#more often - and take up more space on lots that are undoubtably all going to be 20x30 because even the fucking RANCH pack had small lots

[vivalasthedas]

aesthetically, and a lot of the smaller elements, the new sims pack looks great. But the big thing it's trying to sell you on - the ability to make multi household lots and be a landlord (why?) Just doesn't look like polished and great gameplay.

It looks like an expansion on the already existing roommates system, but with the ability to assign entire rooms/self built apartments instead. It looks like the tenants are going to be npcs you can't control (I WANT to be wrong here, I don't think I am, but I really want to be). They took that and went 'how do we hustle culture it?' cause that seems to be the brain worm that's been digging itself deeper into the minds of the sims 4 audience for years at this point and only got worse since pandemic started.

EXCEPT. It literally looks like this system could've been mildly altered and become hotels. Something people have been desperately asking for since fucking island living. Also something I don't personally give a fuck about. But I'd've preferred hotels to landlords.

Like, obviously, this is based on the damn trailer. It might well be a surprise when they do the standard stream for it. I genuinely want that to be the case. I want them to show that I can move my own controlled sims into these new multifamily households. That I can built a multi-gen home where they have their own spaces, and each unit is someone I can swap to and control. I just. Realistically. Do not see that being the case, unless they announce they're going to be updating the base game and packs that came before to open the same building apartments up or anything like that, ya know....

[jarofstyles]

PLEASE WRITE CEORRY!! Maybe y/n is his personal assistant or secretary and he’s mean to everyone in the building expect her🥺

Ok let’s maybe see how this goes 👀👀 if you want me to continue, let me know

If you enjoy this, please check out our Patreon!

———-

When you heard the name Harry Styles, there were a few emotions that would pass you by. Awe because of how successful he was. Lust, because undoubtably the man was one of the sexiest bachelors out there. Pictures of him and his famous stone cold face but handsome face covered news outlets when he went to charity events or galas. There was curiosity, because little was known about him. And then… fear.

He was scary. Intimidating. He wasn’t warm and fuzzy, he wasn’t one too mess with and he was known to fire at will. His employees knew that, and he theorized that perhaps that’s why he was so successful. There were minimal mistakes because, simply put, no one survived one too many mistakes. His face was cold and unmoving and he didn’t entertain fools. At his age and with his experience he learned to read people and ultimately, never give blind trust because it always led to someone being burned.

The people who worked for Harry knew boundaries right away. Knocking first and waiting for an answer. Waiting to be addressed. He wanted to be addressed as Mr.Styles and he never looked a hair out of place. Keeping eye contact with him was hard because it seemed like he looked into your soul. It wasn’t something that a lot of people could do.

That is, until Y/N entered.

The bubbly, sweet girl listened to the warnings. But she didn’t heed them. When she had been given a leg up by her father’s friend and got the role of assistant for him, she had been ecstatic. Of course there were the warnings that he barely kept assistants for a month. The horror stories had been how he fired someone for giving him his coffee at 8:15 instead of 8 on the dot. Or how he fired someone for their shirt being an obnoxious shade of pink. She merely scoffed, thinking that he was obviously an entitled man baby if he actually did those things.

Y/N burst into Harry’s life like a hurricane of color, chaos, and caramel coffee.

Her first day, she knocked and went right in without being addressed. His hackles raised as he was immediately angered, face raising to yell at whoever it was finger the fuck out, but he was interrupted far too quickly.

“Hello, Mr.Styles. I’m Y/N and I’m your assistant, I think we are going to get along very well. I know you usually have black coffee and one sugar but that’s a bit boring. I got you an iced caramel. It always perks me up, and the cup was cute.” She placed it in front of his shocked form, though his face was still stony.

Who was this girl? And who the hell did she think she was, flouncing into his office in her pretty dress and slightly chipped nail polish and the smell of lavender surrounding the air around her? Wirh bright eyes and slightly crooked smile that had him doing a double take?

It turned out, she turned out to be Y/N.

The girl he had an awful, juvenile, all encompassing, dirty, filthy and mushy crush on.

Harry was older than her. He was well educated and high up in the business field with the world at his fingertips, and yet he found himself dreaming about taking her hand into his and kissing her knuckles as he drove her places. He was pathetic. His bubbly assistant that often reminded him of fairies or princesses in those tall tales was the one to make him lose his grip, after working so hard for years and years to get himself to this place. He was the boss, this was his company for fucks sake! And he lets this bunny like woman walk all over him.

Y/N never really saw the attitude that Mr.Styles have to other people directed at herself. It was grumpy, sure. But he seemed… softer with her. He only scowled when she got into his personal space to fix his hair, never smacked her away or stepped out of the line of touch. He would nod and try any coffee concoction she would bring him, got used to her letting herself in after a warning knock, and never told her to shut up when she drabbles on about the new book she read or record she bought.

Harry was like… a puppy. Scary to some but to her, he let her see the glimpse of the true softy under it all. Especially that time where she had been in tears because she had ruined her favorite blouse with printer ink.

Harry had felt the most panic he had felt in a while when he had walked out to hear some sniffling. Her beautiful cream colored blouse she had just been going on about being proud of, covered in a deadly ink stain that wouldn’t possibly come out. He knew she had saved up for it. That she had been waiting for it. Her tears broke his damn heart, made him want to reach out and grab her cheeks, wipe them clean and buy her the blouse in every single color.

Instead he was somewhat reasonable.

He placed a hand on her back and handed her his black credit card.

“Go take some time n’buy a new one. Please. Don’t fight me on it, s’my fault for not warning you the machine wasn’t working properly today. Buy a few more if you’d like. I’d like to see at least a few hundred gone from the statement.” He spoke softly, though his voice was still gruff. Never had he done such an act in plain sight- his charity or good deeds were hidden. While he was actually a good person, people didn’t need to know the details. Theyd ask for hand outs, he dealt with it already.

Beautiful, sweet Y/N, however, bought his coffee on her own card despite his protests. She would research new food around them and grab him what she thinks he would like, 99.9% of the time nailing it right on the head. She was slightly abrasive to his normal taste, but he was a sucker for her. Had him wrapped around her resin ring clad fingers, just didn’t know it yet.

He was so fucked.

[thelastpilot]

‘On GOD We Are Going to Get You a Girlfriend’- A Lovesquare Story as suffered by Nino

My last charity fic for @mlbforblm! The prompt was Aged Up College AU lovesquare, in which Adrien is struggling with his love for both Marinette and Ladybug and Nino is put in the position to be the ultimate wingman. I went a little off script with this prompt but I hope it scratches that itch nonetheless. 

The concept itself lent itself much better to 15k than 4 but I did what I could! Hope it gets a laugh out of you. 

It was twilight in Paris, the tail end of sunset slipping away as people all across campus engaged in extremely varied states of productivity. That is to say, at most 20% of the campus’ live-in population was actually getting any work done, while the rest of them were either limping along or had already given up.

It was midterms week, clearly.

In the dim space of a reasonable apartment accommodation were well -intentioned study implements of every kind. The completely average couch and carpet were covered with just enough of a layer of highlighters, pens, and printed pages to give a really studious impression at a glance, but whatever vibe it might have managed was thoroughly ruined by a young man laying face down on the floor, a game console nearly tumbling from his hands. Another, separate, but equally as unfocused young man had his back to plain white wall against which they had been meaning to put like… a chair or something at least for most of the semester now, staring idly out of the sliding glass door to his left that offered only a sliver of a view from his current position. At most he could see two lovely, but neglected, potted plants and a shoddy balcony looking off towards the main body of their college campus.

He watched the small patch of sky he could see succumb to a light coverage of clouds, and as he considered the possibility of rain, he sighed.

“Nino?” he finally spoke, looking away from his strip of sky. He waited for a response for a second or two, before reaching out with his foot and gently prodding his friend’s side to check he was alive, smirking slightly when he received a grunt for his efforts.

“Mm,” Nino answered from his curled up position, the glasses on his face a perfect reflection of his Pokemon team’s stats, which was ironic considering that Stats was exactly the thing Nino was avoiding at the minute. After a beat too long, he realized his friend was still waiting on his response. He lifted his head slightly, his hat falling free to the ground as he said, “Mm? Yeah?” He blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrien smiled down at him, chuckling a little before tossing aside a textbook he had been pretending to take notes from for the last hour. When his lap was free he leaned forward and rolled to the ground, mimicking Nino’s exact positioning on the ground a small distance away from him, sighing again (louder this time).

“What?” Nino repeated himself, laughing when Adrien leveled him with a sour look. He rolled his eyes but dutifully paused his game, shutting his Switch off and putting it on the ground out of their eyeline. “Go for it dude, what’s up.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Is it a girl thing?” Nino asked flatly, raising an eyebrow when all Adrien managed was a sheepish smile. “Dude.”

“Come on! You’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated. Look don’t make fun of me just help okay; I’m really stuck now.” Adrien pleaded with him, bringing his hands in front of him to cartoonishly beg for his grace. He got another eye roll for his trouble but Nino hadn’t gotten up and left yet so that was a good sign.

It wasn’t that his friend didn’t want to help him, its just that… well.

Adrien always had some kind of girl problem, pretty much off and on for the past five years. He knew it got hard to listen to and Nino had put in way more than his fair share of time into this. Especially since he had made essentially no progress whatsoever in all that time, but boy was he almost on to something here.

Nino said nothing else, making a vague hand gesture for him to continue and Adrien did as he always did.

He hesitated, carefully considering how to phrase something.

“So um, there is this girl. That uh, girl, I always talk about. The one you don’t know. And then there is another girl, one who you do know.”

“Do we HAVE to be so vague man? We’re in our own place, there is no one around. Can’t you just say it? I get so confused when we do it like this.”

Adrien tensed slightly, discomfort crawling up his back. “I uh, I can’t. Just- just listen okay? I can’t explain it.”

“We’re in our house,” Nino complained again. But Adrien ignored him, because he always ignored him when he said that.

“Just listen okay?”

Nino looked at him squarely, or at least as squarely as he could manage while laying on the ground. When Adrien patiently waited for a response Nino finally sighed, rolling on his stomach and laying his face sideways on the floor to match him, nodding stiffly for him to continue.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to a head. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I have never ONCE in my entire LIFE gotten the timing right Nino, I’m dead serious.” Adrien rolled around a little gripping his hair with both hands. “I get the timing wrong EVERY TIME. I have never been where I’m supposed to be! I’ve never made a move at the right time I have never done it right. I get close with one girl but she doesn’t reciprocate or she tells me to wait or she says that its complicated, then I get close to the other girl but I feel GUILTY because I still care about the first girl. But she says it isn’t right so I work on it I let go but then the other girl is gone or moves on or life gets in the way. I have been in the wrong place EVERY TIME-,”

 Adrien’s ranting continues, rolling around on their carpet as he incredibly vaguely and very stupidly details a problem that he has had for many, many years. Nino can feel himself retreating into his own thoughts, more focused on Adrien’s animated rolling than his actual words. He reaches out once to save a stack of notes from getting creased and ruined, but other than that remains completely still and lets his friend do his thing.

This happened maybe once a week or so, maybe a little less often or more often depending on the status of the girls.

The fact that Adrien literally REFUSED to say their names made this completely incoherent, but where in his love life he was inconsistent, when it came to never talking about work Adrien was true to form.

Nino blinked blearily as Adrien continued, pouring over the reasons he cared so deeply for them both and why that made him feel like a bad person. It left Nino to stew, wondering much like always why they did it like this.

The two of them were superheroes. Spoilers if you didn’t know. He didn’t feel like much of a superhero when he was sprawled out on his shared apartment floor suffering the long run up to failing his Stats midterm like any other student. But the fact remained that he was one, and so was Adrien. The problem was that Adrien was serious about keeping life and work separate. It was pretty much only hard and fast rule about this gig that Nino had picked up on when he first joined. Never talk about work as a civilian, under any circumstances. You only get to talk about work when you’re suited up, and you’re only allowed to talk about life in plain clothes.

Honestly, it was so hard to do it that way, but the rules were clear, not that anyone had actually stopped to explain them to him. Adrien froze up whenever he even so much as mentioned an akuma attack or asked about an injury. Don’t talk about work, but…

They lived together now, this was the first semester where they had done so and Nino was so hyped about it. Like FINALLY, our kwamis can relax and we can be ourselves. He had been so excited about it, but to his profound disappointment Adrien refused to relent on his rule. Their kwamis were never even out in the open except for in their rooms, like he knew Adrien was strict but surely he wasn’t that committed.

Nino understood that it was probably Ladybug’s rule but still, it’s not like she was here. He wouldn’t advocate for disobeying her but… come on man. His brain hurt.

He KNEW Adrien was talking about Ladybug/Marinette. He knew that for a fact, but Adrien would never say her name out loud, because that overlaps with work (even though they hang out with her in person like every single day.) Maybe Nino didn’t know who the heck this second girl he was talking about was, but at the very least he could be clear about one of them.

Whoever the second girl actually was sounded a lot like Marinette, so the for-sure thing was that he had a type. Honestly though he had stopped trying to figure it out years ago. If he wasn’t so exhausted from not studying he would humor him like he always did, but today… man he was kind of tired.

He waited until Adrien was done talking, undoubtably ending by asking for advice as per the usual. Then, like always, Nino said what he always did.

“You need to communicate. If you are not crystal clear with these girls about what they want and what you want nothing with ever happen. You need to bite the bullet and TELL them, at least ONE of them, what you’re thinking.”

And like always, Adrien groaned and covered his face and said, “It’s not that easy!”

They both grumbled dejectedly into the carpet, repeating their years old platitudes until they gave up on each other. Nino usually did this a lot better but he reserved the right to tap out and Adrien usually seemed to accept that.

The only different thing Adrien actually said was when he was standing. He mumbled, “I know, I know. You’re right, as usual but… I’m maybe gonna ask someone else. See what they think.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re hoping for, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” Adrien sighed, offering a hand to help him off the ground. He smiled gently, but his eyes were sad. Enough of a gesture to explain that he wasn’t actually mad at Nino’s dismissiveness. He had a right to refrain.

 They spent an idle few minutes cleaning up their mess, consolidating their notes and books into two loose piles and neither saying much. It was only about thirty or so minutes later when Adrien announced vaguely, “I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Yeah man,” Nino answered, knowing by heart Adrien’s codeword for ‘patrol’. Didn’t know why he didn’t just say it, but that was a dead horse long beaten.

 Adrien left within a minute or two but Nino stood blearily for awhile in the living room, staring at nothing as he debated just going to bed for the day.

He was just about to head to his room to ask if Wayzz was ready for dinner when the kwami in question came flying into the room, confidently out in the open space now that Adrien was gone.

“You’re getting a call!” Wayzz piped up importantly, waving his little flippers a bit to sell the point. “It’s Cat Noir!”

“I- what?” Nino sputtered, glancing towards the apartment door in confusion. “He literally just- ugh.” Nino groaned as loudly as possible, Wayzz shaking his head a little. “Why is he LIKE THIS, he could have just TOLD ME TO COME.”

“I know he’s odd about it, but he must have his reasons. You should go, he must need you for patrol.”

Nino demanded a few more moments of frustration, which Wayzz indulged, before grabbing his keys and unlocking a window in case he didn’t feel like using them. It was Adrien’s turn tonight but okay whatever.  

 It only took him a minute or two to transform and get out onto their building’s roof, stretching a bit before raising his wrist. He forced himself to take a deep breath and remind himself of the rules while he returned Adrien’s call.

Through the hazy, green, holographic screen he saw the face of Cat Noir answer on the first ring, the feline superhero sighing in relief and smiling widely.

“There you are! I was hoping you were out. Hey, I know this is kind of sudden but… um I was wondering if you were willing to meet up with me. I want to ask you about something.”

He allowed himself to hang his head in frustration just out of the video feeds eyeline, pulling a sharp breath through his teeth before answering, “Yeah bud. Lets meet up.”

“Great!” Cat Noir answered enthusiastically, genuinely happy that he had agreed for whatever reason. “Meet me here when you get a second,” and he sent over his current location. Sure enough he was literally like, one block over.

He hung up without a goodbye, dragging his feet as he started to head that way. He was slow about it sine it was at most five seconds away for him. Adrien was so INTENSE about this charade some days it just drove him completely crazy. But rules are rules.

He waited for about a minute to distance their patterns, then with a short jump and a few corner’s turned he found Cat Noir crouched on top of the Linguistics building.

“Hey, you got here fast,” Cat greeted him happily, a little nervous looking actually. ‘Carapace’ as he was really had to resist the eye roll there, deciding instead to nod.

He went over and sat somewhat heavily, not pretending with an greeting at all and just watching him flatly. For whatever reason this made Cat Noir hesitate a little, but he quickly got over it, pushing through the weirdness and folding his hands in his lap.

“Well, listen I won’t waste your time much. I know we don’t really do this, we only ever talk about work and that’s the safe thing, I get how it is.” Cat Noir looked away, his gaze fixated on the possibility of rain, before he finally sighed.

“I just… I was wondering if I could get some… girl advice?”

Cat Noir looked to his ally, scanning his face and getting even more nervous as he more or less saw a brick wall of an expression on Carapace’s face.

Carapace blinked, saying nothing as Cat Noir began to talk unprompted, persevering despite the lack of reciprocation.

