clear. The surrounding land isn’t quiet, not with all the animals waking, along with the temporary trailers and people stirring and starting their day, but it’s still hushed, nowhere near the hustling sounds of a city. He follows Andy into a building, staying on horseback and it’s a massive indoor rodeo arena.

                “Is it normal for a ranch to have an indoor practice rodeo arena like this?” Bradley asks and Andy raises an eyebrow at him, like he thinks Bradley is simple-minded.

                “No son, this is special to Hazy Days.”

                “Oh, okay than,” Bradley says, because that doesn’t answer his question. The building isn’t new, but it’s also not old either, maybe between five and ten years, and they’re probably going to film the competition scene in here. He knows the camera crew and set designers can be creative with making one space look completely different from one scene to the next. If it had been new then he’d have maybe thought it was built specifically for the movie, but apparently not. They keep riding and Andy is pointing out the pond and grove of trees.

                “That there’s Bill and Kaye’s place, where all their family live. Bill’s family have been here for a long time,” Andy says, pointing toward a house with a large wrap-around porch, a decent distance away but the sunrise is reflecting against the glass of the windows. And Kaye’s proprietary attitude last night makes a little more sense, that this is her home and they’re all guests, yeah, it’s kind of nice to be treated that way instead of a necessary nuisance.

                He feels better having ridden around, gotten the literal lay of the land and he thanks Andy, leaves him to his days’ work and goes off to find the others and give them shit for not warning him about the bell. They are, unsurprisingly, unapologetic, although Bob hands him a pair of high-grade ear plugs which he takes with gratitude.

                He bumps into Aunty Kaye again later and it confirms his earlier thoughts, she seems genuinely happy to have everyone bustling around, the smile never dropping from her face and she just seems like the mothering type, double checking they’ve drunk enough water and wearing hats and sunscreen when they go out in the sun. She asks if he enjoyed his wakeup call and he huffs a laugh, realizing that it’s clearly a hazing ritual of sorts, a harmless one and he says he enjoyed the pre-dawn ride with Andy which makes her laugh.

                He sits with Selina and goes over the health and safety, not only of the set in general but the risks associated with each stunt. It’s not an action movie, but there’s always risks when working with horses and some of the scenes will require competent people on horseback to carry out the rodeo practice scenes.

                The first few days slip by, and he rides every day, working with Machado and Bassett, watches as Rueben and Natasha learn to walk like them, ride like them. Natasha has dyed and cut her hair. Every day he ignores his screaming muscles at the out-of-practice movements, but on day four he wakes up not in complete agony. Stretches out comfortably and when he gets to the stable there is a different man working with the horses and he acknowledges him with a nod of his head, which he takes as a clear indication to come over and talk.

                “I’m Bill. It’s nice to meet you.”

                There’s something familiar about Bill’s eyes, but he can’t quite place it.

                “Oh, Aunty Kaye’s husband?” Bradley hazards and the other man nods.

                “Yes. And you can call me Bill,” he says, clearly used to his wife’s familiarity with everyone on set and Bradley hadn’t meant to refer to her as Aunty Kaye.

                “That’s fine sir,” Bradley says, huffing with amusement.

                “Now, Andy said you were decent on a horse.”

                “I know how not to fall off, sir,” Bradley demurs, because he’s better than he was a week ago, but he’s still out of practice and he doesn’t need to talk up his skills. He’s not going to be as good as the people who make their living on the back of a horse, but he doesn’t need to be.

                “Well, if you can tell one end from the other then we’re off to a good start. Now Kaye wanted me to give these to you special, seeing as she can’t make it over today. Grandkids are visiting.”

                He takes the proffered container and inside are cheese biscuits, still warm and he doesn’t know if he gets particular personalized attention, but she always seems to take the time to come over and check in on him, occasionally pressing a piece of baked good into his hand, or some fruit before leaving him to continue working. This is going above and beyond though.

                “She doesn’t seem to think you eat enough, but she thinks that of most everyone. Says we need to keep you sweet because you keep everyone safe.”

                “Uh, that’s really Selina’s job. I just look after the stunt work.”

                “I learnt a long time ago to not bother trying to tell her what way the wind was blowing.”

                “Okay. Point taken. Please pass on my thanks.”

                Bill tips his hat and disappears back outside and Bradley goes to start his day, biscuits in hand.

SEVEN

[devsgames]

Dragon's Dogma Primer + Tips

I've been spending tons of time with Dragon's Dogma 2. I loved the first game and was shocked they chose to make a sequel. Legitimately Dragon's Dogma is like, the only franchise that actually has the power to make me genuinely enjoy video games again like when I was a kid.

I also noticed that a lot of people new to the franchise have picked it up this time around and are bumping their heads against it, which is great! Now I'll actually have people to talk to about Dragon's Dogma :')

I wanted to write a little primer and 'beginners tips' to help people learn how to approach the series. Here's some pointers:

Dragon's Dogma gets a lot of comparisons to Dark Souls. I wouldn't say it's because it's a hard game, but it does expect you to approach it on its own terms and won't make many concessions to you if you try to fight it.

DD is a management game masquerading as an open-world RPG. What it expects of you is to move slowly and take your time. It wants you to plan your journey, anticipate challenges, pace yourself, and prepare accordingly. You'll find much less friction if you keep this in mind.

'Fast Travel' as a concept is hard to come by in DD, and you will find yourself walking most places. The ability to instantly teleport yourself anywhere is limited to Ferrystones and Portcrystals, which are both in very limited supply. DD2 has Oxcarts from major settlements, but these are also imperfect by-design as they are time-dependent and prone to attacks, which may leave you stranded. Remember: DD is by and large about preparation and long journeys. Try shortening your routes by exploring for shortcuts, or treating every trip like an opportunity to explore a new area on the way.

DD LOVES rare and consumable items. Some of the best and most useful items in the game are often unique and can only be used once or in a limited capacity. This helps make the items feel more exclusive, while also encouraging you to be doubly sure of your intention before using them. If an item seems like it could be rare, it probably is.

Explore everywhere. In my opinion, DD's level design is unmatched in terms of open-world games. There are things hidden absolutely everywhere in every nook and cranny. If you comb every location you will constantly find new things, and it goes out of its way to ensure exploration is rewarded. I don't think any video game does open world exploration quite as good as DD does.

The quest design is cryptic (and often questionable) and likes to challenge you. The game will say 'find [x] item' and not tell you where it is. Sometimes pawn knowledge may help, but expect to find it through exploring the world and digging around hidden corners. While some quests let you know where to go, don't always expect it.

Some side quests are gated by story progression and will become locked off when advancing the story. Make sure you finish all your side quests before advancing the story!

