#like let's say i slogged through them slowly

[britneyshakespeare]

let me tell you. i have read 21 out of 38 of the extant canonical plays of william shakespeare. the first one to make me close the book and think "well i wish that had been better" was henry v.

[al-the-remix]

Six Sentence Saturday (or something like that)

Starting on my second bucktommy fic 😌 This was inspired by a post I'm pretty sure @unfuckablebogtroll made a few months ago that I can't find anymore, but the gist is that Tommy buys his house during the 2007/8 financial crash, refinances during covid, and has been saving since then to be able to renovate it himself. In this fic Buck's obviously going to volunteer to help Tommy out ( with his previous construction experience and all) and slowly insinuate himself into Tommy's home without either of them fully realizing it...at first. Buck learns Tommy as he learns more about his house: starting the inside and working outwards. Meanwhile Tommy learns how to let people help him and that Buck's really in it for the long haul ✨

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Looking over his shoulder, Tommy raises a brow. He’s elbow-deep in Evan’s kitchen sink, warm, sudsy water tickling his skin as he finishes the last of the dinner dishes. Evan made a chicken parm that had Tommy contemplating the existence of God and carefully planning the head he’d be giving his boyfriend later. As long as Tommy had known him–which was admittedly not very long–Evan has been a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. More likely to barrel through any awkwardness than couch his questions in some kind of lead up. “Of course you can, you know that.”

Evan takes the plate Tommy offers him in hand, drying it and setting it aside, his expression just hesitant enough to give Tommy pause. 

“Why do we always hang out at my place?”

The question startles a laugh from him. That…wasn’t what Tommy had been expecting. “We don’t, sometimes we go on dates.” Tommy allows his face to settle, faux serious and gently teasing. “Are you claiming I’m not romancing you enough Buckley, because I take that accusation very seriously.”

It gets him the reaction he was hoping for: Evan rolls his eyes like he’s aiming to hit 20 Klicks into the stratosphere and keep climbing. He can hear Evan's common refrain in his head, only coworkers call me Buckley, and I don’t even want to contemplate explaining what we’ve been up to to HR.

 “Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I meant. You don’t think it’s a little weird that it’s been two months and I haven’t made it past your garage?”

Tommy’s brain goes straight to the gutter, but Evan’s arms are crossed over his chest in what Tommy has come to learn is a tell-tale sign of him feeling a little insecure.

Tommy tucks away the innocent expression he’d been pulling and sighs, yanking the plug and reaching for the discarded towel to wipe his hands clean. “I mean, it’s a shorter drive for me to come here from Harbour than make you slog it all the way out to mine. I was just trying to make things easier on you.”

Evan holds up his hands like he’s trying to brace both himself and Tommy for his next question. “Okay, let me be more direct. Do you still live with your mom?”

That one shocks, a genuine, full belly laugh from him. The concern on Evan’s face is beginning to grow, and Tommy waves him off. 

“No, it’s nothing like that. My place is just…a little unfinished at the moment, is all.”

Evan’s apartment was so put together it had honestly taken Tommy aback the first time he’d gotten a good look at it He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it hadn’t been anything this nice, clean, or stylish, and the next opportunity he’d had to linger and poke around…with fewer distractions…he had quickly reevaluated the person he’d assumed Evan to be based on first impressions alone.

It had been his first in a long chain of lessons he’d learnt to never underestimate Evan Buckley. It had also made him feel slightly…lacking.

“Okay,” Evan says slowly, he’s using that tone of voice that usually means he already has a succession of twenty questions in the barrel and was just barely holding back from pulling the trigger.  “Unfinished, how?”

Tommy scratches at the side of his nose before he can stop himself. A nervous tick. “Well, I bought it with the intention of renovating it myself--my first job was working for a contractor–but I, uh, kept getting a little side tracked.”

Evan shrugs. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You haven’t seen it yet…” Tommy warns.

Evan’s smile slides sideways. “Yeah, and don’t you think it’s a little unfair that Eddie’s seen your place and your boyfriend hasn't?”

He feels silly, but Tommy can’t stop the way his stomach goes hot and squirmy every time Evan says it. Boyfriend–like it’s a pearl cupped lovingly on the bed of his tongue. 

It’s Tommy’s turn to roll his eyes. He reaches out, covering Evan’s damp hand with his own and offering him a direct, hot-eyed look. “I’m not trying to impress Eddie.”

His words have their intended effect, Evan grins and ducks his head, cheeks going pleasantly red. 

Evan laces their fingers together. “I don’t care how rough it is around the edges, I want to see every part of you,” he says, devastatingly sincere. 

Every time Tommy thinks he’s gotten an upper hand on his feelings, Evan throws him for a loop. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Evan’s grin spreads across his face like soft butter on toast. “You got it.”

[enhastolemyheart]

BROKEN — P. SH

pairing sunghoon x reader

genre angst, unrequited love (?)

synopsis who knew that you would be too late when it came to confessing to your childhood crush?

warnings crying, overthinking, proofread but lmk if any mistakes

word count 1.2k

networks @k-films @/hyfenet

note HI! I'm back with a fic!! I wanted to write something out real quick and was feeling like angsty saur this is the result!! Hope you guys like it :)

Why can’t I just say how I feel? Why can't I just let Sunghoon know?

It shouldn’t be hard. It should be natural. The most natural thing on earth. Everyone does it, right? Everyone’s always done it. It’s nothing. Just one small step. A few words. A few taps of a keyboard, even.

I reach for my phone. I’m gonna do it. I could call you, or… no. I’ll text. It’s less stressful that way, for me and for you. It lets us make sure we say precisely what we mean. Less chance for misunderstandings.

I open up my messages and scroll to your name. It’s not hard to find. I could pick your face out of a crowd anywhere. Opening the conversation, I start to type.

Hey Sunghoon, I was just wondering, would you maybe-

No.

That’s not good. It’s too weak. Too apprehensive. You’d smell the fear through the screen. I need to project confidence. I try again.

Hey, do you want to go to dinner with me sometime?

I ponder this for a while, eventually shaking my head. It’s too abrupt and unclear. You might not realise that I mean as a date. You might think I’m talking about a casual platonic meetup. That’s not a mistake I want to make. I want you to know what I’m asking. I want to know what your answer means. Sighing, I glance around my room, searching for inspiration. It’s a waste of time. Hundreds of books and movies, yet not a single one can give me the answers I need. In desperation, I turn to the world’s most treacherous source of advice. The internet.

Sure, there’s a lot of garbage on there, but if you slog past the cheesy pick-up lines and pseudo-psychology, there really are a few hidden gems. Not that I can find them. Almost everything I read is about dating in person. Standing up straight. Projecting confidence through physicality. Maybe even a bit of light contact, a hand on the arm, that sort of thing. Solid advice, but utterly useless to me since, you know, you’re halfway across the country right now. Still, slowly but surely, I cobble something together that sounds more or less decent.

Hey, I know you were back in town recently. How about Friday we go for dinner at that pizza place you like, then afterwards take a walk through the park? They’ve revamped the gardens, and I think you’d love them.

Dinner and a romantic, moonlit walk. That sounds like a date, I suppose. I’ve managed to make my intentions clear. Plus, I sound confident. No umming and ahhing, no self-defeatism. The best thing of all is it gives you an easy out. If you’re not interested, you can say you’re busy that night. If you genuinely are busy, you can suggest another time. It’s not like the park is going anywhere.

The message is perfect. I’ve done it.

I’m ready.

Now, there’s only one thing left to do.

It’s just a shame it’s the hardest thing of all. My finger hovers over the send button, unable to take that final step. I keep telling myself to just press it and get this whole thing over with. But that annoying little voice in my head keeps arguing. What if they say no? What if they decide they hate me? What if they don’t want to talk to me anymore? It’s times like this that I wish I drink. A little bit of liquid courage is exactly what I need right now. That’d shut the damn voice up. But I don’t take a drink. Instead, I do the stupidest thing possible. I give myself time to think. Yeah. I’m an idiot.