“So um, there is a girl, and you know that.  I always talk about her, and there is another girl, one that you don’t know.”

Carapace blinked.

He softly let out a “Bro…” but Cat Noir was hyping himself up now and he started rolling.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to this point where like, I-,”

He kept going, looking down at his gloved hands and missing Carapace’s slowly warping expression. He started rambling, about how he always got the timing wrong, about how he cared about both these girls so much and he just didn’t know what to do. He started and he didn’t stop, completely unaware of Carapace starting to lose touch with reality.

Finally Carapace interrupted, stammering slightly in a tone that was wildly like…

Disbelief?

“Dude I- stop, hang on. Dude I just- I know?” He waited for a beat, watching Cat Noir blink in confusion. He scanned his face, looking for just- literally anything. After another moment that was way too long, he finally braved it. “We- we already, we already talked about this.”

Cat straightened, throwing his head back in exasperation and groaning loudly, “Okay I know I talk about girls sometimes but I honestly never bother you with this much can you humor me please?”

“No I-,” Carapace paused, his voice getting quieter. “We just… literally we-,”.

“Please man I- UGH I’m really having trouble!” He nearly shouted it, looking so genuinely unheard that Carapace was reeling. “You’re one of my only close guy friends I NEED a second opinion, I’m begging now. I already asked my other friend but he always says the exact same thing and he’s RIGHT but I need someone to say something else!” Cat suddenly mimicked his voice saying, “”You need to communicate.” That’s what he says, he’s RIGHT obviously but I just-,”

He kept talking, briefly glossing over how this ‘friend of his’ wasn’t particularly helpful with this line of questioning, so Cat Noir had chosen to seek HIM out instead.

And as he went on with his rant, Carapace slowly brought his hands to his face in intense contemplation.

Suddenly, in the middle of Cat Noir’s over the top love ranting Carapace decided to interrupt him.

“Hold up- hold on now. I need to clarify something, just cause I need to double check alright, just checkin’ something.”

Cat Noir paused, looking to him and slowly saying, “…okay?”

“You KNOW I know you’re Adrien Agreste right?”

 Silence. Cat abruptly went rigid, but Carapace just splayed his hands wide, rapidly searching his face for confirmation of the impossible.

“Like dawg you KNOW that right? You’re aware? You know that right?”

Cat Noir was frozen, holding as still as possible like Carapace was a T-Rex and if he didn’t move this problem was just gonna go away. But Carapace pressed further, getting louder as he said “DUDE you know who I AM RIGHT?!”

The feline superheroes breathing was starting to pick up, his eyes blown wide as he REALLY looked at his friend, before he nearly inaudibly squeaked, “…no?”

“ADRIEN-,”

“Shhh!” Cat Noir leapt forward, trying to grapple him as he went into full panic mode, “Wait shut up shut up!”

“IT’S BEEN FIVE YEARS!”

“SHUT UP!”

They started to wrestle, Cat Noir violently shushing his companion as he had a full melt down, saying things like “All this time-!” and “You’re an idiot!” and “I thought you were just- oh my god!”

“Please!!! This is terrible Carapace shut up!! I don’t know how you found out my identity but I-,”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL-!?”

“Lower your voice!”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL”

“What do you mean?!”

Carapace gripped him hard by the shoulders and threw them both until Cat Noir was flat on his back with a harsh thump against the roof tiles. The turtle hero held him tight and shook his shoulders, his eyes crazed with years of realization colliding together at once. “Who is the second girl in your ridiculous life, what’s her name?!”

Cat Noir looked wild and frightened, finally becoming so flustered that he just hissed in a whisper, “It’s Marinette okay!?”

“And?”

“And WHAT!?”

“AND?” Carapace reiterated, shaking him harder.

“And LADYBUG you MORON!” he hissed as quietly as he possibly could.

Instantly Carapace stopped, holding him in a vice like grip just above the tiles. After an incredibly still moment, he dropped him, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face.

Cat Noir was flat on his back, panting heavily and staring up at him freaked out, but it was like Carapace had been struck by lightning and he was just sitting there, completely still.

 “Oh,” was all he finally said, curling in on himself slightly. Before suddenly, he pitched to the side and just lay there on the roof tiles, rolling onto his stomach.

“…oh?!” Cat eventually managed, twisting onto his side to look at him just laying there. “That’s all you have to say?! Of COURSE it’s Ladybug! I talk about her EVERY. DAY.”  

“This… explains… so much,” Carapace muttered, not even listening to him. With a huff Cat crawled onto all four and went over to him, his heart racing in what was nearly a panic attack at this point. But all of Carapace’s energy had been spent, and he just mumbled dejectedly with his face smooshed against the tiles.

Cat Noir’s ears twisted forward, trying to make out the words, before he just lost his patience and hissed “What are you saying?!”

“I said YOU’RE STUPID!” the turtle barked out, turning his face back into the filthy roof.

“Why am I- UGH forget it! Just forget it we have a way bigger problem here- If Ladybug finds out my identity has been compromised she’s going to-,”

“Is SHE stupid too!?” Carapace interjected, twisting just enough to look up at him incredulously. “Is everyone stupid but ME?”

“What the hell are you talking about?! Dude there is RULES! No one is allowed to know anyone elses identity!”

Carapace just gaped at him, before his eyes unfocused and he just went limp. He whispered it when he said, “So she IS stupid…”

He waited a beat, and wretchedly mumbled to himself, “Oh god you’re both so stupid.”

 Cat Noir was at a loss, looking all around him like he was desperately trying to make sense of it all, stopping only to try and sort of Carapace’s miserable breakdown.

He was about to give up and just drag Carapace to a lockable room somewhere before his friend propped himself up all at once with the most exasperated expression he had ever seen on a human person.

“So help me- someone has to do some shit about this, listen to me-,” Carapace got to his knees and lunged forward to grab him by the bell. He pulled him forward, and with all the determination of a war general he proclaimed, “On GOD I am going to get you a girlfriend, do you hear me? I am going to make this happen because I can not STAND another DAY of this. Got it?!”

“I- Carapace I-!?”

“GOT IT?!”

  Cat Noir dangled helplessly in his grip, and with his last wits he sputtered out, “Okay, okay!!! I’ll do whatever you say!”

[rymndsmth]

querencia (jang han seo)

🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy! 

Everything felt so different.

Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling. 

His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive. 

This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.

It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend. 

Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about. 

The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed. 

The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung  and his girlfriend). 

Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller. 

Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores. 

He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place. 

While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion. 

I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned. 

She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:

I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea. 

He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot. 

The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:

Nice drawing. 

Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition. 

You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?

As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.

You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.

Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.  

He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.

There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.

Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.  

He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later. 

While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood. 

The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived. 

Is this a joke? She huffed.

No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history. 

You brought back what? Her brow raised.

Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide. 

Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen. 

Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter. 

Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons. 

She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag. 

Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.

His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush. 

There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it. 

To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest. 

You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all. 

Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued. 

That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though. 

He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips. 

Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush. 

There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her? 

Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him. 

Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors. 

Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table. 

Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you. 

Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!

Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down. 

Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished. 

Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-

What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his. 

Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow. 

If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did. 

It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin. 

The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers. 

Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes. 

That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.  

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Bargain

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: M 

Ao3 || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series  

I want to add a TW up here: The first half of this fic depicts Astarion having a panic attack/being in fight or flight. The portrayal was informed by my own struggles with BPD and panic attacks. I think it's important to remember our responses to trauma are often flawed and imperfect. It was very cathartic for me to write tbh. I'm very proud of this one and I think a lot of Dafni's character really shines through! This one has a good bit of canon d&d lore mixed with some homebrew/folklore about the fey (WotC pls feed me more feywilds canon I am DESPERATE for it!). Elvish Translations (via candle keep): arael’sha: Heart-friend (used in contexts like beloved or my heart) The stars shining right through your eyes: A common elvish idiom referring to one's youth or naiveté.

A gust of wind blew through the putrid bog carrying the damp, acrid smell of rotten vegetation and sulfuric swamp water. The gray, splintered walls of the tea house groaned, the top half of the gnarled structure swaying. It was shocking the poor construction of the ramshackle hovel hadn’t killed the hag for them. Astarion had made his way to the small alcove hung above the crumbling foyer hoping to find his paramour. He felt his heart sink when he was met with nothing but the witch's clutter. Astarion rocked on his heels. There was something deeply wrong with this place, even with Ethel dead. Oppressive energy hung on the stale air. Filling the whole space with an undoubted misery that left him feeling raw and exposed.

Deep down you like being leashed, don't ya?

Gale and Wyll had begun to make themselves at home below him. He observed them as they languidly poked about, looking for anything of the hag’s that would be of use. Wyll had already summoned a raven to send back to camp, a note attached to its foot informing the others that they wouldn’t make it back for the evening. The old bat had not given up without a fight and they’d been left battered and exhausted. Astarion winced, his arm brushing against the wall.

He was bleeding. Fantastic.

He had been too preoccupied with the feelings this place drew out of him to notice the long gash running down the top of his forearm. Ethel had tried to drag him to the gaping chasm at the center of her abode when the fight was no longer in her favor. He had struggled and thrashed against her but she only dug her twisted claws in deeper. She’d nearly succeeded in pitching him over when a fatal arrow from Dafni’s longbow sunk into her eye with a wet squelch, exiting the back of her skull.

He already felt like shit from being tossed about by a hag and that discomfort was only compounded by the growing need for a drink. The scorch of thirst started to lick at the back of his throat. He must have been bleeding into his sleeve for some time. His body was eager to replace what was lost.

Is there still rat stuck in your teeth? Slave!

Perhaps Dafni would allow him a little nibble. Just the thought of the sweet strawberry wine in her veins eased some of the discomforts. Astarion pressed his back against a hideous wardrobe, sliding down until his backside hit the ground. He had made a point of exercising restraint when it came to drinking from her. He never wanted her to be under the impression she was only a meal to him. But he was famished and she was his favorite treat.

You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone!

Or maybe not...

There had to be something else edible nearby. He took in a deep breath only to be met with the nauseating scent of an overripe corpse. He coughed and sputtered, forcing the repugnant smell from his lungs. Any thirst he might have had was chased off by the gut-twisting aroma. It seemed he wouldn’t be taking a breath for the rest of the night. While his undead nature freed him from the necessity of breathing he’d always been partial to it. The feeling of his chest moving up and down had served as a steadfast reminder he wasn’t  truly  dead despite all he had endured at Cazador’s hand.

Vampire? Ha! You’re nothing but a ravenous cadaver, spawn!

“You bastard! You ruined it- You ruined everything!” Mayrina squawked.

“Are you daft! I helped you!” Dafni spat back.

Well, he found her.

It would seem Dafni’s damsel in distress was none too pleased with her would-be hero. Astarion groaned, bringing his head to his knees. He was agitated as it was and the squabble happening outside was only making the tightness in his chest worse. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to tune them out. Astarion grit his teeth, the pain in his arm was growing more acute by the minute and the strange magic of this shithole had his nerves ragged. His body jolted at the crack of a hand against flesh ringing out across the yard outside followed by a string of elven cursing. A torrent harrowing memories shot through his brain as the appalling noise hit his ear. The simmering dread morphing into fury. A low growl fell from his snarling lips as he tore down the stairs towards the yard.

“The hag promised she’d bring my husband back from the grave if I gave her my baby! I just needed to wait a little longer but you had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong!”

“You promised your child to a hag? You do know hags devour babies, yes? They swallow them whole and within a week the child is reborn a hag daughter.” Dafni’s yelped as Mayrina‘s palm came down across her cheek. She brought a hand to the stinging flesh in disbelief. Foxglove bells dripped from her battle messed hair, hot summer rage threatening to boil over. She took a deep breath in attempting to soothe her nerves but her soundings did little to help. The magic that covered this swamp, was arcane and wild- Much the same as dark and forbidden places in her home plane. Hags often built their homes in places where the barrier between the material and faerie was thin enough for fools from both planes to seek them out. It was unsurprising the shadowy influence of the hag had mingled with the magic of a crossing to create a bubble of negativity. It was likely provoking more extreme reactions from the already distressed woman. “I understand you are upset, but my patience is growing thin. I am only trying to help you. I’m no stranger to hags. They are creatures of my homeland and I can assure you there is always a greater price. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Don’t you judge me! You can’t possibly understand-” Mayrina sobbed raising her open palm for another strike only to her wrist caught in the iron grasp of Astarion’s alabaster hand.

Oh no.

“You foul little wrench!” Astarion’s voice was acid, his teeth bared, “She saved your miserable life and you dare raise your filthy hand to her? I have half a mind to tear your throat out but that seems kinder than you deserve.”

Dafni’s heart was pumping a mile a minute. She’d seen Astarion cross but this was completely different. Astarion’s body was completely rigged. His shoulders forward, back straight. His red eyes glowed with ferocity as his grip on Mayrina tightened. Normally when he was upset he’d get stroppy or belligerent. He’d needle the target of his disapproval with snide remarks until they were as frustrated as he was. He could be rather rude and bab tounged when he felt like it but it was always a cool, controlled vexation. This was unfettered wrath far stronger than Mayrina’s actions had earned.

“I-I’m sorry!” Mayrina uttered with a shaking breath, “Please, let me go!”

“Why?” He snarled, cocking his head to the side, “So you can attempt to strike my beloved a third time?”

“Please, arael’sha, let her go…” Dafni wrapped her hand around his shoulder, her eyes soft and concerned, “I’m fine. She shouldn’t have hit me but I’m in no danger from her and you know that.”

“Fine.” He shot her a loathsome look but yielded to her request, tossing Mayrina’s hand with disgust, “You and your gods damned bleeding-heart. Let the shrew disrespect you if you’d like. I don’t care.” Astarion turned on his heels staking back into the tea house his fists balled tight at his side.

Dafni nibbled her lower lip, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeves. Astarion had made himself scarce after the incident with Mayrina. It upset her to see him so distressed. Her instinct had been to tear after him when he stormed off. But, she knew him well enough to understand he would need space and time to calm down before they discussed it. Any attempt to talk to him before that would only serve to upset him even more. She made herself busy tending to her friends in the meantime. They had a few injuries but nothing she couldn’t patch up. She might have been too worn out for magic but Ethel had kept a decent supply of herbs and tonics for her less exotic ‘lotions and potions’ that would do nicely. She even found a few things worth snagging for her own medical kit back at camp. If they had to be stranded for the night, at least it was somewhere well stocked.

Gale had a burn on his arm she’d treated with a salve of aloe and quince. Wyll a nasty knock to the head, that while painful, by the Protector’s grace, didn’t appear to be a concussion. She’d put on a kettle of willow bark tea and instructed him to drink at least two cups of the stuff as soon as it was ready. She had done all she could for now. More than anything they both seemed fatigued. With a little rest, they’d be on the mend.

The worn staircase creaked under her weight as she made her way to the second level of the house. Astarion sat on the splintering floor, his back propped up against a cluttered cupboard. His scarlet eyes glassy and fixed on a far off point. He was clutching the top of his right forearm. Between his fingers, Dafni could make out a tell-tale dark stain of red on his sleeve.

“You are hurt!” She gasped racing to his side, “Why didn’t you fetch me! Let me clean and bandage that for you.”

“Don’t touch me.” His voice came out in a low growl as he twisted away from her.

Dafni took a step away, her hands held up. “I won’t touch you without your consent but I need to tend to your arm soon. I’m worried about you.”

“Why should I want your help?” He glared at her arm still held tight against his chest. “You certainly don’t want mine.”

Dafni let out an exacerbated exhale, “Is this about what happened earlier?”

“No, it’s about you and your compulsive need to martyr yourself at every chance! It is foolhardy, reckless, and incredibly selfish! You can be so juvenile- The stars shining right through your eyes! And I can’t always be there to mind you, Dafni! Today it was just a slap but one day you are going to try and save the wrong person and I’m going to find you bled out in an outer city gutter or worse!” He was scolding her in earnest now. His bottled-up feelings coming out in a torrid of icy words. “Is rushing into other people’s disasters to prove to mommy and the gods you are a big girl really worth it? ”

“I do tend to put the needs of others before my own” She admitted, “Oftentimes to my own detriment but, please, don't talk to me as if I am a misbehaving child.” Dafni kept her tone calm and even as she continued, “I care for you and I can tell you are feeling overwhelmed. I want to support you but I can’t do that unless you help me understand what’s going on?”

They sat in silence for a while. His lean frame was closed off and wound tight. As if he was prepared to bolt at the slightest disruption of his already fragile state. An anxious tremble coursing through him every few moments. He refused to face her but Dafni could have sworn she saw the wet shimmer of tears forming in his eyes.

“My patience was already rather thin and then I heard that insolent twit strike you…” He spoke at last, finally met her gaze with an absolutely despondent expression. “And something just snapped in me.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that shouting. I’m sure listening to her smack the daylights out of me wasn’t pleasant for you. Especially when you were already feeling uneasy.” Dafni said as she slowly brought her head to rest on his shaking shoulder. Astarion dropped a smidge of tension from his body as he buried his face in her roseate, satin-soft curls. His breathing grew more steady by the second. She could sense the storm of his disquiet coming to an end. “I want you to know I appreciate you standing up for me. I might not have agreed with the method but I know your heart was in the right place.” She hesitated, “Can I ask you a question?”