Don't jump in and accept every quest you see, as some quests are timed and some quests require a lot of preparation. For example, in DD1 escort quests involved escorting someone across the whole world. Read a quest carefully and know the terms before accepting it.

Timed quests are a thing, and usually act as a way to keep you on your toes and force you to prove your ability to adapt to changing circumstances. Expect to receive timed quests at any given moment, and adapt accordingly. They can be stressful.

New Game + is a major part of the game in the DD franchise. Things will happen in the game that will block you out of content. You will fail quests, make choices that block future content, consume items you didn't mean to, etc. NG+ is where you get to experience these all again, so don't worry too much if you weren't able to do it the first time around.

Per above, I personally avoid Googling stuff about the game or quests before doing them. Usually there are things you are going to miss, and reading about them sometimes feels worse than just discovering them later does!

There are two types of saves: "Hard" saves which occur when sleeping at an inn, and "Soft" saves done manually or via auto-save. Sometimes it's prudent to rest at an Inn before attempting major quest beats in case something goes awry.

DD loves consequences for your actions, and while every NPC in the game can be killed it is rarely ever worth it. In DD1, killing an NPC means they're gone forever, which can lock you out of new quests or progression and rewards related to that character. In DD2 there are resources costs to resurrect someone, which mitigates it slightly but still makes it not worth it.

'Forgeries' are a very cool mechanic that allow you to pay an NPC to make a copy of an item. The copy usually just looks identical, but this often allows you to keep quest items for yourself and turn in the forgery to a quest NPC. As with anything else, sometimes this may have future consequences!

Without spoiling anything: DD loves to radically change the open world. Watch out!

The Vocation system is worth exploring. For a cheap fee you can try out every class and find what works best for you, so if you start as a Fighter and hate being a Fighter you're never locked into it.

Levelling a vocation allows you to unlock passive abilities called 'augments' that can carry over between classes, and can help build your favourite vocation further.

Some Vocations have mobility skills (Levitate and Double-Vault). If you like exploring everywhere these are absolutely essential because they let you reach places some classes cannot.

Combining materials makes new items. Experiment to find new recipes.

In DD1 combining items often makes them heavier. In DD2 combining items often makes them lighter.

Every character in the game has an 'affinity' towards you, that changes with how you treat them. This has implications.

Anyway I'm just glad people are finally playing and talking about the franchise. Hope you have fun! :)

[paperclip-skz]

Daily Affirmations

Reader x Jisung

*WARNING*

contains fingering, teasing, self-doubt, praising (kind of), let me know if I missed anything!

WC: 1.5k

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

You're standing in front of your floor-length mirror. You just bought a new dress, and you're trying it on while your boyfriend is away. It was a fancy summer dress that you’ve been eyeing for a while and it finally went on sale yesterday. You didn’t tell your boyfriend, because you wanted to make it a surprise, but now, as you're standing in front of the mirror, seeing the delicate fabric cling to your curves, you're second-guessing yourself.  

Even though your boyfriend practically worships the ground you walk on and the air you breathe, there are still times you get self-concessions about your body. About how your thighs are a little bigger than most girls, your arms and shoulders a bit wider than you'd like, and of course you would do anything to slim down your already small tummy. You can’t lie, the dress does accentuate your other curves too. You notice how good your ass looks and how your breasts are almost spilling from the neckline. 

You're still turning in the empty room, eyeing the mirror, too lost in your head to notice the door opening. 

Jisung stops in his tracks, holding a breath of surprise. You swing your body to see Jisung, his eyes are popping out of his head and his mouth hangs so low it could hit the floor. 

“I don’t know if I like it. '' You twirl around one more time letting the light blue fabric shimmer in the afternoon light. The dress is a bit small on your hips, it clings to your body, the neckline cuts straight across your chest with little detailed ruffles. Flowers travel from the waist of the dress all the way down, and princess sleeves tie off the dress at the top. 

Jisung looks at you in awe, love and adoration shimmer in his eyes. “Bubs, you look beautiful” he decides to reply. 

“You can’t say anything you're biased” you turn back around to look at yourself in the mirror. Holding your waist in an attempt to hide yourself.

With a small chuckle from his lips he stalks over to you, pressing his front to your back. You lean into him basking in the feeling of his hands snaking around your waist, covering your hands. The self doubt consumes you, even with the love screaming in Jisung's eyes. 

“Y/N I wish you could see how beautiful you are '' Jisung starts kissing your collarbone leading up to snuggling his nose into your neck. He leaves sloppy kisses in his wake. Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in his touch and the way he knows exactly how to touch you. His free hand comes around to move the fallen hair to the side letting it fall to one side of your shoulder. You moan when he nips at your neck, immediately swiping his tongue over the bruised spot. The hand that had moved your hair now sneaks its way down the side of your body, taking note of the soft texture of the dress. 

“Jsues Y/N, your fucking amazing” Jisung looks like hes a man starved, and your his last meal. 

“Ji '' you moan slightly as his hand rakes up the skirt of the dress revealing your matching silk panties. 

Jisung takes a moment to stop his assault on your neck and stares at you through the mirror. “Look at you, look how you glow” 

You wouldn’t be anywhere in the world besides this moment, but still the doubts creep into your mind, not letting you forget your insecurities. You shut your eyes, not wanting to look at yourself in the mirror. “No baby, you gotta open them for me” he paints a kiss on your neck, begging you to open your pretty eyes. “See how beautiful you are, how beautiful you are in my touch” another sloppy kiss, this time along your jawline. “Please beautiful” the nickname he has for you is what gets your eyes to slowly open, then you truly see the state you're in. 

Jisung’s hand is now fiddling with the waistband of your panties. One of his hands has made their way to kneed your breast while his face is still nuzzled in the crook of your neck. His hands are the only thing keeping your shaky legs stable from his teasing. You're a shaky, blushing, and moaning mess, and usually you would also be embarrassed at Jisung's affection, but right now all you can do is moan his name to urge him to keep going. “Please Ji '' You half whisper half beg. 

Jisung takes that as enough of a plea to slide his fingers past your panties and glide over your folds. Only passing your clit ever so slightly. Another silent moan escaping your lips. The teasing is too much for you to take, his fingers combined with his sloppy kisses leaving red marks you sure would be seen tomorrow. You need something, anything, “Ji, please” you whine, turning your head to meet his. 

“Words beautiful” that damn nickname again, it sends your heading spinning. His eyes glitter with lust and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. You’ve never seen a more attractive man in your life. 

You and Jisung have been together a fair amount of time, enough to trust each other with your sexual desires. There have been times where he knows exactly how to touch you, slowly and accurately making sure to worship every part of your body, and then there are times where the desires in him are too strong and begin to take over. Those are the times you love, when he loses control over you letting all of his guards down just so he can have him inside you. 