Before long, that little voice is running rampant. What am I doing? This is stupid. So, so stupid. Sure, I want more from our relationship. But what if you don’t? What if, by doing this, I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose you. I tell myself again and again that I’m overthinking. That you aren’t like that. That it would take more than a bit of awkwardness to drive a wedge between us. But I’m not convinced.

Sure, maybe we’d be fine for now. But what if you find someone else? Will they be okay with us being friends, knowing how I feel about you? I’m not so sure. Besides, I know that you’re not exactly looking for a relationship right now. Truth be told, it’s probably not the best time for me either. But that shouldn’t matter, not really. If two people are right for each other, they can overcome anything, can’t they? The timing might not be ideal, but we can get past it.

Then again- I almost scream in frustration. I can’t do this anymore. Picking up my phone, I delete the message, deciding to wait until you’re back and tell you how I feel face to face. It’ll be better that way. I can put all that advice to use and win you over with my charming smile.

I’m lying to myself, of course.

I know the odds are good that I’ll still find a way to bottle it. I’ll still talk myself down. But maybe, just maybe, I won’t. Maybe I’ll find a way to beat that annoying little voice. Do you know what the worst thing is? You probably think I won’t say anything because you don’t mean enough to me. That my fear of rejection is stronger than my feelings for you. You couldn’t be more wrong. In a weird, paradoxical way, the strength of my feelings for you are what stops me from saying anything. You’re amazing. The most perfect human being I’ve ever met. Every time I see your smile, my heart soars like an eagle. And when I hear your laugh, dimple on display, my body glows with happiness. Even when I’m just listening to you vent about your troubles, I feel like I’m hearing a classic tale equal to anything Shakespeare, Austen, Hemingway ever created.

Because you’ve nailed the most important part of storytelling. You’ve made me care about the protagonist. You’ve made me care about you. And I couldn’t bear it if I did something stupid enough to drive you from my life.

The next couple of weeks pass in a blur. I throw myself into school work, glad of the distraction. In the brief moments I let myself think of you, I begin to convince myself that I really will tell you how I feel. That by not saying anything, I could be robbing us of so much time together. By the week before you’re due back, I’m certain. The next time I see you, I’m asking you out.

My muscles finally relaxing, I slump back into a chair. I’ve spent a long day at my desk and am ready to unwind. Turning on the TV, I grab my phone and begin mindlessly scrolling through social media to catch up with what my friends have been doing. I see some pictures of you celebrating a friends' birthday. I smile. You’re happy, and that makes me happy.

But then I swipe to the last picture and see you wrapped up in somebody else’s arms, your rosy lips pressed against theirs.

Fuck.

My head spins. My chest tightens. I feel like I’m about to pass out.

Putting down my phone, I put my head in my hands and start to cry. Why didn’t I tell you how I feel? Why didn’t I atleast try to see if you felt the same way? Why do I have to be so damn broken?

a/n: tysm for reading!! Hope y'all liked it

perm taglist: @jak-ey ; @snoowhore ; @hsgwrld ; @seungiesluv ; @1-800shutthefuckup ; @heeseungshim (send an ask to be added)

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #21

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: self-deprecation

Elliot couldn’t sleep. His old master had taken away his pleasant dreams and twisted them for the past several days. 

He listened to the rumbling chatter of people below him. Usually the noise was helpful, the comfort in knowing he wasn’t alone in the inn lulling him to sleep. 

But tonight he desperately wanted more. He wanted somebody with him, to hold him and say it was okay, even if it was a lie. 

Selfish.

Ambrose had touched him before, rubbing his back, ruffling his hair, even holding his hand when he got sick. What more could he ask for?

Elliot got up from the bed. Exhaustion sank into his bones. He was scared and lonely all the time. It was draining, he was never able to truly relax. Each relief was only temporary, the tension rushing back to him sooner or later. 

Even thinking made him tired, like slogging through mud to drag a sentence together. He just wanted it to stop. 

Why wasn’t he getting better? Master Ambrose’s ownership was a vacation compared to his old master. So why did he feel worse than before?

Master had been nothing but patient and kind, but Elliot was constantly terrified. 

Ambrose promised not to hurt him. Elliot believed him. So why couldn’t his brain stop seeing shadows and pain around every corner? It was over. He’d never be whipped or cut or strangled again. No one was allowed to hurt him.

But it wasn’t enough. 

He changed back into the day’s clothes and slipped downstairs. He averted his eyes as people turned to look at him. He sat at the bar, and turned his ears to listen to the dim roar of people talking.

His brain got quiet. Much better. Ambrose spotted him and came over.

“Is everything alright, Ellie?” 

Elliot nodded. He would be fine. It would pass, and he’d been through much worse. This was nothing, really.

“Well, just let me know if you need anything.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He sat for a while, tracing patterns into the smooth wood of the bar. He let his mind slip into thoughtlessness and let the murmur of the room wash over him. Master checked on him once more, pushing a mug of tea into his hand. The warmth was nice.

But the night was winding down quickly, and Elliot still felt hollow and numb. 

He helped Ambrose clean up, and Master kept looking at him, concerned. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” he said, voice so soft and gentle. He put his hand on Elliot’s. 

It was too much. He teared up, and it was like trying to stop a waterfall: useless. 

“I- I’m sorry.”

“Oh Ellie, no. Don’t apologize. What’s wrong?” 

“I’m so scared,” he sobbed, “all the time. I’m just so tired, Master.” Gods, he was whiny and ungrateful. He used to be able to just suck it up and work. What had happened to the slave who could do chores with a broken wrist? He had disappeared and left Elliot weak. 

Weak and spoiled.

___________________

“Ellie,” he said, carefully, “can I give you a hug?”

Elliot nodded, and Ambrose slowly wrapped his arms around him. Elliot tucked his head under Ambrose’s chin. He clutched his shirt and cried into his chest. 

Ambrose guided them to sit on the floor. 

He rocked slowly as Elliot hiccuped and wept. Ambrose carded his fingers through Elliot’s soft white hair. 

“It just won’t stop,” mumbled Elliot. “Why won’t it stop?”

Ambrose hummed, thinking over his words. He asked something similar, years ago when it became clear the emptiness of Jay wouldn’t ever be filled. He didn’t have anyone to answer him then.

Elliot had him now.

“It’ll get small, eventually,” he began. “The fear will become so small sometimes you’ll forget.” He took a deep breath.

“I have this… sadness,” he said. “It used to be big, covered everything in my head. Like your fear. But it shrank, and yours will too. The good days will come more and more and the bad ones will come less and less.”

Elliot stilled. “But… I’m worse now,” he said, voice wet. “I’m not getting better.”

“Your mind is confused because this is all new, sweetheart. It will get better. Even if it has to get worse first.”

“Promise?” he asked, small and quiet.

“Mhm. I promise.” Elliot nuzzled into his chest. He shuddered.

“I’m so cold,” he whimpered, “on the inside. It hurts.”

Ambrose was familiar with that, too. Elliot’s description of being touch-starved was accurate, if clumsy.

In truth, Ambrose was also cold on the inside. His parents had never been physically affectionate, and Janus was the first one who would bother. It made the sting of him missing all the more painful.

He should have guessed Elliot needed more than the crumbs of touch Ambrose was giving him.

“We can fix that.”

“We- we can?”

“Mhm.” He untangled himself from Elliot, and pulled him up. 

“How do you feel about cuddling?”

“I- I dunno, Sir,” said Elliot, dubious. 

“No sex, I promise. We can keep all our clothes on. It’ll help you feel better, and we can stop whenever you want.”

“Okay.” 

They stopped by Elliot’s room so he could change into pajamas. He led them up to Ambrose’s room and he changed his bathroom while Elliot sat on the bed.

Luckily for him, Ambrose had a habit of keeping a pitcher of water and a glass on his nightstand. He poured some into the cup.

“Here you go, Ellie. You need some water so you don’t get a headache from crying.”

Elliot drank it down. “Thank you, Sir.” He set the glass back on the nightstand.