He gave her an uncertain look but nodded, “If you’d like to.”

“Do you feel like it’s your job to protect me?”

He shifted a bit his eyes darting away as his good arm rubbed the nape of this neck. His body language all but screamed the answer but he was clearly still trying to craft a response. “Sometimes. Is that a satisfactory response?”

“Hmm?” Dafni mused, “If you elaborate, yes.”

“Why?” The word came at a long, petulant whine. His brows were knit tight, “I answered the question, did I not?”

Dafni brushed a delicate finger along the straight line of his ear. She smiled as a shiver of delight ran throughout him. A faint flush made its way across the bridge of his nose and to his cheeks. So light you’d miss it if you didn’t know what to look for. “Humor me?”

“I don’t like seeing people hurt you.” He said toying with a stray tendril of her hair, “You always see the best in everyone and everything. The world is full of malefactors who would be more than happy to take advantage of that and for some reason, beyond my control, I’ve decided keeping you happy and whole is just as important to my survival as my own well being.” He groaned pinching the space between his brows with the hand of his unmarred arm, “So you see my motivations are far from selfless. Happy?”

Dafni tried to will the bright grin that threatened to take shape across her lips away. Worried she might frighten him off with her enthusiasm. “Your elaboration was sufficient.” She tittered, no longer suppressing her smile. Her eyes shimmering with mirth as she spoke, “I have an idea! How about we strike a bargain?”

Astarion’s mouth quirked with a warm smile of his own, “Wasn’t it the dangers of fey bargains that caused this mess in the first place?”

“Yes, but I am no hag and I’ll give my word to say only what I mean. No tricks. Creatures of Faerie are bound by our word, we never go back on a promise once given.” She explained, “Now, I respect you far too much to lie and say I’ll stop helping people when I think they need it but, I, Dafni Ríwen of Gwynneth, Daughter of Thesmia Ríwen, cleric of blessed Corellon Larethina give you, Astarion of Baldur's Gate my word that I will try to pick my battles rather than jumping in headfirst at every opportunity. In exchange, I ask that you treat me as your equal from now. I watch your back and you watch mine. We protect each other. Always. Do we have a deal?”

“I can agree to that.”

With a bargain struck between them she leaned in close brushing her lips against his cheek, a gentle tingle of magic, sweet as spring spreading through them both. “Now, I insist you give me that arm. You might like the smell of blood but to me, it reeks of iron.” With a half-hearted laugh, he relinquished the injured arm to her at last. Drat. Was nothing simple? The gash was much deeper than she’d thought it to be. “ Hmmm, this will need stitches, unfortunately. At least until I can rest and heal you with magic. I’ll need to boil some more cloth for bandages and find a needle in this mess.” Dafni procured a small flask of pale yellow liquid from her pack, a bit strong for such a simple procedure but with his, she didn’t want to retrigger his fight or flight by stabbing him with whatever dull needle she could scrounge up. “In the meantime take a  very  small nip of this. It’s a bit of poppy syrup diluted with dandelion wine for the pain and nerves. Drink up. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Dafni made her way back downstairs creating a list of supplies in her mind: She’d need to boil some cloth in witch hazel for dressing, a steel needle, and thread, alcohol to clean the wound, something to keep everything clean and safe while she worked in the filthy alcove...

When Dafni returned she found Astarion lounging rather contently with a lazy grin on his beautiful face. She had told him to take only a small nip! Oh well, at least he’d sit still for her. She sat back down, carefully placing the silver tray of makeshift medical supplies beside her.

“This stuff is great, Daffodil!” He chuckled, swirling the remainder of her laudanum around the flask.

“A nip, Astarion. A nip! Now give me that.” She scolded, snatching the glass bottle from his loose grip. He only laughed, completely bemused by her annoyance. “Alright, I’m going to clean out the cut with some alcohol. It might sting a bit.” Dafni explained, rolling her eyes, “Though I hardly think you’ll notice in this state.”

He winced a bit as the alcohol came in contact with his flesh, his nose scrunching up in displeasure but he sat otherwise stone still. Methodically, she began the work of suturing his arm. He was very lucky she’d been able to bum a needle and thread off Gale otherwise she would have been forced to get creative.

“You are a cleric. Doesn't daddy Corellon grant you all kinds of healing power? Why did you bother to learn how to mend people without magic?”

“Ok, first off  please  do not refer to the divine being that created our people as ‘daddy’ ever again.” She shook her head with a giggle all the while continuing her task, “Secondly, I learned because of situations just like this one. Magic takes a lot of energy. I can’t just cast unlimited healing spells and the wilds can be dangerous. I never wanted to find myself in a situation when I was unable to care for myself or my sisters. Besides, I needed something to study while they and my mother worked on their wizardry.”

“I want to know something else. Why did you let that fool girl get away with slapping you?”

Dafni mulled the thought over for a bit as she finished the final stitch, snipping the thread with a pair of sewing shears she fully intended to steal. “Because I felt sorry for her. She had clearly already suffered enough without my vengeance. Humans live such fleeting lives, Astarion. They are over before our people even reach adulthood. They experience so much loss and decay in such little time. I think it can make them blind to the long term implications of their choices.”

“I still think you should have let me kill her for disrespecting you.” He shrugged, “But I suppose I can understand your thinking.”

“As I said, she’s suffered more than her fair share. But I appreciate the sentiment.” She gathered a length of linen, winding it snugly over his arm. “All done! You were a model patient!” She teased before adding with sincerity, “I hope that wasn’t too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all. Thank you. For everything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes falling to the well-worn floorboards, “You are the first person to treat me like a man in a very long time. You make it easy to forget I’m an undead horror. I’m eternally grateful for you even if I’m not the best at expressing that.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that Astarion.” She scowled, “It hurts my heart when you say things like that about yourself. We might not always see eye to eye and I won’t lie, you can be an absolute pain in my backside. But you will always be a person to me. Never a monster.”

“Always so sweet.” He sighed, slumping against her shoulder, nuzzling his favorite spot in the hollow of her neck. “I wish I understood you. All that time and I don’t think I’ve ever really understood you- how you can be so... good. Yet, frustratingly you’ve always seemed to understand me better than I understand myself.”

He spoke with an unmistakable familiarity, far beyond that which they’d formed over the past few days. Their people lived many lives. Longing to return to Corellon’s side in Arvandor but unable to as punishment for confining themselves to a single shape. Two elves could find each other in more than one lifetime. It was far from unheard of.

The Feywilds did funny things to a person's memory if they weren’t used to its magic. Even affecting the reverie of those from other lands who spent time among their eladrin cousins. The crossing or the magic of her bargain could possibly have provoked things long forgotten.

Or he was simply three sheets to the wind.

Regardless it was refreshing to have such a candid conversation with him. Free of affectation or pretense. Even if he was almost certainly going to forget all of it and be right back to his cocksure self by morning.

“I disagree.” She stated, “I think you understand me better than you think. You’re just a little out of practice when it comes to letting people close to you. You didn’t ask but, as I’m positive you’ll forget this little talk by tomorrow, I also want to add that I think you are secretly very sensitive. I’ve also seen the puppy eyes you give me when you think I’m not looking. Totally adorable! You are just afraid to let people see that side of you.”

“Puppy eyes?” He chuckled nipping softly at her throat, “I think I preferred thinking you were scared of me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, sweetness.” She tuted placing a light peck on his forehead, “You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Oh, my darling, Despoena.” He muttered exhausted against her shoulder. “It was so lonely here without you. I’m glad you found me at last.”  

Dafni’s heart stopped dead in its tracks.

How?

He named her.

The memories of one’s primal life were lost after their first century. Leaving only glimmers and fragments behind. For the fey eladrin, true names- The names they had carried when they sprung from the blood of the Creator, were the most sacred and personal of those precious among them. Names held power in the land of Faerie but none so much as a soul’s true name. They were not to be shared with even the closest of loved ones, and yet in his haze, Astarion somehow knew?

“Astarion… I’ve never told anyone my true name. Not even my mother knows it. How did you know it? And what do you mean by ‘I’m glad you found me’? Are you having some kind of waking reverie or are you just high out of your mind? I’m a little taken back- And you are snoring. Great. You blurt out my only true secret and then it's off to Sehanine Moonbow with you.”

As desperately as she wanted to puzzle out the evening's events she was tired in mind and body. The others had already settled in for the night and she’d be wise to do the same. She settled herself in for trance, Astarion’s head on her shoulder, his hand intertwined with hers. Praying her reverie might provide some answers.  

[impossible-rat-babies]

@elmshore tagged me to talk about my fic our reflections!

gonna put this mostly below the cut bc it might get long + im ewbarressed 2 talk bout my fics bc often there is a lot of imagery behind them sdjfls

i’m gonna tag: 

@bitchesofostwick, @trvelyans, @mournholdmushroom, @wayhavn, and anyone else who is a mutual who writes who wants to be just. jabber on about their fic i would love 2 hear it

the idea rumbling around in my head, if I’m remembering this correctly, came after the book three demo came out and there is the bounty on the detective’s head for their capture. this got me thinking about how “well it would make sense if the trappers actively went after the detective when they were alone, or otherwise indisposed.” 

That got me rolling on the idea of what happened in the aftermath of such an incident. I wanted more the aftermath rather than the whole omg the detective is in danger haha they’re saved by their LI! I don’t find that as compelling or interesting personally compared to them saving themselves, but they’re injured or had to find a way out of the situation themselves. Or both--I’m not picky.

It was also a sort of fic born out of the desire to see where pollux and mason get on each others nerves/where their conflicts reside. I love fluff between couples, but I also love exploring the more difficult and organic parts of two people together. which this fic was a really great place to explore that between the two of them, mostly because pollux is antagonistic towards asking for help or letting himself be helped. he doesn’t need to be babied in this instance and he had everything under control. the fact that mason is upset over the fact that it actually happened and pollux didn’t tell anyone is irrelevant in pollux’s mind. he got out of it with his life and he can tend his wounds in peace--he doesn’t need help. thus, we have a nice little conflict.

but a bit of dialogue or action that got stuck in my head when i was first drafting it was:

“....fucking hopeless.” Mason grumbles to himself and Pollux bunches his fingers tightly in his shirt.

“If you’re gonna talk then shit say it to my face, Mason.” Pollux spits his name and he knows he’s playing chicken with a speeding car—sooner or later he’s going to get hit.

Mason turns on him, anger drawing his lips into a snarl and frustration tensing his shoulders,

(take one more step, I swear to god)

“I said...” He starts slow, meeting his grey eyes and there’s a vicious storm in that grey, “you’re fuckin’ hopeless, Pollux.”

“Good.”

we’re gonna ignore how pollux definitely would’ve decked mason if he had gotten much closer.

this part really stuck because in all my writings i’ve done with them, both published and unpublished, it’s often pollux who presents the conflict between them verbally. It’s more in his nature to have that confrontation compared to mason. but this is a flip on that, where mason is just so fed up with this sort of crap from pollux where he says something he doesn’t mean. it does sort of put a stop to the argument though, both of them sort of putting each other in their places. mason unintentionally saying an extremely hurtful statement to pollux, and pollux asserting both that yes mason you said that and yes i am hopeless glad you finally got the picture there chief.

moving on, I didn’t really write one of these scenes before all the others. I skipped past a majority of the main argument to get to the meat of that and then built everything up around it. I did skip to after the argument where pollux is in the bathroom alone too. fun fact: the ending is the least edited and most free flowing part of it because i got on a roll + i just didn’t want to edit it. is it less polished and more rushed feeling? maybe. but i did like a lot of the prose i put into the ending. (looking back it’s definitely sort of sparked my obsession with writing about hands and the minuscule movements of hands in fic. if i don’t spend a couple sentences of a character paying attention to hands then what sort of gay writer am I?)

--

the image in my mind when writing fics is often playing things out as a movie scene. it’s all constructed in my head, the environment, the placing of the characters in the space, their interactions. i pick out what seems the most relevant even if it seems rather mundane. blinds or curtains being open, the color a lamp sheds--if it’s more blue or yellow. (bluer whites always read more clinical or impersonal, where more yellow lights feel more homey and personal). or like the color of the tile. I love thinking about the color of bathroom tiles/the inherent cold touch of bathroom tiles. i also like thinking about bathrooms as much as i like thinking about vintage hotel rooms.

but in this fic I was really wanting to hit on the “this is the middle of the night when no one should really be awake unless you’re getting into trouble” but also “this is the middle of the night when people say things or get into arguments because the dark hides everything.” 

also i dunno why i’m so stuck on only having one light source in a scene i write, it’s become a habit and i dunno why.

--

I didn’t really take inspo from another piece of media. i mean, it’s undoubtably got bits of tropes and such stuck into it, but such is writing. im not saying this is entirely original because it isn’t, i just can’t think of anything.

and like i said before, the book three demo with the trapper bounty really got me thinking. well that and the realistic part of what would happen if pollux got jumped by three or four trappers intent on kidnapping him.

me taking the idea of the detective possibly never having killed someone and tossing that shit out the window.

not that pollux is eager to kill people, or is fine with it. tensions just run high when you’re being attacked and slamming a person’s head into the bonnet of your car until they stop moving in a viable tactic for him. did the trapper live? i dunno, pollux certainly doesn’t.

--

i guess the cornerstone going around with this fic was stated above--the strained, realistic, not getting along parts of relationships between people. the subjecting these characters to a possible thing that could happen and seeing how they deal with it in their ways and the conflicts that brings.

but there’s also this chance to grow, to figure things out and avoid a repeat of the situation. it’s as much about the nitty gritty as it is the learning process of being with someone. like when mason explicitly asks/says in his own way for pollux to not do something like that again, whether thats fighting the trappers on his own, or refusing to be helped. or pollux not outright saying no, but rather saying he’ll try. it’s a step along the way towards making it work.

i know i write a lot about the rough and angsty parts of a relationship, but it’s also partially about the growth between characters. the realism of the bickering, the fights, the missteps along the way when you’re trying to make a partnership work. it’s the caring enough to make a mess, to not turn ones back on someone for being difficult. 

i love writing gross--both angsty gross and fluffy grossly human stuff!

[stay-mon-army]

Nights Like This- Ma Allen

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,693 words

Soft music fills the mostly empty living space you and Allen currently occupy. Allen had been your best friend for a few years now, ever since you had accidentally run into him with a fresh, hot coffee. Cliche, painful, but with undoubtably wonderful consequences. You’d paid him back for the accident by getting him coffee, where he gave you his number. Many texts and hangouts later, you easily considered each other best friends.

Recently, you’d spent many late nights like this. Allen had been busy the past few months with his debut with Cravity, but he always found time for you. It wasn’t much. You would put on a random playlist, sometimes make dinner, sometimes order takeout, settle yourselves on the couch or the floor in front of it. Sometimes you would talk or watch a movie. On particularly good days for Allen, you two would dance along to crazy music. Most days, however, he was exhausted from practice, and you would sit in silence- knees touching, only sound your soft breathing.

Today was one of the latter- you didn’t risk even a whisper in fear of destroying the serenity between you both. You didn’t touch your phone, just zoning out gazing into the kitchen. There was nothing uncomfortable about the air between you two- just the knowledge of the others presence was healing. Which was why you were so surprised that Allen broke the silence with a quiet whisper.

“Do you think we could really be big? Like, big as Monsta X?” His voice is smooth and clear, no tell to what kind of mood he was in.

Your eyes flick to him, taking in his handsome features. His head was leaning on the back of the couch, his yes shut loosely, full lips just open- like he was sleeping peacefully. You couldn’t help but envy his effortless attractiveness. He didn’t need to try, he just was that beautiful.

“Of course you can. All of you are so talented and attractive, and you are all so passionate about your music.” You believed it, too. These boys deserved so much, and they had the drive to actually work for it.

One of his eyes flutters open, brown iris searching your face for- what? You weren’t quite sure, but your cheeks pink and you have to look away.

“Attractive?”

“Excuse me?” The word has you looking back at Allen and he now has a sweet grin revealing his perfect teeth. Seriously, does he have a single flaw?

“You just said you find us all attractive.” He laughs, and just like that you’re cursing yourself for your big mouth. Why in the world did you think attractive was one of the categories necessary to be a good musician? And why did you think mentioning it wouldn’t catch his attention? He wasn’t stupid, now he’d know you liked him. You had just kissed this easy, carefree friendship goodbye.

“Well, I mean-”

“Nope, you can’t take it back now!” Shit... “Who do you think is most attractive? I bet Serim is totally your type, right?” Wait, what?

Your jaw drops as you stare at Allen beside you. There was no way... did he really think you liked one of his band members instead of him? His smile took up half his face, soft chuckles fell from his lips, his eyes shrunk to crescent moons as he believes he has finally discovered the answer to the great mystery of your love interest. You didn’t know how to break it to him- didn’t want to break it to him. You didn’t want to confess- not here, not now, not like this. This was too sudden, you weren’t ready to make it awkward. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, he was a good man, but if he didn’t feel the same... This would never be the same.

But you also couldn’t lie. God forbid he tells Serim you like him? That would only cause more issues, and you would never want to lead on any of the boys. They’d all become good friends with you since the group was formed.