But this wasn't one of those times or a time where he took his time either. this was something different, he wanted to make sure not a single insecurity burened your mind, to fuck you into oblivion enough to not even think of another insecurity, and he also wanted you screaming his name while he held you still, looking at your body shake underneath him. 

“Ji '' you moan one more time as he grazes your clit one more time. “I need you, please”

“I know what you want beautiful" he chuckles because you practically turn to jello at his touch. His eyes shine with fire, you’ve known him long enough that those eyes mean he has an idea. “I want you to repeat after me, can you do that beautiful?” His finger starts to focus solely on your clit, the pressure becoming unbearable. All you want right now is something inside you, you don’t care if it's his finger, his cock, or even his damn tongue, you could beg for anything right now. The built up anticipation enough to kill you.

“Mhm” you nod your head, leaning your forehead against Jisungs. “Look at yourself in the mirror for me” you comply immediately, “ready?” he asks, even though you’ve both had sex so many times before your permission is still so important to him. You nod your head, and you suck in a breath as he slides one finger inside you, the gathered wetness from your core enough for him to easily slide in. 

“I’m beautiful” he stares at you in the mirror, an eyebrow raised.

It's at this moment that you remember his previous request. You breathe one more time “I’m beautiful” you repeat. He starts slowly pumping in and out of you. Taking his time as you clench around his finger. 

The words that leave your lips are enough to make tears prick at your eyes. The fact that Jisung cares so much about how you view yourself is enough to make you cum again and again, knowing that he loves you and your body, not just one or the other. 

“I’m sexy” his stare becomes hungry and your breath begins to weigh a thousand pounds.

“I’m sexy” you breathe out, keeping immense eye contact with Jisung. 

“I am strong”.

“I am strong” your mimics become shaky, as each affirmation he pumps faster trying to drive his index finger in deeper. 

His thumb stretches out to circle your clit as he forces his finger in, out, in ,out. 

“I’m loved” 

“I’m loved” you cry out, the pressure and tenderness too much to handle. Your release has you shaking in Jisung's arms and breathing heavy breaths. Jisung catches you in his arms as you almost stumble forward out of them. He picks you up bridal style just to carry you to the bed. 

Jisung disappears for a moment to grab a warm washcloth to clean up your folds. When you're all cleaned up he leans onto the bed next to you, cuddling you in a warm embrace. As you lay softly on the bed you snuggle up close to him, feeling the familiar sensation of tears staging your eyes. His previous actions play on repeat in your mind, the way he was so gentle, the way he knew exactly what to do and what to say warms your heart with more love than you could ever imagine. 

Jisung cups your cheek, kissing away the single tear that escapes. 

“I love you” is all you can respond with, knowing that no other words could express the feeling you have right now.

“I love you more” Jisung kisses your nose, and with that, you both fall into a deep sleep in each other's arms.

[fisherrprince]

“Ch’ari. What are you doing.”

The aetheric silhouette that is the Warrior of Light freezes in the middle of hobbling across the hallway. “I am… getting… a drink?” He says. 

“Oh?” Y’shtola raises an eyebrow. 

His aether flickers. The shape inches forward slowly, as if she were a dinosaur and couldn’t see him if he moved really slow. “I am… getting a very specific drink. From… Othard.”

“Are you now.” 

“…You are getting me a very specific drink from Othard?” Ch’ari tries. 

Y’shtola reaches behind her for her staff, and Ch’ari turns and scuttles as fast as his body will take him back into his room where he’s supposed to be. 

-

Alisaie scowls. “I am bored.”

“No kidding,” Ch’ari whines. “When are we allowed to leave?!”

“I am allowed to leave tomorrow. You will be staying here until you have resolved not to be a fool and throw your life away for a victory lap,” Alisaie snaps, and then her expression turns down. “Or at least until you can walk again.”

“Seems hypocritical to me. They’re letting you out early.”

“I’m almost healed!”

“By the loosest definition.”

“It wasn’t even a wound, Ari.”

“Hm.”

“Look—“ Alisaie says, pride in being Not Bedridden stoked by his dismissals, and pushes her way out of her bed at Dawn’s Respite to march over to Ch’ari’s bed, indignant. And still, notably, a bit shaky, after concentrated lightning magic left her too hurt to stand. Ch’ari still thinks they’re all stupid, every Scion, right back at them, for not tending to their own injuries well enough to heal themselves before pouring almost the entire Ragnarok’s worth of aether into him. Stupid, dumb, idiots. They’d already saved the universe at that point. We don’t need eight incapacitated scions when we could have had just the one. 

“You look like a baby amaro,” Ch’ari says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Like a newborn foal. Damnation, looks like you’ll have to stay here and keep me company.”

Alisaie flicks him — gently, even though he’s not even got a head wound. “Ari. I promise we’re not going anywhere. And you know if you asked him to, Alphinaud would stay with you for days reading fantasy novels or textbooks at you for entertainment.”

His ears droop. “I know. But he needs to sleep.”

“And so do you.”

“And so do I,” Ch’ari grumbles in concession. “I am just not used to not moving. I want to kill something.”

Alisaie coughs out a startled laugh, and Ch’ari grins. “Gods, as do I, but we have our orders! Two weeks. No travel, no fights.”

“Sneak a coblin in here when you get out of this joint and I’ll pay for your sweets for a month.”

“Not a chance.”

-

“Not that I doubt your s-sSS-killed hands, Krile, I would never. But do bandages need changing thisoften?”

“In this specific case, yes,” Krile says, clearly not willing to entertain him while he chatters distractingly. “Might I remind you you were falling apart before we got to you with healing magics, and therefore you will be suffering the consequences for as long as a normal wound takes to heal naturally.”

“Peachy,” Ch’ari groans. He should have been better at avoiding that dumb voidsent Zenos summoned, but it always hid right out of his line of sight until it pounced. Clearly, a cheater, even if its master wouldn’t do a thing like that. Nah, he’d challenge him head-on, evening the playing ground until it was just strength against strength, no tricks, no unfair advantage. Pure, untouched adrenaline, bloodlust, the hunger for feeling alive. 

… Ch’ari will not miss him. But he will think of their encounters as long as it takes him to find something like it, if he ever does. Which is exactly what the prince wanted, drat. He should have taken Zenos to the Gold Saucer. Maybe he’d get really into chocobo racing instead of death matches. 

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp tug in his ribs. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Krile says, already casting a light soothing glow over the sticky mess there. Ch’ari buries his head further into the pillow with a groan. 

The door creaks. “My, someone sounds grumpy they’re being tended to,” comes a voice, and Tataru trots in with a small box in her hands. Ch’ari’s ears perk up. 

“Am not grumpy, I’m injured. What’s that?”

“Medicine,” Tataru says bluntly, and then gets a sly grin. “And a handful of pastry fish, fresh from the oven.”