Ambrose pulled back the covers, lying down and patting next to him. Elliot obediently followed, scooting next to him. Ambrose opened his arm.

“It’s alright,” he coaxed. Elliot hesitated, but gave in, curling into his chest. Sighing into the embrace, the tension bled out of him. Ambrose pulled the blanket over them.

“I’m so proud of you, Ellie.” he said, rubbing his back.

“Y- you are?”

“Of course, sweetheart. A month ago you wouldn’t have told me about feeling bad, but today you did. You would’ve been too scared before, right?” Elliot nodded.

“See? You are getting better, even when you don’t notice. I’m proud of you.”

Elliot whimpered. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

He slowly drifted to sleep, and Ambrose was feeling quite settled, too. 

Sure, it was for Elliot. But maybe Ambrose deserved some hugs himself. 

It was easier to pretend, especially after so long, that he didn’t need these things anymore. Didn’t want them, because it wasn’t from his husband.

It was a lie. A comfortable lie.

He should really stop lying to himself.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes

[shootingstarpilot]

Return ask for the tag game! I would like to hear a bit about the time loop continuation from Helix's PoV, because that sounds devestating and I'm here for it.

ohohoho okay thank you very much for this because i have thoughts

imagine. you're getting ready for bed. you survived another day. your jedi found whatever creepy force banthashit thing drew them here. and yeah, you've been told that it'll probably serve as a beacon because the creatures you've been dealing with for this whole goddamn slog are apparently drawn to it like sharks to chum but it's contained now, so you're- not hopeful. that's dangerous. but maybe- looking forward to going home. looking forward to a rest.

stitch is bundling himself up in a dozen different paper-thin blankets because abregado is cold as fuck, needle is- either helping or hindering, you can't tell very well, but they're both laughing so you're not too worried. as long as they're safe. as long as they're safe.

you go to bed.

you wake up.

stitch is still asleep, you can see him breathing.

needle is gone.

this isn't... out of the ordinary, you know. needle tends to wander and one of the primaries is usually in demand more often than not.

you have exactly eight minutes to delude yourself thusly before you hear outside- footsteps, fast-approaching, a flurry of voices, and you're on your feet in the instant before your general ducks through the tent entrance with someone in his arms-

and that someone in his arms-

in his arms is-

he deposits him on a cot- unconscious, breathing, breathing, breathing, what- and then he turns to you, white-faced, steady, reaches up, cups your face-

he tells you to listen. to not panic.

then he tells you that your little brother wandered into the command tent and tried to shoot himself in the head.

he tells you, as well, that it's not- it's not- there was something in the force, he says, it wasn't-

(-wasn't like so many other brothers, on kamino and off, the ones who were left alone, who were left behind, who left as well-)

you have stopped listening.

you stopped listening the moment tried to shoot himself in the head left your general's mouth.

(he tried to-)

he lets you go. tells you that he should sleep for the next day or so, enough to get packed up, to get back to the ship.

(he tried to-)

you nod.

(he tried to-)

your general turns and the tent is empty again except for you and stitch and needle on the bed-

needle. your first-found, first-loved brother.

(he tried to-)

twenty-four hours, your general told you.

twenty-four hours to dissect the past day. the past week. the past month, months, the past three years-

(he tried to-)

you are trying to find what you missed.

what you missed, that needle would try to-

you can't.

and the worst part- not the worst part, the worst part is that needle had tried to- to- but a worst part-

stitch knows something you do not.

it is in the way he shouts down the standard protocol- the padded cuffs, for patients at risk of self-harming, the medics cannot be everywhere at once and it's safer should they wake up alone.

it is in the way he holds needle's head, tells him gentle, gentle, still sleeping- still my needle.

it is in the way he avoids your gaze.

stitch, you realize slowly, is not surprised.

[charaznablescanontoyota]

ticket + al ?

[this is an au just go with it trust the process]

al doesn't always get on the train in the morning. sometimes he sleeps in and skips class, sometimes he goes and has a long breakfast at the diner around the corner. sometimes he borrows the keys to winry's car and drives out to the lake to fish until the sun sets. but more times than not, he wakes up, makes coffee, and takes the train into the city. even if he does still skip class when he gets there.

today is one of those times. the commuter line is always two minutes late, and always crowded, so al gets to the platform ten minutes early and waits. he doesn't always do this. but he's feeling a window seat today, and he's also feeling...maybe getting to campus and then fucking off to the library. there's a reference book on quantum physics he's slogging his way through at the pace of about one chapter a week.

he gets a window seat in the same car he always sits in, and slides his walkman headphones over his ears. this is the least populated car on the train, which means that no one will talk to him. he's tried the other cars before; someone always does, whether it's a stranger or someone who knows him from class. sometimes it's nice. sometimes al gets starved for social interaction. but mostly, he wants to be left alone for the journey, and he knows no one will sit anywhere near him in this car.

except - well, except for the fact that a girl he doesn't recognize does exactly that, and sits down in the seat directly across from his.

"um," al says.

"shut up," the girl says. she's dressed all in black, probably his age if not a little younger, and her short hair is all on end like she's been running her hands through it. "you - you know something, don't you?"

he takes his headphones off slowly. "something about what?"

"you're not always on the train," she says.

"well," he says, and stretches the word out, stalling. he's beginning to get a sense for what this is about, but he doesn't want to believe it yet. "sure, i don't take it every day."

"not what i mean. you know what i mean."

"should i?"

"the guy is about to come in and ask for tickets," the girl says, exactly as the door to the car slides open and it begins to happen. "the two high school boys right near the door don't have theirs, but he'll let them go one stop before they have to get off. the lady one down from them is going to spill her whole purse out trying to find hers, and lose a tin of mints, a thing of chapstick, and -"

"stop, stop," al says, and waves her off, feeling vaguely nauseous. "i get it, okay?"

it happens the way she says it will. the way al knows it will. he and the girl both get their tickets punched, and don't talk again until the train is moving.

"what's your name?" the girl demands.

"al," he says.

"audrey," she says, in reciprocation. "do you have one of these? a number?"

she shows him her palm - the number 9 is printed there, etched on her skin in bright, unnatural green. only a little over a week. it's impressive that she's already picked up some of the patterns on the train, in that short a time. al realizes he's been reflexively curling his own right hand up into the sleeve of his coat, and grimaces.

"yeah, here," he says, and shows audrey his number.

her eyes go wide. "two-fifty? that's -"

"- almost a calendar year." he takes his hand back, tugs his sleeve down over it. "i'm aware."

"well," audrey says. she sinks back into her seat looking horribly perturbed, folding her arms over her chest. "fuck. have you tried learning the piano yet?"

"you think that would help?" al raises his eyebrows. he's not thought of that one before. "i could try it."

audrey opens her mouth, shuts it again. squints at him like she's trying to gauge if he's fucking with her.

"it's from a movie," she says.

"oh. i don't really watch movies," he says cheerfully.

"je-sus," audrey exhales. she runs a hand from her hair, pushing it so it sticks up in the other direction. "alright. well, what have you tried?"

[thebestoftragedy]

what are some books you liked and disliked so far this year?

So I read a lot (so far this year: 123 books finished, mostly novels), so I have a lot of books I liked and disliked. Let's call this my almost-mid-year year-in-books review. it's long. sorry (?)

5/5 star type books:

2666 by Roberto Bolaño - technically a reread (I read this for undergrad 10+ years ago). Really really good expansive weird dark book. A 'reading experience'. It's about knowledge and power and misogyny and history and academia and murder and death and what it means to have a legacy, and it's also pretty funny.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë - It's Jane Eyre! Not a reread but I was basically familiar with the plot due to basic cultural osmosis (I haven't seen any adaptations of it unless you count gifs on tumblr dot com). Good and fun. Romantic. All the haters are wrong.

4/5 stars, really good but maybe I had some reservations or it just didn't 'hit' the way I wanted:

Big Swiss by Jen Beagin - funny, weird, blah ending

The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith - good but tbh I like the movie better

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather - good!