Sadly, it was now or never. You had a maximum of 10 seconds to get yourself together before he notices your internal battle with yourself, so you suck in a deep breath, release it, and turn your whole body to face him. The knee that was previously pressing softly against his is now against the back of the couch, your other leg dangling off the front of it. He feels you shift and looks at you, no longer laughing but the grin still graces his features. You can see the brown in his irises- eyes you’d grown to love. Even when you’d spilled coffee on him all those years ago, he had never looked at you with malice marring them. He had never hated you. Today won’t be the day he does, you tell yourself. You feel your hands tremble, so you lace them together in your lap, hoping he won’t notice. Another deep breath.

“No, Allen, I don’t like Serim. I like you.” You don’t know how your voice didn’t shake. How you didn’t burst into tears, or run out of the dorm, or chicken out and lie. But somehow you don’t do any of these things. You get it out, free yourself of the burden of the truth. Your chest simultaneously feels 20 pounds lighter and like your heart would rupture from the vice grip your anxiety held upon it.

The grin you so enjoyed witnessing slips, slow, from his lips, like wet snow off a rooftop. His eyes flicker wildly across your face, looking for- what? Deception? Teasing? He wouldn’t find any of that. This was the cold hard truth you didn’t wish to tell and he didn’t wish to hear.

Suddenly his hand is reaching for you, his fingers brush your cheek, bottom of your ear, lacing within your hair, pulling you softly, more an invitation than a demand. And damn it if his lips aren’t the most inviting thing you’ve ever seen. Your lips meet, barely a graze at first, not really a kiss so much as a whisper teasing- a taste of what you both could have. Just like that you knew, you couldn’t go back. Every hair on your body stood at attention, your nerve ends tingling in desire and yearning. If he wasn’t yours by the end of tonight, you’d have to grow apart. You’d had a taste and that wasn’t nearly enough.

You press your lips against his deeper, reacting more on instinct than reason. This was right, you could feel it. You had always scoffed at such a romance novel, chick-flick answer, but maybe there was something in it. His lips move against yours- struggling to find a proper pace at first, but smoothing out. The grip in your hair tightens, a tug- involuntary, you are sure, but enough to invoke a groan. Your hands fly to his shoulders, using them as leverage to toss your leg over his, straddling his hips without disconnecting from him.

This seems to trigger something within him; a realization of what exactly is happening between you two. His hand that is tangled in your hair slides back to cup your jaw softly, a way to politely distance you from him. His other hand now hovers, wary, over your hip, like he’s afraid to touch you. A little late for that, you think with a small smile.

He had kissed you, really kissed you. His hands had tangled up your hair, his lips had danced along yours, he had felt it too- you were sure of it!

His eyes- deep recesses filled with emotions that you couldn’t place- search your face again. You wish you knew what he was looking for. You want to help him find it so you can kiss again; you already miss the feeling of his lips against yours.

“(Y/N), I can’t believe-” Allen cuts himself off, licking his lips and darting his eyes away from yours.

“Can’t believe what, Allen? Talk to me.” Your hand leaves his shoulder, mirroring his as it cradles his smooth jawline. Your thumb traces his cheek, hoping to coax him back out to you instead of the recesses of his brain he hides himself in.

“I like you, and this has been nice- hanging like this, I mean, but I’m going to get so busy, and I was afraid to tell you and just lose you to my schedule because soon we won’t be able to do this often- it’s already so hard with filming and photoshoots and-” This time you cut him off, a kiss planted firmly against his rambling mouth. He hums, the hand previously grazing now pressing softly but firmly to your hip, pulling you subtly closer. His lips taste like mint- he had brushed his teeth after dinner and your mind worries that your breath is wretched, but he doesn’t seem bothered. You pull away, looking at him with eyes you hope showcase how much you care about him.

“We both knew that was going to happen eventually. That doesn’t change my feelings for you, and I hope it doesn’t for you. I understand you’ll get busy, and I support you because I like you a lot.” You both knew there was more to it than just liking each other, but in that moment, you wanted this- you- to work. You could see it, deep within his eyes there was a longing as he gazed at you, still settled atop his thighs comfortably.

“Are you sure?” His eyes plead, lips open in anticipation of your answer- he was allowing you to break him, here and now. He trusted you to be gentle with his heart.

“Never more so,” A smile, shared between friends turned lovers, was never so sweet.

However, all good things must come to an end, and your solitude together is no exception. The dorm door opens, boyish shouts and giggles drift down the short hallway. You don’t have time to disentangle before Serim swings around the corner, eyes zoning in on your intimate moment.

“Took you long enough.”

[bearslikedilfs]

So...since I’m guessing you live in Florida I need to know. (Tiny backstory I’m uhhh...humanising the states if that makes since. Think of hetalia but the state instead of countries. I know cringe right?) Anyway I need you full opinion of said state if you don’t mind of course. I would like to know the good and the bad (if you have any good things to say about it. btw I’m sorry this is pretty long...)

Pros of florida: nothing

cons: everything

Jk ill do my best to find a couple positives but you should really find someone who actually likes living in florida. i am very clearly biased.

Also thats not cringe! sounds like fun.  I made an ohio oc before, they’re fun to make.

florida opinions below the cut

So the one thing i can say is undoubtably a plus is there are these extremely cute little lizards that run around everywhere and they’re especially prevalent in thee summer and you see them just basking on the sidewalk. they’re like the length of your pointer finger with an extra 3 inches of tail and i love taking pictures of them bc they have cool colors and stripes or spots. 

things that most people would consider pros but i dont:

extremely hot.  I live in the upper half so it does, occasionally, get below freezing in the winter, but if you lived down more south it probably wouldn’t ever freeze.  this is probably why old people live here they get colder easier.  some people just don’t like cold. i do, i love it. anyway.  you can grow things for a lot longer, and even at night it’ll be like 70 degrees.  it’ll be down to 50 degrees at night in winter usually.  there isn’t really seasons, its just 2 months of reasonable (to me) weather that feels like, something like spring in northern states. then the next 10 months are just hell. so hot. but other people would call it great.

Sunny almost all the time. sunlight is nice occasionally but down here it beats down on you like you owe it money.  you will be easily sunburned if you spend 2 hours in direct sunlight.  i like me some nice thunderstorms here it just rains.

beaches. yeah sure there are beaches. i will admit the white sand is very pretty and doesnt actually burn your feet bc it reflects light  better, the water is also the very pretty light blue or green you see in pictures.  but beaches have people and sand and it gets old after a while.

cons:

humid af. like. its at least above 75 % at all times. humidity is disgusting and nasty and in summer you sweat within 30 seconds of going outside.  even if the temp is a rare reasonable 70 or something its usually overshadowed by the 90% humidity that makes you sweat anyway.  if you paint something its entirely likely it’ll never completely dry bc its just so fking humid here.  you can barely do anything outside bc within like 30 min your main thought is how to get tf out out of the heat and you definitely cannot concentrate.

no sense of community and too many people.  people move here for vacation and the place where i live, for example is a spring break/vacation town and so the traffic gets horrible every spring and summer.  the roads are fucked too bc its so hot the tar in the asphalt is more liquidy and moves and potholes and such appear more often.  no sense of community means that there’s no YMCA, the public libraries are very small and not great and its so hard to talk to people and make friends bc many people are here to party it seems like. there are plenty of pubs and places to fish and boat and those arcade places where everythings expensive but those get old and expensive quick and none of those are really my thing. 

expensive af. theres little inlets and swamps and bays everywhere which means bridges, which means maintinence, which means toll roads, which means fucked up intersections bc of space restritctions and shit planning. seriously these are the worst fucking intersections i’ve ever seen.  also houses and rent are high because again, space is limited, and everyone wants something within reach of the beach or the bay or the inlet. 

its just straight up nasty. and dangerous. there’s a fair amount of car crashes here, i think i’ve seen more in my 4 years here than i have in my 20+ years in ohio.  as for nasty there are fucking roaches everywhere, they will get in your house even if its clean. people here just accept it too “yeah they do that” BITCH WHAT. AND YOU JUST PUT UP WITH THAT.  there are also plenty of other bugs that are nice and big and prevalent bc there’s no winter or cold to stop them from growing.  mosquitos are everywhere. i havent seen any gators really but i know theres plenty. there’s also bears.

 in conclusion i might like this place better if i liked partying, fishing, boating, going to the beach often, going to pubs a lot, but i dont and even if there were things i liked doing here the heat and humidity would still make me hate it. 

[welshdragonrawr]

Think About It (or just a piece of pointless domestic fluff)

This was probably originally meant to be part of some fic somewhere but I don’t even know now. It’s been sitting on my harddrive for months and I fleshed it out a bit last month when I was making/going through little ficlets/one shots. It’s probably terrible. But it’s not going anywhere else so you may as well have this pointless conversation piece. Can be found on A03 here; https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163646/chapters/51045748

“Delia?”

The sweet Cajun tone shook the Supreme from her reverie. Those deep dark eyes gave a slow blink, like a cat, Misty thought, caught in the soft shaft of sunlight filtering through the tall window.

“Hm? Sorry?” Cordelia’s voice was barely more than a gentle whisper, distant, lost in a haze of quiet contemplation.

“Is everything okay?” The swamp witch almost wished she had also been blessed with the gift of mind-reading, if only to know what occupied that crowded mind so much of the time. She could read the small signs and signals in a touch or a look, well-versed in reading Cordelia’s subtleties by now, but sometimes, some days, she seemed a little too far from the shore for Misty to follow. Depths she still swam down to on the off occasion, that even the swamp witch still could not fathom. “You just seem a little spaced out there...”

“It’s fine...” came another quiet sigh, accompanied by the gentlest clink of a long polished nail against the rim of the Supreme’s half-empty coffee cup. Fine was a word they mutually agreed to disbelieve whenever one of them tried to use it to avoid conversation, but Cordelia seemed to have forgotten that in the moment, which only furrowed Misty’s brow further.

“What’re you thinking about?” Misty asked, as she set her own half-emptied mug aside and leaned further forward in her chair. She never could sit straight, always tangling her long limbs as if she was never quite sure where to put them or whether she should still be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. The years of instinctual swamp living never quite left her, even now after all this time. It always made Cordelia seem so patient and still by comparison, sitting so poised as the Supreme often did.

“What makes you think I’m thinking about something?” Cordelia asked, finally drawing her eyes away from the window, a quirk of a miniscule smile twitching at the corners of her lip.

“I just figured that was why you’re so quiet lately,” Misty replied with barely a pause, a casual shrug of her shoulder, “I know ya. Always got something on your mind or worrying about something else. Or someone else. Not that that’s always a bad thing, but, ya sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah...” The quiet response didn’t sound half as convincing as Misty would have liked it to have been.

“You’d talk to me if you weren’t?” She wanted to push further, but past experience had told her that although Cordelia would be unlikely to push back, that didn’t mean she would open up. If anything, it would push her closer back in to herself, drawing up old walls.

“Of course.” A Supreme in complete calm control almost always on the outside, all the inevitable turmoil too often got trapped within. Until someone like Misty, oftentimes only Misty, could help it all come tumbling out safely in the private confines of their own shared quarters.

A hum, a pause, the furrow of a concerned brow; “Seriously, you’d tell me, right?”

“Yes, Misty, you know that,” Cordelia said with a small, sweet scoff, finally turning that deep coffee-coloured gaze back toward her endearing yet insistent wife; “where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

“Well you spend so much time worrying about us,” Misty replied matter-of-factly, her oceanic gaze never leaving the other witch for a moment, “someone’s gotta worry about you too, right?”

“Don’t worry.” The light chuckle from the Supreme witch’s lips as she emphasised and insisted the retort made the phrase almost compelling. “My mind was just wandering elsewhere for a little bit, that’s all.”

Still unwilling to take dismissal for an answer, Misty released a huff of breath as she leaned back in her chair again, wrapped her hands around the knee currently curled up on the seat, still fidgeting even as her expression perked up. “Anywhere nice?”

“You’re really not going to stop, are you?”

“And you’re not really gonna give me a straight answer are you?” Misty cut just as quick, as she watched Cordelia pick up her mug again, lift it to those pristine lips. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with concern, she would have been so tempted to lean forward once more to kiss them.

“I was just daydreaming,” Cordelia insisted, taking another sip. “Nothing else to it.” The snort that she got in response made her pause.

“Since when do you ever daydream?” the swamp witch shot back with a dubious look crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“Ha ha. I’m serious,” glancing over the rim of her mug, Cordelia shot Misty a small smirk despite herself.

“I am too.”

To her credit, it was actually difficult to tell for once whether Misty was joking or not. Her fidgeting fingers were still tapping away along the top of the table. Anyone else might have found such a habit annoying or irritating but Cordelia seemed to merely find the anxious acoustics endearing. She rolled her eyes though and shook her head, motioning to the cup almost rattling in front of Misty with the ferocity of her tapping.

“Just drink your tea.”

“You really not gonna tell me?” Misty’s head cocked to the side, like a cautious puppy with those big eyes, the edge of her lips perpetually twitching, unsure whether to turn to smile or dip into seriousness.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Cordelia insisted, setting her own mug back down on the table.

“You promise?”

“Mm-hmm,” the Supreme nodded as she folded her hands back together over the table top, leaning on her forearms as she watched the swamp witch dubiously. She lifted a fine brow, the gentle slope of a small smirk lifting the edge of her lip also, “and just for the record I do daydream.”

The retort from the taller blonde was instantaneous. “Could have fooled me,” Misty scoffed, pausing her tapping of the table wood for a second to spare the Supreme an obviously disbelieving glance.  “You barely sleep long enough to have a normal dream.”

“Yes well, some of us have a lot to take care of.” Despite her words, Cordelia couldn’t help chuckling at the pronounced pout on Misty’s face.

“And some of us need to learn to relax a little more so she can sleep at night instead of at the kitchen taaable.” It made her look years younger, that childish expression, the singsong tone as she playfully swiped at her hands.

“Alright, alright, I get your point.”

“Do you though?” In a gesture of feigned surrender, Cordelia lifted her hands from the table, out of Misty’s swiping reach.

“Shush.” Misty’s intended target lifted out of the way, her hand had accidentally knocked into the mug in front of Cordelia instead, toppling it toward the edge of the table. With a flick of the wrist In record time though and a delicate touch of telekinesis, the mug was righted before any harm could be done to clothes, ceramic or the hardwood floor.

“Sorry-,” Misty winced for but a second – grateful for the magic that had caught the mug so quickly, avoiding the inevitable mess - nevertheless she continued her tirade barely a breath later, “But if I find you working later at stupid o clock again instead of coming to bed...”

“You won’t,” the Supreme shook her head dismissively as she daintily picked up both mugs from the table. She eyed Misty’s, double checking it was empty before taking them back to the sink.

“Is that a truth or a dare?” the swamp witch’s voice and vision followed her, even whilst Misty remained at the table, an undoubtably teasing tone.

“I promise, alright?” Cordelia called back, accompanied by the clink of cleaning the cups. “No more dozing off at the table.”

Suddenly there were long arms wrapping around her midriff, the familiar scents of flowers and rain-washed earth drifting past her senses as a chin touched her shoulder.

“We’ll see...” came Misty’s dubious purr at her ear, squeezing an arm at Cordelia’s waist, eliciting a quiet chuckle. She set the mugs aside with a nod, and spun herself around in Misty’s embrace until they were facing one another. She pressed her lips to hers, to quiet any more protest, kissing lightly. Just as Misty expected it to go deeper, her arms tightening around Cordelia’s frame, itching to lift her higher, the Supreme pulled back, breaking the kiss midbreath with a smug smile.

“Yes. We will.” Misty paused, then pouted as the tip of Cordelia’s finger lightly tapped the tip of Misty’s nose, undoubtedly teasing as she wriggled her way free from the taller witch’s grasp “Later.”

She had to withhold a semi-disappointed whine as Cordelia slipped away, back towards whatever other commitments she had to make of the day that Misty had conveniently managed to draw her away from. One of these days she would be able to figure out how to help filter all the stresses that whirled around that wonderful brain of hers so the Supreme could worry a little less and they could relish free time a little more. They had yet to work out whether glowing radiant health worked for resisting worry lines, but either way that much constant worry couldn’t be a good thing for anyone. Top witch-bitch or not.  

“Mmhmm…” Misty pondered as she pushed the chairs back under the table, made her way tapping along the counters and walls, humming distractedly, towards the garden to check on her other immediate cares. “She still didn’t tell me what she was thinking about...” If words were no good to glean from, perhaps a massage later would persuade her wife to be a little more talkative under her touch...

[fuse2dx]

August ‘20

Ruiner

Ruiner frames its action at an isometric tilt. There’s a lot of red; in the game’s interface, as the prominent colour of the neon lighting that adorns its stages, and in the blood that is frequently spilled. Its cyberpunk setting isn’t anything particularly new, but as a unifying aesthetic, the glitchy effects, and out-there personalities doing their best to cope in a dystopia do well to build a convincing and intriguing world. Stages are action packed and throb with electronic noise and big loud industrial bass hits, with the play being akin to an arena shooter; enemies surging at you in bite size, minute-at-a-time waves, with each of these closing out with a grading screen serving as the pat on the back to keep that dopamine rhythm pulsing. It’s a pretty hypnotic cocktail.