“Tataru you’re my favorite. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite? You are. Hands down,” Ch’ari says, already sniffing the air to catch the smell, his tail whacking the edge of the bed. “I don’t even care that it’s bribery to get me to drink that foul tincture, I love you.”

Tataru laughs, bright and open, and even Krile huffs a bit in amusement. 

-

Alphinaud is asleep when he wanders into the main rooms, and Ch’ari considers dropping something onto the table to wake him up, but decides against it. He’s not all that sure how mana works — or mana overexertion, or… well, Lyse called it a chakra, but Ari isn’t a monk, and he’s not sure what straining or breaking one of them entails. He just knows the kid needs to sleep a bunch to get his aether back, and Ari shouldn’t be startling him so bad he breaks something again. If that’s how that works. He’d rather not risk it. 

Instead, he wanders over to Estinien, who is brooding in his Dragoon Corner. Also seemingly asleep until one eye cracks open, trained on his approach. 

“Dragoon,” Ch’ari says.

“…Cat,” Estinien replies in greeting. Ari snorts, the joke he made about having nine lives clearly amusing or at least annoying the Elezen to this day. 

“Guarding your nest, are we? I didn’t think we’d see you stick around this long.”

Estinien grunts. “Aye. Under normal circumstances I’d rather be off by now. But as long as…” he frowns. It’s always difficult for him to differentiate between draconic instincts and his own, and then subsequently translate them into human words, something he and Ch’ari have only spoken of briefly when Nidhogg’s lingering presence wanted to clash with what was left of Hraesvelgr in Ch’ari’s body. Simultaneously feral and overtly made of higher thought, the presence of the dragon is as long-lived as the beasts themselves. “As long as my ward is in need of protection, I will stay,” he settles on. And then his expression squishes, pained. “And… the pink one threatened me if I were to leave without a clean bill of health.”

Ch’ari laughs, then covers his mouth quickly to muffle it. “Ah, the jailer. No escaping that.” 

“Indeed.”

-

“Raha, you need any help with anything?”

G’raha looks up from his books, surprised. The Warrior is standing over his shoulder, swath in bandages and a simple shirt and slacks, his tail swishing. “Do I need any help with anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no, I don’t think so… resigned to being monitored as we are, I have no new tasks which require my attention, and so…”

“Let me rephrase,” Ch’ari interrupts. “Please do you need help with anything.”

G’raha blinks. And then splits into a smile, ears giving a quick one-two wiggle. “My friend, I am quite sure we can find something to do. Something very calm and stressless, but something nonetheless. What is your opinion on magic circles?”

[mrfancyfoot]

Plots & Prosody: Prompts

Raphael x Evie (f!OC)

.

- A Gift of Heart-

"To a devil, gifting the heart of your enemy (for free, no less!) is practically a confession of love.

Evie contemplates getting a spray bottle to spritz her murderous cat of a devil friend."

Happy Halloween! This prompt is slightly thematic for the holiday (in a, uh, horror kind of way - sort of. More along the lines of Addams Family kind of "horror"). 😈

Did not quite succeed in getting both prompts out for October, but I should have my Kinktober prompt out very soon (and unlike this one, I have spent far more time on it than two sleep deprived nights). :)

.

Rating: M / NSFW-ish

Word Count: ~1.2k

Timeline: Plots & Prosody, Part II - Canon

Tags: POV Evie; She/Her Pronouns; Raphael Referenced; Housemate Astarion; (Dark) Humor; ...Fluff?; Dark Romance; Evie is a Bit Socially/Romantically Naive; Some Mutual Pining; Devil Courtship; The Devil is Smitten; Raphael probably off strutting around like a tom cat so proud of himself

Warnings: Gore (Dismembered Body Parts...As Gifts); Referenced Murder; Implied Eating of one such part (Astarion); Evie has found herself a surprising degree of okay with most of this

Main Fic (Rated E/Varied): AO3 + Tumblr | Master List (contains related prompts)

[Quick Context: After being isekai'd by the nautiloid, Evie spends most of Plots & Prosody Part I (Game Events) “befriending the devil,” yet denying him her soul.  Once things settle after game events, Evie goes about her new life kick-starting her business and re-inventing modern-day things. She remains oblivious to Raphael's attempts at courting her and chalks many of his more questionable behaviors up to cultural differences.]

Part of my devil courtship series.

❤️ Thanks for reading! :3 ❤️

Being friends with a devil was very akin to being friends with a particularly mischievous, deadly cat.  A cat that sometimes left little unsettling gifts in the middle of her dining room table to show its fondness.

It was mid-morning when she woke and readied enough to drag herself downstairs for breakfast.  The glint of shiny, gaudy wrapping paper had been quick to catch her eye.  The ribboned cube was about the size of a hat box and she recognised who it was from upon sight for Raphael had a set of preferences and this was far from being the first.  Crimson paper, gold ribbon, occasionally switched up when he was feeling extra pretentious with gold paper and crimson ribbon or with a navy accent.

As his cherished, self-appointed best, and only, friend - though he was certainly putting effort into getting her to agree to the forever ‘forever’ part - the word that came to mind for this behavior was ‘lavish.’  Raphael had begun to lavish her with gifts.

Exotic spices, rare books, furs with magical properties, trinkets from his travels, fine clothing, expensive jewelry.

Which wasn’t at all what she had expected several months ago.  Her goal with ‘befriending the devil’ had started out as purely self-preservation as a means to stay on his good side if he was as adamant about getting her soul as he claimed.  Perhaps they’d occasionally have tea and trade book recommendations, catch a play at the theatre...  Actually succeeding was not something she had foreseen.

But though she insisted that he didn’t have to gift her anything, let alone such finery, he insisted that he did.  His friend had a place of high honor in his life that deserved it.  And to show that he could - protecting and spoiling her these ways was another display of his power and status.

Those were the innocuous gifts, at least comparatively - she wasn’t sure she wanted to know where they all may have come from.  The gifted body parts were…less so.

A behavior that she was still parsing.  Being friends with a powerful devil meant having to make some concessions and strive to understand their culture.

She supposed it was how he showed he cared.

At least he wasn’t yet leaving her half dead things to tell her that her own skills needed honing.

Evie thumbed the bow of the pretty, sleek ribbon and slipped the tiny card out from under it.  The back was signed with a simple, scripted initial R.  It carried his distinctive, warm scent that she took in fondly.

He never wanted there to be any question as to who the gifts came from.

“Ooo, another present, I see.  Isn’t that the second this tenday?”  Having come from his own room, Astarion sidled up beside her and gleefully peered over her shoulder.  “Now, what do you suppose is hidden within this one?  More jewelry to match?  A nice set of ears?  Oh, I know!  A stunning pair of earrings still attached to the lobes.  Do hurry up, I’m dying of anticipation!”  He giggled to himself.  Earlier this week was an enchanted bracelet.  Not attached to anything.