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick - weird! fun.

Nightmare Alley by William Lindsay Gresham - fast fun gloomy

White Tears by Hari Kunzru - some awkward setup and bad pacing but a killer ending. stealth horror novel

The White Album/Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion - it's joan didion

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers - quiet people leading lives of quiet desperation, etc.

Dungeon Meshi by Ryoko Kui - I read the whole manga series, I loved the first few volumes, hated most of the rest of the series, and then felt neutrally towards the last one or two volumes.

Looking Glass War, A Small Town in Germany, and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John le Carré - slowly working through all of his books, so far they're all worth reading but I'm not sure I'd be able to 'rank' any particularly far or below the others

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett - some cringey stuff but a good fun weird sci fi/fantasy murder mystery. it's gonna be a series (maybe just a trilogy?) so I'll read the rest also.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon - killer killer first 60% and then the last 40% was like whatever.

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace - so it took me until page, like, 250 to really get into this, which I can't really forgive. overall I think this is a very good book that mostly justifies its weird formatting/premises/characters, but I would say it does not change my vague impression of the author as someone who fundamentally lacks empathy with women. there are a few chapters of this book (where a 'chapter' can easily be novella-length) that I think are pretty unconscionable. but it's still well done, totally unique, and effective at what it sets out to do. oh also the author gets the DEFCON system wrong and that's a pet peeve of mine. so.

A lot of the Bad books I read were just mediocre romance type novels and not super worth breaking down.

Notably Disappointing/Bad Books, 2/5 stars (where I pretty much hate them or think there's almost nothing worth reading there, but I at least got Something positive out of the experience):

Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston - this is a terrible bad stupid book I would have been embarrassed to have written as a 15 year old. but it had a few individual funny scenes/lines so it wasn't totally miserable to read.

The Monster Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson - almost incomprehensible sequel to The Traitor Baru Cormorant, which I liked ok/thought was interesting but underbaked. I'll try the third book, but I'm bailing if it's not immediately interesting to me because this was a total slog.

In Memoriam by Alice Winn - I think this got that second star on the merits of basically one good blowjob joke. going in I thought this was going to be more of a serious literary novel and not what it is, which is basically yaoi for twentysomething women who are really into song of achilles or whatever.

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata - I got absolutely nothing out of this. Sorry Women

Murder Road by Simone St. James - wouldn't have been notable except that I used to enjoy this author a lot (when she wrote historical mysteries) and haven't liked her contemporary/more modern stuff as much, and then this was a new low. dull clumsy boring novel.

The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley - this got a huuuuuuuge insane marketing push this year and I think has already been optioned for TV (this will be a recurring theme in this list). utter mess of a novel, combines secxually explicit self-insert RPF, wallowing about Being The Child Of An Immigrant, wallowing about Accidentally Doing Microaggressions Against A Coworker, wallowing in general, bad sci-fi, actually pretty good fish-out-of-water time travel comedy, and just general misery for me, personally, the reader. massive massive disappointment, actively makes me angry it was published. did I mention there's a scene of the narrator, who is very clearly the author, getting eaten out by this guy:

anyway. that happens.

A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck - a few tumblr mutuals loved this, I found the writing style distracting and inapt. it's supposed to be a cerebral type horror, but I couldn't get into it because the aw-shucks narrative voice keeps anything horrifying at a pretty far remove. also you could tell the author Really wanted to show off the Research he did, or like prove to you the reader how smart he is, and I dislike that sort of thing intensely when it's not pulled off well.

The 1 star zone, or: the abyss gazes also:

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas - this is a super-well-known, super-well-loved, often listed as one of the best-of-all-time romance novels, and I just fucking hated every second of it. awful characters, awful plot, I wanted everyone to explode in an iron foundry accident (this happened in a different novel by the author, which also sucked).

Penance by Eliza Clarke - it's a fake true crime novel, very heavily based on a real crime, and it just did not justify its existence in any way. I got Nothing out of it and enjoyed none of it and it had no redeeming qualities for me. moderately offensive for it to exist at all, which I could more or less forgive if it were very good, but it's not.

Disfigured: On Fairytales, Disability, and Making Space by Amanda Leduc - bad tumblr posts pretending to be an academic type exploration of disability in fairytales, except you can tell the author has only read like 2 essays on the subject (because she only every references 2 other writers) and then watched some disney movies (but not even all of them). really lazy, bad-faith, deeply anti-intellectual. I spent my entire time reading this sending angry messages to @ilovemymutedcalico8487 about how wrong it is and how much it sucks.

My Darling Dreadful Thing by Johanna van Veen - I broke my rule and read a book with the word 'sapphic' in the goodreads description. really inept gothic, really clumsy 2014 tumblr SJW stuff wedged into a story that takes place in midcentury the netherlands, just bad.

Margo's Got Money Trouble by Rufi Thorpe whose name I will NOT mistype as Rupi Kaur even though she might as fucking well be - absolute garbage shit idiot trash for garbage shit idiots. actively loathsome and evil book. soon to be adapted as a tv series starring (and I'm refusing to google to double check this, so I could be completely misremembering, but this this does not deserve care or accuracy) elle fanning and nicole kidman. just don't.

congrats on reading. as a reward, you should go read a book that's good.

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S06E10 He was a different man.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Series finale! Honestly, this season was a slog as evidenced by how slowly I got through it. Series Seven is a lot better (and one that a lot of people consider to be the best of all time).

That said, I've come off my Taskmaster fixation a bit. I'm still enjoying new episodes when they come out (including Australia and New Zealand), but now that I've stopped obsessing through these write-ups, it's getting harder. I at least want to get through Series Eight because it's my favorite, but this project might be naturally reaching its end.

Still, it's not like I'm on a deadline with this. I can always come back to it when I feel like. Anyway, let's wrap up Series Six.

Prize Task: The Least Appropriate Accessory For a Wedding Anniversary

How are you going to accessorize that?

Liza does a sandwich board stating "I Love Tom Hanks." Humor is subjective, but even as far as non sequiturs go, this is pretty weak. Russell does gift vouchers for a divorce lawyer. Pro - on topic. Con - a gift card that definitely isn't real because divorce lawyers don't give gift cards.

Alice thinks the mother of the bride should bring a positive pregnancy test. I fully agree. "She'll wear it as a corsage." Asim brings num-chuks. Even as non sequiturs go this is pretty weak.

Tim does a bunch of puns about bees! A for effort. B for execution.

Alice: 5 (+2) Asim: 2 (-3) Liza: 1 (0) Russell: 3 (-1) Tim: 4 (+2)

VT 01: Knock over the fewest skittles. You may place one item on each of the three ramp sections, or you may place two items on one of the ramp sections. Your items must be found on this table and may not include either you or the table. You may not tamper with the balls or the ramp.

What's that finger thing for?

Alex showed there was a right way to do this on YouTube! The only thing to evaluate here is whether anyone broke the rules. Possible trip-ups: (1) Wrong number of items in the section. (2) Items didn't come from the table. (3) Tampering.

Asim and Liza genuinely struggled understanding the rules. Alex's logic tracks that something that constitutes a singular form while it's on the table is an item. Asim narrowly avoids disqualifying by completely flubbing the task.

Alice, Russell, and Tim certainly seemed a bit smarter about it. It did seem like their attempts would have better results. Okay, maybe not Alice's banana peels. All said, this task was graded correctly.

Alice: 3 Asim: 3 Liza: 4 Russell: 5 Tim: 1

VT 02: Blow the candle out from the furthest distance. You may not relight the candle.

It was like an unhelpful Narnia.

This is going to be mean and people could call me incorrect about this, but it is brought up on the show and it should be taken seriously. Asim doesn't blow the candle out by any definition of the word. He knocks it over and it goes out.

Everyone else's score remain the same (+1 if you didn't get disqualified). Asim didn't complete the task.

Alice: 4 (+1) Asim: 0 (-5) Liza: 0 (0) Russell: 3 (+1) Tim: 5 (+1)

VT 03: Tell the Taskmaster you love him in the most meaningful way.