These stages evolve out of a singular hub city, and while it’s not particularly big, there’s just the right level of hubbub, and it has a lovely Hirusawa Susumu track acting as an excellent, melancholic mood-setter. Based on the size of its world and the the quick-fire action being split between a very small number of stages, it’s not surprising to say it’s fairly brief - I mean, how could it get so big? But what is important is that it’s plenty of fun and and has style by the bucketload. I got a good kick out of it.

Carrion

On one hand, a horror game where you play the horror is just the kind of flip on a genre that’s needed to freshen things up a bit. On the other, it’s one straight out of the spoof ‘Peter Molydeux’ playbook. What a carri-on.

... I’m sorry. After your initial escape from a lab, Carrion centres around a hub world, with individual stages then breaking off to allow for more specific themed stages. What you’re trying to do within these is to spread your big, goopy self around, where certain spots will act as save points but also count toward unlocking an alternative path back to the hub and opening up new routes in the process. What’s unique to this particular metroidvania take is that while there are new skills that open up new routes, your movement in general is uniquely freeform - point in a direction and off you go, free of any worries about platforming and the gravity that’d otherwise bind you. While it may not be the most precise movement given the size to which you grow - and boy does this become a point during some forms of combat - it does remain responsive, and quite fun to simply shamble about like a giant congealed blob of bloody, multi-toothed sinew-y mess. Everything scales up nicely on both sides of the fighting, with distraught pistol-equipped humans turning to shielded folks with flamethrowers, all the way up to drones and mechs that are just as mobile and / or deadly as yourself, even in spite of your own upgrades that allow for more ranged, varied, and sharper extremities. It’s not especially long, and is never so taxing as to demand too much expertise of you, but it is fun and importantly, quite unlike anything else out there.

Yoku’s Island Express

Pinball continues to feel like a lost art form to me, with the nuance of skilled play being more like a foreign language than another type of game you can easily pick up. Yoku, newly-appointed postmaster, is but a tiny little bug, and as such is indebted to these skills in his efforts to travel and clamber about an environment much larger than he. Flippers are casually littered about to shoot you from one area to the next, but there’s also plenty of sections you’re led to by the story that are small yet just detailed enough to play like a neatly sectioned off area of a complete table - complete with requirements for precise shots to move forward, and those inevitable moments where you have to sit back and watch as your ball falls with miserable, exacting precision between the flippers. Failure typically sets you back a few pickups, but given these are just as quickly re-earned, you’re never punished too hard - there’s certainly no three strikes and out mentality here. It’s a very friendly interpretation of pinball’s mechanics, and there’s a decent enough story layered on top, with its characters and art demonstrating enough pleasant charm that you can definitely see this being a great way to introduce pinball to a younger audience. That’s not to say it’s not enjoyable from an older player’s point of view - just that you know what’s being presented is a wisely palatable version of a classic hobby, rather than the arse-kicking ordeal you may be used to. 

Rime

I am certain that Rime would love me to compare it to a certain Fumito Ueda PS2 game. There’s the ultra-minimal scene that’s set as a boy washes up on an island; a sparse, beautiful, somewhat Mediterranean set of landscapes, and with very few ways to interact with it all that don’t involve clambering over things or shouting out in wordless desperation. But as you’ll have noted, I haven’t found it in myself to justify using that game’s name here. 

As much as I wanted to give this a chance, it often felt directionless, uninspired, and at worst, slow and tedious. The puzzles are derivative of any number of games I’ve played before, and the biggest danger is that you might assume as to their difficulty and over-engineer your approach, rather than not be able to tackle them. The platforming is simplistic and regularly drawn out with ledges, ledges, and more ledges to climb across and dangle from; even if you were to find a way to fall to your doom, as is tempting, it is unlikely to take you back much further than a few seconds. Crucially, there’s really very little to sink your teeth into on any front, and even when the game does finally start to weave some plot threads into the game’s canvas, it’s well into the latter half - long after I’d already racked my brains for any hint of an allegory that’d fit, and given up on expecting one. Sadly, to the point that the actual story felt like a cheap afterthought when it did finally start to unravel. This bounced off me much harder than I’d expected - I came away wishing it had forged a bit more of an identity and a purpose rather than just an aesthetic strung together with some weak elements of play. 

If Found

As far as interactive elements in visual novel-type games go, If Found has a different approach to most. The story’s primarily told by means of a diary - one that’s full of witty observations, personal reflections and enigmatic sketches - that you actively erase as a means to push events along. The diary belongs to Kasio, a trans girl returning to their small Irish hometown after a stint away at university in the city; a return that’s not met in the warmest or most understanding fashion. As a mechanic, the erasure of this diary is loaded with meaning; peeling back layers of a scene often matches a more poignant set of observations, and the scrubbing of such personal details away offers a painful reflection on an identity being chipped away at. It’s very much a story about finding one’s self, about coming of age, and as it rides these highs and lows it does an excellent job in making you ride along these alongside the characters, and it does one hell of a job to make you think about the compassion that you both see and offer in the world outside. I’ll put my hands up and say that there are some elements of the story running in parallel to this main one that didn’t gel with me quite so well, but this is a minor footnote to an otherwise highly enjoyable play through. In a short space of time, Annapurna have done a great job in winning me over with their publishing choices - particularly in holding up the kinds of voices and ideas that fit these smaller titles so perfectly. 

Double Kick Heroes

It’s a rhythm game. I like rhythm games! It’s about a zombie apocalypse. Oh no. It’s... a heavy metal rhythm game? Ok, maybe we can work with this.

After a trailer name dropping a bunch of familiar artists - Jinjer, Carpenter Brut, Gojira - what surprised me straight off was that none of these licensed artists featured in the game’s story mode. They’re all sectioned off in a separate menu, and while on the bright side they’ve each given a unique stage with a visual theming in keeping with the bands in question, it feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. Instead, all tracks throughout the story were composed by just one person, and with only a small handful of featured musicians being included to diversify things. It starts with more (arguably) palatable hard rock numbers, but goes up to and includes grindcore, death metal, black metal and the like, meaning that not only is it going to put a lot of folks off right away, but that it’s asking a heck of a lot for one composer to cover all of these sub-genres with the appropriate care. While it was refreshing to hear some types of music I’d normally not expect to hear in a game, some tracks inevitably grated, and while I enjoyed some others, I wasn’t ever bowled over too strongly either.

The story itself is fairly by the numbers. It sees an on-tour band fighting back against a zombie uprising, and has unsubtle references to any number of heavy artists, albums and songs shoe-horned in at every opportunity. It also bears the hallmarks of its dialogue being written by someone that has a very particular sense of humour which personally all fell very flat. While the team undoubtably do love music, the over-enthusiastic style rubbed me in a similarly uncomfortable fashion as Jack Black does regularly, with his half-comedian, half-musician schtick. The gameplay itself is based around the drum parts of its songs also corresponding to different weaponry on your car that holds the hordes back, and while this on its own can prove tricky, higher difficulties also mounts other expectations - like steering your vehicle, or alternating pedals to shoot different parts of the screen. Some of my frustration with all of this is likely my own fault for having chosen to play on the ‘Hard’ difficulty, but traditional wisdom feels a little bit lost when you can still get damaged when your combo meter is racked up well into triple digits.

In all, Double Kick Heroes presented some pretty unique gaming scenarios; like having to work out the best controller configuration to play blast beats with, or asking out loud “did I just hear the words ‘we are Genital Absolution’ coming from a Nintendo console?”, and it’s clearly a small team working on something they really care about. I respect that. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I was hoping, but I hope they’re proud of what they’ve created.

Manifold Garden

A puzzle game taking significant inspiration from the works of M.C. Escher is a pretty good starting point in my eyes. It being presented in a wonderful manner certainly doesn’t harm either; from the UI all the way into the game, it’s beautifully clean and defined, opting for delicate shading rather than messy textures, and with its intricate, recursive geometric patterns, you’ll likely find cause to stop and take stock on a regular basis.

One button looks after your basic interactions with the world (pushing, picking up, and so on), with your other crucial way of interacting with the world being the ability to approach a surface and then assign it as ‘the new down’ - spinning everything about an axis, planting your feet to it, and changing your perspective on everything. There’s a nice steady introduction of puzzle pieces as you ease your way in, but they all stem gracefully from these simple mechanics. That I - not the world’s greatest puzzle gamer - was able to enjoy this without every getting too stuck may hint at it perhaps not being as complex as some puzzle fiends might desire, however this amounted to me coming out the other side with great waves of satisfaction, and nought but positives to say. I would go so far as to say that it’s the most fun I’ve had playing a puzzle game in a long, long time, and to boot it’s also perhaps the game where I’ve used the screenshot button the most copiously. Wonderful stuff.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Back To You (4)// Auston Matthews

A/N: I promise you, it’s about to pick up and not be so damn sad. Give me like, two more parts? Maybe? Also, love you guys

You hugged Flower tightly. The season had come to an end a lot quicker than you thought. Part of the reason was because Vegas got knocked out of the playoffs in the second round. Part of you wished they would’ve made it further not only for them, but so that you could spend more time with them. But the other part was fully ready to continue on.

“I’ll see you next season,” He promised.

“I’ll make sure they don’t steal my Knights jersey,” You mumbled into his shoulder,” I’m going to miss you Flower.”

“Only a few months until we come to Toronto,” He pointed out,” It’ll feel like nothing.”

You nodded and let go of him. You went around and around for months. But eventually you realized that no matter how much you liked Vegas, Toronto was always going to be your first choice. You slept on it for two more weeks before finally making the call to Toronto and informing your boss with the Knights.

“If you get into any trouble, let me know. We can send someone to deal with him,” Flower joked.

“Thank you for everything, Marc-Andre. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Your voice broke as tears welled in your eyes again.

You didn’t want to cry, you never wanted to cry, but you were going to miss all of them. You’d undoubtably miss Marc-Andre the most. He’d adopted you into his family, and for that you’d always be grateful.

“No tears. I’ll see you soon, Y/N,” He said hugging you again,” Take care of yourself”

He gave you one last squeeze before sending you towards your checkpoint. You looked back at the Fleury family and gave them a small wave before walking past the literal point of no return. You’d have a few weeks to settle back in before you’d have to officially start work.

You were looking forward to taking the time to get used to Toronto again. You couldn’t wait to explore the town again and get used to living in your hometown once more. You were sure that nothing much had changed. But something about coming home after a few years excited you.

Even though you got time off during the off season, you didn’t spend much time back home. Your family loved to come visit you anyway. But when they weren’t with you, you liked to travel around the country and go to cities that had always been on your bucket list.

You’d sold your car and a good majority of your stuff. You figured it’d be easier to just start over, besides thanks to the pay raise you got from Toronto, you wouldn’t have much trouble doing much of anything. You’d still be smart with your money though, just like your parents had taught you to do.

When you landed in Toronto, you went straight to your new apartment. Lucky for you, you weren’t too far from the rink and had plenty of restaurants and shops around you. You’d lived in a very similar area before you’d moved. Only, you’d lived a lot closer to Auston.

You shook your head. You didn’t need to be thinking about Auston right now. Besides, he was still supposed to be in Scottsdale for another week or two. You’d planned on reaching out to a couple of the guys that you knew either lived in Toronto or were already back for training. You missed all of them more than you were willing to admit.

The following week, you were running down to a coffee shop around the corner to meet with Mitch. He’d called you the night that you flew into town and offered to come hang out with you. You’d ended up talking on the phone for almost an hour before you heard Steph yelling for him to share you.

“She’s a Leaf again!” Mitch cheered after the two of you sat down.

“Oh shush, I was always a Leaf,” You groaned,” I just have other alliances too!”

“You still plan on wearing a Knights jersey when they play, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed.

You shrugged and smiled,” I might have made a promise.”

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back. You’d almost forgotten how much you loved spending time with Mitch. He’d been your best friend for a few years before you’d even gotten the first job for Toronto. You’d met through some mutual friends in the hockey world and the rest was history. Steph used to joke that you and Mitch were different sides of the same coin.

“You talked to Auston?” Mitch didn’t even seem to bat an eye as he asked the question.

You scratched the back of your head and sighed. Mitch knew the answer to the question. He knew because he was best friends with Auston. But you knew Mitch meant well. Mitch’s problem was that he was often comparable to a puppy, he sometimes didn’t realize that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing. But he was too damn adorable for anyone to correct him.

“Not since All-Stars,” You replied,” Does he know I came back?”

He shrugged and took a big bite of his food,” I don’t know. Anytime you come up he just keeps saying how much he fucked up.”

“He- he said that?” You questioned.

“Yeah, like maybe a week ago? I don’t know, I told him to get his head out of his ass and then hung up.”

If you hadn’t been so shocked, you might have actually laughed at Mitch’s response. But something inside you seemed to almost break. You’d tried to find Auston during the rest of the All-Star weekend, but you couldn’t. You’d wanted to tell him that you knew you wanted to come home. You wanted him to know that you wanted to try to at least be something again.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but you couldn’t fight it anymore. After that night, you wanted to talk to him more and more. You craved the late-night conversations you used to have with him. You didn’t want to feel like you needed him like this, but you couldn’t help it anymore.

What you’d told him that night was true, you’d still go back to him. You’d fight yourself on it, but in the end you’d go back to him in a heartbeat if you could.

“Well shit,” You breathed.

“What happened that weekend by the way?” Mitch questioned curiously,” He came back all rattled, but wouldn’t say anything other than the fact that he saw you.”

Another Mitch puppy moment. You wanted to tell him off, but his eyes were all big and innocent. It would be like kicking a puppy.

“To put it lightly, I didn’t wake up in my own bed one morning,” You tried to play it off.

You didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal. In fact, you’d tried to ignore that it had even happened. Because admitting that it did only made your heart hurt even more. Because you let him slip away again.

“Wait, you and Auston? Damn.”

You felt your skin crawling. You knew Mitch wasn’t one to judge, but you felt weird all of the sudden. You still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that you’d had in your gut since you landed in Toronto. You knew you’d made the best choice for you, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t still worry.

There were a lot of things that could go wrong here, without a doubt. Especially since you’d be in charge of a lot of shit, meaning a lot of responsibly now fell on your shoulders. You weren’t entirely sure if you’d be able to handle all of it, but you no longer had a choice.

“Y/N? You okay?”

“Yeah,” You shook your head to try and clear the thoughts from it,” Sorry, zoned out there for a minute.”

“I noticed. I’d love to keep this going, but I’m late for training,” Mitch stood up quickly,” You should come over this week! Steph wants to see you.”

“Yeah, just let me know?”

Mitch smiled and pulled you in for a big hug before waving and practically running out of the coffee shop. You couldn’t help but laugh, Mitch was still Mitch. Sometimes you wondered how he could even function on his own.

Slowly, you made your way back to your apartment. The space didn’t seem so empty now that you’d gotten some furniture in it. You were still working on making it feel like home again though. You were slowly unpacking the few boxes you had. You’d hung quite a few of your pictures. Most of them were of you with either the Golden Knights, or the Leafs.

The following week, you finally got into your new office at the arena. They had your name on the door, something that you’d never actually had before. You suddenly felt a sort of pride that you hadn’t felt before. You’d fought your way to this point, but you’d made it.

You finally realized that you were living your childhood dream. Only, you didn’t have anyone to share it with. It was corny as hell, but you always thought you’d have Auston by your side when you made it to this point. You thought he’d be there for you when you finally got everything you’d wanted.

But he wasn’t.

You knew that a lot of it had to do with you though. None of it was all Auston’s fault. Both of you could’ve handled things a whole lot better. You could’ve fought harder for him or stopped him from walking away the last time.

That was the one thing that you would’ve done differently. You would’ve gone after him.

But you didn’t, and now you were afraid that it was far too late.

You grabbed your phone off your desk and scrolled to find Auston’s name in your messages. You typed out a ridiculously long message about how you’d come home and you wanted to be in his life again. You said you didn’t care in what capacity, but you couldn’t act like a stranger to him. You told him you needed him in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand. You typed and type for nearly five minutes, saying everything you couldn’t say to his face.

When you were done your finger hovered over send. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, you wanted to send it. God you wanted to have it all out in the open. You wanted him to know. But you couldn’t do it.

You opened your eyes and erased the whole thing before locking your phone and going back to your laptop. You ran a hand through your tangled hair and chugged the rest of your fifth cup of coffee of the day.

After five minutes of staring at nothing but the dark screen of your phone, you picked it back up again. Against your better judgement, you typed out another text to Auston. Four words that could start something new or close the page on an ongoing chapter of your life.

I came home

You watched as a few seconds later, little bubbles appeared in the corner. Auston had not only read your text almost the same moment that you sent it, but he was now replying to you as well. You waited and waited, but as quickly as the bubbles popped up, they vanished. Leaving you with only the small amount of blind hope you had left.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

A Different Time pt6

Warning: Scientific Nerdy Ninja

Masterlist

---

Chapter 6 – Forward Focus

It was light outside when I picked my head up from the tatami mat. I guess I rolled out of the futon at some point. Giving a light groan at the sunlight that was shining in my face I groped around for my glasses. Part of me was thanking and at the same time cursing the advancement in optometry as I put my glasses back on my face and the room came clearly into focus. There was a light pounding in my head and I noticed the line of sake bottles. Guess I can’t blame Lord Kenshin for this one.