His question was somewhat rhetorical given his heightened sense of smell, so he would at least know if it was ‘organic’ or not.

“Hmm.”  She lifted the box and gave it a gentle shake.  “It has an odd weight.  Bit more oomph to it than I would have thought.  So…I’mma say some unlucky soul has been relinquished of…something.”

Guessing the contents had become somewhat of a game between them.  

Evie pulled at the ribbon and flipped the top off the box.

She leaned over the box and squinted, her head tilting.

A heart.

Lovingly nestled within tissue paper splattered with still-wet blood.

Astarion bent closer and she heard him inhale deeply.  “Oh, my.  A bit engorged but it does look delicious, darling.”  He stepped aside and scanned her, asking, “Did something happen?  I cannot wait to find out which poor sap crossed you the wrong way to deserve this.”  As though he didn’t also contemplate the same thing.  There was once a time that he bemoaned Raphael ‘beating’ him to dealing with certain problems.  It was a cute little rivalry between her bloodthirsty gremlins.

She would like to say that it bothered her, but trying to keep her workers safe was such an immense burden with how troubled and unsafe the Gate was, especially at night and especially in the Lower City.  Thugs, sharks, drunkards…dandy nobles able to bribe guards and magistrates to get their way.  She could fend for herself, but many of her women and younger employees couldn’t.  With her hired security only able to do so much above water if the proper authorities refused to act, it was little skin off her nose for the lowest of scum to find their way to the Hells.

“No, nothing comes to mind for this one.”  She sighed, a wry smile pulling at her lips.  “You can have it if you don’t drool on me, Asta.  Please put it on ice if you don’t plan to do anything with it right now, though.”

He snagged the box with an eager, ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ and walked off, disappearing down the hall.

She’d have to dispose of it anyhow so having a vampire housemate made that easy.

Hopefully the authorities wouldn’t come pounding on their door after finding a body - if there even was one - but she feared if Raphael kept threatening and picking off her enemies and those who had done her wrong, someone out there was bound to make the connection back to her as a common denominator.

A drunken fishmonger had mysteriously lost some fingers after inappropriately grabbing her and finding himself thrown into the bay.

A set of eyeballs from a disgustingly lustful trio of gangsters thinking they’d cornered her in an alley near her warehouse.  She had dealt with them, as well, but apparently Raphael felt more needed to be done.

The tongue of who had once been her daily catcaller on her way to work.

Occasionally, Raphael felt the need to posture and share the origins of such offerings, though often it was a few days or even weeks until they learned who the bits came from.

Raphael had once shared the deplorable things a visiting noble had said of her to him while at a gala.  Decorative beads had been made from his bones and Raphael was having them sewn into a dress for her to wear to an upcoming event in the Hells.

He, of course, would never dirty his own hands within the Material Plane, but he had plenty of agents and those in his debt to carry out his orders.

As this one had not been handed to her, it was more likely that they’d be hearing of the potential cause and prior owner at some point from the news or street gossip mill.

As amusing as it was to imagine spraying the devil with water in the same way one would attempt to alter the behaviors of a cat, she doubted it would be so simple.  But, thinking like a devil, maybe she would have more luck getting him to cease the morbid gifts from the angle of conveying that she felt insulted by the assumption that she could not or was not handling these things properly herself.

Her stomach rumbled and she decided to think on it more after breakfast. She palmed the tiny gift card and made her way to the kitchen.

[greypetrel]

thank you for answering, here is my reaction request, feel free to deny it if it's something you don't feel like doing:

Dragon Age 2, between Acts 1 and 2. Mage!Hawke, Fenris, Varric, Aveline + whoever else you would like to include. FenHawke being the main focus:

Hawke faints while walking around Kirkwall, surprising everyone, eventually they find out Hawke has been starving themselves to make sure their family has enough to eat… I headcannon that magic and spellcasting consume a lot of the bodies natural resources, so mages need to consume more calories, hence why they like bread and cheese so much

Hello!

Sorry if I’m late, it took me a little thinking and I am generally a little intimidated from writing Fenhawke, as much as I love to read it. It feels like so much has been told already, but I eventually took the courage. Thank you for pushing me towards something I wouldn’t have done on my own, I hope you’ll like it!

I interpreted it as “how each would react seeing Hawke faint” and went with it. For Fenris, it’s a little ficlet. I had my fenrismancer Hawke in mind, but I tried not to make it too specifical for him. I only allowed myself one little concession, which is some terrible humour (and a reference to pop culture, let’s pretend in Kirkwall they know Backstreet Boys as a travelling band of dancing minstrels). Adding Sebastian too even if he's not recruited yet. It felt bad to leave only him out, and I think it'll be sweet to have him around. everything under the cut, because with no one's surprise, IT LONG.

Varric: “Hawke? Shit, Hawke! Don’t do this to me, you’re too heavy for me to bring you back.”

He will bring you back on his own if he has to. You’ll wake up in a room at the Hanged Man, with Varric and Anders in the room. Anders will sigh and bid you good morning, and comment that you have been lucky in not bumping your head against something. You just need to eat, and plenty. Before going, he will tease Varric about acting like a mother cat defending her kitten. Once alone, Varric will sigh and tiredly scold you: You only should have told him that you had trouble with food. Didn’t you trust him for help, already? After Bartrand, you’re a little like family, and he’ll love to help at least you. No, he’s not at all offering you a room and plenty of food because he may or may not have made you the main character of a thing he’s writing. Pointless slander.

Aveline: “Hawke? Hawke, wake up!”

She didn’t move you, in case you bumped your head too strong. She called a guard passing by to bring Anders here, you’re waiting for them to be back. She’ll ask you how you’re feeling, you fell down like a wet shirt and she got worried. You’re also looking pale, and she told you that you were overdoing it and she doesn’t want you to be sick and- Her rant gets interrupted by Anders. He heals you, checks that your skull isn’t in fact broken, does a check up. He frowns and tell you that you really need to eat. Aveline’s worry only grows: You’re not eating? Why? How? Why didn’t you ask for help? Of all the shenanigans and reckless things, she wasn’t expecting this. She grumbles, helping you stand and forcibly bringing you to the first inn in sight. On her: she never really thanked you for helping her out of Fereldan and into the city, this seems a good chance as any. And oh, the Guard Captain will know that people in Lowtown have no food. He’ll know it.

Anders: “What- Hawke!”