It was so . . . in me.

Liza wins. There's nothing to say about it. You have to see it and if you don't understand why Liza wins, I can't explain to you why Liza wins.

Russell gets one. He didn't do anything.

Asim's serenade was good enough to win the five in most instances. This wasn't one of those instances. Tim made himself Greg's mom which I thought was pretty inspired. Alice wrote, as Greg described it, a "heavily caveated declaration of love."

Alice: 2 Asim: 4 (-1) Liza: 5 Russell: 1 Tim: 3

Live Task: Display a number. You get one rosette if your number is higher than the person's on your right and one if its lower than the person's on your left. If you display the same number as someone else, you lose them all.

I am a creature of habit!

The only interesting part of this game (that is supposedly taking the world by storm) is that Alice asks Alex twice to let her pin the rosettes on herself.

There may be a game theory discussion to be had about this, but that's definitely not happening here. The scores remain unchanged.

Liza and Russell didn't get anything, but by rules I've set in the past -- zero is a number, so you do get points.

Alice: 5 (0) Asim: 4 Liza: 2 (+2) Russell: 2 (+2) Tim: 3 (0)

F I N A L

Episode --

Alice: 16 Asim: 13 Liza: 12 Russell: 14 Tim: 16

Alice and Tim TIE, which I took away from Alice in the past so I'M GIVING IT BACK TO HER.

Series --

I'm sure everyone's just as interested as me to learn who really won the series so let's math it up . . .

Alice: 133 Asim: 151 Liza: 149 Russell: 174 Tim: 179

Lost a hook, but won our hearts, it's Tim.

Actually surprised Liza didn't win it after calculation, I think odds on she was my favorite contestant this series. That said, good riddance to Series Six. I like you, but I don't like you.

Series Seven, let's go.

[pbear]

Going to include some opinions on this one. Warning on spoilers for any of them.

Tokyo Revengers: Honestly kind of slogging through this one. I don’t exactly dislike it but I don’t think it’s for me. The time travel concept I do like but I’m not really into watching middle schoolers beat each other up. Still in the middle of season 1.

Horimiya: Literally watched all of season 1 in 2 days. Very enjoyable. It doesn’t beat around the bush and I like that. (Hori and Miyamura actually become a couple before the series ends so you see their dynamic before and after and it’s not some super dramatic moment where they get together. It just happens.) The characters are all extremely likable and I love watching their antics. I’m watching Horimiya: The Missing Pieces as it comes out and it’s great even though it’s mostly just everyday activities with the gang. Love them all.

Trigun 1998: Moved pretty slowly through this one. Finishing one episode didn’t make me want to watch another and it wasn’t because I was disliking the plot or characters. I got to the end and enjoyed it overall, but I never really had a clue what was going to happen next which didn’t make me anticipate the next episode. Wolfwood is my favorite even though the main four were all great. It also gave me Cowboy Bebop vibes.

Jujutsu Kaisen: On Season 2. Very good and animation is good as always. The flashback of Gojo’s time at Jujutsu Tech is bittersweet. Riko’s death is so painful and sudden. You see Geto’s change and it makes the current events of the series more personal. Shibuya arc is coming up and from the manga fans’ reaction, I’m expecting a lot of pain.

Bungou Stray Dogs: SEASON FIVE BABYYYYYYY. THIS SHOW HAS MY HEART AND SOUL. So far, the pacing has been better than last season. Mourning Akutagawa smiling as he lets Atsushi escape. Bones has left out some bits and pieces but it’s been very enjoyable. It’s weird that we’re catching up to manga events very fast though. I’m not sure where this season will end yet.

Black Clover: My new obsession. Watched it because it gave me Fairy Tail vibes and I love it for a lot of the same reasons I love Fairy Tail. The magic types are so cool to watch. The found family in the Black Bulls is a peak example of the trope. I love them all. A lot of the characters I’m super invested in. Favorites right now are Luck, Klaus, and Magna though. I keep making posts saying I just started but I’m like a third through the series already. It hasn’t made me cry yet but I know it will.

D20 Fantasy High Sophomore Year: Not as good as the first season but still great. I still have to finish the last episode but the arcs and development for all the Bad Kids is amazing. Dimension 20 in general is great for how it can switch between fun antics and telling a truly great story with touching moments. Standout moments include Hilda Hilda, Fabian learning to dance, Kristen trying to fly with a dance ribbon, Gorgug learning to be an artificer to talk to Zelda, and Fig and Ayda.

[muffinrecord]

I'm trying to get through the 3rd Tart event (End of a Legend, Limits of Light) and man. I gotta say it: the Tart events are a massive slog to get through.

What I really don't understand is why did they make the choice to write the Tart events as convoluted retellings of the manga? I've already read the manga. I own my own copies. I'd rather reread that with it's neat art than see the same thing in limited live2d shots that are slowly saying the same things over and over.

It doesn't help that they also tend to be massive behemoths. An hour-long recap of the manga wouldn't be so bad, but it's pushing my attention span at three hours.

This next opinion might be controversial but... it would help I think if the Tart girls themselves didn't feel so bland. I'm not saying that they are bad characters or that people shouldn't like them, but personally I don't get too much out of them. I think the two I like the most would probably be Corbeau and Elisa, but even they don't save the events-- they get a few moments and when you're only enjoying six minutes out of three hours of content... yeah you get me.

I DID enjoy "The Masked Student Council Strikes Back" because that shit was fucking hilarious, and also yet again the writers choose the most convoluted storylines they could possibly come up with. It's like they write down a bunch of ideas on a sheet of paper, cut it up, toss it in a bin, take them back out and then rearrange everything until it's a complete mess and then they're like "alright let's make a mcfuckin story out of this" and somehow it works????

Anyways that's my rant as I go back into watching this event. weeping sounds. sobs.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

and for au roulette #1, band/musician, sending est and a van full of rangers to a rock show lmao

Traffic slows to a crawl as you leave the highway that runs from Minas Tirith to Dol Amroth, the Belfalas exits clogged as half the world it seems tries to reach the concert grounds at the same time. Candaith is asleep in the passenger seat, despite the music you have playing much louder than is reasonable. The windows are open as far as they’ll go, admitting a pleasant breeze that smells of clouds of exhaust and the distant sea.

“It will be fun,” you insist, not for the first time. Radanir looks no less skeptical in the rearview. “Surely we’ll be able to find something you like here.” Radanir mutters something you can’t make out and you inch forward another car-length.

“Are your friends from Stangard coming still?” Lorniel calls from the far back of the tight-packed van you have borrowed for the occasion.

“Most of them, I think,” you shout back, turning down the music some. “Nona said her brother had something come up, but the rest of them should be there.” It will be strange, you think, having friends from so many circles of your life overlap here, but that’s half the fun of it. “Can anyone reach the cooler?” you add. “I finished my drink up here.” There’s some shuffling, and muffled cursing from Corunir when you’re forced to swerve aside to avoid a group of impatient motorcyclists cutting in and out of traffic. “Sorry...”

It’s a long, slow slog into the concert grounds and around to the open parking, but you arrive at last and gratefully let the van shudder to a rest, stretching with a great sigh while your friends clamber out. The roof bends concerningly as Lothrandir climbs up to look around, but he swings back down quickly to inform you of the nearest gates and bathrooms.

There’s no rush. The gates won’t open for hours yet while the lots continue to fill. You open the trunk and fold down the backmost seats and lounge, watching Candaith soundly beat everyone at cards and propping your feet on one of the coolers. Someone nearby has set up a portable speaker loud enough to carry five rows in any direction; he’s taking requests. Someone else rolls out an entire grill, and soon the open field smells of... well, it smells of lots of things, but you think the grillers are making burgers.

You swap snacks with a group three cars down, and the group next to them invite you for drinks and party games. By the time Nona calls you to say she’s arrived, you think even Radanir is a little caught up in it all, even if he keeps regularly retreating to the van. You really do hope he finds something here to his liking.