I stretched out my aching limbs before moving to place the bottles neatly for collection outside the door. Quickly splashing some clean cold water on my face in an endeavour to wake up, before leaving the room to go next door and see if [Name] was awake yet. I felt terrible I ran away last night instead of trying to talk things out. Sasuke you are such a child at times. I knocked lightly on the door but received no reply. Perhaps she was still asleep. Or maybe she left. I pushed down that last thought trying not to think of it and did the ungentlemanly thing. I slid the door open enough to look inside. She wasn’t there.

“Sorry it’s a bit early for a show.” Before I could slide the door shut again her voice called out from behind me. Great… just great and what does this look like I am trying to do now?

“I wasn’t…. it’s not what you think.” Uncool Sasuke, seriously uncool. While I flustered a little too much [Name] giggled and gave me a tender smile. That just isn’t fair…

“I’m ok calm down.” She placed her small hand on my shoulder. “I just went to my camp to collect a few things that was all. Did you want to get breakfast?”

I nodded in reply not trusting that my voice would not betray me further and become a rehashed version of the night previous when we had that awkward talk.

---

We had a light breakfast of rice and salt fish in a local tea house. Speaking normally about everything and nothing. It reminded me of back home and how we would sometimes go out in groups and get a coffee or lunch and talk about our projects in class and swap notes. It was pleasant and I was relieved. Perhaps a friendship isn’t bad if it could be like this. It wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for but its better than nothing at all.

Back on the street outside once more the local inhabitants buzzed with curiosity over something. We made our way to the edge of the main road joining the rest of the populous to see what was going on. Three men on horseback seemed to be the focus of the attention.

“Oh, look at him isn’t he handsome?”

“What no way that guy is much cuter.”

“How could you even choose between them? They are all handsome.”

The voices of the town’s women gossiping about the men was a common one. At least it was a common sight I had witnessed many times when these three were around. It was nearly impossible for them to go unnoticed. The taller man on horseback threw out smiles and waves to the gathered crowd like they were candy, his red hair catching the sun making him look like he was under a spot light on a stage. The blonde man next to him had an unamused look on his face as he focused on the road ahead, his blue and green eyes glancing over the crowd a few times. The last man had a look of perpetual embarrassment on his face, a very familiar sight indeed.

“I have no idea why you had to come.” Kenshin addressed the taller man next to him.

“The thought of such atrocities happening to such vessels of alluring beauty and just standing by while it happened made me feel sick.” Shingen answered giving more winks and smiles to the lady’s in the crowd.

“What makes me feel sick is listening to you spouting sickeningly sweet words of flattery at every woman we pass.” Kenshin muttered as he rolled his eyes.

“Seconded.” Yukimura nodded in agreement.

“Who are they?” [Name] asked quietly in my ear.

“My employer and Yukimura’s Lord.” I replied feeling happy to see the familiar faces.

“Are they always like that?” [Name] watched as the men passed still bickering.

“I believe that this is an accurate representation of normality yes.” I nodded in affirmation.

---

It seemed to take very little time at all for Shingen to sweet talk himself and the others into a rather lavish room in the Inn. I took up my position next to Lord Kenshin, Shingen was positioned on the other side with Yukimura at his elbow. [Name] who had entered the room with me had moved to stand by the open window. I guess she feels uncomfortable.

Kenshin showed little sign of acknowledging her existence. Yukimura had said hello to her before practically dragging Shingen by his arm to get him away form her. Lord Shingen had raked his eyes over [Name] with a smile on his face six… no seven times since we entered the room no doubt adding to her unease. In an effort to draw focus back to the matter at hand I coughed and began to cover the details I had sent ahead in the missive.

“It would seem that the Daimyo has added a few more counts to his growing list of offences.” Shingen said his face blank after hearing the details first hand.

“Agreed. It is bad enough that he should be over taxing the people of this land, but he is also conducting the trade of them to the southern barbarians.” Yukimura had a look of determination on his face. The silent rage inside flickering behind his eyes.

“Sasuke you said that these women were being held in the manor by use of restraints and appeared to be hurt?” Kenshin looked at me with his clear mismatched eyes. His voice was toneless and his face showed no movement at all. It was like he was carved from ice.

“Some of them appeared that way my Lord it was difficult to tell in the dark but there was no doubt they were terrified, bound and gagged.” I calmly confirmed my findings once more.

“Nothing gives someone the right to use such force on a woman.” Kenshin strongly stated and I saw his hand twitch on the hilt of his katana. For a man who claimed to hate women he was definitely a strong hand fighting in their corner for their defence.

“It’s nice to see that the God of war is not as monstrous as rumour suggests and has a more conscientious principles than the rat sitting in the manor over there.” [Name] spoke from the window. The sound of her voice drew the other eyes in the room to her.

“You haven’t seen him on a battlefield.” Yukimura stated with a little shudder. We had all seen Kenshin fight it was both awe inspiring and horrific.

“And you woman. Sasuke tells me you are a Kunoichi of some skill. Where did you come from?” Kenshin narrowed his eyes as he looked at [Name] assessing her.

“Here and there my Lord Uesugi.” [Name] bowed towards him.

“It appears you are not without knowledge of proper manners after all.” Kenshin stated in his usual tone of disinterest.

“Why do you stand over there my dear?” Shingen warmly smiled at her.

“Apologies gentlemen. Due to my time on the road I find it difficult to settle in a confined space.” [Name] raised her head from her bow and stood once more by the frame of the window.

“Do as you like.” Kenshin said as he reached for his cup and poured his own drink.

“We have a small reserve of men waiting outside of town for the signal. I suggest that we move to breach the compound before the ‘rat’ make arrangements to defend himself and turns this into more of a fight than necessary.” Shingen put forth a simple plan of action quickly. It was nothing that required a lot of forward planning. It only had to allow us the ability to safely remove the captive women and gain access to the corrupt daimyo.

“He can make it into a bigger fight if he likes. At least then this whole boring trip might be somewhat entertaining.” Kenshin muttered as he looked into his cup before downing the contents and poured another.

“Wha-” [Name] looked like she was not just shocked by the statement but offended enough that she would start a fight over it. Not good.

“My lord I’m sure you did not wish to imply that the safe release of the victims and the quashing of the corrupt daimyo of this land is not worth your time without it turning into a big siege and battle.” I motioned my hand to try to get [Name] to relax and raised my voice enough to try to take control over the situation. Shingen and Yukimura had often commented on my ability to babysit my Lord, I couldn’t say that I didn’t find the idea to be somewhat fitting at times like this.

“Of course not. I just said it would be more entertaining if he did. Regardless of such factors the man has to be taught a lesson. And I am not an easy sensei.” Kenshin continued to drink seemingly unaware of the affect his words had had on [Name] who went back to looking out of the window quietly listening to the rest of us as we planned out our attack.

---

It was decided that we would attack at first light. Attacking that night whilst it would have been faster also opened up a lot of dangerous possibilities that could result in a less than safe result. It was part of the plan to avoid more news than had undoubtably already filtered into the daimyo’s manor of the arrival of strangers. Lord Kenshin had eventually conceded to the idea of waiting and that they would all have to stay inside for the remainder of the day. This was helped by Lord Shingen offering to be his drinking companion and we ordered food to the room.

The light outside was just starting to crest high enough to light up the town. The edges of the buildings were dusted with the sunlight and the dark shadows of the night were being pushed back and replaced with the lighter shades of the daytime. It didn’t take long to breach the main gate. The guards on duty were inepter than I had thought. The only thing they seemed to have in their favour were the numbers. That changed when more of the Uesugi / Takeda forces spilled in through the open gate.

“This is ridiculous. Did he think he would win just by using sheer numbers?” Yukimura asked as he used his spear to block and push back the oncoming would be attackers.

“Volume without skill is nothing more than a slaughter.” Shingen agreed as he smacked a guard near him with the hilt of his long sword.

The numbers of guards were greater than I had calculated and were starting to land at our feet in a carpet paving the way to the manor. We reached the manors main doors and after making short work of it with a battering ram the sight of the polished wood and lavish interior did little more than fuel a rage deeper within Lord Kenshin. This building was blood money. The food from the mouths of the people working the land… the bodies of the people taken to be traded. It was sickening and Lord Kenshin was lost in the wave of injustice. I was remined of his namesake. He surely is a God.

“Welcome to my humble home my Lord. It would seem that we have a minor dispute currently. Would you like to discuss it?” A man stood in the middle of the well-lit space dressed in fine silks, his dark hair slicked back. A thin smile adorning his face that reminded me of a hungry cat welcoming it’s prey into a trap.

“I will discuss it with you once I release that head of yours from your shoulders. You are not fit to govern this land and you have not only harmed these people you have sullied my name in the process.” Kenshin addressed the man with such a chill in his voice it was a wonder the man didn’t suffer frost bite.

“It would seem that a peaceful solution is not possible. So be it. Move the produce to safer storage. Take down the invaders.” The daimyo shouted out his commands and it seemed like the very walls had come alive. Men flooded into the area from all directions. The daimyo disappeared in the sea of approaching faces and the temporary silence of the air was replaced with the sounds of weapon on weapon and voices shouting in pain and anger.

“Resistance is futile.” Kenshin bellowed out over the roar of the men around him as he sliced in an arc of flashing metal felling three men in one slick motion.

“Is it me or did that sound like he just quoted a Borg during a fight?” [Name] asked from by my side as she disarmed a man and elbowed him in the face.

“Set phasers to stun.” I had no idea why I said that to be honest. It was the cheesiest line I could possibly think of and it slipped out my mouth faster than I could process. [Name] laughed which helped remove some of the sting from being so uncool out of the comment for me.

Now was not a time to be distracted but I found my eyes drawn to her as she moved along clearing her path so she could go about her own part in this fight, the freeing of the girls while we tried to subdue the enemy.

“I’m going to make a run for it. I can’t let him move those girls before we get them free.” [Name] shouted over the din and I nodded. I watched as she ran towards a partly empty corridor.

A soldier approached her at speed she dropped to her knees and in a slide that would have been a fantastic addition to a game of baseball she slid between the soldiers legs a spatter of blood flowing from her hand as she dragged her tanto through the guys knee. He dropped to one leg as she turned around to smack the back of his neck. Smart girl in the event she was able to use that as an escape route it wouldn’t do to have the guy get up and prevent a safe passage.

Before she could return to the direction she was headed in an arm wrapped around her shoulder from behind. She somehow managed to get her feet close enough to the wall to walk her feet up the side before using the force of gravity and her own weight to drag and flip the man holding her over her shoulder and into the ground, hard.

More men had noticed the fighting in the corridor that led to the room with the captives in it and had moved o block it. Taking on one at a time was ok but [Name] was becoming out of breath and while adrenaline was great for allowing you to push through most things it didn’t always last long enough to let you take out multiple attackers at once when you still had more to do than just make an escape.

Life of a ninja was not always so much about a prolonged exposure to a fight and more focused on get in get the job done and get the hell out of there as fast as you could. It was a sprint not a marathon. Shaking the feeling of being overwhelmed from her mind she grabbed a katana from one of the men at her feet and ran into the fray before her.

Blocking one sword she swung under her own arm and stamped hard on the foot of the guy. It wasn’t enough but it was enough to gain and opening and she sliced across his chest dropping him to the floor. She felt the wind move next to her and nearly closed her eyes as she realised that it was too close. Even if she moved right this second, she wouldn’t be able to block the whole attack. The weight of the man would send her off her feet long before she could disarm him. Bracing herself she waited for the attack to hit.

– Crack, Fizz –

The corridor filled with a thick smoke. Small ceramic shards lay by her feet, she could hear them as they crunched under her shoes. The sound of a man groaning in pain before making a thump sound on the floor reached her ears.

“What?” Squinting in the smoke she met a pair of soft brown eyes behind a pair of glasses.

“A Hero always arrives late.” Sasuke’s voice was as smooth as the smoke filling the space. “I always wanted to say that.”

---

[alfredtangphoto]

An inspiration that is Barcelona.

I woke up the day after getting back from a week in Barcelona and with the trip fresh on my mind, I felt rejuvenated, inspired, motivated and not jet-lagged (yay!). I was there with Marcela (www.mgpulido.co) and Katy (www.katyweaver.com) for Marcela’s 30th birthday and I couldn’t of been with better people to be there with. Traveling and exploring with people you don’t quite yet know on a deep level helps you learn a bit about yourself. Especially with them being photographers, it was like a therapy/discovery session. I’ve come to realize a few things about myself and what I need to do to bring my photography business to the next level.

Being that it was my first time in Barcelona, let alone in Europe, I knew it was going to be an eye-opening experience. I mean, I didn’t have a chance to do any research and was just gonna wing it as I was certain the birthday girl had a list of things to see and do while we were there; in addition, Katy had already roped me into bird watching with her on our last day there. So I didn’t have any expectations other than the thrill of being in a new country.

I woke up on our first full day jet-lagged AF (as fudge - you know, like cold fudge - slowly catching up to the rest). But luckily our first scheduled activity was at 13:30 at the Sagrada Familia. After an espresso or two, we got a wonderful tour of the never-ending constructing church. It’s a behemoth of an awesome structure, let alone it being a church. I’m not religious, but basic understanding of The Bible helps understand the concepts and story behind why Gaudi and the architects after him did what they did. It was pretty intricate and controversially done; it’s one of those “you had to be there to get it.”

I do wished we had time to go back through the church after the hour long tour and view it at a more leisure pace. But I know I’ll be back in 2026, in hopes of viewing a completed church. Any questions about my images or experience? Let me know in the comment section below.

Then it happened.

After leaving Sagrada Familia, we were full on information and visual stimulation but starving for food. If I hadn’t told you by now, I’ll tell you now, the food and the culture of meals out there is delectable and fun. Eat small amounts, but more frequently throughout the day. That in combination of walking an average of 5 1/2 miles a day caused me to lose some weight *fist pump. We got a bite to eat before heading to the metro to catch our next train to somewhere. A train arrived and it’s doors to it’s belly opened up. My first thought was “Wow, it’s packed. Time to be aware and careful of your belongings.” The three of us step in and find our little pockets of space to fill. The train jolts forward and goes on another stop or two. We were only going 3 stops, I believe. The second to last stop, the train doors open and for some strange reason, I didn’t have a good feeling and went to feel for my phone in my front pocket. …GONE!!! I quickly looked up and a gentleman next to me pointed outwards. Like he already knew what had happened and motioned that the perpetrator was on their way out the metro station. I jumped out and yelled into the sea of back of people’s head “WHO HAS MY PHONE?!?!” A blurred vision of faces turned to look towards me and I realized no one was gonna to answer my desperate cry for help. “Oh fick! The train doors are closing and my two friends are still inside!” Quickly, I placed my hands into the closing doors and pried them open. I jumped in to join my two friends feeling defeated.

There are so many things I could have done in hindsight to prevent my essential equipment for being pick pocketed. The only thing I was devastated about was the loss of images and footage of my 10-month old dog. But this unfortunate event was also a blessing in disguise. For the remainder of the trip, I was forced to be mentally AND visually present. It was beautiful! After two days of beating myself over it, I felt a sense of detachment and freedom. After this trip, I made it a goal to turn off social media notifications and just be off my phone more. On the 12-hour plane ride home, I even had the opportunity to read a book: The 4 Disciplines of Execution. It was fitting as this book helped me realize my own weaknesses in my business and to stop trying to multitask so often. Anyways, I’m going off tangent now and that’s the lesson about me and my cellphone. I do recommend the book and a Kindle for traveling (thank you Katy for letting me borrow it on the plane. It’s on my Christmas wish list now).

We spent a few hours looking for a Catalan (not Spanish) police station to fill out a report, in the case I needed it in order to file with my phone insurance. Spent a few hours wondering the streets and bouncing around like ping pong balls. Because we were on a mission, it was tough to absorb the sights, sounds and smell of the early 19th century built streets as we filtered them out, in search for that police station.

By 19:00, we came up empty and went to fill our empty stomachs with something delicious because we were about to see a flamenco show that evening.

By 21:30, we were seating in the front row to enjoy an amazing performance at Palau Dalmases. A stunning open-court building built in the 17th century, it was the perfect setting for the acoustics of live music. Watching the artists playfully interact with each other while pouring their hearts and souls into their part was pretty inspiring to watch - each depending on each other, but the trust and support was undoubtably there.

When in a foreign country, take the long way home, no matter how long of a day it was.

The day after a long day, which included being pick pocketed, we set out again to look for this mysterious police station but with points of interests along the way. Had a great brunch, had more espresso, walked down the main shopping street in Barcelona, bought myself a jacket, stopped by the night market, huddled close as we walked through “the most dangerous spot of thieves” and finally found that ever so elusive police station and fill out that report.

Here are a few photos I managed to snap.

We ended the night at a bar then and a club with Marcela’s hostel buddies, got really drunk and eventually made it home by 4:30. Who said I was old?!?!

One can safely assume that no one woke up until noon and basically did nothing for the entire day. I had a bit of cabin fever and went for a walk out on the boardwalk to take in the quaint city we were staying in.