You’ll wake up with him glaring daggers at you, complaining that you’re an idiot, and you thought you could hide it with him? Oh no. He knows of being hungry, and you really only had to ask him. He’ll produce from his pocket a linen cloth with some homemade snack in it. It’s a bar made with cereals and honey and dried nuts: the wife of a patient gave some to him this morning, he’s happy he was late to meet you and he forgot the one he wanted to eat for breakfast in his pocket. He’s fine, he ate yesterday and you didn’t. He’ll urge you to eat: it’ll give you enough strength to make it home. He'll tell you that you can’t help anyone if you starve yourself: and that if you need help, you have friends to ask for. You can ask him, after all: you showed him your friendship more than once already, and he’d be glad to give something back.

Isabela: “Hey! It’s too soon for swooning!”

She managed to drag you into a shady corner, out of the way. She’s sitting beside you with a dagger out, to make sure no one gets any ideas. She’ll ask you if you made sweet dreams, and tease you that she’s beautiful, but you could at least contain yourself and avoid swooning. It was really embarrassing on your part and look, she was forced to show a conscience and that was very rude of you. She’ll tease you while fussing over you, and a joke after the other, it’ll turn out that you’re just hungry and not eat it. You can tell her, or your stomach will grumble. Her smile will turn sad, but she’ll cast everything off with a joke. That’s just it? You’re hungry? Why didn’t you say sooner! She knows just the place: the dirtiest hole in the Docks, it’s not the Hanged Man but it can hold its own. More interestingly, the innkeeper owes her a favour, and it’s surely lunchtime, somewhere. She could eat and she will: you can come with her if you’d like. She won’t make you feel bad one minute, and accepting her help will only seem like your own decision, not as pity.

Merrill: “Hawke? Hawke! Oh Mythal, no no no!”

You wake up with a balsamic smell in your nostrils: focusing, it’s Merrill’s hand, crushing some dried leaves with her fingers. Your feet are up on a wooden crate, and she rolled her scarf under your head as a makeshift pillow. She smiles when she sees you’re awake, and lowers her hand to start trafficking with her pouches. She tells you that she got worried, and didn’t know what to do. Thankfully you were close to the stalls she buys her fruit from, and she asked the kind lady that owns it for help to move you to the side. She also gave her the crate, you know that when you faint is very important to keep your feet up? So the blood can rush to your brain again, you need that more than your feet. Not to say that you won’t need your feet anymore! She fumbles with words, and soon enough you’re both laughing. She keeps smiling, and tells you that when people fainted, in the clan, the Keeper always said that some sugar was just what was needed. She picks some dried fruit from a pouch, and urges you to eat it: it’ll make you feel better right away, she’s sure. She dried the plums herself, and always carries them and some roasted nuts with her, as a snack. You can have it, come on. She gave you a full handful -your handful of it, but if you make her notice, not thanking her right away, she’ll casually shrug and say she can’t never tell with humans, you’re all so bigger than elves. Her pouch is already secured at her belt.

She’ll wait for you to eat and be ready to stand up again, chatting all the way about her clan, and what she did when someone was sick. She pushes on good food and plenty of rest, very casually. Once you’re ok, she’ll insist to stand by your side, and accompany you somewhere. She’ll suggest the Hanged Man -it’s close!- or Anders’ clinic, but will walk you home if you insist. Anywhere you go, you’ll be discreetely served food without an explanation. It’s not lunchtime, but people are eating with you. If you go home, the next morning there’ll be a basket full of groceries and food. No note, nothing at all: but a small pouch filled with more dried plums.

Sebastian: “Sweet Andraste, Hawke!”

You wake up in a shady corner, this time under the covering of a stall. He knew the stall-owner, they met in the Cathedral and prayed together. He sells cheese, here, you can have some, lad, it will make you feel better. Sebastian isn’t doting on you, properly, but he is helpful. He asks you if you’re feeling well, and if he can help. Please let him help, it’s the least he can do to repay you from your kindness. Pointing out to him that he doesn’t have to do it, you didn’t help him to have anything in return will make him sigh, heavily. It’s with the utmost seriousness and sincerity that he’ll answer, promising you that he’ll help you nonetheless. Not only because the Maker wants him to, but because your differences don’t matter much. He won’t leave any companion he spent time with in need. He may not be sure of what he wants to do in life, but he’s very sure that he wants to help you and show you some kindness. As you have shown him. Can he offer you something? Can he help? Your choice in accepting it or not: he won’t recognize what’s going on, but whether you want to be brought at home, to Anders or anywhere else, you have him by your side. He’ll stop by your house the next day to check you’re all right. The moment he’ll know you haven’t been eating? It’s not stealing from the Church if the food was meant to be shared with those in need.

Fixing a Hole (🎶)

[ FenHawke || No warning || 2389 words ]

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong, I'm right Where I belong, I'm right Where I belong See the people standing there who disagree and never win And wonder why they don't get in my door - Fixing a Hole, The Beatles

The world blurred first, and then it quickly became black.

“Hawke?”

It was the last thing Garrett heard, noticing with exhilaration what was happening. A last moment of clarity when he felt his limbs losing strengths and saw the world shifting. Fenris’ voice sounded alarmed, which only contributed to the excitement of the moment. Thankfully, everything went black and he lost conscience before he could blush.

He dreamt of the farm.

A sunset in early summer: the air was still warm from the long day, and the sun painted the wheat field in firey oranges and golds. Everything looked gold, and Garrett smiled at the sweet memory. He could smell the fields, the earth baked by the sun, and he knew that if he turned, he would have met with Bethany, leaning out of the windowsill and calling him for dinner. He longed to turn and see her, and at the same time knew he shouldn’t. It was still too painful, at least in his dreams, to see his little sister there, smiling. If only…

You can have it.

Someone whispered, voice brought by the wind. Garrett closed his eyes, away from the sunset, away from childhood and happiness. He had been happy, then: he didn’t fully realize until everything was lost. But it was not the first time he dreamt of home. A home where they thrived, a home where they had been happy, a home where he didn’t let Bethany die, and Carver hadn’t hopefully been killed by the Wardens he left him with. A home where he could look at his mother in the eyes without feeling blame and guilt creeping up his throat.

It wasn’t the first time and he knew what to do.

Take a deep breath, concentrate on how your chest rises and falls, on the sensation of air filling your lung. Stay in the moment, in the present, the past is gone and the future an illusion. The dirt under your feet, the smell of summer in the air, the warm caress of the last sunrays: they are gone, you can’t have it, they don’t exist anymore. They burnt and you couldn’t have done nothing to prevent it.

He concentrated on the good things he had: he was alive, his mother was alive, things were looking up and soon enough he would have sold everything and had the money to get a home for real. He had some friends, some real ones that knew he was a mage and he didn’t need to hide from. He loved them, and they loved him back. They wouldn’t want for him to stay there, lose himself in dreams. Kirkwall was nice, from the bazaar in Hightown the sunsets were pretty. Prettier, when he was there, leaning on the balcony and chatting with-

“You can have this. You can have me.”