You’ve lost half your group by the time Nona finds you, Horn and Corudan trailing behind her. You talk about the fine weather, and the less fine traffic, and the most interesting things you’ve seen so far (a surprisingly long list, for the few hours you’ve been here). Nona paces about the entire time, restless after her days-long drive to meet the others before coming here.

Finally, the gates open, and the great crowds slowly amble inside. Your friends have more or less reassembled, chatting with new friends and total strangers all the way in. The great rising excitement buzzes under your skin, your laughter loud and the late-day sun warm on your skin.

The opening acts are good, and you do want to sit and appreciate them, but the rising, restless energy keeps you moving, grinning at the great banners and posters for Valasmack and Amon Amarth and telling at least five different people where you found the onion rings.

You stop at last in the warm hour after dusk, the wind from the coast cool and pleasant where it cuts through the heat of so many people all pressed together. You don’t go down to the wildness at the front, where people throw themselves about with an abandon you can’t quite reach, but you stand near enough the stage that the sound from the great speakers rolls right into you. The bass of it rumbles through the concrete, pulsing with every rolling drumbeat through the thick soles of your boots. You can feel it in your ribs.

Your ears will ring for nearly a week after this, but there’s a certain kind of magic to it, the great thunder in your bones and singing so loudly, loud enough your voice will be deeper and rougher from the strain come morning but still not louder than the bands themselves. The punch-drunk camaraderie with old friends and with people you’ll never see again. The heat and the wind and the wide, wide grins, and the exhausted sleep you have with your friends, crammed into the back of the borrowed van and passed out half on top of each other. There are few more pleasant ways to end the free days of summer, you think.

[whimsyswastry]

Snippet Sunday (on a Sunday!!!)

Tagged by the prolific @satashiiwrites 💛

Here's a (rather long) snippet from the first chapter of my Dragon Age Inquisition prequel, Unharrowed. A story near and dear to my heart. I didn't do it justice the first time through and after a five year hiatus, finally started drafting my next attempt.

The streets of Kirkwall were rarely a pleasant experience, but whenever the caravan of traveling merchants came through, it became a slog just to move from one end of the street to the other. Ellaria weaved her way through the crowd, gently pushing past the nobles willing to debase themselves by shopping in Lowtown. She scratched at her neck when she saw her. 

Atheneril. 

Ellaria batted the irritation away when the elven smuggler rolled her eyes when they alighted on Ellaria breaking through the crowd.

"I don't have any," Atheneril said by way of greeting.

"I haven't even asked!"

Ellaria's cheeks heated when the smuggler's eyes raked up and down her form.  Her tone softened, "I can tell by the look of you that you've been out for a while; sorry, girl. I don't have any."

"You don't have any like you didn't have any jobs last week? Or you genuinely don't have any?" Ellaria failed at keeping the bite out of her question. They'd had a similar discussion last week when Ellaria came looking for magebane. Of course, the smuggler had had the rare powder then, but Ellaria was strapped for cash. She was always strapped for cash. They'd agreed that she would do smuggling jobs each week for a small amount of the red powdered plant. But without a job in need of doing, Ellaria had nothing to offer Atheneril.

"I didn't have any jobs last week," Atheneril insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ellaria knew better than to open that argument back up, even though she'd heard the woman give a job to some guy she called Hawke just seconds after she walked away. "There's gotta be something you can do." She pressed her lips together as her mind raced. "I know! Tell me where the plant grows and I'll get get it myself. I'll keep what I need, and everything else I'll give to you. Free of charge."

Atheneril laughed, a humorless and cruel sound. "One, you're my most consistent customer. I'm not about to give away trade secrets that will lose me money in the end. And two, it's deep in elven territory. You won't get within five kilometers of it without being turned into a human pincushion." 

Ellaria opened her mouth to argue, but Atheneril lifted her hand to silence her. "Sorry, kid. Nothing I can do. Check back next week." The smuggler melted into the crowd. Ellaria had no hope of following her. 

She swore colorfully as she turned away from the crowd and kicked at crumbling stone wall nearby.

"Never heard a lady say anything like that before!"

Ellaria turned toward the voice to find a tall, blond man with a charming smile standing with...with Hawke!

"You stole my job!"

Hawke gaped at her, confusion clear on his face. He easily dodged the small brunette as she lunged twoard him. 

The blond man with the charming smile grabbed her around the waist, quick to let her go when she stopped struggling. "You stole her job?"

Ellaria explained the mishap with Athenril and Hawke tipped his head back, letting out a rumbling laugh. "What?" she asked, seething at his disregard for her situation.

"You wanted what? Dust? I was providing for my family."

The blond stepped between them again, holding a hand up at Hawke. "I don't--"

"Dust? Lyrium?" Ellaria's eyes flashed. "I was not looking for lyrium!" She gestured angrily at Hawke who's lips were quirked in an irritating smile. Lightening wreathed her wrists, drawing shocked looks from both men before she shoved them deep in her pockets. She inhaled slowly, resisting the urge to look around, desperate to know if anyone else had seen her magic slip.

"Interesting..." Hawke murmured, his attention turning to the blond. "Anders?"

Anders's face looked like a child's on Satinalia. "You! Oh, you!" He rushed to Ellaria, taking her hand in his face, and pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

Ellaria shoved him as she snarled. "What is wrong with you?"

He ignored the fiery question, instead saying, "You went to Athenril for magebane, didn't you?"

She leaned back on her heels, arms folded across her chest. She said nothing, only waiting for the man to explain himself. She raised her eyebrows, cold silver eyes boring into him. 

"Come inside," he said, reaching toward her with one arm and gesturing toward a nearby tavern. The Hanged Man. "Fewer ears to overhear."

"Fine." She stepped away from the hand that ghosted over her back but followed Anders and Hawke into the tavern.

She'd seen The Hanged Man; knew all about it. But the reputation it held for a dirty bar with few options for drink and even fewer for food had kept her from visiting on the rare event she had coin to spare. Not to mention the frequent stories she heard about the brawls involving the whole establishment. She'd barely passed through the door when she realized everything she'd heard about the tavern hadn't only been correct but had been underselling the seediness of the locale. 

"It's...lovely," she said, her nose crinkling at the smell of stale beer and unwashed patrons.

"It's home," Anders said, that charming smile returned.

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

happy dadwc Ocean! From the platonic touch list: Carrying while half asleep?

Thank you for the prompt! Here's some pre-ship Hawke and Merrill goodness!

for @dadrunkwriting

-:-

Merrill is tiny.

Not really--she's formidable in her own right, powerful--but here, asleep in Hawke's arms, she's delicate, though not fragile. Small, though, compared to him.

"Mpfgh," she mumbles against his arm.

Garrett only barely keeps from laughing drunkenly, himself, instead just huffing as he makes for the stairs. The room spins around them, and he has to fight not to tip over and send them both sprawling.

What a horrible way to wake up, he thinks, chuckling lightly.

He looks down at her face. She's so relaxed. He's envious, almost. Everyone else has gone home but she stayed, telling him story after story as the empty wine bottles piled up. She looks...at peace. Light. It fills him with pride to know she feels safe enough to fall asleep at the manor, to fall asleep with him around. There's something to be said for that kind of trust.

Garrett smiles to himself and slowly works themselves up the stairs. Maker, it's so long tonight. Have there always been this many stairs? He should look into that. Tomorrow, maybe. Maybe the next day. But soon. He slogs his way to the second floor.

Merrill gives a light snore. It's adorable.

Her breath is warm, giving him goosebumps that run along his skin. He likes the closeness of it, even if it does tickle.

They're almost to the door of her room, now, or at least the room he's grown to consider hers. She's stayed over a thousand times, it feels like, so for it to be her room is an easy thought. Garrett has to shift her in his arms to try for the doorknob. It's awkward, and it's hard, but eventually he does manage to get it open.

It doesn't escape him that he's carrying her bridal-style over the threshold. What kind of marriage customs does her clan have? Garrett lets the thought pass through without much attention. He can ask later, after all. What's important is getting her to the bed, which has become a little difficult, as his arms are getting super tired and the floor is spinning again.