It’s Monday and Marcela was scheduled to fly out of Barcelona. While we’ve only spent 3 full days with her, it felt like we had spent a week together due to the insane amount of activities and events that happened. Katy and I went off to the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art where we found Jaume Plensa’s work. It was a nice change in pace and scene, while exercising our minds. As we were just about to finish up at the museum, we find out Marcela’s flight got postponed to the next day - so we meet up with her at our favorite restaurant (Teresa Carle) and go back to hang out in front of the museum.

The museum’s front entrance was located facing towards a square where all walks of life (many of whom are skateboarders) crossed over in passing.

The next day, Katy and I had a 5:30 wake up call. We were gonna go bird watching!!! But really, it’s Katy thing and I came along for a change in scenery. I’ve done birding once and was uninterested, but this time was different. Katy had booked a birding guide and Daniel (owner and operator) was an excellent and knowledgable person to be with in such trying times (for me). I learned to appreciate birds and their habitats a little more, while also learning to appreciate the recreational activity of bird watching. It’s a wonder what binoculars, a powerful scope and two passionate bird watchers will do to ya.

I didn’t have a telephoto lense with me to capture the essence of birding, but below are some of the sights from the day. Mostly of a few centuries old buildings we came across on top a hillside.

And that’s how my week in Barcelona ended.

I wouldn’t change any of the events that happened. Even with my phone being stolen. I got to really engage with my travel mates. I got to fully engage with my surroundings and my thoughts. It’s also why I brought my camera with only a vintage manual focus lense. To slow down, be present, and just exist in your current physical being. Your mind will be a lot more free and the world’s weight will be lifted off your shoulders.

In summary, Barcelona is beautiful. Built and rebuilt upon itself, it has given growth to a variety of civilizations. It’s streets and walls are lined with history, architecture and culture. Graffiti is abundant and political messages are obvious. The pockets of light bouncing off buildings and through the alleyways are awe-inspiring, the architecture itself is romantic, and the way people interact with one another (besides that one asshole in the metro station) is a beautiful sight to witness.

Surrounded by my peers, this Barcelona trip not only fueled my creative juices, it also breathed new life into the way I approach my business and craft. I must be more mindful and present. Shoot with intention. Service and communicate with genuine intention. Focus on the craft and the passion will not leave as easily. Continue to challenge myself and be connected to nature.

Thank you Marcela for inviting me on this eye opening birthday trip and thank you Barcelona for teaching me a few good lessons.

[howtohero]

#132 Gladiator Fights

Gladiator fights are a longstanding tradition across the galaxy. From the moment that the first two sentient beings discovered fists, lifeforms across space and time have wanted nothing more than to just sit back and watch two guys beat the ever loving snot out of one another. Charming. This literally universal infatuation with gladiator fights has forced individual fight sponsors to continually up the ante. This sense of competition, coupled with the fact that you generally end a fight with less fighters than you started it with, has forced fightrunners to search far and wide for new potential champions for their rings. And that means that at one point or another, many of Earth’s superheroes have found themselves being forced to participate in one of these fights. So let’s get you ready to get ready to rumble why don’t we?

Many times when a hero is kidnapped and forced into a gladiator match they don’t have any opportunity to stop it until they’re already in the arena. These alien fightrunners have all kinds of fancy gizmos to make sure you fight whether you want to or not. First off they abduct you through one-way teleporters. That’s mad fancy. It’s also terrifying. They can grab you at any moment and you won’t even know you’re being kidnapped until it’s too late. So there’s not really a lot you can do to prevent that sort of thing. If you’re being targeted by a less prestigious fighting organization, they might actually send a few of their fighters to kidnap you. These guys you can usually beat up. But I’d actually recommend not doing that. If you beat up their fighters then the fightrunners are only going to want you more. They’d actually prefer it if you beat up the first few fighters they send after you. That just shows them that you’re worth their time. Also, these fighters that they’re sending after you are most likely also victims of kidnapping, torture and possibly brainwashing. If you see any type of receiver or communications device in their ear or elsewhere on their head you should try to take it and destroy it. With any luck that will free the fighters from the fightrunners’ control and you’ll gain a couple of cool gladiator allies… Or you might’ve just destroyed their hearing aid or their fancy alien jewelry. Then you will have a cool gladiator enemy. An enemy that you are not supposed to fight. Just run away from them really fast. Eventually they’ll get tired of chasing you.

If you can’t avoid capture (like if they’re using those fancy teleporters, or you didn’t have the stamina to run away really fast at the time) then I guess you’re going to be a gladiator now. Which isn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world. You spend your days fighting all manner of superhumans, monsters, aliens and that one really big duck that technically hasn’t committed any crimes per se but you just don’t trust that guy, this isn’t really all that different except for the bright lights, enclosed space and cheering, bloodthirsty, sports fans. 

However, be aware that the fightrunners might place some limitations on you in order to make for a more interesting fight. They’ll almost definitely remove any weapons from your person, your utility belt is definitely a goner, though if you’re an armored hero there’s a chance they’ll let you keep that since you fighting perps in your armor is almost definitely what caught the fightrunners attention in the first place. They may have a selection of weapons for you to choose from, though most likely none of them will be ranged or projectile based weapons. So you should train with swords and spears and the like whenever you have spare time in preparation for this specific scenario. If you have weapons as part of your anatomy or if you’ve got an alien device of some sort permanently bonded to you there’s a solid chance you’ll be allowed to use that in the fight. For the rest of you, there’s basically a 50/50 shot of the fightrunners letting you have full access to your powers. This might even vary from fight to fight depending on what the fightrunners think will make for the most interesting and thrilling show. 

That last point is key, all the fightrunners care about is what will make for an interesting fight. So you need to do whatever you can to make it so that them allowing you access to all of your powers and weapons will be the most interesting course of action. Demonstrate that you can use your personal advantages in interesting and unexpected ways. Develop a boisterous and exciting personality for yourself in the ring. Learn how to work a crowd, get the gladiator fight watching populace on your side. The more the crowd loves you, the better you’ll be treated, and the more complacent the fightrunners will think you are. If you want to practice this sort of thing before you get kidnapped to fight monsters on some trash planet, I recommend making appearances at Earth sports games. Get yourself invited to throw out the first pitch at baseball games or to sing the national anthem and then take advantage of those opportunities to test out your new macho wrestler persona. Belt out the star-spangled banner in your loudest, most obnoxious voice. Delay the first pitch, and thus the entire ball game (as if baseball games weren’t long enough) by dancing around the field and taunting the batter with several fake-out pitches. The more obnoxious you are the more tickets you’ll sell so really ham it up. 

Notably, you’ll often catch the attention of the fightrunners, and then be kidnapped, while you’re in the middle of battling someone. That means that you’ll almost never be the only person from that fight who gets abducted. Occasionally one of your allies or teammates will get kidnapped with you (sick!), which at first glance sounds great (yeah!). At least you’re not alone in this situation (thank goodness!). Two superheroes are always better than one (that’s what I’ve always said!). Until you realize that the fightrunners have no intention of allowing you and your pal to fight together (wait what?). That would be crazy (I guess…). Especially when it would be so much more interesting to force you to fight each other (dang!). So now you have to spear fight your best friend and the father of your godchild (that escalating at an alarming rate) you don’t get to still be the child’s godfather when you kill the child’s actual father! Everyone knows that! But the father still gets to be the father even if he kills the godfather! This is a real lose-lose situation! But maybe there’s a way you can both come out of this alive. Call up all of your super-friends now and agree to take the following course of action should the two of you ever be kidnapped by the same alien gladiator fighting ring. Should the two of you be pitted against each other in the ring give the fans the grandest fake fight of your life. For added authenticity I recommend getting all your friends together and practicing a bunch of choreographed fights right now before it’s too late. Become a master at faking a punch and at throwing yourself onto the ground as though you’ve been real punched. It will be your most stunning performance yet (and yet, just like your 8th grade production of Peter Pan, your parents won’t come to see it). Make the fight so intense and exciting that the fightrunners don’t even let you get to the part of the fight where one of you has to impale the other one on a trident because they realize that they can sell way more tickets if this fight is just the first of many. Eventually they’ll make the two of you fight it out to the death but you’ll have bought yourselves a little bit more time to plan your escape (more on that later).

Other times though instead of being kidnapped with a pal you’ll be abducted alongside the guy you were fighting. Which hey, convenient. You were already fighting that guy anyway. It doesn’t really matter where you’re fighting them. Or how many assorted aliens are holding up poster boards and chanting your name while you do it. Except the very fact that you were already fighting the guy tells the fightrunners that pitting you against each other wouldn’t net them anything new. Being new and innovative and exciting is what keeps the lights on and the doors open in these death arenas. So the fightrunners won’t just let the two of you keep slogging it out. They can’t very well advertise a fight that any joe schmo on Earth might have already seen a dozen times. So in all likelihood they’ll turn you into a tag-team and force you to fight alongside each other. Hilarity will undoubtably ensue. You’ll bicker. You’ll disagree. Probably they’ll disregard the rules of the fight and try to kill you a bunch of times while you’re fighting someone else. It’ll be a whole thing. Before you can effectively fight, and hopefully survive this whole stupid field trip to Murder Mountain, you need to convince your enemy that not trying to kill you is in their best interest. How easy of a task this is largely depends on how stupid the bad guy is, and how large of a sense of self-preservation they have. Once you’ve got that done you should be able to do fairly well in the ring. After all, though you may be on opposite side of the law, you’re both seasoned fighters. And depending on how long you’ve been enemies for, you know each other’s fighting styles pretty well and should be able to work well together. 

But you can’t just live in a giant starship fighting random kidnapped strongmen forever. Eventually you’ll have to return home and that means you need to mount a daring escape. Luckily you’re not alone. You have your teammate, or your nemesis. (Who is maybe now your new best friend maybe? You saved them when that acid-spitter from Phlemgaxia came at them. They saved you when a wolf who had your sister’s eyes came at you. It’s complicated.) But you also have the other gladiators. Presumably they don’t want to be their either. Some of them might sure but that’s fine, just beat them up on your way out. Most of the time the other gladiators are skilled alien fighters, superheroes from other planets, or even alternate versions of you from other dimensions! You’ve gotta imagine some enterprising fightrunner is someday going to start a gladiator ring consisting entirely of alternate dimension doppelgangers. People are going to want to watch alternate versions of the same guy fight each other. Trust me, I know about these things. So anyway, you’ve got all these disparate ultra-skilled fighters and all they need is someone to lead them to freedom. Some dynamic and charismatic figure for them to rally around. Thankfully, you’re there, and if you’ve been keeping up with this guide, you’ve got everything you need to lead these people in a good old fashioned uprising. Destroy the robot guards. Storm the armory. Hijack the teleporters and launch a heck ton of escape pods. You’re going home and you’re bringing a bunch of new allies back with you. Some of them will probably go back to their homes (who wouldn’t). Others will set off to go break up other superhuman fighting rings. And the rest might just stick around and fight crime alongside you. 

So all in all being abducted and forced to fight against a bunch of strangers who probably haven’t done anything wrong might not be the worst thing in the world. You’ll have gotten some quality training in. Possibly made friends with one of your lifelong enemies. Led a quality revolution. And by the end of it you’ll have gained the phone numbers of some of the galaxy’s best fighters. Not bad for a Tuesday. (Wow what a cheery perspective on this horrifying experience. We’re really putting the “glad” in “gladiator.”)

[bookmawkish]

The best kind of trouble - Loki/Heckyl

@worldoftherandom I guess this kind of fills the “they’ve been sleeping close due to necessity since before they got together” prompt? XD

I just wanted an excuse for some fluff, to be honest. Because I’m a sap. This little episode takes place at some unspecified point before Loki and Heckyl turned up on earth and met Tony and Thor in Chapter 2.

All the Loki/Heckyl stuff

“We’re not going anywhere fast, are we.”

“Please continue,” says Loki, who is currently lying half on his side in an attempt to not get wedged tight. “Your statements of the blindingly obvious are beautiful.”

Heckyl sneers at him, but the expression is lost as Loki can’t really see it. The two of them are inside the confines of the master frigidarium hypocaust on Iobreon - a system which works similarly to the caldarium, but with freezing air circulating from the ice caves below rather than heated air - and it’s barely large enough for Loki to get his shoulders through. Moving through it is a tedious and slightly painful process, but move through it they must if they want to get out. They’ve been escaping now for several hours, moving slowly, taking breaks in the occasional larger vent areas just above the main cold chambers where it’s possible for them to uncurl a little, stretch, breathe. It is not a comfortable situation. The rock tunnels are far from smooth.

Plus, it’s extremely cold. This is not an issue for Loki, whose Frost Giant blood is impervious to abrupt drops in temperature and may even help him function better: but Heckyl, while being alien and unfeasibly long-lived, is still a living creature with a self-regulating body core temperature that needs warmth to keep working properly.

Heckyl is slowly freezing to death in the tunnels and there’s not a thing to be done about it except keep him moving and hope for a swift release from the compound.

“Stop.”

Loki, who is in the lead, closes his eyes briefly in dismayed irritation at Heckyl’s request. They can’t stop much more. They’re already moving slower than ideal and he’s all too aware that while his own ancestry protects him, his companion’s health is in danger.

“I said, stop. Are you deaf?”

The wearier and more ill Heckyl becomes, the snappier and ruder he gets. Loki likes him a lot: they have a great deal in common, not least the many darknesses in their pasts, but by the Norns the man is cantankerous. Regardless, Loki will not see his valued companion die under such circumstances, not if he can be hassled and goaded into surviving.

“No and no,” Loki says. “Keep moving. The only thing that needs to stop is your whining.”

Heckyl snarls a stream of elaborate and vicious insults back at him, but they’re still moving and right now that’s all Loki is interested in.

However, the next time they hit a vent chamber and the two of them have just enough room to sit side by side, Loki is forced to reconsider. He looks at Heckyl in the dim light, sees the stressed breathing, the constant shivering, the discoloured evidence of skin beginning to freeze. If he keeps on like this he’ll pass out, get stuck in the tunnel, and Loki will have a terrible time moving his body.

“We’ll rest here.”

Heckyl doesn’t acknowledge this. His eyes are open, staring at the exit shaft on the far wall, as if already assessing his ability to squeeze through it and continue.

“Go to sleep,” Loki orders. “I’ll go ahead, come back for you. We may be closer than we think to the exit, it’ll help to know.”

“I’ll freeze.”

“You’re half frozen already,” counters Loki, not trying to be unkind, but equally feeling that mindless optimism has no place in this current discussion.

“Then I’ll be completely frozen. Is that what you want? A giant, me-shaped icicle? I knew you hated me, I just had no idea how much until now. Well, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Another thing about Heckyl is that as his stress levels rise, his maturity levels often drop. Loki tries not to smile. He really shouldn’t find it that endearing. Truth be told, he’s been nursing a growing attraction to the man since he first met him, and even the most difficult of circumstances (added to the undoubted difficulty of Heckyl’s personality) don’t seem to be breaking him of it. What to do? He has no idea if Heckyl is even interested, although it has to be said that he’s a terribly obvious flirt: will attempt to charm or verbally seduce anything on first meeting if he sees a benefit in it. It’s rather attractive, if Loki’s being honest.

Of course, all of this becomes academic if Heckyl succumbs to the cold right here, which is something Loki finds himself very unwilling to let happen.

“Come here,” he says, deliberately making himself sound as bored as possible with the whole situation. It’s not like come here involves a lot of work. They’re practically shoved up against each other as it is in the tiny space. But Heckyl is pissed off to the point of childish, and is therefore doing his best to be as far away from Loki as is possible, huddling into the rough wall, face turned away, and additionally doing the best sulking using just his shoulders that Loki has ever seen. Loki has to severely discipline himself to not find it hopelessly adorable. The man needs saving. Dote over him like a teenage girl later.

“You’re a fool and I will not see you turn into a - what was it? - Heckyl-shaped icicle. Come here and stop acting like an...an infant.”

“You’re freezing as well,” Heckyl complains, somewhat muffled. “I’m not touching you. I’ll get frostbite.”

“You already have fr - “

“I know!”

Loki exhales in exasperation, shifts over, and without further discussion just grabs Heckyl around the waist, drags him away from the wall and pulls him in instead against his body. As it happens, Heckyl’s not wrong about one thing: Loki is definitely cold. But there’s living, soft cold and there’s dead, abrasive cold, and of the two, living is better.

Heckyl bitches immediately and loudly at being so crassly handled. This, Loki takes as a good sign, because he who has enough energy to bitch has enough energy to live. And, as he’d half-expected, Heckyl’s resistance lasts about as long as it takes him to realise that Loki (while yes, cold) is actually a good deal warmer than the permafrozen rocks. He stops his antagonistic wriggling, at least. His complaining lasts a lot longer, but eventually that too subsides as he starts to warm up, even if only a little, cradled into Loki’s lap with Loki’s arms wrapped around him.

Loki knows he’s won when after having gone almost a full minute without snarking, Heckyl gives a little sigh and lets his head drop against his shoulder, the topmost blue streaks of his hair just brushing Loki’s jaw.

“Rest,” Loki murmurs, more to himself than to Heckyl, whom he suspects from the laxity of muscle and pattern of breathing is already asleep. “We don’t have long.”