He startled, his eyes opened as he felt a hand closing on his own. At his side, there was Fenris, looking at him with his usual serious expression. Something melted in his eyes, tho: something soft took place of the constant challenge he saw in them, the suspicion and mistrust. His heart did a double leap as he saw his lips curve up in a smile.

“You just need to say yes,love. And we can stay here. Forever. Far from Templars, far from Magisters. Far from guilt. It will be just as you want, and I will never leave your side.”

For the first time in years, Garrett felt tempted. He didn’t realize he had it so bad for the elf: he was good company, reliable in battle, and he liked him, sure. Physically, and his humour. He also knew it was impossible, between him being a mage and the other’s past. And now… He realized that yes. That was what he wanted. Something impossible in real life, and…

… Something was wrong.

The way Fenris turned, the way his lips opened in a wide smile, showing teeth, and he leaned so minutely towards him, still holding his hand.

“What about Danarius?” Garrett forced himself to ask.

“What about him? He doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you want to get your freedom? End the chapter?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I have you, I’m happy like that.”

Garrett closed his eyes, the illusion clear as day in front of him. He held his hand, lingering on what never could have been for a moment still. It had been nice, until it lasted.

“He would never say that.” He opened his eyes and smiled at the demon. “And I would never say yes to him. Not in this way.”

He explained. Kindly, because it was just the way it was. Getting angry wouldn’t have brought him anyway.

The face of Fenris rippled and twisted in a snarl, the details got blurred.

I know your one desire.

“Oh well, as the wise man said.” He sighed, letting that hand go. It had started to grow talons and pinch uncomfortably against his own, anyway. “Ain’t nothing but a heartache.”

He quietly sang, stepping back and snapping his fingers.

Magic, at least, always came easier in dreams. He watched, as flames engulfed the demon, Fenris’ shape twisting and morphing, showing horns until he blinked, skin turning purple, teeth growing sharp. A piercing shriek filled the air, and soon enough everything was on fire. The wheat in the field, the old oak tree at the end of the courtyard, the chicken coop, the well and the farm, Bethany still on the window, frozen in place.

Would you set your own home on fire? The demon shrieked, in a last attempt at swaying him.

Garrett smiled, genuinely sorry for ruining the demon’s day like so. It was its nature, after all, and a part of him was grateful for the small glimpse of clarity it gifted him. It was easier to fight, if you knew your limits and what you wished.

“I already did.”

His eyes opened, and he looked blearily at… Wooden planks that looked old and like they were just about to crumble to dust.

Not the sky framed by Lowtown sandy buildings.

Weird.

“You’re awake.”

Garrett turned, blinking bleariness away. He didn’t recognize the place, but he recognized that voice.

Fenris was sitting on a stool, leaning his back against a wall whose paint was so scrapy and dirty that it could only mean that they were at the Hanged Man. For a moment, Garrett thought it was yet another dream. But the elf was typically grumpy, and frowned at him with an expression that was all too familiar.

“Am I?” He asked, still dubious.

“Hawke.” Fenris rolled his eyes, already exasperated.

It only made Hawke grin, calming down as he realized that it wasn’t, maybe, a dream. Only one way of knowing it. He just needed to wait for the right occasion for it.

“Where are we?” He asked instead.

“The Hanged Man. You fainted on the street, we were close.”

“You brought me all the way up here? I’m flattered.”

“So little you think of me, to believe I would have left you in the middle of a street?”

Hawke turned to his side, to face him better. His head still spinned something nasty, and he knew that standing up would not have done him any good. He saw one too many patients in Anders’ clinic to know that he would have had to be dragged up to bed again. It wasn’t a particularly appealing option. Or well, it was, but the context was wrong, and as many things he would have joked about, that wasn’t one. So, he just settled down better, and looked at Fenris in front of him, turning serious.

“I do not. But thank you anyway.”

“For what?”

“For staying.”

He saw the other scoffing, averting his eyes to the side and shrugging it off with a remark on how irresponsible it would have been, after a whole year of looking up for one another in battle. It brought a smile on Garrett’s face.

“How are you feeling?” Fenris asked, after a while.

“I’ll be good, I just need to lie down a bit.”

“Hawke.”

“I swear! I’ll take a nap and be as good as new. Nothing happened.”

“Hawke.”

“What’s the worse it can happen? Maybe I’ll die, so what. Everybody dies, sooner or later, is just another part of life. Never understood why people are so scared about it… I’ll be one Mage less, at least.”

“Hawke.”

There, the chance. He didn’t think about why that “Hawke” sounded different. It was all typical, but…

“Do me a favour.” He asked him, sighing as he rolled back heavily on his back. “When I die, cremate me.”

“Are you-”

“It’ll be my last chance to have a smokin’ hot body, after all.”

He arched his back, stretching just for show. The low, exasperated groan that followed was part a victory, part a relief. It wasn’t the Fade after all. In the Fade, all the demons laughed at his jokes, they were a great appreciative public.

“If you’re jesting, it means you’re feeling better.”

Hawke turned, grinning from one ear to the other as the elf, in a clear complaint, kicked back the stool and rose up. He saw the faintest trace of a smile on his face, and it was then impossible to pretend he was sorry.

“Leaving me so soon? All by myself? What if I die.”

“I’ll risk having you on my conscience.”

He reached the door and opened it, placing half a step on the threshold. He hesitated then, eyes lost fixating on something in front of him and brows furrowed in thoughts. Hawke stayed there, not that there was much choice but that.

“I am not so cruel as to leave you in such a state.” He said, finally, as if each word burned in his throat. He turned towards Hawke, still a crease between his brows that wasn’t totally obscured by a silver lock of hair. “I know we have… Our differences, but the next time, please tell me.”

Hawke frowned at that.

“Tell you what?”

He couldn’t know, could he? He would expect Anders to notice, or Merrill. People with experience in treating others. Surely not the broody warrior. As much as he tried to flirt with him, suddenly the idea of being so much in the open, so vulnerable and raw, scared him. He swallowed, not daring lowering his eyes first.

“Just tell me, Hawke.”

He didn’t say another word: just nodded to the side, casting him a look that was all too eloquent, and on another person, another less broody and aloof person could almost have been taken for worry, went out the room, without a word more or waiting for an answer.

Hawke turned on his back and groaned aloud, covering his face with both hands. Of all the people he could faint in front of, it just had to be Fenris. His typical luck. The one he shily wanted to impress, and the one that he didn’t really feel like he could complain about his situation without sounding whiny about it.

He wondered how he was gonna pay for the room.