He wobbles, balance flying out the window. Her breath stutters and she shifts, trying to turn over in his arms. Definitely not helping. Garrett gets both feet firmly planted below him and holds fast. Almost to the bed, now. Almost got her where she needs to be.

"Hawke," Merrill says woozily. She blinks slowly up at him like a cat. A goofy smile breaks across her face. "You're sooo nice." She slurs her words into something only mostly intelligible. It's cute.

Garrett crosses the last few feet to the bed and gently deposits her on the covers. She goes easily and smiles, wide and sweet. Her eyes are glassy with drink, and her cheeks wine-flushed.

"You didn't--hic!--have to do that," Merrill says with some difficulty. "I could have--could have walked."

He shakes his head. Garrett regrets it instantly. "It's okay," he says, and his words come out sideways, too. He needs to get to bed, himself. Garrett waves off her drunken protests. "It's okay," he says again. "I'm glad to help. But I'm going to go pass out now."

The distance between their rooms feels like miles. She pats the bed beside her. It's tempting. Too tempting. But his bed is calling his name, so he tells her that, and she laughs.

"Goodnight," she warbles after him when he leaves. He tosses a smile over his shoulder just in time to see her slump back into the pillows, and closes the door.

She's nice and secure, just where he wants her. That's good. That's real good. He has to take a breather just outside the door. It's good. She's here, and safe, and she's good. That's...good.

Garrett laughs to himself. Life is good. For one shining, ordinary moment. He'll take it.

He steels himself and marches in a wobbly line to his bedroom. Things can be good tomorrow. For now, sleep.

[elderflowernumb]

You open the door and the smell of sweet scented candles hits your nose. The lights are low and set to a lavender color.

You're exhausted from the day but you smile, seeing a bouquet of lilacs on the kitchen counter. Your partner obviously has some kind of romantic plan for today, though you can't think of any anniversary or holiday that falls near today.

A bottle of your favorite drink is sitting on the counter with a little heart drawn on its label. You giggle a bit, and drink it far faster than you should have, but it's been a long day.

Sitting down on the couch you finally hear the sound of your partner entering the room.

"Hello love, welcome home." They say warmly, wrapping their arms around your shoulders and pulling you close for a quick kiss. They pop back up and pad off behind you to the kitchen, and you hear the fridge open.

You're struggling to pull off your boots as a heavy blanket of fatigue descends upon you, fumbling with the laces unsuccessfully. Your partners voice floats from the kitchen, "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No." You reply groggily. Your eyes are getting heavy and your limbs are refusing to respond as they should. "I think...I think I'll just take a nap..."

The empty bottle in your lap chatters to the floor as you sag over the arm of the couch. The sound of footsteps as your partner returns and says with a tut, "What a mess you are, sweetheart. Let me help you."

Deft fingers undo the ties of your boots and pull them free. Your belt is unfastened with a click and you feel it slide from the loops of your pants. Your shirt is gently tugged over your shoulders and laid under your limp neck like a pillow.

Your eyes are fighting hard to stay open, and through the cracks of your lids all you can see is your partners smug little smile.

"Don't worry..." they whisper, hot breaths tickling your ear. "I'll treat you so well...just let go..."

On some level you know what their plan likely is. You hazily remember talking about something like this before, but trying to picture the details right now felt like slogging through waste high mud.

Soft hands slowly trace your face, reaching into your hair and beginning to pet. You think you hear a song being hummed - but you're falling too fast.

"Please-" The words are slurred leaving your lips.

"-anything you want."

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness in a soft but pleased,

"Good boy."

[musesofawolf]

Cold

It was one of the few things Brynhorn Fiske hated, but found himself in more often than not. Laying belly down in snow would do that to you, and of course, he was doing just that, sighting down the sights of his rifle as he breathed slowly, evenly, watching as far below him on the mountain, Garlean soldiers passed through a small mountain pass. He tracked the first soldier, his head appearing in his sights, a tiny little black dot, as his finger slowly shifted from the trigger guard, resting against the trigger, taking a slow breath, letting it out even slower...

"Boo!"

Bryn felt his eyes narrow, slowly turning his head to stare at the ashen haired joker as the Hyur assassin snickered next to him, the sniper slowly removing his finger from the trigger. "You are lucky I have good trigger discipline," the soldier growled out, his voice deep and rich for his age, the thirty four year old Sergeant pushing up onto his elbows and disrupting a few small pebbles of soft snow.

"We would have been fine," Thancred chuckled out, "the sound wouldn't have reached them from here."

Bryn shifted his gun, rising to his knees as he shouldered the pine wood rifle and sighed, the younger man still very much a silver tongued tease. "You're right, but they would have noticed their Lieutenant dropping dead at the head of the line."

Thancred actually looked mildly concerned at that statement, looking down towards the mountain pass, and then back at the all white clad soldier, before nervously saying, "You couldn't hit that...right?" Bryn just gave him a stare, his silver eyes gleaming as he repositioned the hat on his head, the snow dusted linen hiding his short cropped black hair as he turned and began to trudge through the snow towards the next lookout, Thancred following along behind him and calling out, "Right!?"

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was back in the snow, belly down, the angle of the slope steep enough to give him a natural angle down towards the pass, nearly fully covered by snow now that they were closer, his rifle sticking out from it and angled down towards the next section of the pass. Nearby, Thancred tossed a knife up into the air, catching it blade first, and repeating, the Sergeant mildly annoyed at him. He would have told him to stop, if the sun was out, but the day was blissfully cloudy. Correction, it was bitterly cloudy. It made the snow an extra few degrees cooler, and that just added to the soldier's mounting annoyance. He wasn't used to all of this sneaking around, waiting, and watching, more a man of action with his militant background, but after joining the cloak and dagger operation out of Limsa Lominsa, he had adapted, quickly. It wasn't his preferred method of engagement, but he could be deadly at the long ranges the organization wanted him to observe from.

He let out a slow breath, watching the pass, the slow progression of the Garlean soldiers, not even bothering with the sights this time as his finger rested on the trigger guard. The snow had fallen thick the evening before, and it was showing, the foot soldiers slogging through the soft powder as their black armor stuck out like beetles on paper, the sniper thanking the guild for providing him with a white coat, white shirt, and white pants, even a pair of leather boots with white fur sewn over the brown material. It kept him camouflaged, even better than Thancred's white and black coat.

"What's your camouflage again?" The question was mumbled, the Sergeant's cheek pressed to the butt of his rifle as he glanced at the younger, but senior in the guild, rogue. It actually got the spy to stop tossing his knife, look at Bryn, and then raise his arms as if it was self explanatory.

"A rock!"

"Rock's don't move."

"You are zero fun."

"I thought this wasn't supposed to be fun."

Thancred narrowed his gaze, and then let out a grumbling curse. "I preferred my last detail. No one to babysit, and plenty of beautiful women to court~" Bryn actually groaned, and Thancred laughed at the sound, returning to tossing his knife as the soldier shifted slightly, looking back down his rifle at--

"Hey. Where's the patrol?"

Thancred stopped tossing the knife, looking down towards the mountain pass, as Bryn rose to one knee, sighting down his rifle and slowly scanning, the rogue crouching down as he too looked for any trace. "How the...there is nowhere else to go but...wait..."

He tapped Bryn's shoulder, pointing, and the older soldier shifted his sight line to where he was directed, closing one eye as he took in what his eagle eyed leader had.

"A door? Metal... Huh, magitek I think. See a keypad."

"You can see that?"

Bryn just nodded, continuing on with his explanation as he looked slightly to the left. "Single guard, blends in well with the rocks and door. Still stupid to wear black in snow."

"When do they not wear all black?" Thancred drawled out, sitting back in the snow. "Well, we have the location of the secret Castrum! I think we've seen enough."