As it turns out, it only takes them a further hour to finally reach the exterior vent, and crawl out into the mercifully temperate planet surface, where Heckyl goes through a further period of grumbling as he defrosts enough to make walking possible. Then they successfully escape, because they’re a wily pair and there’s probably not a locked room anywhere that can hold them for long. Individually they’re smart as angels: together they’re completely diabolical.

And it’s this innate devilishness at their hearts that means they end up on the run time after time, in jungles one week and in deserts the next - from planets where the atmosphere is full of water, to tiny pocket universes without shrimp. Staying out of trouble isn’t something that comes naturally to either of them, and now working together their ability to get into scrapes is at least doubled, if not tripled. This is really nothing to Loki, who thrives on chaos, and of course there’s that one small extra that makes any of the additional mayhem completely worthwhile, in his view.

Because ever since the frigidarium tunnels on Iobreon, Heckyl seems to have decided that anytime they’re going to be sharing close quarters, it’s now his unassailable right to use Loki as a pillow. Or a mattress. Or possibly a blanket. Either way, whenever they feel secure enough to stop and rest, Heckyl immediately turns, climbs into Loki’s lap like a spoilt, entitled cat and proceeds to curl himself up with his head resting trustingly on Loki’s shoulder, falling asleep almost instantly. The sensation of being trusted so completely is rather overwhelming for the lord of lies.

Yes, I’m definitely in trouble, Loki thinks, when Heckyl has colonized him once again as they hide out in a cave behind a waterfall overnight, but this is the best kind of trouble to be in.   

[papermoth-bird-blog]

Ontario: the witches of willow beach

I’ve never been a tobacco smoker, but I do find myself, from time to time, standing still around those who do. It brings me this sense of nostalgia, or latent affections for those close to me that ever have. It’s not something I talk about often- there is a strange sense of shame associated with this subtle fondness. It feels like a rebellion that isn’t mine, but does make me feel free, but sacred in this strange way (which is hard to pin down).

As I through my big yellow pack in the back seat of Morgan’s read truck, I skipped over the the passenger seat & buried myself into the adventure-stained seats. From the moment we said hello to each other, our adventure felt like it had already started. Morgan & I have a way of falling into easy harmony, both being carried off into the wind regularly, but with an ease that feel safe & natural. It’s as if we are 6 again- but with access to motor vehicles & our own money. He turned to me and said “so! where do you want to go!” My mom requested that I wait for her to get home from her night shift before I took off. Within that time, Morgan I brain stormed about a thousand different options. I’m not joking when I say we were legitimately looking up plane tickets to Dublin, among other outland-ish plans. Ultimately we reasoned to stay humble with our adventure. I’d never seen Morgan’s current forest home, or the canoe he had refurbished.

As we drove towards the parkway, we spontaneously turned off the road to climb into ravine. We found a quiet part and whispered under a hawthorn tree. As hawthorn is one of the fae trees, as well as the tree that corresponds with the month of April in the Celtic tree calendar, we thought it only appropriate to gather some thorns from the tree for spells & wishes we would carry-out later on in our adventure time. As we did so, we offered a prayer & some crumbled tobacco back to the land. We wandered deeper into the woods, trying to help a dog walker find her lost Labrador. As we walked, we collected large leaves. nuts & some small bits of healing plants that had stayed in tact over the winter. We laughed as we gave each other the storybook versions of how the last six months had passed for us. I stopped mid sentence, saying “oh look there’s a dog”, only to notice Morgan had stopped short on the path. He stooped low to the ground and said “I don’t think that’s a dog”. At second glance, that proved to be true- it was in fact the tail of a deer. There were three others babies that snuck out behind the full grown female. Morgan & I stood still for a very long time, watching them feed from the forest floor- sometimes pausing to watch us too. One little one looked up to us every once in a while to stamp his foot & bleep his tongue. It felt like magic- in the way that time stood still for us, waiting patiently as the world spun round. After a half hour we all heard an owl hoot from a tree, which broke the spell. The deer skittered out towards the freeway, so we moved our bodies away from the deer, so to make them feel obliged to take that route.

An hour or so later, after wandering down the country roads of southern ontario, we arrived at Clearwater farm. Clearwater farm acts as a centre for youth education; Morgan & his roommates live there, but also act as teachers/caretakers of sorts, engaging children in the stewardship of the land itself. Although there are certainly tensions there, because the management team are not actively living on the land (or really engaging it with any direct way).

Morgan lives there full time and is in charge of the children’s education programme. He has set up in yurt in the patch of woods, a small sanctuary on the otherwise (kind of) crowded farmland. It was imported from Mongolia. Each pole is painted with brilliant little colourful patterns, but mainly in bright orange. In the centre of the yurt is a small wood stove, with a mobile constructed of keep-sakes Morgan has collected from his travels around the world. It’s such a cosy den & I found myself asking a lot of serious questions about yurt ownership. It certainly has its difficulties in a Canadian climate, but does have a splendid way of connecting the dweller with the nature surrounding their home.

After visiting the yurt, we went to check on Megan, who was tending to the maple sap that was boiling in a large pot over a fire. Megan came up to me to give me a big hug. We don’t really know each other in formal terms, but were connected in a wildly witchy way. A way that kind of spooked both of us, but we were rolling with it.

----------------------------------------

Around the new year I found myself thinking of Morgan quite often. It wasn’t for some psychic reason, but because I knew his father was passing away & I was thinking up ways I might be able to support him during such a tender time from afar. He is one of the people I feel most energetically connected to in the world, but we don’t often talk too much when we are apart. But best friends, when we are near.

One day in January, I was struck that I needed to reach out to him exactly then, and I turned to my co-worker & told her I’d be right back, sneaking off to send him a message. I got goose bumps when I lifted my phone from the pocket, because I saw that at that exact moment, He had actually messaged me. It was a group message between his friend Megan & I. In it he said something along the lines of “ Hey Zoe, my friend Megan is in Halifax for a short while & I think it would be wonderful if you two met”. He said we were both witches & would undoubtably get along really well. So I sent her a message inviting her for dinner, or tea or an adventure- whatever suited her best; “any friend of Morgan’s is a friend of mine.”

After I sent the message, I looked at her facebook profile & realized I recognized her. We had grown up on the very same street in Riverdale- gone to the same elementary school, and played in the same extra-curricular sports leagues. She was a few years older than me, but I remembered her younger brother & sister vividly. I sent her a follow up message saying “strange question, but did you do to withrow p.s. as a child?” When I realized that connection, I dug further, out of curiosity. On her instagram, I noticed she had just been to Sedona, Arizona- the place that I had just confirmed I would later be living (at the ashram). And then I saw something more strange still. It seemed she had just been in Victoria... with someone I knew quite well. My ex-partner, whom had become an ex relatively recently.

I had already sent the message inviting her over & I wasn’t about to revoke it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she had come to Halifax following him after meeting him on the other coast. I figured the universe could only be aligning us for a good reason. Although, it was tricky territory.  So I stayed steady, in a time I could have easily been freaked out. I didn’t even mention it to Morgan, only to my closest witch sisters.

Eventually she messaged me back and told me she had had a dream of me the night before walking around on stilts with my father- and yes, she remembered me vividly. The synchronicities were hedged on- our childhood, Sedona, our shared interests, but the shared partner wasn’t. Our meeting wasn’t fated for Halifax clearly. Which was okay, as we both processed this strange occurrence on our own. She did invite me out to the farm “anytime”.

As it were, I was actually already on planning on visiting Morgan in Ontario if the opportunity presented itself. A week later, Morgan & I did have an opportunity to chat for a couple hours. It was clear then, that spending time with him, was important & was part of the quest I was venturing out on.

I did fell worried about the strange dynamic with Megan there, however, and certainly felt cautious of invading her space- especially considering the strangest element of our circumstances had still gone unmentioned. I very much doubted that she was still in the dark in regards to this too, but it didn’t feel good to be working in the shadows like that. So I decided to be brave and reach out to be clear that I knew & that I had no personal weirdness/bias towards her & genuinely felt like a friendship. I was merely spooked by the alignment. In her response, she eachoed the same sentiments- but it seemed she & him had just parted ways in a way that left her in some pain. She asked if I would be open to talk about it. As I had been spent reeling from our respective relationship too, (*And because in strangely similar spooky circumstances I became friends with another ex-boyfriends ex-girlfriend, a thing that had certainly been one of the other most strange/magical parts of my life to date) I agreed.

She changed her mind not long after sending the message, but I told her I was always open to holding space for her if she needed to talk to someone else about it. I decided to let it drop- whatever happened, or will, was bound to happen in whichever way it had to. There were, I suppose, still questions posed at the back of my mind. I have been working to let stories unfold with patience. That was the only way to fully live in peace of mind.

So I told her I would be coming to visit in a couple months. And let the story fall away, to the best of my ability. Although, as my coven knows, it did flash in my mind often enough. It just felt significant in a way I couldn’t pin down.

-----------------------------------------

Everyone that lives at Clearwater Farm, goes by a nature name- Morgan is Brother Wolf (or brother worm, or brother Winnebago... more jokingly), Megan is Wild Ginger, Annie is called Snapping Turtle (snappy for short). Alex is the newest roommate (she actually moved in when I was visiting) and has yet to receive a name. Megan asked me if I had a nature name, and I said that, yes, I happened to be nicknamed Bird. Morgan asked “which one?!” & I laughed and said it really depended on the day. Of course, most often it is the sparrow, chickadee or the hummingbird.

I could tell that Morgan had itchy feel & was keen for an adventure. Despite the fact that the sun was now sitting low in the sky, he mentioned wanting to go to Killarney- a beautiful national park a 5 hour drive away. I told him I loved that park more than most others (and I love most others), but suggested we go rock hounding a a rock quarry that was halfway between the two locations. So, we set out, still generally unhurried & enjoying the journey (more so than being focused on the destination).

It was a good thing we had that attitude, because there was no way we were going to make it there. We got lost several times, as a by product of us becoming lost in conversation. We spoke of loosing people close to us, and magic, and clowns. In fact, Morgan invited me along with him to co-facilitate a clowning in activism workshop in Montreal the following weekend. Which I laughed at at first- and then realized my life had perhaps given me some experience in this niche field- though perhaps not enough to run a whole workshop with him.

We pulled off the main road a few times so Morgan could smoke cigarettes, and other times, because our whims told us to. When we were leaving for our adventure, Morgan said we could go anywhere “even the moon!”. While on the road past Bobcaygeon, we passed a road called Moon Line, so we obviously followed it. There wasn’t to many exciting sights- but there was a lot of red dogwood springing up from the snow & muck. As casually as we could, we climbed into the ditch & cut as much as we could fit in the bed of the truck & resolved to make baskets later.

Like artists, clown people have a certain way of conducting themselves in the world. Artist look for poetry, and generally see life through romantic lenses. Clown people, see the world as ridiculous & live life in a way to high light those absurdities. It became quite a prominent refrain along our adventures- but we kept coming into contact with (what Morgan called) “Clown Angels.” They are the energies that create strange circumstances & are easily dared into making things magically happen when you think “wouldn’t it be funny if.” And let me tell you we were looked over by many clown angels along the road. I don’t think either of us had laughed that much (or felt so free) in some time.

We were far away from any place we aimed to be by time we got hungry. There was a small corner store filled with some of the most bizarre objects I’ve come in contact with… but more importantly it happened to have a pizza place at the back. We ordered, and waited while reading one of the most non-sensical story about a French rabbit. It perplexed both of us profoundly, as it really had no point to it. So we laughed about it & chalked it up to more clown angels. By time the pizza was ready, we were feeling dileriously silly, but still had hopes of having proper outdoors time. Unfortunately no one in the area could tell us where any trails were. We settled for pulling off into the ditch & wandering aimlessly into the woods with our pizza. We lay out on our winter coats & ate under the canopy of pines.

When we returned to the farm house, we were still quite silly. We tried to sneak in as calmly & quietly as we could manage- but we were like a pair of ten-year-olds that had been about causing mischief all day.

When we walked up the stairs, all we heard was the tail end of a story Megan was telling someone in her room. It was the story that we shared- how she had met that partner, and how we had been connected. Morgan looked at me nervously, and though I was too, I resounded to be okay. He knocked & she invited us in.

Megan had been talking to Heather- a friend that I’d known for several years from Halifax. And she happened to be living on Clearwater, in another funny circumstance.

We all talked for a long while, and then we went down to the kitchen and talked some more. Slowly, Morgan & I drifted off to the yurt, where we continued to talk (even when I fell asleep, curled up in my hammock by the fire).

---------------------------------------

While I had been gone from Halifax, seemingly a lot had changed. One of my deer friends had moved to Ontario without telling me- because she said she didn’t want to “take me out of the moment.” I’m glad I found out though, because it meant we were able to meet up for breakfast.

Victoria & Todd asked if I needed to be picked up, or if I was able to meet them in the next town. Apparently Todd warned Vic that “Zoe is like a butterfly, if we are on a time schedule, it might be easier to go catch her.” I laughed, but told her Morgan & I would come meet them. We pulled up to the diner around the same time, and apparently Todd recognized me by the way my bun had been flopping around as I danced to the music we had been listening to in the front seat of the truck.

Todd & Morgan, it seemed, already knew eachother, at least vaguely. Slowly, the story was pieced together; Morgan had lead a “nature people” workshop & todd had been in his group. Anyways, it meant we all fell easily into conversation. After breakfast, we wandered over to a worksite where these giant (6.5ft) men were cutting down a tree in a really risky way. But was asked them If we could have the logs & we all took turns carrying them to the truck. Todd & Vic followed us back to the farm & we walked around the whole property showing them the basic elements- the mushroom forest, the children’s play yard, the chickens, the greenhouses, etc. I could tell by the way Morgan spoke of it, he was changing, growing away from his roll here. It was if, I could see the cogs in his brain turning, and him falling into realization that perhaps, he was ready to move on from the farm. After Todd & Vic left, I asked him about it. It seemed it was true, he had been actively thinking of all those things. He told me then, that he had resolved to decide what he was doing by time his birthday came around… which was the very next day.

He had many avenues he had been exploring- moving to B.C, looking for another job in Ontario, pushing for more change at the farm he was already at, or even moving to Nova Scotia. He told me how much he craved to be surrounded by “our people” & live in community again. Of course, I talk a big Nova Scotia game- but I am genuinely honoured & surprised every time I think of my friends back home. How much everyone cares for one another & pulls together when it’s important & pull off some of the silliest gatherings I’ve ever been to. Sometimes I worry it won’t be the same for others, or that they will be underwhelmed & then I will feel guilty. There aren’t that many jobs & it can be hard to “make it” there. I think Morgan has spent enough time there, however, that he knows what he would be getting into.

We joined Megan around the fire & we talked about our biggest fears. Mine was about not being able to grow to my fullest potential or feeling stuck. Megan’s was going crazy (like actually loosing her grips on reality). Morgan never said what his was. We riddled out where these fears came from.

There is a concept, I was introduced to during my hypnosis session with Mare, that speak of how trauma lives in different areas of your body. And that was can devine the reasons we feel certain aches & pains & illnesses through this form of analysis. When I told the story of my hypnosis- and how I had had illness of the lungs both times, Megan stopped to look it up. According to “Heal your Life” by Louise Hay- that exact feeling of “stuckness” is what is represented in illnessesof the lungs. Both of us, agreed that that was extremely on point, and almost a little spooky.

We paced around the fire, keeping warm & stirring our thoughts. Morgan said he felt bad that we hadn’t really gotten up to much, but I told him, that I quite like the slow pace of farm life. Each moment of calm soothed the anxiety that had built up in my body over the excitement of the last few weeks. I was finding myself in a certain state of unremarkable bliss. Surrounded by people who live open and honestly. Walk with love in their step, hopes for the future, and care in a way that in scare among more scared people.

I suggested, that perhaps we could go bowling, if he really wanted to do something. Morgan said “oh god. I think you just made a best friend”. Megan gasped and told me she always asked Morgan to go, but they never did. So we all got ready to go bowling. Morgan & I leaned on the hood of the car for a good 20 minutes, waiting for Megan. We went into the house, to see what she was up to. There she was, curled up on the living room couch. In the exact opposite stance of a human looking to go anywhere. She said she was feeling sick suddenly. And so, we came over & sat on the couch, and spent the rest of the evening chatting again. We exchanged baby pictures & talked about our childhoods. Megan said she felt bad that we hadn’t gone anywhere. I could sense her shame, and wasn’t about to make her feel bad- after all, I was speaking honestly in saying, it was fine for me to just hang out.

The night slipped by, quicker than we expected. Morgan and I crawled into the yurt- bellies empty. I fell asleep on the bed, only to be woken much later. Morgan had slipped out & picked us up some thai food. So we sat & ate & laughed, much like we did over the rest of our time together.

The following day was his birthday. I wanted to do my best to help him carry out what ever wishes he had for the day. “One wish for each year you’ve been alive” I said. “That’s a lot of wishes. I don’t know if you’ll be able to stay awake for them. ‘Cause I try my best to  be extremely specific for what I wish for. Otherwise they get taken funny.” I laughed, but told him to go on. It’s true, I did fall asleep- not because I didn’t care, but because it was 3 am. I did catch that all he wanted to do was “be among his people”. And before I finally drifted off, we dreamed up ways we could make that happen.