He wondered, a little later, how was he gonna pay for the full meal that was brought inside the room. Steaming soup, a whole roast with vegetables, drowned in gravy on the small table before he could protest. Peas and potatoes with a thick slice of ham. Two pints of beer.

Hawke almost fell ashamed, but it was a fleeting moment. Fenris shrugged, as he took a big gulp from the tank and scrunched his nose in disgust, glaring at the offending beverage. It broke the tension, and soon enough they both were eating and drinking, friendly arguing about whether beer or wine was better. Hawke laughing and Fenris smiling.

“Fenris?” Hawke asked, in the end when conversation has naturally ended and he felt better, both physically than emotionally.

“Yes?”

“I do not think you’re cruel.” A pause. “I never did.”

An eyebrow rose in his direction, skeptical, as the only answer he got.

“You just have shitty opinions about us mages, but cruel? Nah.”

He huffed, shrugging it off, and rose again, changing the topic abruptly and informing him it was time for him to go. And that the room had been taken care of and not to worry about it. He could stay until the next morning. A pang of guilt and shame rose back in Hawke’s throat, but he nodded, without complaining.

“The next time you feel like I need to change my mind, please find better ways to prove it.” The elf told him, helping him out the bed when Hawke insisted to at least rise up to bid him goodbye. With his belly finally full after days, he felt strong enough for it.

“Were you worried?” Hawke meant it as a mock, but it slipped out of his lips without a bite. It sounded all too hopeful for his tastes and he would have bonked his head against the wall.

“Yes.” Fenris just replied, seriously enough.

“Ah.” He averted his eyes, embarrassed. “Well, I’m sorry and… Thank you, I mean, for helping me. You didn’t have to.”

There was silence, for a full minute, heavy and tense. Or maybe it was Hawke reading too much into it, as the topic fell dangerously close to feelings and crushes he knew were totally one-sided and would never have been reciprocated.

“I am of the understanding, that helping is one of the basic requirements of friends.” Fenris finally spoke. “It would be pointless to be so lucky as to have some, without accepting help in return.”

He patted, quickly, his shoulder, and nodded a goodbye, leaving him for the night. Hawke, smiling again, stepped out of the door, watching his back as he strode down the corridor.

“Fenris?”

“Yes?” He stopped and turned.

“Is the mysterious benefactor that paid for this Varric, or is it you?”

Fenris bent one corner of his mouth.

“I promised not to tell. But I’d order the lobster for breakfast.”

Garrett Hawke hated Kirkwall. He missed the countryside, the wheat fields and the pumpkin patch, fresh vegetables and a clean stream. Today, tho, he hated it a little less, and let hope bloom in his chest.

[brown-little-robin]

story time!

What Happened to Dimple

In late summer, Ritsu got very ill. He couldn't keep any food down and he was too weak to walk. Their limited food supplies were running out in the middle of nowhere, and Dimple was the only functional person in the group. Ritsu was out of it, and obviously Mob, a zombie with no goals except "eat whatever is in front of me" and "hang around with little brother", was little help on the finding-new-food front.

So Dimple had to find some way to keep Ritsu alive.

Before starvation set in, Dimple decided to intervene. It played out okay at first. He tied Ritsu to a tree (tied ropes around his torso, knotted them behind the tree trunk so Ritsu couldn't reach) and took Shigeo with him to go acquire some food from whoever passed by on the road they're traveling on first.

(he took Shigeo because he couldn't leave him with no able-bodied guardian—better to be safe than sorry, especially because. y'know. they're on the edge of starvation, and Shigeo is a zombie. but obviously Ritsu, dehydrated and dizzy, interpreted this as "Dimple Might Be Finally Stealing My Brother" despite Dimple trying to explain.)

(Ritsu didn't really protest, though. he was too weak to do much and also he didn't want to get eaten. he just let it happen. he hoped Dimple would come back. he hoped he was just being paranoid.)

the first food source they ran into, unfortunately, was a group of humans traveling with a cart. Dimple didn't really have qualms about stealing, but he tried asking peacefully first, using his "power over the zombie" (e.g. he convinced Shigeo to take a few steps back and Shigeo obliges him) to demonstrate that they could be a major threat. (he was bluffing, of course. Shigeo wasn't being "held back" by Dimple, he's just vibing.) and he was given food! food and water and even toilet paper and a blanket!

so then Dimple returned to their camp with Mob and the supplies, but the people they stole from were a trap—a convoy that deliberately draws people in so they can gauge parties' strength before stealing from them in return. Dimple and the Kageyama brothers got attacked by one (1) guy with a gun, because that's about all the firepower the convoy thought they needed to risk on this little group.

Dimple could've just given up the supplies and tried again. But the thing was, Ritsu didn't really have enough strength in him for that.

If Ritsu didn't get food and water and rest here, he really might have died. Also, they'd have to give up their ammo, which was what they were planning to trade for food in the next settlement they come to.

Dimple looked around. He looked at Shigeo, a half-baked plan to get Shigeo to Do Something forming, and saw him kneeling by Ritsu, eyes half-lidded, looking unresponsive. but Dimple knew Shigeo's body language by then, and he saw how his shoulders were subtly hunched over toward Ritsu, and instantly Dimple knew that the kid's patience had run out. going away from Ritsu with Dimple had been a big concession and now Shigeo was done.

So. Dimple took the supplies and lured the guy with the gun a little way away from the boys, and then he just straight-up attacked the guy. not with a gun, because he was forced to leave the guns in the camp with Ritsu.

Dimple dropped the supplies and made a move. He got shot, and it was Loud. but it just grazed his shoulder, so he managed to drag the guy away from the supplies. Dimple's goal was to prevent the boys from seeing any more death, and he succeeded.

Ritsu, meanwhile, heard that gunshot.

He'd been sleeping most of the time Dimple was away. He was a little more alert by the time Dimple got back, although still physically wiped. He heard that gunshot and froze. And then, doing rapid calculations and realizing that he was danger if Dimple was dead, he started fighting the ropes. He had to get away he had to get Shigeo away he had to RUN.

He fought the ropes silently at first, and then, slowly, his brain progressed from the logical "if Dimple is dead we're in trouble because that man knows our location" to "Dimple is dead, Dimple is dead". he started making a horrible cry as he tried to get free. He wasn't crying, exactly, didn't let himself relax that much, he was just making this kind of frustrated, despairing wail sound.

Shigeo had been watching Ritsu thrash and wriggle in increasing certainty that something was happening, but he didn't know if it was good or bad. The sound, though, the sound was bad. So he tried to help.

He helped by just pulling on the ropes, first, which broke Ritsu's ribs.

but he stopped when Ritsu made a pain sound and, for one of the first times Ritsu has seen him do this as a zombie, did something related to tool use. he went to the supplies and brought Ritsu a knife.

so the Kageyama brothers survived! yay!