Bryn had to agree, rising to his feet and stamping them slightly, getting the blood flowing as he shifted his gun onto his shoulder, lifting his gloved hands and blowing on them before answering. "Plenty. Let's head back and--"

The crack of the rifle rang out, and Bryn staggered back, slamming back into the snow as pain blossomed in his side, laying on his back, nearly starting to slide down the steep mountain peak, he saw for the first time the Garlean scout who had just shot him, the still smoking blade-gun pointed right at him, and the pristine white armor enough to make the soldier eat his earlier words. Already, the scout was aiming at Thancred, the rogue leaping forward, ready to close the distance as Bryn reacted on instinct.

The crack-BOOM of his rifle, brought to bear against his shoulder, sent a ball of aether spinning towards the scout, stabilized with spin and cutting through the cool air. The poor sap didn't stand a chance, Bryn's older, less advanced rifle far more accurate thanks to familiarity and old, lost technology, the concentrated ball of death slamming through the visor of the scout and snuffing out his life in an instant.

Bryn lowered his rifle slowly, already panting as pain began to truly radiate from his wound, blood seeping into the snow under him and staining his coat a rich, vibrant red. The crumpled Garlean began to slide down the mountain, his armor dragging him along, as below an alarm sounded and soldiers began to pour from the door. The rogue was at Bryn's side in a moment, handing him a fistful of bandages that the sniper pressed to his wound, hissing in pain before making a move to get to his feet.

"You can't--"

"I can and I will." Bryn cut him off, not needing to hear that the wound was bad, or that it would slow them down. Instead, he just pressed his rifle into Thancred's hands and then pulled himself up, swaying slightly as blood slowly dripped from between his fingers and around already stained bandages. "Go. Get them the location. I'll follow."

"You're kidding!" Thancred was incredulous, his brown eyes shining with disbelief, and his mouth working open and closed, a few sounds like words leaving his lips, but he didn't get the chance to say them.

"No. Go. You're the leader, you know the mission takes precedence."

"And you're my charge!" Stubborn. Someone had mentioned that about Thancred, Bryn didn't care to remember who. He just gave the well built man a shove and growled out angrily.

"And I'm saying go! I've survived worse, now let me do what I'm trained to do, and go!" Thancred hesitated, then tried to hand back the rifle he still clutched, Bryn waving him off with a quick, "I'll be better without it," only then turning and starting to make a rapid, half sliding half running descent down the mountain, angling away from the Garlean forces trying to pick their way up it. Bryn watched him go, making sure he didn't turn back, before he too turned and headed along the mountain ridge, but going up and away from the approaching forces.

He knew he had a long few days ahead of him as every step barked with pain in his side.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Three days later, when Bryn walked over the threshold of the guild in Old Sharlayan, the whispers began. Thancred had returned only the day before, begging that a search party be mounted, but finding no one willing to search for a body. Not a single one of the unsavory bunch expected him to crawl through the door, but to walk through it? Tattered white clothes stained red with blood? He shocked them all.

For a long week, some swore they had seen claw marks in his clothes. Others said they saw a healed bullet wound on his left side. Others whispered his eyes glowed unnaturally. But no matter what was said, his name was whispered nearly reverently, and an old moniker made a resurgence from his military days.

"Silver Wolf."

He never told anyone what happened up on that mountain. Not even Thancred. All he would say was that he hid, and waited until the danger passed.

And that he hated the cold.

[bikepackinguk]

Day Ninety-four

It's another beautiful day for touring!

With some more tough hills ahead today, my alarms are going before dawn next to the River Camel as I start the day extricating myself from the woodlands to get back onto the Camel Trail.

It's a lovely lazy ride to start the day with, which I'm very glad for given that my head feels quite stuffed with phlegm. But I take that as a good sign that things are progressing in the right direction as the throat does seem to be better than it was at least.

I have a gentle cruise alongside the river along the verdant trail as it winds its way downstream past Hellandbridge and on to Dunmere.

The trail splits here, with a turn heading into Bodmin, whilst I hang a right to keep on the riverside as the Camel Trail continues to follow the river's long and winding course through the beautiful valley.

The old rail trail leads past several abandoned and overgrown station platforms on its way. Times like these are where I really love cycling - these are some sights that you can never see when travelling by car, and I feel particularly lucky to be able to have such an amazing experience of them on this journey.

The river slowly widens from its earlier trickling stream to a wide flowing body as the miles progress, and by the time I roll into the nice little town of Wadebridge it's beginning to get quite broad.

The route continues on along the banks, rolling under the tall bridge carrying the A39 as the river continues to widen into a large flowing bay.

The weather has turned out beautifully today, and the view downstream of Padstow shining in the sun is glorious. I have a nice little break at a cycle cafe on the trail here to sit and appreciate the view, as well as chat to a few other riders who are also out making the best of such a lovely morning.

On the trail leads over a nice old rail bridge to finally end at Padstow. That's the Camel Trail now ridden in its entirety! One to scratch off the bucket list!

With the long flat route finally over, it does mean it's time to get back to tackling Cornwall's infamous hills and cliffs.

I keep on Route 3 initially as it heads up the road from Padstow and around to Constantine Bay. The trail swings inland from here, so I have to say goodbye to it for now as I join the busy tourist traffic heading over the cliffside roads.

The sun is beating down by now and the sky has a lot of blue to it, with some heavy traffic all around the coast as foll flock to the beaches to make the most of the good weather. Alas, it also makes for some incredibly sweaty and hard work as the sharp descents and steep climbs keep piling up.

I feel it'd get repetitive to keep repeating the similar slogs as I head past the beautiful beaches at Porthcothan, Mawgan Porth, and Watergate. The views along the coast here are wonderful, but the climbs are Sisyphean in their repetition and relentlessness. But one must imagine Sisyphus happy, after all.

Finally the gradients slaclen slightly and I eventually make my way around to roll into Newquay. The heavy work so far has made me get through a serious amount of water so I take a bit of a longer break here to let the legs rest up a bit and to load up on liquid once more.

Suitably resupplied, I have a check of the map and spy a village that my childishly purile humour means I absolutely have to detour into. I ride back through Newquay and under the impressive and tall rail bridge, before heading on to the busy A3075.

It's time for more challenging climbs as the road heads on, with some very heavy traffic and beating sun making for a very tough stint.

After getting thoroughly drenched in sweat from the effort, I reach Goonhavern where I get to switch onto a quite new off-traffic route known as Saint's Way, which turns out to be a wonderful trail through the countryside.

The trail follows around a nice little stream and rolls into the little village of Cocks. Wahey! Alas I was unable to spot a sign to pose for a photo with, which may have been removed to prevent theft. But hey, I did get to ride up Cocks Hill!

Anyway, with that out of my system, I get back to the trail as it winds its way back out to the seaside. Though I do take advantage if a nice bench beneath a tree by the little stream to have a nice break and enjoy the beautiful surroundings here.

The trail ends with an arrival into the seaside town of Perranporth, with the sound of a rugby match in the air.I roll on down to the beach to join the other tourists in enjoying the lovely sights across the qide beach as the sun continues to shine down.

Up the big hill from Perranporth, I head past the airfield as a light plane takes flight, and head around the pretty heritage coast into St Agnes.

With a check of the map here, I'm a little taken aback. There's not that much left of the west coast to go now! And I did have a potential further nostalgia stop I wanted to take in prior to hitting Land's End.

So, with the evening starting to set in, it's time to get some preparation in motion for tomorrow.

I start tracking southwards from St Agnes, tackling some more hills as I chart a course down through the countryside. The sun is casting some long shadows on the road as I ride up through Mount Hawke, before meeting with the busy dual carriageway of the A30.

I've said befire that one handy thing about dual carriageway junctions is that they do often come with some good patches of trees nearby which aren't owned by anyone who would care, and I find a suitable spot here to finally have a well earned lie down after a very long day's effort.

Tomorrow is going to be another rare day where I have a set destination in mind to reach, namely St Just. With today's efforts having nicely ground the miles out, it's about 30 miles to go, though with plenty of climbs still involved. But that should still be nicely achievable.

TTFN!